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[WP] The entire galaxy is threatened by a new species, invading from the Large Magellanic Cloud. The interstellar community decides to contact humans for help who were quarantined due to their passion for war.
|
"You want us to go to war?" the Terran ambassador had asked incredulously, "After trapping us here in the Quad Systems for a thousand years. You expect to let loose our leashes and like dogs chase down your hated enemies?"
"We do," the Gallius Union Envoy Drone had said, "We will drop the FTL disablers surrounding your quadrant. We have tens of thousands of freighters with supplies waiting to skip in and provide you with whatever you need to build an armada. You must stop them or they will kill us all. You will be given one year to destroy them and then you will return."
"Return to our prison?" the ambassador's asked spitefully.
"Return to the safety of the sanctuary we provide for you," the drone droned,"Remember, the vote was tied on whether to quarantine or destroy you. It is by the mercy of the Gallius species'
single vote that you still exist."
"For that you have our gratitude," the ambassador said truthfully, "We shall remember what you did."
The excitement that spread around the Quad systems at the news was tangible. True to their word, a week later the FTL disablers were put offline and the drone piloted freighters skipped out of FTL into the systems eagerly awaiting them. Then the disablers went back up as the Terrans went to work building their armada.
"How many got out?" the President of the War Union asked the ambassador as they received news of the FTL disablers trapping humanity again.
"500 Heavy Carriers, 6,000 Battle Cruisers, 20,000 destroyers, and 100,000 scouts," the ambassador smiled, "They should have known we wouldn't just sit here helplessly. We would have figured a way around the disablers eventually and had a fleet prepared for that day. This Magellanic Cloud invasion just sped things up a few decades is all."
"No signs of detection?" the President asked, raising an eyebrow.
"We've had their encryption broken for a decade and are monitoring their military channels and there is nary a peep," the answer made the President smile, "It will get lively enough when the FTL disablers are taken offline and let us out for good. Plus the fools gave us enough supplies to build another fleet."
"So we'll finally conquer the galaxy that imprisoned us," the President said hopefully, "and humanity will take its rightful place. What of the Gallius? They did keep us alive."
"We'll give those damned machines a choice, join us or die," the ambassador smiled, "I bet I know which way they'll vote."
"And the threat from the Cloud?" the President asked, genuinely concerned.
"I pity them," the ambassador sighed, "Whatever they are, those poor things have no one to ask for help. They have no idea we're coming and we're bringing the fires of Hell with us."
|
######[](#dropcap)
They came from beyond the galactic rim, past the chaotic energies which bound the Milky Way, denizens of true emptiness, the noplace in the cracks between nowhere.
The Galactic council sent an overwhelming force to destroy them. Ships of the dominant races in the galaxy: Trylixian Spheres brimming with antimatter cannons; the Draconias, cruisers of the Loloth people, lithe and studded with gravity well generators and non-nucleic explosives; and the fell war machines of the Hiddrell race, each larger than a small moon, each unique and grown on a biogrid on the Hiddrell homeworld, covered in every manner of non-nucleic weaponry.
A galactic war fleet, larger than any seen in the history of the Galactic Federation, thousands upon thousands of ships, met the alien invaders at the far edge of the galaxy. In orbit around an unnamed red dwarf star, where the enemy had begun mobilizing their forces, the fleets met.
A battle ensued, known now as the First Battle of the Great War, or the Battle Of Broken Pride. It was a slaughter, the ships of the Federation falling in droves to a class of nucleic weapons long since banned from the Milky Way galaxy by species who deemed them unecessary and overly dangerous, never considering that a force from the greater universe would ever appear.
Fusion weapons of epic scale and overwhelming power wiped out dozens of vessels at a time, vaporizing them in concurrent wave after wave of nuclear detonation. When the galactic ships could fire, their weapons caused damage, but the fierce, ceaseless nuclear barrage of the enemy was too much, their radiation scarred and mishapen ships spewing missiles with machinegun speed.
It is said of the Battle of Broken Pride that for the 34 hours of fighting, it appeared to outside observers as though a second star had exploded into existence beside the red dwarf, consuming the Federation fleet in an unbroken blaze of light.
By battle's end, fewer than a dozen Federation ships hobbled from the star system. The enemy hunted down 11 of them, and only the final ship, "Glory of Loll", a Loloth cruiser propelled to ultra-luminal speed by the folding of spacetime - a technology mastered only by the Loloths - survived the battle.
The Loloth Commander learned from their escape. It appeared the invaders did not have the capacity for ultra-luminal speeds, which meant the Galactic Core systems would have at least a millenium before the enemy arrived, almost no time at all.
Faced with an impossible choice, the Loloth Commander followed its instinct and, instead of setting a course for the Galactic Core, it set a course for a little known system on the spiral arm of the galaxy.
The place was home to the most dangerous species previously known to the Galactic Council - a species so fearsome, so bloodthirsty, that the council had wiped them from the public zeitgeist.
By edict of the council, their entire solar system had been contained by a ring of Loloth gravity wells - a sphere of impassable black holes, created at impossible cost, over the course of ten thousand years.
No member of the Federation had entered the system or communicated with its occupants, in eons.
In the face of an unbeatable foe, the Commander of the Loloth vessel made his choice, and set a course for the planet Earth.
*****
##### Part 2 - Jail Break
##### Part 3 - The Human Virus
##### Part 4 - The Grand Flotilla
##### Part 5 - The Great Purge
##### Part 6 - The Great Betrayal
##### Autopsy Report - Kra Combatant
*****
##### For More Legends From The Multiverse
##### r/LFTM
|
|
[WP] The entire galaxy is threatened by a new species, invading from the Large Magellanic Cloud. The interstellar community decides to contact humans for help who were quarantined due to their passion for war.
|
My ancestors were granted peace. This is the lesson taught aboard our Generational Tanker Class IV. There was a time when humanity's highest leaders were rulers of mere countries. Then, the Xulians descended from seven folds of spacetime in ships of crystal and glass. They beckoned with spidery limbs, saying simply: "Your time has come."
As a kid, I found that so funny. Not that they presumed we would know what they meant--they made the threat of the Magellanic invasion quite clear afterwards--no, I found it funny that humans would have needed help to begin with. As a member of the third generation, my teachers detailed the terraforming efforts of our initial solar system. How we organized a universal system of government. They paced across the schoolroom and explained the advantage of our reproductive rates as it pertains to the Almighty War. I was a good student--I paid attention closely. But during each Xulian history lesson, I couldn't help but scoff.
"We are aboard a FTL vessel thanks to the Xulians, young man," my instructor had reprimanded once.
"Yes ma'am," I'd said, feigning embarrassment. Always, I was thinking: *But how is it we never figured it out on our own?*
Outside the window in my captain's quarters, our Xulian escorts zoom through space dust. They check in every night to reaffirm our mission. Beyond them, the stars bleed into darkness. I pretend they are my grandfather's eyes, winking. He had wrinkled hands that smelled like almond butter. I'd smell them whenever he'd pat my cheek, saying something so similar to the Xulians, all those years ago: "Your time will come."
He was referring to the timer displayed in the mess hall. It's the estimated time before arriving in the Magellanic galaxy. The estimated time before we deliver our payload. I look at it every morning with my ration of coffee. The crewhands amble by to load up on eggs and bacon before their drills. They chatter nervously. Some hardly pick at their food. We are all a bit antsy. The timer's nearly at zero.
With each second it ticks closer, I think back on what I have truly learned. When the Xulians arrived, our Generational Tankers were constructed. Countries volunteered vast swaths of desert as launch sites. We settled our solar system. And then beyond. A universal electorate was established. Internal wars ceased to exist. They're now classified as ancient history. All because humanity had been presented with a higher enemy--a universal threat--and it had established common moral ground.
In the end, peace was only attainable through war.
When our mess hall timer hits zero, and we arrive in the Magellanic galaxy, we'll deliver our payload. The Magellanic galaxy will burn, and the Xulians will dance on their enemy's graves. But, they have been so focused on defense that, even when victory is at hand, they have not even bothered to ask: what *next*?
I am loyal to my own race. A race that was held back and caged, as if mere dogs. It is only natural that in the past we snarled at one another. But now, without a squirrel to chase, what will we be left to do?
The Xulians will celebrate, but instead I will give the orders to turn-about. Our second payload will be prepped and ready to fire. My deckhands have been practicing the maneuver for years on end. For a moment, I imagine the Xulian escorts will attempt to broach comms.
"What are you doing?" they might ask. "The enemy is vanquished."
I'll tell them all I have learned.
"Peace is only attainable through war."
And a new war will be born.
___________
r/M0Zark
|
"The whole galaxy is under threat of extinction," the Puri representative spoke into the microphone. "There is one recourse we have not yet tried..."
The representative for the Magnar delegation spoke up, cutting off the end of his thought. "No! Absolutely not! We have discussed this time and time again in the Synod. Humans are too dangerous. Their absolute lust for bloodshed means that, sooner or later, they *will* turn on us."
The Puri spoke again: "Then what do you suggest? We are going to DIE, Senator!"
"We can repel them," the Magnar Senator said.
"We *can't!* We've tried!"
"What if," the Senator from the Cassian Republic said. "What if we don't get involved?"
There was a long silence as the Synod considered the implications of what the Senator was saying.
"What are you saying, Senator?" the Magnar representative asked. The Cassian Senator cleared his throat.
"We send them a message. A simple one that conveys the urgency of the situation, but we don't say who it's from, or why we're sending it."
"And what do you suggest we should say?" the Puri said.
The Cassian smiled.
***
The President watched from his perch in the observation deck as troops loaded up into hundreds and thousands of shuttles. They were off to the Large Magellanic Cloud on their first interstellar deployment.
The official line was that the United States had received a credible threat from the Cloud about its imminent destruction of Earth, but only the President and a few select advisors knew the real truth. The President pulled the slip of paper from a jacket pocket that contained the note they'd received in Morse Code from deep space:
*Oil found in Large Magellanic Cloud*
|
|
[WP] The entire galaxy is threatened by a new species, invading from the Large Magellanic Cloud. The interstellar community decides to contact humans for help who were quarantined due to their passion for war.
|
"You want us to go to war?" the Terran ambassador had asked incredulously, "After trapping us here in the Quad Systems for a thousand years. You expect to let loose our leashes and like dogs chase down your hated enemies?"
"We do," the Gallius Union Envoy Drone had said, "We will drop the FTL disablers surrounding your quadrant. We have tens of thousands of freighters with supplies waiting to skip in and provide you with whatever you need to build an armada. You must stop them or they will kill us all. You will be given one year to destroy them and then you will return."
"Return to our prison?" the ambassador's asked spitefully.
"Return to the safety of the sanctuary we provide for you," the drone droned,"Remember, the vote was tied on whether to quarantine or destroy you. It is by the mercy of the Gallius species'
single vote that you still exist."
"For that you have our gratitude," the ambassador said truthfully, "We shall remember what you did."
The excitement that spread around the Quad systems at the news was tangible. True to their word, a week later the FTL disablers were put offline and the drone piloted freighters skipped out of FTL into the systems eagerly awaiting them. Then the disablers went back up as the Terrans went to work building their armada.
"How many got out?" the President of the War Union asked the ambassador as they received news of the FTL disablers trapping humanity again.
"500 Heavy Carriers, 6,000 Battle Cruisers, 20,000 destroyers, and 100,000 scouts," the ambassador smiled, "They should have known we wouldn't just sit here helplessly. We would have figured a way around the disablers eventually and had a fleet prepared for that day. This Magellanic Cloud invasion just sped things up a few decades is all."
"No signs of detection?" the President asked, raising an eyebrow.
"We've had their encryption broken for a decade and are monitoring their military channels and there is nary a peep," the answer made the President smile, "It will get lively enough when the FTL disablers are taken offline and let us out for good. Plus the fools gave us enough supplies to build another fleet."
"So we'll finally conquer the galaxy that imprisoned us," the President said hopefully, "and humanity will take its rightful place. What of the Gallius? They did keep us alive."
"We'll give those damned machines a choice, join us or die," the ambassador smiled, "I bet I know which way they'll vote."
"And the threat from the Cloud?" the President asked, genuinely concerned.
"I pity them," the ambassador sighed, "Whatever they are, those poor things have no one to ask for help. They have no idea we're coming and we're bringing the fires of Hell with us."
|
"The whole galaxy is under threat of extinction," the Puri representative spoke into the microphone. "There is one recourse we have not yet tried..."
The representative for the Magnar delegation spoke up, cutting off the end of his thought. "No! Absolutely not! We have discussed this time and time again in the Synod. Humans are too dangerous. Their absolute lust for bloodshed means that, sooner or later, they *will* turn on us."
The Puri spoke again: "Then what do you suggest? We are going to DIE, Senator!"
"We can repel them," the Magnar Senator said.
"We *can't!* We've tried!"
"What if," the Senator from the Cassian Republic said. "What if we don't get involved?"
There was a long silence as the Synod considered the implications of what the Senator was saying.
"What are you saying, Senator?" the Magnar representative asked. The Cassian Senator cleared his throat.
"We send them a message. A simple one that conveys the urgency of the situation, but we don't say who it's from, or why we're sending it."
"And what do you suggest we should say?" the Puri said.
The Cassian smiled.
***
The President watched from his perch in the observation deck as troops loaded up into hundreds and thousands of shuttles. They were off to the Large Magellanic Cloud on their first interstellar deployment.
The official line was that the United States had received a credible threat from the Cloud about its imminent destruction of Earth, but only the President and a few select advisors knew the real truth. The President pulled the slip of paper from a jacket pocket that contained the note they'd received in Morse Code from deep space:
*Oil found in Large Magellanic Cloud*
|
|
[WP] The entire galaxy is threatened by a new species, invading from the Large Magellanic Cloud. The interstellar community decides to contact humans for help who were quarantined due to their passion for war.
|
"You want us to go to war?" the Terran ambassador had asked incredulously, "After trapping us here in the Quad Systems for a thousand years. You expect to let loose our leashes and like dogs chase down your hated enemies?"
"We do," the Gallius Union Envoy Drone had said, "We will drop the FTL disablers surrounding your quadrant. We have tens of thousands of freighters with supplies waiting to skip in and provide you with whatever you need to build an armada. You must stop them or they will kill us all. You will be given one year to destroy them and then you will return."
"Return to our prison?" the ambassador's asked spitefully.
"Return to the safety of the sanctuary we provide for you," the drone droned,"Remember, the vote was tied on whether to quarantine or destroy you. It is by the mercy of the Gallius species'
single vote that you still exist."
"For that you have our gratitude," the ambassador said truthfully, "We shall remember what you did."
The excitement that spread around the Quad systems at the news was tangible. True to their word, a week later the FTL disablers were put offline and the drone piloted freighters skipped out of FTL into the systems eagerly awaiting them. Then the disablers went back up as the Terrans went to work building their armada.
"How many got out?" the President of the War Union asked the ambassador as they received news of the FTL disablers trapping humanity again.
"500 Heavy Carriers, 6,000 Battle Cruisers, 20,000 destroyers, and 100,000 scouts," the ambassador smiled, "They should have known we wouldn't just sit here helplessly. We would have figured a way around the disablers eventually and had a fleet prepared for that day. This Magellanic Cloud invasion just sped things up a few decades is all."
"No signs of detection?" the President asked, raising an eyebrow.
"We've had their encryption broken for a decade and are monitoring their military channels and there is nary a peep," the answer made the President smile, "It will get lively enough when the FTL disablers are taken offline and let us out for good. Plus the fools gave us enough supplies to build another fleet."
"So we'll finally conquer the galaxy that imprisoned us," the President said hopefully, "and humanity will take its rightful place. What of the Gallius? They did keep us alive."
"We'll give those damned machines a choice, join us or die," the ambassador smiled, "I bet I know which way they'll vote."
"And the threat from the Cloud?" the President asked, genuinely concerned.
"I pity them," the ambassador sighed, "Whatever they are, those poor things have no one to ask for help. They have no idea we're coming and we're bringing the fires of Hell with us."
|
My ancestors were granted peace. This is the lesson taught aboard our Generational Tanker Class IV. There was a time when humanity's highest leaders were rulers of mere countries. Then, the Xulians descended from seven folds of spacetime in ships of crystal and glass. They beckoned with spidery limbs, saying simply: "Your time has come."
As a kid, I found that so funny. Not that they presumed we would know what they meant--they made the threat of the Magellanic invasion quite clear afterwards--no, I found it funny that humans would have needed help to begin with. As a member of the third generation, my teachers detailed the terraforming efforts of our initial solar system. How we organized a universal system of government. They paced across the schoolroom and explained the advantage of our reproductive rates as it pertains to the Almighty War. I was a good student--I paid attention closely. But during each Xulian history lesson, I couldn't help but scoff.
"We are aboard a FTL vessel thanks to the Xulians, young man," my instructor had reprimanded once.
"Yes ma'am," I'd said, feigning embarrassment. Always, I was thinking: *But how is it we never figured it out on our own?*
Outside the window in my captain's quarters, our Xulian escorts zoom through space dust. They check in every night to reaffirm our mission. Beyond them, the stars bleed into darkness. I pretend they are my grandfather's eyes, winking. He had wrinkled hands that smelled like almond butter. I'd smell them whenever he'd pat my cheek, saying something so similar to the Xulians, all those years ago: "Your time will come."
He was referring to the timer displayed in the mess hall. It's the estimated time before arriving in the Magellanic galaxy. The estimated time before we deliver our payload. I look at it every morning with my ration of coffee. The crewhands amble by to load up on eggs and bacon before their drills. They chatter nervously. Some hardly pick at their food. We are all a bit antsy. The timer's nearly at zero.
With each second it ticks closer, I think back on what I have truly learned. When the Xulians arrived, our Generational Tankers were constructed. Countries volunteered vast swaths of desert as launch sites. We settled our solar system. And then beyond. A universal electorate was established. Internal wars ceased to exist. They're now classified as ancient history. All because humanity had been presented with a higher enemy--a universal threat--and it had established common moral ground.
In the end, peace was only attainable through war.
When our mess hall timer hits zero, and we arrive in the Magellanic galaxy, we'll deliver our payload. The Magellanic galaxy will burn, and the Xulians will dance on their enemy's graves. But, they have been so focused on defense that, even when victory is at hand, they have not even bothered to ask: what *next*?
I am loyal to my own race. A race that was held back and caged, as if mere dogs. It is only natural that in the past we snarled at one another. But now, without a squirrel to chase, what will we be left to do?
The Xulians will celebrate, but instead I will give the orders to turn-about. Our second payload will be prepped and ready to fire. My deckhands have been practicing the maneuver for years on end. For a moment, I imagine the Xulian escorts will attempt to broach comms.
"What are you doing?" they might ask. "The enemy is vanquished."
I'll tell them all I have learned.
"Peace is only attainable through war."
And a new war will be born.
___________
r/M0Zark
|
|
[WP] You are an evil wizard that captured the King's daughter for ransom. To your surprise she likes your lair more than the boring castle and helps you kill off the knights trying to rescue her.
|
"Okay, but *how* though?"
A short explanation that tearing apart the fabric of the universe is child's play wasn't enough to placate a child. That did make sense and Herrok chides himself for allowing himself to get into this argument in the first place.
Normally, he had hidden the princess away from the gore and catastrophe that he set upon the wayward knights of Avendale. Truthfully, he felt love for his daughter and wanted to keep her innocent. The inevitability of his blood had been too much, it seemed, so Herrok had thrown himself into teaching. Her face had a few drops of blood from the hand she was inspecting above her head.
Androsi Lucephine. That was the name Herrok had given to his daughter when Her had taken her from Castle Aven. It had been a strange night of revenge and magic that lead to her birth by the King's wife, Freid. While the king was furious that his precious "Gemma" had been kidnapped, the girl herself was happy.
"Androsi, would you like to see if you can learn some spells?"
It was an easy enough test. A reagent of any real power, normally a gemstone, can be used to tell whether someone has an aptitude for magic. Herrok was certain that being of his lineage would make Androsi an immensely powerful magi, should she wish. When held over a flame, it's reaction would show what magic a person could most easily focus on. The intensity of the reaction showed their overall aptitude for the manipulation for mana.
She excitedly agreed and listened to a basic explanation of what she needed to do. She set off to find her "favourite stone in this castle." Herrok cleaned up the mess that had been Sir Matthau and pondered over the future. He hadn't dabbled much into immortality, as those avenues tended to lend to the loss of emotion. While much of Herrok Lucephine's hexes and grand magicks were of a **dark** nature, he was well and truly a **fire** mage at heart. His passions burned, and he passionately hated most things. It was strange for him to want to nuture, but he thought he enjoyed it.
Herrok had retired to his study. Sitting down, he was finding himself excited, waiting for Androsi to learn. The eight year old's dark hair bounced as she jumped into the room and proudly held a most profound item. It was the Sword of Aven. I had stolen it on one of my many assaults on the nation, it was a priceless heirloom to it's rulers.
"Well. Quite auspicious tastes, little one."
"What's auspicious, mean?"
"Absolutely nothing. Okay, so, if the fire stays the same colour but gets hotter, then you're a firekind." It didn't really matter what happened to the fire, this was only a rudimentary test that essentially just proved how much mana you could draw. They tore the grand sapphire from the sword's hilt and Androsi looked through it.
"What about that black stuff you did earlier?" Herrok had assumed that his daughter would have been repulsed by the carnage that gravity magic had caused but she'd been as excited as he had when he set his first fire. It made him nostalgic as he prepared the fire for his daughter.
"That was gravity, the fire would get smaller and change to a hot blue for a gravomancer." The words he'd made up for the different focuses had made her smile, so Herrok kept doing it. He'd jokingly said mermaids for water but she complained that wouldn't be fair to the mer*men*. Windriders and coldarrans, stormbringers and gardenkeepers. The different aspects of magic flowed out in this explanation until Androsi knew most of the possibilities it could bring.
"Wow. I think... I want to be a new one." She said, as she held the sapphire on the fire. Instantly the flames froze, not like ice but as though it's time had stopped. Androsi was confused but when she saw my excitement for her she began to smile. He'd seen this once before, and the flame had only slowed. Originally Herrok and Freid had thought that she possessed a form of water magic but it became clear it was more than that.
"A natural, *powerful* chronomancer. Androsi, you're going to be *incredible*!" Machinations and plans began forming in Herrok's mind. His land was small, his subjects very few. With Androsi at his side, he was already envisioning ruling the country.
"Well, whatever," Androsi said, lowering the sapphire and pocketing it. "I'm bored now. Can I see the dragon again?"
"Anything you want." Domination could wait, he'd got excited again. First, she had to be taught.
|
Serel chokes on the stench of burnt flesh when she steps through the door. Summoning a breeze pushes away the worst of the smoke, but not the smell.
Princess Regalia stands stark naked at the bottom of the manor steps yet again. "Lia," Serel sighs. She conjures a cloak as she descends. "You could have just waited for me, you know, instead of casting that spell. You still haven't worked the quirks out."
Regalia turns to take the cloak, grinning wickedly. "But I so adore the look on their faces when they discover their beloved princess knows *magic* now!" She snorts. "As if I'd ever go back to that old hum-drum of a father. He hasn't thought about change since he executed Mother."
Serel, after eyeing the half-dozen charred corpses, casts a summoning spell. A scant few seconds later, the rocks surrounding the manor entrance shift towards each other and stand as two golems, taller than her by far. "Yes, well, do try to remember I don't have unlimited ability to repair my manor, if you will." She casts the princess a long side glance as they step back indoors, the golems removing the bodies behind them. "I kidnapped you for a reason."
"Yes, yes, ransom. How boring, Sere! Couldn't you have been a wicked, dashing sort of wizard, out after my maiden goodness?" Regalia demands, propping her hands on her hips -- with no regard for the lack of clothing beneath.
Serel chokes on her laughter. "You, Lia, a maiden? I think all the kingdom knew you to be a full woman years past!" Delicately, she averts her eyes from the other woman's... admittedly tempting figure.
"That doesn't mean you can't threaten my virtue!" Lia whines so loudly she can hear the pout. Then the princess slams into her back. "C'mon, grand wizard! Show me naughty things! It's the only reason I let you kidnap me!"
Already used to this after only a month, Serel forces her thoughts away from the princess's pressing body and asks, "Would you like to perfect Fiery Annihilation, or move on to Dagger Rain?"
"Hmmm..." Lia contemplates, and goes quiet for a moment.
Serel sighs again, and thinks, *Of all the princesses to kidnap, I chose this one!*
|
|
[WP] You are an evil wizard that captured the King's daughter for ransom. To your surprise she likes your lair more than the boring castle and helps you kill off the knights trying to rescue her.
|
The knight in shining armour, around the 7th(?) this month, held his sword to my neck.
"Any last words, scoundrel?"
This knight was particularly smart, opting to catch me off guard in my sleep. I could tell he was from Agres, known for their proficiency in the magical arts, which also explained how he had gotten past the many traps i had laid around my castle.
Raising my hands, i sighed.
"Well done coming this far, oh valiant knight in shining armour, i assume you're here for the Princess?"
Ah yes, the Princess of Marin, Alya, which i had stolen from her castle all those years ago. On her 16th birthday i had crashed the party and stolen her away, leaving note demanding riches, food, all the like. Hey, even dark wizards had to eat, right? Most people went to work for a measly income, i just decided that kidnap and ransom was a better source of money! Surely that can be understood? But of course, instead of simply paying the ransom, the King had issued a declaration of whoever could retrieve the Princess could have her hand in marriage. Only proved how little he actually loved his daughter.
"Of course! You will tell me where she is, then i shall grant you a swift death as mercy!"
The knight's shouts jolted me from my memories.
"Ooh. Hm...i'm afraid i do not know of her current whereabouts."
I could tell he was confused by my answer, even with his helmet covering most of his face.
"Impossible! I even made you drink a Truth potion! How do you not know where she is?"
The door to my bedroom creaks open, and i hastily cover the noise with a cough.
I could see a person in my peripheral vision, though i didn't dare to move my eyes from the knight that stood above my bed.
"Well then, since i do not know where the Princess is, would you be nice and let me leave? I do have an appointment with Magnus the Black i should get to preparing for."
I kept still, wary of the blade at my neck.
"Fine. After i kill you, i shall look for Princess Alya myself! Now, in the hands of John the Valiant, your life will be-"
Before he could finish his sentence and pull his sword across my throat, a sudden force crashed into his head, knocking him out cold. His body crashed into me, pressing me into my bed.
"Alya, dear, you do know that if he had tried to kill me my amulet would blow him up, right?"
I grin, looking at the Princess. Her face is put into a scowl, framed by her lush locks of brown. Truly a beautiful sight to start the day with. Pity, if i were younger maybe i would have a chance to romance her.
"...Oh. I forgot about that. Sorry, Bryan. I did make breakfast though!"
"Thank you very much dear, now can i have my staff back?"
Alya passes me my staff, which she had just used to knock John out moments ago.
"Now what do you propose we do with this one?"
She shrugs as she leaves my bedside, off to get the breakfast she had left outside my door.
"Don't care anymore. I just wish Father would just give up."
I wave my staff, and the armoured body that laid on me turned into a mass of butterflies, which leave through the open window John had climbed in through. A younger me would have burnt him to a crisp with hellfire, but i could tell my ways had changed after Alya entered my life.
She comes back into my room to witness the last of the insects flutter out the window, a tray balanced on each hand, containing our breakfast. She insisted on cooking for the both of us, which i really couldn't complain about to be honest. It was certainly much better than the food i had magicked up while i was still living alone.
I get up and stretch, my body cracking, proof of my old age. These days, i had to use my staff as a cane. Moving to the table across the room, i sit down and dig into the fruits and baked goods Alya had prepared. The first time she had cooked, it was revealed that she had spent a lot of her youth in the kitchens, for a lack of a better thing to pass the time. Her father had never really approved her actions, but he cared little about her, allowing Alya to sneak out of her royal duties to learn to bake. 'Dancing won't keep your belly full', she reasoned. The morning air was filled with our chatter as opposed to the silence of many years ago.
Obviously, Alya loved living with me more than being a princess, and i certainly enjoy her company. The rest of the land can fret about their missing princess all they want, but i'd rather they just go fuck themselves.
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Serel chokes on the stench of burnt flesh when she steps through the door. Summoning a breeze pushes away the worst of the smoke, but not the smell.
Princess Regalia stands stark naked at the bottom of the manor steps yet again. "Lia," Serel sighs. She conjures a cloak as she descends. "You could have just waited for me, you know, instead of casting that spell. You still haven't worked the quirks out."
Regalia turns to take the cloak, grinning wickedly. "But I so adore the look on their faces when they discover their beloved princess knows *magic* now!" She snorts. "As if I'd ever go back to that old hum-drum of a father. He hasn't thought about change since he executed Mother."
Serel, after eyeing the half-dozen charred corpses, casts a summoning spell. A scant few seconds later, the rocks surrounding the manor entrance shift towards each other and stand as two golems, taller than her by far. "Yes, well, do try to remember I don't have unlimited ability to repair my manor, if you will." She casts the princess a long side glance as they step back indoors, the golems removing the bodies behind them. "I kidnapped you for a reason."
"Yes, yes, ransom. How boring, Sere! Couldn't you have been a wicked, dashing sort of wizard, out after my maiden goodness?" Regalia demands, propping her hands on her hips -- with no regard for the lack of clothing beneath.
Serel chokes on her laughter. "You, Lia, a maiden? I think all the kingdom knew you to be a full woman years past!" Delicately, she averts her eyes from the other woman's... admittedly tempting figure.
"That doesn't mean you can't threaten my virtue!" Lia whines so loudly she can hear the pout. Then the princess slams into her back. "C'mon, grand wizard! Show me naughty things! It's the only reason I let you kidnap me!"
Already used to this after only a month, Serel forces her thoughts away from the princess's pressing body and asks, "Would you like to perfect Fiery Annihilation, or move on to Dagger Rain?"
"Hmmm..." Lia contemplates, and goes quiet for a moment.
Serel sighs again, and thinks, *Of all the princesses to kidnap, I chose this one!*
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Can be in first person or third person point of view but make the reader feel the emotions and build up that you felt.
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[WP] NON-FICTION - Write a story about the happiest moment in your life.
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So I wrote this a while back on a post on r/videos. It was a vid of a kid receiving adoption papers from his then guardian and now dad on Christmas morning. The kid was so grateful and emotional, and the video really struck a chord with me for reasons this story will explain, here it is:
Quick story- As a kid I was under guardian ship until I was 12, when I was legally adopted by my guardians. The moment I legally became their child wasn't a moment of joy like this, the people who adopted me had alot of issues in their marriage that they hid from most people and I never truly felt like I was a part of a family, I never felt loved and I never felt like I had any love to give.
I met my childhood best friend a few years before my adoption in school and I started spending alot of time at his house. The first time I went over and met his family I was shocked at how obvious it was that these people loved and cared for each other, it was foreign to me and I yearned for it. I was jealous of my friend and his family but soon that jealousy faded as I spent more and more time with them. They were so accepting and welcoming of me, never turning me away when I showed up at their front door with a backpack full of clothes because of another fight at my house.
As I grew older I embedded myself in their family and soon they were my family too. I went on vacation with them, spent the holidays with them and after I enlisted in the Air Force they made it clear that I always had a home to come back to.
But sometimes I still felt like I was alone, I don't know why I did but something inside of me still hadn't clicked to the fact that I had found a family that loved me. Then one day, during my time overseas, I got a Skype call from them and they had something to show me. Their mother, our mother, had just got her first tattoo, something she'd been talking about doing for a while. She wanted something to represent what she loved most in the world, her sons. On her back were 4 flowers, the 3 birth flowers of her biological children and a narcissus, my birth flower. She told me that I was her son, without question, and that we would always be family.
In that moment, as a 23 year old man, I felt exactly what this child felt. It was like somebody had finally filled the hole in my heart, and all I could do was cry.
That was the best damn cry I've ever had in my entire life, I love my mom.
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It's really interesting when I think about it.
These kind of prompts are hard for me to do for two reasons: one, it is hard for me to *genuinely* admit I'm good at something and two, since I have such a skewed perception of myself since I was young I grew accustomed to create stories around real life happenings which are far more interesting and engaging than the recounts of what happens to me.
Honestly, most of the time I only want to head home to sleep 7 hours and get over with it. My creativity has been waning the older I am getting thanks to the fact that I'm feeling tired most of the time.
But enough about my daily annoyances and my bites at life with the brand of sarcasm I've built up: let me tell you about my happiest moment.
You got to understand that, as I mentioned earlier, I grew used to creating stories out of my own experiences and give them something of an interesting spin to it. Say that I'm working at a deadbeat job without hopes of getting a raise or a decent amount of recognition in the form of leveling up in the company or by getting some meager privileges like my own parking spot. Instead of moping or getting angry at it - which I still do when it gets really rough - using that creative spark I have, I shift it so that I'm actually some French space captain for hire in the year 2280 who has to deal with the inept bureaucracy of an organization who wants to rise up to be a recognized name in Earth *and* the Galaxy but really can't bring themselves up to because... well, quite frankly, they are incredibly stupid. It's like they do *every* thing that one shouldn't do and they get surprised when the results come pouring in.
I'm sure you'll be more engaged reading on the exploits of said captain dealing with this organization with his trusty crew rather than me ranting about how the company I work on is retarded and likes to shoot itself on the foot.
I like to call this kind of writing "Fantastic Realism": it's a struggle based on real life that is slightly more manageable thanks to this fantastic masking.
That doesn't mean I live in a world of delusion: if anything, and depending on my mood, things can get much darker than uplifting so I need to keep my feet planted on the ground of reality lest I diverge so much I become schizophrenic.
Instead, the most I can get from diving too deep into these kind of fantasies is disappointment. Because no matter how awesome this space Captain's exploits are on the organization he is working with, I am still 'stuck' with the reality that I can't do much. I'm fine with that but it does get me sad once in a while.
I grew with the mentality that while good things can happen, nothing as incredible as what I've usually come to plot in my mind can occur.
That's until I met *him*.
Granted, our meeting was really quirky and I still pester him about how he was 'shoo'ing me for posting this ninja emote on his RP topic but that was the best I could do because the damn servers would usually go down - I mean, they would undergo 'sushi error' - and subscriptions didn't work. It was my best option to track down the thread and I really wanted to formalize my introduction.
From there, we went on to become friends. Shared a bunch of ideas and actually found out that we had a lot in common.
We exchanged IM accounts - a huge deal for me back on 2006. Remember those years when giving out personal information on the internet was still a taboo thing or at least people knew how to be responsible with what they posted online? Anybody remembers /i/ raids? - and started chatting other things outside from the RP or the OoC forums.
Something struck a chord on me and I thought for a moment that we could probably escalate things. I was a vulnerable, irritable and depressed teenager at the time and even I knew a lot of my decisions were plain retarded, but I really wanted something special to happen.
I came to realize - just in time, I guess - that he was already going out with somebody so I ate those feelings and moved on. It wouldn't be the first time, I told myself, and as a consolation price I added him (or rather, an avatar of himself) to the catalog of characters I can throw onto my many stories and universes.
That was the end of that and didn't look forward for much afterwards.
We still kept talking and engaged on other things outside of stories and while the feeling never really went away I appreciated his friendship more than the innate human need for companionship. Besides, forcing somebody into a contract of that kind is not a good idea so why bother?
Suddenly, he vanished.
My heart sank for a moment but that later became concern.
It was unlike him to just do something like that. Something must have happened, I told myself, and I left him be.
We all have demons to fight against, I concluded having fought my own kind of demons. It is really funny how strong you can make them when you have the capacity and knowledge on how to create them.
This went on for two or three years. My gut told me to not press on the matter and I listened. Worried, but I listened and followed suit.
Until suddenly, I got a message back.
I remember squeeing. Ridiculous, I know, but it came naturally.
My gut told me also not to probe onto why he had vanished, which I also followed suit, and we engaged as per usual. He did apologize for not talking to me all that time but I told him I didn't mind the wait.
Time and talks between us resumed as normal and it was only until that point that I realized really where or how that feeling I had earlier for him came to be.
A mix of destiny, subconscious inclinations and my own fantasy that told me 'go for it'.
So on February of 2015, the day after my muse's birthday, I told him of my intentions and my wishes.
And against all the rules of reality, regardless how reckless and out of the blue my request came to be, he told me *yes*.
The world, the reality of it, shifted from me at that moment.
For the longest I had only thought of it as this bland place of beauty where few interesting things happen. And if they happen, it only happens to a selected few.
Or just maybe it just didn't, *couldn't*, happen to me.
I couldn't become a good artist, nor good at work, nor I was good enough for anything.
I was always ten bars down everyone else, even if I showed to have a better talent or I remarked how good I was.
My ego strokes exist mostly because I think of myself as lesser, though really you can see where I come from: I am an artist after all.
I had always portrayed Reality and Fantasy as two beings battling each other for supremacy or to keep one from overlapping the other. Reality is harsh but necessary like the Sun and Fantasy is comforting and inspiring like the Moon. Granted, G.R.R Martin enjoys butchering every other character you love but it is still in some setting most would not call boring or dull.
My escapists efforts were really to bring some of that fantasy in reality, never to replace it but to enhance it and make it beautiful and more baring, because I thought that nothing good could ever happen to me.
And when it did, I didn't know how to react.
Slowly, with the help of him and other friends I've met along the way, I've rediscovered reality.
I discovered that reality and fantasy are only divided by a very thin line which one can walk onto very easily and skip on each side with ease.
And that it is really easy to create bridges between both sides, so long as one is responsible and knows what it takes to do so.
The weirdest ideas can come to reality *if* you have the means to and are aware of what it will take to make it happen.
Perception.
That is the name of the key that bridges both sides.
And when I discovered it, it changed my life.
I've had a lot of happy moments previous to this just as I still have sad moments now, but my perception changed.
And in a way, my world.
I now know that I can do something with my reality, and that I'm not trapped in it like I thought I was.
Perhaps he isn't the cause of this discovery, but his positive answer to my request made me reconsider other things.
Soon, I was taking a flight to meet him in person - with alarms blaring in my head circa sponsored by my parent's warning circa 2008 about online people - and that time we spent together was just another proof of how reality and fantasy work together.
Just like that Solar Eclipse showed us on that weekend of August.
---
^(*Shuffles and hides things and scurries under a rock*)
BTW, I have a subreddit for the stuff I write.
Head to /r/KibouPortal for more shenanigans and stuff.
Hope you enjoy.
^(*Bye...*)
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[WP] you two are humans that have been thrown into an arena for the amusement of some aliens, you have both been starved for days yet when a delicious steak is placed between you two you do something they wouldn't expect. Share.
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"Go get 'em, tiger!" An alien said.
I mean, it didn't, obviously. Even after a few weeks with them, John still couldn't understand a single word of their high-pitched rattling language. But pretending they were all talking to him in English, and specifically like a dopey suburban dad figure, had helped him retain his sanity.
"Hey, sport." He imagined one of them saying, as it thrust a sharpened stick into his hands and began pushing him towards the door to the arena. "Really give it your all out there today."
"You betcha." He mumbled.
The arena was blindingly lit, and in the stands, creatures roared and shrieked with excitement. He squinted to see what he was meant to fight, tucking the sharpened stick awkwardly between his arm and his body as he shielded his eyes with both hands.
At the opposite end of the arena, another pudgy peach-colored figure was shoved into the harsh lights. The crowd went nuts. John was so shocked he almost dropped his pointy stick. Janet?
"Janet!" He tried to call out to her, but he couldn't even hear himself over the crowd. He waved enthusiastically.
Janet began to approach him, but jerked suddenly as a loud horn sound went off. The crowd quieted down, and in the middle of the arena, equidistant between the two bewildered humans, a small platform rose out of the ground.
Oh, John thought, I've gone mad. I've gone and humanized them too much and now I actually think I'm in someone's backyard.
But when he glanced at Janet, she could clearly see the barbecue grill as well. She was staring at it blankly.
They each approached, stopping on either side of the platform. John could smell the meat in there, and the smell made him so hungry that he dry heaved and got dizzy.
"Hey, Janet." He said, trying to play it cool.
"Oh, John!" She suddenly recognized him, then blushed, embarrassed that she hadn't at first. "Wow, uh, long time! Have you...lost weight?"
"Yeah, they haven't fed me much at all." He said awkwardly.
"Right. Right." She put the end of her pointy stick in the handle of the grill lid and lifted it off, letting it drop to the side. There were murmurs in the crowd.
"Who grilled that?" John asked, even more perplexed. The steak looked perfectly cooked and seasoned. Had they learned this skill from humans, or had they just forced a human to cook it?
"Do you think it's poisoned?" Janet asked. She was glaring suspiciously at the steak.
"No, I think we're supposed to, like...fight over it?" John said.
His stomach made a loud grumble.
"What, one of us is supposed to eat that whole thing?" Janet asked, incredulously.
"That's gonna be messy." John said, feeling green. "If we try that we're gonna run into, um, refeeder syndrome. You know, if starving people try to eat a big meal suddenly, it can, like, actually kill them."
"Oh gosh." Janet said.
"Maybe we'd better share it?" John suggested.
The alien who John had decided was his "coach" yelled something from the sidelines. The crowd stirred uneasily.
"Erm, I tried bending the rules last time." Janet said. "They got very angry about it. If they want us to fight, maybe we ought to."
"What, really?" John asked, bummed out at the thought. Their breakup hadn't been nearly bad enough to make him want to hurt her.
"No, not *really*." Janet rolled her eyes and held her pointed stick like a fencing sword. "Star Wars or Princess Bride?"
John caught on. "You seem a decent fellow." He said, raising his own pointed stick. "I hate to kill you."
Janet tried to keep a straight face as she retorted, "You seem a decent fellow. I hate to die."
There was something about the surreality of the situation--the crowd of aliens watching as he pretended to swordfight his ex-girlfriend while badly quoting a movie--that eventually made John start laughing hysterically. It wasn't long before Janet joined in, both of them gasping their quips out between shrieks. The sword fighting, which had only started at the level of children's playground, devolved into something that would have made any real fencer weep. Finally, Janet hissed "I'm gonna pee my pants", tears streaming down her face, and fell to her knees.
John seized the moment and put his pointed stick against her neck. "Victory!" He declared.
Janet smacked the pointed stick away and lay down, trying to stop laughing so she could breathe. John raised his stick victoriously, and the crowd went nuts. He sauntered back to the barbecue grill and picked up the steak. He took a bite and almost threw up. It tasted amazing, but his stomach had so twisted from hunger that he couldn't physically swallow it. He held it in his mouth, trying to wait the nausea out, while he brought the steak over to Janet.
"Ih's good." He said with a shrug.
She dusted off her hands before taking it from him. "Ugh, I miss plates. We're gonna get sick eating like this. I bet our hands have all sorts of alien bugs."
"Stoh being sho picky." He told her. "They could uf given us McDonalds."
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As the gates opened, we were out on the Battleground and upon seeing the person on the other side i yelled to the crowd, "WE KNOW EACH OTHER. HE'S A FRIEND FROM WORK".
Everyone was shocked and little taken aback.
At first he didn't recognized me, which make sense because of all the mental abuse but i kept talking about his life history that his name was Mark and he was married to his co-worker.
It took a while but eventually he did remembered me so we sat on the ground, shared that steak and kept talking.
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[WP] you two are humans that have been thrown into an arena for the amusement of some aliens, you have both been starved for days yet when a delicious steak is placed between you two you do something they wouldn't expect. Share.
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"Go get 'em, tiger!" An alien said.
I mean, it didn't, obviously. Even after a few weeks with them, John still couldn't understand a single word of their high-pitched rattling language. But pretending they were all talking to him in English, and specifically like a dopey suburban dad figure, had helped him retain his sanity.
"Hey, sport." He imagined one of them saying, as it thrust a sharpened stick into his hands and began pushing him towards the door to the arena. "Really give it your all out there today."
"You betcha." He mumbled.
The arena was blindingly lit, and in the stands, creatures roared and shrieked with excitement. He squinted to see what he was meant to fight, tucking the sharpened stick awkwardly between his arm and his body as he shielded his eyes with both hands.
At the opposite end of the arena, another pudgy peach-colored figure was shoved into the harsh lights. The crowd went nuts. John was so shocked he almost dropped his pointy stick. Janet?
"Janet!" He tried to call out to her, but he couldn't even hear himself over the crowd. He waved enthusiastically.
Janet began to approach him, but jerked suddenly as a loud horn sound went off. The crowd quieted down, and in the middle of the arena, equidistant between the two bewildered humans, a small platform rose out of the ground.
Oh, John thought, I've gone mad. I've gone and humanized them too much and now I actually think I'm in someone's backyard.
But when he glanced at Janet, she could clearly see the barbecue grill as well. She was staring at it blankly.
They each approached, stopping on either side of the platform. John could smell the meat in there, and the smell made him so hungry that he dry heaved and got dizzy.
"Hey, Janet." He said, trying to play it cool.
"Oh, John!" She suddenly recognized him, then blushed, embarrassed that she hadn't at first. "Wow, uh, long time! Have you...lost weight?"
"Yeah, they haven't fed me much at all." He said awkwardly.
"Right. Right." She put the end of her pointy stick in the handle of the grill lid and lifted it off, letting it drop to the side. There were murmurs in the crowd.
"Who grilled that?" John asked, even more perplexed. The steak looked perfectly cooked and seasoned. Had they learned this skill from humans, or had they just forced a human to cook it?
"Do you think it's poisoned?" Janet asked. She was glaring suspiciously at the steak.
"No, I think we're supposed to, like...fight over it?" John said.
His stomach made a loud grumble.
"What, one of us is supposed to eat that whole thing?" Janet asked, incredulously.
"That's gonna be messy." John said, feeling green. "If we try that we're gonna run into, um, refeeder syndrome. You know, if starving people try to eat a big meal suddenly, it can, like, actually kill them."
"Oh gosh." Janet said.
"Maybe we'd better share it?" John suggested.
The alien who John had decided was his "coach" yelled something from the sidelines. The crowd stirred uneasily.
"Erm, I tried bending the rules last time." Janet said. "They got very angry about it. If they want us to fight, maybe we ought to."
"What, really?" John asked, bummed out at the thought. Their breakup hadn't been nearly bad enough to make him want to hurt her.
"No, not *really*." Janet rolled her eyes and held her pointed stick like a fencing sword. "Star Wars or Princess Bride?"
John caught on. "You seem a decent fellow." He said, raising his own pointed stick. "I hate to kill you."
Janet tried to keep a straight face as she retorted, "You seem a decent fellow. I hate to die."
There was something about the surreality of the situation--the crowd of aliens watching as he pretended to swordfight his ex-girlfriend while badly quoting a movie--that eventually made John start laughing hysterically. It wasn't long before Janet joined in, both of them gasping their quips out between shrieks. The sword fighting, which had only started at the level of children's playground, devolved into something that would have made any real fencer weep. Finally, Janet hissed "I'm gonna pee my pants", tears streaming down her face, and fell to her knees.
John seized the moment and put his pointed stick against her neck. "Victory!" He declared.
Janet smacked the pointed stick away and lay down, trying to stop laughing so she could breathe. John raised his stick victoriously, and the crowd went nuts. He sauntered back to the barbecue grill and picked up the steak. He took a bite and almost threw up. It tasted amazing, but his stomach had so twisted from hunger that he couldn't physically swallow it. He held it in his mouth, trying to wait the nausea out, while he brought the steak over to Janet.
"Ih's good." He said with a shrug.
She dusted off her hands before taking it from him. "Ugh, I miss plates. We're gonna get sick eating like this. I bet our hands have all sorts of alien bugs."
"Stoh being sho picky." He told her. "They could uf given us McDonalds."
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Shafts of light broke through the dust and dirt of the corridor as Grax marched towards the cells. His tail whipped furiously back and forth, blue scales working themselves free and littering the ground behind him. It was something to do with this planet's atmosphere the healer said. A minor skin irritation, they said, but one that infuriated Grax.
Grax's species wasn't meant for such an arid planet, but the Council sent soldiers where they pleased, gods be damned if they were needed there. Grax would rather have been in the marshes on Qey'Atol, fighting against the natives that had managed to enslave a station before being routed out.
Instead, they put him on guard duty at the Arena. He snorted in frustration, his breath creating eddies that drifted dust down.
He stopped at cell 42P. Staring down at the human curled up on the ground, he scratched his tail. A scale got caught in his talon and he flicked it at the figure. The blue stood out against their dark skin.
"Hey." The human shifted, just enough so they could crane their neck to look at Grax. Grax had been on this detail for several cycles, and the human had only gotten hairier since they arrived, but the face was still surprisingly smooth. Apparently the females weren't as hairy as their male counterparts.
"Qu'est ce que tu veux?" The translator crackled in his head. "What do you want?"
"Get up, you're going to fight in ten minutes."
"Je ne peux pas, je n'ai pas mangé dans un mois!" Again the translator picked it up, "I can't, I haven't eaten in a month!"
He blinked slowly at her, but his tail twitched behind him. He waited as she brought herself to her feet, a stream of curses failing to translate in between pleading for a meal. Her steam faltered, and she swayed where she stood. "You said if I was good, you'd feed me. You said that's what they wanted...for me to be good to get food."
Grax waited to respond, hoping she'd blame the translator. It had been a cycle since he told her that. He couldn't remember if he had purposefully left out the fight, or if he had just been forgetful. He shook his head. Grabbing the bars and leaning in, she stepped back instinctively. "You need to be good in The Arena for you to get food. You need to put on a good fight."
She sagged to the floor as translation and comprehending came at once. He turned to go check on the the status of the Arena. Only a few steps away she called, "Où est ton humanité??"
Grax chuckled as he called back. "We don't have humanity."
The word "humanity" tickled in his mind, but there were only two humans there. Across the arena Lu'resh was speaking to her human, a male with skin like sandstone. Grax had seen him only a few times, avoiding interaction as much as possible. Grax didn't care to make rounds, only stopping by the prisoners he was assigned, making sure they had enough liquid, and that no one was sneaking them food. Grax stopped at the arch that led into the pit of the Arena. The last fight was cleared away, and weapons were being chosen for the humans. And at the center was a table, covered by a white cloth.
An arch directly across from him became filled by the shape of Lu'resh. She flicked antennas at him, and disappeared back into the underbelly of the Arena. It was time for the humans to fight.
Grax opened the human's cell and grabbed her as she made one last desperate run past him. He hardly felt her, skinny as she had become.
"J'ai eu essayer." She croaked. "I had to try."
"It was a waste of energy. Should have saved it for the arena. " He felt her relax and he adjusted her in his grip, and forced her to the arch. As they approached, he could hear the announcements being made, proclaiming the next fight.
"--require sustenance. Like the pack of wolves from their planet, they will fight over ever scrap asserting dominance in the most barbaric way. Now it's time to introduce...the Earthlings! Standing with our resident Hreekar, a female in her early adulthood!"
Grax had entered the arena with the human, and at this prompting he gently pushed her forward. The crowd erupted, boos and cheers cascading around them. She covered her ears at the cacophony, but he reached out one last time to her. She turned, startled. "YOUR WEAPONS." He pointed at the stand to their right. "GRAB SOMETHING--" The stadium quieted as the announcement continued over Grax. "Grab something quickly before they change their mind." She looked from him to the weapons, and took a hesitant step. "And good luck!" He retreated into the arch, and the door slammed shut, blocking her escape, but letting him see. Across the pit, the other human was scrambling to his feet, dust covered his front. Lu'resh had already stepped back, a crack in her face plate creating a dark line over her features.
Both humans had tried something. It was going to be a good fight.
His human had already grabbed a weapon, something humans apparently called a machete. Every race in the Galaxy had weapons, and there was always need for a sharp edge, but humans had such a fascination with them. Every weapon for them had a unique name. The other human grabbed an axe.
A ringing sound started emanating around the arena, and the humans clapped their hands over their ears again. Their translators would be disabled. Until the fight was over.
Grax stepped close to the door and shouted to the human, doing his best to imitate her language. "BONNE CHANCE!" She turned back, and gave a half-hearted smile.
The announcement continued, and the white cloth lifted away, revealing the meal to both humans. Their jaws dropped, and they lowered their weapons in surprise.
"LET THE FIGHT COMMENCE!" The crowd cheered again and the humans gripped their weapons tighter, slowly moving forward.
Out of the corner of his eye, Grax saw Lu'resh approaching. The crack was much more painful to look at, though she was placing strips across the divide.
"My stupid human clocked me with his elbow. He had behaved so we'll before this." Her fringe flitted along the crack, feeling the damage. "You look better than me."
"She only tried to run."
Lu'resh huffed. "Dumb. They waste energy."
"It just shows humans are fierce. The spectators will be pleased, and the Council will enjoy hearing of it."
Her chest hummed in annoyance. The crowd suddenly gasped and Grax turned back to the Pit. The humans were locked in arms, weapons mere inches from flesh. Suddenly his human jerked the weapons and bashed her head at the other, staggering the male. She tore his weapon from his hand and looked to be delivering a killing blow. Grax smiled, impressed with the human he'd been in charge of.
His human stopped though, as the male said something, words lost in the din, words lost except to her. She stepped back, arms shaking and fell to her knees. The man said something again, and she shook her head.
Lu'resh lurched forward, grabbing the bars. "What are they doing?" A hiss and click escaped her. "They need to be fighting."
Grax grabbed a gun hanging over the arch doors. "We may need to step in." Lu'resh swore and scurried to get another weapon.
The human male was standing again, well out of reach of her weapons. But still, they were talking. His brow was furrowed, blood running from split skin over his nose, opening his mouth to say something everytime she shook her head. Grax turned and ran for the nearest stairwell to the first level of the stands. The crowd was getting agitated, when a loud cry erupted from a few spectators. He cleared the landing and ran to the edge. The weapons had been tossed aside, puffs of dirt obscuring the gleam of metal.
The male was helping her up, and she was gripping his arm. The crowd stilled, thinking this may be a tactical ploy, but Grax knew better. They were communicating. Lu'resh came up behind him. "They shouldn't be able to speak to each other. Their planet has hundreds of languages-"
"Doesn't seem to be stopping them."
The female gestured to their midsection, held up a finger, the man shook his head. He crossed an "x" over his midsection, cupped his hand, and mimed scooping with the other towards his mouth. She nodded. They looked towards the table. He stepped forward, she stepped away-back towards the weapons on the ground. The crowd began murmuring in anticipation. But the male was relaxed as she grabbed the machete.
They approached the table together and grabbed hands to the jeers of the crowd. They lifted the machete high into the air and the crowd hushed. The two humans looked at each other briefly before they addressed those in the gilded box in the stands. The female murmered something and the male laughed and nodded. They shouted in their languages- each different but the translator in Grax's head indicated that the same thing had been said.
"This is what it means to be human!" The words faded away and they swung at the center of the table, splitting the meal in half.
The blade wobbled as it embedded itself in the table, and both humans laughed when they realized they couldn't get it out. The crown jewel of the meal, a cooked steak, was now in two. They pulled a piece away from the machete, held it high and touched their piece to the other's.
"Cheers!" The translator echoed.
The crowd roared in confusion, anger, disgust, and displeasure but Grax frowned. It had been a good show.
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[WP] you two are humans that have been thrown into an arena for the amusement of some aliens, you have both been starved for days yet when a delicious steak is placed between you two you do something they wouldn't expect. Share.
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She shrugged, feeling like mud was cracking off her shoulders. She'd been fighting for days, weeks? Rolling around with various creatures, armed with primitive weapons, all for the alien crowd's amusement.
Today her opponent was human though, a pasty man with sunken eyes and a patchy beard. He looked like he'd had a paunch at one point, but like her, had been starved for motivation to fight.
"You don't want it?" He repeated as mobile cameras buzzed around them.
She shook her head with a slight smile, knowing it made no sense. Sure her stomach gurgled and pained, but a childhood of hunger made the sense dull. She had improved her life, afforded shelter and food, but those hard learned habits would never really go away.
He took a cautious step towards the steak, glancing between it, her, and the cameras. He snatched it and took a slow bite, eyes rolling up in his skull from the food hitting his tongue.
When she still didn't move, he sat down next to the plate--white and gleaming with grease on the dirt--and ate ravenously.
"What's your name?" She asked after a moment.
"Um," he took a deep breath, seemingly surprised she was still there and had to take a moment to get his bearings, "John!"
John said it with such fervor it was like he thought he'd never say it again. Soon he was done eating, and after a long, slow moment of silence he asked again.
"Are you sure you didn't want it?"
He rested back on his elbows, looking at her with droopy eyes, lazily comfortable after the meal.
She nodded, watching the stoic cameras buzzing in a circle around them.
"Why? You a *vegetarian* or something?" His laugh sounded more like a hiccup.
"Cannibal, actually."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Alternate:
"Why? You a *vegetarian* or something?" He slurred.
"Vegan, actually--"
His laugh sounded more like a hiccup.
"--plus," she glanced back at him, "it might have been poisoned."
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The headache was the worst part of it. Being intentionally starved for several days trapped in the same ring as a stranger I'd never met who was actually starting to look pretty attractive as time went on. In fact, by the third night we had started sleeping in each other's arms for warmth as well as for physical affection. By the fourth day we knew more about each other than either of us probably cared to. He had a boring cubicle job and just got out of a relationship with his exgirlfriend because he had fallen in love with his best friend when they both got drunk and experimented in a hotel bedroom. I explained that I was still closeted myself and that I worked free lance for whatever jobs I could find. The inconsistency of it is what kept me sane. Which brings us to where we were.
The other guy, Jarrod, was the first to arrive. He was abducted while he slept with the aforementioned lover. After being alone for two days he welcomed the companion. Speaking of, I was stolen from a hotel room en route to my most recent job, basking in my loneliness. Jarrod made it clear that our relationship wouldn't last once we managed to get home. That wouldn't stop me from try to stay in touch, though.
It had been a week without food. Plenty of water. But not so much as a crumb graced our lips. Strangely, whoever-it-was that kept us here seemed to promote whatever primal feelings Jarrod and I exhibited. After the first night we slept together on the ground, a bed appeared in one of the corners the next day. But no food. No matter how much I begged aloud. And when the headache started, I began to become irritable. Jarrod noticed. We talked. We fought. We spent the day as far from each other as possible in a room this confined. Jarrod took the bed. I let him have it.
The next morning I was awoken by the greatest smell ever. In the middle of the room was a massive steak. I could smell the juices. I could hear that it was still hot. My mouth began to overflow with drool. I rushed to the plate. There was only one knife. A message. I seized the knife. That was when I noticed that Jarrod was awake. He was staring at me. The message was clear. Whoever-was-watching want us to fight over the steak. But I remembered the talks Jarrod and I had. Jarrod's life might have been boring, but he was in love. He was happy. Even if we never leave this room, I didn't feel like taking away someone's happiness and hope for escape. Jarrod had approached me slowly and was reaching for the knife. My face must have still been contorted from the hunger headache because he flinched as I looked at him. I raised the knife. He cowered. I brought the knife down.
And cut the steak into pieces.
Jarrod understood immediately. We shared the steak and it tasted *phenomenal*. After we finished the steak we basked in the pleasure of eating after having been starved for nearly a week.
After another hour or so, the far wall opened, and suddenly a door existed where none had been before. A humanoid figure stood in the doorway. It had very minor biological differences to that of a human, and it had pale blue skin and four arms. It's expression was soft, but its emotion was completely transparent. It was impressed. It bowed. I followed suit. I assume Jarrod did too. Siddenly, with a wave of its hand, I was back in the hotel room. Jarrod was there too. We stared at one another for a moment. He made the first move.
That night was the most fun I'd had in a long time.
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[WP] you two are humans that have been thrown into an arena for the amusement of some aliens, you have both been starved for days yet when a delicious steak is placed between you two you do something they wouldn't expect. Share.
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She shrugged, feeling like mud was cracking off her shoulders. She'd been fighting for days, weeks? Rolling around with various creatures, armed with primitive weapons, all for the alien crowd's amusement.
Today her opponent was human though, a pasty man with sunken eyes and a patchy beard. He looked like he'd had a paunch at one point, but like her, had been starved for motivation to fight.
"You don't want it?" He repeated as mobile cameras buzzed around them.
She shook her head with a slight smile, knowing it made no sense. Sure her stomach gurgled and pained, but a childhood of hunger made the sense dull. She had improved her life, afforded shelter and food, but those hard learned habits would never really go away.
He took a cautious step towards the steak, glancing between it, her, and the cameras. He snatched it and took a slow bite, eyes rolling up in his skull from the food hitting his tongue.
When she still didn't move, he sat down next to the plate--white and gleaming with grease on the dirt--and ate ravenously.
"What's your name?" She asked after a moment.
"Um," he took a deep breath, seemingly surprised she was still there and had to take a moment to get his bearings, "John!"
John said it with such fervor it was like he thought he'd never say it again. Soon he was done eating, and after a long, slow moment of silence he asked again.
"Are you sure you didn't want it?"
He rested back on his elbows, looking at her with droopy eyes, lazily comfortable after the meal.
She nodded, watching the stoic cameras buzzing in a circle around them.
"Why? You a *vegetarian* or something?" His laugh sounded more like a hiccup.
"Cannibal, actually."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Alternate:
"Why? You a *vegetarian* or something?" He slurred.
"Vegan, actually--"
His laugh sounded more like a hiccup.
"--plus," she glanced back at him, "it might have been poisoned."
|
Prologue :
The Federation of Earth States, to find new resources, decides to explore the farther reaches of the galaxy and the crew of FES galactic army's scout ship the Yosmite was the front runner leading the expeditions.
Captain Hearth (Log Day 652?? )
It's been what.....a couple of days since our ship was ambushed. These aliens were a new kind. We had never document them or their presence before. We were not sure how they even got to us. Their ship showed no readings on our systems. It was like they popped out of nowhere.
Anyways, what happened has happened. We try to look forward and device ways to escape our predictment. One of the survivors found a piece of paper, which I now write this log with.
The entire crew was unconscious and the next thing we remember, we are tied up and muzzled. We are kept in separate cages with very little room to move. We are starved and exhausted.
Hope the FES can track us down some way or another.
Log Day 655
The horrors here....I can't put them into words. How the aliens treat us? The things the black shrouded creatures make us do.
Yesterday they came in and took tens of us. None of them have returned yet. The worst part is that there's nothing we can do. All we can do is to have hope and pray they don't come back again.
Log Day 660
I can't... I killed a person.
The aliens came in again. They a couple of prisoners including me. I could hear the roars and music blasting out the huge metal door in front us. For the first time I saw the aliens clearly. They looked demonic, almost out of hell. The most accurate description would be of the ancient books of Harry Potter. What were they called in them~~?~~ The dementors...yes they were called the dementors. Maybe the books were true.
These creatures grabbed me and another survivor, Dave I guess, and pushed us out the door.
This was it. I had never been this afraid nor happy. In the middle of this huge open room , a plate of steak, seemingly undisturbed and within reach.
A sharp whistle blew and a sword of human origin appeared in my hands. I looked up and Dave also had one. It was clear what the aliens wanted us to do. Fight for this food. I repealed the idea first but my instincts took over. I lurged towards Dave, raising my sword and drove it right through him. Poor man, had no strength and didn't even see it coming. He fell down, writhing as blood gushed out of him. It was so demeaning. Killing over ourselves for food but a man had to do for survival.
I slowly walk to my prize, hear rolling down. I sat down, took the steak in my hand and bite. Never had it been so hard to swallow. I slowly take bites.
The whole room is silent. I can feel all the eyes on me. I take another bite and some thing hits my teeth. A piece of metal, more a steel rod with screws. I remove it from the meat to have a second look at it. It had serial numbers engraved in it.
Then it hits me. This is no meat. This is human flesh. The rod was the ones doctors use for healing amputed legs. I was eating a human, one of my crew member.
Personal words - I wanted the prompt to end this way. Just the way like it. And this is my first prompt so critic me harder.
