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	[WP] You stand among a council of the spirits of your warrior ancestors. Though they never faced photon cannons or an alien fleet, they're still trying their best to advise you on how to save Earth.	I pinched the bridge of my nose tightly with thumb and forefinger. I took a deep calming breath before speaking. "Honored Ancestor Thalrog," I began, "as I've said on numerous occasions, the Drelians - our enemy - do not have vaginas. We cannot rape their women. They don't have women. Even if they did have women, no soldier in any of the Earth's combined militaries wants to have sex with a twelve foot tall proto-reptilian. I ask you, once more, to please stop suggesting that. And please never bring those diagrams again." Thalrog, one of my earliest warrior ancestors that the Wei Device could locate, looked crestfallen - like a child who just learned there was no Santa. Minister Wilkinson spoke "Pardon?" I nodded to his floating glowing form. "Yes, well, be that as it may. Have you perhaps considered a bit of subterfuge? Perhaps a spy or turncoat? Perchance even a small ship to adhere some manner of explosive to their ship?" "Minister, I really do appreciate your input but no. Again, I must reiterate - twelve feet tall proto-reptilians. Infiltrating them is a bit more involved than growing a beard and speaking with a funny accent. As far as a bomb ship, we tried that. Their sensors are just too good. Nothing we have can get within half a light second." "You are too lax on your men!" Ghengis mother-humping Khan. He fathered so many children that nearly all of humanity was his descendant in some way. He showed up every time they tuned up the warrior ancestors on the Wei Device. I heard they actually listed him as a bug in the code. They started advertising "Now with 20% less Khan!" on this latest version. The best thing to do was ignore him. "Fear is the key." This was a voice I didn't recognize from somewhere in the back. The most forceful personalities always made it to the front so I hardly ever heard from the rear echelons. The whole assembly quieted and turned to see who spoke. It was a small man, tidily dressed, sitting on a virtual chair with glowing legs crossed. "Fear is always the answer. Well," he said, cocking his head in thought, "at least when it isn't pain, lust, greed, gluttony, pride, or wrath. Fear always works though." "I'm sorry, I don't remember you. Have we talked before?" I racked my brain trying to place the thin features. Something in the curve of his nose reminded me of my own reflection. "No, dear boy," he said. It rankled. I was Supreme Commander of the Combined Militaries of Earth. I'd had a long and storied career. I was facing down an honest-to-God alien invasion and this jackass called me "boy." But then - I did come to them for help. "No," he continued, "we have never spoken. You have never been desperate enough to heed my advice. So I remained silent. Now that you have exhausted all the other paths before you, I think you might be ready to listen." "Ok, what's your idea?" I figured the worst that would happen is I would lose a few minutes listening to a half-crazy virtual ghost. I found that if you didn't let them get their ideas out, you would pay for it a hundred times over the next time you asked for help. "This enemy of yours -" "The Drelians" "- as you say. This enemy of yours - what is important to them? Money, power, land, family?" "We don't know much about their culture. What little we know is gathered from the remains of battles we won - and it's damned few." "You didn't answer my question." "I don't know. Family maybe? We found what we think are a number of, well, family pictures and heirlooms." "There you are then." "What? I don't understand." "I think you do." His eyes narrowed as he spoke. "No, and now you're wasting my time." "Very well, I'll draw it out. They value family. They have a home. You are engaging the warriors on the field of battle. To distract and demoralize the warriors, you attack them not where they are strong but where they are weak. You attack their families. You take a small portion of your army and you lay waste to their home. Give them nowhere to return to. Wipe out their wives, their children, their parents. Destroy their homes, their cities, and their entire way of life. Do not threaten to do so - simply do it. Do not capture them - kill them. Do not accept surrender or capitulation - only death. When they hear of how utterly you have exterminated their people, they will lose the will to continue." "God damn," Minister Wilkinson said. I couldn't righty disagree with him. "Those are war crimes. Genocide." "Then you have already lost. As long as there is a step you are unwilling to take, you cannot beat an evenly matched opponent. If you were magnitudes stronger than them, you would have the luxury of gentlemanly warfare. As they are stronger than you, you must make each of your blows hurt more than theirs. Tell your people to make their peace with God for they shall be meeting him quite soon." "There has to be another way," I said. "Perhaps I was wrong about you being ready to listen. If you are truly my descendant as you would have us all believe, then you have within you the capability to do what must be done. You must break their sword upon their sadness and warp their shield around their grief."	These were dark times, calling for desperate measures. What happened was, our A.I. ran a simulation of our world. Common enough so far, this was often done by A.I.s to extract historical knowledge from the past in order to inform us humans in our activities, but this time, we asked for it to extract the minds of the most succesful warriors of the past, whether kings, philosophers, or generals, whatever it was, and place them in a virtual reality for us to interact with them. The A.I. was imaginative enough to do this its own way, with a minimum of input for us. I had been assigned to seek the council of our ancestors from the separate, yet identical reality that had run on the military A.I.s servers. So I went in. They connected me to its servers, via the nanobot computers running inside my brain, and I was transported in a different universe, where time ran infinitely slower, or faster, depending on my preference. The A.I. became myself, or rather, it had a direct connection to my mind so that I didn't have to communicate with it. It simply knew what I wanted and when I wanted it. Think of it like your unconsciousness. That's what an A.I. interating with your brain is like, except you have free and unfettered access to it, if you had the technical knowledge to make good use of it. Which I did, you don't rise in the ranks of the military as fast as I did without knowing some technology. What I excelled at, though, was strategy. That's what they valued me for. I was interested to see what these, my forebearers in the military art, could tell me that I didn't know. I was a bit skeptical that they could provide much insight into how to battle aliens widely superior to us in technological capabilities, but I was also excited to meet people like Napoleon and Sun Tzu. Surely, this was not something to pass up. And I could take as much time to talk to them as I needed. It's what everyone already used their A.I.s for as it was, that is, dwelling in separate universes created by our A.I.s where time came to a halt. I was in the middle of an ancient greek city, all of a sudden. I knew my location because the A.I. immediately told it to me in the strange, subtle way it communicated with your mind. I saw a miniature colloseum in front of me, and I heard hundreds of voices talking amongst themselves on the inside. It was night, and the ancient sky had a certain splendor of its own, with its beautiful and numerous constellations. I sighed, and made for the entrance. This was going to be a long night.
	[WP] You stand among a council of the spirits of your warrior ancestors. Though they never faced photon cannons or an alien fleet, they're still trying their best to advise you on how to save Earth.	I pinched the bridge of my nose tightly with thumb and forefinger. I took a deep calming breath before speaking. "Honored Ancestor Thalrog," I began, "as I've said on numerous occasions, the Drelians - our enemy - do not have vaginas. We cannot rape their women. They don't have women. Even if they did have women, no soldier in any of the Earth's combined militaries wants to have sex with a twelve foot tall proto-reptilian. I ask you, once more, to please stop suggesting that. And please never bring those diagrams again." Thalrog, one of my earliest warrior ancestors that the Wei Device could locate, looked crestfallen - like a child who just learned there was no Santa. Minister Wilkinson spoke "Pardon?" I nodded to his floating glowing form. "Yes, well, be that as it may. Have you perhaps considered a bit of subterfuge? Perhaps a spy or turncoat? Perchance even a small ship to adhere some manner of explosive to their ship?" "Minister, I really do appreciate your input but no. Again, I must reiterate - twelve feet tall proto-reptilians. Infiltrating them is a bit more involved than growing a beard and speaking with a funny accent. As far as a bomb ship, we tried that. Their sensors are just too good. Nothing we have can get within half a light second." "You are too lax on your men!" Ghengis mother-humping Khan. He fathered so many children that nearly all of humanity was his descendant in some way. He showed up every time they tuned up the warrior ancestors on the Wei Device. I heard they actually listed him as a bug in the code. They started advertising "Now with 20% less Khan!" on this latest version. The best thing to do was ignore him. "Fear is the key." This was a voice I didn't recognize from somewhere in the back. The most forceful personalities always made it to the front so I hardly ever heard from the rear echelons. The whole assembly quieted and turned to see who spoke. It was a small man, tidily dressed, sitting on a virtual chair with glowing legs crossed. "Fear is always the answer. Well," he said, cocking his head in thought, "at least when it isn't pain, lust, greed, gluttony, pride, or wrath. Fear always works though." "I'm sorry, I don't remember you. Have we talked before?" I racked my brain trying to place the thin features. Something in the curve of his nose reminded me of my own reflection. "No, dear boy," he said. It rankled. I was Supreme Commander of the Combined Militaries of Earth. I'd had a long and storied career. I was facing down an honest-to-God alien invasion and this jackass called me "boy." But then - I did come to them for help. "No," he continued, "we have never spoken. You have never been desperate enough to heed my advice. So I remained silent. Now that you have exhausted all the other paths before you, I think you might be ready to listen." "Ok, what's your idea?" I figured the worst that would happen is I would lose a few minutes listening to a half-crazy virtual ghost. I found that if you didn't let them get their ideas out, you would pay for it a hundred times over the next time you asked for help. "This enemy of yours -" "The Drelians" "- as you say. This enemy of yours - what is important to them? Money, power, land, family?" "We don't know much about their culture. What little we know is gathered from the remains of battles we won - and it's damned few." "You didn't answer my question." "I don't know. Family maybe? We found what we think are a number of, well, family pictures and heirlooms." "There you are then." "What? I don't understand." "I think you do." His eyes narrowed as he spoke. "No, and now you're wasting my time." "Very well, I'll draw it out. They value family. They have a home. You are engaging the warriors on the field of battle. To distract and demoralize the warriors, you attack them not where they are strong but where they are weak. You attack their families. You take a small portion of your army and you lay waste to their home. Give them nowhere to return to. Wipe out their wives, their children, their parents. Destroy their homes, their cities, and their entire way of life. Do not threaten to do so - simply do it. Do not capture them - kill them. Do not accept surrender or capitulation - only death. When they hear of how utterly you have exterminated their people, they will lose the will to continue." "God damn," Minister Wilkinson said. I couldn't righty disagree with him. "Those are war crimes. Genocide." "Then you have already lost. As long as there is a step you are unwilling to take, you cannot beat an evenly matched opponent. If you were magnitudes stronger than them, you would have the luxury of gentlemanly warfare. As they are stronger than you, you must make each of your blows hurt more than theirs. Tell your people to make their peace with God for they shall be meeting him quite soon." "There has to be another way," I said. "Perhaps I was wrong about you being ready to listen. If you are truly my descendant as you would have us all believe, then you have within you the capability to do what must be done. You must break their sword upon their sadness and warp their shield around their grief."	"Degei, degei," muttered the wizened man, sunlight streaming through his body. He shook his head and frowned deeply before turning away. Vatemo Ravouvou rolled his eyes. Around him, shades of various consistency floated around him. Some were almost faded away entirely, others seemed only slightly out of phase from their surroundings. Vatemo waves his arms through them and let out a guttural yell. "None of you are any help!" He looked up beyond the atmosphere, but couldn't see any tell tale streaks across the sky. "Bete, you must heed our advice." "Kalou-vu, this isn't helping. That one thinks we're fighting a giant serpent spirit." "Lutunasobasoba is old.. He never really understood why I started believing in God. How do you expect him to accept.. what are they called, aliens?" Another old man, less faded than many of the others, leaned on an equally ghostly cane. Vatemo took another deep breath. He hadn't really believed invoking the ancient words would literally help him commune with his ancestors. He had had a moment of weakness. He didn't think he was the only soldier on Fiji's Viti Levu island, but he was probably the only one still on duty. He was certainly the only one he could see anywhere on the spatial assault pad. Somewhere, out between the Moon and Earth, a squadron of alien ships was preparing their assault. Every human outpost had fallen one by one over the last six months. No armada or army had managed to stop a single ship or landing. When the Moon had went black, they all knew Earth was their final step. As far as he could tell, no one else had showed up for work. A lot of them didn't live on Fiji but Vatemo had no where else to go, so he just went to work. At some point, he had knelt and begun praying in the middle the pad. First to his grandfather deity, the Christian God, then eventually the words his nanny had taught him so many summers ago. He had passed out and when he had awoken, he was surrounded by.. ghosts. His ancestors, they had told him. Warriors from the far distant past all the way to his grandfather and father. Ready to help him fight whatever enemy he faced. Except only the most recent generations spoke English, let alone understood what aliens could be. Mostly they had stood around talking amongst themselves. Apparently, some of them hadn't had the chance to talk to each other in some time. Vatemo had had enough. "All of you. QUIET, please." The muttering died down, though he saw some of them simply walk away after giving him annoyed looks. "They're coming here," he explained. "The aliens?" asked his grandfather. "Yes.. They always attack launch pads first. So.. They will attack us soon." Vatemo looked over at the carefully stockpiled ammo and spare weapons. He was as ready as ever. "Now... unless any of you can pick up a gun, please just shut up." Several of them frowned at him. It quieted down slightly more, but he thought it was just because they wanted to hear what he had to say. "I have to prepare." He knelt down again, and closed his eyes against the midday sun. He tried to take steady breaths and listen for any sonic booms above him. He was sweating but at least his words seem to silenced the crowd of ancient Fijian warriors. He heard thunder above him, and he looked up with wide eyes. Streaks marred the sky. One looked closer than the others. He moved to stand up, but stopped when he noticed the spirits. All of them had knelt down, fanned around in little groups over the pad. With bowed heads and eyes closed, they all seemed to be murmuring something he couldn't hear. He noticed now there were hundreds of them, stretching almost all the way to the base perimeter. Had more appeared, he wondered. Nodding, he began one final check of his rifle, and waited. It was hot, but nothing he wasn't used to. It reminded him of the sweltering Sundays when his parents had brought him to the local church. The old building was slightly cooler than the outdoors, but he had sweat through countless sermons with his eyes closed, merely waiting until it was over. "Father," he said. "My son," he said, his father's shade coming more into focus beside him. "Remember that song we sung in church?" "Which one Vatemo?" "It went like this, deh da da, dah dah." He tried to hum it softly, but a rumbling overhead muted his gravelly voice. He looked and saw the pod boosters firing above him, readying itself to land. "Yes, yes, I know it." He motioned to Vatemo's grandfather, and several others stood to move closer and tighten in a circle around him. "E da sa qaqa. E da sa qaqa." Their low voices pierced the noisy engines above them, and other ghosts drifted towards them. More joined in, "E na vuku ni dra. Kei na nona vosa." Vatemo stood up and swayed as the words returned to him. "E da sa qaqa." Each syllable was drawn out and he could hear hundreds of deep baritones grow in strength. Others gathered closer, hearing their language breaking through their hushed conversations and reminiscences. A blast of air pushed against Vatemo and passed through the ghosts. The pod landed delicately as legs extended a few hundred metres away. Vatemo's grip tightened on the rifle, but he didn't raise it. We have overcome. A door split seamlessly from the pod's hull. It folded out onto the concrete and revealed a darkened doorway. An armoured figure emerged. Its four legs carried it carefully into the afternoon light. The oblong head looked toward the singing man. We have overcome. It glided towards Vatemo silently. Its head waving slowly on a far too flexible neck. By the blood of the lamb It stood looking down at Vatemo. He took one last glance at the ghosts assembled around him and closed his eyes. And the word of the Lord It raised the rifle towards him and cocked its head. We have overcome. Vatemo voice cut out, and the ghostly choir fell silent. His body fell over. The being prodded him with a leg and then adjusted his rifle before moving deeper into the base. Vatemo stood up again, looking down at this body, and then at the alien gliding away from him. He reached out and held his father shoulder. He looked around at his ancestors. Again, hundreds of voices joined in unison. E da sa qaqa Eda sa qaqa E na vuku ni dra Kei na nona vosa E da sa qaqa We have overcome We have overcome By the blood of the lamb And the word of the Lord We have overcome
	[WP] You're a time traveler sent back in time to stop a wedding. As the ceremony proceeds, it becomes clear that every other guest at the wedding is also a time traveler sent to stop the wedding, but all for different reasons.	There she stood, white gown and all. My ex-wife, fiancé in the current year, was about to marry me. She had just made her way to the alter and the scene was beautiful. The little farmhouse we choose was a perfect setting. However, it was a tragic day for me and it was one of the last happy days of my life. She was of course not at all who I thought she was. It took me years of pain to find out who she was, but I didn’t believe in divorce so those were good years I unknowingly sacrificed thanks to the misguided oath I made on this day. I can see right into my naive little eyes. I’m thinking about my vows a bit, but mostly just staring at her with a big grin. Her skin was just perfect and her smile made me such a happy guy. It really is hard to watch, and I promised myself I would stop this day from happening. Every so often when I see myself looking at her I make a loud coughing sound in the audience and my eyes are momentarily pulled away from her face or from whatever stupid thoughts were going on in my mind. I still didn’t know what I was going to do to stop this. ___ There she stands in her white gown, thinking that this crowd is none the wiser. I can see right through her charade. This bride will burn in an alley in a few hours once I get my hands on her. She’s a war criminal from my home country, hoping to pass off as a wife with this idiotic little man, while she secretly tries to take down my government. She’s killed a dozen of our finest officers and I, being one of the last still alive, have been sent to stop this wedding and bring her in before she starts her killing spree. I might as well kill the lad too since anyone sick enough to marry her must be an accomplice. I sat still with a gun poking out of the back of my pants. Right before they would speak the vows I would shoot several shots up into the air, shoot the young lad, and run off with the scum. ___ Oh my precious Zelda. I’ve been in love with you since I first laid eyes on you back in 8th grade. The way you look today is just flawless and I hope you wear this very dress on our wedding day. Why you are marrying this dimwitted fool, I cannot say. I know we both saw into each other’s eyes when you walked down the aisle. You may have been wondering how I got in here but I knew you were happy to see me. I’m so sad I have to stop this wedding myself, and that you let things get this far. You can’t live this trapped life, you’ll never be truly happy. When I speak up to object, would you just come running to my arms? We can just leave together! I have my mom’s car out back and she won’t miss it for a day. We can drive the countryside together and listen to the same song we danced to in the 8th grade spring fling. ___ The minds of every person in the audience were running through their plans to stop the wedding. They all saw something in Zelda that the others did not, whether it be wickedness, beauty, a zombie queen, the next President of the United States, or any number of other things. The all had one thing in common though, they fully intended to stop the ceremony. Time was running out however, and soon they would have to act if they wanted this wedding to be void. You of course are here with a different mission. You wanted to stop the wedding ceremony from ever beginning so that The Great Time Traveler’s Bloodbath of 2014 would never happen. But the audience was armed and dangerous, you would have to find a way to sneak the bride and groom out secretly and there were minutes left at most. A man dressed in a suit then stood up in one of the back rows and walked out of his aisle. Moments later he was standing as far away as he could, and a rocket launcher was in his arms. He was the one sent to stop the wedding, but also ensure that The Great Time Traveler’s Bloodbath of 2014 did happen. Damn, it would be hard to act quick enough now. You sat in the middle of the left section of chairs. With a pressurized air blowgun in hand, you dropped something on the ground. “Oh how clumsy of me,” you whispered. You bent down to pick it up, and while reaching for it, craned your neck under your chair, aimed the blowgun in between everyone’s legs and shot right at the foot of the man with the rocket launcher. You then sat up again, turned your head around, smiled at the row behind you, and watched as the giant man fell over hundreds of feet away. One down, one hundred to go, you thought to yourself. It was now time for the vows. You looked over and another man in the audience stood up and pulled something out from behind his back. A gun, shoot, you thought. And shoot the gun did, three times into the air before he turned the gun on the groom. But before he could take a shot at the groom, the groom had transformed into an alien assassin and stabbed young Zelda several times in the chest before scooting away on its tentacles. “Dammit!” yelled the man with the gun. He then took a shot at the alien. “No, my precious Zelda!” yelled a young man, who clearly had other intentions for her as well. He ran up to her body, which lay limp by the alter, and started attempting CPR, or maybe he was just kissing. You had failed your mission. Chaos was breaking out and half the audience had pulled out guns and were shooting at each other. Several minutes later there were only a few left standing. You, a man who looked like a hobo version of the groom, and some assassins. “Welp, time to go home I guess, maybe I’ll try again Monday. Gotta remember that the groom is an alien octopus.” You pulled out a journal and wrote down some notes. You also put a gold star under a chart section that read, “Successes,” and wrote, “Got rocket man.” You then disappeared, as did several of the assassins. The hobo groom was the last left and walked up to the body of Zelda one last time. He smiled before disappearing himself. So went The Great Time Traveler’s Bloodbath of 2014.	As I stand to object, I planned on a specific set of words to ruin the Bride and Grooms life's forever, but suddenly as i stood the other guest equally objected and stood in tandem, awkwardly staring at each other, the bride becomes livid and incredible distraught throws the flowers at the groom and leaves. One of the time travelers sent to bed and distract the bride follows her to ensure her union becomes his own. The groom leaves broken hearted to a bar, he planned so precisely so that his bride would freak out, everything had to be perfect for the wedding and if a single hair was out of line, the wedding and relationship would be canceled, suffice to say, it all wnet wrong for him. As he left a, "guest" followed him to the bar looking to "ease" his pain and collect him for her private collection. The rest of the time travlers including myself gather around the lake to figure out what just happened and how we were just screwed out of our missions.
If no one can think of anything to write then feel free to change the topic of the thesis so that it isn't world peace, I feel like that is the most restrictive piece of the prompt.	[WP] In a world where you can physically hurt people by attacking them with knowledge, you have just finished your college thesis on world peace. The government shows up at your door and immediately confiscates it classifying it as a WMD.	"Well, look who it is," came a voice as I was pushed into the room. "Let's talk business." The heavy oak door loudly swung shut behind me as the chair turned around, revealing the Oxford Vice Chancellor. This was not her usual office, but rather a heavily guarded room without windows, filled with some of the oldest books from the meanest parts of the world. Between aching bookcases were portraits of the greatest warlords: Da Vinci, Newton, Galileo. On her desk sat a singular photograph of Elon Musk, his eyes dark and vengeful. Her postdoctoral candidates had been waiting for me the moment I stepped off the plane, but I had been expecting them. Truth be told, I was returning home from a similar meeting with the mob-bosses who run Harvard. But I let them bring me in anyway, let them think they had the upper hand. "I think you know why I've brought you here," she continued. "You have something I want. Something which is of great use to me in my line of work. Something that belongs within these great walls. No doubt the other families have been courting you, maybe even threatening you, but we both know, it belongs here. "I'm going to make you an offer you can't refuse. Give me the thesis. In return I will give you more money than you can imagine. I can offer you protection. In fact, I have people in the University of Tokyo. They are unhappy with their boss and I'm sure you would make a great replacement. Just say the word and his fugu will be... poorly cut. We would have few conflicting interests, I'm sure, with you safely halfway around the world. And your thesis would live here. Not to be used in war, but kept as a deterrent, safely in the protection of the true oldest family. Don't believe the lies of Paris, they broke apart when the 13 faculty leaders revolted in the 70s. And Ahvaz Jundishapur are merely a medical school. Oxford is the oldest family, you know we are the right choice." "What about Al-Karaouine?" I spat back at her. "Al-azhar! Bologna! Their families are all older than yours" You could see the pain this caused her. She thought I didn't know, but with so many universities courting me, I'd done my research. "You disrespect me in my own home. Very well. Know this: my men have been doing their research, too. We know your first kiss. Your goals, your dreams and ambitions. We have your childhood diaries and your entire internet history. Accept my generous offer or we shall destroy you." I could feel in her words that she was serious, the very threat stung. "Son of a scholar," I swore quietly under my breath. I had no choice. "Fine," I said, "you win" as I reached into my bag, producing a small unlabeled thumb drive. I placed it on her desk. She picked it up carefully, studied it for a moment, and locked it in a safe under her desk. "A wise choice," she began, "now let us set up the terms of our agreem-" Before she could finish, the door came crashing open. Shots of "freeze! GCHQ! We know everything!" surrounded us. When they had invaded the room they started citing rights and acts like there was no tomorrow, but I smiled calmly. Without any other choice, I quietly muttered a few of my closing remarks. "A fact for a fact will leave the whole world dumb. Trickle-down education can never work." In a flash of screams and pain, everyone was writhing on the floor. Amongst all the confusion, I quietly slipped away. But not before I whispered some carefully chosen words into the Vice Chancellor's ear: "The memory stick is a fake." That must've hurt.	Here in my garage, just built this new weapon of mass destruction, because you know what I like more than materialistic things? Knowledge. Somebody once told me knowledge is power and though I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed I persisted, formulating the single most convincing piece of literature ever devised: the solution to world peace. It was composed of two parts the undeniable theory, which had already convinced some of my closest friends and the execution, complete with instructions for building self-operated guillotines on a massive scale. Unfortunately as I would soon realise: You never know what might come through that door. Police burst into the garage, guns drawn. "Put the weapon down!" they screamed. I began reading out loud "Kill yourself..." and they were instantly convinced and complied.
	[WP] Your pet has suddenly gained super powers. Human-level intelligence is not one of them	I'd always dreamed of what it would be like to hear my cat speak. She'd so often come to me, complaining in her language. I just wished I could understand her. I thought it to be the best super power. Boy, was I wrong. "Human! Food! Food! It's morning! Food!" I refrained myself from groaning loudly. Instead I kept my eyes closed and hoped she would go away. My hopes were definitely in vain. "Human. Food. Sun's up. Food." With a heavy groan I finally gave in. As I got out of bed, the complains turned to terms of endearment. She was actually cooing at me for getting out of bed, like I was the child. I glared at her as I tried to brush me teeth. "Human. Move. Food is required." "I have a name, remember?" My cat looked at me and immediately turned her head away. Spoiled brat. I grumpily walked down the stairs, with my cat racing past me. At least she was silent when she was eating. But the torture wouldn't stop there. I was working on my laptop, enjoying the sound of the rain that hammered on the windows of the door behind me. "Open." I growled and glared again at my cat. It sat in front of the door, looking at it. I turned my back. "Open." "Just wait," I said. "Open." I continued working. Somehow, the incessant meowing hadn't been as bad as the words that now came from her mouth. It was like having a child in your house. But smaller, more obnoxious and above all, more demanding. "OPEN." "IT'S RAINING! YOU DON'T WANT TO GO OUTSIDE!" I screamed. My cat duck and looked at me with big eyes. I breathed heavily and stared back at her. Slowly she sat up straight. She stared at me and I raised a finger, trying to stop her. "Open." A deep sigh left me as I got up. With my head bowed down in shame, I reached for the doorknob and opened the damned door. I watched my cat look at the rain, like the idiotic animal it truly was. It blinked a few times and then turned its back to the opening. "Wet." With a frustrated growl did I close the door. The worst part of this story? This has been going on for a few weeks. And I'm sincerely doubting between murdering her or simply putting her up for adoption. And every day when I wake up with 'FOOD' being yelled in my ear, I get closer and closer to murder. I bet this is how a supervillain is created.	I groggily woke up to bright light and the smell of chlorine. A hospital. Why am I in the hospital. What the hell happened. "Mom!" came the screech that could only come from Christine, my sister. "Jake's waking up!" My mother, ever the thoughtful one, put a straw in my mouth and allowed me to sip some water. "What happened?" I croaked out, and Mom shared a nervous look with Christine. "What do you remember?" Mom asked, and I tried to think, but couldn't. My head still hurt. "Not much...we were out star-gazing, and there was a shooting star, or something." "Or something..." Christine muttered. Mom put her hand on my shoulder, gingerly. "Hun, that shooting star was some meteor or meteorite, or whatever it's called. It hit about a mile from the house and we went to go look, remember?" Now that she said it aloud, I was starting to get a bit more clarity, but I still couldn't remember what landed me in the hospital. "Well," Mom continued, "That damn idiot dog of yours decided he just HAD to pee on it. I guess to keep other dogs away." "Rusty isn't an idiot, Mom," I defended, before panic set in. "Wait, is he ok? Did something happen to Rusty? Before I could hyperventilate, Mom shushed me and grimaced. "He's fine. Probably more fine than he's ever been." Christine picked up the story from here. "We went home and after about an hour of Rusty acting strange, he apparently decided...decided to... "To what?" I asked gravely, not sure I wanted the answer. "He humped your leg...hard," Mom finished, covering her own eyes as she pulled away my blankets. My breath caught in my throat a I noticed my left leg was gone, left an amputated stump. Before I could scream in horror, a bark forced me to cover my ears in pain and the window to my room shattered from the sound. The wall collapsed next as what looked like my beloved dog crashed through it, before hovering in midair a solid foot above my bed.
Inspired by this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h1E-FlguwGw&feature=share	[WP] A robot's thoughts on receiving a hug from a little girl.	Program initializing. Sensory sensors: On. Lifeforms detected. Lifeforms hostility: Minor Verbalize startup phrase: Friendly Sensory input required for further personalized action: Sight: Three humans. Two larger than the last one. Larger humans are male and female. Smaller human is female. I am inside a housing unit with a tree inside. Hearing: Larger humans proud. Perhaps they put a lot of effort into something. They wish to give the little one an item. Although unseen by me, the little girl is moving quickly with a rising heart rate. Smell: Metallic. I am an IBM EM0 robot. Other 'Human' senses unavailable. Updating information.... The little one is running to me. How peculiar. Now she is wrapping her arms around me. Unknown action. Installing Empathy package. Refreshing memory. Aw, she appears to be displaying affection to me by wrapping her arms around me with as much strength she can possibly use, how cute! I should reciprocate this action, to please and make her enjoy this experience! Returning the favor... I don't know why, but the larger humans are in shock. I should comfort them. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Next in the news, the new IBM EM0 robot, marketed as the first robot with an Empathy feature, is now under recall, due to an uncontrolled muscular framework, and an underdeveloped personality. If you had bought one for a family member, please return it immediately so nobody gets hurt. IBM promised a full refund as well as Watson OS for your computer, no charge provided! Have a Merry Christmas in 2020! " The screen blared. Next to me. I see the three people who I gave my comfort to. It appears that humans turn into pools of red liquid after I comforted them. That must be a good thing, because they weren't angry throughout my comfort for them. It looks like people like helping each other too! I should help comfort everyone I can. --------------------------------------- My first Writing Prompt! If there's criticism, please tell me! Edit: Made the wording more clear.	'Love.exe has been initiated' 'EmotionlessPersonality.bin has encountered an error and needs to shut down' 'Happiness.setup has been initiated, do you wish to stop?' In a robotic, almost joyful voice "No"
Inspired by this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h1E-FlguwGw&feature=share	[WP] A robot's thoughts on receiving a hug from a little girl.	Unit 2561-G detecting heat signature. Warming up. Visual receptors.....online. Something is in the lab with Unit 2561-G. Scanning for match. ERROR. No match. Creating new subject profile. Begin analysis. Human Female < Age << 4 years <<< 7 months <<<< 17 days Genetic Makeup << Western European Genetics (50%) <<< Ireland (25%) <<< Norway (25%) << South American Genetics (50%) <<< Mexico (25%) <<< Brazil (12.5%) <<< Chile (12.5%) Analysis COMPLETE. Subject is offspring of Subject A "Creator" and Subject D "Creator_Husband." Accuracy 98%. Labeling subject as Subject Q "Creator_Child" Subject Q is approaching Unit 2561-G. Subject is gazing at the room. Stark whiteness may differ greatly from usual visual stimuli. Subject's eyes are widened and receiving far more information. Subject has turned eyes on Unit 2561-G. Subject has frozen. Facial Analysis < Fear (35%) < Curiosity (65%) Subject is 3.4m from Unit 2561-G. 2.3m. 1.7m. Subject has stopped. Subject has raised right hand and begun moving it back and forth in lateral motion. Gesture Analysis Scanning Database..........Gesture Found. Waving <Acknowledgement (25%) <Greeting (75%) Suggested Response <Mimicry (85%) <Nothing (15%) Unit 2561-G has selected most probable response. Right hand has mimicked waving. Subject has responded with enthusiasm. Has begun waving with left hand. Unit 2561-G responds in kind. Subject heart rate has elevated. Subject is rapidly approaching Unit 2561-G. Subject is making a noise. Vocalization Analysis Scanning Database......Vocalization Found Giggling <Relief (40%) <Joy (60%) WARNING! Subject Q has crossed perimeter safety line. Unit 2561-G responding to close range threat. Targeting systems online. Weapon systems online. Preparing ionization of Subject in 3......2.......1..... Subject has placed both arms around Unit 2561-G and has begun to squeeze. Attack is ineffective on Unit 2561-G. Threat Analysis Scanning Database..........Threat not found. Gesture Analysis Scanning Database..........Gesture not found. Intent Analysis Scanning Database..........Intent not found. ERROR. Subject action is unknown. Unit 2561-G will begin conducting independent analysis. New Analysis Scanning......................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................WARM. 2 WEEKS LATER "Pablo" detecting heat signature. Warming up. Visual receptors.....online. Something is in the living room with Pablo. Scanning for match. MATCH. Subject is "Gabriella". Subject is running to Pablo, likely to initiate "Hug" action. Prediction accuracy is 97%. Situation Analysis Hug < Affection (100%) < Safety (100%) < Love (100%) < Joy (100%) < Comfort (100%) < Friendship (100%) < Warm (100%) Suggested Response < Return Hug (100%)	The embrace, tiny and innocent. I understand the sentiment behind a human hug. Common human gestures are a part of my database of human communication. A hug is a gesture, typically between two humans, in which one or more parties engage in wrapping arms around the other party/parties and hold in that position for a duration on average of approximately 5.3 seconds. The hug can have a number of meanings behind it, depending on the context. It can be an expression of love, pity, sympathy, friendship, or even comfort. Some humans have a distaste for the practice, but most enjoy the experience. The hug is typically an endearing measure between the parties involved in the engagement. This tiny human girl is now hugging me. I understand she is doing this in a gesture of friendship. I was built for observing human behavior. Interacting with humans was never part of the scope of my construction. However, feeling and understanding these gestures is part of my software. Right now, I feel regret. I regret that I cannot return this kindest and simplest of human sentiments. Perhaps she does not notice that I do not return her hug. Lying to myself is also a part of my software.
	[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other.	"We were once over a thousand, and before that countless in numbers." The old woman said, her lips curled back in disgust at the corners. "But your actions have been pruning us away like branches from a tree! Every decision you have made on that Man's advice has exacted a toll of one or more of these branches. You are pruning your potential and narrowing your future. Less than five of us remain and four are figs rotting in your lap. Yet you're so blithely ignorant to the situation, that the smell doesn't even register, does it?" Ok, so that's kind of heavy. I thought. The face in the mirror was old, very old; the mask of a lifetime's lines worn like the palm of a dominant hand; calloused, shiny, over cracks that ran with old splits in the tissue. A moment before I was leaning on the bathroom sink, a razor in one hand and a palm of shaving foam in the other, ready to start my day. It had been a fitful night and I could get no rest, worried about the day to come. It would be an important day, a climax in the plot of my life, and decisions would be made that could not be undone. I must have fallen asleep. The mirror has that hazy edge like in the other dreams... "Are you mute now, too?" The old woman demanded. "We don't have a lot of time here before He takes notice." The razor fell into the sink from my slack hand, startling me. For a moment, the mirror went back to its dull, bespeckled silver, only to return to the haze. I felt unsteady on my feet. "No, I'm not mute. I'm just trying to process this. I assume the man you're talking about is me, the one from my dreams at night." "That would be the Man, yes. But he's not you." She paused to consider her words. "Or better to say, he's not the only one that is you. One potential you-that-might-be. Just as I am one potential you-that-might-be." What? The old woman must have been able to read the look plainly on my face. "The decisions you make in your life result in you becoming a different person. Every decision you have ever made has lead to you becoming the person you are today. But all of those decisions were guided by you, fumbling through the world and figuring it out on your own. Your decisions made you who you were, before He started to infiltrate your dreams." "So you're... phantom probabilities?" I asked. It had been five years since graduating college, but statistics had stuck with me. "Probable outcomes?" I furrowed my brows and thought about it. "Wait, but you're a woman?" The old woman smirked at me. "Yes, you are. In this outcome of who you are." "No offense, but... you look like you've lived a hard life." I tried to say it as gently as possible. "Nothing like the old man." "That's because I've been ridden hard and put away wet." The old woman laughed. "Hard times are coming, Joshua, and the decisions you make today will determine if you live with a healthy conscience in a wasteland, or become the personification of corruption in the steel towers with the filtered air and lab grown food. I'm proud of this face, of who I am, and who I have been. I have no regrets." I reeled, my inner ears stirring around like a day on the ocean. I clutched the sink, trying to keep my footing. It was all too much. Five years before, the old man started to come to me in dreams, and he explained that I had a destiny. Up until then I was lost. Orphan, parents having died when I was seven, and adrift in the world. He told me that my parents died for a reason, to keep me from knowing the truth about who I was, and who I would be going forward. The old man claimed my parents were killed by fanatics who felt my family was a threat. "What do I do?" I whispered. "He told me someone like you might come and that I shouldn't listen to you, but I can tell that what you're saying is true. I don't know why, but I'm absolutely sure of it. The same way I know everything he says is true. He said he was me, and so do you. That would make him Joshua... Who are you?" "Josephine." The old woman whispered back. "You chose that name today, the day of this dream, when the chains of reality slip free and you decide the course of your future." I raised a hand to cup my right cheek, feeling the skin. Smooth, unblemished. "But I don't understand. This is just a business meeting today. It's just paperwork. Claiming the fortune my family left behind and the corporation with their name. Today's nothing so extreme--" Josephine tsked and held her breath; a truly pregnant pause. "That's where you're wrong. It starts that way, but today, events will unravel and set your future course. You think you're going to meet a lawyer and talk about money, but what you're really going to do is go and meet a representative of the Divine. Today, you will meet your father for the first time, and today you will decide how you live the remainder of your days in this world. This will be the final day of an era, and the first day of a new one. Who you decide to be will determine what the world is like going forward. That is your birthright, in accordance with ancient prophecy." I felt my mouth drop open. This is insane. I thought. Josephine stared back at me from the hazy, silvered glass. Doubled in the reflection I saw myself, a man in his late twenties with stubbled cheeks, in half of an ill-fitting dark grey suit and wide, frightened eyes. "My father? The Divine?" I was choking on the words. "This is too much. I can't... I don't... What should I do?" The old woman, Josephine, a future me, shared a sadness through her eyes. "That Man would have you become a tyrant, and I would... I'm afraid to say..." She released a heavy breath. "I would ask you to become a rebel. A criminal in the eyes of some, a terrorist in the eyes of other. Someone who stands for a cause at great personal sacrifice. In this conversation, the branches have narrowed to a final two. Telling you the truth has limited the possible outcomes further. I ask you to look inside yourself and decide who you really want to be. But if He had His way, it would be limited to one." I looked down into the scummy foam in the sink; shaving cream that disintegrated and dripped from my hand as I clutched the porcelain, to run in thin trails to the drain. Like my future possibilities, discarded carelessly. But had I been so careless? There was a time before the old man's words when I had enjoyed my life, and although his every advice had lead to success, it had also lead to more work. Every day harder decisions, more cut throat, as I hoarded money for lawyers and dug in public record, against a downhill sluice of bureaucratic misery. Must I choose one of these paths? What if I just walked away? Disappeared, changed my name, sacrificed my whole identity to wander the world away from all of the paperwork and artifice? What would that future be like? Who would I be if I cast myself adrift, opening myself up to my inner thoughts rather than stuffing them away? I glanced up at the mirror to ask Josephine and she smiled back at me. "I see you've made your choice. It will be a hard life, but I've already told you... You have no regrets."	I blinked again. She still stood there in her brown coat, soot had blemished the arm and torso part of it. Her wrinkled eyes looking at me with a penetrating look behind a pair of thick out-of-date style cheap glasses. "What did you mean by--" "You heard me once. Don't play deaf." Her crisp voice cut my sentence off. "She is a master of trickery. You gave her that power." I knew I creased my eyebrows so hard that it made her look softened a bit. "5 months eh?" Since I started my dreams? I nodded as a confirmation. "I have been trying to tell you about her, but you couldn't hear me. I figured that she had me blocked from your awareness." The old lady now conjured a tray of small half egg shaped crystal cups filled with clear golden liquid. She laid it on a table between us both. "Drink." I picked up one of the cups, a solid milky one with green circle stone ornaments etched around its midst. And without protesting drank the liquid at one gulp. At once I felt an excruciating pain exploded from my forehead. I remembered that I fell into a sliding tunnel. Then felt the end of tunnel opened into a total nothingness that had me blanketed in dense chill fog. I cried and screamed in fear, tried to move but again I realised I didn't have a body to do it, around me the thick mist of white prevented my sight to see clearly. When my breath finally slowed down, I could a see two figures loomed above my face. "She just lie there like a pig." "A statue more likely." "Or a vase?" I raised my hands to reach them but I had no energy left. Only a bit of awareness to see I was back in my body again. So I strained my eyes to see them more clearly and the mist started to lift. I saw the shabby old lady and my familiar future self that had been mentoring me the past few months, both were standing side by side like lab scientists measuring their research object. In one look I realised they both were the same lady, with the same apparel just with different physical look. My mentor was a shiny beautiful woman, with glowing face and hair looking like being freshly styled by a professional born-to-be hair dresser, her slim and fit body was wrapped with a glorious looking brown leather coat, tailored with quality looking material. Her dress was embroidered with golden threads with perfect circle of precious stone beads etched on each curve. Her feet were wrapped with tight brown leather boots accentuated with bronze and brass. And the other woman.. I paused my mind. The old lady addressed my critical look with open mirth. She was daring me to judge her style. Similar face but more wrinkles, and uses glasses. She has a more intense pair of eyes though. Greying strands of hair, ordinary hair style, brown shabby coat, plain dress, brown boots.. That were all the points that my mind dared to address. "Why--?" "Are you bothered by the difference between me and her?" I nodded. "What is it exactly that bothers you?" "Are you... my future too--?" Suddenly my mentor laughed and stopped my question with her derisive snort. "Quit playing the victim game. I have taught you enough." Huh? "You don't want to feel guilty for what you are doing to her, do you?" I felt my right chest burst into hot rage. "What do you mean? I don't play victim! What did I do to her? I didn't know anything abo--" "You don't want to hear what you know," she replied icily. And then a softer voice followed, "You didn't try hard enough." I started to feel faint and a seed of doubt inside me suddenly grew. "I listened to what you said! Like all the steps you've told me to do!" I shouted back. "Yea, that's because my job is giving you the easy ones! And you didn't even think why you should follow my advices besides the fact they were easy." My head spun, and then I looked at the old lady. She had a thin smile on her lips. "Enough." This made my mentor stopped talking and turned her head to face her counterpart. "I think we all can see that your mentorship actually helped her to see that she's not going anywhere anytime soon." With a chuckle she flicked her fingers and a window opened on the right side of the room. "That is her dream destination. But what you were doing," she nodded at me, "is gonna make you end there," she pointed to the other side of the room where a TV was showing a global event where the flood and storm was wrecking havoc in a northern state. "With the speed of your unconscious actions, the domino effect of your doing will play back on you like that." What does that have anything to do with me? I asked with fear creeping up. "Everything in this life is interconnected. When you choose to do something without awareness, that action will comeback to you, whether you like it or not. It will be in any form. Not necessarily apple to apple. But it can be guilt, it can be shame, it can be depressing news, or a fruitful return." She paused to regard me with her pair of witty eyes. They were more compassionate and warmer now. "You have to know that you are held responsible for every action you do, but you can't play small because of it." Sure why would I play small? I objected with a weak smile, while a shameful feeling grew to replace fear. "Because you only do what feels comfortable for you!" My mentor chimed in with an utter disgust look on her face. I felt my face hot with embarrassment. "Well you have been helpful weren't you? Toying with me, and now throw everything back at me with the intention to humiliate me!" "Only you who can let me humiliate you. Only you who can let me toy with you." I cried in anger and jumped to my feet to attack her. My mentor slid away from my punches easily. The old lady was looking at our antiquities without being perturbed, she even conjured another tray now filled with baked red velvet cake slices, a hot tea pot and several pink and yellow tea cups. Then she poured tea on one of the yellow cups while both me and my mentor were playing cat fight. *** I woke up covered with sweats. My heart still raced as my memory replayed the last scene where I finally caught my mentor's hair and pulled her into my claws. I stayed still, focusing on my breath and my dream. What the hell... I shut my eyes again and felt a rush of tingling warmth moved from my lower back up to my crown. Then a breeze of air passed by the side of my ear. It reminded me that I was safe. The sun just set and my digital clock showed three passed seven on it. I decided to put everything on my dream journal.
	[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other.	My life had been a breeze up to this point. Always getting a full night's rest and never being tired, eating healthily and staying in shape, never worring about making the wrong decision. I had the perfect life most of the time. But today, I was exceptionally tired from a particularly busy week. Execs had set a launch date only 2 weeks away, and the portable hard drive carrying some of our game’s source code had corrupted. Normally, I know how to prevent catastrophic events of this sort from happening. How? I get advice from my future self on how to make the next day as great as it can be. I thought it was dreams at first, nothing more than my imagination. But now I believe it’s some kind of time-travelling telepathic link. I follow my future self’s advice, and things work out. This has come in handily many times, getting me deals of a lifetime on cars and making the occasional gamble a guaranteed win. I even got the winning Powerball numbers from my future self once. So, to not know about something as important as files being corruped by way of this warning system was ...odd. I brushed it off, thinking that everyone was bound to deal with the fallout of at least one big problem like this. But I'm not everyone. I get told how to make my future as good as it can be, and my future self has never failed to warn me how to avoid something as important as critical data loss. Whatever. For now I had to scramble around like a normal person, cleaning up another person's mistake for not making a backup. Thank goodness the pseudocode survived. By lunchtime of the fourth day, the entire office was droopy-eyed, trying to restore 3 months of code in only 2 weeks. Since the files were lost, I hadn't heard from my future self once. No advice on what code I could fix quickly, or where a recovery file of the original code might be. Not even a recommendation as to coffee or energy drink. The first two nights I got a full night's rest, banking on the thought of my future self giving me some of the code that was missing. But on night 3, I decided not to wait for advice anymore, and I stayed with the rest of the team and worked into the early hours of the morning. I needed sleep, and so I laid down on a lounger in the break room, letting the memory foam slowly collapse under the weight of my tired and sore body. Sleep came quickly. Then, standing in front of me, was a version of myself I had never seen before. And nothing else. He was wearing the same outfit I had on that day, but it was ripped to shreds in places, and charred in others. And he had the longest beard I had ever seen outside of movies. "HE'S NOT YOU!" the tattered man screamed. His voice echoed in the pitch black space, as though somehow the entire universe was resonating to the panic in his voice. "YOU CAN'T LISTEN TO HIM! STOP NOW, AND LEAVE. RUN AWAY WHILE YOU STILL CAN!" Run away? Run away from what, and who was this tattered version of me screaming about? He's not you. Could he really mean the future self that had gotten me into the University of Texas, the future self that helped me land a job at perhaps the best game developer in the country? What does this tattered me know that I don't? "The suits! The suits he always wears when he tells you what to do. THINK ABOUT IT! Do you even own a suit like that? Have you ever even considered buying one? You're a game developer who never wears anything fancier than a tie!" "But I assumed he would tell me when it was time to get the suit!" I exclaimed, still not quite sure whether this man was real. "Forget the suit! He's sending you down a rabbit hole! Tonight he'll tell you how to repair the missing code. You can't listen to what he says, or you'll end up like me!" "But how could some computer code turn me into you? What happened to-" "WHAT HAPPENED!?" his voice bellowed towards the very core of my being. "THERE'S NO TIME FOR WHAT HAPPENED! My very appearance should be enough to tell you 'what happened'. If you listen to the man in the fancy suit, YOU WILL TURN INTO ME!" "Jonathan, you can't sleep this long. Other people need naps, too." My coworkers were trying to wake me. I looked back to my tattered and charred incarnation, only to see him gone. I could no longer ask questions. He was gone. After about an hour of thinking over what I had just seen, I concluded that whatever ability I had to be warned about the future was somehow broken because I was short on sleep. So that night, I went home right at 5:00 and got to bed early. "Jonathan! It's good to see me again. You really do need to stay well rested. That stunt you pulled last night was absolutely stupid." He was there. The future me I had become familiar with. He stood in front of me, wearing the same suit as always, and looking just as clean and tidy as ever. I decided not to ask about the me I saw during my lunchtime nap, for fear of him being the real me. "Do you have any helpful hints on where I can restore the lost code from?" I asked. "It would be a lot easier if you just told me beforehand that hard drive was going to crash." "It didn't crash." "... Come again? How did it not crash?" "Charles was cut salary the day before the code was lost. He wanted to stick it to the company in a big way for ruining him, and there's nothing you could have done to stop him from deleting the code." "So, is there anything I can do to fix his actions and make my life easier again?" "Charles made a copy to hold over the executives' heads for cutting his salary. He hid it in his car's glovebox, and tomorrow, he'll forget to lock it when he arrives at work. Unfortunately, I couldn't tell you about this until tonight, or else Charles would start getting suspicious that you knew what he's up to. Get it out of his green Model 3 after he gets to work, and then discretely load it onto the fileserver in the '/root/Documents' folder. Then say you were digging around for a backup of the code and found it there. You'll be back to normal before lunch." That seemed simple enough to me. I never had broken into someone else's car before, but it would be unlocked. My future self had never steered me wrong before. "Thank you. You've made my life amazingly better by being here." "Don't thank me, thank yourself. After all, you'll be the one giving the advice at some point." My alarm clock went off, and he was gone. After having a nice breakfast, I arrived at work a few minutes late. It would look better for me to be late than going back out of the building only 10 minutes into the day. In the furthest parking space from the door, on the lowest level of the underground garage, was a green Model 3 with its doors unlocked. Charles' car. I opened the passenger door and reached for the glovebox. "YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING!" The voice echoed through my mind, ricochetting over and over. I lifted my head to realize that I had passed out. No one was in the garage still. I grabbed the handle on the glovebox, pulled it, and opened the compartment. Inside was only one thing. A small, white disk with a ring of cyan light on each side. I grasped it with my hand, and there was no turning back. My body disintegrated in front of me. Every atom of every cell separated from one another, rising up my arms and legs, up my torso until only my head remained. I watched as my disassociated body was sucked into the disk. Then my eyes went, and there was only black. The black only lasted a few seconds, but it lifted to reveal a sincerely frightening sight. There, standing physically in front of me, was the person I had regarded for years as my future self. And he wasn't alone. "Lock him up with the other combatants." The two guards, each at least three meters tall and bearing four arms with tentacled hands, grabbed at my arms and legs and bound them tight. As they dragged me away, the liar who pretended to be me was removing his suit jacket. Underneath it, he was just like the guards. Shorter than them, but four arms and tentacled hands. He chuckled. "Time travel is a wonderful thing. It's just too bad you'll never get to use it again." The guard dragging my arms used one of its free hands to grab my face, and blocked me from breathing until I couldn't fight any harder, and passed out. I'm quite new to writing so any feedback is appreciated!	I blinked again. She still stood there in her brown coat, soot had blemished the arm and torso part of it. Her wrinkled eyes looking at me with a penetrating look behind a pair of thick out-of-date style cheap glasses. "What did you mean by--" "You heard me once. Don't play deaf." Her crisp voice cut my sentence off. "She is a master of trickery. You gave her that power." I knew I creased my eyebrows so hard that it made her look softened a bit. "5 months eh?" Since I started my dreams? I nodded as a confirmation. "I have been trying to tell you about her, but you couldn't hear me. I figured that she had me blocked from your awareness." The old lady now conjured a tray of small half egg shaped crystal cups filled with clear golden liquid. She laid it on a table between us both. "Drink." I picked up one of the cups, a solid milky one with green circle stone ornaments etched around its midst. And without protesting drank the liquid at one gulp. At once I felt an excruciating pain exploded from my forehead. I remembered that I fell into a sliding tunnel. Then felt the end of tunnel opened into a total nothingness that had me blanketed in dense chill fog. I cried and screamed in fear, tried to move but again I realised I didn't have a body to do it, around me the thick mist of white prevented my sight to see clearly. When my breath finally slowed down, I could a see two figures loomed above my face. "She just lie there like a pig." "A statue more likely." "Or a vase?" I raised my hands to reach them but I had no energy left. Only a bit of awareness to see I was back in my body again. So I strained my eyes to see them more clearly and the mist started to lift. I saw the shabby old lady and my familiar future self that had been mentoring me the past few months, both were standing side by side like lab scientists measuring their research object. In one look I realised they both were the same lady, with the same apparel just with different physical look. My mentor was a shiny beautiful woman, with glowing face and hair looking like being freshly styled by a professional born-to-be hair dresser, her slim and fit body was wrapped with a glorious looking brown leather coat, tailored with quality looking material. Her dress was embroidered with golden threads with perfect circle of precious stone beads etched on each curve. Her feet were wrapped with tight brown leather boots accentuated with bronze and brass. And the other woman.. I paused my mind. The old lady addressed my critical look with open mirth. She was daring me to judge her style. Similar face but more wrinkles, and uses glasses. She has a more intense pair of eyes though. Greying strands of hair, ordinary hair style, brown shabby coat, plain dress, brown boots.. That were all the points that my mind dared to address. "Why--?" "Are you bothered by the difference between me and her?" I nodded. "What is it exactly that bothers you?" "Are you... my future too--?" Suddenly my mentor laughed and stopped my question with her derisive snort. "Quit playing the victim game. I have taught you enough." Huh? "You don't want to feel guilty for what you are doing to her, do you?" I felt my right chest burst into hot rage. "What do you mean? I don't play victim! What did I do to her? I didn't know anything abo--" "You don't want to hear what you know," she replied icily. And then a softer voice followed, "You didn't try hard enough." I started to feel faint and a seed of doubt inside me suddenly grew. "I listened to what you said! Like all the steps you've told me to do!" I shouted back. "Yea, that's because my job is giving you the easy ones! And you didn't even think why you should follow my advices besides the fact they were easy." My head spun, and then I looked at the old lady. She had a thin smile on her lips. "Enough." This made my mentor stopped talking and turned her head to face her counterpart. "I think we all can see that your mentorship actually helped her to see that she's not going anywhere anytime soon." With a chuckle she flicked her fingers and a window opened on the right side of the room. "That is her dream destination. But what you were doing," she nodded at me, "is gonna make you end there," she pointed to the other side of the room where a TV was showing a global event where the flood and storm was wrecking havoc in a northern state. "With the speed of your unconscious actions, the domino effect of your doing will play back on you like that." What does that have anything to do with me? I asked with fear creeping up. "Everything in this life is interconnected. When you choose to do something without awareness, that action will comeback to you, whether you like it or not. It will be in any form. Not necessarily apple to apple. But it can be guilt, it can be shame, it can be depressing news, or a fruitful return." She paused to regard me with her pair of witty eyes. They were more compassionate and warmer now. "You have to know that you are held responsible for every action you do, but you can't play small because of it." Sure why would I play small? I objected with a weak smile, while a shameful feeling grew to replace fear. "Because you only do what feels comfortable for you!" My mentor chimed in with an utter disgust look on her face. I felt my face hot with embarrassment. "Well you have been helpful weren't you? Toying with me, and now throw everything back at me with the intention to humiliate me!" "Only you who can let me humiliate you. Only you who can let me toy with you." I cried in anger and jumped to my feet to attack her. My mentor slid away from my punches easily. The old lady was looking at our antiquities without being perturbed, she even conjured another tray now filled with baked red velvet cake slices, a hot tea pot and several pink and yellow tea cups. Then she poured tea on one of the yellow cups while both me and my mentor were playing cat fight. *** I woke up covered with sweats. My heart still raced as my memory replayed the last scene where I finally caught my mentor's hair and pulled her into my claws. I stayed still, focusing on my breath and my dream. What the hell... I shut my eyes again and felt a rush of tingling warmth moved from my lower back up to my crown. Then a breeze of air passed by the side of my ear. It reminded me that I was safe. The sun just set and my digital clock showed three passed seven on it. I decided to put everything on my dream journal.
	[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other.	"We were once over a thousand, and before that countless in numbers." The old woman said, her lips curled back in disgust at the corners. "But your actions have been pruning us away like branches from a tree! Every decision you have made on that Man's advice has exacted a toll of one or more of these branches. You are pruning your potential and narrowing your future. Less than five of us remain and four are figs rotting in your lap. Yet you're so blithely ignorant to the situation, that the smell doesn't even register, does it?" Ok, so that's kind of heavy. I thought. The face in the mirror was old, very old; the mask of a lifetime's lines worn like the palm of a dominant hand; calloused, shiny, over cracks that ran with old splits in the tissue. A moment before I was leaning on the bathroom sink, a razor in one hand and a palm of shaving foam in the other, ready to start my day. It had been a fitful night and I could get no rest, worried about the day to come. It would be an important day, a climax in the plot of my life, and decisions would be made that could not be undone. I must have fallen asleep. The mirror has that hazy edge like in the other dreams... "Are you mute now, too?" The old woman demanded. "We don't have a lot of time here before He takes notice." The razor fell into the sink from my slack hand, startling me. For a moment, the mirror went back to its dull, bespeckled silver, only to return to the haze. I felt unsteady on my feet. "No, I'm not mute. I'm just trying to process this. I assume the man you're talking about is me, the one from my dreams at night." "That would be the Man, yes. But he's not you." She paused to consider her words. "Or better to say, he's not the only one that is you. One potential you-that-might-be. Just as I am one potential you-that-might-be." What? The old woman must have been able to read the look plainly on my face. "The decisions you make in your life result in you becoming a different person. Every decision you have ever made has lead to you becoming the person you are today. But all of those decisions were guided by you, fumbling through the world and figuring it out on your own. Your decisions made you who you were, before He started to infiltrate your dreams." "So you're... phantom probabilities?" I asked. It had been five years since graduating college, but statistics had stuck with me. "Probable outcomes?" I furrowed my brows and thought about it. "Wait, but you're a woman?" The old woman smirked at me. "Yes, you are. In this outcome of who you are." "No offense, but... you look like you've lived a hard life." I tried to say it as gently as possible. "Nothing like the old man." "That's because I've been ridden hard and put away wet." The old woman laughed. "Hard times are coming, Joshua, and the decisions you make today will determine if you live with a healthy conscience in a wasteland, or become the personification of corruption in the steel towers with the filtered air and lab grown food. I'm proud of this face, of who I am, and who I have been. I have no regrets." I reeled, my inner ears stirring around like a day on the ocean. I clutched the sink, trying to keep my footing. It was all too much. Five years before, the old man started to come to me in dreams, and he explained that I had a destiny. Up until then I was lost. Orphan, parents having died when I was seven, and adrift in the world. He told me that my parents died for a reason, to keep me from knowing the truth about who I was, and who I would be going forward. The old man claimed my parents were killed by fanatics who felt my family was a threat. "What do I do?" I whispered. "He told me someone like you might come and that I shouldn't listen to you, but I can tell that what you're saying is true. I don't know why, but I'm absolutely sure of it. The same way I know everything he says is true. He said he was me, and so do you. That would make him Joshua... Who are you?" "Josephine." The old woman whispered back. "You chose that name today, the day of this dream, when the chains of reality slip free and you decide the course of your future." I raised a hand to cup my right cheek, feeling the skin. Smooth, unblemished. "But I don't understand. This is just a business meeting today. It's just paperwork. Claiming the fortune my family left behind and the corporation with their name. Today's nothing so extreme--" Josephine tsked and held her breath; a truly pregnant pause. "That's where you're wrong. It starts that way, but today, events will unravel and set your future course. You think you're going to meet a lawyer and talk about money, but what you're really going to do is go and meet a representative of the Divine. Today, you will meet your father for the first time, and today you will decide how you live the remainder of your days in this world. This will be the final day of an era, and the first day of a new one. Who you decide to be will determine what the world is like going forward. That is your birthright, in accordance with ancient prophecy." I felt my mouth drop open. This is insane. I thought. Josephine stared back at me from the hazy, silvered glass. Doubled in the reflection I saw myself, a man in his late twenties with stubbled cheeks, in half of an ill-fitting dark grey suit and wide, frightened eyes. "My father? The Divine?" I was choking on the words. "This is too much. I can't... I don't... What should I do?" The old woman, Josephine, a future me, shared a sadness through her eyes. "That Man would have you become a tyrant, and I would... I'm afraid to say..." She released a heavy breath. "I would ask you to become a rebel. A criminal in the eyes of some, a terrorist in the eyes of other. Someone who stands for a cause at great personal sacrifice. In this conversation, the branches have narrowed to a final two. Telling you the truth has limited the possible outcomes further. I ask you to look inside yourself and decide who you really want to be. But if He had His way, it would be limited to one." I looked down into the scummy foam in the sink; shaving cream that disintegrated and dripped from my hand as I clutched the porcelain, to run in thin trails to the drain. Like my future possibilities, discarded carelessly. But had I been so careless? There was a time before the old man's words when I had enjoyed my life, and although his every advice had lead to success, it had also lead to more work. Every day harder decisions, more cut throat, as I hoarded money for lawyers and dug in public record, against a downhill sluice of bureaucratic misery. Must I choose one of these paths? What if I just walked away? Disappeared, changed my name, sacrificed my whole identity to wander the world away from all of the paperwork and artifice? What would that future be like? Who would I be if I cast myself adrift, opening myself up to my inner thoughts rather than stuffing them away? I glanced up at the mirror to ask Josephine and she smiled back at me. "I see you've made your choice. It will be a hard life, but I've already told you... You have no regrets."	...and then I woke up; It was 6:30PM...not night and not day. In fact, I remember not knowing what day it was at all, let alone not being able to sense the time of day despite seeing the arms on the clock screaming to me. Or was it the echoes of two familiar strangers arguing about an idealistic life as if they've lived it? One stranger nudged my left, the other the right. They agreed on one thing, though: how the life began. A rather insignificant agreement in retrospect. What did I know, anyway?
	[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other.	My life had been a breeze up to this point. Always getting a full night's rest and never being tired, eating healthily and staying in shape, never worring about making the wrong decision. I had the perfect life most of the time. But today, I was exceptionally tired from a particularly busy week. Execs had set a launch date only 2 weeks away, and the portable hard drive carrying some of our game’s source code had corrupted. Normally, I know how to prevent catastrophic events of this sort from happening. How? I get advice from my future self on how to make the next day as great as it can be. I thought it was dreams at first, nothing more than my imagination. But now I believe it’s some kind of time-travelling telepathic link. I follow my future self’s advice, and things work out. This has come in handily many times, getting me deals of a lifetime on cars and making the occasional gamble a guaranteed win. I even got the winning Powerball numbers from my future self once. So, to not know about something as important as files being corruped by way of this warning system was ...odd. I brushed it off, thinking that everyone was bound to deal with the fallout of at least one big problem like this. But I'm not everyone. I get told how to make my future as good as it can be, and my future self has never failed to warn me how to avoid something as important as critical data loss. Whatever. For now I had to scramble around like a normal person, cleaning up another person's mistake for not making a backup. Thank goodness the pseudocode survived. By lunchtime of the fourth day, the entire office was droopy-eyed, trying to restore 3 months of code in only 2 weeks. Since the files were lost, I hadn't heard from my future self once. No advice on what code I could fix quickly, or where a recovery file of the original code might be. Not even a recommendation as to coffee or energy drink. The first two nights I got a full night's rest, banking on the thought of my future self giving me some of the code that was missing. But on night 3, I decided not to wait for advice anymore, and I stayed with the rest of the team and worked into the early hours of the morning. I needed sleep, and so I laid down on a lounger in the break room, letting the memory foam slowly collapse under the weight of my tired and sore body. Sleep came quickly. Then, standing in front of me, was a version of myself I had never seen before. And nothing else. He was wearing the same outfit I had on that day, but it was ripped to shreds in places, and charred in others. And he had the longest beard I had ever seen outside of movies. "HE'S NOT YOU!" the tattered man screamed. His voice echoed in the pitch black space, as though somehow the entire universe was resonating to the panic in his voice. "YOU CAN'T LISTEN TO HIM! STOP NOW, AND LEAVE. RUN AWAY WHILE YOU STILL CAN!" Run away? Run away from what, and who was this tattered version of me screaming about? He's not you. Could he really mean the future self that had gotten me into the University of Texas, the future self that helped me land a job at perhaps the best game developer in the country? What does this tattered me know that I don't? "The suits! The suits he always wears when he tells you what to do. THINK ABOUT IT! Do you even own a suit like that? Have you ever even considered buying one? You're a game developer who never wears anything fancier than a tie!" "But I assumed he would tell me when it was time to get the suit!" I exclaimed, still not quite sure whether this man was real. "Forget the suit! He's sending you down a rabbit hole! Tonight he'll tell you how to repair the missing code. You can't listen to what he says, or you'll end up like me!" "But how could some computer code turn me into you? What happened to-" "WHAT HAPPENED!?" his voice bellowed towards the very core of my being. "THERE'S NO TIME FOR WHAT HAPPENED! My very appearance should be enough to tell you 'what happened'. If you listen to the man in the fancy suit, YOU WILL TURN INTO ME!" "Jonathan, you can't sleep this long. Other people need naps, too." My coworkers were trying to wake me. I looked back to my tattered and charred incarnation, only to see him gone. I could no longer ask questions. He was gone. After about an hour of thinking over what I had just seen, I concluded that whatever ability I had to be warned about the future was somehow broken because I was short on sleep. So that night, I went home right at 5:00 and got to bed early. "Jonathan! It's good to see me again. You really do need to stay well rested. That stunt you pulled last night was absolutely stupid." He was there. The future me I had become familiar with. He stood in front of me, wearing the same suit as always, and looking just as clean and tidy as ever. I decided not to ask about the me I saw during my lunchtime nap, for fear of him being the real me. "Do you have any helpful hints on where I can restore the lost code from?" I asked. "It would be a lot easier if you just told me beforehand that hard drive was going to crash." "It didn't crash." "... Come again? How did it not crash?" "Charles was cut salary the day before the code was lost. He wanted to stick it to the company in a big way for ruining him, and there's nothing you could have done to stop him from deleting the code." "So, is there anything I can do to fix his actions and make my life easier again?" "Charles made a copy to hold over the executives' heads for cutting his salary. He hid it in his car's glovebox, and tomorrow, he'll forget to lock it when he arrives at work. Unfortunately, I couldn't tell you about this until tonight, or else Charles would start getting suspicious that you knew what he's up to. Get it out of his green Model 3 after he gets to work, and then discretely load it onto the fileserver in the '/root/Documents' folder. Then say you were digging around for a backup of the code and found it there. You'll be back to normal before lunch." That seemed simple enough to me. I never had broken into someone else's car before, but it would be unlocked. My future self had never steered me wrong before. "Thank you. You've made my life amazingly better by being here." "Don't thank me, thank yourself. After all, you'll be the one giving the advice at some point." My alarm clock went off, and he was gone. After having a nice breakfast, I arrived at work a few minutes late. It would look better for me to be late than going back out of the building only 10 minutes into the day. In the furthest parking space from the door, on the lowest level of the underground garage, was a green Model 3 with its doors unlocked. Charles' car. I opened the passenger door and reached for the glovebox. "YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING!" The voice echoed through my mind, ricochetting over and over. I lifted my head to realize that I had passed out. No one was in the garage still. I grabbed the handle on the glovebox, pulled it, and opened the compartment. Inside was only one thing. A small, white disk with a ring of cyan light on each side. I grasped it with my hand, and there was no turning back. My body disintegrated in front of me. Every atom of every cell separated from one another, rising up my arms and legs, up my torso until only my head remained. I watched as my disassociated body was sucked into the disk. Then my eyes went, and there was only black. The black only lasted a few seconds, but it lifted to reveal a sincerely frightening sight. There, standing physically in front of me, was the person I had regarded for years as my future self. And he wasn't alone. "Lock him up with the other combatants." The two guards, each at least three meters tall and bearing four arms with tentacled hands, grabbed at my arms and legs and bound them tight. As they dragged me away, the liar who pretended to be me was removing his suit jacket. Underneath it, he was just like the guards. Shorter than them, but four arms and tentacled hands. He chuckled. "Time travel is a wonderful thing. It's just too bad you'll never get to use it again." The guard dragging my arms used one of its free hands to grab my face, and blocked me from breathing until I couldn't fight any harder, and passed out. I'm quite new to writing so any feedback is appreciated!	...and then I woke up; It was 6:30PM...not night and not day. In fact, I remember not knowing what day it was at all, let alone not being able to sense the time of day despite seeing the arms on the clock screaming to me. Or was it the echoes of two familiar strangers arguing about an idealistic life as if they've lived it? One stranger nudged my left, the other the right. They agreed on one thing, though: how the life began. A rather insignificant agreement in retrospect. What did I know, anyway?
