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	[WP] Two days ago at noon GMT, the richest man in the world died. Yesterday at noon GMT, the new richest man in the world died. Today at noon GMT, the new-new richest man in the world dies.	"There goes another one", I though to myself as I checked my watch. Right on schedule. Let's see who it was today. I clicked on the link to the news article describing the "incident" du jour. Some guy named Zygmunt. He was a Polish entertainer of some sort. Looks like it started simple enough. He slipped on a patch of ice while getting into his limousine and banged his head pretty good. An ambulance was called and on the way to the hospital it was sideswiped by a semi that ran a red light. The back door popped open and the gurney he was lying on fell out onto the street, rolled down a hill into a construction site, and plopped down into the foundation where they were pouring concrete. Luckily the operator saw what had happened and quickly pressed the kill switch. Otherwise old Zygmunt would have been buried alive. As he was being helped out of the pit he was stung by a bee. Turns out he was allergic and died on the spot. What a way to go. Oh well, five billion four hundred thousand three hundred and sixty eight days til my wish comes true. That genie sure is getting creative, but he really is a douchebag. Edit: removed extra "is"	I remember it like it was yesterday, First the leading Tech CEO passed away, then a day later the creator of Microsoft followed by a lucrative investor on the third day...word had spread across the globe that the richest people in the world were dying and everyone was glued to their TV's for the latest death update...i remember it well.... &#x200B; When it got to the 5th day the world was ready to mourn the loss of the creator of the most popular social networking platform in the world, he held a conference, live on his platform to say his goodbyes.....noon came.......noon went.....he still lived.... &#x200B; ...That's when we learnt the rumours about the Lizard nation were true.... it started with Mark, then after a few more of the World's elite had mysteriously died over the coming days a few more made themselves known by escaping the cull....Oprah......Donald......Elizabeth III......Rothchild....the Kardashians.... &#x200B; That's when we began the Worldwide hunt..
	[WP] Two days ago at noon GMT, the richest man in the world died. Yesterday at noon GMT, the new richest man in the world died. Today at noon GMT, the new-new richest man in the world dies.	"There goes another one", I though to myself as I checked my watch. Right on schedule. Let's see who it was today. I clicked on the link to the news article describing the "incident" du jour. Some guy named Zygmunt. He was a Polish entertainer of some sort. Looks like it started simple enough. He slipped on a patch of ice while getting into his limousine and banged his head pretty good. An ambulance was called and on the way to the hospital it was sideswiped by a semi that ran a red light. The back door popped open and the gurney he was lying on fell out onto the street, rolled down a hill into a construction site, and plopped down into the foundation where they were pouring concrete. Luckily the operator saw what had happened and quickly pressed the kill switch. Otherwise old Zygmunt would have been buried alive. As he was being helped out of the pit he was stung by a bee. Turns out he was allergic and died on the spot. What a way to go. Oh well, five billion four hundred thousand three hundred and sixty eight days til my wish comes true. That genie sure is getting creative, but he really is a douchebag. Edit: removed extra "is"	The wintry breeze from the nearby window kissed upon the side of my cheek as I watched the telly. The news was on and was discussing uninteresting events like "doggy surfing" and the weather until the "Breaking News" banner scrolled across the screen interrupting the normal broadcast of BBC. The news to follow introduced the start to a chain reaction. The CEO of Array, a high-end social network, had suddenly died in his home in Barbados. James Norton was considered the wealthiest man on earth. A simple Google search would tell you that his net worth totaled out to a breathtaking one hundred and fifteen billion pounds. This did not seem out of the ordinary, however. "People die every day." I thought to myself. Array promises connections amongst the elite of the world who all possess an account. Most lower class citizens could only dream of acquiring such merit. There is no higher status in civilian life. The inner workings of Array are not necessarily described to lower class citizens as they would not truly be able to understand its protocols and procedures. One certainty, however, that is understood universally is the integration process. Once one reaches a net worth of a half of a million pounds, Array sends a personal application to be completed. Once sent, the application is either accepted or rejected. If accepted, a chip is placed in the back of the neck to track liquidity and net worth. This information is then posted to a public domain known as Array Cast. The death of an elite is often unfortunate, but the death of two is very rare. When this very event occurred, heads started to turn. The death of the second elite happened yesterday. Today a third ranking member was found dead at 1:00 PM GMT. The time of death was estimated to be 12:00 GMT. The second ranking member had passed at 12:00 PM GMT. The same occurred with Mr. Norton. A pattern started to emerge. It was at this moment that most people were watching the news to attempt to understand the happenings of the past three days. It was at this moment that everyone caught their first glimpse of Liberation. I was standing outside of a bar looking in at the telly when a man with no facial features flashed abruptly on the screen. "Good evening. Array and its members have persecuted the lower and middle classes for far too long. The unjust treatment of these classes has caught our attention and will not go unpunished. The purge of the hyper-wealthy has begun. At noon GMT, the next highest ranking member of Array will have a lethal dose of electricity sent to their tracker and will perish." Audible gasps could be heard throughout those watching the television. "Any attempt to remove this device will result in early execution. Thank you and enjoy the rest of your day." I felt the cold, bitter wind slapping me across the face as reality struck colder and harsher. I reached to the back of my neck and felt the node where my chip had been implanted. Not a month had passed since I had joined the high-end social media known as Array as its lowest ranking member. I fell to my knees defeated. I was doomed. &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B;
	[WP] Having developed time travel in secret, you find yourself stranded alone in the 1800s following your test jump. Walking amongst the crowds on the cobbles of Victorian London years later, you pass someone humming a Beatles song.	Oh, my god, are these depressing times. Oh, sorry there inner monologue, I have to say "Oh my gawd" even on my inner thoughts lest I slip up and arouse suspicion. I sat on a crate down at the dock of the Thames and thought just for today, I'd give myself a reprieve from this tedious mental exercise. Seven frickin' years I'd been here. Well, not here on this crate, but seven years in the 1880s. Today was November 9, 1888. No, I'm not seven years old. I'm thirty-five. Technically, I'm NEGATIVE ninety-five years old, because I was born in nineteen eighty-three. Well, that's because I'm, to the best of my knowledge, the first and only time traveler. Well, to be a traveler, I suppose one would have to have done it a lot. I've only done it the one time. Does that make me just time traveled? It doesn't matter, I have no one to debate the intricacies of it with. Well, how did I do that? Did I build a time machine? No, much odder than that. When I was twenty-five, I received an anonymous package. In it, was a sort of diary. It appeared to be very old, but oddly, it was in my own handwriting. The diary was a sort of letter to myself. In it, it directed me to become acquainted with sailing. In October of twenty-eighteen, two years time, if I were to have my sailing license, I would come into a fortune of over five-million dollars cash. Long story short, I did this, and on September the first, I was approached by a man claiming to be a lawyer. I was asked for, and then presented my sailing credentials to him, he handed me a cashier's check for five million, one thousand eight hundred and eighty-one, dollars, no cents. I was told that there was another TEN Million dollars available, pending renting a small sailing yacht and traveling to 22.8340281, -79.0817705 on October the second. This was a spot in the ocean, about 246 miles North North West of Turks and Caicos. A bit weird, but I'd already got FIVE Million dollars in a weird way. I performed this task as well, and there I was bobbing up and down at these coordinates. I sat there for hours. After about ten hours, dusk comes early as a large storm comes in from the West. I couldn't outrun it. I was tossed and turned and between lightning flashes, I could see that I was being sucked into a giant whirlpool. That was all I remember. I awoke naked sprawled out on the shore of a smelly, muddy river. That river, was the Thames, and the year was 1881. I'd gotten sucked up by the Bermuda Triangle and spat out in Victorian London. What the actual hell? I slowly made my way in this new world, and was now making quite a decent living as a, well, there is not a really good way to say this... a pimp. I facilitated twenty-three "ladies of the evening" out of my "boarding house" in Whitechapel. You may think I took advantage of these poor girls, but I was very progressive for the time and they earned eighty percent of their labors. Many ladies in this profession were from poor backgrounds, but were making their way out thanks to my protection and business acumen. Knowing a bit more about STD's than anyone else also helped keep repeat customers. Thanks tenth grade sex-ed! Well, that's enough water watching for now. I'd self-medicated earlier today and was starting to wear off. I made my way back to the boarding house and set about the business for the evening. Some ladies would work the corners about town, some the parlor of the house for callers. Things had been much more perilous of late with a series of attacks for the last two months. I'd brought the ladies back to work in the parlor only. A few hours after dark, a well-dressed gentleman had come in to inquire about some companionship. He'd worn his hat low and looked down, as did most of my clients not wanting to be caught. I told him I'd get a few girls together and he said he's step outside for a smoke while I did so. I gathered the girls and went to fetch him. As I approached him, he was humming a familiar tune, though I couldn't place it at the time. I brought him back in and after a thorough inspection, he selected Mary Jane. A red-haired beauty of about twenty-five. She was relatively new, but was very popular among the clients. They sat and talked for a few minutes on our parlor sofa after the other girls left. Mary Jane came back over to me and said they'd be stepping out for dinner as part of the arrangement before returning to finish things up. They departed and I still couldn't get that tune out of my head. Da da da dut dat dat da.....then it struck me. It was the Beatles' Blackbird. The gentleman must have also been a time traveler. I figured we'd chat when he returned from dinner. Sadly, that was not to be, as Mary Jane Kelly turned up dead in Miller's Court, the fifth victim of Jack the Ripper. This was absolutely the worst day of my life, if only there was something I could do, to go back and warn her. But there was...I'm a frickin' time traveler. I began to journal all that I needed to convey, setting up a pension and arrangements for future me, and THIS TIME, I was going to get it RIGHT.	Yesterday... I looked up, pulling my cap slightly lower to shield my eyes from the rain. That voice seemed familiar, somehow. All my troubles seemed so far away... My eyes widened. I spun on my heel, for once not caring if I drew attention. I scanned the crowd, eyes darting from face to face, from back to back, trying to find the one that did not belong... Now it looks as though they're here to stay.. There. The man head and shoulders above the crowd. He walked with purpose, head and shoulders hunched against the drizzle. I took a gamble, and recited the next few words, just loud enough for him to hear. "Oh, I believe in Yesterday." The man's step caught for just an instant before he broke into a run. I followed, boots pounding cobbles. He dashed through the crowd, bowling through wool-coated pedestrians, his breath misting in ragged huffs. I did my best to catch him, but he gained some distance before turning hard into an alley. He glanced over his shoulder in the briefest of flashes as he ducked around the corner, and we made eye contact. It was a face I had seen before. And I realized just why I had recognized that voice. "Paul!?..."
	[WP] Having developed time travel in secret, you find yourself stranded alone in the 1800s following your test jump. Walking amongst the crowds on the cobbles of Victorian London years later, you pass someone humming a Beatles song.	I moved through the market lazily. My daily routine had become almost automatic to me, at least since I gave up hope of getting back to my time. Three years of failed attempts at repairs and five more years of living my life in this new- or would it be old?- world. I picked through the carts of vegetables. I don't think I'll ever get used to how fast food rots here. A trip to the market is every day instead of every week or two. I purchased some potatoes and went on my way. There's dinner, at least. As I walked back home I caught myself thinking about the future, but not my future. I tried to place the year. Sometime in the 1960s? At least that would have a few more luxuries. I stopped. What made me do that? I haven't thought about the future for years. I looked around. Maybe I saw something? I fixated on a man sitting on a crate on the edge of the market he was packing something or another into sacks, working rhythmically to the tune he was humming. I knew it. I stood staring at him. "How do you know that song?" I called out. "What song? What I'm humming?" He replied. "Yes, I've heard it before. I know the words." "That doesn't seem likely. There aren't any words for it except the title-" "Penny lane." I said, cutting him off. "How do you know that?" He said "I've heard the song. How do you know it?" "Well its a family work song. My father, grandfather, great grandfather, they all hummed it while they worked, and unless you're from Liverpool too, there's no way you could have heard it. I'm first generation here in London. "I know that song." I said affirmatively. "I'm telling you unless you grew up on Penny Lane too, you couldn't have heard it." I thought to myself. I know that song. I know I do. This man is lying to me. He has to be a time traveler too. That's the only way he could have heard it. I'll get the truth out of him. "What's your name?" I demanded. He straightened up and looked me in the eyes. "My name is Joseph McCartney."	I hurriedly ran, desprately attempting to escape from my pursuers, in HOA one little mistake meant life imprisonment, imagine what destroying a time rift would do, and after building a machine to replicate it, they tried to silence me about the injustice in our world. I felt betrayed, tears started welling in my eyes but after some shouting from primitive guards and civilians I started thinking clearly again, but to my dismay I heard an ancient but familiar tune, I froze. It was him. A sudden explosion snapped me out of my trance. I ran faster than ever allowed in HOA. Until i felt my limbs begin to twitch, I grimaced. The elimination process had begun, soon I would be captured, no one had ever halted the process, but no one ever had a time machine either. I thought I would be able to make it, but boy was I wrong...
	[WP] Having developed time travel in secret, you find yourself stranded alone in the 1800s following your test jump. Walking amongst the crowds on the cobbles of Victorian London years later, you pass someone humming a Beatles song.	It was a Sunday and I always hated Sundays. I hated them more these days, or should I say those days, because I'd usually sit and binge watch some sci-fi show on Netflix with a beautiful Chai Latte ordered straight to my door from the Starbucks down the road. But in the 1800s, there was no Starbucks. I'd finally done it. Invented time travel. I was 1 out of 8 Billion people who knew that it was incredibly possible. But it was too bad that I was stranded in Victorian England. Being the first person to develop time travel wasn't as amazing as I thought it would be. It turns out, travelling through time is easy. Travelling back, well... that's a bit more complicated. I arrived here two weeks ago. I tried to go back, trust me, I really did, but as soon as I realised it was a success, I took the time to have a victory nap (three all nighters in row can do that to you) and when I woke up, the machine was damaged. Parts were missing and it looked like it had blown up. I did everything I could to fix it, but the parts I needed didn't even exist here and I didn't understand why it had malfunctioned. My adventure to 1800s London was unwillingly extended. I was walking along the streets now, wearing a gothic garment I had managed to find in the street. It was slightly tattered and dirty, but it was clean enough and considering the time period, I'm sure I fit in better than when I arrived here in my System of a Down tee and black skinny jeans. The jeans alone would have got me in trouble just for being a woman. There was piss and shit every step I walked. The streets were uncomfortably busy. Beggars poured out of every walk way and rich noblemen strut highly on their horses. I couldn't have felt more out of place if I tried. The only remnants I had from my 2010s life was my doc martins that hid underneath the long skirt of this tattered dress. The longer I stayed here, the more depressed I felt. All of my family and friends were probably so worried. I wonder if the police were looking for me? None of them had any idea I wasn't even in the same time as them anymore, let alone the same place. I could be standing in a spot the cops are looking for me right this second, but because I'm 200 years behind them, they'll never see me. I felt doomed. Hopeless and the more time went on, the more angry I felt. How could I have been so stupid? I was an engineer! I was a smart person, a rational person. How could I have so arrogantly trapped myself time surfing? I was careful not to mutter anything too loud. The streets were so packed. A few people had given me strange looks as I was passing as well. Attention was not what I wanted here. When I eventually get back to my time, at least my acceptance speech for the Nobel Prize will be excellent comedy material. I was looking for objects I could use for the time machine repairs. I had studied how different parts do different things and I was sure that even if I found the base ingredients, I would get myself out of here. I couldn't vote, I was jobless and I had no suitor. This time was not my time. I had already acquired some of the things I needed, but the more 'modern' stuff, I just couldn't find anywhere. As I turned down one of the bustling streets in to a wide lane, I heard something that totally broke my focus. I could hear someone humming. Normal I suppose, there wasn't a great deal to do in this time, humming was probably as commonplace as checking your phone. But something about the tune really startled me. I walked slowly towards the humming. There was a window at ground level that was open. There was no one actually in the lane with me, so the sound had to be coming from this building. I ducked down so I wouldn't be seen and carried on listening. I recognised this melody too well, but I couldn't put my finger on it. It was an eerie tune, but there was something about it that really reminded me of space and the heavens. "Aaaah- aaaaaaaaah" The voice continued to hum. That's when my brain finally clicked. Without even thinking, I started singing the words really quietly. "Because the world is round it turns me on...." My voice was nothing more than a whisper for the first few lines, but as the song continued, I was ready to make myself known to the person humming. "Love is old, love is new Love is all, love is you...." And then the humming stopped. There was a brief silence and then the sound of footsteps. "Whoever is outside my window, I suggest you show yourself right now or I'll blow a hole in the wall." Without even hesitating, I stood up and a man slightly older than myself stood on the other side of the window, a revolver in hand, pointing at me. I held my hands up and started stammering "I-I-I I'm not going to hurt you. I just have a question. I-I-I know this song really w-well, it's o-one of my fave..." He fired the revolver above my head and I screamed. "PLEASE DON'T KILL ME. I JUST RECOGNISED THE SONG." He walked over to me on the opposite side of the window. Completely silent. He looked me up and down and even poked his head out of the window to literally look me up and down from head to toe. When his eyes got to my feet, he started bellowing so loudly, instead of comforting me, it scared me. "You're a looooooong way from home Doc." He slapped his knee through his laughter. My face flushed red, slightly embarrassed. "H-how do you know that?!" I asked. "Well for a start, Doc was meant to be in pun to Docs on your feet. They don't even exist until after the second War. The World War. So let's cut to the chase little girl, how did you get here? To this time?" "I'm not a little girl." I muttered. The man laughed again. "Only little girls get stuck when time travelling. When it comes to this field, you are but a child, Otherwise, you wouldn't still be here would you? You wouldn't be stuck." "H-how do you know all th-" The man laughed again, all he seemed to do was make fun of me. "I-I created a device that allowed me to travel back, but its fried. Parts are gone. The things I need to fix it I cant find." I clenched my fist, feeling my own disappointment again. He stopped laughing by this point and his expression returned to serious. He lowered his gun finally and sighed. "I should have known really. Of course it was too good to be true." He said as he walked away from the window and in to another room. I stood awkwardly outside the window, unsure what to do. I just stared into the window and the space he once stood in. \click!\ Next to the window, a door unlocked and was opened and his head popped out from behind it. "Come in. We need to talk." I hesitated for a second, but entered regardless and he led me back into the room, this time I was on the other side of the window. He carried on walking through it into another room, but paused as we stood outside. "Before we go in here, I need you to understand that it wasn't anything personal. It was the first time I'd seen a TT machine in 6 years. I have been stuck here that long. I felt a glimmer of hope, but my judgement was clouded. I think fate brought us together and now I intend to honour that." I remained silent, mainly because I was confused by what he said. But 6 years stuck here? That's hard to hear from anyone. The door opened and I gasped. Inside, was a machine that looked almost identical to the one I had made. There were parts scattered all over the room, in fact, very certain parts... "MY PARTS!!!!?????!" I screamed. The guy looked to the floor in shame. "YOU STOLE MY PARTS WHILST I WAS [SLEEPING](https://www.reddit.com/user/phoenix-mitsuki)?"	I hurriedly ran, desprately attempting to escape from my pursuers, in HOA one little mistake meant life imprisonment, imagine what destroying a time rift would do, and after building a machine to replicate it, they tried to silence me about the injustice in our world. I felt betrayed, tears started welling in my eyes but after some shouting from primitive guards and civilians I started thinking clearly again, but to my dismay I heard an ancient but familiar tune, I froze. It was him. A sudden explosion snapped me out of my trance. I ran faster than ever allowed in HOA. Until i felt my limbs begin to twitch, I grimaced. The elimination process had begun, soon I would be captured, no one had ever halted the process, but no one ever had a time machine either. I thought I would be able to make it, but boy was I wrong...