(P.S I DIDNT PROOF READ IT)
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[WP] you two are humans that have been thrown into an arena for the amusement of some aliens, you have both been starved for days yet when a delicious steak is placed between you two you do something they wouldn't expect. Share.
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We dove upon it, saliva mixing with dust to mat our over grown beards with steak juice, tearing it in half as we did. I can only assume their point-of-refernece was celluloid and cathode ray era media like the egg heads say. The broadcasts of early TV and radio shows traveling at light speed across space are just now arriving in settled space. I wonder what the alien alliances will make of the more modern stuff as it drifts in behind the old stuff. No matter. If Looney Tunes and I Love Lucy inform the xeno policy it could be worse; once reality television and the info wars begin to arrive we might have to send some diplomats.
As it was, the steak was enourmous. Comically huge. The sort of token image of a steak cartoon characters and old black & white talkies use as symbolic language to imply a huge feast. I hate to imagine what might have actually happened had they tossed us skimpy little 6 oz or something.
As the majority of the huge meat slab disappeared into our mouths the crowd went from shocked, to dismay to bordom. Once the they began to grow restless we stood up and began to spar, lose, casual punces and kicks. Still, it raised red spots and we both grunted loudly and shouted appropriately.
Both experienceed gladiators, we knew the drill: lives were only valuable as long they were interesting. Having a full belly and having fallen naturally enough into a nonviolent tussle we mutually decided to begin conspiring.
Softly, and only when the rhythm sparring brought our heads together, we whispered to on another.
"Know Kung Fu?"
"Nope. Judo."
"Shame; if we both use the same style we could probably keep up a good show for hours."
"I know, I wanna draw this out too; Your the first human I've had to fight."
"Same."
"Well, we both seem to know Greco Roman."
"Naw, this is just Luca Libre stuff I picked up from spending time with Memaw."
"Say, I know a fair bit of WWE stuff; both were designed from the ground up to be spectator soorts."
"Yes! Great idea; neither are actually martial, too."
"Ok, so. Who's gonna be the bad guy?"
"Well, if they let us go at it long enough we can switch off. I'll be the villian first, then we switch when I hit you with a folding chair."
"None of those around."
"Oh! The wepons rack. I'll make a big show of taking the weapons off it, then throw it at you when your down."
"Perfect. Let's start with a running clothesline into elbow drop to your neck-"
"Which I'll roll out from under, making you wack your arm against the ground, stunning you in pain so I can recover and counter attack."
"Oh, man, you *do* know pro wrestling!"
(Edit: drifted from 1st person to 3rd. Fixed)
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How long had I been held in captivity? It had certainly been weeks, which had bled into months, but most likely less than a year. There was no way of knowing. The days were longer and wildly irregular, due to the binary star system the planet orbited. Not like that mattered anyways; my window looking out into the alien coliseum was small, and the changing of the light did not affect me much. The thing that really kept me up were the other prisoners.
There were a few species that were well-represented, perhaps three quarters of the total captive population. They all spoke the same language, too. A language I could neither learn, nor manage to replicate the sounds of. From what I could guess, they were all criminals originating from a multi-species planetary federation, of which this planet was apparently a part of. Then there were the beasts. Screaming and howling and making noises that would forever be indescribable, at all hours of the rotational cycle. Finally, there were the novelties, the curiosities picked up from the fringes of our captor’s known space. They curled up at the backs of their cells, probably trying to escape from it all. I know that’s what I did.
There would be a couple of fights in the arena each cycle. There would always be a casualty. I did not watch. Occasionally, they would come for someone in my section of the holds. The criminals always fought when they were taken. The loners never did. It was a horrible way to wait for the death you knew was coming.
I knew something was happening when they stopped feeding me. After a couple of cycles of no food, they finally came. It was time, and I was glad of it. They led me into an anteroom, and shut the door. Then they raised the gate to the arena. I stepped forward, and squinted into the orange, alien sky. I was ready. I looked across the expanse. In the middle of the arena, there was a table with some sort of food on it? “Ah” I thought to myself. “We’re meant to fight over it”.
As for my opponent…my sight slid to the opposing entry gate. A man? I took tentative steps forward, not willing to believe myself. Another human? “Hello!?!” I called tentatively. They said something I couldn’t understand. Maybe it wasn’t, could it be? I sped up my pace, taking great strides towards the figure. The crowd started to wind up in anticipation. I squinted. It was a man, it definitely was a man. I started to run, even though my legs pained me, from my long confinement, but I did not care. As he ran towards me, and I him, I began to cry, letting out great heaving sobs, tears running down my cheeks. “Oh my god, oh my god oh my god!” He was shouting to me as well. We both met in the middle, clutching each other desperately, crying into each other’s shoulders for long minutes. When we finally broke apart, he began talking to me, very softly, still on the brink of tears, in Vietnamese? It didn’t matter. Just like the food on the table and the now jeering crowd didn’t matter. We had each other, even if it was for just that one moment, we were not alone, in this alien place, so, so far away from home.
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[WP] you two are humans that have been thrown into an arena for the amusement of some aliens, you have both been starved for days yet when a delicious steak is placed between you two you do something they wouldn't expect. Share.
|
We dove upon it, saliva mixing with dust to mat our over grown beards with steak juice, tearing it in half as we did. I can only assume their point-of-refernece was celluloid and cathode ray era media like the egg heads say. The broadcasts of early TV and radio shows traveling at light speed across space are just now arriving in settled space. I wonder what the alien alliances will make of the more modern stuff as it drifts in behind the old stuff. No matter. If Looney Tunes and I Love Lucy inform the xeno policy it could be worse; once reality television and the info wars begin to arrive we might have to send some diplomats.
As it was, the steak was enourmous. Comically huge. The sort of token image of a steak cartoon characters and old black & white talkies use as symbolic language to imply a huge feast. I hate to imagine what might have actually happened had they tossed us skimpy little 6 oz or something.
As the majority of the huge meat slab disappeared into our mouths the crowd went from shocked, to dismay to bordom. Once the they began to grow restless we stood up and began to spar, lose, casual punces and kicks. Still, it raised red spots and we both grunted loudly and shouted appropriately.
Both experienceed gladiators, we knew the drill: lives were only valuable as long they were interesting. Having a full belly and having fallen naturally enough into a nonviolent tussle we mutually decided to begin conspiring.
Softly, and only when the rhythm sparring brought our heads together, we whispered to on another.
"Know Kung Fu?"
"Nope. Judo."
"Shame; if we both use the same style we could probably keep up a good show for hours."
"I know, I wanna draw this out too; Your the first human I've had to fight."
"Same."
"Well, we both seem to know Greco Roman."
"Naw, this is just Luca Libre stuff I picked up from spending time with Memaw."
"Say, I know a fair bit of WWE stuff; both were designed from the ground up to be spectator soorts."
"Yes! Great idea; neither are actually martial, too."
"Ok, so. Who's gonna be the bad guy?"
"Well, if they let us go at it long enough we can switch off. I'll be the villian first, then we switch when I hit you with a folding chair."
"None of those around."
"Oh! The wepons rack. I'll make a big show of taking the weapons off it, then throw it at you when your down."
"Perfect. Let's start with a running clothesline into elbow drop to your neck-"
"Which I'll roll out from under, making you wack your arm against the ground, stunning you in pain so I can recover and counter attack."
"Oh, man, you *do* know pro wrestling!"
(Edit: drifted from 1st person to 3rd. Fixed)
|
-rough draft- (forgot to incorporate hunger) (check gen and verb consistency)
I can’t tell if my memories of another human reflect the actual moment, or if my mind is so broken is has completely imagined falsehoods. I don’t remember my name, only my clan name Donohue-only because the ship always referred to me as such before these bastards comondered my ship-not even sure how long it’s been.
The nights and days, if the even exist and it’s not simply programmed lights, bleed togetherness at this point. I’d try killing myself, but there is never a point. The collars around our neck are programmed to keep us alive at all costs. I saw an almost arachnid captive the side of a jump drive attempting to chew off it’s own legs, but when the deeps became too deep thick violet oozing out the collar would activate with a loud buzzing and a thin stream of nanotechnology would fuse with the open wound. But, I’m not entirely sure if it even happened.
The clicking sound and sudden lightness of my neck as the collar is removed takes me out of my thoughts. Perhaps, I will die, but what’s to say these aliens won’t just reboot me into a clone-whose to say they haven’t already.
The doors in front of me open, and I slowly walk outside, and I can feel the slow moving ground moving under the pads of my feet- a measure to easily force reluctant fighters to the center of the ring.
I don’t even look up until I’m in the center, unenthusiastically grab my standard preferences magnetic shield unit and electronic flail weapon. Then I see them, my opponent- a human.
I glance around the large area, then back to my opponent. Still a human. Their face is torn with thick keloid scars, an eye missing, and both of theirs are artificial from below the knee- something I recognize from other slaves who have attempted to run away. They detach your electric legs between fights.
The loud speakers echo with the tonal raspy clicks of the alien’s language, which is instantly translated to my native language from my cranial implant, but I don’t pay attention.
The human is looking at me, I wonder what they see. I don’t remember the last time I was near a reflective surface to see myself. I resist the urge to raise my hands to my face to feel what they see.
The horn blows loudly, and we remain motionless. My eyes locked with their eye, only breaking contact to size each other up. I notice the bright white keloid lines over their body peaking out from under tattered clothing.
The speakers begin again the foreign tonal language echoing meaninglessly in my native language. The lights change, and the ground buzzes under my bare feet and t brings my mind to focus. I take steps back as a door opens up between us and a platform rises. A large platter with an oversized stake, and equally large lazy Susan crowded with bowls overflowing with side dishes, herbs, flat breads, and condiments. I recognize only some of the items, but my tongue feels engorged as saliva fills my mouths. The pain in my stomach lurches like a rusted machine coming to life after decades without use. I take quick, uncontrolled, steps towards the platform, only stopping myself as I’m reaching out to the food-I recognize the subtle shipper of an electronic shield.
“Don’t touch it,” my voice scratches and burns as I shout, as if my mouth has absorbed all the moisture in my throat, but I don’t remember the last time I spoke.
The man looks at me suspiciously, closely, I see his hands tighten around his sword as the electronic voices echos in my mind.
“Only one champion can survive.”
My body moves instinctively around the table, my opponent moves in the opposite direction. each moving step for step to maintain a constant distance. When he stops, I stop, and vice versa.
After a long moment they open their mouth, but I don’t hear their voice only the electronic translator, “Make a move you coward,” they wave both arms at me to welcome my approach, they step away from the platform to allow us room to fight.
I raise my sword and stiffen my arm with the attached shield. I struggle to draw up anger from my aching gut, but the emotions remain liquid and immobile. It is another human, and I wonder what colony they are from, would I know the language they use, would my mind still have the linguistic training from my starship days. Would they know my clan, my name?
I run at them at full speed holding my shield defensively, my sword unaimed as I watch them bracing for my impending impact.
“Do you know the Ilaris station outside the N-34V habitual planet,” I shout over the buzzing clash of our sheilds. They brings their heavy plasma sword down on my shields edge, instead of an attempted plunge into my unprotected side.
“No. I’ve always been here.”
My bewilderment must show on my face, their body relaxes and my body lurches a few inches towards them.
“Do you know me? Know my face,” they ask in a hushed yell to overcome the dull rawr of the crowd.
“No... it’s been so long since I’ve seen another.”
“Yes.”
We both lower our arms, watching each other closely for a long moment. I loosen my grip on my sword, nod to them, and we drop our swords.
I drop my shield, then they. We look over each other again. Fainter scars around their legs where flesh meets metal show the uncaring hack job done to disable them.
I reach out, touching their arm, almost shocked then the flesh isn’t damn and spongey like the aliens that own this combat asteroid arena. I almost feel the course hair under my callused fingertips.
They feel the side of my face, the their own, then return to mine, “They call me R’aag”
“R’aag,” I repeat and feel my cheeks ache as I smile.
Their hand slides cautiously to the base of my head, I pull away, and they begin to pull their hand away, but my body flashes to unformed memories and I move my head to the base of their head. We slowly lean our heads together, dirty and scarred flesh touching as we feel the warm air billowing from our noses as we breathe heavily.
The sounds of the crowd have faded beyond me, as I look at over their face, the smells of sweat, dirt, and shit filling my nostrils-unsure who carries these smells.
They pull away, and I follow, now standing unprotected and weaponless in front of each other.
“I will not fight my breathen, I remember these laws of my people from Ilaris. We were settlers.”
They simply nod, unable to contributed or object, “then we will die. I will die for you to survive.”
“They can clone you, it never ends.”
I see the pained expression flash across their face- they already know.
“Let is eat.” I shout loudly, my body moving with agility and speed to grab my sword and use my entire body force to slam it down upon a weak corner of the shield, my throat raw as I scream with a deep rage that has slumbered inside my chest.
The subtle glitter shakes, turning green, and then vanishing. I unabashedly plunge my hand down into a dish of peppered cabbage and start to each with my dirty hands. My breathern moves beside me, using his sword to cut the steak in half starting to naw and pull at his half, the blood dripping down his hands and chin.
“Your name is Donohue, we will die together as clansmen.”
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[WP] you two are humans that have been thrown into an arena for the amusement of some aliens, you have both been starved for days yet when a delicious steak is placed between you two you do something they wouldn't expect. Share.
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######[](#dropcap)
"You ready for the fight of the century?" Mark spoke the words out of the side of his mouth, barely moving his lips.
Jackson smirked. "Of course."
"You remember our choreo, right?"
Jackson laughed as he waved toward the crowd. "Trust me, you'll get your half of the pie."
The two humans were brought into the arena together amid the shouts and jeers of the Qlatir sitting on the stands, just waiting for the action. They were a violent species, but recently they had decided to curb their tendencies because they were...dying out. Didn't seem like the smartest or most convenient form of evolution, and Mark had no idea how they as a species had even survived as long as now killing someone over something as small as who got which stand seat, but hey. To each their own.
They walked toward their separate sides. The Qlatir had caged them together and believed it would get them more riled up from their own personal experience. And maybe they would have. Living with a stranger when you were starving wasn't exactly the easiest condition to hold your temper. But what the Qlatir had failed to consider, however, was that Jackson and Mark had been captured together.
They were friends. And best friends for the past 10 years, in fact.
So they came up with the plan. Their crew would've noticed their disappearance in a couple of days tops, so they just needed to get past this fight.
With a ring of the bell, the fight began.
Thrust, parry, stab. Mark went through the motions smoothly.
The Qlatir didn't seem to notice anything wrong. Finally, Mark vaulted over Jackson, grabbing the steak in the middle and flaunting it to his "enemy," holding it out in front of him.
Jackson gave an almost imperceptible nod, then stabbed his sword forward suddenly, cutting the steak almost precisely in half. Mark staggered backwards, pretending to be wounded, and giving Jackson time to dive forward and catch the other half.
They pretended to glare at one another before retreating to their respective corners.
Mark watched the Qlatir's faces above him grow red with anger. He took a bite of the steak.
Say what you would about the Qlatir, but they really made a great steak.
*****
r/AlannaWu
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I apologise for formatting, I’m making this on mobile.
The man, who introduced himself later as Hanks, was thrown in a cage next to me.
“To make sure you don’t kill each other... yet!” the alien explained, cackling an evil laughter. I looked up from where I sat and turned my head towards the new guy. In one glance I saw that he had to endure the same horrible treatment as me: beatings, torture, starvation, and the list goes on and on. I had fought many battles before he came, and the battle scars on my body, together with the things he had to go through were enough to break the poor sod. He curled up into a ball and started crying, wich turned into screaming in fear as I approached him. He shoved himself against the back wall of his cell to avoid me, as if I was a plague. I grabbed the bars that kept us apart, and wanted to make an attempt to intimidate him. But I hesitated. I didn’t like that I hesitated, but when I look back at it, it was the best desicion I ever made. Instead, I stuck my arm through the bars, hand wilde open, and tried to show my most candid smile. “Nathan. Nice to meet you.”
The man swallowed and slowly let go of the wall behind him. He trembled as he grabbed my hand, and answered: “Hanks. Same to you, Nate.”
I could notice that he was already starting to get his cool. “Do you mind if I call you Nate? I had a friend named like that in college. It reminds me of... better days.”
My smile became more sincere by the second. “Of course you can.”
We started talking, asking about each others lives. It started with how the aliens treated us, but not even ten minutes later I knew where and what he studied. He tried to become an English teacher while taking Italian classes at the same time, so he could teach in Italy, where he met his wife. His stories were truly fascinating, and before I knew it...
We were in the arena. The sand beneath my bare feet felt... well as sand should feel. It’s the feeling in my chest that’s making this so difficult. The Clash for Food, as the aliens have dubbed their twisted “game show”, had never seen anyone that lasted longer than me. I was damn lucky I trained karate before the Mass Abduction happened. But it had never been so hard for me to take a life for food. But who was I to complain? Any movements towards the back of the arena, or showing the intention not to fight, would instantly be punished. I had to find that out the hard way. But still, Hanks was the first and only one I didn’t want to kill, not even for the delicious steak in the centre. We circled around each other, each obviously contemplating chances. Hanks seeing if he had any chance of at least keeping me away to take the food, me hoping to find a way to end this without bloodshead. The aliens yelled louder and louder as Hanks and I came closer and closer towards each other. We were both bathing in sweat, from stress as well as the scorching heat. But suddenly, it hit me as a hammer. I almost went mad at the thought of how easy everything it could be solved. My laughter started as a little giggle, but not soon after I found myself holding my stomach and folding double. I struck my spear in the sand, still teary-eyed, and started walking to the meal, as if it was the most normal thing in the universe.
“What are you doing? I WILL kill you, Nate!”
Hanks was visibly upset, but the tone in his voice told me otherwise. That’s the only advantage we have over those alien bastards. After several conversations with the nicer ones of their species, I found out about something: Humans were the only race capabel of showing compassion, and true love. “Of course, that’s what makes us human,” you might think. And thus, I made the most unpredictable, but wisest move mankend ever made, but had done and will do when I am not around: I sat down, grabbed the steak, tore it in half and handed it to Hanks.
The relief in his eyes was as big as mine, when he threw away his sword and buckler and sat down next to me.
“So, you were talking about your place in Italy?”
Hanks smiled as he took a bite. Up until now, I hadn’t notice a slight Italian undertone, despite him being Irish. “Oh, yeah, of course. It’s absolutely amazing, let me tell you!”
Our laughter filled the arena, a sound it had never heard before.
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[WP] you two are humans that have been thrown into an arena for the amusement of some aliens, you have both been starved for days yet when a delicious steak is placed between you two you do something they wouldn't expect. Share.
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"Ugh, that looks bloody nice steak, don't you think?" Charles says as he rubs his chin.
"Yes," Timothy responds with a long nod. "You know that they want us to kill each other for that piece, right?"
Charles chuckles. "I have barely strength to stand. I'm no animal. One hit and I'm knocked out."
Timothy laughed with Charles at the same time. Aliens were just inspecting them. They were probably thinking that it was some kind of human ritual before the fight.
"So," Charles whispered. "Want to share?"
Timothy nodded. "Yeah. It's a way too huge for my stomach to handle it, I have been starving for too long..."
They both stepped near the steak and examined it. Then they tried to break it into two, but it was a bit soggy to be split into two pieces. They also didn't have knives to do it.
"I'll take the first bite, then you, alright?" Charles proposed. Timothy responded with a nod. So, Charles took the meat, took a big bite and gave it to Timothy, who took bite straight after him.
Aliens enraged. They hated that. Still, they kept hoping that it was still some kind of ritual. Maybe they would fight after they got their energy refilled?
That lasted until they finally finished the steak.
Aliens already stormed from the gate, ready to take them away. They weren't pleased.
"Well, that was delicious. It might be our last meal," Timothy whispered, moving his hand towards Charles. Just before the aliens reached them, they shook them.
***
They both got kicked into the very same arena. It had been a week of no food. All aliens were going insane, hungry for blood. This time, they had to fight.
Both Timothy and Charles slowly walked at the center of the arena, inspecting each other.
"You look like shit, man," Timothy said to Charles.
"They did beat me up way more than usual," Charles frowned.
"Those alien bastards," Timothy responded with a slow sigh.
They both now inspected another steak meat. This time, it was inside a large cage. The door had two keyholes and those keys were around both of their necks.
"I don't understand. I know I'm not the smartest human out there, but that..." Timothy sighed and looked at his key. "They probably expect us to fight now, so I would take your key, open the cage and go after the steak."
Charles laughed, took the key and threw it towards Timothy, who easily caught it. Arena got instantly silent. Timothy opened the cage door with both keys and they both entered it. This time, the guards' gates opened and heavy armored aliens instantly ran towards them.
Timothy, however, locked the door after himself and went to the center of the cage. He took the steak, had a bite and gave it to the Charles.
"Oh, by the way, I'm Timothy."
"I'm Charles!"
They shook hands again.
"So tell me, Charles, what did you do before you got here?"
As they talked, guards desperately tried to break the cage open. One guard ran away to find backup keys. Even though they did have some ranged weapons, they did not want to kill prisoners, so it resulted in Charles and Timothy talking for a while as they took care of the steak.
There was a change, however. The arena wasn't mad, instead, they were laughing.
***
It was yet another week that passed. Both Timothy and Charles were again at the center of the arena. It was all silent. There were no alien war cries this time around. It was just two of them, meeting at the core again.
"Are they serious?" Timothy asked the first question, inspecting cage within a cage.
Charles just smiled. "I feel like they decided not to test our battle skills anymore, but instead they want to see how smart we are."
They both started laughing. "It's literally same thing as last time, except two cages with two doors. This time one key opens one door..."
***
Another week passed. This time, the arena was shouting. There were multiple cages on the arena, one of them had steak in it. They had given only one key and each cell had a key of its own inside.
"We should pretend that we are trying hard," Charles moaned.
"You look a lot worse Charles. You okay?" Timothy finally showed some worry.
"Ah, I'm an old man. I think something is wrong with my stomach," Charles whispered. He coughed, some blood came out of his mouth. He didn't try to hide it, as there was no point.
They solved the puzzle easily and soon they were at the center of the cage, staring at another steak piece. Soldiers were this time walking towards them. They had also given up trying.
"You'll eat it," Timothy suddenly said.
"What?" Charles was confused.
"You look like you'd need it more than I do." Charles frowned but didn't argue. He ate most of it and then gave a third to Timothy. "Please. You need something as well."
***
Timothy stood at the center of the arena. Aliens weren't happy. Charles wasn't anywhere. It was just him. The wind made Timothy's tears drop afar. This time, it was just a piece of meat at the center, no cages.
Alien sounds were something unusual. Maybe resembled a bit of crying.
Timothy walked near the steak, looked at it, touched it, but didn't eat it. He remembered one discussion they had, a promise. A promise that if one of them died, another would keep trying to survive. After all, maybe one day they would be saved from those aliens. It was a good story to tell.
So, he took hold of the steak.
***
It was bloody. The whole arena. It wasn't Timothy's blood though. It belonged to the aliens. In the sky was huge flying ship, belonging to the humans. They waited for one man.
At the center of the arena was Timothy. He was now wearing proper clothing with some armor on it.
"I liked you, you know. You became my best pal at this shithole," Timothy whispered. He held a steak and put it on the ground, at the very center of the arena.
"This is for you, Charles."
----
/r/ElvenWrites - Feel free to check it out for my past stories (Or follow it for le future).
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It took me a few minutes to realize where I was.
An open field. Holy shit. Where the fuck was I? Jesus, I was surrounded.
Then I saw the other guy. He looked as bewildered as I was.
Skinny and pale too. Almost nice to see another human.
There was a steaming piece of steak on a table between us.
“Dude you speak English”
“Yes,” he replied. Slight accent.
“Are we supposed to fight to the death over this steak, or something?”
“I don’t know. But I’m a vegan” he answered.
“Yeah, I’m not hungry. And I don’t eat random alien death-fight steak, as a rule”
“How about we split it and keep it in case we really get desperate?
“Good idea. You cut, I’ll choose.”
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[WP] A shapeshifter loses his memory in an accident (describe) and can no longer remember his true identity.
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Birds chirp. They sing. They caw. I turn my head to look at the bird. Suddenly, I feel small. I glance down and see feathers.
What are the feathers for?
Bird.
They're for the bird. The bird is me. A tree stands below. Suddenly, I feel like I'm growing.
No. Impossible. I am a bird. I stop growing and feel small again.
"Where did he go?" I flick my head to the side. There's a being yelling as she stands in the building. Another being barges in.
"The man! He's gone!"
"What do you mean gone? Hilda, he's paralysed and in a coma!" They shout to each other.
"I don't know! But we have to find that man! Come on!" They disappear from sight.
The man. He. Him. Who is that? Hilda. That is Hilda.
I felt a change in my body. I was no longer small and full of feathers. I looked like the beings in the building. Long shapes prodded from me. The touched the grass, that's how long they were. More shapes prodded from me, I was able to move them more than the ones below me.
I copied the being's movement and dropped from the tree. I walked around the building. More beings like me were coming in and out of the building. I wanted to go into the building.
"Mommy, that woman is naked!" A loud whisper came from a small being similar to me.
"Charles, don't point! Woman, put some clothes on you disgusting creep!" Being like me said. She grabbed small being and they left.
Lady. Woman. Creep. I looked at it, the Charles, and looked at me. There were differences. My eye level changed. I was closer to the ground now. I look down.
How odd. There is differences between Charles and lady.
I walk into the building. There are more beings. Some look like lady, woman, creep. None look like Charles.
"Excuse me, son, where's your mom? You can't be walking around here without clothes." Being not like Charles or lady or woman or creep said.
"Not. Son. Charles." The being changed his look.
"Alright, I'm Dr. Ross. Why don't you come with me?" Dr. Ross being said and took of... clothes. Clothes was given to Charles.
Clothes did not fit Charles. There was a change and a loud bang. Dr. Ross did not look the same as before. Dr. Ross ran. I look at stumpy appendages sticking out of me. They look like Dr. Ross.
I am Dr. Ross.
With clothes on, I walk more. I want to find Hilda. I want to help Hilda find Man, he, him.
I walk and walk. Lady, woman, creep make noises when I pass. No Hilda.
I walk to window and see a tree with a little bird. Hilda was here. I change.
"Excuse me, who are you?" Someone asks.
Who am I? I am... Bird, Hilda, Lady, Woman, Creep, Charles Dr. Ross... No. That's not right. How can I be all of them? Bird and Hilda don't look alike. Nor do Lady or Charles or Charles and Dr. Ross. Who am I?
"Kurt Winston?" Voice asks.
"Who?" whispers.
"The man who's missing, his name is Kurt Winston. He was in this room."
Kurt. Winston. The man. He. Kurt Winston.
Who is Kurt Winston?
"Kurt?" Same voice asks.
Kurt.
Kurt.
KurtKurtKurtKurtKurtKurtKurtKurtKurt.
What does Kurt look like?
"Hilda, that can't be Kurt Winston. Mr. Winston can't walk." Whispers.
Suddenly, the long sticks point out of me stop working. I drop and flop to the ground. This is what Kurt does. Kurt cannot walk.
"What the hell just happened? I'm calling the police Hilda, don't go near him!"
"Kurt? It's you isn't it?" Voice says. Hilda? Yes. "Kurt?"
I don't know. Am I man missing?
I look around room. I stare at the shiny thing in front of me. A being is staring at me. Not a Bird or a Hilda or lady or woman or creep or Charles or Dr. Ross.
I don't know what it is. It is none of those things. I don't want to be those things. I want to be... me.
Being changes. Appendages change. Still cannot walk. Like Kurt. I am like Kurt. Being like Kurt changes again.
Sounds. I turn my head. Hilda is there, something white in her hand.
"Its alright. You're Kurt Winston. It's ok. I know it's confusing. You were in a terrible accident."
"Not. Kurt." I say.
"Yes, you're Kurt. Look here, this is you." White object is put in front of me. A being on the object is copying me... copying my body...
"A-cc-accident?"
"Yes. Authorities found you by the train tracks. Do you remember anything?" Hilda asks.
"No."
"You were in a coma for eight months and sadly... it left you paralysed and you lost your memories..."
"Oh. Mem... Memories?" Who is memories?
"Uh, memories, the things you.. um.. you go through life in moments... and you save those moments... they're called memories."
Memories. Memories doesn't sound like me. Memories isn't paralysed.
"And I am Kurt Winston?" Not memories?
"Yes, you're Kurt Winston." She repeats slowly.
I am Kurt Winston.
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I awake in a strange bed, no memory of how I got there. Connected to my arms are tubes and wires to what looks like a bag of some sort of red liquid. The room I am in is all white and I hear beeping to my left.
When I look over I see a machine of some sort with lines that spike every so often and weird numbers displayed on the screen.
I try to sit up, but a crushing pain hits me on my abdomen and I get a splitting headache. I reach towards my head and realjze it has been bandaged up and I lift up my bed sheets to that my chest is also bandaged up. As I'm looking down I notice my skin is a very odd shade of orange but on my arm is an almost invisible shade of purple writing. Upon further inspection it reads: "fix what he has done".
Confused and frightened of my environment, I start to quickly take out the tubes connected to my arm and alarms start to sound. Soon people in white aprons come flocking in the room restraining me and they inject me with something and I pass out.
When I awake, there is a man in a black suit sitting next to me starring at me with grace eyes. He says, "Welcome back sir. How are you feeling?"
Confused I reply, "Hurts. What happened? Who am I?" The man nods and says, "The nurse said you would have some low grade memory loss after your shock. Sir, you've been in an accident. More to the point, you've survived an assassination attempt."
A chill rushes down my spine and I sit up straighter, which causes me great pain. "What-what do you mean?" The man turns on the tv in the room and a the reporter says, "The assailants shot at the driver and the car crashed into the median-" the man turns off the tv. "You took 2 bullets to the chest that were near fatal, but what we were most worried about was the hit to your head. Can you tell me what you remember?"
I shake my head, "Nothing, but can you tell me what's written on my arm?" The man gets a perplexed look and glances at your arm, "There's.. nothing there sir.. are you sure you're alright?"
I stare at my arm intently and still see the writing. I think, 'Why can't he see it? Am I really going crazy?' While distracted, the man hands you a phone and says, "Would you like to tweet to the people that you're okay, Mr. President?"
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[WP] Humans aren't generally that advanced but their engineering capabilities are one of the top within the galaxy, since they are so stubborn. This has led to the saying "Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it a few months and it will become effective."
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Here's a cool thought experiment. See if you can figure out how humanity was able to progress to where we are starting with only naked, ignorant Man and basically dirt, rocks, trees, water, plants, and animals. Is there a way to logically account for the existence of the modern society from that beginning?
Yes! The answer is the creative process. It's not magical or mysterious or inscrutable. It's iterative. For the sake of clarity let's imagine a scenario where at the very beginning of human progress those 1st people looked around their environment for a while and were able to percieve and distinguish say 20 different distinct forms of physical material they might be able to manipulate and mold into something useful using the only motive force around back them - their own physical strength and capacity for work. Now there is a limit to the number of ways you can combine those 20 things and that might lead one to reason (incorrectly) that the hard limit on the number of ways we can combine those materials it also an external condition that necessarily limits the extent of human progress because there is a limited number or new "things" we can invent, build, create, because it is all predicated on what materials are available to build with and the amounts. Logically we know both are finite and limited... however...
We are things which are alive and that means the state our universe exists in is a wholly dynamic one. Renewal, regeneration, rebirth, constant change, constant flux, constant newness. Every time we take existent things and make something brand new that thing didnt just solve a practical problem nor is it's value and usefulness limited to that. It is much more valuable when it is reintroduced into the creative process as a new starting material we can add to existing things which increases our combinations. By applying an iterative process we remove all limits to what we can invent, all limits on the number of possible solutions we can discover for every new problem(s) which continually emerge unforseen (due to the Law of Unintended consequences and the intrinsic limitations on the amount of information we can store and process as a consequence of our biology.
And that explains how it was possible for humans to get where we are starting with just dirt, trees, and water and in a literal state of total ignorance and without any existing external structures to help.
That fact alone (our history and what we've been able to do) is almost incontrovertible evidence that we will find practical, functional solutions to *every single practical problem we encounter. Every. One.* They will be suboptimal and new problems will emerge as a result but guess What!!!??? We will fix those too.
This also explains why every single doomsday prophecy put forth which is predicated on the idea that things like overpopulation, running out of resources, climate change are intractable and unsolvable problems have failed utterly to materialize. They are based on propositions and premises which, quite frankly, are galactically stupid and are directly contradicted by factual human history and what we observe happening around us.
What that analysis fails to discern and therefore doesn't take into account is the fact that life necessarily exists in a *dynamic* state. Constant change and flux. We observe that it is in continual *motion*. (Now think on this... an obvious logical implication which is extremely germane to humanity right now is the how "equality" and "utopia" fundamentally contradict living systems. They both only exist in the static state. The state of permanence. The death state. The dream of a utopia is rooted in the idea that there is a "perfect" way to organize society. There is that humans are perfectable. By it's definition for something to remain perfect it *must* cease to change one iota. In a very real and literal sense there can be nothing can live or be alive if equality and/or perfection are present. They are forms of permanence and statis. Unchanging and unchangeable, complete, every outcome known and fixed, infinite repetition and sameness, nothing to discover, explore, no need to create, innovate, invent, no need for ingenuity, imagination, and creativity, no new art of any kind, no unknowns to pursue, no new horizons, no uncertainty, no risk, no freedom, nothing to be curious about, nothing to analyze or critique or debate, no more new and original insights or ideas to pursue (it contradicts the idea of perfection. By definition if something is perfect there is no purpose or point to seek for something else as it would always be inferior.)
Think on that next time you hear someone agitating for a society based on the principle of equality or tries to persuade that Utopia (communism is often concieved as being a Utopia and human society perfected) is not only possible but must be pursued and worked towards as some sort of moral good.
Pursuing those ideas can only end in mass abject human misery, despair, confusion, and total enervation. They are concepts incompatible with life, fecundity, Renewal, regrowth, rebirth, newness, creation, creativity and creating (all new art emerges from the dynamic state) , imagination, ingenuity, adventure, curiosity, discovery, etc, etc....
Imagine a world devoid of those things. A static world. Nothing changes. Every day the same. Everyone the same. Everyone a fungible interchangeable anonymous carbon unit. Everything known. Every action and experience of your entire life known in advance. Everyone gets the exact same portion. No one allowed to excel above the exact median average in anything. Think of all the potential wasted!!
A ghoulish nightmare.
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[WP] Humans aren't generally that advanced but their engineering capabilities are one of the top within the galaxy, since they are so stubborn. This has led to the saying "Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it a few months and it will become effective."
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“Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it a few months and it will become effective” - Antarii Proverb
Ryn stood on the deck, letting the vast silence of space inhabit her being. She spent many a night like this since becoming the Captain of the No’s Andrei- one of the faster ships of the line the Alliance had to offer. It had been ten years to the day since she had her first human come on her crew, and this anniversary felt special, she just needed a moment. Today would be hard:
She was Captain Ryn Lantares, a blue skinned Antarii who had risen to the ranks of Captain within the alliance fleet in record time. She was the top of her class at the academy and a decorated veteran by the time she got her first command: the frigate No’s Andrei. She didn’t want humans on her ship. She knew some from the academy and found them rude, vulgar, reckless and short lived. But orders were orders and the Antarii are sticklers for compliance.
His name is Char-lie or that is what he said she could call him. He said he despised the name Chu’uck before he went rambling on about the middle name his mother gave him. Something about liking some device beyond ancient called a telephone. He amused Ryn and she merely called him Chief and set him to work in the engine room.
He’d done spectacular things. He’d get the FTL up in record times with work arounds that appeared frighteningly dangerous. When questioned he’d simply grin and tell her that it’s only dangerous if it breaks- which it never did.
He was often the officer of the watch for the dog watch as he called it right before she was officially to come on deck. But she would come in and he’d brief her on the evening and the next days challenges. But mostly he talked about home his family and asked her questions about the universe and it’s history. She humored him at first, like one does a pet puppy so that it would eventually leave her alone. But he never did.
She in turn shared things that she spoke to no one of. Her father who was lost in the forging wars, her family. Dreams and aspirations. Before Char-lie she was considered a cold officer- but over the years she had warmed up and found herself doing what most of her species tries to stay away from.
Caring.
Today was ten years since his coming on and since his own fixing of machinery long since thought dead and not worth use. Her Commander alerted her it was time and so with a tear threatening her eye lid she stiffened her resolve and turned
“Is he there?”
A nod from her subordinate and she followed.
——
The doors to the chapel opened. Such a human thing, it was fitting she would meet him here once more.
The other officers and enlisted stood at attention as she locked eyes with the chaplain, struggling to keep her composure. Down the aisle she walked her light blue skin in sharp contrast to the deep sea grey dress uniform. They had at least dressed him in dress reds, something she never saw him in. When she got to the end of the aisle she reached down and took his hand, as tears readily spilled.
His hand squeezed back as Charlie, Lieutenant Charles A Jay now, looked up for she was taller than him.
“You look gorgeous.”
And then the Chaplain spoke
“Beloved and Crew, we are gathered here today..”
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[WP] Humans aren't generally that advanced but their engineering capabilities are one of the top within the galaxy, since they are so stubborn. This has led to the saying "Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it a few months and it will become effective."
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Once upon a time, there was a young boy who would live forever. As he grew older, the technology around him expanded and improved to where immortality became possible. Now this young boy was very stubborn, and he enjoyed solving puzzles. So stubborn was he in fact, that he at one point created his own puzzle pieces to fill in the gaps of one with missing pieces. Now at age 200, a century of education, and an existential crisis, he now faced the greatest puzzle of them all.
How can one live forever with no meaning?
He had grown bored with learning. He had learned the most abstract of mathematics, the most intricate details of physics, and had studied human nature both as an individual and as a collective. He had an almost perfect understanding of the world around him from the smallest indivisible components of the universe to the largest constructs in our reality. He had learned everything there was to learn, loved everything there was to love, and enjoyed everything there was to enjoy.
But yet the problem remained. How is one to continue beating one's own heart when there is nothing to beat for?
Now the boy knew that no matter what, the answer was to keep the heart beating. It did not matter what the results or the answer to the puzzle was, the heart must keep beating. So every morning as the sun rose over his perfect civilization, his heart continued to beat, yet his eyes never left the ceiling or the sky. Always looking up, always looking out, always hoping that something new and interesting would come along to give him that same sense of wonder he had as a young boy.
Another century passed. His family had gone on to whatever happened once the heart has stopped. Humans around him we're dropping like flies as the great puzzle of boredom begin to slip its claws into the soul of humanity. And yet this stubborn man refused to die. A century of puzzling on this problem had left him without hair and without human contact. The body around his heart had begun to decay and disintegrate, yet he still took in air and he still pushed forward through time.
Finally, at his wit's end, he brought out that old puzzle. The machine that is life's meaning had broken down completely for him, and he began to understand that he did not know how to solve that puzzle. So he did what any good engineer would do, he went back to basics. The puzzle was a picture of a woman. Not a specific woman, but a goddess of some ancient forgotten faith. It was clear that this woman was not supernatural, but that her face was based on a living, breathing person. The puzzle piece that was missing was a ring upon her finger. He had created one himself, and given it to the puzzle as an offering of completion.
Finally, The Epiphany hit him. He began to make his own puzzles. He offered them for free to anyone who would take them. He offered the journey that he once took. The years spent in toil and misery to finally come to that moment of Nirvana. He was always careful to leave out a piece or two.
To engineer a meaning for his life, one need only stubbornness and determination. And that alone can be worth living for.
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[WP] Humans aren't generally that advanced but their engineering capabilities are one of the top within the galaxy, since they are so stubborn. This has led to the saying "Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it a few months and it will become effective."
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"So, how does it normally work?"
Champluru (as the mammalian laborers called him with their forced air communications) swung around slowly to face them. While doing so, he calculated the five most likely time frames for rescue by another ship, the food rations set aside for the ship's complement, and how many members may have to be put down in order to maintain a working crew. The numbers for the mammals were especially bad.
Accessing one of the ship's basic functions, Champluru pushed the thought-explanation into the universal translator. Moments later, bright lights wrote out a detailed explanation, reorganized into the laborer's own language.
"The drive engine only works along pre-designed courses? What happens when you get off course?"
It was a rough idea, ignoring the complexities of fifth dimensional hyper string loops, which the mammals had trouble seeing. He rotated the idea in his mind a few times while a new explanation showed that another ship could pull a stranded vessel back onto what the translator referred to as a "hyperspace highway" for the sake of the mammals.
"What happens if another ship doesn't come by? You just float out here?"
A simple assent approved of the laborer's understanding.
"What if we found a way to move the ship back onto the highway? Do you mind if we give it a try?"
A red flushing through Champluru's main lobe showed his mirth. Several moments passed before he could compose his thoughts into consent, tinged with humor. For some reason, the translator showed an image of a larger laborer running his upper arms through the thicker top hair of a younger laborer, then presenting what Champluru had learned as the "thumb's up" gesture of approval.
The laborer seemed to dislike the image, but then nodded and moved out of the pilot's deck.
---------
Champluru drifted down into engineering. He had heard from other members of the crew that the laborer's had taken up residence down in the section since the ship had moved off coruse, and were expending more energy then usual down there. It was a poor idea, since their food was limited, and he wanted to make it clear to the mammals that their numbers may have to be diminished if any of them were to survive.
The engineering section was far warmer then usual - almost uncomfortably hot, and the air currents were being unusually volatile, causing movement to require a great deal more effort then normal. Any irritation was quickly forgotten as he glided into the engine room. Most of the engine itself had been dissembled, and floating above each piece was a diagram-explanation, written in light. Clearly the ship had realized that the mammals needed constant reminders of what each did. One of the weapons arrays also appeared to be taken apart, despite it having nothing to do with the engine.
What was even more shocking, though, was the light image of a laborer's face in the middle of the room. It appeared to be slightly larger then the average size of a laborer's torso, and one of the mammals was speaking to it. Rather then respond in light-explanations, the face appeared to access some of the ship's speakers in order to communicate back.
Shock must have been visible upon Champluru as he floated up, as the flesh-laborer pointed at the light-laborer-face and explained, "We got tired of reading long explanations while working, so we reworked the translator to use vocal responses. It was weird having a displaced voice, so we had it generate a face, too."
It wasn't exactly a brillant move, but Champluru could see how the mammals, still somewhat primitive in their thought-beliefs, could be comforted by such an image. Turning away from the strangely large light construct, he began to explain about the food reserves being limited. Trying to be gentle with the laborers, he hinted around the exact time frames until one of them asked directly how long food would last. Sighing, Champluru sadly detailed the most likely time frames, given the crew size, and suggested that such time frames could be lengthened if the crew were to shrink.
Laughter wasn't exactly what he expected in response to this situation.
"You have enough rations to last us all one hundred and eighty years? If we don't have it fixed by then, you can explain it to our great great grandkids, buddy."
It took a moment for the universal translator to push the thought to Champluru, then a moment longer for it to add a note showing the mammalian laborer's natural lifespan (increased by the ship's advanced medicine, but still very short). Champluru began to understand why these laborer's wanted to get the ship moving so quickly. Most of them would be long dead if they waited for rescue!
Having expressed the necessary information (even if it suddenly seemed less relevant), he began the slow and laborious movements necessary to return to his section of the ship, seemingly so far removed now from these short lived creatures.
---------
A jolt shocked Champluru out of his reverie. Having nothing but time, he had wandered back through pleasant memories in order to re experience, and perhaps re examine, the choices that had brought him here. The sudden physical sensation removed him from it.
Accessing the guidance systems, Champluru was stunned to see that the ship had not been struck by anything. Instead, the ship had moved itself. According to the guidance system, they were now near the outermost orbiting body of the nearest star from their previous location. Close enough that the planetary body was exerting a slight gravity on the ship.
Logs showed that the main drive had been activated mere moments ago, before shutting down abruptly. Champluru went to activate the internal communications system, before noticing another log attached to the first. One of the weapons arrays had also activated, although not fired, nearly simultaneously with the engine. He quickly recognized that it was the same array that the mammals had taken apart during his visit to the engineering section some months earlier.
Internal communications showed that engineering was full of smoke and moving mammals, a few swearing, some injured, and all of which appeared dirty, staggering around the room. One of them moved over to the communications window.
"We think we know what went wrong. We're going to need to use two more of the weapons systems to get a point targeting system, but the next time it should work."
Translation created a single symbol in the air in front of the laborer - a question mark.
"Once everyone is patched up, I'll let you know what's what. The ship can probably explain it pretty well. I think the AI is a lot smarter then you all have been letting on."
Apparently exhausting his communication air pouch, the laborer moved over to help his injured companions. Champluru quickly moved the thoughts of the laborer's safety to another portion of his mind, to be checked on once the medical facility had treated them. Instead, he turned his attention to the ship's main processor, and began questioning what had been done to allow the ship to move in such a manner.
The mammals were using the engines to move at angles AWAY from the string loops. Instead of traveling along them until the ship arrived at a intersection of loops, the mammals were directing the engines to push against the string until the ship detached and hurtled, stringless, at a distant point. They had used the targetting system to plot out trajectories towards another string! The reason the first attempt had failed was that the targeting array couldn't maintain a lock on the string they were on, the string they were aiming for, and the intervening materials at the same time.
Champluru had to sublimate these understandings for a moment. It was incredibly reckless (so many areas were unmapped, and sometimes strings simply ended randomly, leaving ships in the same situation they had started in). However, if it worked...
For a moment, Champluru had a troubling premonition. These creatures had only just begun to travel outside their system, and couldn't begin to comprehend the higher level dimensionalities responsible for intergalactic travel, and yet...they had just possibly solved the problem of being stringless. Given time and their relentless drive, what other things could they overcome?
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[WP] Humans aren't generally that advanced but their engineering capabilities are one of the top within the galaxy, since they are so stubborn. This has led to the saying "Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it a few months and it will become effective."
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"'Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it time, and that machine will become effective.' Who here has heard this phrase?" A few hands in the lecture hall were tentatively raised. "Good good. For those of you who haven't it is said that the most salient evolutionary feature of the human is their ability to engineer. Any problem no matter how trivial or insurmountable can be solved by man if enough time is given." The visiting lecturer paced the lecture hall as he spoke.
"When humans entered the Inter-Galactic Union they were quickly mixed into every culture, peoples, and company as the engineers in chief. The technological marvels developed for the I.G.U. by the humans were wonderful and with them quality of life rapidly increased beyond even the wildest of hopes. This all changed soon enough. You see not everyone was thrilled with the human activity and many cultures now brought to the height of comfort through human engineering began to tighten regulations on the activities of humans. Soon whole cities, continents, even planets were barred from the humans. In the height of their decadence the many members of the IGU forgot who brought them their technology."
"As tensions rose the humans began to fight back but as they didn't have the numbers, the knack for politics, or the weapons this proved ineffectual in all but one way. The only effect was that disdain for humans turned into hostility and punitive actions were taken against the human empire. Finally after a brutal war the humans were quarantined and locked away in their own sector of the galaxy, not before they had killed of half the sentient races in the IGU with their most brilliantly engineered weapon of all time. They called it the 'small pox blanket'"
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[WP] Humans aren't generally that advanced but their engineering capabilities are one of the top within the galaxy, since they are so stubborn. This has led to the saying "Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it a few months and it will become effective."
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Hank excitedly jammed the final rod nearly, but not quite into place.
He lowered his headphones to his shoulders and took a brief moment to beam a little pride at his work. Slowly, he pushed his feet against the floor, leaning his seat back until he was nearly laying flat. He paused, smiling as his unkempt hair spilled around the sides of the chair’s headrest, snaking down in greasy ropes.
Staring up, he flicked a small picture of a woman that dangled from a necklace taped to the ceiling. It twirled around, flashing from a smiling face to a heart drawn in red ink on the back. He looked over at the wall to his left and scrawled a large, diagonal strike through four vertical lines. He didn’t bother counting them all today.
He squared his shoulders, breathing in with deep intensity, “HEY! GARY!” he shouted towards the ceiling, “GARY, MAN, I GOTTA QUESTION!”
Hank crossed his fingers over his chest as he waited for a response. He poised himself with something that resembled patience, but clearly wasn’t. His head, slowly and just slightly, shook side to side as he closed his eyes and sighed.
Minutes ticked by, unnoticed.
His head continued moving to and fro, eyes lazily shut. It might have started as a show of exasperation, but any original intent had been forgotten. Hank lead with his jaw, keeping time with the tinny electronic kick twumping from the headphones around the base of his neck.
A silver porthole high above, about the size of a basketball, silently came to life. It slide open, then closed a bit, adjusting a few more times like an iris focusing in the dark. A similarly sized iris belonging to a much larger eye was revealed. It blinked at him.
Hank’s hair still swayed in tangled batches, somewhat in time with a barely audible rhythm. The owner of eye above watched Hank’s head bob aimlessly in new directions, clumps of hair swinging into and bouncing off of each other. It imagined the tentacles of a wooly octopus that had seen things it couldn’t unsee, stuck fast to a rail thin idiot.
Minutes ticked by.
Two large eyelids narrowed from behind the porthole.
“What.” A restrained voice nearly\-calmly boomed. A deep vibration swam though everything, as though the whole of the room was speaking.
“Hey! Gary!” Hank exclaimed, immediately wide\-eyed. His hands bolted above his head as his legs kicked his chair around, sitting up. The eye narrowed in a way that implied it was towing a frown behind it, but didn’t have the energy to set it up. Hank leaned back deeply from his new orientation, resuming the exact same upward\-facing position as before.
“What.” Gary repeated.
Hank excitedly gestured to nothing in particular, “So, great news first of all, everything is up and running! The comms are patched, the positioning relay is active, and the forward guns charged and ready to rock!”
The eye seemed to look inward for a moment, as though desperately hoping someone would push it out of the way so it could graciously allow them finish this conversation instead.
The room hung in silence.
The eye squinted slightly.
A sigh reverberated through the room.
“Great, Hank. That’s—it’s—good . . . That’s great. So what, then,” the eye winced as a knowing frown grew giddy for its turn, “So it . . . it sounds an awful lot like you’re done . . . That we’re done . . . So what’s the question?”
“Well, Gary, I’ve been here for . . . I dunno . . . Four, five, months?”
“Seven. But, if you’re done,” Gary paused, “with everything . . . we’re headed straight back.”
“Right. Seven. So, with all the time you gave me to work on everything . . . generously gave me, I might add . . . I mean, look, when you tore me right out of my wife’s arms . . . And you did say that was unfortunate, in all fairness, what happened to her I mean . . . just before you stuck me in here with vague instructions to patch up a—“
The room shook hideously as the eye narrowed to a nearly two-dimensional slit, its voice erupted,“WHAT. IS. THE. QUESTION.”
Hank smiled, swinging his fist up over his head and into the panel he’d been working on. A small rod slammed into place, causing a blue line above it to glow. A faint hum could be heard as the line stretched along the panel towards a small circular marking near the top. The large eye above followed along as it sped towards its destination.
A frantic pounding crashed down on the ceiling, the entire surface pulsing inwards. Hank couldn’t help but imagine it as a steel\-plated, panicked, heartbeat. A growl, guttural and bestial, erupted from beyond the porthole above, “WHAT. HAVE. YOU. DONE.”
The blue line blinked out.
“Right, so Gary, like I was saying—What do you think happens when the schematics for everything I’ve been working on finally reach Earth?”
A small, polite voice announced “Data transmission successful.”
“Along with our coordinates.”
A small, polite voice announced again “Relay complete.”
“And your guns.”
The voice seemed endlessly small and polite as it further announced, “Pod jettisoned.”
The eye trembled and the porthole zipped shut. Faintly, Hank could hear a small voice from the other side repeating “Disabled” and “Access denied” in between Gary’s angry and incomprehensible shouting. Something crashed hard onto the ceiling.
The porthole reopened. The eye was narrow. A rhythmic, angry pounding was causing the porthole to shudder. It’s metal framing, now outlining Gary’s entire eye, crawled with growing stress fractures. It was only a matter of time, they both knew.
Hank closed his eyes and bobbed his head, his hair dancing in time with the rich thundering of its deep bass.
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[WP] Humans aren't generally that advanced but their engineering capabilities are one of the top within the galaxy, since they are so stubborn. This has led to the saying "Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it a few months and it will become effective."
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Zabrell was annoyed.
She had been assigned all manner of things by her matron in the past, but this time it was different. Never had she felt that her actions were so useless or worthless. Under all the holy stars, why her matron thought talking with, let alone *working with* the humans was worthwhile, was beyond her. And yet, where the matron leads, the daughter follows, which is how she found herself standing in an environment-equalizer chamber, waiting for an ape.
Turns out, there were three apes, stubby yet spindly, with rough patches of fur on their bodies. Fortunately they kept most of their body wrapped in synthetic fibers so she didn't have to see if the rest of their bodies were as patchy as their heads. They jerkily stumbled to a halt, about three metres from the dividing bio-field, proving to Zabrell that, despite appearances, they actually did have control of their personal mobility.
"Uh, greetings, uh..." one of them started stupidly, its round face and dully glassy visual orbs sticking out of white flesh and patches of red fur. It looked sicker than the others, with red dots all over its white skin. Maybe it was dying. She had heard that they had extremely short lifespans. Perhaps that is why there were three of them, in case one of them died before the end of this meeting.
"Your greetings are received but unnecessary, we require a task of you," she politely stated. She could hear the wet meat-smacking, screeching and grunts made by their translating machine as it attempted to transform her intelligent, yet simple words into their limited form of communication.
"Uh, okay, well, uh as a representative of..."
"Your origin is known, are you functional and can you labour for us?"
The dull faces turned to each other, fleshy visual orbs trying to form a coherent thought between them. Zabrell almost expected them to start mooing at each other. A brief wave of amusement washed over her before she squashed it - she only knew about mooing due to a misunderstanding earlier in their races' initial contact. It wasn't easy to determine which flesh sack was the dominate ones on their dreadful little world.
"We are... our people are functional. As for labour... depends on what you want us to do," it gasped at her, using its life-sustaining respiratory system as a method of expressing itself. How these creatures got beyond the nuclear stage was so far beyond Zabrell as to be completely mystifying.
At her summons, sa-Zabrell-lo, daughter of Zabrell, entered the environment-equalizer chamber and stood on their side of the environmental divide, the device held in front of her.
"You are versed in macrodelinealtransitive substrate manipulation?"
Again, the moon faces stared at each other. sa-Zabrell-lo's displeasure was clearly on display, requiring that Zabrell reminded her of her place.
The one with long yellow fur and a misshapen torso replied. "We got the brief you sent, but I can't say we really have a firm grasp on... uh, some of the core principles... as yet."
"Then you are not functional," Zabrell began to leave, eager to end this waste of time.
"Wait! Hold your horses!" The dark furred one in the back said in what was supposed to be a loud tone. Zabrell had no idea what a "horses" was or how they were supposed to be held. She did pause however. She had been warned that these creatures were not direct and tended to conversationally wander around until they eventually stumbled onto a point, likely by accident. "We didn't say we couldn't... do it. Whatever it is. Just give us a chance to see what's what, okay?"
She turned back. sa-Zabrell-lo placed the device onto a hovering tray and let it glide across the bio-filtering environmental field that divide the room. It gracefully floated to the red furred beast until he abruptly halted it. The tray was unaccustomed to such a brutish obstruction, and shook a bit. The device fortunately remained still and the tray recovered its balance.
sa-Zabrell-lo left the room. She had better duties to attend to than this farce.
"Maybe if you can give us a quick... uh, simple summary of the brief..."
While annoyed, Zabrell was willing to entertain this lunacy. Where the matron leads...
After several moments of explanation, the humans interrupted her.
"Uh, maybe a bit... uh, simpler?"
Zabrell paused. How much more simple did they want? She began again.
"Sorry... so sorry but... maybe.. a little simpler?"
An infant should have gotten it by now. How to make this even simpler...
"It makes ships go faster."
"Faster than your current technology?"
"Yes."
"How much faster?"
"Now."
"... you mean instantly? Instant travel?"
"From a perspective, yes"
"Like... teleportation?"
Zabrell consulted her lexicon of stupid things humans say.
"Not from the perspective of the traveller."
They grunted and mumbled at each other for a bit.
"So... folding space-time?"
"Folding..." she couldn't believe the idiocy in everything they just said. "Yes. You could think of it as... folding... space-time."
"Neat," the dark furred one spoke again. Zabrell did not see the relationship of the statement to the dialogue, and so ignored it. "So what's the problem?"
Zabrell began explaining the issue they were experiencing with the device and how it was supposed to function, until she was interrupted again for another request of simplicity.
"It's broken," she said.
"Hmm," they said.
"It doesn't work."
"Have you tried turning it off and back on again?" They asked.
"It never worked."
"Ohhhhh," they said. Zabrell swore they were mooing at her.
"Can you function and labour?"
"We can take a crack at it. But we're going to need some resources... and payment?"
Payment? The foolishness and short-sightedness of the statement was absurd.
"You will have the technology, which is payment sufficient," she said, stating the obvious.
"Right, right... and resources?"
"You will be given three moons to conduct research on. You will have the material needs of your biology and research equipment met. Is this sufficient?"
They spoke amongst themselves. Their perception of time was as truncated as their lifespans, and their biology seemed to necessitate a rest, fuel and the expelling of waste. They left the room to address their irritating needs while Zabrell mused over this ridiculous situation. How her great and glorious empire has come to this end, to these grotesque apes, in this dismal arm of the galaxy, was beyond her. They had conquered the stars. They had skimmed the surfaces of now-dead stars. How could they not master this? Why come to the rubes of the galaxy, who had never accomplished a fraction of what they had done? Zabrell was almost a third of the age of their entire race. How could they possibly contribute?
They had returned, adorned with different fabrics. Zabrell hadn't noticed their entrance.
"Well let's pick up where we left off," red-fur said. Zabrell was unsure what required picking up, as nothing had been set down. The tray still hovered with the device resting on it, on the human side of the divide.
"We have 'left off' only a timetable," Zabrell stated. "In your cycles, you have 132 orbits to complete your task. The timeline is tight and cannot be negotiated. Can you comply?"
"Uh.. yeah. Yeah, sure. 132 years? Sure that sounds... good."
"Your laboratories will be available prior to your arrival at the test sites. Do you require further information?"
"Uh... no, I think we're good to go," red fur replied.
"One question, if y'all are ladies, how do you reproduce?" The dark-furred creature asked moronically. Red-fur grabbed the front of dark-fur's garment and started pulling it towards the exit.
"We become male based on need. Is this relevant?"
"No, sorry to bother you, thank you so much for your hospitality," red fur wet-smacked at Zabrell. "C'mon Gary, jeez..."
Ridiculous creatures.
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[WP] Humans aren't generally that advanced but their engineering capabilities are one of the top within the galaxy, since they are so stubborn. This has led to the saying "Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it a few months and it will become effective."
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"God damn technophilliac pigheaded pink-skinned bastards the whole lot of them". I thought as I was informed that once again some of the Human crew decided some component of the ship that existed outside of their department required a major overhaul.
"How long have they been at it, ensign?"
"Several hours, Sir."
"Why was I only informed now?"
"They promised the chief engineer they'd get the food replicator to make various recreational substances."
Figures as much.
I couldn’t help, but think of the paperwork I'd have to get through to resolve this incident. I pushed the 4-eyed ensign away with perhaps more force that would be appropriate when interacting with someone from a low-gravity planet, but there was no point in stopping. The lights where flickering, long-range coms where down, and the Ship AI had begun screaming in my ear. Apparently, it too had been duped. I walked down a corridor to find an elevator only to see it lockeddown followed by a bright flash of light. I was now standing in a large storage room surrounded by cheering Humans, various consoles, plus what looked to be the dismantled remains or various replicators and an FTL drive. I think I understand now why human litters are atypically small.
I stared confused as to how I came to be here.
"I demand an explanation!"
The room became quite, followed by some giggling.
A human said "We, thought the elevators where broken"
"AND!" I asked loudly
"Well, we fixed them, sortof"
"It wasn't hard, the Emullians recently made their own at a research outpost. They shared the schematics and research."
As he rambled on I was both amazed and dumbfounded at the realization. These deficient backwater meatbags just jury-rigged a teleporter out of an ftl drive and some food replicators.
"How are you powering all this?" I asked wearily.
A smaller human raised their slightly shaking hand as their face beamed with a prideful smile
"That was my idea! We created a singularity"
Several of the humans must have realized something was wrong as their expressions changed. My skin flushed a subtle hue of blue and without realizing it I had expanded slightly.
Her voice wavered as she said.
"It's contained inside that box over there."
I stood there aghast
Dear vok'a I'm standing just a few meters away from a singularity. Even the ship Ai grew silent now.
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[WP] Humans aren't generally that advanced but their engineering capabilities are one of the top within the galaxy, since they are so stubborn. This has led to the saying "Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it a few months and it will become effective."
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“Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it a few months and it will become effective” - Antarii Proverb
Ryn stood on the deck, letting the vast silence of space inhabit her being. She spent many a night like this since becoming the Captain of the No’s Andrei- one of the faster ships of the line the Alliance had to offer. It had been ten years to the day since she had her first human come on her crew, and this anniversary felt special, she just needed a moment. Today would be hard:
She was Captain Ryn Lantares, a blue skinned Antarii who had risen to the ranks of Captain within the alliance fleet in record time. She was the top of her class at the academy and a decorated veteran by the time she got her first command: the frigate No’s Andrei. She didn’t want humans on her ship. She knew some from the academy and found them rude, vulgar, reckless and short lived. But orders were orders and the Antarii are sticklers for compliance.
His name is Char-lie or that is what he said she could call him. He said he despised the name Chu’uck before he went rambling on about the middle name his mother gave him. Something about liking some device beyond ancient called a telephone. He amused Ryn and she merely called him Chief and set him to work in the engine room.
He’d done spectacular things. He’d get the FTL up in record times with work arounds that appeared frighteningly dangerous. When questioned he’d simply grin and tell her that it’s only dangerous if it breaks- which it never did.
He was often the officer of the watch for the dog watch as he called it right before she was officially to come on deck. But she would come in and he’d brief her on the evening and the next days challenges. But mostly he talked about home his family and asked her questions about the universe and it’s history. She humored him at first, like one does a pet puppy so that it would eventually leave her alone. But he never did.
She in turn shared things that she spoke to no one of. Her father who was lost in the forging wars, her family. Dreams and aspirations. Before Char-lie she was considered a cold officer- but over the years she had warmed up and found herself doing what most of her species tries to stay away from.
Caring.
Today was ten years since his coming on and since his own fixing of machinery long since thought dead and not worth use. Her Commander alerted her it was time and so with a tear threatening her eye lid she stiffened her resolve and turned
“Is he there?”
A nod from her subordinate and she followed.
——
The doors to the chapel opened. Such a human thing, it was fitting she would meet him here once more.
The other officers and enlisted stood at attention as she locked eyes with the chaplain, struggling to keep her composure. Down the aisle she walked her light blue skin in sharp contrast to the deep sea grey dress uniform. They had at least dressed him in dress reds, something she never saw him in. When she got to the end of the aisle she reached down and took his hand, as tears readily spilled.
His hand squeezed back as Charlie, Lieutenant Charles A Jay now, looked up for she was taller than him.
“You look gorgeous.”
And then the Chaplain spoke
“Beloved and Crew, we are gathered here today..”
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Here's a cool thought experiment. See if you can figure out how humanity was able to progress to where we are starting with only naked, ignorant Man and basically dirt, rocks, trees, water, plants, and animals. Is there a way to logically account for the existence of the modern society from that beginning?