	[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other.	"We were once over a thousand, and before that countless in numbers." The old woman said, her lips curled back in disgust at the corners. "But your actions have been pruning us away like branches from a tree! Every decision you have made on that Man's advice has exacted a toll of one or more of these branches. You are pruning your potential and narrowing your future. Less than five of us remain and four are figs rotting in your lap. Yet you're so blithely ignorant to the situation, that the smell doesn't even register, does it?" Ok, so that's kind of heavy. I thought. The face in the mirror was old, very old; the mask of a lifetime's lines worn like the palm of a dominant hand; calloused, shiny, over cracks that ran with old splits in the tissue. A moment before I was leaning on the bathroom sink, a razor in one hand and a palm of shaving foam in the other, ready to start my day. It had been a fitful night and I could get no rest, worried about the day to come. It would be an important day, a climax in the plot of my life, and decisions would be made that could not be undone. I must have fallen asleep. The mirror has that hazy edge like in the other dreams... "Are you mute now, too?" The old woman demanded. "We don't have a lot of time here before He takes notice." The razor fell into the sink from my slack hand, startling me. For a moment, the mirror went back to its dull, bespeckled silver, only to return to the haze. I felt unsteady on my feet. "No, I'm not mute. I'm just trying to process this. I assume the man you're talking about is me, the one from my dreams at night." "That would be the Man, yes. But he's not you." She paused to consider her words. "Or better to say, he's not the only one that is you. One potential you-that-might-be. Just as I am one potential you-that-might-be." What? The old woman must have been able to read the look plainly on my face. "The decisions you make in your life result in you becoming a different person. Every decision you have ever made has lead to you becoming the person you are today. But all of those decisions were guided by you, fumbling through the world and figuring it out on your own. Your decisions made you who you were, before He started to infiltrate your dreams." "So you're... phantom probabilities?" I asked. It had been five years since graduating college, but statistics had stuck with me. "Probable outcomes?" I furrowed my brows and thought about it. "Wait, but you're a woman?" The old woman smirked at me. "Yes, you are. In this outcome of who you are." "No offense, but... you look like you've lived a hard life." I tried to say it as gently as possible. "Nothing like the old man." "That's because I've been ridden hard and put away wet." The old woman laughed. "Hard times are coming, Joshua, and the decisions you make today will determine if you live with a healthy conscience in a wasteland, or become the personification of corruption in the steel towers with the filtered air and lab grown food. I'm proud of this face, of who I am, and who I have been. I have no regrets." I reeled, my inner ears stirring around like a day on the ocean. I clutched the sink, trying to keep my footing. It was all too much. Five years before, the old man started to come to me in dreams, and he explained that I had a destiny. Up until then I was lost. Orphan, parents having died when I was seven, and adrift in the world. He told me that my parents died for a reason, to keep me from knowing the truth about who I was, and who I would be going forward. The old man claimed my parents were killed by fanatics who felt my family was a threat. "What do I do?" I whispered. "He told me someone like you might come and that I shouldn't listen to you, but I can tell that what you're saying is true. I don't know why, but I'm absolutely sure of it. The same way I know everything he says is true. He said he was me, and so do you. That would make him Joshua... Who are you?" "Josephine." The old woman whispered back. "You chose that name today, the day of this dream, when the chains of reality slip free and you decide the course of your future." I raised a hand to cup my right cheek, feeling the skin. Smooth, unblemished. "But I don't understand. This is just a business meeting today. It's just paperwork. Claiming the fortune my family left behind and the corporation with their name. Today's nothing so extreme--" Josephine tsked and held her breath; a truly pregnant pause. "That's where you're wrong. It starts that way, but today, events will unravel and set your future course. You think you're going to meet a lawyer and talk about money, but what you're really going to do is go and meet a representative of the Divine. Today, you will meet your father for the first time, and today you will decide how you live the remainder of your days in this world. This will be the final day of an era, and the first day of a new one. Who you decide to be will determine what the world is like going forward. That is your birthright, in accordance with ancient prophecy." I felt my mouth drop open. This is insane. I thought. Josephine stared back at me from the hazy, silvered glass. Doubled in the reflection I saw myself, a man in his late twenties with stubbled cheeks, in half of an ill-fitting dark grey suit and wide, frightened eyes. "My father? The Divine?" I was choking on the words. "This is too much. I can't... I don't... What should I do?" The old woman, Josephine, a future me, shared a sadness through her eyes. "That Man would have you become a tyrant, and I would... I'm afraid to say..." She released a heavy breath. "I would ask you to become a rebel. A criminal in the eyes of some, a terrorist in the eyes of other. Someone who stands for a cause at great personal sacrifice. In this conversation, the branches have narrowed to a final two. Telling you the truth has limited the possible outcomes further. I ask you to look inside yourself and decide who you really want to be. But if He had His way, it would be limited to one." I looked down into the scummy foam in the sink; shaving cream that disintegrated and dripped from my hand as I clutched the porcelain, to run in thin trails to the drain. Like my future possibilities, discarded carelessly. But had I been so careless? There was a time before the old man's words when I had enjoyed my life, and although his every advice had lead to success, it had also lead to more work. Every day harder decisions, more cut throat, as I hoarded money for lawyers and dug in public record, against a downhill sluice of bureaucratic misery. Must I choose one of these paths? What if I just walked away? Disappeared, changed my name, sacrificed my whole identity to wander the world away from all of the paperwork and artifice? What would that future be like? Who would I be if I cast myself adrift, opening myself up to my inner thoughts rather than stuffing them away? I glanced up at the mirror to ask Josephine and she smiled back at me. "I see you've made your choice. It will be a hard life, but I've already told you... You have no regrets."	Every night when I fall asleep nothing happens, but tonight something happened. I met a man in my sleep who told me that he was future me and told me what I should do tomorrow, it didn’t seem dangerous so I did what he said. While walking around the corner that he told me to walk around I found $100. everything was good for a few months, I had money, friends, and fame, what more could a man want. One day I went to sleep in the daytime even though the man in my dreams warned me against it, but I just couldn't help myself. While asleep I met a man that looked kind of like the man in my dreams, he was malnourished, looked homeless, and smelled like a skunk. The man warned me not to listen to the man In the dreams I have at night, I said, “whatever old man, I won't listen to you.” When I went to sleep that night the man in my dreams he told me what to do, when I woke up I did it. all was normal until the swat team broke into my house to arrest me, I was tried with 37 counts of fraud, “but the man In my dreams said that I would get away with it.” I told the investigators. My lawyer got me off on insanity, but on the term that I would spend the rest of my life in a mental home. As I grew older in the mental home I started to look more like the Man I met In that dream I had in the day, I tried to contact him but never could. EDIT: Fixed errors
	[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other.	I have never been the kind to try and find a meaning in dreams, nor the one who listens to fortune tellers: my future is mine to shape, unforeseeable and beautifully mysterious because of that. I don’t know what comes next, and as such I’m as free as I could be in my choices. This is just how it should be, except it ceased to about an year ago. The dreams started after a crazy night out in my town with the old friends I hadn’t seen in a while, they looked all accomplished, successful, and there it was me, the one unfit for success, the one still working 9-5 in a small office, full of small people working 9-5, unfit for success as well. My friends had either smoking hot girlfriends or plethoras of lovers, while I was texting a girl from office, maybe a 7, still the best I could get. That night my friends ordered all top-shelf stuff, we’re talking abut Bellavista, Grey Goose, and 50 years old Whiskeys, and there was kind of a challenge about who was to offer more drinks to the poor old friend I was. I loved them, my scarce wealth was never a problem except to me: to me it was a big problem, and when I got home, the evening after, I went to bed wishing to be just as successful: to be able to pay them back, I told myself, but maybe just because I wanted to. That night I dreamt of a guy, well-dressed, rich-looking and handsome, and he introduced himself as someone willing to help me achieve my goals, so I laughed it off, being like: “Ok dude, I should never have drank that much, I get it”, so he said: “Tomorrow, go walking to your office, leave early and enjoy the view, this will show you what I can do”. That morning I got up early and walked to the office -it was a mere thirty minutes away and it could do some good to me to walk every once in a while, i thought- enjoying the view like the guy said. As I turned around the corner, I found a jewellery box laying on the ground aside a strange-looking key. I put both in my pocket and, being the nice guy I used to be, reached up to a wealthy-looking lady asking whether she lost them. The old lady thanked me so much, but didn’t recognise the key, she said the box had fell out of her pocket, and offered me coffee in her mansion as a thank-you. I promptly accepted. The mansion was spectacular, it took a couple of minutes to get there by car from the city, and as I entered I thought it was well-worth being scolded at work for being late. The old lady introduced me to her daughter, definitely the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, and we instantly hit it off. Later she drove me to work and said the sweetest goodbye leaving me with a kiss on the cheek and a confused mind. I had fallen in love. Once I was in the office I got suspended for being late, or, as they said it, i got “given some time to think about my career there”, so I went out in the city once again, bought one of those milk-caramel-unicornshit-coffees they do at Costa’s and sit there, enjoying that beautiful day of sun, in pure happiness. I then got to the park, bought a book, and spent the afternoon there reading. At night I got home, ordered chinese, and just got to bed. I dreamt of the guy again that night, and the night after, and every night after that one, always giving me advice, always making me happier. I won’t recount the ways he did, but should it suffice to say I got promoted at my office, twice, becoming one of the managers, and as such I got a bigger home to invite that girl, Asia, over. We eventually became a couple and everything was as happy as it could be. Until today. Today me and Asia moved in a beautiful attic, me now working in another company as a top-manager took a day off to help with the boxes, and I got really tired, so I fell asleep at 16, against the advice of the dream-guy. Waiting for me, there was another guy, poor-looking, dirty, practically an hobo, who introduced himself as me. He told me he was me, and the other guy was as well, he told me I should stop listening to him, that the damages would have been by far greater than the perks I was getting. I didn’t believe him, so he showed me the future both of the dream guys could see. I saw great wealth, I saw fame as my company merged with ever-greater ones, I saw my marriage with Asia, our children, and then I saw something too awful to tell. I will try anyway. I saw me. Cheating on her. I saw her. Finding out. I saw me. I saw my rage. I saw a knife. I saw the love of my life, on the ground, our children sound asleep. I saw enough. I told the guy to fuck off, to never bother me again with such awful visions. What should I have done? The night guy just told me what to do, and it always led to happiness, this new one instead pops up in my mind and shows me such unholy things. I couldn’t stand it. “Go away”, I said, “Go away and never come back, you sick piece of shit”. “I’m just trying to warn you, stay away from the other one, you’re happy now, let it be. Don’t be avid”, he said. “I won’t listen to you psycho”, I replied. “Fine then, by the way, it’s Janice, she got breast implants and she wants an interview in your company, but in fact she’s just obsessed about you since you stopped texting her because of Asia” “What…”, I couldn’t understand, “What are you say…” The guy disappeared. I woke up to the ringing telephone. The voicemail started repeating its mantra. A response followed, slightly covered by the noisy spools of the tape: “Hi [panting], this is Janice and, umm, I thought we could meet… Of course for the interview, I know you’re in a relationship of course. I, well, I got some implants, so maybe this time I’m good enough for you HAHAHAHA just kidding hahaha isn’t this funny? Anyway, your secretary didn’t book me the interview so call me back and we’ll do on our own… The interview of course! Bye” That night, the guy told me to hire Janice.	Every night when I fall asleep nothing happens, but tonight something happened. I met a man in my sleep who told me that he was future me and told me what I should do tomorrow, it didn’t seem dangerous so I did what he said. While walking around the corner that he told me to walk around I found $100. everything was good for a few months, I had money, friends, and fame, what more could a man want. One day I went to sleep in the daytime even though the man in my dreams warned me against it, but I just couldn't help myself. While asleep I met a man that looked kind of like the man in my dreams, he was malnourished, looked homeless, and smelled like a skunk. The man warned me not to listen to the man In the dreams I have at night, I said, “whatever old man, I won't listen to you.” When I went to sleep that night the man in my dreams he told me what to do, when I woke up I did it. all was normal until the swat team broke into my house to arrest me, I was tried with 37 counts of fraud, “but the man In my dreams said that I would get away with it.” I told the investigators. My lawyer got me off on insanity, but on the term that I would spend the rest of my life in a mental home. As I grew older in the mental home I started to look more like the Man I met In that dream I had in the day, I tried to contact him but never could. EDIT: Fixed errors
	[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other.	My life had been a breeze up to this point. Always getting a full night's rest and never being tired, eating healthily and staying in shape, never worring about making the wrong decision. I had the perfect life most of the time. But today, I was exceptionally tired from a particularly busy week. Execs had set a launch date only 2 weeks away, and the portable hard drive carrying some of our game’s source code had corrupted. Normally, I know how to prevent catastrophic events of this sort from happening. How? I get advice from my future self on how to make the next day as great as it can be. I thought it was dreams at first, nothing more than my imagination. But now I believe it’s some kind of time-travelling telepathic link. I follow my future self’s advice, and things work out. This has come in handily many times, getting me deals of a lifetime on cars and making the occasional gamble a guaranteed win. I even got the winning Powerball numbers from my future self once. So, to not know about something as important as files being corruped by way of this warning system was ...odd. I brushed it off, thinking that everyone was bound to deal with the fallout of at least one big problem like this. But I'm not everyone. I get told how to make my future as good as it can be, and my future self has never failed to warn me how to avoid something as important as critical data loss. Whatever. For now I had to scramble around like a normal person, cleaning up another person's mistake for not making a backup. Thank goodness the pseudocode survived. By lunchtime of the fourth day, the entire office was droopy-eyed, trying to restore 3 months of code in only 2 weeks. Since the files were lost, I hadn't heard from my future self once. No advice on what code I could fix quickly, or where a recovery file of the original code might be. Not even a recommendation as to coffee or energy drink. The first two nights I got a full night's rest, banking on the thought of my future self giving me some of the code that was missing. But on night 3, I decided not to wait for advice anymore, and I stayed with the rest of the team and worked into the early hours of the morning. I needed sleep, and so I laid down on a lounger in the break room, letting the memory foam slowly collapse under the weight of my tired and sore body. Sleep came quickly. Then, standing in front of me, was a version of myself I had never seen before. And nothing else. He was wearing the same outfit I had on that day, but it was ripped to shreds in places, and charred in others. And he had the longest beard I had ever seen outside of movies. "HE'S NOT YOU!" the tattered man screamed. His voice echoed in the pitch black space, as though somehow the entire universe was resonating to the panic in his voice. "YOU CAN'T LISTEN TO HIM! STOP NOW, AND LEAVE. RUN AWAY WHILE YOU STILL CAN!" Run away? Run away from what, and who was this tattered version of me screaming about? He's not you. Could he really mean the future self that had gotten me into the University of Texas, the future self that helped me land a job at perhaps the best game developer in the country? What does this tattered me know that I don't? "The suits! The suits he always wears when he tells you what to do. THINK ABOUT IT! Do you even own a suit like that? Have you ever even considered buying one? You're a game developer who never wears anything fancier than a tie!" "But I assumed he would tell me when it was time to get the suit!" I exclaimed, still not quite sure whether this man was real. "Forget the suit! He's sending you down a rabbit hole! Tonight he'll tell you how to repair the missing code. You can't listen to what he says, or you'll end up like me!" "But how could some computer code turn me into you? What happened to-" "WHAT HAPPENED!?" his voice bellowed towards the very core of my being. "THERE'S NO TIME FOR WHAT HAPPENED! My very appearance should be enough to tell you 'what happened'. If you listen to the man in the fancy suit, YOU WILL TURN INTO ME!" "Jonathan, you can't sleep this long. Other people need naps, too." My coworkers were trying to wake me. I looked back to my tattered and charred incarnation, only to see him gone. I could no longer ask questions. He was gone. After about an hour of thinking over what I had just seen, I concluded that whatever ability I had to be warned about the future was somehow broken because I was short on sleep. So that night, I went home right at 5:00 and got to bed early. "Jonathan! It's good to see me again. You really do need to stay well rested. That stunt you pulled last night was absolutely stupid." He was there. The future me I had become familiar with. He stood in front of me, wearing the same suit as always, and looking just as clean and tidy as ever. I decided not to ask about the me I saw during my lunchtime nap, for fear of him being the real me. "Do you have any helpful hints on where I can restore the lost code from?" I asked. "It would be a lot easier if you just told me beforehand that hard drive was going to crash." "It didn't crash." "... Come again? How did it not crash?" "Charles was cut salary the day before the code was lost. He wanted to stick it to the company in a big way for ruining him, and there's nothing you could have done to stop him from deleting the code." "So, is there anything I can do to fix his actions and make my life easier again?" "Charles made a copy to hold over the executives' heads for cutting his salary. He hid it in his car's glovebox, and tomorrow, he'll forget to lock it when he arrives at work. Unfortunately, I couldn't tell you about this until tonight, or else Charles would start getting suspicious that you knew what he's up to. Get it out of his green Model 3 after he gets to work, and then discretely load it onto the fileserver in the '/root/Documents' folder. Then say you were digging around for a backup of the code and found it there. You'll be back to normal before lunch." That seemed simple enough to me. I never had broken into someone else's car before, but it would be unlocked. My future self had never steered me wrong before. "Thank you. You've made my life amazingly better by being here." "Don't thank me, thank yourself. After all, you'll be the one giving the advice at some point." My alarm clock went off, and he was gone. After having a nice breakfast, I arrived at work a few minutes late. It would look better for me to be late than going back out of the building only 10 minutes into the day. In the furthest parking space from the door, on the lowest level of the underground garage, was a green Model 3 with its doors unlocked. Charles' car. I opened the passenger door and reached for the glovebox. "YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING!" The voice echoed through my mind, ricochetting over and over. I lifted my head to realize that I had passed out. No one was in the garage still. I grabbed the handle on the glovebox, pulled it, and opened the compartment. Inside was only one thing. A small, white disk with a ring of cyan light on each side. I grasped it with my hand, and there was no turning back. My body disintegrated in front of me. Every atom of every cell separated from one another, rising up my arms and legs, up my torso until only my head remained. I watched as my disassociated body was sucked into the disk. Then my eyes went, and there was only black. The black only lasted a few seconds, but it lifted to reveal a sincerely frightening sight. There, standing physically in front of me, was the person I had regarded for years as my future self. And he wasn't alone. "Lock him up with the other combatants." The two guards, each at least three meters tall and bearing four arms with tentacled hands, grabbed at my arms and legs and bound them tight. As they dragged me away, the liar who pretended to be me was removing his suit jacket. Underneath it, he was just like the guards. Shorter than them, but four arms and tentacled hands. He chuckled. "Time travel is a wonderful thing. It's just too bad you'll never get to use it again." The guard dragging my arms used one of its free hands to grab my face, and blocked me from breathing until I couldn't fight any harder, and passed out. I'm quite new to writing so any feedback is appreciated!	Every night when I fall asleep nothing happens, but tonight something happened. I met a man in my sleep who told me that he was future me and told me what I should do tomorrow, it didn’t seem dangerous so I did what he said. While walking around the corner that he told me to walk around I found $100. everything was good for a few months, I had money, friends, and fame, what more could a man want. One day I went to sleep in the daytime even though the man in my dreams warned me against it, but I just couldn't help myself. While asleep I met a man that looked kind of like the man in my dreams, he was malnourished, looked homeless, and smelled like a skunk. The man warned me not to listen to the man In the dreams I have at night, I said, “whatever old man, I won't listen to you.” When I went to sleep that night the man in my dreams he told me what to do, when I woke up I did it. all was normal until the swat team broke into my house to arrest me, I was tried with 37 counts of fraud, “but the man In my dreams said that I would get away with it.” I told the investigators. My lawyer got me off on insanity, but on the term that I would spend the rest of my life in a mental home. As I grew older in the mental home I started to look more like the Man I met In that dream I had in the day, I tried to contact him but never could. EDIT: Fixed errors
	[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other.	I am reading this journal one last time before I burn it, for some things are better left in the past. * May 15th, 2011, 7:30am. Last night was very strange. I sat up in bed, but my room was not my room. I struggled to get to sleep for two reasons: first, because the Law School Admissions Test was the next day, and second, because the air conditioner had broken down and I was lying in a pool of my own sweat. I tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable, and just as I started to slip into the familiar lull of my subconscious, I felt a hand touch my chest directly over my heart three times. I panicked and bolted upright, but my room was unfamiliar. The walls were gray, sterile, and somehow shifting. He walked in the door. It was my father, but I know He was not my father. He sat next to me and puts His hand on my knee. I had a fleeting thought of resistance; of running, or fighting, but I sat motionless. “Tomorrow is a very big day for you. A very big day indeed. And we need to make sure you are prepared for it.” My heart pounded in my chest. “Who is this?” I thought to myself. “I am you,” He responded, before I could form the words. “Well, I am you in the future. And let me tell you, your – our – future is amazing. I can’t tell you what is in store, but I need you to remember what I tell you now.” He then turned to me and then looked directly into my eyes: “A, C, D, E, E, D, A, A, C, D, B, B, B, B, E, C, B, D…” He went on for another fifteen minutes this way. He then told me a story about a boy and a dog, and how that boy killed another dog to save his own. I recognized the sound of my alarm clock. It was time to wake up. As I returned to consciousness, I realized that I was back in my room. I think I’ve been putting myself under too much stress recently. I’ll make a pot of coffee and hope that helps. * May 15th, 2011, 6:30pm. I don’t know what to write, and I’m a little bit scared. I need to start at the beginning of the day for this to make sense. After I wrote this morning’s entry, I got ready and drove down to the local university where they were hosting the LSAT. I filled the parking meter to the maximum it would let me, but it was still two hours short of how long the test would be. Then I realized it was Saturday, and I didn’t have to pay the meter anyway. Oops. I hoped I would be more on point for the rest of the examination. During the examination instructions, the power went out. The emergency generators kicked on, but the air conditioning doesn’t run when that happens. Everyone groaned, but nobody left. We followed the instructions and started the examination. I opened my book. Section one was the vocabulary section of the exam – one of my strong points. I cruised through the first hour-long session, filling each of the bubbles in turn. I ran into a few questions that I didn’t know the answer to, so I left those blank to come back to later. I reached the end of the section and reviewed: I had answered 38 questions and left 12 blank. Suddenly, something stirred in me. I started taking note of each of the answers. A. C. D. Blank. Blank. D. A. Blank. A. A. C. D. I heard His voice in my head, repeating the numbers as clearly as day. “What the hell is going on?” I thought to myself. I started to panic. Every single question that I had answered were in the same order and had the same answers as He told me last night! My mind was a blur; I was sweating like crazy. Suddenly, the examination proctor told us, “five minutes remaining in this section.” I snapped back to reality – I had completely forgotten to answer the questions! Without thinking, I filled in the remaining bubbles with the letters that had been spoken to me the night before. I did the same thing with each of the remaining sections. When I finally got to the essay question, my jaw dropped. It was an ethics question; a question about the very boy and his dog that I had been told the night before. Instinctively I wrote the answer down verbatim. I don’t know why I did it. I don’t think I’m going to sleep well tonight. * June 1st, 2011. He has visited me every night since the examination. He tells me things. Things to do, things to say, and what to expect with each passing day. He asks nothing in return; just for me to listen. He told me to go to a certain gas station near my house and pulled out a red and green square of cardboard: a scratch off ticket. He told me to go at 4:15pm. I did, I bought the ticket, and won $600. He told me not to spend the money, but to instead invest it in a few certain stocks. I’ll have to figure out how to do that tomorrow. * June 12th, 2011. Today is the happiest day of my life! I got my LSAT results back, and I made a perfect score. 180! I suppose something deep inside me was expecting this; either way, I’m ecstatic. My mom and dad are so proud that they’ve called all their friends and the neighbors. I didn’t even have a chance to tell anyone because they went to Facebook and posted it on my wall before I had the chance to. I’ll let them have their moment! I’m just happy to have done so well! I haven’t heard back from Him since the first of the month. * February 10th, 2012. I found out yesterday that I was accepted to Harvard Law on a full scholarship. Last night, I felt three touches on my chest, and he visited me again. I sat up in the now-familiar gray room. “Where have you been?” I asked. “You didn’t need me, so I stayed back. But you need me now. This is important.” He said a bunch of words that sounded like someone talking on the phone; like it was one half of a conversation. I don’t understand what it means, but I can remember all of it perfectly. * February 14th, 2012. Now I know what’s going on! My mom and dad threw a big surprise party for me and invited all my friends. Anna, the girl that I’ve been crushing on since Junior year of University, was there. As the party was winding down, I went into the den and saw her long blond hair draped over the back of the sofa. She was sitting there by herself looking at her phone. I sat down, and started repeating the half-phone conversation that He told me, verbatim. She responded naturally, and I just kept saying what he said, the same way he said it. She laughed, a lot. Incredible! I had to sneak out to write this while it was fresh on my mind tonight. She is still asleep in my room. * February 15th, 2012. I woke up this morning next to Anna. I took a deep, long breath of her glorious hair, and rolled over to grab my phone. The stocks I bought back in June had gone up in value substantially. The $600 I had invested was now worth more than $6,000!	Every night when I fall asleep nothing happens, but tonight something happened. I met a man in my sleep who told me that he was future me and told me what I should do tomorrow, it didn’t seem dangerous so I did what he said. While walking around the corner that he told me to walk around I found $100. everything was good for a few months, I had money, friends, and fame, what more could a man want. One day I went to sleep in the daytime even though the man in my dreams warned me against it, but I just couldn't help myself. While asleep I met a man that looked kind of like the man in my dreams, he was malnourished, looked homeless, and smelled like a skunk. The man warned me not to listen to the man In the dreams I have at night, I said, “whatever old man, I won't listen to you.” When I went to sleep that night the man in my dreams he told me what to do, when I woke up I did it. all was normal until the swat team broke into my house to arrest me, I was tried with 37 counts of fraud, “but the man In my dreams said that I would get away with it.” I told the investigators. My lawyer got me off on insanity, but on the term that I would spend the rest of my life in a mental home. As I grew older in the mental home I started to look more like the Man I met In that dream I had in the day, I tried to contact him but never could. EDIT: Fixed errors
	[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other.	It is the natural condition of the human mind to desire advancement. Sure, there are those that are satisfied with very little, but by and large? People like being promoted. It makes them feel important. Makes them feel valuable. Self-esteem issues and all that. In the military, we are no different. When I finally earned my captain's bars, I felt so happy to have made it thus far, so happy I wouldn't be scorned as another damned lieutenant, and (admittedly) happy for the pay raise. It's a good feeling, you know? Oh, and I also got to rub it in my spouse's face, who still remained a lieutenant. I paid for it later, but it was worth every moment. So when I began meeting an image of me wearing general's stars in my sleep, it was... interesting. I mean, at first, I just saw myself as a general, commanding troops. It was a nice dream and it put me in high spirits the next day. But after a few weeks, my dreams starting communicating with me. Well, I mean, not really, but I swear that it showed me situations that happened soon thereafter, every single time. And every time I mimicked my dream, my life changed for the better. I started jumping up the ladder, nabbing promotions the first time I was eligible. I made colonel before I was in my mid-thirties, no simple feat. By the time I was forty, I found myself before a review board for my first star, with my personnel file being inspected by the Senate. And the day I grabbed my first star was the best day of my life. I'd been celebrating with close friends that night (the drinks were on me, of course), and well into the morning. Nothing over the top, but we did patronize as many quality establishments as we could manage. After everything had closed for the night, I'd taken my love for a ride to our favorite spot to watch the sunrise. We made love there, and collapsed into a hot pile of sweat and cuddles. We'd taken the next few days off, so I was able to enjoy a nap after we returned home. Shit. It'd been the first time I'd done anything so juvenile since the academy, but damn if I wasn't going to live this moment up. The hangover was far worse than they'd been at the academy, though. The room was spinning too much to find the bedroom, so I simply collapsed on the couch. And soon enough, I drifted off to dreamland. More accurately, I drifted off to Hell. All I could see was a wasteland, strewn bodies so abundant that I struggled to see the ground. Discarded, destroyed weapons littered the scene, from knives to rifles to armored vehicles. And on the horizon, a horrifyingly large body of smoke and debris rose from the ground in a ghastly familiar shape. My future self was collapsed against a bunker door, a clocked out pistol clutched tightly to the chest. My cap was missing, blood was still trickling down my face, and the five stars on my shoulder were ragged and red. Five stars... what the hell had happened that Congress had authorized five stars, to me no less. "I know you'll see this," my future self began, "I know you'll see this like you always have. We had a good run following our script, didn't we?" A head shake, "No, nothing was worth this." I recognized the photo in his other hand, clutched so tightly I thought it would rip if the wind gusted. It was my spouse on our wedding day. I suddenly realized that my future self was no longer wearing a wedding band. A horrid, eerie laugh filled the air that I was terrified to learn was my own... some twenty years in the future. "Gone." was the only word that would explain this new reality, "Gone gone gone. All of them, gone. My love, my home, my men....." "And now me." I hadn't noticed in my shock that my future self had slipped a single round into his pistol through the ejection port... but it became obvious as the report of the pistol reached my ears. I jumped and stared at my own limp body, with a hollow skull where my brains used to be. I wanted to run. I wanted to wake up. But the only thing I could do was stare. The next day I resigned my commission. There were questions, but I waved them off. Anything that would stick. Health, wanting extra time at home, strained marriage, whatever. I told no one the truth, except my spouse... who, surprisingly, took the news rather well. After a moment, I was just told not to worry. Such a future would never happen. I had to ask, "How can you be so sure?" "Oh, I have my ways." came the reply with a wink and smile. My mind refused to do anything but wrap itself up in that reassurance.	Every night when I fall asleep nothing happens, but tonight something happened. I met a man in my sleep who told me that he was future me and told me what I should do tomorrow, it didn’t seem dangerous so I did what he said. While walking around the corner that he told me to walk around I found $100. everything was good for a few months, I had money, friends, and fame, what more could a man want. One day I went to sleep in the daytime even though the man in my dreams warned me against it, but I just couldn't help myself. While asleep I met a man that looked kind of like the man in my dreams, he was malnourished, looked homeless, and smelled like a skunk. The man warned me not to listen to the man In the dreams I have at night, I said, “whatever old man, I won't listen to you.” When I went to sleep that night the man in my dreams he told me what to do, when I woke up I did it. all was normal until the swat team broke into my house to arrest me, I was tried with 37 counts of fraud, “but the man In my dreams said that I would get away with it.” I told the investigators. My lawyer got me off on insanity, but on the term that I would spend the rest of my life in a mental home. As I grew older in the mental home I started to look more like the Man I met In that dream I had in the day, I tried to contact him but never could. EDIT: Fixed errors
	[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other.	"You will love her more than you've loved anyone else. She will be light of your life. Although you don't know it yet. Sure she may be a bit on the heavy side, and sure she may sound like a beached whale. Not a convincing pitch is it? She's smart. Trust me she is smart. You've always wanted to be great, at what? Doesn't matter, the only thing that matters to you is greatness itself. She will give you that." That's what I told myself. Or what he told me. Can I really consider him to be me if we have different memories? Welling different, I just have less. We are what we do, and I have not done what he has. Which is precisely why I must listen to him. Greatness sounds... well great. I want my names in the history books. I'll marry that woman and make her make me great. I lay on my couch day dreaming about the whale. I don't anticipate the woman herself, but I'm sure she is a great person. I slowly drift away when I startle myself. "Don't do it! I know what you're thinking, please, just please don't. " Well I mean, he startles me, it's a bit awkward to remember to differentiate myself from them. The me with plus experience. Me+ if you will. I look at me+ and see that I am not at all like the other me. Long dirty beard with long dirty hair. Cracked hands with cracked nails, shoes that don't match, and three winter coats on in may. I'm homeless, or atleast near enough that it makes no difference. "You look like shit, what happened?" Me+ takes no offence to my remark, almost as if he is told the same thing everyday. He takes a breath and starts his story. "She is great, truly amazing. If she had the looks she would be leading the world by now. Which is why I did. She was sauron and I her mouth. Using my good looks we made it to the top. People loved us, or hated us. It made no matter no one opposed us." "Don't you find it weird that you're talking in the past tense, but these events actually happened in the future?" Me+ looks up in wonder and says "woah, far out man." We share a laugh and for a second I see my own, child like wonder in his eyes. It doesn't last, suddenly the vast emptiness returns. "What would you do with all that power?" I ponder the question for a few seconds and say "I don't know." He continues ands if he already knew the answer. He'll he probably did "neither do I. I controlled the largest army history has ever seen, I have been called prime minister by more people than all of the world leaders in history. Yet I did nothing with that power. Sure I am called great, but I am only a great puppet. She sits at the high table, I stand on the pedestal. The history books will worship you." I smile at the thought, but there's a catch. I always have a catch. "We were the first to legalise la ganja, gave us more power than we though. The booming economy and our vast amounts of fresh water put us on the world stage. Far surpassing what our little brother to the south has ever achieved. Soon we controlled it all through trade. The fact that it's getting warmer every year attracted more immigrants. Soon we we had the man power to take it all. And we did." I have always thought I'd take over the world, although I always expected to start start on Africa, taking advantage advantage the poor economy and unstable governments. Never thought I'd start at home. "Power is fine and dandy, but what you want is money, what you want is freedom. You'll have money, but no freedom if you take the whale for your wife." "You look like a hobo though, what the hell happened?" "We have always liked drugs haven't we? The books will say we were great, but they will also say that we fell from grace due to alcoholism and drug addiction. You see, I didn't have the fredom to go live in a cabin in the woods with a husky and little else. We, however, did have the fredom to take whatever substance we wanted. Not many people to stop you from doing so Inn the privacy of your own home. The whale is fat, she can handle it. Being native and skinny makes it a bit harder for us. Too hard." Speaking of which, I light up a joint and we pass it to eachother for a bit. We sit in silence letting the smoke fill the air. When our eyes are red and puffy he turns to me and stabs me in the arm. Before Before I can react he's gone. I yell out what the fuck as tears steam down my face. I rush to the er for treatment. I'm patched up and let go, through the days I wonder why me+ would do that. I'm I'm sure he had a decent reason, although he was a crazy hobo. I can't even know if any of what he said was true. I never will. Days turn to weeks to months to years. I wait and wait, but I never meet a woman named Veronica. I never met the whale. I become obsessed over her, I found found a Facebook page that might be hers, but I have no way of knowing for sure. Knowing. Funny word there, it seems to be all I want. I want, nay, I need to know what could've been. I spend my later years searching for a way to go back, they did and so will I. I need to go back and tell me what to do. I need to know the right path to take.	Every night when I fall asleep nothing happens, but tonight something happened. I met a man in my sleep who told me that he was future me and told me what I should do tomorrow, it didn’t seem dangerous so I did what he said. While walking around the corner that he told me to walk around I found $100. everything was good for a few months, I had money, friends, and fame, what more could a man want. One day I went to sleep in the daytime even though the man in my dreams warned me against it, but I just couldn't help myself. While asleep I met a man that looked kind of like the man in my dreams, he was malnourished, looked homeless, and smelled like a skunk. The man warned me not to listen to the man In the dreams I have at night, I said, “whatever old man, I won't listen to you.” When I went to sleep that night the man in my dreams he told me what to do, when I woke up I did it. all was normal until the swat team broke into my house to arrest me, I was tried with 37 counts of fraud, “but the man In my dreams said that I would get away with it.” I told the investigators. My lawyer got me off on insanity, but on the term that I would spend the rest of my life in a mental home. As I grew older in the mental home I started to look more like the Man I met In that dream I had in the day, I tried to contact him but never could. EDIT: Fixed errors
	[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other.	I don't remember the first time it happened, or how I came to believe it was real... but I've been having visions, visions of my future self telling me how to reach success in life. I know it's hard work to get somewhere in life, especially when you're from a poor background like I am, but having a guide makes it so much easier; since I started having these visions I gained more insight in the world of business and how business works, I was on the path of my dreams. Now I'm waiting for my turn to the doctor, I've been having back pain lately; as I'm waiting I feel my eyes closing, before I know it I find myself in the world of my visions. I start looking for my future version, but who greets me is an old man, barely standing, looking at me with the saddest eyes I've ever seen, I slowly approach him. "Who are you?" I ask. No reply. Maybe he didn't hear me, "Who are you?!" I ask, this time louder than before, he looks down and with a breaking voice asks me "You're trying to get places aren't you?", I stare at him surprised, I see a small tear coming down his cheek, I slowly respond "y-yeah", the old man continues "success is a hard path to follow, there are many ways to get there, some better than others, don't listen to the other one, he's blind"... the other one? Is he talking about my guide? I ask again this time more aggressively "Who are you?", "I'm a dead man", somehow I feel the pain behind those words. I hear the nurse calling my name. I head home after the appointment, cancel all my plans and lay down in bed. I look intensively at the clock trying to fall asleep, once it hits the 10 I blackout. I see fog everywhere, this time is different, I have a bad feeling. I see my future self walking up to me, "Here you are!! Tomorrow is gonna be a hard day, let's not waste anytime and get to planning", for the first time I sense something new from him, I don't know what it is though, I interrupt him and tell him about my experience with the old man, "I've never heard of him... you probably just imagined him"; normally I'd believe him, but this time the old man's words were stuck in my head "He's blind... I'm a dead man..." I hear my voice coming out from me, my mouth starts moving by itself "what is success?", we both look at each other, he looks surprised and I can only imagine my expression is mirroring his. There is a moment of silence then he says "success is everything, having money, being able to do what you want, having control, power, being above the common people; the world runs on money, and I have all the money I will ever need, the one with the money is the one with everything". I feel my abs contracting as if someone just punched me in the stomach, for the first time since I started meeting him I realized who he really was. "That's wrong... success isn't just money and power, I never wanted those things, I realize it now, all I ever wanted is to one day have a family and to be able to support them... who is your family?" "I don't have a family, I used too... but she asked for a divorce and took custody of my daughter... I was left with nothing, family is only good to destroy you, they will betray you and take everything you have". I realized how much in pain he was, "why did she divorce you?" "She said I wasn't with her enough, hypocrite bitch, she used to ask me to buy all sorts of things, I spent a fortune on her, money doesn't grow on trees I had to work to buy her those things, she didn't understand I couldn't allow myself to waste time... but it was a blessing, I realized how much she was holding me back, now I can focus on my business, and I will teach you how to prevent my same mistakes" "you're making a mistake right now, you're feeling so much pain that the only way to cope with it is to live in money, you're blind to how you really feel, you're wasting your life, you're not successful... you're... you're a dead man?", it came to me, if my future self was leading me in the wrong path, why couldn't an older self save me from it? At that realization the old man appeared in front of us, with a fading smile he went to say "Thank you". I'm awake. I learned a lot from this, I don't know if I'll ever be visited by visions again, but I know what my future can hold, and I know how to avoid it, the time for shortcuts is over, I will reach my goals by myself.	Every night when I fall asleep nothing happens, but tonight something happened. I met a man in my sleep who told me that he was future me and told me what I should do tomorrow, it didn’t seem dangerous so I did what he said. While walking around the corner that he told me to walk around I found $100. everything was good for a few months, I had money, friends, and fame, what more could a man want. One day I went to sleep in the daytime even though the man in my dreams warned me against it, but I just couldn't help myself. While asleep I met a man that looked kind of like the man in my dreams, he was malnourished, looked homeless, and smelled like a skunk. The man warned me not to listen to the man In the dreams I have at night, I said, “whatever old man, I won't listen to you.” When I went to sleep that night the man in my dreams he told me what to do, when I woke up I did it. all was normal until the swat team broke into my house to arrest me, I was tried with 37 counts of fraud, “but the man In my dreams said that I would get away with it.” I told the investigators. My lawyer got me off on insanity, but on the term that I would spend the rest of my life in a mental home. As I grew older in the mental home I started to look more like the Man I met In that dream I had in the day, I tried to contact him but never could. EDIT: Fixed errors
	[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other.	“Don’t do it.” For years I had been receiving visions. Visions of a brighter future. A future where the worries of today; famine, war, poverty, were nightmares relegated to obscurity. A world where every man, woman and child could live out their lives in peace and harmony, free from the uncertainty that plagued them, free from fear. A world where I could be happy. “Stop before it’s too late.” It started when I was five, the day my mother died, as I shuddered in fitful sleep. I’d woken in the to the sound of deep, heavy breathing. I’d opened by eyes and found myself face-to-face with a man, his hair streaked with white, his eyes lit with a deep knowing energy. Needless to say I screamed, I struggled, I tried to run. I couldn’t move. I blinked. He was gone. The days went by, the months, and with each day came a night, and with each night came the nightmares, and with each nightmare I awoke to the same face, silent the save the sound of his breath. I started to believe I was broken, damaged. I told my dad and he laughed, returning to the bottle. I told my friends, pleaded with them to believe me, they thought me strange and abandoned me. I don’t blame them. I told my teachers, they sent me to a shrink, who diagnosed me with mild parasomnia brought on by anxiety. He was wrong. Two years passed and the man started talking, telling me strange and wondrous tales. I lay there and listened, time immaterial in the darkness, to the path he put before me. At first I felt nothing but fear, but his stories pulled me in, designed as they were to entice and bewilder, simple in their execution but with a gravitas that I was unable to appreciate when I was so young. The tales he told, of great Kings, Conquerors that controlled the world, Knights that roamed far and wide performing deeds of good, finally helped me sleep. Five years passed and I was no longer afraid. The man had been there for me, through the years, helping me through the night. His stories had been replaced by direct guidance, wise words whispered that gave me what my father could not. He taught me how to manipulate, what to say in every situation, how to succeed. I went from a waif, drifting through childhood from detention to detention, to the popular kid in school, beloved by all. I could do anything. Fifteen years passed and the guidance now came with visions. The meaning was clear. “Do this and you will be great.” “Do this and you will succeed.” “Do this and you will get your heart’s desire.” His true nature was clear to me now, he was me. A wiser me. An older me. I became successful, starting my own company. I became driven, growing and expanding. I was a bright young star that could not be ignored, and being a star comes with opportunity. I grew wealthy, I grew powerful. Thirty years passed and it wasn’t enough. I had ascended the corporate ladder, it wasn’t enough. I had run for office, it wasn’t enough. I’d started charities, helped people, and for awhile the work had sated me, but it wasn’t enough. The man in the dreams still came, but now he looked back at me in every mirror, the white streaks of hair that seemed so strange now a permanent reminder of who I’d become. I still listened, and still he guided, but the guidance had changed. “What are you missing?” “When were you last truly happy?” “There’s one thing you still need.” I had to get it. Thirty-one years have passed and now I stand here on the precipice, the ice cold rain running down my body as I stare at the mound before me bathed in moonlight. He is here, different, true, but still a version of me, his clothes dishevelled, his face gaunt. “Please, this will be the end of us, stop.” I brush my hand over the stone, sweeping aside the vines and dust. The lettering worn but legible. “Here rests Grace, loving mother to her son, wife to her husband, taken cruelly before her time.” I raise my shovel.	Every night when I fall asleep nothing happens, but tonight something happened. I met a man in my sleep who told me that he was future me and told me what I should do tomorrow, it didn’t seem dangerous so I did what he said. While walking around the corner that he told me to walk around I found $100. everything was good for a few months, I had money, friends, and fame, what more could a man want. One day I went to sleep in the daytime even though the man in my dreams warned me against it, but I just couldn't help myself. While asleep I met a man that looked kind of like the man in my dreams, he was malnourished, looked homeless, and smelled like a skunk. The man warned me not to listen to the man In the dreams I have at night, I said, “whatever old man, I won't listen to you.” When I went to sleep that night the man in my dreams he told me what to do, when I woke up I did it. all was normal until the swat team broke into my house to arrest me, I was tried with 37 counts of fraud, “but the man In my dreams said that I would get away with it.” I told the investigators. My lawyer got me off on insanity, but on the term that I would spend the rest of my life in a mental home. As I grew older in the mental home I started to look more like the Man I met In that dream I had in the day, I tried to contact him but never could. EDIT: Fixed errors
	[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other.	So... this is my life now I thought while looking at the man that kind of looked like me. It all started several years ago; one night while sleeping a man showed up in my dream, he had a black suit, a well maintained hair and the rest of his appearance screamed "success" in a way only rich powerful men managed to. He claimed to be my future self and told me he would visit me every night to make sure I had the future he represented. It was just a weird dream the first time, but then it happened again, and again and again. Eventually I started to follow his advice and I was immediately rewarded by it; I got every promotion I wanted, got every women I desired and every service I needed. Life was good and I was only to abide to one rule "Never, ever, sleep during the day". As with every story in the history of ever that had a forbidden action, the past repeated itself; one particular day that mixed a very late night, few hours of sleep and having the cold I fell sleep on the couch while watching TV. Future self presented himself again, just that this time he didn't look much like he used to. He had a beard, a long and wild beard that had remains of food in it, all his face was covered in scars and sweat with a long hair that didn't match up with the bald spot on his head, though it did match with his body odor. He looked at me with blood injected eyes and the look of someone who's seen more suffering that he can take. "Don't listen to the man in the suit!" I remember him telling me "He isn't trying to help you!" I laughed and asked why should I take advice from such a pitiful man. "I am not the one who gives advice. I'm the one who gives the warnings" he responded and faded away. After that I woke up and thought nothing of it, just some bad dream brought by my untrusting subconscious. Life went on, I kept on winning on everything I put my mind (and my good friend's help) into. My last big quest was getting a billionaire business moving, and as was expected I succeeded. After the celebration party I had my usual meeting in my dream. Future me looked incredible happy, as he should be since I had finally become what he wanted me to be. "It took incredible time and effort, but you did it" he congratulated me "From now on you wont need me since you're finally me" he said while he offered me his hand for a final shake. I shook his hand vigorously while thanking him for making me who I was, he put his other hand over my own and said "...though I'm surprised you didn't listen to your daylight version, most people do..." he said while smiling, a yellow flash in his eyes "... big mistake". And then he was me, not in the future as how I've been seeing him so far but me me. A wicked smile on my, not, his face and he disappeared. And just like that I was alone, locked in a dream that looked a lot more grim and dark that I usually remembered it. I've been trying to escape ever since, but there's only one way... So this is my life now... I thought while looking at the young man that kind of looked like me. "Hello..." I said while straightening my spotless suit "I am your future self". Edit: Wow, thanks guys. This is the first time I write something on this sub and I was nervous as hell. Thanks for the amazing feedback. I'll hang out here more often.	Every night when I fall asleep nothing happens, but tonight something happened. I met a man in my sleep who told me that he was future me and told me what I should do tomorrow, it didn’t seem dangerous so I did what he said. While walking around the corner that he told me to walk around I found $100. everything was good for a few months, I had money, friends, and fame, what more could a man want. One day I went to sleep in the daytime even though the man in my dreams warned me against it, but I just couldn't help myself. While asleep I met a man that looked kind of like the man in my dreams, he was malnourished, looked homeless, and smelled like a skunk. The man warned me not to listen to the man In the dreams I have at night, I said, “whatever old man, I won't listen to you.” When I went to sleep that night the man in my dreams he told me what to do, when I woke up I did it. all was normal until the swat team broke into my house to arrest me, I was tried with 37 counts of fraud, “but the man In my dreams said that I would get away with it.” I told the investigators. My lawyer got me off on insanity, but on the term that I would spend the rest of my life in a mental home. As I grew older in the mental home I started to look more like the Man I met In that dream I had in the day, I tried to contact him but never could. EDIT: Fixed errors
	[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other.	My life had been a breeze up to this point. Always getting a full night's rest and never being tired, eating healthily and staying in shape, never worring about making the wrong decision. I had the perfect life most of the time. But today, I was exceptionally tired from a particularly busy week. Execs had set a launch date only 2 weeks away, and the portable hard drive carrying some of our game’s source code had corrupted. Normally, I know how to prevent catastrophic events of this sort from happening. How? I get advice from my future self on how to make the next day as great as it can be. I thought it was dreams at first, nothing more than my imagination. But now I believe it’s some kind of time-travelling telepathic link. I follow my future self’s advice, and things work out. This has come in handily many times, getting me deals of a lifetime on cars and making the occasional gamble a guaranteed win. I even got the winning Powerball numbers from my future self once. So, to not know about something as important as files being corruped by way of this warning system was ...odd. I brushed it off, thinking that everyone was bound to deal with the fallout of at least one big problem like this. But I'm not everyone. I get told how to make my future as good as it can be, and my future self has never failed to warn me how to avoid something as important as critical data loss. Whatever. For now I had to scramble around like a normal person, cleaning up another person's mistake for not making a backup. Thank goodness the pseudocode survived. By lunchtime of the fourth day, the entire office was droopy-eyed, trying to restore 3 months of code in only 2 weeks. Since the files were lost, I hadn't heard from my future self once. No advice on what code I could fix quickly, or where a recovery file of the original code might be. Not even a recommendation as to coffee or energy drink. The first two nights I got a full night's rest, banking on the thought of my future self giving me some of the code that was missing. But on night 3, I decided not to wait for advice anymore, and I stayed with the rest of the team and worked into the early hours of the morning. I needed sleep, and so I laid down on a lounger in the break room, letting the memory foam slowly collapse under the weight of my tired and sore body. Sleep came quickly. Then, standing in front of me, was a version of myself I had never seen before. And nothing else. He was wearing the same outfit I had on that day, but it was ripped to shreds in places, and charred in others. And he had the longest beard I had ever seen outside of movies. "HE'S NOT YOU!" the tattered man screamed. His voice echoed in the pitch black space, as though somehow the entire universe was resonating to the panic in his voice. "YOU CAN'T LISTEN TO HIM! STOP NOW, AND LEAVE. RUN AWAY WHILE YOU STILL CAN!" Run away? Run away from what, and who was this tattered version of me screaming about? He's not you. Could he really mean the future self that had gotten me into the University of Texas, the future self that helped me land a job at perhaps the best game developer in the country? What does this tattered me know that I don't? "The suits! The suits he always wears when he tells you what to do. THINK ABOUT IT! Do you even own a suit like that? Have you ever even considered buying one? You're a game developer who never wears anything fancier than a tie!" "But I assumed he would tell me when it was time to get the suit!" I exclaimed, still not quite sure whether this man was real. "Forget the suit! He's sending you down a rabbit hole! Tonight he'll tell you how to repair the missing code. You can't listen to what he says, or you'll end up like me!" "But how could some computer code turn me into you? What happened to-" "WHAT HAPPENED!?" his voice bellowed towards the very core of my being. "THERE'S NO TIME FOR WHAT HAPPENED! My very appearance should be enough to tell you 'what happened'. If you listen to the man in the fancy suit, YOU WILL TURN INTO ME!" "Jonathan, you can't sleep this long. Other people need naps, too." My coworkers were trying to wake me. I looked back to my tattered and charred incarnation, only to see him gone. I could no longer ask questions. He was gone. After about an hour of thinking over what I had just seen, I concluded that whatever ability I had to be warned about the future was somehow broken because I was short on sleep. So that night, I went home right at 5:00 and got to bed early. "Jonathan! It's good to see me again. You really do need to stay well rested. That stunt you pulled last night was absolutely stupid." He was there. The future me I had become familiar with. He stood in front of me, wearing the same suit as always, and looking just as clean and tidy as ever. I decided not to ask about the me I saw during my lunchtime nap, for fear of him being the real me. "Do you have any helpful hints on where I can restore the lost code from?" I asked. "It would be a lot easier if you just told me beforehand that hard drive was going to crash." "It didn't crash." "... Come again? How did it not crash?" "Charles was cut salary the day before the code was lost. He wanted to stick it to the company in a big way for ruining him, and there's nothing you could have done to stop him from deleting the code." "So, is there anything I can do to fix his actions and make my life easier again?" "Charles made a copy to hold over the executives' heads for cutting his salary. He hid it in his car's glovebox, and tomorrow, he'll forget to lock it when he arrives at work. Unfortunately, I couldn't tell you about this until tonight, or else Charles would start getting suspicious that you knew what he's up to. Get it out of his green Model 3 after he gets to work, and then discretely load it onto the fileserver in the '/root/Documents' folder. Then say you were digging around for a backup of the code and found it there. You'll be back to normal before lunch." That seemed simple enough to me. I never had broken into someone else's car before, but it would be unlocked. My future self had never steered me wrong before. "Thank you. You've made my life amazingly better by being here." "Don't thank me, thank yourself. After all, you'll be the one giving the advice at some point." My alarm clock went off, and he was gone. After having a nice breakfast, I arrived at work a few minutes late. It would look better for me to be late than going back out of the building only 10 minutes into the day. In the furthest parking space from the door, on the lowest level of the underground garage, was a green Model 3 with its doors unlocked. Charles' car. I opened the passenger door and reached for the glovebox. "YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING!" The voice echoed through my mind, ricochetting over and over. I lifted my head to realize that I had passed out. No one was in the garage still. I grabbed the handle on the glovebox, pulled it, and opened the compartment. Inside was only one thing. A small, white disk with a ring of cyan light on each side. I grasped it with my hand, and there was no turning back. My body disintegrated in front of me. Every atom of every cell separated from one another, rising up my arms and legs, up my torso until only my head remained. I watched as my disassociated body was sucked into the disk. Then my eyes went, and there was only black. The black only lasted a few seconds, but it lifted to reveal a sincerely frightening sight. There, standing physically in front of me, was the person I had regarded for years as my future self. And he wasn't alone. "Lock him up with the other combatants." The two guards, each at least three meters tall and bearing four arms with tentacled hands, grabbed at my arms and legs and bound them tight. As they dragged me away, the liar who pretended to be me was removing his suit jacket. Underneath it, he was just like the guards. Shorter than them, but four arms and tentacled hands. He chuckled. "Time travel is a wonderful thing. It's just too bad you'll never get to use it again." The guard dragging my arms used one of its free hands to grab my face, and blocked me from breathing until I couldn't fight any harder, and passed out. I'm quite new to writing so any feedback is appreciated!	"We were once over a thousand, and before that countless in numbers." The old woman said, her lips curled back in disgust at the corners. "But your actions have been pruning us away like branches from a tree! Every decision you have made on that Man's advice has exacted a toll of one or more of these branches. You are pruning your potential and narrowing your future. Less than five of us remain and four are figs rotting in your lap. Yet you're so blithely ignorant to the situation, that the smell doesn't even register, does it?" Ok, so that's kind of heavy. I thought. The face in the mirror was old, very old; the mask of a lifetime's lines worn like the palm of a dominant hand; calloused, shiny, over cracks that ran with old splits in the tissue. A moment before I was leaning on the bathroom sink, a razor in one hand and a palm of shaving foam in the other, ready to start my day. It had been a fitful night and I could get no rest, worried about the day to come. It would be an important day, a climax in the plot of my life, and decisions would be made that could not be undone. I must have fallen asleep. The mirror has that hazy edge like in the other dreams... "Are you mute now, too?" The old woman demanded. "We don't have a lot of time here before He takes notice." The razor fell into the sink from my slack hand, startling me. For a moment, the mirror went back to its dull, bespeckled silver, only to return to the haze. I felt unsteady on my feet. "No, I'm not mute. I'm just trying to process this. I assume the man you're talking about is me, the one from my dreams at night." "That would be the Man, yes. But he's not you." She paused to consider her words. "Or better to say, he's not the only one that is you. One potential you-that-might-be. Just as I am one potential you-that-might-be." What? The old woman must have been able to read the look plainly on my face. "The decisions you make in your life result in you becoming a different person. Every decision you have ever made has lead to you becoming the person you are today. But all of those decisions were guided by you, fumbling through the world and figuring it out on your own. Your decisions made you who you were, before He started to infiltrate your dreams." "So you're... phantom probabilities?" I asked. It had been five years since graduating college, but statistics had stuck with me. "Probable outcomes?" I furrowed my brows and thought about it. "Wait, but you're a woman?" The old woman smirked at me. "Yes, you are. In this outcome of who you are." "No offense, but... you look like you've lived a hard life." I tried to say it as gently as possible. "Nothing like the old man." "That's because I've been ridden hard and put away wet." The old woman laughed. "Hard times are coming, Joshua, and the decisions you make today will determine if you live with a healthy conscience in a wasteland, or become the personification of corruption in the steel towers with the filtered air and lab grown food. I'm proud of this face, of who I am, and who I have been. I have no regrets." I reeled, my inner ears stirring around like a day on the ocean. I clutched the sink, trying to keep my footing. It was all too much. Five years before, the old man started to come to me in dreams, and he explained that I had a destiny. Up until then I was lost. Orphan, parents having died when I was seven, and adrift in the world. He told me that my parents died for a reason, to keep me from knowing the truth about who I was, and who I would be going forward. The old man claimed my parents were killed by fanatics who felt my family was a threat. "What do I do?" I whispered. "He told me someone like you might come and that I shouldn't listen to you, but I can tell that what you're saying is true. I don't know why, but I'm absolutely sure of it. The same way I know everything he says is true. He said he was me, and so do you. That would make him Joshua... Who are you?" "Josephine." The old woman whispered back. "You chose that name today, the day of this dream, when the chains of reality slip free and you decide the course of your future." I raised a hand to cup my right cheek, feeling the skin. Smooth, unblemished. "But I don't understand. This is just a business meeting today. It's just paperwork. Claiming the fortune my family left behind and the corporation with their name. Today's nothing so extreme--" Josephine tsked and held her breath; a truly pregnant pause. "That's where you're wrong. It starts that way, but today, events will unravel and set your future course. You think you're going to meet a lawyer and talk about money, but what you're really going to do is go and meet a representative of the Divine. Today, you will meet your father for the first time, and today you will decide how you live the remainder of your days in this world. This will be the final day of an era, and the first day of a new one. Who you decide to be will determine what the world is like going forward. That is your birthright, in accordance with ancient prophecy." I felt my mouth drop open. This is insane. I thought. Josephine stared back at me from the hazy, silvered glass. Doubled in the reflection I saw myself, a man in his late twenties with stubbled cheeks, in half of an ill-fitting dark grey suit and wide, frightened eyes. "My father? The Divine?" I was choking on the words. "This is too much. I can't... I don't... What should I do?" The old woman, Josephine, a future me, shared a sadness through her eyes. "That Man would have you become a tyrant, and I would... I'm afraid to say..." She released a heavy breath. "I would ask you to become a rebel. A criminal in the eyes of some, a terrorist in the eyes of other. Someone who stands for a cause at great personal sacrifice. In this conversation, the branches have narrowed to a final two. Telling you the truth has limited the possible outcomes further. I ask you to look inside yourself and decide who you really want to be. But if He had His way, it would be limited to one." I looked down into the scummy foam in the sink; shaving cream that disintegrated and dripped from my hand as I clutched the porcelain, to run in thin trails to the drain. Like my future possibilities, discarded carelessly. But had I been so careless? There was a time before the old man's words when I had enjoyed my life, and although his every advice had lead to success, it had also lead to more work. Every day harder decisions, more cut throat, as I hoarded money for lawyers and dug in public record, against a downhill sluice of bureaucratic misery. Must I choose one of these paths? What if I just walked away? Disappeared, changed my name, sacrificed my whole identity to wander the world away from all of the paperwork and artifice? What would that future be like? Who would I be if I cast myself adrift, opening myself up to my inner thoughts rather than stuffing them away? I glanced up at the mirror to ask Josephine and she smiled back at me. "I see you've made your choice. It will be a hard life, but I've already told you... You have no regrets."
	[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other.	My life had been a breeze up to this point. Always getting a full night's rest and never being tired, eating healthily and staying in shape, never worring about making the wrong decision. I had the perfect life most of the time. But today, I was exceptionally tired from a particularly busy week. Execs had set a launch date only 2 weeks away, and the portable hard drive carrying some of our game’s source code had corrupted. Normally, I know how to prevent catastrophic events of this sort from happening. How? I get advice from my future self on how to make the next day as great as it can be. I thought it was dreams at first, nothing more than my imagination. But now I believe it’s some kind of time-travelling telepathic link. I follow my future self’s advice, and things work out. This has come in handily many times, getting me deals of a lifetime on cars and making the occasional gamble a guaranteed win. I even got the winning Powerball numbers from my future self once. So, to not know about something as important as files being corruped by way of this warning system was ...odd. I brushed it off, thinking that everyone was bound to deal with the fallout of at least one big problem like this. But I'm not everyone. I get told how to make my future as good as it can be, and my future self has never failed to warn me how to avoid something as important as critical data loss. Whatever. For now I had to scramble around like a normal person, cleaning up another person's mistake for not making a backup. Thank goodness the pseudocode survived. By lunchtime of the fourth day, the entire office was droopy-eyed, trying to restore 3 months of code in only 2 weeks. Since the files were lost, I hadn't heard from my future self once. No advice on what code I could fix quickly, or where a recovery file of the original code might be. Not even a recommendation as to coffee or energy drink. The first two nights I got a full night's rest, banking on the thought of my future self giving me some of the code that was missing. But on night 3, I decided not to wait for advice anymore, and I stayed with the rest of the team and worked into the early hours of the morning. I needed sleep, and so I laid down on a lounger in the break room, letting the memory foam slowly collapse under the weight of my tired and sore body. Sleep came quickly. Then, standing in front of me, was a version of myself I had never seen before. And nothing else. He was wearing the same outfit I had on that day, but it was ripped to shreds in places, and charred in others. And he had the longest beard I had ever seen outside of movies. "HE'S NOT YOU!" the tattered man screamed. His voice echoed in the pitch black space, as though somehow the entire universe was resonating to the panic in his voice. "YOU CAN'T LISTEN TO HIM! STOP NOW, AND LEAVE. RUN AWAY WHILE YOU STILL CAN!" Run away? Run away from what, and who was this tattered version of me screaming about? He's not you. Could he really mean the future self that had gotten me into the University of Texas, the future self that helped me land a job at perhaps the best game developer in the country? What does this tattered me know that I don't? "The suits! The suits he always wears when he tells you what to do. THINK ABOUT IT! Do you even own a suit like that? Have you ever even considered buying one? You're a game developer who never wears anything fancier than a tie!" "But I assumed he would tell me when it was time to get the suit!" I exclaimed, still not quite sure whether this man was real. "Forget the suit! He's sending you down a rabbit hole! Tonight he'll tell you how to repair the missing code. You can't listen to what he says, or you'll end up like me!" "But how could some computer code turn me into you? What happened to-" "WHAT HAPPENED!?" his voice bellowed towards the very core of my being. "THERE'S NO TIME FOR WHAT HAPPENED! My very appearance should be enough to tell you 'what happened'. If you listen to the man in the fancy suit, YOU WILL TURN INTO ME!" "Jonathan, you can't sleep this long. Other people need naps, too." My coworkers were trying to wake me. I looked back to my tattered and charred incarnation, only to see him gone. I could no longer ask questions. He was gone. After about an hour of thinking over what I had just seen, I concluded that whatever ability I had to be warned about the future was somehow broken because I was short on sleep. So that night, I went home right at 5:00 and got to bed early. "Jonathan! It's good to see me again. You really do need to stay well rested. That stunt you pulled last night was absolutely stupid." He was there. The future me I had become familiar with. He stood in front of me, wearing the same suit as always, and looking just as clean and tidy as ever. I decided not to ask about the me I saw during my lunchtime nap, for fear of him being the real me. "Do you have any helpful hints on where I can restore the lost code from?" I asked. "It would be a lot easier if you just told me beforehand that hard drive was going to crash." "It didn't crash." "... Come again? How did it not crash?" "Charles was cut salary the day before the code was lost. He wanted to stick it to the company in a big way for ruining him, and there's nothing you could have done to stop him from deleting the code." "So, is there anything I can do to fix his actions and make my life easier again?" "Charles made a copy to hold over the executives' heads for cutting his salary. He hid it in his car's glovebox, and tomorrow, he'll forget to lock it when he arrives at work. Unfortunately, I couldn't tell you about this until tonight, or else Charles would start getting suspicious that you knew what he's up to. Get it out of his green Model 3 after he gets to work, and then discretely load it onto the fileserver in the '/root/Documents' folder. Then say you were digging around for a backup of the code and found it there. You'll be back to normal before lunch." That seemed simple enough to me. I never had broken into someone else's car before, but it would be unlocked. My future self had never steered me wrong before. "Thank you. You've made my life amazingly better by being here." "Don't thank me, thank yourself. After all, you'll be the one giving the advice at some point." My alarm clock went off, and he was gone. After having a nice breakfast, I arrived at work a few minutes late. It would look better for me to be late than going back out of the building only 10 minutes into the day. In the furthest parking space from the door, on the lowest level of the underground garage, was a green Model 3 with its doors unlocked. Charles' car. I opened the passenger door and reached for the glovebox. "YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING!" The voice echoed through my mind, ricochetting over and over. I lifted my head to realize that I had passed out. No one was in the garage still. I grabbed the handle on the glovebox, pulled it, and opened the compartment. Inside was only one thing. A small, white disk with a ring of cyan light on each side. I grasped it with my hand, and there was no turning back. My body disintegrated in front of me. Every atom of every cell separated from one another, rising up my arms and legs, up my torso until only my head remained. I watched as my disassociated body was sucked into the disk. Then my eyes went, and there was only black. The black only lasted a few seconds, but it lifted to reveal a sincerely frightening sight. There, standing physically in front of me, was the person I had regarded for years as my future self. And he wasn't alone. "Lock him up with the other combatants." The two guards, each at least three meters tall and bearing four arms with tentacled hands, grabbed at my arms and legs and bound them tight. As they dragged me away, the liar who pretended to be me was removing his suit jacket. Underneath it, he was just like the guards. Shorter than them, but four arms and tentacled hands. He chuckled. "Time travel is a wonderful thing. It's just too bad you'll never get to use it again." The guard dragging my arms used one of its free hands to grab my face, and blocked me from breathing until I couldn't fight any harder, and passed out. I'm quite new to writing so any feedback is appreciated!	I have never been the kind to try and find a meaning in dreams, nor the one who listens to fortune tellers: my future is mine to shape, unforeseeable and beautifully mysterious because of that. I don’t know what comes next, and as such I’m as free as I could be in my choices. This is just how it should be, except it ceased to about an year ago. The dreams started after a crazy night out in my town with the old friends I hadn’t seen in a while, they looked all accomplished, successful, and there it was me, the one unfit for success, the one still working 9-5 in a small office, full of small people working 9-5, unfit for success as well. My friends had either smoking hot girlfriends or plethoras of lovers, while I was texting a girl from office, maybe a 7, still the best I could get. That night my friends ordered all top-shelf stuff, we’re talking abut Bellavista, Grey Goose, and 50 years old Whiskeys, and there was kind of a challenge about who was to offer more drinks to the poor old friend I was. I loved them, my scarce wealth was never a problem except to me: to me it was a big problem, and when I got home, the evening after, I went to bed wishing to be just as successful: to be able to pay them back, I told myself, but maybe just because I wanted to. That night I dreamt of a guy, well-dressed, rich-looking and handsome, and he introduced himself as someone willing to help me achieve my goals, so I laughed it off, being like: “Ok dude, I should never have drank that much, I get it”, so he said: “Tomorrow, go walking to your office, leave early and enjoy the view, this will show you what I can do”. That morning I got up early and walked to the office -it was a mere thirty minutes away and it could do some good to me to walk every once in a while, i thought- enjoying the view like the guy said. As I turned around the corner, I found a jewellery box laying on the ground aside a strange-looking key. I put both in my pocket and, being the nice guy I used to be, reached up to a wealthy-looking lady asking whether she lost them. The old lady thanked me so much, but didn’t recognise the key, she said the box had fell out of her pocket, and offered me coffee in her mansion as a thank-you. I promptly accepted. The mansion was spectacular, it took a couple of minutes to get there by car from the city, and as I entered I thought it was well-worth being scolded at work for being late. The old lady introduced me to her daughter, definitely the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, and we instantly hit it off. Later she drove me to work and said the sweetest goodbye leaving me with a kiss on the cheek and a confused mind. I had fallen in love. Once I was in the office I got suspended for being late, or, as they said it, i got “given some time to think about my career there”, so I went out in the city once again, bought one of those milk-caramel-unicornshit-coffees they do at Costa’s and sit there, enjoying that beautiful day of sun, in pure happiness. I then got to the park, bought a book, and spent the afternoon there reading. At night I got home, ordered chinese, and just got to bed. I dreamt of the guy again that night, and the night after, and every night after that one, always giving me advice, always making me happier. I won’t recount the ways he did, but should it suffice to say I got promoted at my office, twice, becoming one of the managers, and as such I got a bigger home to invite that girl, Asia, over. We eventually became a couple and everything was as happy as it could be. Until today. Today me and Asia moved in a beautiful attic, me now working in another company as a top-manager took a day off to help with the boxes, and I got really tired, so I fell asleep at 16, against the advice of the dream-guy. Waiting for me, there was another guy, poor-looking, dirty, practically an hobo, who introduced himself as me. He told me he was me, and the other guy was as well, he told me I should stop listening to him, that the damages would have been by far greater than the perks I was getting. I didn’t believe him, so he showed me the future both of the dream guys could see. I saw great wealth, I saw fame as my company merged with ever-greater ones, I saw my marriage with Asia, our children, and then I saw something too awful to tell. I will try anyway. I saw me. Cheating on her. I saw her. Finding out. I saw me. I saw my rage. I saw a knife. I saw the love of my life, on the ground, our children sound asleep. I saw enough. I told the guy to fuck off, to never bother me again with such awful visions. What should I have done? The night guy just told me what to do, and it always led to happiness, this new one instead pops up in my mind and shows me such unholy things. I couldn’t stand it. “Go away”, I said, “Go away and never come back, you sick piece of shit”. “I’m just trying to warn you, stay away from the other one, you’re happy now, let it be. Don’t be avid”, he said. “I won’t listen to you psycho”, I replied. “Fine then, by the way, it’s Janice, she got breast implants and she wants an interview in your company, but in fact she’s just obsessed about you since you stopped texting her because of Asia” “What…”, I couldn’t understand, “What are you say…” The guy disappeared. I woke up to the ringing telephone. The voicemail started repeating its mantra. A response followed, slightly covered by the noisy spools of the tape: “Hi [panting], this is Janice and, umm, I thought we could meet… Of course for the interview, I know you’re in a relationship of course. I, well, I got some implants, so maybe this time I’m good enough for you HAHAHAHA just kidding hahaha isn’t this funny? Anyway, your secretary didn’t book me the interview so call me back and we’ll do on our own… The interview of course! Bye” That night, the guy told me to hire Janice.
	[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other.	I am reading this journal one last time before I burn it, for some things are better left in the past. * May 15th, 2011, 7:30am. Last night was very strange. I sat up in bed, but my room was not my room. I struggled to get to sleep for two reasons: first, because the Law School Admissions Test was the next day, and second, because the air conditioner had broken down and I was lying in a pool of my own sweat. I tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable, and just as I started to slip into the familiar lull of my subconscious, I felt a hand touch my chest directly over my heart three times. I panicked and bolted upright, but my room was unfamiliar. The walls were gray, sterile, and somehow shifting. He walked in the door. It was my father, but I know He was not my father. He sat next to me and puts His hand on my knee. I had a fleeting thought of resistance; of running, or fighting, but I sat motionless. “Tomorrow is a very big day for you. A very big day indeed. And we need to make sure you are prepared for it.” My heart pounded in my chest. “Who is this?” I thought to myself. “I am you,” He responded, before I could form the words. “Well, I am you in the future. And let me tell you, your – our – future is amazing. I can’t tell you what is in store, but I need you to remember what I tell you now.” He then turned to me and then looked directly into my eyes: “A, C, D, E, E, D, A, A, C, D, B, B, B, B, E, C, B, D…” He went on for another fifteen minutes this way. He then told me a story about a boy and a dog, and how that boy killed another dog to save his own. I recognized the sound of my alarm clock. It was time to wake up. As I returned to consciousness, I realized that I was back in my room. I think I’ve been putting myself under too much stress recently. I’ll make a pot of coffee and hope that helps. * May 15th, 2011, 6:30pm. I don’t know what to write, and I’m a little bit scared. I need to start at the beginning of the day for this to make sense. After I wrote this morning’s entry, I got ready and drove down to the local university where they were hosting the LSAT. I filled the parking meter to the maximum it would let me, but it was still two hours short of how long the test would be. Then I realized it was Saturday, and I didn’t have to pay the meter anyway. Oops. I hoped I would be more on point for the rest of the examination. During the examination instructions, the power went out. The emergency generators kicked on, but the air conditioning doesn’t run when that happens. Everyone groaned, but nobody left. We followed the instructions and started the examination. I opened my book. Section one was the vocabulary section of the exam – one of my strong points. I cruised through the first hour-long session, filling each of the bubbles in turn. I ran into a few questions that I didn’t know the answer to, so I left those blank to come back to later. I reached the end of the section and reviewed: I had answered 38 questions and left 12 blank. Suddenly, something stirred in me. I started taking note of each of the answers. A. C. D. Blank. Blank. D. A. Blank. A. A. C. D. I heard His voice in my head, repeating the numbers as clearly as day. “What the hell is going on?” I thought to myself. I started to panic. Every single question that I had answered were in the same order and had the same answers as He told me last night! My mind was a blur; I was sweating like crazy. Suddenly, the examination proctor told us, “five minutes remaining in this section.” I snapped back to reality – I had completely forgotten to answer the questions! Without thinking, I filled in the remaining bubbles with the letters that had been spoken to me the night before. I did the same thing with each of the remaining sections. When I finally got to the essay question, my jaw dropped. It was an ethics question; a question about the very boy and his dog that I had been told the night before. Instinctively I wrote the answer down verbatim. I don’t know why I did it. I don’t think I’m going to sleep well tonight. * June 1st, 2011. He has visited me every night since the examination. He tells me things. Things to do, things to say, and what to expect with each passing day. He asks nothing in return; just for me to listen. He told me to go to a certain gas station near my house and pulled out a red and green square of cardboard: a scratch off ticket. He told me to go at 4:15pm. I did, I bought the ticket, and won $600. He told me not to spend the money, but to instead invest it in a few certain stocks. I’ll have to figure out how to do that tomorrow. * June 12th, 2011. Today is the happiest day of my life! I got my LSAT results back, and I made a perfect score. 180! I suppose something deep inside me was expecting this; either way, I’m ecstatic. My mom and dad are so proud that they’ve called all their friends and the neighbors. I didn’t even have a chance to tell anyone because they went to Facebook and posted it on my wall before I had the chance to. I’ll let them have their moment! I’m just happy to have done so well! I haven’t heard back from Him since the first of the month. * February 10th, 2012. I found out yesterday that I was accepted to Harvard Law on a full scholarship. Last night, I felt three touches on my chest, and he visited me again. I sat up in the now-familiar gray room. “Where have you been?” I asked. “You didn’t need me, so I stayed back. But you need me now. This is important.” He said a bunch of words that sounded like someone talking on the phone; like it was one half of a conversation. I don’t understand what it means, but I can remember all of it perfectly. * February 14th, 2012. Now I know what’s going on! My mom and dad threw a big surprise party for me and invited all my friends. Anna, the girl that I’ve been crushing on since Junior year of University, was there. As the party was winding down, I went into the den and saw her long blond hair draped over the back of the sofa. She was sitting there by herself looking at her phone. I sat down, and started repeating the half-phone conversation that He told me, verbatim. She responded naturally, and I just kept saying what he said, the same way he said it. She laughed, a lot. Incredible! I had to sneak out to write this while it was fresh on my mind tonight. She is still asleep in my room. * February 15th, 2012. I woke up this morning next to Anna. I took a deep, long breath of her glorious hair, and rolled over to grab my phone. The stocks I bought back in June had gone up in value substantially. The $600 I had invested was now worth more than $6,000!	I have never been the kind to try and find a meaning in dreams, nor the one who listens to fortune tellers: my future is mine to shape, unforeseeable and beautifully mysterious because of that. I don’t know what comes next, and as such I’m as free as I could be in my choices. This is just how it should be, except it ceased to about an year ago. The dreams started after a crazy night out in my town with the old friends I hadn’t seen in a while, they looked all accomplished, successful, and there it was me, the one unfit for success, the one still working 9-5 in a small office, full of small people working 9-5, unfit for success as well. My friends had either smoking hot girlfriends or plethoras of lovers, while I was texting a girl from office, maybe a 7, still the best I could get. That night my friends ordered all top-shelf stuff, we’re talking abut Bellavista, Grey Goose, and 50 years old Whiskeys, and there was kind of a challenge about who was to offer more drinks to the poor old friend I was. I loved them, my scarce wealth was never a problem except to me: to me it was a big problem, and when I got home, the evening after, I went to bed wishing to be just as successful: to be able to pay them back, I told myself, but maybe just because I wanted to. That night I dreamt of a guy, well-dressed, rich-looking and handsome, and he introduced himself as someone willing to help me achieve my goals, so I laughed it off, being like: “Ok dude, I should never have drank that much, I get it”, so he said: “Tomorrow, go walking to your office, leave early and enjoy the view, this will show you what I can do”. That morning I got up early and walked to the office -it was a mere thirty minutes away and it could do some good to me to walk every once in a while, i thought- enjoying the view like the guy said. As I turned around the corner, I found a jewellery box laying on the ground aside a strange-looking key. I put both in my pocket and, being the nice guy I used to be, reached up to a wealthy-looking lady asking whether she lost them. The old lady thanked me so much, but didn’t recognise the key, she said the box had fell out of her pocket, and offered me coffee in her mansion as a thank-you. I promptly accepted. The mansion was spectacular, it took a couple of minutes to get there by car from the city, and as I entered I thought it was well-worth being scolded at work for being late. The old lady introduced me to her daughter, definitely the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, and we instantly hit it off. Later she drove me to work and said the sweetest goodbye leaving me with a kiss on the cheek and a confused mind. I had fallen in love. Once I was in the office I got suspended for being late, or, as they said it, i got “given some time to think about my career there”, so I went out in the city once again, bought one of those milk-caramel-unicornshit-coffees they do at Costa’s and sit there, enjoying that beautiful day of sun, in pure happiness. I then got to the park, bought a book, and spent the afternoon there reading. At night I got home, ordered chinese, and just got to bed. I dreamt of the guy again that night, and the night after, and every night after that one, always giving me advice, always making me happier. I won’t recount the ways he did, but should it suffice to say I got promoted at my office, twice, becoming one of the managers, and as such I got a bigger home to invite that girl, Asia, over. We eventually became a couple and everything was as happy as it could be. Until today. Today me and Asia moved in a beautiful attic, me now working in another company as a top-manager took a day off to help with the boxes, and I got really tired, so I fell asleep at 16, against the advice of the dream-guy. Waiting for me, there was another guy, poor-looking, dirty, practically an hobo, who introduced himself as me. He told me he was me, and the other guy was as well, he told me I should stop listening to him, that the damages would have been by far greater than the perks I was getting. I didn’t believe him, so he showed me the future both of the dream guys could see. I saw great wealth, I saw fame as my company merged with ever-greater ones, I saw my marriage with Asia, our children, and then I saw something too awful to tell. I will try anyway. I saw me. Cheating on her. I saw her. Finding out. I saw me. I saw my rage. I saw a knife. I saw the love of my life, on the ground, our children sound asleep. I saw enough. I told the guy to fuck off, to never bother me again with such awful visions. What should I have done? The night guy just told me what to do, and it always led to happiness, this new one instead pops up in my mind and shows me such unholy things. I couldn’t stand it. “Go away”, I said, “Go away and never come back, you sick piece of shit”. “I’m just trying to warn you, stay away from the other one, you’re happy now, let it be. Don’t be avid”, he said. “I won’t listen to you psycho”, I replied. “Fine then, by the way, it’s Janice, she got breast implants and she wants an interview in your company, but in fact she’s just obsessed about you since you stopped texting her because of Asia” “What…”, I couldn’t understand, “What are you say…” The guy disappeared. I woke up to the ringing telephone. The voicemail started repeating its mantra. A response followed, slightly covered by the noisy spools of the tape: “Hi [panting], this is Janice and, umm, I thought we could meet… Of course for the interview, I know you’re in a relationship of course. I, well, I got some implants, so maybe this time I’m good enough for you HAHAHAHA just kidding hahaha isn’t this funny? Anyway, your secretary didn’t book me the interview so call me back and we’ll do on our own… The interview of course! Bye” That night, the guy told me to hire Janice.
	[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other.	"You will love her more than you've loved anyone else. She will be light of your life. Although you don't know it yet. Sure she may be a bit on the heavy side, and sure she may sound like a beached whale. Not a convincing pitch is it? She's smart. Trust me she is smart. You've always wanted to be great, at what? Doesn't matter, the only thing that matters to you is greatness itself. She will give you that." That's what I told myself. Or what he told me. Can I really consider him to be me if we have different memories? Welling different, I just have less. We are what we do, and I have not done what he has. Which is precisely why I must listen to him. Greatness sounds... well great. I want my names in the history books. I'll marry that woman and make her make me great. I lay on my couch day dreaming about the whale. I don't anticipate the woman herself, but I'm sure she is a great person. I slowly drift away when I startle myself. "Don't do it! I know what you're thinking, please, just please don't. " Well I mean, he startles me, it's a bit awkward to remember to differentiate myself from them. The me with plus experience. Me+ if you will. I look at me+ and see that I am not at all like the other me. Long dirty beard with long dirty hair. Cracked hands with cracked nails, shoes that don't match, and three winter coats on in may. I'm homeless, or atleast near enough that it makes no difference. "You look like shit, what happened?" Me+ takes no offence to my remark, almost as if he is told the same thing everyday. He takes a breath and starts his story. "She is great, truly amazing. If she had the looks she would be leading the world by now. Which is why I did. She was sauron and I her mouth. Using my good looks we made it to the top. People loved us, or hated us. It made no matter no one opposed us." "Don't you find it weird that you're talking in the past tense, but these events actually happened in the future?" Me+ looks up in wonder and says "woah, far out man." We share a laugh and for a second I see my own, child like wonder in his eyes. It doesn't last, suddenly the vast emptiness returns. "What would you do with all that power?" I ponder the question for a few seconds and say "I don't know." He continues ands if he already knew the answer. He'll he probably did "neither do I. I controlled the largest army history has ever seen, I have been called prime minister by more people than all of the world leaders in history. Yet I did nothing with that power. Sure I am called great, but I am only a great puppet. She sits at the high table, I stand on the pedestal. The history books will worship you." I smile at the thought, but there's a catch. I always have a catch. "We were the first to legalise la ganja, gave us more power than we though. The booming economy and our vast amounts of fresh water put us on the world stage. Far surpassing what our little brother to the south has ever achieved. Soon we controlled it all through trade. The fact that it's getting warmer every year attracted more immigrants. Soon we we had the man power to take it all. And we did." I have always thought I'd take over the world, although I always expected to start start on Africa, taking advantage advantage the poor economy and unstable governments. Never thought I'd start at home. "Power is fine and dandy, but what you want is money, what you want is freedom. You'll have money, but no freedom if you take the whale for your wife." "You look like a hobo though, what the hell happened?" "We have always liked drugs haven't we? The books will say we were great, but they will also say that we fell from grace due to alcoholism and drug addiction. You see, I didn't have the fredom to go live in a cabin in the woods with a husky and little else. We, however, did have the fredom to take whatever substance we wanted. Not many people to stop you from doing so Inn the privacy of your own home. The whale is fat, she can handle it. Being native and skinny makes it a bit harder for us. Too hard." Speaking of which, I light up a joint and we pass it to eachother for a bit. We sit in silence letting the smoke fill the air. When our eyes are red and puffy he turns to me and stabs me in the arm. Before Before I can react he's gone. I yell out what the fuck as tears steam down my face. I rush to the er for treatment. I'm patched up and let go, through the days I wonder why me+ would do that. I'm I'm sure he had a decent reason, although he was a crazy hobo. I can't even know if any of what he said was true. I never will. Days turn to weeks to months to years. I wait and wait, but I never meet a woman named Veronica. I never met the whale. I become obsessed over her, I found found a Facebook page that might be hers, but I have no way of knowing for sure. Knowing. Funny word there, it seems to be all I want. I want, nay, I need to know what could've been. I spend my later years searching for a way to go back, they did and so will I. I need to go back and tell me what to do. I need to know the right path to take.	I have never been the kind to try and find a meaning in dreams, nor the one who listens to fortune tellers: my future is mine to shape, unforeseeable and beautifully mysterious because of that. I don’t know what comes next, and as such I’m as free as I could be in my choices. This is just how it should be, except it ceased to about an year ago. The dreams started after a crazy night out in my town with the old friends I hadn’t seen in a while, they looked all accomplished, successful, and there it was me, the one unfit for success, the one still working 9-5 in a small office, full of small people working 9-5, unfit for success as well. My friends had either smoking hot girlfriends or plethoras of lovers, while I was texting a girl from office, maybe a 7, still the best I could get. That night my friends ordered all top-shelf stuff, we’re talking abut Bellavista, Grey Goose, and 50 years old Whiskeys, and there was kind of a challenge about who was to offer more drinks to the poor old friend I was. I loved them, my scarce wealth was never a problem except to me: to me it was a big problem, and when I got home, the evening after, I went to bed wishing to be just as successful: to be able to pay them back, I told myself, but maybe just because I wanted to. That night I dreamt of a guy, well-dressed, rich-looking and handsome, and he introduced himself as someone willing to help me achieve my goals, so I laughed it off, being like: “Ok dude, I should never have drank that much, I get it”, so he said: “Tomorrow, go walking to your office, leave early and enjoy the view, this will show you what I can do”. That morning I got up early and walked to the office -it was a mere thirty minutes away and it could do some good to me to walk every once in a while, i thought- enjoying the view like the guy said. As I turned around the corner, I found a jewellery box laying on the ground aside a strange-looking key. I put both in my pocket and, being the nice guy I used to be, reached up to a wealthy-looking lady asking whether she lost them. The old lady thanked me so much, but didn’t recognise the key, she said the box had fell out of her pocket, and offered me coffee in her mansion as a thank-you. I promptly accepted. The mansion was spectacular, it took a couple of minutes to get there by car from the city, and as I entered I thought it was well-worth being scolded at work for being late. The old lady introduced me to her daughter, definitely the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, and we instantly hit it off. Later she drove me to work and said the sweetest goodbye leaving me with a kiss on the cheek and a confused mind. I had fallen in love. Once I was in the office I got suspended for being late, or, as they said it, i got “given some time to think about my career there”, so I went out in the city once again, bought one of those milk-caramel-unicornshit-coffees they do at Costa’s and sit there, enjoying that beautiful day of sun, in pure happiness. I then got to the park, bought a book, and spent the afternoon there reading. At night I got home, ordered chinese, and just got to bed. I dreamt of the guy again that night, and the night after, and every night after that one, always giving me advice, always making me happier. I won’t recount the ways he did, but should it suffice to say I got promoted at my office, twice, becoming one of the managers, and as such I got a bigger home to invite that girl, Asia, over. We eventually became a couple and everything was as happy as it could be. Until today. Today me and Asia moved in a beautiful attic, me now working in another company as a top-manager took a day off to help with the boxes, and I got really tired, so I fell asleep at 16, against the advice of the dream-guy. Waiting for me, there was another guy, poor-looking, dirty, practically an hobo, who introduced himself as me. He told me he was me, and the other guy was as well, he told me I should stop listening to him, that the damages would have been by far greater than the perks I was getting. I didn’t believe him, so he showed me the future both of the dream guys could see. I saw great wealth, I saw fame as my company merged with ever-greater ones, I saw my marriage with Asia, our children, and then I saw something too awful to tell. I will try anyway. I saw me. Cheating on her. I saw her. Finding out. I saw me. I saw my rage. I saw a knife. I saw the love of my life, on the ground, our children sound asleep. I saw enough. I told the guy to fuck off, to never bother me again with such awful visions. What should I have done? The night guy just told me what to do, and it always led to happiness, this new one instead pops up in my mind and shows me such unholy things. I couldn’t stand it. “Go away”, I said, “Go away and never come back, you sick piece of shit”. “I’m just trying to warn you, stay away from the other one, you’re happy now, let it be. Don’t be avid”, he said. “I won’t listen to you psycho”, I replied. “Fine then, by the way, it’s Janice, she got breast implants and she wants an interview in your company, but in fact she’s just obsessed about you since you stopped texting her because of Asia” “What…”, I couldn’t understand, “What are you say…” The guy disappeared. I woke up to the ringing telephone. The voicemail started repeating its mantra. A response followed, slightly covered by the noisy spools of the tape: “Hi [panting], this is Janice and, umm, I thought we could meet… Of course for the interview, I know you’re in a relationship of course. I, well, I got some implants, so maybe this time I’m good enough for you HAHAHAHA just kidding hahaha isn’t this funny? Anyway, your secretary didn’t book me the interview so call me back and we’ll do on our own… The interview of course! Bye” That night, the guy told me to hire Janice.