	[WP] Having developed time travel in secret, you find yourself stranded alone in the 1800s following your test jump. Walking amongst the crowds on the cobbles of Victorian London years later, you pass someone humming a Beatles song.	I didn't even realize until after I started in, singing with the humming. "And make it be-e-etter, remember—" we both spun, stared at each other for a moment, looking into each other's eyes. Then he ran. I chased after, knowing he was my ticket out. I had built a time machine, but this little old man had too. Even if hadn't sorted out the kinks, he probably knew more than me. Plus, he was running away, which meant he knew I wanted something he had, that I didn't currently know about. I saw him struggling with something on his wrist, but tackled him, gracelessly, in to an alley. "Balls!" His shout echoed off the brick walls, frightening a few birds and rats. "I don't remember that. Balls, balls, bat and balls," he continued, checking his wrist. "Yes, absolutely busted. Balls!" Then, after a pause, once more for good measure, and right at me, splashing my face with flecks of spit, "BALLS!" It was here I caught on. He didn't "remember" it? I stared at him, working my own memory. His face had new scars, but I saw the two familiar ones, right on the bottom lip and just over the right eye. The eyes were milky, but they were about the same color. His hair was gray, and his body bent and twisted with age, but it was clear who he was,and I realized I needed to act fast. I grabbed him and activated the switch on my backpack, pulling us into a pocket dimension. It would still only release us into that same time, but at least no one could interrupt my work here. And considering the highly unethical things I planned to do, I didn't need any interruptions. There something I should tell you. I am not a monster. I don't condone torture, or violence in general. But there is one man I always planned to torture if I ever caught him. I'd do everything I could to wring every last morsel of information I could from him. I never actually thought I'd have the chance, but given it, now I could afford not to. I bound him, and kicked his leg to start things off. "You know who I am, what I am willing to do, yes?" "The king of Siam, here to kiss my feet. No, Cleopatra, ready to pack my lunch." I gave a kick to his gut. "Yes, I know you, kid. But you have to know, I can't afford to break. You do what you must, but I can't talk." "Have you ever created a paradox before?" "Who says I'm creating one now?" "You didn't remember the tackle I used to catch you. Something tells me you don't remember any of this either. So now I have to wonder why." He stayed silent and looked away. I picked up a syringe and injected him with a sort of truth serum, making him easier to break. A nice, custom made cocktail designed specifically for him. His knowledge, years of research, years I wouldn't have spend, now, spilled out over the next week, and was recorded for my later use and reference. Knowledge no one else would ever have, years earlier than even I should have had it. Getting my backpack time machine down to the size of a wrist watch was the least important thing I learned. And that was only the first time I caught my future self.	I hurriedly ran, desprately attempting to escape from my pursuers, in HOA one little mistake meant life imprisonment, imagine what destroying a time rift would do, and after building a machine to replicate it, they tried to silence me about the injustice in our world. I felt betrayed, tears started welling in my eyes but after some shouting from primitive guards and civilians I started thinking clearly again, but to my dismay I heard an ancient but familiar tune, I froze. It was him. A sudden explosion snapped me out of my trance. I ran faster than ever allowed in HOA. Until i felt my limbs begin to twitch, I grimaced. The elimination process had begun, soon I would be captured, no one had ever halted the process, but no one ever had a time machine either. I thought I would be able to make it, but boy was I wrong...
	[WP] Having developed time travel in secret, you find yourself stranded alone in the 1800s following your test jump. Walking amongst the crowds on the cobbles of Victorian London years later, you pass someone humming a Beatles song.	I decided to make myself known: "Love, love, love," I sung. The man looked at me, confused. "Love, love, love," I tried again. He continued to look confused. He must realise I'm also from the future, too. Surely. "Love, love, love," I continued. He looked uncomfortable and started to move away. In increasing desperation, I sang: "There's nothing you can do that can't be done." He began to run. Was he some sort of time criminal on the run from time police? But I couldn't think of what to do except sing: "Nothing you can sing that can't be sung." I grabbed his arm and sang in his face: "Nothing you can say..." He finally replied: "Désolé je ne parle pas Anglais."	I hurriedly ran, desprately attempting to escape from my pursuers, in HOA one little mistake meant life imprisonment, imagine what destroying a time rift would do, and after building a machine to replicate it, they tried to silence me about the injustice in our world. I felt betrayed, tears started welling in my eyes but after some shouting from primitive guards and civilians I started thinking clearly again, but to my dismay I heard an ancient but familiar tune, I froze. It was him. A sudden explosion snapped me out of my trance. I ran faster than ever allowed in HOA. Until i felt my limbs begin to twitch, I grimaced. The elimination process had begun, soon I would be captured, no one had ever halted the process, but no one ever had a time machine either. I thought I would be able to make it, but boy was I wrong...
	[WP] Having developed time travel in secret, you find yourself stranded alone in the 1800s following your test jump. Walking amongst the crowds on the cobbles of Victorian London years later, you pass someone humming a Beatles song.	I pull from the pocket of my waistcoat a roughly-sewn handkerchief to cover my nose. With every step the stench coming off the Thames becomes impossibly more putrid. At first I'd thought plumbing is what I'd missed most. I whiff a bit of oily perfume soaked into the cloth square - it's lavender, a natural antibacterial. I had packed a month's supply of benzethonium chloride in my bags. I used it in two weeks. But after all, the lavender smelled a lot better. No, I didn't miss the sterility as much as I'd first thought. At last the smell eased as my path took me farther from the sludgey waters. I still found myself looking up at the buildings and homes and clothing lines that clung to each other above my head. I had thought impossible was a word for the advanced, the revolutionary. But now, it meant to me strength with which these dubious structures stood - at zany angles and of unlikely materials. Impossible was not my jump to Victorian London, it was my bizarre and inexplicable liking for it. A hand clasps my shoulders, "William, my lad, are ya deaf?" I'm startled by my acquaintance. I suppose I did hear him calling, I just hadn't remembered my name. I'm still used to the name Lily. Even though I haven't heard anyone say it in three years. I was not a tall woman by my time's standards, but here I pass easily for a boyish man. "Well either way, you won't believe what've just done," Says Victor. I nod. I try not to talk much with anyone. Not because I don't sound like a man. Because I don't know what I'm talking about half the time. I think that's what I miss the most. Being able to be myself. "Well I was passin by High street, with my friend Thom, and - nearly got ran right over by the way, and we heard a man shout, 'dickens!' so I look over, and it's just the man you said-" "Dickens?" "Yes that's what the other man was calling him, so I went up to 'em, and was sayin how I had a friend liked his work, and was tellin'em all about- " "You talked to Charles Dickens ?" "Ya, I've already just said I did, keep up." "Alright, alright, all ears." I listen to his retelling as I look out at people passing, all pale, all fair. I try to see faces I knew in them. Someone in this world has to have a great great great grandchild I knew, don't they? I don't spot him at first, but I realize I'm hearing something odd. It feels like realizing I've been dreaming in another language - I hear a song. Not just any song, a modern song. Well, not modern, but not right for now. Right? There's a tall man meandering between people. He doesn't look odd with his tame brown hair and subdued eyes - but he's looking up at all the buildings and humming The Beatles. That's what it is. "Victor, I've got to go!" "But I was just gettin to the part about-" I dash off in the direction of the tall man. He's easy enough to follow as he's not moving quickly. I bump into several people as the crowds bustle and close in his wake, but finally, I close in on him. I put my hand to his chest, and say, "The Beatles. Drive My Car." He tilts his head. Up close, I can tell he doesn't belong. The teeth in his growing smile are too white and straight, his skin too smooth. His eyes gleam with health. "Ah, a fan I see." "A fan! Hah, a fan? In case you haven't noticed, I think you and I are the only two 'fans' around!" He laughs and inclines his head. "You're right." "How did you get here? How- I mean, what did you use?" He motions me to the side of the road, where we lean under a sturdy alcove. "Haven't you met another...traveler before?" I laugh. "No! Are you kidding me? I mean, I didn't know I wasn't the only one." "What? Who did you say you were?" I pause. "I didn't. I go by William here-" "No, come on, your real name." "-But my real name is Lily. Barlow." He throws his head back. "Ohh, now I know you're joking. Too obvious, come on. What a yank." "I'm not joking! What, why is that a joke?" He pauses, and crouches to stare at me. "No way." He continues to look at me. "...Oh. Oh god you're for real! Lily Barlow, I mean...you started it all. You were the first. Your machine is the reason I'm even here. Well not that machine exactly. But others. We have you to thank, er, Dr. Barlow." I struggle for words for a long time. "When. When are you from?" "Twenty-one Fifty-one. I think that makes it about forty years since you...disappeared. This is crazy. This is so unlikely that I'd stumble right into your timeline" I smile. "It's impossible." He grins. "Listen, I can get you back. We can go right now if you want. But I will be honest I was sort of hoping I could see this place a bit more." I consider a moment. "I'll show you around." I take the square from my coat pocket. "Here, you'll need this."	I hurriedly ran, desprately attempting to escape from my pursuers, in HOA one little mistake meant life imprisonment, imagine what destroying a time rift would do, and after building a machine to replicate it, they tried to silence me about the injustice in our world. I felt betrayed, tears started welling in my eyes but after some shouting from primitive guards and civilians I started thinking clearly again, but to my dismay I heard an ancient but familiar tune, I froze. It was him. A sudden explosion snapped me out of my trance. I ran faster than ever allowed in HOA. Until i felt my limbs begin to twitch, I grimaced. The elimination process had begun, soon I would be captured, no one had ever halted the process, but no one ever had a time machine either. I thought I would be able to make it, but boy was I wrong...
	[WP] Having developed time travel in secret, you find yourself stranded alone in the 1800s following your test jump. Walking amongst the crowds on the cobbles of Victorian London years later, you pass someone humming a Beatles song.	I decided to make myself known: "Love, love, love," I sung. The man looked at me, confused. "Love, love, love," I tried again. He continued to look confused. He must realise I'm also from the future, too. Surely. "Love, love, love," I continued. He looked uncomfortable and started to move away. In increasing desperation, I sang: "There's nothing you can do that can't be done." He began to run. Was he some sort of time criminal on the run from time police? But I couldn't think of what to do except sing: "Nothing you can sing that can't be sung." I grabbed his arm and sang in his face: "Nothing you can say..." He finally replied: "Désolé je ne parle pas Anglais."	I didn't even realize until after I started in, singing with the humming. "And make it be-e-etter, remember—" we both spun, stared at each other for a moment, looking into each other's eyes. Then he ran. I chased after, knowing he was my ticket out. I had built a time machine, but this little old man had too. Even if hadn't sorted out the kinks, he probably knew more than me. Plus, he was running away, which meant he knew I wanted something he had, that I didn't currently know about. I saw him struggling with something on his wrist, but tackled him, gracelessly, in to an alley. "Balls!" His shout echoed off the brick walls, frightening a few birds and rats. "I don't remember that. Balls, balls, bat and balls," he continued, checking his wrist. "Yes, absolutely busted. Balls!" Then, after a pause, once more for good measure, and right at me, splashing my face with flecks of spit, "BALLS!" It was here I caught on. He didn't "remember" it? I stared at him, working my own memory. His face had new scars, but I saw the two familiar ones, right on the bottom lip and just over the right eye. The eyes were milky, but they were about the same color. His hair was gray, and his body bent and twisted with age, but it was clear who he was,and I realized I needed to act fast. I grabbed him and activated the switch on my backpack, pulling us into a pocket dimension. It would still only release us into that same time, but at least no one could interrupt my work here. And considering the highly unethical things I planned to do, I didn't need any interruptions. There something I should tell you. I am not a monster. I don't condone torture, or violence in general. But there is one man I always planned to torture if I ever caught him. I'd do everything I could to wring every last morsel of information I could from him. I never actually thought I'd have the chance, but given it, now I could afford not to. I bound him, and kicked his leg to start things off. "You know who I am, what I am willing to do, yes?" "The king of Siam, here to kiss my feet. No, Cleopatra, ready to pack my lunch." I gave a kick to his gut. "Yes, I know you, kid. But you have to know, I can't afford to break. You do what you must, but I can't talk." "Have you ever created a paradox before?" "Who says I'm creating one now?" "You didn't remember the tackle I used to catch you. Something tells me you don't remember any of this either. So now I have to wonder why." He stayed silent and looked away. I picked up a syringe and injected him with a sort of truth serum, making him easier to break. A nice, custom made cocktail designed specifically for him. His knowledge, years of research, years I wouldn't have spend, now, spilled out over the next week, and was recorded for my later use and reference. Knowledge no one else would ever have, years earlier than even I should have had it. Getting my backpack time machine down to the size of a wrist watch was the least important thing I learned. And that was only the first time I caught my future self.
	[WP] One day you are in a pool and dive under. When you come back up, you are in an ocean in a different part of the world. Every time you dive under water and come back up, you are in a different body of water, anywhere in the world.	“Alright son, you’ve got one more chance. Explain slowly, and start from the beginning.” I knew this was going to be an awkward conversation. Explaining to the officer what had happened was going to be completely out of the question. Same as it was with his partner an hour ago. That’s my super power? Really? He’d never go for it. And at that, the moment I try to prove it, I’m gone anyways. How else do I explain a California drivers license and selfies at a hotel time stamped two hours ago to a cop in Vermont? Even worse, how do I explain that I really did just appear in the poor man’s bathtub?	“Wow....” Jeremy had said. Shocked he looked around and saw giant green trees all around him lined with vines and animals. “Wha-“ but before he had time to think he was already on the move, his body floating towards the end of a waterfall. Terrified he started to thrash his arms in every direction possible but to no avail. Finally he stopped and ducked his head under the water. When Jeremy came back up everything had changed, it was sunny and the water was now a deep blue. “Is this the ocean?” He thought. Everything was so beautiful it was astonishing. Jeremy the had an idea, he proceeded to duck his head under the water over an over again. He flew all over the world from ponds to lakes to pools to rivers to oceans everywhere. He was astonished about his newfound power. Never before had he done anything this noteworthy. Sure there was he time that he almost got hit by a car or when he gave Stephen Curry a high five but never something like this. However there was one problem.... “How am I going to get home?” Jeremy said aloud. His happiness turned to fear quickly as he realized his current situation. He ducked and ducked and ducked and ducked under the water over and over again but to no avail. He didn’t recognize any of the places that he saw. “It’s hopeless!” he screamed, angrily at the world. But his words had been lost in the endless ocean. He started to cry then and there. Scared and alone he didn’t know what to do. He then proceeded to duck his head one last time before giving up. Suddenly his eyes stung and he jumped out of he water and onto the concrete. His Mom looked at him shocked, “Jeremy I didn’t know you could hold your breath for that long!”