Yes! The answer is the creative process. It's not magical or mysterious or inscrutable. It's iterative. For the sake of clarity let's imagine a scenario where at the very beginning of human progress those 1st people looked around their environment for a while and were able to percieve and distinguish say 20 different distinct forms of physical material they might be able to manipulate and mold into something useful using the only motive force around back them - their own physical strength and capacity for work. Now there is a limit to the number of ways you can combine those 20 things and that might lead one to reason (incorrectly) that the hard limit on the number of ways we can combine those materials it also an external condition that necessarily limits the extent of human progress because there is a limited number or new "things" we can invent, build, create, because it is all predicated on what materials are available to build with and the amounts. Logically we know both are finite and limited... however...
We are things which are alive and that means the state our universe exists in is a wholly dynamic one. Renewal, regeneration, rebirth, constant change, constant flux, constant newness. Every time we take existent things and make something brand new that thing didnt just solve a practical problem nor is it's value and usefulness limited to that. It is much more valuable when it is reintroduced into the creative process as a new starting material we can add to existing things which increases our combinations. By applying an iterative process we remove all limits to what we can invent, all limits on the number of possible solutions we can discover for every new problem(s) which continually emerge unforseen (due to the Law of Unintended consequences and the intrinsic limitations on the amount of information we can store and process as a consequence of our biology.
And that explains how it was possible for humans to get where we are starting with just dirt, trees, and water and in a literal state of total ignorance and without any existing external structures to help.
That fact alone (our history and what we've been able to do) is almost incontrovertible evidence that we will find practical, functional solutions to *every single practical problem we encounter. Every. One.* They will be suboptimal and new problems will emerge as a result but guess What!!!??? We will fix those too.
This also explains why every single doomsday prophecy put forth which is predicated on the idea that things like overpopulation, running out of resources, climate change are intractable and unsolvable problems have failed utterly to materialize. They are based on propositions and premises which, quite frankly, are galactically stupid and are directly contradicted by factual human history and what we observe happening around us.
What that analysis fails to discern and therefore doesn't take into account is the fact that life necessarily exists in a *dynamic* state. Constant change and flux. We observe that it is in continual *motion*. (Now think on this... an obvious logical implication which is extremely germane to humanity right now is the how "equality" and "utopia" fundamentally contradict living systems. They both only exist in the static state. The state of permanence. The death state. The dream of a utopia is rooted in the idea that there is a "perfect" way to organize society. There is that humans are perfectable. By it's definition for something to remain perfect it *must* cease to change one iota. In a very real and literal sense there can be nothing can live or be alive if equality and/or perfection are present. They are forms of permanence and statis. Unchanging and unchangeable, complete, every outcome known and fixed, infinite repetition and sameness, nothing to discover, explore, no need to create, innovate, invent, no need for ingenuity, imagination, and creativity, no new art of any kind, no unknowns to pursue, no new horizons, no uncertainty, no risk, no freedom, nothing to be curious about, nothing to analyze or critique or debate, no more new and original insights or ideas to pursue (it contradicts the idea of perfection. By definition if something is perfect there is no purpose or point to seek for something else as it would always be inferior.)
Think on that next time you hear someone agitating for a society based on the principle of equality or tries to persuade that Utopia (communism is often concieved as being a Utopia and human society perfected) is not only possible but must be pursued and worked towards as some sort of moral good.
Pursuing those ideas can only end in mass abject human misery, despair, confusion, and total enervation. They are concepts incompatible with life, fecundity, Renewal, regrowth, rebirth, newness, creation, creativity and creating (all new art emerges from the dynamic state) , imagination, ingenuity, adventure, curiosity, discovery, etc, etc....
Imagine a world devoid of those things. A static world. Nothing changes. Every day the same. Everyone the same. Everyone a fungible interchangeable anonymous carbon unit. Everything known. Every action and experience of your entire life known in advance. Everyone gets the exact same portion. No one allowed to excel above the exact median average in anything. Think of all the potential wasted!!
A ghoulish nightmare.
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[WP] Humans aren't generally that advanced but their engineering capabilities are one of the top within the galaxy, since they are so stubborn. This has led to the saying "Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it a few months and it will become effective."
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"So, how does it normally work?"
Champluru (as the mammalian laborers called him with their forced air communications) swung around slowly to face them. While doing so, he calculated the five most likely time frames for rescue by another ship, the food rations set aside for the ship's complement, and how many members may have to be put down in order to maintain a working crew. The numbers for the mammals were especially bad.
Accessing one of the ship's basic functions, Champluru pushed the thought-explanation into the universal translator. Moments later, bright lights wrote out a detailed explanation, reorganized into the laborer's own language.
"The drive engine only works along pre-designed courses? What happens when you get off course?"
It was a rough idea, ignoring the complexities of fifth dimensional hyper string loops, which the mammals had trouble seeing. He rotated the idea in his mind a few times while a new explanation showed that another ship could pull a stranded vessel back onto what the translator referred to as a "hyperspace highway" for the sake of the mammals.
"What happens if another ship doesn't come by? You just float out here?"
A simple assent approved of the laborer's understanding.
"What if we found a way to move the ship back onto the highway? Do you mind if we give it a try?"
A red flushing through Champluru's main lobe showed his mirth. Several moments passed before he could compose his thoughts into consent, tinged with humor. For some reason, the translator showed an image of a larger laborer running his upper arms through the thicker top hair of a younger laborer, then presenting what Champluru had learned as the "thumb's up" gesture of approval.
The laborer seemed to dislike the image, but then nodded and moved out of the pilot's deck.
---------
Champluru drifted down into engineering. He had heard from other members of the crew that the laborer's had taken up residence down in the section since the ship had moved off coruse, and were expending more energy then usual down there. It was a poor idea, since their food was limited, and he wanted to make it clear to the mammals that their numbers may have to be diminished if any of them were to survive.
The engineering section was far warmer then usual - almost uncomfortably hot, and the air currents were being unusually volatile, causing movement to require a great deal more effort then normal. Any irritation was quickly forgotten as he glided into the engine room. Most of the engine itself had been dissembled, and floating above each piece was a diagram-explanation, written in light. Clearly the ship had realized that the mammals needed constant reminders of what each did. One of the weapons arrays also appeared to be taken apart, despite it having nothing to do with the engine.
What was even more shocking, though, was the light image of a laborer's face in the middle of the room. It appeared to be slightly larger then the average size of a laborer's torso, and one of the mammals was speaking to it. Rather then respond in light-explanations, the face appeared to access some of the ship's speakers in order to communicate back.
Shock must have been visible upon Champluru as he floated up, as the flesh-laborer pointed at the light-laborer-face and explained, "We got tired of reading long explanations while working, so we reworked the translator to use vocal responses. It was weird having a displaced voice, so we had it generate a face, too."
It wasn't exactly a brillant move, but Champluru could see how the mammals, still somewhat primitive in their thought-beliefs, could be comforted by such an image. Turning away from the strangely large light construct, he began to explain about the food reserves being limited. Trying to be gentle with the laborers, he hinted around the exact time frames until one of them asked directly how long food would last. Sighing, Champluru sadly detailed the most likely time frames, given the crew size, and suggested that such time frames could be lengthened if the crew were to shrink.
Laughter wasn't exactly what he expected in response to this situation.
"You have enough rations to last us all one hundred and eighty years? If we don't have it fixed by then, you can explain it to our great great grandkids, buddy."
It took a moment for the universal translator to push the thought to Champluru, then a moment longer for it to add a note showing the mammalian laborer's natural lifespan (increased by the ship's advanced medicine, but still very short). Champluru began to understand why these laborer's wanted to get the ship moving so quickly. Most of them would be long dead if they waited for rescue!
Having expressed the necessary information (even if it suddenly seemed less relevant), he began the slow and laborious movements necessary to return to his section of the ship, seemingly so far removed now from these short lived creatures.
---------
A jolt shocked Champluru out of his reverie. Having nothing but time, he had wandered back through pleasant memories in order to re experience, and perhaps re examine, the choices that had brought him here. The sudden physical sensation removed him from it.
Accessing the guidance systems, Champluru was stunned to see that the ship had not been struck by anything. Instead, the ship had moved itself. According to the guidance system, they were now near the outermost orbiting body of the nearest star from their previous location. Close enough that the planetary body was exerting a slight gravity on the ship.
Logs showed that the main drive had been activated mere moments ago, before shutting down abruptly. Champluru went to activate the internal communications system, before noticing another log attached to the first. One of the weapons arrays had also activated, although not fired, nearly simultaneously with the engine. He quickly recognized that it was the same array that the mammals had taken apart during his visit to the engineering section some months earlier.
Internal communications showed that engineering was full of smoke and moving mammals, a few swearing, some injured, and all of which appeared dirty, staggering around the room. One of them moved over to the communications window.
"We think we know what went wrong. We're going to need to use two more of the weapons systems to get a point targeting system, but the next time it should work."
Translation created a single symbol in the air in front of the laborer - a question mark.
"Once everyone is patched up, I'll let you know what's what. The ship can probably explain it pretty well. I think the AI is a lot smarter then you all have been letting on."
Apparently exhausting his communication air pouch, the laborer moved over to help his injured companions. Champluru quickly moved the thoughts of the laborer's safety to another portion of his mind, to be checked on once the medical facility had treated them. Instead, he turned his attention to the ship's main processor, and began questioning what had been done to allow the ship to move in such a manner.
The mammals were using the engines to move at angles AWAY from the string loops. Instead of traveling along them until the ship arrived at a intersection of loops, the mammals were directing the engines to push against the string until the ship detached and hurtled, stringless, at a distant point. They had used the targetting system to plot out trajectories towards another string! The reason the first attempt had failed was that the targeting array couldn't maintain a lock on the string they were on, the string they were aiming for, and the intervening materials at the same time.
Champluru had to sublimate these understandings for a moment. It was incredibly reckless (so many areas were unmapped, and sometimes strings simply ended randomly, leaving ships in the same situation they had started in). However, if it worked...
For a moment, Champluru had a troubling premonition. These creatures had only just begun to travel outside their system, and couldn't begin to comprehend the higher level dimensionalities responsible for intergalactic travel, and yet...they had just possibly solved the problem of being stringless. Given time and their relentless drive, what other things could they overcome?
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Once upon a time, there was a young boy who would live forever. As he grew older, the technology around him expanded and improved to where immortality became possible. Now this young boy was very stubborn, and he enjoyed solving puzzles. So stubborn was he in fact, that he at one point created his own puzzle pieces to fill in the gaps of one with missing pieces. Now at age 200, a century of education, and an existential crisis, he now faced the greatest puzzle of them all.
How can one live forever with no meaning?
He had grown bored with learning. He had learned the most abstract of mathematics, the most intricate details of physics, and had studied human nature both as an individual and as a collective. He had an almost perfect understanding of the world around him from the smallest indivisible components of the universe to the largest constructs in our reality. He had learned everything there was to learn, loved everything there was to love, and enjoyed everything there was to enjoy.
But yet the problem remained. How is one to continue beating one's own heart when there is nothing to beat for?
Now the boy knew that no matter what, the answer was to keep the heart beating. It did not matter what the results or the answer to the puzzle was, the heart must keep beating. So every morning as the sun rose over his perfect civilization, his heart continued to beat, yet his eyes never left the ceiling or the sky. Always looking up, always looking out, always hoping that something new and interesting would come along to give him that same sense of wonder he had as a young boy.
Another century passed. His family had gone on to whatever happened once the heart has stopped. Humans around him we're dropping like flies as the great puzzle of boredom begin to slip its claws into the soul of humanity. And yet this stubborn man refused to die. A century of puzzling on this problem had left him without hair and without human contact. The body around his heart had begun to decay and disintegrate, yet he still took in air and he still pushed forward through time.
Finally, at his wit's end, he brought out that old puzzle. The machine that is life's meaning had broken down completely for him, and he began to understand that he did not know how to solve that puzzle. So he did what any good engineer would do, he went back to basics. The puzzle was a picture of a woman. Not a specific woman, but a goddess of some ancient forgotten faith. It was clear that this woman was not supernatural, but that her face was based on a living, breathing person. The puzzle piece that was missing was a ring upon her finger. He had created one himself, and given it to the puzzle as an offering of completion.
Finally, The Epiphany hit him. He began to make his own puzzles. He offered them for free to anyone who would take them. He offered the journey that he once took. The years spent in toil and misery to finally come to that moment of Nirvana. He was always careful to leave out a piece or two.
To engineer a meaning for his life, one need only stubbornness and determination. And that alone can be worth living for.
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[WP] Humans aren't generally that advanced but their engineering capabilities are one of the top within the galaxy, since they are so stubborn. This has led to the saying "Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it a few months and it will become effective."
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"'Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it time, and that machine will become effective.' Who here has heard this phrase?" A few hands in the lecture hall were tentatively raised. "Good good. For those of you who haven't it is said that the most salient evolutionary feature of the human is their ability to engineer. Any problem no matter how trivial or insurmountable can be solved by man if enough time is given." The visiting lecturer paced the lecture hall as he spoke.
"When humans entered the Inter-Galactic Union they were quickly mixed into every culture, peoples, and company as the engineers in chief. The technological marvels developed for the I.G.U. by the humans were wonderful and with them quality of life rapidly increased beyond even the wildest of hopes. This all changed soon enough. You see not everyone was thrilled with the human activity and many cultures now brought to the height of comfort through human engineering began to tighten regulations on the activities of humans. Soon whole cities, continents, even planets were barred from the humans. In the height of their decadence the many members of the IGU forgot who brought them their technology."
"As tensions rose the humans began to fight back but as they didn't have the numbers, the knack for politics, or the weapons this proved ineffectual in all but one way. The only effect was that disdain for humans turned into hostility and punitive actions were taken against the human empire. Finally after a brutal war the humans were quarantined and locked away in their own sector of the galaxy, not before they had killed of half the sentient races in the IGU with their most brilliantly engineered weapon of all time. They called it the 'small pox blanket'"
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Once upon a time, there was a young boy who would live forever. As he grew older, the technology around him expanded and improved to where immortality became possible. Now this young boy was very stubborn, and he enjoyed solving puzzles. So stubborn was he in fact, that he at one point created his own puzzle pieces to fill in the gaps of one with missing pieces. Now at age 200, a century of education, and an existential crisis, he now faced the greatest puzzle of them all.
How can one live forever with no meaning?
He had grown bored with learning. He had learned the most abstract of mathematics, the most intricate details of physics, and had studied human nature both as an individual and as a collective. He had an almost perfect understanding of the world around him from the smallest indivisible components of the universe to the largest constructs in our reality. He had learned everything there was to learn, loved everything there was to love, and enjoyed everything there was to enjoy.
But yet the problem remained. How is one to continue beating one's own heart when there is nothing to beat for?
Now the boy knew that no matter what, the answer was to keep the heart beating. It did not matter what the results or the answer to the puzzle was, the heart must keep beating. So every morning as the sun rose over his perfect civilization, his heart continued to beat, yet his eyes never left the ceiling or the sky. Always looking up, always looking out, always hoping that something new and interesting would come along to give him that same sense of wonder he had as a young boy.
Another century passed. His family had gone on to whatever happened once the heart has stopped. Humans around him we're dropping like flies as the great puzzle of boredom begin to slip its claws into the soul of humanity. And yet this stubborn man refused to die. A century of puzzling on this problem had left him without hair and without human contact. The body around his heart had begun to decay and disintegrate, yet he still took in air and he still pushed forward through time.
Finally, at his wit's end, he brought out that old puzzle. The machine that is life's meaning had broken down completely for him, and he began to understand that he did not know how to solve that puzzle. So he did what any good engineer would do, he went back to basics. The puzzle was a picture of a woman. Not a specific woman, but a goddess of some ancient forgotten faith. It was clear that this woman was not supernatural, but that her face was based on a living, breathing person. The puzzle piece that was missing was a ring upon her finger. He had created one himself, and given it to the puzzle as an offering of completion.
Finally, The Epiphany hit him. He began to make his own puzzles. He offered them for free to anyone who would take them. He offered the journey that he once took. The years spent in toil and misery to finally come to that moment of Nirvana. He was always careful to leave out a piece or two.
To engineer a meaning for his life, one need only stubbornness and determination. And that alone can be worth living for.
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[WP] Humans aren't generally that advanced but their engineering capabilities are one of the top within the galaxy, since they are so stubborn. This has led to the saying "Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it a few months and it will become effective."
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Hank excitedly jammed the final rod nearly, but not quite into place.
He lowered his headphones to his shoulders and took a brief moment to beam a little pride at his work. Slowly, he pushed his feet against the floor, leaning his seat back until he was nearly laying flat. He paused, smiling as his unkempt hair spilled around the sides of the chair’s headrest, snaking down in greasy ropes.
Staring up, he flicked a small picture of a woman that dangled from a necklace taped to the ceiling. It twirled around, flashing from a smiling face to a heart drawn in red ink on the back. He looked over at the wall to his left and scrawled a large, diagonal strike through four vertical lines. He didn’t bother counting them all today.
He squared his shoulders, breathing in with deep intensity, “HEY! GARY!” he shouted towards the ceiling, “GARY, MAN, I GOTTA QUESTION!”
Hank crossed his fingers over his chest as he waited for a response. He poised himself with something that resembled patience, but clearly wasn’t. His head, slowly and just slightly, shook side to side as he closed his eyes and sighed.
Minutes ticked by, unnoticed.
His head continued moving to and fro, eyes lazily shut. It might have started as a show of exasperation, but any original intent had been forgotten. Hank lead with his jaw, keeping time with the tinny electronic kick twumping from the headphones around the base of his neck.
A silver porthole high above, about the size of a basketball, silently came to life. It slide open, then closed a bit, adjusting a few more times like an iris focusing in the dark. A similarly sized iris belonging to a much larger eye was revealed. It blinked at him.
Hank’s hair still swayed in tangled batches, somewhat in time with a barely audible rhythm. The owner of eye above watched Hank’s head bob aimlessly in new directions, clumps of hair swinging into and bouncing off of each other. It imagined the tentacles of a wooly octopus that had seen things it couldn’t unsee, stuck fast to a rail thin idiot.
Minutes ticked by.
Two large eyelids narrowed from behind the porthole.
“What.” A restrained voice nearly\-calmly boomed. A deep vibration swam though everything, as though the whole of the room was speaking.
“Hey! Gary!” Hank exclaimed, immediately wide\-eyed. His hands bolted above his head as his legs kicked his chair around, sitting up. The eye narrowed in a way that implied it was towing a frown behind it, but didn’t have the energy to set it up. Hank leaned back deeply from his new orientation, resuming the exact same upward\-facing position as before.
“What.” Gary repeated.
Hank excitedly gestured to nothing in particular, “So, great news first of all, everything is up and running! The comms are patched, the positioning relay is active, and the forward guns charged and ready to rock!”
The eye seemed to look inward for a moment, as though desperately hoping someone would push it out of the way so it could graciously allow them finish this conversation instead.
The room hung in silence.
The eye squinted slightly.
A sigh reverberated through the room.
“Great, Hank. That’s—it’s—good . . . That’s great. So what, then,” the eye winced as a knowing frown grew giddy for its turn, “So it . . . it sounds an awful lot like you’re done . . . That we’re done . . . So what’s the question?”
“Well, Gary, I’ve been here for . . . I dunno . . . Four, five, months?”
“Seven. But, if you’re done,” Gary paused, “with everything . . . we’re headed straight back.”
“Right. Seven. So, with all the time you gave me to work on everything . . . generously gave me, I might add . . . I mean, look, when you tore me right out of my wife’s arms . . . And you did say that was unfortunate, in all fairness, what happened to her I mean . . . just before you stuck me in here with vague instructions to patch up a—“
The room shook hideously as the eye narrowed to a nearly two-dimensional slit, its voice erupted,“WHAT. IS. THE. QUESTION.”
Hank smiled, swinging his fist up over his head and into the panel he’d been working on. A small rod slammed into place, causing a blue line above it to glow. A faint hum could be heard as the line stretched along the panel towards a small circular marking near the top. The large eye above followed along as it sped towards its destination.
A frantic pounding crashed down on the ceiling, the entire surface pulsing inwards. Hank couldn’t help but imagine it as a steel\-plated, panicked, heartbeat. A growl, guttural and bestial, erupted from beyond the porthole above, “WHAT. HAVE. YOU. DONE.”
The blue line blinked out.
“Right, so Gary, like I was saying—What do you think happens when the schematics for everything I’ve been working on finally reach Earth?”
A small, polite voice announced “Data transmission successful.”
“Along with our coordinates.”
A small, polite voice announced again “Relay complete.”
“And your guns.”
The voice seemed endlessly small and polite as it further announced, “Pod jettisoned.”
The eye trembled and the porthole zipped shut. Faintly, Hank could hear a small voice from the other side repeating “Disabled” and “Access denied” in between Gary’s angry and incomprehensible shouting. Something crashed hard onto the ceiling.
The porthole reopened. The eye was narrow. A rhythmic, angry pounding was causing the porthole to shudder. It’s metal framing, now outlining Gary’s entire eye, crawled with growing stress fractures. It was only a matter of time, they both knew.
Hank closed his eyes and bobbed his head, his hair dancing in time with the rich thundering of its deep bass.
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Once upon a time, there was a young boy who would live forever. As he grew older, the technology around him expanded and improved to where immortality became possible. Now this young boy was very stubborn, and he enjoyed solving puzzles. So stubborn was he in fact, that he at one point created his own puzzle pieces to fill in the gaps of one with missing pieces. Now at age 200, a century of education, and an existential crisis, he now faced the greatest puzzle of them all.
How can one live forever with no meaning?
He had grown bored with learning. He had learned the most abstract of mathematics, the most intricate details of physics, and had studied human nature both as an individual and as a collective. He had an almost perfect understanding of the world around him from the smallest indivisible components of the universe to the largest constructs in our reality. He had learned everything there was to learn, loved everything there was to love, and enjoyed everything there was to enjoy.
But yet the problem remained. How is one to continue beating one's own heart when there is nothing to beat for?
Now the boy knew that no matter what, the answer was to keep the heart beating. It did not matter what the results or the answer to the puzzle was, the heart must keep beating. So every morning as the sun rose over his perfect civilization, his heart continued to beat, yet his eyes never left the ceiling or the sky. Always looking up, always looking out, always hoping that something new and interesting would come along to give him that same sense of wonder he had as a young boy.
Another century passed. His family had gone on to whatever happened once the heart has stopped. Humans around him we're dropping like flies as the great puzzle of boredom begin to slip its claws into the soul of humanity. And yet this stubborn man refused to die. A century of puzzling on this problem had left him without hair and without human contact. The body around his heart had begun to decay and disintegrate, yet he still took in air and he still pushed forward through time.
Finally, at his wit's end, he brought out that old puzzle. The machine that is life's meaning had broken down completely for him, and he began to understand that he did not know how to solve that puzzle. So he did what any good engineer would do, he went back to basics. The puzzle was a picture of a woman. Not a specific woman, but a goddess of some ancient forgotten faith. It was clear that this woman was not supernatural, but that her face was based on a living, breathing person. The puzzle piece that was missing was a ring upon her finger. He had created one himself, and given it to the puzzle as an offering of completion.
Finally, The Epiphany hit him. He began to make his own puzzles. He offered them for free to anyone who would take them. He offered the journey that he once took. The years spent in toil and misery to finally come to that moment of Nirvana. He was always careful to leave out a piece or two.
To engineer a meaning for his life, one need only stubbornness and determination. And that alone can be worth living for.
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[WP] Humans aren't generally that advanced but their engineering capabilities are one of the top within the galaxy, since they are so stubborn. This has led to the saying "Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it a few months and it will become effective."
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Zabrell was annoyed.
She had been assigned all manner of things by her matron in the past, but this time it was different. Never had she felt that her actions were so useless or worthless. Under all the holy stars, why her matron thought talking with, let alone *working with* the humans was worthwhile, was beyond her. And yet, where the matron leads, the daughter follows, which is how she found herself standing in an environment-equalizer chamber, waiting for an ape.
Turns out, there were three apes, stubby yet spindly, with rough patches of fur on their bodies. Fortunately they kept most of their body wrapped in synthetic fibers so she didn't have to see if the rest of their bodies were as patchy as their heads. They jerkily stumbled to a halt, about three metres from the dividing bio-field, proving to Zabrell that, despite appearances, they actually did have control of their personal mobility.
"Uh, greetings, uh..." one of them started stupidly, its round face and dully glassy visual orbs sticking out of white flesh and patches of red fur. It looked sicker than the others, with red dots all over its white skin. Maybe it was dying. She had heard that they had extremely short lifespans. Perhaps that is why there were three of them, in case one of them died before the end of this meeting.
"Your greetings are received but unnecessary, we require a task of you," she politely stated. She could hear the wet meat-smacking, screeching and grunts made by their translating machine as it attempted to transform her intelligent, yet simple words into their limited form of communication.
"Uh, okay, well, uh as a representative of..."
"Your origin is known, are you functional and can you labour for us?"
The dull faces turned to each other, fleshy visual orbs trying to form a coherent thought between them. Zabrell almost expected them to start mooing at each other. A brief wave of amusement washed over her before she squashed it - she only knew about mooing due to a misunderstanding earlier in their races' initial contact. It wasn't easy to determine which flesh sack was the dominate ones on their dreadful little world.
"We are... our people are functional. As for labour... depends on what you want us to do," it gasped at her, using its life-sustaining respiratory system as a method of expressing itself. How these creatures got beyond the nuclear stage was so far beyond Zabrell as to be completely mystifying.
At her summons, sa-Zabrell-lo, daughter of Zabrell, entered the environment-equalizer chamber and stood on their side of the environmental divide, the device held in front of her.
"You are versed in macrodelinealtransitive substrate manipulation?"
Again, the moon faces stared at each other. sa-Zabrell-lo's displeasure was clearly on display, requiring that Zabrell reminded her of her place.
The one with long yellow fur and a misshapen torso replied. "We got the brief you sent, but I can't say we really have a firm grasp on... uh, some of the core principles... as yet."
"Then you are not functional," Zabrell began to leave, eager to end this waste of time.
"Wait! Hold your horses!" The dark furred one in the back said in what was supposed to be a loud tone. Zabrell had no idea what a "horses" was or how they were supposed to be held. She did pause however. She had been warned that these creatures were not direct and tended to conversationally wander around until they eventually stumbled onto a point, likely by accident. "We didn't say we couldn't... do it. Whatever it is. Just give us a chance to see what's what, okay?"
She turned back. sa-Zabrell-lo placed the device onto a hovering tray and let it glide across the bio-filtering environmental field that divide the room. It gracefully floated to the red furred beast until he abruptly halted it. The tray was unaccustomed to such a brutish obstruction, and shook a bit. The device fortunately remained still and the tray recovered its balance.
sa-Zabrell-lo left the room. She had better duties to attend to than this farce.
"Maybe if you can give us a quick... uh, simple summary of the brief..."
While annoyed, Zabrell was willing to entertain this lunacy. Where the matron leads...
After several moments of explanation, the humans interrupted her.
"Uh, maybe a bit... uh, simpler?"
Zabrell paused. How much more simple did they want? She began again.
"Sorry... so sorry but... maybe.. a little simpler?"
An infant should have gotten it by now. How to make this even simpler...
"It makes ships go faster."
"Faster than your current technology?"
"Yes."
"How much faster?"
"Now."
"... you mean instantly? Instant travel?"
"From a perspective, yes"
"Like... teleportation?"
Zabrell consulted her lexicon of stupid things humans say.
"Not from the perspective of the traveller."
They grunted and mumbled at each other for a bit.
"So... folding space-time?"
"Folding..." she couldn't believe the idiocy in everything they just said. "Yes. You could think of it as... folding... space-time."
"Neat," the dark furred one spoke again. Zabrell did not see the relationship of the statement to the dialogue, and so ignored it. "So what's the problem?"
Zabrell began explaining the issue they were experiencing with the device and how it was supposed to function, until she was interrupted again for another request of simplicity.
"It's broken," she said.
"Hmm," they said.
"It doesn't work."
"Have you tried turning it off and back on again?" They asked.
"It never worked."
"Ohhhhh," they said. Zabrell swore they were mooing at her.
"Can you function and labour?"
"We can take a crack at it. But we're going to need some resources... and payment?"
Payment? The foolishness and short-sightedness of the statement was absurd.
"You will have the technology, which is payment sufficient," she said, stating the obvious.
"Right, right... and resources?"
"You will be given three moons to conduct research on. You will have the material needs of your biology and research equipment met. Is this sufficient?"
They spoke amongst themselves. Their perception of time was as truncated as their lifespans, and their biology seemed to necessitate a rest, fuel and the expelling of waste. They left the room to address their irritating needs while Zabrell mused over this ridiculous situation. How her great and glorious empire has come to this end, to these grotesque apes, in this dismal arm of the galaxy, was beyond her. They had conquered the stars. They had skimmed the surfaces of now-dead stars. How could they not master this? Why come to the rubes of the galaxy, who had never accomplished a fraction of what they had done? Zabrell was almost a third of the age of their entire race. How could they possibly contribute?
They had returned, adorned with different fabrics. Zabrell hadn't noticed their entrance.
"Well let's pick up where we left off," red-fur said. Zabrell was unsure what required picking up, as nothing had been set down. The tray still hovered with the device resting on it, on the human side of the divide.
"We have 'left off' only a timetable," Zabrell stated. "In your cycles, you have 132 orbits to complete your task. The timeline is tight and cannot be negotiated. Can you comply?"
"Uh.. yeah. Yeah, sure. 132 years? Sure that sounds... good."
"Your laboratories will be available prior to your arrival at the test sites. Do you require further information?"
"Uh... no, I think we're good to go," red fur replied.
"One question, if y'all are ladies, how do you reproduce?" The dark-furred creature asked moronically. Red-fur grabbed the front of dark-fur's garment and started pulling it towards the exit.
"We become male based on need. Is this relevant?"
"No, sorry to bother you, thank you so much for your hospitality," red fur wet-smacked at Zabrell. "C'mon Gary, jeez..."
Ridiculous creatures.
|
Once upon a time, there was a young boy who would live forever. As he grew older, the technology around him expanded and improved to where immortality became possible. Now this young boy was very stubborn, and he enjoyed solving puzzles. So stubborn was he in fact, that he at one point created his own puzzle pieces to fill in the gaps of one with missing pieces. Now at age 200, a century of education, and an existential crisis, he now faced the greatest puzzle of them all.
How can one live forever with no meaning?
He had grown bored with learning. He had learned the most abstract of mathematics, the most intricate details of physics, and had studied human nature both as an individual and as a collective. He had an almost perfect understanding of the world around him from the smallest indivisible components of the universe to the largest constructs in our reality. He had learned everything there was to learn, loved everything there was to love, and enjoyed everything there was to enjoy.
But yet the problem remained. How is one to continue beating one's own heart when there is nothing to beat for?
Now the boy knew that no matter what, the answer was to keep the heart beating. It did not matter what the results or the answer to the puzzle was, the heart must keep beating. So every morning as the sun rose over his perfect civilization, his heart continued to beat, yet his eyes never left the ceiling or the sky. Always looking up, always looking out, always hoping that something new and interesting would come along to give him that same sense of wonder he had as a young boy.
Another century passed. His family had gone on to whatever happened once the heart has stopped. Humans around him we're dropping like flies as the great puzzle of boredom begin to slip its claws into the soul of humanity. And yet this stubborn man refused to die. A century of puzzling on this problem had left him without hair and without human contact. The body around his heart had begun to decay and disintegrate, yet he still took in air and he still pushed forward through time.
Finally, at his wit's end, he brought out that old puzzle. The machine that is life's meaning had broken down completely for him, and he began to understand that he did not know how to solve that puzzle. So he did what any good engineer would do, he went back to basics. The puzzle was a picture of a woman. Not a specific woman, but a goddess of some ancient forgotten faith. It was clear that this woman was not supernatural, but that her face was based on a living, breathing person. The puzzle piece that was missing was a ring upon her finger. He had created one himself, and given it to the puzzle as an offering of completion.
Finally, The Epiphany hit him. He began to make his own puzzles. He offered them for free to anyone who would take them. He offered the journey that he once took. The years spent in toil and misery to finally come to that moment of Nirvana. He was always careful to leave out a piece or two.
To engineer a meaning for his life, one need only stubbornness and determination. And that alone can be worth living for.
|
|
[WP] Humans aren't generally that advanced but their engineering capabilities are one of the top within the galaxy, since they are so stubborn. This has led to the saying "Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it a few months and it will become effective."
|
"God damn technophilliac pigheaded pink-skinned bastards the whole lot of them". I thought as I was informed that once again some of the Human crew decided some component of the ship that existed outside of their department required a major overhaul.
"How long have they been at it, ensign?"
"Several hours, Sir."
"Why was I only informed now?"
"They promised the chief engineer they'd get the food replicator to make various recreational substances."
Figures as much.
I couldn’t help, but think of the paperwork I'd have to get through to resolve this incident. I pushed the 4-eyed ensign away with perhaps more force that would be appropriate when interacting with someone from a low-gravity planet, but there was no point in stopping. The lights where flickering, long-range coms where down, and the Ship AI had begun screaming in my ear. Apparently, it too had been duped. I walked down a corridor to find an elevator only to see it lockeddown followed by a bright flash of light. I was now standing in a large storage room surrounded by cheering Humans, various consoles, plus what looked to be the dismantled remains or various replicators and an FTL drive. I think I understand now why human litters are atypically small.
I stared confused as to how I came to be here.
"I demand an explanation!"
The room became quite, followed by some giggling.
A human said "We, thought the elevators where broken"
"AND!" I asked loudly
"Well, we fixed them, sortof"
"It wasn't hard, the Emullians recently made their own at a research outpost. They shared the schematics and research."
As he rambled on I was both amazed and dumbfounded at the realization. These deficient backwater meatbags just jury-rigged a teleporter out of an ftl drive and some food replicators.
"How are you powering all this?" I asked wearily.
A smaller human raised their slightly shaking hand as their face beamed with a prideful smile
"That was my idea! We created a singularity"
Several of the humans must have realized something was wrong as their expressions changed. My skin flushed a subtle hue of blue and without realizing it I had expanded slightly.
Her voice wavered as she said.
"It's contained inside that box over there."
I stood there aghast
Dear vok'a I'm standing just a few meters away from a singularity. Even the ship Ai grew silent now.
|
Once upon a time, there was a young boy who would live forever. As he grew older, the technology around him expanded and improved to where immortality became possible. Now this young boy was very stubborn, and he enjoyed solving puzzles. So stubborn was he in fact, that he at one point created his own puzzle pieces to fill in the gaps of one with missing pieces. Now at age 200, a century of education, and an existential crisis, he now faced the greatest puzzle of them all.
How can one live forever with no meaning?
He had grown bored with learning. He had learned the most abstract of mathematics, the most intricate details of physics, and had studied human nature both as an individual and as a collective. He had an almost perfect understanding of the world around him from the smallest indivisible components of the universe to the largest constructs in our reality. He had learned everything there was to learn, loved everything there was to love, and enjoyed everything there was to enjoy.
But yet the problem remained. How is one to continue beating one's own heart when there is nothing to beat for?
Now the boy knew that no matter what, the answer was to keep the heart beating. It did not matter what the results or the answer to the puzzle was, the heart must keep beating. So every morning as the sun rose over his perfect civilization, his heart continued to beat, yet his eyes never left the ceiling or the sky. Always looking up, always looking out, always hoping that something new and interesting would come along to give him that same sense of wonder he had as a young boy.
Another century passed. His family had gone on to whatever happened once the heart has stopped. Humans around him we're dropping like flies as the great puzzle of boredom begin to slip its claws into the soul of humanity. And yet this stubborn man refused to die. A century of puzzling on this problem had left him without hair and without human contact. The body around his heart had begun to decay and disintegrate, yet he still took in air and he still pushed forward through time.
Finally, at his wit's end, he brought out that old puzzle. The machine that is life's meaning had broken down completely for him, and he began to understand that he did not know how to solve that puzzle. So he did what any good engineer would do, he went back to basics. The puzzle was a picture of a woman. Not a specific woman, but a goddess of some ancient forgotten faith. It was clear that this woman was not supernatural, but that her face was based on a living, breathing person. The puzzle piece that was missing was a ring upon her finger. He had created one himself, and given it to the puzzle as an offering of completion.
Finally, The Epiphany hit him. He began to make his own puzzles. He offered them for free to anyone who would take them. He offered the journey that he once took. The years spent in toil and misery to finally come to that moment of Nirvana. He was always careful to leave out a piece or two.
To engineer a meaning for his life, one need only stubbornness and determination. And that alone can be worth living for.
|
|
[WP] Humans aren't generally that advanced but their engineering capabilities are one of the top within the galaxy, since they are so stubborn. This has led to the saying "Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it a few months and it will become effective."
|
Zabrell was annoyed.
She had been assigned all manner of things by her matron in the past, but this time it was different. Never had she felt that her actions were so useless or worthless. Under all the holy stars, why her matron thought talking with, let alone *working with* the humans was worthwhile, was beyond her. And yet, where the matron leads, the daughter follows, which is how she found herself standing in an environment-equalizer chamber, waiting for an ape.
Turns out, there were three apes, stubby yet spindly, with rough patches of fur on their bodies. Fortunately they kept most of their body wrapped in synthetic fibers so she didn't have to see if the rest of their bodies were as patchy as their heads. They jerkily stumbled to a halt, about three metres from the dividing bio-field, proving to Zabrell that, despite appearances, they actually did have control of their personal mobility.
"Uh, greetings, uh..." one of them started stupidly, its round face and dully glassy visual orbs sticking out of white flesh and patches of red fur. It looked sicker than the others, with red dots all over its white skin. Maybe it was dying. She had heard that they had extremely short lifespans. Perhaps that is why there were three of them, in case one of them died before the end of this meeting.
"Your greetings are received but unnecessary, we require a task of you," she politely stated. She could hear the wet meat-smacking, screeching and grunts made by their translating machine as it attempted to transform her intelligent, yet simple words into their limited form of communication.
"Uh, okay, well, uh as a representative of..."
"Your origin is known, are you functional and can you labour for us?"
The dull faces turned to each other, fleshy visual orbs trying to form a coherent thought between them. Zabrell almost expected them to start mooing at each other. A brief wave of amusement washed over her before she squashed it - she only knew about mooing due to a misunderstanding earlier in their races' initial contact. It wasn't easy to determine which flesh sack was the dominate ones on their dreadful little world.
"We are... our people are functional. As for labour... depends on what you want us to do," it gasped at her, using its life-sustaining respiratory system as a method of expressing itself. How these creatures got beyond the nuclear stage was so far beyond Zabrell as to be completely mystifying.
At her summons, sa-Zabrell-lo, daughter of Zabrell, entered the environment-equalizer chamber and stood on their side of the environmental divide, the device held in front of her.
"You are versed in macrodelinealtransitive substrate manipulation?"
Again, the moon faces stared at each other. sa-Zabrell-lo's displeasure was clearly on display, requiring that Zabrell reminded her of her place.
The one with long yellow fur and a misshapen torso replied. "We got the brief you sent, but I can't say we really have a firm grasp on... uh, some of the core principles... as yet."
"Then you are not functional," Zabrell began to leave, eager to end this waste of time.
"Wait! Hold your horses!" The dark furred one in the back said in what was supposed to be a loud tone. Zabrell had no idea what a "horses" was or how they were supposed to be held. She did pause however. She had been warned that these creatures were not direct and tended to conversationally wander around until they eventually stumbled onto a point, likely by accident. "We didn't say we couldn't... do it. Whatever it is. Just give us a chance to see what's what, okay?"
She turned back. sa-Zabrell-lo placed the device onto a hovering tray and let it glide across the bio-filtering environmental field that divide the room. It gracefully floated to the red furred beast until he abruptly halted it. The tray was unaccustomed to such a brutish obstruction, and shook a bit. The device fortunately remained still and the tray recovered its balance.
sa-Zabrell-lo left the room. She had better duties to attend to than this farce.
"Maybe if you can give us a quick... uh, simple summary of the brief..."
While annoyed, Zabrell was willing to entertain this lunacy. Where the matron leads...
After several moments of explanation, the humans interrupted her.
"Uh, maybe a bit... uh, simpler?"
Zabrell paused. How much more simple did they want? She began again.
"Sorry... so sorry but... maybe.. a little simpler?"
An infant should have gotten it by now. How to make this even simpler...
"It makes ships go faster."
"Faster than your current technology?"
"Yes."
"How much faster?"
"Now."
"... you mean instantly? Instant travel?"
"From a perspective, yes"
"Like... teleportation?"
Zabrell consulted her lexicon of stupid things humans say.
"Not from the perspective of the traveller."
They grunted and mumbled at each other for a bit.
"So... folding space-time?"
"Folding..." she couldn't believe the idiocy in everything they just said. "Yes. You could think of it as... folding... space-time."
"Neat," the dark furred one spoke again. Zabrell did not see the relationship of the statement to the dialogue, and so ignored it. "So what's the problem?"
Zabrell began explaining the issue they were experiencing with the device and how it was supposed to function, until she was interrupted again for another request of simplicity.
"It's broken," she said.
"Hmm," they said.
"It doesn't work."
"Have you tried turning it off and back on again?" They asked.
"It never worked."
"Ohhhhh," they said. Zabrell swore they were mooing at her.
"Can you function and labour?"
"We can take a crack at it. But we're going to need some resources... and payment?"
Payment? The foolishness and short-sightedness of the statement was absurd.
"You will have the technology, which is payment sufficient," she said, stating the obvious.
"Right, right... and resources?"
"You will be given three moons to conduct research on. You will have the material needs of your biology and research equipment met. Is this sufficient?"
They spoke amongst themselves. Their perception of time was as truncated as their lifespans, and their biology seemed to necessitate a rest, fuel and the expelling of waste. They left the room to address their irritating needs while Zabrell mused over this ridiculous situation. How her great and glorious empire has come to this end, to these grotesque apes, in this dismal arm of the galaxy, was beyond her. They had conquered the stars. They had skimmed the surfaces of now-dead stars. How could they not master this? Why come to the rubes of the galaxy, who had never accomplished a fraction of what they had done? Zabrell was almost a third of the age of their entire race. How could they possibly contribute?
They had returned, adorned with different fabrics. Zabrell hadn't noticed their entrance.
"Well let's pick up where we left off," red-fur said. Zabrell was unsure what required picking up, as nothing had been set down. The tray still hovered with the device resting on it, on the human side of the divide.
"We have 'left off' only a timetable," Zabrell stated. "In your cycles, you have 132 orbits to complete your task. The timeline is tight and cannot be negotiated. Can you comply?"
"Uh.. yeah. Yeah, sure. 132 years? Sure that sounds... good."
"Your laboratories will be available prior to your arrival at the test sites. Do you require further information?"
"Uh... no, I think we're good to go," red fur replied.
"One question, if y'all are ladies, how do you reproduce?" The dark-furred creature asked moronically. Red-fur grabbed the front of dark-fur's garment and started pulling it towards the exit.
"We become male based on need. Is this relevant?"
"No, sorry to bother you, thank you so much for your hospitality," red fur wet-smacked at Zabrell. "C'mon Gary, jeez..."
Ridiculous creatures.
|
"'Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it time, and that machine will become effective.' Who here has heard this phrase?" A few hands in the lecture hall were tentatively raised. "Good good. For those of you who haven't it is said that the most salient evolutionary feature of the human is their ability to engineer. Any problem no matter how trivial or insurmountable can be solved by man if enough time is given." The visiting lecturer paced the lecture hall as he spoke.
"When humans entered the Inter-Galactic Union they were quickly mixed into every culture, peoples, and company as the engineers in chief. The technological marvels developed for the I.G.U. by the humans were wonderful and with them quality of life rapidly increased beyond even the wildest of hopes. This all changed soon enough. You see not everyone was thrilled with the human activity and many cultures now brought to the height of comfort through human engineering began to tighten regulations on the activities of humans. Soon whole cities, continents, even planets were barred from the humans. In the height of their decadence the many members of the IGU forgot who brought them their technology."
"As tensions rose the humans began to fight back but as they didn't have the numbers, the knack for politics, or the weapons this proved ineffectual in all but one way. The only effect was that disdain for humans turned into hostility and punitive actions were taken against the human empire. Finally after a brutal war the humans were quarantined and locked away in their own sector of the galaxy, not before they had killed of half the sentient races in the IGU with their most brilliantly engineered weapon of all time. They called it the 'small pox blanket'"
|
|
[WP] Humans aren't generally that advanced but their engineering capabilities are one of the top within the galaxy, since they are so stubborn. This has led to the saying "Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it a few months and it will become effective."
|
Zabrell was annoyed.
She had been assigned all manner of things by her matron in the past, but this time it was different. Never had she felt that her actions were so useless or worthless. Under all the holy stars, why her matron thought talking with, let alone *working with* the humans was worthwhile, was beyond her. And yet, where the matron leads, the daughter follows, which is how she found herself standing in an environment-equalizer chamber, waiting for an ape.
Turns out, there were three apes, stubby yet spindly, with rough patches of fur on their bodies. Fortunately they kept most of their body wrapped in synthetic fibers so she didn't have to see if the rest of their bodies were as patchy as their heads. They jerkily stumbled to a halt, about three metres from the dividing bio-field, proving to Zabrell that, despite appearances, they actually did have control of their personal mobility.
"Uh, greetings, uh..." one of them started stupidly, its round face and dully glassy visual orbs sticking out of white flesh and patches of red fur. It looked sicker than the others, with red dots all over its white skin. Maybe it was dying. She had heard that they had extremely short lifespans. Perhaps that is why there were three of them, in case one of them died before the end of this meeting.
"Your greetings are received but unnecessary, we require a task of you," she politely stated. She could hear the wet meat-smacking, screeching and grunts made by their translating machine as it attempted to transform her intelligent, yet simple words into their limited form of communication.
"Uh, okay, well, uh as a representative of..."
"Your origin is known, are you functional and can you labour for us?"
The dull faces turned to each other, fleshy visual orbs trying to form a coherent thought between them. Zabrell almost expected them to start mooing at each other. A brief wave of amusement washed over her before she squashed it - she only knew about mooing due to a misunderstanding earlier in their races' initial contact. It wasn't easy to determine which flesh sack was the dominate ones on their dreadful little world.
"We are... our people are functional. As for labour... depends on what you want us to do," it gasped at her, using its life-sustaining respiratory system as a method of expressing itself. How these creatures got beyond the nuclear stage was so far beyond Zabrell as to be completely mystifying.
At her summons, sa-Zabrell-lo, daughter of Zabrell, entered the environment-equalizer chamber and stood on their side of the environmental divide, the device held in front of her.
"You are versed in macrodelinealtransitive substrate manipulation?"
Again, the moon faces stared at each other. sa-Zabrell-lo's displeasure was clearly on display, requiring that Zabrell reminded her of her place.
The one with long yellow fur and a misshapen torso replied. "We got the brief you sent, but I can't say we really have a firm grasp on... uh, some of the core principles... as yet."
"Then you are not functional," Zabrell began to leave, eager to end this waste of time.
"Wait! Hold your horses!" The dark furred one in the back said in what was supposed to be a loud tone. Zabrell had no idea what a "horses" was or how they were supposed to be held. She did pause however. She had been warned that these creatures were not direct and tended to conversationally wander around until they eventually stumbled onto a point, likely by accident. "We didn't say we couldn't... do it. Whatever it is. Just give us a chance to see what's what, okay?"
She turned back. sa-Zabrell-lo placed the device onto a hovering tray and let it glide across the bio-filtering environmental field that divide the room. It gracefully floated to the red furred beast until he abruptly halted it. The tray was unaccustomed to such a brutish obstruction, and shook a bit. The device fortunately remained still and the tray recovered its balance.
sa-Zabrell-lo left the room. She had better duties to attend to than this farce.
"Maybe if you can give us a quick... uh, simple summary of the brief..."
While annoyed, Zabrell was willing to entertain this lunacy. Where the matron leads...
After several moments of explanation, the humans interrupted her.
"Uh, maybe a bit... uh, simpler?"
Zabrell paused. How much more simple did they want? She began again.
"Sorry... so sorry but... maybe.. a little simpler?"
An infant should have gotten it by now. How to make this even simpler...
"It makes ships go faster."
"Faster than your current technology?"
"Yes."
"How much faster?"
"Now."
"... you mean instantly? Instant travel?"
"From a perspective, yes"
"Like... teleportation?"
Zabrell consulted her lexicon of stupid things humans say.
"Not from the perspective of the traveller."
They grunted and mumbled at each other for a bit.
"So... folding space-time?"
"Folding..." she couldn't believe the idiocy in everything they just said. "Yes. You could think of it as... folding... space-time."
"Neat," the dark furred one spoke again. Zabrell did not see the relationship of the statement to the dialogue, and so ignored it. "So what's the problem?"
Zabrell began explaining the issue they were experiencing with the device and how it was supposed to function, until she was interrupted again for another request of simplicity.
"It's broken," she said.
"Hmm," they said.
"It doesn't work."
"Have you tried turning it off and back on again?" They asked.
"It never worked."
"Ohhhhh," they said. Zabrell swore they were mooing at her.
"Can you function and labour?"
"We can take a crack at it. But we're going to need some resources... and payment?"
Payment? The foolishness and short-sightedness of the statement was absurd.
"You will have the technology, which is payment sufficient," she said, stating the obvious.
"Right, right... and resources?"
"You will be given three moons to conduct research on. You will have the material needs of your biology and research equipment met. Is this sufficient?"
They spoke amongst themselves. Their perception of time was as truncated as their lifespans, and their biology seemed to necessitate a rest, fuel and the expelling of waste. They left the room to address their irritating needs while Zabrell mused over this ridiculous situation. How her great and glorious empire has come to this end, to these grotesque apes, in this dismal arm of the galaxy, was beyond her. They had conquered the stars. They had skimmed the surfaces of now-dead stars. How could they not master this? Why come to the rubes of the galaxy, who had never accomplished a fraction of what they had done? Zabrell was almost a third of the age of their entire race. How could they possibly contribute?
They had returned, adorned with different fabrics. Zabrell hadn't noticed their entrance.
"Well let's pick up where we left off," red-fur said. Zabrell was unsure what required picking up, as nothing had been set down. The tray still hovered with the device resting on it, on the human side of the divide.
"We have 'left off' only a timetable," Zabrell stated. "In your cycles, you have 132 orbits to complete your task. The timeline is tight and cannot be negotiated. Can you comply?"
"Uh.. yeah. Yeah, sure. 132 years? Sure that sounds... good."
"Your laboratories will be available prior to your arrival at the test sites. Do you require further information?"
"Uh... no, I think we're good to go," red fur replied.
"One question, if y'all are ladies, how do you reproduce?" The dark-furred creature asked moronically. Red-fur grabbed the front of dark-fur's garment and started pulling it towards the exit.
"We become male based on need. Is this relevant?"
"No, sorry to bother you, thank you so much for your hospitality," red fur wet-smacked at Zabrell. "C'mon Gary, jeez..."
Ridiculous creatures.
|
Hank excitedly jammed the final rod nearly, but not quite into place.
He lowered his headphones to his shoulders and took a brief moment to beam a little pride at his work. Slowly, he pushed his feet against the floor, leaning his seat back until he was nearly laying flat. He paused, smiling as his unkempt hair spilled around the sides of the chair’s headrest, snaking down in greasy ropes.
Staring up, he flicked a small picture of a woman that dangled from a necklace taped to the ceiling. It twirled around, flashing from a smiling face to a heart drawn in red ink on the back. He looked over at the wall to his left and scrawled a large, diagonal strike through four vertical lines. He didn’t bother counting them all today.
He squared his shoulders, breathing in with deep intensity, “HEY! GARY!” he shouted towards the ceiling, “GARY, MAN, I GOTTA QUESTION!”
Hank crossed his fingers over his chest as he waited for a response. He poised himself with something that resembled patience, but clearly wasn’t. His head, slowly and just slightly, shook side to side as he closed his eyes and sighed.
Minutes ticked by, unnoticed.
His head continued moving to and fro, eyes lazily shut. It might have started as a show of exasperation, but any original intent had been forgotten. Hank lead with his jaw, keeping time with the tinny electronic kick twumping from the headphones around the base of his neck.
A silver porthole high above, about the size of a basketball, silently came to life. It slide open, then closed a bit, adjusting a few more times like an iris focusing in the dark. A similarly sized iris belonging to a much larger eye was revealed. It blinked at him.
Hank’s hair still swayed in tangled batches, somewhat in time with a barely audible rhythm. The owner of eye above watched Hank’s head bob aimlessly in new directions, clumps of hair swinging into and bouncing off of each other. It imagined the tentacles of a wooly octopus that had seen things it couldn’t unsee, stuck fast to a rail thin idiot.
Minutes ticked by.
Two large eyelids narrowed from behind the porthole.
“What.” A restrained voice nearly\-calmly boomed. A deep vibration swam though everything, as though the whole of the room was speaking.
“Hey! Gary!” Hank exclaimed, immediately wide\-eyed. His hands bolted above his head as his legs kicked his chair around, sitting up. The eye narrowed in a way that implied it was towing a frown behind it, but didn’t have the energy to set it up. Hank leaned back deeply from his new orientation, resuming the exact same upward\-facing position as before.
“What.” Gary repeated.
Hank excitedly gestured to nothing in particular, “So, great news first of all, everything is up and running! The comms are patched, the positioning relay is active, and the forward guns charged and ready to rock!”
The eye seemed to look inward for a moment, as though desperately hoping someone would push it out of the way so it could graciously allow them finish this conversation instead.
The room hung in silence.
The eye squinted slightly.
A sigh reverberated through the room.
“Great, Hank. That’s—it’s—good . . . That’s great. So what, then,” the eye winced as a knowing frown grew giddy for its turn, “So it . . . it sounds an awful lot like you’re done . . . That we’re done . . . So what’s the question?”
“Well, Gary, I’ve been here for . . . I dunno . . . Four, five, months?”
“Seven. But, if you’re done,” Gary paused, “with everything . . . we’re headed straight back.”
“Right. Seven. So, with all the time you gave me to work on everything . . . generously gave me, I might add . . . I mean, look, when you tore me right out of my wife’s arms . . . And you did say that was unfortunate, in all fairness, what happened to her I mean . . . just before you stuck me in here with vague instructions to patch up a—“
The room shook hideously as the eye narrowed to a nearly two-dimensional slit, its voice erupted,“WHAT. IS. THE. QUESTION.”
Hank smiled, swinging his fist up over his head and into the panel he’d been working on. A small rod slammed into place, causing a blue line above it to glow. A faint hum could be heard as the line stretched along the panel towards a small circular marking near the top. The large eye above followed along as it sped towards its destination.
A frantic pounding crashed down on the ceiling, the entire surface pulsing inwards. Hank couldn’t help but imagine it as a steel\-plated, panicked, heartbeat. A growl, guttural and bestial, erupted from beyond the porthole above, “WHAT. HAVE. YOU. DONE.”
The blue line blinked out.
“Right, so Gary, like I was saying—What do you think happens when the schematics for everything I’ve been working on finally reach Earth?”
A small, polite voice announced “Data transmission successful.”
“Along with our coordinates.”
A small, polite voice announced again “Relay complete.”
“And your guns.”
The voice seemed endlessly small and polite as it further announced, “Pod jettisoned.”
The eye trembled and the porthole zipped shut. Faintly, Hank could hear a small voice from the other side repeating “Disabled” and “Access denied” in between Gary’s angry and incomprehensible shouting. Something crashed hard onto the ceiling.
The porthole reopened. The eye was narrow. A rhythmic, angry pounding was causing the porthole to shudder. It’s metal framing, now outlining Gary’s entire eye, crawled with growing stress fractures. It was only a matter of time, they both knew.
Hank closed his eyes and bobbed his head, his hair dancing in time with the rich thundering of its deep bass.
|
|
[WP] Humans aren't generally that advanced but their engineering capabilities are one of the top within the galaxy, since they are so stubborn. This has led to the saying "Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it a few months and it will become effective."
|
"God damn technophilliac pigheaded pink-skinned bastards the whole lot of them". I thought as I was informed that once again some of the Human crew decided some component of the ship that existed outside of their department required a major overhaul.
"How long have they been at it, ensign?"
"Several hours, Sir."
"Why was I only informed now?"
"They promised the chief engineer they'd get the food replicator to make various recreational substances."
Figures as much.
I couldn’t help, but think of the paperwork I'd have to get through to resolve this incident. I pushed the 4-eyed ensign away with perhaps more force that would be appropriate when interacting with someone from a low-gravity planet, but there was no point in stopping. The lights where flickering, long-range coms where down, and the Ship AI had begun screaming in my ear. Apparently, it too had been duped. I walked down a corridor to find an elevator only to see it lockeddown followed by a bright flash of light. I was now standing in a large storage room surrounded by cheering Humans, various consoles, plus what looked to be the dismantled remains or various replicators and an FTL drive. I think I understand now why human litters are atypically small.
I stared confused as to how I came to be here.
"I demand an explanation!"
The room became quite, followed by some giggling.
A human said "We, thought the elevators where broken"
"AND!" I asked loudly
"Well, we fixed them, sortof"
"It wasn't hard, the Emullians recently made their own at a research outpost. They shared the schematics and research."
As he rambled on I was both amazed and dumbfounded at the realization. These deficient backwater meatbags just jury-rigged a teleporter out of an ftl drive and some food replicators.
"How are you powering all this?" I asked wearily.
A smaller human raised their slightly shaking hand as their face beamed with a prideful smile
"That was my idea! We created a singularity"
Several of the humans must have realized something was wrong as their expressions changed. My skin flushed a subtle hue of blue and without realizing it I had expanded slightly.
Her voice wavered as she said.
"It's contained inside that box over there."
I stood there aghast
Dear vok'a I'm standing just a few meters away from a singularity. Even the ship Ai grew silent now.
|
Hank excitedly jammed the final rod nearly, but not quite into place.
He lowered his headphones to his shoulders and took a brief moment to beam a little pride at his work. Slowly, he pushed his feet against the floor, leaning his seat back until he was nearly laying flat. He paused, smiling as his unkempt hair spilled around the sides of the chair’s headrest, snaking down in greasy ropes.
Staring up, he flicked a small picture of a woman that dangled from a necklace taped to the ceiling. It twirled around, flashing from a smiling face to a heart drawn in red ink on the back. He looked over at the wall to his left and scrawled a large, diagonal strike through four vertical lines. He didn’t bother counting them all today.
He squared his shoulders, breathing in with deep intensity, “HEY! GARY!” he shouted towards the ceiling, “GARY, MAN, I GOTTA QUESTION!”
Hank crossed his fingers over his chest as he waited for a response. He poised himself with something that resembled patience, but clearly wasn’t. His head, slowly and just slightly, shook side to side as he closed his eyes and sighed.
Minutes ticked by, unnoticed.
His head continued moving to and fro, eyes lazily shut. It might have started as a show of exasperation, but any original intent had been forgotten. Hank lead with his jaw, keeping time with the tinny electronic kick twumping from the headphones around the base of his neck.
A silver porthole high above, about the size of a basketball, silently came to life. It slide open, then closed a bit, adjusting a few more times like an iris focusing in the dark. A similarly sized iris belonging to a much larger eye was revealed. It blinked at him.
Hank’s hair still swayed in tangled batches, somewhat in time with a barely audible rhythm. The owner of eye above watched Hank’s head bob aimlessly in new directions, clumps of hair swinging into and bouncing off of each other. It imagined the tentacles of a wooly octopus that had seen things it couldn’t unsee, stuck fast to a rail thin idiot.
Minutes ticked by.
Two large eyelids narrowed from behind the porthole.
“What.” A restrained voice nearly\-calmly boomed. A deep vibration swam though everything, as though the whole of the room was speaking.
“Hey! Gary!” Hank exclaimed, immediately wide\-eyed. His hands bolted above his head as his legs kicked his chair around, sitting up. The eye narrowed in a way that implied it was towing a frown behind it, but didn’t have the energy to set it up. Hank leaned back deeply from his new orientation, resuming the exact same upward\-facing position as before.
“What.” Gary repeated.
Hank excitedly gestured to nothing in particular, “So, great news first of all, everything is up and running! The comms are patched, the positioning relay is active, and the forward guns charged and ready to rock!”
The eye seemed to look inward for a moment, as though desperately hoping someone would push it out of the way so it could graciously allow them finish this conversation instead.
The room hung in silence.
The eye squinted slightly.
A sigh reverberated through the room.
“Great, Hank. That’s—it’s—good . . . That’s great. So what, then,” the eye winced as a knowing frown grew giddy for its turn, “So it . . . it sounds an awful lot like you’re done . . . That we’re done . . . So what’s the question?”
“Well, Gary, I’ve been here for . . . I dunno . . . Four, five, months?”
“Seven. But, if you’re done,” Gary paused, “with everything . . . we’re headed straight back.”
“Right. Seven. So, with all the time you gave me to work on everything . . . generously gave me, I might add . . . I mean, look, when you tore me right out of my wife’s arms . . . And you did say that was unfortunate, in all fairness, what happened to her I mean . . . just before you stuck me in here with vague instructions to patch up a—“
The room shook hideously as the eye narrowed to a nearly two-dimensional slit, its voice erupted,“WHAT. IS. THE. QUESTION.”
Hank smiled, swinging his fist up over his head and into the panel he’d been working on. A small rod slammed into place, causing a blue line above it to glow. A faint hum could be heard as the line stretched along the panel towards a small circular marking near the top. The large eye above followed along as it sped towards its destination.
A frantic pounding crashed down on the ceiling, the entire surface pulsing inwards. Hank couldn’t help but imagine it as a steel\-plated, panicked, heartbeat. A growl, guttural and bestial, erupted from beyond the porthole above, “WHAT. HAVE. YOU. DONE.”
The blue line blinked out.
“Right, so Gary, like I was saying—What do you think happens when the schematics for everything I’ve been working on finally reach Earth?”
A small, polite voice announced “Data transmission successful.”
“Along with our coordinates.”
A small, polite voice announced again “Relay complete.”
“And your guns.”
The voice seemed endlessly small and polite as it further announced, “Pod jettisoned.”
The eye trembled and the porthole zipped shut. Faintly, Hank could hear a small voice from the other side repeating “Disabled” and “Access denied” in between Gary’s angry and incomprehensible shouting. Something crashed hard onto the ceiling.
The porthole reopened. The eye was narrow. A rhythmic, angry pounding was causing the porthole to shudder. It’s metal framing, now outlining Gary’s entire eye, crawled with growing stress fractures. It was only a matter of time, they both knew.
Hank closed his eyes and bobbed his head, his hair dancing in time with the rich thundering of its deep bass.
|
|
[WP] Humans aren't generally that advanced but their engineering capabilities are one of the top within the galaxy, since they are so stubborn. This has led to the saying "Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it a few months and it will become effective."
|
"God damn technophilliac pigheaded pink-skinned bastards the whole lot of them". I thought as I was informed that once again some of the Human crew decided some component of the ship that existed outside of their department required a major overhaul.
"How long have they been at it, ensign?"
"Several hours, Sir."
"Why was I only informed now?"
"They promised the chief engineer they'd get the food replicator to make various recreational substances."
Figures as much.
I couldn’t help, but think of the paperwork I'd have to get through to resolve this incident. I pushed the 4-eyed ensign away with perhaps more force that would be appropriate when interacting with someone from a low-gravity planet, but there was no point in stopping. The lights where flickering, long-range coms where down, and the Ship AI had begun screaming in my ear. Apparently, it too had been duped. I walked down a corridor to find an elevator only to see it lockeddown followed by a bright flash of light. I was now standing in a large storage room surrounded by cheering Humans, various consoles, plus what looked to be the dismantled remains or various replicators and an FTL drive. I think I understand now why human litters are atypically small.
I stared confused as to how I came to be here.
"I demand an explanation!"
The room became quite, followed by some giggling.