	[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other.	I don't remember the first time it happened, or how I came to believe it was real... but I've been having visions, visions of my future self telling me how to reach success in life. I know it's hard work to get somewhere in life, especially when you're from a poor background like I am, but having a guide makes it so much easier; since I started having these visions I gained more insight in the world of business and how business works, I was on the path of my dreams. Now I'm waiting for my turn to the doctor, I've been having back pain lately; as I'm waiting I feel my eyes closing, before I know it I find myself in the world of my visions. I start looking for my future version, but who greets me is an old man, barely standing, looking at me with the saddest eyes I've ever seen, I slowly approach him. "Who are you?" I ask. No reply. Maybe he didn't hear me, "Who are you?!" I ask, this time louder than before, he looks down and with a breaking voice asks me "You're trying to get places aren't you?", I stare at him surprised, I see a small tear coming down his cheek, I slowly respond "y-yeah", the old man continues "success is a hard path to follow, there are many ways to get there, some better than others, don't listen to the other one, he's blind"... the other one? Is he talking about my guide? I ask again this time more aggressively "Who are you?", "I'm a dead man", somehow I feel the pain behind those words. I hear the nurse calling my name. I head home after the appointment, cancel all my plans and lay down in bed. I look intensively at the clock trying to fall asleep, once it hits the 10 I blackout. I see fog everywhere, this time is different, I have a bad feeling. I see my future self walking up to me, "Here you are!! Tomorrow is gonna be a hard day, let's not waste anytime and get to planning", for the first time I sense something new from him, I don't know what it is though, I interrupt him and tell him about my experience with the old man, "I've never heard of him... you probably just imagined him"; normally I'd believe him, but this time the old man's words were stuck in my head "He's blind... I'm a dead man..." I hear my voice coming out from me, my mouth starts moving by itself "what is success?", we both look at each other, he looks surprised and I can only imagine my expression is mirroring his. There is a moment of silence then he says "success is everything, having money, being able to do what you want, having control, power, being above the common people; the world runs on money, and I have all the money I will ever need, the one with the money is the one with everything". I feel my abs contracting as if someone just punched me in the stomach, for the first time since I started meeting him I realized who he really was. "That's wrong... success isn't just money and power, I never wanted those things, I realize it now, all I ever wanted is to one day have a family and to be able to support them... who is your family?" "I don't have a family, I used too... but she asked for a divorce and took custody of my daughter... I was left with nothing, family is only good to destroy you, they will betray you and take everything you have". I realized how much in pain he was, "why did she divorce you?" "She said I wasn't with her enough, hypocrite bitch, she used to ask me to buy all sorts of things, I spent a fortune on her, money doesn't grow on trees I had to work to buy her those things, she didn't understand I couldn't allow myself to waste time... but it was a blessing, I realized how much she was holding me back, now I can focus on my business, and I will teach you how to prevent my same mistakes" "you're making a mistake right now, you're feeling so much pain that the only way to cope with it is to live in money, you're blind to how you really feel, you're wasting your life, you're not successful... you're... you're a dead man?", it came to me, if my future self was leading me in the wrong path, why couldn't an older self save me from it? At that realization the old man appeared in front of us, with a fading smile he went to say "Thank you". I'm awake. I learned a lot from this, I don't know if I'll ever be visited by visions again, but I know what my future can hold, and I know how to avoid it, the time for shortcuts is over, I will reach my goals by myself.	I have never been the kind to try and find a meaning in dreams, nor the one who listens to fortune tellers: my future is mine to shape, unforeseeable and beautifully mysterious because of that. I don’t know what comes next, and as such I’m as free as I could be in my choices. This is just how it should be, except it ceased to about an year ago. The dreams started after a crazy night out in my town with the old friends I hadn’t seen in a while, they looked all accomplished, successful, and there it was me, the one unfit for success, the one still working 9-5 in a small office, full of small people working 9-5, unfit for success as well. My friends had either smoking hot girlfriends or plethoras of lovers, while I was texting a girl from office, maybe a 7, still the best I could get. That night my friends ordered all top-shelf stuff, we’re talking abut Bellavista, Grey Goose, and 50 years old Whiskeys, and there was kind of a challenge about who was to offer more drinks to the poor old friend I was. I loved them, my scarce wealth was never a problem except to me: to me it was a big problem, and when I got home, the evening after, I went to bed wishing to be just as successful: to be able to pay them back, I told myself, but maybe just because I wanted to. That night I dreamt of a guy, well-dressed, rich-looking and handsome, and he introduced himself as someone willing to help me achieve my goals, so I laughed it off, being like: “Ok dude, I should never have drank that much, I get it”, so he said: “Tomorrow, go walking to your office, leave early and enjoy the view, this will show you what I can do”. That morning I got up early and walked to the office -it was a mere thirty minutes away and it could do some good to me to walk every once in a while, i thought- enjoying the view like the guy said. As I turned around the corner, I found a jewellery box laying on the ground aside a strange-looking key. I put both in my pocket and, being the nice guy I used to be, reached up to a wealthy-looking lady asking whether she lost them. The old lady thanked me so much, but didn’t recognise the key, she said the box had fell out of her pocket, and offered me coffee in her mansion as a thank-you. I promptly accepted. The mansion was spectacular, it took a couple of minutes to get there by car from the city, and as I entered I thought it was well-worth being scolded at work for being late. The old lady introduced me to her daughter, definitely the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, and we instantly hit it off. Later she drove me to work and said the sweetest goodbye leaving me with a kiss on the cheek and a confused mind. I had fallen in love. Once I was in the office I got suspended for being late, or, as they said it, i got “given some time to think about my career there”, so I went out in the city once again, bought one of those milk-caramel-unicornshit-coffees they do at Costa’s and sit there, enjoying that beautiful day of sun, in pure happiness. I then got to the park, bought a book, and spent the afternoon there reading. At night I got home, ordered chinese, and just got to bed. I dreamt of the guy again that night, and the night after, and every night after that one, always giving me advice, always making me happier. I won’t recount the ways he did, but should it suffice to say I got promoted at my office, twice, becoming one of the managers, and as such I got a bigger home to invite that girl, Asia, over. We eventually became a couple and everything was as happy as it could be. Until today. Today me and Asia moved in a beautiful attic, me now working in another company as a top-manager took a day off to help with the boxes, and I got really tired, so I fell asleep at 16, against the advice of the dream-guy. Waiting for me, there was another guy, poor-looking, dirty, practically an hobo, who introduced himself as me. He told me he was me, and the other guy was as well, he told me I should stop listening to him, that the damages would have been by far greater than the perks I was getting. I didn’t believe him, so he showed me the future both of the dream guys could see. I saw great wealth, I saw fame as my company merged with ever-greater ones, I saw my marriage with Asia, our children, and then I saw something too awful to tell. I will try anyway. I saw me. Cheating on her. I saw her. Finding out. I saw me. I saw my rage. I saw a knife. I saw the love of my life, on the ground, our children sound asleep. I saw enough. I told the guy to fuck off, to never bother me again with such awful visions. What should I have done? The night guy just told me what to do, and it always led to happiness, this new one instead pops up in my mind and shows me such unholy things. I couldn’t stand it. “Go away”, I said, “Go away and never come back, you sick piece of shit”. “I’m just trying to warn you, stay away from the other one, you’re happy now, let it be. Don’t be avid”, he said. “I won’t listen to you psycho”, I replied. “Fine then, by the way, it’s Janice, she got breast implants and she wants an interview in your company, but in fact she’s just obsessed about you since you stopped texting her because of Asia” “What…”, I couldn’t understand, “What are you say…” The guy disappeared. I woke up to the ringing telephone. The voicemail started repeating its mantra. A response followed, slightly covered by the noisy spools of the tape: “Hi [panting], this is Janice and, umm, I thought we could meet… Of course for the interview, I know you’re in a relationship of course. I, well, I got some implants, so maybe this time I’m good enough for you HAHAHAHA just kidding hahaha isn’t this funny? Anyway, your secretary didn’t book me the interview so call me back and we’ll do on our own… The interview of course! Bye” That night, the guy told me to hire Janice.
	[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other.	“Don’t do it.” For years I had been receiving visions. Visions of a brighter future. A future where the worries of today; famine, war, poverty, were nightmares relegated to obscurity. A world where every man, woman and child could live out their lives in peace and harmony, free from the uncertainty that plagued them, free from fear. A world where I could be happy. “Stop before it’s too late.” It started when I was five, the day my mother died, as I shuddered in fitful sleep. I’d woken in the to the sound of deep, heavy breathing. I’d opened by eyes and found myself face-to-face with a man, his hair streaked with white, his eyes lit with a deep knowing energy. Needless to say I screamed, I struggled, I tried to run. I couldn’t move. I blinked. He was gone. The days went by, the months, and with each day came a night, and with each night came the nightmares, and with each nightmare I awoke to the same face, silent the save the sound of his breath. I started to believe I was broken, damaged. I told my dad and he laughed, returning to the bottle. I told my friends, pleaded with them to believe me, they thought me strange and abandoned me. I don’t blame them. I told my teachers, they sent me to a shrink, who diagnosed me with mild parasomnia brought on by anxiety. He was wrong. Two years passed and the man started talking, telling me strange and wondrous tales. I lay there and listened, time immaterial in the darkness, to the path he put before me. At first I felt nothing but fear, but his stories pulled me in, designed as they were to entice and bewilder, simple in their execution but with a gravitas that I was unable to appreciate when I was so young. The tales he told, of great Kings, Conquerors that controlled the world, Knights that roamed far and wide performing deeds of good, finally helped me sleep. Five years passed and I was no longer afraid. The man had been there for me, through the years, helping me through the night. His stories had been replaced by direct guidance, wise words whispered that gave me what my father could not. He taught me how to manipulate, what to say in every situation, how to succeed. I went from a waif, drifting through childhood from detention to detention, to the popular kid in school, beloved by all. I could do anything. Fifteen years passed and the guidance now came with visions. The meaning was clear. “Do this and you will be great.” “Do this and you will succeed.” “Do this and you will get your heart’s desire.” His true nature was clear to me now, he was me. A wiser me. An older me. I became successful, starting my own company. I became driven, growing and expanding. I was a bright young star that could not be ignored, and being a star comes with opportunity. I grew wealthy, I grew powerful. Thirty years passed and it wasn’t enough. I had ascended the corporate ladder, it wasn’t enough. I had run for office, it wasn’t enough. I’d started charities, helped people, and for awhile the work had sated me, but it wasn’t enough. The man in the dreams still came, but now he looked back at me in every mirror, the white streaks of hair that seemed so strange now a permanent reminder of who I’d become. I still listened, and still he guided, but the guidance had changed. “What are you missing?” “When were you last truly happy?” “There’s one thing you still need.” I had to get it. Thirty-one years have passed and now I stand here on the precipice, the ice cold rain running down my body as I stare at the mound before me bathed in moonlight. He is here, different, true, but still a version of me, his clothes dishevelled, his face gaunt. “Please, this will be the end of us, stop.” I brush my hand over the stone, sweeping aside the vines and dust. The lettering worn but legible. “Here rests Grace, loving mother to her son, wife to her husband, taken cruelly before her time.” I raise my shovel.	I have never been the kind to try and find a meaning in dreams, nor the one who listens to fortune tellers: my future is mine to shape, unforeseeable and beautifully mysterious because of that. I don’t know what comes next, and as such I’m as free as I could be in my choices. This is just how it should be, except it ceased to about an year ago. The dreams started after a crazy night out in my town with the old friends I hadn’t seen in a while, they looked all accomplished, successful, and there it was me, the one unfit for success, the one still working 9-5 in a small office, full of small people working 9-5, unfit for success as well. My friends had either smoking hot girlfriends or plethoras of lovers, while I was texting a girl from office, maybe a 7, still the best I could get. That night my friends ordered all top-shelf stuff, we’re talking abut Bellavista, Grey Goose, and 50 years old Whiskeys, and there was kind of a challenge about who was to offer more drinks to the poor old friend I was. I loved them, my scarce wealth was never a problem except to me: to me it was a big problem, and when I got home, the evening after, I went to bed wishing to be just as successful: to be able to pay them back, I told myself, but maybe just because I wanted to. That night I dreamt of a guy, well-dressed, rich-looking and handsome, and he introduced himself as someone willing to help me achieve my goals, so I laughed it off, being like: “Ok dude, I should never have drank that much, I get it”, so he said: “Tomorrow, go walking to your office, leave early and enjoy the view, this will show you what I can do”. That morning I got up early and walked to the office -it was a mere thirty minutes away and it could do some good to me to walk every once in a while, i thought- enjoying the view like the guy said. As I turned around the corner, I found a jewellery box laying on the ground aside a strange-looking key. I put both in my pocket and, being the nice guy I used to be, reached up to a wealthy-looking lady asking whether she lost them. The old lady thanked me so much, but didn’t recognise the key, she said the box had fell out of her pocket, and offered me coffee in her mansion as a thank-you. I promptly accepted. The mansion was spectacular, it took a couple of minutes to get there by car from the city, and as I entered I thought it was well-worth being scolded at work for being late. The old lady introduced me to her daughter, definitely the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, and we instantly hit it off. Later she drove me to work and said the sweetest goodbye leaving me with a kiss on the cheek and a confused mind. I had fallen in love. Once I was in the office I got suspended for being late, or, as they said it, i got “given some time to think about my career there”, so I went out in the city once again, bought one of those milk-caramel-unicornshit-coffees they do at Costa’s and sit there, enjoying that beautiful day of sun, in pure happiness. I then got to the park, bought a book, and spent the afternoon there reading. At night I got home, ordered chinese, and just got to bed. I dreamt of the guy again that night, and the night after, and every night after that one, always giving me advice, always making me happier. I won’t recount the ways he did, but should it suffice to say I got promoted at my office, twice, becoming one of the managers, and as such I got a bigger home to invite that girl, Asia, over. We eventually became a couple and everything was as happy as it could be. Until today. Today me and Asia moved in a beautiful attic, me now working in another company as a top-manager took a day off to help with the boxes, and I got really tired, so I fell asleep at 16, against the advice of the dream-guy. Waiting for me, there was another guy, poor-looking, dirty, practically an hobo, who introduced himself as me. He told me he was me, and the other guy was as well, he told me I should stop listening to him, that the damages would have been by far greater than the perks I was getting. I didn’t believe him, so he showed me the future both of the dream guys could see. I saw great wealth, I saw fame as my company merged with ever-greater ones, I saw my marriage with Asia, our children, and then I saw something too awful to tell. I will try anyway. I saw me. Cheating on her. I saw her. Finding out. I saw me. I saw my rage. I saw a knife. I saw the love of my life, on the ground, our children sound asleep. I saw enough. I told the guy to fuck off, to never bother me again with such awful visions. What should I have done? The night guy just told me what to do, and it always led to happiness, this new one instead pops up in my mind and shows me such unholy things. I couldn’t stand it. “Go away”, I said, “Go away and never come back, you sick piece of shit”. “I’m just trying to warn you, stay away from the other one, you’re happy now, let it be. Don’t be avid”, he said. “I won’t listen to you psycho”, I replied. “Fine then, by the way, it’s Janice, she got breast implants and she wants an interview in your company, but in fact she’s just obsessed about you since you stopped texting her because of Asia” “What…”, I couldn’t understand, “What are you say…” The guy disappeared. I woke up to the ringing telephone. The voicemail started repeating its mantra. A response followed, slightly covered by the noisy spools of the tape: “Hi [panting], this is Janice and, umm, I thought we could meet… Of course for the interview, I know you’re in a relationship of course. I, well, I got some implants, so maybe this time I’m good enough for you HAHAHAHA just kidding hahaha isn’t this funny? Anyway, your secretary didn’t book me the interview so call me back and we’ll do on our own… The interview of course! Bye” That night, the guy told me to hire Janice.
	[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other.	"You will love her more than you've loved anyone else. She will be light of your life. Although you don't know it yet. Sure she may be a bit on the heavy side, and sure she may sound like a beached whale. Not a convincing pitch is it? She's smart. Trust me she is smart. You've always wanted to be great, at what? Doesn't matter, the only thing that matters to you is greatness itself. She will give you that." That's what I told myself. Or what he told me. Can I really consider him to be me if we have different memories? Welling different, I just have less. We are what we do, and I have not done what he has. Which is precisely why I must listen to him. Greatness sounds... well great. I want my names in the history books. I'll marry that woman and make her make me great. I lay on my couch day dreaming about the whale. I don't anticipate the woman herself, but I'm sure she is a great person. I slowly drift away when I startle myself. "Don't do it! I know what you're thinking, please, just please don't. " Well I mean, he startles me, it's a bit awkward to remember to differentiate myself from them. The me with plus experience. Me+ if you will. I look at me+ and see that I am not at all like the other me. Long dirty beard with long dirty hair. Cracked hands with cracked nails, shoes that don't match, and three winter coats on in may. I'm homeless, or atleast near enough that it makes no difference. "You look like shit, what happened?" Me+ takes no offence to my remark, almost as if he is told the same thing everyday. He takes a breath and starts his story. "She is great, truly amazing. If she had the looks she would be leading the world by now. Which is why I did. She was sauron and I her mouth. Using my good looks we made it to the top. People loved us, or hated us. It made no matter no one opposed us." "Don't you find it weird that you're talking in the past tense, but these events actually happened in the future?" Me+ looks up in wonder and says "woah, far out man." We share a laugh and for a second I see my own, child like wonder in his eyes. It doesn't last, suddenly the vast emptiness returns. "What would you do with all that power?" I ponder the question for a few seconds and say "I don't know." He continues ands if he already knew the answer. He'll he probably did "neither do I. I controlled the largest army history has ever seen, I have been called prime minister by more people than all of the world leaders in history. Yet I did nothing with that power. Sure I am called great, but I am only a great puppet. She sits at the high table, I stand on the pedestal. The history books will worship you." I smile at the thought, but there's a catch. I always have a catch. "We were the first to legalise la ganja, gave us more power than we though. The booming economy and our vast amounts of fresh water put us on the world stage. Far surpassing what our little brother to the south has ever achieved. Soon we controlled it all through trade. The fact that it's getting warmer every year attracted more immigrants. Soon we we had the man power to take it all. And we did." I have always thought I'd take over the world, although I always expected to start start on Africa, taking advantage advantage the poor economy and unstable governments. Never thought I'd start at home. "Power is fine and dandy, but what you want is money, what you want is freedom. You'll have money, but no freedom if you take the whale for your wife." "You look like a hobo though, what the hell happened?" "We have always liked drugs haven't we? The books will say we were great, but they will also say that we fell from grace due to alcoholism and drug addiction. You see, I didn't have the fredom to go live in a cabin in the woods with a husky and little else. We, however, did have the fredom to take whatever substance we wanted. Not many people to stop you from doing so Inn the privacy of your own home. The whale is fat, she can handle it. Being native and skinny makes it a bit harder for us. Too hard." Speaking of which, I light up a joint and we pass it to eachother for a bit. We sit in silence letting the smoke fill the air. When our eyes are red and puffy he turns to me and stabs me in the arm. Before Before I can react he's gone. I yell out what the fuck as tears steam down my face. I rush to the er for treatment. I'm patched up and let go, through the days I wonder why me+ would do that. I'm I'm sure he had a decent reason, although he was a crazy hobo. I can't even know if any of what he said was true. I never will. Days turn to weeks to months to years. I wait and wait, but I never meet a woman named Veronica. I never met the whale. I become obsessed over her, I found found a Facebook page that might be hers, but I have no way of knowing for sure. Knowing. Funny word there, it seems to be all I want. I want, nay, I need to know what could've been. I spend my later years searching for a way to go back, they did and so will I. I need to go back and tell me what to do. I need to know the right path to take.	I am reading this journal one last time before I burn it, for some things are better left in the past. * May 15th, 2011, 7:30am. Last night was very strange. I sat up in bed, but my room was not my room. I struggled to get to sleep for two reasons: first, because the Law School Admissions Test was the next day, and second, because the air conditioner had broken down and I was lying in a pool of my own sweat. I tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable, and just as I started to slip into the familiar lull of my subconscious, I felt a hand touch my chest directly over my heart three times. I panicked and bolted upright, but my room was unfamiliar. The walls were gray, sterile, and somehow shifting. He walked in the door. It was my father, but I know He was not my father. He sat next to me and puts His hand on my knee. I had a fleeting thought of resistance; of running, or fighting, but I sat motionless. “Tomorrow is a very big day for you. A very big day indeed. And we need to make sure you are prepared for it.” My heart pounded in my chest. “Who is this?” I thought to myself. “I am you,” He responded, before I could form the words. “Well, I am you in the future. And let me tell you, your – our – future is amazing. I can’t tell you what is in store, but I need you to remember what I tell you now.” He then turned to me and then looked directly into my eyes: “A, C, D, E, E, D, A, A, C, D, B, B, B, B, E, C, B, D…” He went on for another fifteen minutes this way. He then told me a story about a boy and a dog, and how that boy killed another dog to save his own. I recognized the sound of my alarm clock. It was time to wake up. As I returned to consciousness, I realized that I was back in my room. I think I’ve been putting myself under too much stress recently. I’ll make a pot of coffee and hope that helps. * May 15th, 2011, 6:30pm. I don’t know what to write, and I’m a little bit scared. I need to start at the beginning of the day for this to make sense. After I wrote this morning’s entry, I got ready and drove down to the local university where they were hosting the LSAT. I filled the parking meter to the maximum it would let me, but it was still two hours short of how long the test would be. Then I realized it was Saturday, and I didn’t have to pay the meter anyway. Oops. I hoped I would be more on point for the rest of the examination. During the examination instructions, the power went out. The emergency generators kicked on, but the air conditioning doesn’t run when that happens. Everyone groaned, but nobody left. We followed the instructions and started the examination. I opened my book. Section one was the vocabulary section of the exam – one of my strong points. I cruised through the first hour-long session, filling each of the bubbles in turn. I ran into a few questions that I didn’t know the answer to, so I left those blank to come back to later. I reached the end of the section and reviewed: I had answered 38 questions and left 12 blank. Suddenly, something stirred in me. I started taking note of each of the answers. A. C. D. Blank. Blank. D. A. Blank. A. A. C. D. I heard His voice in my head, repeating the numbers as clearly as day. “What the hell is going on?” I thought to myself. I started to panic. Every single question that I had answered were in the same order and had the same answers as He told me last night! My mind was a blur; I was sweating like crazy. Suddenly, the examination proctor told us, “five minutes remaining in this section.” I snapped back to reality – I had completely forgotten to answer the questions! Without thinking, I filled in the remaining bubbles with the letters that had been spoken to me the night before. I did the same thing with each of the remaining sections. When I finally got to the essay question, my jaw dropped. It was an ethics question; a question about the very boy and his dog that I had been told the night before. Instinctively I wrote the answer down verbatim. I don’t know why I did it. I don’t think I’m going to sleep well tonight. * June 1st, 2011. He has visited me every night since the examination. He tells me things. Things to do, things to say, and what to expect with each passing day. He asks nothing in return; just for me to listen. He told me to go to a certain gas station near my house and pulled out a red and green square of cardboard: a scratch off ticket. He told me to go at 4:15pm. I did, I bought the ticket, and won $600. He told me not to spend the money, but to instead invest it in a few certain stocks. I’ll have to figure out how to do that tomorrow. * June 12th, 2011. Today is the happiest day of my life! I got my LSAT results back, and I made a perfect score. 180! I suppose something deep inside me was expecting this; either way, I’m ecstatic. My mom and dad are so proud that they’ve called all their friends and the neighbors. I didn’t even have a chance to tell anyone because they went to Facebook and posted it on my wall before I had the chance to. I’ll let them have their moment! I’m just happy to have done so well! I haven’t heard back from Him since the first of the month. * February 10th, 2012. I found out yesterday that I was accepted to Harvard Law on a full scholarship. Last night, I felt three touches on my chest, and he visited me again. I sat up in the now-familiar gray room. “Where have you been?” I asked. “You didn’t need me, so I stayed back. But you need me now. This is important.” He said a bunch of words that sounded like someone talking on the phone; like it was one half of a conversation. I don’t understand what it means, but I can remember all of it perfectly. * February 14th, 2012. Now I know what’s going on! My mom and dad threw a big surprise party for me and invited all my friends. Anna, the girl that I’ve been crushing on since Junior year of University, was there. As the party was winding down, I went into the den and saw her long blond hair draped over the back of the sofa. She was sitting there by herself looking at her phone. I sat down, and started repeating the half-phone conversation that He told me, verbatim. She responded naturally, and I just kept saying what he said, the same way he said it. She laughed, a lot. Incredible! I had to sneak out to write this while it was fresh on my mind tonight. She is still asleep in my room. * February 15th, 2012. I woke up this morning next to Anna. I took a deep, long breath of her glorious hair, and rolled over to grab my phone. The stocks I bought back in June had gone up in value substantially. The $600 I had invested was now worth more than $6,000!
	[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other.	I don't remember the first time it happened, or how I came to believe it was real... but I've been having visions, visions of my future self telling me how to reach success in life. I know it's hard work to get somewhere in life, especially when you're from a poor background like I am, but having a guide makes it so much easier; since I started having these visions I gained more insight in the world of business and how business works, I was on the path of my dreams. Now I'm waiting for my turn to the doctor, I've been having back pain lately; as I'm waiting I feel my eyes closing, before I know it I find myself in the world of my visions. I start looking for my future version, but who greets me is an old man, barely standing, looking at me with the saddest eyes I've ever seen, I slowly approach him. "Who are you?" I ask. No reply. Maybe he didn't hear me, "Who are you?!" I ask, this time louder than before, he looks down and with a breaking voice asks me "You're trying to get places aren't you?", I stare at him surprised, I see a small tear coming down his cheek, I slowly respond "y-yeah", the old man continues "success is a hard path to follow, there are many ways to get there, some better than others, don't listen to the other one, he's blind"... the other one? Is he talking about my guide? I ask again this time more aggressively "Who are you?", "I'm a dead man", somehow I feel the pain behind those words. I hear the nurse calling my name. I head home after the appointment, cancel all my plans and lay down in bed. I look intensively at the clock trying to fall asleep, once it hits the 10 I blackout. I see fog everywhere, this time is different, I have a bad feeling. I see my future self walking up to me, "Here you are!! Tomorrow is gonna be a hard day, let's not waste anytime and get to planning", for the first time I sense something new from him, I don't know what it is though, I interrupt him and tell him about my experience with the old man, "I've never heard of him... you probably just imagined him"; normally I'd believe him, but this time the old man's words were stuck in my head "He's blind... I'm a dead man..." I hear my voice coming out from me, my mouth starts moving by itself "what is success?", we both look at each other, he looks surprised and I can only imagine my expression is mirroring his. There is a moment of silence then he says "success is everything, having money, being able to do what you want, having control, power, being above the common people; the world runs on money, and I have all the money I will ever need, the one with the money is the one with everything". I feel my abs contracting as if someone just punched me in the stomach, for the first time since I started meeting him I realized who he really was. "That's wrong... success isn't just money and power, I never wanted those things, I realize it now, all I ever wanted is to one day have a family and to be able to support them... who is your family?" "I don't have a family, I used too... but she asked for a divorce and took custody of my daughter... I was left with nothing, family is only good to destroy you, they will betray you and take everything you have". I realized how much in pain he was, "why did she divorce you?" "She said I wasn't with her enough, hypocrite bitch, she used to ask me to buy all sorts of things, I spent a fortune on her, money doesn't grow on trees I had to work to buy her those things, she didn't understand I couldn't allow myself to waste time... but it was a blessing, I realized how much she was holding me back, now I can focus on my business, and I will teach you how to prevent my same mistakes" "you're making a mistake right now, you're feeling so much pain that the only way to cope with it is to live in money, you're blind to how you really feel, you're wasting your life, you're not successful... you're... you're a dead man?", it came to me, if my future self was leading me in the wrong path, why couldn't an older self save me from it? At that realization the old man appeared in front of us, with a fading smile he went to say "Thank you". I'm awake. I learned a lot from this, I don't know if I'll ever be visited by visions again, but I know what my future can hold, and I know how to avoid it, the time for shortcuts is over, I will reach my goals by myself.	I am reading this journal one last time before I burn it, for some things are better left in the past. * May 15th, 2011, 7:30am. Last night was very strange. I sat up in bed, but my room was not my room. I struggled to get to sleep for two reasons: first, because the Law School Admissions Test was the next day, and second, because the air conditioner had broken down and I was lying in a pool of my own sweat. I tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable, and just as I started to slip into the familiar lull of my subconscious, I felt a hand touch my chest directly over my heart three times. I panicked and bolted upright, but my room was unfamiliar. The walls were gray, sterile, and somehow shifting. He walked in the door. It was my father, but I know He was not my father. He sat next to me and puts His hand on my knee. I had a fleeting thought of resistance; of running, or fighting, but I sat motionless. “Tomorrow is a very big day for you. A very big day indeed. And we need to make sure you are prepared for it.” My heart pounded in my chest. “Who is this?” I thought to myself. “I am you,” He responded, before I could form the words. “Well, I am you in the future. And let me tell you, your – our – future is amazing. I can’t tell you what is in store, but I need you to remember what I tell you now.” He then turned to me and then looked directly into my eyes: “A, C, D, E, E, D, A, A, C, D, B, B, B, B, E, C, B, D…” He went on for another fifteen minutes this way. He then told me a story about a boy and a dog, and how that boy killed another dog to save his own. I recognized the sound of my alarm clock. It was time to wake up. As I returned to consciousness, I realized that I was back in my room. I think I’ve been putting myself under too much stress recently. I’ll make a pot of coffee and hope that helps. * May 15th, 2011, 6:30pm. I don’t know what to write, and I’m a little bit scared. I need to start at the beginning of the day for this to make sense. After I wrote this morning’s entry, I got ready and drove down to the local university where they were hosting the LSAT. I filled the parking meter to the maximum it would let me, but it was still two hours short of how long the test would be. Then I realized it was Saturday, and I didn’t have to pay the meter anyway. Oops. I hoped I would be more on point for the rest of the examination. During the examination instructions, the power went out. The emergency generators kicked on, but the air conditioning doesn’t run when that happens. Everyone groaned, but nobody left. We followed the instructions and started the examination. I opened my book. Section one was the vocabulary section of the exam – one of my strong points. I cruised through the first hour-long session, filling each of the bubbles in turn. I ran into a few questions that I didn’t know the answer to, so I left those blank to come back to later. I reached the end of the section and reviewed: I had answered 38 questions and left 12 blank. Suddenly, something stirred in me. I started taking note of each of the answers. A. C. D. Blank. Blank. D. A. Blank. A. A. C. D. I heard His voice in my head, repeating the numbers as clearly as day. “What the hell is going on?” I thought to myself. I started to panic. Every single question that I had answered were in the same order and had the same answers as He told me last night! My mind was a blur; I was sweating like crazy. Suddenly, the examination proctor told us, “five minutes remaining in this section.” I snapped back to reality – I had completely forgotten to answer the questions! Without thinking, I filled in the remaining bubbles with the letters that had been spoken to me the night before. I did the same thing with each of the remaining sections. When I finally got to the essay question, my jaw dropped. It was an ethics question; a question about the very boy and his dog that I had been told the night before. Instinctively I wrote the answer down verbatim. I don’t know why I did it. I don’t think I’m going to sleep well tonight. * June 1st, 2011. He has visited me every night since the examination. He tells me things. Things to do, things to say, and what to expect with each passing day. He asks nothing in return; just for me to listen. He told me to go to a certain gas station near my house and pulled out a red and green square of cardboard: a scratch off ticket. He told me to go at 4:15pm. I did, I bought the ticket, and won $600. He told me not to spend the money, but to instead invest it in a few certain stocks. I’ll have to figure out how to do that tomorrow. * June 12th, 2011. Today is the happiest day of my life! I got my LSAT results back, and I made a perfect score. 180! I suppose something deep inside me was expecting this; either way, I’m ecstatic. My mom and dad are so proud that they’ve called all their friends and the neighbors. I didn’t even have a chance to tell anyone because they went to Facebook and posted it on my wall before I had the chance to. I’ll let them have their moment! I’m just happy to have done so well! I haven’t heard back from Him since the first of the month. * February 10th, 2012. I found out yesterday that I was accepted to Harvard Law on a full scholarship. Last night, I felt three touches on my chest, and he visited me again. I sat up in the now-familiar gray room. “Where have you been?” I asked. “You didn’t need me, so I stayed back. But you need me now. This is important.” He said a bunch of words that sounded like someone talking on the phone; like it was one half of a conversation. I don’t understand what it means, but I can remember all of it perfectly. * February 14th, 2012. Now I know what’s going on! My mom and dad threw a big surprise party for me and invited all my friends. Anna, the girl that I’ve been crushing on since Junior year of University, was there. As the party was winding down, I went into the den and saw her long blond hair draped over the back of the sofa. She was sitting there by herself looking at her phone. I sat down, and started repeating the half-phone conversation that He told me, verbatim. She responded naturally, and I just kept saying what he said, the same way he said it. She laughed, a lot. Incredible! I had to sneak out to write this while it was fresh on my mind tonight. She is still asleep in my room. * February 15th, 2012. I woke up this morning next to Anna. I took a deep, long breath of her glorious hair, and rolled over to grab my phone. The stocks I bought back in June had gone up in value substantially. The $600 I had invested was now worth more than $6,000!
	[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other.	“Don’t do it.” For years I had been receiving visions. Visions of a brighter future. A future where the worries of today; famine, war, poverty, were nightmares relegated to obscurity. A world where every man, woman and child could live out their lives in peace and harmony, free from the uncertainty that plagued them, free from fear. A world where I could be happy. “Stop before it’s too late.” It started when I was five, the day my mother died, as I shuddered in fitful sleep. I’d woken in the to the sound of deep, heavy breathing. I’d opened by eyes and found myself face-to-face with a man, his hair streaked with white, his eyes lit with a deep knowing energy. Needless to say I screamed, I struggled, I tried to run. I couldn’t move. I blinked. He was gone. The days went by, the months, and with each day came a night, and with each night came the nightmares, and with each nightmare I awoke to the same face, silent the save the sound of his breath. I started to believe I was broken, damaged. I told my dad and he laughed, returning to the bottle. I told my friends, pleaded with them to believe me, they thought me strange and abandoned me. I don’t blame them. I told my teachers, they sent me to a shrink, who diagnosed me with mild parasomnia brought on by anxiety. He was wrong. Two years passed and the man started talking, telling me strange and wondrous tales. I lay there and listened, time immaterial in the darkness, to the path he put before me. At first I felt nothing but fear, but his stories pulled me in, designed as they were to entice and bewilder, simple in their execution but with a gravitas that I was unable to appreciate when I was so young. The tales he told, of great Kings, Conquerors that controlled the world, Knights that roamed far and wide performing deeds of good, finally helped me sleep. Five years passed and I was no longer afraid. The man had been there for me, through the years, helping me through the night. His stories had been replaced by direct guidance, wise words whispered that gave me what my father could not. He taught me how to manipulate, what to say in every situation, how to succeed. I went from a waif, drifting through childhood from detention to detention, to the popular kid in school, beloved by all. I could do anything. Fifteen years passed and the guidance now came with visions. The meaning was clear. “Do this and you will be great.” “Do this and you will succeed.” “Do this and you will get your heart’s desire.” His true nature was clear to me now, he was me. A wiser me. An older me. I became successful, starting my own company. I became driven, growing and expanding. I was a bright young star that could not be ignored, and being a star comes with opportunity. I grew wealthy, I grew powerful. Thirty years passed and it wasn’t enough. I had ascended the corporate ladder, it wasn’t enough. I had run for office, it wasn’t enough. I’d started charities, helped people, and for awhile the work had sated me, but it wasn’t enough. The man in the dreams still came, but now he looked back at me in every mirror, the white streaks of hair that seemed so strange now a permanent reminder of who I’d become. I still listened, and still he guided, but the guidance had changed. “What are you missing?” “When were you last truly happy?” “There’s one thing you still need.” I had to get it. Thirty-one years have passed and now I stand here on the precipice, the ice cold rain running down my body as I stare at the mound before me bathed in moonlight. He is here, different, true, but still a version of me, his clothes dishevelled, his face gaunt. “Please, this will be the end of us, stop.” I brush my hand over the stone, sweeping aside the vines and dust. The lettering worn but legible. “Here rests Grace, loving mother to her son, wife to her husband, taken cruelly before her time.” I raise my shovel.	I am reading this journal one last time before I burn it, for some things are better left in the past. * May 15th, 2011, 7:30am. Last night was very strange. I sat up in bed, but my room was not my room. I struggled to get to sleep for two reasons: first, because the Law School Admissions Test was the next day, and second, because the air conditioner had broken down and I was lying in a pool of my own sweat. I tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable, and just as I started to slip into the familiar lull of my subconscious, I felt a hand touch my chest directly over my heart three times. I panicked and bolted upright, but my room was unfamiliar. The walls were gray, sterile, and somehow shifting. He walked in the door. It was my father, but I know He was not my father. He sat next to me and puts His hand on my knee. I had a fleeting thought of resistance; of running, or fighting, but I sat motionless. “Tomorrow is a very big day for you. A very big day indeed. And we need to make sure you are prepared for it.” My heart pounded in my chest. “Who is this?” I thought to myself. “I am you,” He responded, before I could form the words. “Well, I am you in the future. And let me tell you, your – our – future is amazing. I can’t tell you what is in store, but I need you to remember what I tell you now.” He then turned to me and then looked directly into my eyes: “A, C, D, E, E, D, A, A, C, D, B, B, B, B, E, C, B, D…” He went on for another fifteen minutes this way. He then told me a story about a boy and a dog, and how that boy killed another dog to save his own. I recognized the sound of my alarm clock. It was time to wake up. As I returned to consciousness, I realized that I was back in my room. I think I’ve been putting myself under too much stress recently. I’ll make a pot of coffee and hope that helps. * May 15th, 2011, 6:30pm. I don’t know what to write, and I’m a little bit scared. I need to start at the beginning of the day for this to make sense. After I wrote this morning’s entry, I got ready and drove down to the local university where they were hosting the LSAT. I filled the parking meter to the maximum it would let me, but it was still two hours short of how long the test would be. Then I realized it was Saturday, and I didn’t have to pay the meter anyway. Oops. I hoped I would be more on point for the rest of the examination. During the examination instructions, the power went out. The emergency generators kicked on, but the air conditioning doesn’t run when that happens. Everyone groaned, but nobody left. We followed the instructions and started the examination. I opened my book. Section one was the vocabulary section of the exam – one of my strong points. I cruised through the first hour-long session, filling each of the bubbles in turn. I ran into a few questions that I didn’t know the answer to, so I left those blank to come back to later. I reached the end of the section and reviewed: I had answered 38 questions and left 12 blank. Suddenly, something stirred in me. I started taking note of each of the answers. A. C. D. Blank. Blank. D. A. Blank. A. A. C. D. I heard His voice in my head, repeating the numbers as clearly as day. “What the hell is going on?” I thought to myself. I started to panic. Every single question that I had answered were in the same order and had the same answers as He told me last night! My mind was a blur; I was sweating like crazy. Suddenly, the examination proctor told us, “five minutes remaining in this section.” I snapped back to reality – I had completely forgotten to answer the questions! Without thinking, I filled in the remaining bubbles with the letters that had been spoken to me the night before. I did the same thing with each of the remaining sections. When I finally got to the essay question, my jaw dropped. It was an ethics question; a question about the very boy and his dog that I had been told the night before. Instinctively I wrote the answer down verbatim. I don’t know why I did it. I don’t think I’m going to sleep well tonight. * June 1st, 2011. He has visited me every night since the examination. He tells me things. Things to do, things to say, and what to expect with each passing day. He asks nothing in return; just for me to listen. He told me to go to a certain gas station near my house and pulled out a red and green square of cardboard: a scratch off ticket. He told me to go at 4:15pm. I did, I bought the ticket, and won $600. He told me not to spend the money, but to instead invest it in a few certain stocks. I’ll have to figure out how to do that tomorrow. * June 12th, 2011. Today is the happiest day of my life! I got my LSAT results back, and I made a perfect score. 180! I suppose something deep inside me was expecting this; either way, I’m ecstatic. My mom and dad are so proud that they’ve called all their friends and the neighbors. I didn’t even have a chance to tell anyone because they went to Facebook and posted it on my wall before I had the chance to. I’ll let them have their moment! I’m just happy to have done so well! I haven’t heard back from Him since the first of the month. * February 10th, 2012. I found out yesterday that I was accepted to Harvard Law on a full scholarship. Last night, I felt three touches on my chest, and he visited me again. I sat up in the now-familiar gray room. “Where have you been?” I asked. “You didn’t need me, so I stayed back. But you need me now. This is important.” He said a bunch of words that sounded like someone talking on the phone; like it was one half of a conversation. I don’t understand what it means, but I can remember all of it perfectly. * February 14th, 2012. Now I know what’s going on! My mom and dad threw a big surprise party for me and invited all my friends. Anna, the girl that I’ve been crushing on since Junior year of University, was there. As the party was winding down, I went into the den and saw her long blond hair draped over the back of the sofa. She was sitting there by herself looking at her phone. I sat down, and started repeating the half-phone conversation that He told me, verbatim. She responded naturally, and I just kept saying what he said, the same way he said it. She laughed, a lot. Incredible! I had to sneak out to write this while it was fresh on my mind tonight. She is still asleep in my room. * February 15th, 2012. I woke up this morning next to Anna. I took a deep, long breath of her glorious hair, and rolled over to grab my phone. The stocks I bought back in June had gone up in value substantially. The $600 I had invested was now worth more than $6,000!
	[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other.	It is the natural condition of the human mind to desire advancement. Sure, there are those that are satisfied with very little, but by and large? People like being promoted. It makes them feel important. Makes them feel valuable. Self-esteem issues and all that. In the military, we are no different. When I finally earned my captain's bars, I felt so happy to have made it thus far, so happy I wouldn't be scorned as another damned lieutenant, and (admittedly) happy for the pay raise. It's a good feeling, you know? Oh, and I also got to rub it in my spouse's face, who still remained a lieutenant. I paid for it later, but it was worth every moment. So when I began meeting an image of me wearing general's stars in my sleep, it was... interesting. I mean, at first, I just saw myself as a general, commanding troops. It was a nice dream and it put me in high spirits the next day. But after a few weeks, my dreams starting communicating with me. Well, I mean, not really, but I swear that it showed me situations that happened soon thereafter, every single time. And every time I mimicked my dream, my life changed for the better. I started jumping up the ladder, nabbing promotions the first time I was eligible. I made colonel before I was in my mid-thirties, no simple feat. By the time I was forty, I found myself before a review board for my first star, with my personnel file being inspected by the Senate. And the day I grabbed my first star was the best day of my life. I'd been celebrating with close friends that night (the drinks were on me, of course), and well into the morning. Nothing over the top, but we did patronize as many quality establishments as we could manage. After everything had closed for the night, I'd taken my love for a ride to our favorite spot to watch the sunrise. We made love there, and collapsed into a hot pile of sweat and cuddles. We'd taken the next few days off, so I was able to enjoy a nap after we returned home. Shit. It'd been the first time I'd done anything so juvenile since the academy, but damn if I wasn't going to live this moment up. The hangover was far worse than they'd been at the academy, though. The room was spinning too much to find the bedroom, so I simply collapsed on the couch. And soon enough, I drifted off to dreamland. More accurately, I drifted off to Hell. All I could see was a wasteland, strewn bodies so abundant that I struggled to see the ground. Discarded, destroyed weapons littered the scene, from knives to rifles to armored vehicles. And on the horizon, a horrifyingly large body of smoke and debris rose from the ground in a ghastly familiar shape. My future self was collapsed against a bunker door, a clocked out pistol clutched tightly to the chest. My cap was missing, blood was still trickling down my face, and the five stars on my shoulder were ragged and red. Five stars... what the hell had happened that Congress had authorized five stars, to me no less. "I know you'll see this," my future self began, "I know you'll see this like you always have. We had a good run following our script, didn't we?" A head shake, "No, nothing was worth this." I recognized the photo in his other hand, clutched so tightly I thought it would rip if the wind gusted. It was my spouse on our wedding day. I suddenly realized that my future self was no longer wearing a wedding band. A horrid, eerie laugh filled the air that I was terrified to learn was my own... some twenty years in the future. "Gone." was the only word that would explain this new reality, "Gone gone gone. All of them, gone. My love, my home, my men....." "And now me." I hadn't noticed in my shock that my future self had slipped a single round into his pistol through the ejection port... but it became obvious as the report of the pistol reached my ears. I jumped and stared at my own limp body, with a hollow skull where my brains used to be. I wanted to run. I wanted to wake up. But the only thing I could do was stare. The next day I resigned my commission. There were questions, but I waved them off. Anything that would stick. Health, wanting extra time at home, strained marriage, whatever. I told no one the truth, except my spouse... who, surprisingly, took the news rather well. After a moment, I was just told not to worry. Such a future would never happen. I had to ask, "How can you be so sure?" "Oh, I have my ways." came the reply with a wink and smile. My mind refused to do anything but wrap itself up in that reassurance.	This is the first time I've seen myself like this. Desperate and lonely looking like I have had nothing to eat and no sleep. The soot on my face and dirt in my fingernails makes it look like I've been busy, but definitely not with any luxury that I'm used to. There's a sad desperation in this future self as he asks me not to continue with the night time requests. I'm ready to shrug it off as things have been going so well. Maybe this is just what happens if my sleep patterns change. I have read about creating alternate realities by changing subtle things in life. Maybe this is like that. I'll just go back to the routine. This new me can tell that I am disinterested, probably remembering back himself. He grabs me by the arm and tells me not to listen, as I wasn't going to anyway, but instead to carry on in the dream to see a reveal of what the night advice would lead to if I continued to follow it. He stood still as the dreamscape started to change to what seemed to be the current day. It felt like years just passed through me in seconds, and I was now seeing what I had for breakfast. This was some advice that was given to me last night; to eat a decent breakfast high in carbs as later it would come in handy. Then something happened, which felt real, like I had felt it before. I skipped time to observe myself just after my nap - the one I am currently in. I wasn't sure if this was real, how could it be as it's just a dream. I'm in control of what I do by making choices. There's no way i could see what would happen until I make that choice. Time skipped again. This time to later on in the day, where i could see myself running. Then again, to my business meeting. The skips seemed to be getting quicker in succession. Before i had a chance to think I had skipped more than a year into the future. Things looked great still. I'm single, rich and powerful. What could possibly go wrong? The dream continued. I saw the rise of my business that held and provided resources for people to use to pursue business goals. The company won awards for being a great asset to society. I got married. I cheated. I got divorced. The time skips started to slow down. I could see protests outside the head offices of my company. News headlines of giant corporations being merged into mine. We held all of the major assets. I could see even governments were frightened of the control that my corporation had. There was nothing they could do. We were taking control of all of the worlds assets. Time skips stop. I'm back in the original dreamscape. With my future self. He lets go of my arm. 'You have looked into the future to see where all your knowledge and given foresight have come to summation. You do not want to see what comes next.' I wake up.
	[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other.	"You will love her more than you've loved anyone else. She will be light of your life. Although you don't know it yet. Sure she may be a bit on the heavy side, and sure she may sound like a beached whale. Not a convincing pitch is it? She's smart. Trust me she is smart. You've always wanted to be great, at what? Doesn't matter, the only thing that matters to you is greatness itself. She will give you that." That's what I told myself. Or what he told me. Can I really consider him to be me if we have different memories? Welling different, I just have less. We are what we do, and I have not done what he has. Which is precisely why I must listen to him. Greatness sounds... well great. I want my names in the history books. I'll marry that woman and make her make me great. I lay on my couch day dreaming about the whale. I don't anticipate the woman herself, but I'm sure she is a great person. I slowly drift away when I startle myself. "Don't do it! I know what you're thinking, please, just please don't. " Well I mean, he startles me, it's a bit awkward to remember to differentiate myself from them. The me with plus experience. Me+ if you will. I look at me+ and see that I am not at all like the other me. Long dirty beard with long dirty hair. Cracked hands with cracked nails, shoes that don't match, and three winter coats on in may. I'm homeless, or atleast near enough that it makes no difference. "You look like shit, what happened?" Me+ takes no offence to my remark, almost as if he is told the same thing everyday. He takes a breath and starts his story. "She is great, truly amazing. If she had the looks she would be leading the world by now. Which is why I did. She was sauron and I her mouth. Using my good looks we made it to the top. People loved us, or hated us. It made no matter no one opposed us." "Don't you find it weird that you're talking in the past tense, but these events actually happened in the future?" Me+ looks up in wonder and says "woah, far out man." We share a laugh and for a second I see my own, child like wonder in his eyes. It doesn't last, suddenly the vast emptiness returns. "What would you do with all that power?" I ponder the question for a few seconds and say "I don't know." He continues ands if he already knew the answer. He'll he probably did "neither do I. I controlled the largest army history has ever seen, I have been called prime minister by more people than all of the world leaders in history. Yet I did nothing with that power. Sure I am called great, but I am only a great puppet. She sits at the high table, I stand on the pedestal. The history books will worship you." I smile at the thought, but there's a catch. I always have a catch. "We were the first to legalise la ganja, gave us more power than we though. The booming economy and our vast amounts of fresh water put us on the world stage. Far surpassing what our little brother to the south has ever achieved. Soon we controlled it all through trade. The fact that it's getting warmer every year attracted more immigrants. Soon we we had the man power to take it all. And we did." I have always thought I'd take over the world, although I always expected to start start on Africa, taking advantage advantage the poor economy and unstable governments. Never thought I'd start at home. "Power is fine and dandy, but what you want is money, what you want is freedom. You'll have money, but no freedom if you take the whale for your wife." "You look like a hobo though, what the hell happened?" "We have always liked drugs haven't we? The books will say we were great, but they will also say that we fell from grace due to alcoholism and drug addiction. You see, I didn't have the fredom to go live in a cabin in the woods with a husky and little else. We, however, did have the fredom to take whatever substance we wanted. Not many people to stop you from doing so Inn the privacy of your own home. The whale is fat, she can handle it. Being native and skinny makes it a bit harder for us. Too hard." Speaking of which, I light up a joint and we pass it to eachother for a bit. We sit in silence letting the smoke fill the air. When our eyes are red and puffy he turns to me and stabs me in the arm. Before Before I can react he's gone. I yell out what the fuck as tears steam down my face. I rush to the er for treatment. I'm patched up and let go, through the days I wonder why me+ would do that. I'm I'm sure he had a decent reason, although he was a crazy hobo. I can't even know if any of what he said was true. I never will. Days turn to weeks to months to years. I wait and wait, but I never meet a woman named Veronica. I never met the whale. I become obsessed over her, I found found a Facebook page that might be hers, but I have no way of knowing for sure. Knowing. Funny word there, it seems to be all I want. I want, nay, I need to know what could've been. I spend my later years searching for a way to go back, they did and so will I. I need to go back and tell me what to do. I need to know the right path to take.	This is the first time I've seen myself like this. Desperate and lonely looking like I have had nothing to eat and no sleep. The soot on my face and dirt in my fingernails makes it look like I've been busy, but definitely not with any luxury that I'm used to. There's a sad desperation in this future self as he asks me not to continue with the night time requests. I'm ready to shrug it off as things have been going so well. Maybe this is just what happens if my sleep patterns change. I have read about creating alternate realities by changing subtle things in life. Maybe this is like that. I'll just go back to the routine. This new me can tell that I am disinterested, probably remembering back himself. He grabs me by the arm and tells me not to listen, as I wasn't going to anyway, but instead to carry on in the dream to see a reveal of what the night advice would lead to if I continued to follow it. He stood still as the dreamscape started to change to what seemed to be the current day. It felt like years just passed through me in seconds, and I was now seeing what I had for breakfast. This was some advice that was given to me last night; to eat a decent breakfast high in carbs as later it would come in handy. Then something happened, which felt real, like I had felt it before. I skipped time to observe myself just after my nap - the one I am currently in. I wasn't sure if this was real, how could it be as it's just a dream. I'm in control of what I do by making choices. There's no way i could see what would happen until I make that choice. Time skipped again. This time to later on in the day, where i could see myself running. Then again, to my business meeting. The skips seemed to be getting quicker in succession. Before i had a chance to think I had skipped more than a year into the future. Things looked great still. I'm single, rich and powerful. What could possibly go wrong? The dream continued. I saw the rise of my business that held and provided resources for people to use to pursue business goals. The company won awards for being a great asset to society. I got married. I cheated. I got divorced. The time skips started to slow down. I could see protests outside the head offices of my company. News headlines of giant corporations being merged into mine. We held all of the major assets. I could see even governments were frightened of the control that my corporation had. There was nothing they could do. We were taking control of all of the worlds assets. Time skips stop. I'm back in the original dreamscape. With my future self. He lets go of my arm. 'You have looked into the future to see where all your knowledge and given foresight have come to summation. You do not want to see what comes next.' I wake up.
	[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other.	I don't remember the first time it happened, or how I came to believe it was real... but I've been having visions, visions of my future self telling me how to reach success in life. I know it's hard work to get somewhere in life, especially when you're from a poor background like I am, but having a guide makes it so much easier; since I started having these visions I gained more insight in the world of business and how business works, I was on the path of my dreams. Now I'm waiting for my turn to the doctor, I've been having back pain lately; as I'm waiting I feel my eyes closing, before I know it I find myself in the world of my visions. I start looking for my future version, but who greets me is an old man, barely standing, looking at me with the saddest eyes I've ever seen, I slowly approach him. "Who are you?" I ask. No reply. Maybe he didn't hear me, "Who are you?!" I ask, this time louder than before, he looks down and with a breaking voice asks me "You're trying to get places aren't you?", I stare at him surprised, I see a small tear coming down his cheek, I slowly respond "y-yeah", the old man continues "success is a hard path to follow, there are many ways to get there, some better than others, don't listen to the other one, he's blind"... the other one? Is he talking about my guide? I ask again this time more aggressively "Who are you?", "I'm a dead man", somehow I feel the pain behind those words. I hear the nurse calling my name. I head home after the appointment, cancel all my plans and lay down in bed. I look intensively at the clock trying to fall asleep, once it hits the 10 I blackout. I see fog everywhere, this time is different, I have a bad feeling. I see my future self walking up to me, "Here you are!! Tomorrow is gonna be a hard day, let's not waste anytime and get to planning", for the first time I sense something new from him, I don't know what it is though, I interrupt him and tell him about my experience with the old man, "I've never heard of him... you probably just imagined him"; normally I'd believe him, but this time the old man's words were stuck in my head "He's blind... I'm a dead man..." I hear my voice coming out from me, my mouth starts moving by itself "what is success?", we both look at each other, he looks surprised and I can only imagine my expression is mirroring his. There is a moment of silence then he says "success is everything, having money, being able to do what you want, having control, power, being above the common people; the world runs on money, and I have all the money I will ever need, the one with the money is the one with everything". I feel my abs contracting as if someone just punched me in the stomach, for the first time since I started meeting him I realized who he really was. "That's wrong... success isn't just money and power, I never wanted those things, I realize it now, all I ever wanted is to one day have a family and to be able to support them... who is your family?" "I don't have a family, I used too... but she asked for a divorce and took custody of my daughter... I was left with nothing, family is only good to destroy you, they will betray you and take everything you have". I realized how much in pain he was, "why did she divorce you?" "She said I wasn't with her enough, hypocrite bitch, she used to ask me to buy all sorts of things, I spent a fortune on her, money doesn't grow on trees I had to work to buy her those things, she didn't understand I couldn't allow myself to waste time... but it was a blessing, I realized how much she was holding me back, now I can focus on my business, and I will teach you how to prevent my same mistakes" "you're making a mistake right now, you're feeling so much pain that the only way to cope with it is to live in money, you're blind to how you really feel, you're wasting your life, you're not successful... you're... you're a dead man?", it came to me, if my future self was leading me in the wrong path, why couldn't an older self save me from it? At that realization the old man appeared in front of us, with a fading smile he went to say "Thank you". I'm awake. I learned a lot from this, I don't know if I'll ever be visited by visions again, but I know what my future can hold, and I know how to avoid it, the time for shortcuts is over, I will reach my goals by myself.	This is the first time I've seen myself like this. Desperate and lonely looking like I have had nothing to eat and no sleep. The soot on my face and dirt in my fingernails makes it look like I've been busy, but definitely not with any luxury that I'm used to. There's a sad desperation in this future self as he asks me not to continue with the night time requests. I'm ready to shrug it off as things have been going so well. Maybe this is just what happens if my sleep patterns change. I have read about creating alternate realities by changing subtle things in life. Maybe this is like that. I'll just go back to the routine. This new me can tell that I am disinterested, probably remembering back himself. He grabs me by the arm and tells me not to listen, as I wasn't going to anyway, but instead to carry on in the dream to see a reveal of what the night advice would lead to if I continued to follow it. He stood still as the dreamscape started to change to what seemed to be the current day. It felt like years just passed through me in seconds, and I was now seeing what I had for breakfast. This was some advice that was given to me last night; to eat a decent breakfast high in carbs as later it would come in handy. Then something happened, which felt real, like I had felt it before. I skipped time to observe myself just after my nap - the one I am currently in. I wasn't sure if this was real, how could it be as it's just a dream. I'm in control of what I do by making choices. There's no way i could see what would happen until I make that choice. Time skipped again. This time to later on in the day, where i could see myself running. Then again, to my business meeting. The skips seemed to be getting quicker in succession. Before i had a chance to think I had skipped more than a year into the future. Things looked great still. I'm single, rich and powerful. What could possibly go wrong? The dream continued. I saw the rise of my business that held and provided resources for people to use to pursue business goals. The company won awards for being a great asset to society. I got married. I cheated. I got divorced. The time skips started to slow down. I could see protests outside the head offices of my company. News headlines of giant corporations being merged into mine. We held all of the major assets. I could see even governments were frightened of the control that my corporation had. There was nothing they could do. We were taking control of all of the worlds assets. Time skips stop. I'm back in the original dreamscape. With my future self. He lets go of my arm. 'You have looked into the future to see where all your knowledge and given foresight have come to summation. You do not want to see what comes next.' I wake up.
	[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other.	“Don’t do it.” For years I had been receiving visions. Visions of a brighter future. A future where the worries of today; famine, war, poverty, were nightmares relegated to obscurity. A world where every man, woman and child could live out their lives in peace and harmony, free from the uncertainty that plagued them, free from fear. A world where I could be happy. “Stop before it’s too late.” It started when I was five, the day my mother died, as I shuddered in fitful sleep. I’d woken in the to the sound of deep, heavy breathing. I’d opened by eyes and found myself face-to-face with a man, his hair streaked with white, his eyes lit with a deep knowing energy. Needless to say I screamed, I struggled, I tried to run. I couldn’t move. I blinked. He was gone. The days went by, the months, and with each day came a night, and with each night came the nightmares, and with each nightmare I awoke to the same face, silent the save the sound of his breath. I started to believe I was broken, damaged. I told my dad and he laughed, returning to the bottle. I told my friends, pleaded with them to believe me, they thought me strange and abandoned me. I don’t blame them. I told my teachers, they sent me to a shrink, who diagnosed me with mild parasomnia brought on by anxiety. He was wrong. Two years passed and the man started talking, telling me strange and wondrous tales. I lay there and listened, time immaterial in the darkness, to the path he put before me. At first I felt nothing but fear, but his stories pulled me in, designed as they were to entice and bewilder, simple in their execution but with a gravitas that I was unable to appreciate when I was so young. The tales he told, of great Kings, Conquerors that controlled the world, Knights that roamed far and wide performing deeds of good, finally helped me sleep. Five years passed and I was no longer afraid. The man had been there for me, through the years, helping me through the night. His stories had been replaced by direct guidance, wise words whispered that gave me what my father could not. He taught me how to manipulate, what to say in every situation, how to succeed. I went from a waif, drifting through childhood from detention to detention, to the popular kid in school, beloved by all. I could do anything. Fifteen years passed and the guidance now came with visions. The meaning was clear. “Do this and you will be great.” “Do this and you will succeed.” “Do this and you will get your heart’s desire.” His true nature was clear to me now, he was me. A wiser me. An older me. I became successful, starting my own company. I became driven, growing and expanding. I was a bright young star that could not be ignored, and being a star comes with opportunity. I grew wealthy, I grew powerful. Thirty years passed and it wasn’t enough. I had ascended the corporate ladder, it wasn’t enough. I had run for office, it wasn’t enough. I’d started charities, helped people, and for awhile the work had sated me, but it wasn’t enough. The man in the dreams still came, but now he looked back at me in every mirror, the white streaks of hair that seemed so strange now a permanent reminder of who I’d become. I still listened, and still he guided, but the guidance had changed. “What are you missing?” “When were you last truly happy?” “There’s one thing you still need.” I had to get it. Thirty-one years have passed and now I stand here on the precipice, the ice cold rain running down my body as I stare at the mound before me bathed in moonlight. He is here, different, true, but still a version of me, his clothes dishevelled, his face gaunt. “Please, this will be the end of us, stop.” I brush my hand over the stone, sweeping aside the vines and dust. The lettering worn but legible. “Here rests Grace, loving mother to her son, wife to her husband, taken cruelly before her time.” I raise my shovel.	This is the first time I've seen myself like this. Desperate and lonely looking like I have had nothing to eat and no sleep. The soot on my face and dirt in my fingernails makes it look like I've been busy, but definitely not with any luxury that I'm used to. There's a sad desperation in this future self as he asks me not to continue with the night time requests. I'm ready to shrug it off as things have been going so well. Maybe this is just what happens if my sleep patterns change. I have read about creating alternate realities by changing subtle things in life. Maybe this is like that. I'll just go back to the routine. This new me can tell that I am disinterested, probably remembering back himself. He grabs me by the arm and tells me not to listen, as I wasn't going to anyway, but instead to carry on in the dream to see a reveal of what the night advice would lead to if I continued to follow it. He stood still as the dreamscape started to change to what seemed to be the current day. It felt like years just passed through me in seconds, and I was now seeing what I had for breakfast. This was some advice that was given to me last night; to eat a decent breakfast high in carbs as later it would come in handy. Then something happened, which felt real, like I had felt it before. I skipped time to observe myself just after my nap - the one I am currently in. I wasn't sure if this was real, how could it be as it's just a dream. I'm in control of what I do by making choices. There's no way i could see what would happen until I make that choice. Time skipped again. This time to later on in the day, where i could see myself running. Then again, to my business meeting. The skips seemed to be getting quicker in succession. Before i had a chance to think I had skipped more than a year into the future. Things looked great still. I'm single, rich and powerful. What could possibly go wrong? The dream continued. I saw the rise of my business that held and provided resources for people to use to pursue business goals. The company won awards for being a great asset to society. I got married. I cheated. I got divorced. The time skips started to slow down. I could see protests outside the head offices of my company. News headlines of giant corporations being merged into mine. We held all of the major assets. I could see even governments were frightened of the control that my corporation had. There was nothing they could do. We were taking control of all of the worlds assets. Time skips stop. I'm back in the original dreamscape. With my future self. He lets go of my arm. 'You have looked into the future to see where all your knowledge and given foresight have come to summation. You do not want to see what comes next.' I wake up.
	[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other.	So... this is my life now I thought while looking at the man that kind of looked like me. It all started several years ago; one night while sleeping a man showed up in my dream, he had a black suit, a well maintained hair and the rest of his appearance screamed "success" in a way only rich powerful men managed to. He claimed to be my future self and told me he would visit me every night to make sure I had the future he represented. It was just a weird dream the first time, but then it happened again, and again and again. Eventually I started to follow his advice and I was immediately rewarded by it; I got every promotion I wanted, got every women I desired and every service I needed. Life was good and I was only to abide to one rule "Never, ever, sleep during the day". As with every story in the history of ever that had a forbidden action, the past repeated itself; one particular day that mixed a very late night, few hours of sleep and having the cold I fell sleep on the couch while watching TV. Future self presented himself again, just that this time he didn't look much like he used to. He had a beard, a long and wild beard that had remains of food in it, all his face was covered in scars and sweat with a long hair that didn't match up with the bald spot on his head, though it did match with his body odor. He looked at me with blood injected eyes and the look of someone who's seen more suffering that he can take. "Don't listen to the man in the suit!" I remember him telling me "He isn't trying to help you!" I laughed and asked why should I take advice from such a pitiful man. "I am not the one who gives advice. I'm the one who gives the warnings" he responded and faded away. After that I woke up and thought nothing of it, just some bad dream brought by my untrusting subconscious. Life went on, I kept on winning on everything I put my mind (and my good friend's help) into. My last big quest was getting a billionaire business moving, and as was expected I succeeded. After the celebration party I had my usual meeting in my dream. Future me looked incredible happy, as he should be since I had finally become what he wanted me to be. "It took incredible time and effort, but you did it" he congratulated me "From now on you wont need me since you're finally me" he said while he offered me his hand for a final shake. I shook his hand vigorously while thanking him for making me who I was, he put his other hand over my own and said "...though I'm surprised you didn't listen to your daylight version, most people do..." he said while smiling, a yellow flash in his eyes "... big mistake". And then he was me, not in the future as how I've been seeing him so far but me me. A wicked smile on my, not, his face and he disappeared. And just like that I was alone, locked in a dream that looked a lot more grim and dark that I usually remembered it. I've been trying to escape ever since, but there's only one way... So this is my life now... I thought while looking at the young man that kind of looked like me. "Hello..." I said while straightening my spotless suit "I am your future self". Edit: Wow, thanks guys. This is the first time I write something on this sub and I was nervous as hell. Thanks for the amazing feedback. I'll hang out here more often.	This is the first time I've seen myself like this. Desperate and lonely looking like I have had nothing to eat and no sleep. The soot on my face and dirt in my fingernails makes it look like I've been busy, but definitely not with any luxury that I'm used to. There's a sad desperation in this future self as he asks me not to continue with the night time requests. I'm ready to shrug it off as things have been going so well. Maybe this is just what happens if my sleep patterns change. I have read about creating alternate realities by changing subtle things in life. Maybe this is like that. I'll just go back to the routine. This new me can tell that I am disinterested, probably remembering back himself. He grabs me by the arm and tells me not to listen, as I wasn't going to anyway, but instead to carry on in the dream to see a reveal of what the night advice would lead to if I continued to follow it. He stood still as the dreamscape started to change to what seemed to be the current day. It felt like years just passed through me in seconds, and I was now seeing what I had for breakfast. This was some advice that was given to me last night; to eat a decent breakfast high in carbs as later it would come in handy. Then something happened, which felt real, like I had felt it before. I skipped time to observe myself just after my nap - the one I am currently in. I wasn't sure if this was real, how could it be as it's just a dream. I'm in control of what I do by making choices. There's no way i could see what would happen until I make that choice. Time skipped again. This time to later on in the day, where i could see myself running. Then again, to my business meeting. The skips seemed to be getting quicker in succession. Before i had a chance to think I had skipped more than a year into the future. Things looked great still. I'm single, rich and powerful. What could possibly go wrong? The dream continued. I saw the rise of my business that held and provided resources for people to use to pursue business goals. The company won awards for being a great asset to society. I got married. I cheated. I got divorced. The time skips started to slow down. I could see protests outside the head offices of my company. News headlines of giant corporations being merged into mine. We held all of the major assets. I could see even governments were frightened of the control that my corporation had. There was nothing they could do. We were taking control of all of the worlds assets. Time skips stop. I'm back in the original dreamscape. With my future self. He lets go of my arm. 'You have looked into the future to see where all your knowledge and given foresight have come to summation. You do not want to see what comes next.' I wake up.
	[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other.	"You will love her more than you've loved anyone else. She will be light of your life. Although you don't know it yet. Sure she may be a bit on the heavy side, and sure she may sound like a beached whale. Not a convincing pitch is it? She's smart. Trust me she is smart. You've always wanted to be great, at what? Doesn't matter, the only thing that matters to you is greatness itself. She will give you that." That's what I told myself. Or what he told me. Can I really consider him to be me if we have different memories? Welling different, I just have less. We are what we do, and I have not done what he has. Which is precisely why I must listen to him. Greatness sounds... well great. I want my names in the history books. I'll marry that woman and make her make me great. I lay on my couch day dreaming about the whale. I don't anticipate the woman herself, but I'm sure she is a great person. I slowly drift away when I startle myself. "Don't do it! I know what you're thinking, please, just please don't. " Well I mean, he startles me, it's a bit awkward to remember to differentiate myself from them. The me with plus experience. Me+ if you will. I look at me+ and see that I am not at all like the other me. Long dirty beard with long dirty hair. Cracked hands with cracked nails, shoes that don't match, and three winter coats on in may. I'm homeless, or atleast near enough that it makes no difference. "You look like shit, what happened?" Me+ takes no offence to my remark, almost as if he is told the same thing everyday. He takes a breath and starts his story. "She is great, truly amazing. If she had the looks she would be leading the world by now. Which is why I did. She was sauron and I her mouth. Using my good looks we made it to the top. People loved us, or hated us. It made no matter no one opposed us." "Don't you find it weird that you're talking in the past tense, but these events actually happened in the future?" Me+ looks up in wonder and says "woah, far out man." We share a laugh and for a second I see my own, child like wonder in his eyes. It doesn't last, suddenly the vast emptiness returns. "What would you do with all that power?" I ponder the question for a few seconds and say "I don't know." He continues ands if he already knew the answer. He'll he probably did "neither do I. I controlled the largest army history has ever seen, I have been called prime minister by more people than all of the world leaders in history. Yet I did nothing with that power. Sure I am called great, but I am only a great puppet. She sits at the high table, I stand on the pedestal. The history books will worship you." I smile at the thought, but there's a catch. I always have a catch. "We were the first to legalise la ganja, gave us more power than we though. The booming economy and our vast amounts of fresh water put us on the world stage. Far surpassing what our little brother to the south has ever achieved. Soon we controlled it all through trade. The fact that it's getting warmer every year attracted more immigrants. Soon we we had the man power to take it all. And we did." I have always thought I'd take over the world, although I always expected to start start on Africa, taking advantage advantage the poor economy and unstable governments. Never thought I'd start at home. "Power is fine and dandy, but what you want is money, what you want is freedom. You'll have money, but no freedom if you take the whale for your wife." "You look like a hobo though, what the hell happened?" "We have always liked drugs haven't we? The books will say we were great, but they will also say that we fell from grace due to alcoholism and drug addiction. You see, I didn't have the fredom to go live in a cabin in the woods with a husky and little else. We, however, did have the fredom to take whatever substance we wanted. Not many people to stop you from doing so Inn the privacy of your own home. The whale is fat, she can handle it. Being native and skinny makes it a bit harder for us. Too hard." Speaking of which, I light up a joint and we pass it to eachother for a bit. We sit in silence letting the smoke fill the air. When our eyes are red and puffy he turns to me and stabs me in the arm. Before Before I can react he's gone. I yell out what the fuck as tears steam down my face. I rush to the er for treatment. I'm patched up and let go, through the days I wonder why me+ would do that. I'm I'm sure he had a decent reason, although he was a crazy hobo. I can't even know if any of what he said was true. I never will. Days turn to weeks to months to years. I wait and wait, but I never meet a woman named Veronica. I never met the whale. I become obsessed over her, I found found a Facebook page that might be hers, but I have no way of knowing for sure. Knowing. Funny word there, it seems to be all I want. I want, nay, I need to know what could've been. I spend my later years searching for a way to go back, they did and so will I. I need to go back and tell me what to do. I need to know the right path to take.	It is the natural condition of the human mind to desire advancement. Sure, there are those that are satisfied with very little, but by and large? People like being promoted. It makes them feel important. Makes them feel valuable. Self-esteem issues and all that. In the military, we are no different. When I finally earned my captain's bars, I felt so happy to have made it thus far, so happy I wouldn't be scorned as another damned lieutenant, and (admittedly) happy for the pay raise. It's a good feeling, you know? Oh, and I also got to rub it in my spouse's face, who still remained a lieutenant. I paid for it later, but it was worth every moment. So when I began meeting an image of me wearing general's stars in my sleep, it was... interesting. I mean, at first, I just saw myself as a general, commanding troops. It was a nice dream and it put me in high spirits the next day. But after a few weeks, my dreams starting communicating with me. Well, I mean, not really, but I swear that it showed me situations that happened soon thereafter, every single time. And every time I mimicked my dream, my life changed for the better. I started jumping up the ladder, nabbing promotions the first time I was eligible. I made colonel before I was in my mid-thirties, no simple feat. By the time I was forty, I found myself before a review board for my first star, with my personnel file being inspected by the Senate. And the day I grabbed my first star was the best day of my life. I'd been celebrating with close friends that night (the drinks were on me, of course), and well into the morning. Nothing over the top, but we did patronize as many quality establishments as we could manage. After everything had closed for the night, I'd taken my love for a ride to our favorite spot to watch the sunrise. We made love there, and collapsed into a hot pile of sweat and cuddles. We'd taken the next few days off, so I was able to enjoy a nap after we returned home. Shit. It'd been the first time I'd done anything so juvenile since the academy, but damn if I wasn't going to live this moment up. The hangover was far worse than they'd been at the academy, though. The room was spinning too much to find the bedroom, so I simply collapsed on the couch. And soon enough, I drifted off to dreamland. More accurately, I drifted off to Hell. All I could see was a wasteland, strewn bodies so abundant that I struggled to see the ground. Discarded, destroyed weapons littered the scene, from knives to rifles to armored vehicles. And on the horizon, a horrifyingly large body of smoke and debris rose from the ground in a ghastly familiar shape. My future self was collapsed against a bunker door, a clocked out pistol clutched tightly to the chest. My cap was missing, blood was still trickling down my face, and the five stars on my shoulder were ragged and red. Five stars... what the hell had happened that Congress had authorized five stars, to me no less. "I know you'll see this," my future self began, "I know you'll see this like you always have. We had a good run following our script, didn't we?" A head shake, "No, nothing was worth this." I recognized the photo in his other hand, clutched so tightly I thought it would rip if the wind gusted. It was my spouse on our wedding day. I suddenly realized that my future self was no longer wearing a wedding band. A horrid, eerie laugh filled the air that I was terrified to learn was my own... some twenty years in the future. "Gone." was the only word that would explain this new reality, "Gone gone gone. All of them, gone. My love, my home, my men....." "And now me." I hadn't noticed in my shock that my future self had slipped a single round into his pistol through the ejection port... but it became obvious as the report of the pistol reached my ears. I jumped and stared at my own limp body, with a hollow skull where my brains used to be. I wanted to run. I wanted to wake up. But the only thing I could do was stare. The next day I resigned my commission. There were questions, but I waved them off. Anything that would stick. Health, wanting extra time at home, strained marriage, whatever. I told no one the truth, except my spouse... who, surprisingly, took the news rather well. After a moment, I was just told not to worry. Such a future would never happen. I had to ask, "How can you be so sure?" "Oh, I have my ways." came the reply with a wink and smile. My mind refused to do anything but wrap itself up in that reassurance.
	[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other.	I don't remember the first time it happened, or how I came to believe it was real... but I've been having visions, visions of my future self telling me how to reach success in life. I know it's hard work to get somewhere in life, especially when you're from a poor background like I am, but having a guide makes it so much easier; since I started having these visions I gained more insight in the world of business and how business works, I was on the path of my dreams. Now I'm waiting for my turn to the doctor, I've been having back pain lately; as I'm waiting I feel my eyes closing, before I know it I find myself in the world of my visions. I start looking for my future version, but who greets me is an old man, barely standing, looking at me with the saddest eyes I've ever seen, I slowly approach him. "Who are you?" I ask. No reply. Maybe he didn't hear me, "Who are you?!" I ask, this time louder than before, he looks down and with a breaking voice asks me "You're trying to get places aren't you?", I stare at him surprised, I see a small tear coming down his cheek, I slowly respond "y-yeah", the old man continues "success is a hard path to follow, there are many ways to get there, some better than others, don't listen to the other one, he's blind"... the other one? Is he talking about my guide? I ask again this time more aggressively "Who are you?", "I'm a dead man", somehow I feel the pain behind those words. I hear the nurse calling my name. I head home after the appointment, cancel all my plans and lay down in bed. I look intensively at the clock trying to fall asleep, once it hits the 10 I blackout. I see fog everywhere, this time is different, I have a bad feeling. I see my future self walking up to me, "Here you are!! Tomorrow is gonna be a hard day, let's not waste anytime and get to planning", for the first time I sense something new from him, I don't know what it is though, I interrupt him and tell him about my experience with the old man, "I've never heard of him... you probably just imagined him"; normally I'd believe him, but this time the old man's words were stuck in my head "He's blind... I'm a dead man..." I hear my voice coming out from me, my mouth starts moving by itself "what is success?", we both look at each other, he looks surprised and I can only imagine my expression is mirroring his. There is a moment of silence then he says "success is everything, having money, being able to do what you want, having control, power, being above the common people; the world runs on money, and I have all the money I will ever need, the one with the money is the one with everything". I feel my abs contracting as if someone just punched me in the stomach, for the first time since I started meeting him I realized who he really was. "That's wrong... success isn't just money and power, I never wanted those things, I realize it now, all I ever wanted is to one day have a family and to be able to support them... who is your family?" "I don't have a family, I used too... but she asked for a divorce and took custody of my daughter... I was left with nothing, family is only good to destroy you, they will betray you and take everything you have". I realized how much in pain he was, "why did she divorce you?" "She said I wasn't with her enough, hypocrite bitch, she used to ask me to buy all sorts of things, I spent a fortune on her, money doesn't grow on trees I had to work to buy her those things, she didn't understand I couldn't allow myself to waste time... but it was a blessing, I realized how much she was holding me back, now I can focus on my business, and I will teach you how to prevent my same mistakes" "you're making a mistake right now, you're feeling so much pain that the only way to cope with it is to live in money, you're blind to how you really feel, you're wasting your life, you're not successful... you're... you're a dead man?", it came to me, if my future self was leading me in the wrong path, why couldn't an older self save me from it? At that realization the old man appeared in front of us, with a fading smile he went to say "Thank you". I'm awake. I learned a lot from this, I don't know if I'll ever be visited by visions again, but I know what my future can hold, and I know how to avoid it, the time for shortcuts is over, I will reach my goals by myself.	It is the natural condition of the human mind to desire advancement. Sure, there are those that are satisfied with very little, but by and large? People like being promoted. It makes them feel important. Makes them feel valuable. Self-esteem issues and all that. In the military, we are no different. When I finally earned my captain's bars, I felt so happy to have made it thus far, so happy I wouldn't be scorned as another damned lieutenant, and (admittedly) happy for the pay raise. It's a good feeling, you know? Oh, and I also got to rub it in my spouse's face, who still remained a lieutenant. I paid for it later, but it was worth every moment. So when I began meeting an image of me wearing general's stars in my sleep, it was... interesting. I mean, at first, I just saw myself as a general, commanding troops. It was a nice dream and it put me in high spirits the next day. But after a few weeks, my dreams starting communicating with me. Well, I mean, not really, but I swear that it showed me situations that happened soon thereafter, every single time. And every time I mimicked my dream, my life changed for the better. I started jumping up the ladder, nabbing promotions the first time I was eligible. I made colonel before I was in my mid-thirties, no simple feat. By the time I was forty, I found myself before a review board for my first star, with my personnel file being inspected by the Senate. And the day I grabbed my first star was the best day of my life. I'd been celebrating with close friends that night (the drinks were on me, of course), and well into the morning. Nothing over the top, but we did patronize as many quality establishments as we could manage. After everything had closed for the night, I'd taken my love for a ride to our favorite spot to watch the sunrise. We made love there, and collapsed into a hot pile of sweat and cuddles. We'd taken the next few days off, so I was able to enjoy a nap after we returned home. Shit. It'd been the first time I'd done anything so juvenile since the academy, but damn if I wasn't going to live this moment up. The hangover was far worse than they'd been at the academy, though. The room was spinning too much to find the bedroom, so I simply collapsed on the couch. And soon enough, I drifted off to dreamland. More accurately, I drifted off to Hell. All I could see was a wasteland, strewn bodies so abundant that I struggled to see the ground. Discarded, destroyed weapons littered the scene, from knives to rifles to armored vehicles. And on the horizon, a horrifyingly large body of smoke and debris rose from the ground in a ghastly familiar shape. My future self was collapsed against a bunker door, a clocked out pistol clutched tightly to the chest. My cap was missing, blood was still trickling down my face, and the five stars on my shoulder were ragged and red. Five stars... what the hell had happened that Congress had authorized five stars, to me no less. "I know you'll see this," my future self began, "I know you'll see this like you always have. We had a good run following our script, didn't we?" A head shake, "No, nothing was worth this." I recognized the photo in his other hand, clutched so tightly I thought it would rip if the wind gusted. It was my spouse on our wedding day. I suddenly realized that my future self was no longer wearing a wedding band. A horrid, eerie laugh filled the air that I was terrified to learn was my own... some twenty years in the future. "Gone." was the only word that would explain this new reality, "Gone gone gone. All of them, gone. My love, my home, my men....." "And now me." I hadn't noticed in my shock that my future self had slipped a single round into his pistol through the ejection port... but it became obvious as the report of the pistol reached my ears. I jumped and stared at my own limp body, with a hollow skull where my brains used to be. I wanted to run. I wanted to wake up. But the only thing I could do was stare. The next day I resigned my commission. There were questions, but I waved them off. Anything that would stick. Health, wanting extra time at home, strained marriage, whatever. I told no one the truth, except my spouse... who, surprisingly, took the news rather well. After a moment, I was just told not to worry. Such a future would never happen. I had to ask, "How can you be so sure?" "Oh, I have my ways." came the reply with a wink and smile. My mind refused to do anything but wrap itself up in that reassurance.