	[WP] While mysterious unsolved deaths are not unheard of, they are usually thought of as isolated events. However, a new advancement in neuroscience has yielded the ability to read the last few seconds of someone's internal monologue in plain text. A pattern is emerging.	In my experience, a real unsolved death is a unicorn; mostly they're just deaths the surviving family won't accept. A 3-year-old dies at a Christmas party because the family forgot to watch her closely. A successful husband commits suicide. Heck, someone even dies because they ate some bad tuna. There are many reasons to be in denial about the cause of death of a loved one. But there aren't many cases in which we can't know the true cause of death if we have a body. When we don't have a body, they are mostly missing persons cases. We assume they are dead, because of the harsh world we live in. Ironically, in these cases, reality is more acceptable to the survivors. Funny that we'd rather a loved one be officially dead than suffer some embarrassing end. However, case 4239 was one of those extremely rare cases. I opened it up and immediately knew it would be. Three strangers with no real connections (two of them shared a common 7th cousin twice removed) dying in the middle of the ocean...within a 2 mile radius of each other. They weren't even all fisherman. Joshua Wilkes had gone out to meditate, because he died slumped over a journal in which he was recording his mid-life crisis. Mike Snowden was deep-sea fishing when he died, and Jake Black's body was found at the bottom of ocean with an hour left in the scuba tank, so he didn't die of anything oxygen related. Not even the bends. None of them showed signs of struggle. On the contrary, they showed signs of complete comfort. Almost as if they hit a button and just turned off, rather than died. The STE (self-talk extraction) created more questions than answers. And besides the relative closeness in geography, was the only other tie these three had. They all said the same thing, at almost exactly the same time, just before they died: "I'm saved." I ruled out religious connotations when I found the fisherman had formerly been a seminary graduate but then asked to be excommunicated from the church when the scandals of child abuse came out. He hadn't stepped into a chapel since, and he had quit saying prayers years ago, according to his live-in girlfriend. My retired partner said when I told him about the case, "When you're young, you believe in things you can't see, probably because you can't see much at all. Then you see quite a bit and by the time you're an adult, you stop believing in the unseen." He scratched his chin and put his cup of coffee down on the ring stained table in his living room. Then he continued. "As I get older, I start to feel things that I can't see, no matter how hard I try an' look," he said. "Are you saying you believe in magic?" I mocked him. It almost felt like old times again. Except he didn't laugh. Instead, he looked me in the eyes and said, "I guess you just gotta be there to understand it. You'll get there, detective." There it was. The oft repeated line he told me as a "trainee". "You'll get there detective." For now, I needed to get back out on the water. See if I could find anymore clues at the common point of the radius. Besides, there's just something about floating that calms my nerves. I hadn't been out in the water more than an hour before a fishing boat came up on the scene. "Hey there," said the man. He was strikingly handsome. Something about him didn't sit well with me. Maybe it was because he didn't have the leathery skin of a fisherman, and yet the boat seemed to have spent many years on the water. "What are you doing out here?" I asked, coming off gruff on purpose. This was a crime scene after all. Or it used to be. "My instrumentation's all screwed up. I was wondering if you could point me to harbor," he replied. A fisherman would know how to navigate without instruments. This guy was a fraud. Perhaps a stolen boat. Maybe a person of interest in this very case. Either way, he was either a really stupid criminal or he was playing dumb because he'd know I was a detective and would understand a fisherman's training. So I pointed him the wrong way. "It's that way. Just be careful because the waves are getting a little choppy." He paused. "Thank you. I'm saved." He turned to go back into the standing shelter. I called to him. "Hey, you know what? I'm about to head in, why don't I follow you so I can honk at you if you start going the wrong way?" He poked his head back out. "Why don't you just go on ahead and I'll follow you? That way we don't have any corrections to make," he said. He called my bluff. Who knew what he'd do if he was behind me? Plus, I couldn't head a different way than I just told him. I'm not a gambling man, but I had to call or fold. "Good idea. I'll start since I'm pointed the right way now. You go ahead and turn around and catch up," I said. It was beginning to get dark. We had been cruising for 45 minutes now and the harbor, nor the coast, wasn't any closer. Yet the man hadn't shown any signs of alarm or desire to change course. I began to feel something I had never felt before, like the whole ocean was conspiring against me and had laid this trap. The fisherman wasn't the fisherman at all, he was the bait. I remembered what my old partner had said about feeling things you can't see. I had to act fast. I sped the boat up and looked in the rear view mirror. The man sped up as well. I swear the boat was going faster than I had ever felt it. Almost like it was slipping along the surface of the water, rather than pushing through literal tons of it. And that's when I noticed it in front of me. It was dark now, but still unmistakeable. The water was sucking my boat in toward a gaping hole in the middle of the pacific ocean, probably 50 yards in diameter. It was odd because there was no sound of crashing water below the hole, which told me that it went on for a very, very long time. I swear I saw a faint red glow from the hole, but I didn't spend any time staring into it. I gripped the wheel and pulled right as hard as I could. The boat was designed for ocean chases, so it was fast and very responsive. It turned quickly and smoothly and I still barely managed to dodge the rim of the hole. I pulled away and could here the engines scream in pain as they fought the pull of the hole. I watched the fisherman go toward the hole as if he didn't even see it. I shouted and reached for him instinctively, even though he was at least 70 yards from me now. "Look out!" I yelled. He turned to me and I saw the red glow from the hole reflecting upon his eyes. He smiled and waved goodbye. And then his boat vanished into the hole. I couldn't help but feel terror at his calmness. Still, no time for feelings. I had to do everything I could to fight the pull of the water. I tried micro tacking, a maneuver for upstream kayaking, but that didn't work. The boat could hold me in place, but that was it. I was stuck. If I let off the gas, I'd fly down into the hole. Just as I was about to plead for the mercy of whatever diety might be above, a light appeared on the water 100 yards ahead coming from a yacht. The captain shouted, "Hold on! I've got a tow for ya!" "Thank you! Thank you so much!!" He tossed something overboard and it motored its way over to me. It was a tow hook at the end of heavy cable line. I put the boat on auto pilot and worked my way toward the bow and attached the tow to the hitch. Then I slinked my way back into the standing shelter and gave the thumbs up. "Okay!" I shouted. The man returned the thumbs up and went back inside the pilothouse. I felt a slight tug and my boat began to move away from the hole. And before I could catch the words leaving my mouth, I said, "I'm saved." [continued]	"Is Neuro-drive charged and set?" I call through the small mic on my lapel as I work with my team to secure the body on the table. I place a small head gear on the corpse and await a response. "Neuro-drive ready..." The sound comes over the tanoy in the room. I nod to no one in particular but make a short signal to the team. "Gear is secured. Exiting room now." I call back in response. I walk back to the viewing room overlooking the operating theatre. It hadn't been renamed to what it currently does at the moment, but everyone in the building knew this was the Mind room, ever since it was great leaps in science were taken and people's last internal thoughts could be extracted. We were the first station to test it out and probably going to be the last. The public release has been delayed for the moment because of this. "Locating memory banks 1 through 10. Secured and diving now." Sundra called from the desk. I cross my arms and stand next to the Detective Hanson. I was desperately hoping that whatever it is we had found was simply an aberration. Maybe it is something that we all consider when we die. Maybe it's what we see at the end. I bite my lip and wait for the audio feedback and the audio-to-text translation to show on the large monitor in front of us. >...Initialising... >I guess I'm all alone for real this time. Still can't believe she left me. Bitch. Ah well. I guess I have the wine to myself and Georgie. As long as she doesn't pee all over the place. I will probably need to buy some dog food tomorrow. Was that...? That was a noise. It better not be her again... > >...Wait... > >What is that? Wait... Wait... Are those... eyes? > >...Transmission lost... "Similar to all the other cases, by my reckoning..." Sundra says after a few minutes and it's only then I am aware that I've been holding my breath. I don't say anything. I turn to face the detective who seems to be scribbling something into his notepad. This body is the fifth body we have checked today and they all keep mentioning seeing eyes. "It still doesn't tell us much..." The man says, his deep voice sounding troubled. "What could they be seeing at their last moments?" Sundra asks tentively. She looks visibly shaken. "I don't know. Whatever it is, it killed them. This bodies have been dead for years now. I say we wait till the next unnatural death and move with that. That's the only sensible thing at this point." I say with some confidence. I am spooked but I don't feel to admit it in front of my colleague and the detective. I am choosing to hold strong to the belief that it probably was just a weird thing back in the past. "That is fair. I will go back and report this and see what happens from there." The detective says and begins to exit the room. "I'll speak to the higher ups and delay the release a bit further until we have something a bit more concrete." I tell him as he exits and he only nods before the door closes. I really do hope this is not an actual issue. --- /r/EvenAsIWrite for more stories.
	[WP] Instead of having a guardian angel, you have a guardian Demon. His methods are often much more violent. But much more straightforward.	I light my cigarette, shakingly. I put away the lighter as I take a light glimpse over to my ever so "helpful" demon that fills my ears everyday. "Do this" he says, "do that" he says. The wild rustling of trash bags could be heard blocks away. Yet there he is... shoving a corpse into dumpster like a kid trying to fit a triangular piece into a rectangular hole. It's unnerving to watch. "You done?", I ask. "If you're doing something, you might as well do it right", he says. The limbs of the corpse wiggle around as he tries to push it in like some dancing inflatable guy at a garage. It's disgusting. I finish my cigarette prematurely as I walk over to him. "What an amateur!", I think to myself. Thats when I realized something. Shit. Lunch break is already over. And in 10 minutes I have a video call with the guys from Japan. "Just take the trash bags out first, dummy!" I yell at him. Sometimes I'd rather just be dead to put up with this. And I'm saying this at 30 years old. Can't even imagine the shenanigans he'll be up to once I'm in a retirement home. In one push the corpse suddenly disappears under a pile of garbage. He smiles at me. "I love how we're always there for each other" he remarks. "You killed a guy. Again." "Eh no. I saved you!" "You pushed him out on the street so he would push me away and be the one getting hit by that car!" You'd think there is nothing more annoying than children. Then you've never seen adults acting like children. "...I had to improvise!" he says with a shrug. I wipe my hands on his arms to get rid of the blood. At least I can do that without getting a slap to the face. Better get going now. I fumble in my pocket to get cigarettes and the lighter. That sweet smoke should keep me distracted for a while. As I walk away I turn myself towards him, raising my arms. "It's a damn shame I can't push you in front of a car!" "It's a damn shame I can't save you from lung cancer!" What a dumbass.	This is just my luck instead of a guardian angel I have a giant psychopath looking out for me. Well I guess she isn’t a complete psychopath because she seems to care about me. I never thought this would be my life. It all started that one day 8 years ago when I was standing in the snow. I had a terrible life to say the least. My parents split up. I was living with my mom who cares more about her vices then me, and my Dad was focused on his new family and didn’t want me around. I was fooling around doing nothing when Abby appeared. She was the same age I was but seemed older at the same time. She had no worries like I did. She was a rock. Well this and that happened and Abby seemed like she was getting stranger each day. “You have to let me in.” What did that even mean? But if I didn’t let her in she got very sick. I didn’t understand any of it until that one night. These guys were always bullying me. One day the head of these jackasses threatened to throw me under the ice so I hit him with a hockey stick and busted that fuckers nose. But then he called his asshole older brother. They grabbed me and told me I had to hold my breath underwater for 3 minutes in the high school pool. Then it happened. Abby showed who she really was. A demon with the strength of 100 men with a thirst for murder and blood. She ripped them to pieces, I was shocked. I can’t say I was sad to see them go but the brutality of it scares me to this day. I am now 20 years old and in college, but she is always there with me. She still looks the same. She tells me “I can’t change who I am but know that I will care for you always.” I don’t know what to do. I can’t date anyone because I don’t know how she will react, but I can’t let her go. In my own way I love her even though it’s impossible. She doesn’t understand love she says. It’s not in her nature. She cares for me but I don’t think she loves me. It would also look very strange a 20 year old college guy dating a 12 year old. I think I may have to let her go but I don’t know how she will react to it. “As long as you let me in I will be there for you.” She has but it’s been exhausting. One time I burned my had on a stove at a restaurant job I had. The next day the place was burned down. One time a 5 star athlete (who was a real ladies man) plowed into my car and totalled it. The next day he brings me the keys to his challenger scared for his life. Last I heard he transferred to a division 2 school where he became a gay cheerleader (again I can’t say I was sorry to see that because it made me laugh a bit.) Another time and another time happened after that. I need to let her go, but I don’t know how. And part of me can’t because she has always been there for me.
	[WP] Instead of having a guardian angel, you have a guardian Demon. His methods are often much more violent. But much more straightforward.	I practically threw my wallet at the gang member. I pulled off my watch and handed him my smart phone too. I was scared. Not of the gun he held or the other five gang members surrounding me with knives drawn. "You have my money," I said quickly, looking around, "Now go. Please! The code to unlock my phone is 3891. My bank card pin is the same." "What the fuck," one of the gang members behind me said, "You think we playing?" I felt the blade of a knife poke me in the side hard enough to slightly penetrate the skin. "Please," I dropped to my knees and begged, "You need to leave. Now. I can feel him coming." "Dude's crazy," the gang member with the gun said, a weird look in his eyes, "You on drugs, man? Where the fuck are they!" Then there was the smell of sulfur and I began crying, "You idiots. You stupid, stupid idiots." "I'm gonna shoot the fucker," he announced to his fellow gang members, "Put the asshole out of his mi..." Then suddenly he was gone. The other five members of the gang stepped back away from me in horror. The being that had dragged him skyward now stood silhouetted against the full moon, bat wings spread. The gang leaders screams seemed far away then got closer and closer and a second later ended as his head shattered on the pavement, covering me in viscera. I gagged. "In trouble again," the gravelly voice said as he landed beside me, "Good thing I felt your fear." He turned to the gang members and his split red lips curled into a jagged toothed smile. "Run you idiots!" I stood up and yelled at them but they were frozen in shock. Dazrael's claw ripped the knife from the gang member who had just poked me, shoving it into his eye socket, ripping it free as the member collapsed and handed it to me, "Here pup, join me." "Never," I said and his smile turned into a frown. Dazrael was so angered by my resistance that he grabbed a gang member and used his screaming form as a bludgeon to beat the other two members to death. I had angered him so he was more brutal than usual. I threw up in a nearby gutter. "Go away," I gagged through the acid stinging my throat. I could feel him glowering down at me, "Leave me alone. Why do you do this?" "You know why," Dazrael's voice was softer than usual, "I loved your mother and so I love you. You hold such promise. The blood of a Prince of Hell flows through your veins. Embrace it." "No father," I said, stood and walked away into the night, "No."	This is just my luck instead of a guardian angel I have a giant psychopath looking out for me. Well I guess she isn’t a complete psychopath because she seems to care about me. I never thought this would be my life. It all started that one day 8 years ago when I was standing in the snow. I had a terrible life to say the least. My parents split up. I was living with my mom who cares more about her vices then me, and my Dad was focused on his new family and didn’t want me around. I was fooling around doing nothing when Abby appeared. She was the same age I was but seemed older at the same time. She had no worries like I did. She was a rock. Well this and that happened and Abby seemed like she was getting stranger each day. “You have to let me in.” What did that even mean? But if I didn’t let her in she got very sick. I didn’t understand any of it until that one night. These guys were always bullying me. One day the head of these jackasses threatened to throw me under the ice so I hit him with a hockey stick and busted that fuckers nose. But then he called his asshole older brother. They grabbed me and told me I had to hold my breath underwater for 3 minutes in the high school pool. Then it happened. Abby showed who she really was. A demon with the strength of 100 men with a thirst for murder and blood. She ripped them to pieces, I was shocked. I can’t say I was sad to see them go but the brutality of it scares me to this day. I am now 20 years old and in college, but she is always there with me. She still looks the same. She tells me “I can’t change who I am but know that I will care for you always.” I don’t know what to do. I can’t date anyone because I don’t know how she will react, but I can’t let her go. In my own way I love her even though it’s impossible. She doesn’t understand love she says. It’s not in her nature. She cares for me but I don’t think she loves me. It would also look very strange a 20 year old college guy dating a 12 year old. I think I may have to let her go but I don’t know how she will react to it. “As long as you let me in I will be there for you.” She has but it’s been exhausting. One time I burned my had on a stove at a restaurant job I had. The next day the place was burned down. One time a 5 star athlete (who was a real ladies man) plowed into my car and totalled it. The next day he brings me the keys to his challenger scared for his life. Last I heard he transferred to a division 2 school where he became a gay cheerleader (again I can’t say I was sorry to see that because it made me laugh a bit.) Another time and another time happened after that. I need to let her go, but I don’t know how. And part of me can’t because she has always been there for me.
	[WP] Instead of having a guardian angel, you have a guardian Demon. His methods are often much more violent. But much more straightforward.	When the devil himself appears before you and tells you you're going to protect some random human from all harm. You do it. It's the devil, you don't say no to him. So a trip up to the human world. The last time I was up here... well that's a story for another time. I began to search for the human. That's the thing about hell, if you get out, you're never where you need to be. Hell sent me to a Sabaton concert. Okay, I dig their tunes. Walking around as a demon would ~~attrack~~ attract too much attention. I changed. We can do that. The boss doesn't like it. Something about messing with his brand. I don't know. I'm not demon of the year or anything like that. Now that I look human, it's time to find Jordan Tate. Sweet the ~~hit~~ hot chick from Under Siege. I was wrong. This Jordan Tate was very much male. I found him a dealership getting his car fixed. They told him it was take all day. Jordan turned and left the dealership. They waited for him to leave ~~befoee~~ before laughing like hyenas. Well, the devil said protect him. He wasn't clear on what, just if anything sets him off, it would be bad. It was sort of the world ending bad. I changed into a more sympathetic looking human, the one from those car rental ads. "Hi. The devil sent me to collect your souls." I said. They laughed. Light began to shine from my hand as the room became darker until the only light was coming from my fist. "What do you want?" One asked. "How about you fix that guy's car right now." I said. "Yeah, yeah, just don't take my soul." &#x200B; continuation... &#x200B; The guys fixed the car. They were done in an hour and called Jordan to let him know his car was done. He happily picked up his car and drove away after paying. I waited near by. They would be closing soon. “Night Hank see you tomorrow.” One said to the other. I appeared behind him. He turned around only to run into my chest. I was still in my human form. “You said you weren’t going to take my soul.” “Well.” I started as I shed my human look and returned to a more hellish appearance, red skin, thorns, hulkingly strong body, you know, a demon. “I lied.” I continued as a circle of fire ringed us. “You lied?” He said in disbelief. “Yeah, I’m a demon. It’s what I do. That and macrame.” I said. “Macrame? I’m going to die from a demon that enjoys macrame?” “Relax.” I started as fire erupted from my hand, “This will only hurt for the rest of your life.” I do love the cheesy villain lines.As my burning hand got close to his chest, “Skip, what are you doing?” I looked over to see an old acquaintance. “Uh, getting my pound of flesh Dmitry. How’s life in that other place?” “Oh, you know, cotton candy clouds, light, airy atmosphere. But right now I’ve got a bureaucratic archangel on my ass about some demon on earth trying to snuff out one of the good ones.” “Good?” I questioned. “He works for a dealership.” “Yes Skip, but that doesn’t make him evil… so he’s covered by the treaty. You’re going to have to let him go.” “Dmitry. Evil is evil, he’s mine, piss off.” “Fine Skip, have it your way, but I have to inform Gabriel.” F\*ck, I thought. The last time we tangled, humans called it the dark ages. Sometimes its nice that humans can’t understand high languages. \[Fine. But I’m going to screw with his mind a little.\] I spoke to Dmitry. \[If you make it quick.\] He replied. I plunged my burning fingers into his chest. He screamed in agony as he passed out. “So… what do you have in mind?” Dmitry wanted to know. “He’ll wake up in bed thinking he’s just had a bad acid trip flashback. Are you happy?” “Except he’s never done acid.” Dmitry said “Details, details.” &#x200B; continues... “What’s your interest in this human?” Dmitry asked. I gave him the short version. “So where’s your guy to watch him?” “Don’t know.” “Maybe you should find out.” I told him. Dmitry never likes being told what to do. And being a button pusher, I pushed his. I found Jordan at a bar. This alone improved my view of him. Looking like a car salesman at this kind of bar would attract too much attention. So I changed again.I walked in looking like a hot biker chick, studded leather and the whole 9 yards. I walked right up to him and said “You look like my kind of man.” “Hello.” Jordan managed to say. “Poindexter right. Let’s go back to your place.” I said in the most sultriest of tones. A rough looking biker, not the sort to come to this bar, broke a beer bottle. That got everyone’s attention.“ Why don’t you get the car started?” I suggested. “But he-” “I’m a big girl.” I told him and off he went. Humans, a whiff of sex… \[What are you doing here?\] I said to him. \[Just making it a challenge for you.\] He said with a sly grin. - Bar fights have a few parts to them. Speed is most important, but not more than focus on any cutting edge or fists. Knees don’t really play much into a fight. And when you can move faster than humans… it’s not really much of a fight. As you can imagine, many people took the opportunity to leave before being in the fight. [Why as a biker?] I asked him. [A couple of people, there time is up.] [Isn’t that Azrael’s job?] again I asked. [Did you miss that snarling war?] He lunged with the broken bottle and I dodged and the broken end went into one guy trying to get away from us. [Hey.] I snapped at him. [If he doesn’t die here, it’s on the road killing a good number of teenagers in a bus] [Anyone else?] [Well there’s the dude that almost out of here.] He replied. I think I knew who he was talking about [Monkey Flip into him.] [And through the plate glass window. I like it.] Jordan watched as a man came through the window, land on the sidewalk and not move. Now that all that was done. “Say good night Gracie.” I said before delivering the one-two knock out. [You hit like a girl.] He said without moving. [Prick.] I said before marching out the door. I got into Jordan’s car. “Drive.” “But the cops.” “It’s not time to stick around.” He was convinced to go. continues... … We headed back to his place. I asked to swing by the hardware store. Jordan seemed hesitant, but acquiesced. A playful grin from a hot woman, he has some life lessons to learn. I picked up rope. Lots and lots of rope. … In the wee hours back at his place... “So...” Jordan began looking at all the ropes. “I have unique tastes.” I told him with a playful smile shedding some of my clothes. “Uh huh.” Jordan. “I like to be in charge and on top.” I told him.Jordan let me tie him up in. Then I took a seat opposite him. “Well, we need to talk.” I started and transformed into my normal human look. “You’re a changeling.” “No, I’m a demon.” I explained as I changed into my hellish form. “So sex is out.” Jordan “I can be either gender as a demon. But no, demons don’t have sex organs.” “SO...”Jordan couldn’t choke out the question. “Am I smooth like Ken and Barbie down there, yup. Demon, we torment humans, not please them.” “But there are stories about demons seducing humans.” Jordan. “That’s succubus and incubus. They aren’t demons. They are a completely different thing.” “It would be helpful if there was a manual about this.” Jordan lamented. “It’s called the Bible.” I said. “Well, it was in it, until that last big change oh about twelve hundred years ago.” “So the devil charged me with protecting you.” “Isn’t that an angel’s job?” “Yes. I’ve asked someone to look into that.”And then Dmitry appeared. “Skip.” He said as he headed to the fridge. “Wait. You’re name is Skip?” Jordan stated with the laughter bubbling up. And that’s when I went full hell demon mode. Big wings, setting his place on fire. “Skip!” Dmitry shouted. “Killjoy.” I uttered. The fire disappeared. Dmitry returned with a beer. “You drink?” He questioned with a furrowed brow. “Yeah, when we’re down here.” Dmitry stated as he took a seat on the couch. “So there’s no beer in heaven?” Jordan asked. “Nope.” “That sucks.” Jordan stated. “We’ve put it in the suggestion box, but no one is going to take it to the all mighty.” Dmitry answered. “Nice rope work.” “Thanks. I really appreciate that.” Continued… “It reminds me of Shibari.” Dmitry commented on my handy work. “That’s my cousin.” I replied. “Wait. You have cousins?” Jordan questioned. “It’s ah… complicated.” I said. I really didn’t have time for a long discussion on demons lore and truth.“Look. Just stay within treaty and you’ll have no problems.” Dmitry said. “And are you going to tell us about where your guardian angel is?” I asked. “Well… you see, there’s an issue there.” Dmitry started. “It appears he was assigned an angel at birth.” “Great. Who’s the asshole on your team that I need to plant my size ten in?” “Azrael.” “The ninth archangel.” “Yup.” Dmitry said in between swigs. “The one who serves death itself.” “Uh-huh.” Dmitry again downed another portion of beer. Burped, “So, I figured I wouldn’t bother the much busy angel and keep an eye on you myself.” “You just want to get drunk.” I said calling him out. “Well… there is that. But some angel has to keep an eye on you.” “Azrael is an archangel.” Jordan said in disbelief. Dmitry and I spoke at the same time, “Bible.” “That was odd.” Dmitry uttered. “Yeah, let’s not do that again.” I said.“So… you’re going to protect him so I can go back to tormenting humans?” “No. I’m only here because you are.” Dmitry said. “So the minute I’m gone, he’s without protection.” “’Fraid so.” Dmitry said. “I’m kinda hoping that you stick around.” “Back to the drinking thing again.” I said. Dmitry turned to Jordan, “Any chance I can get you to go to Amsterdam?” “Why?” Jordan asked. “Because they have over 600 kinds of beer there.” I said. “Need a passport?” Dmitry asked. “Are you going to enable him?” I asked Jordan. “Sadist.” Dmitry snarked back “It’s kind of the job I was created for.” I answered back. …. Amsterdam.	This is just my luck instead of a guardian angel I have a giant psychopath looking out for me. Well I guess she isn’t a complete psychopath because she seems to care about me. I never thought this would be my life. It all started that one day 8 years ago when I was standing in the snow. I had a terrible life to say the least. My parents split up. I was living with my mom who cares more about her vices then me, and my Dad was focused on his new family and didn’t want me around. I was fooling around doing nothing when Abby appeared. She was the same age I was but seemed older at the same time. She had no worries like I did. She was a rock. Well this and that happened and Abby seemed like she was getting stranger each day. “You have to let me in.” What did that even mean? But if I didn’t let her in she got very sick. I didn’t understand any of it until that one night. These guys were always bullying me. One day the head of these jackasses threatened to throw me under the ice so I hit him with a hockey stick and busted that fuckers nose. But then he called his asshole older brother. They grabbed me and told me I had to hold my breath underwater for 3 minutes in the high school pool. Then it happened. Abby showed who she really was. A demon with the strength of 100 men with a thirst for murder and blood. She ripped them to pieces, I was shocked. I can’t say I was sad to see them go but the brutality of it scares me to this day. I am now 20 years old and in college, but she is always there with me. She still looks the same. She tells me “I can’t change who I am but know that I will care for you always.” I don’t know what to do. I can’t date anyone because I don’t know how she will react, but I can’t let her go. In my own way I love her even though it’s impossible. She doesn’t understand love she says. It’s not in her nature. She cares for me but I don’t think she loves me. It would also look very strange a 20 year old college guy dating a 12 year old. I think I may have to let her go but I don’t know how she will react to it. “As long as you let me in I will be there for you.” She has but it’s been exhausting. One time I burned my had on a stove at a restaurant job I had. The next day the place was burned down. One time a 5 star athlete (who was a real ladies man) plowed into my car and totalled it. The next day he brings me the keys to his challenger scared for his life. Last I heard he transferred to a division 2 school where he became a gay cheerleader (again I can’t say I was sorry to see that because it made me laugh a bit.) Another time and another time happened after that. I need to let her go, but I don’t know how. And part of me can’t because she has always been there for me.