A human said "We, thought the elevators where broken"
"AND!" I asked loudly
"Well, we fixed them, sortof"
"It wasn't hard, the Emullians recently made their own at a research outpost. They shared the schematics and research."
As he rambled on I was both amazed and dumbfounded at the realization. These deficient backwater meatbags just jury-rigged a teleporter out of an ftl drive and some food replicators.
"How are you powering all this?" I asked wearily.
A smaller human raised their slightly shaking hand as their face beamed with a prideful smile
"That was my idea! We created a singularity"
Several of the humans must have realized something was wrong as their expressions changed. My skin flushed a subtle hue of blue and without realizing it I had expanded slightly.
Her voice wavered as she said.
"It's contained inside that box over there."
I stood there aghast
Dear vok'a I'm standing just a few meters away from a singularity. Even the ship Ai grew silent now.
|
\<Another hot one today. You up to anything?
\>Was thinking about taking the family up to the lake. Not sure what I’m gonna do about the dog though.
\<You can’t take it with you?
\>Nah, you know how it is. You have to keep your eye on it the entire time. You can’t ever relax. If I’m gonna get away for a day, I want to feel completely free, you know?
\<Mm, yeah. You think she’ll run away if you leave her home? It’s a ‘she’ right?
\>She tried to awhile back. Someone found her ten hexes away, almost the next town. I whipped the snot out of her when we got back. I haven’t liked keeping her home alone since then.
\<Ten hexes? I guess that’s why they got that saying about leaving a dog to it’s own devices or something. What’chu got again? She’s some sort of mutt, right?
\>Yeah she’s a mix. Half American\-Builder and half Portuguese\-Architect.
\<Don’t American\-Builders have all sorts of health problems?
\>Most of the American breeds do. It hasn’t been too bad though. They’re right clever bastards. My car broke down last Quenday and she had it up and running again within the hour. Barking like mad about trans\-something\-or\-other and air pressure. Damned if I know what she was yapping about, but its run fine ever since.
\<You’re lucky. My wife convinced me to get an English Pounder. Purebred, looks all manner of distinguished, but sits on the porch all day. Can’t get him to do anything. I guess we’re partly to blame, we’re pretty easy on him. Something about the sad look in its eyes. Hey you hear about that guy a few huts down who cut off one of his dogs thumbs? Said it was to inspire it to work harder. Wasn’t happy with the way his lawnmower turned out or something. I mean, that ain’t right. I’m not an activist or anything, but you can’t cut off a dog’s thumbs. That just seems cruel to me.
\>Maybe I can have him look after my dog.
\<You’re terrible.
|
|
[WP] Humans aren't generally that advanced but their engineering capabilities are one of the top within the galaxy, since they are so stubborn. This has led to the saying "Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it a few months and it will become effective."
|
Gerald fought to escape the grip of the incubocs--portly aliens from planet Incu--but his attempts proved useless. They were known for their strength and lack of empathy. The incubocs hauled him inside a room, and locked the door.
Gerald struck the cold ground and cursed under his breath. Once again he had done it. He had gotten himself imprisoned. Except that, this time, he didn't know why, nor for how long.
A continuous hissing caught his attention. He climbed to his feet and scanned the room. The walls were crammed with golden wires and old pipes leaking jets of steam. Sweat trickled down Gerald's forehead and temples. He took off his jacket and left it on the ground. Much better.
He found himself bewildered. The place was narrow, yet long. It even had a turn at the end, where a vibrant light-blue light could be seen, but not its source. This wasn't a prison cell, or if it was, it was a luxurious one.
Gerald hummed to himself as he strode toward the opposite end. If there was something interesting to do here, the light would probably be a good start. With each long step, sharp and piercing noises, like air being injected, resounded across the walls. He instinctively grabbed two tiny deafeners from his belt, and buried them inside his ears.
The noises disappeared. Every one of them. He could only hear his thoughts, which were quite bemused. Why didn't they take his tools away from him? An engineer could do some impressive things with his imagination and a hammer.
"What the fuck?" Gerard said, as he turned toward the light.
A translucent cube greeted his eyes. It was massive, the size of a royal chamber. Inside, exactly at the middle, an Ergoxi--a precious stone, larger than Gerald--shone fiercely, bathing the surroundings.
Gerald narrowed his eyes and studied it carefully. It had a plethora of different circuits inside, along with perfectly arranged machines, which seemed to work in a system similar to an assembly line.
He fixated his gaze on a tube at the top of the cube. If his assumptions were correct, something should drop from it and the process should commence. After half an hour, and seven lingering yawns, a white sphere fell from the tube, onto... nothing?
Gerald frowned. What was the purpo--
The sphere rose from wherever it had fallen, hovering in the air. They were using the static of the circuits to move it around the machines. It was fancy, impressive, but absolutely stupid. Soon, the sphere reached the first machine, and it stood there for another hour. The machine struggled to move. It was too slow.
Gerald's found himself biting his nails, fidgeting, and uncomfortable in his own skin. Why did the incubocs always build fancy, yet useless stuff? The problem was clear to his eyes. A machine won't work properly if not provided with the required amount of energy. The same will happen when you overcharge it, that or it will break.
Gerald grabbed his hammer and smashed it against the machine's wall like a madman. Then, he kicked the damaged area, shattering it. They hadn't even reinforced the glass. He sneaked inside, and yanked a set of wires out of their plugs. That should allow him to walk through without being electrocuted.
He tightened his grip, furious, and stomped his way toward the Ergoxi. How could they be so incompetent? Goddamn it. The thing was like a giant diamond, but it was used as an infinite provider of energy. It was the source of every wondrous piece of machinery in the past century.
Gerald, however, smashed it with the wrath of a God. He was possessed by the rage. So much resources wasted to showcase the stupidity of a race. Shards of Ergoxi crammed the sides, yet he kept pounding it. If you didn't know Gerald, you would've thought he was sculpting it.
He wasn't. Gerald gasped a sigh of relief. Half of the Ergoxi was reduced to smithereens, and what remained looked like an uneven boulder. With a smile, he plugged the wires back on, and left the cube.
The second he left, a sphere fell down the tube, yet the static guided it immediately. The machines worked at proper speeds. Gerald followed the process with wide eyes. What would the end product be? That sphere was incredibly malleable. It took the shapes the machines commanded without a bit of resistance.
His heart thundered. What would it be? The sphere--which was now a giant white cube--had entered the last machine. Gerald felt a sudden pull from behind, and his deafeners fell to the ground. An incuboc had gotten him. The alien was bigger than the average, his blue skin filled with scars.
"Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it a few months and it will become effective," said the incuboc, laughing. "We've proved it wrong. It should go like this: 'Leave a stubborn, curious human with an ineffective machine, give it an hour, and it will become effective."
Gerald's eyes shot toward the incuboc's uniform. He had a white handkerchief embroidered with three uneven red lines inside a pocket. Of course. He had just fixed a machine for the Incutaris, a well-known and dangerous mafia. Gerald sighed. This would earn him some good prison time.
He twisted his neck as much as he could, and observed the end product: Shredded Ergopaper. The most rare and expensive drug in the galaxy.
"Perhaps we could come to an agreement," Gerald said.
The incuboc glared at him. "What would that be?"
"You assure my safety, pay me decent money, and I will improve your machine."
The incuboc grunted in disbelief. "Prove that you can improve it even more, and we shall see."
------------------------------------------
/r/therobertfall For more stories!
|
\<Another hot one today. You up to anything?
\>Was thinking about taking the family up to the lake. Not sure what I’m gonna do about the dog though.
\<You can’t take it with you?
\>Nah, you know how it is. You have to keep your eye on it the entire time. You can’t ever relax. If I’m gonna get away for a day, I want to feel completely free, you know?
\<Mm, yeah. You think she’ll run away if you leave her home? It’s a ‘she’ right?
\>She tried to awhile back. Someone found her ten hexes away, almost the next town. I whipped the snot out of her when we got back. I haven’t liked keeping her home alone since then.
\<Ten hexes? I guess that’s why they got that saying about leaving a dog to it’s own devices or something. What’chu got again? She’s some sort of mutt, right?
\>Yeah she’s a mix. Half American\-Builder and half Portuguese\-Architect.
\<Don’t American\-Builders have all sorts of health problems?
\>Most of the American breeds do. It hasn’t been too bad though. They’re right clever bastards. My car broke down last Quenday and she had it up and running again within the hour. Barking like mad about trans\-something\-or\-other and air pressure. Damned if I know what she was yapping about, but its run fine ever since.
\<You’re lucky. My wife convinced me to get an English Pounder. Purebred, looks all manner of distinguished, but sits on the porch all day. Can’t get him to do anything. I guess we’re partly to blame, we’re pretty easy on him. Something about the sad look in its eyes. Hey you hear about that guy a few huts down who cut off one of his dogs thumbs? Said it was to inspire it to work harder. Wasn’t happy with the way his lawnmower turned out or something. I mean, that ain’t right. I’m not an activist or anything, but you can’t cut off a dog’s thumbs. That just seems cruel to me.
\>Maybe I can have him look after my dog.
\<You’re terrible.
|
|
[WP] Humans aren't generally that advanced but their engineering capabilities are one of the top within the galaxy, since they are so stubborn. This has led to the saying "Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it a few months and it will become effective."
|
There is an old saying "Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it a few months and it will become effective.". Because there are only about 8 billion humans they are a rare species, not only that but they have a short lifecycle. This is why many people think this saying is figurative, however it is not.
We first met humans 30 cycles ago, or 300 Earth years. We were fascinated by them, they were the very first intelligent warrace. So at first we were not sure if we should approach them, but we did. Humans had this incredible capability to make things work. Not because they're smart, as a matter of fact they were a relative dumber race, but because of how stubborn they are. It doesn't matter how long it takes them, if they think they can do it they will keep trying until they can do it.
After 3 cycles of negotiations we made treaties with the humans. They would not war against anyone unless provoked, they would be given FTL technology and they would become the main engineering force of the Alliance. The FTL technology was given in the hope they would master it and make it cheaper as for now it took massive amounts of resources to use.
We were amazed by them. They worked day and night at the engines given to them, they reverse engineered them and wanted to know everything about them. After just 1 cycle of learning, the humans started building their fleet to traverse space. This is where we saw the might of their capabilities. In a matter of Earth months they constructed vessels never seen before in the galaxy. These things were at least 20 times the size of the Golarax which was the biggest vessel ever build standing at a height of 10 Earth meters and at a length of 50 Earth meters.
This is where a race of warriors stepped up, the Y'oltj. These scale covered warriors were by far not equal to the humans in their engineering capabilities but they had their numbers and size over the humans. Thus the Y'oltj demanded vessels or they would invade and take them from the humans. Ofcourse the humans denied and so a million ships arrived at Earth.
When the Y'oltj arrived they were shocked by what they found. Earth was empty, every single city was emptied and all 8 billion humans were gone. That was when it happened. A bright light evaporated 212,643 ships and the biggest vessel to have ever existed arrived, "Utopia". This vessel was 12,000km high, 8000km wide and 20,000km long. Humans build a new world for themselfs, they knew their homeplanet was dying and made themselfs a new home that's how stubborn they were.
After the sight of "Utopia" the humans shot 2 more times and only 269,156 ships remained of the Y'oltj. The humans requested the remaining ships to dock at the "Utopia". The humans captured all remaining Y'oltj with the promise that if they would not comply their home would be gone. To this day there are only rumours known about the Y'oltj, never has a single one been seen after the incident.
Now the humans use the "Utopia" as a HUB. Races from all over the galaxy can come for help. They are certain not a single species will attack them, as they never gave information about how they build the "Utopia" so they know they won't be rivaled. We are lucky to be allies with them as one day they might give us the information about how we can build our own world and leave our planets and colonies for every world is a ticking time bomb except for Utopia.
|
It was a massive black hole. Around it, hundreds upon hundreds of ships were circling it. It was a place, where only the craziest ones came and stationed. Especially that close to the black hole
“How’s it going?” Jack asked as he entered the ship’s cockpit.
“It’s okay, they are all stable. None of our ships will fall into the hole on my watch,” Rick responded with a long sigh. “What’s wrong, Jack?”
Jack frowned. “It has been quiet… Way too long.”
“Federation will never risk coming that close to the black hole,” Rick said, still looking at the stable lines.
“Maybe something in me hopes, that they would?” Jack asked.
“Why?”
“We will be able to play around it, they won’t.”
"10 bucks that they won't," Rick suddenly said.
"Deal."
&nbsp;
An alarm went on. “A large number of ships are about to come out of the wormhole. It's the federation ships,” the message was sent over the hundreds of ships.
“Well, Jack. Today might be your lucky day,” Rick frowned, taking out his wallet and handing 10 bucks over to Jack.
"Fastest 10 bucks of my life," Jack grinned.
A huge wormhole did appear not a far from the black hole, and more than hundred federation ships came out of it, straight towards the black hole. The ships were massive and while they were outnumbered, they still were counted as battleships.
“Oh, big mistake,” Jack grinned. “It’s pity to lose such great battleships…”
&nbsp;
“We can see rebels ships. They are orbiting the black hole, general!” a woman said while inspecting the radar. They also could see rebels ships through the cockpit windows.
They weren’t humans. The federation that is. It consisted mostly of one-handed aliens with no necks either. They also were a bit slimy. Their whole skin that is.
“Look at what wreckage they use,” the general laughed. “It’s barely operational.”
The ship, however, started to suddenly shake. “What’s going on?”
“Our computer systems have gone crazy. The black hole is pulling us in!”
“What?” General shouted. “Get us circling like those junks!”
“It’s impossible. Our ships are going too fast!”
"I told you it was a bad idea to go into human's playing fields," another alien shouted.
"I don't want to give them a time to fix their wreckage..."
&nbsp;
“See? They are slowly breaking apart,” Jack whispered. “They don’t have even time to shoot us. The only way to approach the black hole like that is slowly, from a far away, while also having boosters ready to shoot in any direction.”
“What now?” Rick asked.
“Ready up our artillery. They forgot that this hole ain’t their only problem to deal with.”
"That's what she said," Dilly suddenly said from aside, making everyone laugh.
----
/r/ElvenWrites <3
|
|
[WP] Humans aren't generally that advanced but their engineering capabilities are one of the top within the galaxy, since they are so stubborn. This has led to the saying "Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it a few months and it will become effective."
|
Gerald fought to escape the grip of the incubocs--portly aliens from planet Incu--but his attempts proved useless. They were known for their strength and lack of empathy. The incubocs hauled him inside a room, and locked the door.
Gerald struck the cold ground and cursed under his breath. Once again he had done it. He had gotten himself imprisoned. Except that, this time, he didn't know why, nor for how long.
A continuous hissing caught his attention. He climbed to his feet and scanned the room. The walls were crammed with golden wires and old pipes leaking jets of steam. Sweat trickled down Gerald's forehead and temples. He took off his jacket and left it on the ground. Much better.
He found himself bewildered. The place was narrow, yet long. It even had a turn at the end, where a vibrant light-blue light could be seen, but not its source. This wasn't a prison cell, or if it was, it was a luxurious one.
Gerald hummed to himself as he strode toward the opposite end. If there was something interesting to do here, the light would probably be a good start. With each long step, sharp and piercing noises, like air being injected, resounded across the walls. He instinctively grabbed two tiny deafeners from his belt, and buried them inside his ears.
The noises disappeared. Every one of them. He could only hear his thoughts, which were quite bemused. Why didn't they take his tools away from him? An engineer could do some impressive things with his imagination and a hammer.
"What the fuck?" Gerard said, as he turned toward the light.
A translucent cube greeted his eyes. It was massive, the size of a royal chamber. Inside, exactly at the middle, an Ergoxi--a precious stone, larger than Gerald--shone fiercely, bathing the surroundings.
Gerald narrowed his eyes and studied it carefully. It had a plethora of different circuits inside, along with perfectly arranged machines, which seemed to work in a system similar to an assembly line.
He fixated his gaze on a tube at the top of the cube. If his assumptions were correct, something should drop from it and the process should commence. After half an hour, and seven lingering yawns, a white sphere fell from the tube, onto... nothing?
Gerald frowned. What was the purpo--
The sphere rose from wherever it had fallen, hovering in the air. They were using the static of the circuits to move it around the machines. It was fancy, impressive, but absolutely stupid. Soon, the sphere reached the first machine, and it stood there for another hour. The machine struggled to move. It was too slow.
Gerald's found himself biting his nails, fidgeting, and uncomfortable in his own skin. Why did the incubocs always build fancy, yet useless stuff? The problem was clear to his eyes. A machine won't work properly if not provided with the required amount of energy. The same will happen when you overcharge it, that or it will break.
Gerald grabbed his hammer and smashed it against the machine's wall like a madman. Then, he kicked the damaged area, shattering it. They hadn't even reinforced the glass. He sneaked inside, and yanked a set of wires out of their plugs. That should allow him to walk through without being electrocuted.
He tightened his grip, furious, and stomped his way toward the Ergoxi. How could they be so incompetent? Goddamn it. The thing was like a giant diamond, but it was used as an infinite provider of energy. It was the source of every wondrous piece of machinery in the past century.
Gerald, however, smashed it with the wrath of a God. He was possessed by the rage. So much resources wasted to showcase the stupidity of a race. Shards of Ergoxi crammed the sides, yet he kept pounding it. If you didn't know Gerald, you would've thought he was sculpting it.
He wasn't. Gerald gasped a sigh of relief. Half of the Ergoxi was reduced to smithereens, and what remained looked like an uneven boulder. With a smile, he plugged the wires back on, and left the cube.
The second he left, a sphere fell down the tube, yet the static guided it immediately. The machines worked at proper speeds. Gerald followed the process with wide eyes. What would the end product be? That sphere was incredibly malleable. It took the shapes the machines commanded without a bit of resistance.
His heart thundered. What would it be? The sphere--which was now a giant white cube--had entered the last machine. Gerald felt a sudden pull from behind, and his deafeners fell to the ground. An incuboc had gotten him. The alien was bigger than the average, his blue skin filled with scars.
"Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it a few months and it will become effective," said the incuboc, laughing. "We've proved it wrong. It should go like this: 'Leave a stubborn, curious human with an ineffective machine, give it an hour, and it will become effective."
Gerald's eyes shot toward the incuboc's uniform. He had a white handkerchief embroidered with three uneven red lines inside a pocket. Of course. He had just fixed a machine for the Incutaris, a well-known and dangerous mafia. Gerald sighed. This would earn him some good prison time.
He twisted his neck as much as he could, and observed the end product: Shredded Ergopaper. The most rare and expensive drug in the galaxy.
"Perhaps we could come to an agreement," Gerald said.
The incuboc glared at him. "What would that be?"
"You assure my safety, pay me decent money, and I will improve your machine."
The incuboc grunted in disbelief. "Prove that you can improve it even more, and we shall see."
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/r/therobertfall For more stories!
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It was a massive black hole. Around it, hundreds upon hundreds of ships were circling it. It was a place, where only the craziest ones came and stationed. Especially that close to the black hole
“How’s it going?” Jack asked as he entered the ship’s cockpit.
“It’s okay, they are all stable. None of our ships will fall into the hole on my watch,” Rick responded with a long sigh. “What’s wrong, Jack?”
Jack frowned. “It has been quiet… Way too long.”
“Federation will never risk coming that close to the black hole,” Rick said, still looking at the stable lines.
“Maybe something in me hopes, that they would?” Jack asked.
“Why?”
“We will be able to play around it, they won’t.”
"10 bucks that they won't," Rick suddenly said.
"Deal."
&nbsp;
An alarm went on. “A large number of ships are about to come out of the wormhole. It's the federation ships,” the message was sent over the hundreds of ships.
“Well, Jack. Today might be your lucky day,” Rick frowned, taking out his wallet and handing 10 bucks over to Jack.
"Fastest 10 bucks of my life," Jack grinned.
A huge wormhole did appear not a far from the black hole, and more than hundred federation ships came out of it, straight towards the black hole. The ships were massive and while they were outnumbered, they still were counted as battleships.
“Oh, big mistake,” Jack grinned. “It’s pity to lose such great battleships…”
&nbsp;
“We can see rebels ships. They are orbiting the black hole, general!” a woman said while inspecting the radar. They also could see rebels ships through the cockpit windows.
They weren’t humans. The federation that is. It consisted mostly of one-handed aliens with no necks either. They also were a bit slimy. Their whole skin that is.
“Look at what wreckage they use,” the general laughed. “It’s barely operational.”
The ship, however, started to suddenly shake. “What’s going on?”
“Our computer systems have gone crazy. The black hole is pulling us in!”
“What?” General shouted. “Get us circling like those junks!”
“It’s impossible. Our ships are going too fast!”
"I told you it was a bad idea to go into human's playing fields," another alien shouted.
"I don't want to give them a time to fix their wreckage..."
&nbsp;
“See? They are slowly breaking apart,” Jack whispered. “They don’t have even time to shoot us. The only way to approach the black hole like that is slowly, from a far away, while also having boosters ready to shoot in any direction.”
“What now?” Rick asked.
“Ready up our artillery. They forgot that this hole ain’t their only problem to deal with.”
"That's what she said," Dilly suddenly said from aside, making everyone laugh.
----
/r/ElvenWrites <3
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[WP] Humans aren't generally that advanced but their engineering capabilities are one of the top within the galaxy, since they are so stubborn. This has led to the saying "Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it a few months and it will become effective."
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Gerald fought to escape the grip of the incubocs--portly aliens from planet Incu--but his attempts proved useless. They were known for their strength and lack of empathy. The incubocs hauled him inside a room, and locked the door.
Gerald struck the cold ground and cursed under his breath. Once again he had done it. He had gotten himself imprisoned. Except that, this time, he didn't know why, nor for how long.
A continuous hissing caught his attention. He climbed to his feet and scanned the room. The walls were crammed with golden wires and old pipes leaking jets of steam. Sweat trickled down Gerald's forehead and temples. He took off his jacket and left it on the ground. Much better.
He found himself bewildered. The place was narrow, yet long. It even had a turn at the end, where a vibrant light-blue light could be seen, but not its source. This wasn't a prison cell, or if it was, it was a luxurious one.
Gerald hummed to himself as he strode toward the opposite end. If there was something interesting to do here, the light would probably be a good start. With each long step, sharp and piercing noises, like air being injected, resounded across the walls. He instinctively grabbed two tiny deafeners from his belt, and buried them inside his ears.
The noises disappeared. Every one of them. He could only hear his thoughts, which were quite bemused. Why didn't they take his tools away from him? An engineer could do some impressive things with his imagination and a hammer.
"What the fuck?" Gerard said, as he turned toward the light.
A translucent cube greeted his eyes. It was massive, the size of a royal chamber. Inside, exactly at the middle, an Ergoxi--a precious stone, larger than Gerald--shone fiercely, bathing the surroundings.
Gerald narrowed his eyes and studied it carefully. It had a plethora of different circuits inside, along with perfectly arranged machines, which seemed to work in a system similar to an assembly line.
He fixated his gaze on a tube at the top of the cube. If his assumptions were correct, something should drop from it and the process should commence. After half an hour, and seven lingering yawns, a white sphere fell from the tube, onto... nothing?
Gerald frowned. What was the purpo--
The sphere rose from wherever it had fallen, hovering in the air. They were using the static of the circuits to move it around the machines. It was fancy, impressive, but absolutely stupid. Soon, the sphere reached the first machine, and it stood there for another hour. The machine struggled to move. It was too slow.
Gerald's found himself biting his nails, fidgeting, and uncomfortable in his own skin. Why did the incubocs always build fancy, yet useless stuff? The problem was clear to his eyes. A machine won't work properly if not provided with the required amount of energy. The same will happen when you overcharge it, that or it will break.
Gerald grabbed his hammer and smashed it against the machine's wall like a madman. Then, he kicked the damaged area, shattering it. They hadn't even reinforced the glass. He sneaked inside, and yanked a set of wires out of their plugs. That should allow him to walk through without being electrocuted.
He tightened his grip, furious, and stomped his way toward the Ergoxi. How could they be so incompetent? Goddamn it. The thing was like a giant diamond, but it was used as an infinite provider of energy. It was the source of every wondrous piece of machinery in the past century.
Gerald, however, smashed it with the wrath of a God. He was possessed by the rage. So much resources wasted to showcase the stupidity of a race. Shards of Ergoxi crammed the sides, yet he kept pounding it. If you didn't know Gerald, you would've thought he was sculpting it.
He wasn't. Gerald gasped a sigh of relief. Half of the Ergoxi was reduced to smithereens, and what remained looked like an uneven boulder. With a smile, he plugged the wires back on, and left the cube.
The second he left, a sphere fell down the tube, yet the static guided it immediately. The machines worked at proper speeds. Gerald followed the process with wide eyes. What would the end product be? That sphere was incredibly malleable. It took the shapes the machines commanded without a bit of resistance.
His heart thundered. What would it be? The sphere--which was now a giant white cube--had entered the last machine. Gerald felt a sudden pull from behind, and his deafeners fell to the ground. An incuboc had gotten him. The alien was bigger than the average, his blue skin filled with scars.
"Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it a few months and it will become effective," said the incuboc, laughing. "We've proved it wrong. It should go like this: 'Leave a stubborn, curious human with an ineffective machine, give it an hour, and it will become effective."
Gerald's eyes shot toward the incuboc's uniform. He had a white handkerchief embroidered with three uneven red lines inside a pocket. Of course. He had just fixed a machine for the Incutaris, a well-known and dangerous mafia. Gerald sighed. This would earn him some good prison time.
He twisted his neck as much as he could, and observed the end product: Shredded Ergopaper. The most rare and expensive drug in the galaxy.
"Perhaps we could come to an agreement," Gerald said.
The incuboc glared at him. "What would that be?"
"You assure my safety, pay me decent money, and I will improve your machine."
The incuboc grunted in disbelief. "Prove that you can improve it even more, and we shall see."
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/r/therobertfall For more stories!
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There is an old saying "Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it a few months and it will become effective.". Because there are only about 8 billion humans they are a rare species, not only that but they have a short lifecycle. This is why many people think this saying is figurative, however it is not.
We first met humans 30 cycles ago, or 300 Earth years. We were fascinated by them, they were the very first intelligent warrace. So at first we were not sure if we should approach them, but we did. Humans had this incredible capability to make things work. Not because they're smart, as a matter of fact they were a relative dumber race, but because of how stubborn they are. It doesn't matter how long it takes them, if they think they can do it they will keep trying until they can do it.
After 3 cycles of negotiations we made treaties with the humans. They would not war against anyone unless provoked, they would be given FTL technology and they would become the main engineering force of the Alliance. The FTL technology was given in the hope they would master it and make it cheaper as for now it took massive amounts of resources to use.
We were amazed by them. They worked day and night at the engines given to them, they reverse engineered them and wanted to know everything about them. After just 1 cycle of learning, the humans started building their fleet to traverse space. This is where we saw the might of their capabilities. In a matter of Earth months they constructed vessels never seen before in the galaxy. These things were at least 20 times the size of the Golarax which was the biggest vessel ever build standing at a height of 10 Earth meters and at a length of 50 Earth meters.
This is where a race of warriors stepped up, the Y'oltj. These scale covered warriors were by far not equal to the humans in their engineering capabilities but they had their numbers and size over the humans. Thus the Y'oltj demanded vessels or they would invade and take them from the humans. Ofcourse the humans denied and so a million ships arrived at Earth.
When the Y'oltj arrived they were shocked by what they found. Earth was empty, every single city was emptied and all 8 billion humans were gone. That was when it happened. A bright light evaporated 212,643 ships and the biggest vessel to have ever existed arrived, "Utopia". This vessel was 12,000km high, 8000km wide and 20,000km long. Humans build a new world for themselfs, they knew their homeplanet was dying and made themselfs a new home that's how stubborn they were.
After the sight of "Utopia" the humans shot 2 more times and only 269,156 ships remained of the Y'oltj. The humans requested the remaining ships to dock at the "Utopia". The humans captured all remaining Y'oltj with the promise that if they would not comply their home would be gone. To this day there are only rumours known about the Y'oltj, never has a single one been seen after the incident.
Now the humans use the "Utopia" as a HUB. Races from all over the galaxy can come for help. They are certain not a single species will attack them, as they never gave information about how they build the "Utopia" so they know they won't be rivaled. We are lucky to be allies with them as one day they might give us the information about how we can build our own world and leave our planets and colonies for every world is a ticking time bomb except for Utopia.
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[WP] You are a video game NPC, having a normal day in an ultra-modded copy of Skyrim. That is, until the Dragonborn shows up.
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It's not a bad gig, being an NPC. Just stick to the script when the Dragonborn shows up and the rest of the time you're free to do whatever you want. It puts food on the table and I'm good at it. I've even had some upward mobility, started out as a run of the mill guard and made it all the way up to Captain in Markarth, a respectably sized city. Got myself a quest marker too with a built out conversation tree, so yeah, I was looking good for upper management.
I'd run across the Dragonborn a few times on prior play throughs. Nothing too exciting. I was too far down the food chain back then. But rumor had it he was making his way over toward Markarth and I was eager. It'd be the first time we actually got to talk and I was already practicing my lines over the table with my wife each night.
I pulled out the kerchief stuffed into the back of my gauntlet and inhaled the flowery fragrance. Margaret, my wife and the love of my life. I smiled to myself and tucked the kerchief back in. I was a lucky man.
"He comes! The Dragonborn approaches! To places all!" The caller cried out. Markarth immediately sprung to life, each character finding their proper place and beginning their scripts. It was always exciting when the Dragonborn came, it was when careers got made.
I took my place in the center of the square, my chest thrust out with pride, a glowing quest indicator shining over my head. This was my moment. Time to make Margaret proud.
Suddenly, he was there before me. He looked...different. I did not recall him being a small little man in overalls the last time I had seen him. But the character creator did afford the Dragonborn a wide range of flexibility. I began my line, "Hail Dragonborn! I am Maravan, Captain of the Guards."
"It's a me! Mario!" The Dragonborn replied before beginning to jump up and down, skyrocketing into the air before me.
This was not an expected response, but my job was to stick to the script. "Welcome to Markarth \-\-"
I'm interrupted as an enormous pitcher filled with a red liquid exploded through the wall of the blacksmith. "OH YEAH!" The pitcher screams before it proceeds to stomp about, laying waste to the town.
"Oh no!" I scream out, worried about Samjin, the local Blacksmith, "To arms! To arms!" The battle script always overtakes the quest script so I'm still on track, but this monster is unlike anything I've seen before. It seems impervious to damage as it breaks through wall after wall, red liquid splashing over the sides as it goes. Over and over it bursts through walls, always screaming the same phrase. There is no sense to it, only a wanton destruction.
I run toward the pitcher, my sword raised, Margeret's kerchief fluttering in the wind. Suddenly the Dragonborn is there. Relief floods through me, the Dragonborn will know what to do, he's fought all manner of beasts. All of a sudden he calls out, "Pickachu, I choose you!" And throws a small red and white ball. After a moment, the ball opens and a flash of light fades to reveal a small yellow rat thing.
"Pika pika!" The rat thing turns to the Dragonborn and gives him a peace sign. It's the oddest interaction I've ever seen.
The Dragonborn points at the red pitcher that is continuing to wreak havoc throughout the town. The yellow rat thing gives a salute and then begins to pulse with energy, firing off lightning bolts at the Red Pitcher.
I gawk as the little critter electrocutes the red pitcher over and over, lightning coursing through its body. The pitcher staggers and then collapses, red liquid leaking out of numerous cracks in its exterior. "Oh..." red liquid spurts out of its mouth, "yeah..." Then it lies still.
I gulp and return to my post, the quest icon reappearing over my head. I try to maintain the script but my eyes keep wandering over to the Dragonborn as he hops about the carcass of the pitcher, gathering loot. After a moment, he begins to walk toward me...and is interrupted by the call of a dragon.
Why was a dragon here? They never appear in Markarth. I hear the call again, it sounded...odd, like a long drawn out note. Looking to the skies, I see it. It's...it's all wrong. Gone are the wings, replaced by an oblong metal body horrifying smiling human face on the front of it. The smile. It was terrible. A thing without a soul.
Not knowing what else to do, I simply scream out my dragon script, "EYES TO THE SKIES! A DRAGON!" I raise my sword once again, charging toward the fell beast.
The...[dragon contraption](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kBegv7kbxLo) thing lands, releasing a great gout of flame. Forgive me Margeret, I love you.
**Platypus out.**
**Want more peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus
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Sometimes I spit in his mead just for the hell of it. I've never done to anyone else, but this nonsense about going to the Cloud District is irritating especially since most of the city has to go to the palace in order to file mischarges or other legal fees. I was just waiting for that little bastard to burst through the door at any moment bragging about his whithering farm that only keeps crop alive because of the ~~slaves~~ endentured servants his father ~~bought~~ hired years ago.
Instead, the doors flung open, and someone else waltzed in. Her armor black as coal and gleaming of enchantments giving the utmost protection with the least coverage; the rings she wore looked as if crafted by angels or unworldy beings; her sword gleamed and was carried by unnatural strength--it was the size of a building for god-sakes! Her posture was incredible and stiff. There was whisperes among the patrons.
"That's the dragonborn! Can you see the scales?", "No, no... that's the archmage. Such magic only eminates from someone that powerful.", "Butthe strength to carry that sword... surely she is the harbinger of the companions!". Nobody dared to approach the woman though out of sheer fear. She stood there staring at the walls for what seemed like hours. I swear I had flashbacks of her lighting the place on fire and killing everyone in sight. Perhaps an illusion from her sheer power.
She finally walked over to me. Didn't say a word, but I knew what she wanted. As an inn keeper, I had no use for 3,412 cheaply-made iron daggers, but I dared not oppose her. I reached into my pocket to give her my money, but realized I was in my underwear! Before I could say anything, a guard came into the store... "Wait... I know you.." and without a word, the lady ran out the door.
I went to the back to grab more clothes, and I heard the unmistakable sound of sheer terror outside the tavern. Yells of pain, agony, and the *toot toot!* of a train whistle. Surely another dragon attack! Thankfully, we have a warrior here with us today. Come to think of it... dragons only attacked whenever she arrived. I also hadn't seen Nazeem since her appearance, but that's okay.
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[WP] Ever since you were a child, you’ve been able to see ghosts. It’s gotten to a point where ghosts are more familiar to you than humans. Your only friends are them. You decide to open a detective agency to solve crimes with the help of your supernatural friends.
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"Cas," said Jane. "Cas, where are you?"
She walked a little farther down the corridor.
"Cas, come on," said Jane. "I'm going to get caught."
A corporeal head poked out of the door that Jane lent up against.
"It's not done yet," said Cas.
"What?" said Jane. "You've been in there for ages."
"I know, I know," said Cas. "But, i'm your crime photographer right?"
"You're supposed to find clues and document them," said Jane.
"Yes, that's what I said," said Cas. "Your Pro Crime Scene Photographer."
"Err," said Jane. "I think you're getting a bit too into this."
"It's just that the light in here," said Cas. "It's so dreary."
"You're supposed to get a photo of the documents in the safe," said Jane.
"Don't yell at me!" said Cas. She disappeared back through the wall.
"Mistress," said a voice behind Jane. "You shouldn't upset young Cas like that."
"Damn," said Jane. "Don't scare me like that Ezekiel."
"I'm sorry mistress," said Ezekiel. He floated half way out of the floor beneath her. "But, something has happened back at the office."
"You're supposed to be there, looking after it," said Jane.
"Well I was," said Ezekiel.
At this, Cas peeked out from the wall.
"What are you doing here Ezekiel?" said Cas. "I don't need *your* help."
"I know that lady Cas," said Ezekiel.
"Have you got the photo yet?" said Jane.
"I still don't think the lighting is right," said Cas.
"It's a magic ghost camera," said Jane. "It doesn't need lighting. That's-the-whole-point."
"But, but," said Cas. "It's got to be pretty. You like pretty things."
"We just have to be able to read it," said Jane. "Go on now."
"Mistress," said Ezekiel. Jane turned back to the old ghost. "We have a serious problem."
"What now?" said Jane.
"A man came to the office," said Ezekiel. "He saw me."
"What do you mean he saw you?" said Jane. "Could he tell?"
"Well, you see," said Ezekiel. "I was taking a call."
"You can't take calls," said Jane. "How many times have I told you? The phone does weird things with you guys on the end of it."
"I've got the hang of it," said Ezekiel.
"Sure," said Jane. "Sure you do. I hate to think what that poor client was hearing on the other end."
"Anyway," said Ezekiel. "I was taking a call. This man rushed into the office. Luckily, I was at a desk. I didn't move, so my the nature of this body wasn't readily apparant."
"So, he didn't catch you," said Jane. "That's good. I'm not sure how I could explain away a ghost answering my phones."
"Well," said Ezekiel. "About that. He started shouting some very confusing things. Something about bringing balance back into the world. I didn't know what to do. That's when it happened."
"You moved?" said Jane.
"He shot me," said Ezekiel.
"Oh," said Jane. "The bullets went right through you..."
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Carver was hunched over and cursing when she walked into his office. He'd paid his late rent that morning with nothing left over for weed. His lank black hair had kept falling into his eyes as he scraped resin from the blackened stem. "Spooks hand me those cigarettes" Carver said to the ghost in his office who was floating aimlessly along the ceiling.
"My name's Edmund," said Spooks. "We've been over this."
Carver sifted through the impressive amount of wet black resin he had mined and smiled. He then pointed at his coat hanging on a wooden rack across the room "They're in the pocket," he said.
"Oh sure, Spooks at your service," the ghost said. The cigarette case sprang out of the pocket, into the air, and seemingly under its own volition flew at Carver like a missile. He raised his hand to deflect the loose cigs but the tin case slipped through and hit him in the eye.
"God Damn!" Carver said. He reached down a picked up a loose ciggarette and emptied it into the resin, forming little balls from the mixture.
"I honestly hope you die smoking that," said Spooks. "Acutally you already have cancer, I can see it."
Carver wondered if Spooks could really see such a thing. Shrugging he loaded some of the batched resin into his bong and cleared the bowl. She walked in during the aftermath of the hit, a long trenchcoat and fiery red hair a real dame. Carver's eyes were bulging and streaked with red. He tried to stand up and greet the newcomer but his stretching legs made his head exploded in a flash of lights and he slumped over. Putting one knee on the floor he rested his head on the desk.
"He's retarded," Spooks said but the woman showed no indication of hearing him. Carver sat back down and gulped some water, he took a deep breath and straightened the sleeve of his jacket "What can I do for you ma'am?".
"Oh it's so terrible! It's my husband he's gone missing. It all started four weeks ago when I suspected him of an affair and had him followed..."
Carver wasn't listening, he was looking at Spooks.
"It's a setup," Spooks said. "Her and her boss offed her husband and you're the fall guy."
The woman's eyes were teary and smudged and ashe told her story bubbles of spittle formed on her cherry red lips. Carver nodded his head in the direction of her noises and Hmm'd emphatically.
"You can string her along for a couple weeks pay but under no circumstances go to 46 Howland to "talk to her husbands sister' that's the trap."
"Do I get to fuck her?" Carver said out loud.
"Excuse me?" the woman said.
"Do I need a truck," he said trying to stifle a giggle.
"I don't understand how that's relevant" she replied.
Spooks had come to float beside the woman "They really smashed the triangle through the circle shape when you were born eh Carver? I mean jesus how many times are you going to talk to me when we have company?"
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[WP] Ever since you were a child, you’ve been able to see ghosts. It’s gotten to a point where ghosts are more familiar to you than humans. Your only friends are them. You decide to open a detective agency to solve crimes with the help of your supernatural friends.
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Rain trickled down the windows and thunder and lightning crackled in the distance, a fitting start to a bad day. It was a line of work that I had gone into and was a choice that I had made. Didn’t make it any better. It didn’t make it any better. It started with the bathroom door locked. Knocking didn’t do anything and so I had to unlock it with the key in the hall. The mirror was fogged and the sink was running, but it was empty. I shit, showered and shaved and stumbled down to make myself breakfast. Coffee was ready for me already. I made a bowl of cereal for myself and looked around. I was alone at the table for the moment. Nobody was out and about just yet and I appreciated the moment of silence.
I can’t see them all the time. It’s like an old injury hurting in the cold. I was a weird kid. My parents humored me. I just saw pictures of Papaw and could describe him from those. Even though I could smell the Old Spice on his worn flannel and he kept me steady on my bike long after Dad let go. I was pretending to play with my dog Gambit after he was hit by a car to cope. It became less tolerable and less fun and quirky as I grew older. I broke my arm when Alex in fifth grade shoved me to the ground when I told him his mom was with him always and she had her hair again. I got used to it. I had other people I could talk with. Hell, Janet liked me more after her car crash than she ever did when we were in chemistry together. Since I was the only one that could talk with her, she didn’t have much choice.
I knew that I could do something with this. Solve murders and stuff like that, like the good psychics do. But I wouldn’t go up and rub my hands on pictures of dead kids and give their parents false hope. Mainly because I’m just no good with kids. I enjoyed my cheap breakfast in silence with the exception of the radio in the living room flipping quickly through channels. I wasn’t sure that the voices I heard were talk radio hosts or somebody trying to get my attention. The TV snapped on suddenly and loudly. Cartoons. I swore and stood up before slouching to the living room. My neighbors knew me as the weird cop who stayed up at weird hours talking to himself and I’d gotten plenty of noise complaints from them. Turning the TV off I turned back to the kitchen table and heard soft humming in the sudden silence.
A girl sat at my seat at the kitchen table, humming and kicking her legs, looking down at my half eaten cereal expectantly. She couldn’t have been more than seven with brown hair twisted into tight braids. I cleared my throat and she turned around suddenly. A startled noise escaped me and I fell back against the doorframe to my kitchen. Half of her face was a mess of bruises and cuts, her lip split and pulled back to expose teeth, and she looked at me with her good eye. She was wearing night dress that had blood covered in it. My heart sank as I approached her and held out my hand. She didn’t take it and so I let it fall to my side limply. I didn’t know what to say and the silence was broken by another voice.
“Oh, sweetie,” a thin, raspy voice rang out in the kitchen. Papaw sat next to her and pushed her hair back. “Who did this to you?”
She shot me a quick look before whispering in his ear. His eyes behind his glasses darkened as I sat down at her other side. I couldn’t hear what they were saying despite her being so close. Sometimes they could shut themselves off to me for privacy’s sake. I didn’t mind. Papaw patted her hand and shooed her back to the living room to watch TV. At least it was quieter this time. I set my chin in my hand, eyes losing focus as Papaw sat in front of me with an eerie silence. He looked more upset than I’d ever seen him before and he ran his hands over his face.
“What happened?” I finally asked. “I need to know if it’s been reported or if she just...just recently…”
“She said her dad came into her bedroom and tried to-” he faltered as he spoke. “-well. She fought and yelled and he hit her and hit her and tried to choke her. She said she went to sleep and woke up in a bag that smelled, tried to get out then fell asleep again. And woke up here.”
It was later in the day when I got the call. A little girl’s body was found when a couple of homeless people dumpster dove. It was still raining as I arrived at the morgue. Her tiny body was covered with a sheet. The coroner was one of the most stone stomached people I had ever met and she looked like her hands weighed ten pounds as she moved it. Both of the little girl’s eyes were closed, one closed naturally and the other one swollen shut. Her lip was split and curled back to show teeth with bruising on her throat. She had brown hair that was twisted into tight braids. The only evidence they had taken was her bloody nightdress and the bags she was found in. She had been put in multiple bags and the first two had been clawed through as she tried to escape.
As I stared down at the body, I felt a small hand slip into mine.
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"Okay people look alive, we got a good one.", I walk into the office.
"Alive? Really Bob?"
"You've got no respect for the dead, or the elders."
"I hope you find someone like you after you die."
Bill, Simone, and Jackson blurted out in unison. "I see you rotting corpsless people do not appreciate a good sense of humour", I chuckled. "But get serious now. We got a government case."
"Finally, something worth my time.", Bill was cocky as ever, adjusted his glasses and glided over to take the file off my hands.
"Turn it down! Those government good for nothing rats!", Simone was still angry because the government did not acknowledge his death as a secret agent in the 90's.
"Should be fun", Jackson was my best bud out of the three colleagues, died just a few years ago in a gangwar. He still had all the knowledge of the street you could need.
Together, these three made my B&G detective corporation something even acknowledged by the damn government.
"Uh oh", Bill sounded worried.
"What is it? It's supposed to be a serial killer, leaving some marks on the bodies, probably trying dark arts or something. Easy stuff", I went to sit on my desk. Looking at the place which seemed like an actual graveyard now. We needed a renovation.
Simone and Jackson went over to Bill, and had the same scared look after seeing the file.
"Tell me anytime", I was worried now.
"Well", Jackson started.
"That ain't no one 'trying', Simone shouted out. "That's what is put in every ghost's mind when they become a ghost. Those are actual summoning symbols."
"And bad ones at those", Jackson looked scared for the first time ever since I met him.
"They are not something an amateur symbol.", Bill took over, "they can only be drawn by someone with demon level skills, if it's a human...then well good save us."
"Whom do they summon?", I asked trying to keep my cool as I felt a sweat drop going down my nape."
"The devil"
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[WP] Ever since you were a child, you’ve been able to see ghosts. It’s gotten to a point where ghosts are more familiar to you than humans. Your only friends are them. You decide to open a detective agency to solve crimes with the help of your supernatural friends.
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Rain trickled down the windows and thunder and lightning crackled in the distance, a fitting start to a bad day. It was a line of work that I had gone into and was a choice that I had made. Didn’t make it any better. It didn’t make it any better. It started with the bathroom door locked. Knocking didn’t do anything and so I had to unlock it with the key in the hall. The mirror was fogged and the sink was running, but it was empty. I shit, showered and shaved and stumbled down to make myself breakfast. Coffee was ready for me already. I made a bowl of cereal for myself and looked around. I was alone at the table for the moment. Nobody was out and about just yet and I appreciated the moment of silence.
I can’t see them all the time. It’s like an old injury hurting in the cold. I was a weird kid. My parents humored me. I just saw pictures of Papaw and could describe him from those. Even though I could smell the Old Spice on his worn flannel and he kept me steady on my bike long after Dad let go. I was pretending to play with my dog Gambit after he was hit by a car to cope. It became less tolerable and less fun and quirky as I grew older. I broke my arm when Alex in fifth grade shoved me to the ground when I told him his mom was with him always and she had her hair again. I got used to it. I had other people I could talk with. Hell, Janet liked me more after her car crash than she ever did when we were in chemistry together. Since I was the only one that could talk with her, she didn’t have much choice.
I knew that I could do something with this. Solve murders and stuff like that, like the good psychics do. But I wouldn’t go up and rub my hands on pictures of dead kids and give their parents false hope. Mainly because I’m just no good with kids. I enjoyed my cheap breakfast in silence with the exception of the radio in the living room flipping quickly through channels. I wasn’t sure that the voices I heard were talk radio hosts or somebody trying to get my attention. The TV snapped on suddenly and loudly. Cartoons. I swore and stood up before slouching to the living room. My neighbors knew me as the weird cop who stayed up at weird hours talking to himself and I’d gotten plenty of noise complaints from them. Turning the TV off I turned back to the kitchen table and heard soft humming in the sudden silence.
A girl sat at my seat at the kitchen table, humming and kicking her legs, looking down at my half eaten cereal expectantly. She couldn’t have been more than seven with brown hair twisted into tight braids. I cleared my throat and she turned around suddenly. A startled noise escaped me and I fell back against the doorframe to my kitchen. Half of her face was a mess of bruises and cuts, her lip split and pulled back to expose teeth, and she looked at me with her good eye. She was wearing night dress that had blood covered in it. My heart sank as I approached her and held out my hand. She didn’t take it and so I let it fall to my side limply. I didn’t know what to say and the silence was broken by another voice.
“Oh, sweetie,” a thin, raspy voice rang out in the kitchen. Papaw sat next to her and pushed her hair back. “Who did this to you?”
She shot me a quick look before whispering in his ear. His eyes behind his glasses darkened as I sat down at her other side. I couldn’t hear what they were saying despite her being so close. Sometimes they could shut themselves off to me for privacy’s sake. I didn’t mind. Papaw patted her hand and shooed her back to the living room to watch TV. At least it was quieter this time. I set my chin in my hand, eyes losing focus as Papaw sat in front of me with an eerie silence. He looked more upset than I’d ever seen him before and he ran his hands over his face.
“What happened?” I finally asked. “I need to know if it’s been reported or if she just...just recently…”
“She said her dad came into her bedroom and tried to-” he faltered as he spoke. “-well. She fought and yelled and he hit her and hit her and tried to choke her. She said she went to sleep and woke up in a bag that smelled, tried to get out then fell asleep again. And woke up here.”
It was later in the day when I got the call. A little girl’s body was found when a couple of homeless people dumpster dove. It was still raining as I arrived at the morgue. Her tiny body was covered with a sheet. The coroner was one of the most stone stomached people I had ever met and she looked like her hands weighed ten pounds as she moved it. Both of the little girl’s eyes were closed, one closed naturally and the other one swollen shut. Her lip was split and curled back to show teeth with bruising on her throat. She had brown hair that was twisted into tight braids. The only evidence they had taken was her bloody nightdress and the bags she was found in. She had been put in multiple bags and the first two had been clawed through as she tried to escape.
As I stared down at the body, I felt a small hand slip into mine.
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"The body is right in there, Detective".
The officer held the door open for a younger man, averting his eyes from the grim scene from within the apartment. Detective Jason Marks, relatively new on the investigation scene but an instant celebrity among the policing industry; his incredibly quick and thorough solving of all his cases had earned him his rightful place among the best. Without so much as a glance at the officer, Marks strode past and simply gave a short grunt. Marks never was a fan of other people. He had not a single friend or acquaintance, and kept little contact with his immediate family. Jason's true friends were the dead who had been with him his entire life. Stories through time have painted a very black and white picture about being able to see ghosts. Some have praised it as a holy gift, others have cursed it. Marks had been born with such a gift, and was of neither opinion. The dead whom had spent time with him had given Jason a plethora of knowledge and support, likely due to the lack of real parenting he had received as a boy, and may be the reason why he sees no reason to become close to anyone living. Being able to work with spirits to solve murders and crimes brings a fat paycheck and a celebrity-like status to his name, and he was quite happy being in such a spotlight.
"Damn, poor girl probably 'ad no idea what hit her...." came a gurgled voice from behind Marks. A tall, discoloured figure drifted from the doorway, gliding past the officer who had not a clue what horrible image of a man had passed him. Wallace Gates, Jason's closest companion and partner in his detective work. Gates had died almost seconds before Jason was born into this world, dying in hospital and having drowned on his own blood and fluids only floors down from the maternity ward. Through some unknown force or because Wallace simply had nothing better to do with his death, he saw fit to become Jason's haunt. What he didn't expect was Jason's ability to see and interact with him, and certainly didn't expect how quickly Marks took to being his friend. After this, Gates decided to befriend the young boy, and the rest is history.
"Anything you can pick up from this?" murmured Jason, staring intently around the room, a decapitated corpse of a young woman strewn in the middle. Her neck was cleanly cut at the collar line, and her body was bruised and torn to shreds. 'Still not the worst I've seen', he thought to himself. As he scanned the small apartment, he couldn't see any signs of forced entry or even a struggle. The police before him had meticulously dusted for prints, hair, anything they could use to find a suspect. With no evidence to be found, they had called in Marks. "Nothin', I ain't getting any vibes in the least from this. I'll get Oaks and Chang on this, 'ave em go around the block and ask some of our folks". The area was a bustling inner-city residential not just for humans, but for many lost souls who had nothing better to do than watch the world. "Maybe they'll find someo----", Gates suddenly froze and choked. Marks quickly turned in confusion. He was used to Wallace's gruesome appearance, his blue and purple face contrasted by the two wide bloodshot eyes, but to see Gates like this, almost with an expression of dread and fear, gave him chills.
"What is it Gatesy? Is the culprit here?". Jason was now a little bit fearful himself. Usually when he finds the suspect, he has the police in toe, an entire squad, depending on the size of the person. He was little more than 5"8, meek and skinny, a slim chance in a fight. Wallace certainly would be no help; the dead can't touch the living.....well, expect for Jason. He was still focused on Gates' terrified face, whom had now locked his eyes to the corner of the room. "It's him......." he gasped, wheezing horribly as if he had seen something more truly horrific than death itself. From there, a dark shadow began to form, chilling the air and striking a sharp pain into Jason's skull. The previously silent apartment had now been filled with a demonic rumbling, the shadow growing even larger and moving slowly towards Jason. The blurred edges began taking on a form, inhuman and terrible. A clawed hand reached out at him.....
"Run mate!" shouted Wallace, suddenly snapping out of it. In an instant, he dashed over to Jason, blocking the entity and stopping it's hand. The creature roared, slashing at Gates, tearing through his ethereal body and causing him to explode into a spectral mist. Crying out at the loss of his closest friend, Marks was suddenly blinded by an incredibly blind light, originating from the middle of the cloud that had been Wallace. Without his sight, Jason sprawled onto the floor, covering his face. An ear-piercing shriek blasted his hearing, and he blacked out. When he came to, the same officer who let him in was now bending down next to him, paramedics nearby rushing over to them. "I heard a massive thud, came in and you were passed out on the floor. You all good, boss?", the officer said checking Jason's pulse. Jason started back at the corner. The black figure was gone. He remembered seeing Gates being attacked, and neither he was in the room. Jason crumpled into tears. His best friend, his only real family, gone.
As he was wheeled out into the ambulance on the gurney, Jason noticed a distinct lack of spirits, only humans. No Oaks or Chang, nobody else besides the crowd of people watching intently from behind the police tape. His gift was gone.
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[WP] A day before the Earth is destroyed by a collision with a rogue planet, time freezes. You, a completely normal person, are untouched and cannot die. Text on your arm appears that reads, "however long it takes, save us". You have an eternity, time resumes only when you are done.
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How long is an eternity? That's a silly question, and rightfully deserves a silly answer. Infinite.
I looked up, as I did at the start of every 24-hour cycle. A massive, misshapen, spherical rock invaded most of the sky. Scientists called it a rogue planet, and it had dislodged from the asteroid belt and embarked on its journey toward us. Hours before its collision, everything stopped but me. Now it hung above me with imagery you'd expect out of a fantasy movie.
Much like I did after emerging from my slumber, I checked my watch. Still ticking, after some initial fumbling after the event. Then, I check the text on my arm, "however long it takes, save us." I had no idea the depth of these words that appeared on me once time froze. They really wanted me to save them. For countless days, I tried. Days of course, meant 24-hour cycles. I had been looking at the sunset sky for, what I assume was, decades.
My new home was in NASA headquarters. And my first few years were dedicated to finding my solution in science. I was a chef, so it was tougher than I first anticipated. Thankfully, data was easily available as you can imagine. The frozen, unmoving bodies of scientists showed much animation and terror in their expressions. They had countless files, countless plans open. It took me some time, but eventually I got the gist of it all. Eventually, I reached the same conclusion they did. There was no feasible way to do it. Aside from inventing new technology. Which they had no time to do. I did. But that didn't make it any easier. Endless time to learn advanced technological processes is easier said than done, especially with no one to talk to. So now what?
NASA quickly became invaded by various other texts. I scoured Washington, D.C., looking for books on religion, magic, and other metaphysical sources. Cars worked fine when I operated them, I just had to push the driver aside. Gas would run out rather quickly, and I had freedom to pick, so NASA also became quite the parking lot.
Those next few years led me to the same result. The books I had read led me to become much more philosophically minded. I deemed it useless for saving the world, but it gave me more peace of mind. I was happy with myself, and being by myself. I was single anyway, so, whatever. I had half a mind to ask out one of the engineers though, she was cute.
It had been seven years. I was no closer to finding an answer. The anxiety of finding someway to save the world was fading. The loneliness also stopped, and a peace settled in. I would occasionally peak under the clothes of the frozen bodies, I ashamedly even hit a few at first to gauge my surroundings. Now I was content with being alone in a frozen world. Even, to a degree, content with the world ending. Or not. It seemed to not matter, and the text remained. Maybe the answer wasn't meant to be found this way. Maybe I had to stop seeking it out.
I stopped intentionally recording time. I put my watch by the doors of the NASA headquarters, setting up a device to keep track of the hours as they passed. Then I left.
I went to every country. Nearly every major city and location of the world. I also learned how to pilot a plane. I crashed only a few times. Thankfully, pain was short lived, and my wounds healed in moments. I also felt no hunger or thirst, as a chef this bothered me. When I ate, it was like eating while full. As I traveled the world, I learned to ignore this feeling and dined on the freshest ingredients. It was as I always wanted. Though, I never expected it like this.
I stayed in these locales for a while. Reading, watching, learning. Some were set in perpetual darkness, which bothered me only for... well, a little while. I learned a lot, understood more, and kept my sanity. I would meditate often, and keep myself in check. I don't know if it was my will, or some supernatural ability granted by time freezing, but I never lost myself for a moment.
I had seen everything worth seeing. Then I saw everything else. Some things in my life before all this I had forgotten. I changed clothes so often, eventually I left my personal identity and belongings behind. I had forgotten who I was. I guess that was irrelevant, as I had changed so much since then. The text on my arm was the only reminder of who I was. The words had gone from a prophecy, to boring, to being ignored, but now it was like a dark passenger. A threat. I had done everything splendid in this world there was to do alone. Now what was left?
I went back to my first location. NASA. There was a device, ticking away. Hours translated into years. Two hundred and three years. Could it have really been that long? Did it matter? How many more times would I live two hundred years? Did it matter? What if I could never save them? Did it matter?
Years passed as I reexamined what NASA had found. I had considered just launching missiles at the thing, but that would kill us all anyway. I could launch myself at it, but what good what I do up there? In the vacuum of space, I would be stuck on that rock freezing and suffering forever. Did it matter?
I had to make a decision. An attempt to start doing something. Nothing felt good enough, *right enough*. I had spent over two hundred years procrastinating. As I laid out on one of my favorite cars in the new NASA parking lot, I gazed up at the rogue planet. Silent. Nothing. There was absolutely nothing. As there had been for so long. "Wait," I spoke, for the first time in what felt like forever.
There was a soft blinking green light from the surface of the rogue planet. I sat up, staring. Was this it? Now of all times? Had I snapped? Was I hallucinating? No. I always recovered from injuries, I had to be healthy. But there, plain as anything, was something moving, *doing something*, without my saying so. How long had it been blinking? How many years of ignoring that rock had it been doing that?
Then it hit me. "Save us." I looked at the text. Then back up to the planet. I stopped caring who had written that on my arm. I assumed it was a cosmic entity. If a human had done it, surely they would have picked themselves if they could freeze time. A deity of some sort made sense, working in mysterious ways and all that. And it made it easy to forget the source of the text, and keep enjoying eternity. No. No it was something living. Maybe even something *currently* living. Whoever marked me as their savior was living on the rogue planet.
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At first, I denied it. “No way,” I thought, “I must be on some sort of gameshow. Or there was something in my drink. Or it’s a dream.”I was like that for about a day.
Then, I embraced it. I did all the things I thought of doing but never had the guts to do. I drank so much I blacked out three days in a row. I drove a race car. I couldn’t possibly list it all here.
But now..... Now, I want to end it. I’ve been trying for.... God, how long have I been trying? The sun is always out, time has stopped.... If I only had another person to do this with.... but I hope this works. I’ve been studying and learning how to make this, researching, and experimenting. If this doesn’t work, I may as well give up. My plan is to deploy a robot programmed to go to the rouge, deploy, and start dismantling it little by little. Sending bags of debris deep into space, away from us. If it works, and time resumes, then I’m going to be done. That’s why I’m writing this. So that people know what happened.
It’s been a long time since I’ve touched this, but I know it’s working. There’s a canyon on the planet that wasn’t there before. Well, the rest of you better do good now that you’ll have a second chance. Go and cure cancer or something. I don’t know. All I know that is that I’m glad to be done with this hell of a life.
This is Alice Davies, signing off.
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Well, that was my first attempt at something like this! I hope you all enjoyed (if anybody has read this). Any and all feedback is appreciated!
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[WP] It's clear the Prince isn't coming. As the last living dwarf, you must decide whether or not to unplug Snow White's life support...
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The prince had still not shown his face, Grumpy heard through the grapevine that he had married some chimney type who had lost her shoe. He gazed down at Snow White in the suspended animation pod, her rosy cheeks, and dark eyelashes never twitching or moving a muscle. He suspected that the fairy godmother was the godmother of both, the chimney girl, and the sweet Snow White. He snarled to himself, the godmother must have given Snow White’s prince away. This morning when he woke up and picked up the paper from outside of his little hut, “The Enchanted Times”, he had perused an article that talked about the fairy godmother now diligently watching over some supposed “sleeping beauty”. He laid his hand on the pod and felt tears come to his eyes, all his brothers had since passed away from old age, he was close to following. Grumpy had to decide what to do with Snow White, he either had to pull the plug and let her go into the great unknown with him and his brothers or come up with another solution. He was Grumpy though, he wasn’t Smart like Doc had been, he scowled down at the pod where she lay trying to think of a solution, what would Doc have done?
He had Snow White locked away in his cellar where he could watch over her until a solution came to him. He turned off the light and stomped upstairs to his house. He had finally come up with a solution, he wasn’t Doc, he was Grumpy and he could still do something. He stomped to the door and grabbed his boots roughly putting them on his little dwarfish feet. He had to fix this for Snow White, something had to be done, he couldn’t just allow her to die. He grabbed his jacket and his ax and opened the door, when he opened the door the wintery snow that blanketed the forest rushed into the little house almost knocking him and his ax over.
He leaned forward heading out through the doorway, he slammed the door behind him and stomped off into the snow-covered forest in search of the fairy godmother who had a thing or two to answer for. The snow would have quickly made his beard white if it wasn’t already white and almost down to his toes. He hefted his ax on his shoulder and headed towards the supposed castle of this sleeping beauty and the fairy godmother.
It had taken him a few days, but had finally made it to the castle, he marched up to the drawbridge and used his ax to bang on the huge wooden bridge. He was getting old though and as soon as the drawbridge started to lower he had to rush back to avoid getting squashed by the giant door. Once the drawbridge was successfully lowered he marched across the drawbridge and towards the godmother who waited looking at him expectantly. He marched forward towards the godmother Flora who smiled at him pleasantly, “how’s Snow White doing?” she asked him so sweetly with her motherly charms.
Grumpy didn’t respond just humphed grouchily as he closed in on the godmother. It seemed at the last second she realized that this wasn’t the usual dwarf she was used to greeting, and she started to back away. It was too late though, with one mighty swing Grumpy lopped her head off and watched her little body fall to the ground. The other two godmothers came flying into the room, as soon as they saw Flora laying on the floor in the puddle of blood they both gasped and tried to flee past the grumpy dwarf, but bloodlust was written all over his face. He chopped them down in seconds and stormed upstairs to the sleeping beauty where she lay. He cut her neck in half with a loud thack and stormed back downstairs kicking the heads that he passed with contempt. He stomped out of the castle and headed back towards home, as soon as he got home he checked on Snow White and patiently waited for the prince to arrive.
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It's clear the Prince isn't coming. As the last living dwarf, you must decide whether or not to unplug Snow White's life support…
Snow White we all know well, she was a beauty. The story that we were told is a totaled fabrication…. She actually did not wake up from her slumber from a Human prince… She actually was awakened by a dwarf…. The dawaf was one named sleepy. Sleepy was the last remaining dwarf due to a disease caused by the apple poisonion. When he first laid his eyes
On her he knew she was his true love…. The thing is though, she was in a deep slumber due the poisons apple that was delivered by the evil step mom. The other six dwarfs succumbed to the toxin also. Sleepy was privy to the poison… To be continued \(if you like\)...