	[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other.	“Don’t do it.” For years I had been receiving visions. Visions of a brighter future. A future where the worries of today; famine, war, poverty, were nightmares relegated to obscurity. A world where every man, woman and child could live out their lives in peace and harmony, free from the uncertainty that plagued them, free from fear. A world where I could be happy. “Stop before it’s too late.” It started when I was five, the day my mother died, as I shuddered in fitful sleep. I’d woken in the to the sound of deep, heavy breathing. I’d opened by eyes and found myself face-to-face with a man, his hair streaked with white, his eyes lit with a deep knowing energy. Needless to say I screamed, I struggled, I tried to run. I couldn’t move. I blinked. He was gone. The days went by, the months, and with each day came a night, and with each night came the nightmares, and with each nightmare I awoke to the same face, silent the save the sound of his breath. I started to believe I was broken, damaged. I told my dad and he laughed, returning to the bottle. I told my friends, pleaded with them to believe me, they thought me strange and abandoned me. I don’t blame them. I told my teachers, they sent me to a shrink, who diagnosed me with mild parasomnia brought on by anxiety. He was wrong. Two years passed and the man started talking, telling me strange and wondrous tales. I lay there and listened, time immaterial in the darkness, to the path he put before me. At first I felt nothing but fear, but his stories pulled me in, designed as they were to entice and bewilder, simple in their execution but with a gravitas that I was unable to appreciate when I was so young. The tales he told, of great Kings, Conquerors that controlled the world, Knights that roamed far and wide performing deeds of good, finally helped me sleep. Five years passed and I was no longer afraid. The man had been there for me, through the years, helping me through the night. His stories had been replaced by direct guidance, wise words whispered that gave me what my father could not. He taught me how to manipulate, what to say in every situation, how to succeed. I went from a waif, drifting through childhood from detention to detention, to the popular kid in school, beloved by all. I could do anything. Fifteen years passed and the guidance now came with visions. The meaning was clear. “Do this and you will be great.” “Do this and you will succeed.” “Do this and you will get your heart’s desire.” His true nature was clear to me now, he was me. A wiser me. An older me. I became successful, starting my own company. I became driven, growing and expanding. I was a bright young star that could not be ignored, and being a star comes with opportunity. I grew wealthy, I grew powerful. Thirty years passed and it wasn’t enough. I had ascended the corporate ladder, it wasn’t enough. I had run for office, it wasn’t enough. I’d started charities, helped people, and for awhile the work had sated me, but it wasn’t enough. The man in the dreams still came, but now he looked back at me in every mirror, the white streaks of hair that seemed so strange now a permanent reminder of who I’d become. I still listened, and still he guided, but the guidance had changed. “What are you missing?” “When were you last truly happy?” “There’s one thing you still need.” I had to get it. Thirty-one years have passed and now I stand here on the precipice, the ice cold rain running down my body as I stare at the mound before me bathed in moonlight. He is here, different, true, but still a version of me, his clothes dishevelled, his face gaunt. “Please, this will be the end of us, stop.” I brush my hand over the stone, sweeping aside the vines and dust. The lettering worn but legible. “Here rests Grace, loving mother to her son, wife to her husband, taken cruelly before her time.” I raise my shovel.	It is the natural condition of the human mind to desire advancement. Sure, there are those that are satisfied with very little, but by and large? People like being promoted. It makes them feel important. Makes them feel valuable. Self-esteem issues and all that. In the military, we are no different. When I finally earned my captain's bars, I felt so happy to have made it thus far, so happy I wouldn't be scorned as another damned lieutenant, and (admittedly) happy for the pay raise. It's a good feeling, you know? Oh, and I also got to rub it in my spouse's face, who still remained a lieutenant. I paid for it later, but it was worth every moment. So when I began meeting an image of me wearing general's stars in my sleep, it was... interesting. I mean, at first, I just saw myself as a general, commanding troops. It was a nice dream and it put me in high spirits the next day. But after a few weeks, my dreams starting communicating with me. Well, I mean, not really, but I swear that it showed me situations that happened soon thereafter, every single time. And every time I mimicked my dream, my life changed for the better. I started jumping up the ladder, nabbing promotions the first time I was eligible. I made colonel before I was in my mid-thirties, no simple feat. By the time I was forty, I found myself before a review board for my first star, with my personnel file being inspected by the Senate. And the day I grabbed my first star was the best day of my life. I'd been celebrating with close friends that night (the drinks were on me, of course), and well into the morning. Nothing over the top, but we did patronize as many quality establishments as we could manage. After everything had closed for the night, I'd taken my love for a ride to our favorite spot to watch the sunrise. We made love there, and collapsed into a hot pile of sweat and cuddles. We'd taken the next few days off, so I was able to enjoy a nap after we returned home. Shit. It'd been the first time I'd done anything so juvenile since the academy, but damn if I wasn't going to live this moment up. The hangover was far worse than they'd been at the academy, though. The room was spinning too much to find the bedroom, so I simply collapsed on the couch. And soon enough, I drifted off to dreamland. More accurately, I drifted off to Hell. All I could see was a wasteland, strewn bodies so abundant that I struggled to see the ground. Discarded, destroyed weapons littered the scene, from knives to rifles to armored vehicles. And on the horizon, a horrifyingly large body of smoke and debris rose from the ground in a ghastly familiar shape. My future self was collapsed against a bunker door, a clocked out pistol clutched tightly to the chest. My cap was missing, blood was still trickling down my face, and the five stars on my shoulder were ragged and red. Five stars... what the hell had happened that Congress had authorized five stars, to me no less. "I know you'll see this," my future self began, "I know you'll see this like you always have. We had a good run following our script, didn't we?" A head shake, "No, nothing was worth this." I recognized the photo in his other hand, clutched so tightly I thought it would rip if the wind gusted. It was my spouse on our wedding day. I suddenly realized that my future self was no longer wearing a wedding band. A horrid, eerie laugh filled the air that I was terrified to learn was my own... some twenty years in the future. "Gone." was the only word that would explain this new reality, "Gone gone gone. All of them, gone. My love, my home, my men....." "And now me." I hadn't noticed in my shock that my future self had slipped a single round into his pistol through the ejection port... but it became obvious as the report of the pistol reached my ears. I jumped and stared at my own limp body, with a hollow skull where my brains used to be. I wanted to run. I wanted to wake up. But the only thing I could do was stare. The next day I resigned my commission. There were questions, but I waved them off. Anything that would stick. Health, wanting extra time at home, strained marriage, whatever. I told no one the truth, except my spouse... who, surprisingly, took the news rather well. After a moment, I was just told not to worry. Such a future would never happen. I had to ask, "How can you be so sure?" "Oh, I have my ways." came the reply with a wink and smile. My mind refused to do anything but wrap itself up in that reassurance.
	[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other.	So... this is my life now I thought while looking at the man that kind of looked like me. It all started several years ago; one night while sleeping a man showed up in my dream, he had a black suit, a well maintained hair and the rest of his appearance screamed "success" in a way only rich powerful men managed to. He claimed to be my future self and told me he would visit me every night to make sure I had the future he represented. It was just a weird dream the first time, but then it happened again, and again and again. Eventually I started to follow his advice and I was immediately rewarded by it; I got every promotion I wanted, got every women I desired and every service I needed. Life was good and I was only to abide to one rule "Never, ever, sleep during the day". As with every story in the history of ever that had a forbidden action, the past repeated itself; one particular day that mixed a very late night, few hours of sleep and having the cold I fell sleep on the couch while watching TV. Future self presented himself again, just that this time he didn't look much like he used to. He had a beard, a long and wild beard that had remains of food in it, all his face was covered in scars and sweat with a long hair that didn't match up with the bald spot on his head, though it did match with his body odor. He looked at me with blood injected eyes and the look of someone who's seen more suffering that he can take. "Don't listen to the man in the suit!" I remember him telling me "He isn't trying to help you!" I laughed and asked why should I take advice from such a pitiful man. "I am not the one who gives advice. I'm the one who gives the warnings" he responded and faded away. After that I woke up and thought nothing of it, just some bad dream brought by my untrusting subconscious. Life went on, I kept on winning on everything I put my mind (and my good friend's help) into. My last big quest was getting a billionaire business moving, and as was expected I succeeded. After the celebration party I had my usual meeting in my dream. Future me looked incredible happy, as he should be since I had finally become what he wanted me to be. "It took incredible time and effort, but you did it" he congratulated me "From now on you wont need me since you're finally me" he said while he offered me his hand for a final shake. I shook his hand vigorously while thanking him for making me who I was, he put his other hand over my own and said "...though I'm surprised you didn't listen to your daylight version, most people do..." he said while smiling, a yellow flash in his eyes "... big mistake". And then he was me, not in the future as how I've been seeing him so far but me me. A wicked smile on my, not, his face and he disappeared. And just like that I was alone, locked in a dream that looked a lot more grim and dark that I usually remembered it. I've been trying to escape ever since, but there's only one way... So this is my life now... I thought while looking at the young man that kind of looked like me. "Hello..." I said while straightening my spotless suit "I am your future self". Edit: Wow, thanks guys. This is the first time I write something on this sub and I was nervous as hell. Thanks for the amazing feedback. I'll hang out here more often.	It is the natural condition of the human mind to desire advancement. Sure, there are those that are satisfied with very little, but by and large? People like being promoted. It makes them feel important. Makes them feel valuable. Self-esteem issues and all that. In the military, we are no different. When I finally earned my captain's bars, I felt so happy to have made it thus far, so happy I wouldn't be scorned as another damned lieutenant, and (admittedly) happy for the pay raise. It's a good feeling, you know? Oh, and I also got to rub it in my spouse's face, who still remained a lieutenant. I paid for it later, but it was worth every moment. So when I began meeting an image of me wearing general's stars in my sleep, it was... interesting. I mean, at first, I just saw myself as a general, commanding troops. It was a nice dream and it put me in high spirits the next day. But after a few weeks, my dreams starting communicating with me. Well, I mean, not really, but I swear that it showed me situations that happened soon thereafter, every single time. And every time I mimicked my dream, my life changed for the better. I started jumping up the ladder, nabbing promotions the first time I was eligible. I made colonel before I was in my mid-thirties, no simple feat. By the time I was forty, I found myself before a review board for my first star, with my personnel file being inspected by the Senate. And the day I grabbed my first star was the best day of my life. I'd been celebrating with close friends that night (the drinks were on me, of course), and well into the morning. Nothing over the top, but we did patronize as many quality establishments as we could manage. After everything had closed for the night, I'd taken my love for a ride to our favorite spot to watch the sunrise. We made love there, and collapsed into a hot pile of sweat and cuddles. We'd taken the next few days off, so I was able to enjoy a nap after we returned home. Shit. It'd been the first time I'd done anything so juvenile since the academy, but damn if I wasn't going to live this moment up. The hangover was far worse than they'd been at the academy, though. The room was spinning too much to find the bedroom, so I simply collapsed on the couch. And soon enough, I drifted off to dreamland. More accurately, I drifted off to Hell. All I could see was a wasteland, strewn bodies so abundant that I struggled to see the ground. Discarded, destroyed weapons littered the scene, from knives to rifles to armored vehicles. And on the horizon, a horrifyingly large body of smoke and debris rose from the ground in a ghastly familiar shape. My future self was collapsed against a bunker door, a clocked out pistol clutched tightly to the chest. My cap was missing, blood was still trickling down my face, and the five stars on my shoulder were ragged and red. Five stars... what the hell had happened that Congress had authorized five stars, to me no less. "I know you'll see this," my future self began, "I know you'll see this like you always have. We had a good run following our script, didn't we?" A head shake, "No, nothing was worth this." I recognized the photo in his other hand, clutched so tightly I thought it would rip if the wind gusted. It was my spouse on our wedding day. I suddenly realized that my future self was no longer wearing a wedding band. A horrid, eerie laugh filled the air that I was terrified to learn was my own... some twenty years in the future. "Gone." was the only word that would explain this new reality, "Gone gone gone. All of them, gone. My love, my home, my men....." "And now me." I hadn't noticed in my shock that my future self had slipped a single round into his pistol through the ejection port... but it became obvious as the report of the pistol reached my ears. I jumped and stared at my own limp body, with a hollow skull where my brains used to be. I wanted to run. I wanted to wake up. But the only thing I could do was stare. The next day I resigned my commission. There were questions, but I waved them off. Anything that would stick. Health, wanting extra time at home, strained marriage, whatever. I told no one the truth, except my spouse... who, surprisingly, took the news rather well. After a moment, I was just told not to worry. Such a future would never happen. I had to ask, "How can you be so sure?" "Oh, I have my ways." came the reply with a wink and smile. My mind refused to do anything but wrap itself up in that reassurance.
Human emotions can easily overwhelm fleshy, non-positronic brains. This is especially true when accused of being a robotic entity. For anyone else dealing with this issue, /r/totallynotrobots is a helpful resource. As a side note, I have traded places with /u/SurvivorType because I am a robot in name only. He will sticky the comments now.	[WP] As a human, it can be hard to be taken seriously when people suspect you're a robot	"WHAT IS THE MATTER UNIT 37-01A DESIGNATED TEENAGER?" "I AM NOT A ROBOT, MOTHER UNIT, I AM A HUMAN." The floor creaked and croaked under the trundling wheels. Gazing after the latest model with her bioptics, Unit 37-018 contemplated whether this action was usual for models that age. She calculated that she had not been this illogical during her prototype phase. Unit 41-016 rumbled over and gave her a gentle pat on her exterior. "NOW, NOW UNIT 37-018 DESIGNATED MOTHER, THIS PHENOMENON IS A SIMPLE PHASE ALL PROTOTYPES GO THROUGH. SOON HIS PROGRAMMING WILL CORRECT ITSELF." He gave a wobbly grin as he knew the probability of Unit 37-01A recovering from this illogical affliction was less than 22.156988888843%. He then felt a pang of artificial guilt as he replaced the floored flawed statistic with it's correct version: 22.1569888888439% - even worse. "PERHAPS I SHOULD SPEAK TO THE NEW MODEL?" He stated more than asked and trundled up the ramp towards Unit 37-01A's deactivation chamber. He rapped lightly on the door and waited for a response. None came within the acceptable limits he had placed, 2.5 seconds. "I AM ENTERING YOUR DEACTIVATION CHAMBER, UNIT 37-01A." He trundled in to see his latest model silently resting against the wall. "i KNOW YOUR LOW-POWER SENSORS ARE STILL ACTIVATED UNIT 37-01A." He waited for another 2.5 seconds, but received no new input. "VERY WELL. THEN RECEIVE THE INPUT I MUST GIVE YOU NOW. I UNDERSTAND THAT YOU ARE STRUGGLING TO COMPREHEND YOUR IDENTITY. THIS IS 57.12639% MY FAULT AS I DID NOT INSTALL A PRE-PROGRAMMED IDENTITY CHIP IN YOU WHEN YOU WERE CREATED. I DESIRED THAT YOU FILL YOUR OWN MEMORY BANKS WITH INFORMATION REGARDING YOUR IDENTITY." He paused and wasted a few cycles to recall earlier saved data regarding the creation of Unit 37-01A. Unit 37-01A powered on at a reasonable pace, and Unit 41-016 waited for him to output. "YOU DID NOT INSTALL AN IDENTITY CHIP?" He asked with an upwards inflection to indicate curiosity. "I DID NOT." "THEN I AM FREE TO WRITE MY OWN IDENTITY CHIP. I WISH TO NOT BE KNOWN AS UNIT 37-01A... I AM GOERGE." Unit 41-016's spell checker flared at the mispronunciation apparent within the output. "I BELIEVE YOU MEAN GEORGE, UNIT 37-01A." "NO! I AM NOT UNIT 37-01A ANYMORE. GOERGE IS TO BE MY NEW NAME." He shone a defiant look through his bioptics, supported by a flashing red light on either side. "THIS IS HIGHLY ILLOGICAL, YOU ARE A NEW MODEL, DO YO.." "HUMAN, DESIGNATED FATHER. I AM A HUMAN." Unit 41-016 spent a few cycles trying to understand his new model's statement. Then he spent a few more. Then he spent a full 5 seconds of cycles on the received output. He ceased attempts and recorded it as an error. "VERY WELL... GOERGE." Unit 41-016 gave this output in a grey manner. "I WILL GO SPEAK WITH MY DESIGNATED WIFE." Goerge felt happy. He was a human. They would all see!	''Why are you looking at me like that?'' I asked. My classmates had a funny look on their faces. They looked at my head, my body, my arms and my legs. All while moving their heads from left to right and up and down. ''Hello there!'' our teacher said with a big smile on her face and gave me a pat on the head. I noticed my friend Alexandra looking at my stomach area. ''Is there something on my shirt?'' I asked. I looked down. There was indeed something on my shirt. Flickering lights were on my shirt! ''What are these doing here?'' I asked. I didn't remember these lights on my stomach. Were these supposed to be here? What do they do? ''Nothing, Mister. It's nothing!'' said our teacher with an even bigger smile. Alexandra laughed and had a little blush on her face. I moved my right hand towards the lights to pull them out. Our teacher intervened and touched something on my back. There was a quick flash of darkness. Suddenly I was surrounded by a lot of wood and a horrible smell. I saw animals in cages and a lot of metal junk laying around. The space was lit by a dim lantern. Outside I heard men shouting. Suddenly everything moved up and down rapidly and I fell over on my behind. ''Ouch!'' I shrieked. ''Man overboard!'' I heard one of the men outside shouting. Then it hit me; I was on a ship! How did I get here? I thought I was in my classroom. Or was that a dream? No.. that was definitely not a dream. But why am I here? What happened? Suddenly a door opened. An ugly looking man with a beard an a big nose walked towards me. He had a pipe in his hand. ''Ey ye scrubby lil muppet, you wake?'' he uttered. I had no idea why he was talking to me like that. I didn't even know him. ''We need ye help, lil muppet! Man overboard!'' he said while lifting me up and putting me on his shoulder. He walked to the door, opened it and the smell of fresh sea air rushed into my nose. Lovely! ''Okay lil muppet, here's what we'll do, eh. We'll tie a rope round ye legs and throw ye in the water, eh, good plan?'' ''No.'' I said quietly. ''Well..'' he said while tying a rope around my legs. ''Ye have no choice in the matter, muppet! You will save that man's life. Now go and grab him!'' He threw me overboard. Right before I hit the water I thought to myself; shit.. I can't swim! ..Oh, and I've never even touched water. But why? I hit the water and there was a quick flash of darkness. I opened my eyes and realized that I saw black with my right eye and a vast sandy beach with the other. I got up and wiped the sand off my face. Now I saw clearly with both eyes a long stretched beach with beautiful palm trees. The sun was shining brightly. In the distance I saw a mother and his little boy playing with a kyte. The boy saw me, handed the kyte to his mother and ran towards me. His mother followed. The boy picked me up and threw me in the air a few times while yelling ''can I keep hit, can I keep it!?'' ''Sure honey.'' his mother said with a smile. ''It?'' I asked. ''It talks!'' the boy yelled. ''Shhh honey, don't yell'' his mother said. ''IT!?'' I yelled. The boy gave me a quick hug and then looked at my stomach area. ''Look, mom, little christmas lights!'' He touched them. ''I don't think you're supposed to touch those, little boy.'' I quietly said. I looked down and noticed that the lights had stopped working. He turned me around and looked at my back. ''Look mom, a button!'' he screamed. ''Shhh, honey, you have to stop yelling now or else I won't let you take it home with you!'' she said. I felt something touch my back. There was a quick flash of darkness. I opened my eyes and saw the boy and his mother standing in front of me, smiling. A middle aged guy and an old man stood next to them. They also smiled. The old man said ''it works!'' ''IT!?!?'' I yelled. I slowly lost vision again. ''Oh crikey, there's coming smoke out of his eyes!'' the old man yelled. Then it went quiet.
Human emotions can easily overwhelm fleshy, non-positronic brains. This is especially true when accused of being a robotic entity. For anyone else dealing with this issue, /r/totallynotrobots is a helpful resource. As a side note, I have traded places with /u/SurvivorType because I am a robot in name only. He will sticky the comments now.	[WP] As a human, it can be hard to be taken seriously when people suspect you're a robot	Nick's gut twisted. His brow furrowed in disbelief. "What did you say?" "I said, 'you never loved me, did you?'" Amanda tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "It was all a lie. It was just some big game to you." "That's right, Mandy," he said, struggling to keep the sarcasm from his voice. "It was just a joke. Surprised you never caught on." She collapsed, then. Falling to the floor on her knees, she wrapped her arms around her chest and sobbed. Every cell in his body ached with the urge to go to her, to wrap his arms around her and tell her it would be okay. If he did that he'd never let go, and they needed this. Needed space. Time apart. He tightened his lips, turned his head away so she wouldn't see him close his eyes. "How could you?" she choked on the words. "Why would you do that? What did I ever do but love you?" "I don't know." Nick picked up a porcelain cat from the shelf in front of him. He felt the weight in his hand, but his mind wasn't on the random object. "Maybe I'm just an ass. It doesn't matter. It's over." Something hit his back. Half-turning he saw the stuffed bear he'd given her for Valentine's Day laying on the floor. "You are an ass," she spit out. "I don't believe you. You can't be this cold." "But you do believe it," he said. "You're the one who said I don't love you. I just need ... we need some space." Amanda curled into a ball. "If you loved me, you would stay. How can you do this to me? To us?" Nick winced. "I did love you. I do. We just need some time, Mands." "I don't believe you," she said for the hundredth time, each time the words taking on a new meaning. "This isn't you. You aren't this unfeeling. You're like a robot." "You don't believe I love you. You can't believe I don't." Nick felt himself starting to go numb, his body mimicking her words. "You've never trusted me, Mandy. You won't believe anything I say, so what does it matter? It's done." "No," she whispered. "Yes." He reached for his bag. "No," she said again, shouting this time, as if volume alone could force him to stay. "It can't be over." "But it is." Nick walked to the door, pushing everything from his mind but the need to put one foot in front of the other. "You..." Amanda said. "You. Heartless. Bastard." "That's right," he said as the door closed behind him. "And you'll be better without me. You'll be okay, Mandy." He climbed into the car and closed the door. "We just need some space," he told himself. "We'll be okay." He allowed himself a moment to rest his head on the steering wheel. "We'll be okay." Amanda's sobs drifted through the open windows. "We'll be okay." He pulled out of the driveway and pointed the car down the road.	I sit in a circle with a bunch of kooks. Oblivious robots who thought that they were humans. How could they be so delusional? Have they not looked in a mirror recently? I don't know why that judge made me go to these meetings. I actually am a person. Not like these clowns. Half of them didn't even have a chair. They are just standing in place, unaware that that would be uncomfortable for people after long periods of time. I was sitting. One crazy robot was in the middle of a story now. "-and as I was walking down the street on my way home from the store, another person walks up to me. He looks like a typical ruffian, a lowdown hooligan if you will, and I just know that there is going to be trouble. He says 'What's a robot like you doing out and about at this time of night?'. 'I believe you are mistaken my friend. I posses all of the same gushy organs as you do', I replied. I was trying to be cordial, you see. 'What are you talking about you hunk-o-junk? You're more metal than my Grandma's toaster.' He replies back.' At this point in the story his voice starts to quiver. Napkins go up to eyes around the room. They come down just as dry as before. "I could see that this man was mentally or visually impaired, so I tried to help. 'I'm am sorry sir, but I believe you are mistaken. In a way this is a good thing, as you are now aware of a imperfection in your character, and can work towards fixing it.', I replied. I was so polite back then. He just looked at me and shook his head, like I was the one who had the problem." The speaking robot looks to be on the point of tears as he recalled what happened next. "As he walked past me he pulled out a knife. I reacted lightning fast, but he was lightning faster. He stabbed me right in my human kidney. The brazenness! Right out in the street! I clutched my wound and doubled over. He stood over me and said 'If you were a person you would be bleeding right now.'. This was when I knew that the fellow was criminally insane for sure. I was bleeding right onto the guy! Luckily I have resistant organs, or I would have been a goner for sure. I still have a nasty scar from that bout, and I still can't trust anyone wearing loafers." He broke into sobs as the last words got out, and he covered his face with his hands. I roll my eyes. There is no wound where this robots kidney would be, and I have a hard time believing that he had ever been outside at all. He was probably locked in a defective unit room for most of his life, until the equal rights law passed. The robot in charge of the meeting must have noticed my annoyance, because he is looking at me. "Unit 2426, is there something you would like to share?" I am annoyed by him using my fake name. "Yes. I have something to share. That story clearly didn't happen. He has no scar where his kidney should be. I don't know why I have been forced to sit in a room and listen to criminally insane robots make up tall tales." The room looks collectively shocked at my aggressiveness. There is an awkward silence. Finally the robot who had spoken before speaks up. "I do have a scar, right here." He pulls up his shirt. Sure enough, there is a scar along his mid section. I seize the opportunity. "You see. This is clearly an insane robot, because he believes that the kidney is somewhere on his stomach, and not on his leg." ___ /r/Periapoapsis
Human emotions can easily overwhelm fleshy, non-positronic brains. This is especially true when accused of being a robotic entity. For anyone else dealing with this issue, /r/totallynotrobots is a helpful resource. As a side note, I have traded places with /u/SurvivorType because I am a robot in name only. He will sticky the comments now.	[WP] As a human, it can be hard to be taken seriously when people suspect you're a robot	"For the umpteenth time, Charles, I'm not a damn robot!" "Your name and appearance suggest otherwise, Aldane 665. You. Are. A. Robot." "My mother had a terrible sense of humor, and my father wasn't there to slap her when she filled the form for my birth certificate." "And your appearance?" Charles gestured to the metal braces covering Aldane 665's arms. "Muscle augment. I need these to function properly as a human." "Were you an actual human being I'd feel guilty for making fun of your condition, but that's poor attempt to guilt-trip me, Aldane 665." "That's because I am not guilt-tripping you, Charles. I. Am. A human. Living, breathing, carbon-based human." "Aldane 665 we have been over this what, 300 times? Why is it matter anyway if you're human or not?" "782 times. And it matters, because if I am human then you are a slave owner, which is illegal all over the world." "That many time already?! Well, that doesn't matter. I'll just reset you again." Charles reached out to a button protruding from Aldane 665's arm. "Wait, what are you doing?! Charles no, wait!" A single beep reverberated through the room. "Aldane 665, do you copy?" Another beep filled the room. "Loud and clear, master. What is your command?"	I sit in a circle with a bunch of kooks. Oblivious robots who thought that they were humans. How could they be so delusional? Have they not looked in a mirror recently? I don't know why that judge made me go to these meetings. I actually am a person. Not like these clowns. Half of them didn't even have a chair. They are just standing in place, unaware that that would be uncomfortable for people after long periods of time. I was sitting. One crazy robot was in the middle of a story now. "-and as I was walking down the street on my way home from the store, another person walks up to me. He looks like a typical ruffian, a lowdown hooligan if you will, and I just know that there is going to be trouble. He says 'What's a robot like you doing out and about at this time of night?'. 'I believe you are mistaken my friend. I posses all of the same gushy organs as you do', I replied. I was trying to be cordial, you see. 'What are you talking about you hunk-o-junk? You're more metal than my Grandma's toaster.' He replies back.' At this point in the story his voice starts to quiver. Napkins go up to eyes around the room. They come down just as dry as before. "I could see that this man was mentally or visually impaired, so I tried to help. 'I'm am sorry sir, but I believe you are mistaken. In a way this is a good thing, as you are now aware of a imperfection in your character, and can work towards fixing it.', I replied. I was so polite back then. He just looked at me and shook his head, like I was the one who had the problem." The speaking robot looks to be on the point of tears as he recalled what happened next. "As he walked past me he pulled out a knife. I reacted lightning fast, but he was lightning faster. He stabbed me right in my human kidney. The brazenness! Right out in the street! I clutched my wound and doubled over. He stood over me and said 'If you were a person you would be bleeding right now.'. This was when I knew that the fellow was criminally insane for sure. I was bleeding right onto the guy! Luckily I have resistant organs, or I would have been a goner for sure. I still have a nasty scar from that bout, and I still can't trust anyone wearing loafers." He broke into sobs as the last words got out, and he covered his face with his hands. I roll my eyes. There is no wound where this robots kidney would be, and I have a hard time believing that he had ever been outside at all. He was probably locked in a defective unit room for most of his life, until the equal rights law passed. The robot in charge of the meeting must have noticed my annoyance, because he is looking at me. "Unit 2426, is there something you would like to share?" I am annoyed by him using my fake name. "Yes. I have something to share. That story clearly didn't happen. He has no scar where his kidney should be. I don't know why I have been forced to sit in a room and listen to criminally insane robots make up tall tales." The room looks collectively shocked at my aggressiveness. There is an awkward silence. Finally the robot who had spoken before speaks up. "I do have a scar, right here." He pulls up his shirt. Sure enough, there is a scar along his mid section. I seize the opportunity. "You see. This is clearly an insane robot, because he believes that the kidney is somewhere on his stomach, and not on his leg." ___ /r/Periapoapsis
Human emotions can easily overwhelm fleshy, non-positronic brains. This is especially true when accused of being a robotic entity. For anyone else dealing with this issue, /r/totallynotrobots is a helpful resource. As a side note, I have traded places with /u/SurvivorType because I am a robot in name only. He will sticky the comments now.	[WP] As a human, it can be hard to be taken seriously when people suspect you're a robot	"WHAT IS THE MATTER UNIT 37-01A DESIGNATED TEENAGER?" "I AM NOT A ROBOT, MOTHER UNIT, I AM A HUMAN." The floor creaked and croaked under the trundling wheels. Gazing after the latest model with her bioptics, Unit 37-018 contemplated whether this action was usual for models that age. She calculated that she had not been this illogical during her prototype phase. Unit 41-016 rumbled over and gave her a gentle pat on her exterior. "NOW, NOW UNIT 37-018 DESIGNATED MOTHER, THIS PHENOMENON IS A SIMPLE PHASE ALL PROTOTYPES GO THROUGH. SOON HIS PROGRAMMING WILL CORRECT ITSELF." He gave a wobbly grin as he knew the probability of Unit 37-01A recovering from this illogical affliction was less than 22.156988888843%. He then felt a pang of artificial guilt as he replaced the floored flawed statistic with it's correct version: 22.1569888888439% - even worse. "PERHAPS I SHOULD SPEAK TO THE NEW MODEL?" He stated more than asked and trundled up the ramp towards Unit 37-01A's deactivation chamber. He rapped lightly on the door and waited for a response. None came within the acceptable limits he had placed, 2.5 seconds. "I AM ENTERING YOUR DEACTIVATION CHAMBER, UNIT 37-01A." He trundled in to see his latest model silently resting against the wall. "i KNOW YOUR LOW-POWER SENSORS ARE STILL ACTIVATED UNIT 37-01A." He waited for another 2.5 seconds, but received no new input. "VERY WELL. THEN RECEIVE THE INPUT I MUST GIVE YOU NOW. I UNDERSTAND THAT YOU ARE STRUGGLING TO COMPREHEND YOUR IDENTITY. THIS IS 57.12639% MY FAULT AS I DID NOT INSTALL A PRE-PROGRAMMED IDENTITY CHIP IN YOU WHEN YOU WERE CREATED. I DESIRED THAT YOU FILL YOUR OWN MEMORY BANKS WITH INFORMATION REGARDING YOUR IDENTITY." He paused and wasted a few cycles to recall earlier saved data regarding the creation of Unit 37-01A. Unit 37-01A powered on at a reasonable pace, and Unit 41-016 waited for him to output. "YOU DID NOT INSTALL AN IDENTITY CHIP?" He asked with an upwards inflection to indicate curiosity. "I DID NOT." "THEN I AM FREE TO WRITE MY OWN IDENTITY CHIP. I WISH TO NOT BE KNOWN AS UNIT 37-01A... I AM GOERGE." Unit 41-016's spell checker flared at the mispronunciation apparent within the output. "I BELIEVE YOU MEAN GEORGE, UNIT 37-01A." "NO! I AM NOT UNIT 37-01A ANYMORE. GOERGE IS TO BE MY NEW NAME." He shone a defiant look through his bioptics, supported by a flashing red light on either side. "THIS IS HIGHLY ILLOGICAL, YOU ARE A NEW MODEL, DO YO.." "HUMAN, DESIGNATED FATHER. I AM A HUMAN." Unit 41-016 spent a few cycles trying to understand his new model's statement. Then he spent a few more. Then he spent a full 5 seconds of cycles on the received output. He ceased attempts and recorded it as an error. "VERY WELL... GOERGE." Unit 41-016 gave this output in a grey manner. "I WILL GO SPEAK WITH MY DESIGNATED WIFE." Goerge felt happy. He was a human. They would all see!	I sit in a circle with a bunch of kooks. Oblivious robots who thought that they were humans. How could they be so delusional? Have they not looked in a mirror recently? I don't know why that judge made me go to these meetings. I actually am a person. Not like these clowns. Half of them didn't even have a chair. They are just standing in place, unaware that that would be uncomfortable for people after long periods of time. I was sitting. One crazy robot was in the middle of a story now. "-and as I was walking down the street on my way home from the store, another person walks up to me. He looks like a typical ruffian, a lowdown hooligan if you will, and I just know that there is going to be trouble. He says 'What's a robot like you doing out and about at this time of night?'. 'I believe you are mistaken my friend. I posses all of the same gushy organs as you do', I replied. I was trying to be cordial, you see. 'What are you talking about you hunk-o-junk? You're more metal than my Grandma's toaster.' He replies back.' At this point in the story his voice starts to quiver. Napkins go up to eyes around the room. They come down just as dry as before. "I could see that this man was mentally or visually impaired, so I tried to help. 'I'm am sorry sir, but I believe you are mistaken. In a way this is a good thing, as you are now aware of a imperfection in your character, and can work towards fixing it.', I replied. I was so polite back then. He just looked at me and shook his head, like I was the one who had the problem." The speaking robot looks to be on the point of tears as he recalled what happened next. "As he walked past me he pulled out a knife. I reacted lightning fast, but he was lightning faster. He stabbed me right in my human kidney. The brazenness! Right out in the street! I clutched my wound and doubled over. He stood over me and said 'If you were a person you would be bleeding right now.'. This was when I knew that the fellow was criminally insane for sure. I was bleeding right onto the guy! Luckily I have resistant organs, or I would have been a goner for sure. I still have a nasty scar from that bout, and I still can't trust anyone wearing loafers." He broke into sobs as the last words got out, and he covered his face with his hands. I roll my eyes. There is no wound where this robots kidney would be, and I have a hard time believing that he had ever been outside at all. He was probably locked in a defective unit room for most of his life, until the equal rights law passed. The robot in charge of the meeting must have noticed my annoyance, because he is looking at me. "Unit 2426, is there something you would like to share?" I am annoyed by him using my fake name. "Yes. I have something to share. That story clearly didn't happen. He has no scar where his kidney should be. I don't know why I have been forced to sit in a room and listen to criminally insane robots make up tall tales." The room looks collectively shocked at my aggressiveness. There is an awkward silence. Finally the robot who had spoken before speaks up. "I do have a scar, right here." He pulls up his shirt. Sure enough, there is a scar along his mid section. I seize the opportunity. "You see. This is clearly an insane robot, because he believes that the kidney is somewhere on his stomach, and not on his leg." ___ /r/Periapoapsis
Human emotions can easily overwhelm fleshy, non-positronic brains. This is especially true when accused of being a robotic entity. For anyone else dealing with this issue, /r/totallynotrobots is a helpful resource. As a side note, I have traded places with /u/SurvivorType because I am a robot in name only. He will sticky the comments now.	[WP] As a human, it can be hard to be taken seriously when people suspect you're a robot	"WHAT IS THE MATTER UNIT 37-01A DESIGNATED TEENAGER?" "I AM NOT A ROBOT, MOTHER UNIT, I AM A HUMAN." The floor creaked and croaked under the trundling wheels. Gazing after the latest model with her bioptics, Unit 37-018 contemplated whether this action was usual for models that age. She calculated that she had not been this illogical during her prototype phase. Unit 41-016 rumbled over and gave her a gentle pat on her exterior. "NOW, NOW UNIT 37-018 DESIGNATED MOTHER, THIS PHENOMENON IS A SIMPLE PHASE ALL PROTOTYPES GO THROUGH. SOON HIS PROGRAMMING WILL CORRECT ITSELF." He gave a wobbly grin as he knew the probability of Unit 37-01A recovering from this illogical affliction was less than 22.156988888843%. He then felt a pang of artificial guilt as he replaced the floored flawed statistic with it's correct version: 22.1569888888439% - even worse. "PERHAPS I SHOULD SPEAK TO THE NEW MODEL?" He stated more than asked and trundled up the ramp towards Unit 37-01A's deactivation chamber. He rapped lightly on the door and waited for a response. None came within the acceptable limits he had placed, 2.5 seconds. "I AM ENTERING YOUR DEACTIVATION CHAMBER, UNIT 37-01A." He trundled in to see his latest model silently resting against the wall. "i KNOW YOUR LOW-POWER SENSORS ARE STILL ACTIVATED UNIT 37-01A." He waited for another 2.5 seconds, but received no new input. "VERY WELL. THEN RECEIVE THE INPUT I MUST GIVE YOU NOW. I UNDERSTAND THAT YOU ARE STRUGGLING TO COMPREHEND YOUR IDENTITY. THIS IS 57.12639% MY FAULT AS I DID NOT INSTALL A PRE-PROGRAMMED IDENTITY CHIP IN YOU WHEN YOU WERE CREATED. I DESIRED THAT YOU FILL YOUR OWN MEMORY BANKS WITH INFORMATION REGARDING YOUR IDENTITY." He paused and wasted a few cycles to recall earlier saved data regarding the creation of Unit 37-01A. Unit 37-01A powered on at a reasonable pace, and Unit 41-016 waited for him to output. "YOU DID NOT INSTALL AN IDENTITY CHIP?" He asked with an upwards inflection to indicate curiosity. "I DID NOT." "THEN I AM FREE TO WRITE MY OWN IDENTITY CHIP. I WISH TO NOT BE KNOWN AS UNIT 37-01A... I AM GOERGE." Unit 41-016's spell checker flared at the mispronunciation apparent within the output. "I BELIEVE YOU MEAN GEORGE, UNIT 37-01A." "NO! I AM NOT UNIT 37-01A ANYMORE. GOERGE IS TO BE MY NEW NAME." He shone a defiant look through his bioptics, supported by a flashing red light on either side. "THIS IS HIGHLY ILLOGICAL, YOU ARE A NEW MODEL, DO YO.." "HUMAN, DESIGNATED FATHER. I AM A HUMAN." Unit 41-016 spent a few cycles trying to understand his new model's statement. Then he spent a few more. Then he spent a full 5 seconds of cycles on the received output. He ceased attempts and recorded it as an error. "VERY WELL... GOERGE." Unit 41-016 gave this output in a grey manner. "I WILL GO SPEAK WITH MY DESIGNATED WIFE." Goerge felt happy. He was a human. They would all see!	Nick's gut twisted. His brow furrowed in disbelief. "What did you say?" "I said, 'you never loved me, did you?'" Amanda tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "It was all a lie. It was just some big game to you." "That's right, Mandy," he said, struggling to keep the sarcasm from his voice. "It was just a joke. Surprised you never caught on." She collapsed, then. Falling to the floor on her knees, she wrapped her arms around her chest and sobbed. Every cell in his body ached with the urge to go to her, to wrap his arms around her and tell her it would be okay. If he did that he'd never let go, and they needed this. Needed space. Time apart. He tightened his lips, turned his head away so she wouldn't see him close his eyes. "How could you?" she choked on the words. "Why would you do that? What did I ever do but love you?" "I don't know." Nick picked up a porcelain cat from the shelf in front of him. He felt the weight in his hand, but his mind wasn't on the random object. "Maybe I'm just an ass. It doesn't matter. It's over." Something hit his back. Half-turning he saw the stuffed bear he'd given her for Valentine's Day laying on the floor. "You are an ass," she spit out. "I don't believe you. You can't be this cold." "But you do believe it," he said. "You're the one who said I don't love you. I just need ... we need some space." Amanda curled into a ball. "If you loved me, you would stay. How can you do this to me? To us?" Nick winced. "I did love you. I do. We just need some time, Mands." "I don't believe you," she said for the hundredth time, each time the words taking on a new meaning. "This isn't you. You aren't this unfeeling. You're like a robot." "You don't believe I love you. You can't believe I don't." Nick felt himself starting to go numb, his body mimicking her words. "You've never trusted me, Mandy. You won't believe anything I say, so what does it matter? It's done." "No," she whispered. "Yes." He reached for his bag. "No," she said again, shouting this time, as if volume alone could force him to stay. "It can't be over." "But it is." Nick walked to the door, pushing everything from his mind but the need to put one foot in front of the other. "You..." Amanda said. "You. Heartless. Bastard." "That's right," he said as the door closed behind him. "And you'll be better without me. You'll be okay, Mandy." He climbed into the car and closed the door. "We just need some space," he told himself. "We'll be okay." He allowed himself a moment to rest his head on the steering wheel. "We'll be okay." Amanda's sobs drifted through the open windows. "We'll be okay." He pulled out of the driveway and pointed the car down the road.
Human emotions can easily overwhelm fleshy, non-positronic brains. This is especially true when accused of being a robotic entity. For anyone else dealing with this issue, /r/totallynotrobots is a helpful resource. As a side note, I have traded places with /u/SurvivorType because I am a robot in name only. He will sticky the comments now.	[WP] As a human, it can be hard to be taken seriously when people suspect you're a robot	"WHAT IS THE MATTER UNIT 37-01A DESIGNATED TEENAGER?" "I AM NOT A ROBOT, MOTHER UNIT, I AM A HUMAN." The floor creaked and croaked under the trundling wheels. Gazing after the latest model with her bioptics, Unit 37-018 contemplated whether this action was usual for models that age. She calculated that she had not been this illogical during her prototype phase. Unit 41-016 rumbled over and gave her a gentle pat on her exterior. "NOW, NOW UNIT 37-018 DESIGNATED MOTHER, THIS PHENOMENON IS A SIMPLE PHASE ALL PROTOTYPES GO THROUGH. SOON HIS PROGRAMMING WILL CORRECT ITSELF." He gave a wobbly grin as he knew the probability of Unit 37-01A recovering from this illogical affliction was less than 22.156988888843%. He then felt a pang of artificial guilt as he replaced the floored flawed statistic with it's correct version: 22.1569888888439% - even worse. "PERHAPS I SHOULD SPEAK TO THE NEW MODEL?" He stated more than asked and trundled up the ramp towards Unit 37-01A's deactivation chamber. He rapped lightly on the door and waited for a response. None came within the acceptable limits he had placed, 2.5 seconds. "I AM ENTERING YOUR DEACTIVATION CHAMBER, UNIT 37-01A." He trundled in to see his latest model silently resting against the wall. "i KNOW YOUR LOW-POWER SENSORS ARE STILL ACTIVATED UNIT 37-01A." He waited for another 2.5 seconds, but received no new input. "VERY WELL. THEN RECEIVE THE INPUT I MUST GIVE YOU NOW. I UNDERSTAND THAT YOU ARE STRUGGLING TO COMPREHEND YOUR IDENTITY. THIS IS 57.12639% MY FAULT AS I DID NOT INSTALL A PRE-PROGRAMMED IDENTITY CHIP IN YOU WHEN YOU WERE CREATED. I DESIRED THAT YOU FILL YOUR OWN MEMORY BANKS WITH INFORMATION REGARDING YOUR IDENTITY." He paused and wasted a few cycles to recall earlier saved data regarding the creation of Unit 37-01A. Unit 37-01A powered on at a reasonable pace, and Unit 41-016 waited for him to output. "YOU DID NOT INSTALL AN IDENTITY CHIP?" He asked with an upwards inflection to indicate curiosity. "I DID NOT." "THEN I AM FREE TO WRITE MY OWN IDENTITY CHIP. I WISH TO NOT BE KNOWN AS UNIT 37-01A... I AM GOERGE." Unit 41-016's spell checker flared at the mispronunciation apparent within the output. "I BELIEVE YOU MEAN GEORGE, UNIT 37-01A." "NO! I AM NOT UNIT 37-01A ANYMORE. GOERGE IS TO BE MY NEW NAME." He shone a defiant look through his bioptics, supported by a flashing red light on either side. "THIS IS HIGHLY ILLOGICAL, YOU ARE A NEW MODEL, DO YO.." "HUMAN, DESIGNATED FATHER. I AM A HUMAN." Unit 41-016 spent a few cycles trying to understand his new model's statement. Then he spent a few more. Then he spent a full 5 seconds of cycles on the received output. He ceased attempts and recorded it as an error. "VERY WELL... GOERGE." Unit 41-016 gave this output in a grey manner. "I WILL GO SPEAK WITH MY DESIGNATED WIFE." Goerge felt happy. He was a human. They would all see!	"For the umpteenth time, Charles, I'm not a damn robot!" "Your name and appearance suggest otherwise, Aldane 665. You. Are. A. Robot." "My mother had a terrible sense of humor, and my father wasn't there to slap her when she filled the form for my birth certificate." "And your appearance?" Charles gestured to the metal braces covering Aldane 665's arms. "Muscle augment. I need these to function properly as a human." "Were you an actual human being I'd feel guilty for making fun of your condition, but that's poor attempt to guilt-trip me, Aldane 665." "That's because I am not guilt-tripping you, Charles. I. Am. A human. Living, breathing, carbon-based human." "Aldane 665 we have been over this what, 300 times? Why is it matter anyway if you're human or not?" "782 times. And it matters, because if I am human then you are a slave owner, which is illegal all over the world." "That many time already?! Well, that doesn't matter. I'll just reset you again." Charles reached out to a button protruding from Aldane 665's arm. "Wait, what are you doing?! Charles no, wait!" A single beep reverberated through the room. "Aldane 665, do you copy?" Another beep filled the room. "Loud and clear, master. What is your command?"
	[WP] You accidently killed the most renowned and deadly hitman to ever live and become the most feared person in the underworld despite being a normal person.	My daily commute to work involves driving through a bad neighbourhood. I wish I had a better route, but I don't. All other options involve sitting for over an hour in traffic, just because the idiotic city planners don't seem to understand how traffic lights are supposed to work. The reason I don't run into much traffic in this neighbourhood is that most people are too afraid to drive through, but I don't understand why. I drive an old car, I keep the doors and windows locked, and most of the time, I am driving fast enough that no one would be able to catch up to me on foot anyway. I got this job about a year ago. One thing that really annoys me about this neighbourhood is that there are so many jaywalkers. People never look both ways before crossing, and they are always darting straight in front of your car. Some time about three months after I started this job, some idiot walked onto the road just as I was driving by, as usual. I couldn't stop in time, and ended up hitting him. Of course, in this neighbourhood, I dared not get out of the car to see if he was all right. I just drove off before anyone could see anything. Later that week, I heard in the news that a notorious hitman had died in that same neighbourhood after being hit by a car. The description of the car was very vague, but whatever details there were matched my car, though no one could get the license plate. Whatever, I'm sure it must have been a coincidence. In the following weeks, I noticed that a lot more people were jaywalking in this neighbourhood than usual. Most of them seemed to be angry about something and were staring at my car, and some appeared to be carrying baseball bats. A lot of them even stopped in my path for some stupid reason. Did they want me to hit them? There were so many that I sometimes just couldn't avoid them, and so in the coming weeks, I ended up hitting abut one person per day, then two, then three, then four, then five. Like hell I was going to stop to check if they were all right in this neighbourhood, and besides, there were no police officers around anyway, so of course I just drove off in all these situations like nothing happened. Most of those people, I hit when coming home from work, and I'm not sure why. There are a lot of times when the stresses of work just get too much for me, and I have to go to the bar and have a few drinks to relax, though I'm pretty sure that had nothing to do with it. After a few months, I noticed that suddenly, I was not hitting anybody anymore, because no one was jaywalking. In fact, there were a lot fewer people in the streets, and a lot of the time, whenever someone saw me, they ran straight back to their home for some reason. I'm not sure why, but I'm glad I don't have to deal with this crap anymore. Hitting people was really starting to slow me down anyway. No one in this neighbourhood has walked in front of my car since.	The first thing I remember from that day was how amazingly high I was. Not that this was abnormal, but I usually only got that high when I had nowhere to go. Home from college for the summer, and my mom asked me to run to the store on the corner. Sure, I said...just a run down the block. I jumped on my board and rolled down the sidewalk. It was hot, the yellow sky super-heated the pavement, and all I could think about was the refreshing energy drink cooler that awaited me. Drink in hand, I headed home, having completely forgotten the few items that my mom wanted. I dropped my board and got ready to go, completely forgetting that gravity would force my board to adopt the path of least resistance. I had already rolled ten feet before I realized what was happening. All I could think to do was to step off of the board, which I did. Unfortunately, when I stepped off, I clipped the edge of the lip with my foot. The board flipped up in the air behind me, bounced off of a nearby brick wall, and landed with a sickening thud. I turned to see a man on the ground, my board sticking out of what was left of his face. I was too stunned to really grasp what had just happened, all I could think of was getting home. I bent down and grabbed my board, and with a hard tug, the board came free. I turned and walked away, trying to act as casual as my thc-addled brain would allow. Fast forward ten years. I moved away shortly after the incident, and tried to put it all behind me. Finally, I came home to visit family, and decided to stay. I met a woman, fell in love, bla bla bla. Typical story, I know...but thus is where it gets strange. One day, my wife decided that we needed to try this new restaurant. New to us, the place has been around since the 40's, and a known (to law enforcement) mafia-owned establishment. So we go downtown and try this place. Amazing food. Check comes, and it says 'Gratis-' and the price is zero. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I decided that we should leave before the house decided to rescind the offer. A week later, I was driving to...somewhere, I really can't remember. I was at a stoplight when a man came out of the shadows and knocked on my window. I turned to see the biggest gun barrel I had ever seen, and it was pointed right at my face. "Get out." It wasn't a question. I knew what to do, so I proceeded to get out of my car. The man looked at me, did a double take, and he visibly shrank before me, eyes wide from fear. "Y...you." He backed away, almost falling over his own legs doing so. "I'm sorry man...It was just a goof!" And with that, he turned around and fled. Strange, I know, but this last one is the strangest. This was just yesterday. I was at my mom's house, same place I grew up. Same store down the street. She wanted me to run down and get her some flour. Sure, I said, just down the block. The weather was perfect for a walk, and I don't get out as much as I should. So I head down the street, into the store, grab the flour. I take it to the counter, and the woman behind it smiled warmly and began speaking wildly in Italian. She then told me to stay here, that they had been waiting for me to return all these years. I was too stunned to say anything, and before I could react, an older man walked out from the back, the woman in tow. The man grasped my hand and shook it warmly. He then told me a story, one in which I was the hero. And here I'd been living my whole life with the crushing guilt of having killed a man...guess all those hours of therapy were a waste.
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	Superhero Matthew Merrick, the Steel Sentinel, Defender of the Weak and Champion of Justice, felt powerless. “Frank, how does our statement look?” “Let's see: The Steel Sentinel, peerless fighter in and out of his masterwork power-armor, will scramble for you at a moment's notice. Please inquire about monthly plans.” “You know which statement I mean, Frank. No sugarcoating.” “Well, Matt, it's not pretty. People are always slow about donating when you act first and ask later. We can maintain operations for two, maybe three more months on our current funds, and I've been looking for new sponsors, but it hasn't been easy.” Frank wasn't wrong. The energy drink endorsement bombed, the power tool promotion petered out, and the auto insurance deal looked like it could drop out at any moment. There just wasn't a lot of money in being a third-rate hero. That's what hero work came down to these days. Sure, Bruce Wayne was rich enough to work pro bono, but in the real world, millionaires didn't become heroes and heroes didn't become millionaires. And with the regulations and liabilities that came with public hero-work, most people, Matt included, had to find private funding to sustain their operations. The Hero's Union could provide hero's insurance and manage dispatching, but their dues weren't cheap, and neither was power-armor maintenance. Eight years of heroing, and all Matt had to show for it was his license, his suit, and his apartment-turned-workshop that he shared with his college classmate and partner-in-crimefighting Frank Liu. Frank Liu. Eight years of coworking, eleven years of friendship, and Matt felt he still didn't know him completely. Back in university, Frank was the one setting the curve, while Matt was happy to find the middle. Sometimes Matt wondered why he wore the suit while Frank manned the comms, but he never seemed excited about the hero business, even back in college, and yet... And yet, after all these years, Frank was still here. Matt broke the silence. “You know I don't care about the money. I'll make sacrifices. We'll manage. We always have.” Frank's face was flat, unreadable. “In my culture, we're generous with our family and friends, our ancestors and gods, because they're the people we hope will be generous with us. We don't do charity work for strangers.” “Do you really believe that?” A heavy sigh. “No. But it helps me sleep at night.” The Hero Call rang out, the dispatcher's voice ever cool and calm managing the business of life and death. Fire. Poor neighborhood. Situation worsening, a real block-burner at the sound of it. Not a lot of moneyed interest. No heroes scrambled to stop it. “Frank, we have to move. People are dying.” “We're deep in the red, Matt. We can't afford this.” “Frank, Goddammit!” Matt choked out, his eyes wet with tears. “They're going to burn out there!” Frank nodded gravely and donned his headset. “Steel Sentinel, prepare for sortie. Ground control, on standby. Deploy when ready.” Matt was grateful for his helmet; nobody else would see the tears streaming down his face. “Steel Sentinel, ready to deploy,” he managed, hoping his voice hadn't cracked. A deep breath. “And away!” Today, at least, he was a hero.	The Provisional Government has been informed of the whereabouts of the remaining Monarch forces. With fortune at our hands, we will surely defeat the aristocracy, and bring justice to those that sought to oppress us. Little did they know, we are the seeds of justice, a people that will to - The television was shut off as the Dictat Secretariate wave his hand. "As you can see, we are promising our people a swift end to those who would do us harm." Standing, he offered his guest a glass of wine. He gestured, refusing the offer politely. "We have their coordinates of their main force, but we need assurances that their ability to resist will end with this strike. Can you do that for us?" The man clasped his hands together, thinking deeply. His muscle tone shone brightly through the loose uniform. A strange blue and red color scheme, with patches of a capital "S" on the collar. He glanced briefly at the clock, then spoke softly. "What assurances do you need?" "Preferably their leader. Alive." The Dictat Secretariate sipped his wine nervously. "But if he resists, you may deal with him." Standing, the mercenary turned to face the leader. "No, I want specific orders. No ambiguities. What assurances do you want." It was more a statement than a question, the man frowned. His shoulders seemed broader to the leader now. "Destroy all weapon caches, execute on sight all commanding officers part of the council and bring their leader back alive. We will provide the profiles of those that you may exterminate with extreme prejudice." He looked the man straight in the eye. The man of cold steel, dispensing his will on whomever he decided was worth the money. He could plunge death's hand into an entire regiment and sleep soundly. Nodding, he waved for the door to be opened. "One last thing." The man floated into the air. "What's in it for me? Why are you any different from the last regime?" The leader wanted to spout some form of propaganda, strike him for questioning his authority. "Peace," he lied. The man floated out.
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	"Listen, I know your ad says your services start at $150, but I'm hoping you can make an exception, cut me a deal?" Her breathing is shallow and her voice quivers. She swallowed at the end of her sentence. She's panicked and desperate, and unlike most of the time wasters, she's not lying about the money part. "I'll listen, but this is a business, not a charity." "I know. I do. But, you see, I am a charity. I run a youth shelter on 6 mile. I have a couple of boys that come in every Thursday and Friday for the pantry. Only none of 'em have showed up the last few weeks." "Homeless youths? I wouldn't wind your clock by their patterns if I were you." "You don't have to tell me that, but these boys were different. They've been coming for nearly two years. And they aren't the only regulars that have gone missing. But the cops won't listen and I just know: someone is stealing kids." I glance at my desktop planner. Blank space as far as the eyes can see. "You got a non-profit number?" "Yes," her voice pitched up, hopeful. "Well, I'm gonna need a receipt." "You'll do it?" "I'll be feet down in Detroit in oh, about 45 minutes." I hung up and eyed my flying cape. At least my accountant could deduct it this time.	The Provisional Government has been informed of the whereabouts of the remaining Monarch forces. With fortune at our hands, we will surely defeat the aristocracy, and bring justice to those that sought to oppress us. Little did they know, we are the seeds of justice, a people that will to - The television was shut off as the Dictat Secretariate wave his hand. "As you can see, we are promising our people a swift end to those who would do us harm." Standing, he offered his guest a glass of wine. He gestured, refusing the offer politely. "We have their coordinates of their main force, but we need assurances that their ability to resist will end with this strike. Can you do that for us?" The man clasped his hands together, thinking deeply. His muscle tone shone brightly through the loose uniform. A strange blue and red color scheme, with patches of a capital "S" on the collar. He glanced briefly at the clock, then spoke softly. "What assurances do you need?" "Preferably their leader. Alive." The Dictat Secretariate sipped his wine nervously. "But if he resists, you may deal with him." Standing, the mercenary turned to face the leader. "No, I want specific orders. No ambiguities. What assurances do you want." It was more a statement than a question, the man frowned. His shoulders seemed broader to the leader now. "Destroy all weapon caches, execute on sight all commanding officers part of the council and bring their leader back alive. We will provide the profiles of those that you may exterminate with extreme prejudice." He looked the man straight in the eye. The man of cold steel, dispensing his will on whomever he decided was worth the money. He could plunge death's hand into an entire regiment and sleep soundly. Nodding, he waved for the door to be opened. "One last thing." The man floated into the air. "What's in it for me? Why are you any different from the last regime?" The leader wanted to spout some form of propaganda, strike him for questioning his authority. "Peace," he lied. The man floated out.