	[WP] Instead of having a guardian angel, you have a guardian Demon. His methods are often much more violent. But much more straightforward.	The courtroom was tense. An erie miasma seemed to be blanketing the room, although I was the only one that could see it. The judge started. "Seeing how this was a grave and therefore a grusome and heinous crime, but given your guilty plea, 30 years minimum, to be reprimanded at the Glavine Federal Correction institute. His gavel splintered into pieces as he pounded it into his bench. "Shit." I thought. "Please don't, not here" I whispered to myself. The miasma swirled around me, and that familiar seductive female voice whispered in my ear. "Don't worry honey, I'm with you til the end." "God please kill me." I thought. 1 year later I hadn't seen the dark miasma nor heard the voice for one full year. Prison wasn't as bad as people speculated. Upon my arrival no other inmate came close to me. In fact everyone stayed as far away from me as they could. 5'5", scrawny, sickly looking white kid. I was 17 when the trial started, old enough to be tried as an adult. I figured the world was a safer place with me locked up. No death penalty in this state. Apparently we had some new arrivals that day. It was dinner time at this point. I ate in solitude and silence everyday. I had a penpal I wrote to outside of prison. She was apart of one of those outreach programs for inmates. I relished the letters I got from her. She was a foreign college student, her name was Xi. She was studying to be a veternarian and I was working on what religious studies I could, trying to find some answers on what entered my life over a year ago, that led to so many grusome deaths, which landed me here. We get herded back to our prison cells, which I housed to myself, and upon arriving to my cell a package awaited me on my cot. It was from Xi. The contents of the envelope were a book. Paranormal & Demonlogy Studies. By Dr. Herchel Mizer. His picture on the back was of a elderly grayed man. European. I dove into my book and slowly fell asleep reading. The next day I awoke, book on the ground, I guessed it fell during the night. It was opened to a page. It read, Protective Spirits These spirits are attached to a unique individuals soul that watch over and guide the living. These spirits are known to keep people and possibly their loved ones out of trouble, clearing away harmful opposition for their masters. I skimmed through some more... There have been some cases of a spirit being attached to an individuals soul through ancient blood magic. Spirits that are attached to certain family names and its members. A ritual is performed and a family spirit is attached to one individuals soul from a family, but one is almost never exposed to harmful effects from the spirit itself, however consequences in the material world were inconcequnetial to the spirit itself. They have one job, protect its master from harm. A cold shudder phased through my body and a single thought entered my mind. "I performed no ritual" I thought outloud. It was time for breakfast and I exited the cell, shaking from confusement. Breakfast came and went and I proceeded to my daily job of packaging liscense plates in unaddressed envelopes to be shipped. I itched with anticipation to get back to my reading and writing another thank you letter to Xi. The door to my work area opened and a burly who had to be over 6' man entered. "So you're Farrel?" as the manly voice approached. "I'm supposed to be your new assistant, I'm Whitaker, Harvey Whitaker." "Assistant?", I gulped, my adolesent voice shrieked. "Um, okay, all we do is put the plates from production in envelopes, and then put them in the bin here." "We take the label off the plate and put it on the envelope too. Thats it. Simple enough, right?" a small smile appeared on my face but I was white as a ghost from confusion. No one ever assisted me I thought. In a cold and empty voice Harvey said, "Simple like chopping up my niece." My jaw drops. Harvey reaches out and begins choking me. "Harvey" , I gasped, "don't-do-this" choking between words. I begin to black out, but before I do, I see that familiar mist rise up from the earth and hear that same twisted laughter and black out. * I come to. I try to stand but slip. My vision blurry, I realize what happened, the same thing that happened to those muggers, that night... more than two years ago. Harvey's now a wall decoration and I am covered with blood. His intestines thrown up like party banners flairing where the walls meet the cieling of the room. His head perched on a liscence plate that was embedded into a wall, below the head his torso was also embedded and impaled with liscence plates and hung to the drywall. Arms and legs no longer attached to the midsection but also decorating the wall beneath and around the torso area respectively. I get light headed from the grusome scene, and I hear that voice once more, she lets out a sigh as if she had orgasmed moments before. "Ahhh, its been so long since someone tried to harm you. Thought this room could use a little more art. It defintely pops now." she giggled. "You were gone!" I screamed. "Not again." I blubbered. Without thinking I try to slice open my neck with the edge of a liscensecplate, but it won't budge. Rising up from the miasma, I a figure takes form, and the room suddenly stinks of sulfur. A naked woman covered in blood emerges from the dark mist her hand staying mine. She has glowing dark red eyes. Black hair, a brownish rustlike skin and reeks of the dead. "Oh no my love, I can't even allow you to harm yourself. That wouldn't be fun at all." her voice and face pouting. I feel the pulse of shock course through my body. "I-I" I stammer as I lose control of my breath witnessing the sadistic being in front of me. "This prison's getting boring my dear, its time for a new venue!" her hand carressing over my face. She winks at me and says, "Time for a breakout!" I black out. * Feedback welcome. Just a amateur practicing more writing.	This is just my luck instead of a guardian angel I have a giant psychopath looking out for me. Well I guess she isn’t a complete psychopath because she seems to care about me. I never thought this would be my life. It all started that one day 8 years ago when I was standing in the snow. I had a terrible life to say the least. My parents split up. I was living with my mom who cares more about her vices then me, and my Dad was focused on his new family and didn’t want me around. I was fooling around doing nothing when Abby appeared. She was the same age I was but seemed older at the same time. She had no worries like I did. She was a rock. Well this and that happened and Abby seemed like she was getting stranger each day. “You have to let me in.” What did that even mean? But if I didn’t let her in she got very sick. I didn’t understand any of it until that one night. These guys were always bullying me. One day the head of these jackasses threatened to throw me under the ice so I hit him with a hockey stick and busted that fuckers nose. But then he called his asshole older brother. They grabbed me and told me I had to hold my breath underwater for 3 minutes in the high school pool. Then it happened. Abby showed who she really was. A demon with the strength of 100 men with a thirst for murder and blood. She ripped them to pieces, I was shocked. I can’t say I was sad to see them go but the brutality of it scares me to this day. I am now 20 years old and in college, but she is always there with me. She still looks the same. She tells me “I can’t change who I am but know that I will care for you always.” I don’t know what to do. I can’t date anyone because I don’t know how she will react, but I can’t let her go. In my own way I love her even though it’s impossible. She doesn’t understand love she says. It’s not in her nature. She cares for me but I don’t think she loves me. It would also look very strange a 20 year old college guy dating a 12 year old. I think I may have to let her go but I don’t know how she will react to it. “As long as you let me in I will be there for you.” She has but it’s been exhausting. One time I burned my had on a stove at a restaurant job I had. The next day the place was burned down. One time a 5 star athlete (who was a real ladies man) plowed into my car and totalled it. The next day he brings me the keys to his challenger scared for his life. Last I heard he transferred to a division 2 school where he became a gay cheerleader (again I can’t say I was sorry to see that because it made me laugh a bit.) Another time and another time happened after that. I need to let her go, but I don’t know how. And part of me can’t because she has always been there for me.
	[WP] Instead of having a guardian angel, you have a guardian Demon. His methods are often much more violent. But much more straightforward.	I practically threw my wallet at the gang member. I pulled off my watch and handed him my smart phone too. I was scared. Not of the gun he held or the other five gang members surrounding me with knives drawn. "You have my money," I said quickly, looking around, "Now go. Please! The code to unlock my phone is 3891. My bank card pin is the same." "What the fuck," one of the gang members behind me said, "You think we playing?" I felt the blade of a knife poke me in the side hard enough to slightly penetrate the skin. "Please," I dropped to my knees and begged, "You need to leave. Now. I can feel him coming." "Dude's crazy," the gang member with the gun said, a weird look in his eyes, "You on drugs, man? Where the fuck are they!" Then there was the smell of sulfur and I began crying, "You idiots. You stupid, stupid idiots." "I'm gonna shoot the fucker," he announced to his fellow gang members, "Put the asshole out of his mi..." Then suddenly he was gone. The other five members of the gang stepped back away from me in horror. The being that had dragged him skyward now stood silhouetted against the full moon, bat wings spread. The gang leaders screams seemed far away then got closer and closer and a second later ended as his head shattered on the pavement, covering me in viscera. I gagged. "In trouble again," the gravelly voice said as he landed beside me, "Good thing I felt your fear." He turned to the gang members and his split red lips curled into a jagged toothed smile. "Run you idiots!" I stood up and yelled at them but they were frozen in shock. Dazrael's claw ripped the knife from the gang member who had just poked me, shoving it into his eye socket, ripping it free as the member collapsed and handed it to me, "Here pup, join me." "Never," I said and his smile turned into a frown. Dazrael was so angered by my resistance that he grabbed a gang member and used his screaming form as a bludgeon to beat the other two members to death. I had angered him so he was more brutal than usual. I threw up in a nearby gutter. "Go away," I gagged through the acid stinging my throat. I could feel him glowering down at me, "Leave me alone. Why do you do this?" "You know why," Dazrael's voice was softer than usual, "I loved your mother and so I love you. You hold such promise. The blood of a Prince of Hell flows through your veins. Embrace it." "No father," I said, stood and walked away into the night, "No."	I light my cigarette, shakingly. I put away the lighter as I take a light glimpse over to my ever so "helpful" demon that fills my ears everyday. "Do this" he says, "do that" he says. The wild rustling of trash bags could be heard blocks away. Yet there he is... shoving a corpse into dumpster like a kid trying to fit a triangular piece into a rectangular hole. It's unnerving to watch. "You done?", I ask. "If you're doing something, you might as well do it right", he says. The limbs of the corpse wiggle around as he tries to push it in like some dancing inflatable guy at a garage. It's disgusting. I finish my cigarette prematurely as I walk over to him. "What an amateur!", I think to myself. Thats when I realized something. Shit. Lunch break is already over. And in 10 minutes I have a video call with the guys from Japan. "Just take the trash bags out first, dummy!" I yell at him. Sometimes I'd rather just be dead to put up with this. And I'm saying this at 30 years old. Can't even imagine the shenanigans he'll be up to once I'm in a retirement home. In one push the corpse suddenly disappears under a pile of garbage. He smiles at me. "I love how we're always there for each other" he remarks. "You killed a guy. Again." "Eh no. I saved you!" "You pushed him out on the street so he would push me away and be the one getting hit by that car!" You'd think there is nothing more annoying than children. Then you've never seen adults acting like children. "...I had to improvise!" he says with a shrug. I wipe my hands on his arms to get rid of the blood. At least I can do that without getting a slap to the face. Better get going now. I fumble in my pocket to get cigarettes and the lighter. That sweet smoke should keep me distracted for a while. As I walk away I turn myself towards him, raising my arms. "It's a damn shame I can't push you in front of a car!" "It's a damn shame I can't save you from lung cancer!" What a dumbass.