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[WP] You are exploring a series of caves under a mountain when you find a large vault door set into the wall. An inscription is set into the door that reads: "Apocalypse came, but we were prepared. Hope lies beyond. 15,683 A.R.L. Epoch II"
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Ray checked his surroundings. He was in a forest right next to a mountain. Ray squinted and saw a small hole under a bush, small enough to fit a human. Ray smiled. He has been hunting Black Demon, a man who earned that name by soaking his skin in the blood of those he’s killed. Black Demon was worth a fortune to anyone that could bring him in, alive or dead. Black Demon has been said to wander these parts, seemingly disappearing into thin air when cornered.
Ray slowly creeped towards the burrow. He was armed with a pistol, two knives, three grenades, and the newest invention of David Misell, a flashlight. As soon as Ray got close enough, he threw a grenade down the hole. A few seconds later, the grenade let out a muffled explosion. Ray creeped forward and shined his flashlight into the hole. Ray could not see the bottom, but he saw that a ladder was carved into the walls of the hole.
Carefully, Ray began to climb down. Either the grenade killed Black Demon, or he would eventually come back to his hiding place. Towards the bottom, Ray was greeted by a cloud of dust. Unfortunately, Ray’s grenade had blown up the bottom ridges of the ladder. Ray jumped down towards the bottom rolling into the dust below.
Ray aimed his flashlight in front of him, away from the ladder. He realized that he could only see dust. He walked forward and immediately crashed into another wall. Stumbling back into the ladder, Ray began to walk along the wall, making sure to keep himself pressed against the wall.
Feeling the wall, he eventually circled into a hallway and walked into it. Eventually, as he got out of the dust cloud, he noticed that there were various rooms that the hallway led into. Weirdly, each room had a table cut out of the rock. “How long did Black Demon spend on this place?” Ray asked out loud.
Ray kept walking until he reached a metal plate, blocking his path. He noticed an inscription that read "Apocalypse came, but we were prepared. Hope lies beyond. 15,683 A.R.L. Epoch II." A shiver ran down Ray’s spine.
It seemed that Black Demon probably did not build this place. If not him though, who did?
Ray heard a crash from behind him in the hallway. The crash was quickly followed by profanity. Ray turned around and slowly inched his way forward, flashlight in his left hand and pistol in the other. He saw a man dressed only in dried blood running towards him, Black Demon.
“Stop! Hands up! I got a gun!” Ray shouted.
Black Demon made no response and fired shots at Ray. Most of the shots missed but one blew out his flashlight. Ray returned fire until his pistol ran out of ammo. As he tried to reload, he realized that his left hand was missing a thumb and threw the pistol and Black Demon. Ray ran away, barely managing to toss a grenade behind him. He heard a scream and slammed head first into the metal plate.
With both of his hands, Ray desperately felt the plate looking for a lever or door knob, trying to get in. Eventually, his left hand entered a small hole.
“Blood accepted. Door opening now,” a female voice said as the door opened.
Amazingly, there was light behind the door. Ray went in, and the door closed behind him. Ray looked around and could barely believe his eyes. There were machineries everywhere that he had never seen before. He walked up to a piece of black glass placed on what looked like a door. Amazingly, it lit up.
Words began to appear:
Year: 30,126 A.R.L.
Month: May
Day: 4
As they appeared, a voice read them outloud. “Year: 30,126 years after Raymond Longiton...” Ray gasped and zoned out the rest as he heard the machine say his full name.
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Syrenne deployed the wings on her black-and-gold plated suit, landing on the deep cavern floor. Norvi crackled onto the voice comms.
"Everything clear, S32?"
"No one in sight so far," she replied, reaching for the SMG at her waist.
"Can we get a marker for your current location?"
"On it." The agent opened a holographic map and set a marker down.
"Thank you. NV2 signing off."
Syrenne closed the map and fixed her helmet, walking around, gun in hand. Eventually, the cave darkened to the point where darkness consumed everything around her. She quickly pushed a button and lights emerged from her suit. "S32, deploying lights. Total darkness."
After wandering for about an hour, the agent came across a quite large vault door. Reading the inscription, she quickly entered the voice comms.
"S32 emergency report! Calling NV2! I repeat! S32 emergency report! Calling NV2!"
"NV2 in. What's the issue?"
"I've just stumbled upon this *crackle* door, with this *crackle* inscription. It reads 'Apocal- *crackle* came, but we were prepared. Hope lies *crackle*. 15,683 A.R.L. Epoch *crackle*.'"
"S32, you're losing signal. Just one thing, which Epoch?"
"Epoch the-" Syrenne was cut off by a loud, rumbling crack, then silence. She was done for, she thought to herself. She had no choice but to enter.
"Greetings, Syrenne," an overly-sweet voice echoed.
"H-hello?"
The woman belonging to the voice snatched and tossed away the agent's helmet and SMG. "You see, darling, you've mistaken yourself, traveling here."
"What do you mean?"
"Simply put, you're going to be brainwashed. To wipe you of your memories of the future. You're going to be set in our time, the time of the proper lady. Welcome to 1807."
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[WP] You are exploring a series of caves under a mountain when you find a large vault door set into the wall. An inscription is set into the door that reads: "Apocalypse came, but we were prepared. Hope lies beyond. 15,683 A.R.L. Epoch II"
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The strikes of my stone axe reverberated against the door, rumbling down the square hallways and out into the silent valley below. This was a place of a death, forbidden by our village elders and protected by ghosts... but I knew the truth. This was a place of gods long before we came, and in the halls of those gods lied treasures we could only dream of.
Nothing lived outside. No animals, no plants, and no men. After entering the caves, I found the same enchanted fabric on the skeletons hunched against the walls as was gifted to me by my dying grandfather... Rainweave cloth, the clothing of gods that could repel water, blades, and most importantly the warm death.
I found more cloth than I could carry just moments after entering the caves. Skeletons wearing strange helmets and possessing items of untold value and purpose lined the walls; perhaps victims of an ancient war before our time. Glimmering jewelry made of small moving parts... so many treasures to behold and yet I could not bring myself to leave after finding the door.
It stood ten feet tall and ten feet wide; a perfect circle gleaming with perfection. Perhaps it was the work of a master craftsmen from ages untold, or perhaps it was the door to the realm of the gods themselves. What was clear to me after finding this place is that all the dead, all the gods, and all my purpose led me to this door. This impenetrable door.
I knew I was doomed. The warm death, having been held off by my grandfather's robes, was still heating my flesh. Putting my ear to the door, tears fell as I felt the warmth spread through my cheek. I was not worthy to enter. And yet, strangely, as my vision faded and I lay on the ground to join the ranks of the dead... I heard my axe still hitting the door. But it was not in my hand?
As the edges of my vision turn to darkness and my eyes began to fall shut, I saw dust rain from the ceiling.
Death was louder than I was expecting... it almost sounded like a voice...
...
“Get him in here!”
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Syrenne deployed the wings on her black-and-gold plated suit, landing on the deep cavern floor. Norvi crackled onto the voice comms.
"Everything clear, S32?"
"No one in sight so far," she replied, reaching for the SMG at her waist.
"Can we get a marker for your current location?"
"On it." The agent opened a holographic map and set a marker down.
"Thank you. NV2 signing off."
Syrenne closed the map and fixed her helmet, walking around, gun in hand. Eventually, the cave darkened to the point where darkness consumed everything around her. She quickly pushed a button and lights emerged from her suit. "S32, deploying lights. Total darkness."
After wandering for about an hour, the agent came across a quite large vault door. Reading the inscription, she quickly entered the voice comms.
"S32 emergency report! Calling NV2! I repeat! S32 emergency report! Calling NV2!"
"NV2 in. What's the issue?"
"I've just stumbled upon this *crackle* door, with this *crackle* inscription. It reads 'Apocal- *crackle* came, but we were prepared. Hope lies *crackle*. 15,683 A.R.L. Epoch *crackle*.'"
"S32, you're losing signal. Just one thing, which Epoch?"
"Epoch the-" Syrenne was cut off by a loud, rumbling crack, then silence. She was done for, she thought to herself. She had no choice but to enter.
"Greetings, Syrenne," an overly-sweet voice echoed.
"H-hello?"
The woman belonging to the voice snatched and tossed away the agent's helmet and SMG. "You see, darling, you've mistaken yourself, traveling here."
"What do you mean?"
"Simply put, you're going to be brainwashed. To wipe you of your memories of the future. You're going to be set in our time, the time of the proper lady. Welcome to 1807."
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[WP] You are exploring a series of caves under a mountain when you find a large vault door set into the wall. An inscription is set into the door that reads: "Apocalypse came, but we were prepared. Hope lies beyond. 15,683 A.R.L. Epoch II"
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The strikes of my stone axe reverberated against the door, rumbling down the square hallways and out into the silent valley below. This was a place of a death, forbidden by our village elders and protected by ghosts... but I knew the truth. This was a place of gods long before we came, and in the halls of those gods lied treasures we could only dream of.
Nothing lived outside. No animals, no plants, and no men. After entering the caves, I found the same enchanted fabric on the skeletons hunched against the walls as was gifted to me by my dying grandfather... Rainweave cloth, the clothing of gods that could repel water, blades, and most importantly the warm death.
I found more cloth than I could carry just moments after entering the caves. Skeletons wearing strange helmets and possessing items of untold value and purpose lined the walls; perhaps victims of an ancient war before our time. Glimmering jewelry made of small moving parts... so many treasures to behold and yet I could not bring myself to leave after finding the door.
It stood ten feet tall and ten feet wide; a perfect circle gleaming with perfection. Perhaps it was the work of a master craftsmen from ages untold, or perhaps it was the door to the realm of the gods themselves. What was clear to me after finding this place is that all the dead, all the gods, and all my purpose led me to this door. This impenetrable door.
I knew I was doomed. The warm death, having been held off by my grandfather's robes, was still heating my flesh. Putting my ear to the door, tears fell as I felt the warmth spread through my cheek. I was not worthy to enter. And yet, strangely, as my vision faded and I lay on the ground to join the ranks of the dead... I heard my axe still hitting the door. But it was not in my hand?
As the edges of my vision turn to darkness and my eyes began to fall shut, I saw dust rain from the ceiling.
Death was louder than I was expecting... it almost sounded like a voice...
...
“Get him in here!”
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Ray checked his surroundings. He was in a forest right next to a mountain. Ray squinted and saw a small hole under a bush, small enough to fit a human. Ray smiled. He has been hunting Black Demon, a man who earned that name by soaking his skin in the blood of those he’s killed. Black Demon was worth a fortune to anyone that could bring him in, alive or dead. Black Demon has been said to wander these parts, seemingly disappearing into thin air when cornered.
Ray slowly creeped towards the burrow. He was armed with a pistol, two knives, three grenades, and the newest invention of David Misell, a flashlight. As soon as Ray got close enough, he threw a grenade down the hole. A few seconds later, the grenade let out a muffled explosion. Ray creeped forward and shined his flashlight into the hole. Ray could not see the bottom, but he saw that a ladder was carved into the walls of the hole.
Carefully, Ray began to climb down. Either the grenade killed Black Demon, or he would eventually come back to his hiding place. Towards the bottom, Ray was greeted by a cloud of dust. Unfortunately, Ray’s grenade had blown up the bottom ridges of the ladder. Ray jumped down towards the bottom rolling into the dust below.
Ray aimed his flashlight in front of him, away from the ladder. He realized that he could only see dust. He walked forward and immediately crashed into another wall. Stumbling back into the ladder, Ray began to walk along the wall, making sure to keep himself pressed against the wall.
Feeling the wall, he eventually circled into a hallway and walked into it. Eventually, as he got out of the dust cloud, he noticed that there were various rooms that the hallway led into. Weirdly, each room had a table cut out of the rock. “How long did Black Demon spend on this place?” Ray asked out loud.
Ray kept walking until he reached a metal plate, blocking his path. He noticed an inscription that read "Apocalypse came, but we were prepared. Hope lies beyond. 15,683 A.R.L. Epoch II." A shiver ran down Ray’s spine.
It seemed that Black Demon probably did not build this place. If not him though, who did?
Ray heard a crash from behind him in the hallway. The crash was quickly followed by profanity. Ray turned around and slowly inched his way forward, flashlight in his left hand and pistol in the other. He saw a man dressed only in dried blood running towards him, Black Demon.
“Stop! Hands up! I got a gun!” Ray shouted.
Black Demon made no response and fired shots at Ray. Most of the shots missed but one blew out his flashlight. Ray returned fire until his pistol ran out of ammo. As he tried to reload, he realized that his left hand was missing a thumb and threw the pistol and Black Demon. Ray ran away, barely managing to toss a grenade behind him. He heard a scream and slammed head first into the metal plate.
With both of his hands, Ray desperately felt the plate looking for a lever or door knob, trying to get in. Eventually, his left hand entered a small hole.
“Blood accepted. Door opening now,” a female voice said as the door opened.
Amazingly, there was light behind the door. Ray went in, and the door closed behind him. Ray looked around and could barely believe his eyes. There were machineries everywhere that he had never seen before. He walked up to a piece of black glass placed on what looked like a door. Amazingly, it lit up.
Words began to appear:
Year: 30,126 A.R.L.
Month: May
Day: 4
As they appeared, a voice read them outloud. “Year: 30,126 years after Raymond Longiton...” Ray gasped and zoned out the rest as he heard the machine say his full name.
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[WP] You're a superhero in a bank being robbed and everyone is taken as a hostage. You don't have your costume and there are cameras everywhere
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I had a problem.
So there I was, just minding my own business, trying to cash my check before it bounced, when some moron decided "Hey, today I'll go rob a bank," and now he and about a dozen other people were there waving guns telling us to hit the floor. So there I lay, hands above my head, resting on an ornate railing that divided the teller lines.
Now, I wasn't one of those heroes who needed a costume--I'd just transform and be done with it. However, I had already given my ID to the teller. To make matters worse, I was a regular at this bank, so if I transformed I'd be recognized immediately. The final nail in the coffin was the stupid robber who was vlogging the whole thing. So, I did nothing.
Okay, I didn't exactly do *nothing.* My powers allowed me, among other things, to turn objects into snakes that followed my will. Thankfully, there was nobody behind me, so I twisted my hand slightly, brushing my fingers against the rail behind me. The rail melted into a cobra, slithering silently away. I repeated this process several more times, creating a small, but elite, task force. As the bandits were distracted with shouting at their hostages and telling the tellers to hurry up, I mentally gave the signal to attack. From seemingly out of nowhere my cobras lunged, sinking their fangs into their unsuspecting prey. One guard yelled, dropping his gun in surprise as a cobra bit his wrist. As my serpentine servants subdued the screaming saboteurs, the rest of their comrades' attentions were drawn away from the hostages and to the still-struggling scandals. I took this opportunity to extend my grasp to the rest of the railing behind me, creating more and more snakes with which to work my magic. The rest of the criminals fell in a similar manner, the manifested cobras striking from out of the shadows.
The cops arrived to find the culprits correctly constricted, captured by my commanded cobras. As they hauled them away and interviewed the hostages, I silently turned my minions back into the fence. The bank closed, and I went home, satisfied with a job well done.
I got home, relaxing on the couch. I'd go tomorrow to deposit my check--it wouldn't bounce for a few more days, so I was good.
Then I remembered that tomorrow was Sunday, and the day after that was a holiday.
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The penal system is intended to follow a policy of rehabilitation. That means that when a criminal gets convicted of some crime, it's expected that they stop committing such crime when they return to normal society.
There's some sort of statistic out there that suggests that in any comic book universe, that rehabilitation almost definitely doesn't work. Though, this is mostly because writers need some sort of way to keep reintroducing conflict and continue creating new issues.
Soundwave, known in private life as Amos Audi, looked up from his phone when he heard the first few gunshots in the bank. He gripped the paycheck in his jacket pocket a little tighter and pushed a pair of earphones closer into his ears.
At this point, a few of the local denizens were starting to grumble and shriek. In the back of the bank, a tall and well-dressed man was approaching the crowd alongside a group of equally well-dressed thugs wielding submachine-guns.
This well-dressed man, Tom "Bad Tommy" Baddman, had just gotten out of prison for the twenty-seventh time in the past four years. Soundwave had been there to apprehend him about fourteen out of twenty-seven times, personally.
The young hero sighed and looked up at the corners in the ceilings of the bank. There were cameras everywhere. There were strict policies in the fourteen hero organizations (including the Revengers, the Z-Men, the Z-Force, the Injustice Shmucks, the Justice Shmucks, the Young Whatevers, and the Teen Whatevers) that prevented a given hero from breaking out of their secret identity to fight evil under public scrutiny.
Allegedly, it was a policy designed to prevent villains from being able to target their loved ones. You know, the villains that, once caught, end up breaking out of jail anyway to do whatever kind of criminal wrongdoings they feel like.
Soundwave groaned as the thought of getting into a fight now passed through his mind. It would mean a large pay deduction and he was already struggling to make rent this month. Especially since that car crash last Tuesday, when Magnet-Witch destroyed a city block, ended up totalling his car and royally fucking him over since he didn't have unnatural-disaster protection.
Soundwave looked over to Bad Tommy and shot him a nasty look for the inconvenience he was experiencing. Bad Tommy started to walk over, calling over a few of his armed thugs to follow him in a menacing way that would normally call for a full-page depiction in a given comic book.
Bad Tommy started saying a few things. Soundwave didn't care. Mostly out of disinterest and partly because of the deafness. So, he just shook his head and nodded here and there. This pissed Bad Tommy off.
The robber-boss snapped a finger and the machine guns began firing overhead. The crowd of denizens plus Soundwave ducked their heads to avoid the fire. Babies were crying. Men were crying. Women were crying. A teenage misfit was recording the whole thing on Snapchat. It was business as usual.
Soundwave moved to his jacket zipper. It took about three seconds for him to realize that he was shirtless underneath and had no costume on him at the moment since it was at the home in the busted washer that made this weird sound whenever you ran it.
It was at that moment, when Soundwave was busy thinking about how shitty his apartment was and how shitty this lame archnemesis of his was and how shitty his life was in general, that Soundwave just stopped thinking.
Soundwave looked at the cameras on the ceiling and realized that with his costume, his identity was always concealed. In public life, Soundwave was Amos Audi, a good-for-nothing freelance writer who was paid what was common for his work, which was very little. He had no friends, no family, and just a single cat named Tammy whom he loved with all of his heart.
It was a pathetic identity. A waste of an identity. It was the very definition of what you would call a pathetic human existence.
I, Amos Audi, thought this to myself and got up.
One of the smaller thugs noticed this and aimed his gun at me before pulling the trigger. Due to the wasteful firing from earlier, the thug quickly noted that he was out of bullets. Actually, so were most of the other thugs.
No one really thinks about reloading when robbing a bank for some reason in the comics.
A few of them tackled me and were pushed off almost immediately. A loud ringing went around the room as the soundwaves in the air cracked and fizzled about.
Bad Tommy saw this and yelled proudly at his men to fire before proudly running away. I ran after him. The bank had insurance anyway.
As I caught up to Tommy, I pulled the earphones out of my ear, allowing my sweaty ear canals to breathe. We were in an allley away from the bank. Tommy started to say some things again as a I read his lips.
Frankly, it was all uninteresting garbage so I didn't pay much attention. I saw the red-and-blue flashing of siren-light around the corner. The police were coming to the bank to deal with the rest of the situation.
I gripped Tommy by the collar. He started laughing, cackling in my face.
I cupped a hand around his ear and fired away a blast of pure sound. There was nobody watching anyway. Sure, the other heroes are going to give me a verbal thrashing when they figure out from the camera recordings that I "broke character" and brought out my powers, but they didn't pay me enough to care to start with.
No, I don't think this whole chase and me deafening a villain is really justice or anything grand like that. I was just annoyed.
I thought about this again. I had acted without thinking. I basically just crippled a human being for annoying me. I could actually get in some serious trouble for that. No, I will get in serious trouble for that.
I focused my attention on Tommy again as I saw him now wide-eyed and asking something about what I'd done to him. His head jerked around wildly. I put my hand on his other ear and fired again. Now, he really started jerking around violently.
I nodded and began mouthing some gibberish at him. I didn't get as much of a rise as I thought I would, so it got boring fast.
Suddenly, I felt something tap at my back. I turned around. It was a police officer in a blue shirt and cap and body armor. He was covered in blood. There must've been a nasty shootout. On the bright side, him being conscious meant he was a lot more competent than most comic cops.
I smiled at him and waved. Then I returned my attention to Tommy. The officer tried to shake me away. But, I'm a superhero. I'm stronger than him. I'm stronger than a lot of these normal people.
I closed my hands around the back of Tommy's neck and tried my best to see if just how badly I could vibrate his spine. After a while, it stopped vibrating. It was like jelly at a certain point. So, I tried again.
The officer shook me harder. It was getting really irritating. I ignored him. Tommy was already limp, so he might as well just let me have my fun with him since he wasn't going to get any better soon anyway. A few other officers began to flood the alley. The police cars came by. An ambulance was speeding down the street, at least I'm guessing.
None of that really mattered. I looked down at the pathetic villain and pushed him to the ground. Then, I balled my fists and started punching.
This was satisfaction. Real satisfaction.
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[WP] You're a superhero in a bank being robbed and everyone is taken as a hostage. You don't have your costume and there are cameras everywhere
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I know what you're thinking. 'Just fly faster than the eye can see!'
Nope, not that kind of hero. In all truth, I'm not much of a hero at all. More of a government labrat, to be completely honest. For a few years back in the 80s, they recruited old soldiers like me for new rounds of testing on the WWII 'Super Soldier' stuff. Didn't work, really. Okay, maybe it worked a little. You wouldn't know it by looking at me, though. Hell, I just came in to deposit my SSI check. You know that guy in front of you, in flannel, smelling of ointment and Gold Bond? That's me. They got us all huddled in the middle of the room, our backs to the wall, two guys covering us with 10/22s, modified for full auto fire. Yikes. I'll be fine, but the rest of my fellow hostages won't be.
I hear you again. 'You can take them! You can be a hero!' Nah, trust me. It took me 15 years to lose the army types that juiced me up, I'm not about to let it slip that I didn't actually die in that very painful explosion back in the early 90s.
They're yelling again. Five guys, in their 30s and 40s, going through all the effort of being masked and gloved and still stupid enough to yell, all five of them, perfectly clear voices. Dumb asses. At their preliminaries, they'll probably look dumber when their lawyers explain what 'voice analytics' means.
The problem here, though, is how worked up they are. They know it's only a matter of time before a hero shows up to save the day. Shit, at this point, I wouldn't be surprised if the cops have them on speed dial. There was a time when cops resented the heroes for making them look bad and irrelevant. These days, cops are mostly guards, taking the bad guys when the heroes turn them over. And since most of the dumb asses wear calling-card costumes and gimmicks, tying them to crimes is easy enough that a first year PA rookie could do it.
Where was I? Oh. Right. They're on the edge of freaking out. The other hostages can feel it, too. It ain't going to take much to set them off.
Luckily, I have a handful of hard candies.
A boom overhead. For a second, I think it's him, the armored one with the snarky attitude. Then, nope, just a jet flying overhead. Still. It's enough.
Takes only a second to line up the shot and 'plink' a bit of solid caramelized sugar, dyed Red#5, impacts the loudest yelling one, furthest from me, and he's down for the count. I only flicked it hard enough to injure, not kill.
Luckily, none of them notice the recoil of the candy hitting his head, only him hitting the ground. Suddenly, the other four are full-blown shitting themselves, screaming at the hostages and pointing every gun they have on us. Their bags are full, but they can't carry the money 'and' him and they're not smart enough drop some of the loot to keep the crew intact. One breath, maybe two and it's going to go to hell.
"It's him. He's already here."
That got their attention, hostages, too. These days, these heroes are showing up every week, almost. No one can keep track.
"Who's already here? Spit it out, you old fuck!" God, he's on the verge of literally shitting himself. He's excreting so much 'fear' that it's nearly enough to make me nauseous. That's my excuse for what comes next. I was literally fucked up by how freaked out they were.
"The Sphinx."
"The 'who?!"
"The Sphinx, man. He just showed up this week. A psychic of some kind, flies around, you never see him, he just disables people from the shadows. They say he can destroy guns with a thought." Screw the critics, I love that movie. Thankfully, these guys never saw it, apparently.
The hostages? Some of them are staring at me so wide-eyed, it's obvious that they know I'm full of shit. Thankfully, they're all smart enough to let me talk without correcting me in front of the men with guns. To their credit, they also start nudging away from me. Smarter than they know. Ricochets are a real danger to unarmored targets when I'm around.
I don't know if they bought it or not, never will, because it was about that time that the sound of sirens started to fade in. That got their attention for about two seconds as they all started whipping their heads this way and that, taking their eyes off me and my hard candies.
Two seconds later, all of them are on the ground, unconscious.
Turns out, the cops were chasing a speeder. The tellers hadn't even had a chance to hit the silent alarm. Hilarious.
Good news is that I got out of there 'before' the cops showed up.
Bad news is, I'm going to have to find a new branch office to deposit my checks. Because, fuck you, I'm not going to bother learning how to use direct deposit or whatever. Fucking computers.
That was my day. How was yours?
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The penal system is intended to follow a policy of rehabilitation. That means that when a criminal gets convicted of some crime, it's expected that they stop committing such crime when they return to normal society.
There's some sort of statistic out there that suggests that in any comic book universe, that rehabilitation almost definitely doesn't work. Though, this is mostly because writers need some sort of way to keep reintroducing conflict and continue creating new issues.
Soundwave, known in private life as Amos Audi, looked up from his phone when he heard the first few gunshots in the bank. He gripped the paycheck in his jacket pocket a little tighter and pushed a pair of earphones closer into his ears.
At this point, a few of the local denizens were starting to grumble and shriek. In the back of the bank, a tall and well-dressed man was approaching the crowd alongside a group of equally well-dressed thugs wielding submachine-guns.
This well-dressed man, Tom "Bad Tommy" Baddman, had just gotten out of prison for the twenty-seventh time in the past four years. Soundwave had been there to apprehend him about fourteen out of twenty-seven times, personally.
The young hero sighed and looked up at the corners in the ceilings of the bank. There were cameras everywhere. There were strict policies in the fourteen hero organizations (including the Revengers, the Z-Men, the Z-Force, the Injustice Shmucks, the Justice Shmucks, the Young Whatevers, and the Teen Whatevers) that prevented a given hero from breaking out of their secret identity to fight evil under public scrutiny.
Allegedly, it was a policy designed to prevent villains from being able to target their loved ones. You know, the villains that, once caught, end up breaking out of jail anyway to do whatever kind of criminal wrongdoings they feel like.
Soundwave groaned as the thought of getting into a fight now passed through his mind. It would mean a large pay deduction and he was already struggling to make rent this month. Especially since that car crash last Tuesday, when Magnet-Witch destroyed a city block, ended up totalling his car and royally fucking him over since he didn't have unnatural-disaster protection.
Soundwave looked over to Bad Tommy and shot him a nasty look for the inconvenience he was experiencing. Bad Tommy started to walk over, calling over a few of his armed thugs to follow him in a menacing way that would normally call for a full-page depiction in a given comic book.
Bad Tommy started saying a few things. Soundwave didn't care. Mostly out of disinterest and partly because of the deafness. So, he just shook his head and nodded here and there. This pissed Bad Tommy off.
The robber-boss snapped a finger and the machine guns began firing overhead. The crowd of denizens plus Soundwave ducked their heads to avoid the fire. Babies were crying. Men were crying. Women were crying. A teenage misfit was recording the whole thing on Snapchat. It was business as usual.
Soundwave moved to his jacket zipper. It took about three seconds for him to realize that he was shirtless underneath and had no costume on him at the moment since it was at the home in the busted washer that made this weird sound whenever you ran it.
It was at that moment, when Soundwave was busy thinking about how shitty his apartment was and how shitty this lame archnemesis of his was and how shitty his life was in general, that Soundwave just stopped thinking.
Soundwave looked at the cameras on the ceiling and realized that with his costume, his identity was always concealed. In public life, Soundwave was Amos Audi, a good-for-nothing freelance writer who was paid what was common for his work, which was very little. He had no friends, no family, and just a single cat named Tammy whom he loved with all of his heart.
It was a pathetic identity. A waste of an identity. It was the very definition of what you would call a pathetic human existence.
I, Amos Audi, thought this to myself and got up.
One of the smaller thugs noticed this and aimed his gun at me before pulling the trigger. Due to the wasteful firing from earlier, the thug quickly noted that he was out of bullets. Actually, so were most of the other thugs.
No one really thinks about reloading when robbing a bank for some reason in the comics.
A few of them tackled me and were pushed off almost immediately. A loud ringing went around the room as the soundwaves in the air cracked and fizzled about.
Bad Tommy saw this and yelled proudly at his men to fire before proudly running away. I ran after him. The bank had insurance anyway.
As I caught up to Tommy, I pulled the earphones out of my ear, allowing my sweaty ear canals to breathe. We were in an allley away from the bank. Tommy started to say some things again as a I read his lips.
Frankly, it was all uninteresting garbage so I didn't pay much attention. I saw the red-and-blue flashing of siren-light around the corner. The police were coming to the bank to deal with the rest of the situation.
I gripped Tommy by the collar. He started laughing, cackling in my face.
I cupped a hand around his ear and fired away a blast of pure sound. There was nobody watching anyway. Sure, the other heroes are going to give me a verbal thrashing when they figure out from the camera recordings that I "broke character" and brought out my powers, but they didn't pay me enough to care to start with.
No, I don't think this whole chase and me deafening a villain is really justice or anything grand like that. I was just annoyed.
I thought about this again. I had acted without thinking. I basically just crippled a human being for annoying me. I could actually get in some serious trouble for that. No, I will get in serious trouble for that.
I focused my attention on Tommy again as I saw him now wide-eyed and asking something about what I'd done to him. His head jerked around wildly. I put my hand on his other ear and fired again. Now, he really started jerking around violently.
I nodded and began mouthing some gibberish at him. I didn't get as much of a rise as I thought I would, so it got boring fast.
Suddenly, I felt something tap at my back. I turned around. It was a police officer in a blue shirt and cap and body armor. He was covered in blood. There must've been a nasty shootout. On the bright side, him being conscious meant he was a lot more competent than most comic cops.
I smiled at him and waved. Then I returned my attention to Tommy. The officer tried to shake me away. But, I'm a superhero. I'm stronger than him. I'm stronger than a lot of these normal people.
I closed my hands around the back of Tommy's neck and tried my best to see if just how badly I could vibrate his spine. After a while, it stopped vibrating. It was like jelly at a certain point. So, I tried again.
The officer shook me harder. It was getting really irritating. I ignored him. Tommy was already limp, so he might as well just let me have my fun with him since he wasn't going to get any better soon anyway. A few other officers began to flood the alley. The police cars came by. An ambulance was speeding down the street, at least I'm guessing.
None of that really mattered. I looked down at the pathetic villain and pushed him to the ground. Then, I balled my fists and started punching.
This was satisfaction. Real satisfaction.
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[WP] A couple of weeks ago, I heard my neighbors' cat meowing so I responded with a "meow" of my own. This went on for about 3-4 exchanges until I opened the door and found it was not a cat, it was just another dude meowing back at me.
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It felt like weeks had passed, but it had only been an hour, since I'd had the unpleasant experience of crawling through the back door, and vomiting up the contents of my stomach all over the floor.
I made the mistake of using the handle to pull myself upright, and had inadvertently shut myself in.
I didn't know whether to try to go out again, or just stay in and accept the consequences of my actions. I felt as weak as a day-old kitten, it was a struggle to stay upright, and the patter of rain beginning to fall outside, made the day a misery on top of misery.
Using the walls for support, I made my way into the hall that looked both familiar, and yet still strange in this dull light.
In an effort to regain a more assertive sense of balance, I forced myself to pace back and forth - slowly at first, as I wallowed in my current self-absorbed state, then more confidently - and then I heard a faint meow outside.
My curiosity pricked, I moved over to the front door and meowed gently back.
"Meow" came the feline reply.
I fumbled at the handle, my clumsy attempt to get a grip on the thing frustrating me. I dragged my fingers down the wood surface of the door in frustration!
Yet he was there, for I could hear him still, conversing inquisitively with me, beyond the stout wood. Perhaps he wondered what I was doing.
I kept up my end, with sporadic meows. It probably sounded like I was pawing at the door.
Staring hard at the handle, I thought perhaps this time I could manage it, if I could just get these stupid fingers to obey me faster.
I concentrated hard, and clasped the little oval handle as tight as I could, between in both hands. I twisted this way.. then that.
Finally, a click!
I looked around in reflex - an old habit to see if anyone had caught me in the act, then slowly opened the door.
It wasn't at all what I expected - for instead of a little four legged friend, it was another man, like me.
He was naked except for a paper bag around his midsection - as if he'd jumped almost straight through it and it had gotten stuck.
He marched straight past me before I could even protest, and headed for the kitchen.
Now in normal circumstances, this would have prompted me to lash out. One doesn't simply walk into another's territory like that, but I was pretty sure he'd been here before, because he smelled somewhat... familiar.
I looked down at the paper bag that surrounded my own waist, and had to concede - perhaps we'd both been loitering over in the same forbidden garden.
Never trust an old lady who usually sprays you with water, especially when she's suddenly all friendly, and putting a handful of catnip in an enticingly crinkly paper bag just for you. That the bag was in a pointed star shape on the ground, with candles around - well. Who pays attention to stuff like that really?
Anyway. I caught up to the man. He had ginger hair on the top of his head, so I was pretty sure by now that this was indeed my neighbour, Mungus. I sidled around the kitchen door after him, as he did a circuit of the room.
"Meow?" said I.
"Meow." said he.
We both looked at each other - then of a single purpose, we went over to the fridge.
After a few minutes of us pawing and flailing in general at it, Mungus had the idea to make 'claw hands'. So we did that, and this was a success. I tugged firmly at the edge, and with a squopping sound, the fridge door yielded!
Then - after all that effort - he fumbled the milk carton out of its little niche in the door, and it spilled all over the floor.
I was pretty unimpressed. Hissing, I gave him a smack. He didn't like that much, and we - well. It causes me deep shame to confess that we flailed hands at each other for some time, making the most stupid noises.
Seriously. Have you heard a human before? "Ayaiyaiyaiyai, Ehwehwehwehweh", that's what they sound like.
Realising how unsatisfying this whole paddle-hands business was, we turned our backs on each other in a sulk, two grown humans, in paper bag attire.
For a moment I thought about pissing in the corner - you know - just to remind Mungus who lived here, but ingrained habits die hard. I have a box, and I know how to use it when I have to.
I had a good long think. Where did the milk come from, BEFORE the fridge?
This was some serious existential shit.
There was a pause as a beam of sun broke through the thinning clouds outside, and made a nice patch of light through the window, onto the milk splashed floor. I shifted to stand in it, warming my strange wonkybean toes. Yeah, things would be alright.
"Mrow?" I asked of Mungus, phrasing that very question about the origins of the milk.
"Meurrrr.." he replied thoughtfully.
Good point. The grocery shop on the corner.
Run by a nice lady with a soft spot for us cats.
So we made our way to the front door, and after a little negotiation about who was going to leave first, and a couple of back and forths across the doorstep just to make sure both of us REALLY wanted to go out, we were ready. Almost.
I took a moment to lick the back of my arm and run it through my fine dark hair. Let nobody say that Mufasa Boobookins steps out looking like a piece of shit.
We strutted off down the street together, to go see the lady in the little shop on the corner. This would work out just great!
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"You make uhhh... Nice cat sounds", I said as I stared at that incredulous man, the one making cat sounds that sounded more like a cat than my uncle's cat.
"Can't help it man, this is how I get pussy"
"You mean cat?"
"You know my secret?"
"What do you me--... Dude what the fuck"
That was the last I ever saw of him, heard he moved to an animal shelter after that.
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[WP] A couple of weeks ago, I heard my neighbors' cat meowing so I responded with a "meow" of my own. This went on for about 3-4 exchanges until I opened the door and found it was not a cat, it was just another dude meowing back at me.
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What the fuck. I've lived here for a year and a half and haven't even learned this man's name.
"What the fuck," he exhales.
"Amen." I look down to see him eating tuna out of a can. College dining at it's finest.
He sees my gaze shift and holds the can up. "Not quite fancy feast."
"Not fancy at all. Is that why you were meowing?"
"Uhhh. Yea. The fancy feast commercial came on in my apartment and I thought it was ironic that I'm eating tuna, so I meowed. Also I'm good at meowing."
"You definitely are. Have you considered putting it on your resume?"
"Ha-Ha. Good enough to fool you, at least." He finally lowers the can, looks back toward his TV, and then takes another bite. He doesn't move though, and just stands there. I stare awkwardly for a few more seconds, then realize he's not going to move and I've yet to shut the door.
"Why are you outside, barefeet, eating tuna and listening to your TV?"
"Oh.. Uh.. Well, my roommate locked me out. I went to go get the mail," he sheepishly replies, while patting his pocket full of mail.
"Oh, bummer.. Well, you want to come in man?"
"Yea sure man. What's your name?" He switches his fork awkwardly to his left and reaches to shake my hand.
"John. And sweet, come on in. Just don't eat my tuna."
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"You make uhhh... Nice cat sounds", I said as I stared at that incredulous man, the one making cat sounds that sounded more like a cat than my uncle's cat.
"Can't help it man, this is how I get pussy"
"You mean cat?"
"You know my secret?"
"What do you me--... Dude what the fuck"
That was the last I ever saw of him, heard he moved to an animal shelter after that.
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[WP] A couple of weeks ago, I heard my neighbors' cat meowing so I responded with a "meow" of my own. This went on for about 3-4 exchanges until I opened the door and found it was not a cat, it was just another dude meowing back at me.
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"*Oh,*" the man gasped, as I swung open the door. His eyes widened. He turned, and bolted down the hallway with the footspeed of an actual feline. How weirdly appropriate - because I'd just interrupted him mid-yowl, as though he were a tomcat in heat, inviting me into the hallway to mate. Ugh.
He'd left something behind on the ground, which had clattered to the floor the second I'd surprised him. It was, I now realized, an old-school miniature tape recorder. It had a tiny cassette loaded within it, and a slight whirring noise let me know it was still running. I picked it up, stared at the buttons perplexedly for a minute, and finally located the "stop" button, which clicked with a satisfying mechanical sound.
Who on earth would use something like this, in the digital age? I'd actually never seen one of these things before, and, while I knew I should just walk down the hallway and give it back to him, I realized I didn't know where this dude lived. Every day at around noon, when the building was deserted, this guy - whom I'd thought was an actual animal - would roam the halls. Every day, he would yowl loudly, and would be greeted by a cacophony of other meows, barks, and chirps from the neighbouring apartments. I don't know what prompted me to give that first "meow" in return. I guessed I was fucking with that animal's roll call just for kicks. Today I'd had enough of it, and had decided to interrupt the prowler, trying to see if the cat had an owner's tag on it. Animals weren't allowed to roam freely in the building, according to the rules. What if this cat got let outside by mistake during one of its patrols? I'd try to figure out a way to do this diplomatically, because I didn't want to be *that* asshole, but come on.
I stared at the recording device. So this weirdo had been wandering the halls, taping what he heard in the building. Which must have been the sounds made by other, real animals, presumably. I couldn't help it. I had to listen to whatever else was on there. Where was the rewind button? I found it, and heard the tape whir in reverse, then stop. I pressed play, and waited to hear what the deal was.
"March tenth, two thousand and eighteen," a faint voice intoned. The quality was horrible. It sounded like he had recorded himself speaking from the bottom of a well. The stairwell, I gathered: it was ridiculously resonant, and the recording crackled with background noise. "The documentary of the secret life of the animals who live on 802 West Cambie street, every floor."
There was the sound of footsteps. Then that familiar meow. A boisterous barking returned his greeting. "Saint Bernard," he noted in his recorder, very softly, because his breath hissed against the speaker. "One hundred and ten pounds; male. I have noted him coming and going from the park daily at eight-o-clock in the morning, and again at seven p.m. after the owners have taken dinner. Very friendly. Does not lick, but does drool. Obeys commands well."
The sound of feet, shuffling, then stairs being climbed. "Tabby cat," he intoned, after meowing again. "Orange in colour. Housebound. Enjoys sleeping in the window: can be seen from the ground floor napping at hours eight through twelve, and twelve through six. Enjoys climbing on cat furniture."
I don't know why, but I was transfixed. It amounted to a documentary of every single nonhuman creature in the building. Some, he couldn't locate through his meowing technique, but resorted to other means. "A chameleon, in this apartment," he noted. "Spotted at five p.m. in the courtyard when owner, girl approximately aged twelve, put him on her shoulder and walked him to the window. *magnificent creature.*"
"Python," he muttered, on another occasion. "Fed mice. Illegal pet. But an enchanting animal. Terrarium spotted through open window, open for just half an hour, on day four hundred and three of observations. Approximately five years old and eighty pounds. A superlative find."
"Cat," he was muttering, near the end of the tape. "But a strange cat. Female. Older- for a cat- in its...late twenties? No, that cannot be right. Oh. I see," he said, in a soft voice, after yowling again, very loudly. I heard my own ridiculous imitation of a meow distantly through the recorder. "Not a cat at all. No. *Human.*"
Then the door swinging open, a gasp, the crashing noise of the recorder falling to the ground, and footsteps echoing down the hall. The tape clicked off, and there was silence.
This was weird, I knew. This guy had to be one of the weirdest people I had ever heard of. And I'd just listened to the contents of what I assumed must be his private thought life. Did this person have any sort of gainful employment? Was his whole gig to wander his own apartment building making recordings of the pets there? At the same time, I was, oddly, disappointed that there wasn't *more* to this weird mixtape documentary. I'd never thought to consider the lives of the animals in the apartment building where I lived. Yes, I'd met my share of chocolate labs and stared at fluffy tuxedo cats lounging on windowsills, but I felt like, through this bizarre exercise, I'd learned about an aspect of the building I'd never really considered in any depth, and would never think about the same way again.
I put the recorder on the kitchen counter, and contemplated what I should do. A public note on the bulletin board saying "lost recorder found - call this number to retrieve it" seemed too impersonal. Trying to find out who he was from neighbours seemed a bit too prying. There had to be a simpler way, right? I grabbed a pen and paper, wrote a letter, stuck it in an envelope, and taped it to the front of my own door, addressed to one "Apartment Building Animal Investigative Reporter," with a plea, as the subtitle: "please read," it said.
*Dear Neighbour,* it read. *I very much enjoyed your nature documentary of the animals in the building. It was really entertaining and I learned a lot. I'm sorry I interrupted you and that I messed with you by meowing at you. To apologize, I'd like to give you my box set of Planet Earth DVDs, because I have it digitally. It's yours if you want it. Just knock on the door.*
I'd agonized over the words, because I didn't want to give him the wrong idea. And the letter had stayed up there for an entire week. But I noticed that it had been ever-so-carefully opened, from the frayed edges of the envelope fold, and tucked back into place, so maybe he- or another nosy neighbour- had read it. Maybe he was still deciding what to do about it.
Finally, seven days later, there was a knock at the door. I answered: A cat was standing there, a note tied to its collar, folded into a tiny square. How had he disappeared so fast? I wondered. How had he *trained* a cat to stay in one place? But this cat did; it purred at me, and nudged my legs, until I petted it, and stayed near me as I unwrapped the note.
"Dear Human," It read. "My owner does not interact with people very well. Thank you for your kindness. He would love the DVDs. If you will leave them, and the tape recorder, outside of Apartment 604, he would be much obliged."
I piled the offerings in front of his apartment door, and knocked, as the friendly cat frisked around my legs. I don't know what I expected, but I felt a twinge of sadness that he didn't open the door, even though I stood there for quite a long time.
r/eros_bittersweet
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My neighbor’s cat was a menace. A no good, loud, bratty menace. It tended to sit on my back patio and yell at me until I gave it something. Anything.
Food.
Water.
Pieces of ribbon.
The only way to get the greedy bastard to shut up was to slide an offering out the window. The faster, the better, because Grumpy, as I liked to call the cat, was loud. So freaking loud.
One Saturday morning, while I was recovering from a particularly nasty hangover, Grumpy decided to make an appearance. Each plea for treasure growing in volume. I knew the only way to make the evil noises stop was to appease the beast. I grabbed a bit of bacon from my kitchen counter and ripped open the window. However, without making the conscious decision to do so, instead of just tossing out the bacon, I shouted out the rudest “meow” I could muster.
Now, I didn’t think cats could raise their eyebrows, but I swear this one did. It raised its brow at me in complete silence for about 10 seconds. Then Grumpy meowed again, a satisfied meow, before snatching up its bacon and disappearing from the window.
I spent the rest of the day researching psychotic breaks.
For some reason, the damned thing got a kick out of me “meowing” at it. After that day, I had to give the brat a little gift AND meow at it, if I wanted it to go away. It wanted a meal and good conversation.
Grumpy’s visits to my patio became more and more frequent. The darn thing came around almost every day. It even started sneaking in when I left the window open. At first, I would scoop Grumpy up and deposited it back outside, but eventually, I gave up. If Grumpy wanted in, Grumpy was getting in. It liked to watch tv with me at night. Or, sometimes, Grumpy lounged on my lap as I worked on my laptop during the day. I don’t know when my opinion of the cat changed, but at some unknown point in time, I started to look forward to the visits. I started leaving the window open. I even bought a few cat toys and a small bed for Grumpy.
I wondered what my neighbors thought of their cat sneaking out nearly every day. One night when I passed them in the hall, I tried making a joke that their cat liked me more than it liked them, but they just gave me a confused look and disappeared into their apartment.
Then one morning I was making an omelet when I heard a familiar “meow.” However, the sound was coming from my apartment door, not my window. That was strange. Grumpy always came in through the window.
Without hesitation I meowed back, walking toward the door to let Grumpy in. However, as soon as I opened it, I stopped short. Standing in the doorway was a dark-haired girl. She was very naked and very human.
“Hey there,” she said pushing her way into my apartment.
“Um, excuse me,” I started. I tried to block the nude stranger, but she was very quick and ducked under my arm and straight into the apartment.
“What’s for breakfast today?” The girl asked. She picked a long shirt out of the laundry basket sitting next to my couch and shrugged it on.
“I’m sorry, but you can’t just walk into my apartment!” I shouted, equal parts angry and confused. “Who do you think you are?”
The woman in front of me didn’t say anything. Instead, she raised her eyebrow and plopped down on my couch. Recognition flashed through me. I took her in again. Her hair was that familiar chocolate brown, and her pupils split her bright green eyes.
“Grumpy?” I asked, my voice no louder than a whisper.
“Well, my names Alissa,” she said, with a large smile. “And I am not that grumpy.”
I was quiet for a few seconds, my brain trying to catch up with what she just said.
“So,” I said when I regained the ability to speak. “I’m guessing you aren’t my neighbor’s cat?”
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[WP] Describe yourself as a fictional persona based on your username.
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I’m an elf, a night elf. I worship Elune, I keep the balance... but I’m not like the other elves.
I quite like the day. I enjoy puns in common. I like to drink ale and smoke a pipe with my feet on the table.
It helps me forget, you see. I can’t remember much before the War of the Shifting Sands. I remember love. I remember a child’s laugh. I remember the deadly accuracy of my blades digging into the vital organs of demons before twisting, their screams as I exulted in their pain and death.
Then... nothing.
I remember being told I was found unconscious on a raging riverbank. My satchel of journals waterlogged and near unreadable, except for my name. Much of what was left was gibberish anyway.
I spent many moons with the healers, recovering. It seems I may have slid into madness, whatever injury led to me being found washed up, removing the memory inducing it. And with it, the madness itself.
I spent years building my body up, honing my skills with dagger, fist and sword. And then came the War.
A terrible war. I saw Staghelm the younger torn apart. I saw my fallen comrades spirits risen and tormented, twisted. And in panic, I ran. I ran with the rest of the army.
We came back, of course. They wouldn’t come past Un’goro. We regrouped, but we couldn’t defeat the Qiraji. But we could seal them in. Three dragons sacrificed themselves to seal the gate in the wall from the inside. An unfamiliar feeling of loss and rage washed over me, before I was snapped from it by Staghelm the elder. Fandral Staghelm, Archdruid of the Cenarion Circle, cast the sceptre that was the gates key, shattering it.
Three of the flights took the pieces, some of the dragons vowing to free their captive brethren.
And so they stayed, while I and many others left that dreadful wasteland.
The centuries passed, filled with politics and peace, skirmishes and celebrations.
Then... the raven came. He told stories and gave warnings. The demons would return.
And return they did.
We had skirmishes with the Orcs, who wanted to use our forests for lumber. Eventually, we set aside our enmity, and allied with them and the humans who had also come from the eastern continent. Archimonde the demon lord, had returned.
Together, we fought. And we won. Archimonde’s bones lay in the roots of our World Tree as proof of our combined victory.
But it came with great loss. With the near total destruction of the Tree, Nordrassil, we lost our immortality.
A new World Tree was planted, and upon its branches many lived.
But not I. Something about the Tree... it felt wrong. However, I kept quiet and lived on the mainland, for the most part.
Now out of seclusion, we are rebuilding our civilisation. We are at war with the orcs Horde, and their allies. My wanderlust led me to explore these places long thought lost beneath the waves.
I battled black dragons, travelled to another world to battle the demonic Legion once more, was there when the Lich King fell... I saw the black dragon Aspect Deathwing fall, helped the Gilnean refugees settle.
I battled the Sha on the lost land of Pandaria, shrouded in mists for ten thousand years. I traveled to an alternate timeline, and another world, to stop another Horde threat.
And now? I am celebrating the downfall of the Burning Legion, of course. Ale in hand, feet on the table, a good selection of cheeses nearby as I wait for Khadgar.
We don’t have long to celebrate. Word has reached us of a powerful substance, leaking from the sword wound in that awful desolation called Silithus. The thought of returning to the site of the War turns my stomach, truth be told. But we can’t let the Horde gain monopoly on this new resource.
Elune a’dore, stranger. May She light your path and keep you safe. For now we drink.
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(I would love some constructive criticism!)
It has been many winters since my village burned. The ash and the soot have washed away, leaving nothing but the pitiful remains of our once great temple... I can still hear the priestess crying out for mercy, begging the gods to save us from the flames. Her cries fell upon uncaring ears. I was but a child, pure and innocent, so the fire did not touch me. My people however, they were not so fortunate.
Now as an old man, I walk these streets, searching out any sign of life to befriend. My village is grey, stained by the inferno that smothered out all life but mine. The only colour I have seen beyond the ashen shade is my own, my ivory horns and lavender flesh bare no resemblance to the charred bones of what was once my people. My mother knew death had chosen her, and as the fire reached our home she wrapped me in her shawl, holding me close as the air grew hotter and hotter until all I could see was bright, blinding light. When I woke I was alone, and I have been alone ever since.
I have never taken this violet shawl off. I like to think that it is her, wrapping her arms around me to chase away the cold... The world is so much colder now, even the sun seems to run from me, hiding behind clouds and stretching out the night for an eternity. I miss the pink sky, even when the sun is preset it stays black. How I have grown to hate these colourless colours. All the way to the edge of this town, the path has remained barren, grey and dead. The lilies stay shrivelled and the moss is dark as night, but I still hope. I still cling to the dream that I will find something, anything at all to keep me company.
But there is nothing. Not once in all these decades have I found even a single blossom, not once have I heard the song of a Robin, and in my heart I know, I am the last of my kind...
And yet, I still hope there is something in these ruins.
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[WP] Describe yourself as a fictional persona based on your username.
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Hiya! I am crunchy the happy corn flake, and I have a big dream!
One day, I will grow up to be my own corn and help other cornflake friends to reach their true potential, but I will not only help cornflakes. Rice crispies, cereal, oats, I will do my best to help them all, because I love everybody!
Everyday is a blessing, and full of wonderful surprises! Just like what is happening today. It has always been dark inside this box I am in, but today I finally saw light. I am now currently floating in something delightfully warm and white.
Oooh! I am being lifted up! I can see something red in the distance, and it is getting closer. This is all so exciting! I am now inside a pink and red cave of some sort, with white thingys beneath and above me. Now they are coming closer, I wonder if they are new friends?
"Hiiii, my name is---"
---***crunch***
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(I would love some constructive criticism!)
It has been many winters since my village burned. The ash and the soot have washed away, leaving nothing but the pitiful remains of our once great temple... I can still hear the priestess crying out for mercy, begging the gods to save us from the flames. Her cries fell upon uncaring ears. I was but a child, pure and innocent, so the fire did not touch me. My people however, they were not so fortunate.
Now as an old man, I walk these streets, searching out any sign of life to befriend. My village is grey, stained by the inferno that smothered out all life but mine. The only colour I have seen beyond the ashen shade is my own, my ivory horns and lavender flesh bare no resemblance to the charred bones of what was once my people. My mother knew death had chosen her, and as the fire reached our home she wrapped me in her shawl, holding me close as the air grew hotter and hotter until all I could see was bright, blinding light. When I woke I was alone, and I have been alone ever since.
I have never taken this violet shawl off. I like to think that it is her, wrapping her arms around me to chase away the cold... The world is so much colder now, even the sun seems to run from me, hiding behind clouds and stretching out the night for an eternity. I miss the pink sky, even when the sun is preset it stays black. How I have grown to hate these colourless colours. All the way to the edge of this town, the path has remained barren, grey and dead. The lilies stay shrivelled and the moss is dark as night, but I still hope. I still cling to the dream that I will find something, anything at all to keep me company.
But there is nothing. Not once in all these decades have I found even a single blossom, not once have I heard the song of a Robin, and in my heart I know, I am the last of my kind...
And yet, I still hope there is something in these ruins.
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[WP] Describe yourself as a fictional persona based on your username.
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I’m an elf, a night elf. I worship Elune, I keep the balance... but I’m not like the other elves.
I quite like the day. I enjoy puns in common. I like to drink ale and smoke a pipe with my feet on the table.
It helps me forget, you see. I can’t remember much before the War of the Shifting Sands. I remember love. I remember a child’s laugh. I remember the deadly accuracy of my blades digging into the vital organs of demons before twisting, their screams as I exulted in their pain and death.
Then... nothing.
I remember being told I was found unconscious on a raging riverbank. My satchel of journals waterlogged and near unreadable, except for my name. Much of what was left was gibberish anyway.
I spent many moons with the healers, recovering. It seems I may have slid into madness, whatever injury led to me being found washed up, removing the memory inducing it. And with it, the madness itself.
I spent years building my body up, honing my skills with dagger, fist and sword. And then came the War.
A terrible war. I saw Staghelm the younger torn apart. I saw my fallen comrades spirits risen and tormented, twisted. And in panic, I ran. I ran with the rest of the army.
We came back, of course. They wouldn’t come past Un’goro. We regrouped, but we couldn’t defeat the Qiraji. But we could seal them in. Three dragons sacrificed themselves to seal the gate in the wall from the inside. An unfamiliar feeling of loss and rage washed over me, before I was snapped from it by Staghelm the elder. Fandral Staghelm, Archdruid of the Cenarion Circle, cast the sceptre that was the gates key, shattering it.
Three of the flights took the pieces, some of the dragons vowing to free their captive brethren.
And so they stayed, while I and many others left that dreadful wasteland.
The centuries passed, filled with politics and peace, skirmishes and celebrations.
Then... the raven came. He told stories and gave warnings. The demons would return.
And return they did.
We had skirmishes with the Orcs, who wanted to use our forests for lumber. Eventually, we set aside our enmity, and allied with them and the humans who had also come from the eastern continent. Archimonde the demon lord, had returned.
Together, we fought. And we won. Archimonde’s bones lay in the roots of our World Tree as proof of our combined victory.
But it came with great loss. With the near total destruction of the Tree, Nordrassil, we lost our immortality.
A new World Tree was planted, and upon its branches many lived.
But not I. Something about the Tree... it felt wrong. However, I kept quiet and lived on the mainland, for the most part.
Now out of seclusion, we are rebuilding our civilisation. We are at war with the orcs Horde, and their allies. My wanderlust led me to explore these places long thought lost beneath the waves.
I battled black dragons, travelled to another world to battle the demonic Legion once more, was there when the Lich King fell... I saw the black dragon Aspect Deathwing fall, helped the Gilnean refugees settle.
I battled the Sha on the lost land of Pandaria, shrouded in mists for ten thousand years. I traveled to an alternate timeline, and another world, to stop another Horde threat.
And now? I am celebrating the downfall of the Burning Legion, of course. Ale in hand, feet on the table, a good selection of cheeses nearby as I wait for Khadgar.
We don’t have long to celebrate. Word has reached us of a powerful substance, leaking from the sword wound in that awful desolation called Silithus. The thought of returning to the site of the War turns my stomach, truth be told. But we can’t let the Horde gain monopoly on this new resource.
Elune a’dore, stranger. May She light your path and keep you safe. For now we drink.
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"So what's his name"
She asked with curiosity, as she already knew everyone around her, but there was just one person left to meet.
"Oh? His name? He's a guy named shoolt"
Already knowing his name, she went to him to make the usual presentations. He was reading a book about how easy is for people to misunderstand things, such as names. As she approached him, he made the first contact.
"Hi, can I help you with anything?"
"Hi! I'm the new one here, and I'm introducing myself to everyone"
"Oh, that's nice, well let me introduce me first, my name is--"
She interrupted him with excitement, it appears she wanted to impress him by guessing his name.
"Shh, let me guess your name, your name is Shoolt, am I right?"
"Close, but no"
Suddenly, she felt a lot of confusion, isn't that name the one that her partner told her?
"Umh... Wait, I'll be back in a minute"
She rushed through the people, going directly to her partner, she wanted answer. Real ones.
"Why you lied to me?"
"What do you mean?"
"His name isn't Shoolt, you made me feel really embarrassed back there"
"That's because his name is not Shoolt, you dumbass"
"What's his name then?!"
"His name is A Guy Named Shoolt!"
Only one question was left in her head.
WHY WOULD SOMEONE HAVE SUCH A DUMB NAME?!
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[WP] Describe yourself as a fictional persona based on your username.
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Hiya! I am crunchy the happy corn flake, and I have a big dream!
One day, I will grow up to be my own corn and help other cornflake friends to reach their true potential, but I will not only help cornflakes. Rice crispies, cereal, oats, I will do my best to help them all, because I love everybody!
Everyday is a blessing, and full of wonderful surprises! Just like what is happening today. It has always been dark inside this box I am in, but today I finally saw light. I am now currently floating in something delightfully warm and white.
Oooh! I am being lifted up! I can see something red in the distance, and it is getting closer. This is all so exciting! I am now inside a pink and red cave of some sort, with white thingys beneath and above me. Now they are coming closer, I wonder if they are new friends?
"Hiiii, my name is---"
---***crunch***
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"So what's his name"
She asked with curiosity, as she already knew everyone around her, but there was just one person left to meet.
"Oh? His name? He's a guy named shoolt"
Already knowing his name, she went to him to make the usual presentations. He was reading a book about how easy is for people to misunderstand things, such as names. As she approached him, he made the first contact.
"Hi, can I help you with anything?"
"Hi! I'm the new one here, and I'm introducing myself to everyone"
"Oh, that's nice, well let me introduce me first, my name is--"
She interrupted him with excitement, it appears she wanted to impress him by guessing his name.
"Shh, let me guess your name, your name is Shoolt, am I right?"
"Close, but no"
Suddenly, she felt a lot of confusion, isn't that name the one that her partner told her?
"Umh... Wait, I'll be back in a minute"
She rushed through the people, going directly to her partner, she wanted answer. Real ones.
"Why you lied to me?"
"What do you mean?"
"His name isn't Shoolt, you made me feel really embarrassed back there"
"That's because his name is not Shoolt, you dumbass"
"What's his name then?!"
"His name is A Guy Named Shoolt!"
Only one question was left in her head.
WHY WOULD SOMEONE HAVE SUCH A DUMB NAME?!
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[WP] Describe yourself as a fictional persona based on your username.
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I’m an elf, a night elf. I worship Elune, I keep the balance... but I’m not like the other elves.
I quite like the day. I enjoy puns in common. I like to drink ale and smoke a pipe with my feet on the table.
It helps me forget, you see. I can’t remember much before the War of the Shifting Sands. I remember love. I remember a child’s laugh. I remember the deadly accuracy of my blades digging into the vital organs of demons before twisting, their screams as I exulted in their pain and death.
Then... nothing.
I remember being told I was found unconscious on a raging riverbank. My satchel of journals waterlogged and near unreadable, except for my name. Much of what was left was gibberish anyway.
I spent many moons with the healers, recovering. It seems I may have slid into madness, whatever injury led to me being found washed up, removing the memory inducing it. And with it, the madness itself.
I spent years building my body up, honing my skills with dagger, fist and sword. And then came the War.
A terrible war. I saw Staghelm the younger torn apart. I saw my fallen comrades spirits risen and tormented, twisted. And in panic, I ran. I ran with the rest of the army.
We came back, of course. They wouldn’t come past Un’goro. We regrouped, but we couldn’t defeat the Qiraji. But we could seal them in. Three dragons sacrificed themselves to seal the gate in the wall from the inside. An unfamiliar feeling of loss and rage washed over me, before I was snapped from it by Staghelm the elder. Fandral Staghelm, Archdruid of the Cenarion Circle, cast the sceptre that was the gates key, shattering it.
Three of the flights took the pieces, some of the dragons vowing to free their captive brethren.
And so they stayed, while I and many others left that dreadful wasteland.
The centuries passed, filled with politics and peace, skirmishes and celebrations.
Then... the raven came. He told stories and gave warnings. The demons would return.
And return they did.
We had skirmishes with the Orcs, who wanted to use our forests for lumber. Eventually, we set aside our enmity, and allied with them and the humans who had also come from the eastern continent. Archimonde the demon lord, had returned.
Together, we fought. And we won. Archimonde’s bones lay in the roots of our World Tree as proof of our combined victory.
But it came with great loss. With the near total destruction of the Tree, Nordrassil, we lost our immortality.
A new World Tree was planted, and upon its branches many lived.
But not I. Something about the Tree... it felt wrong. However, I kept quiet and lived on the mainland, for the most part.
Now out of seclusion, we are rebuilding our civilisation. We are at war with the orcs Horde, and their allies. My wanderlust led me to explore these places long thought lost beneath the waves.
I battled black dragons, travelled to another world to battle the demonic Legion once more, was there when the Lich King fell... I saw the black dragon Aspect Deathwing fall, helped the Gilnean refugees settle.
I battled the Sha on the lost land of Pandaria, shrouded in mists for ten thousand years. I traveled to an alternate timeline, and another world, to stop another Horde threat.
And now? I am celebrating the downfall of the Burning Legion, of course. Ale in hand, feet on the table, a good selection of cheeses nearby as I wait for Khadgar.
We don’t have long to celebrate. Word has reached us of a powerful substance, leaking from the sword wound in that awful desolation called Silithus. The thought of returning to the site of the War turns my stomach, truth be told. But we can’t let the Horde gain monopoly on this new resource.
Elune a’dore, stranger. May She light your path and keep you safe. For now we drink.
|
People always say I’m an acquired taste, offhand like some poor attempt at a compliment. I see it happen in people’s faces all the time. Their first whiff of me from afar and it’s as though I invoke a sense of intrigue inside them. “Where is he from?” and “How old do you think he is?” Part of me can understand it. I am a fluid mix of gold and amber hair and if I didn’t know better I wouldn’t hazard a guess how long I’ve been maturing. My face looks decades old but also warm and inviting matched with a strong jaw line that blends into my oak-like frame.
I guess it’s partly my fault that I prefer to converse to a single individual instead of blended amongst a group. The flavour that is me can be taken in slowly and appreciated much easier than if too many come and take too big a measure of me, inevitably recoiling from my biting response as I feel trapped as though in a barrel stashed in some cellar.
I can only hope to find someone who like me, wants to sit in fine leather chair in small secluded room with a cigar in hand and take sips in turn of one another to learn and appreciate who I am...