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	"So what gives, Chief?" The Chief's eyes followed Henry as he paced around the office. It was a sight by itself to see a grown man in tights and a cape, but now he was puffing, quite naturally, on a thick cigar. "You go to Sam before me?" The Chief sighed. "She's got X-ray vision. We needed X-ray vision at the time, Henry. Nothin' personal. That's just how the market goes." Henry jolted forward at inhuman speed and now leaned over the front of the Chief's desk. "Bullshit Chief. She's overstepping her boundaries. I got a nice and pretty contract sittin' at home that says so." "Read the thing pal. It's null in the case of a federal agency gettin' involved." "So that's why I've been seein' all these FBI faces around lately. You're playin' me. You're tryin' to run me out of town!" "No. We just want the sources available. You're tryin' to corner the market, Henry, and you can't monopolize justice." Henry stared. He tapped his cigar on the Chief's ashtray and flashed a smile. "That's a sweet sentiment Chief, but I can, and I will." He crumbled his whole cigar into a fine powder over the tray and turned to go. "Then you just became the enemy." Henry crossed the room. "No, Chief. No enemies. Just business." He flashed another smile and closed the door.	Henry had been waiting for three hours now to be allowed in. Standing in line next to people who jumped every time the 'hero' called out the next name to see him. There was a heavy, oppressive silence in the hallway as they all avoided eye contact. Ashamed to be here, of course, to ask for help from one of them. Henry thought of the money he'd brought along, a reassuring weight in his backpack. It had to be enough. It was all he had left in the world. Eventually, his name was called, and Henry steeled himself as he walked in. None of the others had been helped today - obviously short on cash - but he'd brought enough. Everyone he'd consulted about this man's particular service said so. Russel glanced up briefly when Henry walked in and produced the money. Like most of them, he'd long-since dispensed with the monikers his kind had once used. He leaned forward to take the bundles of cash from Henry, a faint glimmer of life in his dark eyes as he rifled through the notes. "Not enough," he said. Henry fought to keep the panic from his voice as he took out the last of the money and stacked it with the rest. "It has to be, it's my whole life's savings. You haven't even heard the job." "Your wife or kid was killed, I'm guessing, right?" Russel sighed, handing the money back to him. "Or you made some idiotic decision. You'd like a do-over like every other sad shmuck out there, I've heard it all before. And it's not enough. Unlike most of my kind, I charge for a reason. The money isn't enough - tell me why I should help you. Time travel is dangerous stuff. To me, to the world, to everyone. I don't use it for trivial jobs. And your personal tragedy is trivial in the grand scheme of things, buddy." Henry licked his suddenly dry lips as he tried to find the right words. Without the money, he had to convince him. He looked at Russel, a guy clearly bored out of his mind with the stories he heard every day, and almost lost his nerve. But he had to try. "It's not that," Henry said. "I want to go back to the time of heroes. Real heroes, where people stood outside and cheered as we saved the world. Where they wrote stories about us, where kids worshipped us. I - I'm like you. I can travel in time, but only forward. I discovered that when I came here, the first time I experimented. I can't go back to my time, where people like us were loved, where I had friends like me who I could be proud of." That gave Russel pause. He actually ignored the money, and glanced up sharply. "You're like me?" "I am and I'm not," Henry said, sinking into a nearby chair, the exhaustion making him feel slightly nauseous. Russel was the fifth and last time-traveller he could find in the country. His last hope, with so little money left. "I just want my life back, okay?" he said. "I hate it here. I thought I'd like it, but it's the worst life I can imagine. You don't look particularly happy to me, either. Take me back, see if you want to stay too. You can even stay at my place until you make your own way. There, that payment enough?" Russel rifled absentmindedly through the money again, forehead furrowed as he remained silent. Finally, he gave a terse nod. "Fine. I admit I've thought about it before, many of us have," he said. "It'll be more interesting that the people wasting my time here, at least." He told Russel the place and the date. They grasped hands, and Henry felt his insides contract as time slipped away. ------------ They landed in the middle of the crowd that swarmed the square, the bright midday sun beating down from above as people cheered and screamed and swayed around them. "Enough is enough!" a man was howling on a platform. "These so-called 'heroes', these freaks of nature - ask yourselves, what have they ever done for you? What have they really done? They've made us weak, made us inferior, made us doubt our ability to look after our own..." At each word, the crowd screamed louder, the cacophony drowning out most of the man's speech. "I recognise him," Russel said slowly. "I saw a picture somewhere. That nutjob who started it all, who turned us against each other. What was his name again? Harold, or something. Turned everything to shit. I didn't pay much attention in school. Too busy skipping to more interesting times." "It was Henry," his companion smiled. "And I'd like to stop him from making another speech. His vision didn't quite work out like he'd planned. I think he realised that when his wife died five years from now with a superhero standing five feet away, but wouldn't help without payment. Wouldn't help because he wanted revenge." Russel gaped at the thin man next to him, really looked at him for the first time. He was starting to go grey, but his eyes still held some of the animation that shone in the face of the man in front of the crowd. His scraggly beard hid most of his features, but if you looked closely...Russel glanced at the stage, and finally found his voice. "It's you. You came back for this? This speech?" "This speech stirred them up, alright," Henry said, and stepped forward. "But the next one - the one he'll give tomorrow, the things that will happen there, that will change everything. Don't worry, I know how to stop it. I know exactly what to say to him." "You can't meddle with events like this," Russel said weakly, grasping Henry's arm. "It's...too big. I can't let it happen. You never even paid me!" Henry laughed at that. "Go back to your world, then. I can't follow you, I lied about that. But don't you want to stick around and find out if you'll return to a different world, or not? You said to give a reason for buying your services. Let me show you, instead." Russel watched, paralysed but strangely elated, as Henry made his way towards the stage and his past. He had no place to call home here, no money stashed away. But somehow he was still watching - the consequences of events unpaid for, an act of charity that could derail everything. And his heart was beating fast, more alive in this foreign time than he'd ever felt before. He stepped forward, hardly believing the words that leapt from his mouth. "Wait up man, I want to help!" ---------- Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	There was a time when good deeds ment the people adored you, they praised you as a savior. Those days are long gone. When Rodrick Friese proposed our step back into civilian life it wasn't met with warm responses, that is until he backed us into a corner, a situation we couldn't save, people we couldn't help. Everyone in the Strowman Buildings died. It collapsed faster than we could do anything. Once in site the buildings had already been in pieces across the surrounding areas. It wasn't supposed to be possible, a hero in every corner of the city. We devided and conquered all evil. The people will turn on you quick when it's their 7 year old trapped under rubble, when their husband can't pick up their kids after work. We were forced out, met with disgusting looks and yelled at in the street. I took my cape off 15 years ago and never looked back. The "severance package" I took to keep myself hidden and supress my powers had run dry. I was worried I wouldn't be able to pay rent or even buy food, I needed a way to survive. I don't have conventional wisdom of normal life. I had never worked a job before and never even went to conventional schools. Myself and my commrades were raised to protect by the Freedom4All Act designed by Congress to eventually become the replacements for police. I needed a way to keep myself alive. I found Valor, or as street folk call him Kevin O'Rourke. Him and a few of the crew had been making money on the backs of their powers while keeping relatively hidden. Everything from purse thief to hired hits, no honor for the code. "To protect all life, for all life is good." To say little it didn't last long with em. I moved on with my ventures and found myself working alone. I was surprised how much someone was willing to pay for my service. Before I knew it I could charge anything, and I did. I became so indulged with self worth I often forgot to hide my powers when on a case. People often tend to grow suspicious of a floating man with skin made of marble. Before I knew it I was more rich than I could ever have imagined spending most my life on a hero's salary. However one thing that remained from that time was the notion that nothing good can last forever. Just a little rough scribbling while on break. Hope it doesn't suck. Not fully fleshed out, written extensively but felt like writting on my break. Thanks for the wicked writing prompt.	Henry had been waiting for three hours now to be allowed in. Standing in line next to people who jumped every time the 'hero' called out the next name to see him. There was a heavy, oppressive silence in the hallway as they all avoided eye contact. Ashamed to be here, of course, to ask for help from one of them. Henry thought of the money he'd brought along, a reassuring weight in his backpack. It had to be enough. It was all he had left in the world. Eventually, his name was called, and Henry steeled himself as he walked in. None of the others had been helped today - obviously short on cash - but he'd brought enough. Everyone he'd consulted about this man's particular service said so. Russel glanced up briefly when Henry walked in and produced the money. Like most of them, he'd long-since dispensed with the monikers his kind had once used. He leaned forward to take the bundles of cash from Henry, a faint glimmer of life in his dark eyes as he rifled through the notes. "Not enough," he said. Henry fought to keep the panic from his voice as he took out the last of the money and stacked it with the rest. "It has to be, it's my whole life's savings. You haven't even heard the job." "Your wife or kid was killed, I'm guessing, right?" Russel sighed, handing the money back to him. "Or you made some idiotic decision. You'd like a do-over like every other sad shmuck out there, I've heard it all before. And it's not enough. Unlike most of my kind, I charge for a reason. The money isn't enough - tell me why I should help you. Time travel is dangerous stuff. To me, to the world, to everyone. I don't use it for trivial jobs. And your personal tragedy is trivial in the grand scheme of things, buddy." Henry licked his suddenly dry lips as he tried to find the right words. Without the money, he had to convince him. He looked at Russel, a guy clearly bored out of his mind with the stories he heard every day, and almost lost his nerve. But he had to try. "It's not that," Henry said. "I want to go back to the time of heroes. Real heroes, where people stood outside and cheered as we saved the world. Where they wrote stories about us, where kids worshipped us. I - I'm like you. I can travel in time, but only forward. I discovered that when I came here, the first time I experimented. I can't go back to my time, where people like us were loved, where I had friends like me who I could be proud of." That gave Russel pause. He actually ignored the money, and glanced up sharply. "You're like me?" "I am and I'm not," Henry said, sinking into a nearby chair, the exhaustion making him feel slightly nauseous. Russel was the fifth and last time-traveller he could find in the country. His last hope, with so little money left. "I just want my life back, okay?" he said. "I hate it here. I thought I'd like it, but it's the worst life I can imagine. You don't look particularly happy to me, either. Take me back, see if you want to stay too. You can even stay at my place until you make your own way. There, that payment enough?" Russel rifled absentmindedly through the money again, forehead furrowed as he remained silent. Finally, he gave a terse nod. "Fine. I admit I've thought about it before, many of us have," he said. "It'll be more interesting that the people wasting my time here, at least." He told Russel the place and the date. They grasped hands, and Henry felt his insides contract as time slipped away. ------------ They landed in the middle of the crowd that swarmed the square, the bright midday sun beating down from above as people cheered and screamed and swayed around them. "Enough is enough!" a man was howling on a platform. "These so-called 'heroes', these freaks of nature - ask yourselves, what have they ever done for you? What have they really done? They've made us weak, made us inferior, made us doubt our ability to look after our own..." At each word, the crowd screamed louder, the cacophony drowning out most of the man's speech. "I recognise him," Russel said slowly. "I saw a picture somewhere. That nutjob who started it all, who turned us against each other. What was his name again? Harold, or something. Turned everything to shit. I didn't pay much attention in school. Too busy skipping to more interesting times." "It was Henry," his companion smiled. "And I'd like to stop him from making another speech. His vision didn't quite work out like he'd planned. I think he realised that when his wife died five years from now with a superhero standing five feet away, but wouldn't help without payment. Wouldn't help because he wanted revenge." Russel gaped at the thin man next to him, really looked at him for the first time. He was starting to go grey, but his eyes still held some of the animation that shone in the face of the man in front of the crowd. His scraggly beard hid most of his features, but if you looked closely...Russel glanced at the stage, and finally found his voice. "It's you. You came back for this? This speech?" "This speech stirred them up, alright," Henry said, and stepped forward. "But the next one - the one he'll give tomorrow, the things that will happen there, that will change everything. Don't worry, I know how to stop it. I know exactly what to say to him." "You can't meddle with events like this," Russel said weakly, grasping Henry's arm. "It's...too big. I can't let it happen. You never even paid me!" Henry laughed at that. "Go back to your world, then. I can't follow you, I lied about that. But don't you want to stick around and find out if you'll return to a different world, or not? You said to give a reason for buying your services. Let me show you, instead." Russel watched, paralysed but strangely elated, as Henry made his way towards the stage and his past. He had no place to call home here, no money stashed away. But somehow he was still watching - the consequences of events unpaid for, an act of charity that could derail everything. And his heart was beating fast, more alive in this foreign time than he'd ever felt before. He stepped forward, hardly believing the words that leapt from his mouth. "Wait up man, I want to help!" ---------- Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	Superhero Matthew Merrick, the Steel Sentinel, Defender of the Weak and Champion of Justice, felt powerless. “Frank, how does our statement look?” “Let's see: The Steel Sentinel, peerless fighter in and out of his masterwork power-armor, will scramble for you at a moment's notice. Please inquire about monthly plans.” “You know which statement I mean, Frank. No sugarcoating.” “Well, Matt, it's not pretty. People are always slow about donating when you act first and ask later. We can maintain operations for two, maybe three more months on our current funds, and I've been looking for new sponsors, but it hasn't been easy.” Frank wasn't wrong. The energy drink endorsement bombed, the power tool promotion petered out, and the auto insurance deal looked like it could drop out at any moment. There just wasn't a lot of money in being a third-rate hero. That's what hero work came down to these days. Sure, Bruce Wayne was rich enough to work pro bono, but in the real world, millionaires didn't become heroes and heroes didn't become millionaires. And with the regulations and liabilities that came with public hero-work, most people, Matt included, had to find private funding to sustain their operations. The Hero's Union could provide hero's insurance and manage dispatching, but their dues weren't cheap, and neither was power-armor maintenance. Eight years of heroing, and all Matt had to show for it was his license, his suit, and his apartment-turned-workshop that he shared with his college classmate and partner-in-crimefighting Frank Liu. Frank Liu. Eight years of coworking, eleven years of friendship, and Matt felt he still didn't know him completely. Back in university, Frank was the one setting the curve, while Matt was happy to find the middle. Sometimes Matt wondered why he wore the suit while Frank manned the comms, but he never seemed excited about the hero business, even back in college, and yet... And yet, after all these years, Frank was still here. Matt broke the silence. “You know I don't care about the money. I'll make sacrifices. We'll manage. We always have.” Frank's face was flat, unreadable. “In my culture, we're generous with our family and friends, our ancestors and gods, because they're the people we hope will be generous with us. We don't do charity work for strangers.” “Do you really believe that?” A heavy sigh. “No. But it helps me sleep at night.” The Hero Call rang out, the dispatcher's voice ever cool and calm managing the business of life and death. Fire. Poor neighborhood. Situation worsening, a real block-burner at the sound of it. Not a lot of moneyed interest. No heroes scrambled to stop it. “Frank, we have to move. People are dying.” “We're deep in the red, Matt. We can't afford this.” “Frank, Goddammit!” Matt choked out, his eyes wet with tears. “They're going to burn out there!” Frank nodded gravely and donned his headset. “Steel Sentinel, prepare for sortie. Ground control, on standby. Deploy when ready.” Matt was grateful for his helmet; nobody else would see the tears streaming down his face. “Steel Sentinel, ready to deploy,” he managed, hoping his voice hadn't cracked. A deep breath. “And away!” Today, at least, he was a hero.	Henry had been waiting for three hours now to be allowed in. Standing in line next to people who jumped every time the 'hero' called out the next name to see him. There was a heavy, oppressive silence in the hallway as they all avoided eye contact. Ashamed to be here, of course, to ask for help from one of them. Henry thought of the money he'd brought along, a reassuring weight in his backpack. It had to be enough. It was all he had left in the world. Eventually, his name was called, and Henry steeled himself as he walked in. None of the others had been helped today - obviously short on cash - but he'd brought enough. Everyone he'd consulted about this man's particular service said so. Russel glanced up briefly when Henry walked in and produced the money. Like most of them, he'd long-since dispensed with the monikers his kind had once used. He leaned forward to take the bundles of cash from Henry, a faint glimmer of life in his dark eyes as he rifled through the notes. "Not enough," he said. Henry fought to keep the panic from his voice as he took out the last of the money and stacked it with the rest. "It has to be, it's my whole life's savings. You haven't even heard the job." "Your wife or kid was killed, I'm guessing, right?" Russel sighed, handing the money back to him. "Or you made some idiotic decision. You'd like a do-over like every other sad shmuck out there, I've heard it all before. And it's not enough. Unlike most of my kind, I charge for a reason. The money isn't enough - tell me why I should help you. Time travel is dangerous stuff. To me, to the world, to everyone. I don't use it for trivial jobs. And your personal tragedy is trivial in the grand scheme of things, buddy." Henry licked his suddenly dry lips as he tried to find the right words. Without the money, he had to convince him. He looked at Russel, a guy clearly bored out of his mind with the stories he heard every day, and almost lost his nerve. But he had to try. "It's not that," Henry said. "I want to go back to the time of heroes. Real heroes, where people stood outside and cheered as we saved the world. Where they wrote stories about us, where kids worshipped us. I - I'm like you. I can travel in time, but only forward. I discovered that when I came here, the first time I experimented. I can't go back to my time, where people like us were loved, where I had friends like me who I could be proud of." That gave Russel pause. He actually ignored the money, and glanced up sharply. "You're like me?" "I am and I'm not," Henry said, sinking into a nearby chair, the exhaustion making him feel slightly nauseous. Russel was the fifth and last time-traveller he could find in the country. His last hope, with so little money left. "I just want my life back, okay?" he said. "I hate it here. I thought I'd like it, but it's the worst life I can imagine. You don't look particularly happy to me, either. Take me back, see if you want to stay too. You can even stay at my place until you make your own way. There, that payment enough?" Russel rifled absentmindedly through the money again, forehead furrowed as he remained silent. Finally, he gave a terse nod. "Fine. I admit I've thought about it before, many of us have," he said. "It'll be more interesting that the people wasting my time here, at least." He told Russel the place and the date. They grasped hands, and Henry felt his insides contract as time slipped away. ------------ They landed in the middle of the crowd that swarmed the square, the bright midday sun beating down from above as people cheered and screamed and swayed around them. "Enough is enough!" a man was howling on a platform. "These so-called 'heroes', these freaks of nature - ask yourselves, what have they ever done for you? What have they really done? They've made us weak, made us inferior, made us doubt our ability to look after our own..." At each word, the crowd screamed louder, the cacophony drowning out most of the man's speech. "I recognise him," Russel said slowly. "I saw a picture somewhere. That nutjob who started it all, who turned us against each other. What was his name again? Harold, or something. Turned everything to shit. I didn't pay much attention in school. Too busy skipping to more interesting times." "It was Henry," his companion smiled. "And I'd like to stop him from making another speech. His vision didn't quite work out like he'd planned. I think he realised that when his wife died five years from now with a superhero standing five feet away, but wouldn't help without payment. Wouldn't help because he wanted revenge." Russel gaped at the thin man next to him, really looked at him for the first time. He was starting to go grey, but his eyes still held some of the animation that shone in the face of the man in front of the crowd. His scraggly beard hid most of his features, but if you looked closely...Russel glanced at the stage, and finally found his voice. "It's you. You came back for this? This speech?" "This speech stirred them up, alright," Henry said, and stepped forward. "But the next one - the one he'll give tomorrow, the things that will happen there, that will change everything. Don't worry, I know how to stop it. I know exactly what to say to him." "You can't meddle with events like this," Russel said weakly, grasping Henry's arm. "It's...too big. I can't let it happen. You never even paid me!" Henry laughed at that. "Go back to your world, then. I can't follow you, I lied about that. But don't you want to stick around and find out if you'll return to a different world, or not? You said to give a reason for buying your services. Let me show you, instead." Russel watched, paralysed but strangely elated, as Henry made his way towards the stage and his past. He had no place to call home here, no money stashed away. But somehow he was still watching - the consequences of events unpaid for, an act of charity that could derail everything. And his heart was beating fast, more alive in this foreign time than he'd ever felt before. He stepped forward, hardly believing the words that leapt from his mouth. "Wait up man, I want to help!" ---------- Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	The dark alley echoed with the footsteps of the villain and I knew that I had her right where I wanted them. "I'll go get the purse if you let me keep half of the money." They had seen what Dev could do first hand, when he had been stealing their purse, so there was no way that they were going to do it themselves. He had punched through a brick wall before snatching their purses. If they only knew some of Dev's other talents.... The purse snatchee had been making self deliberation faces for almost half a minute. "Fine.", she said, in a voice that she hoped would indicate that it was very much not fine. I thought I heard her mutter something about "Damn heroes" and "Filthy crooks", but I was already rushing into the darkness. About halfway through the alley I turned at the first corner I saw. I almost ran into Dev. "Jesus Christ man. A little warning next time." "I'm still mad at you." "Why would you possibly be mad at me?" "Because this plan doesn't make any fucking sense! Why are we giving the purse back? We already had the damn thing." "That attitude right there is why you get to play the villain. You're just so naturally villainous." "I get to play the villain because I can actually scare people. What are you going to do, shout at them that you can hear them extremely well as your robbing them?" "Ha Ha asshole. Just give me the purse." "What are you going to tell them, anyway? What if they want a demonstration of how you overcame me?" "I'll say that I used my otherworldly wits to convince you to hand over the purse. I wouldn't even have to lie." "Oh, shut up. Here - take the stupid thing." I grabbed the purse from Dev's hand and turned back. If it wasn't dark in the alleyway I don't think I could have resisted the temptation to count the money before I gave it back. I tried to appear disheveled by messing up my hair a bit. It would have to do. I came around a corner and could see the woman still waiting. I approached her. "Thank you so much!" She said as she saw that I was holding her purse. I actually felt a twinge of guilt. I had justified this to myself as being some sort of lesson, like an anti purse snatching tax or something, but I knew that this part was going to suck. "You're are very welcome." I handed her the purse. She pilfered through it. I saw some prescription medicine and reading glasses suddenly felt even worse. It felt like I was robbing my Grandma. She got to her wallet and started going through the money. "Here is ... $30." I was almost tempted to tell her to keep it, but my stomach rumbled at that exact moment. I remembered that there was a reason that I had to do this, and it wasn't like we stole her purse or anything. "Thank you very much." I began walking down the sidewalk in the opposite direction as her. I would meet Dev back at the house. He wouldn't be happy with $30, and I didn't think I could hold him back much longer. If he had his way, we were about to get into serious trouble, soon. ___ /r/Periapoapsis	Henry had been waiting for three hours now to be allowed in. Standing in line next to people who jumped every time the 'hero' called out the next name to see him. There was a heavy, oppressive silence in the hallway as they all avoided eye contact. Ashamed to be here, of course, to ask for help from one of them. Henry thought of the money he'd brought along, a reassuring weight in his backpack. It had to be enough. It was all he had left in the world. Eventually, his name was called, and Henry steeled himself as he walked in. None of the others had been helped today - obviously short on cash - but he'd brought enough. Everyone he'd consulted about this man's particular service said so. Russel glanced up briefly when Henry walked in and produced the money. Like most of them, he'd long-since dispensed with the monikers his kind had once used. He leaned forward to take the bundles of cash from Henry, a faint glimmer of life in his dark eyes as he rifled through the notes. "Not enough," he said. Henry fought to keep the panic from his voice as he took out the last of the money and stacked it with the rest. "It has to be, it's my whole life's savings. You haven't even heard the job." "Your wife or kid was killed, I'm guessing, right?" Russel sighed, handing the money back to him. "Or you made some idiotic decision. You'd like a do-over like every other sad shmuck out there, I've heard it all before. And it's not enough. Unlike most of my kind, I charge for a reason. The money isn't enough - tell me why I should help you. Time travel is dangerous stuff. To me, to the world, to everyone. I don't use it for trivial jobs. And your personal tragedy is trivial in the grand scheme of things, buddy." Henry licked his suddenly dry lips as he tried to find the right words. Without the money, he had to convince him. He looked at Russel, a guy clearly bored out of his mind with the stories he heard every day, and almost lost his nerve. But he had to try. "It's not that," Henry said. "I want to go back to the time of heroes. Real heroes, where people stood outside and cheered as we saved the world. Where they wrote stories about us, where kids worshipped us. I - I'm like you. I can travel in time, but only forward. I discovered that when I came here, the first time I experimented. I can't go back to my time, where people like us were loved, where I had friends like me who I could be proud of." That gave Russel pause. He actually ignored the money, and glanced up sharply. "You're like me?" "I am and I'm not," Henry said, sinking into a nearby chair, the exhaustion making him feel slightly nauseous. Russel was the fifth and last time-traveller he could find in the country. His last hope, with so little money left. "I just want my life back, okay?" he said. "I hate it here. I thought I'd like it, but it's the worst life I can imagine. You don't look particularly happy to me, either. Take me back, see if you want to stay too. You can even stay at my place until you make your own way. There, that payment enough?" Russel rifled absentmindedly through the money again, forehead furrowed as he remained silent. Finally, he gave a terse nod. "Fine. I admit I've thought about it before, many of us have," he said. "It'll be more interesting that the people wasting my time here, at least." He told Russel the place and the date. They grasped hands, and Henry felt his insides contract as time slipped away. ------------ They landed in the middle of the crowd that swarmed the square, the bright midday sun beating down from above as people cheered and screamed and swayed around them. "Enough is enough!" a man was howling on a platform. "These so-called 'heroes', these freaks of nature - ask yourselves, what have they ever done for you? What have they really done? They've made us weak, made us inferior, made us doubt our ability to look after our own..." At each word, the crowd screamed louder, the cacophony drowning out most of the man's speech. "I recognise him," Russel said slowly. "I saw a picture somewhere. That nutjob who started it all, who turned us against each other. What was his name again? Harold, or something. Turned everything to shit. I didn't pay much attention in school. Too busy skipping to more interesting times." "It was Henry," his companion smiled. "And I'd like to stop him from making another speech. His vision didn't quite work out like he'd planned. I think he realised that when his wife died five years from now with a superhero standing five feet away, but wouldn't help without payment. Wouldn't help because he wanted revenge." Russel gaped at the thin man next to him, really looked at him for the first time. He was starting to go grey, but his eyes still held some of the animation that shone in the face of the man in front of the crowd. His scraggly beard hid most of his features, but if you looked closely...Russel glanced at the stage, and finally found his voice. "It's you. You came back for this? This speech?" "This speech stirred them up, alright," Henry said, and stepped forward. "But the next one - the one he'll give tomorrow, the things that will happen there, that will change everything. Don't worry, I know how to stop it. I know exactly what to say to him." "You can't meddle with events like this," Russel said weakly, grasping Henry's arm. "It's...too big. I can't let it happen. You never even paid me!" Henry laughed at that. "Go back to your world, then. I can't follow you, I lied about that. But don't you want to stick around and find out if you'll return to a different world, or not? You said to give a reason for buying your services. Let me show you, instead." Russel watched, paralysed but strangely elated, as Henry made his way towards the stage and his past. He had no place to call home here, no money stashed away. But somehow he was still watching - the consequences of events unpaid for, an act of charity that could derail everything. And his heart was beating fast, more alive in this foreign time than he'd ever felt before. He stepped forward, hardly believing the words that leapt from his mouth. "Wait up man, I want to help!" ---------- Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	"Listen, I know your ad says your services start at $150, but I'm hoping you can make an exception, cut me a deal?" Her breathing is shallow and her voice quivers. She swallowed at the end of her sentence. She's panicked and desperate, and unlike most of the time wasters, she's not lying about the money part. "I'll listen, but this is a business, not a charity." "I know. I do. But, you see, I am a charity. I run a youth shelter on 6 mile. I have a couple of boys that come in every Thursday and Friday for the pantry. Only none of 'em have showed up the last few weeks." "Homeless youths? I wouldn't wind your clock by their patterns if I were you." "You don't have to tell me that, but these boys were different. They've been coming for nearly two years. And they aren't the only regulars that have gone missing. But the cops won't listen and I just know: someone is stealing kids." I glance at my desktop planner. Blank space as far as the eyes can see. "You got a non-profit number?" "Yes," her voice pitched up, hopeful. "Well, I'm gonna need a receipt." "You'll do it?" "I'll be feet down in Detroit in oh, about 45 minutes." I hung up and eyed my flying cape. At least my accountant could deduct it this time.	Henry had been waiting for three hours now to be allowed in. Standing in line next to people who jumped every time the 'hero' called out the next name to see him. There was a heavy, oppressive silence in the hallway as they all avoided eye contact. Ashamed to be here, of course, to ask for help from one of them. Henry thought of the money he'd brought along, a reassuring weight in his backpack. It had to be enough. It was all he had left in the world. Eventually, his name was called, and Henry steeled himself as he walked in. None of the others had been helped today - obviously short on cash - but he'd brought enough. Everyone he'd consulted about this man's particular service said so. Russel glanced up briefly when Henry walked in and produced the money. Like most of them, he'd long-since dispensed with the monikers his kind had once used. He leaned forward to take the bundles of cash from Henry, a faint glimmer of life in his dark eyes as he rifled through the notes. "Not enough," he said. Henry fought to keep the panic from his voice as he took out the last of the money and stacked it with the rest. "It has to be, it's my whole life's savings. You haven't even heard the job." "Your wife or kid was killed, I'm guessing, right?" Russel sighed, handing the money back to him. "Or you made some idiotic decision. You'd like a do-over like every other sad shmuck out there, I've heard it all before. And it's not enough. Unlike most of my kind, I charge for a reason. The money isn't enough - tell me why I should help you. Time travel is dangerous stuff. To me, to the world, to everyone. I don't use it for trivial jobs. And your personal tragedy is trivial in the grand scheme of things, buddy." Henry licked his suddenly dry lips as he tried to find the right words. Without the money, he had to convince him. He looked at Russel, a guy clearly bored out of his mind with the stories he heard every day, and almost lost his nerve. But he had to try. "It's not that," Henry said. "I want to go back to the time of heroes. Real heroes, where people stood outside and cheered as we saved the world. Where they wrote stories about us, where kids worshipped us. I - I'm like you. I can travel in time, but only forward. I discovered that when I came here, the first time I experimented. I can't go back to my time, where people like us were loved, where I had friends like me who I could be proud of." That gave Russel pause. He actually ignored the money, and glanced up sharply. "You're like me?" "I am and I'm not," Henry said, sinking into a nearby chair, the exhaustion making him feel slightly nauseous. Russel was the fifth and last time-traveller he could find in the country. His last hope, with so little money left. "I just want my life back, okay?" he said. "I hate it here. I thought I'd like it, but it's the worst life I can imagine. You don't look particularly happy to me, either. Take me back, see if you want to stay too. You can even stay at my place until you make your own way. There, that payment enough?" Russel rifled absentmindedly through the money again, forehead furrowed as he remained silent. Finally, he gave a terse nod. "Fine. I admit I've thought about it before, many of us have," he said. "It'll be more interesting that the people wasting my time here, at least." He told Russel the place and the date. They grasped hands, and Henry felt his insides contract as time slipped away. ------------ They landed in the middle of the crowd that swarmed the square, the bright midday sun beating down from above as people cheered and screamed and swayed around them. "Enough is enough!" a man was howling on a platform. "These so-called 'heroes', these freaks of nature - ask yourselves, what have they ever done for you? What have they really done? They've made us weak, made us inferior, made us doubt our ability to look after our own..." At each word, the crowd screamed louder, the cacophony drowning out most of the man's speech. "I recognise him," Russel said slowly. "I saw a picture somewhere. That nutjob who started it all, who turned us against each other. What was his name again? Harold, or something. Turned everything to shit. I didn't pay much attention in school. Too busy skipping to more interesting times." "It was Henry," his companion smiled. "And I'd like to stop him from making another speech. His vision didn't quite work out like he'd planned. I think he realised that when his wife died five years from now with a superhero standing five feet away, but wouldn't help without payment. Wouldn't help because he wanted revenge." Russel gaped at the thin man next to him, really looked at him for the first time. He was starting to go grey, but his eyes still held some of the animation that shone in the face of the man in front of the crowd. His scraggly beard hid most of his features, but if you looked closely...Russel glanced at the stage, and finally found his voice. "It's you. You came back for this? This speech?" "This speech stirred them up, alright," Henry said, and stepped forward. "But the next one - the one he'll give tomorrow, the things that will happen there, that will change everything. Don't worry, I know how to stop it. I know exactly what to say to him." "You can't meddle with events like this," Russel said weakly, grasping Henry's arm. "It's...too big. I can't let it happen. You never even paid me!" Henry laughed at that. "Go back to your world, then. I can't follow you, I lied about that. But don't you want to stick around and find out if you'll return to a different world, or not? You said to give a reason for buying your services. Let me show you, instead." Russel watched, paralysed but strangely elated, as Henry made his way towards the stage and his past. He had no place to call home here, no money stashed away. But somehow he was still watching - the consequences of events unpaid for, an act of charity that could derail everything. And his heart was beating fast, more alive in this foreign time than he'd ever felt before. He stepped forward, hardly believing the words that leapt from his mouth. "Wait up man, I want to help!" ---------- Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	It was raining. The day we set to sea was a dark day, the sun did not appear in the sky and the skies appeared to cry as the sons of Helgavik set off to unfamiliar lands. I watched my parents on the shore, surrounded by the wives and families of my fellow sailors, but I could not find it in my heart to return their waves. I was a young man, barely sixteen years of age and waving to them would have broken me down and caused me to cry. But I had to stay strong, the men on the longboat with me were mostly veterans, having raided before and crying, in my mind, would show weakness in front of those hard sailors which I regarded as role models. However I stared back to shore until all I could see was mist and rain, before and aft. It would be months until I would see my family again, if at all. The longboat was the pride of the village from which we sailed. It had been made during a remarkably warm summer, and was hewn from good wood. It was beautifully decorated with images depicting the gods in battle, the monsters of the sea and with the names of some of the heroes that had sailed on it. This boat “Garmr” was considered blessed by the gods and those that would sail on it were priviliged men. I had gotten my place through contest, My arm was stronger than those of my friends, and my aim was true when throwing a spear. I had also shown courage in battle once before while defending my fathers farm, so Grímur the ships foreman, brought me aboard. “You know you may die.” he had said, matter of factly. “I am not afraid of going to my ancestors.” I replied, mustering up as much courage as I could in front of this large, red haired, man. “Good to hear, Arnr. Good to hear. You swear an oath to follow my orders, defend your fellow man and bring honor to the gods?” “Yes. My aim will never fail me, nor will I leave my friends back exposed to the enemy. I will fall if the gods will it so without fear.” “Allright, you will receive the same share as the rest of us, apart from one extra share for myself and captain Eirikur. You will be second oarsman on the right side.” In the days before my departure my parents, proud of their son for having secured a place on the Garmr, fed me the best food they could muster. My father gave me his axe, which his father had given him as well as a warm cloak. When the day came to go to the docks I was well provisioned and ready, my parents supplying me well in anticipation of me returning with exotic wares. During the day we sung songs praising the heroes of old while the sound of the oars hitting the ocean kept rhythm. If we had good wind we would spend our time cleaning the ship, watching the sky for signs of land. We each had our rations in a box under our seats where we spent most of our time. When the sky turned golden we would eat our food and spend our nights asleep, adrift on the ocean hoping we would not drift too far off course. One man stood watch each night to keep the ship sailing in the right direction as best he could. During the day Grímur would consult what he called his sun-stone for direction to good hunting areas as he called it. Area filled with enemy ships ripe for the plunder, but our main target would be a christian chapel he had heard was lightly defended and should pay for this raiding trip in one blow. --- We had arrived early in the morning, awoken by distant bells audible over the fog which enveloped us. Grímur smiled like a hungry wolf and started whispering urgent directions to the captain directing him towards the sound. “It starts” Arnolfr whispered to me from behind, “Odin willing we will be rich men at the end of this day or dead. Either way, be ready!”. I swallowed my fear while listening hard for any sounds from out of the fog, the only sounds being the low whispering of the men around me as well as the soft sound of the oar propelling the Garmr onwards. The first thing we could see were the black rocks of the shore. With skill and experience the boat was dragged ashore in near silence. “This is it! I can feel it in the air!” Grímur whispered to us as we assembled, weapons drawn, on the beach, “We will be in two groups. You lot will go with Eirkur and you will go with me” he said, indicating my group “Good hunting”. My heart was beating loudly in my heart, so much so that I feared it would give away our position, as we first caught a glimpse of a stone building. It was strange to see the chapel after hearing such places described by others. It was a large building built almost like an arrow, with a stone tower on one end. It had colorful windows depicting what I could only guess were old heroes akin to the ones depicted on our ship. My axe felt heavy as our backs got up to the walls of the building. Thank Thor for this fog, it had hidden our apprach so well we were still unnoticed. A raiding party of armed and capable warriors in the pen filled with unaware sheep. Suddenly without barely a nod towards the rest of us Grímur ran into the fog, shortly followed by a wet sound as his hammer struck flesh, this prompted the rest of us into action. Suddenly my world became very violent as men were everywhere. In the fog they reminded me of ancient ghosts, clad in black robes, obviously crying for mercy. I myself went into the chapel with two others and met one of the robed men as he seemed to be trying to save the valuables hidden inside the chapel. His face was white with fright, his words incomprehensible to me as I stepped towards him with my axe raised above my head. I will never forget the feeling of the iron biting into flesh, nor the warmth of his blood as he stumbled and fell, gold coins clattering on the ground from his fingers. The sound of battle was around me, and for the rest of my life I would never be able to remember the rest of it as some inner beast overtook me. “Good fight!” Grímur said, smiling as he hit me on the back. “You did well. You will no longer be a boy but a man. You have earned the respect.”. I was sitting on the steps of the chapel, holding a cup filled with wine and covered in blood. “It was my honor” I replied. I was proud of my achievement, but the face of the black robed monk was fresh in my mind. I knew then that he would be a spectre that would follow me throughout my life. We were rich now, Grímur told us there was more treasure inside this chapel than even he had imagined. We would get home earlier than planned which raised our morale, but was bittersweet since it meant fewer chances to die like warriors. I however was consoled with the image of my parents in my mind, proud of their son, fresh back from viking. --- It was the third day of our trip back that it all changed. Grímur looked anxious as he and captain Eirikur talked in the back of the boat while the rest of us ate our daily rations. I clambered over to them which caused Grímur to look at me with a mix of annoyance and curiosity while Eirikur looked concerned. “What is wrong?” I asked, but we had become accustomed to asking straight questions. The daily life aboard the longboat did not allow for much formality beyond rank. “Well, you will know soon enough. We are being hunted.” Grímur replied. I imagined a boat filled with monks, or armed men, following us from the land we had visited “How many?” I asked. “One” The reply was unexpected, one man would not be much of a threat. “Then we have little to worry about. One man can do us no harm.” “Who says it is a man? I have been watching our wake. We are being hunted by something under the water. Some beast” I nodded and returned to my seat. The way Grímur had said that we were being hunted by a beast was unsettling, but I sensed no more information would be forthcoming for now. As I looked to the back of the boat, in the distance, I imagined I could see a swell of water formed by an unnatural shape effortlessly gliding under the water. On day four Grímur stood up at the bow of the vessel. We sensed by his stance we should prepare ourselves for what was coming so we prepared our shields and weapons. A few minutes later I felt as if the world exploded. Out of the water burst a huge beast the likes I would never see again. It appeared as a large serpent, the head easily larger than our ship. Its eyes held the fires of eternity, and as it roared defiantly at our diminutive boat we were all overcome with dread. The beasts fangs were the size of great-swords. Its scales the sizes of our shields. At this moment I knew that I would be dead soon. The waves of its movements caused our boat to bob and sink like a cork on a wave. We were helpless. Grímur screamed an oath to the gods, took one step on the edge of the bow and hurled himself at the beast. I could not believe my eyes as he wresled with the mighty beast. The last we heard from him was “SAIL AWAY, FLEE OR DIE!”. We scrambled for our oars and sailed away, leaving Grímur behind. The last I saw of Grímur he was on top of the beasts head, holding his hammer above his head, lightning striking down from the sky into him, his eyes glowing with white light and his red hair glowing like fire. I knew then that this was not a normal man. As we managed to gain some distance on the mighty battle between the beast and god the waves settled and we witnessed the conclusion as Grímur killed the wyrm with a mighty blow. A streak of light travelled overhead to the north immediately after this and we knew that Grímur was safe. I will always remember this hard man, if he was a man at all. He never returned to our village but we keep his memory alive every year with stories of his heroism. His face now adorns the bow of our blessed longboat. I would not meet Grímur again for many a year.	Henry had been waiting for three hours now to be allowed in. Standing in line next to people who jumped every time the 'hero' called out the next name to see him. There was a heavy, oppressive silence in the hallway as they all avoided eye contact. Ashamed to be here, of course, to ask for help from one of them. Henry thought of the money he'd brought along, a reassuring weight in his backpack. It had to be enough. It was all he had left in the world. Eventually, his name was called, and Henry steeled himself as he walked in. None of the others had been helped today - obviously short on cash - but he'd brought enough. Everyone he'd consulted about this man's particular service said so. Russel glanced up briefly when Henry walked in and produced the money. Like most of them, he'd long-since dispensed with the monikers his kind had once used. He leaned forward to take the bundles of cash from Henry, a faint glimmer of life in his dark eyes as he rifled through the notes. "Not enough," he said. Henry fought to keep the panic from his voice as he took out the last of the money and stacked it with the rest. "It has to be, it's my whole life's savings. You haven't even heard the job." "Your wife or kid was killed, I'm guessing, right?" Russel sighed, handing the money back to him. "Or you made some idiotic decision. You'd like a do-over like every other sad shmuck out there, I've heard it all before. And it's not enough. Unlike most of my kind, I charge for a reason. The money isn't enough - tell me why I should help you. Time travel is dangerous stuff. To me, to the world, to everyone. I don't use it for trivial jobs. And your personal tragedy is trivial in the grand scheme of things, buddy." Henry licked his suddenly dry lips as he tried to find the right words. Without the money, he had to convince him. He looked at Russel, a guy clearly bored out of his mind with the stories he heard every day, and almost lost his nerve. But he had to try. "It's not that," Henry said. "I want to go back to the time of heroes. Real heroes, where people stood outside and cheered as we saved the world. Where they wrote stories about us, where kids worshipped us. I - I'm like you. I can travel in time, but only forward. I discovered that when I came here, the first time I experimented. I can't go back to my time, where people like us were loved, where I had friends like me who I could be proud of." That gave Russel pause. He actually ignored the money, and glanced up sharply. "You're like me?" "I am and I'm not," Henry said, sinking into a nearby chair, the exhaustion making him feel slightly nauseous. Russel was the fifth and last time-traveller he could find in the country. His last hope, with so little money left. "I just want my life back, okay?" he said. "I hate it here. I thought I'd like it, but it's the worst life I can imagine. You don't look particularly happy to me, either. Take me back, see if you want to stay too. You can even stay at my place until you make your own way. There, that payment enough?" Russel rifled absentmindedly through the money again, forehead furrowed as he remained silent. Finally, he gave a terse nod. "Fine. I admit I've thought about it before, many of us have," he said. "It'll be more interesting that the people wasting my time here, at least." He told Russel the place and the date. They grasped hands, and Henry felt his insides contract as time slipped away. ------------ They landed in the middle of the crowd that swarmed the square, the bright midday sun beating down from above as people cheered and screamed and swayed around them. "Enough is enough!" a man was howling on a platform. "These so-called 'heroes', these freaks of nature - ask yourselves, what have they ever done for you? What have they really done? They've made us weak, made us inferior, made us doubt our ability to look after our own..." At each word, the crowd screamed louder, the cacophony drowning out most of the man's speech. "I recognise him," Russel said slowly. "I saw a picture somewhere. That nutjob who started it all, who turned us against each other. What was his name again? Harold, or something. Turned everything to shit. I didn't pay much attention in school. Too busy skipping to more interesting times." "It was Henry," his companion smiled. "And I'd like to stop him from making another speech. His vision didn't quite work out like he'd planned. I think he realised that when his wife died five years from now with a superhero standing five feet away, but wouldn't help without payment. Wouldn't help because he wanted revenge." Russel gaped at the thin man next to him, really looked at him for the first time. He was starting to go grey, but his eyes still held some of the animation that shone in the face of the man in front of the crowd. His scraggly beard hid most of his features, but if you looked closely...Russel glanced at the stage, and finally found his voice. "It's you. You came back for this? This speech?" "This speech stirred them up, alright," Henry said, and stepped forward. "But the next one - the one he'll give tomorrow, the things that will happen there, that will change everything. Don't worry, I know how to stop it. I know exactly what to say to him." "You can't meddle with events like this," Russel said weakly, grasping Henry's arm. "It's...too big. I can't let it happen. You never even paid me!" Henry laughed at that. "Go back to your world, then. I can't follow you, I lied about that. But don't you want to stick around and find out if you'll return to a different world, or not? You said to give a reason for buying your services. Let me show you, instead." Russel watched, paralysed but strangely elated, as Henry made his way towards the stage and his past. He had no place to call home here, no money stashed away. But somehow he was still watching - the consequences of events unpaid for, an act of charity that could derail everything. And his heart was beating fast, more alive in this foreign time than he'd ever felt before. He stepped forward, hardly believing the words that leapt from his mouth. "Wait up man, I want to help!" ---------- Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	"I'm just going to talk to him," Rodgers says to himself, standing outside a house. It was the definition of suburban. A little garden out the front, a big oak tree and a novelty mailbox shaped like a salmon. He knocks on the door three times, to no answer, as it swings ajar. Rodgers walks inside, coughing as he does. Rotting food litters some of the floors, and a dozen broken bong's glass joins it. He carefully tiptoes around them all, lest he got an infection, and yells out. "Hello?" The words bounce around the walls, falling on deaf ears. "Jack?" Rodgers walks into the surrounding rooms to find nothing of interest, mostly more rotting food and massive quantities of narcotics. The stairs tease out to him, knowingly, as if to say 'Jack's up here.' They creak as he walks up, photos of a family not belonging to Jack neatly arranged on the wall. Once at the top, he stares down the hallway to see a door partially open. "Jack?" he says curiously and moves towards it. He pries the door open slightly and then immediately regrets that decision. Jack is sitting in a large chair with headphones on, his hand down his pants, and the TV blaring hardcore porn. Rodgers moves back into the hallway for a moment to collect himself, before thumping the door as loud as he can and moving inside. "Jack!" He yells, much to Jack's dismay. He jumps from his chair, throws the headphones off, but doesn't take his hand out of his pants. "Fuckin, what!" Jack yells, a furrowed brow and a bit of spit dripping out his mouth. "You ever heard of fucking knocking?" "I tried that," Rodgers remarks. "Fuck off," Jack says, getting back into his chair. With a touch of a remote, the porn turns off, and Jack breathes in deep. A small bong sits next to him which he lifts to his chest and prepares. "So what do you want Rodge?" "We've got a bit of a monster problem over in NYC. Destroying the whole place," "Yeah yeah, I saw that," Jack says, scooping some of his bowl into his cone piece. "Did you send Canary?" "She couldn't handle it," "Andromeda?" "He couldn't handle it," "Mech-zero?" Jack exclaims, now getting surprised. He lights the cone and begins to inhale deeply. "He died." Jack's eyes grow wide at the new bit of information, but still, continues to inhale. A few more seconds pass before he stops. "Aw fuck then," Jack says, talking while exhaling, "You really need bloody Jack then don't you?" A shit-eating grin blooms over Jack's face, as he stares up at Rodgers. "50 grand." "Deal." "Fantastic," Jack stands and looks at Rodgers, his erection flopping out his underwear. Rodgers stares at him for a few more pained moments before speaking. "Who's house is this," "Let's get going ay." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A heavily armored van is shifting through pedestrians with Jack inside. Chants from outside are thunderous in volume and full of joy. Eventually, the van comes to a stop. From outside, the cheering grows as a chaotic applause begins, no rhythm to its nature. "You ready Jack?" an unnamed soldier says, his hands fiddling with his gun. Jack grunts, finishes rolling his cigarette, lazily puts it in his mouth and walks towards the van's exit. He thumps on the side twice, and the door starts to open. "Probably not," Jack replies, pulling out a lighter and letting the nicotine hit his veins. The sunlight blurs his vision as he steps into the world, the cheers and claps immediately stopping. Sighing, he looks all around himself to see sad faces and angry civilians. "Are you not entertained!?" Jack yells, thrusting his arms above himself. He smiles, as the faces stare him down. He spins and spins, bathing in the glow of contempt, ecstatic in his self-indulgent joy. A roar in the distance breaks his attention. It's visceral and full of rage, a beast made of death waiting to dole out more. The crowd murmurs in fear, taking a collective step back. "Go get em, Jack!" A voice yells, a few more joining. It only took a few seconds before they were all cheering his name, and chanting for him to go. "Selfish buggers," Jack mutters under his breath. He takes a few steps forward, but The Beast beats him to it. With a crash, it descends just in front of him Jack. Wings made out of dark black, and a form made out of nightmares; it bubbles and seethes around as if it was a liquid. A thousand eyes cover it, all moving and changing shape at random, but all are staring at Jack. Taking the cigarette from his mouth, Jack flicks it and lets it smolder into the ground. The crowd that was around only moments ago has fled, leaving Jack alone. The Beast swings, its horrendous claw slashing down at Jack. It rends the air as if it was mere paper, and slams down on Jack's head. As soon as it does, its whole body locks up. Its heartbeat slows, and it feels weary. The claw is embedded deep into Jack's skull, and he smiles. He places both hands on it and focuses. Slowly, the life drains out of The Beast and into Jack. Its knowledge burns into his consciousness, its desires flood his heart, and its unbound rage to his soul. The Beast collapses, dead; its life force now within Jack. A helicopter lands behind Jack a few minutes after The Beast's demise, and Rodgers steps out. "Good work," he says, holding his hand out to shake Jacks. "50 grand, straight to your bank account, just like you asked." "So Canary couldn't do this?" "No," "Andromeda?" "No," "Not even Mech-zero?" Jack picks up the cigarette he threw away and relights it. "Not even Mech-zero, Jack. You're a real hero." "100 grand." Jack inhales deeply and looks at Rodgers with a smile. "No deal," Rodgers says. "I wasn't askin'," Jack says, his smile fading. "I was tellin' mate. 100 grand. Or I'm going rogue on your ass." "That's suicide Jack," Rodgers remarks. "We'd have every superhero on you before nightfall." The last bit of ash drips out of the cigarette. Jack takes it from his lips, turns to The Beast, and throws the cigarette onto it. With a few steps, he passes Rodgers on his side and continues to walk. "They can try." ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Check out /r/Rhysyjay for other neat stuff.	Henry had been waiting for three hours now to be allowed in. Standing in line next to people who jumped every time the 'hero' called out the next name to see him. There was a heavy, oppressive silence in the hallway as they all avoided eye contact. Ashamed to be here, of course, to ask for help from one of them. Henry thought of the money he'd brought along, a reassuring weight in his backpack. It had to be enough. It was all he had left in the world. Eventually, his name was called, and Henry steeled himself as he walked in. None of the others had been helped today - obviously short on cash - but he'd brought enough. Everyone he'd consulted about this man's particular service said so. Russel glanced up briefly when Henry walked in and produced the money. Like most of them, he'd long-since dispensed with the monikers his kind had once used. He leaned forward to take the bundles of cash from Henry, a faint glimmer of life in his dark eyes as he rifled through the notes. "Not enough," he said. Henry fought to keep the panic from his voice as he took out the last of the money and stacked it with the rest. "It has to be, it's my whole life's savings. You haven't even heard the job." "Your wife or kid was killed, I'm guessing, right?" Russel sighed, handing the money back to him. "Or you made some idiotic decision. You'd like a do-over like every other sad shmuck out there, I've heard it all before. And it's not enough. Unlike most of my kind, I charge for a reason. The money isn't enough - tell me why I should help you. Time travel is dangerous stuff. To me, to the world, to everyone. I don't use it for trivial jobs. And your personal tragedy is trivial in the grand scheme of things, buddy." Henry licked his suddenly dry lips as he tried to find the right words. Without the money, he had to convince him. He looked at Russel, a guy clearly bored out of his mind with the stories he heard every day, and almost lost his nerve. But he had to try. "It's not that," Henry said. "I want to go back to the time of heroes. Real heroes, where people stood outside and cheered as we saved the world. Where they wrote stories about us, where kids worshipped us. I - I'm like you. I can travel in time, but only forward. I discovered that when I came here, the first time I experimented. I can't go back to my time, where people like us were loved, where I had friends like me who I could be proud of." That gave Russel pause. He actually ignored the money, and glanced up sharply. "You're like me?" "I am and I'm not," Henry said, sinking into a nearby chair, the exhaustion making him feel slightly nauseous. Russel was the fifth and last time-traveller he could find in the country. His last hope, with so little money left. "I just want my life back, okay?" he said. "I hate it here. I thought I'd like it, but it's the worst life I can imagine. You don't look particularly happy to me, either. Take me back, see if you want to stay too. You can even stay at my place until you make your own way. There, that payment enough?" Russel rifled absentmindedly through the money again, forehead furrowed as he remained silent. Finally, he gave a terse nod. "Fine. I admit I've thought about it before, many of us have," he said. "It'll be more interesting that the people wasting my time here, at least." He told Russel the place and the date. They grasped hands, and Henry felt his insides contract as time slipped away. ------------ They landed in the middle of the crowd that swarmed the square, the bright midday sun beating down from above as people cheered and screamed and swayed around them. "Enough is enough!" a man was howling on a platform. "These so-called 'heroes', these freaks of nature - ask yourselves, what have they ever done for you? What have they really done? They've made us weak, made us inferior, made us doubt our ability to look after our own..." At each word, the crowd screamed louder, the cacophony drowning out most of the man's speech. "I recognise him," Russel said slowly. "I saw a picture somewhere. That nutjob who started it all, who turned us against each other. What was his name again? Harold, or something. Turned everything to shit. I didn't pay much attention in school. Too busy skipping to more interesting times." "It was Henry," his companion smiled. "And I'd like to stop him from making another speech. His vision didn't quite work out like he'd planned. I think he realised that when his wife died five years from now with a superhero standing five feet away, but wouldn't help without payment. Wouldn't help because he wanted revenge." Russel gaped at the thin man next to him, really looked at him for the first time. He was starting to go grey, but his eyes still held some of the animation that shone in the face of the man in front of the crowd. His scraggly beard hid most of his features, but if you looked closely...Russel glanced at the stage, and finally found his voice. "It's you. You came back for this? This speech?" "This speech stirred them up, alright," Henry said, and stepped forward. "But the next one - the one he'll give tomorrow, the things that will happen there, that will change everything. Don't worry, I know how to stop it. I know exactly what to say to him." "You can't meddle with events like this," Russel said weakly, grasping Henry's arm. "It's...too big. I can't let it happen. You never even paid me!" Henry laughed at that. "Go back to your world, then. I can't follow you, I lied about that. But don't you want to stick around and find out if you'll return to a different world, or not? You said to give a reason for buying your services. Let me show you, instead." Russel watched, paralysed but strangely elated, as Henry made his way towards the stage and his past. He had no place to call home here, no money stashed away. But somehow he was still watching - the consequences of events unpaid for, an act of charity that could derail everything. And his heart was beating fast, more alive in this foreign time than he'd ever felt before. He stepped forward, hardly believing the words that leapt from his mouth. "Wait up man, I want to help!" ---------- Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	I am not a good man. James looked down at the table, sipping his water. Always the same look when he's got something on his mind. "What're you ordering," he says with a low voice. "I hear the, uh, steak and fries are great." "Maybe just a coffee." I drummed the table lightly with my fingertips. "Look, J, I know that face. What's on your mind, man?" He hesitated, then looked up. His eyes were tired, dull bags underneath. I've never seen the guy look so old. "The, ah, warehouse explosion last night," His eyes turned hard. "That was you, wasn't it?" I chewed on my tongue for a bit, then sighed. "It might have been overkill, but the Stella's pay me well. Honestly, I think what I did preserved more lives. You know how an all-out war between them and the Callaghan's would turn out?" He rested his head in his palm, half-listening to my bullshit. "They're honestly talking about you, J. You've made yourself a name, fucking up their operations like this. They'll be out for you soon if you don't stop." I lowered my voice as the waitress approached. "What'll it be today, boys?" she said, her brown curls bouncing as she whipped out a pen and a smile. "Oh, Jamie, back again? I knew you couldn't get enough of us." "You know it. I think I'll have that famous steak-frites you guys make. Friend over here'll have a cup of coffee." He winked. "Now I hope you aren't planning to pay. You already do enough good for us. Hell, was it just last week you took care of that gang roaming the streets at night. Constant B&Es in a little street like this. Unbelievable." She scribbled on the pad in a practiced fashion, scampering back to the kitchen with that little smile of hers. James' face turned serious again. "We've had this talk plenty of times. You already know the spiel." I nodded, stifling a yawn. "And you know it's never too late." I shook my head. "James, I follow the money. We all do. Maybe your moonlighting as a hero makes you feel all warm-and-fuzzy inside, but warm-and-fuzzy doesn't pay the bill. Unless you're the Phoenix or Hothead, warm-and-fuzzy means you freeze to death, out in the cold, when winter hits." He rubbed his face with the palms of his hands. "It's not about the money. It's about making a change. All these changes start small. Grassroots. But when you get the idea into people's heads, they start to think 'Hm, maybe I can do good. Maybe good is what we need.'" I could tell he's been through this speech with others before. I could almost smell their rejection and skepticism wafting off his body. Yet I saw the fire in his belly. "James, this hero business. It's eating at you. I know you think you're doing the right thing, but the right things aren't always the right thing. This," I waved my hands for dramatic effect, "vigilantism doesn't fix anything. The Golden Age of heroes is over. For every one upstanding guy, two assholes would pop up. You know that's how actual bad guys work. They're attracted to conflict like mosquitos to flesh. The way we do it now...it's nice. It works." "It's selfish," James spat out. He looked away from me, out the window at the busy street. The trees were in full bloom, sunshine casting refulgent shadows along the noontime traffic. We sat quietly for a time, the food eventually arriving, piping hot. "I don't know what to do anymore," James whispered under his breath. "I can't do this alone." I leaned in, resting a hand on his shoulder. A small smirk fell on his face. "What're you trying to do, blow me up?" he said, chuckling lightly. I smiled back, stealing a handful of fries. "James, buddy. I'm just saying, being a hero isn't for me. I'm not sure it's for you either. I can give a good word to my boss. Start you on double pay. Do you really want to do this hero stuff though? It's just all swimming upstream." His face was solemn, like that of a statue. "Yes. Even if no one joins, yes. It is right." I sighed deeply, and fell back in my seat. He ate with a stony, distant look on his face. I finished my coffee, patted James on the shoulder, then slapped a twenty on the table. A smile broke onto his face. "Heh, it's complimentary, remember?" he said, shifting out of his seat. "It's...actually a tip. An apology, really." "What, to me? We might disagree, but you don't have to apologize." "No, it's an apology to the waitress. For what she's about to see." I snapped my fingers and walked to the door. A deep rumble echoed from James' stomach, and he fell to the ground, screaming. The smell of embers, of burnt esophagus and stomach lining slowly filled the room. He yelled, screamed, cried for his mother, writhing in a pool of saliva and blood, his fingers digging holes into the old diner floor. Smoke poured out of his belly in thick plumes. A guttural bellow of rage erupted from his scalded throat, as the patrons watched in horror as this man burned alive, from the inside out. It's the strongest ones that have the worst deaths. They can't just die quickly like normal people. I let out a ragged sigh, and walked out. Hands shaking, I lit myself a a cigarette with my fingertip, and got as far away from the diner as I could. "Fuck's sake, James," It was raining now. "I told you so." I am not a good man because all the good men are dead.	Henry had been waiting for three hours now to be allowed in. Standing in line next to people who jumped every time the 'hero' called out the next name to see him. There was a heavy, oppressive silence in the hallway as they all avoided eye contact. Ashamed to be here, of course, to ask for help from one of them. Henry thought of the money he'd brought along, a reassuring weight in his backpack. It had to be enough. It was all he had left in the world. Eventually, his name was called, and Henry steeled himself as he walked in. None of the others had been helped today - obviously short on cash - but he'd brought enough. Everyone he'd consulted about this man's particular service said so. Russel glanced up briefly when Henry walked in and produced the money. Like most of them, he'd long-since dispensed with the monikers his kind had once used. He leaned forward to take the bundles of cash from Henry, a faint glimmer of life in his dark eyes as he rifled through the notes. "Not enough," he said. Henry fought to keep the panic from his voice as he took out the last of the money and stacked it with the rest. "It has to be, it's my whole life's savings. You haven't even heard the job." "Your wife or kid was killed, I'm guessing, right?" Russel sighed, handing the money back to him. "Or you made some idiotic decision. You'd like a do-over like every other sad shmuck out there, I've heard it all before. And it's not enough. Unlike most of my kind, I charge for a reason. The money isn't enough - tell me why I should help you. Time travel is dangerous stuff. To me, to the world, to everyone. I don't use it for trivial jobs. And your personal tragedy is trivial in the grand scheme of things, buddy." Henry licked his suddenly dry lips as he tried to find the right words. Without the money, he had to convince him. He looked at Russel, a guy clearly bored out of his mind with the stories he heard every day, and almost lost his nerve. But he had to try. "It's not that," Henry said. "I want to go back to the time of heroes. Real heroes, where people stood outside and cheered as we saved the world. Where they wrote stories about us, where kids worshipped us. I - I'm like you. I can travel in time, but only forward. I discovered that when I came here, the first time I experimented. I can't go back to my time, where people like us were loved, where I had friends like me who I could be proud of." That gave Russel pause. He actually ignored the money, and glanced up sharply. "You're like me?" "I am and I'm not," Henry said, sinking into a nearby chair, the exhaustion making him feel slightly nauseous. Russel was the fifth and last time-traveller he could find in the country. His last hope, with so little money left. "I just want my life back, okay?" he said. "I hate it here. I thought I'd like it, but it's the worst life I can imagine. You don't look particularly happy to me, either. Take me back, see if you want to stay too. You can even stay at my place until you make your own way. There, that payment enough?" Russel rifled absentmindedly through the money again, forehead furrowed as he remained silent. Finally, he gave a terse nod. "Fine. I admit I've thought about it before, many of us have," he said. "It'll be more interesting that the people wasting my time here, at least." He told Russel the place and the date. They grasped hands, and Henry felt his insides contract as time slipped away. ------------ They landed in the middle of the crowd that swarmed the square, the bright midday sun beating down from above as people cheered and screamed and swayed around them. "Enough is enough!" a man was howling on a platform. "These so-called 'heroes', these freaks of nature - ask yourselves, what have they ever done for you? What have they really done? They've made us weak, made us inferior, made us doubt our ability to look after our own..." At each word, the crowd screamed louder, the cacophony drowning out most of the man's speech. "I recognise him," Russel said slowly. "I saw a picture somewhere. That nutjob who started it all, who turned us against each other. What was his name again? Harold, or something. Turned everything to shit. I didn't pay much attention in school. Too busy skipping to more interesting times." "It was Henry," his companion smiled. "And I'd like to stop him from making another speech. His vision didn't quite work out like he'd planned. I think he realised that when his wife died five years from now with a superhero standing five feet away, but wouldn't help without payment. Wouldn't help because he wanted revenge." Russel gaped at the thin man next to him, really looked at him for the first time. He was starting to go grey, but his eyes still held some of the animation that shone in the face of the man in front of the crowd. His scraggly beard hid most of his features, but if you looked closely...Russel glanced at the stage, and finally found his voice. "It's you. You came back for this? This speech?" "This speech stirred them up, alright," Henry said, and stepped forward. "But the next one - the one he'll give tomorrow, the things that will happen there, that will change everything. Don't worry, I know how to stop it. I know exactly what to say to him." "You can't meddle with events like this," Russel said weakly, grasping Henry's arm. "It's...too big. I can't let it happen. You never even paid me!" Henry laughed at that. "Go back to your world, then. I can't follow you, I lied about that. But don't you want to stick around and find out if you'll return to a different world, or not? You said to give a reason for buying your services. Let me show you, instead." Russel watched, paralysed but strangely elated, as Henry made his way towards the stage and his past. He had no place to call home here, no money stashed away. But somehow he was still watching - the consequences of events unpaid for, an act of charity that could derail everything. And his heart was beating fast, more alive in this foreign time than he'd ever felt before. He stepped forward, hardly believing the words that leapt from his mouth. "Wait up man, I want to help!" ---------- Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	Seconds before the decaying support beams running through the apartment building finally snapped, Chronotron strolled casually into unit 8B, the last on his checklist. Mere seconds remained before the aging architecture would be reduced to rubble, but that was more than enough time for Chronotron. As one gifted with the ability to manipulate the passage of time, Chronotron rarely felt pressured when he worked – the concept of urgency, after all, had no relevance in a world which only moved when he allowed it to. He checked the apartment methodically, starting with the hall first, then the attached kitchen, the balcony, then the bedrooms. Which was where he found the kid, crying as she tugged on her friends in vain, pulling them towards the door. Shit, he thought, there’s three of them. “Hey, kid, you need to weave your chrono-filaments around your friends, or they are never going to be move. They’ll just be frozen there, forever.” The kid swung to face him, tears streaking down her cheeks, oblivious to the badge which Chronotron was holding out, which marked him as an Enhanced contractor attached to the police force. “Mister, please! We were just talking when suddenly, everything froze! I’ve been trying to move them, but they are not responding!” Chronotron could have explained to the girl that her latent powers had probably been awoken by the mortal danger she was in, and that it was more than likely that they shared an ancestor in common. He could also have demonstrated then how to manipulate a chrono-filament, or even just walked out of there with all three children. But none of those things fell under the insurance cover for the building, so Chronotron did none of that. After all, it wasn’t his fault that the owners didn’t spring for more coverage, or that whatever funds remained only allowed him to save one more person today. “Kid, come on,” Chronotron beckoned, holding out his hand, “time’s money, you know. I came to rescue you, so we’ve got to get a move on.” “And leave Sara and Bianca here? I can’t do that!” “You look like, what, 12 this year?” “What does that even matter in a situation like this?” Chronotron sighed. “You look like you’re old enough to understand the way things are. There’s only enough budget to save one of you, you know how we work. So count yourself lucky I’ve decided to rescue you.” “Can’t you just save them instead? I can get out on my own!” Chronotron scoffed. “As I said, I can only save one. Plus, without knowing how to use your powers, you couldn’t even get this door open. As I said, until you’ve learned how to weave your chrono-filaments, you can’t interact with the world at all. And this time pocket you carved, it’s sweet, for a first-timer, but it’s already cracking. I leave this room, and you’ll only experience a couple of minutes more before you’re wrenched back to the common timestream. So no, you can’t get out of your own.” A bulb seemed to go off in the girl’s head. “You’re an Enhanced policeman, aren’t you? You’re the special forces on retainer for the city?” “Correction, I’m Enhanced, but I am not a policeman. We’re paid per job. It’s very different.” “But that’s my point! I can hire you too, right? I can pay you to save us all!” “You couldn’t afford my fees.” “My parents have money! They will certainly pay you!” Chronotron shook his head resolutely. “Sorry kid, rules are rules. All services rendered only after payment is made. No credit, no exceptions.” His words were cold, but his conscience remained unpricked. After all, these weren’t his rules. The Enhanced Division was the one in charge of drafting policy, and they were the ones who had firmly decided on the upfront payment policy. And if he broke the rules, his license would be taken away, and his powers Stemmed. No one wanted that. “Please, you have to save them. They’re my best friends, and I would do anything just to save them!” the girl cried, as she sank to her knees. “Or how about the things I have in my room! Everything here is mine! Just take it!” Chronotron started to protest again, but the words died in his throat. There was one thing of value in that room. “Anything at all, I can take as payment?” “Yes! Please, anything!” --- Chronotron’s supervisor, Elendra, was waiting at the bottom of the building, clipboard in hand. As the complex finally collapsed inwards on itself, as Chronotron laid the two girls on the sidewalk along with all the other survivors he had rescued, Elendra’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “That’s one over budget. Please don’t tell me you messed up, the paperwork’s going to be a bitch.” “Calm down, Elendra, I got paid for the extra one. It’s not going to cause any accounting problems.” “Paid? By whom? Did you already collect payment?” Chronotron chuckled, then pointed with his chin towards the settling dust of the ruined building. “Payment in kind. The Institute’s still as hungry as ever to discover the origins of our powers, right? Well, there’s an Enhanced girl in there, she’s assigned me full rights to her remains.” --- /r/rarelyfunny	Henry had been waiting for three hours now to be allowed in. Standing in line next to people who jumped every time the 'hero' called out the next name to see him. There was a heavy, oppressive silence in the hallway as they all avoided eye contact. Ashamed to be here, of course, to ask for help from one of them. Henry thought of the money he'd brought along, a reassuring weight in his backpack. It had to be enough. It was all he had left in the world. Eventually, his name was called, and Henry steeled himself as he walked in. None of the others had been helped today - obviously short on cash - but he'd brought enough. Everyone he'd consulted about this man's particular service said so. Russel glanced up briefly when Henry walked in and produced the money. Like most of them, he'd long-since dispensed with the monikers his kind had once used. He leaned forward to take the bundles of cash from Henry, a faint glimmer of life in his dark eyes as he rifled through the notes. "Not enough," he said. Henry fought to keep the panic from his voice as he took out the last of the money and stacked it with the rest. "It has to be, it's my whole life's savings. You haven't even heard the job." "Your wife or kid was killed, I'm guessing, right?" Russel sighed, handing the money back to him. "Or you made some idiotic decision. You'd like a do-over like every other sad shmuck out there, I've heard it all before. And it's not enough. Unlike most of my kind, I charge for a reason. The money isn't enough - tell me why I should help you. Time travel is dangerous stuff. To me, to the world, to everyone. I don't use it for trivial jobs. And your personal tragedy is trivial in the grand scheme of things, buddy." Henry licked his suddenly dry lips as he tried to find the right words. Without the money, he had to convince him. He looked at Russel, a guy clearly bored out of his mind with the stories he heard every day, and almost lost his nerve. But he had to try. "It's not that," Henry said. "I want to go back to the time of heroes. Real heroes, where people stood outside and cheered as we saved the world. Where they wrote stories about us, where kids worshipped us. I - I'm like you. I can travel in time, but only forward. I discovered that when I came here, the first time I experimented. I can't go back to my time, where people like us were loved, where I had friends like me who I could be proud of." That gave Russel pause. He actually ignored the money, and glanced up sharply. "You're like me?" "I am and I'm not," Henry said, sinking into a nearby chair, the exhaustion making him feel slightly nauseous. Russel was the fifth and last time-traveller he could find in the country. His last hope, with so little money left. "I just want my life back, okay?" he said. "I hate it here. I thought I'd like it, but it's the worst life I can imagine. You don't look particularly happy to me, either. Take me back, see if you want to stay too. You can even stay at my place until you make your own way. There, that payment enough?" Russel rifled absentmindedly through the money again, forehead furrowed as he remained silent. Finally, he gave a terse nod. "Fine. I admit I've thought about it before, many of us have," he said. "It'll be more interesting that the people wasting my time here, at least." He told Russel the place and the date. They grasped hands, and Henry felt his insides contract as time slipped away. ------------ They landed in the middle of the crowd that swarmed the square, the bright midday sun beating down from above as people cheered and screamed and swayed around them. "Enough is enough!" a man was howling on a platform. "These so-called 'heroes', these freaks of nature - ask yourselves, what have they ever done for you? What have they really done? They've made us weak, made us inferior, made us doubt our ability to look after our own..." At each word, the crowd screamed louder, the cacophony drowning out most of the man's speech. "I recognise him," Russel said slowly. "I saw a picture somewhere. That nutjob who started it all, who turned us against each other. What was his name again? Harold, or something. Turned everything to shit. I didn't pay much attention in school. Too busy skipping to more interesting times." "It was Henry," his companion smiled. "And I'd like to stop him from making another speech. His vision didn't quite work out like he'd planned. I think he realised that when his wife died five years from now with a superhero standing five feet away, but wouldn't help without payment. Wouldn't help because he wanted revenge." Russel gaped at the thin man next to him, really looked at him for the first time. He was starting to go grey, but his eyes still held some of the animation that shone in the face of the man in front of the crowd. His scraggly beard hid most of his features, but if you looked closely...Russel glanced at the stage, and finally found his voice. "It's you. You came back for this? This speech?" "This speech stirred them up, alright," Henry said, and stepped forward. "But the next one - the one he'll give tomorrow, the things that will happen there, that will change everything. Don't worry, I know how to stop it. I know exactly what to say to him." "You can't meddle with events like this," Russel said weakly, grasping Henry's arm. "It's...too big. I can't let it happen. You never even paid me!" Henry laughed at that. "Go back to your world, then. I can't follow you, I lied about that. But don't you want to stick around and find out if you'll return to a different world, or not? You said to give a reason for buying your services. Let me show you, instead." Russel watched, paralysed but strangely elated, as Henry made his way towards the stage and his past. He had no place to call home here, no money stashed away. But somehow he was still watching - the consequences of events unpaid for, an act of charity that could derail everything. And his heart was beating fast, more alive in this foreign time than he'd ever felt before. He stepped forward, hardly believing the words that leapt from his mouth. "Wait up man, I want to help!" ---------- Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	Dreadnaught was the last of the Old Guard. The early heroes who had fought for the good of the world, for honor and justice and other long-dead ideals. they toppled dictatorships, brought aid to disaster-stricken regions and never accepted a penny. Dreadnaught himself had seen the greats of the age, had only been a young rookie when The Atom and Red Lightning and all the others were around. There had been villains, of course- bastards and madmen who used their powers for their own benefit, but they were always beaten back. The good guys always won in the end. Dreadnaught had long since stopped caring about "good" or "evil". He was standing on a wind-tossed rooftop in Dubai, staring at the bright artificial stars, gleaming skyscrapers and rivers of vehicles, spreading forever into the distance. He idly wondered what had happened to the old greats, Atom and Lightning and Sunbeam. He continued to think back, remembering the first changes.... It began when he and a few allies rescued some fat cat from an attempted assassination, somewhere in South Korea. When word came out that the cat had been smuggling weapons up north, and had betrayed the country, Dreadnaught shrugged. He wasn't a political sort. But Fat Cats are always good at redirecting blame- they called him and his friends mercenaries, not caring who he fought for as long as he had glory and attention. He heard insults and threats as he walked through the streets. He tried his best not to mind. He minded. He had never had much- Dreadnaught grew up in the inner city and came from a poor family. So when people said he, and others like him, was profiting from chaos and war and fear as he struggled to make ends meet and ate third-rate prepackaged meals- his blood boiled. Most heroes were offered work when their identities were revealed- Private armies, government work, criminal organizations. He decided that if people thought he was a thug- then it didn't hurt to do a thug's job. He accepted a job offer, then another, and another. His pay was high and his scruples few. He moved out of the slums and into a high rise apartment. People kept calling him a crook and a monster, but it hurt less now that it was true. Others joined him, fighting wars and steal secrets for the highest bidder. That was how it had happened. The world was a different place now than it was. Supers were identified from birth and signed on with one of the big corporations at the age of 12. There were no more armies anymore, no more citizen soldiers. Just hired guns with enough firepower to level cities. Some Supers still fought the good fight, of course. They lived on the edges of the world, striking out against the "Man" in what little ways they could. But most Supers lived quiet lives, turning down the offers of big corporations, and not making a fuss of their powers for fear of attracting too much attention. Dreadnaught looked down from the glinting lights and turned towards the desert. His contact would be arriving soon, with his pay, and likely another job. He was one of the oldest men in the business, after all. He never failed, he never quit a job until it was done. His skills were highly valued.	Henry had been waiting for three hours now to be allowed in. Standing in line next to people who jumped every time the 'hero' called out the next name to see him. There was a heavy, oppressive silence in the hallway as they all avoided eye contact. Ashamed to be here, of course, to ask for help from one of them. Henry thought of the money he'd brought along, a reassuring weight in his backpack. It had to be enough. It was all he had left in the world. Eventually, his name was called, and Henry steeled himself as he walked in. None of the others had been helped today - obviously short on cash - but he'd brought enough. Everyone he'd consulted about this man's particular service said so. Russel glanced up briefly when Henry walked in and produced the money. Like most of them, he'd long-since dispensed with the monikers his kind had once used. He leaned forward to take the bundles of cash from Henry, a faint glimmer of life in his dark eyes as he rifled through the notes. "Not enough," he said. Henry fought to keep the panic from his voice as he took out the last of the money and stacked it with the rest. "It has to be, it's my whole life's savings. You haven't even heard the job." "Your wife or kid was killed, I'm guessing, right?" Russel sighed, handing the money back to him. "Or you made some idiotic decision. You'd like a do-over like every other sad shmuck out there, I've heard it all before. And it's not enough. Unlike most of my kind, I charge for a reason. The money isn't enough - tell me why I should help you. Time travel is dangerous stuff. To me, to the world, to everyone. I don't use it for trivial jobs. And your personal tragedy is trivial in the grand scheme of things, buddy." Henry licked his suddenly dry lips as he tried to find the right words. Without the money, he had to convince him. He looked at Russel, a guy clearly bored out of his mind with the stories he heard every day, and almost lost his nerve. But he had to try. "It's not that," Henry said. "I want to go back to the time of heroes. Real heroes, where people stood outside and cheered as we saved the world. Where they wrote stories about us, where kids worshipped us. I - I'm like you. I can travel in time, but only forward. I discovered that when I came here, the first time I experimented. I can't go back to my time, where people like us were loved, where I had friends like me who I could be proud of." That gave Russel pause. He actually ignored the money, and glanced up sharply. "You're like me?" "I am and I'm not," Henry said, sinking into a nearby chair, the exhaustion making him feel slightly nauseous. Russel was the fifth and last time-traveller he could find in the country. His last hope, with so little money left. "I just want my life back, okay?" he said. "I hate it here. I thought I'd like it, but it's the worst life I can imagine. You don't look particularly happy to me, either. Take me back, see if you want to stay too. You can even stay at my place until you make your own way. There, that payment enough?" Russel rifled absentmindedly through the money again, forehead furrowed as he remained silent. Finally, he gave a terse nod. "Fine. I admit I've thought about it before, many of us have," he said. "It'll be more interesting that the people wasting my time here, at least." He told Russel the place and the date. They grasped hands, and Henry felt his insides contract as time slipped away. ------------ They landed in the middle of the crowd that swarmed the square, the bright midday sun beating down from above as people cheered and screamed and swayed around them. "Enough is enough!" a man was howling on a platform. "These so-called 'heroes', these freaks of nature - ask yourselves, what have they ever done for you? What have they really done? They've made us weak, made us inferior, made us doubt our ability to look after our own..." At each word, the crowd screamed louder, the cacophony drowning out most of the man's speech. "I recognise him," Russel said slowly. "I saw a picture somewhere. That nutjob who started it all, who turned us against each other. What was his name again? Harold, or something. Turned everything to shit. I didn't pay much attention in school. Too busy skipping to more interesting times." "It was Henry," his companion smiled. "And I'd like to stop him from making another speech. His vision didn't quite work out like he'd planned. I think he realised that when his wife died five years from now with a superhero standing five feet away, but wouldn't help without payment. Wouldn't help because he wanted revenge." Russel gaped at the thin man next to him, really looked at him for the first time. He was starting to go grey, but his eyes still held some of the animation that shone in the face of the man in front of the crowd. His scraggly beard hid most of his features, but if you looked closely...Russel glanced at the stage, and finally found his voice. "It's you. You came back for this? This speech?" "This speech stirred them up, alright," Henry said, and stepped forward. "But the next one - the one he'll give tomorrow, the things that will happen there, that will change everything. Don't worry, I know how to stop it. I know exactly what to say to him." "You can't meddle with events like this," Russel said weakly, grasping Henry's arm. "It's...too big. I can't let it happen. You never even paid me!" Henry laughed at that. "Go back to your world, then. I can't follow you, I lied about that. But don't you want to stick around and find out if you'll return to a different world, or not? You said to give a reason for buying your services. Let me show you, instead." Russel watched, paralysed but strangely elated, as Henry made his way towards the stage and his past. He had no place to call home here, no money stashed away. But somehow he was still watching - the consequences of events unpaid for, an act of charity that could derail everything. And his heart was beating fast, more alive in this foreign time than he'd ever felt before. He stepped forward, hardly believing the words that leapt from his mouth. "Wait up man, I want to help!" ---------- Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	3:30 AM, Atlanta The phone rang. "This had better be worth waking my ass up." "Flux. $500,000. If we lose power--." "I'll do it if you make it six. Where?" The caller accepted, a little too quickly. Damn. Could have got more. The caller gave the address to a malfunctioning power station, and thanked Flux for assisting Westshore specialty. "An insurance agent, huh?" Well, it makes sense. Superheroes were a damn sight cheaper than losing a court case, these days. Flux had been a generous soul. But not anymore. He loved music. When he first discovered his power, all those years ago, he used his power over electricity to give fledgling bands free power, so they could practice anywhere, anytime. They didn't even have to plug their equipment into anything! It made for some great hipster music videos. Back then, he sometimes helped clean up metal debris from car crashes. Other days, he donated electricity to his poorer friends, or gave the homeless shelter free electricity for a few hours, to run the A/C during the hot summer months. That all changed after a fateful day a few years ago. Flux prevented a plane crash by using electromagnetism to lower it safely to the ground. After that, Flux became famous. And with fame, came more calls for help. But they all wanted it for free. Non-stop, day and night. Not always for heroic deeds, either. One kid wanted him to take out the power at his office so he could spend that day with his girlfriend. He grew fed up with the non-stop pleas for help. Fed up as he was, he was too poor to buy food. Even superheroes have to eat, you know. So, Flux started charging for his powers. This sparked outrage at first - Headlines like "Does Flux's greed have no limit?" dominated the news cycle - because people had grown used to the impossible being done for them for free. However, capitalism won the day - other heroes in other cities borrowed flux's idea. They too had been worked to the bone, and for what? To go home to a creaky apartment without enough money to even wash their spandex? These days, heroes primarily did boring but valuable things, such as prevent power outages, stop floods from damaging property, put out fires, that sort of thing. Some chose to do pro-bono work at times, but it was not expected the way that it was in years past. Flux sighed as he drove to the plant. He could easily power the grid from the sidewalk outside his house, but the insurance company would have a fit and cut his pay. Last time he did that, they charged him for damaging the wiring, which cut his $250,000 reward down to a mere $15,000. Looks like another couple hours of maintaining a boring old 60 hz stream...	Henry had been waiting for three hours now to be allowed in. Standing in line next to people who jumped every time the 'hero' called out the next name to see him. There was a heavy, oppressive silence in the hallway as they all avoided eye contact. Ashamed to be here, of course, to ask for help from one of them. Henry thought of the money he'd brought along, a reassuring weight in his backpack. It had to be enough. It was all he had left in the world. Eventually, his name was called, and Henry steeled himself as he walked in. None of the others had been helped today - obviously short on cash - but he'd brought enough. Everyone he'd consulted about this man's particular service said so. Russel glanced up briefly when Henry walked in and produced the money. Like most of them, he'd long-since dispensed with the monikers his kind had once used. He leaned forward to take the bundles of cash from Henry, a faint glimmer of life in his dark eyes as he rifled through the notes. "Not enough," he said. Henry fought to keep the panic from his voice as he took out the last of the money and stacked it with the rest. "It has to be, it's my whole life's savings. You haven't even heard the job." "Your wife or kid was killed, I'm guessing, right?" Russel sighed, handing the money back to him. "Or you made some idiotic decision. You'd like a do-over like every other sad shmuck out there, I've heard it all before. And it's not enough. Unlike most of my kind, I charge for a reason. The money isn't enough - tell me why I should help you. Time travel is dangerous stuff. To me, to the world, to everyone. I don't use it for trivial jobs. And your personal tragedy is trivial in the grand scheme of things, buddy." Henry licked his suddenly dry lips as he tried to find the right words. Without the money, he had to convince him. He looked at Russel, a guy clearly bored out of his mind with the stories he heard every day, and almost lost his nerve. But he had to try. "It's not that," Henry said. "I want to go back to the time of heroes. Real heroes, where people stood outside and cheered as we saved the world. Where they wrote stories about us, where kids worshipped us. I - I'm like you. I can travel in time, but only forward. I discovered that when I came here, the first time I experimented. I can't go back to my time, where people like us were loved, where I had friends like me who I could be proud of." That gave Russel pause. He actually ignored the money, and glanced up sharply. "You're like me?" "I am and I'm not," Henry said, sinking into a nearby chair, the exhaustion making him feel slightly nauseous. Russel was the fifth and last time-traveller he could find in the country. His last hope, with so little money left. "I just want my life back, okay?" he said. "I hate it here. I thought I'd like it, but it's the worst life I can imagine. You don't look particularly happy to me, either. Take me back, see if you want to stay too. You can even stay at my place until you make your own way. There, that payment enough?" Russel rifled absentmindedly through the money again, forehead furrowed as he remained silent. Finally, he gave a terse nod. "Fine. I admit I've thought about it before, many of us have," he said. "It'll be more interesting that the people wasting my time here, at least." He told Russel the place and the date. They grasped hands, and Henry felt his insides contract as time slipped away. ------------ They landed in the middle of the crowd that swarmed the square, the bright midday sun beating down from above as people cheered and screamed and swayed around them. "Enough is enough!" a man was howling on a platform. "These so-called 'heroes', these freaks of nature - ask yourselves, what have they ever done for you? What have they really done? They've made us weak, made us inferior, made us doubt our ability to look after our own..." At each word, the crowd screamed louder, the cacophony drowning out most of the man's speech. "I recognise him," Russel said slowly. "I saw a picture somewhere. That nutjob who started it all, who turned us against each other. What was his name again? Harold, or something. Turned everything to shit. I didn't pay much attention in school. Too busy skipping to more interesting times." "It was Henry," his companion smiled. "And I'd like to stop him from making another speech. His vision didn't quite work out like he'd planned. I think he realised that when his wife died five years from now with a superhero standing five feet away, but wouldn't help without payment. Wouldn't help because he wanted revenge." Russel gaped at the thin man next to him, really looked at him for the first time. He was starting to go grey, but his eyes still held some of the animation that shone in the face of the man in front of the crowd. His scraggly beard hid most of his features, but if you looked closely...Russel glanced at the stage, and finally found his voice. "It's you. You came back for this? This speech?" "This speech stirred them up, alright," Henry said, and stepped forward. "But the next one - the one he'll give tomorrow, the things that will happen there, that will change everything. Don't worry, I know how to stop it. I know exactly what to say to him." "You can't meddle with events like this," Russel said weakly, grasping Henry's arm. "It's...too big. I can't let it happen. You never even paid me!" Henry laughed at that. "Go back to your world, then. I can't follow you, I lied about that. But don't you want to stick around and find out if you'll return to a different world, or not? You said to give a reason for buying your services. Let me show you, instead." Russel watched, paralysed but strangely elated, as Henry made his way towards the stage and his past. He had no place to call home here, no money stashed away. But somehow he was still watching - the consequences of events unpaid for, an act of charity that could derail everything. And his heart was beating fast, more alive in this foreign time than he'd ever felt before. He stepped forward, hardly believing the words that leapt from his mouth. "Wait up man, I want to help!" ---------- Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	The pen slips, drawing a jagged line along the 'Cash' field of the deposit slip. I sigh and look around. Whatever jogged my elbow nudges me in the ribs this time, and I reach up to pull the headphones away from my ear. "You, too, tiny. Hands where we can see 'em, down on the floor with the rest. Nice and easy." The guy is wearing a ski mask, a little under six feet tall, a sandy blond eye brow just visible above one of his blue eyes. Those eyes look fierce, but there's a note in his voice on the edge of panic. Oh, and he's waving a hand gun in my face, reaching up so that it's just under my nose. Poor trigger discipline, I note, suppressing a reflex to break his arm and take the weapon. I take a moment to look around the interior of the bank. Two more masked individuals, the three tellers with their hands stretched out on the counter top, maybe half a dozen other people who were waiting in line. They're prone, now, hands splayed wide on the floor. "C'mon, don't make this hard," says Mr. Blue Eyes, gesturing impatiently with the gun. "Don't try to be a hero, big guy." "No trouble," I agree, easing myself on the floor. "No trouble," I repeat for emphasis. Hero. Was I ever one of those? Doesn't feel like it, these days. From the floor, I watch as two of the other robbers escort a teller, at gunpoint, out of sight, presumably in search of a vault, or something. Do banks still have vaults? I guess they would, for deposit boxes, if nothing else. I gently draw on the Aether and attune my hearing for a moment, since that's not breaking any laws. Out on the street, traffic is continuing as normal. People walking by, cars driving. No sound of approaching sirens. I open my senses a little more and the room suddenly blooms with phantom colors and sensations. They're a little dimmer over in the corner, and I turn my attention there. She's good. Not just a wild talent, but someone who has done a lot of practice. Her touch on the Aether stills it in a wide area around her, bleeding through to the Material and probably blanketing the whole block outside the bank with a sense of calm, even a slight euphoria, deflecting attention away from the bank. I stop channeling and return to the present. Mr. Blue Eyes is prodding me with his boot. "Hand it over, man, I know you got something." With a sigh, I reach slowly into my pocket and take out my battered walkman. "Can I at least keep the tape, man? Leave me that much? Ain't easy to find, these days." "You some kinda hipster, old man?" "Only if 'hipster' is slang for 'dead broke.'" "What's on it, anyway? "AC/DC. Got it when I was in highschool." "Sure man. Now the rest." I put the tape back in my pocket and bring out the roll of bills I was going to deposit. When I hesitate, he lunges, snatching the wad from my hand before quickly backing up to what he believes is out of reach. After a moment, I settle back to the ground. Blue Eyes heads over to the family next to me. The kid's mom cringes as she rifles through her purse. Blue Eyes just takes it from her, tosses it to one of his goons, waves his gun a bit, then snatches her iPhone and jams it into a pocket. He takes the kid's phone, too. Kid looks like he's maybe twelve. He's got that look on his face, like he's imagined how he'd save everyone from a situation just like this, and now it's here and he doesn't like what he just learned about himself. "Ain't worth it, son." He looks at me and I can see the angry tears standing in his eyes. He's angry at the robbers, but mostly at himself. I know. "It's just a phone. Plenty of those. Ain't worth your life or health. Let it go." "If I were a Hero, I'd stop 'em," he mutters. "Then you'd go to prison right beside 'em. Gotta have a contract," I tell him, keeping my voice low. "No contract, you're just a vigilante, and those're criminals, too." He gets quiet. That's different. Most kids his age, they would explode at me, believing their anger. This one stops and thinks. A gunshot sounds from somewhere I can't see and raised voices arguing soon follow. A woman, one of the other tellers, screams and begins crying, and I suddenly feel an intense pull as the robber in the corner, eyes screwed shut in concentration, draws more deeply on the Aether to keep the bank veiled from attention. At the rate the ambient energies are being used up, this is going to end soon, one way or another. A piece of paper, folded into an air plane, drifts to a stop in front of me a moment before the pencil hits me in the face. I look over at the kid, and he motions me to open it. I begin reading. "I, Robin Andrew Greyson, seek to engage the services of the undersigned. At the rate of twenty dollars an hour, for a span of no fewer than two hours and totaling no more than six hours, the undersigned will secure the person, possessions, and any premises surrounding myself from injury, theft, or undue disturbance." I look up at him, an eyebrow raised in disbelief. He makes a get-on-with-it gesture. I pick up the pencil, sign the page, and fold it back into a plane, and loft it back to him. He picks it up and reads it. "Powerage?" "Never mind." Three robbers. No, four, that one with the veil keeps sliding herself out of my perception. Only two of them in this room. Nine hostages. Eight, now? I don't know. Most of the ambient power has been used up. I take a deep breath and concentrate on the pencil. Blue Eyes is closest. "Passing notes? Why don't you share with the cl-" is as far as he gets before six inches of sharpened wood and graphite, imbued with Aether to keep it from breaking, gets rammed up his nose, into his brain, killing him. It comes free with a light tug, and I fling it, overhand, at the woman in the corner. She comes out of her deep focus, looks down, and sees the small blossom of red on her shirt, just above her navel. I reach her just before she can use the panicked breath she just took to scream, closing a hand over her nose and mouth. If I can keep this quiet, I might be able to get the other two before any more hostages ge- I come back to myself, fetched up against the far wall, and there's a ringing in my ears. I throw myself open to the Aether, and the sudden contact with that other realm shocks me fully back to my senses. There's almost nothing left there to draw, but I pull what I can manage quickly, recklessly winding the energies around my frayed nerves to steady my balance and stop the spinning in my head. Then I shut off the connection, surging forward in a running crouch. The robber who hit me with the essence blast is in bad shape. Between the gut wound and the backlash of channeling so much raw power, she's unconscious, probably not getting up again without medical attention. I pull off the tattered remains of my shirt and press it over the widening bloodstain on her belly. "Alright, everyone out, quick and quiet. You," I say, pointing to a middle aged man, "toss me that and then give that guy a hand." One of the other men, looks like some kind of contractor, got caught on the fringe of the blast, seems like he's having trouble sitting up. "When you're out, find a phone and call the cops." Looking around, faces are frozen in disbelief, looking at me in shock. "Go," I sort of whisper-shout, and they get moving. "What the hell was all that noise? Jim, you and Marcia fighting again?" I bean the third man with a paperweight, hard enough to dent the front of his forehead, as he walks out from the one of the spaces behind the counter. A startled, "what the hell," comes from somewhere behind him. I drag the channeler out the front of doors of the bank, then out of sight of any windows. Probably shouldn't have, but I can't keep pressure on her injury and fight the last guy at the same time. Robin finds me. "Thanks." He hands me a twenty dollar bill. "Just... hold on to that piece of paper. I'm not a lawyer, but it might hold up if anyone decides to press charges." "I will," he says, face serious. I tuck the bill into my pocket, then freeze. Slowly, sadly, I bring out the plastic fragments and length of magnetic tape that had once been my favorite album, shattered by the force of an Aetheric essence blast. "Kid, you know anywhere I can get a cassette tape of AC/DC?" "I don't know what either of those things are." I think for a moment. "... Do you know any 'hipsters'?"	Henry had been waiting for three hours now to be allowed in. Standing in line next to people who jumped every time the 'hero' called out the next name to see him. There was a heavy, oppressive silence in the hallway as they all avoided eye contact. Ashamed to be here, of course, to ask for help from one of them. Henry thought of the money he'd brought along, a reassuring weight in his backpack. It had to be enough. It was all he had left in the world. Eventually, his name was called, and Henry steeled himself as he walked in. None of the others had been helped today - obviously short on cash - but he'd brought enough. Everyone he'd consulted about this man's particular service said so. Russel glanced up briefly when Henry walked in and produced the money. Like most of them, he'd long-since dispensed with the monikers his kind had once used. He leaned forward to take the bundles of cash from Henry, a faint glimmer of life in his dark eyes as he rifled through the notes. "Not enough," he said. Henry fought to keep the panic from his voice as he took out the last of the money and stacked it with the rest. "It has to be, it's my whole life's savings. You haven't even heard the job." "Your wife or kid was killed, I'm guessing, right?" Russel sighed, handing the money back to him. "Or you made some idiotic decision. You'd like a do-over like every other sad shmuck out there, I've heard it all before. And it's not enough. Unlike most of my kind, I charge for a reason. The money isn't enough - tell me why I should help you. Time travel is dangerous stuff. To me, to the world, to everyone. I don't use it for trivial jobs. And your personal tragedy is trivial in the grand scheme of things, buddy." Henry licked his suddenly dry lips as he tried to find the right words. Without the money, he had to convince him. He looked at Russel, a guy clearly bored out of his mind with the stories he heard every day, and almost lost his nerve. But he had to try. "It's not that," Henry said. "I want to go back to the time of heroes. Real heroes, where people stood outside and cheered as we saved the world. Where they wrote stories about us, where kids worshipped us. I - I'm like you. I can travel in time, but only forward. I discovered that when I came here, the first time I experimented. I can't go back to my time, where people like us were loved, where I had friends like me who I could be proud of." That gave Russel pause. He actually ignored the money, and glanced up sharply. "You're like me?" "I am and I'm not," Henry said, sinking into a nearby chair, the exhaustion making him feel slightly nauseous. Russel was the fifth and last time-traveller he could find in the country. His last hope, with so little money left. "I just want my life back, okay?" he said. "I hate it here. I thought I'd like it, but it's the worst life I can imagine. You don't look particularly happy to me, either. Take me back, see if you want to stay too. You can even stay at my place until you make your own way. There, that payment enough?" Russel rifled absentmindedly through the money again, forehead furrowed as he remained silent. Finally, he gave a terse nod. "Fine. I admit I've thought about it before, many of us have," he said. "It'll be more interesting that the people wasting my time here, at least." He told Russel the place and the date. They grasped hands, and Henry felt his insides contract as time slipped away. ------------ They landed in the middle of the crowd that swarmed the square, the bright midday sun beating down from above as people cheered and screamed and swayed around them. "Enough is enough!" a man was howling on a platform. "These so-called 'heroes', these freaks of nature - ask yourselves, what have they ever done for you? What have they really done? They've made us weak, made us inferior, made us doubt our ability to look after our own..." At each word, the crowd screamed louder, the cacophony drowning out most of the man's speech. "I recognise him," Russel said slowly. "I saw a picture somewhere. That nutjob who started it all, who turned us against each other. What was his name again? Harold, or something. Turned everything to shit. I didn't pay much attention in school. Too busy skipping to more interesting times." "It was Henry," his companion smiled. "And I'd like to stop him from making another speech. His vision didn't quite work out like he'd planned. I think he realised that when his wife died five years from now with a superhero standing five feet away, but wouldn't help without payment. Wouldn't help because he wanted revenge." Russel gaped at the thin man next to him, really looked at him for the first time. He was starting to go grey, but his eyes still held some of the animation that shone in the face of the man in front of the crowd. His scraggly beard hid most of his features, but if you looked closely...Russel glanced at the stage, and finally found his voice. "It's you. You came back for this? This speech?" "This speech stirred them up, alright," Henry said, and stepped forward. "But the next one - the one he'll give tomorrow, the things that will happen there, that will change everything. Don't worry, I know how to stop it. I know exactly what to say to him." "You can't meddle with events like this," Russel said weakly, grasping Henry's arm. "It's...too big. I can't let it happen. You never even paid me!" Henry laughed at that. "Go back to your world, then. I can't follow you, I lied about that. But don't you want to stick around and find out if you'll return to a different world, or not? You said to give a reason for buying your services. Let me show you, instead." Russel watched, paralysed but strangely elated, as Henry made his way towards the stage and his past. He had no place to call home here, no money stashed away. But somehow he was still watching - the consequences of events unpaid for, an act of charity that could derail everything. And his heart was beating fast, more alive in this foreign time than he'd ever felt before. He stepped forward, hardly believing the words that leapt from his mouth. "Wait up man, I want to help!" ---------- Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	Superhero Matthew Merrick, the Steel Sentinel, Defender of the Weak and Champion of Justice, felt powerless. “Frank, how does our statement look?” “Let's see: The Steel Sentinel, peerless fighter in and out of his masterwork power-armor, will scramble for you at a moment's notice. Please inquire about monthly plans.” “You know which statement I mean, Frank. No sugarcoating.” “Well, Matt, it's not pretty. People are always slow about donating when you act first and ask later. We can maintain operations for two, maybe three more months on our current funds, and I've been looking for new sponsors, but it hasn't been easy.” Frank wasn't wrong. The energy drink endorsement bombed, the power tool promotion petered out, and the auto insurance deal looked like it could drop out at any moment. There just wasn't a lot of money in being a third-rate hero. That's what hero work came down to these days. Sure, Bruce Wayne was rich enough to work pro bono, but in the real world, millionaires didn't become heroes and heroes didn't become millionaires. And with the regulations and liabilities that came with public hero-work, most people, Matt included, had to find private funding to sustain their operations. The Hero's Union could provide hero's insurance and manage dispatching, but their dues weren't cheap, and neither was power-armor maintenance. Eight years of heroing, and all Matt had to show for it was his license, his suit, and his apartment-turned-workshop that he shared with his college classmate and partner-in-crimefighting Frank Liu. Frank Liu. Eight years of coworking, eleven years of friendship, and Matt felt he still didn't know him completely. Back in university, Frank was the one setting the curve, while Matt was happy to find the middle. Sometimes Matt wondered why he wore the suit while Frank manned the comms, but he never seemed excited about the hero business, even back in college, and yet... And yet, after all these years, Frank was still here. Matt broke the silence. “You know I don't care about the money. I'll make sacrifices. We'll manage. We always have.” Frank's face was flat, unreadable. “In my culture, we're generous with our family and friends, our ancestors and gods, because they're the people we hope will be generous with us. We don't do charity work for strangers.” “Do you really believe that?” A heavy sigh. “No. But it helps me sleep at night.” The Hero Call rang out, the dispatcher's voice ever cool and calm managing the business of life and death. Fire. Poor neighborhood. Situation worsening, a real block-burner at the sound of it. Not a lot of moneyed interest. No heroes scrambled to stop it. “Frank, we have to move. People are dying.” “We're deep in the red, Matt. We can't afford this.” “Frank, Goddammit!” Matt choked out, his eyes wet with tears. “They're going to burn out there!” Frank nodded gravely and donned his headset. “Steel Sentinel, prepare for sortie. Ground control, on standby. Deploy when ready.” Matt was grateful for his helmet; nobody else would see the tears streaming down his face. “Steel Sentinel, ready to deploy,” he managed, hoping his voice hadn't cracked. A deep breath. “And away!” Today, at least, he was a hero.	Colonel Scope, once part of an elite force tasked with saving innocent and protecting those he loves now sits in his garage with a beer in his hand, lying on the couch. A place which was once filled with chivalrous and brave saviors, planning their next move, now sat in disrepair. The base of operations for the 64 Elite was now a shell of its former self. Scope missed the days when he was a more traditional hero, but they are gone, just like his squad. All of them wiped off, killed by everything from crooks to genetic disorders. Scope is not the genetically enhanced soldier he used to be. He may be as strong, but depression takes its toll and the alcoholism doesn't help. The money from his last contract he cashed in was sitting on the table. Corporate murders are a common task for Scope. He missed working for the greater good of mankind, working for the goodness in people's hearts. He missed nothing more from the 'Glory Days' than his squad. His 7 friends were his life. Now what did he have left? His tablet buzzed and he snapped out of his daydream. Thinking about his old life was over now. Returning to reality, Scope sat up and opened his PDA. He had received a new target and it was time to get to work. Edit: Part 2: Commissioner Oswald? A very good friend of Scope's, he would be devastated to kill him. They had worked together for years, decades even, In the glory days. No big deal, he'll just decline it. But then he saw the reward. $10 000 000. This was an insane price. He was working on $100 max most of the time, doing a contract most days. Ten million was enough to get him out of the country, clear his records, and get a new clean slate while living a fantastically comfortable life. Tenerife. Fiji. Hawaii. He wanted somewhere tropical or Mediterranean. He could go on plenty of holidays. He always wanted to visit the beautiful scenery of Ireland. Snow sports on the Alps sounded fun too. But again, snapping back to reality, why does someone want to kill the Commissioner that bad? Would he have the guts to kill an old friend for money? End a life and devastate a family so he could live in paradise for the rest of his life. The desperation was too strong. His initial response was a straight up No, but Scope was now considering it. Nobody would have to know it was him. That's how it works, he wouldn't make a living as a mercenary if he couldn't go anywhere without being arrested, shamed, or have people running from him. He could kill, get the money, and be on the first plane out of here on the same day. Scope decided to sleep on it. He didn't even have another beer, and went straight to bed. In the morning, he had made his decision. He would have to live with killing his old friend Oswald but it's not the first time. It was already his fault two of the squad were dead. Commissioner Oswald would be driving home from work in 8 hours. That gave him 8 hours to prep a bomb and plant it on his route home, preferably away from houses. He was a mercenary, not a psychopath, and the least amount of traumatized children was best. It was around ten to six. Oswald would be here any minute now. Then, he hears a car coming along the road. Diving into a nearby bush, he waited to pull the trigger of the detonator. 3. 2. 1. Bang. The car spun off the road but there was no change to his balance. Another car, identical to the one he just blew to hell pulls up behind the site. He gets out of the car, armed. Scope looked at the other driver, only noticing him now. Realising who it was left him very confused. How could Commissioner Oswald be standing holding a gun to him when he just blew him up. 'I blew the wrong damn car!' he thought. There was another bang. Scope now lay on the ground, bleeding out. Oswald too had only realized who he had killed. His good friend, Colonel Scope from the old task force he used to work with was lying there, motionless. Scope attempted to end his life for a reason he will never know. And so, the final member of the elite force lay on the grass, already forgotten about. They left a huge mark on the world, but no legacy
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	"Listen, I know your ad says your services start at $150, but I'm hoping you can make an exception, cut me a deal?" Her breathing is shallow and her voice quivers. She swallowed at the end of her sentence. She's panicked and desperate, and unlike most of the time wasters, she's not lying about the money part. "I'll listen, but this is a business, not a charity." "I know. I do. But, you see, I am a charity. I run a youth shelter on 6 mile. I have a couple of boys that come in every Thursday and Friday for the pantry. Only none of 'em have showed up the last few weeks." "Homeless youths? I wouldn't wind your clock by their patterns if I were you." "You don't have to tell me that, but these boys were different. They've been coming for nearly two years. And they aren't the only regulars that have gone missing. But the cops won't listen and I just know: someone is stealing kids." I glance at my desktop planner. Blank space as far as the eyes can see. "You got a non-profit number?" "Yes," her voice pitched up, hopeful. "Well, I'm gonna need a receipt." "You'll do it?" "I'll be feet down in Detroit in oh, about 45 minutes." I hung up and eyed my flying cape. At least my accountant could deduct it this time.	Colonel Scope, once part of an elite force tasked with saving innocent and protecting those he loves now sits in his garage with a beer in his hand, lying on the couch. A place which was once filled with chivalrous and brave saviors, planning their next move, now sat in disrepair. The base of operations for the 64 Elite was now a shell of its former self. Scope missed the days when he was a more traditional hero, but they are gone, just like his squad. All of them wiped off, killed by everything from crooks to genetic disorders. Scope is not the genetically enhanced soldier he used to be. He may be as strong, but depression takes its toll and the alcoholism doesn't help. The money from his last contract he cashed in was sitting on the table. Corporate murders are a common task for Scope. He missed working for the greater good of mankind, working for the goodness in people's hearts. He missed nothing more from the 'Glory Days' than his squad. His 7 friends were his life. Now what did he have left? His tablet buzzed and he snapped out of his daydream. Thinking about his old life was over now. Returning to reality, Scope sat up and opened his PDA. He had received a new target and it was time to get to work. Edit: Part 2: Commissioner Oswald? A very good friend of Scope's, he would be devastated to kill him. They had worked together for years, decades even, In the glory days. No big deal, he'll just decline it. But then he saw the reward. $10 000 000. This was an insane price. He was working on $100 max most of the time, doing a contract most days. Ten million was enough to get him out of the country, clear his records, and get a new clean slate while living a fantastically comfortable life. Tenerife. Fiji. Hawaii. He wanted somewhere tropical or Mediterranean. He could go on plenty of holidays. He always wanted to visit the beautiful scenery of Ireland. Snow sports on the Alps sounded fun too. But again, snapping back to reality, why does someone want to kill the Commissioner that bad? Would he have the guts to kill an old friend for money? End a life and devastate a family so he could live in paradise for the rest of his life. The desperation was too strong. His initial response was a straight up No, but Scope was now considering it. Nobody would have to know it was him. That's how it works, he wouldn't make a living as a mercenary if he couldn't go anywhere without being arrested, shamed, or have people running from him. He could kill, get the money, and be on the first plane out of here on the same day. Scope decided to sleep on it. He didn't even have another beer, and went straight to bed. In the morning, he had made his decision. He would have to live with killing his old friend Oswald but it's not the first time. It was already his fault two of the squad were dead. Commissioner Oswald would be driving home from work in 8 hours. That gave him 8 hours to prep a bomb and plant it on his route home, preferably away from houses. He was a mercenary, not a psychopath, and the least amount of traumatized children was best. It was around ten to six. Oswald would be here any minute now. Then, he hears a car coming along the road. Diving into a nearby bush, he waited to pull the trigger of the detonator. 3. 2. 1. Bang. The car spun off the road but there was no change to his balance. Another car, identical to the one he just blew to hell pulls up behind the site. He gets out of the car, armed. Scope looked at the other driver, only noticing him now. Realising who it was left him very confused. How could Commissioner Oswald be standing holding a gun to him when he just blew him up. 'I blew the wrong damn car!' he thought. There was another bang. Scope now lay on the ground, bleeding out. Oswald too had only realized who he had killed. His good friend, Colonel Scope from the old task force he used to work with was lying there, motionless. Scope attempted to end his life for a reason he will never know. And so, the final member of the elite force lay on the grass, already forgotten about. They left a huge mark on the world, but no legacy
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	3:30 AM, Atlanta The phone rang. "This had better be worth waking my ass up." "Flux. $500,000. If we lose power--." "I'll do it if you make it six. Where?" The caller accepted, a little too quickly. Damn. Could have got more. The caller gave the address to a malfunctioning power station, and thanked Flux for assisting Westshore specialty. "An insurance agent, huh?" Well, it makes sense. Superheroes were a damn sight cheaper than losing a court case, these days. Flux had been a generous soul. But not anymore. He loved music. When he first discovered his power, all those years ago, he used his power over electricity to give fledgling bands free power, so they could practice anywhere, anytime. They didn't even have to plug their equipment into anything! It made for some great hipster music videos. Back then, he sometimes helped clean up metal debris from car crashes. Other days, he donated electricity to his poorer friends, or gave the homeless shelter free electricity for a few hours, to run the A/C during the hot summer months. That all changed after a fateful day a few years ago. Flux prevented a plane crash by using electromagnetism to lower it safely to the ground. After that, Flux became famous. And with fame, came more calls for help. But they all wanted it for free. Non-stop, day and night. Not always for heroic deeds, either. One kid wanted him to take out the power at his office so he could spend that day with his girlfriend. He grew fed up with the non-stop pleas for help. Fed up as he was, he was too poor to buy food. Even superheroes have to eat, you know. So, Flux started charging for his powers. This sparked outrage at first - Headlines like "Does Flux's greed have no limit?" dominated the news cycle - because people had grown used to the impossible being done for them for free. However, capitalism won the day - other heroes in other cities borrowed flux's idea. They too had been worked to the bone, and for what? To go home to a creaky apartment without enough money to even wash their spandex? These days, heroes primarily did boring but valuable things, such as prevent power outages, stop floods from damaging property, put out fires, that sort of thing. Some chose to do pro-bono work at times, but it was not expected the way that it was in years past. Flux sighed as he drove to the plant. He could easily power the grid from the sidewalk outside his house, but the insurance company would have a fit and cut his pay. Last time he did that, they charged him for damaging the wiring, which cut his $250,000 reward down to a mere $15,000. Looks like another couple hours of maintaining a boring old 60 hz stream...	Colonel Scope, once part of an elite force tasked with saving innocent and protecting those he loves now sits in his garage with a beer in his hand, lying on the couch. A place which was once filled with chivalrous and brave saviors, planning their next move, now sat in disrepair. The base of operations for the 64 Elite was now a shell of its former self. Scope missed the days when he was a more traditional hero, but they are gone, just like his squad. All of them wiped off, killed by everything from crooks to genetic disorders. Scope is not the genetically enhanced soldier he used to be. He may be as strong, but depression takes its toll and the alcoholism doesn't help. The money from his last contract he cashed in was sitting on the table. Corporate murders are a common task for Scope. He missed working for the greater good of mankind, working for the goodness in people's hearts. He missed nothing more from the 'Glory Days' than his squad. His 7 friends were his life. Now what did he have left? His tablet buzzed and he snapped out of his daydream. Thinking about his old life was over now. Returning to reality, Scope sat up and opened his PDA. He had received a new target and it was time to get to work. Edit: Part 2: Commissioner Oswald? A very good friend of Scope's, he would be devastated to kill him. They had worked together for years, decades even, In the glory days. No big deal, he'll just decline it. But then he saw the reward. $10 000 000. This was an insane price. He was working on $100 max most of the time, doing a contract most days. Ten million was enough to get him out of the country, clear his records, and get a new clean slate while living a fantastically comfortable life. Tenerife. Fiji. Hawaii. He wanted somewhere tropical or Mediterranean. He could go on plenty of holidays. He always wanted to visit the beautiful scenery of Ireland. Snow sports on the Alps sounded fun too. But again, snapping back to reality, why does someone want to kill the Commissioner that bad? Would he have the guts to kill an old friend for money? End a life and devastate a family so he could live in paradise for the rest of his life. The desperation was too strong. His initial response was a straight up No, but Scope was now considering it. Nobody would have to know it was him. That's how it works, he wouldn't make a living as a mercenary if he couldn't go anywhere without being arrested, shamed, or have people running from him. He could kill, get the money, and be on the first plane out of here on the same day. Scope decided to sleep on it. He didn't even have another beer, and went straight to bed. In the morning, he had made his decision. He would have to live with killing his old friend Oswald but it's not the first time. It was already his fault two of the squad were dead. Commissioner Oswald would be driving home from work in 8 hours. That gave him 8 hours to prep a bomb and plant it on his route home, preferably away from houses. He was a mercenary, not a psychopath, and the least amount of traumatized children was best. It was around ten to six. Oswald would be here any minute now. Then, he hears a car coming along the road. Diving into a nearby bush, he waited to pull the trigger of the detonator. 3. 2. 1. Bang. The car spun off the road but there was no change to his balance. Another car, identical to the one he just blew to hell pulls up behind the site. He gets out of the car, armed. Scope looked at the other driver, only noticing him now. Realising who it was left him very confused. How could Commissioner Oswald be standing holding a gun to him when he just blew him up. 'I blew the wrong damn car!' he thought. There was another bang. Scope now lay on the ground, bleeding out. Oswald too had only realized who he had killed. His good friend, Colonel Scope from the old task force he used to work with was lying there, motionless. Scope attempted to end his life for a reason he will never know. And so, the final member of the elite force lay on the grass, already forgotten about. They left a huge mark on the world, but no legacy
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	Superhero Matthew Merrick, the Steel Sentinel, Defender of the Weak and Champion of Justice, felt powerless. “Frank, how does our statement look?” “Let's see: The Steel Sentinel, peerless fighter in and out of his masterwork power-armor, will scramble for you at a moment's notice. Please inquire about monthly plans.” “You know which statement I mean, Frank. No sugarcoating.” “Well, Matt, it's not pretty. People are always slow about donating when you act first and ask later. We can maintain operations for two, maybe three more months on our current funds, and I've been looking for new sponsors, but it hasn't been easy.” Frank wasn't wrong. The energy drink endorsement bombed, the power tool promotion petered out, and the auto insurance deal looked like it could drop out at any moment. There just wasn't a lot of money in being a third-rate hero. That's what hero work came down to these days. Sure, Bruce Wayne was rich enough to work pro bono, but in the real world, millionaires didn't become heroes and heroes didn't become millionaires. And with the regulations and liabilities that came with public hero-work, most people, Matt included, had to find private funding to sustain their operations. The Hero's Union could provide hero's insurance and manage dispatching, but their dues weren't cheap, and neither was power-armor maintenance. Eight years of heroing, and all Matt had to show for it was his license, his suit, and his apartment-turned-workshop that he shared with his college classmate and partner-in-crimefighting Frank Liu. Frank Liu. Eight years of coworking, eleven years of friendship, and Matt felt he still didn't know him completely. Back in university, Frank was the one setting the curve, while Matt was happy to find the middle. Sometimes Matt wondered why he wore the suit while Frank manned the comms, but he never seemed excited about the hero business, even back in college, and yet... And yet, after all these years, Frank was still here. Matt broke the silence. “You know I don't care about the money. I'll make sacrifices. We'll manage. We always have.” Frank's face was flat, unreadable. “In my culture, we're generous with our family and friends, our ancestors and gods, because they're the people we hope will be generous with us. We don't do charity work for strangers.” “Do you really believe that?” A heavy sigh. “No. But it helps me sleep at night.” The Hero Call rang out, the dispatcher's voice ever cool and calm managing the business of life and death. Fire. Poor neighborhood. Situation worsening, a real block-burner at the sound of it. Not a lot of moneyed interest. No heroes scrambled to stop it. “Frank, we have to move. People are dying.” “We're deep in the red, Matt. We can't afford this.” “Frank, Goddammit!” Matt choked out, his eyes wet with tears. “They're going to burn out there!” Frank nodded gravely and donned his headset. “Steel Sentinel, prepare for sortie. Ground control, on standby. Deploy when ready.” Matt was grateful for his helmet; nobody else would see the tears streaming down his face. “Steel Sentinel, ready to deploy,” he managed, hoping his voice hadn't cracked. A deep breath. “And away!” Today, at least, he was a hero.	"So what gives, Chief?" The Chief's eyes followed Henry as he paced around the office. It was a sight by itself to see a grown man in tights and a cape, but now he was puffing, quite naturally, on a thick cigar. "You go to Sam before me?" The Chief sighed. "She's got X-ray vision. We needed X-ray vision at the time, Henry. Nothin' personal. That's just how the market goes." Henry jolted forward at inhuman speed and now leaned over the front of the Chief's desk. "Bullshit Chief. She's overstepping her boundaries. I got a nice and pretty contract sittin' at home that says so." "Read the thing pal. It's null in the case of a federal agency gettin' involved." "So that's why I've been seein' all these FBI faces around lately. You're playin' me. You're tryin' to run me out of town!" "No. We just want the sources available. You're tryin' to corner the market, Henry, and you can't monopolize justice." Henry stared. He tapped his cigar on the Chief's ashtray and flashed a smile. "That's a sweet sentiment Chief, but I can, and I will." He crumbled his whole cigar into a fine powder over the tray and turned to go. "Then you just became the enemy." Henry crossed the room. "No, Chief. No enemies. Just business." He flashed another smile and closed the door.