	[WP] Instead of having a guardian angel, you have a guardian Demon. His methods are often much more violent. But much more straightforward.	When the devil himself appears before you and tells you you're going to protect some random human from all harm. You do it. It's the devil, you don't say no to him. So a trip up to the human world. The last time I was up here... well that's a story for another time. I began to search for the human. That's the thing about hell, if you get out, you're never where you need to be. Hell sent me to a Sabaton concert. Okay, I dig their tunes. Walking around as a demon would ~~attrack~~ attract too much attention. I changed. We can do that. The boss doesn't like it. Something about messing with his brand. I don't know. I'm not demon of the year or anything like that. Now that I look human, it's time to find Jordan Tate. Sweet the ~~hit~~ hot chick from Under Siege. I was wrong. This Jordan Tate was very much male. I found him a dealership getting his car fixed. They told him it was take all day. Jordan turned and left the dealership. They waited for him to leave ~~befoee~~ before laughing like hyenas. Well, the devil said protect him. He wasn't clear on what, just if anything sets him off, it would be bad. It was sort of the world ending bad. I changed into a more sympathetic looking human, the one from those car rental ads. "Hi. The devil sent me to collect your souls." I said. They laughed. Light began to shine from my hand as the room became darker until the only light was coming from my fist. "What do you want?" One asked. "How about you fix that guy's car right now." I said. "Yeah, yeah, just don't take my soul." &#x200B; continuation... &#x200B; The guys fixed the car. They were done in an hour and called Jordan to let him know his car was done. He happily picked up his car and drove away after paying. I waited near by. They would be closing soon. “Night Hank see you tomorrow.” One said to the other. I appeared behind him. He turned around only to run into my chest. I was still in my human form. “You said you weren’t going to take my soul.” “Well.” I started as I shed my human look and returned to a more hellish appearance, red skin, thorns, hulkingly strong body, you know, a demon. “I lied.” I continued as a circle of fire ringed us. “You lied?” He said in disbelief. “Yeah, I’m a demon. It’s what I do. That and macrame.” I said. “Macrame? I’m going to die from a demon that enjoys macrame?” “Relax.” I started as fire erupted from my hand, “This will only hurt for the rest of your life.” I do love the cheesy villain lines.As my burning hand got close to his chest, “Skip, what are you doing?” I looked over to see an old acquaintance. “Uh, getting my pound of flesh Dmitry. How’s life in that other place?” “Oh, you know, cotton candy clouds, light, airy atmosphere. But right now I’ve got a bureaucratic archangel on my ass about some demon on earth trying to snuff out one of the good ones.” “Good?” I questioned. “He works for a dealership.” “Yes Skip, but that doesn’t make him evil… so he’s covered by the treaty. You’re going to have to let him go.” “Dmitry. Evil is evil, he’s mine, piss off.” “Fine Skip, have it your way, but I have to inform Gabriel.” F\*ck, I thought. The last time we tangled, humans called it the dark ages. Sometimes its nice that humans can’t understand high languages. \[Fine. But I’m going to screw with his mind a little.\] I spoke to Dmitry. \[If you make it quick.\] He replied. I plunged my burning fingers into his chest. He screamed in agony as he passed out. “So… what do you have in mind?” Dmitry wanted to know. “He’ll wake up in bed thinking he’s just had a bad acid trip flashback. Are you happy?” “Except he’s never done acid.” Dmitry said “Details, details.” &#x200B; continues... “What’s your interest in this human?” Dmitry asked. I gave him the short version. “So where’s your guy to watch him?” “Don’t know.” “Maybe you should find out.” I told him. Dmitry never likes being told what to do. And being a button pusher, I pushed his. I found Jordan at a bar. This alone improved my view of him. Looking like a car salesman at this kind of bar would attract too much attention. So I changed again.I walked in looking like a hot biker chick, studded leather and the whole 9 yards. I walked right up to him and said “You look like my kind of man.” “Hello.” Jordan managed to say. “Poindexter right. Let’s go back to your place.” I said in the most sultriest of tones. A rough looking biker, not the sort to come to this bar, broke a beer bottle. That got everyone’s attention.“ Why don’t you get the car started?” I suggested. “But he-” “I’m a big girl.” I told him and off he went. Humans, a whiff of sex… \[What are you doing here?\] I said to him. \[Just making it a challenge for you.\] He said with a sly grin. - Bar fights have a few parts to them. Speed is most important, but not more than focus on any cutting edge or fists. Knees don’t really play much into a fight. And when you can move faster than humans… it’s not really much of a fight. As you can imagine, many people took the opportunity to leave before being in the fight. [Why as a biker?] I asked him. [A couple of people, there time is up.] [Isn’t that Azrael’s job?] again I asked. [Did you miss that snarling war?] He lunged with the broken bottle and I dodged and the broken end went into one guy trying to get away from us. [Hey.] I snapped at him. [If he doesn’t die here, it’s on the road killing a good number of teenagers in a bus] [Anyone else?] [Well there’s the dude that almost out of here.] He replied. I think I knew who he was talking about [Monkey Flip into him.] [And through the plate glass window. I like it.] Jordan watched as a man came through the window, land on the sidewalk and not move. Now that all that was done. “Say good night Gracie.” I said before delivering the one-two knock out. [You hit like a girl.] He said without moving. [Prick.] I said before marching out the door. I got into Jordan’s car. “Drive.” “But the cops.” “It’s not time to stick around.” He was convinced to go. continues... … We headed back to his place. I asked to swing by the hardware store. Jordan seemed hesitant, but acquiesced. A playful grin from a hot woman, he has some life lessons to learn. I picked up rope. Lots and lots of rope. … In the wee hours back at his place... “So...” Jordan began looking at all the ropes. “I have unique tastes.” I told him with a playful smile shedding some of my clothes. “Uh huh.” Jordan. “I like to be in charge and on top.” I told him.Jordan let me tie him up in. Then I took a seat opposite him. “Well, we need to talk.” I started and transformed into my normal human look. “You’re a changeling.” “No, I’m a demon.” I explained as I changed into my hellish form. “So sex is out.” Jordan “I can be either gender as a demon. But no, demons don’t have sex organs.” “SO...”Jordan couldn’t choke out the question. “Am I smooth like Ken and Barbie down there, yup. Demon, we torment humans, not please them.” “But there are stories about demons seducing humans.” Jordan. “That’s succubus and incubus. They aren’t demons. They are a completely different thing.” “It would be helpful if there was a manual about this.” Jordan lamented. “It’s called the Bible.” I said. “Well, it was in it, until that last big change oh about twelve hundred years ago.” “So the devil charged me with protecting you.” “Isn’t that an angel’s job?” “Yes. I’ve asked someone to look into that.”And then Dmitry appeared. “Skip.” He said as he headed to the fridge. “Wait. You’re name is Skip?” Jordan stated with the laughter bubbling up. And that’s when I went full hell demon mode. Big wings, setting his place on fire. “Skip!” Dmitry shouted. “Killjoy.” I uttered. The fire disappeared. Dmitry returned with a beer. “You drink?” He questioned with a furrowed brow. “Yeah, when we’re down here.” Dmitry stated as he took a seat on the couch. “So there’s no beer in heaven?” Jordan asked. “Nope.” “That sucks.” Jordan stated. “We’ve put it in the suggestion box, but no one is going to take it to the all mighty.” Dmitry answered. “Nice rope work.” “Thanks. I really appreciate that.” Continued… “It reminds me of Shibari.” Dmitry commented on my handy work. “That’s my cousin.” I replied. “Wait. You have cousins?” Jordan questioned. “It’s ah… complicated.” I said. I really didn’t have time for a long discussion on demons lore and truth.“Look. Just stay within treaty and you’ll have no problems.” Dmitry said. “And are you going to tell us about where your guardian angel is?” I asked. “Well… you see, there’s an issue there.” Dmitry started. “It appears he was assigned an angel at birth.” “Great. Who’s the asshole on your team that I need to plant my size ten in?” “Azrael.” “The ninth archangel.” “Yup.” Dmitry said in between swigs. “The one who serves death itself.” “Uh-huh.” Dmitry again downed another portion of beer. Burped, “So, I figured I wouldn’t bother the much busy angel and keep an eye on you myself.” “You just want to get drunk.” I said calling him out. “Well… there is that. But some angel has to keep an eye on you.” “Azrael is an archangel.” Jordan said in disbelief. Dmitry and I spoke at the same time, “Bible.” “That was odd.” Dmitry uttered. “Yeah, let’s not do that again.” I said.“So… you’re going to protect him so I can go back to tormenting humans?” “No. I’m only here because you are.” Dmitry said. “So the minute I’m gone, he’s without protection.” “’Fraid so.” Dmitry said. “I’m kinda hoping that you stick around.” “Back to the drinking thing again.” I said. Dmitry turned to Jordan, “Any chance I can get you to go to Amsterdam?” “Why?” Jordan asked. “Because they have over 600 kinds of beer there.” I said. “Need a passport?” Dmitry asked. “Are you going to enable him?” I asked Jordan. “Sadist.” Dmitry snarked back “It’s kind of the job I was created for.” I answered back. …. Amsterdam.	The company dinner had just ended, but the party had just started. As was the custom in restaurants like these, the jugs of Tiger Beer appeared out of nowhere, and glasses that used to contain Coca-Cola were filled with the golden nectar. "Intern only right? Never mind, drink glass can already," my colleagues said, callously reducing their dare for our latest member. "Ah, you! Employees must drink more! Take the whole damn jug!" But I couldn't do it. I needed to go back to work the next day, while they didn't need to. The guardian angel would have told me to politely refuse, or even escape the premises subtly. But tonight, I didn't feel like caving in. The guardian demon rose right out of my chest, where I had been keeping him for a while. He hungers for a more violent means to the same end. I took the jug, and drank. Glug, glug, glug. The beer kept going down. I smash the jug on the table, eyeball the huge crowd of employees that had gathered, and ask for more. In shock and awe, they hand me another. It goes down too. This repeats - minus smashing the fragile glass jugs - until my colleagues are truly scared that I'll die of alcohol poisoning and they'll have to call an ambulance. I look at the table while keeping the demon back in that dark corner of my heart where he belongs. Fourteen jugs? That's a new company record. I know that outside office hours, my colleagues are a bunch of hard drinkers, and there's no saying no. I also have a guardian demon with straightforward and violent methods. Instead of shying away, I rose to their challenge and beat them, asserting my status as a better drinker than them. Let's just hope that new intern can find a better method.
	[WP] Instead of having a guardian angel, you have a guardian Demon. His methods are often much more violent. But much more straightforward.	The courtroom was tense. An erie miasma seemed to be blanketing the room, although I was the only one that could see it. The judge started. "Seeing how this was a grave and therefore a grusome and heinous crime, but given your guilty plea, 30 years minimum, to be reprimanded at the Glavine Federal Correction institute. His gavel splintered into pieces as he pounded it into his bench. "Shit." I thought. "Please don't, not here" I whispered to myself. The miasma swirled around me, and that familiar seductive female voice whispered in my ear. "Don't worry honey, I'm with you til the end." "God please kill me." I thought. 1 year later I hadn't seen the dark miasma nor heard the voice for one full year. Prison wasn't as bad as people speculated. Upon my arrival no other inmate came close to me. In fact everyone stayed as far away from me as they could. 5'5", scrawny, sickly looking white kid. I was 17 when the trial started, old enough to be tried as an adult. I figured the world was a safer place with me locked up. No death penalty in this state. Apparently we had some new arrivals that day. It was dinner time at this point. I ate in solitude and silence everyday. I had a penpal I wrote to outside of prison. She was apart of one of those outreach programs for inmates. I relished the letters I got from her. She was a foreign college student, her name was Xi. She was studying to be a veternarian and I was working on what religious studies I could, trying to find some answers on what entered my life over a year ago, that led to so many grusome deaths, which landed me here. We get herded back to our prison cells, which I housed to myself, and upon arriving to my cell a package awaited me on my cot. It was from Xi. The contents of the envelope were a book. Paranormal & Demonlogy Studies. By Dr. Herchel Mizer. His picture on the back was of a elderly grayed man. European. I dove into my book and slowly fell asleep reading. The next day I awoke, book on the ground, I guessed it fell during the night. It was opened to a page. It read, Protective Spirits These spirits are attached to a unique individuals soul that watch over and guide the living. These spirits are known to keep people and possibly their loved ones out of trouble, clearing away harmful opposition for their masters. I skimmed through some more... There have been some cases of a spirit being attached to an individuals soul through ancient blood magic. Spirits that are attached to certain family names and its members. A ritual is performed and a family spirit is attached to one individuals soul from a family, but one is almost never exposed to harmful effects from the spirit itself, however consequences in the material world were inconcequnetial to the spirit itself. They have one job, protect its master from harm. A cold shudder phased through my body and a single thought entered my mind. "I performed no ritual" I thought outloud. It was time for breakfast and I exited the cell, shaking from confusement. Breakfast came and went and I proceeded to my daily job of packaging liscense plates in unaddressed envelopes to be shipped. I itched with anticipation to get back to my reading and writing another thank you letter to Xi. The door to my work area opened and a burly who had to be over 6' man entered. "So you're Farrel?" as the manly voice approached. "I'm supposed to be your new assistant, I'm Whitaker, Harvey Whitaker." "Assistant?", I gulped, my adolesent voice shrieked. "Um, okay, all we do is put the plates from production in envelopes, and then put them in the bin here." "We take the label off the plate and put it on the envelope too. Thats it. Simple enough, right?" a small smile appeared on my face but I was white as a ghost from confusion. No one ever assisted me I thought. In a cold and empty voice Harvey said, "Simple like chopping up my niece." My jaw drops. Harvey reaches out and begins choking me. "Harvey" , I gasped, "don't-do-this" choking between words. I begin to black out, but before I do, I see that familiar mist rise up from the earth and hear that same twisted laughter and black out. * I come to. I try to stand but slip. My vision blurry, I realize what happened, the same thing that happened to those muggers, that night... more than two years ago. Harvey's now a wall decoration and I am covered with blood. His intestines thrown up like party banners flairing where the walls meet the cieling of the room. His head perched on a liscence plate that was embedded into a wall, below the head his torso was also embedded and impaled with liscence plates and hung to the drywall. Arms and legs no longer attached to the midsection but also decorating the wall beneath and around the torso area respectively. I get light headed from the grusome scene, and I hear that voice once more, she lets out a sigh as if she had orgasmed moments before. "Ahhh, its been so long since someone tried to harm you. Thought this room could use a little more art. It defintely pops now." she giggled. "You were gone!" I screamed. "Not again." I blubbered. Without thinking I try to slice open my neck with the edge of a liscensecplate, but it won't budge. Rising up from the miasma, I a figure takes form, and the room suddenly stinks of sulfur. A naked woman covered in blood emerges from the dark mist her hand staying mine. She has glowing dark red eyes. Black hair, a brownish rustlike skin and reeks of the dead. "Oh no my love, I can't even allow you to harm yourself. That wouldn't be fun at all." her voice and face pouting. I feel the pulse of shock course through my body. "I-I" I stammer as I lose control of my breath witnessing the sadistic being in front of me. "This prison's getting boring my dear, its time for a new venue!" her hand carressing over my face. She winks at me and says, "Time for a breakout!" I black out. * Feedback welcome. Just a amateur practicing more writing.	The company dinner had just ended, but the party had just started. As was the custom in restaurants like these, the jugs of Tiger Beer appeared out of nowhere, and glasses that used to contain Coca-Cola were filled with the golden nectar. "Intern only right? Never mind, drink glass can already," my colleagues said, callously reducing their dare for our latest member. "Ah, you! Employees must drink more! Take the whole damn jug!" But I couldn't do it. I needed to go back to work the next day, while they didn't need to. The guardian angel would have told me to politely refuse, or even escape the premises subtly. But tonight, I didn't feel like caving in. The guardian demon rose right out of my chest, where I had been keeping him for a while. He hungers for a more violent means to the same end. I took the jug, and drank. Glug, glug, glug. The beer kept going down. I smash the jug on the table, eyeball the huge crowd of employees that had gathered, and ask for more. In shock and awe, they hand me another. It goes down too. This repeats - minus smashing the fragile glass jugs - until my colleagues are truly scared that I'll die of alcohol poisoning and they'll have to call an ambulance. I look at the table while keeping the demon back in that dark corner of my heart where he belongs. Fourteen jugs? That's a new company record. I know that outside office hours, my colleagues are a bunch of hard drinkers, and there's no saying no. I also have a guardian demon with straightforward and violent methods. Instead of shying away, I rose to their challenge and beat them, asserting my status as a better drinker than them. Let's just hope that new intern can find a better method.
	[WP] Instead of having a guardian angel, you have a guardian Demon. His methods are often much more violent. But much more straightforward.	The courtroom was tense. An erie miasma seemed to be blanketing the room, although I was the only one that could see it. The judge started. "Seeing how this was a grave and therefore a grusome and heinous crime, but given your guilty plea, 30 years minimum, to be reprimanded at the Glavine Federal Correction institute. His gavel splintered into pieces as he pounded it into his bench. "Shit." I thought. "Please don't, not here" I whispered to myself. The miasma swirled around me, and that familiar seductive female voice whispered in my ear. "Don't worry honey, I'm with you til the end." "God please kill me." I thought. 1 year later I hadn't seen the dark miasma nor heard the voice for one full year. Prison wasn't as bad as people speculated. Upon my arrival no other inmate came close to me. In fact everyone stayed as far away from me as they could. 5'5", scrawny, sickly looking white kid. I was 17 when the trial started, old enough to be tried as an adult. I figured the world was a safer place with me locked up. No death penalty in this state. Apparently we had some new arrivals that day. It was dinner time at this point. I ate in solitude and silence everyday. I had a penpal I wrote to outside of prison. She was apart of one of those outreach programs for inmates. I relished the letters I got from her. She was a foreign college student, her name was Xi. She was studying to be a veternarian and I was working on what religious studies I could, trying to find some answers on what entered my life over a year ago, that led to so many grusome deaths, which landed me here. We get herded back to our prison cells, which I housed to myself, and upon arriving to my cell a package awaited me on my cot. It was from Xi. The contents of the envelope were a book. Paranormal & Demonlogy Studies. By Dr. Herchel Mizer. His picture on the back was of a elderly grayed man. European. I dove into my book and slowly fell asleep reading. The next day I awoke, book on the ground, I guessed it fell during the night. It was opened to a page. It read, Protective Spirits These spirits are attached to a unique individuals soul that watch over and guide the living. These spirits are known to keep people and possibly their loved ones out of trouble, clearing away harmful opposition for their masters. I skimmed through some more... There have been some cases of a spirit being attached to an individuals soul through ancient blood magic. Spirits that are attached to certain family names and its members. A ritual is performed and a family spirit is attached to one individuals soul from a family, but one is almost never exposed to harmful effects from the spirit itself, however consequences in the material world were inconcequnetial to the spirit itself. They have one job, protect its master from harm. A cold shudder phased through my body and a single thought entered my mind. "I performed no ritual" I thought outloud. It was time for breakfast and I exited the cell, shaking from confusement. Breakfast came and went and I proceeded to my daily job of packaging liscense plates in unaddressed envelopes to be shipped. I itched with anticipation to get back to my reading and writing another thank you letter to Xi. The door to my work area opened and a burly who had to be over 6' man entered. "So you're Farrel?" as the manly voice approached. "I'm supposed to be your new assistant, I'm Whitaker, Harvey Whitaker." "Assistant?", I gulped, my adolesent voice shrieked. "Um, okay, all we do is put the plates from production in envelopes, and then put them in the bin here." "We take the label off the plate and put it on the envelope too. Thats it. Simple enough, right?" a small smile appeared on my face but I was white as a ghost from confusion. No one ever assisted me I thought. In a cold and empty voice Harvey said, "Simple like chopping up my niece." My jaw drops. Harvey reaches out and begins choking me. "Harvey" , I gasped, "don't-do-this" choking between words. I begin to black out, but before I do, I see that familiar mist rise up from the earth and hear that same twisted laughter and black out. * I come to. I try to stand but slip. My vision blurry, I realize what happened, the same thing that happened to those muggers, that night... more than two years ago. Harvey's now a wall decoration and I am covered with blood. His intestines thrown up like party banners flairing where the walls meet the cieling of the room. His head perched on a liscence plate that was embedded into a wall, below the head his torso was also embedded and impaled with liscence plates and hung to the drywall. Arms and legs no longer attached to the midsection but also decorating the wall beneath and around the torso area respectively. I get light headed from the grusome scene, and I hear that voice once more, she lets out a sigh as if she had orgasmed moments before. "Ahhh, its been so long since someone tried to harm you. Thought this room could use a little more art. It defintely pops now." she giggled. "You were gone!" I screamed. "Not again." I blubbered. Without thinking I try to slice open my neck with the edge of a liscensecplate, but it won't budge. Rising up from the miasma, I a figure takes form, and the room suddenly stinks of sulfur. A naked woman covered in blood emerges from the dark mist her hand staying mine. She has glowing dark red eyes. Black hair, a brownish rustlike skin and reeks of the dead. "Oh no my love, I can't even allow you to harm yourself. That wouldn't be fun at all." her voice and face pouting. I feel the pulse of shock course through my body. "I-I" I stammer as I lose control of my breath witnessing the sadistic being in front of me. "This prison's getting boring my dear, its time for a new venue!" her hand carressing over my face. She winks at me and says, "Time for a breakout!" I black out. * Feedback welcome. Just a amateur practicing more writing.	