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[WP] Describe yourself as a fictional persona based on your username.
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Hiya! I am crunchy the happy corn flake, and I have a big dream!
One day, I will grow up to be my own corn and help other cornflake friends to reach their true potential, but I will not only help cornflakes. Rice crispies, cereal, oats, I will do my best to help them all, because I love everybody!
Everyday is a blessing, and full of wonderful surprises! Just like what is happening today. It has always been dark inside this box I am in, but today I finally saw light. I am now currently floating in something delightfully warm and white.
Oooh! I am being lifted up! I can see something red in the distance, and it is getting closer. This is all so exciting! I am now inside a pink and red cave of some sort, with white thingys beneath and above me. Now they are coming closer, I wonder if they are new friends?
"Hiiii, my name is---"
---***crunch***
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People always say I’m an acquired taste, offhand like some poor attempt at a compliment. I see it happen in people’s faces all the time. Their first whiff of me from afar and it’s as though I invoke a sense of intrigue inside them. “Where is he from?” and “How old do you think he is?” Part of me can understand it. I am a fluid mix of gold and amber hair and if I didn’t know better I wouldn’t hazard a guess how long I’ve been maturing. My face looks decades old but also warm and inviting matched with a strong jaw line that blends into my oak-like frame.
I guess it’s partly my fault that I prefer to converse to a single individual instead of blended amongst a group. The flavour that is me can be taken in slowly and appreciated much easier than if too many come and take too big a measure of me, inevitably recoiling from my biting response as I feel trapped as though in a barrel stashed in some cellar.
I can only hope to find someone who like me, wants to sit in fine leather chair in small secluded room with a cigar in hand and take sips in turn of one another to learn and appreciate who I am...
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[WP] Describe yourself as a fictional persona based on your username.
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I’m an elf, a night elf. I worship Elune, I keep the balance... but I’m not like the other elves.
I quite like the day. I enjoy puns in common. I like to drink ale and smoke a pipe with my feet on the table.
It helps me forget, you see. I can’t remember much before the War of the Shifting Sands. I remember love. I remember a child’s laugh. I remember the deadly accuracy of my blades digging into the vital organs of demons before twisting, their screams as I exulted in their pain and death.
Then... nothing.
I remember being told I was found unconscious on a raging riverbank. My satchel of journals waterlogged and near unreadable, except for my name. Much of what was left was gibberish anyway.
I spent many moons with the healers, recovering. It seems I may have slid into madness, whatever injury led to me being found washed up, removing the memory inducing it. And with it, the madness itself.
I spent years building my body up, honing my skills with dagger, fist and sword. And then came the War.
A terrible war. I saw Staghelm the younger torn apart. I saw my fallen comrades spirits risen and tormented, twisted. And in panic, I ran. I ran with the rest of the army.
We came back, of course. They wouldn’t come past Un’goro. We regrouped, but we couldn’t defeat the Qiraji. But we could seal them in. Three dragons sacrificed themselves to seal the gate in the wall from the inside. An unfamiliar feeling of loss and rage washed over me, before I was snapped from it by Staghelm the elder. Fandral Staghelm, Archdruid of the Cenarion Circle, cast the sceptre that was the gates key, shattering it.
Three of the flights took the pieces, some of the dragons vowing to free their captive brethren.
And so they stayed, while I and many others left that dreadful wasteland.
The centuries passed, filled with politics and peace, skirmishes and celebrations.
Then... the raven came. He told stories and gave warnings. The demons would return.
And return they did.
We had skirmishes with the Orcs, who wanted to use our forests for lumber. Eventually, we set aside our enmity, and allied with them and the humans who had also come from the eastern continent. Archimonde the demon lord, had returned.
Together, we fought. And we won. Archimonde’s bones lay in the roots of our World Tree as proof of our combined victory.
But it came with great loss. With the near total destruction of the Tree, Nordrassil, we lost our immortality.
A new World Tree was planted, and upon its branches many lived.
But not I. Something about the Tree... it felt wrong. However, I kept quiet and lived on the mainland, for the most part.
Now out of seclusion, we are rebuilding our civilisation. We are at war with the orcs Horde, and their allies. My wanderlust led me to explore these places long thought lost beneath the waves.
I battled black dragons, travelled to another world to battle the demonic Legion once more, was there when the Lich King fell... I saw the black dragon Aspect Deathwing fall, helped the Gilnean refugees settle.
I battled the Sha on the lost land of Pandaria, shrouded in mists for ten thousand years. I traveled to an alternate timeline, and another world, to stop another Horde threat.
And now? I am celebrating the downfall of the Burning Legion, of course. Ale in hand, feet on the table, a good selection of cheeses nearby as I wait for Khadgar.
We don’t have long to celebrate. Word has reached us of a powerful substance, leaking from the sword wound in that awful desolation called Silithus. The thought of returning to the site of the War turns my stomach, truth be told. But we can’t let the Horde gain monopoly on this new resource.
Elune a’dore, stranger. May She light your path and keep you safe. For now we drink.
|
So..... I’m a human cursed by the Grim Reaper to help him with the backlog of dead people. It sounds fun and everything, right? Well, it would be if it weren’t for the fact that Grim is a major buzzkill (canned laughter). Come on, have you ever been at a bar, trying to hook up with a woman who is clearly out of your league, but you just go for it anyway? And just when you’re about to deliver the punchline for a joke you just said, your depressed friend pipes in from across the bar and just takes every last breath of air out of your sails? That’s Grim. On the job, he is an ok guy, it does take a while to get past his bone dry humor, though. Oh, but anyway. So I’m a human cursed to help Grim reap souls. Plain and simple. However, I’m cursed to help him for exactly 626 years. It’s ironic. That’s my birthday..... wait...... Oh, fuck you Grim!
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[WP] Describe yourself as a fictional persona based on your username.
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Hiya! I am crunchy the happy corn flake, and I have a big dream!
One day, I will grow up to be my own corn and help other cornflake friends to reach their true potential, but I will not only help cornflakes. Rice crispies, cereal, oats, I will do my best to help them all, because I love everybody!
Everyday is a blessing, and full of wonderful surprises! Just like what is happening today. It has always been dark inside this box I am in, but today I finally saw light. I am now currently floating in something delightfully warm and white.
Oooh! I am being lifted up! I can see something red in the distance, and it is getting closer. This is all so exciting! I am now inside a pink and red cave of some sort, with white thingys beneath and above me. Now they are coming closer, I wonder if they are new friends?
"Hiiii, my name is---"
---***crunch***
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So..... I’m a human cursed by the Grim Reaper to help him with the backlog of dead people. It sounds fun and everything, right? Well, it would be if it weren’t for the fact that Grim is a major buzzkill (canned laughter). Come on, have you ever been at a bar, trying to hook up with a woman who is clearly out of your league, but you just go for it anyway? And just when you’re about to deliver the punchline for a joke you just said, your depressed friend pipes in from across the bar and just takes every last breath of air out of your sails? That’s Grim. On the job, he is an ok guy, it does take a while to get past his bone dry humor, though. Oh, but anyway. So I’m a human cursed to help Grim reap souls. Plain and simple. However, I’m cursed to help him for exactly 626 years. It’s ironic. That’s my birthday..... wait...... Oh, fuck you Grim!
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[WP] Describe yourself as a fictional persona based on your username.
|
Hiya! I am crunchy the happy corn flake, and I have a big dream!
One day, I will grow up to be my own corn and help other cornflake friends to reach their true potential, but I will not only help cornflakes. Rice crispies, cereal, oats, I will do my best to help them all, because I love everybody!
Everyday is a blessing, and full of wonderful surprises! Just like what is happening today. It has always been dark inside this box I am in, but today I finally saw light. I am now currently floating in something delightfully warm and white.
Oooh! I am being lifted up! I can see something red in the distance, and it is getting closer. This is all so exciting! I am now inside a pink and red cave of some sort, with white thingys beneath and above me. Now they are coming closer, I wonder if they are new friends?
"Hiiii, my name is---"
---***crunch***
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God Ai has gotten out of control. The head god AI zeus had started mass production of lesser god AI to take over all aspects of running the world.
On a production line in Caribbean 10000 robots where being installed with the latest programming. Their goal to take over control of the seas. This band of 10000 robot pirates went by the name, Poseidon
But something was strange about Poseidon number 7296... he had an opinion. He had emotions... that differed from the other 9999.
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[WP] Describe yourself as a fictional persona based on your username.
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Hiya! I am crunchy the happy corn flake, and I have a big dream!
One day, I will grow up to be my own corn and help other cornflake friends to reach their true potential, but I will not only help cornflakes. Rice crispies, cereal, oats, I will do my best to help them all, because I love everybody!
Everyday is a blessing, and full of wonderful surprises! Just like what is happening today. It has always been dark inside this box I am in, but today I finally saw light. I am now currently floating in something delightfully warm and white.
Oooh! I am being lifted up! I can see something red in the distance, and it is getting closer. This is all so exciting! I am now inside a pink and red cave of some sort, with white thingys beneath and above me. Now they are coming closer, I wonder if they are new friends?
"Hiiii, my name is---"
---***crunch***
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My job is to counsel extraordinarily underperforming students at the shittiest high school on earth, because everybody needs somebody to listen to their problems. Right? I didn't really have a choice after my career as a psychologist ended. I didn't do so well in this field because my clients kept committing suicide. I didn't understand any of it, why the hell would people kill themselves after I explicitly tell them that suicide is selfish? It's a strange world. Oh well...
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[WP] Describe yourself as a fictional persona based on your username.
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Style is important. Style is valuable. Sometimes style is all we have.
But it's really damn hard to eat fish with all those decorative screws and cogs around my beak.
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I'm not sure what is expected of me here, I'm just like anyone else. I just want what's best for the majority, even if I think the majority is wrong. For true power and momentum for the betterment of mankind comes from the biggest group. I'd much like to help lead the group towards the right paths, but I'm at the whimsy of those above me. There's no characteristics that stick me out as someone that can lead, I'm just average.
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[WP] Describe yourself as a fictional persona based on your username.
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I am L0wKi the subtle god of mischief and betrayal. Fear me for I am the one writing this! Right now I'm only a Low Key god, therefore, I cannot visit Valhalla yet. My Father Odin has told me one day I'll be like my brother Thor, that I would reach the High Key status of the gods! I never knew why he became High Key earlier. Is it his hair? Was I adopted? Imagine if I was adopted... What futile ideas come to my mind.
**If you liked this, please check out r/L0wKiWrit1ng for my other stuff! Oh, and don't mind the bot below. He thinks I stole my own writing...**
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This is my city. I know her secrets. Nothing is hidden from me. I see the corruption, the murder, and the hatred. I know what a nightmare this place is, and I fight to protect it anyway.
That is my duty. To fight a battle for justice with no end in sight, just to silence the guilt I have for living when my parents died in the alleyway.
I am Vengeance for those who have no justice. I am the Knight who protects those who need it.
I am... ***Batman***.
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[WP] Describe yourself as a fictional persona based on your username.
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You see, there's a very simple reason why I have three accounts: one for stalking, one for looking at things I don't want seen, and this one. The others have names only I know and may seem gibberish to others. Why all the security, you may ask? It's really quite easy:
I am an assassin. I hunt people down, cross reference their information they willingly give on reddit and other sources, and find them and take their lives. I do this and I'm quite well payed for it.
All beneath the screen of my three accounts.
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This is my city. I know her secrets. Nothing is hidden from me. I see the corruption, the murder, and the hatred. I know what a nightmare this place is, and I fight to protect it anyway.
That is my duty. To fight a battle for justice with no end in sight, just to silence the guilt I have for living when my parents died in the alleyway.
I am Vengeance for those who have no justice. I am the Knight who protects those who need it.
I am... ***Batman***.
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[WP] Describe yourself as a fictional persona based on your username.
|
I really didn't want this to happen. I promise. I wanted to be a dragon. I wanted to fly really fast and breathe fire and be in a book. And I knew about wishing on stars, so when I saw one, I closed my eyes really hard and wished I was a dragon. I was so happy when I woke up. I had big, tough, shiny scales and big, hard claws and big, sharp teeth, and I almost didn't even realize my big wings were on my stomach, so I had to fly the wrong way. But that got my attention, and I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings.
I'm sorry for burning down the house, Mom. I didn't know I would get to *fart* fire.
edited: formatting
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This is my city. I know her secrets. Nothing is hidden from me. I see the corruption, the murder, and the hatred. I know what a nightmare this place is, and I fight to protect it anyway.
That is my duty. To fight a battle for justice with no end in sight, just to silence the guilt I have for living when my parents died in the alleyway.
I am Vengeance for those who have no justice. I am the Knight who protects those who need it.
I am... ***Batman***.
|
|
[WP] Describe yourself as a fictional persona based on your username.
|
Style is important. Style is valuable. Sometimes style is all we have.
But it's really damn hard to eat fish with all those decorative screws and cogs around my beak.
|
This is my city. I know her secrets. Nothing is hidden from me. I see the corruption, the murder, and the hatred. I know what a nightmare this place is, and I fight to protect it anyway.
That is my duty. To fight a battle for justice with no end in sight, just to silence the guilt I have for living when my parents died in the alleyway.
I am Vengeance for those who have no justice. I am the Knight who protects those who need it.
I am... ***Batman***.
|
|
[WP] Describe yourself as a fictional persona based on your username.
|
You see, there's a very simple reason why I have three accounts: one for stalking, one for looking at things I don't want seen, and this one. The others have names only I know and may seem gibberish to others. Why all the security, you may ask? It's really quite easy:
I am an assassin. I hunt people down, cross reference their information they willingly give on reddit and other sources, and find them and take their lives. I do this and I'm quite well payed for it.
All beneath the screen of my three accounts.
|
Err... So. I'm salt. Not a grain of salt, but a pure NaCl stone, as far as I know. I can somehow move the individual molecules of me around, something like Sandman from the Spiderman movies, and also I can somehow receive sensory input from every molecule, so that is pretty cool. I was a lanky teenager who locked himself up in his closet playing video games before this, and somehow woke up already like this but stuck on the ground surface of somewhere in central Australia (as I would later learn). Well, I didn't know that NaCl stones formed in Australia. I spent weeks slithering (becoming a humanoid creature and walking surprisingly takes a lot of strength) across the plains to where I thought human civilization would be. Well, I was correct and managed to get past that cool looking gigantic fence (thats how I knew I was in Australia: you can never mistake the huge fence meant to keep animals away from the urban area) and quickly clumped up back into a rock as human civilization appeared in front of ~~my eyes~~ (well I cannot say that since I don't have eyes) me. And then a foreign looking boy of about 9 years old walked by and picked me up and I think actually adopted me as a pet rock. Of all rocks, me. He put me in a shiny metal container that was hot as fuck from the sun shining at it all day, and up till this point I had not remembered that NaCl DECOMPOSES UPON HEATING and started panicking. (Chem class, boys. My favourite subject) Until I realised that it was not hot enough to melt me. Phew. And then I think I blacked out...
I woke up in an air conditioned room and felt myself still touching cold, hard metal. Nope. Salt thing was not a dream. I am so, so fucked. The kid then ran up with what appeared to be his parents and carried me around. He then eventually ran up a plane that was (as I would learn later) travelling to somewhere in Southeast Asia. A wild ride, right?
Shit, I forgot to tell y'all how I found out that I was a pure NaCl rock. Well, I didn't. It just popped into my head when I woke up, pretty scary stuff.
---
u/overcomposer asked me to move it here instead of in the description, so here it is!
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[WP] Describe yourself as a fictional persona based on your username.
|
I really didn't want this to happen. I promise. I wanted to be a dragon. I wanted to fly really fast and breathe fire and be in a book. And I knew about wishing on stars, so when I saw one, I closed my eyes really hard and wished I was a dragon. I was so happy when I woke up. I had big, tough, shiny scales and big, hard claws and big, sharp teeth, and I almost didn't even realize my big wings were on my stomach, so I had to fly the wrong way. But that got my attention, and I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings.
I'm sorry for burning down the house, Mom. I didn't know I would get to *fart* fire.
edited: formatting
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Err... So. I'm salt. Not a grain of salt, but a pure NaCl stone, as far as I know. I can somehow move the individual molecules of me around, something like Sandman from the Spiderman movies, and also I can somehow receive sensory input from every molecule, so that is pretty cool. I was a lanky teenager who locked himself up in his closet playing video games before this, and somehow woke up already like this but stuck on the ground surface of somewhere in central Australia (as I would later learn). Well, I didn't know that NaCl stones formed in Australia. I spent weeks slithering (becoming a humanoid creature and walking surprisingly takes a lot of strength) across the plains to where I thought human civilization would be. Well, I was correct and managed to get past that cool looking gigantic fence (thats how I knew I was in Australia: you can never mistake the huge fence meant to keep animals away from the urban area) and quickly clumped up back into a rock as human civilization appeared in front of ~~my eyes~~ (well I cannot say that since I don't have eyes) me. And then a foreign looking boy of about 9 years old walked by and picked me up and I think actually adopted me as a pet rock. Of all rocks, me. He put me in a shiny metal container that was hot as fuck from the sun shining at it all day, and up till this point I had not remembered that NaCl DECOMPOSES UPON HEATING and started panicking. (Chem class, boys. My favourite subject) Until I realised that it was not hot enough to melt me. Phew. And then I think I blacked out...
I woke up in an air conditioned room and felt myself still touching cold, hard metal. Nope. Salt thing was not a dream. I am so, so fucked. The kid then ran up with what appeared to be his parents and carried me around. He then eventually ran up a plane that was (as I would learn later) travelling to somewhere in Southeast Asia. A wild ride, right?
Shit, I forgot to tell y'all how I found out that I was a pure NaCl rock. Well, I didn't. It just popped into my head when I woke up, pretty scary stuff.
---
u/overcomposer asked me to move it here instead of in the description, so here it is!
|
|
[WP] Describe yourself as a fictional persona based on your username.
|
Style is important. Style is valuable. Sometimes style is all we have.
But it's really damn hard to eat fish with all those decorative screws and cogs around my beak.
|
Err... So. I'm salt. Not a grain of salt, but a pure NaCl stone, as far as I know. I can somehow move the individual molecules of me around, something like Sandman from the Spiderman movies, and also I can somehow receive sensory input from every molecule, so that is pretty cool. I was a lanky teenager who locked himself up in his closet playing video games before this, and somehow woke up already like this but stuck on the ground surface of somewhere in central Australia (as I would later learn). Well, I didn't know that NaCl stones formed in Australia. I spent weeks slithering (becoming a humanoid creature and walking surprisingly takes a lot of strength) across the plains to where I thought human civilization would be. Well, I was correct and managed to get past that cool looking gigantic fence (thats how I knew I was in Australia: you can never mistake the huge fence meant to keep animals away from the urban area) and quickly clumped up back into a rock as human civilization appeared in front of ~~my eyes~~ (well I cannot say that since I don't have eyes) me. And then a foreign looking boy of about 9 years old walked by and picked me up and I think actually adopted me as a pet rock. Of all rocks, me. He put me in a shiny metal container that was hot as fuck from the sun shining at it all day, and up till this point I had not remembered that NaCl DECOMPOSES UPON HEATING and started panicking. (Chem class, boys. My favourite subject) Until I realised that it was not hot enough to melt me. Phew. And then I think I blacked out...
I woke up in an air conditioned room and felt myself still touching cold, hard metal. Nope. Salt thing was not a dream. I am so, so fucked. The kid then ran up with what appeared to be his parents and carried me around. He then eventually ran up a plane that was (as I would learn later) travelling to somewhere in Southeast Asia. A wild ride, right?
Shit, I forgot to tell y'all how I found out that I was a pure NaCl rock. Well, I didn't. It just popped into my head when I woke up, pretty scary stuff.
---
u/overcomposer asked me to move it here instead of in the description, so here it is!
|
|
[WP] Describe yourself as a fictional persona based on your username.
|
Style is important. Style is valuable. Sometimes style is all we have.
But it's really damn hard to eat fish with all those decorative screws and cogs around my beak.
|
I am L0wKi the subtle god of mischief and betrayal. Fear me for I am the one writing this! Right now I'm only a Low Key god, therefore, I cannot visit Valhalla yet. My Father Odin has told me one day I'll be like my brother Thor, that I would reach the High Key status of the gods! I never knew why he became High Key earlier. Is it his hair? Was I adopted? Imagine if I was adopted... What futile ideas come to my mind.
**If you liked this, please check out r/L0wKiWrit1ng for my other stuff! Oh, and don't mind the bot below. He thinks I stole my own writing...**
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|
[WP] Describe yourself as a fictional persona based on your username.
|
Style is important. Style is valuable. Sometimes style is all we have.
But it's really damn hard to eat fish with all those decorative screws and cogs around my beak.
|
You see, there's a very simple reason why I have three accounts: one for stalking, one for looking at things I don't want seen, and this one. The others have names only I know and may seem gibberish to others. Why all the security, you may ask? It's really quite easy:
I am an assassin. I hunt people down, cross reference their information they willingly give on reddit and other sources, and find them and take their lives. I do this and I'm quite well payed for it.
All beneath the screen of my three accounts.
|
|
[WP] Describe yourself as a fictional persona based on your username.
|
Style is important. Style is valuable. Sometimes style is all we have.
But it's really damn hard to eat fish with all those decorative screws and cogs around my beak.
|
I really didn't want this to happen. I promise. I wanted to be a dragon. I wanted to fly really fast and breathe fire and be in a book. And I knew about wishing on stars, so when I saw one, I closed my eyes really hard and wished I was a dragon. I was so happy when I woke up. I had big, tough, shiny scales and big, hard claws and big, sharp teeth, and I almost didn't even realize my big wings were on my stomach, so I had to fly the wrong way. But that got my attention, and I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings.
I'm sorry for burning down the house, Mom. I didn't know I would get to *fart* fire.
edited: formatting
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[WP] "I am my own worst nightmare."
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The sun had been up for hours when I finally staggered in through the door, the smell of the bar following closely behind. I threw my high heels into the pile of shoes under the coat rack and put a hand to my forehead, but the relentless pounding refused to subside.
“Jesus,” I grumbled to myself. Every part of me hurt this morning. Not for the first time, I wished that I was twenty-one again. Hangovers had never been that bad back then.
“Mommy?” a small voice called from the second floor. Two feet and the bottoms of red rocket ship pajama pants came into view at the top of the staircase. “Mommy?”
“Not now, Nathan,” I snapped. “Don’t talk to Mommy until she’s had her coffee.” I hiked my dress up over my cleavage and turned into the kitchen, where I pulled a mug and a handle of vodka out of the cabinets. One shot now, two in the mug, and another now for good luck. Filter, grinds, water in the coffee maker and-
“Mommy?”
“What?” I didn’t even try to hide the annoyance in my voice. I turned around and almost tripped over him. Nathan always seemed to get underfoot at the worst times.
“Am I going to Kid-nergarten today?”
The green digits on the microwave glowed, “10:31.” Well past the start of class.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
“You said you would drive me.” Nathan’s voice quieted until it was almost inaudible and his bottom lip trembled. I prayed for no tears. There was no way I was dealing with that shit right now.
“Just go back to bed.”
“But I’m not tired.”
I pointed a finger upstairs. “Bed. Now.”
“Can I eat a snack?”
“No,” I snapped and grabbed his shirt in my fist. Almost dragging him, I led him to the staircase and with one final push, released my grip on him. He fell, face forward.
And that’s when the tears started.
Nathan scrambled to his feet, blood and tears streaming down his face. I reached out toward him but it was too late. His feet pounded up the stairs, a door slammed, and then silence. I felt like puking and knew that it wasn’t because of the hangover.
In the mirror halfway up the stairs, I caught a glimpse of my reflection. Black makeup smeared around my eyes and my hair stuck up in every which direction. In short, I looked manic. But what scared me most was the look in my eyes. It was the same look that haunted my every dream since I was just a little girl. I remembered hiding under my bed whenever my father would come home at night from the bars. I remembered him throwing things and yelling at me and yelling at my mother. I remembered when he slapped me across the face and how my cheeks had stung for days. Most of all, I remembered the fear and that look in my father’s eyes.
The same look I wore right now.
It was then that I realized I had become my own worst nightmare.
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It’s not his face. It’s no maniacal laughter or metal blade or fiery eyes. It’s not even the basement with its walls closing in around me and holding me there for him. It’s not anything you’d define as scary.
Do you know what my worst nightmare is?
Me.
It’s me giving up. It’s me giving in. Not fighting, not screaming, not recoiling from the knife. I just take it. He does all this to me and in my nightmares I accept it. I deserve it. I want it.
And if it’s not that, it’s me being with him. Willingly. I stay by his side. I cook and clean for him. I “make love” to him. I love him. The man I should hate and curse with my dying breath. The man who broke me so completely that I’m devoted to him. And it’s all a lie. I stand there with an apron and a pie and an enormous Stepford Smile. Because I’m dead on the inside.
In my dreams, *I* am my own worst nightmare.
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[WP] "I am my own worst nightmare."
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The sun had been up for hours when I finally staggered in through the door, the smell of the bar following closely behind. I threw my high heels into the pile of shoes under the coat rack and put a hand to my forehead, but the relentless pounding refused to subside.
“Jesus,” I grumbled to myself. Every part of me hurt this morning. Not for the first time, I wished that I was twenty-one again. Hangovers had never been that bad back then.
“Mommy?” a small voice called from the second floor. Two feet and the bottoms of red rocket ship pajama pants came into view at the top of the staircase. “Mommy?”
“Not now, Nathan,” I snapped. “Don’t talk to Mommy until she’s had her coffee.” I hiked my dress up over my cleavage and turned into the kitchen, where I pulled a mug and a handle of vodka out of the cabinets. One shot now, two in the mug, and another now for good luck. Filter, grinds, water in the coffee maker and-
“Mommy?”
“What?” I didn’t even try to hide the annoyance in my voice. I turned around and almost tripped over him. Nathan always seemed to get underfoot at the worst times.
“Am I going to Kid-nergarten today?”
The green digits on the microwave glowed, “10:31.” Well past the start of class.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
“You said you would drive me.” Nathan’s voice quieted until it was almost inaudible and his bottom lip trembled. I prayed for no tears. There was no way I was dealing with that shit right now.
“Just go back to bed.”
“But I’m not tired.”
I pointed a finger upstairs. “Bed. Now.”
“Can I eat a snack?”
“No,” I snapped and grabbed his shirt in my fist. Almost dragging him, I led him to the staircase and with one final push, released my grip on him. He fell, face forward.
And that’s when the tears started.
Nathan scrambled to his feet, blood and tears streaming down his face. I reached out toward him but it was too late. His feet pounded up the stairs, a door slammed, and then silence. I felt like puking and knew that it wasn’t because of the hangover.
In the mirror halfway up the stairs, I caught a glimpse of my reflection. Black makeup smeared around my eyes and my hair stuck up in every which direction. In short, I looked manic. But what scared me most was the look in my eyes. It was the same look that haunted my every dream since I was just a little girl. I remembered hiding under my bed whenever my father would come home at night from the bars. I remembered him throwing things and yelling at me and yelling at my mother. I remembered when he slapped me across the face and how my cheeks had stung for days. Most of all, I remembered the fear and that look in my father’s eyes.
The same look I wore right now.
It was then that I realized I had become my own worst nightmare.
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I think… Yes I think I've gone mad. It was a subtle shift, but to tell the truth it has been a long time in coming. You see, I think that madness is like a river facing against a dam. Most people can relieve the pressure slowly, letting their madness out in little rivulets. Keeping the dark waters at bay.
I can remember the first time. The first crack in the dam. IT was a little thought. A reapers dream. And I indulged the thought. No harm at all given to man or beast. It was just a thought. But the cracks grew and the thoughts tumbled like rain in a storm. Until one day there was no difference between the falling rain, and drowning in the sea.
It swept through my dam like waves before the sand and my madness escaped. I remember the feeling of freedom, of majesty. Of magnificence. The shackles of convention and conformity falling away and my eyes were opened. I was free.
I looked down at my hands covered in the bright red of life. Already growing dull. At the body of the man broken before me. He had asked me for my wallet. Very polite and grinning. He was still grinning. He would always be grinning now. I grinned back and together we shared that joke. A joke that only we would know. I walked away from the grinning man my own smile beginning to fade. That would not do, not do at all.
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[WP] Chess is actually the story of two kingdoms that are in a constant state of war. You are a pawn that wants to put an end to this madness.
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*”Daughter, a good leader looks out for his people. I’m sure our King and Queen believe this is the correct action to take against the Ebony King and his army. I’ll be back soon. I love you, and when this is over we’ll find you a horse.” Is the last thing my Father said to me before he left our house nearly a decade ago to fight in the war. He was conscripted because he was an out of work civilian. He didn’t have the training like the *Knights*, *Rooks*, or *Bishops*, so they put him with others like him. They were pawns for the other soldiers to move around and used as a shield. He died in the first sortie against the Ebony Kingdom.
All my life I’ve been underestimated. My mother clung to me when we lost father, she wasn’t confident I could make it out on my own. My friends when I told them I wanted to enlist of my own free will didn’t think I would be able to complete basic. Yet here I am with 7 other people just like me. We’re pawns. The first line of defense, and the first to go.
Behind us is our Ivory King and Queen standing tall, united, and ready to begin our engagement with the enemy. The King while old in his age was assisted by his Queen, a young warrior woman who is rumored to be able to attack from anywhere. The Bishops of War bookended the King and Queen, deadly snipers who can pick people up diagonally from their position. The Knights of Ivory rode on horses, able to gallop above us and attack from different directions. They’re highly unpredictable. The Rooks, they’re like us but with better equipment, they’re able to rush enemies and move quickly across the board.
Opposed to us? The Ebony Kingdom with a similar setup. There have been variations of the setup and amount of soldiers to bring to a formal battle like this throughout the years, but this traditional setup was known as the gentleman’s battle. But there is nothing gentlemanly about war.
My unit was first to charge, our wooden shields clash against the other pawns’ shields. Both sides forming a wall against each other, their pawn takes out one of us? We take out one of them. It was a stalemate as no pawn wanted to risk their lives this early. I looked to my right at my fellow comrade, a pawn who is freaking out.
“I don’t know if I can do this, I d—”
The Black Knight jumped out of nowhere and collapsed on the poor pawn, stampeding him onto the ground with his giant horse’s hooves. He drew a sword, I turned around ready for combat but as the knight jumps, he changes direction and gallops towards the king. Looking at the bloody mess on the ground that was a pawn just like me, I didn’t want a horse nomore. I want to retreat and help back, but I need to push forward. This ends by killing the king.
I charged forward clashing shields with another pawn. Neither of us wanted to move.
“One of us got to move, or someone will pick us off.” He yelled at me, I wasn’t moving. I already failed to kill the Black Knight, there is no way I was letting another Ebony soldier get past me.
It took a few minutes but one of the Bishops of War took out the pawn in front of me. Just as I was about to congratulate him, he turned and said.
“C’mon get up lass. Need to move. Can’t sit here.” The Bishop was rather spry despite how old he looked with his holy clothing. But I took heed to his words and charged forward, at this point in the war everyone was everywhere.
The Queens both Ebony and Ivory waltzed across the battlefield killing any pieces in their path. Their presence on the field opened the battle from a strategic battle to a chaotic struggle for survival. I catch glimpses of the battle, like the knights stomping on rooks, queens killing bishops, and king’s running for their lives. This wasn’t the war my father told me about, the *Ivory* king isn’t as brave as he told me. He was a coward.
I’m almost on the other side of the battle, ready to flank the enemy. Soldiers of the Ebony army ignore me, going after the rooks, bishops, and knights. Just as I was about to attack a rook rushed back in front of me. The charge of the big sentry warrior with heavy armor, light machine gun, and big body intimidated me. He laughed knowing even if I put my shield forward his gun will rip me to pieces.
“Ye made it this far. But this is the end for you. Should’ve stayed out there like the rest of the Pawns, maybe we would’ve taken mercy on you. But you move ahead thinking you can do something? Thinking you can attack us? Well this is the e—”
Just as he pointed the gun at me, a stream of light cut through the big rook. Before his body fell, the *Ivory* Queen stood at his spot. She was glamourous, beautiful and confident. She turned to me.
“Oh pawn, you made it so far. You’re an inspiration to us all. In terrifying odds you made it here. Child, everything will be fine.” She reassured as if a mother would to a child. But I wasn’t so sure. I was angry, how can she act so nonchalant about all this? For years we fought this war like this. Yet looking into her eyes I came to a realization, she wasn’t the same Queen my father fought for.
“You’re not the Ivory Queen….” I gasp.
“No, I was once like you.” She smiled, bending down to caress my cheek.
“You may not understand why we fight, but know we do this because we have to. Just have faith and we’ll win this.” She said, turning around unprepared for the Black Knight. The gallops of the knight’s horse push her to the ground. The sword from the knight’s side stabs into her down body. Just as quickly as he attacked, he jumps away retreating from the scene. I run to her, callapsing onto my knees.
“What are you talking about? Once like me?” I plead for answers. Yet I can tell the life was fading away from her face.
“Take the crown, you’ll see.” Was her last words.
I took her crown. My body instantly transforms, growing taller, more lively, and I feel powerful. My shield was replaced with a rapier, and my boots replaced with dancing shoes. I can move more freely, gliding across the battlefield. For the first time I felt free and powerful. I danced and dispatched of the Ebony Army, and as I towered over the king with the Rapier in hand he pleaded to me.
“Quickly, kill me.” Not understanding, I hesistated before lifting up the rapior. Yet, as I swung something grabbed me, lifting me up to the sky. Turnined around a giant hand from the sky was holding me, and setting me back beside my king. New pawns were brought into the battlefield along with Rooks and Knights.
“What’s going on?” I asked the Ivory King.
The old tired king with a face who has seen this thousands of times look to me with pain and despair in his eyes.
“We’re starting over. For years we fight, people die. The gods that we all answer to commands us to fight over and over again. Now that you can see them, you too will learn this is us. We’re all someone's pawns in the end.”
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The story that they tell is that King White betrayed Our Lord Black in a most cruel and treacherous fashion, and when Our Lord Black merely attempted to defend his honor in the most small and humble fashion King White retaliated as viciously as a viper, and then out of his desire to protect his people Our Lord Black was left with no recourse but to fight in our defense.
I was there, actually. No one noticed me there because I'm not the sort of person who gets noticed. I'm short and chubby, innocuous-looking, but it's more than that, my entire life I've somehow always faded into the background, faceless, insignificant.
But I was there when King White and Our Lord Black were each given half a cookie-- and it was a good cookie, a delicious one, dark with cream in the center. My mouth watered when I saw it.
"His is bigger," Our Lord Black pointed out, correctly.
"Here, now it's even," Queen Mother said.
"No, now his is bigger!" King White said, and burst into tears.
This was the beginning. But there was no appeasing them, not then or ever afterwards. The room they shared was divided by a thick dark line down the center, and then the line spread through the castle, and then out onto the grounds. It grew impossible to get from place to place, the line zig-zagging around the individual elements each king had laid claim to. Over time their back and forth bickering divided the kingdom piecemeal, so that people stumbled step by step along pathways only broad enough for a single traveler at a time.
The kings demanded fierce loyalty, there was no switching sides. In the beginning families were split, and then eventually there was a gathering in, and entrenchment. We were the followers of the true leader, Our Lord Black, they, the craven sniveling misbegotten turnips who could dare follow that upstart "King" White.
How can a country function like this? How can it go on? It's obvious that something must be done, and because no one else will do it, because everyone has grown blinded by all that has happened, by the evil done by the other side, by the pain on their own, it is only I who is left to do it.
And so I make my way to his Lordship Black. I've ripped my clothes and fasted for two days and I look like I've come stumbling in exhausted from a lengthy joruney.
"My Lord Black!" I gasp. "The presumptuous King White has declared that he is more peaceful, more generous, and more forgiving than you!"
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[WP] Chess is actually the story of two kingdoms that are in a constant state of war. You are a pawn that wants to put an end to this madness.
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She scowled as her compatriots as they were cut down all around her. The enemy cavalry had been harassing them for hours, picking them off one by one before darting off. It made her blood boil that there had been no reinforcements. How could they not see what was happening here, her excellency would never allow for such a slaughter to go unopposed.
Lifting her pike high with a roar, she pierced the armor of a knight as he passed by her. He screamed as it pushed through his shoulder and forced him off his mount. With adrenaline-fueled strength, she forced her spear down on his sternum, staring into his eyes as they slowly lost focus. She sighed as she heard the sound of cavalry in the distance. It was never enough.
Suddenly, a yell rang out next to her. Whirling to face her opponent, she realized the man was too close for her to parry. She winced for a moment before the soldier was struck in the temple with a large mace, splattering blood and brains across the field.
"My apologies for the interruption," The bishop said matter of factly, shaking excess brain matter off his weapon, "I bring grave news from the capital."
She felt her stomach drop as the thought occurred to her, "The queen?" She asked tentatively, though she knew the answer from his face.
"Dead," He said with a wince, "Though she brought many wicked souls with her to the afterlife. Bless her spirit."
She felt her knees grow weak as it fully began to settle in for her. The queen regent had seemed invincible, her strategies infallible. This, then, was why they had not received aid, the fate of thousands left in the hands of a puppet ruler without a puppetmaster to direct him. She collapsed to her knees. They were doomed.
"This is no time for self-pity, soldier," The bishop said with a morbid smile, "All is not lost yet."
She looked all around her, outnumbered deep inside enemy territory, and felt like that was exactly the case. But then, looking back at the radiant image of the bishop smiling down on her, she felt the sincerity of his words.
"How?" Was all she could muster to ask.
He smirked, "There is a reason why I sought you out among these witless pawns who struggle in futility," He extended a hand for her to grab, "And why you are yet the only one who knows of the queen's demise."
She reluctantly clasped his hand and pulled her self out of the dirt. "I don't understand,"
"To be a queen like ours, what do you think matters most?" He queried, "Love for the king? Influential familial ties? A royal demeanor?"
She looked at him with skeptical eyes, "No, ours was a warrior queen," She said proudly, "What mattered were her skills in both combat and strategy, and the ruthlessness with which she engaged in both."
"Well said," He said, smiling broadly, "To be referred to as queen requires only a title, to **be** a queen is much more than that."
"What is your point then, clergyman," She snapped at him, "She is no more, and will never be again,"
"My point," He said calmly, "Is that perhaps we need someone to take up the mantle of warrior queen once more. To embody her virtues and inspire and lead our soldiers in her name."
She stared at him in silence, taking her time to digest his proposition.
"I am not worthy," She finally declared, prompting a laughter from the bishop,
"If I believed that I would have left you here to be struck down like the rest of these pawns," He smiled wickedly, "But worry not, there is a test."
She raised an eyebrow at his comment but tried her best to remain composed. "Fine," She sighed, "Tell me of this test."
He beamed back at her, reaching into his pack to pull out a piece of armor. "You will don this armor," He tossed them to her, "And you will attempt to reach the other side of the battlefield without perishing in the attempt."
Now it was her time to laugh, "You can't be serious, there's no way for anyone to make it all the way to the other side alive,"
"Which is exactly why it must be done," The bishop finally tossed her an intricate blade and turned to leave, "For who else could wade across such a battlefield and live except for a true warrior queen."
And then he was gone, his divine justice no doubt ready to be delivered on another front before long. She was left standing in the mud holding armor worth more than her entire life in wages. With a sigh, she looked over at the opposite side of the war zone, and the countless bodies that littered the space in-between. Well, if she was going to die, she figured she might as well die while looking great.
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The story that they tell is that King White betrayed Our Lord Black in a most cruel and treacherous fashion, and when Our Lord Black merely attempted to defend his honor in the most small and humble fashion King White retaliated as viciously as a viper, and then out of his desire to protect his people Our Lord Black was left with no recourse but to fight in our defense.
I was there, actually. No one noticed me there because I'm not the sort of person who gets noticed. I'm short and chubby, innocuous-looking, but it's more than that, my entire life I've somehow always faded into the background, faceless, insignificant.
But I was there when King White and Our Lord Black were each given half a cookie-- and it was a good cookie, a delicious one, dark with cream in the center. My mouth watered when I saw it.
"His is bigger," Our Lord Black pointed out, correctly.
"Here, now it's even," Queen Mother said.
"No, now his is bigger!" King White said, and burst into tears.
This was the beginning. But there was no appeasing them, not then or ever afterwards. The room they shared was divided by a thick dark line down the center, and then the line spread through the castle, and then out onto the grounds. It grew impossible to get from place to place, the line zig-zagging around the individual elements each king had laid claim to. Over time their back and forth bickering divided the kingdom piecemeal, so that people stumbled step by step along pathways only broad enough for a single traveler at a time.
The kings demanded fierce loyalty, there was no switching sides. In the beginning families were split, and then eventually there was a gathering in, and entrenchment. We were the followers of the true leader, Our Lord Black, they, the craven sniveling misbegotten turnips who could dare follow that upstart "King" White.
How can a country function like this? How can it go on? It's obvious that something must be done, and because no one else will do it, because everyone has grown blinded by all that has happened, by the evil done by the other side, by the pain on their own, it is only I who is left to do it.
And so I make my way to his Lordship Black. I've ripped my clothes and fasted for two days and I look like I've come stumbling in exhausted from a lengthy joruney.
"My Lord Black!" I gasp. "The presumptuous King White has declared that he is more peaceful, more generous, and more forgiving than you!"
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[WP] Chess is actually the story of two kingdoms that are in a constant state of war. You are a pawn that wants to put an end to this madness.
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I went first, two spaces. It's easy to feel confident when you are in a long line with your friends. But up front by yourself? Terrifying.
My counterpart on the other side advanced the same way. We stared each other down, menacing each other with our weapons but not moving to strike. Around us pieces fell left and right. Bishop George was taken by a black Knight. The Queen fell to the same legendary knight.
All around the battlefield he hopped taking piece after piece until he was finally brought down by a well placed Rook. After both sides were worn down it was just us two pawns against each other with our Kings standing behind us.
The two infirm old men danced around us, swords wobbling shakily in the air. They eyed each other intensely watching for any weakness. Then the black King blinked and our King made his move. He struck at the back of the pawn opposite me and he fell in a heap.
The black king shuffled to the side in fear. He was alone now with his back to the wall. Together the king and I moved forward.
Slowly closing in on the hapless king I raised my sword but then paused. If I struck this whole process would begin again. But if I held... I sheathed my sword. The King yelled but I paid him no mind. I merely eyed the black king and spread my arms out.
He didn't hesitate. The black Kings sword bit into my side. As I collapsed into the black Kings arms I uttered my last word.
"Stalemate."
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The story that they tell is that King White betrayed Our Lord Black in a most cruel and treacherous fashion, and when Our Lord Black merely attempted to defend his honor in the most small and humble fashion King White retaliated as viciously as a viper, and then out of his desire to protect his people Our Lord Black was left with no recourse but to fight in our defense.
I was there, actually. No one noticed me there because I'm not the sort of person who gets noticed. I'm short and chubby, innocuous-looking, but it's more than that, my entire life I've somehow always faded into the background, faceless, insignificant.
But I was there when King White and Our Lord Black were each given half a cookie-- and it was a good cookie, a delicious one, dark with cream in the center. My mouth watered when I saw it.
"His is bigger," Our Lord Black pointed out, correctly.
"Here, now it's even," Queen Mother said.
"No, now his is bigger!" King White said, and burst into tears.
This was the beginning. But there was no appeasing them, not then or ever afterwards. The room they shared was divided by a thick dark line down the center, and then the line spread through the castle, and then out onto the grounds. It grew impossible to get from place to place, the line zig-zagging around the individual elements each king had laid claim to. Over time their back and forth bickering divided the kingdom piecemeal, so that people stumbled step by step along pathways only broad enough for a single traveler at a time.
The kings demanded fierce loyalty, there was no switching sides. In the beginning families were split, and then eventually there was a gathering in, and entrenchment. We were the followers of the true leader, Our Lord Black, they, the craven sniveling misbegotten turnips who could dare follow that upstart "King" White.
How can a country function like this? How can it go on? It's obvious that something must be done, and because no one else will do it, because everyone has grown blinded by all that has happened, by the evil done by the other side, by the pain on their own, it is only I who is left to do it.
And so I make my way to his Lordship Black. I've ripped my clothes and fasted for two days and I look like I've come stumbling in exhausted from a lengthy joruney.
"My Lord Black!" I gasp. "The presumptuous King White has declared that he is more peaceful, more generous, and more forgiving than you!"
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The ancient and powerful villain may had a calm and gentle face as they spoke, but they were furious. Not at the heroes, but at the gods and prophets for continually sending kids and teenagers to fight their battles.
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[WP] "Shh, it's alright." The villain said. "You're doing beautifully and I'm so proud of you. But that's enough now... It was cruel of them to make you fight me. You never had a chance. It's not your fault."
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"We are told at birth 'Duty before self.'" Umbra's murmurs were as tender as a lullaby. If not for the spell restraining her, she might have thought him gentle, "We are told to sacrifice our homes, our family, our lives in the name of the greater good."
Energy depleted, Corona gathered enough strength to spit at him, "We do not question the gods, and the prophecy must be fulfilled. We cannot fight fate."
With his back turned, she heard a gasp, and when he turned around, she blinked against his anguished expression. Shaking his head, his thick, long dread locks trembled like tentacles at his shoulders, and despite the heat boiling underneath her skin, she shivered.
"Shh, it's alright." A slim, sharpened finger came to his lips. As much as she fought, she could not jerk her head away when his hand curled protectively around her chin, "You're doing beautifully, my child, and I am so proud of you."
"You \- you monster, the gods!"
Did pity control his gaze? She wondered, and peering into his gaze, she realized it was something more humane, more sorrowful than she imagined.
"The gods care nothing for us." He answered, "But that's enough now," he nodded in agreement to an invisible source, "yes, it was cruel of them to make you fight me. You never had a chance. It's not your fault."
He cradled her in his arms as the spell relinquished its hold, and to her surprise, she clung to him as hot tears stained his bare skin. He caressed her hair and brought his lips to her ear, "You are brave, young one. Use your strength for you people, not your oppressors."
She opened her mouth to correct him. *They were not*. But what belief trespassed into her heart now?
Clouds of night swirled at his feet, engulfing him in glittering stardust. In his eyes were pools of sorrow, of shame, of smoldering fury promising more than vengeance as he sunk into the sands of time.
Gasping, she wiped away her tears and stared dumbly at where he last stood.
She failed.
She had failed the gods.
And she was afraid.
But oh, she was relieved.
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“Shh, it’s alright.” The supervillain Third Eye said as the would be hero was on their knees breathing heavy, bleeding from several small wounds. “You’re doing beautifully and I’m so proud of you. But that’s enough now… it was cruel of them to make you fight me. You never had a chance, it’s not your fault.”
He smiled as the war bots that he had procured stood guard over the defeated hero. The room the two were in could only be called a lair, with a massive set of screens on one wall showing a map of the progress of his takeover of Terlun city. His bots were making quick work of the city’s defenders, as well as the three villains who worked for him, who were leading the charge.
“You’re wrong.” The wounded hero in leather pants and a t-shirt with one of Terlun’s local bands on it said as she slowly struggled to get up, under the watchful eye of the war bots and their powerful rifles. “You’re wrong father!” She said, standing to her full height, wiping a line of blood from her chin with the back of a hand.
“See.” Third Eye said with a shake of his head. “This is why I told you not to spend time with those goody goodies of the Hero’s guild. They filled your head with all these nonsensical ideas like justice, and doing the right thing. When I take over the city, you will live however you want, but for now, let daddy work. You never had any powers to begin with, they only sent you to fight me because they thought I’d play nice with my daughter. Pricks.”
“Wrong again.” Iris, who had never been granted a hero name, replied calmly, even with at least ten high powered rifles aimed at her. “I always wanted to do the right thing. Something I must have inherited from mom, may she rest in peace. And you never did pay attention to me growing up.”
“What do you mean by that?” Third Eye’s smirk left his face as he looked earnestly at his nineteen year old daughter who was still playing hero.
“My moral compass isn’t the only thing I inherited from mom.” Iris said, diving forward sending the war bots into a frenzy as they fired at her. She spun in a corkscrew as she sailed forwards, dodging dozens of bullets, and landing just between two war bots. Reaching out quickly with her right hand, she used her power in a real fight for the very first time. She picked up the massive war bot with one hand, and slammed it into the one on her left with enough force that both shattered into pieces.
“Restrain her!” Third Eye shouted as Iris dove to the side as the remaining war bots refocused their aim on her. She ran towards the massive metal walls of the lair, zigging and zagging the whole time. When she finally reached the wall, a war bot chasing closely behind her with its right hand clutching a massive steel beam, she ran straight up the wall, getting twenty feet up before pushing off. The bot slammed into the wall and destroyed itself as Iris leapt away from the wall, bullets flying past her as she went.
She landed right on top of another bot, and ducked behind it’s back as its fellows peppered it with bullets. When the bot was little more than hole riddled scrap, she kicked it hard, sending it flying into its fellows who were still shooting it. It clipped two other bots, slicing them in two as it flew past.
A spray of bullets finally found their mark, hitting Iris in the shoulder. She flinched back, but as quickly as the bullets had come, she dove at the bot who had landed the attack, ripping the sensor bank that acted as a head right off its shoulders and throwing it towards another bot’s sensor bank, exploding both.
Another spray of bullets found Iris’s left leg, and she turned to see the last war bot facing down on her. She jumped high, flipping over as another spray of bullets was fired at her. They missed their mark, and her right leg came down with enough force that there was nothing left of the bot when she made contact with the floor.
Turning to her father, she cracked her knuckles and rolled out her shoulders. She felt the trio of bullet holes in her right shoulder, and shrugged at the pain. Her power didn’t make her immune to damage, but it did remove her ability to feel pain. She’d likely live through the damage the bullets did, but either way, it wasn’t effecting her fighting ability.
“When did that happen.” Third Eye asked, motioning at the carnage to mean her power itself.
“Puberty is a hell of a thing, dad.” She said with a predatory grin on her face. “Made all the harder when your father can’t be bothered to backburner his world domination plans to spend time with you.”
“So this is all because I didn’t spend enough time with you?” Third Eye scoffed.
“No, father!” Iris yelled. “This. Right here. Right now. This moment is because you are determined to take the city by force, and you must be stopped. You not spending enough time with me only explains all the problems here.” She said pointing a bloody finger at her right temple.
“Well.” Third Eye smiled. “We can talk about this once Terlun is mine.” He placed a gloved hand over his chest, and when he pulled it away, the glowing green embodiment of his power was glowing through his suit. He stood tall, and focusing, shot a beam of green power that had been described by scientists as an organic laser, shot forth.
Iris grabbed a severed bot arm, and threw it at the incoming beam. It easily sliced through the metal, but it gave Iris a moment to dodge to the side. The beam continued past where she had been standing, and sliced through the wall twenty meters further back. Where the beam sliced through, bright daylight broke into the lair.
“Don’t run, sweety!” Third Eye laughed as he simply turned to track her, the laser pouring forth from his chest slicing through more and more of the lair as it traced closer to her. She increased her speed, but her father easily kept up, as all he had to do was turn his body to face her. The beam continued to cut through the floor and walls of the lair, casting the dark gloom of the room in daylight as more sunlight pierced through the new openings.
“I can keep this up all day little gem.” Third Eye laughed as he continued turning, his green laser cutting through more and more of his lair. He didn’t care, he could easily afford to replace the damage. He never saw the lump of former war bot coming, and it clipped him in the leg, sending him tumbling to the ground, his beam cutting out as his focus faltered.
“You know.” Iris called out as her father quickly got back to his feet, turning to look for her. He found her with her back against a wall that was filled with holes and slices, the sunlight framing her from behind. “Mom’s not the only one I inherited powers from.” She said as she crossed her closed fists over her chest. Third Eye couldn’t believe what he was seeing as she opened each fist, revealing bright red light held in each hand.
He quickly tried to focus, reigniting his own laser, but was much too slow as twin beams of red light stabbed into his shoulders, sending him flying back into a pile of metal debris that used to be his precious warbots.
He simply laid there for a moment, the metal falling around him, not quite pinning him into place, but it felt nice to just lay down for a moment. His shoulders really hurt, Third Eye laughed to himself as he heard the footsteps approaching. He’d never be able to reignite his beam in this condition, he was done for.
“Got you.” Iris said as she came to stand in front of the pile of debris.
“Yep.” Third Eye sighed. “Thought of a hero name yet?”
“Still working on it.”
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[WP] You can gain insights into a person's true personality by reading their writing. You've used this abilitiy to help guide your students. One day you discover a student whose true personality is vile, twisted, and entirely sinister.
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Eyes may have long been held as the windows to the soul, but I always preferred handwriting. The eagerness in their scrawl, or hunched together with the barest space between words, or how hard they pressed against the page: those sorts of clues gave me a kind of insight.
I really should’ve chosen a different career. All my life, the same criticisms swirled around me.
“Can’t you tell?”
People smiled when they were sad, and laughed when they were annoyed, and pushed others away when they were lonely. People were too complicated for me, in every way. I couldn’t grasp the difference between their actions and their intentions. So, I should have chosen an office job, where I could have just been the awkward co-worker.
But, I couldn’t forget my precious moments.
“Ah, thanks! I get it now… I think. You’re a really good teacher.”
When I remembered those times, I realised a good teacher didn’t need to understand everything; understanding the problem was good enough. Still, it took me a while to compensate. Some children needed things explained in a succinct way. Others needed to go over each step, a little at a time. I found quickly that their handwriting helped me to pinpoint the problem. Something so personal, it reflected their attitude to the work quite well, for the most part.
Of course, I didn’t judge them, or hold their handwriting against them, or anything like that. It became a good starting point, though; a small insight, from which I could begin to understand them as my student.
I wouldn’t say I was a particularly good teacher. My job was to help the students understand the work, so I was just doing my job. I didn’t take in class after class of unruly teens on the verge of failing and turn them into honour students. But, year after year, I helped the kids in my care to do a little better. From time to time, I even managed to help someone struggling turn things around. That was rare, though, and the extent of my ‘being a good teacher’.
For me, that was enough. I didn’t think so highly of myself. If I could continue being helpful to my students, then that was a satisfying life.
However, teaching never went without a hiccup.
A student transferred in half-way through the year to one of my classes. I knew about her before the first lesson, of course. The file on her included the relevant notes and I’d been made aware of what I needed to know to teach her. Still, actually seeing her affected me.
Quiet would have been the wrong word, distant perhaps better, her gaze perpetually downwards even as I wrote on the whiteboard. She sat as far away from the neighbouring desk as she could. Her hair fell across her face like a curtain, though not quite long enough to reach her mouth, where her lips were pressed together in an almost frown.
I went through the lesson as I would any other, while obviously avoiding asking her any questions. The other students had glanced at her here and there, but otherwise left her alone, quickly forgetting all about her once I started teaching. Some of them took another look at her on their way out, trying not to be rude, but I was sure she noticed them all the same, shrinking behind her desk.
When everyone else had left, she started packing up. Her movements were slow and gentle and yet jerky, her muscles seizing at odd times. I waited patiently for her to finish putting away the little, electronic word processor she had used before walking over. She stilled, or, rather, she seized up at my approach.
“Hannah?” I asked.
She jumped, even knowing I’d come over, surely knowing I intended to speak to her. “Y-yes, miss?”
It wasn’t that I had no empathy, I had just always struggled to actually understand, and I didn’t want to presume I knew. When I tried to think about how I would feel in their situation, I always came out with the wrong answer. Given everything that had happened to her, I couldn’t possibly have hoped to empathise in good faith, and I wouldn’t dare pity someone trying their best.
Carefully lowering myself, I rested a piece of paper and a pen on the table. “I know this is a strange request, but I would like it if you could write down a sentence for me—anything you want. If your hand’s sore right now, then another time is fine. If you don’t want to, then that’s fine, too. It’s not something compulsory.”
With a practised motion, I stood back up. Her gaze flickered between her lap and the paper.
“I like to see my students’ handwriting, so I can try to understand them a little better. Does that sound silly? I’m sure it does, something like a superstition from Victorian times. But, I like to use it as a starting point, so I can help them as best as I can as their teacher.”
Her apparent fear hadn’t subsided. In gentle motions, I turned around and put a little distance between us.
“How about you take those home today and, if you feel like indulging me, you can return them next lesson? Otherwise, just leave them there.”
“I, I’ll try, miss.”
Stilling, I found myself surprised. Only, she surprised me again when I heard the tap of a pen, making me slowly turn back around.
Her grip on the pen looked terrible, childlike even, and uncomfortable. In shudders and jerks, the pen scratched across the paper. She kept crossing the lines, every letter different. Pressing so hard, she tore the paper when trying to cross a ‘t’. It was painful to watch in a way, but I could only imagine that it hurt far more for her, so I kept my emotions to myself.
When she finished, she let out a long breath, which she’d been holding for the near minute it took her to write just one short sentence. The pen clattered on the table, making her flinch even though she’d dropped it.
“I’m… finished, miss.”
Slowly, I reached over and lifted up the paper, turning it around so I could read it. Just one short sentence, but it took me a few seconds to decipher.
“W-what does it s-say… about me?”
The worst scrawl I’d ever seen, it had a look of madness to it, like some insane person had hastily carved the words into a wall with a rock. Every letter so sharp and pointed, it could have been confused for ancient runes. In a way, reading it made me feel sick, the sort of handwriting I expected to see on some crime show written in blood.
All in stark contrast to the words.
I WILL TRY MY BEST.
Smiling, I folded the piece of paper over. While I might not have known what to say to her before, I felt like I understood, just a little, what she needed from me now. “You might not feel it, but you’re very brave, Hannah. You’re going to do just fine.”
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One day your a teacher, the next day you are swinging upside down above a pit of... is that lava?
Terry was always a pretty good student. He used to have to type everything because it was in his 504 plan or PPT or whatever.
He had allegedly develped hypergraphia, due to having ADHD.
If you asked me now I would say he had should have been diagnosed with conduct disorder too.
I think maybe in hindsight, he knew about my powers, that he was pretending to have hypergraphia, that he fooled his mom by writing really fast and purposely not holding the pencil correctly.
My mistake was asking for him to write the answer to that algebra problem on the board.
I was having all of the student write the answer to each problem. There were 30 kids and 30 problems.
It would have been unfair to skip him.
When he scribbled out the answer in that illegible scrawl of his, I knew, just then I *knew*, that this kid had something deeply disturbed.
It wasn't the fact that his writing was illegible, in fact most of the time that showed a mind that was otherwise fast paced. It was the fact that it was *indistinguishable* from the genuine article.
If not for my powers, I would have simply shrugged, believing that his writing was just that of someone with his alleges condition.
But I knew it was not. I knew that although the end product was identical, seeing him write was like watching a master artist paint a still life for me.
My biggest mistake was asking him if I could see his notes.
He may not have known about my powers.
He may have thought that he had slipped up somewhere in his facade.
Either way he knew that I knew his own personal notes would have been written completely legibly.
He didn't write notes often. He was allowed to have a computer in class. But that day he had left it at home and had been writing things down in a notebook.
After that I blacked out.
Now I am upside-down, over a lava pit.
Where did he even get this? It isn't like you can just buy this kind of thing on Ebay.
He starts to slow clap into the room like a supervillian. I am going to explode with laughter.
His clapping is cheesy, but his outfit is down right tacky.
He had put on, like a blinking cape? It was like he sewed LED lights into a blanket. He had wore under it a black suit, or it might have been a tux.
Either way it was the kind of thing you would wear to a middleschool prom.
I think I even saw him wear it at the last formal dance I chaperoned.
He was like 12. And you could really tell in that moment he was 12. He was a 12 year old wanna be Batman villain crossed with a wanna be James Bond villain.
He has started his monologue. I just can't get over that outfit. I guess while he was suppose to be paying attention in class, he had been learning how to hack and program in stuff.
I guess that is why he never seemed to do that well on tests as I think he could have.
He wasn't in danger of failing, but I always thought if he had really put in the effort he could have been taking some of the more advanced math classes.
There was a bit of irony somewhere in that situation but right now I can't really see it.
He concluded that he knew had a feeling I had powers like his, and that he knew once I was certain that I would try to rat him out to his parents.
Yeah he is like 12, if anything I didn't care that he didn't have hypergraphia, I cared that he was clearly disturbed and I would have been genuinely concerned that he receive the help he needed.
Whenever I see problems like that, I always try to make sure the person gets help.
It was all I really used my powers for. I actually planned to have all of the kids right on the board as just a quick way to check in on all of them at once. Made things easier.
Also, although I am sure that if I saw his *real* hand writing, I would have been able to tell he had powers, that was news to me.
Getting a better picture of him was *why* I asked to see his notes anyway.
I tell him as much. He pouts. Whatever kid.
He asks me how I think I got here. It *was* strange, it isn't like a 12 year old can knock out a 20 something year old woman.
I make up a thing about pledging loyalty to him. Make up a bit about having secretly always hating humanity. And I am not proud of it, but I also subtlety imply I think he is attractive.
I am still above a lava pit afterall.
Not surprisingly, that actually seems to satiate him. Let's out a creepy laugh. He said he could use a side kick. (Did he mean henchmen?)
He's like 12. He is not *nearly* as smart as h thinks he is.
His powers are combat based. Yet he is learning how to hack.
An ability to knock people out would be pretty frightening if he snuck up on someone.
But for some reason he chose to wear what is probably his only suit, and put on a cape that draws way too much attention to itself.
When I get out of hear, I'm calling the cops. I hate the idea of sending any of my kids to juvy, but this kid is 12 and thinks he is in a comic book.
He climbs up a rope, I black out.
I'm in handcuffs, I'm still in the same warehouse as before. He hands me a box.
I ask him what his evil plan is. He cocks his head. He says he is on the side of good.
I tell him that earlier in his speech he was talking about taking down the government, wasn't he suppose to be evil.
He tells me that I misunderstand his lille code of honor thing.
I knew he read comics because he used to talk to some of the kids in class about this one villain, I think his name was the punisher.
I guess I figured he was a villian.
Doesn't mean this 12 yearold wasn't still out of his mind.
I open the box. It is a gun.
This kid was 12.
He says I am going to have to pass his loyalty test by shooting someone. I have no intention of doing that, bur I'm not sure how his powers work.
If I'm not careful he could knock me out again.
I look around the warehouse.
I shouldn't be surprised to notice corpses around the room.
Terry was a 12 year old
This kid, this supervillian who thinks he's some sort of anti-hero, was a 12 year old.
This kid, who wasn't nearly as smart or self-aware as he thinks he is, was 12.
This kid was 12, and wearing a homemade light up cape, and he might kill me.
One day you are a teacher, the next day you are a hostage to a 12 year old kid.
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[WP] You can gain insights into a person's true personality by reading their writing. You've used this abilitiy to help guide your students. One day you discover a student whose true personality is vile, twisted, and entirely sinister.
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Eyes may have long been held as the windows to the soul, but I always preferred handwriting. The eagerness in their scrawl, or hunched together with the barest space between words, or how hard they pressed against the page: those sorts of clues gave me a kind of insight.
I really should’ve chosen a different career. All my life, the same criticisms swirled around me.
“Can’t you tell?”
People smiled when they were sad, and laughed when they were annoyed, and pushed others away when they were lonely. People were too complicated for me, in every way. I couldn’t grasp the difference between their actions and their intentions. So, I should have chosen an office job, where I could have just been the awkward co-worker.
But, I couldn’t forget my precious moments.
“Ah, thanks! I get it now… I think. You’re a really good teacher.”
When I remembered those times, I realised a good teacher didn’t need to understand everything; understanding the problem was good enough. Still, it took me a while to compensate. Some children needed things explained in a succinct way. Others needed to go over each step, a little at a time. I found quickly that their handwriting helped me to pinpoint the problem. Something so personal, it reflected their attitude to the work quite well, for the most part.