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	"Listen, I know your ad says your services start at $150, but I'm hoping you can make an exception, cut me a deal?" Her breathing is shallow and her voice quivers. She swallowed at the end of her sentence. She's panicked and desperate, and unlike most of the time wasters, she's not lying about the money part. "I'll listen, but this is a business, not a charity." "I know. I do. But, you see, I am a charity. I run a youth shelter on 6 mile. I have a couple of boys that come in every Thursday and Friday for the pantry. Only none of 'em have showed up the last few weeks." "Homeless youths? I wouldn't wind your clock by their patterns if I were you." "You don't have to tell me that, but these boys were different. They've been coming for nearly two years. And they aren't the only regulars that have gone missing. But the cops won't listen and I just know: someone is stealing kids." I glance at my desktop planner. Blank space as far as the eyes can see. "You got a non-profit number?" "Yes," her voice pitched up, hopeful. "Well, I'm gonna need a receipt." "You'll do it?" "I'll be feet down in Detroit in oh, about 45 minutes." I hung up and eyed my flying cape. At least my accountant could deduct it this time.	"So what gives, Chief?" The Chief's eyes followed Henry as he paced around the office. It was a sight by itself to see a grown man in tights and a cape, but now he was puffing, quite naturally, on a thick cigar. "You go to Sam before me?" The Chief sighed. "She's got X-ray vision. We needed X-ray vision at the time, Henry. Nothin' personal. That's just how the market goes." Henry jolted forward at inhuman speed and now leaned over the front of the Chief's desk. "Bullshit Chief. She's overstepping her boundaries. I got a nice and pretty contract sittin' at home that says so." "Read the thing pal. It's null in the case of a federal agency gettin' involved." "So that's why I've been seein' all these FBI faces around lately. You're playin' me. You're tryin' to run me out of town!" "No. We just want the sources available. You're tryin' to corner the market, Henry, and you can't monopolize justice." Henry stared. He tapped his cigar on the Chief's ashtray and flashed a smile. "That's a sweet sentiment Chief, but I can, and I will." He crumbled his whole cigar into a fine powder over the tray and turned to go. "Then you just became the enemy." Henry crossed the room. "No, Chief. No enemies. Just business." He flashed another smile and closed the door.
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	Dreadnaught was the last of the Old Guard. The early heroes who had fought for the good of the world, for honor and justice and other long-dead ideals. they toppled dictatorships, brought aid to disaster-stricken regions and never accepted a penny. Dreadnaught himself had seen the greats of the age, had only been a young rookie when The Atom and Red Lightning and all the others were around. There had been villains, of course- bastards and madmen who used their powers for their own benefit, but they were always beaten back. The good guys always won in the end. Dreadnaught had long since stopped caring about "good" or "evil". He was standing on a wind-tossed rooftop in Dubai, staring at the bright artificial stars, gleaming skyscrapers and rivers of vehicles, spreading forever into the distance. He idly wondered what had happened to the old greats, Atom and Lightning and Sunbeam. He continued to think back, remembering the first changes.... It began when he and a few allies rescued some fat cat from an attempted assassination, somewhere in South Korea. When word came out that the cat had been smuggling weapons up north, and had betrayed the country, Dreadnaught shrugged. He wasn't a political sort. But Fat Cats are always good at redirecting blame- they called him and his friends mercenaries, not caring who he fought for as long as he had glory and attention. He heard insults and threats as he walked through the streets. He tried his best not to mind. He minded. He had never had much- Dreadnaught grew up in the inner city and came from a poor family. So when people said he, and others like him, was profiting from chaos and war and fear as he struggled to make ends meet and ate third-rate prepackaged meals- his blood boiled. Most heroes were offered work when their identities were revealed- Private armies, government work, criminal organizations. He decided that if people thought he was a thug- then it didn't hurt to do a thug's job. He accepted a job offer, then another, and another. His pay was high and his scruples few. He moved out of the slums and into a high rise apartment. People kept calling him a crook and a monster, but it hurt less now that it was true. Others joined him, fighting wars and steal secrets for the highest bidder. That was how it had happened. The world was a different place now than it was. Supers were identified from birth and signed on with one of the big corporations at the age of 12. There were no more armies anymore, no more citizen soldiers. Just hired guns with enough firepower to level cities. Some Supers still fought the good fight, of course. They lived on the edges of the world, striking out against the "Man" in what little ways they could. But most Supers lived quiet lives, turning down the offers of big corporations, and not making a fuss of their powers for fear of attracting too much attention. Dreadnaught looked down from the glinting lights and turned towards the desert. His contact would be arriving soon, with his pay, and likely another job. He was one of the oldest men in the business, after all. He never failed, he never quit a job until it was done. His skills were highly valued.	"So what gives, Chief?" The Chief's eyes followed Henry as he paced around the office. It was a sight by itself to see a grown man in tights and a cape, but now he was puffing, quite naturally, on a thick cigar. "You go to Sam before me?" The Chief sighed. "She's got X-ray vision. We needed X-ray vision at the time, Henry. Nothin' personal. That's just how the market goes." Henry jolted forward at inhuman speed and now leaned over the front of the Chief's desk. "Bullshit Chief. She's overstepping her boundaries. I got a nice and pretty contract sittin' at home that says so." "Read the thing pal. It's null in the case of a federal agency gettin' involved." "So that's why I've been seein' all these FBI faces around lately. You're playin' me. You're tryin' to run me out of town!" "No. We just want the sources available. You're tryin' to corner the market, Henry, and you can't monopolize justice." Henry stared. He tapped his cigar on the Chief's ashtray and flashed a smile. "That's a sweet sentiment Chief, but I can, and I will." He crumbled his whole cigar into a fine powder over the tray and turned to go. "Then you just became the enemy." Henry crossed the room. "No, Chief. No enemies. Just business." He flashed another smile and closed the door.
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	3:30 AM, Atlanta The phone rang. "This had better be worth waking my ass up." "Flux. $500,000. If we lose power--." "I'll do it if you make it six. Where?" The caller accepted, a little too quickly. Damn. Could have got more. The caller gave the address to a malfunctioning power station, and thanked Flux for assisting Westshore specialty. "An insurance agent, huh?" Well, it makes sense. Superheroes were a damn sight cheaper than losing a court case, these days. Flux had been a generous soul. But not anymore. He loved music. When he first discovered his power, all those years ago, he used his power over electricity to give fledgling bands free power, so they could practice anywhere, anytime. They didn't even have to plug their equipment into anything! It made for some great hipster music videos. Back then, he sometimes helped clean up metal debris from car crashes. Other days, he donated electricity to his poorer friends, or gave the homeless shelter free electricity for a few hours, to run the A/C during the hot summer months. That all changed after a fateful day a few years ago. Flux prevented a plane crash by using electromagnetism to lower it safely to the ground. After that, Flux became famous. And with fame, came more calls for help. But they all wanted it for free. Non-stop, day and night. Not always for heroic deeds, either. One kid wanted him to take out the power at his office so he could spend that day with his girlfriend. He grew fed up with the non-stop pleas for help. Fed up as he was, he was too poor to buy food. Even superheroes have to eat, you know. So, Flux started charging for his powers. This sparked outrage at first - Headlines like "Does Flux's greed have no limit?" dominated the news cycle - because people had grown used to the impossible being done for them for free. However, capitalism won the day - other heroes in other cities borrowed flux's idea. They too had been worked to the bone, and for what? To go home to a creaky apartment without enough money to even wash their spandex? These days, heroes primarily did boring but valuable things, such as prevent power outages, stop floods from damaging property, put out fires, that sort of thing. Some chose to do pro-bono work at times, but it was not expected the way that it was in years past. Flux sighed as he drove to the plant. He could easily power the grid from the sidewalk outside his house, but the insurance company would have a fit and cut his pay. Last time he did that, they charged him for damaging the wiring, which cut his $250,000 reward down to a mere $15,000. Looks like another couple hours of maintaining a boring old 60 hz stream...	"So what gives, Chief?" The Chief's eyes followed Henry as he paced around the office. It was a sight by itself to see a grown man in tights and a cape, but now he was puffing, quite naturally, on a thick cigar. "You go to Sam before me?" The Chief sighed. "She's got X-ray vision. We needed X-ray vision at the time, Henry. Nothin' personal. That's just how the market goes." Henry jolted forward at inhuman speed and now leaned over the front of the Chief's desk. "Bullshit Chief. She's overstepping her boundaries. I got a nice and pretty contract sittin' at home that says so." "Read the thing pal. It's null in the case of a federal agency gettin' involved." "So that's why I've been seein' all these FBI faces around lately. You're playin' me. You're tryin' to run me out of town!" "No. We just want the sources available. You're tryin' to corner the market, Henry, and you can't monopolize justice." Henry stared. He tapped his cigar on the Chief's ashtray and flashed a smile. "That's a sweet sentiment Chief, but I can, and I will." He crumbled his whole cigar into a fine powder over the tray and turned to go. "Then you just became the enemy." Henry crossed the room. "No, Chief. No enemies. Just business." He flashed another smile and closed the door.
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	The pen slips, drawing a jagged line along the 'Cash' field of the deposit slip. I sigh and look around. Whatever jogged my elbow nudges me in the ribs this time, and I reach up to pull the headphones away from my ear. "You, too, tiny. Hands where we can see 'em, down on the floor with the rest. Nice and easy." The guy is wearing a ski mask, a little under six feet tall, a sandy blond eye brow just visible above one of his blue eyes. Those eyes look fierce, but there's a note in his voice on the edge of panic. Oh, and he's waving a hand gun in my face, reaching up so that it's just under my nose. Poor trigger discipline, I note, suppressing a reflex to break his arm and take the weapon. I take a moment to look around the interior of the bank. Two more masked individuals, the three tellers with their hands stretched out on the counter top, maybe half a dozen other people who were waiting in line. They're prone, now, hands splayed wide on the floor. "C'mon, don't make this hard," says Mr. Blue Eyes, gesturing impatiently with the gun. "Don't try to be a hero, big guy." "No trouble," I agree, easing myself on the floor. "No trouble," I repeat for emphasis. Hero. Was I ever one of those? Doesn't feel like it, these days. From the floor, I watch as two of the other robbers escort a teller, at gunpoint, out of sight, presumably in search of a vault, or something. Do banks still have vaults? I guess they would, for deposit boxes, if nothing else. I gently draw on the Aether and attune my hearing for a moment, since that's not breaking any laws. Out on the street, traffic is continuing as normal. People walking by, cars driving. No sound of approaching sirens. I open my senses a little more and the room suddenly blooms with phantom colors and sensations. They're a little dimmer over in the corner, and I turn my attention there. She's good. Not just a wild talent, but someone who has done a lot of practice. Her touch on the Aether stills it in a wide area around her, bleeding through to the Material and probably blanketing the whole block outside the bank with a sense of calm, even a slight euphoria, deflecting attention away from the bank. I stop channeling and return to the present. Mr. Blue Eyes is prodding me with his boot. "Hand it over, man, I know you got something." With a sigh, I reach slowly into my pocket and take out my battered walkman. "Can I at least keep the tape, man? Leave me that much? Ain't easy to find, these days." "You some kinda hipster, old man?" "Only if 'hipster' is slang for 'dead broke.'" "What's on it, anyway? "AC/DC. Got it when I was in highschool." "Sure man. Now the rest." I put the tape back in my pocket and bring out the roll of bills I was going to deposit. When I hesitate, he lunges, snatching the wad from my hand before quickly backing up to what he believes is out of reach. After a moment, I settle back to the ground. Blue Eyes heads over to the family next to me. The kid's mom cringes as she rifles through her purse. Blue Eyes just takes it from her, tosses it to one of his goons, waves his gun a bit, then snatches her iPhone and jams it into a pocket. He takes the kid's phone, too. Kid looks like he's maybe twelve. He's got that look on his face, like he's imagined how he'd save everyone from a situation just like this, and now it's here and he doesn't like what he just learned about himself. "Ain't worth it, son." He looks at me and I can see the angry tears standing in his eyes. He's angry at the robbers, but mostly at himself. I know. "It's just a phone. Plenty of those. Ain't worth your life or health. Let it go." "If I were a Hero, I'd stop 'em," he mutters. "Then you'd go to prison right beside 'em. Gotta have a contract," I tell him, keeping my voice low. "No contract, you're just a vigilante, and those're criminals, too." He gets quiet. That's different. Most kids his age, they would explode at me, believing their anger. This one stops and thinks. A gunshot sounds from somewhere I can't see and raised voices arguing soon follow. A woman, one of the other tellers, screams and begins crying, and I suddenly feel an intense pull as the robber in the corner, eyes screwed shut in concentration, draws more deeply on the Aether to keep the bank veiled from attention. At the rate the ambient energies are being used up, this is going to end soon, one way or another. A piece of paper, folded into an air plane, drifts to a stop in front of me a moment before the pencil hits me in the face. I look over at the kid, and he motions me to open it. I begin reading. "I, Robin Andrew Greyson, seek to engage the services of the undersigned. At the rate of twenty dollars an hour, for a span of no fewer than two hours and totaling no more than six hours, the undersigned will secure the person, possessions, and any premises surrounding myself from injury, theft, or undue disturbance." I look up at him, an eyebrow raised in disbelief. He makes a get-on-with-it gesture. I pick up the pencil, sign the page, and fold it back into a plane, and loft it back to him. He picks it up and reads it. "Powerage?" "Never mind." Three robbers. No, four, that one with the veil keeps sliding herself out of my perception. Only two of them in this room. Nine hostages. Eight, now? I don't know. Most of the ambient power has been used up. I take a deep breath and concentrate on the pencil. Blue Eyes is closest. "Passing notes? Why don't you share with the cl-" is as far as he gets before six inches of sharpened wood and graphite, imbued with Aether to keep it from breaking, gets rammed up his nose, into his brain, killing him. It comes free with a light tug, and I fling it, overhand, at the woman in the corner. She comes out of her deep focus, looks down, and sees the small blossom of red on her shirt, just above her navel. I reach her just before she can use the panicked breath she just took to scream, closing a hand over her nose and mouth. If I can keep this quiet, I might be able to get the other two before any more hostages ge- I come back to myself, fetched up against the far wall, and there's a ringing in my ears. I throw myself open to the Aether, and the sudden contact with that other realm shocks me fully back to my senses. There's almost nothing left there to draw, but I pull what I can manage quickly, recklessly winding the energies around my frayed nerves to steady my balance and stop the spinning in my head. Then I shut off the connection, surging forward in a running crouch. The robber who hit me with the essence blast is in bad shape. Between the gut wound and the backlash of channeling so much raw power, she's unconscious, probably not getting up again without medical attention. I pull off the tattered remains of my shirt and press it over the widening bloodstain on her belly. "Alright, everyone out, quick and quiet. You," I say, pointing to a middle aged man, "toss me that and then give that guy a hand." One of the other men, looks like some kind of contractor, got caught on the fringe of the blast, seems like he's having trouble sitting up. "When you're out, find a phone and call the cops." Looking around, faces are frozen in disbelief, looking at me in shock. "Go," I sort of whisper-shout, and they get moving. "What the hell was all that noise? Jim, you and Marcia fighting again?" I bean the third man with a paperweight, hard enough to dent the front of his forehead, as he walks out from the one of the spaces behind the counter. A startled, "what the hell," comes from somewhere behind him. I drag the channeler out the front of doors of the bank, then out of sight of any windows. Probably shouldn't have, but I can't keep pressure on her injury and fight the last guy at the same time. Robin finds me. "Thanks." He hands me a twenty dollar bill. "Just... hold on to that piece of paper. I'm not a lawyer, but it might hold up if anyone decides to press charges." "I will," he says, face serious. I tuck the bill into my pocket, then freeze. Slowly, sadly, I bring out the plastic fragments and length of magnetic tape that had once been my favorite album, shattered by the force of an Aetheric essence blast. "Kid, you know anywhere I can get a cassette tape of AC/DC?" "I don't know what either of those things are." I think for a moment. "... Do you know any 'hipsters'?"	"So what gives, Chief?" The Chief's eyes followed Henry as he paced around the office. It was a sight by itself to see a grown man in tights and a cape, but now he was puffing, quite naturally, on a thick cigar. "You go to Sam before me?" The Chief sighed. "She's got X-ray vision. We needed X-ray vision at the time, Henry. Nothin' personal. That's just how the market goes." Henry jolted forward at inhuman speed and now leaned over the front of the Chief's desk. "Bullshit Chief. She's overstepping her boundaries. I got a nice and pretty contract sittin' at home that says so." "Read the thing pal. It's null in the case of a federal agency gettin' involved." "So that's why I've been seein' all these FBI faces around lately. You're playin' me. You're tryin' to run me out of town!" "No. We just want the sources available. You're tryin' to corner the market, Henry, and you can't monopolize justice." Henry stared. He tapped his cigar on the Chief's ashtray and flashed a smile. "That's a sweet sentiment Chief, but I can, and I will." He crumbled his whole cigar into a fine powder over the tray and turned to go. "Then you just became the enemy." Henry crossed the room. "No, Chief. No enemies. Just business." He flashed another smile and closed the door.
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	Superhero Matthew Merrick, the Steel Sentinel, Defender of the Weak and Champion of Justice, felt powerless. “Frank, how does our statement look?” “Let's see: The Steel Sentinel, peerless fighter in and out of his masterwork power-armor, will scramble for you at a moment's notice. Please inquire about monthly plans.” “You know which statement I mean, Frank. No sugarcoating.” “Well, Matt, it's not pretty. People are always slow about donating when you act first and ask later. We can maintain operations for two, maybe three more months on our current funds, and I've been looking for new sponsors, but it hasn't been easy.” Frank wasn't wrong. The energy drink endorsement bombed, the power tool promotion petered out, and the auto insurance deal looked like it could drop out at any moment. There just wasn't a lot of money in being a third-rate hero. That's what hero work came down to these days. Sure, Bruce Wayne was rich enough to work pro bono, but in the real world, millionaires didn't become heroes and heroes didn't become millionaires. And with the regulations and liabilities that came with public hero-work, most people, Matt included, had to find private funding to sustain their operations. The Hero's Union could provide hero's insurance and manage dispatching, but their dues weren't cheap, and neither was power-armor maintenance. Eight years of heroing, and all Matt had to show for it was his license, his suit, and his apartment-turned-workshop that he shared with his college classmate and partner-in-crimefighting Frank Liu. Frank Liu. Eight years of coworking, eleven years of friendship, and Matt felt he still didn't know him completely. Back in university, Frank was the one setting the curve, while Matt was happy to find the middle. Sometimes Matt wondered why he wore the suit while Frank manned the comms, but he never seemed excited about the hero business, even back in college, and yet... And yet, after all these years, Frank was still here. Matt broke the silence. “You know I don't care about the money. I'll make sacrifices. We'll manage. We always have.” Frank's face was flat, unreadable. “In my culture, we're generous with our family and friends, our ancestors and gods, because they're the people we hope will be generous with us. We don't do charity work for strangers.” “Do you really believe that?” A heavy sigh. “No. But it helps me sleep at night.” The Hero Call rang out, the dispatcher's voice ever cool and calm managing the business of life and death. Fire. Poor neighborhood. Situation worsening, a real block-burner at the sound of it. Not a lot of moneyed interest. No heroes scrambled to stop it. “Frank, we have to move. People are dying.” “We're deep in the red, Matt. We can't afford this.” “Frank, Goddammit!” Matt choked out, his eyes wet with tears. “They're going to burn out there!” Frank nodded gravely and donned his headset. “Steel Sentinel, prepare for sortie. Ground control, on standby. Deploy when ready.” Matt was grateful for his helmet; nobody else would see the tears streaming down his face. “Steel Sentinel, ready to deploy,” he managed, hoping his voice hadn't cracked. A deep breath. “And away!” Today, at least, he was a hero.	There was a time when good deeds ment the people adored you, they praised you as a savior. Those days are long gone. When Rodrick Friese proposed our step back into civilian life it wasn't met with warm responses, that is until he backed us into a corner, a situation we couldn't save, people we couldn't help. Everyone in the Strowman Buildings died. It collapsed faster than we could do anything. Once in site the buildings had already been in pieces across the surrounding areas. It wasn't supposed to be possible, a hero in every corner of the city. We devided and conquered all evil. The people will turn on you quick when it's their 7 year old trapped under rubble, when their husband can't pick up their kids after work. We were forced out, met with disgusting looks and yelled at in the street. I took my cape off 15 years ago and never looked back. The "severance package" I took to keep myself hidden and supress my powers had run dry. I was worried I wouldn't be able to pay rent or even buy food, I needed a way to survive. I don't have conventional wisdom of normal life. I had never worked a job before and never even went to conventional schools. Myself and my commrades were raised to protect by the Freedom4All Act designed by Congress to eventually become the replacements for police. I needed a way to keep myself alive. I found Valor, or as street folk call him Kevin O'Rourke. Him and a few of the crew had been making money on the backs of their powers while keeping relatively hidden. Everything from purse thief to hired hits, no honor for the code. "To protect all life, for all life is good." To say little it didn't last long with em. I moved on with my ventures and found myself working alone. I was surprised how much someone was willing to pay for my service. Before I knew it I could charge anything, and I did. I became so indulged with self worth I often forgot to hide my powers when on a case. People often tend to grow suspicious of a floating man with skin made of marble. Before I knew it I was more rich than I could ever have imagined spending most my life on a hero's salary. However one thing that remained from that time was the notion that nothing good can last forever. Just a little rough scribbling while on break. Hope it doesn't suck. Not fully fleshed out, written extensively but felt like writting on my break. Thanks for the wicked writing prompt.
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	"Listen, I know your ad says your services start at $150, but I'm hoping you can make an exception, cut me a deal?" Her breathing is shallow and her voice quivers. She swallowed at the end of her sentence. She's panicked and desperate, and unlike most of the time wasters, she's not lying about the money part. "I'll listen, but this is a business, not a charity." "I know. I do. But, you see, I am a charity. I run a youth shelter on 6 mile. I have a couple of boys that come in every Thursday and Friday for the pantry. Only none of 'em have showed up the last few weeks." "Homeless youths? I wouldn't wind your clock by their patterns if I were you." "You don't have to tell me that, but these boys were different. They've been coming for nearly two years. And they aren't the only regulars that have gone missing. But the cops won't listen and I just know: someone is stealing kids." I glance at my desktop planner. Blank space as far as the eyes can see. "You got a non-profit number?" "Yes," her voice pitched up, hopeful. "Well, I'm gonna need a receipt." "You'll do it?" "I'll be feet down in Detroit in oh, about 45 minutes." I hung up and eyed my flying cape. At least my accountant could deduct it this time.	There was a time when good deeds ment the people adored you, they praised you as a savior. Those days are long gone. When Rodrick Friese proposed our step back into civilian life it wasn't met with warm responses, that is until he backed us into a corner, a situation we couldn't save, people we couldn't help. Everyone in the Strowman Buildings died. It collapsed faster than we could do anything. Once in site the buildings had already been in pieces across the surrounding areas. It wasn't supposed to be possible, a hero in every corner of the city. We devided and conquered all evil. The people will turn on you quick when it's their 7 year old trapped under rubble, when their husband can't pick up their kids after work. We were forced out, met with disgusting looks and yelled at in the street. I took my cape off 15 years ago and never looked back. The "severance package" I took to keep myself hidden and supress my powers had run dry. I was worried I wouldn't be able to pay rent or even buy food, I needed a way to survive. I don't have conventional wisdom of normal life. I had never worked a job before and never even went to conventional schools. Myself and my commrades were raised to protect by the Freedom4All Act designed by Congress to eventually become the replacements for police. I needed a way to keep myself alive. I found Valor, or as street folk call him Kevin O'Rourke. Him and a few of the crew had been making money on the backs of their powers while keeping relatively hidden. Everything from purse thief to hired hits, no honor for the code. "To protect all life, for all life is good." To say little it didn't last long with em. I moved on with my ventures and found myself working alone. I was surprised how much someone was willing to pay for my service. Before I knew it I could charge anything, and I did. I became so indulged with self worth I often forgot to hide my powers when on a case. People often tend to grow suspicious of a floating man with skin made of marble. Before I knew it I was more rich than I could ever have imagined spending most my life on a hero's salary. However one thing that remained from that time was the notion that nothing good can last forever. Just a little rough scribbling while on break. Hope it doesn't suck. Not fully fleshed out, written extensively but felt like writting on my break. Thanks for the wicked writing prompt.
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	Dreadnaught was the last of the Old Guard. The early heroes who had fought for the good of the world, for honor and justice and other long-dead ideals. they toppled dictatorships, brought aid to disaster-stricken regions and never accepted a penny. Dreadnaught himself had seen the greats of the age, had only been a young rookie when The Atom and Red Lightning and all the others were around. There had been villains, of course- bastards and madmen who used their powers for their own benefit, but they were always beaten back. The good guys always won in the end. Dreadnaught had long since stopped caring about "good" or "evil". He was standing on a wind-tossed rooftop in Dubai, staring at the bright artificial stars, gleaming skyscrapers and rivers of vehicles, spreading forever into the distance. He idly wondered what had happened to the old greats, Atom and Lightning and Sunbeam. He continued to think back, remembering the first changes.... It began when he and a few allies rescued some fat cat from an attempted assassination, somewhere in South Korea. When word came out that the cat had been smuggling weapons up north, and had betrayed the country, Dreadnaught shrugged. He wasn't a political sort. But Fat Cats are always good at redirecting blame- they called him and his friends mercenaries, not caring who he fought for as long as he had glory and attention. He heard insults and threats as he walked through the streets. He tried his best not to mind. He minded. He had never had much- Dreadnaught grew up in the inner city and came from a poor family. So when people said he, and others like him, was profiting from chaos and war and fear as he struggled to make ends meet and ate third-rate prepackaged meals- his blood boiled. Most heroes were offered work when their identities were revealed- Private armies, government work, criminal organizations. He decided that if people thought he was a thug- then it didn't hurt to do a thug's job. He accepted a job offer, then another, and another. His pay was high and his scruples few. He moved out of the slums and into a high rise apartment. People kept calling him a crook and a monster, but it hurt less now that it was true. Others joined him, fighting wars and steal secrets for the highest bidder. That was how it had happened. The world was a different place now than it was. Supers were identified from birth and signed on with one of the big corporations at the age of 12. There were no more armies anymore, no more citizen soldiers. Just hired guns with enough firepower to level cities. Some Supers still fought the good fight, of course. They lived on the edges of the world, striking out against the "Man" in what little ways they could. But most Supers lived quiet lives, turning down the offers of big corporations, and not making a fuss of their powers for fear of attracting too much attention. Dreadnaught looked down from the glinting lights and turned towards the desert. His contact would be arriving soon, with his pay, and likely another job. He was one of the oldest men in the business, after all. He never failed, he never quit a job until it was done. His skills were highly valued.	There was a time when good deeds ment the people adored you, they praised you as a savior. Those days are long gone. When Rodrick Friese proposed our step back into civilian life it wasn't met with warm responses, that is until he backed us into a corner, a situation we couldn't save, people we couldn't help. Everyone in the Strowman Buildings died. It collapsed faster than we could do anything. Once in site the buildings had already been in pieces across the surrounding areas. It wasn't supposed to be possible, a hero in every corner of the city. We devided and conquered all evil. The people will turn on you quick when it's their 7 year old trapped under rubble, when their husband can't pick up their kids after work. We were forced out, met with disgusting looks and yelled at in the street. I took my cape off 15 years ago and never looked back. The "severance package" I took to keep myself hidden and supress my powers had run dry. I was worried I wouldn't be able to pay rent or even buy food, I needed a way to survive. I don't have conventional wisdom of normal life. I had never worked a job before and never even went to conventional schools. Myself and my commrades were raised to protect by the Freedom4All Act designed by Congress to eventually become the replacements for police. I needed a way to keep myself alive. I found Valor, or as street folk call him Kevin O'Rourke. Him and a few of the crew had been making money on the backs of their powers while keeping relatively hidden. Everything from purse thief to hired hits, no honor for the code. "To protect all life, for all life is good." To say little it didn't last long with em. I moved on with my ventures and found myself working alone. I was surprised how much someone was willing to pay for my service. Before I knew it I could charge anything, and I did. I became so indulged with self worth I often forgot to hide my powers when on a case. People often tend to grow suspicious of a floating man with skin made of marble. Before I knew it I was more rich than I could ever have imagined spending most my life on a hero's salary. However one thing that remained from that time was the notion that nothing good can last forever. Just a little rough scribbling while on break. Hope it doesn't suck. Not fully fleshed out, written extensively but felt like writting on my break. Thanks for the wicked writing prompt.
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	3:30 AM, Atlanta The phone rang. "This had better be worth waking my ass up." "Flux. $500,000. If we lose power--." "I'll do it if you make it six. Where?" The caller accepted, a little too quickly. Damn. Could have got more. The caller gave the address to a malfunctioning power station, and thanked Flux for assisting Westshore specialty. "An insurance agent, huh?" Well, it makes sense. Superheroes were a damn sight cheaper than losing a court case, these days. Flux had been a generous soul. But not anymore. He loved music. When he first discovered his power, all those years ago, he used his power over electricity to give fledgling bands free power, so they could practice anywhere, anytime. They didn't even have to plug their equipment into anything! It made for some great hipster music videos. Back then, he sometimes helped clean up metal debris from car crashes. Other days, he donated electricity to his poorer friends, or gave the homeless shelter free electricity for a few hours, to run the A/C during the hot summer months. That all changed after a fateful day a few years ago. Flux prevented a plane crash by using electromagnetism to lower it safely to the ground. After that, Flux became famous. And with fame, came more calls for help. But they all wanted it for free. Non-stop, day and night. Not always for heroic deeds, either. One kid wanted him to take out the power at his office so he could spend that day with his girlfriend. He grew fed up with the non-stop pleas for help. Fed up as he was, he was too poor to buy food. Even superheroes have to eat, you know. So, Flux started charging for his powers. This sparked outrage at first - Headlines like "Does Flux's greed have no limit?" dominated the news cycle - because people had grown used to the impossible being done for them for free. However, capitalism won the day - other heroes in other cities borrowed flux's idea. They too had been worked to the bone, and for what? To go home to a creaky apartment without enough money to even wash their spandex? These days, heroes primarily did boring but valuable things, such as prevent power outages, stop floods from damaging property, put out fires, that sort of thing. Some chose to do pro-bono work at times, but it was not expected the way that it was in years past. Flux sighed as he drove to the plant. He could easily power the grid from the sidewalk outside his house, but the insurance company would have a fit and cut his pay. Last time he did that, they charged him for damaging the wiring, which cut his $250,000 reward down to a mere $15,000. Looks like another couple hours of maintaining a boring old 60 hz stream...	There was a time when good deeds ment the people adored you, they praised you as a savior. Those days are long gone. When Rodrick Friese proposed our step back into civilian life it wasn't met with warm responses, that is until he backed us into a corner, a situation we couldn't save, people we couldn't help. Everyone in the Strowman Buildings died. It collapsed faster than we could do anything. Once in site the buildings had already been in pieces across the surrounding areas. It wasn't supposed to be possible, a hero in every corner of the city. We devided and conquered all evil. The people will turn on you quick when it's their 7 year old trapped under rubble, when their husband can't pick up their kids after work. We were forced out, met with disgusting looks and yelled at in the street. I took my cape off 15 years ago and never looked back. The "severance package" I took to keep myself hidden and supress my powers had run dry. I was worried I wouldn't be able to pay rent or even buy food, I needed a way to survive. I don't have conventional wisdom of normal life. I had never worked a job before and never even went to conventional schools. Myself and my commrades were raised to protect by the Freedom4All Act designed by Congress to eventually become the replacements for police. I needed a way to keep myself alive. I found Valor, or as street folk call him Kevin O'Rourke. Him and a few of the crew had been making money on the backs of their powers while keeping relatively hidden. Everything from purse thief to hired hits, no honor for the code. "To protect all life, for all life is good." To say little it didn't last long with em. I moved on with my ventures and found myself working alone. I was surprised how much someone was willing to pay for my service. Before I knew it I could charge anything, and I did. I became so indulged with self worth I often forgot to hide my powers when on a case. People often tend to grow suspicious of a floating man with skin made of marble. Before I knew it I was more rich than I could ever have imagined spending most my life on a hero's salary. However one thing that remained from that time was the notion that nothing good can last forever. Just a little rough scribbling while on break. Hope it doesn't suck. Not fully fleshed out, written extensively but felt like writting on my break. Thanks for the wicked writing prompt.
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	The pen slips, drawing a jagged line along the 'Cash' field of the deposit slip. I sigh and look around. Whatever jogged my elbow nudges me in the ribs this time, and I reach up to pull the headphones away from my ear. "You, too, tiny. Hands where we can see 'em, down on the floor with the rest. Nice and easy." The guy is wearing a ski mask, a little under six feet tall, a sandy blond eye brow just visible above one of his blue eyes. Those eyes look fierce, but there's a note in his voice on the edge of panic. Oh, and he's waving a hand gun in my face, reaching up so that it's just under my nose. Poor trigger discipline, I note, suppressing a reflex to break his arm and take the weapon. I take a moment to look around the interior of the bank. Two more masked individuals, the three tellers with their hands stretched out on the counter top, maybe half a dozen other people who were waiting in line. They're prone, now, hands splayed wide on the floor. "C'mon, don't make this hard," says Mr. Blue Eyes, gesturing impatiently with the gun. "Don't try to be a hero, big guy." "No trouble," I agree, easing myself on the floor. "No trouble," I repeat for emphasis. Hero. Was I ever one of those? Doesn't feel like it, these days. From the floor, I watch as two of the other robbers escort a teller, at gunpoint, out of sight, presumably in search of a vault, or something. Do banks still have vaults? I guess they would, for deposit boxes, if nothing else. I gently draw on the Aether and attune my hearing for a moment, since that's not breaking any laws. Out on the street, traffic is continuing as normal. People walking by, cars driving. No sound of approaching sirens. I open my senses a little more and the room suddenly blooms with phantom colors and sensations. They're a little dimmer over in the corner, and I turn my attention there. She's good. Not just a wild talent, but someone who has done a lot of practice. Her touch on the Aether stills it in a wide area around her, bleeding through to the Material and probably blanketing the whole block outside the bank with a sense of calm, even a slight euphoria, deflecting attention away from the bank. I stop channeling and return to the present. Mr. Blue Eyes is prodding me with his boot. "Hand it over, man, I know you got something." With a sigh, I reach slowly into my pocket and take out my battered walkman. "Can I at least keep the tape, man? Leave me that much? Ain't easy to find, these days." "You some kinda hipster, old man?" "Only if 'hipster' is slang for 'dead broke.'" "What's on it, anyway? "AC/DC. Got it when I was in highschool." "Sure man. Now the rest." I put the tape back in my pocket and bring out the roll of bills I was going to deposit. When I hesitate, he lunges, snatching the wad from my hand before quickly backing up to what he believes is out of reach. After a moment, I settle back to the ground. Blue Eyes heads over to the family next to me. The kid's mom cringes as she rifles through her purse. Blue Eyes just takes it from her, tosses it to one of his goons, waves his gun a bit, then snatches her iPhone and jams it into a pocket. He takes the kid's phone, too. Kid looks like he's maybe twelve. He's got that look on his face, like he's imagined how he'd save everyone from a situation just like this, and now it's here and he doesn't like what he just learned about himself. "Ain't worth it, son." He looks at me and I can see the angry tears standing in his eyes. He's angry at the robbers, but mostly at himself. I know. "It's just a phone. Plenty of those. Ain't worth your life or health. Let it go." "If I were a Hero, I'd stop 'em," he mutters. "Then you'd go to prison right beside 'em. Gotta have a contract," I tell him, keeping my voice low. "No contract, you're just a vigilante, and those're criminals, too." He gets quiet. That's different. Most kids his age, they would explode at me, believing their anger. This one stops and thinks. A gunshot sounds from somewhere I can't see and raised voices arguing soon follow. A woman, one of the other tellers, screams and begins crying, and I suddenly feel an intense pull as the robber in the corner, eyes screwed shut in concentration, draws more deeply on the Aether to keep the bank veiled from attention. At the rate the ambient energies are being used up, this is going to end soon, one way or another. A piece of paper, folded into an air plane, drifts to a stop in front of me a moment before the pencil hits me in the face. I look over at the kid, and he motions me to open it. I begin reading. "I, Robin Andrew Greyson, seek to engage the services of the undersigned. At the rate of twenty dollars an hour, for a span of no fewer than two hours and totaling no more than six hours, the undersigned will secure the person, possessions, and any premises surrounding myself from injury, theft, or undue disturbance." I look up at him, an eyebrow raised in disbelief. He makes a get-on-with-it gesture. I pick up the pencil, sign the page, and fold it back into a plane, and loft it back to him. He picks it up and reads it. "Powerage?" "Never mind." Three robbers. No, four, that one with the veil keeps sliding herself out of my perception. Only two of them in this room. Nine hostages. Eight, now? I don't know. Most of the ambient power has been used up. I take a deep breath and concentrate on the pencil. Blue Eyes is closest. "Passing notes? Why don't you share with the cl-" is as far as he gets before six inches of sharpened wood and graphite, imbued with Aether to keep it from breaking, gets rammed up his nose, into his brain, killing him. It comes free with a light tug, and I fling it, overhand, at the woman in the corner. She comes out of her deep focus, looks down, and sees the small blossom of red on her shirt, just above her navel. I reach her just before she can use the panicked breath she just took to scream, closing a hand over her nose and mouth. If I can keep this quiet, I might be able to get the other two before any more hostages ge- I come back to myself, fetched up against the far wall, and there's a ringing in my ears. I throw myself open to the Aether, and the sudden contact with that other realm shocks me fully back to my senses. There's almost nothing left there to draw, but I pull what I can manage quickly, recklessly winding the energies around my frayed nerves to steady my balance and stop the spinning in my head. Then I shut off the connection, surging forward in a running crouch. The robber who hit me with the essence blast is in bad shape. Between the gut wound and the backlash of channeling so much raw power, she's unconscious, probably not getting up again without medical attention. I pull off the tattered remains of my shirt and press it over the widening bloodstain on her belly. "Alright, everyone out, quick and quiet. You," I say, pointing to a middle aged man, "toss me that and then give that guy a hand." One of the other men, looks like some kind of contractor, got caught on the fringe of the blast, seems like he's having trouble sitting up. "When you're out, find a phone and call the cops." Looking around, faces are frozen in disbelief, looking at me in shock. "Go," I sort of whisper-shout, and they get moving. "What the hell was all that noise? Jim, you and Marcia fighting again?" I bean the third man with a paperweight, hard enough to dent the front of his forehead, as he walks out from the one of the spaces behind the counter. A startled, "what the hell," comes from somewhere behind him. I drag the channeler out the front of doors of the bank, then out of sight of any windows. Probably shouldn't have, but I can't keep pressure on her injury and fight the last guy at the same time. Robin finds me. "Thanks." He hands me a twenty dollar bill. "Just... hold on to that piece of paper. I'm not a lawyer, but it might hold up if anyone decides to press charges." "I will," he says, face serious. I tuck the bill into my pocket, then freeze. Slowly, sadly, I bring out the plastic fragments and length of magnetic tape that had once been my favorite album, shattered by the force of an Aetheric essence blast. "Kid, you know anywhere I can get a cassette tape of AC/DC?" "I don't know what either of those things are." I think for a moment. "... Do you know any 'hipsters'?"	There was a time when good deeds ment the people adored you, they praised you as a savior. Those days are long gone. When Rodrick Friese proposed our step back into civilian life it wasn't met with warm responses, that is until he backed us into a corner, a situation we couldn't save, people we couldn't help. Everyone in the Strowman Buildings died. It collapsed faster than we could do anything. Once in site the buildings had already been in pieces across the surrounding areas. It wasn't supposed to be possible, a hero in every corner of the city. We devided and conquered all evil. The people will turn on you quick when it's their 7 year old trapped under rubble, when their husband can't pick up their kids after work. We were forced out, met with disgusting looks and yelled at in the street. I took my cape off 15 years ago and never looked back. The "severance package" I took to keep myself hidden and supress my powers had run dry. I was worried I wouldn't be able to pay rent or even buy food, I needed a way to survive. I don't have conventional wisdom of normal life. I had never worked a job before and never even went to conventional schools. Myself and my commrades were raised to protect by the Freedom4All Act designed by Congress to eventually become the replacements for police. I needed a way to keep myself alive. I found Valor, or as street folk call him Kevin O'Rourke. Him and a few of the crew had been making money on the backs of their powers while keeping relatively hidden. Everything from purse thief to hired hits, no honor for the code. "To protect all life, for all life is good." To say little it didn't last long with em. I moved on with my ventures and found myself working alone. I was surprised how much someone was willing to pay for my service. Before I knew it I could charge anything, and I did. I became so indulged with self worth I often forgot to hide my powers when on a case. People often tend to grow suspicious of a floating man with skin made of marble. Before I knew it I was more rich than I could ever have imagined spending most my life on a hero's salary. However one thing that remained from that time was the notion that nothing good can last forever. Just a little rough scribbling while on break. Hope it doesn't suck. Not fully fleshed out, written extensively but felt like writting on my break. Thanks for the wicked writing prompt.