When the devil himself appears before you and tells you you're going to protect some random human from all harm. You do it. It's the devil, you don't say no to him. So a trip up to the human world. The last time I was up here... well that's a story for another time. I began to search for the human. That's the thing about hell, if you get out, you're never where you need to be. Hell sent me to a Sabaton concert. Okay, I dig their tunes. Walking around as a demon would ~~attrack~~ attract too much attention. I changed. We can do that. The boss doesn't like it. Something about messing with his brand. I don't know. I'm not demon of the year or anything like that. Now that I look human, it's time to find Jordan Tate. Sweet the ~~hit~~ hot chick from Under Siege. I was wrong. This Jordan Tate was very much male. I found him a dealership getting his car fixed. They told him it was take all day. Jordan turned and left the dealership. They waited for him to leave ~~befoee~~ before laughing like hyenas. Well, the devil said protect him. He wasn't clear on what, just if anything sets him off, it would be bad. It was sort of the world ending bad. I changed into a more sympathetic looking human, the one from those car rental ads. "Hi. The devil sent me to collect your souls." I said. They laughed. Light began to shine from my hand as the room became darker until the only light was coming from my fist. "What do you want?" One asked. "How about you fix that guy's car right now." I said. "Yeah, yeah, just don't take my soul." &#x200B; continuation... &#x200B; The guys fixed the car. They were done in an hour and called Jordan to let him know his car was done. He happily picked up his car and drove away after paying. I waited near by. They would be closing soon. “Night Hank see you tomorrow.” One said to the other. I appeared behind him. He turned around only to run into my chest. I was still in my human form. “You said you weren’t going to take my soul.” “Well.” I started as I shed my human look and returned to a more hellish appearance, red skin, thorns, hulkingly strong body, you know, a demon. “I lied.” I continued as a circle of fire ringed us. “You lied?” He said in disbelief. “Yeah, I’m a demon. It’s what I do. That and macrame.” I said. “Macrame? I’m going to die from a demon that enjoys macrame?” “Relax.” I started as fire erupted from my hand, “This will only hurt for the rest of your life.” I do love the cheesy villain lines.As my burning hand got close to his chest, “Skip, what are you doing?” I looked over to see an old acquaintance. “Uh, getting my pound of flesh Dmitry. How’s life in that other place?” “Oh, you know, cotton candy clouds, light, airy atmosphere. But right now I’ve got a bureaucratic archangel on my ass about some demon on earth trying to snuff out one of the good ones.” “Good?” I questioned. “He works for a dealership.” “Yes Skip, but that doesn’t make him evil… so he’s covered by the treaty. You’re going to have to let him go.” “Dmitry. Evil is evil, he’s mine, piss off.” “Fine Skip, have it your way, but I have to inform Gabriel.” F\*ck, I thought. The last time we tangled, humans called it the dark ages. Sometimes its nice that humans can’t understand high languages. \[Fine. But I’m going to screw with his mind a little.\] I spoke to Dmitry. \[If you make it quick.\] He replied. I plunged my burning fingers into his chest. He screamed in agony as he passed out. “So… what do you have in mind?” Dmitry wanted to know. “He’ll wake up in bed thinking he’s just had a bad acid trip flashback. Are you happy?” “Except he’s never done acid.” Dmitry said “Details, details.” &#x200B; continues... “What’s your interest in this human?” Dmitry asked. I gave him the short version. “So where’s your guy to watch him?” “Don’t know.” “Maybe you should find out.” I told him. Dmitry never likes being told what to do. And being a button pusher, I pushed his. I found Jordan at a bar. This alone improved my view of him. Looking like a car salesman at this kind of bar would attract too much attention. So I changed again.I walked in looking like a hot biker chick, studded leather and the whole 9 yards. I walked right up to him and said “You look like my kind of man.” “Hello.” Jordan managed to say. “Poindexter right. Let’s go back to your place.” I said in the most sultriest of tones. A rough looking biker, not the sort to come to this bar, broke a beer bottle. That got everyone’s attention.“ Why don’t you get the car started?” I suggested. “But he-” “I’m a big girl.” I told him and off he went. Humans, a whiff of sex… \[What are you doing here?\] I said to him. \[Just making it a challenge for you.\] He said with a sly grin. - Bar fights have a few parts to them. Speed is most important, but not more than focus on any cutting edge or fists. Knees don’t really play much into a fight. And when you can move faster than humans… it’s not really much of a fight. As you can imagine, many people took the opportunity to leave before being in the fight. [Why as a biker?] I asked him. [A couple of people, there time is up.] [Isn’t that Azrael’s job?] again I asked. [Did you miss that snarling war?] He lunged with the broken bottle and I dodged and the broken end went into one guy trying to get away from us. [Hey.] I snapped at him. [If he doesn’t die here, it’s on the road killing a good number of teenagers in a bus] [Anyone else?] [Well there’s the dude that almost out of here.] He replied. I think I knew who he was talking about [Monkey Flip into him.] [And through the plate glass window. I like it.] Jordan watched as a man came through the window, land on the sidewalk and not move. Now that all that was done. “Say good night Gracie.” I said before delivering the one-two knock out. [You hit like a girl.] He said without moving. [Prick.] I said before marching out the door. I got into Jordan’s car. “Drive.” “But the cops.” “It’s not time to stick around.” He was convinced to go. continues... … We headed back to his place. I asked to swing by the hardware store. Jordan seemed hesitant, but acquiesced. A playful grin from a hot woman, he has some life lessons to learn. I picked up rope. Lots and lots of rope. … In the wee hours back at his place... “So...” Jordan began looking at all the ropes. “I have unique tastes.” I told him with a playful smile shedding some of my clothes. “Uh huh.” Jordan. “I like to be in charge and on top.” I told him.Jordan let me tie him up in. Then I took a seat opposite him. “Well, we need to talk.” I started and transformed into my normal human look. “You’re a changeling.” “No, I’m a demon.” I explained as I changed into my hellish form. “So sex is out.” Jordan “I can be either gender as a demon. But no, demons don’t have sex organs.” “SO...”Jordan couldn’t choke out the question. “Am I smooth like Ken and Barbie down there, yup. Demon, we torment humans, not please them.” “But there are stories about demons seducing humans.” Jordan. “That’s succubus and incubus. They aren’t demons. They are a completely different thing.” “It would be helpful if there was a manual about this.” Jordan lamented. “It’s called the Bible.” I said. “Well, it was in it, until that last big change oh about twelve hundred years ago.” “So the devil charged me with protecting you.” “Isn’t that an angel’s job?” “Yes. I’ve asked someone to look into that.”And then Dmitry appeared. “Skip.” He said as he headed to the fridge. “Wait. You’re name is Skip?” Jordan stated with the laughter bubbling up. And that’s when I went full hell demon mode. Big wings, setting his place on fire. “Skip!” Dmitry shouted. “Killjoy.” I uttered. The fire disappeared. Dmitry returned with a beer. “You drink?” He questioned with a furrowed brow. “Yeah, when we’re down here.” Dmitry stated as he took a seat on the couch. “So there’s no beer in heaven?” Jordan asked. “Nope.” “That sucks.” Jordan stated. “We’ve put it in the suggestion box, but no one is going to take it to the all mighty.” Dmitry answered. “Nice rope work.” “Thanks. I really appreciate that.” Continued… “It reminds me of Shibari.” Dmitry commented on my handy work. “That’s my cousin.” I replied. “Wait. You have cousins?” Jordan questioned. “It’s ah… complicated.” I said. I really didn’t have time for a long discussion on demons lore and truth.“Look. Just stay within treaty and you’ll have no problems.” Dmitry said. “And are you going to tell us about where your guardian angel is?” I asked. “Well… you see, there’s an issue there.” Dmitry started. “It appears he was assigned an angel at birth.” “Great. Who’s the asshole on your team that I need to plant my size ten in?” “Azrael.” “The ninth archangel.” “Yup.” Dmitry said in between swigs. “The one who serves death itself.” “Uh-huh.” Dmitry again downed another portion of beer. Burped, “So, I figured I wouldn’t bother the much busy angel and keep an eye on you myself.” “You just want to get drunk.” I said calling him out. “Well… there is that. But some angel has to keep an eye on you.” “Azrael is an archangel.” Jordan said in disbelief. Dmitry and I spoke at the same time, “Bible.” “That was odd.” Dmitry uttered. “Yeah, let’s not do that again.” I said.“So… you’re going to protect him so I can go back to tormenting humans?” “No. I’m only here because you are.” Dmitry said. “So the minute I’m gone, he’s without protection.” “’Fraid so.” Dmitry said. “I’m kinda hoping that you stick around.” “Back to the drinking thing again.” I said. Dmitry turned to Jordan, “Any chance I can get you to go to Amsterdam?” “Why?” Jordan asked. “Because they have over 600 kinds of beer there.” I said. “Need a passport?” Dmitry asked. “Are you going to enable him?” I asked Jordan. “Sadist.” Dmitry snarked back “It’s kind of the job I was created for.” I answered back. …. Amsterdam.
	[WP] A story written from the POV where the protagonist realises he's only an antagonist in someone elses story	That cheerful background music is moving toward the elevator. Ryan must leaving, going to lunch or something. But where does the music come from, and why does it follow him everywhere he goes? And why does it play whenever anyone talks about Ryan or anything about him? It's almost as if... No. No, there's no way. Okay, think, Doug. Write down everything I know about myself: I'm 27, and my birthday is... shit, I don't even know if I was born in 1989 or 90! But I know I was born and raised in Iowa. But where in Iowa? I have a family. A wife and two kids. And their names are... fuck. I'm not real. I'm a fucking movie character. And with such a sparse backstory, I'm not even a major one. Ryan is, though. He's the protagonist. I'm Ryan's boss, the Director of Marketing, and--and I've been a real dick to him lately. Why? I guess because it's necessary to move the story along. Oh, and this separation paperwork... Shit, I'm about to fire Ryan. I'm about to drop out of the story altogether. So what do I do now? I know. I'll write my own backstory, flesh out my character with enough detail that he can't be cast aside and never show up in Act 3. Okay, open Word... I'm 27. I was born on... Christmas Day, 1990. In Iowa Lutheran Hospital in Des Moines. My mother is Valerie Thornton. She lost her parents on the March 13th in a tornado, and I'm named after my grandfather. I was conceived in a shelter, with an 18-year-old boy named Joe that Mom never saw again. She told me my father was a Navy sailor who drowned three days before I was born, but she's going to tell me the truth later today, and I'll track Joe down. My wife and kids... Sarah. Her name is Sarah, she's beautiful and smart, and I met her in college at... Drake University. Sarah's a promising child psychologist. Our kids are Jake and Alicia, and they're seven and five. They're both really smart, and really funny. I'm Director of Marketing here, but Sarah and I will write a book together called Whirlwind about our life together, as well as my origins and my search for my father, whom I'll eventually find only months before he dies of...something. Okay, Doug, you can do this... &nbsp; "Hi, Ryan. Sit down." "Thanks, Doug!" He says brightly as the music lilts cheerfully. "So, what's up?" My cellphone is in my lap, with my desk number showing in the dialer. "Ryan, I know I've been kind of a jerk lately. I haven't been happy with your performance lately since you met that crazy girl and started on this madcap romance of yours, but that's no excuse. Still, I'm afraid I have to--" My desk phone rings, and I look at the display. "Mom?" I say with what I hope is a comical look of surprise. "Just a minute, Ryan..." "Mom? Yeah, actually, I'm in a meeting, but-- ...Okay, what do you need to tell me? "You lied about what? He wasn't? You met him where? And his name was Joe? That's it? GREAT, Mom! "Oh, don't cry, Mom. Yes, I know it was hard to tell me. Yes, I know you were going through a lot. I know you were in a lot of stress. Of course I'm glad I was born, Mom. Please don't cry. Of course I still love you, Mom. Sarah and I will come up in a week or so and we'll just sit down and talk all about it. Of course we'll bring Jake and Alicia. It'll all be fine, Mom. Hey, Mom, could you hold on for just a few seconds?" I hit HOLD and turn to Ryan. "I'm sorry Ryan, but you're fired." The music hits a comical crescendo, so I know that this termination will probably turn out to be a good thing for him. Ryan is shocked by the news and its delivery, then he looks me dead in the eye. "You're a bastard, Doug." "I know," I reply, "Mom just told me." I hand him the severance package. "I'm sorry Ryan. Good luck." He takes the fat envelope and walks out, and my world fades to black. &nbsp; Wait--I'm back. But I'm in a house now, with a family. My family. What's going-- Voiceover: "Meet Doug Thornton, his beautiful wife Sarah, and their amazing kids Jake and Alicia. Their life was already topsy-turvy, but now it's a full-blown... "WHIRLWIND! This fall..." Holy shit, I'm the protagonist of a TV series! "...on HBO!" I get to have sex too? I'm in heaven!	I've lost. After six hundred years of peace and stability. It's all crumbling down as I speak. From dust to dust. The kingdom I've built, the lives I've sown, the blood and sweat of thousands poured to unify the lands. How? Everytime I seem to have him cornered, he miraculously pulls himself back from defeat into an overwhelming victory. He started from nowhere. NOWHERE! I killed his rebellious fool of a master. I crushed his resistance force over and over again. I even convinced his greatest allies to join me against him. How???? Yole Village, rookie swordsman against a general with 15 years of combat experience. General gets beheaded. Plains of Thuron, small band of 7 against a well-trained force of 150, crushing victory. Siege of Kairn, resistance force of 805 against the most heavily guarded fortress on the borders of Rhudaria, hailed as an "impossible victory". Ghorm the Hammer could have crushed the force single-handedly, but he was apparently beaten by that fool who wasn't even HALF his size. The list goes on and on. I just can't win against him! He's now outside my castle, laying waste to its keep and storming the gates. All the seers and oracles swore that this day would never happen. It was as if God himself was dictating the life of this man. He just overcame a force of 70000 of my most battle-hardened and ferocious warriors, some of which who have been with me since I first set out to bring peace to all the lands. Have I not suffered enough? Am I not deserving of at least the smallest gratitude from my people? The ones I sought to protect and preserve from infighting and civil war? Everything I've done. I'VE BUILT! ALL FOR THEIR SAKES, AND YET THEY FLOCK TO HIM AS IF HE WAS THEIR SAVIOUR. THEY KNOW NOTHING OF THE THINGS I'VE DONE FOR THEM. THE WHOLE REALM WOULD BE IN CHAOS IF NOT FOR ME. DEMONS SPEWING FORTH FROM THE OTHERLANDS OF WOLGAR, BARBARIANS FROM DORNLAND, BEASTMEN OF THE VOREEN EMPIRE. ALL CRUSHED BY MY HANDS, MY BLOOD AND MY FRIENDS! I slam my fist into my war table, its hard metal straining under my great might. The floor cracks underneath the weight and my crystal ball wobbles unsteadily, but remains. On it, a lone figure climbs the stairs, a suit of followers steadily tailing him. He's almost here. He'll have to face his greatest challenge yet, my bodyguard Turion the Black, formerly his best friend and strongest companion. A man like him who lusted for power was easy to turn. I do dislike trickery and deceit, but one had to be ruthless to stay in power for this long. He stops in his tracks, intently gazing at something beyond the eyes of my magical sight. Turion is there. Finally, this will be his end. Must be. Turion's might outstripped even mine, granted I was late in my years, but he might have even put up a good fight against me in my prime. I clutch the table hard, again straining the metal, producing uncomfortable whines and creaks. He moves forward, sword lowered but gaze unfettered. YES. YES YES YES. STRIKE HIM DOWN NOW TURION, HIS PRIDE WILL BE HIS DOWNFALL! But as he continued up the steps, a sinking feeling burgeoned within me, I knew something was wrong. Then I saw it, and my wicked smile turned into a soulless look devoid of all happiness. There stood Turion, sword lowered and man broken. He was hunched down, head in his hand and presumably crying for his chest rose and fell in an unsteady rhythm. I collapse back into my seat. I'm ruined. The most ruthless warrior, second only to my past self, lay there broken and crying in the face of my greatest foe. Of all times to have a moment of crisis and regret, he choses now. Not when I told him to massacre the barely armed forces of the resistance, nor when he unquestioningly turned his back on his closest friends and sold out their location to my assassins; now when I needed him the most, he chose to abandon me. I've lost. This is it. I'm not the hero in this story. I'm not the one destined to overcome all odds and save the day. That story has long passed. In its place shall rise a new one, with a new hero and a fresh retelling of how he, against a foe so ferocious and strong, managed to best him and prove his mettle as the chosen one. No. I shall not acquiesce to this injustice. I will not give him the glory he deserves. As I hear the echo of footsteps dimly in my great halls, my nerves tense up. I have anticipated, against all my instincts, that it would come to this. A final showdown in my throne room. I don my armour behind me, a great suit of red and black, the same one that struck terror into the hearts of the great warlords once before. I mutter an ancient mantra and a red portal opens from the ground. Amidst the dark smoke and demonic glow rises my weapon, the great mace Thanatos, forged from the blood and souls of the lives I've taken to reach here. I reach out to grab it, one final time, the feel of it in my hands bringing a wave of warmth and familiarity. If I should die, it should be with the greatest respect to my past and all the deeds, moral or immoral, that I've done. He's here. A man stands across me, wearing his armor of silver with the crest of a lion embossed onto the chest plate. His equally golden mane flowing in the hot wind of my infernal chambers. I sacrificed much comfort to rule, leaving the best lands for my people to live, and this is how they repay me. Beside him stood Turion, that fucking traitor. The silence is thick and heavy in the room and there are no signs of movement between the three of us. I can feel the hatred in his eyes, and yet I hope he can see the unwillingness in mine. As I am about to open my mouth to explain my actions, Turion rushes forward at a blinding speed with a deafening shout, greatsword in hand. I'm sorry Turion. I raise my hand and suddenly black tendrils spring forth, entangling Turion. For though he was strong, he only was able to achieve his might by my hand, and by my hand I could demand it back. Turion struggled fruitlessly but his frantic floundering only served to quicken his death as all his energy and life-force drained out of him. Meanwhile the silver-clad hero stood there motionless, his mouth now agape at the horror he was witnessing. Soon all that was left of Turion was a lifeless corpse, and I release him. "I am sorry young one. To defeat me. You must face me alone." As I sombrely raise my mace and steel myself for battle, an odd sense of relief settles onto me. Was I relieved that I would be able to release myself from my endless duties? After all, managing a kingdom as great as mine was taxing not just for the body, but for the mind as well. I hear a great cry of agony, and the sound of metal stomping against stone. He is heading for me. No. I devoted my life to my kingdom, no matter the cost. I still wanted to rule, to do what was best for my people. Perhaps I was relieved because I was about to lose. Maybe. Was losing the best thing for my people? Had I perhaps became a tyrant, corrupted by my exhaustingly long rule? I do not know. Who was to say what kind of an administrator he would be, or perhaps how fair and just he was in a position of power. How would he handle trade deals and diplomacy? Distribution of wealth and taxation? Preparing for the downturn in harvest or for potential wars with the Grelian Council State? As I see a blur of silver racing towards me, my grip weakens and my hand trembles. No, I can't die, not today. But yet I must be defeated, for is that not this man's fate? To defeat me? I take one glance at him and lock onto his gaze. That gaze full of hate, but yet in it I can see a different look. One that brought me a tinge of hope. In it was the burning justice I once had when I first waged war against the Pentagonal Warlords. In it was a spirit of righteousness and honor, one that came from the belief that his actions were serving the greatest good of his people. He and I, we were different, but perhaps very much alike. I close my eyes, and release my grip. Thanatos comes crashing down to the stone floor, producing a thunderous boom that momentarily stuns my would-be killer. Then....silence. It continues for an eternity. Perhaps I had already been sent to meet my maker, and was now trapped outside of time. But as I opened my eyes I saw him standing there. Breath ragged, confusion waging war against his hatred that previously dominated. I slowly raise my hands, his sword immediately raised in response to my movements. Yet I remain unfazed, slowly removing my helmet and revealing my horrifically scarred face. My lips curl, slowly forming a miniscule grin. "Lesson one hero: always recognise the strengths of your hand, and never show it until you want to make a play."