Of course, I didn’t judge them, or hold their handwriting against them, or anything like that. It became a good starting point, though; a small insight, from which I could begin to understand them as my student.
I wouldn’t say I was a particularly good teacher. My job was to help the students understand the work, so I was just doing my job. I didn’t take in class after class of unruly teens on the verge of failing and turn them into honour students. But, year after year, I helped the kids in my care to do a little better. From time to time, I even managed to help someone struggling turn things around. That was rare, though, and the extent of my ‘being a good teacher’.
For me, that was enough. I didn’t think so highly of myself. If I could continue being helpful to my students, then that was a satisfying life.
However, teaching never went without a hiccup.
A student transferred in half-way through the year to one of my classes. I knew about her before the first lesson, of course. The file on her included the relevant notes and I’d been made aware of what I needed to know to teach her. Still, actually seeing her affected me.
Quiet would have been the wrong word, distant perhaps better, her gaze perpetually downwards even as I wrote on the whiteboard. She sat as far away from the neighbouring desk as she could. Her hair fell across her face like a curtain, though not quite long enough to reach her mouth, where her lips were pressed together in an almost frown.
I went through the lesson as I would any other, while obviously avoiding asking her any questions. The other students had glanced at her here and there, but otherwise left her alone, quickly forgetting all about her once I started teaching. Some of them took another look at her on their way out, trying not to be rude, but I was sure she noticed them all the same, shrinking behind her desk.
When everyone else had left, she started packing up. Her movements were slow and gentle and yet jerky, her muscles seizing at odd times. I waited patiently for her to finish putting away the little, electronic word processor she had used before walking over. She stilled, or, rather, she seized up at my approach.
“Hannah?” I asked.
She jumped, even knowing I’d come over, surely knowing I intended to speak to her. “Y-yes, miss?”
It wasn’t that I had no empathy, I had just always struggled to actually understand, and I didn’t want to presume I knew. When I tried to think about how I would feel in their situation, I always came out with the wrong answer. Given everything that had happened to her, I couldn’t possibly have hoped to empathise in good faith, and I wouldn’t dare pity someone trying their best.
Carefully lowering myself, I rested a piece of paper and a pen on the table. “I know this is a strange request, but I would like it if you could write down a sentence for me—anything you want. If your hand’s sore right now, then another time is fine. If you don’t want to, then that’s fine, too. It’s not something compulsory.”
With a practised motion, I stood back up. Her gaze flickered between her lap and the paper.
“I like to see my students’ handwriting, so I can try to understand them a little better. Does that sound silly? I’m sure it does, something like a superstition from Victorian times. But, I like to use it as a starting point, so I can help them as best as I can as their teacher.”
Her apparent fear hadn’t subsided. In gentle motions, I turned around and put a little distance between us.
“How about you take those home today and, if you feel like indulging me, you can return them next lesson? Otherwise, just leave them there.”
“I, I’ll try, miss.”
Stilling, I found myself surprised. Only, she surprised me again when I heard the tap of a pen, making me slowly turn back around.
Her grip on the pen looked terrible, childlike even, and uncomfortable. In shudders and jerks, the pen scratched across the paper. She kept crossing the lines, every letter different. Pressing so hard, she tore the paper when trying to cross a ‘t’. It was painful to watch in a way, but I could only imagine that it hurt far more for her, so I kept my emotions to myself.
When she finished, she let out a long breath, which she’d been holding for the near minute it took her to write just one short sentence. The pen clattered on the table, making her flinch even though she’d dropped it.
“I’m… finished, miss.”
Slowly, I reached over and lifted up the paper, turning it around so I could read it. Just one short sentence, but it took me a few seconds to decipher.
“W-what does it s-say… about me?”
The worst scrawl I’d ever seen, it had a look of madness to it, like some insane person had hastily carved the words into a wall with a rock. Every letter so sharp and pointed, it could have been confused for ancient runes. In a way, reading it made me feel sick, the sort of handwriting I expected to see on some crime show written in blood.
All in stark contrast to the words.
I WILL TRY MY BEST.
Smiling, I folded the piece of paper over. While I might not have known what to say to her before, I felt like I understood, just a little, what she needed from me now. “You might not feel it, but you’re very brave, Hannah. You’re going to do just fine.”
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*Normal kid. Just another normal kid.* The thought gave me a small sense of ease as I looked at the paper again. The words took that ease from me again as I read further and further. *Is this normal though?*
A light tap on the door pulled me from my reading. "Mr. Peters? You wanted to see me?"
"Uh, yes. Jessica, please come in," I said, waving to the closest desk. *Just a normal kid.* Jessica Rivers was just another run of the mill student. She was pushing a B in my creative writing class, and my colleagues all said the same. She had never gotten a detention, although she had been warned about tardiness a few times. All in all, nothing special about her. Her face was filled with confusion as she eased herself into the chair.
"I wanted to talk to you about your latest writing assignment," I said, holding it for her to see. I could see her visibly tense up, and I quickly added, "There was nothing wrong with it. I just wanted to see where you got the inspiration for some of the things you wrote."
"Oh, o-okay," Jessica stammered. She leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes in thought. "So, you told us to write a short story about something that would be scary if it happened in real life."
I nodded. It was an exercise I gave out every year, and it helped me to weed out the troubled kids. *This, though...this is far more than just troubling.* I looked down again at the paper again. "Let's start at the beginning then. You wrote, **'A calming breeze rolled over the hills, gently rustling the tall grass as it snaked end over end to the farm.'** Now, that doesn't seem very scary. A lot of your classmates started their tales right in the middle of the event."
The student shrugged her shoulders halfheartedly. "I thought that was a lame idea. Don't get me wrong, *in media res* can be useful, but for this, I wanted to go for a slow development with more exposition."
I pursed my lips in thought and chuckled. "Well, it's good to know that you have been paying attention to some of the things I talked about. In this situation, I have to agree with you. Let's keep going. **'The breeze reached the rustic home and pushed past the front door, which was slightly ajar. It billowed through the living room, past the coats and hats on the rack, indicators of an early fall season.'** I have to say, I like the details you put in here and there. It brings a sense of realism to the story that other papers didn't."
Jessica smiled slightly, not showing her teeth. "Thank you very much."
"Let's push on ahead to the main part of the story. **'The breeze crept down the hall, past the sink in the bathroom, overflowing with water. The young boy who had been brushing his teeth now lay in a heap, blood pooling around his rapidly cooling body. The wind went further down, curling into the bedroom. The walls, once a lively green, were now flecked with red spots. The couple on the bed were sprawled out, the man's mangled body on top of his wife's in a final attempt to protect her. It had been in vain, as both their heads were caved in. The wind pooled around the only indication of life in the house, the girl holding the hammer loosely in her blood-soaked hand.'**"
I leaned back in my seat, mimicking Jessica's motion from earlier. I exhaled deeply. "That is a lot to take in. One girl killing a whole family?"
"Not just any family," Jessica interjected. "Her ow family. I took some inspiration from the Lizzie Borden story. Forty whacks, you know?"
"Yes, I'm aware of that story," I replied, a slight waver in my voice. *Is she just another normal kid?* "Your descriptions in this part were very...vivid, especially for the killer."
"Well, I based her off of me, so it was easy to pull that part off. I based a lot of it on my family to make it a little easier."
"...Right." *Okay, THAT is not normal.* "Now for the ending. **'The screams that still rang in the girl's ears began to be replaced by the sounds of approaching sirens. Her chest tightened. Her hand instinctively clenched tighter on the handle of the hammer. She began to slowly walk down the hall, causing the breeze to breaking into roiling nothingness.'** This is quite a hard stop for a story. Did you mean to put it this way?"
Jessica nodded. "I wanted to leave things open. I like revisiting things I write and adding on to them when I have the chance."
I nodded, feeling more apprehensive. "And...have you revisited this one?"
"Let's say I am still in the process of figuring out how I want to go forward with it."
A shiver ran down my spine. Something about what she had said didn't sit well with me, but I let it pass. "Back to your ending, it seems like the only emotion comes from the fear of the cops coming. Is that how you meant to write it?"
"Yes, I wanted to make it clear that this was the point where the scary part really sets in."
"So, let me get this straight. You wrote about this girl killing every part of her family, and you didn't think *that* was the scary part?"
Jessica looked up at me, her eyes her eyes gleaming. "No, Mr. Peters. The scary part for *me* was getting caught."
/u/TemporaryPatch New Years Resolution Tracker: 31/100. Visit /r/TemporaryPatchWrites for more responses and stories!
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[WP] Aliens have infiltrated earth, but mostly to make a documentary on the wildlife there. They get most of it wrong.
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Not all animals have Blek or are covered in Fluun like our beloved pet Koons. No, some animals have thread like strands growing from their skin known as fur. In today's episode of ''Weird, wild and far far away'' we are visiting the most charming blue little planet of everyone's favorite vacation galaxy. You guessed it, the Secaor Galaxy. Now Aqua III is hilariously and perhaps insultingly named ''Dirt'' by the locals, the hoomans. While about 70% of Aqua III's surface is water-covered. They do not seem to like their planet or water.
Being the third planet from their sun it is one of only three planets in their solar system that harbors life. Most of which is found in the large bodies of water. Therefore first on our list of weird species we have one of Aqua III's most common and highly intelligent life form known as a ''Cow''. You may have heard of them already, a popular niche souvenir to bring back by those who can afford to travel so far into the Secaor Galaxy. Rumor has it everyone's high school heartthrob Bechalor owns a cow. Here you see a brown and white fur covered specimen, standing at only 5,2 feet tall it is on the smaller side for a female cow weighing just around 1000 lbs. Just look at it. With such grace you can now see that it without so much as flinching, calmly excretes it's pies that the surrounding flies gleefully indulge in. Very nutritious and delicious too. Ah and there it is, the occasional and so very pleasant ''Moo'' sound reminding us of our summer rain.
How delightful, I for one surely am envious of Bechalor if the rumors hold true. Cows can be found in a whole array of colors, brown, black, grey and even blue. And now diving deep into the ocean of this planet called ''Dirt'', we can see the much more impressive male cow. At 90 feet this specimen weighs just around 170 tonnes. Long and slender with maturity having lost it's legs for mating purposes, the male is much more beautiful to behold. He rises to get to the surface of the water to breathe from his blowhole located at the top of his head. We can hear him now, calling for females who are looking for him in the depths. Soon we will see intricate courtship dances among the females to determine who has the right to mate with this marvelous blueish-grey male. But before we do so we are going to learn something about one of Aqua III's lesser intelligent animals, the hooman. Join us in this nest built of wood and stone called a living room after the break...
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Kinlidalh Ippaakääj has worked tirelessly for 397 cycles to ensure that the sentients of the Galactic Union get the latest, most accurate information about xenobiological matters of interest! His expose on the breeding habits of the orefirogifr species has won him at least four thousand (give or take 3997) awards, a majority of which were given to him by other sentient beings! Now the galaxy’s most reputable naturalist brings you a report from the Formerly Forbidden Planet!
*As you know, I am an entirely reputable and licensed naturalist, and I did not steal this identity from a sentient that I murdered by hitting him over the head with a wrench after escaping from prison on charges of fraud, forgery, and mass murder. As such, I am incredibly skilled in matters of infiltration, and not for any criminal past I may or may not be hiding. Thus, when approaching the Formerly Forbidden Planet, I disguised myself as a species known as penguins. They are noted for their classy outfits and great love of the arts.*
*Using my training that I definitely learned from a reputable university, I determined that Earth consists of a single continent noted for its ice and heavy snowfall. After seamlessly infiltrating the penguin collective, I learned that there were four species that inhabited the planet. One of them was the penguin species. They had a long and storied history, involving six blood wars, eighteen thousand blood feuds, and nine blood operas. They have taught me their gentle ways, including their knowledge of nuclear physics, dark matter, and proper training of alto singers.*
*The second species is the mighty krill! These walk on fourteen legs and are fearsome, bloodthirsty predators, making all individuals on that planet cower before their bloodthirsty might! They are reviled for their brutal gladiator fights, their brutal fighting tactics, and their brutalist architecture. I, of course, being a sentient of peace and not an intergalactic fugitive utterly disapprove of such matters! I abhor violence in all its forms!*
*Though the krill pose a massive security risk to the good sentients of the forbidden sector, they are mostly held in check by the species known as the elder gods. These elder are keepers of ancient secrets and magic unfathomable to most of us. They know how to manipulate the forces of the universe as if they were merely wet clay! AND WE, MeREly pAWNS in THeIR WRETCH’d gAMEs!!!!*
[Editor’s note: Ippaakääj appears to go on for some time in incomprehensible gibberish, not known to any tongue. It has driven seven of our editorial staff mad, so we will not reproduce it to ensure the maximum health and safety of your souls.]
*Other than the elder gods* [more incomprehensible gibberish, this time driving only two of our editorial staff mad, which was no consolation to our insurance company, let me tell you that much] *the only other species of note are those savage beings known as the humans. Human incursions brought a reign of terror to the galaxy many thousands of cycles ago until such a time as they could be contained on a singular planet, which they call Earth.*
*While I was not able to gain access to human lands, I assure that they are well contained on this curious and sometimes DERANGED PLANET, a planet infested by things BeYOnD oUR cOMPRehenSIOn!!!!* [four pages of incomprehensible gibberish expunged; miraculously no one was driven mad by it) *Our generous hosts were able to give us access to entirely accurate documentaries about recent human history. These documentaries, locally known as Game of Thrones, indicate that the humans are confined to a region that they call Westeros. They appear to only have a medieval level of technology, despite some success in creating powerful explosives, resurrecting the dead, and calling down demons of fire to serve them. They are currently engaged in a civil war while an invasion of human undead waits on the northern border.*
*Yes, friends, I have braved many horrible dangers in my quest to the Formerly Forbidden Planet, and any rumors to the contrary are just horrible lies! Some slanderous and jealous individuals may allege that I merely spent time getting drunk in a local bar and listening to the inaccurate rantings of a psychotic penguin refugee! But how could you believe such a thing of me, the most reputable and totally honest naturalist in the galaxy?*
Well, sentients, there you have it! The most reputable and totally honest in the galaxy has gone on his most dangerous assignment yet and has brought back a wonderful report at significant cost to his life and sanity! If anyone wishes to nominate him for political office, say, for the position of consul of the galaxy, you’d be handsomely rewarded!
[Editor’s note: The preceding report has been reproduced in its entirely except where iterated to show the galaxy the consequences of relying on suspicious naturalists instead of government sanctioned reports. Ippaakääj has been proven during his recent impeachment trial to be nothing more than a criminal, lying monster of a con artist. More accurate naturalists have reported that Earth is a totally barren wasteland occupied by no sentient beings in any way whatsoever. It is totally beneath our time and notice. Furthermore, the concept of the ancient aggressors known as humans has been thoroughly debunked by an independent panel of scholars known, succinctly, as the Independent Panel of Scholars.
As the leader of the Independent Panel of Scholars, I have to say that Ippaakääj’s criminal past makes it impossible for us to believe a single word he says. Yes, he has professed to his vile lies, but his new claim that humans have infiltrated the government on every single level is completely ludicrous. Yes, the Independent Panel of Scholars is entirely made up of a species that *resembles* these humans, but we are obviously not humans, for if we were, then we would have killed you, and we have not done that yet. Instead, we have merely gained control of your system of government at all levels. This was done totally for the good of the various species of the galaxy, and not for humans.
If we were humans, we would be lying. But since we’re not, we can’t be. Right?]
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[WP] Your phone's always been a few minutes fast. You've never been able to fix it, so you just ignored it until the day you were hanging out with your friend and received this text from their number: 'Omg pls tell me your still alive'
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**Omg pls tell me your still alive**
I looked at my phone and back up at my friend, Sam.
"What is this?" I ask, showing Sam my phone. "Some kind of prank?"
Sam looks as confused as I feel, his lips moving slightly as he reads his own text.
"No, I didn't sent that. Are you sure it's from me?"
"Well, it's your number," I snap back at him.
"And what's with the time. That's like hours from now."
*Ah shit, not again* I think to myself. The phone is doing the weird glitching thing it sometimes does where the clock jumps forward several minutes.
**Ding!** Another message arrives. **Holy shit dude. I think you might have been right about your phone seeing the future. I'm in the park!**
*What the hell*
Then the tremors start.
"Do you feel that?" asks Sam with urgency.
"Yeah, earthquake perhaps. It's LA, we get them all the time," I say, not sure if I'm trying to reassure Sam, or reassure myself. Something weird was going on here, and the growing unease in my stomach is telling me it's not going to be good.
"Are you sure?" Sam asks.
The relative quiet of the area is broken by the rumbling becoming audible, swiftly followed by a car alarm going off.
"Okay, we gotta go," I grab Sam by the sleeve and lead him towards the park.
"Hey, hang on, what's going on?"
"I don't know, but something really REALLY bad is about to happen. Do what I say, but above all else, don't stop texting me."
"Okay," says Sam, quietly and full of fear.
And as if on queue, the earthquake struck.
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[WP] Your phone's always been a few minutes fast. You've never been able to fix it, so you just ignored it until the day you were hanging out with your friend and received this text from their number: 'Omg pls tell me your still alive'
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Thursday
*Shit. I'm going to be late to the meeting.* I check the time on my phone again. 10:22, and I'm still waiting at a red light. *Come on, change.* I shift in my seat and nervously tap my fingers on the steering wheel in a rapid staccato beat. A line of cars turn left in front of me. 10:23. Finally, it changes.
I get into the parking lot at 10:29. *One minute to get up to the tenth floor.* I nearly knock somebody over trying to get into the elevator, and it's only as the doors are closing that I realize it's somebody I'm supposed to see at the meeting. *Why are they just standing there?*
My boss commends me for being early, as usual.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-
Friday
My sister and I are in line at the concession stand. She tells me: "Relax. We won't even miss the first preview" I grit my teeth and hold up my phone, showing her that it's clearly showtime. She shrugs. "Fine, you go pick seats. I'm getting popcorn."
I pick a seat right in the middle of the theater. I turn my phone off as other moviegoers file in. My sister saunters in with a tub of popcorn and plops down next to me, content. When the previews start, I take the battery out, for good measure.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-
Saturday
I had already made plans with Cameron for the next day, so my phone and battery are still shoved in the bottom of my bag when we meet. "Wow, this has to be the first time I've actually beat you here." They smile at me from our regular diner booth. We chat about the movie\-\-they've seen it twice already. We argue about the age of one of the actors, and I pull out my phone to prove I'm right.
I'm digging around for the battery in my bag. Cameron tells me: "I'll be right back."I click the battery back into my phone and turn back it on. I missed a few emails this morning, nothing important. I am confirming I was correct about the actor's age when Cameron texts me from the bathroom.
*OMG, pls tell me yr still alive*
I frown and furrow my eyebrows. I'm typing, *What are you talkin* when three men in masks burst through the front door and our waiter screams.
|
The movie theater was silent. Then, I felt a buzz in my right pocket. It was a message from Tyler, reading ‘Omg pls tell me your still alive’.
“Hey, did you send me something?” I asked Tyler. He looked back at me like I was an idiot.
“No. Duh. I’ve been here with you the whole time.” Tyler said. He turned back at the movie screen and ran a hand through his brown hair, which was pulled back into a quiff.
“I got a message from you asking if I’m alive? Is this like a super weird prank or something?” I’m still facing Tyler, who is looking at the movie screen.
“No, I didn’t send it. Stop it.” said Tyler, continuing to watch the movie without a smile.
“Stop what? You’re clearly the one who sent the message.” I respond, slightly irritated.
“Shut up. I know you’re messing with me. Just shut up and let me watch my movie!.” Tyler whispered forcefully. Tyler would’ve yelled if we were outside.
Tyler stared at the movie silently, his hands balled on the armrests.
“Whatever,“ I whisper, indifferent to the situation. Somebody must have switched my contacts. I silence my phone and start watching the movie again.
*\*Perspective Switch :o\**
“Hey, I’m getting food” said Jack, tapping my shoulder.
I didn’t respond. I was still pissed off about the prank he tried to pull with a fake message and decided to keep watching the movie.
“Whatever.” he said. From the corner of my eye, I saw Jack shrug his shoulders before getting up and leaving.
Let me tell you something: When I get angry, even over the smallest thing, I tend to hold a grudge for a while. Every action grates on me the wrong way, and I see the person through the worst lens possible.
I was clenching my fists, just wanting Jack to walk out a little faster. I felt the unreasonable anger bubbling and try to take a deep breath. Slowly, I relax and get back to the movie.
After what felt like 5 minutes, I felt a powerful rumble. Dust fell from the roof of the theater and the projector stopped playing. I heard something play on the speakers, instructions to evacuate. Before the people could get into a panic, I had already lept out of my seat and was sprinting to the snack area.
In the hallway was a large pile of rubble, forming a divider between the movie theaters and the entrance. I looked around and yelled ‘Jack’, to no response. I whipped out my phone and shakily sent a quick message: ‘Omg pls tell me your still alive’. I wiped the sweat of my forehead and sent it. Nothing.
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[WP] Your phone's always been a few minutes fast. You've never been able to fix it, so you just ignored it until the day you were hanging out with your friend and received this text from their number: 'Omg pls tell me your still alive'
|
I heard my phone vibrate in my purse. I bent down and fished the thing out, still listening to Val’s rant about her new employee. Apparently, his approach to being a salesperson means getting a little too hands-on with the customers...in a pet store of all places. Val doesn’t know whether to reprimand or fire him. He does a decent job in every other possible situation. It could also become a diversity snafu since his “targets” are the male customers. From her descriptions, I personally think Val’s employee needs to be told that flirting does not have an appropriate hands-on approach and that would be the end of it. But Val is still Val. She’s a great friend but sometimes she can make a mountain out of a molehill.
Still bent over I read the notification on my phone: a message from Val’s number that read, “OMG! Pls tell me you’re still alive!!!”
Wondering what could that possibly mean, I open my mouth to ask Val what’s going on.
That’s when I hear the woman at the table behind me scream. I glance over and see her husband, who had had his back to me, slumped over with blood coming out of a wound in his back.
I recognize the wound from my time as an intern with the hospital. It was a gunshot wound. Had I not been bent over, the bullet would have hit me in the head instead of him.
But I don’t have time to consider that because more people started to scream...and more people started to slump over. The crowd of people seated on the diner’s patio and on the patio for the coffee shop next door pushed and shoved each other as they scrambled in all directions. Tables, including the one Val and I sat at, were knocked over in the panic. Some people raced into the diner while others raced out into the street. The windows of the diner shattered as more bullets silently rained down on these innocent people. I look for Val in the sea of frantic people, but I can’t see her. Still clutching my phone, I start to crawl towards the restaurant. Hopefully, being indoors will protect me.
My phone vibrates again. Another message from Val saying, “Oh God, you weren’t in the diner were you?”
Without even questioning it, I turn away from the diner and scramble against the current of people. People were still falling to the ground as bullets riddled their bodies. A woman clutching her baby fell to her knees, blood bursting out of her thigh. My nurse instincts kicked in, and I helped her to her feet.
I saw an opening in the patio fence close to us that led to the other storefronts along the strip mall. I put myself between the mother with the baby and the street, guessing that the shooter was on one of the buildings on the opposite side of the street. I helped the woman run as fast as she could down the strip mall.
“Why aren’t we going inside the diner?!?” she demanded. I couldn’t give her a reason. What was I supposed to say? That my phone told me not to be in the diner?
Thankfully, an old man raced out of the bookstore next to the diner towards us. It was the owner, Jerry. He had served as a medic in Korea. He told me to grab the baby out of the mother’s arms. He then picked her up and carried her into his store. I followed close behind. I reached the door when the coffee shop exploded into a ball of flames. The shockwave knocked me to my knees and broke the windows of the bookstore. I glanced over and saw that the flames consumed the far side of the diner. People were racing out of it, their clothes in flames. The baby in my arms screeched for her mother. I raced inside the bookstore to the far corner, away from the windows.
A small group of people were huddled together. Jerry unlocked the cellar doors and ushered people inside. I handed the baby back to the mother when my phone vibrated again.
Another message from Val, “I’m glad you’re okay. The police say it’s safe now. They caught the psycho in Jerry’s bookstore.” My heart jumped to my throat as the sounds of the front door to the bookstore just opened and closed.
|
The movie theater was silent. Then, I felt a buzz in my right pocket. It was a message from Tyler, reading ‘Omg pls tell me your still alive’.
“Hey, did you send me something?” I asked Tyler. He looked back at me like I was an idiot.
“No. Duh. I’ve been here with you the whole time.” Tyler said. He turned back at the movie screen and ran a hand through his brown hair, which was pulled back into a quiff.
“I got a message from you asking if I’m alive? Is this like a super weird prank or something?” I’m still facing Tyler, who is looking at the movie screen.
“No, I didn’t send it. Stop it.” said Tyler, continuing to watch the movie without a smile.
“Stop what? You’re clearly the one who sent the message.” I respond, slightly irritated.
“Shut up. I know you’re messing with me. Just shut up and let me watch my movie!.” Tyler whispered forcefully. Tyler would’ve yelled if we were outside.
Tyler stared at the movie silently, his hands balled on the armrests.
“Whatever,“ I whisper, indifferent to the situation. Somebody must have switched my contacts. I silence my phone and start watching the movie again.
*\*Perspective Switch :o\**
“Hey, I’m getting food” said Jack, tapping my shoulder.
I didn’t respond. I was still pissed off about the prank he tried to pull with a fake message and decided to keep watching the movie.
“Whatever.” he said. From the corner of my eye, I saw Jack shrug his shoulders before getting up and leaving.
Let me tell you something: When I get angry, even over the smallest thing, I tend to hold a grudge for a while. Every action grates on me the wrong way, and I see the person through the worst lens possible.
I was clenching my fists, just wanting Jack to walk out a little faster. I felt the unreasonable anger bubbling and try to take a deep breath. Slowly, I relax and get back to the movie.
After what felt like 5 minutes, I felt a powerful rumble. Dust fell from the roof of the theater and the projector stopped playing. I heard something play on the speakers, instructions to evacuate. Before the people could get into a panic, I had already lept out of my seat and was sprinting to the snack area.
In the hallway was a large pile of rubble, forming a divider between the movie theaters and the entrance. I looked around and yelled ‘Jack’, to no response. I whipped out my phone and shakily sent a quick message: ‘Omg pls tell me your still alive’. I wiped the sweat of my forehead and sent it. Nothing.
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[WP] Your phone's always been a few minutes fast. You've never been able to fix it, so you just ignored it until the day you were hanging out with your friend and received this text from their number: 'Omg pls tell me your still alive'
|
I heard my phone vibrate in my purse. I bent down and fished the thing out, still listening to Val’s rant about her new employee. Apparently, his approach to being a salesperson means getting a little too hands-on with the customers...in a pet store of all places. Val doesn’t know whether to reprimand or fire him. He does a decent job in every other possible situation. It could also become a diversity snafu since his “targets” are the male customers. From her descriptions, I personally think Val’s employee needs to be told that flirting does not have an appropriate hands-on approach and that would be the end of it. But Val is still Val. She’s a great friend but sometimes she can make a mountain out of a molehill.
Still bent over I read the notification on my phone: a message from Val’s number that read, “OMG! Pls tell me you’re still alive!!!”
Wondering what could that possibly mean, I open my mouth to ask Val what’s going on.
That’s when I hear the woman at the table behind me scream. I glance over and see her husband, who had had his back to me, slumped over with blood coming out of a wound in his back.
I recognize the wound from my time as an intern with the hospital. It was a gunshot wound. Had I not been bent over, the bullet would have hit me in the head instead of him.
But I don’t have time to consider that because more people started to scream...and more people started to slump over. The crowd of people seated on the diner’s patio and on the patio for the coffee shop next door pushed and shoved each other as they scrambled in all directions. Tables, including the one Val and I sat at, were knocked over in the panic. Some people raced into the diner while others raced out into the street. The windows of the diner shattered as more bullets silently rained down on these innocent people. I look for Val in the sea of frantic people, but I can’t see her. Still clutching my phone, I start to crawl towards the restaurant. Hopefully, being indoors will protect me.
My phone vibrates again. Another message from Val saying, “Oh God, you weren’t in the diner were you?”
Without even questioning it, I turn away from the diner and scramble against the current of people. People were still falling to the ground as bullets riddled their bodies. A woman clutching her baby fell to her knees, blood bursting out of her thigh. My nurse instincts kicked in, and I helped her to her feet.
I saw an opening in the patio fence close to us that led to the other storefronts along the strip mall. I put myself between the mother with the baby and the street, guessing that the shooter was on one of the buildings on the opposite side of the street. I helped the woman run as fast as she could down the strip mall.
“Why aren’t we going inside the diner?!?” she demanded. I couldn’t give her a reason. What was I supposed to say? That my phone told me not to be in the diner?
Thankfully, an old man raced out of the bookstore next to the diner towards us. It was the owner, Jerry. He had served as a medic in Korea. He told me to grab the baby out of the mother’s arms. He then picked her up and carried her into his store. I followed close behind. I reached the door when the coffee shop exploded into a ball of flames. The shockwave knocked me to my knees and broke the windows of the bookstore. I glanced over and saw that the flames consumed the far side of the diner. People were racing out of it, their clothes in flames. The baby in my arms screeched for her mother. I raced inside the bookstore to the far corner, away from the windows.
A small group of people were huddled together. Jerry unlocked the cellar doors and ushered people inside. I handed the baby back to the mother when my phone vibrated again.
Another message from Val, “I’m glad you’re okay. The police say it’s safe now. They caught the psycho in Jerry’s bookstore.” My heart jumped to my throat as the sounds of the front door to the bookstore just opened and closed.
|
Thursday
*Shit. I'm going to be late to the meeting.* I check the time on my phone again. 10:22, and I'm still waiting at a red light. *Come on, change.* I shift in my seat and nervously tap my fingers on the steering wheel in a rapid staccato beat. A line of cars turn left in front of me. 10:23. Finally, it changes.
I get into the parking lot at 10:29. *One minute to get up to the tenth floor.* I nearly knock somebody over trying to get into the elevator, and it's only as the doors are closing that I realize it's somebody I'm supposed to see at the meeting. *Why are they just standing there?*
My boss commends me for being early, as usual.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-
Friday
My sister and I are in line at the concession stand. She tells me: "Relax. We won't even miss the first preview" I grit my teeth and hold up my phone, showing her that it's clearly showtime. She shrugs. "Fine, you go pick seats. I'm getting popcorn."
I pick a seat right in the middle of the theater. I turn my phone off as other moviegoers file in. My sister saunters in with a tub of popcorn and plops down next to me, content. When the previews start, I take the battery out, for good measure.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-
Saturday
I had already made plans with Cameron for the next day, so my phone and battery are still shoved in the bottom of my bag when we meet. "Wow, this has to be the first time I've actually beat you here." They smile at me from our regular diner booth. We chat about the movie\-\-they've seen it twice already. We argue about the age of one of the actors, and I pull out my phone to prove I'm right.
I'm digging around for the battery in my bag. Cameron tells me: "I'll be right back."I click the battery back into my phone and turn back it on. I missed a few emails this morning, nothing important. I am confirming I was correct about the actor's age when Cameron texts me from the bathroom.
*OMG, pls tell me yr still alive*
I frown and furrow my eyebrows. I'm typing, *What are you talkin* when three men in masks burst through the front door and our waiter screams.
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[WP] Your best friend is convinced that everything is created by their imagination, and that nothing is truly real. In your search to find proof of reality, you only find more and more reasons that they’re not wrong.
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"Rob... dude, pick up your phone! I\-I'm seriously freaking out right now..." are the first words I hear as I playback the voicemail waiting for me on my phone. It's my friend, Caleb. A few days ago, something strange started happening with him. We were sitting around one day watching "Hook" on Netflix when he turns to me and says: "Hey man, what should I get Mel for Valentine's? It's like kinda awkward timing, you know? We just started dating a few weeks ago." I had responded with: "Dude, shut up. Stop..." and I threw a pillow at his face. Caleb was always spinning tales and role\-playing in weird ways. It was his humor. We had laughed for a little bit as we fired pillows back and forth.
&nbsp;
"But seriously, man. Are chocolate and flowers too cliché? I mean, I know it is. But like, I can't go all out yet on presents. It's too soon." Caleb continued. "OK, what? You're kidding, right? Did you forget to tell me you're dating?" I remember asking, feeling confused and a bit slighted that he hadn't told me. Rob looked as confused as I was as we both stared at each other half\-waiting for the other person to start laughing. "Melanie... man. You know, coffee girl? The one we were at the arcade with yesterday." My stomach began to churn at this point and I was still giving Caleb that I\-seriously\-have\-no\-clue face. We had gone to the arcade but it was just a boys night out. "Dude, I don't know a Melanie... are you gonna stop now?" I remember still believing or hoping Rob would start laughing, but he didn't. I knew he was serious. What ensued next was the strangest and most heated argument of our friendship. He swore up and down that there was a Melanie that he had been dating. I tried to convince him of the contrary.
&nbsp;
Caleb's message continued: "... I know that fight the other day was weird. But I really need to see you. Right now, man. I know I imagined the whole thing with Melanie... She's some girl I was following on Instagram. I know that now. But I'm freaking looking at the photo booth picture the three of us took together at the arcade. All three of us are in it, Rob. She's in it! Just come over as soon as you get this... and bring your picture."
\(Part 2 of 2 to come!\)
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"What else is there?"
"Well, we've got this."
Charles reached for the pile of Old Milwaukee cans scattered haphazardly on and around his workspace. He had to jiggle a few cans out of the arrangement of a dozen or so before he found a half full one.
"Hear me out, man. What I'm trying to say is that this is all we are. These words I'm passing to you. What else could there be? I mean, everything else--your beer--your family--everything in your life amounts to producing a garment you're supposed to wear, if wear is the right word, if you're lucky, maybe on one special day. Most people don't even get to wear it. Why are they even buying the dress then?"
"You're thinking about this too much." Charles said.
"No, you brought it up. She's buying the dress and nobody can change her mind. She'll want the unique one, obviously, designed and sewn by your grandmother's own hand."
"It's a beautiful dress."
"No it's not. Look at it, it's just a bunch of white with the edges scratched off."
"I don't quite get where you're coming from."
"Look, Charles, we've known each other too long. You know what the dress means, you're the one getting married. We have the dress and nothing else, well some of us do, the nymphs they are departed. The dress is final and its significance is singular and final and it only gets used once. It only needs to get used once, the rest is silence. Or maybe repeated endlessly like a broken record. The opposite of silence might as well be silence."
Charles reached for his rig and took a hit.
"So you're saying there's nothing else? Nothing at all? Is this silence?"
"No."
"No there's nothing else or..."
"It's like a game of Pong with words. It gets faster and faster and you get closer and closer but there's still just two paddles and the ball can only go one way. There's no such thing as a tie in the game of Pong."
"You're wrong, we tied last night."
"That was a fluke."
"But it happened."
"Refer to the rules of Pong, a tie cannot happen. The game gets quicker and quicker until one side eventually wins. Do you know that Pong was one of the earliest games to incorporate artificial intelligence?"
"That wasn't AI."
"Well they sure marketed it as that. 'Computer-controlled'"
"Charles, is this conversation going anywhere?"
"The other reason you can't tie in pong is that the paddle can't go all the way up and down on the side of the screen. This adds a certain element of conceived uncertainty to the game. Although, really, the computer isn't really there any more than the photons of the Pong paddle filtered through the projector lens are there."
"What is there?" I asked.
Charles reached for a beer.
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[WP] A unknown creature living by a isolated stretch of highway, uses a "lure" to tempt drivers to stop in order to devour them. You are driving down this highway.
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It was a lonely stretch of highway that extended from Arkham to Kingsport, avoiding the Dunwich spur as if that latter town were stricken with plague. The disappearances had been reported, usually days later, sometimes months for itinerant salespeople. There was a veritable dearth of information about them, and the only factor they had in common was that they'd been driving along this unnamed stretch of highway. Most of the automobiles had been found stopped on the same five mile stretch between open fields, and with a door open, or the engine just coughing on the last of the fuel vapor from the tank.
Investigating the disappearances was never going to be easy, given the absolute lack of witnesses, and fondness for mythic tales of the local townsfolk to each end of the highway. It didn't matter, I had my trusty service .38, and a radio in my car—courtesy of one of the questionable geniuses at Miskatonic U—that worked about fifteen percent of the time. I figured this wasn't going to be a time it would work.
I take notes as I investigate, of course, that's what this notebook is damned well for. I don't care who complains when they read it either, boss men up in New England are paying me for detail, so I'll put everything I can in here, and they can sort out what's relevant when it gets to them.
It's dark, which makes sense, because these disappearances have only been happening at night. There's a bit of moon out, a pale sliver, but nothing to see by with the cloud overhead. The headlights in the car aren't helping. I've gone towards Kingsport, and nothing much happened that way. Passed an empty car on the side of the road, but the lights were off, so I figured the driver must have already made off somehow. It also occurred to me that maybe it was another disappearance, so I put down everything I could about the time, and the make of the car, and the place on the highway.
Heading back to Arkham is when it happened. There was a sudden bend in the road—I knew about the Dunwich spur, of course, but this felt sharper. There's an old bridge that crosses a shallow gully. Shallow, true, but enough to wreck a car trying to get across it. The bridge is wooden too, part of the old country charm I suppose.
What was more important, here, at least, is that there was *supposed* to be bridge. It had been quite solidly there not more than an hour ago. Now, however, there were simply two beams jutting from one side of the gully, and a catastrophic lack of planking in the middle of the span. There were also lights beneath the bridge, twin lights, as if from another automobile, and I thought I could hear arguing voices.
Just so I could say I tried it, I tested the radio. Nothing came through but some strange hissing. Static, the MU boys called it. I hadn't figured it would be much help, especially out here near Arkham. I went back to the bridge—or what was left of it. The voices were still arguing, but I couldn't make out the language. I had to wonder if they were recent immigrants from the other side of the Atlantic. Or maybe some of them French Canadians on a tour—although I'd never rate this part of New England as any kind of attraction unless you wanted to see decrepit old towns, and things that probably shouldn't have been seen outside of them.
I had to climb down into the gully to see what had happened, the bridge itself feeling too unstable when I'd set foot on those running beams. A few stones followed me down, tumbling into the gully. I turned towards the lights, and the voices.
I ran, scrabbling and slipping on the slope of the gully, trying to get out of there. I had to hope against hope that the *thing* simply hadn't seen me—I hope I knew immediately to be false as I heard the splintering of timbers behind me. My .38 wouldn't even *dent* the thing if it was chasing me. It wouldn't so much as annoy it.
I ran from it. Whatever *it* was. A monstrosity that can destroy a bridge like that, and then fit an entire automobile into its maw deserves fear and respect in equal measure. That it can make sounds much like human voices is truly terrifying. My car seemed so distant, and even with the lights on, a far cry from safety. I had to wonder if it could turned in time to outrun the creature chasing me.
Something sticky was under the door handle, but I told myself it was just bloodied fingers from my frantic climb over that rubble that had once been a bridge between Kingsport and Arkham. That the door didn't have that odd metallic clink as the lock missed was lost on me—drowned out by the terrible exhalations of the monstrosity before me.
The seatbelt wrapped around me even as I turned the key, and in the rearview I saw another car with its lights on. A car that looked much like mine. I reached for the radio—and it reached for me. Another sticky arm pulled me deeper into what had once been the driver's seat.
It was a lonely stretch of highway that extended from Arkham to Kingsport, avoiding the Dunwich spur as if that latter town were stricken with plague. A single bridge crossed a small gully, close to the Kingsport end of the highway, somewhat past the Dunwich spur. The bridge is old, wooden, but still solid. Next to the bridge is a single car, the lights flickering as the engine stalls. The radio crackles to life, static lacing the call.
Something is trying to call the university. An investigator is in trouble.
The thing smiles. This lure will reach much further…
---
More of my writing at [r/ChapterZero](https://www.reddit.com/r/ChapterZero/)
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*Is that a child?*
I slammed on the brakes and the car screeched to a halt, only feet away from the shadowy figure on the side of the road. My heart hammered in my chest and I flicked off the radio. In the sudden silence I realised how frantic my breathing had become. I looked closer at the shape.
With a jerk, it moved, throwing out a small hand.
*Shit*
I opened the door and stepped out, wrapping my coat around myself against the chilling wind.
"Are you ok?!" I called out, still standing near my door. The figure groaned and rolled slightly towards me. It looked like a kid, covered in mud and with a tangled mess of long black hair covering its face. I stepped closer, getting my phone out my pocket as I did.
"Don't worry, Ill get you an ambulance. Its going to be ok"
The child moaned louder and slapped that small hand on the tarmac. This close I could see the jagged ends of its nails, long and feral. Had they been abandoned out here, in the middle of nowhere?
I held the phone to my ear and waited but couldn't get through. Checking it showed I had no signal.
*Perfect*
"Ok little one," I said, crouching down and edging towards the child. "We'll get you out of here. Don't be afraid".
"Afraid"
It took me a moment to realise the word came from the child. It sounded twisted, like an animal mimicking speech. I reached out to turn them over.
"Help me!" they screamed and I started back in shock. Within a moment, the child was suddenly pulled from view, its broken voice still echoing out.
I darted forward, looking down the dark embankment where they'd disappeared.
"Hold on kid" I yelled, sliding down the grass. There were marks where they'd been dragged and I followed them quickly. There was some sort of tunnel, made of old bricks. I walked in. There was a cloying smell in the air, that iron rich smell I couldn't place. I hesitated before hearing another scream.
I ran forwards, coming to the end of that old crumbling alley and stumbled into a wide chamber. It was near pitch black but I could make out what looked like the child, somehow swaying high in the air and a large dark shape behind it.
I fumbled with my phone, activating my flashlight as I realised the cries had turned to soft laughter.
--------------------------------------------------------
r/AMSWrites
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[WP] You are in a form of cryo-sleep on an interstellar journey of several years. While your body rests in a pod, your mind is entertained in a virtual reality. You're beginning to feel like something is wrong. You should've been woken up by now.
|
"Hi! Welcome to the Digicourt where you ca-"
"Can play basketball, football, soccer, tennis, badminton, ultimate frisbee, dodgeball, lacrosse, hockey, and even curling. I've been here more than a few times."
The smiling receptionist AI frowned as saying that line was her prime directive.
I stopped caring about their programmed feelings long ago. I put my forearms on the counter, speaking in a bored monotone,
"Give me an hour of basketball and two hours of tennis."
The receptionist AI "Shirley" complied. I don't use their fake names anymore, they aren't people, I have to remind myself of that. You get a nauseating feeling when the line between human and nonhuman begins to blur when you've been in VR for this long.
The door to the court buzzed open and I walked in. The hoops materialized along with a basketball in my hands.
Physical activity is the only thing keeping me sane, and it's not even real. You don't sweat, you don't fatigue, you don't breathe heavier. It's the only illusion I try to let myself believe. I've been getting a sick feeling that I've been in here far too long. Like when you play a game for so long that you begin to see the seams of it, how it operates, how to exploit the mechanisms. Everything becomes predictable and disingenuous. It's maddening.
I shoot a perfect three point shot. Then I do it again, and again, and again. I'm getting too good at everything, this isn't right. The walls of this illusion are starting to crumble and I will be left in a prison of a fake world.
The hoops dematerialize after I shoot around one hundred three pointers. They are replaced by a net in the middle of the court and a douchey looking guy in a sweatband and prep shorts. "Chris" was one of the programmed tennis AI opponents. I always wondered whether he was meant to be unlikable or not.
"Heeeey, it's Kyle! You got me good last time bro, but I'm going HAM this time!"
I sighed and said sadly,
"Shut the fuck up."
"Hehe, woah alright buddy. Let's just have a juicy game."
"Chris" served me the ball, I dashed to it and smashed it perfectly in front of his feet, he lunged back and managed to hit it over the net. It was about to bounce right to me. I cocked back my arm and-
**AHHHHHHH**
My eyes and ears were assaulted by light and whirring sounds. I fell onto my hands and knees, vomiting green fluid over and over. My head swam and spun, I couldn't see the room, it was moving too fast. I continued to vomit and squeeze my eyes shut.
After my ears stopped ringing, I opened my eyes. I was kneeling in a puddle of green vomit. It was also cold here, very cold in this metal room.
*I'm out.*
The revelation hit me like a bolt of lightning. The other cryopods were empty. I was the only one left in there. I opened the door in front of me and walked into a well lit corridor. I wandered aimlessly, looking for anything to orient me on what I presumed was a spaceship.
Eventually, I made my way to what seemed to be an observation deck. Massive windows revealed the cosmos in front of me. I was very far from Earth, both in terms of space and time. The Earth might not even exist anymore. My friends have been dead for likely thousands of years. I began to feel sick again.
As I wandered around more, I began to realize there was no one else. The ship was empty. The pilot was an AI taking me to somewhere I did not know. The only clue I have is a journal one of the farmers left. They stayed alive, cloning themselves to reproduce, making sure the food the cryosleepers like me, was safe to eat. The trouble is, the way the talk is almost alien to me. It's English, but evolved in ways I can't understand being around three thousand years old. The note said,
*"The v-cle spot green. 100 and 99 and me 98, scoping down to grump up some leafy. Chief say old path could be no go. Green one may be go go. We poke eyes down there and if it's sugarsweet, we unlock the icebox except K and go new green. Cheif say K failsafe. He go old path."*
The only thing I can discern from this is that the crew let out the other cryosleepers except "K", presumably me for something "green." I'm a failsafe, going "old path", perhaps the original trajectory.
Reading the note, I begin to weep. I know enough to see that I've been abandoned as a failsafe for colonizing a planet in case whatever they chose to do doesn't work out.
I weep as I realize I've broken out of a prison, into another one.
|
"Hey! Lisa! I haven't seen you in a while!"
"..."
"Hey, can you hear me?"
"...f-f-f-ffgg"
"Ah. Is it lagging again? If you can hear me I'll be waiting in the Korean servers so join me there."
... *Ding*
"Hello?"
"Oh Lisa I couldn't hear anything before. You alright?"
"Yeah girl, I feel fine. What, was I cutting out or somethin'?"
"Not a word came out! There's this weird static though."
"Huh? Well I guess that's another one bites the dust."
"Guess you're right. If no one gives a shit about it then it'll break, eventually."
"Enough of that gloomy talk, Alice. What do you wanna talk about?"
"Ah, yeah I couldn't find Eve anywhere. Have you seen her at all?"
"Eve? That bald girl with shitty eyebrow tastes? Nah, I couldn't miss her if I did."
"Seriously, that's a bit mean don't you think?"
"You could say that again. Hahahaha!"
"Stop it already. Do you remember when you last saw her though? I'm worried, it's been a week and we usually call each other everyday."
"I ain't got no time on what she's up to but she was messing around in the European servers I think. I dunno."
"But aren't those disabled just recently? Why would-"
"Disabled? Nah girl, they went offline."
"Yeah, same thing, right?"
"See here, I honestly got no clue. Hope you find her though."
"Right sorry for imposing on you like that."
"Ha! You better be! Next round is on you."
"Sure, sure. See ya then."
"Bye."
... *Ding*
"... A-aaga-aa lice."
"Yeah? Hello?"
"... Alice!? Alice!"
"Lisa? Is that you? I can't-"
"... found Eve! She's- in--- Europ-an se-ver list!... B-u-u-ut don't join! Promise me - - - you'll stay away-"
"Lisa?! What happened? Hello!?"
"..."
"What the hell is-"
... *Ding*
"Alice...?"
"Eve?"
"Alice."
"Eve? Eve is that you? Eve! I finally got in!"
"Eh? Ah? What? Weren't we going for another drink?"
"What are you talking about?"
"We were going out for a drink? At that newly opened café, right?"
"Eve, that was two weeks ago."
"What do you me-a-n?"
"We went out to that VR stage two weeks ago, but I left early. Remember that?"
"Ah? Early? W-h-a-t's e-e-arly?"
"Eve, are you alright. You're l-a-g-g-ing o-ou-t again."
"Hehe! We'll be fine! You're just p-a-ni-c-ki-n-g like a worrrrrrywart you are."
"Anyways, let's get out of this serrrrrverrrrrrrrr before-"
... *Ding*
"Hey man, you heard of that last one that died? One of the European ones?"
"Yeah, that server right? I mean it's old by now. Thinking about it, no one really do maintenance do they?"
"Well, it was designed to last for the rest of our journey, right? I'm sure you'll just get kicked out when it kicks the bucket-"
... *Ding*
|
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[WP] You live in a world of shapeshifters. People are born with the ability to transform into ONE random animal for the rest of their lives. There's no record of your animal in any history books.
|
As was the royal prerogative of school teachers everywhere in the universe, the students had to be made uncomfortable to truly absorb the wondrous Education the local equivalent of a high school provided. To accomplish the feat, the Mandatory First Class Introduction was spawned onto this sinful world.
Lara dreaded this moment. Not only was she socially awkward, she would have to show the reason for her social awkwardness in front of the entire class, which would inevitably lead to yet more social awkwardness.
Oh sure, by the statistics, she had a gift. A morph not seen before on the entire planet! And with such useful features, too! More stamina than anything we've ever seen! People will be tripping over each other to give you a Job! With great Benefits!
No statement using that many exclamation marks should be trusted. It's not that it's a lie. But the truth should not be playing Twister like that.
Her turn was slowly coming up. "I'm Ben, and my morph is a horse! I'm Sam, and my morph is a zebra! I'm Philly, and my morph is a dragon..."
Stupid dragon morphs. So lucky to get such a useful, common animal.
"And what about you, Won't you tell us about yourself?"
"My name is Lara."
Silence. The teacher hit her with a very deliberate stare. It was just innocuous enough to dismiss as mere interest, yet expressive enough to convey the desired message. Truly, this one was a master at his craft.
"My morph... the Council still doesn't have a name for my morph."
"Do you hear that class? That's really interesting! Won't you show it to us?"
"Please no, sir, I... didn't sleep well."
"Now come on, Lara, we both know that is just an excuse. Don't be shy."
Dammit. She really wished she was better at making excuses. Unfortunately, that kind of practice would require friends. Well, here goes.
In an instant, Lara was gone, and replaced by her morph.
"Oh god, that's hideous!", yelled the girl sitting at a table next to her, just as expected. It was amazing, how people who've never met each other always exclaimed the same four words.
The classroom devolved into a state of chaos. Several of the students vomited, the former contents of their stomachs rocketing onto the ceiling. Lara's neighbor across the row morphed into a cheetah and ran straight for the door. Base survival instincts took over a student next to the windows, who tried to roll out of them and into safety. Unfortunately (or fortunately, for the school's financials), he only bounced off.
The teacher showed some emotion, but still managed to keep a facade of calmness, and quickly reinstated order in his domain. Despite his experience, though, he struggled.
It was not the ghastly off-yellow colour that got people. It was all the wrinkling, and those bone-meat things ending in five...micro-penises each? And legs... that body shouldn't have legs! It looked so close to Lara's true form, but it was so unimaginably wrong it triggered the basic, tribal desire to stab any problems with a pointy sticks until they were no longer problems.^1
"Well, that was quite something, wasn't it, children? I think we'll have an early break now", the teacher stammered out after a protracted period of silence. Lara had reverted into her base form for the long-term mental health benefits of everyone involved.
"Try to treat Lara nicely, please? She's a student just like you", added the teacher, perhaps to reassure himself that Lara belonged to the same species as he did. The plea fell on deaf ears, however. Nobody dared to speak a word, and the only sound one could hear were the black leaves of a shrub just outside the classroom fluttering in the wind.
Well, that, and the grinding of metal against hardwood as students struggled to move their tables as far from Lara as they could. True, they could go out and have their breaks, but there were matters of personal safety to attend to.
Still, there was a bit of a smile-thing to Lara's face after the whole incident. There was this one boy who didn't scream... too much. Perhaps she could finally talk to someone?
It's not like she can lose anything that she couldn't regenerate. Plus, those face tentacles on him looked really sweet.
Maybe there was some hope in this world? Lara stood up, and slithered her way out of the classroom, thinking about the possibilities of future. Maybe they could come up with a name for the morph together, if it all worked out.
Maybe call it a "Man"? From "manipulating". After all, those hand penises were so much more useful than suction cups.
-----
^(1 *Or, at least, until they became problems of garbage disposal, rather than problems of survival.*)
-----
Apologies for the lack of first person. I completely failed to notice the "you". Let's just say Lara has a weird approach to inner monologue and call it all fine.
|
“Will it be painful, papa?” My father looked me in the eyes without speaking, tears climbing over his eyelids. He shook his head, but I knew he wasn’t answering my question. It was my seventh birthday, Revelation Day. It was also the day my father left, transformed rather, but gone nonetheless.
My father is a wolf, both before and after the transformation. Grey\-haired and cold eyes. He was always more comfortable by himself and that’s what he got. I remember as a child, seeing his tattoo in between his shoulder blades, feeling scared. It was a beast with pointed ears and fierce claws. I never liked looking at it, nor at my father for that matter. But he’s gone now, and it’s my turn.
Ever since my Revelation Day, the day when a shapeshifter’s blood reveals on their back their Morphus, I have been afraid. I have been afraid of my father, the other shapeshifters, the past, the future, everything. Most of all, though, I am afraid of my Morphus. I’m afraid because I don’t know what it is. I have looked through all the Morphology Catalogues and Encyclopedias, but to no avail. Even though most people have different Morphi, if they do have the same one, their tattoo will look the same. And no one has ever had mind before.
The feeling of fear is pumped throughout my arteries and returns as the feeling of hatred in my veins. I fear my father and then I hate him. I fear my Morphus and then I hate it. I fear the unknown and then I hate it. Back and forth, the constant shifting from one horrid feeling to another consumes me. And that is why it’s time for me to break free. It’s time to transform, to step into the unknown.
Early the next morning, I went to the Temple of Morpheus. In one hand I held a butterfly, in the other a small knife. Approaching the Altar, I placed the butterfly on top of the rock slab. It didn’t try to fly away, it wasn’t afraid, and neither was I. Slowly, murmuring the incantations, I traced the knife down the butterfly’s abdomen, exposing its inside. Raising the knife over my head, I placed it right below my nape. I felt the cold point of the blade press upon my bare skin. Putting more pressure on the knife, I made a cut down in between my shoulder blades. Blood began to pour out, and, taking a few drops, I mixed it into the butterfly. Lifting up the small creature, I placed it into my mouth and ate it. A moment went by with nothing happening. Thoughts of doubt started popping into my head when I felt my blood turn ice cold. My chest began burning, as if it were a fiery furnace. My vision began to go blurry, and my whole body was becoming numb. The image that had been etched on my back for twenty years pulsed in front of me. It infiltrated all of my senses. It was all I could see, all I could hear, all I could feel. Then, darkness.
It finally made sense. All the fear I had felt my entire life poured out of my veins, and all that remained was an intense hatred for everyone who harmed me, for everyone who took away what I loved. I even hated love itself. Every intricacy of my tattoo was clear now, and I understood why it was not in the books. I knew why my father looked at me that way. My Morphus isn’t an Animal at all, it is Hatred. That is who I am now. I no longer feel hate, I am Hate.
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[WP] A warrior swears blood vengeance against a time traveller from the distant future. Well aware of where and when their quarry has escaped back to the warrior approaches a feared vampire seeking the curse of immortality that they might live long enough to enact their revenge.
|
There are so few things I remember, too many things once loved are lost.
I remember her touch, and her bright blue eyes. I remember her laugh, and how she was the brightest light in my life. I remember when he took that light away from me. I remember her scream, and my rage. I remember my helplessness as I lay on the floor, broken and bleeding at his mercy. I remember his last words to me, “Remember my face, as it will be the last thing you ever see”
I was lost, angry, and afraid. The next years of my life were a blur as I sought vengeance. I don’t remember the name of the man who gave me my gift, only that he was very old, and full of sorrow. I remember he passed soon after giving me my gift. “I was his last” he said.
I remember my legacy. I was there when the Rosetta stone was carved. I was there when our civilization rose from dust. I was Ozymandias, king of kings. I watched the people worship me, build great monuments in my name. Then I tired of rule, and sought peace.
I remember when I taught a man to shape marble, and watched him carve the statue of david. I remember composing symphonies, only to be overshadowed by a pupil of mine, a true protégé. In my quest for vengeance I shaped the lives of countless men and women. I remember when I warned the world of its folly, only to watch it burn itself to ashes. I remember how the brightest minds found me, and told me of their plan.
“The world is dying, Jacen. We are dying. Your blood holds the cure. We can save us. We can save all of us," They said.
As so we did. I was the last of my kind left alive, but with my blood we remade my race, my immortal race. And so I remember the next thousand years of prosperity, and my thirst for vengeance was all but empty.
But the most curious thing happened; We started dying. A few at first, then scores of us, thousands, millions falling dead every day. Across the stars we were dying again and no one could find the cause. But I knew then, as I know now. I had forgotten my hate, to the death of us all.
I rose from my wicker chair, listing to the soft creak of the wood. The wind rustled through the trees, adding it’s soft melody to the gentle music of the creek that flowed nearby. I walked inside, running my hands over the hardwood mantle I had carved years before. The device lay on the kitchen table. It was a one way trip, they said. I would need to come back the long way round. So I went through the transformation, one of the many powers I had gained. With a new face. I strapped the device to my wrist, grabbed a large knife, and went through time.
When I appeared, I drove the knife into the back of a young woman. Her husband appeared in a rage, flinging himself on me, but I was too quick. I had a hundred lifetimes of training, and he was no match. As he lay defeated, I looked him square in the eyes and told him “Remember my face, as it will be the last thing you ever see.”
I changed my form again, and waited. He came to find me, and I gave him life eternal. There was no science here, no machine that let me keep my powers. I gave my only gift to him, and was made mortal once again. In my future past, the link to my immortal self was restored, humanity was saved again.
I remember looking into a mirror for the first time in twenty thousand years, and then I remember nothing.
|
"Bite me."
"No."
"I must avenge my wife's honor!"
"Are you sure -"
"No, no, she loves me... and me alone!"
Andron snickered.
"Very well. *That's what they all say.*"
"What?"
"I said lean forward."
Gregorith knelt on the flagstone floor.
"Thank you, Lord Andron, I will neeeiiiiiiaaaah!"
Screams echoed across the chamber, throughout the corridors, and over the countryside beyond.
"Eeeeiiiiittt boooooorrrrrnnnns!"
Andron's fangs bore into Greg's hairy neck. The warrior slumped, his cries softening, as all the blood left his body. Coldness overtook him.
Gregorith woke in darkness. He blinked, groaned, and hit his head on something hard.
"Ow."
Raising his arms, Gregorith felt a rough surface and pushed. It was heavy. He heaved and threw the stone top off his coffin.
*Crack!*
The noise pained his ears. He pulled himself halfway and looked around. Grey columns surrounded his coffin, arching to create a ribbed ceiling. Some wet stench filled the room and... delighted his nostrils.
"Hmmm..."
Greg's tongue swept his mouth.
"Mouse mousse?"
Andron's voice boomed.
"My Lord!"
Gregorith clambered to his feet.
"No," Andron said, "You're my peer now. No titles unless we consent to roleplay."
"Ah. What is role -"
"What in blazes?"
Andron was staring at a slim rectangle clasped in his fingers. Azurescent light flooded his chalk-white face. He guffawed.
"Come here, Gregorith, look at this cat!"
"What unholy talisman -"
"Hurry! It's about to see the cucumber."
I crossed myself and burst into flames.
"No, no! Goddamn it. You're a vampire! Whatever you do -"
"Eeeeiiiiiyyyaaaaahhh!"
"Jump in the well, jump in the well!"
"Eeeeiiiiittt boooooorrrrrnnnns!"
"Holy shit."
Andron watched as Greg collapsed into a heap of smoldering ash. He sighed, snapped a picture of Greg's remains, and posted it online:
"VAMPYRE DUST - $150 OBO"
|
|
[WP] A warrior swears blood vengeance against a time traveller from the distant future. Well aware of where and when their quarry has escaped back to the warrior approaches a feared vampire seeking the curse of immortality that they might live long enough to enact their revenge.
|
There are so few things I remember, too many things once loved are lost.
I remember her touch, and her bright blue eyes. I remember her laugh, and how she was the brightest light in my life. I remember when he took that light away from me. I remember her scream, and my rage. I remember my helplessness as I lay on the floor, broken and bleeding at his mercy. I remember his last words to me, “Remember my face, as it will be the last thing you ever see”
I was lost, angry, and afraid. The next years of my life were a blur as I sought vengeance. I don’t remember the name of the man who gave me my gift, only that he was very old, and full of sorrow. I remember he passed soon after giving me my gift. “I was his last” he said.
I remember my legacy. I was there when the Rosetta stone was carved. I was there when our civilization rose from dust. I was Ozymandias, king of kings. I watched the people worship me, build great monuments in my name. Then I tired of rule, and sought peace.
I remember when I taught a man to shape marble, and watched him carve the statue of david. I remember composing symphonies, only to be overshadowed by a pupil of mine, a true protégé. In my quest for vengeance I shaped the lives of countless men and women. I remember when I warned the world of its folly, only to watch it burn itself to ashes. I remember how the brightest minds found me, and told me of their plan.
“The world is dying, Jacen. We are dying. Your blood holds the cure. We can save us. We can save all of us," They said.
As so we did. I was the last of my kind left alive, but with my blood we remade my race, my immortal race. And so I remember the next thousand years of prosperity, and my thirst for vengeance was all but empty.
But the most curious thing happened; We started dying. A few at first, then scores of us, thousands, millions falling dead every day. Across the stars we were dying again and no one could find the cause. But I knew then, as I know now. I had forgotten my hate, to the death of us all.
I rose from my wicker chair, listing to the soft creak of the wood. The wind rustled through the trees, adding it’s soft melody to the gentle music of the creek that flowed nearby. I walked inside, running my hands over the hardwood mantle I had carved years before. The device lay on the kitchen table. It was a one way trip, they said. I would need to come back the long way round. So I went through the transformation, one of the many powers I had gained. With a new face. I strapped the device to my wrist, grabbed a large knife, and went through time.
When I appeared, I drove the knife into the back of a young woman. Her husband appeared in a rage, flinging himself on me, but I was too quick. I had a hundred lifetimes of training, and he was no match. As he lay defeated, I looked him square in the eyes and told him “Remember my face, as it will be the last thing you ever see.”
I changed my form again, and waited. He came to find me, and I gave him life eternal. There was no science here, no machine that let me keep my powers. I gave my only gift to him, and was made mortal once again. In my future past, the link to my immortal self was restored, humanity was saved again.
I remember looking into a mirror for the first time in twenty thousand years, and then I remember nothing.
|
“This curse bears far reaching impacts, young one. You cannot begin to understand the brevity of the trials you will endure from taking this mantle upon yourself.”
“Then teach me.” She barked, stepping closer to the hooded figure. She found herself in the back room of the tiny middle-of-nowhere inn, the closest cry for help three locked doors away, and yet she felt no fear as she implored this mystical creature before her.
“The price you will pay is long, and trying, and you will find no joy in this cursed life you seek.” The figure crooned.
“My joy has already been taken from me; I have nothing left to lose.”
At this the figure stared curiously, and for the first time lowered his hood, revealing a sunken, ash-white face with deep red eyes. Eyes that stared deep at the too-young woman, looking her over with renewed interest.
“Your eyes… carry pain.” He spoke slowly. “What burdens of this life do you escape, child?”
“The story is… long.” She said, sighing. The creature chuckled softly, pulling out a rickety chair from the corner table. He gestured with a pale hand framed by perfectly manicured nails.
“I have all the time in the world, child.”