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	"Listen, I know your ad says your services start at $150, but I'm hoping you can make an exception, cut me a deal?" Her breathing is shallow and her voice quivers. She swallowed at the end of her sentence. She's panicked and desperate, and unlike most of the time wasters, she's not lying about the money part. "I'll listen, but this is a business, not a charity." "I know. I do. But, you see, I am a charity. I run a youth shelter on 6 mile. I have a couple of boys that come in every Thursday and Friday for the pantry. Only none of 'em have showed up the last few weeks." "Homeless youths? I wouldn't wind your clock by their patterns if I were you." "You don't have to tell me that, but these boys were different. They've been coming for nearly two years. And they aren't the only regulars that have gone missing. But the cops won't listen and I just know: someone is stealing kids." I glance at my desktop planner. Blank space as far as the eyes can see. "You got a non-profit number?" "Yes," her voice pitched up, hopeful. "Well, I'm gonna need a receipt." "You'll do it?" "I'll be feet down in Detroit in oh, about 45 minutes." I hung up and eyed my flying cape. At least my accountant could deduct it this time.	The dark alley echoed with the footsteps of the villain and I knew that I had her right where I wanted them. "I'll go get the purse if you let me keep half of the money." They had seen what Dev could do first hand, when he had been stealing their purse, so there was no way that they were going to do it themselves. He had punched through a brick wall before snatching their purses. If they only knew some of Dev's other talents.... The purse snatchee had been making self deliberation faces for almost half a minute. "Fine.", she said, in a voice that she hoped would indicate that it was very much not fine. I thought I heard her mutter something about "Damn heroes" and "Filthy crooks", but I was already rushing into the darkness. About halfway through the alley I turned at the first corner I saw. I almost ran into Dev. "Jesus Christ man. A little warning next time." "I'm still mad at you." "Why would you possibly be mad at me?" "Because this plan doesn't make any fucking sense! Why are we giving the purse back? We already had the damn thing." "That attitude right there is why you get to play the villain. You're just so naturally villainous." "I get to play the villain because I can actually scare people. What are you going to do, shout at them that you can hear them extremely well as your robbing them?" "Ha Ha asshole. Just give me the purse." "What are you going to tell them, anyway? What if they want a demonstration of how you overcame me?" "I'll say that I used my otherworldly wits to convince you to hand over the purse. I wouldn't even have to lie." "Oh, shut up. Here - take the stupid thing." I grabbed the purse from Dev's hand and turned back. If it wasn't dark in the alleyway I don't think I could have resisted the temptation to count the money before I gave it back. I tried to appear disheveled by messing up my hair a bit. It would have to do. I came around a corner and could see the woman still waiting. I approached her. "Thank you so much!" She said as she saw that I was holding her purse. I actually felt a twinge of guilt. I had justified this to myself as being some sort of lesson, like an anti purse snatching tax or something, but I knew that this part was going to suck. "You're are very welcome." I handed her the purse. She pilfered through it. I saw some prescription medicine and reading glasses suddenly felt even worse. It felt like I was robbing my Grandma. She got to her wallet and started going through the money. "Here is ... $30." I was almost tempted to tell her to keep it, but my stomach rumbled at that exact moment. I remembered that there was a reason that I had to do this, and it wasn't like we stole her purse or anything. "Thank you very much." I began walking down the sidewalk in the opposite direction as her. I would meet Dev back at the house. He wouldn't be happy with $30, and I didn't think I could hold him back much longer. If he had his way, we were about to get into serious trouble, soon. ___ /r/Periapoapsis
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	It was raining. The day we set to sea was a dark day, the sun did not appear in the sky and the skies appeared to cry as the sons of Helgavik set off to unfamiliar lands. I watched my parents on the shore, surrounded by the wives and families of my fellow sailors, but I could not find it in my heart to return their waves. I was a young man, barely sixteen years of age and waving to them would have broken me down and caused me to cry. But I had to stay strong, the men on the longboat with me were mostly veterans, having raided before and crying, in my mind, would show weakness in front of those hard sailors which I regarded as role models. However I stared back to shore until all I could see was mist and rain, before and aft. It would be months until I would see my family again, if at all. The longboat was the pride of the village from which we sailed. It had been made during a remarkably warm summer, and was hewn from good wood. It was beautifully decorated with images depicting the gods in battle, the monsters of the sea and with the names of some of the heroes that had sailed on it. This boat “Garmr” was considered blessed by the gods and those that would sail on it were priviliged men. I had gotten my place through contest, My arm was stronger than those of my friends, and my aim was true when throwing a spear. I had also shown courage in battle once before while defending my fathers farm, so Grímur the ships foreman, brought me aboard. “You know you may die.” he had said, matter of factly. “I am not afraid of going to my ancestors.” I replied, mustering up as much courage as I could in front of this large, red haired, man. “Good to hear, Arnr. Good to hear. You swear an oath to follow my orders, defend your fellow man and bring honor to the gods?” “Yes. My aim will never fail me, nor will I leave my friends back exposed to the enemy. I will fall if the gods will it so without fear.” “Allright, you will receive the same share as the rest of us, apart from one extra share for myself and captain Eirikur. You will be second oarsman on the right side.” In the days before my departure my parents, proud of their son for having secured a place on the Garmr, fed me the best food they could muster. My father gave me his axe, which his father had given him as well as a warm cloak. When the day came to go to the docks I was well provisioned and ready, my parents supplying me well in anticipation of me returning with exotic wares. During the day we sung songs praising the heroes of old while the sound of the oars hitting the ocean kept rhythm. If we had good wind we would spend our time cleaning the ship, watching the sky for signs of land. We each had our rations in a box under our seats where we spent most of our time. When the sky turned golden we would eat our food and spend our nights asleep, adrift on the ocean hoping we would not drift too far off course. One man stood watch each night to keep the ship sailing in the right direction as best he could. During the day Grímur would consult what he called his sun-stone for direction to good hunting areas as he called it. Area filled with enemy ships ripe for the plunder, but our main target would be a christian chapel he had heard was lightly defended and should pay for this raiding trip in one blow. --- We had arrived early in the morning, awoken by distant bells audible over the fog which enveloped us. Grímur smiled like a hungry wolf and started whispering urgent directions to the captain directing him towards the sound. “It starts” Arnolfr whispered to me from behind, “Odin willing we will be rich men at the end of this day or dead. Either way, be ready!”. I swallowed my fear while listening hard for any sounds from out of the fog, the only sounds being the low whispering of the men around me as well as the soft sound of the oar propelling the Garmr onwards. The first thing we could see were the black rocks of the shore. With skill and experience the boat was dragged ashore in near silence. “This is it! I can feel it in the air!” Grímur whispered to us as we assembled, weapons drawn, on the beach, “We will be in two groups. You lot will go with Eirkur and you will go with me” he said, indicating my group “Good hunting”. My heart was beating loudly in my heart, so much so that I feared it would give away our position, as we first caught a glimpse of a stone building. It was strange to see the chapel after hearing such places described by others. It was a large building built almost like an arrow, with a stone tower on one end. It had colorful windows depicting what I could only guess were old heroes akin to the ones depicted on our ship. My axe felt heavy as our backs got up to the walls of the building. Thank Thor for this fog, it had hidden our apprach so well we were still unnoticed. A raiding party of armed and capable warriors in the pen filled with unaware sheep. Suddenly without barely a nod towards the rest of us Grímur ran into the fog, shortly followed by a wet sound as his hammer struck flesh, this prompted the rest of us into action. Suddenly my world became very violent as men were everywhere. In the fog they reminded me of ancient ghosts, clad in black robes, obviously crying for mercy. I myself went into the chapel with two others and met one of the robed men as he seemed to be trying to save the valuables hidden inside the chapel. His face was white with fright, his words incomprehensible to me as I stepped towards him with my axe raised above my head. I will never forget the feeling of the iron biting into flesh, nor the warmth of his blood as he stumbled and fell, gold coins clattering on the ground from his fingers. The sound of battle was around me, and for the rest of my life I would never be able to remember the rest of it as some inner beast overtook me. “Good fight!” Grímur said, smiling as he hit me on the back. “You did well. You will no longer be a boy but a man. You have earned the respect.”. I was sitting on the steps of the chapel, holding a cup filled with wine and covered in blood. “It was my honor” I replied. I was proud of my achievement, but the face of the black robed monk was fresh in my mind. I knew then that he would be a spectre that would follow me throughout my life. We were rich now, Grímur told us there was more treasure inside this chapel than even he had imagined. We would get home earlier than planned which raised our morale, but was bittersweet since it meant fewer chances to die like warriors. I however was consoled with the image of my parents in my mind, proud of their son, fresh back from viking. --- It was the third day of our trip back that it all changed. Grímur looked anxious as he and captain Eirikur talked in the back of the boat while the rest of us ate our daily rations. I clambered over to them which caused Grímur to look at me with a mix of annoyance and curiosity while Eirikur looked concerned. “What is wrong?” I asked, but we had become accustomed to asking straight questions. The daily life aboard the longboat did not allow for much formality beyond rank. “Well, you will know soon enough. We are being hunted.” Grímur replied. I imagined a boat filled with monks, or armed men, following us from the land we had visited “How many?” I asked. “One” The reply was unexpected, one man would not be much of a threat. “Then we have little to worry about. One man can do us no harm.” “Who says it is a man? I have been watching our wake. We are being hunted by something under the water. Some beast” I nodded and returned to my seat. The way Grímur had said that we were being hunted by a beast was unsettling, but I sensed no more information would be forthcoming for now. As I looked to the back of the boat, in the distance, I imagined I could see a swell of water formed by an unnatural shape effortlessly gliding under the water. On day four Grímur stood up at the bow of the vessel. We sensed by his stance we should prepare ourselves for what was coming so we prepared our shields and weapons. A few minutes later I felt as if the world exploded. Out of the water burst a huge beast the likes I would never see again. It appeared as a large serpent, the head easily larger than our ship. Its eyes held the fires of eternity, and as it roared defiantly at our diminutive boat we were all overcome with dread. The beasts fangs were the size of great-swords. Its scales the sizes of our shields. At this moment I knew that I would be dead soon. The waves of its movements caused our boat to bob and sink like a cork on a wave. We were helpless. Grímur screamed an oath to the gods, took one step on the edge of the bow and hurled himself at the beast. I could not believe my eyes as he wresled with the mighty beast. The last we heard from him was “SAIL AWAY, FLEE OR DIE!”. We scrambled for our oars and sailed away, leaving Grímur behind. The last I saw of Grímur he was on top of the beasts head, holding his hammer above his head, lightning striking down from the sky into him, his eyes glowing with white light and his red hair glowing like fire. I knew then that this was not a normal man. As we managed to gain some distance on the mighty battle between the beast and god the waves settled and we witnessed the conclusion as Grímur killed the wyrm with a mighty blow. A streak of light travelled overhead to the north immediately after this and we knew that Grímur was safe. I will always remember this hard man, if he was a man at all. He never returned to our village but we keep his memory alive every year with stories of his heroism. His face now adorns the bow of our blessed longboat. I would not meet Grímur again for many a year.	The dark alley echoed with the footsteps of the villain and I knew that I had her right where I wanted them. "I'll go get the purse if you let me keep half of the money." They had seen what Dev could do first hand, when he had been stealing their purse, so there was no way that they were going to do it themselves. He had punched through a brick wall before snatching their purses. If they only knew some of Dev's other talents.... The purse snatchee had been making self deliberation faces for almost half a minute. "Fine.", she said, in a voice that she hoped would indicate that it was very much not fine. I thought I heard her mutter something about "Damn heroes" and "Filthy crooks", but I was already rushing into the darkness. About halfway through the alley I turned at the first corner I saw. I almost ran into Dev. "Jesus Christ man. A little warning next time." "I'm still mad at you." "Why would you possibly be mad at me?" "Because this plan doesn't make any fucking sense! Why are we giving the purse back? We already had the damn thing." "That attitude right there is why you get to play the villain. You're just so naturally villainous." "I get to play the villain because I can actually scare people. What are you going to do, shout at them that you can hear them extremely well as your robbing them?" "Ha Ha asshole. Just give me the purse." "What are you going to tell them, anyway? What if they want a demonstration of how you overcame me?" "I'll say that I used my otherworldly wits to convince you to hand over the purse. I wouldn't even have to lie." "Oh, shut up. Here - take the stupid thing." I grabbed the purse from Dev's hand and turned back. If it wasn't dark in the alleyway I don't think I could have resisted the temptation to count the money before I gave it back. I tried to appear disheveled by messing up my hair a bit. It would have to do. I came around a corner and could see the woman still waiting. I approached her. "Thank you so much!" She said as she saw that I was holding her purse. I actually felt a twinge of guilt. I had justified this to myself as being some sort of lesson, like an anti purse snatching tax or something, but I knew that this part was going to suck. "You're are very welcome." I handed her the purse. She pilfered through it. I saw some prescription medicine and reading glasses suddenly felt even worse. It felt like I was robbing my Grandma. She got to her wallet and started going through the money. "Here is ... $30." I was almost tempted to tell her to keep it, but my stomach rumbled at that exact moment. I remembered that there was a reason that I had to do this, and it wasn't like we stole her purse or anything. "Thank you very much." I began walking down the sidewalk in the opposite direction as her. I would meet Dev back at the house. He wouldn't be happy with $30, and I didn't think I could hold him back much longer. If he had his way, we were about to get into serious trouble, soon. ___ /r/Periapoapsis
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	"I'm just going to talk to him," Rodgers says to himself, standing outside a house. It was the definition of suburban. A little garden out the front, a big oak tree and a novelty mailbox shaped like a salmon. He knocks on the door three times, to no answer, as it swings ajar. Rodgers walks inside, coughing as he does. Rotting food litters some of the floors, and a dozen broken bong's glass joins it. He carefully tiptoes around them all, lest he got an infection, and yells out. "Hello?" The words bounce around the walls, falling on deaf ears. "Jack?" Rodgers walks into the surrounding rooms to find nothing of interest, mostly more rotting food and massive quantities of narcotics. The stairs tease out to him, knowingly, as if to say 'Jack's up here.' They creak as he walks up, photos of a family not belonging to Jack neatly arranged on the wall. Once at the top, he stares down the hallway to see a door partially open. "Jack?" he says curiously and moves towards it. He pries the door open slightly and then immediately regrets that decision. Jack is sitting in a large chair with headphones on, his hand down his pants, and the TV blaring hardcore porn. Rodgers moves back into the hallway for a moment to collect himself, before thumping the door as loud as he can and moving inside. "Jack!" He yells, much to Jack's dismay. He jumps from his chair, throws the headphones off, but doesn't take his hand out of his pants. "Fuckin, what!" Jack yells, a furrowed brow and a bit of spit dripping out his mouth. "You ever heard of fucking knocking?" "I tried that," Rodgers remarks. "Fuck off," Jack says, getting back into his chair. With a touch of a remote, the porn turns off, and Jack breathes in deep. A small bong sits next to him which he lifts to his chest and prepares. "So what do you want Rodge?" "We've got a bit of a monster problem over in NYC. Destroying the whole place," "Yeah yeah, I saw that," Jack says, scooping some of his bowl into his cone piece. "Did you send Canary?" "She couldn't handle it," "Andromeda?" "He couldn't handle it," "Mech-zero?" Jack exclaims, now getting surprised. He lights the cone and begins to inhale deeply. "He died." Jack's eyes grow wide at the new bit of information, but still, continues to inhale. A few more seconds pass before he stops. "Aw fuck then," Jack says, talking while exhaling, "You really need bloody Jack then don't you?" A shit-eating grin blooms over Jack's face, as he stares up at Rodgers. "50 grand." "Deal." "Fantastic," Jack stands and looks at Rodgers, his erection flopping out his underwear. Rodgers stares at him for a few more pained moments before speaking. "Who's house is this," "Let's get going ay." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A heavily armored van is shifting through pedestrians with Jack inside. Chants from outside are thunderous in volume and full of joy. Eventually, the van comes to a stop. From outside, the cheering grows as a chaotic applause begins, no rhythm to its nature. "You ready Jack?" an unnamed soldier says, his hands fiddling with his gun. Jack grunts, finishes rolling his cigarette, lazily puts it in his mouth and walks towards the van's exit. He thumps on the side twice, and the door starts to open. "Probably not," Jack replies, pulling out a lighter and letting the nicotine hit his veins. The sunlight blurs his vision as he steps into the world, the cheers and claps immediately stopping. Sighing, he looks all around himself to see sad faces and angry civilians. "Are you not entertained!?" Jack yells, thrusting his arms above himself. He smiles, as the faces stare him down. He spins and spins, bathing in the glow of contempt, ecstatic in his self-indulgent joy. A roar in the distance breaks his attention. It's visceral and full of rage, a beast made of death waiting to dole out more. The crowd murmurs in fear, taking a collective step back. "Go get em, Jack!" A voice yells, a few more joining. It only took a few seconds before they were all cheering his name, and chanting for him to go. "Selfish buggers," Jack mutters under his breath. He takes a few steps forward, but The Beast beats him to it. With a crash, it descends just in front of him Jack. Wings made out of dark black, and a form made out of nightmares; it bubbles and seethes around as if it was a liquid. A thousand eyes cover it, all moving and changing shape at random, but all are staring at Jack. Taking the cigarette from his mouth, Jack flicks it and lets it smolder into the ground. The crowd that was around only moments ago has fled, leaving Jack alone. The Beast swings, its horrendous claw slashing down at Jack. It rends the air as if it was mere paper, and slams down on Jack's head. As soon as it does, its whole body locks up. Its heartbeat slows, and it feels weary. The claw is embedded deep into Jack's skull, and he smiles. He places both hands on it and focuses. Slowly, the life drains out of The Beast and into Jack. Its knowledge burns into his consciousness, its desires flood his heart, and its unbound rage to his soul. The Beast collapses, dead; its life force now within Jack. A helicopter lands behind Jack a few minutes after The Beast's demise, and Rodgers steps out. "Good work," he says, holding his hand out to shake Jacks. "50 grand, straight to your bank account, just like you asked." "So Canary couldn't do this?" "No," "Andromeda?" "No," "Not even Mech-zero?" Jack picks up the cigarette he threw away and relights it. "Not even Mech-zero, Jack. You're a real hero." "100 grand." Jack inhales deeply and looks at Rodgers with a smile. "No deal," Rodgers says. "I wasn't askin'," Jack says, his smile fading. "I was tellin' mate. 100 grand. Or I'm going rogue on your ass." "That's suicide Jack," Rodgers remarks. "We'd have every superhero on you before nightfall." The last bit of ash drips out of the cigarette. Jack takes it from his lips, turns to The Beast, and throws the cigarette onto it. With a few steps, he passes Rodgers on his side and continues to walk. "They can try." ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Check out /r/Rhysyjay for other neat stuff.	The dark alley echoed with the footsteps of the villain and I knew that I had her right where I wanted them. "I'll go get the purse if you let me keep half of the money." They had seen what Dev could do first hand, when he had been stealing their purse, so there was no way that they were going to do it themselves. He had punched through a brick wall before snatching their purses. If they only knew some of Dev's other talents.... The purse snatchee had been making self deliberation faces for almost half a minute. "Fine.", she said, in a voice that she hoped would indicate that it was very much not fine. I thought I heard her mutter something about "Damn heroes" and "Filthy crooks", but I was already rushing into the darkness. About halfway through the alley I turned at the first corner I saw. I almost ran into Dev. "Jesus Christ man. A little warning next time." "I'm still mad at you." "Why would you possibly be mad at me?" "Because this plan doesn't make any fucking sense! Why are we giving the purse back? We already had the damn thing." "That attitude right there is why you get to play the villain. You're just so naturally villainous." "I get to play the villain because I can actually scare people. What are you going to do, shout at them that you can hear them extremely well as your robbing them?" "Ha Ha asshole. Just give me the purse." "What are you going to tell them, anyway? What if they want a demonstration of how you overcame me?" "I'll say that I used my otherworldly wits to convince you to hand over the purse. I wouldn't even have to lie." "Oh, shut up. Here - take the stupid thing." I grabbed the purse from Dev's hand and turned back. If it wasn't dark in the alleyway I don't think I could have resisted the temptation to count the money before I gave it back. I tried to appear disheveled by messing up my hair a bit. It would have to do. I came around a corner and could see the woman still waiting. I approached her. "Thank you so much!" She said as she saw that I was holding her purse. I actually felt a twinge of guilt. I had justified this to myself as being some sort of lesson, like an anti purse snatching tax or something, but I knew that this part was going to suck. "You're are very welcome." I handed her the purse. She pilfered through it. I saw some prescription medicine and reading glasses suddenly felt even worse. It felt like I was robbing my Grandma. She got to her wallet and started going through the money. "Here is ... $30." I was almost tempted to tell her to keep it, but my stomach rumbled at that exact moment. I remembered that there was a reason that I had to do this, and it wasn't like we stole her purse or anything. "Thank you very much." I began walking down the sidewalk in the opposite direction as her. I would meet Dev back at the house. He wouldn't be happy with $30, and I didn't think I could hold him back much longer. If he had his way, we were about to get into serious trouble, soon. ___ /r/Periapoapsis
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	I am not a good man. James looked down at the table, sipping his water. Always the same look when he's got something on his mind. "What're you ordering," he says with a low voice. "I hear the, uh, steak and fries are great." "Maybe just a coffee." I drummed the table lightly with my fingertips. "Look, J, I know that face. What's on your mind, man?" He hesitated, then looked up. His eyes were tired, dull bags underneath. I've never seen the guy look so old. "The, ah, warehouse explosion last night," His eyes turned hard. "That was you, wasn't it?" I chewed on my tongue for a bit, then sighed. "It might have been overkill, but the Stella's pay me well. Honestly, I think what I did preserved more lives. You know how an all-out war between them and the Callaghan's would turn out?" He rested his head in his palm, half-listening to my bullshit. "They're honestly talking about you, J. You've made yourself a name, fucking up their operations like this. They'll be out for you soon if you don't stop." I lowered my voice as the waitress approached. "What'll it be today, boys?" she said, her brown curls bouncing as she whipped out a pen and a smile. "Oh, Jamie, back again? I knew you couldn't get enough of us." "You know it. I think I'll have that famous steak-frites you guys make. Friend over here'll have a cup of coffee." He winked. "Now I hope you aren't planning to pay. You already do enough good for us. Hell, was it just last week you took care of that gang roaming the streets at night. Constant B&Es in a little street like this. Unbelievable." She scribbled on the pad in a practiced fashion, scampering back to the kitchen with that little smile of hers. James' face turned serious again. "We've had this talk plenty of times. You already know the spiel." I nodded, stifling a yawn. "And you know it's never too late." I shook my head. "James, I follow the money. We all do. Maybe your moonlighting as a hero makes you feel all warm-and-fuzzy inside, but warm-and-fuzzy doesn't pay the bill. Unless you're the Phoenix or Hothead, warm-and-fuzzy means you freeze to death, out in the cold, when winter hits." He rubbed his face with the palms of his hands. "It's not about the money. It's about making a change. All these changes start small. Grassroots. But when you get the idea into people's heads, they start to think 'Hm, maybe I can do good. Maybe good is what we need.'" I could tell he's been through this speech with others before. I could almost smell their rejection and skepticism wafting off his body. Yet I saw the fire in his belly. "James, this hero business. It's eating at you. I know you think you're doing the right thing, but the right things aren't always the right thing. This," I waved my hands for dramatic effect, "vigilantism doesn't fix anything. The Golden Age of heroes is over. For every one upstanding guy, two assholes would pop up. You know that's how actual bad guys work. They're attracted to conflict like mosquitos to flesh. The way we do it now...it's nice. It works." "It's selfish," James spat out. He looked away from me, out the window at the busy street. The trees were in full bloom, sunshine casting refulgent shadows along the noontime traffic. We sat quietly for a time, the food eventually arriving, piping hot. "I don't know what to do anymore," James whispered under his breath. "I can't do this alone." I leaned in, resting a hand on his shoulder. A small smirk fell on his face. "What're you trying to do, blow me up?" he said, chuckling lightly. I smiled back, stealing a handful of fries. "James, buddy. I'm just saying, being a hero isn't for me. I'm not sure it's for you either. I can give a good word to my boss. Start you on double pay. Do you really want to do this hero stuff though? It's just all swimming upstream." His face was solemn, like that of a statue. "Yes. Even if no one joins, yes. It is right." I sighed deeply, and fell back in my seat. He ate with a stony, distant look on his face. I finished my coffee, patted James on the shoulder, then slapped a twenty on the table. A smile broke onto his face. "Heh, it's complimentary, remember?" he said, shifting out of his seat. "It's...actually a tip. An apology, really." "What, to me? We might disagree, but you don't have to apologize." "No, it's an apology to the waitress. For what she's about to see." I snapped my fingers and walked to the door. A deep rumble echoed from James' stomach, and he fell to the ground, screaming. The smell of embers, of burnt esophagus and stomach lining slowly filled the room. He yelled, screamed, cried for his mother, writhing in a pool of saliva and blood, his fingers digging holes into the old diner floor. Smoke poured out of his belly in thick plumes. A guttural bellow of rage erupted from his scalded throat, as the patrons watched in horror as this man burned alive, from the inside out. It's the strongest ones that have the worst deaths. They can't just die quickly like normal people. I let out a ragged sigh, and walked out. Hands shaking, I lit myself a a cigarette with my fingertip, and got as far away from the diner as I could. "Fuck's sake, James," It was raining now. "I told you so." I am not a good man because all the good men are dead.	The dark alley echoed with the footsteps of the villain and I knew that I had her right where I wanted them. "I'll go get the purse if you let me keep half of the money." They had seen what Dev could do first hand, when he had been stealing their purse, so there was no way that they were going to do it themselves. He had punched through a brick wall before snatching their purses. If they only knew some of Dev's other talents.... The purse snatchee had been making self deliberation faces for almost half a minute. "Fine.", she said, in a voice that she hoped would indicate that it was very much not fine. I thought I heard her mutter something about "Damn heroes" and "Filthy crooks", but I was already rushing into the darkness. About halfway through the alley I turned at the first corner I saw. I almost ran into Dev. "Jesus Christ man. A little warning next time." "I'm still mad at you." "Why would you possibly be mad at me?" "Because this plan doesn't make any fucking sense! Why are we giving the purse back? We already had the damn thing." "That attitude right there is why you get to play the villain. You're just so naturally villainous." "I get to play the villain because I can actually scare people. What are you going to do, shout at them that you can hear them extremely well as your robbing them?" "Ha Ha asshole. Just give me the purse." "What are you going to tell them, anyway? What if they want a demonstration of how you overcame me?" "I'll say that I used my otherworldly wits to convince you to hand over the purse. I wouldn't even have to lie." "Oh, shut up. Here - take the stupid thing." I grabbed the purse from Dev's hand and turned back. If it wasn't dark in the alleyway I don't think I could have resisted the temptation to count the money before I gave it back. I tried to appear disheveled by messing up my hair a bit. It would have to do. I came around a corner and could see the woman still waiting. I approached her. "Thank you so much!" She said as she saw that I was holding her purse. I actually felt a twinge of guilt. I had justified this to myself as being some sort of lesson, like an anti purse snatching tax or something, but I knew that this part was going to suck. "You're are very welcome." I handed her the purse. She pilfered through it. I saw some prescription medicine and reading glasses suddenly felt even worse. It felt like I was robbing my Grandma. She got to her wallet and started going through the money. "Here is ... $30." I was almost tempted to tell her to keep it, but my stomach rumbled at that exact moment. I remembered that there was a reason that I had to do this, and it wasn't like we stole her purse or anything. "Thank you very much." I began walking down the sidewalk in the opposite direction as her. I would meet Dev back at the house. He wouldn't be happy with $30, and I didn't think I could hold him back much longer. If he had his way, we were about to get into serious trouble, soon. ___ /r/Periapoapsis
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	Seconds before the decaying support beams running through the apartment building finally snapped, Chronotron strolled casually into unit 8B, the last on his checklist. Mere seconds remained before the aging architecture would be reduced to rubble, but that was more than enough time for Chronotron. As one gifted with the ability to manipulate the passage of time, Chronotron rarely felt pressured when he worked – the concept of urgency, after all, had no relevance in a world which only moved when he allowed it to. He checked the apartment methodically, starting with the hall first, then the attached kitchen, the balcony, then the bedrooms. Which was where he found the kid, crying as she tugged on her friends in vain, pulling them towards the door. Shit, he thought, there’s three of them. “Hey, kid, you need to weave your chrono-filaments around your friends, or they are never going to be move. They’ll just be frozen there, forever.” The kid swung to face him, tears streaking down her cheeks, oblivious to the badge which Chronotron was holding out, which marked him as an Enhanced contractor attached to the police force. “Mister, please! We were just talking when suddenly, everything froze! I’ve been trying to move them, but they are not responding!” Chronotron could have explained to the girl that her latent powers had probably been awoken by the mortal danger she was in, and that it was more than likely that they shared an ancestor in common. He could also have demonstrated then how to manipulate a chrono-filament, or even just walked out of there with all three children. But none of those things fell under the insurance cover for the building, so Chronotron did none of that. After all, it wasn’t his fault that the owners didn’t spring for more coverage, or that whatever funds remained only allowed him to save one more person today. “Kid, come on,” Chronotron beckoned, holding out his hand, “time’s money, you know. I came to rescue you, so we’ve got to get a move on.” “And leave Sara and Bianca here? I can’t do that!” “You look like, what, 12 this year?” “What does that even matter in a situation like this?” Chronotron sighed. “You look like you’re old enough to understand the way things are. There’s only enough budget to save one of you, you know how we work. So count yourself lucky I’ve decided to rescue you.” “Can’t you just save them instead? I can get out on my own!” Chronotron scoffed. “As I said, I can only save one. Plus, without knowing how to use your powers, you couldn’t even get this door open. As I said, until you’ve learned how to weave your chrono-filaments, you can’t interact with the world at all. And this time pocket you carved, it’s sweet, for a first-timer, but it’s already cracking. I leave this room, and you’ll only experience a couple of minutes more before you’re wrenched back to the common timestream. So no, you can’t get out of your own.” A bulb seemed to go off in the girl’s head. “You’re an Enhanced policeman, aren’t you? You’re the special forces on retainer for the city?” “Correction, I’m Enhanced, but I am not a policeman. We’re paid per job. It’s very different.” “But that’s my point! I can hire you too, right? I can pay you to save us all!” “You couldn’t afford my fees.” “My parents have money! They will certainly pay you!” Chronotron shook his head resolutely. “Sorry kid, rules are rules. All services rendered only after payment is made. No credit, no exceptions.” His words were cold, but his conscience remained unpricked. After all, these weren’t his rules. The Enhanced Division was the one in charge of drafting policy, and they were the ones who had firmly decided on the upfront payment policy. And if he broke the rules, his license would be taken away, and his powers Stemmed. No one wanted that. “Please, you have to save them. They’re my best friends, and I would do anything just to save them!” the girl cried, as she sank to her knees. “Or how about the things I have in my room! Everything here is mine! Just take it!” Chronotron started to protest again, but the words died in his throat. There was one thing of value in that room. “Anything at all, I can take as payment?” “Yes! Please, anything!” --- Chronotron’s supervisor, Elendra, was waiting at the bottom of the building, clipboard in hand. As the complex finally collapsed inwards on itself, as Chronotron laid the two girls on the sidewalk along with all the other survivors he had rescued, Elendra’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “That’s one over budget. Please don’t tell me you messed up, the paperwork’s going to be a bitch.” “Calm down, Elendra, I got paid for the extra one. It’s not going to cause any accounting problems.” “Paid? By whom? Did you already collect payment?” Chronotron chuckled, then pointed with his chin towards the settling dust of the ruined building. “Payment in kind. The Institute’s still as hungry as ever to discover the origins of our powers, right? Well, there’s an Enhanced girl in there, she’s assigned me full rights to her remains.” --- /r/rarelyfunny	The dark alley echoed with the footsteps of the villain and I knew that I had her right where I wanted them. "I'll go get the purse if you let me keep half of the money." They had seen what Dev could do first hand, when he had been stealing their purse, so there was no way that they were going to do it themselves. He had punched through a brick wall before snatching their purses. If they only knew some of Dev's other talents.... The purse snatchee had been making self deliberation faces for almost half a minute. "Fine.", she said, in a voice that she hoped would indicate that it was very much not fine. I thought I heard her mutter something about "Damn heroes" and "Filthy crooks", but I was already rushing into the darkness. About halfway through the alley I turned at the first corner I saw. I almost ran into Dev. "Jesus Christ man. A little warning next time." "I'm still mad at you." "Why would you possibly be mad at me?" "Because this plan doesn't make any fucking sense! Why are we giving the purse back? We already had the damn thing." "That attitude right there is why you get to play the villain. You're just so naturally villainous." "I get to play the villain because I can actually scare people. What are you going to do, shout at them that you can hear them extremely well as your robbing them?" "Ha Ha asshole. Just give me the purse." "What are you going to tell them, anyway? What if they want a demonstration of how you overcame me?" "I'll say that I used my otherworldly wits to convince you to hand over the purse. I wouldn't even have to lie." "Oh, shut up. Here - take the stupid thing." I grabbed the purse from Dev's hand and turned back. If it wasn't dark in the alleyway I don't think I could have resisted the temptation to count the money before I gave it back. I tried to appear disheveled by messing up my hair a bit. It would have to do. I came around a corner and could see the woman still waiting. I approached her. "Thank you so much!" She said as she saw that I was holding her purse. I actually felt a twinge of guilt. I had justified this to myself as being some sort of lesson, like an anti purse snatching tax or something, but I knew that this part was going to suck. "You're are very welcome." I handed her the purse. She pilfered through it. I saw some prescription medicine and reading glasses suddenly felt even worse. It felt like I was robbing my Grandma. She got to her wallet and started going through the money. "Here is ... $30." I was almost tempted to tell her to keep it, but my stomach rumbled at that exact moment. I remembered that there was a reason that I had to do this, and it wasn't like we stole her purse or anything. "Thank you very much." I began walking down the sidewalk in the opposite direction as her. I would meet Dev back at the house. He wouldn't be happy with $30, and I didn't think I could hold him back much longer. If he had his way, we were about to get into serious trouble, soon. ___ /r/Periapoapsis
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	Dreadnaught was the last of the Old Guard. The early heroes who had fought for the good of the world, for honor and justice and other long-dead ideals. they toppled dictatorships, brought aid to disaster-stricken regions and never accepted a penny. Dreadnaught himself had seen the greats of the age, had only been a young rookie when The Atom and Red Lightning and all the others were around. There had been villains, of course- bastards and madmen who used their powers for their own benefit, but they were always beaten back. The good guys always won in the end. Dreadnaught had long since stopped caring about "good" or "evil". He was standing on a wind-tossed rooftop in Dubai, staring at the bright artificial stars, gleaming skyscrapers and rivers of vehicles, spreading forever into the distance. He idly wondered what had happened to the old greats, Atom and Lightning and Sunbeam. He continued to think back, remembering the first changes.... It began when he and a few allies rescued some fat cat from an attempted assassination, somewhere in South Korea. When word came out that the cat had been smuggling weapons up north, and had betrayed the country, Dreadnaught shrugged. He wasn't a political sort. But Fat Cats are always good at redirecting blame- they called him and his friends mercenaries, not caring who he fought for as long as he had glory and attention. He heard insults and threats as he walked through the streets. He tried his best not to mind. He minded. He had never had much- Dreadnaught grew up in the inner city and came from a poor family. So when people said he, and others like him, was profiting from chaos and war and fear as he struggled to make ends meet and ate third-rate prepackaged meals- his blood boiled. Most heroes were offered work when their identities were revealed- Private armies, government work, criminal organizations. He decided that if people thought he was a thug- then it didn't hurt to do a thug's job. He accepted a job offer, then another, and another. His pay was high and his scruples few. He moved out of the slums and into a high rise apartment. People kept calling him a crook and a monster, but it hurt less now that it was true. Others joined him, fighting wars and steal secrets for the highest bidder. That was how it had happened. The world was a different place now than it was. Supers were identified from birth and signed on with one of the big corporations at the age of 12. There were no more armies anymore, no more citizen soldiers. Just hired guns with enough firepower to level cities. Some Supers still fought the good fight, of course. They lived on the edges of the world, striking out against the "Man" in what little ways they could. But most Supers lived quiet lives, turning down the offers of big corporations, and not making a fuss of their powers for fear of attracting too much attention. Dreadnaught looked down from the glinting lights and turned towards the desert. His contact would be arriving soon, with his pay, and likely another job. He was one of the oldest men in the business, after all. He never failed, he never quit a job until it was done. His skills were highly valued.	The dark alley echoed with the footsteps of the villain and I knew that I had her right where I wanted them. "I'll go get the purse if you let me keep half of the money." They had seen what Dev could do first hand, when he had been stealing their purse, so there was no way that they were going to do it themselves. He had punched through a brick wall before snatching their purses. If they only knew some of Dev's other talents.... The purse snatchee had been making self deliberation faces for almost half a minute. "Fine.", she said, in a voice that she hoped would indicate that it was very much not fine. I thought I heard her mutter something about "Damn heroes" and "Filthy crooks", but I was already rushing into the darkness. About halfway through the alley I turned at the first corner I saw. I almost ran into Dev. "Jesus Christ man. A little warning next time." "I'm still mad at you." "Why would you possibly be mad at me?" "Because this plan doesn't make any fucking sense! Why are we giving the purse back? We already had the damn thing." "That attitude right there is why you get to play the villain. You're just so naturally villainous." "I get to play the villain because I can actually scare people. What are you going to do, shout at them that you can hear them extremely well as your robbing them?" "Ha Ha asshole. Just give me the purse." "What are you going to tell them, anyway? What if they want a demonstration of how you overcame me?" "I'll say that I used my otherworldly wits to convince you to hand over the purse. I wouldn't even have to lie." "Oh, shut up. Here - take the stupid thing." I grabbed the purse from Dev's hand and turned back. If it wasn't dark in the alleyway I don't think I could have resisted the temptation to count the money before I gave it back. I tried to appear disheveled by messing up my hair a bit. It would have to do. I came around a corner and could see the woman still waiting. I approached her. "Thank you so much!" She said as she saw that I was holding her purse. I actually felt a twinge of guilt. I had justified this to myself as being some sort of lesson, like an anti purse snatching tax or something, but I knew that this part was going to suck. "You're are very welcome." I handed her the purse. She pilfered through it. I saw some prescription medicine and reading glasses suddenly felt even worse. It felt like I was robbing my Grandma. She got to her wallet and started going through the money. "Here is ... $30." I was almost tempted to tell her to keep it, but my stomach rumbled at that exact moment. I remembered that there was a reason that I had to do this, and it wasn't like we stole her purse or anything. "Thank you very much." I began walking down the sidewalk in the opposite direction as her. I would meet Dev back at the house. He wouldn't be happy with $30, and I didn't think I could hold him back much longer. If he had his way, we were about to get into serious trouble, soon. ___ /r/Periapoapsis
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	3:30 AM, Atlanta The phone rang. "This had better be worth waking my ass up." "Flux. $500,000. If we lose power--." "I'll do it if you make it six. Where?" The caller accepted, a little too quickly. Damn. Could have got more. The caller gave the address to a malfunctioning power station, and thanked Flux for assisting Westshore specialty. "An insurance agent, huh?" Well, it makes sense. Superheroes were a damn sight cheaper than losing a court case, these days. Flux had been a generous soul. But not anymore. He loved music. When he first discovered his power, all those years ago, he used his power over electricity to give fledgling bands free power, so they could practice anywhere, anytime. They didn't even have to plug their equipment into anything! It made for some great hipster music videos. Back then, he sometimes helped clean up metal debris from car crashes. Other days, he donated electricity to his poorer friends, or gave the homeless shelter free electricity for a few hours, to run the A/C during the hot summer months. That all changed after a fateful day a few years ago. Flux prevented a plane crash by using electromagnetism to lower it safely to the ground. After that, Flux became famous. And with fame, came more calls for help. But they all wanted it for free. Non-stop, day and night. Not always for heroic deeds, either. One kid wanted him to take out the power at his office so he could spend that day with his girlfriend. He grew fed up with the non-stop pleas for help. Fed up as he was, he was too poor to buy food. Even superheroes have to eat, you know. So, Flux started charging for his powers. This sparked outrage at first - Headlines like "Does Flux's greed have no limit?" dominated the news cycle - because people had grown used to the impossible being done for them for free. However, capitalism won the day - other heroes in other cities borrowed flux's idea. They too had been worked to the bone, and for what? To go home to a creaky apartment without enough money to even wash their spandex? These days, heroes primarily did boring but valuable things, such as prevent power outages, stop floods from damaging property, put out fires, that sort of thing. Some chose to do pro-bono work at times, but it was not expected the way that it was in years past. Flux sighed as he drove to the plant. He could easily power the grid from the sidewalk outside his house, but the insurance company would have a fit and cut his pay. Last time he did that, they charged him for damaging the wiring, which cut his $250,000 reward down to a mere $15,000. Looks like another couple hours of maintaining a boring old 60 hz stream...	The dark alley echoed with the footsteps of the villain and I knew that I had her right where I wanted them. "I'll go get the purse if you let me keep half of the money." They had seen what Dev could do first hand, when he had been stealing their purse, so there was no way that they were going to do it themselves. He had punched through a brick wall before snatching their purses. If they only knew some of Dev's other talents.... The purse snatchee had been making self deliberation faces for almost half a minute. "Fine.", she said, in a voice that she hoped would indicate that it was very much not fine. I thought I heard her mutter something about "Damn heroes" and "Filthy crooks", but I was already rushing into the darkness. About halfway through the alley I turned at the first corner I saw. I almost ran into Dev. "Jesus Christ man. A little warning next time." "I'm still mad at you." "Why would you possibly be mad at me?" "Because this plan doesn't make any fucking sense! Why are we giving the purse back? We already had the damn thing." "That attitude right there is why you get to play the villain. You're just so naturally villainous." "I get to play the villain because I can actually scare people. What are you going to do, shout at them that you can hear them extremely well as your robbing them?" "Ha Ha asshole. Just give me the purse." "What are you going to tell them, anyway? What if they want a demonstration of how you overcame me?" "I'll say that I used my otherworldly wits to convince you to hand over the purse. I wouldn't even have to lie." "Oh, shut up. Here - take the stupid thing." I grabbed the purse from Dev's hand and turned back. If it wasn't dark in the alleyway I don't think I could have resisted the temptation to count the money before I gave it back. I tried to appear disheveled by messing up my hair a bit. It would have to do. I came around a corner and could see the woman still waiting. I approached her. "Thank you so much!" She said as she saw that I was holding her purse. I actually felt a twinge of guilt. I had justified this to myself as being some sort of lesson, like an anti purse snatching tax or something, but I knew that this part was going to suck. "You're are very welcome." I handed her the purse. She pilfered through it. I saw some prescription medicine and reading glasses suddenly felt even worse. It felt like I was robbing my Grandma. She got to her wallet and started going through the money. "Here is ... $30." I was almost tempted to tell her to keep it, but my stomach rumbled at that exact moment. I remembered that there was a reason that I had to do this, and it wasn't like we stole her purse or anything. "Thank you very much." I began walking down the sidewalk in the opposite direction as her. I would meet Dev back at the house. He wouldn't be happy with $30, and I didn't think I could hold him back much longer. If he had his way, we were about to get into serious trouble, soon. ___ /r/Periapoapsis
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	The pen slips, drawing a jagged line along the 'Cash' field of the deposit slip. I sigh and look around. Whatever jogged my elbow nudges me in the ribs this time, and I reach up to pull the headphones away from my ear. "You, too, tiny. Hands where we can see 'em, down on the floor with the rest. Nice and easy." The guy is wearing a ski mask, a little under six feet tall, a sandy blond eye brow just visible above one of his blue eyes. Those eyes look fierce, but there's a note in his voice on the edge of panic. Oh, and he's waving a hand gun in my face, reaching up so that it's just under my nose. Poor trigger discipline, I note, suppressing a reflex to break his arm and take the weapon. I take a moment to look around the interior of the bank. Two more masked individuals, the three tellers with their hands stretched out on the counter top, maybe half a dozen other people who were waiting in line. They're prone, now, hands splayed wide on the floor. "C'mon, don't make this hard," says Mr. Blue Eyes, gesturing impatiently with the gun. "Don't try to be a hero, big guy." "No trouble," I agree, easing myself on the floor. "No trouble," I repeat for emphasis. Hero. Was I ever one of those? Doesn't feel like it, these days. From the floor, I watch as two of the other robbers escort a teller, at gunpoint, out of sight, presumably in search of a vault, or something. Do banks still have vaults? I guess they would, for deposit boxes, if nothing else. I gently draw on the Aether and attune my hearing for a moment, since that's not breaking any laws. Out on the street, traffic is continuing as normal. People walking by, cars driving. No sound of approaching sirens. I open my senses a little more and the room suddenly blooms with phantom colors and sensations. They're a little dimmer over in the corner, and I turn my attention there. She's good. Not just a wild talent, but someone who has done a lot of practice. Her touch on the Aether stills it in a wide area around her, bleeding through to the Material and probably blanketing the whole block outside the bank with a sense of calm, even a slight euphoria, deflecting attention away from the bank. I stop channeling and return to the present. Mr. Blue Eyes is prodding me with his boot. "Hand it over, man, I know you got something." With a sigh, I reach slowly into my pocket and take out my battered walkman. "Can I at least keep the tape, man? Leave me that much? Ain't easy to find, these days." "You some kinda hipster, old man?" "Only if 'hipster' is slang for 'dead broke.'" "What's on it, anyway? "AC/DC. Got it when I was in highschool." "Sure man. Now the rest." I put the tape back in my pocket and bring out the roll of bills I was going to deposit. When I hesitate, he lunges, snatching the wad from my hand before quickly backing up to what he believes is out of reach. After a moment, I settle back to the ground. Blue Eyes heads over to the family next to me. The kid's mom cringes as she rifles through her purse. Blue Eyes just takes it from her, tosses it to one of his goons, waves his gun a bit, then snatches her iPhone and jams it into a pocket. He takes the kid's phone, too. Kid looks like he's maybe twelve. He's got that look on his face, like he's imagined how he'd save everyone from a situation just like this, and now it's here and he doesn't like what he just learned about himself. "Ain't worth it, son." He looks at me and I can see the angry tears standing in his eyes. He's angry at the robbers, but mostly at himself. I know. "It's just a phone. Plenty of those. Ain't worth your life or health. Let it go." "If I were a Hero, I'd stop 'em," he mutters. "Then you'd go to prison right beside 'em. Gotta have a contract," I tell him, keeping my voice low. "No contract, you're just a vigilante, and those're criminals, too." He gets quiet. That's different. Most kids his age, they would explode at me, believing their anger. This one stops and thinks. A gunshot sounds from somewhere I can't see and raised voices arguing soon follow. A woman, one of the other tellers, screams and begins crying, and I suddenly feel an intense pull as the robber in the corner, eyes screwed shut in concentration, draws more deeply on the Aether to keep the bank veiled from attention. At the rate the ambient energies are being used up, this is going to end soon, one way or another. A piece of paper, folded into an air plane, drifts to a stop in front of me a moment before the pencil hits me in the face. I look over at the kid, and he motions me to open it. I begin reading. "I, Robin Andrew Greyson, seek to engage the services of the undersigned. At the rate of twenty dollars an hour, for a span of no fewer than two hours and totaling no more than six hours, the undersigned will secure the person, possessions, and any premises surrounding myself from injury, theft, or undue disturbance." I look up at him, an eyebrow raised in disbelief. He makes a get-on-with-it gesture. I pick up the pencil, sign the page, and fold it back into a plane, and loft it back to him. He picks it up and reads it. "Powerage?" "Never mind." Three robbers. No, four, that one with the veil keeps sliding herself out of my perception. Only two of them in this room. Nine hostages. Eight, now? I don't know. Most of the ambient power has been used up. I take a deep breath and concentrate on the pencil. Blue Eyes is closest. "Passing notes? Why don't you share with the cl-" is as far as he gets before six inches of sharpened wood and graphite, imbued with Aether to keep it from breaking, gets rammed up his nose, into his brain, killing him. It comes free with a light tug, and I fling it, overhand, at the woman in the corner. She comes out of her deep focus, looks down, and sees the small blossom of red on her shirt, just above her navel. I reach her just before she can use the panicked breath she just took to scream, closing a hand over her nose and mouth. If I can keep this quiet, I might be able to get the other two before any more hostages ge- I come back to myself, fetched up against the far wall, and there's a ringing in my ears. I throw myself open to the Aether, and the sudden contact with that other realm shocks me fully back to my senses. There's almost nothing left there to draw, but I pull what I can manage quickly, recklessly winding the energies around my frayed nerves to steady my balance and stop the spinning in my head. Then I shut off the connection, surging forward in a running crouch. The robber who hit me with the essence blast is in bad shape. Between the gut wound and the backlash of channeling so much raw power, she's unconscious, probably not getting up again without medical attention. I pull off the tattered remains of my shirt and press it over the widening bloodstain on her belly. "Alright, everyone out, quick and quiet. You," I say, pointing to a middle aged man, "toss me that and then give that guy a hand." One of the other men, looks like some kind of contractor, got caught on the fringe of the blast, seems like he's having trouble sitting up. "When you're out, find a phone and call the cops." Looking around, faces are frozen in disbelief, looking at me in shock. "Go," I sort of whisper-shout, and they get moving. "What the hell was all that noise? Jim, you and Marcia fighting again?" I bean the third man with a paperweight, hard enough to dent the front of his forehead, as he walks out from the one of the spaces behind the counter. A startled, "what the hell," comes from somewhere behind him. I drag the channeler out the front of doors of the bank, then out of sight of any windows. Probably shouldn't have, but I can't keep pressure on her injury and fight the last guy at the same time. Robin finds me. "Thanks." He hands me a twenty dollar bill. "Just... hold on to that piece of paper. I'm not a lawyer, but it might hold up if anyone decides to press charges." "I will," he says, face serious. I tuck the bill into my pocket, then freeze. Slowly, sadly, I bring out the plastic fragments and length of magnetic tape that had once been my favorite album, shattered by the force of an Aetheric essence blast. "Kid, you know anywhere I can get a cassette tape of AC/DC?" "I don't know what either of those things are." I think for a moment. "... Do you know any 'hipsters'?"	The dark alley echoed with the footsteps of the villain and I knew that I had her right where I wanted them. "I'll go get the purse if you let me keep half of the money." They had seen what Dev could do first hand, when he had been stealing their purse, so there was no way that they were going to do it themselves. He had punched through a brick wall before snatching their purses. If they only knew some of Dev's other talents.... The purse snatchee had been making self deliberation faces for almost half a minute. "Fine.", she said, in a voice that she hoped would indicate that it was very much not fine. I thought I heard her mutter something about "Damn heroes" and "Filthy crooks", but I was already rushing into the darkness. About halfway through the alley I turned at the first corner I saw. I almost ran into Dev. "Jesus Christ man. A little warning next time." "I'm still mad at you." "Why would you possibly be mad at me?" "Because this plan doesn't make any fucking sense! Why are we giving the purse back? We already had the damn thing." "That attitude right there is why you get to play the villain. You're just so naturally villainous." "I get to play the villain because I can actually scare people. What are you going to do, shout at them that you can hear them extremely well as your robbing them?" "Ha Ha asshole. Just give me the purse." "What are you going to tell them, anyway? What if they want a demonstration of how you overcame me?" "I'll say that I used my otherworldly wits to convince you to hand over the purse. I wouldn't even have to lie." "Oh, shut up. Here - take the stupid thing." I grabbed the purse from Dev's hand and turned back. If it wasn't dark in the alleyway I don't think I could have resisted the temptation to count the money before I gave it back. I tried to appear disheveled by messing up my hair a bit. It would have to do. I came around a corner and could see the woman still waiting. I approached her. "Thank you so much!" She said as she saw that I was holding her purse. I actually felt a twinge of guilt. I had justified this to myself as being some sort of lesson, like an anti purse snatching tax or something, but I knew that this part was going to suck. "You're are very welcome." I handed her the purse. She pilfered through it. I saw some prescription medicine and reading glasses suddenly felt even worse. It felt like I was robbing my Grandma. She got to her wallet and started going through the money. "Here is ... $30." I was almost tempted to tell her to keep it, but my stomach rumbled at that exact moment. I remembered that there was a reason that I had to do this, and it wasn't like we stole her purse or anything. "Thank you very much." I began walking down the sidewalk in the opposite direction as her. I would meet Dev back at the house. He wouldn't be happy with $30, and I didn't think I could hold him back much longer. If he had his way, we were about to get into serious trouble, soon. ___ /r/Periapoapsis
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	"Alright, so you want a superhero protection contract, what kind would you like?' "Well as you may know Mr Doomfist has recently taken up residence in my town, now i don't want to be judgemental but he has broken the laws of the last four he lived in." "A yes Mr Doomfist, always good for business, so do you want a specific contract out for us to stop him or one in general. We also offer a two villains for the price of one deal this month." "Does the specific contract include his minions and henchmen?" "It depends, the standard version covers a hundred normal minions or one super powered one, depending on the contract we could include a fixed price per minion that exceeds that amount, or we can increase the maximum. According to our documents Mr Doomfist now has eighty four minions." "So with a contract would you immediately go to arrest him or?" "It depends, in the contract is a threat scale, if its an apocalypse level threat then yes we will intervene, however if its a local level threat our response would be between three to five business days. However should you need more immediate assistance you can pay an additional fee to expedite the process." "What kind of hero's could i be expecting?" "That depends on the package, we have several squads able to be assigned to you, but for an additional fee you could also put your own squad together." ''I think il stick with one of the pre made ones, do you have any suggestions?" "Our flying brick squad has a high success rating against villains of Mr Doomfists nature, though they are a bit more expensive." "Price is no issue, Mr Doomfist has a tendency for collateral damage and we just rebuild city hall, and the insurance only pays out if the villain is caught." "Well then it all seems in order, are there any other questions?" "No, il take a contract for Mr Doomfist for a hundred fifty minions with a flying brick squad."	"Morning Mayor." "Falcon! What are- what are you doing here?" "I hadn't heard from you in a while," Falcon said, stepping casually along the front of the mayor's desk. He brushed off his cape. "I was getting worried about you." "Oh, that's so- so thoughtful," the mayor stuttered. "B-but as you can see, everything is fine here." "Now, now, Mayor. Everything is not fine. I can understand that times are tight lately, so I'm willing to overlook not getting a call from you during that riot a month ago. However I was a little perturbed that my phone was silent all through that bank robbery and hostage situation last week. And now there is a huge storm system that is going to cause tornadoes all through this city. So I decided I'd be proactive and let you know I'll be taking care of that one. I'm even discounting my rate for you." The mayor shifted in his seat. "W-w-well," he started. He jumped as his intercom buzzed. "Mr. Mayor, your two o'clock meeting is here," his assistant said. Falcon raised a hand to quiet the mayor, and leaned over to the intercom. "The mayor's going to have to cancel that. He's got another meeting that's going to run long." The door to the mayor's office swung open, and a young man with a shaved head walked in. "Mr. Mayor, sir, you can't cancel this meeting," his assistant started. "What happened to Jerry?" Falcon asked. "I, uh, I promoted him over to HR. This is Magnus, m-my new assistant." "You called Falcon sir? I thought we weren't going to be utilizing his services anymore," Magnus said pointedly. Falcon shot a dirty look to the mayor, before turning back to Magnus. "That's what this meeting is about. Revisiting that decision, particularly with the storm heading this way. Now if you'd just run along." "The storms are going to be moving south of here. We'll be fine." "They've shifted course," the Falcon said, exasperated. "Seriously, Mayor, you've got to bring Jerry back. This kid doesn't know his place." Magnus furrowed his brow in a look of concentration. "The storm has changed course. After you pushed it, Falcon." "W-w-what!?!" the Mayor shouted. "That's preposterous. Don't listen to this kid. Fire him." "Falcon needs money, Mayor. So he made work for himself. And this isn't the first time. It's like I told you Mayor, our city doesn't need him anymore. He's more trouble than he's worth." "How dare you!" Falcon said, advancing on Magnus. Magnus simply glared at Falcon. The caped man took a few more steps, then stumbled to his knees. He put his hands to his head, grunting in pain. A small trickle of blood worked it's way out of his nose. "Your services are no longer required, Falcon," Magnus said coldly. "This city has a new hero looking after it." ***** If you enjoyed that, subscribe to [Pubby's Creative Workshop](https://www.reddit.com/r/Pubby88) to read the rest of my prompt responses.
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	"Listen, I know your ad says your services start at $150, but I'm hoping you can make an exception, cut me a deal?" Her breathing is shallow and her voice quivers. She swallowed at the end of her sentence. She's panicked and desperate, and unlike most of the time wasters, she's not lying about the money part. "I'll listen, but this is a business, not a charity." "I know. I do. But, you see, I am a charity. I run a youth shelter on 6 mile. I have a couple of boys that come in every Thursday and Friday for the pantry. Only none of 'em have showed up the last few weeks." "Homeless youths? I wouldn't wind your clock by their patterns if I were you." "You don't have to tell me that, but these boys were different. They've been coming for nearly two years. And they aren't the only regulars that have gone missing. But the cops won't listen and I just know: someone is stealing kids." I glance at my desktop planner. Blank space as far as the eyes can see. "You got a non-profit number?" "Yes," her voice pitched up, hopeful. "Well, I'm gonna need a receipt." "You'll do it?" "I'll be feet down in Detroit in oh, about 45 minutes." I hung up and eyed my flying cape. At least my accountant could deduct it this time.	"Morning Mayor." "Falcon! What are- what are you doing here?" "I hadn't heard from you in a while," Falcon said, stepping casually along the front of the mayor's desk. He brushed off his cape. "I was getting worried about you." "Oh, that's so- so thoughtful," the mayor stuttered. "B-but as you can see, everything is fine here." "Now, now, Mayor. Everything is not fine. I can understand that times are tight lately, so I'm willing to overlook not getting a call from you during that riot a month ago. However I was a little perturbed that my phone was silent all through that bank robbery and hostage situation last week. And now there is a huge storm system that is going to cause tornadoes all through this city. So I decided I'd be proactive and let you know I'll be taking care of that one. I'm even discounting my rate for you." The mayor shifted in his seat. "W-w-well," he started. He jumped as his intercom buzzed. "Mr. Mayor, your two o'clock meeting is here," his assistant said. Falcon raised a hand to quiet the mayor, and leaned over to the intercom. "The mayor's going to have to cancel that. He's got another meeting that's going to run long." The door to the mayor's office swung open, and a young man with a shaved head walked in. "Mr. Mayor, sir, you can't cancel this meeting," his assistant started. "What happened to Jerry?" Falcon asked. "I, uh, I promoted him over to HR. This is Magnus, m-my new assistant." "You called Falcon sir? I thought we weren't going to be utilizing his services anymore," Magnus said pointedly. Falcon shot a dirty look to the mayor, before turning back to Magnus. "That's what this meeting is about. Revisiting that decision, particularly with the storm heading this way. Now if you'd just run along." "The storms are going to be moving south of here. We'll be fine." "They've shifted course," the Falcon said, exasperated. "Seriously, Mayor, you've got to bring Jerry back. This kid doesn't know his place." Magnus furrowed his brow in a look of concentration. "The storm has changed course. After you pushed it, Falcon." "W-w-what!?!" the Mayor shouted. "That's preposterous. Don't listen to this kid. Fire him." "Falcon needs money, Mayor. So he made work for himself. And this isn't the first time. It's like I told you Mayor, our city doesn't need him anymore. He's more trouble than he's worth." "How dare you!" Falcon said, advancing on Magnus. Magnus simply glared at Falcon. The caped man took a few more steps, then stumbled to his knees. He put his hands to his head, grunting in pain. A small trickle of blood worked it's way out of his nose. "Your services are no longer required, Falcon," Magnus said coldly. "This city has a new hero looking after it." ***** If you enjoyed that, subscribe to [Pubby's Creative Workshop](https://www.reddit.com/r/Pubby88) to read the rest of my prompt responses.
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	It was raining. The day we set to sea was a dark day, the sun did not appear in the sky and the skies appeared to cry as the sons of Helgavik set off to unfamiliar lands. I watched my parents on the shore, surrounded by the wives and families of my fellow sailors, but I could not find it in my heart to return their waves. I was a young man, barely sixteen years of age and waving to them would have broken me down and caused me to cry. But I had to stay strong, the men on the longboat with me were mostly veterans, having raided before and crying, in my mind, would show weakness in front of those hard sailors which I regarded as role models. However I stared back to shore until all I could see was mist and rain, before and aft. It would be months until I would see my family again, if at all. The longboat was the pride of the village from which we sailed. It had been made during a remarkably warm summer, and was hewn from good wood. It was beautifully decorated with images depicting the gods in battle, the monsters of the sea and with the names of some of the heroes that had sailed on it. This boat “Garmr” was considered blessed by the gods and those that would sail on it were priviliged men. I had gotten my place through contest, My arm was stronger than those of my friends, and my aim was true when throwing a spear. I had also shown courage in battle once before while defending my fathers farm, so Grímur the ships foreman, brought me aboard. “You know you may die.” he had said, matter of factly. “I am not afraid of going to my ancestors.” I replied, mustering up as much courage as I could in front of this large, red haired, man. “Good to hear, Arnr. Good to hear. You swear an oath to follow my orders, defend your fellow man and bring honor to the gods?” “Yes. My aim will never fail me, nor will I leave my friends back exposed to the enemy. I will fall if the gods will it so without fear.” “Allright, you will receive the same share as the rest of us, apart from one extra share for myself and captain Eirikur. You will be second oarsman on the right side.” In the days before my departure my parents, proud of their son for having secured a place on the Garmr, fed me the best food they could muster. My father gave me his axe, which his father had given him as well as a warm cloak. When the day came to go to the docks I was well provisioned and ready, my parents supplying me well in anticipation of me returning with exotic wares. During the day we sung songs praising the heroes of old while the sound of the oars hitting the ocean kept rhythm. If we had good wind we would spend our time cleaning the ship, watching the sky for signs of land. We each had our rations in a box under our seats where we spent most of our time. When the sky turned golden we would eat our food and spend our nights asleep, adrift on the ocean hoping we would not drift too far off course. One man stood watch each night to keep the ship sailing in the right direction as best he could. During the day Grímur would consult what he called his sun-stone for direction to good hunting areas as he called it. Area filled with enemy ships ripe for the plunder, but our main target would be a christian chapel he had heard was lightly defended and should pay for this raiding trip in one blow. --- We had arrived early in the morning, awoken by distant bells audible over the fog which enveloped us. Grímur smiled like a hungry wolf and started whispering urgent directions to the captain directing him towards the sound. “It starts” Arnolfr whispered to me from behind, “Odin willing we will be rich men at the end of this day or dead. Either way, be ready!”. I swallowed my fear while listening hard for any sounds from out of the fog, the only sounds being the low whispering of the men around me as well as the soft sound of the oar propelling the Garmr onwards. The first thing we could see were the black rocks of the shore. With skill and experience the boat was dragged ashore in near silence. “This is it! I can feel it in the air!” Grímur whispered to us as we assembled, weapons drawn, on the beach, “We will be in two groups. You lot will go with Eirkur and you will go with me” he said, indicating my group “Good hunting”. My heart was beating loudly in my heart, so much so that I feared it would give away our position, as we first caught a glimpse of a stone building. It was strange to see the chapel after hearing such places described by others. It was a large building built almost like an arrow, with a stone tower on one end. It had colorful windows depicting what I could only guess were old heroes akin to the ones depicted on our ship. My axe felt heavy as our backs got up to the walls of the building. Thank Thor for this fog, it had hidden our apprach so well we were still unnoticed. A raiding party of armed and capable warriors in the pen filled with unaware sheep. Suddenly without barely a nod towards the rest of us Grímur ran into the fog, shortly followed by a wet sound as his hammer struck flesh, this prompted the rest of us into action. Suddenly my world became very violent as men were everywhere. In the fog they reminded me of ancient ghosts, clad in black robes, obviously crying for mercy. I myself went into the chapel with two others and met one of the robed men as he seemed to be trying to save the valuables hidden inside the chapel. His face was white with fright, his words incomprehensible to me as I stepped towards him with my axe raised above my head. I will never forget the feeling of the iron biting into flesh, nor the warmth of his blood as he stumbled and fell, gold coins clattering on the ground from his fingers. The sound of battle was around me, and for the rest of my life I would never be able to remember the rest of it as some inner beast overtook me. “Good fight!” Grímur said, smiling as he hit me on the back. “You did well. You will no longer be a boy but a man. You have earned the respect.”. I was sitting on the steps of the chapel, holding a cup filled with wine and covered in blood. “It was my honor” I replied. I was proud of my achievement, but the face of the black robed monk was fresh in my mind. I knew then that he would be a spectre that would follow me throughout my life. We were rich now, Grímur told us there was more treasure inside this chapel than even he had imagined. We would get home earlier than planned which raised our morale, but was bittersweet since it meant fewer chances to die like warriors. I however was consoled with the image of my parents in my mind, proud of their son, fresh back from viking. --- It was the third day of our trip back that it all changed. Grímur looked anxious as he and captain Eirikur talked in the back of the boat while the rest of us ate our daily rations. I clambered over to them which caused Grímur to look at me with a mix of annoyance and curiosity while Eirikur looked concerned. “What is wrong?” I asked, but we had become accustomed to asking straight questions. The daily life aboard the longboat did not allow for much formality beyond rank. “Well, you will know soon enough. We are being hunted.” Grímur replied. I imagined a boat filled with monks, or armed men, following us from the land we had visited “How many?” I asked. “One” The reply was unexpected, one man would not be much of a threat. “Then we have little to worry about. One man can do us no harm.” “Who says it is a man? I have been watching our wake. We are being hunted by something under the water. Some beast” I nodded and returned to my seat. The way Grímur had said that we were being hunted by a beast was unsettling, but I sensed no more information would be forthcoming for now. As I looked to the back of the boat, in the distance, I imagined I could see a swell of water formed by an unnatural shape effortlessly gliding under the water. On day four Grímur stood up at the bow of the vessel. We sensed by his stance we should prepare ourselves for what was coming so we prepared our shields and weapons. A few minutes later I felt as if the world exploded. Out of the water burst a huge beast the likes I would never see again. It appeared as a large serpent, the head easily larger than our ship. Its eyes held the fires of eternity, and as it roared defiantly at our diminutive boat we were all overcome with dread. The beasts fangs were the size of great-swords. Its scales the sizes of our shields. At this moment I knew that I would be dead soon. The waves of its movements caused our boat to bob and sink like a cork on a wave. We were helpless. Grímur screamed an oath to the gods, took one step on the edge of the bow and hurled himself at the beast. I could not believe my eyes as he wresled with the mighty beast. The last we heard from him was “SAIL AWAY, FLEE OR DIE!”. We scrambled for our oars and sailed away, leaving Grímur behind. The last I saw of Grímur he was on top of the beasts head, holding his hammer above his head, lightning striking down from the sky into him, his eyes glowing with white light and his red hair glowing like fire. I knew then that this was not a normal man. As we managed to gain some distance on the mighty battle between the beast and god the waves settled and we witnessed the conclusion as Grímur killed the wyrm with a mighty blow. A streak of light travelled overhead to the north immediately after this and we knew that Grímur was safe. I will always remember this hard man, if he was a man at all. He never returned to our village but we keep his memory alive every year with stories of his heroism. His face now adorns the bow of our blessed longboat. I would not meet Grímur again for many a year.	"Morning Mayor." "Falcon! What are- what are you doing here?" "I hadn't heard from you in a while," Falcon said, stepping casually along the front of the mayor's desk. He brushed off his cape. "I was getting worried about you." "Oh, that's so- so thoughtful," the mayor stuttered. "B-but as you can see, everything is fine here." "Now, now, Mayor. Everything is not fine. I can understand that times are tight lately, so I'm willing to overlook not getting a call from you during that riot a month ago. However I was a little perturbed that my phone was silent all through that bank robbery and hostage situation last week. And now there is a huge storm system that is going to cause tornadoes all through this city. So I decided I'd be proactive and let you know I'll be taking care of that one. I'm even discounting my rate for you." The mayor shifted in his seat. "W-w-well," he started. He jumped as his intercom buzzed. "Mr. Mayor, your two o'clock meeting is here," his assistant said. Falcon raised a hand to quiet the mayor, and leaned over to the intercom. "The mayor's going to have to cancel that. He's got another meeting that's going to run long." The door to the mayor's office swung open, and a young man with a shaved head walked in. "Mr. Mayor, sir, you can't cancel this meeting," his assistant started. "What happened to Jerry?" Falcon asked. "I, uh, I promoted him over to HR. This is Magnus, m-my new assistant." "You called Falcon sir? I thought we weren't going to be utilizing his services anymore," Magnus said pointedly. Falcon shot a dirty look to the mayor, before turning back to Magnus. "That's what this meeting is about. Revisiting that decision, particularly with the storm heading this way. Now if you'd just run along." "The storms are going to be moving south of here. We'll be fine." "They've shifted course," the Falcon said, exasperated. "Seriously, Mayor, you've got to bring Jerry back. This kid doesn't know his place." Magnus furrowed his brow in a look of concentration. "The storm has changed course. After you pushed it, Falcon." "W-w-what!?!" the Mayor shouted. "That's preposterous. Don't listen to this kid. Fire him." "Falcon needs money, Mayor. So he made work for himself. And this isn't the first time. It's like I told you Mayor, our city doesn't need him anymore. He's more trouble than he's worth." "How dare you!" Falcon said, advancing on Magnus. Magnus simply glared at Falcon. The caped man took a few more steps, then stumbled to his knees. He put his hands to his head, grunting in pain. A small trickle of blood worked it's way out of his nose. "Your services are no longer required, Falcon," Magnus said coldly. "This city has a new hero looking after it." ***** If you enjoyed that, subscribe to [Pubby's Creative Workshop](https://www.reddit.com/r/Pubby88) to read the rest of my prompt responses.
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	"I'm just going to talk to him," Rodgers says to himself, standing outside a house. It was the definition of suburban. A little garden out the front, a big oak tree and a novelty mailbox shaped like a salmon. He knocks on the door three times, to no answer, as it swings ajar. Rodgers walks inside, coughing as he does. Rotting food litters some of the floors, and a dozen broken bong's glass joins it. He carefully tiptoes around them all, lest he got an infection, and yells out. "Hello?" The words bounce around the walls, falling on deaf ears. "Jack?" Rodgers walks into the surrounding rooms to find nothing of interest, mostly more rotting food and massive quantities of narcotics. The stairs tease out to him, knowingly, as if to say 'Jack's up here.' They creak as he walks up, photos of a family not belonging to Jack neatly arranged on the wall. Once at the top, he stares down the hallway to see a door partially open. "Jack?" he says curiously and moves towards it. He pries the door open slightly and then immediately regrets that decision. Jack is sitting in a large chair with headphones on, his hand down his pants, and the TV blaring hardcore porn. Rodgers moves back into the hallway for a moment to collect himself, before thumping the door as loud as he can and moving inside. "Jack!" He yells, much to Jack's dismay. He jumps from his chair, throws the headphones off, but doesn't take his hand out of his pants. "Fuckin, what!" Jack yells, a furrowed brow and a bit of spit dripping out his mouth. "You ever heard of fucking knocking?" "I tried that," Rodgers remarks. "Fuck off," Jack says, getting back into his chair. With a touch of a remote, the porn turns off, and Jack breathes in deep. A small bong sits next to him which he lifts to his chest and prepares. "So what do you want Rodge?" "We've got a bit of a monster problem over in NYC. Destroying the whole place," "Yeah yeah, I saw that," Jack says, scooping some of his bowl into his cone piece. "Did you send Canary?" "She couldn't handle it," "Andromeda?" "He couldn't handle it," "Mech-zero?" Jack exclaims, now getting surprised. He lights the cone and begins to inhale deeply. "He died." Jack's eyes grow wide at the new bit of information, but still, continues to inhale. A few more seconds pass before he stops. "Aw fuck then," Jack says, talking while exhaling, "You really need bloody Jack then don't you?" A shit-eating grin blooms over Jack's face, as he stares up at Rodgers. "50 grand." "Deal." "Fantastic," Jack stands and looks at Rodgers, his erection flopping out his underwear. Rodgers stares at him for a few more pained moments before speaking. "Who's house is this," "Let's get going ay." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A heavily armored van is shifting through pedestrians with Jack inside. Chants from outside are thunderous in volume and full of joy. Eventually, the van comes to a stop. From outside, the cheering grows as a chaotic applause begins, no rhythm to its nature. "You ready Jack?" an unnamed soldier says, his hands fiddling with his gun. Jack grunts, finishes rolling his cigarette, lazily puts it in his mouth and walks towards the van's exit. He thumps on the side twice, and the door starts to open. "Probably not," Jack replies, pulling out a lighter and letting the nicotine hit his veins. The sunlight blurs his vision as he steps into the world, the cheers and claps immediately stopping. Sighing, he looks all around himself to see sad faces and angry civilians. "Are you not entertained!?" Jack yells, thrusting his arms above himself. He smiles, as the faces stare him down. He spins and spins, bathing in the glow of contempt, ecstatic in his self-indulgent joy. A roar in the distance breaks his attention. It's visceral and full of rage, a beast made of death waiting to dole out more. The crowd murmurs in fear, taking a collective step back. "Go get em, Jack!" A voice yells, a few more joining. It only took a few seconds before they were all cheering his name, and chanting for him to go. "Selfish buggers," Jack mutters under his breath. He takes a few steps forward, but The Beast beats him to it. With a crash, it descends just in front of him Jack. Wings made out of dark black, and a form made out of nightmares; it bubbles and seethes around as if it was a liquid. A thousand eyes cover it, all moving and changing shape at random, but all are staring at Jack. Taking the cigarette from his mouth, Jack flicks it and lets it smolder into the ground. The crowd that was around only moments ago has fled, leaving Jack alone. The Beast swings, its horrendous claw slashing down at Jack. It rends the air as if it was mere paper, and slams down on Jack's head. As soon as it does, its whole body locks up. Its heartbeat slows, and it feels weary. The claw is embedded deep into Jack's skull, and he smiles. He places both hands on it and focuses. Slowly, the life drains out of The Beast and into Jack. Its knowledge burns into his consciousness, its desires flood his heart, and its unbound rage to his soul. The Beast collapses, dead; its life force now within Jack. A helicopter lands behind Jack a few minutes after The Beast's demise, and Rodgers steps out. "Good work," he says, holding his hand out to shake Jacks. "50 grand, straight to your bank account, just like you asked." "So Canary couldn't do this?" "No," "Andromeda?" "No," "Not even Mech-zero?" Jack picks up the cigarette he threw away and relights it. "Not even Mech-zero, Jack. You're a real hero." "100 grand." Jack inhales deeply and looks at Rodgers with a smile. "No deal," Rodgers says. "I wasn't askin'," Jack says, his smile fading. "I was tellin' mate. 100 grand. Or I'm going rogue on your ass." "That's suicide Jack," Rodgers remarks. "We'd have every superhero on you before nightfall." The last bit of ash drips out of the cigarette. Jack takes it from his lips, turns to The Beast, and throws the cigarette onto it. With a few steps, he passes Rodgers on his side and continues to walk. "They can try." ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Check out /r/Rhysyjay for other neat stuff.	"Morning Mayor." "Falcon! What are- what are you doing here?" "I hadn't heard from you in a while," Falcon said, stepping casually along the front of the mayor's desk. He brushed off his cape. "I was getting worried about you." "Oh, that's so- so thoughtful," the mayor stuttered. "B-but as you can see, everything is fine here." "Now, now, Mayor. Everything is not fine. I can understand that times are tight lately, so I'm willing to overlook not getting a call from you during that riot a month ago. However I was a little perturbed that my phone was silent all through that bank robbery and hostage situation last week. And now there is a huge storm system that is going to cause tornadoes all through this city. So I decided I'd be proactive and let you know I'll be taking care of that one. I'm even discounting my rate for you." The mayor shifted in his seat. "W-w-well," he started. He jumped as his intercom buzzed. "Mr. Mayor, your two o'clock meeting is here," his assistant said. Falcon raised a hand to quiet the mayor, and leaned over to the intercom. "The mayor's going to have to cancel that. He's got another meeting that's going to run long." The door to the mayor's office swung open, and a young man with a shaved head walked in. "Mr. Mayor, sir, you can't cancel this meeting," his assistant started. "What happened to Jerry?" Falcon asked. "I, uh, I promoted him over to HR. This is Magnus, m-my new assistant." "You called Falcon sir? I thought we weren't going to be utilizing his services anymore," Magnus said pointedly. Falcon shot a dirty look to the mayor, before turning back to Magnus. "That's what this meeting is about. Revisiting that decision, particularly with the storm heading this way. Now if you'd just run along." "The storms are going to be moving south of here. We'll be fine." "They've shifted course," the Falcon said, exasperated. "Seriously, Mayor, you've got to bring Jerry back. This kid doesn't know his place." Magnus furrowed his brow in a look of concentration. "The storm has changed course. After you pushed it, Falcon." "W-w-what!?!" the Mayor shouted. "That's preposterous. Don't listen to this kid. Fire him." "Falcon needs money, Mayor. So he made work for himself. And this isn't the first time. It's like I told you Mayor, our city doesn't need him anymore. He's more trouble than he's worth." "How dare you!" Falcon said, advancing on Magnus. Magnus simply glared at Falcon. The caped man took a few more steps, then stumbled to his knees. He put his hands to his head, grunting in pain. A small trickle of blood worked it's way out of his nose. "Your services are no longer required, Falcon," Magnus said coldly. "This city has a new hero looking after it." ***** If you enjoyed that, subscribe to [Pubby's Creative Workshop](https://www.reddit.com/r/Pubby88) to read the rest of my prompt responses.
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	I am not a good man. James looked down at the table, sipping his water. Always the same look when he's got something on his mind. "What're you ordering," he says with a low voice. "I hear the, uh, steak and fries are great." "Maybe just a coffee." I drummed the table lightly with my fingertips. "Look, J, I know that face. What's on your mind, man?" He hesitated, then looked up. His eyes were tired, dull bags underneath. I've never seen the guy look so old. "The, ah, warehouse explosion last night," His eyes turned hard. "That was you, wasn't it?" I chewed on my tongue for a bit, then sighed. "It might have been overkill, but the Stella's pay me well. Honestly, I think what I did preserved more lives. You know how an all-out war between them and the Callaghan's would turn out?" He rested his head in his palm, half-listening to my bullshit. "They're honestly talking about you, J. You've made yourself a name, fucking up their operations like this. They'll be out for you soon if you don't stop." I lowered my voice as the waitress approached. "What'll it be today, boys?" she said, her brown curls bouncing as she whipped out a pen and a smile. "Oh, Jamie, back again? I knew you couldn't get enough of us." "You know it. I think I'll have that famous steak-frites you guys make. Friend over here'll have a cup of coffee." He winked. "Now I hope you aren't planning to pay. You already do enough good for us. Hell, was it just last week you took care of that gang roaming the streets at night. Constant B&Es in a little street like this. Unbelievable." She scribbled on the pad in a practiced fashion, scampering back to the kitchen with that little smile of hers. James' face turned serious again. "We've had this talk plenty of times. You already know the spiel." I nodded, stifling a yawn. "And you know it's never too late." I shook my head. "James, I follow the money. We all do. Maybe your moonlighting as a hero makes you feel all warm-and-fuzzy inside, but warm-and-fuzzy doesn't pay the bill. Unless you're the Phoenix or Hothead, warm-and-fuzzy means you freeze to death, out in the cold, when winter hits." He rubbed his face with the palms of his hands. "It's not about the money. It's about making a change. All these changes start small. Grassroots. But when you get the idea into people's heads, they start to think 'Hm, maybe I can do good. Maybe good is what we need.'" I could tell he's been through this speech with others before. I could almost smell their rejection and skepticism wafting off his body. Yet I saw the fire in his belly. "James, this hero business. It's eating at you. I know you think you're doing the right thing, but the right things aren't always the right thing. This," I waved my hands for dramatic effect, "vigilantism doesn't fix anything. The Golden Age of heroes is over. For every one upstanding guy, two assholes would pop up. You know that's how actual bad guys work. They're attracted to conflict like mosquitos to flesh. The way we do it now...it's nice. It works." "It's selfish," James spat out. He looked away from me, out the window at the busy street. The trees were in full bloom, sunshine casting refulgent shadows along the noontime traffic. We sat quietly for a time, the food eventually arriving, piping hot. "I don't know what to do anymore," James whispered under his breath. "I can't do this alone." I leaned in, resting a hand on his shoulder. A small smirk fell on his face. "What're you trying to do, blow me up?" he said, chuckling lightly. I smiled back, stealing a handful of fries. "James, buddy. I'm just saying, being a hero isn't for me. I'm not sure it's for you either. I can give a good word to my boss. Start you on double pay. Do you really want to do this hero stuff though? It's just all swimming upstream." His face was solemn, like that of a statue. "Yes. Even if no one joins, yes. It is right." I sighed deeply, and fell back in my seat. He ate with a stony, distant look on his face. I finished my coffee, patted James on the shoulder, then slapped a twenty on the table. A smile broke onto his face. "Heh, it's complimentary, remember?" he said, shifting out of his seat. "It's...actually a tip. An apology, really." "What, to me? We might disagree, but you don't have to apologize." "No, it's an apology to the waitress. For what she's about to see." I snapped my fingers and walked to the door. A deep rumble echoed from James' stomach, and he fell to the ground, screaming. The smell of embers, of burnt esophagus and stomach lining slowly filled the room. He yelled, screamed, cried for his mother, writhing in a pool of saliva and blood, his fingers digging holes into the old diner floor. Smoke poured out of his belly in thick plumes. A guttural bellow of rage erupted from his scalded throat, as the patrons watched in horror as this man burned alive, from the inside out. It's the strongest ones that have the worst deaths. They can't just die quickly like normal people. I let out a ragged sigh, and walked out. Hands shaking, I lit myself a a cigarette with my fingertip, and got as far away from the diner as I could. "Fuck's sake, James," It was raining now. "I told you so." I am not a good man because all the good men are dead.	"Morning Mayor." "Falcon! What are- what are you doing here?" "I hadn't heard from you in a while," Falcon said, stepping casually along the front of the mayor's desk. He brushed off his cape. "I was getting worried about you." "Oh, that's so- so thoughtful," the mayor stuttered. "B-but as you can see, everything is fine here." "Now, now, Mayor. Everything is not fine. I can understand that times are tight lately, so I'm willing to overlook not getting a call from you during that riot a month ago. However I was a little perturbed that my phone was silent all through that bank robbery and hostage situation last week. And now there is a huge storm system that is going to cause tornadoes all through this city. So I decided I'd be proactive and let you know I'll be taking care of that one. I'm even discounting my rate for you." The mayor shifted in his seat. "W-w-well," he started. He jumped as his intercom buzzed. "Mr. Mayor, your two o'clock meeting is here," his assistant said. Falcon raised a hand to quiet the mayor, and leaned over to the intercom. "The mayor's going to have to cancel that. He's got another meeting that's going to run long." The door to the mayor's office swung open, and a young man with a shaved head walked in. "Mr. Mayor, sir, you can't cancel this meeting," his assistant started. "What happened to Jerry?" Falcon asked. "I, uh, I promoted him over to HR. This is Magnus, m-my new assistant." "You called Falcon sir? I thought we weren't going to be utilizing his services anymore," Magnus said pointedly. Falcon shot a dirty look to the mayor, before turning back to Magnus. "That's what this meeting is about. Revisiting that decision, particularly with the storm heading this way. Now if you'd just run along." "The storms are going to be moving south of here. We'll be fine." "They've shifted course," the Falcon said, exasperated. "Seriously, Mayor, you've got to bring Jerry back. This kid doesn't know his place." Magnus furrowed his brow in a look of concentration. "The storm has changed course. After you pushed it, Falcon." "W-w-what!?!" the Mayor shouted. "That's preposterous. Don't listen to this kid. Fire him." "Falcon needs money, Mayor. So he made work for himself. And this isn't the first time. It's like I told you Mayor, our city doesn't need him anymore. He's more trouble than he's worth." "How dare you!" Falcon said, advancing on Magnus. Magnus simply glared at Falcon. The caped man took a few more steps, then stumbled to his knees. He put his hands to his head, grunting in pain. A small trickle of blood worked it's way out of his nose. "Your services are no longer required, Falcon," Magnus said coldly. "This city has a new hero looking after it." ***** If you enjoyed that, subscribe to [Pubby's Creative Workshop](https://www.reddit.com/r/Pubby88) to read the rest of my prompt responses.
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	Seconds before the decaying support beams running through the apartment building finally snapped, Chronotron strolled casually into unit 8B, the last on his checklist. Mere seconds remained before the aging architecture would be reduced to rubble, but that was more than enough time for Chronotron. As one gifted with the ability to manipulate the passage of time, Chronotron rarely felt pressured when he worked – the concept of urgency, after all, had no relevance in a world which only moved when he allowed it to. He checked the apartment methodically, starting with the hall first, then the attached kitchen, the balcony, then the bedrooms. Which was where he found the kid, crying as she tugged on her friends in vain, pulling them towards the door. Shit, he thought, there’s three of them. “Hey, kid, you need to weave your chrono-filaments around your friends, or they are never going to be move. They’ll just be frozen there, forever.” The kid swung to face him, tears streaking down her cheeks, oblivious to the badge which Chronotron was holding out, which marked him as an Enhanced contractor attached to the police force. “Mister, please! We were just talking when suddenly, everything froze! I’ve been trying to move them, but they are not responding!” Chronotron could have explained to the girl that her latent powers had probably been awoken by the mortal danger she was in, and that it was more than likely that they shared an ancestor in common. He could also have demonstrated then how to manipulate a chrono-filament, or even just walked out of there with all three children. But none of those things fell under the insurance cover for the building, so Chronotron did none of that. After all, it wasn’t his fault that the owners didn’t spring for more coverage, or that whatever funds remained only allowed him to save one more person today. “Kid, come on,” Chronotron beckoned, holding out his hand, “time’s money, you know. I came to rescue you, so we’ve got to get a move on.” “And leave Sara and Bianca here? I can’t do that!” “You look like, what, 12 this year?” “What does that even matter in a situation like this?” Chronotron sighed. “You look like you’re old enough to understand the way things are. There’s only enough budget to save one of you, you know how we work. So count yourself lucky I’ve decided to rescue you.” “Can’t you just save them instead? I can get out on my own!” Chronotron scoffed. “As I said, I can only save one. Plus, without knowing how to use your powers, you couldn’t even get this door open. As I said, until you’ve learned how to weave your chrono-filaments, you can’t interact with the world at all. And this time pocket you carved, it’s sweet, for a first-timer, but it’s already cracking. I leave this room, and you’ll only experience a couple of minutes more before you’re wrenched back to the common timestream. So no, you can’t get out of your own.” A bulb seemed to go off in the girl’s head. “You’re an Enhanced policeman, aren’t you? You’re the special forces on retainer for the city?” “Correction, I’m Enhanced, but I am not a policeman. We’re paid per job. It’s very different.” “But that’s my point! I can hire you too, right? I can pay you to save us all!” “You couldn’t afford my fees.” “My parents have money! They will certainly pay you!” Chronotron shook his head resolutely. “Sorry kid, rules are rules. All services rendered only after payment is made. No credit, no exceptions.” His words were cold, but his conscience remained unpricked. After all, these weren’t his rules. The Enhanced Division was the one in charge of drafting policy, and they were the ones who had firmly decided on the upfront payment policy. And if he broke the rules, his license would be taken away, and his powers Stemmed. No one wanted that. “Please, you have to save them. They’re my best friends, and I would do anything just to save them!” the girl cried, as she sank to her knees. “Or how about the things I have in my room! Everything here is mine! Just take it!” Chronotron started to protest again, but the words died in his throat. There was one thing of value in that room. “Anything at all, I can take as payment?” “Yes! Please, anything!” --- Chronotron’s supervisor, Elendra, was waiting at the bottom of the building, clipboard in hand. As the complex finally collapsed inwards on itself, as Chronotron laid the two girls on the sidewalk along with all the other survivors he had rescued, Elendra’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “That’s one over budget. Please don’t tell me you messed up, the paperwork’s going to be a bitch.” “Calm down, Elendra, I got paid for the extra one. It’s not going to cause any accounting problems.” “Paid? By whom? Did you already collect payment?” Chronotron chuckled, then pointed with his chin towards the settling dust of the ruined building. “Payment in kind. The Institute’s still as hungry as ever to discover the origins of our powers, right? Well, there’s an Enhanced girl in there, she’s assigned me full rights to her remains.” --- /r/rarelyfunny	"Morning Mayor." "Falcon! What are- what are you doing here?" "I hadn't heard from you in a while," Falcon said, stepping casually along the front of the mayor's desk. He brushed off his cape. "I was getting worried about you." "Oh, that's so- so thoughtful," the mayor stuttered. "B-but as you can see, everything is fine here." "Now, now, Mayor. Everything is not fine. I can understand that times are tight lately, so I'm willing to overlook not getting a call from you during that riot a month ago. However I was a little perturbed that my phone was silent all through that bank robbery and hostage situation last week. And now there is a huge storm system that is going to cause tornadoes all through this city. So I decided I'd be proactive and let you know I'll be taking care of that one. I'm even discounting my rate for you." The mayor shifted in his seat. "W-w-well," he started. He jumped as his intercom buzzed. "Mr. Mayor, your two o'clock meeting is here," his assistant said. Falcon raised a hand to quiet the mayor, and leaned over to the intercom. "The mayor's going to have to cancel that. He's got another meeting that's going to run long." The door to the mayor's office swung open, and a young man with a shaved head walked in. "Mr. Mayor, sir, you can't cancel this meeting," his assistant started. "What happened to Jerry?" Falcon asked. "I, uh, I promoted him over to HR. This is Magnus, m-my new assistant." "You called Falcon sir? I thought we weren't going to be utilizing his services anymore," Magnus said pointedly. Falcon shot a dirty look to the mayor, before turning back to Magnus. "That's what this meeting is about. Revisiting that decision, particularly with the storm heading this way. Now if you'd just run along." "The storms are going to be moving south of here. We'll be fine." "They've shifted course," the Falcon said, exasperated. "Seriously, Mayor, you've got to bring Jerry back. This kid doesn't know his place." Magnus furrowed his brow in a look of concentration. "The storm has changed course. After you pushed it, Falcon." "W-w-what!?!" the Mayor shouted. "That's preposterous. Don't listen to this kid. Fire him." "Falcon needs money, Mayor. So he made work for himself. And this isn't the first time. It's like I told you Mayor, our city doesn't need him anymore. He's more trouble than he's worth." "How dare you!" Falcon said, advancing on Magnus. Magnus simply glared at Falcon. The caped man took a few more steps, then stumbled to his knees. He put his hands to his head, grunting in pain. A small trickle of blood worked it's way out of his nose. "Your services are no longer required, Falcon," Magnus said coldly. "This city has a new hero looking after it." ***** If you enjoyed that, subscribe to [Pubby's Creative Workshop](https://www.reddit.com/r/Pubby88) to read the rest of my prompt responses.
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	Dreadnaught was the last of the Old Guard. The early heroes who had fought for the good of the world, for honor and justice and other long-dead ideals. they toppled dictatorships, brought aid to disaster-stricken regions and never accepted a penny. Dreadnaught himself had seen the greats of the age, had only been a young rookie when The Atom and Red Lightning and all the others were around. There had been villains, of course- bastards and madmen who used their powers for their own benefit, but they were always beaten back. The good guys always won in the end. Dreadnaught had long since stopped caring about "good" or "evil". He was standing on a wind-tossed rooftop in Dubai, staring at the bright artificial stars, gleaming skyscrapers and rivers of vehicles, spreading forever into the distance. He idly wondered what had happened to the old greats, Atom and Lightning and Sunbeam. He continued to think back, remembering the first changes.... It began when he and a few allies rescued some fat cat from an attempted assassination, somewhere in South Korea. When word came out that the cat had been smuggling weapons up north, and had betrayed the country, Dreadnaught shrugged. He wasn't a political sort. But Fat Cats are always good at redirecting blame- they called him and his friends mercenaries, not caring who he fought for as long as he had glory and attention. He heard insults and threats as he walked through the streets. He tried his best not to mind. He minded. He had never had much- Dreadnaught grew up in the inner city and came from a poor family. So when people said he, and others like him, was profiting from chaos and war and fear as he struggled to make ends meet and ate third-rate prepackaged meals- his blood boiled. Most heroes were offered work when their identities were revealed- Private armies, government work, criminal organizations. He decided that if people thought he was a thug- then it didn't hurt to do a thug's job. He accepted a job offer, then another, and another. His pay was high and his scruples few. He moved out of the slums and into a high rise apartment. People kept calling him a crook and a monster, but it hurt less now that it was true. Others joined him, fighting wars and steal secrets for the highest bidder. That was how it had happened. The world was a different place now than it was. Supers were identified from birth and signed on with one of the big corporations at the age of 12. There were no more armies anymore, no more citizen soldiers. Just hired guns with enough firepower to level cities. Some Supers still fought the good fight, of course. They lived on the edges of the world, striking out against the "Man" in what little ways they could. But most Supers lived quiet lives, turning down the offers of big corporations, and not making a fuss of their powers for fear of attracting too much attention. Dreadnaught looked down from the glinting lights and turned towards the desert. His contact would be arriving soon, with his pay, and likely another job. He was one of the oldest men in the business, after all. He never failed, he never quit a job until it was done. His skills were highly valued.	"Morning Mayor." "Falcon! What are- what are you doing here?" "I hadn't heard from you in a while," Falcon said, stepping casually along the front of the mayor's desk. He brushed off his cape. "I was getting worried about you." "Oh, that's so- so thoughtful," the mayor stuttered. "B-but as you can see, everything is fine here." "Now, now, Mayor. Everything is not fine. I can understand that times are tight lately, so I'm willing to overlook not getting a call from you during that riot a month ago. However I was a little perturbed that my phone was silent all through that bank robbery and hostage situation last week. And now there is a huge storm system that is going to cause tornadoes all through this city. So I decided I'd be proactive and let you know I'll be taking care of that one. I'm even discounting my rate for you." The mayor shifted in his seat. "W-w-well," he started. He jumped as his intercom buzzed. "Mr. Mayor, your two o'clock meeting is here," his assistant said. Falcon raised a hand to quiet the mayor, and leaned over to the intercom. "The mayor's going to have to cancel that. He's got another meeting that's going to run long." The door to the mayor's office swung open, and a young man with a shaved head walked in. "Mr. Mayor, sir, you can't cancel this meeting," his assistant started. "What happened to Jerry?" Falcon asked. "I, uh, I promoted him over to HR. This is Magnus, m-my new assistant." "You called Falcon sir? I thought we weren't going to be utilizing his services anymore," Magnus said pointedly. Falcon shot a dirty look to the mayor, before turning back to Magnus. "That's what this meeting is about. Revisiting that decision, particularly with the storm heading this way. Now if you'd just run along." "The storms are going to be moving south of here. We'll be fine." "They've shifted course," the Falcon said, exasperated. "Seriously, Mayor, you've got to bring Jerry back. This kid doesn't know his place." Magnus furrowed his brow in a look of concentration. "The storm has changed course. After you pushed it, Falcon." "W-w-what!?!" the Mayor shouted. "That's preposterous. Don't listen to this kid. Fire him." "Falcon needs money, Mayor. So he made work for himself. And this isn't the first time. It's like I told you Mayor, our city doesn't need him anymore. He's more trouble than he's worth." "How dare you!" Falcon said, advancing on Magnus. Magnus simply glared at Falcon. The caped man took a few more steps, then stumbled to his knees. He put his hands to his head, grunting in pain. A small trickle of blood worked it's way out of his nose. "Your services are no longer required, Falcon," Magnus said coldly. "This city has a new hero looking after it." ***** If you enjoyed that, subscribe to [Pubby's Creative Workshop](https://www.reddit.com/r/Pubby88) to read the rest of my prompt responses.
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	3:30 AM, Atlanta The phone rang. "This had better be worth waking my ass up." "Flux. $500,000. If we lose power--." "I'll do it if you make it six. Where?" The caller accepted, a little too quickly. Damn. Could have got more. The caller gave the address to a malfunctioning power station, and thanked Flux for assisting Westshore specialty. "An insurance agent, huh?" Well, it makes sense. Superheroes were a damn sight cheaper than losing a court case, these days. Flux had been a generous soul. But not anymore. He loved music. When he first discovered his power, all those years ago, he used his power over electricity to give fledgling bands free power, so they could practice anywhere, anytime. They didn't even have to plug their equipment into anything! It made for some great hipster music videos. Back then, he sometimes helped clean up metal debris from car crashes. Other days, he donated electricity to his poorer friends, or gave the homeless shelter free electricity for a few hours, to run the A/C during the hot summer months. That all changed after a fateful day a few years ago. Flux prevented a plane crash by using electromagnetism to lower it safely to the ground. After that, Flux became famous. And with fame, came more calls for help. But they all wanted it for free. Non-stop, day and night. Not always for heroic deeds, either. One kid wanted him to take out the power at his office so he could spend that day with his girlfriend. He grew fed up with the non-stop pleas for help. Fed up as he was, he was too poor to buy food. Even superheroes have to eat, you know. So, Flux started charging for his powers. This sparked outrage at first - Headlines like "Does Flux's greed have no limit?" dominated the news cycle - because people had grown used to the impossible being done for them for free. However, capitalism won the day - other heroes in other cities borrowed flux's idea. They too had been worked to the bone, and for what? To go home to a creaky apartment without enough money to even wash their spandex? These days, heroes primarily did boring but valuable things, such as prevent power outages, stop floods from damaging property, put out fires, that sort of thing. Some chose to do pro-bono work at times, but it was not expected the way that it was in years past. Flux sighed as he drove to the plant. He could easily power the grid from the sidewalk outside his house, but the insurance company would have a fit and cut his pay. Last time he did that, they charged him for damaging the wiring, which cut his $250,000 reward down to a mere $15,000. Looks like another couple hours of maintaining a boring old 60 hz stream...	"Morning Mayor." "Falcon! What are- what are you doing here?" "I hadn't heard from you in a while," Falcon said, stepping casually along the front of the mayor's desk. He brushed off his cape. "I was getting worried about you." "Oh, that's so- so thoughtful," the mayor stuttered. "B-but as you can see, everything is fine here." "Now, now, Mayor. Everything is not fine. I can understand that times are tight lately, so I'm willing to overlook not getting a call from you during that riot a month ago. However I was a little perturbed that my phone was silent all through that bank robbery and hostage situation last week. And now there is a huge storm system that is going to cause tornadoes all through this city. So I decided I'd be proactive and let you know I'll be taking care of that one. I'm even discounting my rate for you." The mayor shifted in his seat. "W-w-well," he started. He jumped as his intercom buzzed. "Mr. Mayor, your two o'clock meeting is here," his assistant said. Falcon raised a hand to quiet the mayor, and leaned over to the intercom. "The mayor's going to have to cancel that. He's got another meeting that's going to run long." The door to the mayor's office swung open, and a young man with a shaved head walked in. "Mr. Mayor, sir, you can't cancel this meeting," his assistant started. "What happened to Jerry?" Falcon asked. "I, uh, I promoted him over to HR. This is Magnus, m-my new assistant." "You called Falcon sir? I thought we weren't going to be utilizing his services anymore," Magnus said pointedly. Falcon shot a dirty look to the mayor, before turning back to Magnus. "That's what this meeting is about. Revisiting that decision, particularly with the storm heading this way. Now if you'd just run along." "The storms are going to be moving south of here. We'll be fine." "They've shifted course," the Falcon said, exasperated. "Seriously, Mayor, you've got to bring Jerry back. This kid doesn't know his place." Magnus furrowed his brow in a look of concentration. "The storm has changed course. After you pushed it, Falcon." "W-w-what!?!" the Mayor shouted. "That's preposterous. Don't listen to this kid. Fire him." "Falcon needs money, Mayor. So he made work for himself. And this isn't the first time. It's like I told you Mayor, our city doesn't need him anymore. He's more trouble than he's worth." "How dare you!" Falcon said, advancing on Magnus. Magnus simply glared at Falcon. The caped man took a few more steps, then stumbled to his knees. He put his hands to his head, grunting in pain. A small trickle of blood worked it's way out of his nose. "Your services are no longer required, Falcon," Magnus said coldly. "This city has a new hero looking after it." ***** If you enjoyed that, subscribe to [Pubby's Creative Workshop](https://www.reddit.com/r/Pubby88) to read the rest of my prompt responses.