(I hope I did this right, first try making a prompt)	[WP] On a rainy night you let in a wounded girl begging for help. You treat her wounds and she spends the night at your place. Next day you wake up as the girl, alone in the house, with a note next to you. It starts with "I'm sorry..."	“I’m sorry,” read the note. “You may not believe me, but this is the truth: My name is Lindsay Lohan and something terrible has happened to the both of us.” I blinked my eyes, heavy with sleep and something else, something foreign and sticky, dried tar on each lash. The note ended there, the end of the page ripped, but the other half nowhere in sight. I had two questions: who the fuck was Lindsay Lohan, and where the hell was Betty? Oh Betty. Sweet Betty. Broken Betty in need of a fix. With the long limbs and the round hips and the long dark hair, so real I could almost feel them. Her wounds were mostly superficial, abrasions, lacerations, a few contusions in the areas you’d expect, but the pattern of them was tricky. Betty said she had stumbled, fallen, accidentally put pretty face to pavement, but that didn’t seem altogether plausible. For one thing, they were everywhere, and for another, fresh wounds were layered atop a thatchwork of thick scars. My money was on a bad boyfriend, hopefully ex, or a long, desperate run through thick woods, though that theory could only mean one thing: she had been chased. Speaking of which, that’s exactly what I should do. Not chase, exactly, but pursue. It wasn’t every night a woman like her wandered into my ER… well, technically into the parking lot beside it, and even more specifically onto the hood of my rather expensive never-been-sit-on-before car. But there she was, Broken Betty, and in each other’s arms the night before was as close to peace as I had found in years. And now, perhaps predictably, she had left me. Not the first. Not the last. But maybe, just maybe, the best. Now back to Lindsay fucking Lohan. Maybe it was a game Betty was playing. People were always telling me I didn’t grasp subtext. It was a failing, apparently, though I saw it as an advantage most of the time. What was I missing here? Could Lindsay Lohan be a metaphor? An alias? A pseudonym? There was only one way to find out—to go out and find her. I got out of bed, groggy and subdued, dragging my usually functional feet, the pad of my heel stepping down at odd moments. My chest felt heavy, weighed down as though I had been wearing battle armor. My abdomen was slightly distended. I had been drugged. Xyrem, maybe. Oh Betty. That’s not very nice, now is it. Stepping heavily into the bathroom, I turned on the hot water and as it ran, tried to tug down my pajamas but misplaced my balance, leaning my head against the wall above the toilet tank to try to stabilize. I grappled with the waistband of my pajama pants—they couldn’t seem to break free of my hips, though they finally relented. I reached down, squaring up to the bowl as the water gushing out of the sink began to steam, and I screamed. “Where the FUCK is my dick?” I looked down. What should have been a rousing example of manhood was a pathetic hairless mound. I ran to the mirror, scraping away the condensation, and addressed the face looking back at me. Betty. And that’s when I saw, taped to wall, the second half of the note. “Two things: 1) Breathe (I left an inhaler on the shelf). 2) The sooner you accept your new body, the easier it will be. It is in the name of the second that I give you this explanation: In 2003, on the set of the family friendly hit, Freaky Friday, in a bizarre on-set method acting accident, I inadvertently switched bodies with a cameraman named Joe. If you know anything about my career, you’ll know that’s when “my” behavior took a turn for the worse. Joe was a drinker. He ruined my name. Ever since, I’ve been able to survive by hopping from body to body, choosing a new person whenever I have the need. When I inhabit a new form, their soul switches to the closest vessel it can find, the body I just left. The old you is gone. The new you is named Betty McPherson, and your body used to be a barista on Hudson Street. I meant it when I said I was sorry. I wish you the best of luck.” My hands were shaking. My manicure was chipped. Those hands were all over me last night, but the paradox paralyzed me. My lungs felt full, too full, compressed in on themselves. I tried coughing, but the pitch of the little voice that squeaked out sent me into a fit of gasps and shudders. The inhaler, I remembered, and grabbed the small red L, flinging open the white cap and expressing the medicine into my claustrophobic insides. It calmed me, as much as someone in a brand new body can be calm. I steadied myself, looked up, my eyes rimmed with the kohl of last night’s mascara. In that moment, I could have felt many things—confusion, betrayal, despair—but one emotion rang truer than the rest: pure, white hot anger. “My name is Betty McPherson,” I said. “And Lindsay Lohan can go fuck herself.”	I had to pee, but the bed was warm and I didn’t really want to get up. It was Saturday and the sun was streaming through the line where the curtains were supposed to meet. I stretched not even bothering to fight the massive yawn that split my mouth open. Red. I blinked once and then angled my head and lifted my hands. At the ends of each finger, there were perfectly rounded fingernails expertly painted with bright red nail polish. What? I sat in a rush and nearly fell forward. Two extra weights pulled me forward. My eyes bugged and I stared down. Instead of my stomach there were breasts, and since I’d gone to sleep in just a pair of boxer shorts, they weren’t exactly covered. After a few moments of awkward staring, I fumbled beside the bed for the t-shirt I’d discarded the night before and slipped it over my head. The fabric felt rough. It made me realize just how cold the room was. With a groan, I rolled and pressed my arm into the mattress. Beside my crumpled pillow lay the smooth unused one that, until recently, had been utilized by the girl who was now only known as That Bitch. On top of That Bitches pillow was a wrinkled piece of college ruled notebook paper. I picked up the paper that, up until last night, had been the resting place of urgently needed and then forgotten phone numbers. Squished into the largest expanse of unused space was a note. I’m sorry. You are seriously one of the nicest people I’ve ever met, and I realize that this is a shitty thing to do, but I just can’t stand being a girl anymore. I have a life to get back to, and well you seemed really sensitive and like you could handle it. No offense, but who just lets a creepy injured girl into their house without thinking that something terrible might happen? Haven’t you seen any horror films? You should never trust an innocent looking chick with long brown hair. It’s a total noob move. So there’s this witch that some dude a long time ago managed to really piss off, and she cursed him to be a woman for year. Once the year is up, he’s allowed to either stay a woman and pass the curse on through the family tree until there’s a son or he can find another dude and trick him into letting him stay the night. That’s what I did, by the way. Then they can switch places. Enjoy your year as a chick, sucker. P.S. The boobs get really old after a while. The letter hung in my fingers reminding me that it was a real thing. Fuck, I really had to pee. How did that work when you were a girl?
(I hope I did this right, first try making a prompt)	[WP] On a rainy night you let in a wounded girl begging for help. You treat her wounds and she spends the night at your place. Next day you wake up as the girl, alone in the house, with a note next to you. It starts with "I'm sorry..."	She came to my door in the rain. The dark night filled with thunder and lightning, like a drowned cat with nowhere to go. Her face was a mess, awash with smeared make up and soaking wet hair hiding her eyes. She pleaded for a dry bed, a place to sleep, somewhere warm to be safe for just a night. The children were asleep, the wife watches from the hallway, concern writ across her face. This woman is a stranger I thought, and yet who am I to turn away a soul in need on a dark and stormy night like this night? Worry twists my gut into knots, she could be a thief, a deviant, this could all be part of a sinister plan. Yet I look into those eyes and see only sadness, fear and desperation. She is injured, blood leaks slowly from her arm, previously hidden by the rain now brought to attention by the shelter of my own home. It is decided. Quietly, I usher her into my home, the wife tending to her wounds. We ask few questions, she gives fewer answers. A place for her to sleep is found, it is not much... but it is dry, warm and safe. She is gone when we wake and briefly I feel relief. To explain this to the children would be difficult. But I also fear for her, gone so soon after such an injury and her mysterious appearance in the night? Who is she and how did she come to find herself in this small and unassuming place? All seems well for a time, life turns back to normalcy, the storms have passed and no further intrusions in the night are met. But then they came, first with a knock and a polite word. They ask of her, who she was to us, why she came to our door, where she is now. We have no answers, she was a stranger we tell them, a woman in the night in need of hospitality. They rebuke us. Who allows a stranger to enter their home in the night? The home of their children? Of their wife? Who lets this person sleep in their house, unwatched, unmonitored, free to roam and do as she pleases? I know not how to answer but to give the truth... It is the duty of all good citizens to render aid... she was simply a lost woman in a storm, what else was there to do? Surely we could not have left her to the elements? We are rebuked. Traitor they say, conspirator, agent of the enemy. Fosterer of those who would harm the nation, the leader, the people. But we know not of any conspiracy, of any plots. And we are rebuked. They leave for a time, but we are shaken, afraid. Did we do wrong by taking in a simple woman in need of help? Should we have rejected a lost soul out into the weather to die upon the road in cold hardship? To do so is unthinkable and yet we are told we have done wrong. The night is once again dark and stormy, filled with thunder, lightning and sheeting rain. The wind howls and and tree branches moan, cracking against the windows. A knock comes at the door and for a moment I hesitate. Could this be her again? The woman once lost in the rain? The wife is afraid, I am too. With much trepidation I approach the door and unlatch it. I open the door slowly to reveal not the woman but they. They have returned on this night, rain drenched and full of malice. With a scream I attempt to close the door. A slam from they keeps it open, left ajar they push through and press me against a wall. The wife screams, waking the children who cry out in confusion. They take me in restraints and drag me out into the cold night, screaming against the storm and against the rain to no avail. All seems well for a time, life turns back to normalcy, the storms have passed and no further intrusions in the night are met.	What the fuck! What the flying fuck! What is this?! What did that girl do?! Okay, calm down Calm down Deep breaths Deep breaths Calm down before you hurt yourself What happened last night I found a girl, wounded and begging for help I took her to my house Treated her wounds And gave her something to eat Then I went to bed after I put her on the couch Then I woke up like this I've become the girl Now where is me? My body And where is that girl? Who's probably now in my body. ... ... Actually, let's think about that later This is the perfect time for experimentation. --- What would happen if I was placed in this situation. I appreciate criticisms and comments. If you thought there's something I can add to make it better, please let me know! Thank you for reading!
(I hope I did this right, first try making a prompt)	[WP] On a rainy night you let in a wounded girl begging for help. You treat her wounds and she spends the night at your place. Next day you wake up as the girl, alone in the house, with a note next to you. It starts with "I'm sorry..."	I have been told I am a soft touch. No, that's putting it too mildly -- I'm one of those suckers they say is born every minute. So when the girl - Alissa, she said her name was - came to my door all battered and bruised, yeah, of course I helped her. Of course I completely skipped over the part where I asked any number of important questions you ask before letting a stranger into your home. No, I just got out the first aid kit, bandaged her cuts and scrapes, and made her a cup of hot tea while she sniffled and looked at me with big blue doe eyes full of gratitude and vulnerability. I tried talking her into calling the cops or at least going to a hospital, but she sang me a song about an abusive ex-boyfriend searching for her, and how she feared for her life if she contacted any kind of authority. Predictably, that tune made my big stupid heart break and my tiny stupid brain shut down completely. I told her I'd let her stay the night. I had a flight to catch in the morning, but on the way to the airport I'd drop her off at a women's shelter I knew of where she'd be safe. She hugged me, and cried, and thanked me...and I just ate it up. I could plead recent illness addling my mind, but that'd be dishonest -- it wasn't sickness, it was just stupid. Maybe I shouldn't have been surprised. This is a recurring theme. People have conned me all my life. I've been conned out of money, out of jobs...being conned out of my body was a first, though. When I woke the next morning, I found myself in the guest room -- where I'd put her to sleep last night. I screamed when I saw my reflection in the mirror by the bed. And for probably ten minutes thereafter. I was her. The battered, bruised, sunken-eyed waif I'd dragged in off the street last night...I was in her body. When I recovered enough to move, I ran in a panic through the house, searching for...well, me. But my body was nowhere to be seen. Nor, I discovered, was my phone, my car keys, the bags I'd packed, or my freaking ticket to Hawaii! What I did find after I circled back into the guest roo, was a note -- in a hand disturbingly similar to my own. I'm sorry. You seem like an okay lady. The thing is...well, you've got a lot of things I don't. And I've got a lot of baggage I'd just as soon leave behind. The one thing of my own that I do have, though is knowledge. Old knowledge, about old ways, passed down from mother to daughter in my family for generations. I won't bore you with the details, but the gist of it is that, once a year on the day of the Vernal Equinox when Mother Earth gets a new lease on life, so do I. I can, in effect, switch places with someone. There's no point in wracking your brain trying to figure out how something like that is possible. It's magic -- you'll sleep better if you just accept it and leave it at that. Anyway, to make a long story short, everything that was yours, including your body...it's mine now. It would probably be best if you were gone by the time I get back from this little vacation you've sent me on -- no reason for things to get messy. I'd hate to have someone who was so nice to me arrested for trespassing in my new home. Of course, you're welcome to try and convince anyone you like that you're actually not Alissa Jessup -- a 'troubled' young lady with a history of substance abuse, I'm afraid -- but have only been translated into her body by witchcraft. Feel free to show them this note as 'proof', too, if you want. But unless you can find someone to listen who's as credulous as you seem to be, you're not going to have much luck. Feel free to take any of your stuff from the house -- I've seen your bankbook, I can always get more -- I won't report it stolen. You can even have that old truck parked behind the house. I'll sign the title over to Alissa Jessup when I get back and have time to dig up the paperwork. See? It's not such a bad deal. I think the body you have now is even a few years younger than your old one, so you've got that going for you, too. Thanks again -- and don't let the door hit you in my cute little ass on your way out! --A. I screamed, crushing the note in my hands. I raged and wept, trying to wake up from this nightmare I'd found myself in. The reality of it sunk it. I was stuck Alissa's body. My body was gone. I was stuck in Alissa's body. Everything I owned now belonged to her, the woman I'd let into my home because I felt sorry for her. My screams died, and manic, hysterical laughter took their place. I laughed myself hoarse, I laughed 'til I cried all over again, until I almost passed out from not being able to catch my breath. I lay on the bed, still shaking with suppressed mad giggles, the girl's thick, skanky-ass mascara running down my face in long black rivulets. I got unsteadily to my feet, and shambled into the kitchen, composing myself. I dialed my own cellphone number. "Ah," said my voice, on the other end of the line. "It says Home so I think I know who this is. You got my note?" "I did." I managed to reply, calmly. "Then -- not to be rude -- but I don't think we have much more to say to each other. Goodbye." Alissa said. "Wait!" I pleaded. "One more thing, just one thing!" She sighed. "Alright, what?" "I...well want to thank you." I said. The line was silent for a moment. "Wow...that's...that's new. Most people don't appreciate the benefit they gain from this arrangement. They only see the downside. That's very mature of you. Listen, if that's all, the plane is about to take off, I need to go..." "Of course." I said, amiably. "Have a good trip -- don't worry, I won't be here when you get back, like you said." I couldn't quiet keep the edge of satisfaction out of my voice in the words I spoke next. "One more thing you should know...though. I...have an inoperable brain tumor. Or, more accurately...now you have an inoperable brain tumor. The doctors say six months, max. It's why I decided to go on vacation -- to spend my last days in the sun." There was dead silence on the other end of line. "Don't let the door hit you in my cute little ass on your way out, bitch." I snarled, and hung up. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ More of my work: r/SilasCrane	What the fuck! What the flying fuck! What is this?! What did that girl do?! Okay, calm down Calm down Deep breaths Deep breaths Calm down before you hurt yourself What happened last night I found a girl, wounded and begging for help I took her to my house Treated her wounds And gave her something to eat Then I went to bed after I put her on the couch Then I woke up like this I've become the girl Now where is me? My body And where is that girl? Who's probably now in my body. ... ... Actually, let's think about that later This is the perfect time for experimentation. --- What would happen if I was placed in this situation. I appreciate criticisms and comments. If you thought there's something I can add to make it better, please let me know! Thank you for reading!