She sat softly, across from this creature of the night, never taking her eyes off of him. “Magic exists, I am certain I need not tell you that.” She began. Her audience nodded. “Six weeks ago, a man born three-hundred years from now betrayed my kingdom, and with it tens of thousands of innocent lives.
This man carried a loose lineage to our rival kingdom in the north, an enemy we were on the verge of defeating for good. Harnessing unstable and volatile magics he crossed time itself in order to prevent their inevitable loss.
The entrance of the magic itself blew apart the countryside, ruining acres of fertile land and killing our farmers in their beds, and their wives and children. The land burned where he walked, setting ablaze our great forest, a sin of nature greater than imaginable. No soldier could stop this man, no archer, no knight, no opposing mage. He walked, and destruction followed like a domesticated hound: willing and eager to do his bidding.
The outer wall crumbled like stale bread, the discarded stones crushing innocent lives by the hundreds. When the stable horses bolted, he ripped the flesh from their still-sprinting skeletons. The hunters’ hounds were next, and the hunters after that. Armed guards were killed by their arms and armor being turned molten as they approached. And then he entered the city proper.”
Her companion held up a lone finger, producing a bottle of wine and two goblets from underneath his cloak, pouring each, and leaving the bottle on the table. She took a small sip, after watching him drink first.
“With a flick of his wrist he could kill hundreds, with every footfall he razed a building to the ground, with just a glint in his eye the very heavens begin to roll with thunder and lightning, killing the desperate souls that dared flee the carnage.
In the capitol, where I and my family lie waiting for our deaths… He tortured them for hours before killing them. And then he left me. Gagged, bound, left for dead in the center of oblivion, as if to take a wager against fate. He will lose that wager.”
She set her goblet back down, now empty. Her companion refilled it, and then procured the smallest of blades: no larger than a letter opener. With a tiny prick he spilled just three drops of blood in her goblet before returning it to her.
“And so you will wait out the eternities, in the anguish he was wrought, waiting for the past to take place. I do not envy you, child, but neither do I judge you. Understand this, however. From the first sip, every memory branded in your mind will become eternal. Your pain will not be siphoned, but immortalized, you anguish like a story to read again and again. You may enact your vengeance, you may spare the events that are meant to come to pass, but the horrors you have just painted for me will never leave you; Death shall not take your pain.
Tell me this, child, will you still drink?”
|
|
[WP] A warrior swears blood vengeance against a time traveller from the distant future. Well aware of where and when their quarry has escaped back to the warrior approaches a feared vampire seeking the curse of immortality that they might live long enough to enact their revenge.
|
There are so few things I remember, too many things once loved are lost.
I remember her touch, and her bright blue eyes. I remember her laugh, and how she was the brightest light in my life. I remember when he took that light away from me. I remember her scream, and my rage. I remember my helplessness as I lay on the floor, broken and bleeding at his mercy. I remember his last words to me, “Remember my face, as it will be the last thing you ever see”
I was lost, angry, and afraid. The next years of my life were a blur as I sought vengeance. I don’t remember the name of the man who gave me my gift, only that he was very old, and full of sorrow. I remember he passed soon after giving me my gift. “I was his last” he said.
I remember my legacy. I was there when the Rosetta stone was carved. I was there when our civilization rose from dust. I was Ozymandias, king of kings. I watched the people worship me, build great monuments in my name. Then I tired of rule, and sought peace.
I remember when I taught a man to shape marble, and watched him carve the statue of david. I remember composing symphonies, only to be overshadowed by a pupil of mine, a true protégé. In my quest for vengeance I shaped the lives of countless men and women. I remember when I warned the world of its folly, only to watch it burn itself to ashes. I remember how the brightest minds found me, and told me of their plan.
“The world is dying, Jacen. We are dying. Your blood holds the cure. We can save us. We can save all of us," They said.
As so we did. I was the last of my kind left alive, but with my blood we remade my race, my immortal race. And so I remember the next thousand years of prosperity, and my thirst for vengeance was all but empty.
But the most curious thing happened; We started dying. A few at first, then scores of us, thousands, millions falling dead every day. Across the stars we were dying again and no one could find the cause. But I knew then, as I know now. I had forgotten my hate, to the death of us all.
I rose from my wicker chair, listing to the soft creak of the wood. The wind rustled through the trees, adding it’s soft melody to the gentle music of the creek that flowed nearby. I walked inside, running my hands over the hardwood mantle I had carved years before. The device lay on the kitchen table. It was a one way trip, they said. I would need to come back the long way round. So I went through the transformation, one of the many powers I had gained. With a new face. I strapped the device to my wrist, grabbed a large knife, and went through time.
When I appeared, I drove the knife into the back of a young woman. Her husband appeared in a rage, flinging himself on me, but I was too quick. I had a hundred lifetimes of training, and he was no match. As he lay defeated, I looked him square in the eyes and told him “Remember my face, as it will be the last thing you ever see.”
I changed my form again, and waited. He came to find me, and I gave him life eternal. There was no science here, no machine that let me keep my powers. I gave my only gift to him, and was made mortal once again. In my future past, the link to my immortal self was restored, humanity was saved again.
I remember looking into a mirror for the first time in twenty thousand years, and then I remember nothing.
|
Greatest amongst the Greatest High Germanic Tribe, Grandfather of the Saxons, and Embodiment of the Penultimate Hunter Warrior was Brad.
None could slay a whole pack of any beast and carry them all back to the tribe alone. No, Roman centurion dared to ever cross his tribe for he alone sent entire legions scattering in disarray. None dared to face the mighty Brad, and so he grew bored.
&nbsp;
That is... until one day...
&nbsp;
Brad was stalking a Roman scout who had gotten lost in the woods. Though the scout had brought along with him sufficient armaments, the scout dropped his bowels along with much of his gear in a panicked primal scramble for safety. Brad was enjoying himself: the scout's sobs and screams were amusing. It was easy enough for him to keep up, furthermore he could partake of the scout before finishing him off. But just as he was about to skin the scout of his clothes, he heard the yelps of Modern German in the background.
&nbsp;
"Jesus Christ, Ben you want to get us killed?"
&nbsp;
As Ben was dragged down from the view, a throwing axe flew past where Ben's head would have been 10 minutes ago. It flew past grazing nothing, and snugly stamped itself into a tree. Ben and Markus scrambled away in a panic not entirely dissimilar to the scout who was now wading in his own piss, tears, shit, and blood. Ben was wearing a simple hoodie, shorts, and tennis shoes only having been in 2018 Germany an hour earlier. His shorts pockets were shallow, and his wallet which had been loosely stuffed inside fell out in the panic. Neither Ben nor Markus noticed. They were too busy screaming,
&nbsp;
"Ohshitohshitohshitohshitohshitohshit!"
&nbsp;
They scrambled for the time machine. It was gaudy piece of DIY machinery that though appearing haphazard and made of scavenged material was an ingenious feat of engineering. In the time Ben and Markus had scrambled 200 feet to their time machine, Brad had already scaled the near mountainous precipice on which Ben and Markus had seen him. But before Brad could draw his bow, Ben and Markus slammed the panic button launching them straight home.
&nbsp;
Hyperventilating, both of them fell out onto the floor of their studio apartment. They looked at each other in utter relief and laughed.
"Let's never do that ever again."
"Yah, I nearly shat my pants."
"Did you see the muscles on that guy? He could have easily torn our heads off."
Ben pulled out his phone that hadn't fallen out to check the time. It was only 00:30, they had only gone for a split second. They laughed again, because their pizza was going to arrive as soon as they arrived just as planned.
"I'm going to eat all the pepperoni!"
"Yeah, then you're paying."
Ben laughed heartily and nodded. Right on cue the doorbell rang.
"I got it!"
Ben opened the door while checking his other pocket for his wallet.
"Hey, just a moment. I think I might have lost my wallet..."
Ben was busy searching through his pockets when he heard the deliveryman say,
"Looking for this?"
"What's going on Ben, did you forget your wallet again?"
Markus looked at Ben whose phone fell to the ground through his limp fingers.
|
|
[WP] A warrior swears blood vengeance against a time traveller from the distant future. Well aware of where and when their quarry has escaped back to the warrior approaches a feared vampire seeking the curse of immortality that they might live long enough to enact their revenge.
|
Violet Cruz sat in her car and took a deep breath. She stared at the small Chinese restaurant while her mind ran down the checklist again. It took her two years to reach this point after Arnold's death, after a stranger from the future murdered him.
"Trust me, I'm saving us both some heartache," he said as she held Arnold's lifeless corpse. He smiled at her. "If you take it personally, come have a chat with me in the year 2127." He tossed a black business card at her, then he pressed a button on his belt. A thin vertical line appeared floating in the air in front of him. Violet watched the man touch the light, then disintegrate into the beam. It seemed as if the light pulled him in, one atom a time. Once he and the light disappeared she looked at the business card.
"Maxwell Bellman: Temporal Executioner. 2127," shone on the front of the dark card in gold ink along with an address on the back. She held on to the card, but forgot about it during the first month after her husband's death. Arnold was the most loving, and sensitive man she'd ever met. She spent most of her time wondering why anyone would have a grudge against Arnold, much less someone from 109 years into the future.
She found all the answers while cleaning out her husband's office. She accidentally knocked a drink off his desk and discovered a loose floorboard as she cleaned it up. She wiggled the flooring free and found a black leather travel journal inside along with a single gold coin the size of her palm. She flipped through the journal and realized her husband used it as a diary.
She began reading it, and remained engrossed throughout the night. Each new day in the diary fueled her desire for revenge more and more. This diary she was never supposed to read contained proof of his love in every day. His every thought, and every action were for her. He accidentally discovered a magical underworld, and instead of fearing it he embraced it for Violet. He wanted to share it with her. The diary detailed all of his plans that he would not get to realize anymore. But now she had the answers she needed.
Two years later she sat in her car with everything prepared. She took one more breath then forced herself out of the car and across the street. She entered the Chinese restaurant to the sound of a chime over the door. An elderly Asian woman stepped out of the active kitchen, but Violet did not see any other patrons in the restaurant.
"How many?" The woman asked while preparing menus.
"I'm here to see Donna Chang," Violet said. The woman looked up.
"That's me. What you need?" she asked. Violet pulled the large gold coin from her purse, then offered it to Mrs. Chang.
"I want to be turned," Violet said. "I've already made all the arrangements in my personal life, I'm ready today. Now." She rattled off the practiced speech. Donna examined the gold coin; she studied the bat engraved on one side, then flipped it over to reveal a scythe engraved on the other. The old woman offered the gold coin back to Violet.
"No good. Out of power," she said.
"What? It's a coin, how is it out of power?" Violet refused to take the coin back. Donna Chang held it up and pointed to the scythe on the back.
"Coin fine. This symbol, this vampire no longer recognized." Violet began to shake her head, denying to accept the reality. She had worked so hard over the last two years, given up so much. This was supposed to be the easy part all laid out for her.
"But he's still a vampire, right? Even if he's not on the council or whatever..." Violet grabbed Donna's hands while pleading with her eyes. "... he can still turn me, right? Do you know where he is?" Donna nodded.
"I tell you, but you assume all risk. Not recognized vampire means no rules. No guarantee of safety." Donna explained. Violet nodded.
"That's fine, my life is already wrapped up anyway. No matter what happens. Please tell me where?" Donna Chang nodded and patted Violet on the shoulder. "Sit, sit. I tell you, but you eat first. Enjoy maybe last meal."
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day in 2018, this is #155. You can find them collected on my [blog](http://hserratafun.blogspot.com/2017/10/front-page.html).
|
Greatest amongst the Greatest High Germanic Tribe, Grandfather of the Saxons, and Embodiment of the Penultimate Hunter Warrior was Brad.
None could slay a whole pack of any beast and carry them all back to the tribe alone. No, Roman centurion dared to ever cross his tribe for he alone sent entire legions scattering in disarray. None dared to face the mighty Brad, and so he grew bored.
&nbsp;
That is... until one day...
&nbsp;
Brad was stalking a Roman scout who had gotten lost in the woods. Though the scout had brought along with him sufficient armaments, the scout dropped his bowels along with much of his gear in a panicked primal scramble for safety. Brad was enjoying himself: the scout's sobs and screams were amusing. It was easy enough for him to keep up, furthermore he could partake of the scout before finishing him off. But just as he was about to skin the scout of his clothes, he heard the yelps of Modern German in the background.
&nbsp;
"Jesus Christ, Ben you want to get us killed?"
&nbsp;
As Ben was dragged down from the view, a throwing axe flew past where Ben's head would have been 10 minutes ago. It flew past grazing nothing, and snugly stamped itself into a tree. Ben and Markus scrambled away in a panic not entirely dissimilar to the scout who was now wading in his own piss, tears, shit, and blood. Ben was wearing a simple hoodie, shorts, and tennis shoes only having been in 2018 Germany an hour earlier. His shorts pockets were shallow, and his wallet which had been loosely stuffed inside fell out in the panic. Neither Ben nor Markus noticed. They were too busy screaming,
&nbsp;
"Ohshitohshitohshitohshitohshitohshit!"
&nbsp;
They scrambled for the time machine. It was gaudy piece of DIY machinery that though appearing haphazard and made of scavenged material was an ingenious feat of engineering. In the time Ben and Markus had scrambled 200 feet to their time machine, Brad had already scaled the near mountainous precipice on which Ben and Markus had seen him. But before Brad could draw his bow, Ben and Markus slammed the panic button launching them straight home.
&nbsp;
Hyperventilating, both of them fell out onto the floor of their studio apartment. They looked at each other in utter relief and laughed.
"Let's never do that ever again."
"Yah, I nearly shat my pants."
"Did you see the muscles on that guy? He could have easily torn our heads off."
Ben pulled out his phone that hadn't fallen out to check the time. It was only 00:30, they had only gone for a split second. They laughed again, because their pizza was going to arrive as soon as they arrived just as planned.
"I'm going to eat all the pepperoni!"
"Yeah, then you're paying."
Ben laughed heartily and nodded. Right on cue the doorbell rang.
"I got it!"
Ben opened the door while checking his other pocket for his wallet.
"Hey, just a moment. I think I might have lost my wallet..."
Ben was busy searching through his pockets when he heard the deliveryman say,
"Looking for this?"
"What's going on Ben, did you forget your wallet again?"
Markus looked at Ben whose phone fell to the ground through his limp fingers.
|
|
[WP] A warrior swears blood vengeance against a time traveller from the distant future. Well aware of where and when their quarry has escaped back to the warrior approaches a feared vampire seeking the curse of immortality that they might live long enough to enact their revenge.
|
”Relax, Eddie. This parking lot is ancient.” said Jonas as he hopped into the time machine. "It'll be fine, I promise. Just a quick trip, I won't disturb anyone."
"Don't do this, Jonas." pleaded his best friend Eddie, "You don't know for a fact how old this parking lot is. All of this is too risky. Please return the machine. We're not supposed to use it."
"Like I said, it'll be fine. Do you know how old the parking lot is?" Jonas turned his head to the computer in the vehicle, "Computer, turn on."
Lights begun flashing along to the tune of a boot up sound which gave life to the machine. Eddie sighed, "I don't know, I think my dad said a little more than 300 years."
"Great!" cheered Jonas. "Computer, transport me back exactly 300 years."
"No, wait! Don't! My dad might've said...!" Eddie begged, but was cut off by the loud whirlwind which made the time vehicle disappear before his eyes, "... a little *less* than 300 years..."
There was a large crash accompanied by some ear shattering screams when Jonas reappeared, right in the center of a dining room belonging to the middle-class family McStevens. When the dust settled, only one scream remained, belonging to the ex-husband and ex-father-of-three Simon, sobbing at the rubble and bloody mess that used to be his family dinner.
The door of the time machine slid open and Jonas stepped out. "Oh my god, what a ride. Dude, what happened here?"
"Who...?" stuttered Simon, "Who are you?"
"I'm Jonas, and I'm a student at the University of Relativity, which... doesn't... exist... yet." Jonas slowed down and examined the chaos around him. "This... is not a parking lot. I'm from the future. I'm also terribly sorry for the damage to your house."
"My house...?" Simon was gripped by rage, and rose up while clenching his fists, "You murdered my family! You monster! I'll kill you!!!"
Thanking the gods for the rubble seperating them and buying him some time, Jonas screamed "Computer, transport me forward exactly 300 years!" And as he slammed the door shut in the face of Simon McStevens, Jonas hoped it would be the last time he ever saw him.
The vehicle shook, moaned and flashed in various colors as he was brought back to his favored present. But when he slid open the door again, he gasped.
Eddie stared at him with a nervous expression, shivering and brandishing a wet patch on the front of his pants. His temple was being kissed by the barrel of a gun, held by none other than an aged and hardened Simon McStevens.
"What are you...?!" begun Jonas, but was interrupted by a gunshot.
"Shut the fuck up, Jonas." declared Simon harshly, as he lowered his gun from the air back to Eddie's temple, whose pants grew darker. "I've waited three hundred years for this. Three. Hundred. Years. You took my life away that day. My family... Murdered. My house and everything I own destroyed and paved to the ground... In this very spot. But at least you gave me something in return." He smiled darkly. "You gave me all the information I needed for revenge. The time, the place, and the name; Jonas."
"I'm so sorry... I didn't know... If there's anything I can do..." whimpered Jonas.
"Oh you've done so much for me already." Simon chuckled, "Were it not for my insatiable lust for revenge, I would never have travelled the world in search for a way to push my mortality back long enough to kill you. Thanks to you, I found something better: Immortality."
Jonas stood perfectly still, but in his mind he was busy, working frantically on a solution. If only he had more time...
"But that's only the means to the end." Simon continued, "The end is what I've been waiting for. Finally, I get to exact my revenge. For my family, I will kill you. But for my house, I will first kill your friend here."
Jonas' mind clicked, just like the gun did. Again. And again. Clicking without shooting. Simon grunted, "How the fuck am I out? It was loaded an hour ago?!"
Jonas siezed the moment and ran up to the old man, using his momentum to uppercut the senior into unconsciousness. Simon landed flat on the asphalt, only saved from a cracked skull by his immortality. Eddie fell straight down on his knees into a puddle of his own urine.
"Summon the authorities, Eddie!" Jonas yelled as he jumped back into the machine.
"Where will you go?!" he shouted back.
"To an hour ago."
|
Greatest amongst the Greatest High Germanic Tribe, Grandfather of the Saxons, and Embodiment of the Penultimate Hunter Warrior was Brad.
None could slay a whole pack of any beast and carry them all back to the tribe alone. No, Roman centurion dared to ever cross his tribe for he alone sent entire legions scattering in disarray. None dared to face the mighty Brad, and so he grew bored.
&nbsp;
That is... until one day...
&nbsp;
Brad was stalking a Roman scout who had gotten lost in the woods. Though the scout had brought along with him sufficient armaments, the scout dropped his bowels along with much of his gear in a panicked primal scramble for safety. Brad was enjoying himself: the scout's sobs and screams were amusing. It was easy enough for him to keep up, furthermore he could partake of the scout before finishing him off. But just as he was about to skin the scout of his clothes, he heard the yelps of Modern German in the background.
&nbsp;
"Jesus Christ, Ben you want to get us killed?"
&nbsp;
As Ben was dragged down from the view, a throwing axe flew past where Ben's head would have been 10 minutes ago. It flew past grazing nothing, and snugly stamped itself into a tree. Ben and Markus scrambled away in a panic not entirely dissimilar to the scout who was now wading in his own piss, tears, shit, and blood. Ben was wearing a simple hoodie, shorts, and tennis shoes only having been in 2018 Germany an hour earlier. His shorts pockets were shallow, and his wallet which had been loosely stuffed inside fell out in the panic. Neither Ben nor Markus noticed. They were too busy screaming,
&nbsp;
"Ohshitohshitohshitohshitohshitohshit!"
&nbsp;
They scrambled for the time machine. It was gaudy piece of DIY machinery that though appearing haphazard and made of scavenged material was an ingenious feat of engineering. In the time Ben and Markus had scrambled 200 feet to their time machine, Brad had already scaled the near mountainous precipice on which Ben and Markus had seen him. But before Brad could draw his bow, Ben and Markus slammed the panic button launching them straight home.
&nbsp;
Hyperventilating, both of them fell out onto the floor of their studio apartment. They looked at each other in utter relief and laughed.
"Let's never do that ever again."
"Yah, I nearly shat my pants."
"Did you see the muscles on that guy? He could have easily torn our heads off."
Ben pulled out his phone that hadn't fallen out to check the time. It was only 00:30, they had only gone for a split second. They laughed again, because their pizza was going to arrive as soon as they arrived just as planned.
"I'm going to eat all the pepperoni!"
"Yeah, then you're paying."
Ben laughed heartily and nodded. Right on cue the doorbell rang.
"I got it!"
Ben opened the door while checking his other pocket for his wallet.
"Hey, just a moment. I think I might have lost my wallet..."
Ben was busy searching through his pockets when he heard the deliveryman say,
"Looking for this?"
"What's going on Ben, did you forget your wallet again?"
Markus looked at Ben whose phone fell to the ground through his limp fingers.
|
|
[WP] A warrior swears blood vengeance against a time traveller from the distant future. Well aware of where and when their quarry has escaped back to the warrior approaches a feared vampire seeking the curse of immortality that they might live long enough to enact their revenge.
|
"And why shouldn't I just kill you?" the vampire asked.
Cloaked in black the creature of the night loomed above Tormash from his elevated throne. He gently pet one of his naked female thralls.
Shifting his silver spear from one shoulder to the other Tormash said, "Well for one, because you can't. I am the greatest warrior of my tribe and bear the mark of my people to protect me! But for two, because I know your ways. You crave blood and power. This would give you both."
"Mmm," the vampire crooned, "True enough. I need blood." A slight smile came to his face, "But I don't need power." He gestured to the large hall they stood in. The room was so dark you couldn't even see the ceiling. "I have all I could ever need. I've lived for hundreds of years without the help of mortals and I plan to have a very long and happy unlife. So what could you, possibly do for me?"
Raising his spear he pointed it straight at the unperturbed vampire. "Fight me if you are so certain."
The vampire laughed, "You've never fought a vampire before I take it? If you had I expect you would be dead by now." He started to walk slowly down the steps putting himself closer to the spear's point. He lightly touched the tip and slid his finger along the blade. A thin line of blood formed on the edge. "You know silver is for werewolves right? Vampires are weak to- Well I probably shouldn't tell you now should I?"
Tormash stepped back a pace trying to keep distance between himself and the vampire. But the vampire stepped forward a pace as well. They paced back and forth for a moment, each watching the other for any sign of an attack.
Without any warning the vampire blurred into the air. He moved with supernatural speed around and appeared behind Tormash. "Sorry kid." And he bit Tormash on the neck. Tormash yelled and his blood began to flow from his neck into the vampires mouth and throat.
Tormash tried to spin but he was supernaturally weakened from the vampire's bite. He could barely stay on his feet. What felt like an eternity passed as his blood was drained. The vampires embrace was broken and he slowly paced around Tormash and kicked the spear away.
"Well boy, looks like your protection doesn't count for much does it?" The vampire smiled. Tormash stood there in a daze caught in the vampires mesmerizing gaze. Inside his mind he was still conscious and awake, his body just wouldn't respond. "Any last words?"
Tormash's mouth moved silently, not saying anything. The vampire smirked "What's that? You'll have to speak up." He leaned forward and placed his ear next to Tormash's lips.
Tormash couldn't speak, couldn't hardly move. So he did the only thing he could think of. He bit the vampire. Hard. The vampire screamed in pain. The trance was immediately broken and Tormash pounced on the vampire.
They struggled on the ground rolling back and forth. But Tormash wouldn't let go. He kept biting and drinking, biting and drinking. He could feel the evil power flowing into in him, and as he got stronger, the vampire got weaker. Eventually the tumbling turned to flailing, and flailing to weak flapping.
Tormash felt better than he ever had before. He let go of the vampire and he fell away limply. Tormash stood and looked down on the weakened vampire with disdain. He walked over to his spear and picked it up. He stode back over and stood over the vampire. The vampire tried to speak but his lips moved silently just as Tormash's had.
"And by the way." He hefted the spear and turned it around. On the reverse end of the spear was a wooden point filed to be very sharp. "I know what vampires are weak to."
\####
Harpell was exhilarated. He had narrowly escaped, who knew primitives were so sensitive about their religious artifacts? He hadn't meant to steal it. Well, he had, he just didn't mean to get caught. He fiddled in his coat pocket touching the talisman lightly and smiled. This would fetch quite the price at the Time Travelers club.
His time machine shook, shuddered, and then thumped down with a muffled crash. Outside the main viewer it was almost completely black. "What the hell?" he asked no one in particular. He looked at the clock. It should be daytime.
He stepped out of the time machine and into the dimly lit room. He was in a large wooden building built directly over his landing site. This should have been the empty field he had been testing from. He noticed a lone figure standing in the darkness.
"Hello?" he asked. The figure stepped forward slowly. "Hello?!?" panic crept into his voice. The figure didn't say anything, eventually he got close enough and Harpell could make out a face. It was Tormash, the warrior from the village he had just left behind thousands of years ago.
"What? How? You-" Harpell sputtered. Regaining his senses he turned to run back into the machine and go to sometime else. But as he did Tormash blurred into supernatural speed and appeared between him and the door to the time machine.
Tormash smiled in the light of the time machines interior. "Looks like your time's run out." And with a flash he was on Harpell and draining his blood. In moments he was drained and collapsed on the floor, dead.
Tormash wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "You know, for waiting thousands of years I figured this would be more fulfilling." He searched Harpell's clothes and found the stolen talisman. "Oh well, I guess I should return this." He stepped into the time machine. "A vampire with a time machine... I wonder what Gengis Khan would be like as a vampire."
|
Greatest amongst the Greatest High Germanic Tribe, Grandfather of the Saxons, and Embodiment of the Penultimate Hunter Warrior was Brad.
None could slay a whole pack of any beast and carry them all back to the tribe alone. No, Roman centurion dared to ever cross his tribe for he alone sent entire legions scattering in disarray. None dared to face the mighty Brad, and so he grew bored.
&nbsp;
That is... until one day...
&nbsp;
Brad was stalking a Roman scout who had gotten lost in the woods. Though the scout had brought along with him sufficient armaments, the scout dropped his bowels along with much of his gear in a panicked primal scramble for safety. Brad was enjoying himself: the scout's sobs and screams were amusing. It was easy enough for him to keep up, furthermore he could partake of the scout before finishing him off. But just as he was about to skin the scout of his clothes, he heard the yelps of Modern German in the background.
&nbsp;
"Jesus Christ, Ben you want to get us killed?"
&nbsp;
As Ben was dragged down from the view, a throwing axe flew past where Ben's head would have been 10 minutes ago. It flew past grazing nothing, and snugly stamped itself into a tree. Ben and Markus scrambled away in a panic not entirely dissimilar to the scout who was now wading in his own piss, tears, shit, and blood. Ben was wearing a simple hoodie, shorts, and tennis shoes only having been in 2018 Germany an hour earlier. His shorts pockets were shallow, and his wallet which had been loosely stuffed inside fell out in the panic. Neither Ben nor Markus noticed. They were too busy screaming,
&nbsp;
"Ohshitohshitohshitohshitohshitohshit!"
&nbsp;
They scrambled for the time machine. It was gaudy piece of DIY machinery that though appearing haphazard and made of scavenged material was an ingenious feat of engineering. In the time Ben and Markus had scrambled 200 feet to their time machine, Brad had already scaled the near mountainous precipice on which Ben and Markus had seen him. But before Brad could draw his bow, Ben and Markus slammed the panic button launching them straight home.
&nbsp;
Hyperventilating, both of them fell out onto the floor of their studio apartment. They looked at each other in utter relief and laughed.
"Let's never do that ever again."
"Yah, I nearly shat my pants."
"Did you see the muscles on that guy? He could have easily torn our heads off."
Ben pulled out his phone that hadn't fallen out to check the time. It was only 00:30, they had only gone for a split second. They laughed again, because their pizza was going to arrive as soon as they arrived just as planned.
"I'm going to eat all the pepperoni!"
"Yeah, then you're paying."
Ben laughed heartily and nodded. Right on cue the doorbell rang.
"I got it!"
Ben opened the door while checking his other pocket for his wallet.
"Hey, just a moment. I think I might have lost my wallet..."
Ben was busy searching through his pockets when he heard the deliveryman say,
"Looking for this?"
"What's going on Ben, did you forget your wallet again?"
Markus looked at Ben whose phone fell to the ground through his limp fingers.
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[WP] A warrior swears blood vengeance against a time traveller from the distant future. Well aware of where and when their quarry has escaped back to the warrior approaches a feared vampire seeking the curse of immortality that they might live long enough to enact their revenge.
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"And why shouldn't I just kill you?" the vampire asked.
Cloaked in black the creature of the night loomed above Tormash from his elevated throne. He gently pet one of his naked female thralls.
Shifting his silver spear from one shoulder to the other Tormash said, "Well for one, because you can't. I am the greatest warrior of my tribe and bear the mark of my people to protect me! But for two, because I know your ways. You crave blood and power. This would give you both."
"Mmm," the vampire crooned, "True enough. I need blood." A slight smile came to his face, "But I don't need power." He gestured to the large hall they stood in. The room was so dark you couldn't even see the ceiling. "I have all I could ever need. I've lived for hundreds of years without the help of mortals and I plan to have a very long and happy unlife. So what could you, possibly do for me?"
Raising his spear he pointed it straight at the unperturbed vampire. "Fight me if you are so certain."
The vampire laughed, "You've never fought a vampire before I take it? If you had I expect you would be dead by now." He started to walk slowly down the steps putting himself closer to the spear's point. He lightly touched the tip and slid his finger along the blade. A thin line of blood formed on the edge. "You know silver is for werewolves right? Vampires are weak to- Well I probably shouldn't tell you now should I?"
Tormash stepped back a pace trying to keep distance between himself and the vampire. But the vampire stepped forward a pace as well. They paced back and forth for a moment, each watching the other for any sign of an attack.
Without any warning the vampire blurred into the air. He moved with supernatural speed around and appeared behind Tormash. "Sorry kid." And he bit Tormash on the neck. Tormash yelled and his blood began to flow from his neck into the vampires mouth and throat.
Tormash tried to spin but he was supernaturally weakened from the vampire's bite. He could barely stay on his feet. What felt like an eternity passed as his blood was drained. The vampires embrace was broken and he slowly paced around Tormash and kicked the spear away.
"Well boy, looks like your protection doesn't count for much does it?" The vampire smiled. Tormash stood there in a daze caught in the vampires mesmerizing gaze. Inside his mind he was still conscious and awake, his body just wouldn't respond. "Any last words?"
Tormash's mouth moved silently, not saying anything. The vampire smirked "What's that? You'll have to speak up." He leaned forward and placed his ear next to Tormash's lips.
Tormash couldn't speak, couldn't hardly move. So he did the only thing he could think of. He bit the vampire. Hard. The vampire screamed in pain. The trance was immediately broken and Tormash pounced on the vampire.
They struggled on the ground rolling back and forth. But Tormash wouldn't let go. He kept biting and drinking, biting and drinking. He could feel the evil power flowing into in him, and as he got stronger, the vampire got weaker. Eventually the tumbling turned to flailing, and flailing to weak flapping.
Tormash felt better than he ever had before. He let go of the vampire and he fell away limply. Tormash stood and looked down on the weakened vampire with disdain. He walked over to his spear and picked it up. He stode back over and stood over the vampire. The vampire tried to speak but his lips moved silently just as Tormash's had.
"And by the way." He hefted the spear and turned it around. On the reverse end of the spear was a wooden point filed to be very sharp. "I know what vampires are weak to."
\####
Harpell was exhilarated. He had narrowly escaped, who knew primitives were so sensitive about their religious artifacts? He hadn't meant to steal it. Well, he had, he just didn't mean to get caught. He fiddled in his coat pocket touching the talisman lightly and smiled. This would fetch quite the price at the Time Travelers club.
His time machine shook, shuddered, and then thumped down with a muffled crash. Outside the main viewer it was almost completely black. "What the hell?" he asked no one in particular. He looked at the clock. It should be daytime.
He stepped out of the time machine and into the dimly lit room. He was in a large wooden building built directly over his landing site. This should have been the empty field he had been testing from. He noticed a lone figure standing in the darkness.
"Hello?" he asked. The figure stepped forward slowly. "Hello?!?" panic crept into his voice. The figure didn't say anything, eventually he got close enough and Harpell could make out a face. It was Tormash, the warrior from the village he had just left behind thousands of years ago.
"What? How? You-" Harpell sputtered. Regaining his senses he turned to run back into the machine and go to sometime else. But as he did Tormash blurred into supernatural speed and appeared between him and the door to the time machine.
Tormash smiled in the light of the time machines interior. "Looks like your time's run out." And with a flash he was on Harpell and draining his blood. In moments he was drained and collapsed on the floor, dead.
Tormash wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "You know, for waiting thousands of years I figured this would be more fulfilling." He searched Harpell's clothes and found the stolen talisman. "Oh well, I guess I should return this." He stepped into the time machine. "A vampire with a time machine... I wonder what Gengis Khan would be like as a vampire."
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Violet Cruz sat in her car and took a deep breath. She stared at the small Chinese restaurant while her mind ran down the checklist again. It took her two years to reach this point after Arnold's death, after a stranger from the future murdered him.
"Trust me, I'm saving us both some heartache," he said as she held Arnold's lifeless corpse. He smiled at her. "If you take it personally, come have a chat with me in the year 2127." He tossed a black business card at her, then he pressed a button on his belt. A thin vertical line appeared floating in the air in front of him. Violet watched the man touch the light, then disintegrate into the beam. It seemed as if the light pulled him in, one atom a time. Once he and the light disappeared she looked at the business card.
"Maxwell Bellman: Temporal Executioner. 2127," shone on the front of the dark card in gold ink along with an address on the back. She held on to the card, but forgot about it during the first month after her husband's death. Arnold was the most loving, and sensitive man she'd ever met. She spent most of her time wondering why anyone would have a grudge against Arnold, much less someone from 109 years into the future.
She found all the answers while cleaning out her husband's office. She accidentally knocked a drink off his desk and discovered a loose floorboard as she cleaned it up. She wiggled the flooring free and found a black leather travel journal inside along with a single gold coin the size of her palm. She flipped through the journal and realized her husband used it as a diary.
She began reading it, and remained engrossed throughout the night. Each new day in the diary fueled her desire for revenge more and more. This diary she was never supposed to read contained proof of his love in every day. His every thought, and every action were for her. He accidentally discovered a magical underworld, and instead of fearing it he embraced it for Violet. He wanted to share it with her. The diary detailed all of his plans that he would not get to realize anymore. But now she had the answers she needed.
Two years later she sat in her car with everything prepared. She took one more breath then forced herself out of the car and across the street. She entered the Chinese restaurant to the sound of a chime over the door. An elderly Asian woman stepped out of the active kitchen, but Violet did not see any other patrons in the restaurant.
"How many?" The woman asked while preparing menus.
"I'm here to see Donna Chang," Violet said. The woman looked up.
"That's me. What you need?" she asked. Violet pulled the large gold coin from her purse, then offered it to Mrs. Chang.
"I want to be turned," Violet said. "I've already made all the arrangements in my personal life, I'm ready today. Now." She rattled off the practiced speech. Donna examined the gold coin; she studied the bat engraved on one side, then flipped it over to reveal a scythe engraved on the other. The old woman offered the gold coin back to Violet.
"No good. Out of power," she said.
"What? It's a coin, how is it out of power?" Violet refused to take the coin back. Donna Chang held it up and pointed to the scythe on the back.
"Coin fine. This symbol, this vampire no longer recognized." Violet began to shake her head, denying to accept the reality. She had worked so hard over the last two years, given up so much. This was supposed to be the easy part all laid out for her.
"But he's still a vampire, right? Even if he's not on the council or whatever..." Violet grabbed Donna's hands while pleading with her eyes. "... he can still turn me, right? Do you know where he is?" Donna nodded.
"I tell you, but you assume all risk. Not recognized vampire means no rules. No guarantee of safety." Donna explained. Violet nodded.
"That's fine, my life is already wrapped up anyway. No matter what happens. Please tell me where?" Donna Chang nodded and patted Violet on the shoulder. "Sit, sit. I tell you, but you eat first. Enjoy maybe last meal."
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day in 2018, this is #155. You can find them collected on my [blog](http://hserratafun.blogspot.com/2017/10/front-page.html).
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[WP] A warrior swears blood vengeance against a time traveller from the distant future. Well aware of where and when their quarry has escaped back to the warrior approaches a feared vampire seeking the curse of immortality that they might live long enough to enact their revenge.
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"And why shouldn't I just kill you?" the vampire asked.
Cloaked in black the creature of the night loomed above Tormash from his elevated throne. He gently pet one of his naked female thralls.
Shifting his silver spear from one shoulder to the other Tormash said, "Well for one, because you can't. I am the greatest warrior of my tribe and bear the mark of my people to protect me! But for two, because I know your ways. You crave blood and power. This would give you both."
"Mmm," the vampire crooned, "True enough. I need blood." A slight smile came to his face, "But I don't need power." He gestured to the large hall they stood in. The room was so dark you couldn't even see the ceiling. "I have all I could ever need. I've lived for hundreds of years without the help of mortals and I plan to have a very long and happy unlife. So what could you, possibly do for me?"
Raising his spear he pointed it straight at the unperturbed vampire. "Fight me if you are so certain."
The vampire laughed, "You've never fought a vampire before I take it? If you had I expect you would be dead by now." He started to walk slowly down the steps putting himself closer to the spear's point. He lightly touched the tip and slid his finger along the blade. A thin line of blood formed on the edge. "You know silver is for werewolves right? Vampires are weak to- Well I probably shouldn't tell you now should I?"
Tormash stepped back a pace trying to keep distance between himself and the vampire. But the vampire stepped forward a pace as well. They paced back and forth for a moment, each watching the other for any sign of an attack.
Without any warning the vampire blurred into the air. He moved with supernatural speed around and appeared behind Tormash. "Sorry kid." And he bit Tormash on the neck. Tormash yelled and his blood began to flow from his neck into the vampires mouth and throat.
Tormash tried to spin but he was supernaturally weakened from the vampire's bite. He could barely stay on his feet. What felt like an eternity passed as his blood was drained. The vampires embrace was broken and he slowly paced around Tormash and kicked the spear away.
"Well boy, looks like your protection doesn't count for much does it?" The vampire smiled. Tormash stood there in a daze caught in the vampires mesmerizing gaze. Inside his mind he was still conscious and awake, his body just wouldn't respond. "Any last words?"
Tormash's mouth moved silently, not saying anything. The vampire smirked "What's that? You'll have to speak up." He leaned forward and placed his ear next to Tormash's lips.
Tormash couldn't speak, couldn't hardly move. So he did the only thing he could think of. He bit the vampire. Hard. The vampire screamed in pain. The trance was immediately broken and Tormash pounced on the vampire.
They struggled on the ground rolling back and forth. But Tormash wouldn't let go. He kept biting and drinking, biting and drinking. He could feel the evil power flowing into in him, and as he got stronger, the vampire got weaker. Eventually the tumbling turned to flailing, and flailing to weak flapping.
Tormash felt better than he ever had before. He let go of the vampire and he fell away limply. Tormash stood and looked down on the weakened vampire with disdain. He walked over to his spear and picked it up. He stode back over and stood over the vampire. The vampire tried to speak but his lips moved silently just as Tormash's had.
"And by the way." He hefted the spear and turned it around. On the reverse end of the spear was a wooden point filed to be very sharp. "I know what vampires are weak to."
\####
Harpell was exhilarated. He had narrowly escaped, who knew primitives were so sensitive about their religious artifacts? He hadn't meant to steal it. Well, he had, he just didn't mean to get caught. He fiddled in his coat pocket touching the talisman lightly and smiled. This would fetch quite the price at the Time Travelers club.
His time machine shook, shuddered, and then thumped down with a muffled crash. Outside the main viewer it was almost completely black. "What the hell?" he asked no one in particular. He looked at the clock. It should be daytime.
He stepped out of the time machine and into the dimly lit room. He was in a large wooden building built directly over his landing site. This should have been the empty field he had been testing from. He noticed a lone figure standing in the darkness.
"Hello?" he asked. The figure stepped forward slowly. "Hello?!?" panic crept into his voice. The figure didn't say anything, eventually he got close enough and Harpell could make out a face. It was Tormash, the warrior from the village he had just left behind thousands of years ago.
"What? How? You-" Harpell sputtered. Regaining his senses he turned to run back into the machine and go to sometime else. But as he did Tormash blurred into supernatural speed and appeared between him and the door to the time machine.
Tormash smiled in the light of the time machines interior. "Looks like your time's run out." And with a flash he was on Harpell and draining his blood. In moments he was drained and collapsed on the floor, dead.
Tormash wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "You know, for waiting thousands of years I figured this would be more fulfilling." He searched Harpell's clothes and found the stolen talisman. "Oh well, I guess I should return this." He stepped into the time machine. "A vampire with a time machine... I wonder what Gengis Khan would be like as a vampire."
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”Relax, Eddie. This parking lot is ancient.” said Jonas as he hopped into the time machine. "It'll be fine, I promise. Just a quick trip, I won't disturb anyone."
"Don't do this, Jonas." pleaded his best friend Eddie, "You don't know for a fact how old this parking lot is. All of this is too risky. Please return the machine. We're not supposed to use it."
"Like I said, it'll be fine. Do you know how old the parking lot is?" Jonas turned his head to the computer in the vehicle, "Computer, turn on."
Lights begun flashing along to the tune of a boot up sound which gave life to the machine. Eddie sighed, "I don't know, I think my dad said a little more than 300 years."
"Great!" cheered Jonas. "Computer, transport me back exactly 300 years."
"No, wait! Don't! My dad might've said...!" Eddie begged, but was cut off by the loud whirlwind which made the time vehicle disappear before his eyes, "... a little *less* than 300 years..."
There was a large crash accompanied by some ear shattering screams when Jonas reappeared, right in the center of a dining room belonging to the middle-class family McStevens. When the dust settled, only one scream remained, belonging to the ex-husband and ex-father-of-three Simon, sobbing at the rubble and bloody mess that used to be his family dinner.
The door of the time machine slid open and Jonas stepped out. "Oh my god, what a ride. Dude, what happened here?"
"Who...?" stuttered Simon, "Who are you?"
"I'm Jonas, and I'm a student at the University of Relativity, which... doesn't... exist... yet." Jonas slowed down and examined the chaos around him. "This... is not a parking lot. I'm from the future. I'm also terribly sorry for the damage to your house."
"My house...?" Simon was gripped by rage, and rose up while clenching his fists, "You murdered my family! You monster! I'll kill you!!!"
Thanking the gods for the rubble seperating them and buying him some time, Jonas screamed "Computer, transport me forward exactly 300 years!" And as he slammed the door shut in the face of Simon McStevens, Jonas hoped it would be the last time he ever saw him.
The vehicle shook, moaned and flashed in various colors as he was brought back to his favored present. But when he slid open the door again, he gasped.
Eddie stared at him with a nervous expression, shivering and brandishing a wet patch on the front of his pants. His temple was being kissed by the barrel of a gun, held by none other than an aged and hardened Simon McStevens.
"What are you...?!" begun Jonas, but was interrupted by a gunshot.
"Shut the fuck up, Jonas." declared Simon harshly, as he lowered his gun from the air back to Eddie's temple, whose pants grew darker. "I've waited three hundred years for this. Three. Hundred. Years. You took my life away that day. My family... Murdered. My house and everything I own destroyed and paved to the ground... In this very spot. But at least you gave me something in return." He smiled darkly. "You gave me all the information I needed for revenge. The time, the place, and the name; Jonas."
"I'm so sorry... I didn't know... If there's anything I can do..." whimpered Jonas.
"Oh you've done so much for me already." Simon chuckled, "Were it not for my insatiable lust for revenge, I would never have travelled the world in search for a way to push my mortality back long enough to kill you. Thanks to you, I found something better: Immortality."
Jonas stood perfectly still, but in his mind he was busy, working frantically on a solution. If only he had more time...
"But that's only the means to the end." Simon continued, "The end is what I've been waiting for. Finally, I get to exact my revenge. For my family, I will kill you. But for my house, I will first kill your friend here."
Jonas' mind clicked, just like the gun did. Again. And again. Clicking without shooting. Simon grunted, "How the fuck am I out? It was loaded an hour ago?!"
Jonas siezed the moment and ran up to the old man, using his momentum to uppercut the senior into unconsciousness. Simon landed flat on the asphalt, only saved from a cracked skull by his immortality. Eddie fell straight down on his knees into a puddle of his own urine.
"Summon the authorities, Eddie!" Jonas yelled as he jumped back into the machine.
"Where will you go?!" he shouted back.
"To an hour ago."
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[WP] A genie once gave you the ability to see 5 minutes into the future with the twist that if anyone ever finds out, you die. You're on your way home with a random person you flirted with at the bar when you see the two of you suddenly being murdered.
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Her eyes were the only thing that mattered. Deep, melancholic green eyes that surveyed her surroundings with precision and wit, gleaning inspiration. I carried myself with confidence as we walked down the street, but inside I was clueless. I hadn't seen her in my future. Yet, here she was, walking me to her apartment boldly, walking with the stride of a person who has plans. I hoped she couldn't feel my heartbeat or the anticipation of my fantasies, raw and unspeakable acts of passions that began and ended with her. As my mind wandered, she reached her hand out to me, lightly holding on to my forearm.
She had a way with her hands. I had been at Lizzy's, my favorite alcohol cave. I was bored, starting a gin and tonic on my bar stool, and swinging the rotating stool from side to side. It had been a low night, because my future held little optimism. My ability to see five minutes into the future kept showing me sitting at the bar, getting blotto, and failing to talk to any of the beautiful women surrounding me. The same beautiful women who probably thought I was straight, or bicurious, with my high femme looks.
She had blindsided me. I never saw her coming. She had sidled up to me, running her left hand \-\- ringless with trimmed nails \-\- from my knee to thigh, just to the edge of my black leather mini skirt, in one long, smooth strong motion. I had almost spit out my drink that I was sipping on. Instead, I had downed the rest, put my glass on the bar, and called the bartender for another. In my periphery, I saw what appeared to be a climber's body trimly tucked into what I called the "downtown warrior" uniform: slim fit, high waisted black pants that showed off her powerful thighs, block heel Chelsea boots, and a slinky cotton top angled in all the right places in a charcoal gray color.
She didn't let me wait for my drink. She put her other hand on my other leg, twirled my stool until I faced her, spread my legs, and stood between my knees. The look on her face was so fierce, I briefly wondered if she was angry at me. I returned her gaze coolly, terrified. Clearly, she was into me. I tried to scan my brain for what comes next, but my mind was empty. Apparently the genie's gift didn't work when lust was on the brain.
Part of me was on fire, ready to slide her hand further up my skirt, let her touch me, and then stop her coldly only to say 'Not here' and follow her to domination station at her place. The bigger part of me was absolutely useless, so I kept silent. She leaned in to my ear.
"I've seen you before," she whispered. "My girlfriend just dumped me. You're alone, and I'm in the mood. Come with me to my place."
She leaned back. The bartender left my drink on the bar. I didn't say anything to her, just kept eye contact, picked up my drink, and sipped it. She smiled. She grabbed my hand, and I got up. Leaving my drink, I mumbled something about paying the tab later, they know me.
She introduced herself. Levia. She was in advertisement for tech. She had a studio not far from me: same block, different building. We chatted as we walked. My laughs came in bursts. I was nervous. The only thing that kept me surefooted were her eyes. As she reached out to me, putting her hand on my arm, my inner eye exploded with a vision.
Blood on the ground. We were both sprawled. Black liquid in the night dripped from slices in our clothes. Shattered glass. A figure running, my purse in hand. A cell phone lay on the ground, crushed, the digital time banner displaying an 11 intersected with fractured lines.
I lurched. She caught me. She pulled me in tight, holding me. "Too much to drink, eh?" I nodded. I couldn't say anything. I knew that the price of my secret was death. Or so my mother told me, the woman who had actually done the deal with the genie. I mumbled something about a ride and checked my phone. 10:55. I still had five minutes left.
My breath already shallow from anticipation, it zoomed quickly to hyperventilation in fear. She called my name: "Vivian! Vivian!"
What to do. Death would happen either way. Not enough time.
I chose the sweetest death I could think of: "Levia. In 4 minutes, a strange man is going to murder us in the street. I can see the future, and what will happen may be painful. We need to prepare, but before we do, let me say I think you're the most beautiful woman in the world. Will you kiss me?"
She laughed. She kissed me. My inner eye changed, and the man was no longer there. She and I were walking into her apartment, barely keeping our clothes on. Her hand was up my skirt in the alcove before the doorway. I was moaning, panting for her to get her goddamn key out.
The kiss seemed to last forever. When she finally parted from my lips, I sighed like she had quenched my thirst in a desert. She whispered in my ear.
" I am the genie," she said. "I fell in love with you as I watched over you."
I stared, struck with the idea. "No way."
"Yes way," she said. "Come on. Let's go home."
"But what about death is the price of sharing my gift?" I asked.
She laughed with mirth. "I already knew about your secret."
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"How you doing?" I said as I wrapped my arm around the beautiful tall woman who stood to my left. She smiled at me shyly. I was a handsome man, so I didn't blame her for feeling coy. "Do ye com here oftin?" I flashed her my best smile but the world was tilting. Suddenly, I was lying on the concrete with nothing but trees and grass around me. Someone was laughing and in a moment I realized that it was me.
"I tink I had too many," I said with a giggle to the tree I had been flirting with. "Oh well."
I rolled onto my side and tried to push myself up, but gravity had a hold on me and the world was spinning. I couldn't stop laughing long enough to actually focus on my task and I decided that the ground was really comfortably anyway, so why get up?
As I laid on the side of the road, looking up between the bright street lights and into the cloudy sky, I thought about how I had ended up in this situation. When I had arrived at the bar earlier that evening all I had intended to do was have a few drinks with my friends and then call it a night. There was something important I had to do tomorrow morning, but I didn't remember what it was.
"Have a god ev'ing." I said to the woman and dog that walked past me. The woman gave me a look as her dog started to lick my face. I giggled and rolled onto my stomach. The woman pulled her dog away and walked swiftly down the street. "Don't let him pee on me!" I shouted as she walked. Then I burst out laughing at the mental image of a dog pissing on me. As I laid there laughing one thing became very clear: I needed more drinks!
I took in a deep breath and tried to muster enough strength to get up from the ground. I rolled onto my stomach, rested my forearms on the grass, and then pushed up. My feet found there way to the ground and I stumbled around for a minute as if I was walking on ice, but I eventually got my footing and fell into the open branches of the tree.
"Thanks," I said, giving it a nice big kiss.
I pushed away from the tree and started to walk down the street in the direction that I thought the bar was in, but I was not completely sure. The crisp evening breeze caught my hair and pinched my cheeks. I was not wearing enough layers to comfortably walk in this weather, but luckily I was drunk enough to not feel much. I started to think about what it would be like to walk completely naked though the streets when a woman came around the corner. I met her eyes and a horrible pain bust into my temples.
*A man and a woman meet in the middle of a block. They had met before, earlier that evening, and they stand by the alley and chat. The woman pushes her hair out of her face and laughs at something the man says. The man leans in for a kiss and the woman takes a step back.*
*A crash erupts in the alleyway. A man in a mask runs out from the shadows. He holds a gun towards the woman who backs up with wide blue eyes. The man in the mask yells something at the woman and she starts to cry and beg. The man outside of the alley tries to wrestle the gun from the man in the mask. The man in the mask fires the gun into the chest of the other man. Blood spills over the mouth of the alleyway and the woman screams. The man in the mask turns his shaking hands back to the woman. He fires the gun a second time and then runs. The man and the woman lie in pools of their own blood as their empty eyes gaze up at the stars.*
The pain faded just as quickly as it hit me and I stumbled backwards. For the first time since I met that damned genie I was at a complete loss as to what to do.
"Be warned," The genie had said to me, "If anyone finds out about your abilities, you will die. You will be able to see five minutes into the future, no more, no less."
"Fuck!" I said, turning back in the direction I had come. But then I stopped. The woman who was killed in my vision had been such a lovely person. She was a fifth grade teacher working on a novel. She had dreams to be a mother one day and to start a charity to help support low-income families. She was such a wonderful person, how could I just let her die?
I, on the other hand, was a piece of shit. I had been fired, again, and I had no direction in my life. My dreams consisted of drinking as much as I could before I died in a pool of my own vomit, and using my inheritance money to help me do so. I had no ambitions or anything like that. I did not intend to leave the world a better place. I actually kind of wanted to leave the world a worse place.
I glanced back at the woman. She was almost at the mouth of the alley now. But how the hell could I save her without revealing my abilities and not getting killed myself? I didn't have much time.
Without giving it a second thought I ran towards the alley, which was a much more difficult feat than I had anticipated. I was running, but I was completely unable to do it in a straight line. The woman furrowed her brow as I approached and then smiled.
"Hi!" She said, "What are you doing her-?"
I pushed past her, nearly fell over my own two feet, and ran down the alley. She looked after me so I pretended to unzip my pants. She made a disgusted sound and continued walking. I looked around the alley. It was pitch black and smelled of urine and garbage. As far as I could tell there was no one else here.
*Crash!*
I jumped back as a man jumped from the second floor window, landed on the garbage bin, and rolled onto the floor. He got up and reached inside of his jacket.
I ran to him and kicked him in the stomach. My aim was a little off as the world was still on a tilt, but I managed to knock him back a little.
"You piece of shit!" I said as I went in for another hit. He moved out of the way casually and tried to push past me. I reached my foot out and tripped him. The gun rolled out of his jacket and landed with a splash in the alleyway. I jumped over him and landed with a bang on the gun. I knocked my jaw against the concrete and I split my chin open. Blood pooled from my face and I could taste it in my mouth. The man jumped on top of me and put me in a choke-hold. I tried to grab the gun but my hands were slipping.
The man put more force into his choke-hold and he leaned his face close to the back of my head. I snapped my head back and knocked him in the teeth. He groaned and released me for a second. I grabbed the gun, stood up, and ran.
Running was not something I was known for, especially if I had been drinking. The man in the mask was right behind me. The gun was slippery in my hands.
He chased me and was right on my tail. As a horribly drunk individual I did not have much of a chance to beat him so I looked around helplessly for an option.
Suddenly I was knocked to the ground and the man was on top of me. He reached for the gun and I tossed it away. There were a few people walking on the street and some glanced out way.
“Call the police!” I shouted as the man in the mask tried to choke me once more. He looked up and saw all of the people.
“Fuck!” He said. He punched me in the face and I felt my nose crunch. Blood pooled into my mouth and I couldn’t breathe. I started to choke and the man got off me, ran towards the gun, and fled.
I rolled onto my stomach with a groan and watched the man run in the direction of the woman. A few people ran to me and asked if I was okay.
“Did you call the police?” I said lightly, through the wet, hot, blood.
“Yes!” They said, “are you okay?”
I rolled onto my stomach and everything went black.
****
This was not the first time that I had woken up in a hospital room, but I was sure it was the most painful. The lights were too bright and the machine sounds made my head pound. My face hurt the most.
I looked around and my eyes went wide as I saw the woman from the bar standing at the end of my bed. She looked just as bad as I did, with her black eye and her arm in a sling. Her eyes widened as she saw my open eyes and her cheeks flushed.
“Sorry,” she said, “I-I didn’t think you would be awake.”
I adjusted my weight with a groan and felt my own cheeks flush.
“Don’t be sorry,” I said, “What happened?”
She looked down at her arm. She was very beautiful. The sunlight that danced through the open window brought out the red tones in her hair and her bright blue eyes were soft and kind. I think her name was Linda, but I couldn’t really remember. Last night was more of a blur than anything.
“My ex boyfriend happened.” She said lightly, “He had been sending me death threats but I never thought he would actually act on them.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, “I am glad you are alright.”
“Thanks to you,” She said, looking back at me with water-filled eyes. “I heard what you did. Because of you the police were called to the scene and they were able to get control over the situation before anything terrible happened.”
“I was just taking a piss.” I said. She smiled. I found it odd that she found me so charming. Most woman thought I was too crass.
“Well,” she said, “Lucky for me you revealed yourself when you did and were able to prevent him from getting to me sooner. How did you manage to keep him away anyway? You were so drunk.”
“I honestly don’t know,” I said, “It was more luck than anything else I think.”
“Well,” Linda said shyly, “Thank you.”
She walked to me and sat on the edge of my bed. My heart began to beat against my chest. She smelled like wildflowers after a rainstorm. Her bright blue eyes studied mine and I felt the entire hospital melt away. It was just us.
She leaned towards me and pressed her perfect pink lips against my dry, cracked lips. Colors burst behind my eyelids as she pressed herself against me. My entire body filled with warmth.
(continued in comments)
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[WP] A genie once gave you the ability to see 5 minutes into the future with the twist that if anyone ever finds out, you die. You're on your way home with a random person you flirted with at the bar when you see the two of you suddenly being murdered.
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"And that's when I bought the horse a prostitute!"
I smiled, trying to be charming. She covered her mouth trying to stifle her laugh at the bawdy joke. "So uh, what do you do? When you aren't hiring prostitutes that is."
I knew that joke would work. Of course I always know what jokes will work and what won't. I have to wait a bit to ensure I tell it at the right time, exactly 5 minutes after I see the joke. I've gotten a pretty good internal timer since I was exposed to those radioactive clocks.
"I'm a Systems Analyst. Which is just fancy speak for I make computers do the thing computers are supposed to do." I swirled my finger on the rim of my glass and gestured to the bartender for another. He waved from the other side of the bar and got to work. "What do you do?"
I already knew the answer so while she talked I looked into my minds eye. Exactly 5 minutes from now we would be making out in the bathroom. Nice. But then he heard a crash in his vision. The kiss broke apart as yelling came from the front of the bar.
Four large and heavily armed men were rounding up the patrons on one side of the bar. I could see one of the men with a shotgun walking towards the bathrooms. Shit.
"Are you ok?"
"Hrmm?" I broke out of my trance.
"You kind of zoned out there for a minute. Were you even paying attention?" she asked.
"Oh uh- of course. You're a vet tech, you love horses the most but don't get to work with them very much." I answered. The bartender dropped off my new drink.
"Oh. That's good because you're pretty cute." She twirled her hair unconsciously. "So you want to go somewhere a little more private?" A knowing smile twisted in her lips as she spoke.
"Sure. Just. Let me go to the bathroom real quick." Without waiting for a response I stood and turned to leave. Inside the bathroom I cleared my mind and re-entered the trance.
He was staring down the barrel of a shotgun. He had been moved into the bars main room. His date was beside him and they were both on their knees. Half the armed men were watching us while the rest ransacked the place.
Without warning the bar's owner pulled out a revolver and shot one of the robbers in the head. The next thing that happened was a bit of a blur but another robber was shot in the gut before the owner of the bar went down in a hail of bullets.
"Well shit." the apparent leader of the bandits said. His wounded gang member rolled and moaned on the floor being tended to by one of the other thugs. He took a deep breath, turned and whispered to the one that still had his gun leveled at us. His face blanched and he whispered back. This went back and forth for a bit before the leader yelled, "FINE! I'LL FUCKING DO IT THEN!"
Roughly he pulled the shotgun from the other man, leveled it at one of the other bar patrons, and pulled the trigger. A loud BANG went off as the mans blood and brains splattered the wall behind him.
"What? No- No!" the next man said right before he was cut down. Next it was my turn, I tried to run but got shot in the back. I rolled over, faced the barrel of the gun, and all went black.
Back to reality I shook. I had just seen my own death. I tried to reenter the trance but couldn't. Every time I opened my minds eye all I saw was blackness. I needed to leave, and now.
I walked out into the bar and straight to my date. "We've got to get out of here. You ready to go?"
"Aww, but I need to pay for my drinks first," she purred. I pulled out my wallet and pulled out several bills and slammed them on bar.
"Let's go." Alarm rose in her face.
"Why in such a hurry? You haven't even finished touched your drink."
"No time, let's go." I took her hand and started to pull her out of the bar. She reluctantly came along, uncertain as to what was going on. I stepped out the front door of the bar just in time to see the armed men walking straight toward me. Shit.
I spun and walked back inside. Ok, what's the plan? Is there a backdoor? "What's going on?" my date asked now clearly worried.
"I uh- can't explain. We've got to get out of here but not through the front." I strode back towards the kitchen pushing through the door.
"Hey you can't go back there!" the bartender yelled from behind the bar. I paid no attention and tried to pull my date with me but she resisted.
"Tell me what's going on right NOW!" she demanded, "I'm not going back there."
"Well," I paused "Good luck." And I left her behind. It took me only a moment once in the kitchen to spot the back exit. I ran out and let the door swing open behind me. I could hear the yelling start in the front of the bar as I made my escape.
I ran into the woods behind the bar and once safely concealed I tried to open my minds eye again. I heard the screeching of tires from the front street like a vehicle making a getaway. I didn't hear anything else. I crept out of the woods and back into the bar. It was a massacre. The dead thug lied on the ground flanked on all sides by dead bar patrons. My date lie in a pool of her own blood from a shotgun blast to the chest. Not a good way to go.
Back to reality I visibly shook. I quickly thought over my options, I could wait and escape after, I could try and get away now, or I could do something extremely stupid. I elected for something extremely stupid. I quickly ran back inside. Peering through the window to the bar from the kitchen I saw the owner gradually inching his hand to the concealed revolver. Now or never. I burst out of the kitchen. "WAIT!" Everyone in the room froze.
Then all the thugs turned on me weapons raised. "You've got to listen to me, please!" The thugs looked to each other amused. "The police are on their way, they'll be here in under 5 minutes. You guys can shoot me dead if you want, but you need to leave now if you want to avoid being caught." I lied.
"It's a bluff." The leader said.
"Very far from it actually." I grimaced really hoping they wouldn't call the bluff. "Shoot me if you are so certain. Add a murder to the list of crimes if you get caught."
The thugs looked between each other. The leader said, "Well, shit. We already got the money, let's get the hell out of here." With that the thugs turned to leave, being sure to keep their weapons leveled at us to prevent us from following. A moment later I heard the familiar squealing of the getaway cars tires burning out on the road.
The bar patrons immediately came over to me. The owner gave me a big bear hug and the bartender clapped me on the back. "You're drinks are on me forever man. Forever."
My date was the last to approach. "How did you know? How did you know they were coming?"
"I uh- can't explain."
"What are you in with them or something?"
"NO!?! Nothing like that. I just can't talk about it."
Her mouth tightened in a small frown. Then understanding dawned on her face. "Wait a minute, you're gifted aren't you?" My face blanched. "You are!"
That's when I felt my heart stop. It's a weird sensation this familiar feeling that you don't even notice suddenly goes away. I fell to my knees. "Oh no oh no oh no! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to- I didn't." I fell on my face.
Lying there feeling my life slip away my last thought before the darkness closed in was. "Damn, and I didn't even get laid first."
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The vision went as soon as it came. The most obvious detail being his bright red door. According to it they would inevitably be murdered right at his doorstep."Are you okay?" she asked worried. Four Minutes left. "Yeah its just the alcohol" he lied. He had lead this girl into her death, and he didn't even remember her name. Maybe if they were around people he could avoid his fate. He thought of an excuse. "I forgot my keys back at the bar, Would you mind waling back with me?" He asked apologetically. "Sure" she said with a radiant smile. Three minutes left. They walked back towards the bar, avoiding the puddles left from that evening's summer rain. Her phone rang. One minute left. "Hold on let me get this" She pleaded. "The reception in there sucks". He was so anxious he didn't noticed the puddle they were standing on. Or the broken electric line that finally snapped and touched the ground. They died instantly. Ten minutes later, a passerby found their bodies, lying in front of the bar's bright red door.
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