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	The pen slips, drawing a jagged line along the 'Cash' field of the deposit slip. I sigh and look around. Whatever jogged my elbow nudges me in the ribs this time, and I reach up to pull the headphones away from my ear. "You, too, tiny. Hands where we can see 'em, down on the floor with the rest. Nice and easy." The guy is wearing a ski mask, a little under six feet tall, a sandy blond eye brow just visible above one of his blue eyes. Those eyes look fierce, but there's a note in his voice on the edge of panic. Oh, and he's waving a hand gun in my face, reaching up so that it's just under my nose. Poor trigger discipline, I note, suppressing a reflex to break his arm and take the weapon. I take a moment to look around the interior of the bank. Two more masked individuals, the three tellers with their hands stretched out on the counter top, maybe half a dozen other people who were waiting in line. They're prone, now, hands splayed wide on the floor. "C'mon, don't make this hard," says Mr. Blue Eyes, gesturing impatiently with the gun. "Don't try to be a hero, big guy." "No trouble," I agree, easing myself on the floor. "No trouble," I repeat for emphasis. Hero. Was I ever one of those? Doesn't feel like it, these days. From the floor, I watch as two of the other robbers escort a teller, at gunpoint, out of sight, presumably in search of a vault, or something. Do banks still have vaults? I guess they would, for deposit boxes, if nothing else. I gently draw on the Aether and attune my hearing for a moment, since that's not breaking any laws. Out on the street, traffic is continuing as normal. People walking by, cars driving. No sound of approaching sirens. I open my senses a little more and the room suddenly blooms with phantom colors and sensations. They're a little dimmer over in the corner, and I turn my attention there. She's good. Not just a wild talent, but someone who has done a lot of practice. Her touch on the Aether stills it in a wide area around her, bleeding through to the Material and probably blanketing the whole block outside the bank with a sense of calm, even a slight euphoria, deflecting attention away from the bank. I stop channeling and return to the present. Mr. Blue Eyes is prodding me with his boot. "Hand it over, man, I know you got something." With a sigh, I reach slowly into my pocket and take out my battered walkman. "Can I at least keep the tape, man? Leave me that much? Ain't easy to find, these days." "You some kinda hipster, old man?" "Only if 'hipster' is slang for 'dead broke.'" "What's on it, anyway? "AC/DC. Got it when I was in highschool." "Sure man. Now the rest." I put the tape back in my pocket and bring out the roll of bills I was going to deposit. When I hesitate, he lunges, snatching the wad from my hand before quickly backing up to what he believes is out of reach. After a moment, I settle back to the ground. Blue Eyes heads over to the family next to me. The kid's mom cringes as she rifles through her purse. Blue Eyes just takes it from her, tosses it to one of his goons, waves his gun a bit, then snatches her iPhone and jams it into a pocket. He takes the kid's phone, too. Kid looks like he's maybe twelve. He's got that look on his face, like he's imagined how he'd save everyone from a situation just like this, and now it's here and he doesn't like what he just learned about himself. "Ain't worth it, son." He looks at me and I can see the angry tears standing in his eyes. He's angry at the robbers, but mostly at himself. I know. "It's just a phone. Plenty of those. Ain't worth your life or health. Let it go." "If I were a Hero, I'd stop 'em," he mutters. "Then you'd go to prison right beside 'em. Gotta have a contract," I tell him, keeping my voice low. "No contract, you're just a vigilante, and those're criminals, too." He gets quiet. That's different. Most kids his age, they would explode at me, believing their anger. This one stops and thinks. A gunshot sounds from somewhere I can't see and raised voices arguing soon follow. A woman, one of the other tellers, screams and begins crying, and I suddenly feel an intense pull as the robber in the corner, eyes screwed shut in concentration, draws more deeply on the Aether to keep the bank veiled from attention. At the rate the ambient energies are being used up, this is going to end soon, one way or another. A piece of paper, folded into an air plane, drifts to a stop in front of me a moment before the pencil hits me in the face. I look over at the kid, and he motions me to open it. I begin reading. "I, Robin Andrew Greyson, seek to engage the services of the undersigned. At the rate of twenty dollars an hour, for a span of no fewer than two hours and totaling no more than six hours, the undersigned will secure the person, possessions, and any premises surrounding myself from injury, theft, or undue disturbance." I look up at him, an eyebrow raised in disbelief. He makes a get-on-with-it gesture. I pick up the pencil, sign the page, and fold it back into a plane, and loft it back to him. He picks it up and reads it. "Powerage?" "Never mind." Three robbers. No, four, that one with the veil keeps sliding herself out of my perception. Only two of them in this room. Nine hostages. Eight, now? I don't know. Most of the ambient power has been used up. I take a deep breath and concentrate on the pencil. Blue Eyes is closest. "Passing notes? Why don't you share with the cl-" is as far as he gets before six inches of sharpened wood and graphite, imbued with Aether to keep it from breaking, gets rammed up his nose, into his brain, killing him. It comes free with a light tug, and I fling it, overhand, at the woman in the corner. She comes out of her deep focus, looks down, and sees the small blossom of red on her shirt, just above her navel. I reach her just before she can use the panicked breath she just took to scream, closing a hand over her nose and mouth. If I can keep this quiet, I might be able to get the other two before any more hostages ge- I come back to myself, fetched up against the far wall, and there's a ringing in my ears. I throw myself open to the Aether, and the sudden contact with that other realm shocks me fully back to my senses. There's almost nothing left there to draw, but I pull what I can manage quickly, recklessly winding the energies around my frayed nerves to steady my balance and stop the spinning in my head. Then I shut off the connection, surging forward in a running crouch. The robber who hit me with the essence blast is in bad shape. Between the gut wound and the backlash of channeling so much raw power, she's unconscious, probably not getting up again without medical attention. I pull off the tattered remains of my shirt and press it over the widening bloodstain on her belly. "Alright, everyone out, quick and quiet. You," I say, pointing to a middle aged man, "toss me that and then give that guy a hand." One of the other men, looks like some kind of contractor, got caught on the fringe of the blast, seems like he's having trouble sitting up. "When you're out, find a phone and call the cops." Looking around, faces are frozen in disbelief, looking at me in shock. "Go," I sort of whisper-shout, and they get moving. "What the hell was all that noise? Jim, you and Marcia fighting again?" I bean the third man with a paperweight, hard enough to dent the front of his forehead, as he walks out from the one of the spaces behind the counter. A startled, "what the hell," comes from somewhere behind him. I drag the channeler out the front of doors of the bank, then out of sight of any windows. Probably shouldn't have, but I can't keep pressure on her injury and fight the last guy at the same time. Robin finds me. "Thanks." He hands me a twenty dollar bill. "Just... hold on to that piece of paper. I'm not a lawyer, but it might hold up if anyone decides to press charges." "I will," he says, face serious. I tuck the bill into my pocket, then freeze. Slowly, sadly, I bring out the plastic fragments and length of magnetic tape that had once been my favorite album, shattered by the force of an Aetheric essence blast. "Kid, you know anywhere I can get a cassette tape of AC/DC?" "I don't know what either of those things are." I think for a moment. "... Do you know any 'hipsters'?"	"Morning Mayor." "Falcon! What are- what are you doing here?" "I hadn't heard from you in a while," Falcon said, stepping casually along the front of the mayor's desk. He brushed off his cape. "I was getting worried about you." "Oh, that's so- so thoughtful," the mayor stuttered. "B-but as you can see, everything is fine here." "Now, now, Mayor. Everything is not fine. I can understand that times are tight lately, so I'm willing to overlook not getting a call from you during that riot a month ago. However I was a little perturbed that my phone was silent all through that bank robbery and hostage situation last week. And now there is a huge storm system that is going to cause tornadoes all through this city. So I decided I'd be proactive and let you know I'll be taking care of that one. I'm even discounting my rate for you." The mayor shifted in his seat. "W-w-well," he started. He jumped as his intercom buzzed. "Mr. Mayor, your two o'clock meeting is here," his assistant said. Falcon raised a hand to quiet the mayor, and leaned over to the intercom. "The mayor's going to have to cancel that. He's got another meeting that's going to run long." The door to the mayor's office swung open, and a young man with a shaved head walked in. "Mr. Mayor, sir, you can't cancel this meeting," his assistant started. "What happened to Jerry?" Falcon asked. "I, uh, I promoted him over to HR. This is Magnus, m-my new assistant." "You called Falcon sir? I thought we weren't going to be utilizing his services anymore," Magnus said pointedly. Falcon shot a dirty look to the mayor, before turning back to Magnus. "That's what this meeting is about. Revisiting that decision, particularly with the storm heading this way. Now if you'd just run along." "The storms are going to be moving south of here. We'll be fine." "They've shifted course," the Falcon said, exasperated. "Seriously, Mayor, you've got to bring Jerry back. This kid doesn't know his place." Magnus furrowed his brow in a look of concentration. "The storm has changed course. After you pushed it, Falcon." "W-w-what!?!" the Mayor shouted. "That's preposterous. Don't listen to this kid. Fire him." "Falcon needs money, Mayor. So he made work for himself. And this isn't the first time. It's like I told you Mayor, our city doesn't need him anymore. He's more trouble than he's worth." "How dare you!" Falcon said, advancing on Magnus. Magnus simply glared at Falcon. The caped man took a few more steps, then stumbled to his knees. He put his hands to his head, grunting in pain. A small trickle of blood worked it's way out of his nose. "Your services are no longer required, Falcon," Magnus said coldly. "This city has a new hero looking after it." ***** If you enjoyed that, subscribe to [Pubby's Creative Workshop](https://www.reddit.com/r/Pubby88) to read the rest of my prompt responses.
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	"Listen, I know your ad says your services start at $150, but I'm hoping you can make an exception, cut me a deal?" Her breathing is shallow and her voice quivers. She swallowed at the end of her sentence. She's panicked and desperate, and unlike most of the time wasters, she's not lying about the money part. "I'll listen, but this is a business, not a charity." "I know. I do. But, you see, I am a charity. I run a youth shelter on 6 mile. I have a couple of boys that come in every Thursday and Friday for the pantry. Only none of 'em have showed up the last few weeks." "Homeless youths? I wouldn't wind your clock by their patterns if I were you." "You don't have to tell me that, but these boys were different. They've been coming for nearly two years. And they aren't the only regulars that have gone missing. But the cops won't listen and I just know: someone is stealing kids." I glance at my desktop planner. Blank space as far as the eyes can see. "You got a non-profit number?" "Yes," her voice pitched up, hopeful. "Well, I'm gonna need a receipt." "You'll do it?" "I'll be feet down in Detroit in oh, about 45 minutes." I hung up and eyed my flying cape. At least my accountant could deduct it this time.	"Alright, so you want a superhero protection contract, what kind would you like?' "Well as you may know Mr Doomfist has recently taken up residence in my town, now i don't want to be judgemental but he has broken the laws of the last four he lived in." "A yes Mr Doomfist, always good for business, so do you want a specific contract out for us to stop him or one in general. We also offer a two villains for the price of one deal this month." "Does the specific contract include his minions and henchmen?" "It depends, the standard version covers a hundred normal minions or one super powered one, depending on the contract we could include a fixed price per minion that exceeds that amount, or we can increase the maximum. According to our documents Mr Doomfist now has eighty four minions." "So with a contract would you immediately go to arrest him or?" "It depends, in the contract is a threat scale, if its an apocalypse level threat then yes we will intervene, however if its a local level threat our response would be between three to five business days. However should you need more immediate assistance you can pay an additional fee to expedite the process." "What kind of hero's could i be expecting?" "That depends on the package, we have several squads able to be assigned to you, but for an additional fee you could also put your own squad together." ''I think il stick with one of the pre made ones, do you have any suggestions?" "Our flying brick squad has a high success rating against villains of Mr Doomfists nature, though they are a bit more expensive." "Price is no issue, Mr Doomfist has a tendency for collateral damage and we just rebuild city hall, and the insurance only pays out if the villain is caught." "Well then it all seems in order, are there any other questions?" "No, il take a contract for Mr Doomfist for a hundred fifty minions with a flying brick squad."
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	It was raining. The day we set to sea was a dark day, the sun did not appear in the sky and the skies appeared to cry as the sons of Helgavik set off to unfamiliar lands. I watched my parents on the shore, surrounded by the wives and families of my fellow sailors, but I could not find it in my heart to return their waves. I was a young man, barely sixteen years of age and waving to them would have broken me down and caused me to cry. But I had to stay strong, the men on the longboat with me were mostly veterans, having raided before and crying, in my mind, would show weakness in front of those hard sailors which I regarded as role models. However I stared back to shore until all I could see was mist and rain, before and aft. It would be months until I would see my family again, if at all. The longboat was the pride of the village from which we sailed. It had been made during a remarkably warm summer, and was hewn from good wood. It was beautifully decorated with images depicting the gods in battle, the monsters of the sea and with the names of some of the heroes that had sailed on it. This boat “Garmr” was considered blessed by the gods and those that would sail on it were priviliged men. I had gotten my place through contest, My arm was stronger than those of my friends, and my aim was true when throwing a spear. I had also shown courage in battle once before while defending my fathers farm, so Grímur the ships foreman, brought me aboard. “You know you may die.” he had said, matter of factly. “I am not afraid of going to my ancestors.” I replied, mustering up as much courage as I could in front of this large, red haired, man. “Good to hear, Arnr. Good to hear. You swear an oath to follow my orders, defend your fellow man and bring honor to the gods?” “Yes. My aim will never fail me, nor will I leave my friends back exposed to the enemy. I will fall if the gods will it so without fear.” “Allright, you will receive the same share as the rest of us, apart from one extra share for myself and captain Eirikur. You will be second oarsman on the right side.” In the days before my departure my parents, proud of their son for having secured a place on the Garmr, fed me the best food they could muster. My father gave me his axe, which his father had given him as well as a warm cloak. When the day came to go to the docks I was well provisioned and ready, my parents supplying me well in anticipation of me returning with exotic wares. During the day we sung songs praising the heroes of old while the sound of the oars hitting the ocean kept rhythm. If we had good wind we would spend our time cleaning the ship, watching the sky for signs of land. We each had our rations in a box under our seats where we spent most of our time. When the sky turned golden we would eat our food and spend our nights asleep, adrift on the ocean hoping we would not drift too far off course. One man stood watch each night to keep the ship sailing in the right direction as best he could. During the day Grímur would consult what he called his sun-stone for direction to good hunting areas as he called it. Area filled with enemy ships ripe for the plunder, but our main target would be a christian chapel he had heard was lightly defended and should pay for this raiding trip in one blow. --- We had arrived early in the morning, awoken by distant bells audible over the fog which enveloped us. Grímur smiled like a hungry wolf and started whispering urgent directions to the captain directing him towards the sound. “It starts” Arnolfr whispered to me from behind, “Odin willing we will be rich men at the end of this day or dead. Either way, be ready!”. I swallowed my fear while listening hard for any sounds from out of the fog, the only sounds being the low whispering of the men around me as well as the soft sound of the oar propelling the Garmr onwards. The first thing we could see were the black rocks of the shore. With skill and experience the boat was dragged ashore in near silence. “This is it! I can feel it in the air!” Grímur whispered to us as we assembled, weapons drawn, on the beach, “We will be in two groups. You lot will go with Eirkur and you will go with me” he said, indicating my group “Good hunting”. My heart was beating loudly in my heart, so much so that I feared it would give away our position, as we first caught a glimpse of a stone building. It was strange to see the chapel after hearing such places described by others. It was a large building built almost like an arrow, with a stone tower on one end. It had colorful windows depicting what I could only guess were old heroes akin to the ones depicted on our ship. My axe felt heavy as our backs got up to the walls of the building. Thank Thor for this fog, it had hidden our apprach so well we were still unnoticed. A raiding party of armed and capable warriors in the pen filled with unaware sheep. Suddenly without barely a nod towards the rest of us Grímur ran into the fog, shortly followed by a wet sound as his hammer struck flesh, this prompted the rest of us into action. Suddenly my world became very violent as men were everywhere. In the fog they reminded me of ancient ghosts, clad in black robes, obviously crying for mercy. I myself went into the chapel with two others and met one of the robed men as he seemed to be trying to save the valuables hidden inside the chapel. His face was white with fright, his words incomprehensible to me as I stepped towards him with my axe raised above my head. I will never forget the feeling of the iron biting into flesh, nor the warmth of his blood as he stumbled and fell, gold coins clattering on the ground from his fingers. The sound of battle was around me, and for the rest of my life I would never be able to remember the rest of it as some inner beast overtook me. “Good fight!” Grímur said, smiling as he hit me on the back. “You did well. You will no longer be a boy but a man. You have earned the respect.”. I was sitting on the steps of the chapel, holding a cup filled with wine and covered in blood. “It was my honor” I replied. I was proud of my achievement, but the face of the black robed monk was fresh in my mind. I knew then that he would be a spectre that would follow me throughout my life. We were rich now, Grímur told us there was more treasure inside this chapel than even he had imagined. We would get home earlier than planned which raised our morale, but was bittersweet since it meant fewer chances to die like warriors. I however was consoled with the image of my parents in my mind, proud of their son, fresh back from viking. --- It was the third day of our trip back that it all changed. Grímur looked anxious as he and captain Eirikur talked in the back of the boat while the rest of us ate our daily rations. I clambered over to them which caused Grímur to look at me with a mix of annoyance and curiosity while Eirikur looked concerned. “What is wrong?” I asked, but we had become accustomed to asking straight questions. The daily life aboard the longboat did not allow for much formality beyond rank. “Well, you will know soon enough. We are being hunted.” Grímur replied. I imagined a boat filled with monks, or armed men, following us from the land we had visited “How many?” I asked. “One” The reply was unexpected, one man would not be much of a threat. “Then we have little to worry about. One man can do us no harm.” “Who says it is a man? I have been watching our wake. We are being hunted by something under the water. Some beast” I nodded and returned to my seat. The way Grímur had said that we were being hunted by a beast was unsettling, but I sensed no more information would be forthcoming for now. As I looked to the back of the boat, in the distance, I imagined I could see a swell of water formed by an unnatural shape effortlessly gliding under the water. On day four Grímur stood up at the bow of the vessel. We sensed by his stance we should prepare ourselves for what was coming so we prepared our shields and weapons. A few minutes later I felt as if the world exploded. Out of the water burst a huge beast the likes I would never see again. It appeared as a large serpent, the head easily larger than our ship. Its eyes held the fires of eternity, and as it roared defiantly at our diminutive boat we were all overcome with dread. The beasts fangs were the size of great-swords. Its scales the sizes of our shields. At this moment I knew that I would be dead soon. The waves of its movements caused our boat to bob and sink like a cork on a wave. We were helpless. Grímur screamed an oath to the gods, took one step on the edge of the bow and hurled himself at the beast. I could not believe my eyes as he wresled with the mighty beast. The last we heard from him was “SAIL AWAY, FLEE OR DIE!”. We scrambled for our oars and sailed away, leaving Grímur behind. The last I saw of Grímur he was on top of the beasts head, holding his hammer above his head, lightning striking down from the sky into him, his eyes glowing with white light and his red hair glowing like fire. I knew then that this was not a normal man. As we managed to gain some distance on the mighty battle between the beast and god the waves settled and we witnessed the conclusion as Grímur killed the wyrm with a mighty blow. A streak of light travelled overhead to the north immediately after this and we knew that Grímur was safe. I will always remember this hard man, if he was a man at all. He never returned to our village but we keep his memory alive every year with stories of his heroism. His face now adorns the bow of our blessed longboat. I would not meet Grímur again for many a year.	"Alright, so you want a superhero protection contract, what kind would you like?' "Well as you may know Mr Doomfist has recently taken up residence in my town, now i don't want to be judgemental but he has broken the laws of the last four he lived in." "A yes Mr Doomfist, always good for business, so do you want a specific contract out for us to stop him or one in general. We also offer a two villains for the price of one deal this month." "Does the specific contract include his minions and henchmen?" "It depends, the standard version covers a hundred normal minions or one super powered one, depending on the contract we could include a fixed price per minion that exceeds that amount, or we can increase the maximum. According to our documents Mr Doomfist now has eighty four minions." "So with a contract would you immediately go to arrest him or?" "It depends, in the contract is a threat scale, if its an apocalypse level threat then yes we will intervene, however if its a local level threat our response would be between three to five business days. However should you need more immediate assistance you can pay an additional fee to expedite the process." "What kind of hero's could i be expecting?" "That depends on the package, we have several squads able to be assigned to you, but for an additional fee you could also put your own squad together." ''I think il stick with one of the pre made ones, do you have any suggestions?" "Our flying brick squad has a high success rating against villains of Mr Doomfists nature, though they are a bit more expensive." "Price is no issue, Mr Doomfist has a tendency for collateral damage and we just rebuild city hall, and the insurance only pays out if the villain is caught." "Well then it all seems in order, are there any other questions?" "No, il take a contract for Mr Doomfist for a hundred fifty minions with a flying brick squad."
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	"I'm just going to talk to him," Rodgers says to himself, standing outside a house. It was the definition of suburban. A little garden out the front, a big oak tree and a novelty mailbox shaped like a salmon. He knocks on the door three times, to no answer, as it swings ajar. Rodgers walks inside, coughing as he does. Rotting food litters some of the floors, and a dozen broken bong's glass joins it. He carefully tiptoes around them all, lest he got an infection, and yells out. "Hello?" The words bounce around the walls, falling on deaf ears. "Jack?" Rodgers walks into the surrounding rooms to find nothing of interest, mostly more rotting food and massive quantities of narcotics. The stairs tease out to him, knowingly, as if to say 'Jack's up here.' They creak as he walks up, photos of a family not belonging to Jack neatly arranged on the wall. Once at the top, he stares down the hallway to see a door partially open. "Jack?" he says curiously and moves towards it. He pries the door open slightly and then immediately regrets that decision. Jack is sitting in a large chair with headphones on, his hand down his pants, and the TV blaring hardcore porn. Rodgers moves back into the hallway for a moment to collect himself, before thumping the door as loud as he can and moving inside. "Jack!" He yells, much to Jack's dismay. He jumps from his chair, throws the headphones off, but doesn't take his hand out of his pants. "Fuckin, what!" Jack yells, a furrowed brow and a bit of spit dripping out his mouth. "You ever heard of fucking knocking?" "I tried that," Rodgers remarks. "Fuck off," Jack says, getting back into his chair. With a touch of a remote, the porn turns off, and Jack breathes in deep. A small bong sits next to him which he lifts to his chest and prepares. "So what do you want Rodge?" "We've got a bit of a monster problem over in NYC. Destroying the whole place," "Yeah yeah, I saw that," Jack says, scooping some of his bowl into his cone piece. "Did you send Canary?" "She couldn't handle it," "Andromeda?" "He couldn't handle it," "Mech-zero?" Jack exclaims, now getting surprised. He lights the cone and begins to inhale deeply. "He died." Jack's eyes grow wide at the new bit of information, but still, continues to inhale. A few more seconds pass before he stops. "Aw fuck then," Jack says, talking while exhaling, "You really need bloody Jack then don't you?" A shit-eating grin blooms over Jack's face, as he stares up at Rodgers. "50 grand." "Deal." "Fantastic," Jack stands and looks at Rodgers, his erection flopping out his underwear. Rodgers stares at him for a few more pained moments before speaking. "Who's house is this," "Let's get going ay." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A heavily armored van is shifting through pedestrians with Jack inside. Chants from outside are thunderous in volume and full of joy. Eventually, the van comes to a stop. From outside, the cheering grows as a chaotic applause begins, no rhythm to its nature. "You ready Jack?" an unnamed soldier says, his hands fiddling with his gun. Jack grunts, finishes rolling his cigarette, lazily puts it in his mouth and walks towards the van's exit. He thumps on the side twice, and the door starts to open. "Probably not," Jack replies, pulling out a lighter and letting the nicotine hit his veins. The sunlight blurs his vision as he steps into the world, the cheers and claps immediately stopping. Sighing, he looks all around himself to see sad faces and angry civilians. "Are you not entertained!?" Jack yells, thrusting his arms above himself. He smiles, as the faces stare him down. He spins and spins, bathing in the glow of contempt, ecstatic in his self-indulgent joy. A roar in the distance breaks his attention. It's visceral and full of rage, a beast made of death waiting to dole out more. The crowd murmurs in fear, taking a collective step back. "Go get em, Jack!" A voice yells, a few more joining. It only took a few seconds before they were all cheering his name, and chanting for him to go. "Selfish buggers," Jack mutters under his breath. He takes a few steps forward, but The Beast beats him to it. With a crash, it descends just in front of him Jack. Wings made out of dark black, and a form made out of nightmares; it bubbles and seethes around as if it was a liquid. A thousand eyes cover it, all moving and changing shape at random, but all are staring at Jack. Taking the cigarette from his mouth, Jack flicks it and lets it smolder into the ground. The crowd that was around only moments ago has fled, leaving Jack alone. The Beast swings, its horrendous claw slashing down at Jack. It rends the air as if it was mere paper, and slams down on Jack's head. As soon as it does, its whole body locks up. Its heartbeat slows, and it feels weary. The claw is embedded deep into Jack's skull, and he smiles. He places both hands on it and focuses. Slowly, the life drains out of The Beast and into Jack. Its knowledge burns into his consciousness, its desires flood his heart, and its unbound rage to his soul. The Beast collapses, dead; its life force now within Jack. A helicopter lands behind Jack a few minutes after The Beast's demise, and Rodgers steps out. "Good work," he says, holding his hand out to shake Jacks. "50 grand, straight to your bank account, just like you asked." "So Canary couldn't do this?" "No," "Andromeda?" "No," "Not even Mech-zero?" Jack picks up the cigarette he threw away and relights it. "Not even Mech-zero, Jack. You're a real hero." "100 grand." Jack inhales deeply and looks at Rodgers with a smile. "No deal," Rodgers says. "I wasn't askin'," Jack says, his smile fading. "I was tellin' mate. 100 grand. Or I'm going rogue on your ass." "That's suicide Jack," Rodgers remarks. "We'd have every superhero on you before nightfall." The last bit of ash drips out of the cigarette. Jack takes it from his lips, turns to The Beast, and throws the cigarette onto it. With a few steps, he passes Rodgers on his side and continues to walk. "They can try." ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Check out /r/Rhysyjay for other neat stuff.	"Alright, so you want a superhero protection contract, what kind would you like?' "Well as you may know Mr Doomfist has recently taken up residence in my town, now i don't want to be judgemental but he has broken the laws of the last four he lived in." "A yes Mr Doomfist, always good for business, so do you want a specific contract out for us to stop him or one in general. We also offer a two villains for the price of one deal this month." "Does the specific contract include his minions and henchmen?" "It depends, the standard version covers a hundred normal minions or one super powered one, depending on the contract we could include a fixed price per minion that exceeds that amount, or we can increase the maximum. According to our documents Mr Doomfist now has eighty four minions." "So with a contract would you immediately go to arrest him or?" "It depends, in the contract is a threat scale, if its an apocalypse level threat then yes we will intervene, however if its a local level threat our response would be between three to five business days. However should you need more immediate assistance you can pay an additional fee to expedite the process." "What kind of hero's could i be expecting?" "That depends on the package, we have several squads able to be assigned to you, but for an additional fee you could also put your own squad together." ''I think il stick with one of the pre made ones, do you have any suggestions?" "Our flying brick squad has a high success rating against villains of Mr Doomfists nature, though they are a bit more expensive." "Price is no issue, Mr Doomfist has a tendency for collateral damage and we just rebuild city hall, and the insurance only pays out if the villain is caught." "Well then it all seems in order, are there any other questions?" "No, il take a contract for Mr Doomfist for a hundred fifty minions with a flying brick squad."
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	I am not a good man. James looked down at the table, sipping his water. Always the same look when he's got something on his mind. "What're you ordering," he says with a low voice. "I hear the, uh, steak and fries are great." "Maybe just a coffee." I drummed the table lightly with my fingertips. "Look, J, I know that face. What's on your mind, man?" He hesitated, then looked up. His eyes were tired, dull bags underneath. I've never seen the guy look so old. "The, ah, warehouse explosion last night," His eyes turned hard. "That was you, wasn't it?" I chewed on my tongue for a bit, then sighed. "It might have been overkill, but the Stella's pay me well. Honestly, I think what I did preserved more lives. You know how an all-out war between them and the Callaghan's would turn out?" He rested his head in his palm, half-listening to my bullshit. "They're honestly talking about you, J. You've made yourself a name, fucking up their operations like this. They'll be out for you soon if you don't stop." I lowered my voice as the waitress approached. "What'll it be today, boys?" she said, her brown curls bouncing as she whipped out a pen and a smile. "Oh, Jamie, back again? I knew you couldn't get enough of us." "You know it. I think I'll have that famous steak-frites you guys make. Friend over here'll have a cup of coffee." He winked. "Now I hope you aren't planning to pay. You already do enough good for us. Hell, was it just last week you took care of that gang roaming the streets at night. Constant B&Es in a little street like this. Unbelievable." She scribbled on the pad in a practiced fashion, scampering back to the kitchen with that little smile of hers. James' face turned serious again. "We've had this talk plenty of times. You already know the spiel." I nodded, stifling a yawn. "And you know it's never too late." I shook my head. "James, I follow the money. We all do. Maybe your moonlighting as a hero makes you feel all warm-and-fuzzy inside, but warm-and-fuzzy doesn't pay the bill. Unless you're the Phoenix or Hothead, warm-and-fuzzy means you freeze to death, out in the cold, when winter hits." He rubbed his face with the palms of his hands. "It's not about the money. It's about making a change. All these changes start small. Grassroots. But when you get the idea into people's heads, they start to think 'Hm, maybe I can do good. Maybe good is what we need.'" I could tell he's been through this speech with others before. I could almost smell their rejection and skepticism wafting off his body. Yet I saw the fire in his belly. "James, this hero business. It's eating at you. I know you think you're doing the right thing, but the right things aren't always the right thing. This," I waved my hands for dramatic effect, "vigilantism doesn't fix anything. The Golden Age of heroes is over. For every one upstanding guy, two assholes would pop up. You know that's how actual bad guys work. They're attracted to conflict like mosquitos to flesh. The way we do it now...it's nice. It works." "It's selfish," James spat out. He looked away from me, out the window at the busy street. The trees were in full bloom, sunshine casting refulgent shadows along the noontime traffic. We sat quietly for a time, the food eventually arriving, piping hot. "I don't know what to do anymore," James whispered under his breath. "I can't do this alone." I leaned in, resting a hand on his shoulder. A small smirk fell on his face. "What're you trying to do, blow me up?" he said, chuckling lightly. I smiled back, stealing a handful of fries. "James, buddy. I'm just saying, being a hero isn't for me. I'm not sure it's for you either. I can give a good word to my boss. Start you on double pay. Do you really want to do this hero stuff though? It's just all swimming upstream." His face was solemn, like that of a statue. "Yes. Even if no one joins, yes. It is right." I sighed deeply, and fell back in my seat. He ate with a stony, distant look on his face. I finished my coffee, patted James on the shoulder, then slapped a twenty on the table. A smile broke onto his face. "Heh, it's complimentary, remember?" he said, shifting out of his seat. "It's...actually a tip. An apology, really." "What, to me? We might disagree, but you don't have to apologize." "No, it's an apology to the waitress. For what she's about to see." I snapped my fingers and walked to the door. A deep rumble echoed from James' stomach, and he fell to the ground, screaming. The smell of embers, of burnt esophagus and stomach lining slowly filled the room. He yelled, screamed, cried for his mother, writhing in a pool of saliva and blood, his fingers digging holes into the old diner floor. Smoke poured out of his belly in thick plumes. A guttural bellow of rage erupted from his scalded throat, as the patrons watched in horror as this man burned alive, from the inside out. It's the strongest ones that have the worst deaths. They can't just die quickly like normal people. I let out a ragged sigh, and walked out. Hands shaking, I lit myself a a cigarette with my fingertip, and got as far away from the diner as I could. "Fuck's sake, James," It was raining now. "I told you so." I am not a good man because all the good men are dead.	"Alright, so you want a superhero protection contract, what kind would you like?' "Well as you may know Mr Doomfist has recently taken up residence in my town, now i don't want to be judgemental but he has broken the laws of the last four he lived in." "A yes Mr Doomfist, always good for business, so do you want a specific contract out for us to stop him or one in general. We also offer a two villains for the price of one deal this month." "Does the specific contract include his minions and henchmen?" "It depends, the standard version covers a hundred normal minions or one super powered one, depending on the contract we could include a fixed price per minion that exceeds that amount, or we can increase the maximum. According to our documents Mr Doomfist now has eighty four minions." "So with a contract would you immediately go to arrest him or?" "It depends, in the contract is a threat scale, if its an apocalypse level threat then yes we will intervene, however if its a local level threat our response would be between three to five business days. However should you need more immediate assistance you can pay an additional fee to expedite the process." "What kind of hero's could i be expecting?" "That depends on the package, we have several squads able to be assigned to you, but for an additional fee you could also put your own squad together." ''I think il stick with one of the pre made ones, do you have any suggestions?" "Our flying brick squad has a high success rating against villains of Mr Doomfists nature, though they are a bit more expensive." "Price is no issue, Mr Doomfist has a tendency for collateral damage and we just rebuild city hall, and the insurance only pays out if the villain is caught." "Well then it all seems in order, are there any other questions?" "No, il take a contract for Mr Doomfist for a hundred fifty minions with a flying brick squad."
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	Seconds before the decaying support beams running through the apartment building finally snapped, Chronotron strolled casually into unit 8B, the last on his checklist. Mere seconds remained before the aging architecture would be reduced to rubble, but that was more than enough time for Chronotron. As one gifted with the ability to manipulate the passage of time, Chronotron rarely felt pressured when he worked – the concept of urgency, after all, had no relevance in a world which only moved when he allowed it to. He checked the apartment methodically, starting with the hall first, then the attached kitchen, the balcony, then the bedrooms. Which was where he found the kid, crying as she tugged on her friends in vain, pulling them towards the door. Shit, he thought, there’s three of them. “Hey, kid, you need to weave your chrono-filaments around your friends, or they are never going to be move. They’ll just be frozen there, forever.” The kid swung to face him, tears streaking down her cheeks, oblivious to the badge which Chronotron was holding out, which marked him as an Enhanced contractor attached to the police force. “Mister, please! We were just talking when suddenly, everything froze! I’ve been trying to move them, but they are not responding!” Chronotron could have explained to the girl that her latent powers had probably been awoken by the mortal danger she was in, and that it was more than likely that they shared an ancestor in common. He could also have demonstrated then how to manipulate a chrono-filament, or even just walked out of there with all three children. But none of those things fell under the insurance cover for the building, so Chronotron did none of that. After all, it wasn’t his fault that the owners didn’t spring for more coverage, or that whatever funds remained only allowed him to save one more person today. “Kid, come on,” Chronotron beckoned, holding out his hand, “time’s money, you know. I came to rescue you, so we’ve got to get a move on.” “And leave Sara and Bianca here? I can’t do that!” “You look like, what, 12 this year?” “What does that even matter in a situation like this?” Chronotron sighed. “You look like you’re old enough to understand the way things are. There’s only enough budget to save one of you, you know how we work. So count yourself lucky I’ve decided to rescue you.” “Can’t you just save them instead? I can get out on my own!” Chronotron scoffed. “As I said, I can only save one. Plus, without knowing how to use your powers, you couldn’t even get this door open. As I said, until you’ve learned how to weave your chrono-filaments, you can’t interact with the world at all. And this time pocket you carved, it’s sweet, for a first-timer, but it’s already cracking. I leave this room, and you’ll only experience a couple of minutes more before you’re wrenched back to the common timestream. So no, you can’t get out of your own.” A bulb seemed to go off in the girl’s head. “You’re an Enhanced policeman, aren’t you? You’re the special forces on retainer for the city?” “Correction, I’m Enhanced, but I am not a policeman. We’re paid per job. It’s very different.” “But that’s my point! I can hire you too, right? I can pay you to save us all!” “You couldn’t afford my fees.” “My parents have money! They will certainly pay you!” Chronotron shook his head resolutely. “Sorry kid, rules are rules. All services rendered only after payment is made. No credit, no exceptions.” His words were cold, but his conscience remained unpricked. After all, these weren’t his rules. The Enhanced Division was the one in charge of drafting policy, and they were the ones who had firmly decided on the upfront payment policy. And if he broke the rules, his license would be taken away, and his powers Stemmed. No one wanted that. “Please, you have to save them. They’re my best friends, and I would do anything just to save them!” the girl cried, as she sank to her knees. “Or how about the things I have in my room! Everything here is mine! Just take it!” Chronotron started to protest again, but the words died in his throat. There was one thing of value in that room. “Anything at all, I can take as payment?” “Yes! Please, anything!” --- Chronotron’s supervisor, Elendra, was waiting at the bottom of the building, clipboard in hand. As the complex finally collapsed inwards on itself, as Chronotron laid the two girls on the sidewalk along with all the other survivors he had rescued, Elendra’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “That’s one over budget. Please don’t tell me you messed up, the paperwork’s going to be a bitch.” “Calm down, Elendra, I got paid for the extra one. It’s not going to cause any accounting problems.” “Paid? By whom? Did you already collect payment?” Chronotron chuckled, then pointed with his chin towards the settling dust of the ruined building. “Payment in kind. The Institute’s still as hungry as ever to discover the origins of our powers, right? Well, there’s an Enhanced girl in there, she’s assigned me full rights to her remains.” --- /r/rarelyfunny	"Alright, so you want a superhero protection contract, what kind would you like?' "Well as you may know Mr Doomfist has recently taken up residence in my town, now i don't want to be judgemental but he has broken the laws of the last four he lived in." "A yes Mr Doomfist, always good for business, so do you want a specific contract out for us to stop him or one in general. We also offer a two villains for the price of one deal this month." "Does the specific contract include his minions and henchmen?" "It depends, the standard version covers a hundred normal minions or one super powered one, depending on the contract we could include a fixed price per minion that exceeds that amount, or we can increase the maximum. According to our documents Mr Doomfist now has eighty four minions." "So with a contract would you immediately go to arrest him or?" "It depends, in the contract is a threat scale, if its an apocalypse level threat then yes we will intervene, however if its a local level threat our response would be between three to five business days. However should you need more immediate assistance you can pay an additional fee to expedite the process." "What kind of hero's could i be expecting?" "That depends on the package, we have several squads able to be assigned to you, but for an additional fee you could also put your own squad together." ''I think il stick with one of the pre made ones, do you have any suggestions?" "Our flying brick squad has a high success rating against villains of Mr Doomfists nature, though they are a bit more expensive." "Price is no issue, Mr Doomfist has a tendency for collateral damage and we just rebuild city hall, and the insurance only pays out if the villain is caught." "Well then it all seems in order, are there any other questions?" "No, il take a contract for Mr Doomfist for a hundred fifty minions with a flying brick squad."
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	Dreadnaught was the last of the Old Guard. The early heroes who had fought for the good of the world, for honor and justice and other long-dead ideals. they toppled dictatorships, brought aid to disaster-stricken regions and never accepted a penny. Dreadnaught himself had seen the greats of the age, had only been a young rookie when The Atom and Red Lightning and all the others were around. There had been villains, of course- bastards and madmen who used their powers for their own benefit, but they were always beaten back. The good guys always won in the end. Dreadnaught had long since stopped caring about "good" or "evil". He was standing on a wind-tossed rooftop in Dubai, staring at the bright artificial stars, gleaming skyscrapers and rivers of vehicles, spreading forever into the distance. He idly wondered what had happened to the old greats, Atom and Lightning and Sunbeam. He continued to think back, remembering the first changes.... It began when he and a few allies rescued some fat cat from an attempted assassination, somewhere in South Korea. When word came out that the cat had been smuggling weapons up north, and had betrayed the country, Dreadnaught shrugged. He wasn't a political sort. But Fat Cats are always good at redirecting blame- they called him and his friends mercenaries, not caring who he fought for as long as he had glory and attention. He heard insults and threats as he walked through the streets. He tried his best not to mind. He minded. He had never had much- Dreadnaught grew up in the inner city and came from a poor family. So when people said he, and others like him, was profiting from chaos and war and fear as he struggled to make ends meet and ate third-rate prepackaged meals- his blood boiled. Most heroes were offered work when their identities were revealed- Private armies, government work, criminal organizations. He decided that if people thought he was a thug- then it didn't hurt to do a thug's job. He accepted a job offer, then another, and another. His pay was high and his scruples few. He moved out of the slums and into a high rise apartment. People kept calling him a crook and a monster, but it hurt less now that it was true. Others joined him, fighting wars and steal secrets for the highest bidder. That was how it had happened. The world was a different place now than it was. Supers were identified from birth and signed on with one of the big corporations at the age of 12. There were no more armies anymore, no more citizen soldiers. Just hired guns with enough firepower to level cities. Some Supers still fought the good fight, of course. They lived on the edges of the world, striking out against the "Man" in what little ways they could. But most Supers lived quiet lives, turning down the offers of big corporations, and not making a fuss of their powers for fear of attracting too much attention. Dreadnaught looked down from the glinting lights and turned towards the desert. His contact would be arriving soon, with his pay, and likely another job. He was one of the oldest men in the business, after all. He never failed, he never quit a job until it was done. His skills were highly valued.	"Alright, so you want a superhero protection contract, what kind would you like?' "Well as you may know Mr Doomfist has recently taken up residence in my town, now i don't want to be judgemental but he has broken the laws of the last four he lived in." "A yes Mr Doomfist, always good for business, so do you want a specific contract out for us to stop him or one in general. We also offer a two villains for the price of one deal this month." "Does the specific contract include his minions and henchmen?" "It depends, the standard version covers a hundred normal minions or one super powered one, depending on the contract we could include a fixed price per minion that exceeds that amount, or we can increase the maximum. According to our documents Mr Doomfist now has eighty four minions." "So with a contract would you immediately go to arrest him or?" "It depends, in the contract is a threat scale, if its an apocalypse level threat then yes we will intervene, however if its a local level threat our response would be between three to five business days. However should you need more immediate assistance you can pay an additional fee to expedite the process." "What kind of hero's could i be expecting?" "That depends on the package, we have several squads able to be assigned to you, but for an additional fee you could also put your own squad together." ''I think il stick with one of the pre made ones, do you have any suggestions?" "Our flying brick squad has a high success rating against villains of Mr Doomfists nature, though they are a bit more expensive." "Price is no issue, Mr Doomfist has a tendency for collateral damage and we just rebuild city hall, and the insurance only pays out if the villain is caught." "Well then it all seems in order, are there any other questions?" "No, il take a contract for Mr Doomfist for a hundred fifty minions with a flying brick squad."
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	3:30 AM, Atlanta The phone rang. "This had better be worth waking my ass up." "Flux. $500,000. If we lose power--." "I'll do it if you make it six. Where?" The caller accepted, a little too quickly. Damn. Could have got more. The caller gave the address to a malfunctioning power station, and thanked Flux for assisting Westshore specialty. "An insurance agent, huh?" Well, it makes sense. Superheroes were a damn sight cheaper than losing a court case, these days. Flux had been a generous soul. But not anymore. He loved music. When he first discovered his power, all those years ago, he used his power over electricity to give fledgling bands free power, so they could practice anywhere, anytime. They didn't even have to plug their equipment into anything! It made for some great hipster music videos. Back then, he sometimes helped clean up metal debris from car crashes. Other days, he donated electricity to his poorer friends, or gave the homeless shelter free electricity for a few hours, to run the A/C during the hot summer months. That all changed after a fateful day a few years ago. Flux prevented a plane crash by using electromagnetism to lower it safely to the ground. After that, Flux became famous. And with fame, came more calls for help. But they all wanted it for free. Non-stop, day and night. Not always for heroic deeds, either. One kid wanted him to take out the power at his office so he could spend that day with his girlfriend. He grew fed up with the non-stop pleas for help. Fed up as he was, he was too poor to buy food. Even superheroes have to eat, you know. So, Flux started charging for his powers. This sparked outrage at first - Headlines like "Does Flux's greed have no limit?" dominated the news cycle - because people had grown used to the impossible being done for them for free. However, capitalism won the day - other heroes in other cities borrowed flux's idea. They too had been worked to the bone, and for what? To go home to a creaky apartment without enough money to even wash their spandex? These days, heroes primarily did boring but valuable things, such as prevent power outages, stop floods from damaging property, put out fires, that sort of thing. Some chose to do pro-bono work at times, but it was not expected the way that it was in years past. Flux sighed as he drove to the plant. He could easily power the grid from the sidewalk outside his house, but the insurance company would have a fit and cut his pay. Last time he did that, they charged him for damaging the wiring, which cut his $250,000 reward down to a mere $15,000. Looks like another couple hours of maintaining a boring old 60 hz stream...	"Alright, so you want a superhero protection contract, what kind would you like?' "Well as you may know Mr Doomfist has recently taken up residence in my town, now i don't want to be judgemental but he has broken the laws of the last four he lived in." "A yes Mr Doomfist, always good for business, so do you want a specific contract out for us to stop him or one in general. We also offer a two villains for the price of one deal this month." "Does the specific contract include his minions and henchmen?" "It depends, the standard version covers a hundred normal minions or one super powered one, depending on the contract we could include a fixed price per minion that exceeds that amount, or we can increase the maximum. According to our documents Mr Doomfist now has eighty four minions." "So with a contract would you immediately go to arrest him or?" "It depends, in the contract is a threat scale, if its an apocalypse level threat then yes we will intervene, however if its a local level threat our response would be between three to five business days. However should you need more immediate assistance you can pay an additional fee to expedite the process." "What kind of hero's could i be expecting?" "That depends on the package, we have several squads able to be assigned to you, but for an additional fee you could also put your own squad together." ''I think il stick with one of the pre made ones, do you have any suggestions?" "Our flying brick squad has a high success rating against villains of Mr Doomfists nature, though they are a bit more expensive." "Price is no issue, Mr Doomfist has a tendency for collateral damage and we just rebuild city hall, and the insurance only pays out if the villain is caught." "Well then it all seems in order, are there any other questions?" "No, il take a contract for Mr Doomfist for a hundred fifty minions with a flying brick squad."
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	The pen slips, drawing a jagged line along the 'Cash' field of the deposit slip. I sigh and look around. Whatever jogged my elbow nudges me in the ribs this time, and I reach up to pull the headphones away from my ear. "You, too, tiny. Hands where we can see 'em, down on the floor with the rest. Nice and easy." The guy is wearing a ski mask, a little under six feet tall, a sandy blond eye brow just visible above one of his blue eyes. Those eyes look fierce, but there's a note in his voice on the edge of panic. Oh, and he's waving a hand gun in my face, reaching up so that it's just under my nose. Poor trigger discipline, I note, suppressing a reflex to break his arm and take the weapon. I take a moment to look around the interior of the bank. Two more masked individuals, the three tellers with their hands stretched out on the counter top, maybe half a dozen other people who were waiting in line. They're prone, now, hands splayed wide on the floor. "C'mon, don't make this hard," says Mr. Blue Eyes, gesturing impatiently with the gun. "Don't try to be a hero, big guy." "No trouble," I agree, easing myself on the floor. "No trouble," I repeat for emphasis. Hero. Was I ever one of those? Doesn't feel like it, these days. From the floor, I watch as two of the other robbers escort a teller, at gunpoint, out of sight, presumably in search of a vault, or something. Do banks still have vaults? I guess they would, for deposit boxes, if nothing else. I gently draw on the Aether and attune my hearing for a moment, since that's not breaking any laws. Out on the street, traffic is continuing as normal. People walking by, cars driving. No sound of approaching sirens. I open my senses a little more and the room suddenly blooms with phantom colors and sensations. They're a little dimmer over in the corner, and I turn my attention there. She's good. Not just a wild talent, but someone who has done a lot of practice. Her touch on the Aether stills it in a wide area around her, bleeding through to the Material and probably blanketing the whole block outside the bank with a sense of calm, even a slight euphoria, deflecting attention away from the bank. I stop channeling and return to the present. Mr. Blue Eyes is prodding me with his boot. "Hand it over, man, I know you got something." With a sigh, I reach slowly into my pocket and take out my battered walkman. "Can I at least keep the tape, man? Leave me that much? Ain't easy to find, these days." "You some kinda hipster, old man?" "Only if 'hipster' is slang for 'dead broke.'" "What's on it, anyway? "AC/DC. Got it when I was in highschool." "Sure man. Now the rest." I put the tape back in my pocket and bring out the roll of bills I was going to deposit. When I hesitate, he lunges, snatching the wad from my hand before quickly backing up to what he believes is out of reach. After a moment, I settle back to the ground. Blue Eyes heads over to the family next to me. The kid's mom cringes as she rifles through her purse. Blue Eyes just takes it from her, tosses it to one of his goons, waves his gun a bit, then snatches her iPhone and jams it into a pocket. He takes the kid's phone, too. Kid looks like he's maybe twelve. He's got that look on his face, like he's imagined how he'd save everyone from a situation just like this, and now it's here and he doesn't like what he just learned about himself. "Ain't worth it, son." He looks at me and I can see the angry tears standing in his eyes. He's angry at the robbers, but mostly at himself. I know. "It's just a phone. Plenty of those. Ain't worth your life or health. Let it go." "If I were a Hero, I'd stop 'em," he mutters. "Then you'd go to prison right beside 'em. Gotta have a contract," I tell him, keeping my voice low. "No contract, you're just a vigilante, and those're criminals, too." He gets quiet. That's different. Most kids his age, they would explode at me, believing their anger. This one stops and thinks. A gunshot sounds from somewhere I can't see and raised voices arguing soon follow. A woman, one of the other tellers, screams and begins crying, and I suddenly feel an intense pull as the robber in the corner, eyes screwed shut in concentration, draws more deeply on the Aether to keep the bank veiled from attention. At the rate the ambient energies are being used up, this is going to end soon, one way or another. A piece of paper, folded into an air plane, drifts to a stop in front of me a moment before the pencil hits me in the face. I look over at the kid, and he motions me to open it. I begin reading. "I, Robin Andrew Greyson, seek to engage the services of the undersigned. At the rate of twenty dollars an hour, for a span of no fewer than two hours and totaling no more than six hours, the undersigned will secure the person, possessions, and any premises surrounding myself from injury, theft, or undue disturbance." I look up at him, an eyebrow raised in disbelief. He makes a get-on-with-it gesture. I pick up the pencil, sign the page, and fold it back into a plane, and loft it back to him. He picks it up and reads it. "Powerage?" "Never mind." Three robbers. No, four, that one with the veil keeps sliding herself out of my perception. Only two of them in this room. Nine hostages. Eight, now? I don't know. Most of the ambient power has been used up. I take a deep breath and concentrate on the pencil. Blue Eyes is closest. "Passing notes? Why don't you share with the cl-" is as far as he gets before six inches of sharpened wood and graphite, imbued with Aether to keep it from breaking, gets rammed up his nose, into his brain, killing him. It comes free with a light tug, and I fling it, overhand, at the woman in the corner. She comes out of her deep focus, looks down, and sees the small blossom of red on her shirt, just above her navel. I reach her just before she can use the panicked breath she just took to scream, closing a hand over her nose and mouth. If I can keep this quiet, I might be able to get the other two before any more hostages ge- I come back to myself, fetched up against the far wall, and there's a ringing in my ears. I throw myself open to the Aether, and the sudden contact with that other realm shocks me fully back to my senses. There's almost nothing left there to draw, but I pull what I can manage quickly, recklessly winding the energies around my frayed nerves to steady my balance and stop the spinning in my head. Then I shut off the connection, surging forward in a running crouch. The robber who hit me with the essence blast is in bad shape. Between the gut wound and the backlash of channeling so much raw power, she's unconscious, probably not getting up again without medical attention. I pull off the tattered remains of my shirt and press it over the widening bloodstain on her belly. "Alright, everyone out, quick and quiet. You," I say, pointing to a middle aged man, "toss me that and then give that guy a hand." One of the other men, looks like some kind of contractor, got caught on the fringe of the blast, seems like he's having trouble sitting up. "When you're out, find a phone and call the cops." Looking around, faces are frozen in disbelief, looking at me in shock. "Go," I sort of whisper-shout, and they get moving. "What the hell was all that noise? Jim, you and Marcia fighting again?" I bean the third man with a paperweight, hard enough to dent the front of his forehead, as he walks out from the one of the spaces behind the counter. A startled, "what the hell," comes from somewhere behind him. I drag the channeler out the front of doors of the bank, then out of sight of any windows. Probably shouldn't have, but I can't keep pressure on her injury and fight the last guy at the same time. Robin finds me. "Thanks." He hands me a twenty dollar bill. "Just... hold on to that piece of paper. I'm not a lawyer, but it might hold up if anyone decides to press charges." "I will," he says, face serious. I tuck the bill into my pocket, then freeze. Slowly, sadly, I bring out the plastic fragments and length of magnetic tape that had once been my favorite album, shattered by the force of an Aetheric essence blast. "Kid, you know anywhere I can get a cassette tape of AC/DC?" "I don't know what either of those things are." I think for a moment. "... Do you know any 'hipsters'?"	"Alright, so you want a superhero protection contract, what kind would you like?' "Well as you may know Mr Doomfist has recently taken up residence in my town, now i don't want to be judgemental but he has broken the laws of the last four he lived in." "A yes Mr Doomfist, always good for business, so do you want a specific contract out for us to stop him or one in general. We also offer a two villains for the price of one deal this month." "Does the specific contract include his minions and henchmen?" "It depends, the standard version covers a hundred normal minions or one super powered one, depending on the contract we could include a fixed price per minion that exceeds that amount, or we can increase the maximum. According to our documents Mr Doomfist now has eighty four minions." "So with a contract would you immediately go to arrest him or?" "It depends, in the contract is a threat scale, if its an apocalypse level threat then yes we will intervene, however if its a local level threat our response would be between three to five business days. However should you need more immediate assistance you can pay an additional fee to expedite the process." "What kind of hero's could i be expecting?" "That depends on the package, we have several squads able to be assigned to you, but for an additional fee you could also put your own squad together." ''I think il stick with one of the pre made ones, do you have any suggestions?" "Our flying brick squad has a high success rating against villains of Mr Doomfists nature, though they are a bit more expensive." "Price is no issue, Mr Doomfist has a tendency for collateral damage and we just rebuild city hall, and the insurance only pays out if the villain is caught." "Well then it all seems in order, are there any other questions?" "No, il take a contract for Mr Doomfist for a hundred fifty minions with a flying brick squad."
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	It was raining. The day we set to sea was a dark day, the sun did not appear in the sky and the skies appeared to cry as the sons of Helgavik set off to unfamiliar lands. I watched my parents on the shore, surrounded by the wives and families of my fellow sailors, but I could not find it in my heart to return their waves. I was a young man, barely sixteen years of age and waving to them would have broken me down and caused me to cry. But I had to stay strong, the men on the longboat with me were mostly veterans, having raided before and crying, in my mind, would show weakness in front of those hard sailors which I regarded as role models. However I stared back to shore until all I could see was mist and rain, before and aft. It would be months until I would see my family again, if at all. The longboat was the pride of the village from which we sailed. It had been made during a remarkably warm summer, and was hewn from good wood. It was beautifully decorated with images depicting the gods in battle, the monsters of the sea and with the names of some of the heroes that had sailed on it. This boat “Garmr” was considered blessed by the gods and those that would sail on it were priviliged men. I had gotten my place through contest, My arm was stronger than those of my friends, and my aim was true when throwing a spear. I had also shown courage in battle once before while defending my fathers farm, so Grímur the ships foreman, brought me aboard. “You know you may die.” he had said, matter of factly. “I am not afraid of going to my ancestors.” I replied, mustering up as much courage as I could in front of this large, red haired, man. “Good to hear, Arnr. Good to hear. You swear an oath to follow my orders, defend your fellow man and bring honor to the gods?” “Yes. My aim will never fail me, nor will I leave my friends back exposed to the enemy. I will fall if the gods will it so without fear.” “Allright, you will receive the same share as the rest of us, apart from one extra share for myself and captain Eirikur. You will be second oarsman on the right side.” In the days before my departure my parents, proud of their son for having secured a place on the Garmr, fed me the best food they could muster. My father gave me his axe, which his father had given him as well as a warm cloak. When the day came to go to the docks I was well provisioned and ready, my parents supplying me well in anticipation of me returning with exotic wares. During the day we sung songs praising the heroes of old while the sound of the oars hitting the ocean kept rhythm. If we had good wind we would spend our time cleaning the ship, watching the sky for signs of land. We each had our rations in a box under our seats where we spent most of our time. When the sky turned golden we would eat our food and spend our nights asleep, adrift on the ocean hoping we would not drift too far off course. One man stood watch each night to keep the ship sailing in the right direction as best he could. During the day Grímur would consult what he called his sun-stone for direction to good hunting areas as he called it. Area filled with enemy ships ripe for the plunder, but our main target would be a christian chapel he had heard was lightly defended and should pay for this raiding trip in one blow. --- We had arrived early in the morning, awoken by distant bells audible over the fog which enveloped us. Grímur smiled like a hungry wolf and started whispering urgent directions to the captain directing him towards the sound. “It starts” Arnolfr whispered to me from behind, “Odin willing we will be rich men at the end of this day or dead. Either way, be ready!”. I swallowed my fear while listening hard for any sounds from out of the fog, the only sounds being the low whispering of the men around me as well as the soft sound of the oar propelling the Garmr onwards. The first thing we could see were the black rocks of the shore. With skill and experience the boat was dragged ashore in near silence. “This is it! I can feel it in the air!” Grímur whispered to us as we assembled, weapons drawn, on the beach, “We will be in two groups. You lot will go with Eirkur and you will go with me” he said, indicating my group “Good hunting”. My heart was beating loudly in my heart, so much so that I feared it would give away our position, as we first caught a glimpse of a stone building. It was strange to see the chapel after hearing such places described by others. It was a large building built almost like an arrow, with a stone tower on one end. It had colorful windows depicting what I could only guess were old heroes akin to the ones depicted on our ship. My axe felt heavy as our backs got up to the walls of the building. Thank Thor for this fog, it had hidden our apprach so well we were still unnoticed. A raiding party of armed and capable warriors in the pen filled with unaware sheep. Suddenly without barely a nod towards the rest of us Grímur ran into the fog, shortly followed by a wet sound as his hammer struck flesh, this prompted the rest of us into action. Suddenly my world became very violent as men were everywhere. In the fog they reminded me of ancient ghosts, clad in black robes, obviously crying for mercy. I myself went into the chapel with two others and met one of the robed men as he seemed to be trying to save the valuables hidden inside the chapel. His face was white with fright, his words incomprehensible to me as I stepped towards him with my axe raised above my head. I will never forget the feeling of the iron biting into flesh, nor the warmth of his blood as he stumbled and fell, gold coins clattering on the ground from his fingers. The sound of battle was around me, and for the rest of my life I would never be able to remember the rest of it as some inner beast overtook me. “Good fight!” Grímur said, smiling as he hit me on the back. “You did well. You will no longer be a boy but a man. You have earned the respect.”. I was sitting on the steps of the chapel, holding a cup filled with wine and covered in blood. “It was my honor” I replied. I was proud of my achievement, but the face of the black robed monk was fresh in my mind. I knew then that he would be a spectre that would follow me throughout my life. We were rich now, Grímur told us there was more treasure inside this chapel than even he had imagined. We would get home earlier than planned which raised our morale, but was bittersweet since it meant fewer chances to die like warriors. I however was consoled with the image of my parents in my mind, proud of their son, fresh back from viking. --- It was the third day of our trip back that it all changed. Grímur looked anxious as he and captain Eirikur talked in the back of the boat while the rest of us ate our daily rations. I clambered over to them which caused Grímur to look at me with a mix of annoyance and curiosity while Eirikur looked concerned. “What is wrong?” I asked, but we had become accustomed to asking straight questions. The daily life aboard the longboat did not allow for much formality beyond rank. “Well, you will know soon enough. We are being hunted.” Grímur replied. I imagined a boat filled with monks, or armed men, following us from the land we had visited “How many?” I asked. “One” The reply was unexpected, one man would not be much of a threat. “Then we have little to worry about. One man can do us no harm.” “Who says it is a man? I have been watching our wake. We are being hunted by something under the water. Some beast” I nodded and returned to my seat. The way Grímur had said that we were being hunted by a beast was unsettling, but I sensed no more information would be forthcoming for now. As I looked to the back of the boat, in the distance, I imagined I could see a swell of water formed by an unnatural shape effortlessly gliding under the water. On day four Grímur stood up at the bow of the vessel. We sensed by his stance we should prepare ourselves for what was coming so we prepared our shields and weapons. A few minutes later I felt as if the world exploded. Out of the water burst a huge beast the likes I would never see again. It appeared as a large serpent, the head easily larger than our ship. Its eyes held the fires of eternity, and as it roared defiantly at our diminutive boat we were all overcome with dread. The beasts fangs were the size of great-swords. Its scales the sizes of our shields. At this moment I knew that I would be dead soon. The waves of its movements caused our boat to bob and sink like a cork on a wave. We were helpless. Grímur screamed an oath to the gods, took one step on the edge of the bow and hurled himself at the beast. I could not believe my eyes as he wresled with the mighty beast. The last we heard from him was “SAIL AWAY, FLEE OR DIE!”. We scrambled for our oars and sailed away, leaving Grímur behind. The last I saw of Grímur he was on top of the beasts head, holding his hammer above his head, lightning striking down from the sky into him, his eyes glowing with white light and his red hair glowing like fire. I knew then that this was not a normal man. As we managed to gain some distance on the mighty battle between the beast and god the waves settled and we witnessed the conclusion as Grímur killed the wyrm with a mighty blow. A streak of light travelled overhead to the north immediately after this and we knew that Grímur was safe. I will always remember this hard man, if he was a man at all. He never returned to our village but we keep his memory alive every year with stories of his heroism. His face now adorns the bow of our blessed longboat. I would not meet Grímur again for many a year.	Like every day since I started this job, the subway was packed. Not the kind of packed where you have to occasionally mutter apologies as you slide past people; this was more like something that made me envious of sardines in a can. Thank-god for phones. I sighed as an ad began to play again on the video I was watching, for the fifth time in ten minutes. A superhero, dressed in a green and white spandex suit, smiles with impossibly white teeth at the camera. Besides him, a name: SteelSkin, TM. In his hand, he holds something that resembles an insulin syringe, complete with viscous lime-green liquid swirling inside. “Thanks to EasyPowers Ltd., I can effortlessly use my superpowers without having to worry about reinjections every four hours. It’s the only choice, buy an EasyPowers starter module today! Only one hundred thousand dollars a shot!” He winks at the camera. If only it was that easy. Everyone knew only a few select candidates received any powers at all. If you had the money, that is. I stared out at the smog-filled city, admiring the six kilometer-tall JusticeTower from the window. Syracuse was responsible for that one, along with cold-fusion, and the cure for cancer if you could afford it. I can see his memorial from here too, after he was killed by Czar. Apparently Czar couldn’t deal with the fact that a homosexual black man became the most famous Mender in history. It was only because I was looking in that direction that I noticed it at all. A slight flicker of lightning in the sky, then another, closer to the train. A few figures, three men and two woman, charging towards the clouds. Suddenly, there were thousands of flickering lightning strikes, the brightness briefly blinding me. I heard shouts of discomfort behind me. “What the hell?” “Oh god, is that Zeus?” “He’s fighting the Justice Squad! Get out your phone.” A pair of shrill teenage girls behind me giggled. I blinked away the spots in my vision, just in time to witness SteelSkin slam into the carriage next to us. Time slowed, and I saw the completely-full carriage crush in the middle like a stomped-on coke can. I watched, horrified. Then my carriage derailed. I felt my body fly up, slamming into the ceiling with a deep cracking sound, and I couldn’t feel anything below my neck. I’m dead, I thought. Then, I don’t want to die. Around me, I could hear a few moans. Most of the bodies were terrifyingly still. “SteelSkin, are you alright?” A purring voice rang out from outside. It must be Asp. They both went to the same Long Island private school, apparently. “I’m fine, darling.” He replied in that gravelly voice he put on for the cameras. “Check to see if anyone had insurance in this train. Angel can heal them.” I saw her, then. Impossibly beautiful, she entered the upturned carriage in a burst of pure white light. The illusion was immediately broken when her nose wrinkled. She only healed people who brought her million-dollar insurance. How else would she afford those designers clothes? “Nah, they’re all just middle-class workers. No way do they have insurance.” They never included her ghetto accent in those documentaries they constantly ran. “Alright, well at least we drove off Zeus.” Steelskin chuckled. I felt a brief stab of anger. I could see a one of the giggling girls from before sobbing over her dead friend in front of me, half of her head caved in like a deformed golf ball. “He’ll think twice before he tries to steal that medicine again. Oh wait, what did we tell the newspapers?” I could hear Asp laughing outside. You told them he had a bioweapon he was planning to unleash on the world, I thought again, that brief stab of anger turning into something deeper. Hatred. They flew off after that, acting as though thousands of people were not dying right next to them. They didn’t see my trigger, my screams of agony as the fabric of my entire body was remade, the first natural superpowers in over a decade. The ambulances arrived thirty minutes later. It was a miracle, they said, almost like you could heal yourself. I smiled, laughing along as though everything was right with the world. It wasn’t. They would pay. They would all pay, and when their corporations burned around them, I would be there to watch.
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	"I'm just going to talk to him," Rodgers says to himself, standing outside a house. It was the definition of suburban. A little garden out the front, a big oak tree and a novelty mailbox shaped like a salmon. He knocks on the door three times, to no answer, as it swings ajar. Rodgers walks inside, coughing as he does. Rotting food litters some of the floors, and a dozen broken bong's glass joins it. He carefully tiptoes around them all, lest he got an infection, and yells out. "Hello?" The words bounce around the walls, falling on deaf ears. "Jack?" Rodgers walks into the surrounding rooms to find nothing of interest, mostly more rotting food and massive quantities of narcotics. The stairs tease out to him, knowingly, as if to say 'Jack's up here.' They creak as he walks up, photos of a family not belonging to Jack neatly arranged on the wall. Once at the top, he stares down the hallway to see a door partially open. "Jack?" he says curiously and moves towards it. He pries the door open slightly and then immediately regrets that decision. Jack is sitting in a large chair with headphones on, his hand down his pants, and the TV blaring hardcore porn. Rodgers moves back into the hallway for a moment to collect himself, before thumping the door as loud as he can and moving inside. "Jack!" He yells, much to Jack's dismay. He jumps from his chair, throws the headphones off, but doesn't take his hand out of his pants. "Fuckin, what!" Jack yells, a furrowed brow and a bit of spit dripping out his mouth. "You ever heard of fucking knocking?" "I tried that," Rodgers remarks. "Fuck off," Jack says, getting back into his chair. With a touch of a remote, the porn turns off, and Jack breathes in deep. A small bong sits next to him which he lifts to his chest and prepares. "So what do you want Rodge?" "We've got a bit of a monster problem over in NYC. Destroying the whole place," "Yeah yeah, I saw that," Jack says, scooping some of his bowl into his cone piece. "Did you send Canary?" "She couldn't handle it," "Andromeda?" "He couldn't handle it," "Mech-zero?" Jack exclaims, now getting surprised. He lights the cone and begins to inhale deeply. "He died." Jack's eyes grow wide at the new bit of information, but still, continues to inhale. A few more seconds pass before he stops. "Aw fuck then," Jack says, talking while exhaling, "You really need bloody Jack then don't you?" A shit-eating grin blooms over Jack's face, as he stares up at Rodgers. "50 grand." "Deal." "Fantastic," Jack stands and looks at Rodgers, his erection flopping out his underwear. Rodgers stares at him for a few more pained moments before speaking. "Who's house is this," "Let's get going ay." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A heavily armored van is shifting through pedestrians with Jack inside. Chants from outside are thunderous in volume and full of joy. Eventually, the van comes to a stop. From outside, the cheering grows as a chaotic applause begins, no rhythm to its nature. "You ready Jack?" an unnamed soldier says, his hands fiddling with his gun. Jack grunts, finishes rolling his cigarette, lazily puts it in his mouth and walks towards the van's exit. He thumps on the side twice, and the door starts to open. "Probably not," Jack replies, pulling out a lighter and letting the nicotine hit his veins. The sunlight blurs his vision as he steps into the world, the cheers and claps immediately stopping. Sighing, he looks all around himself to see sad faces and angry civilians. "Are you not entertained!?" Jack yells, thrusting his arms above himself. He smiles, as the faces stare him down. He spins and spins, bathing in the glow of contempt, ecstatic in his self-indulgent joy. A roar in the distance breaks his attention. It's visceral and full of rage, a beast made of death waiting to dole out more. The crowd murmurs in fear, taking a collective step back. "Go get em, Jack!" A voice yells, a few more joining. It only took a few seconds before they were all cheering his name, and chanting for him to go. "Selfish buggers," Jack mutters under his breath. He takes a few steps forward, but The Beast beats him to it. With a crash, it descends just in front of him Jack. Wings made out of dark black, and a form made out of nightmares; it bubbles and seethes around as if it was a liquid. A thousand eyes cover it, all moving and changing shape at random, but all are staring at Jack. Taking the cigarette from his mouth, Jack flicks it and lets it smolder into the ground. The crowd that was around only moments ago has fled, leaving Jack alone. The Beast swings, its horrendous claw slashing down at Jack. It rends the air as if it was mere paper, and slams down on Jack's head. As soon as it does, its whole body locks up. Its heartbeat slows, and it feels weary. The claw is embedded deep into Jack's skull, and he smiles. He places both hands on it and focuses. Slowly, the life drains out of The Beast and into Jack. Its knowledge burns into his consciousness, its desires flood his heart, and its unbound rage to his soul. The Beast collapses, dead; its life force now within Jack. A helicopter lands behind Jack a few minutes after The Beast's demise, and Rodgers steps out. "Good work," he says, holding his hand out to shake Jacks. "50 grand, straight to your bank account, just like you asked." "So Canary couldn't do this?" "No," "Andromeda?" "No," "Not even Mech-zero?" Jack picks up the cigarette he threw away and relights it. "Not even Mech-zero, Jack. You're a real hero." "100 grand." Jack inhales deeply and looks at Rodgers with a smile. "No deal," Rodgers says. "I wasn't askin'," Jack says, his smile fading. "I was tellin' mate. 100 grand. Or I'm going rogue on your ass." "That's suicide Jack," Rodgers remarks. "We'd have every superhero on you before nightfall." The last bit of ash drips out of the cigarette. Jack takes it from his lips, turns to The Beast, and throws the cigarette onto it. With a few steps, he passes Rodgers on his side and continues to walk. "They can try." ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Check out /r/Rhysyjay for other neat stuff.	Like every day since I started this job, the subway was packed. Not the kind of packed where you have to occasionally mutter apologies as you slide past people; this was more like something that made me envious of sardines in a can. Thank-god for phones. I sighed as an ad began to play again on the video I was watching, for the fifth time in ten minutes. A superhero, dressed in a green and white spandex suit, smiles with impossibly white teeth at the camera. Besides him, a name: SteelSkin, TM. In his hand, he holds something that resembles an insulin syringe, complete with viscous lime-green liquid swirling inside. “Thanks to EasyPowers Ltd., I can effortlessly use my superpowers without having to worry about reinjections every four hours. It’s the only choice, buy an EasyPowers starter module today! Only one hundred thousand dollars a shot!” He winks at the camera. If only it was that easy. Everyone knew only a few select candidates received any powers at all. If you had the money, that is. I stared out at the smog-filled city, admiring the six kilometer-tall JusticeTower from the window. Syracuse was responsible for that one, along with cold-fusion, and the cure for cancer if you could afford it. I can see his memorial from here too, after he was killed by Czar. Apparently Czar couldn’t deal with the fact that a homosexual black man became the most famous Mender in history. It was only because I was looking in that direction that I noticed it at all. A slight flicker of lightning in the sky, then another, closer to the train. A few figures, three men and two woman, charging towards the clouds. Suddenly, there were thousands of flickering lightning strikes, the brightness briefly blinding me. I heard shouts of discomfort behind me. “What the hell?” “Oh god, is that Zeus?” “He’s fighting the Justice Squad! Get out your phone.” A pair of shrill teenage girls behind me giggled. I blinked away the spots in my vision, just in time to witness SteelSkin slam into the carriage next to us. Time slowed, and I saw the completely-full carriage crush in the middle like a stomped-on coke can. I watched, horrified. Then my carriage derailed. I felt my body fly up, slamming into the ceiling with a deep cracking sound, and I couldn’t feel anything below my neck. I’m dead, I thought. Then, I don’t want to die. Around me, I could hear a few moans. Most of the bodies were terrifyingly still. “SteelSkin, are you alright?” A purring voice rang out from outside. It must be Asp. They both went to the same Long Island private school, apparently. “I’m fine, darling.” He replied in that gravelly voice he put on for the cameras. “Check to see if anyone had insurance in this train. Angel can heal them.” I saw her, then. Impossibly beautiful, she entered the upturned carriage in a burst of pure white light. The illusion was immediately broken when her nose wrinkled. She only healed people who brought her million-dollar insurance. How else would she afford those designers clothes? “Nah, they’re all just middle-class workers. No way do they have insurance.” They never included her ghetto accent in those documentaries they constantly ran. “Alright, well at least we drove off Zeus.” Steelskin chuckled. I felt a brief stab of anger. I could see a one of the giggling girls from before sobbing over her dead friend in front of me, half of her head caved in like a deformed golf ball. “He’ll think twice before he tries to steal that medicine again. Oh wait, what did we tell the newspapers?” I could hear Asp laughing outside. You told them he had a bioweapon he was planning to unleash on the world, I thought again, that brief stab of anger turning into something deeper. Hatred. They flew off after that, acting as though thousands of people were not dying right next to them. They didn’t see my trigger, my screams of agony as the fabric of my entire body was remade, the first natural superpowers in over a decade. The ambulances arrived thirty minutes later. It was a miracle, they said, almost like you could heal yourself. I smiled, laughing along as though everything was right with the world. It wasn’t. They would pay. They would all pay, and when their corporations burned around them, I would be there to watch.
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.	[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts	I am not a good man. James looked down at the table, sipping his water. Always the same look when he's got something on his mind. "What're you ordering," he says with a low voice. "I hear the, uh, steak and fries are great." "Maybe just a coffee." I drummed the table lightly with my fingertips. "Look, J, I know that face. What's on your mind, man?" He hesitated, then looked up. His eyes were tired, dull bags underneath. I've never seen the guy look so old. "The, ah, warehouse explosion last night," His eyes turned hard. "That was you, wasn't it?" I chewed on my tongue for a bit, then sighed. "It might have been overkill, but the Stella's pay me well. Honestly, I think what I did preserved more lives. You know how an all-out war between them and the Callaghan's would turn out?" He rested his head in his palm, half-listening to my bullshit. "They're honestly talking about you, J. You've made yourself a name, fucking up their operations like this. They'll be out for you soon if you don't stop." I lowered my voice as the waitress approached. "What'll it be today, boys?" she said, her brown curls bouncing as she whipped out a pen and a smile. "Oh, Jamie, back again? I knew you couldn't get enough of us." "You know it. I think I'll have that famous steak-frites you guys make. Friend over here'll have a cup of coffee." He winked. "Now I hope you aren't planning to pay. You already do enough good for us. Hell, was it just last week you took care of that gang roaming the streets at night. Constant B&Es in a little street like this. Unbelievable." She scribbled on the pad in a practiced fashion, scampering back to the kitchen with that little smile of hers. James' face turned serious again. "We've had this talk plenty of times. You already know the spiel." I nodded, stifling a yawn. "And you know it's never too late." I shook my head. "James, I follow the money. We all do. Maybe your moonlighting as a hero makes you feel all warm-and-fuzzy inside, but warm-and-fuzzy doesn't pay the bill. Unless you're the Phoenix or Hothead, warm-and-fuzzy means you freeze to death, out in the cold, when winter hits." He rubbed his face with the palms of his hands. "It's not about the money. It's about making a change. All these changes start small. Grassroots. But when you get the idea into people's heads, they start to think 'Hm, maybe I can do good. Maybe good is what we need.'" I could tell he's been through this speech with others before. I could almost smell their rejection and skepticism wafting off his body. Yet I saw the fire in his belly. "James, this hero business. It's eating at you. I know you think you're doing the right thing, but the right things aren't always the right thing. This," I waved my hands for dramatic effect, "vigilantism doesn't fix anything. The Golden Age of heroes is over. For every one upstanding guy, two assholes would pop up. You know that's how actual bad guys work. They're attracted to conflict like mosquitos to flesh. The way we do it now...it's nice. It works." "It's selfish," James spat out. He looked away from me, out the window at the busy street. The trees were in full bloom, sunshine casting refulgent shadows along the noontime traffic. We sat quietly for a time, the food eventually arriving, piping hot. "I don't know what to do anymore," James whispered under his breath. "I can't do this alone." I leaned in, resting a hand on his shoulder. A small smirk fell on his face. "What're you trying to do, blow me up?" he said, chuckling lightly. I smiled back, stealing a handful of fries. "James, buddy. I'm just saying, being a hero isn't for me. I'm not sure it's for you either. I can give a good word to my boss. Start you on double pay. Do you really want to do this hero stuff though? It's just all swimming upstream." His face was solemn, like that of a statue. "Yes. Even if no one joins, yes. It is right." I sighed deeply, and fell back in my seat. He ate with a stony, distant look on his face. I finished my coffee, patted James on the shoulder, then slapped a twenty on the table. A smile broke onto his face. "Heh, it's complimentary, remember?" he said, shifting out of his seat. "It's...actually a tip. An apology, really." "What, to me? We might disagree, but you don't have to apologize." "No, it's an apology to the waitress. For what she's about to see." I snapped my fingers and walked to the door. A deep rumble echoed from James' stomach, and he fell to the ground, screaming. The smell of embers, of burnt esophagus and stomach lining slowly filled the room. He yelled, screamed, cried for his mother, writhing in a pool of saliva and blood, his fingers digging holes into the old diner floor. Smoke poured out of his belly in thick plumes. A guttural bellow of rage erupted from his scalded throat, as the patrons watched in horror as this man burned alive, from the inside out. It's the strongest ones that have the worst deaths. They can't just die quickly like normal people. I let out a ragged sigh, and walked out. Hands shaking, I lit myself a a cigarette with my fingertip, and got as far away from the diner as I could. "Fuck's sake, James," It was raining now. "I told you so." I am not a good man because all the good men are dead.	Like every day since I started this job, the subway was packed. Not the kind of packed where you have to occasionally mutter apologies as you slide past people; this was more like something that made me envious of sardines in a can. Thank-god for phones. I sighed as an ad began to play again on the video I was watching, for the fifth time in ten minutes. A superhero, dressed in a green and white spandex suit, smiles with impossibly white teeth at the camera. Besides him, a name: SteelSkin, TM. In his hand, he holds something that resembles an insulin syringe, complete with viscous lime-green liquid swirling inside. “Thanks to EasyPowers Ltd., I can effortlessly use my superpowers without having to worry about reinjections every four hours. It’s the only choice, buy an EasyPowers starter module today! Only one hundred thousand dollars a shot!” He winks at the camera. If only it was that easy. Everyone knew only a few select candidates received any powers at all. If you had the money, that is. I stared out at the smog-filled city, admiring the six kilometer-tall JusticeTower from the window. Syracuse was responsible for that one, along with cold-fusion, and the cure for cancer if you could afford it. I can see his memorial from here too, after he was killed by Czar. Apparently Czar couldn’t deal with the fact that a homosexual black man became the most famous Mender in history. It was only because I was looking in that direction that I noticed it at all. A slight flicker of lightning in the sky, then another, closer to the train. A few figures, three men and two woman, charging towards the clouds. Suddenly, there were thousands of flickering lightning strikes, the brightness briefly blinding me. I heard shouts of discomfort behind me. “What the hell?” “Oh god, is that Zeus?” “He’s fighting the Justice Squad! Get out your phone.” A pair of shrill teenage girls behind me giggled. I blinked away the spots in my vision, just in time to witness SteelSkin slam into the carriage next to us. Time slowed, and I saw the completely-full carriage crush in the middle like a stomped-on coke can. I watched, horrified. Then my carriage derailed. I felt my body fly up, slamming into the ceiling with a deep cracking sound, and I couldn’t feel anything below my neck. I’m dead, I thought. Then, I don’t want to die. Around me, I could hear a few moans. Most of the bodies were terrifyingly still. “SteelSkin, are you alright?” A purring voice rang out from outside. It must be Asp. They both went to the same Long Island private school, apparently. “I’m fine, darling.” He replied in that gravelly voice he put on for the cameras. “Check to see if anyone had insurance in this train. Angel can heal them.” I saw her, then. Impossibly beautiful, she entered the upturned carriage in a burst of pure white light. The illusion was immediately broken when her nose wrinkled. She only healed people who brought her million-dollar insurance. How else would she afford those designers clothes? “Nah, they’re all just middle-class workers. No way do they have insurance.” They never included her ghetto accent in those documentaries they constantly ran. “Alright, well at least we drove off Zeus.” Steelskin chuckled. I felt a brief stab of anger. I could see a one of the giggling girls from before sobbing over her dead friend in front of me, half of her head caved in like a deformed golf ball. “He’ll think twice before he tries to steal that medicine again. Oh wait, what did we tell the newspapers?” I could hear Asp laughing outside. You told them he had a bioweapon he was planning to unleash on the world, I thought again, that brief stab of anger turning into something deeper. Hatred. They flew off after that, acting as though thousands of people were not dying right next to them. They didn’t see my trigger, my screams of agony as the fabric of my entire body was remade, the first natural superpowers in over a decade. The ambulances arrived thirty minutes later. It was a miracle, they said, almost like you could heal yourself. I smiled, laughing along as though everything was right with the world. It wasn’t. They would pay. They would all pay, and when their corporations burned around them, I would be there to watch.

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