(I hope I did this right, first try making a prompt)	[WP] On a rainy night you let in a wounded girl begging for help. You treat her wounds and she spends the night at your place. Next day you wake up as the girl, alone in the house, with a note next to you. It starts with "I'm sorry..."	I have been told I am a soft touch. No, that's putting it too mildly -- I'm one of those suckers they say is born every minute. So when the girl - Alissa, she said her name was - came to my door all battered and bruised, yeah, of course I helped her. Of course I completely skipped over the part where I asked any number of important questions you ask before letting a stranger into your home. No, I just got out the first aid kit, bandaged her cuts and scrapes, and made her a cup of hot tea while she sniffled and looked at me with big blue doe eyes full of gratitude and vulnerability. I tried talking her into calling the cops or at least going to a hospital, but she sang me a song about an abusive ex-boyfriend searching for her, and how she feared for her life if she contacted any kind of authority. Predictably, that tune made my big stupid heart break and my tiny stupid brain shut down completely. I told her I'd let her stay the night. I had a flight to catch in the morning, but on the way to the airport I'd drop her off at a women's shelter I knew of where she'd be safe. She hugged me, and cried, and thanked me...and I just ate it up. I could plead recent illness addling my mind, but that'd be dishonest -- it wasn't sickness, it was just stupid. Maybe I shouldn't have been surprised. This is a recurring theme. People have conned me all my life. I've been conned out of money, out of jobs...being conned out of my body was a first, though. When I woke the next morning, I found myself in the guest room -- where I'd put her to sleep last night. I screamed when I saw my reflection in the mirror by the bed. And for probably ten minutes thereafter. I was her. The battered, bruised, sunken-eyed waif I'd dragged in off the street last night...I was in her body. When I recovered enough to move, I ran in a panic through the house, searching for...well, me. But my body was nowhere to be seen. Nor, I discovered, was my phone, my car keys, the bags I'd packed, or my freaking ticket to Hawaii! What I did find after I circled back into the guest roo, was a note -- in a hand disturbingly similar to my own. I'm sorry. You seem like an okay lady. The thing is...well, you've got a lot of things I don't. And I've got a lot of baggage I'd just as soon leave behind. The one thing of my own that I do have, though is knowledge. Old knowledge, about old ways, passed down from mother to daughter in my family for generations. I won't bore you with the details, but the gist of it is that, once a year on the day of the Vernal Equinox when Mother Earth gets a new lease on life, so do I. I can, in effect, switch places with someone. There's no point in wracking your brain trying to figure out how something like that is possible. It's magic -- you'll sleep better if you just accept it and leave it at that. Anyway, to make a long story short, everything that was yours, including your body...it's mine now. It would probably be best if you were gone by the time I get back from this little vacation you've sent me on -- no reason for things to get messy. I'd hate to have someone who was so nice to me arrested for trespassing in my new home. Of course, you're welcome to try and convince anyone you like that you're actually not Alissa Jessup -- a 'troubled' young lady with a history of substance abuse, I'm afraid -- but have only been translated into her body by witchcraft. Feel free to show them this note as 'proof', too, if you want. But unless you can find someone to listen who's as credulous as you seem to be, you're not going to have much luck. Feel free to take any of your stuff from the house -- I've seen your bankbook, I can always get more -- I won't report it stolen. You can even have that old truck parked behind the house. I'll sign the title over to Alissa Jessup when I get back and have time to dig up the paperwork. See? It's not such a bad deal. I think the body you have now is even a few years younger than your old one, so you've got that going for you, too. Thanks again -- and don't let the door hit you in my cute little ass on your way out! --A. I screamed, crushing the note in my hands. I raged and wept, trying to wake up from this nightmare I'd found myself in. The reality of it sunk it. I was stuck Alissa's body. My body was gone. I was stuck in Alissa's body. Everything I owned now belonged to her, the woman I'd let into my home because I felt sorry for her. My screams died, and manic, hysterical laughter took their place. I laughed myself hoarse, I laughed 'til I cried all over again, until I almost passed out from not being able to catch my breath. I lay on the bed, still shaking with suppressed mad giggles, the girl's thick, skanky-ass mascara running down my face in long black rivulets. I got unsteadily to my feet, and shambled into the kitchen, composing myself. I dialed my own cellphone number. "Ah," said my voice, on the other end of the line. "It says Home so I think I know who this is. You got my note?" "I did." I managed to reply, calmly. "Then -- not to be rude -- but I don't think we have much more to say to each other. Goodbye." Alissa said. "Wait!" I pleaded. "One more thing, just one thing!" She sighed. "Alright, what?" "I...well want to thank you." I said. The line was silent for a moment. "Wow...that's...that's new. Most people don't appreciate the benefit they gain from this arrangement. They only see the downside. That's very mature of you. Listen, if that's all, the plane is about to take off, I need to go..." "Of course." I said, amiably. "Have a good trip -- don't worry, I won't be here when you get back, like you said." I couldn't quiet keep the edge of satisfaction out of my voice in the words I spoke next. "One more thing you should know...though. I...have an inoperable brain tumor. Or, more accurately...now you have an inoperable brain tumor. The doctors say six months, max. It's why I decided to go on vacation -- to spend my last days in the sun." There was dead silence on the other end of line. "Don't let the door hit you in my cute little ass on your way out, bitch." I snarled, and hung up. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ More of my work: r/SilasCrane	The rain was still continuing. Glancing at the clock, it was still before noon. A growl reverberated through my body, like it forgot about everything it ate last night. Standing up to stretch, my lungs caught halfway. 'I can't breath.' My legs gave out as i managed to take a step back towards the couch. I had half a question of why I wasn't in bed before the pain in my legs and lungs acted up. The cold air in the house didnt even bother me despite the thin sundress I was wearing. All I could focus on was breathing, and it wasn't going well. After a while, I finally calmed down, and stumbled to the bathroom. It wasn't until I sat down 9n the toilet that i really woke up and noticed. My legs were covered in blood, like the bandages i applied last night were only a layer thin. I sat there blinking, looking at them wondering why they where swinging from the toilet. It finally clicked to look in the mirror. I could only see the top half of a small girl, instead of the usual 6' me. Long silverish blond hair was drapped over my shoulders, and the sundress and dirty and stained. I looked down again, and realized I was getting blood literally all over the floor. I was suprised that a small figure could lose so much blood and still be functional. After rewrapping my much smaller than used to legs, I grabbed some pain meds, just in case the shock wore off. I stumbled back through my house, hoping to see any one. Like always, my house was devoid of life. I fell back down on the couch to catch my breath, and the note caught my eye instead. "I'm sorry, you helped me out so much and all I did was leave you a body with no ownership of anything. Being left in a similar situation, i had to run due to being accused of trespassing, abduction, and possible murder. I'll do what i can to give you your body back, once I find mine." Another growl ran through my body. I stood up shakily, as if my body wasn't used to carrying its light weight. I reached for a box of cereal, but I couldn't reach. I decided refrigerated pizza will have to suffice, and carried the box back to the couch. As i opened it, I realized that I had already ate most of it last night, and only a slice remained. My body finally caught up with the first bite of cold pizza, and realized that it was cold as well. I went to grab something warmer to wear, and foumd that nothing would fit. As if I was finally understanding the situation, a wave of panic washed over me. The blood loss caught up, and I slumped to the ground. 'I don't know.' It battered my mind as the rain battered the window. In the same state as I found the owner of the body, I collapsed, bleeding, cold, and on the verge of unconsciousness. 'I don't know' ran through my mind one final time.
(I hope I did this right, first try making a prompt)	[WP] On a rainy night you let in a wounded girl begging for help. You treat her wounds and she spends the night at your place. Next day you wake up as the girl, alone in the house, with a note next to you. It starts with "I'm sorry..."	I have been told I am a soft touch. No, that's putting it too mildly -- I'm one of those suckers they say is born every minute. So when the girl - Alissa, she said her name was - came to my door all battered and bruised, yeah, of course I helped her. Of course I completely skipped over the part where I asked any number of important questions you ask before letting a stranger into your home. No, I just got out the first aid kit, bandaged her cuts and scrapes, and made her a cup of hot tea while she sniffled and looked at me with big blue doe eyes full of gratitude and vulnerability. I tried talking her into calling the cops or at least going to a hospital, but she sang me a song about an abusive ex-boyfriend searching for her, and how she feared for her life if she contacted any kind of authority. Predictably, that tune made my big stupid heart break and my tiny stupid brain shut down completely. I told her I'd let her stay the night. I had a flight to catch in the morning, but on the way to the airport I'd drop her off at a women's shelter I knew of where she'd be safe. She hugged me, and cried, and thanked me...and I just ate it up. I could plead recent illness addling my mind, but that'd be dishonest -- it wasn't sickness, it was just stupid. Maybe I shouldn't have been surprised. This is a recurring theme. People have conned me all my life. I've been conned out of money, out of jobs...being conned out of my body was a first, though. When I woke the next morning, I found myself in the guest room -- where I'd put her to sleep last night. I screamed when I saw my reflection in the mirror by the bed. And for probably ten minutes thereafter. I was her. The battered, bruised, sunken-eyed waif I'd dragged in off the street last night...I was in her body. When I recovered enough to move, I ran in a panic through the house, searching for...well, me. But my body was nowhere to be seen. Nor, I discovered, was my phone, my car keys, the bags I'd packed, or my freaking ticket to Hawaii! What I did find after I circled back into the guest roo, was a note -- in a hand disturbingly similar to my own. I'm sorry. You seem like an okay lady. The thing is...well, you've got a lot of things I don't. And I've got a lot of baggage I'd just as soon leave behind. The one thing of my own that I do have, though is knowledge. Old knowledge, about old ways, passed down from mother to daughter in my family for generations. I won't bore you with the details, but the gist of it is that, once a year on the day of the Vernal Equinox when Mother Earth gets a new lease on life, so do I. I can, in effect, switch places with someone. There's no point in wracking your brain trying to figure out how something like that is possible. It's magic -- you'll sleep better if you just accept it and leave it at that. Anyway, to make a long story short, everything that was yours, including your body...it's mine now. It would probably be best if you were gone by the time I get back from this little vacation you've sent me on -- no reason for things to get messy. I'd hate to have someone who was so nice to me arrested for trespassing in my new home. Of course, you're welcome to try and convince anyone you like that you're actually not Alissa Jessup -- a 'troubled' young lady with a history of substance abuse, I'm afraid -- but have only been translated into her body by witchcraft. Feel free to show them this note as 'proof', too, if you want. But unless you can find someone to listen who's as credulous as you seem to be, you're not going to have much luck. Feel free to take any of your stuff from the house -- I've seen your bankbook, I can always get more -- I won't report it stolen. You can even have that old truck parked behind the house. I'll sign the title over to Alissa Jessup when I get back and have time to dig up the paperwork. See? It's not such a bad deal. I think the body you have now is even a few years younger than your old one, so you've got that going for you, too. Thanks again -- and don't let the door hit you in my cute little ass on your way out! --A. I screamed, crushing the note in my hands. I raged and wept, trying to wake up from this nightmare I'd found myself in. The reality of it sunk it. I was stuck Alissa's body. My body was gone. I was stuck in Alissa's body. Everything I owned now belonged to her, the woman I'd let into my home because I felt sorry for her. My screams died, and manic, hysterical laughter took their place. I laughed myself hoarse, I laughed 'til I cried all over again, until I almost passed out from not being able to catch my breath. I lay on the bed, still shaking with suppressed mad giggles, the girl's thick, skanky-ass mascara running down my face in long black rivulets. I got unsteadily to my feet, and shambled into the kitchen, composing myself. I dialed my own cellphone number. "Ah," said my voice, on the other end of the line. "It says Home so I think I know who this is. You got my note?" "I did." I managed to reply, calmly. "Then -- not to be rude -- but I don't think we have much more to say to each other. Goodbye." Alissa said. "Wait!" I pleaded. "One more thing, just one thing!" She sighed. "Alright, what?" "I...well want to thank you." I said. The line was silent for a moment. "Wow...that's...that's new. Most people don't appreciate the benefit they gain from this arrangement. They only see the downside. That's very mature of you. Listen, if that's all, the plane is about to take off, I need to go..." "Of course." I said, amiably. "Have a good trip -- don't worry, I won't be here when you get back, like you said." I couldn't quiet keep the edge of satisfaction out of my voice in the words I spoke next. "One more thing you should know...though. I...have an inoperable brain tumor. Or, more accurately...now you have an inoperable brain tumor. The doctors say six months, max. It's why I decided to go on vacation -- to spend my last days in the sun." There was dead silence on the other end of line. "Don't let the door hit you in my cute little ass on your way out, bitch." I snarled, and hung up. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ More of my work: r/SilasCrane	She came to my door in the rain. The dark night filled with thunder and lightning, like a drowned cat with nowhere to go. Her face was a mess, awash with smeared make up and soaking wet hair hiding her eyes. She pleaded for a dry bed, a place to sleep, somewhere warm to be safe for just a night. The children were asleep, the wife watches from the hallway, concern writ across her face. This woman is a stranger I thought, and yet who am I to turn away a soul in need on a dark and stormy night like this night? Worry twists my gut into knots, she could be a thief, a deviant, this could all be part of a sinister plan. Yet I look into those eyes and see only sadness, fear and desperation. She is injured, blood leaks slowly from her arm, previously hidden by the rain now brought to attention by the shelter of my own home. It is decided. Quietly, I usher her into my home, the wife tending to her wounds. We ask few questions, she gives fewer answers. A place for her to sleep is found, it is not much... but it is dry, warm and safe. She is gone when we wake and briefly I feel relief. To explain this to the children would be difficult. But I also fear for her, gone so soon after such an injury and her mysterious appearance in the night? Who is she and how did she come to find herself in this small and unassuming place? All seems well for a time, life turns back to normalcy, the storms have passed and no further intrusions in the night are met. But then they came, first with a knock and a polite word. They ask of her, who she was to us, why she came to our door, where she is now. We have no answers, she was a stranger we tell them, a woman in the night in need of hospitality. They rebuke us. Who allows a stranger to enter their home in the night? The home of their children? Of their wife? Who lets this person sleep in their house, unwatched, unmonitored, free to roam and do as she pleases? I know not how to answer but to give the truth... It is the duty of all good citizens to render aid... she was simply a lost woman in a storm, what else was there to do? Surely we could not have left her to the elements? We are rebuked. Traitor they say, conspirator, agent of the enemy. Fosterer of those who would harm the nation, the leader, the people. But we know not of any conspiracy, of any plots. And we are rebuked. They leave for a time, but we are shaken, afraid. Did we do wrong by taking in a simple woman in need of help? Should we have rejected a lost soul out into the weather to die upon the road in cold hardship? To do so is unthinkable and yet we are told we have done wrong. The night is once again dark and stormy, filled with thunder, lightning and sheeting rain. The wind howls and and tree branches moan, cracking against the windows. A knock comes at the door and for a moment I hesitate. Could this be her again? The woman once lost in the rain? The wife is afraid, I am too. With much trepidation I approach the door and unlatch it. I open the door slowly to reveal not the woman but they. They have returned on this night, rain drenched and full of malice. With a scream I attempt to close the door. A slam from they keeps it open, left ajar they push through and press me against a wall. The wife screams, waking the children who cry out in confusion. They take me in restraints and drag me out into the cold night, screaming against the storm and against the rain to no avail. All seems well for a time, life turns back to normalcy, the storms have passed and no further intrusions in the night are met.
(I hope I did this right, first try making a prompt)	[WP] On a rainy night you let in a wounded girl begging for help. You treat her wounds and she spends the night at your place. Next day you wake up as the girl, alone in the house, with a note next to you. It starts with "I'm sorry..."	Grey storm clouds gathered in the distance, approaching slowly. The air smelled like rain, and I sighed deeply, content. I loved the smell of rain. I looked up and down the dirt road in front of my inn, just to check and see if anyone happened to be coming along looking for shelter. It had been a quiet day, and the signs of the coming storm had been present for a few days; not many people would be traveling in this area. That was good; I wouldn’t have to deal with a bunch of spooked horses in my stable. I scratched the back of my head as I looked up at the roof of my inn. I had recently patched the roof, so the water shouldn’t leak in anywhere. I ran through the checklist in my head of everything I had I do to prepare for a storm. I’d already moved the firewood indoors, the stables where locked up to keep wild animals from sheltering there. The lantern was lit with enough oil to last through the nights, a beacon to any poor souls caught in the storm. Everything was set. I walked back inside, pulling the wooden door shut behind me, and looked about the first floor of my inn. The chairs where all set on top of the tables, and the cobblestone floor was mopped clean. The central hearth burned warmly with the fire I had built in the morning. I added some wood to the fire, and went to double check my supply of wine and mead in the back. This storm meant that I wouldn’t be able to restock for a while. I’d need to adjust the price. I did some math in my head, and marked the new prices on a piece of parchment. I brought the parchment behind the bar and placed it on one of the shelves next to the clean glasses. After that, I went up to the second story where all the rooms were located. I tightened up the sheets on some the made beds, and satisfied that the rooms where prepared for customers, went back down to the bar, and sat in the comfy chair behind the counter. The empty inn was quiet, and I was content with my work. Dad had taught me well, before he passed. I frowned as I thought about how I’d have to visit him and Mom’s graves after the storm to make sure they hadn’t washed away or been damaged in the storm. I kept their resting place tidy, and wasn’t keen on the idea of a storm annihilating all my hard work. I sighed and picked up the lute that rested against the bar, and began strumming a quiet tune. I missed the days that I used to simply earn tips playing music for the customers while my parents worked the inn. I’d need to find a bard or minstrel to hire to fill my old position. Lately I’d had too many travelers ask why the place was called ‘The Songbird’s Roost.’ I messed up a chord, and my mouth twisted at how rusty I was. Only a year ago, I’d been planning to go to the city to pursue a career as a musician, but that all changed when Dad got sick. Mom had passed years ago, but despite that, Dad had still encouraged me to go. I wasn’t going to leave once he started slowing down, though. This inn had been in our family for generations, and someone needed to keep it going. When Dad passed I took ownership of the place, and I was going to stay until I found a worthy buyer, someone who wouldn’t tarnish the name of The Songbird’s Roost. I laughed at myself. I was doing a fine job keeping the place running, but at 17, I was probably the youngest person to ever hold ownership. I lacked a lot of experience to truly live up to the quality and work ethic my father was capable of. Even if just a little, I had probably tarnished the name a bit myself. I started the song I was playing over, and this time didn’t mess up. I smiled as I stuck the last chord. As the sweet sound of the lute faded, I noticed that it had begun to rain. The storm had arrived. &#x200B; \--- &#x200B; A loud bang sounded from the door, and I jerked awake, accidentally strumming an odd chord on the lute. I waited for a moment, shaking off the sleep, and heard a boom of thunder resonate against the constant patter of rain on the roof. I stood, setting my lute on the bar, and hesitated, unsure if I’d really heard a knock on the door or if it had been thunder. Then there was another knock on the door, though I suppose it was more like desperate pounding. I ran around the bar and dashed to the door, hoping the traveler hadn’t been standing there for too long. I swung the door open, and a girl fell into me with all her weight; she’d been leaning on the door. I caught her in my arms, but staggered back off balance and fell on my ass. I was about to push her away, when a smell rose above the earthy smell of rain and stung my nose. Blood. I looked up at the open door, and on the side that she had been leaning I saw a deep red liquid running down the wood. I stood, lifting the girl with me. “Where are you hurt?” I asked quickly, skipping the pleasantries. She looked up at the sound of my voice, and our eyes met. “Everywhere,” she spoke, her voice strained. There was blood running down her face from a gash over her eyebrow, but that didn’t look to be too bad a wound. Her injuries were probably hidden by her clothes. Even with me steadying her, she wobbled weakly. I began walking her towards the bar; behind the counter was my own room, where I could lay her down and treat her wounds. “What did this to you? An animal? A person? Is someone after you?” I asked as I led her. She nodded. “People after me… but I lost them a while ago, in the storm.” My gut twisted in my stomach, both at the cruelty with which this girl had been attacked, and at the prospect of trouble following her. I’d have to prepare. I walked her into my room, and laid her down on the small bed. “Try to relax. I’ll treat your wounds in a moment,” I told her. She winced as she laid down, and didn’t respond. I ran back to the front door, and stepped into the rain just long enough to snuff out the lantern. Even in the few seconds that took, I was soaked. I closed and locked the door behind me as I retreated inside, and then returned to the girl. She had already removed her outer layers, and was laying in her undergarments. Normally I would have blushed seeing a girl about my age in such a state of undress, but I was immediately distracted by the many open rounds over her body. Some marks looked like they were made with a dagger, other by a dog’s bite. She was a mess. Aside from the open wounds, she was also covered in scars from previous injuries. With the blood and dirt that coated her body it was hard to make out, but there was also a black tattoo covering much of her torso, and it looked like it continued onto her back. I only hesitated a moment before moving to the shelf in my room. I pulled down a basket full of medical supplies; this wasn’t the first time I’d treated an injured traveler. I knelt next to the bed, and began cleaning her wounds. Her breathing became struggled as I worked. “… What’s your name?” I asked her. “Tana,” she told me before crying out shortly as I wrapped a bandage around a wound in her leg. “My name is Ahndel… This wound in your side here… I’ll need to stitch it shut,” I warned her. “Go ahead. I can take it,” she assured me. From the basket, I produced a small piece of leather. “I should have given this to you as soon as I started cleaning your wounds,” I said, more to myself than to her. I held the leather in front of her mouth. She lifted her head slightly and closed her teeth around the material. I fetched a sewing needle and some string, and took a deep breath. The second the needle pierced her skin, she whined hoarsely, her voice barely muffled by the leather her teeth were digging into. Her hand gripped my shoulder and she squeezed, her nails digging into my skin. I ignored it, and sewed her wound shut. Then I moved on to the next task. A short time later, Tana passed out. Her breathing had become stable, and though she’d lost a lot of blood, it seemed like it wasn’t enough to kill her. I laid out some extra clothes for her to put on when she woke up and then grabbed a change of clothes for myself. Even though she was asleep, I left my room and went to change in the main room of the inn. The fire had died down considerably, and I decided that was best. The windows were boarded shut due to the storm, but the less light escaping from the cracks, the better. I didn’t think her pursuers would have continued through the violent storm, but there was always a chance. I changed out of my wet, and now blood stained clothes, and set them by the hearth. I donned the fresh clothes and pulled a chair up to the fire. I’d have to be on guard for the night. There was no way I could sleep ignorantly in this situation. Even as I thought that, I felt myself begin to nod off. It had been a long day already, and the stress of treating a badly injured traveler had exhausted me. Despite my best efforts to fight off my tiredness, it prevailed, and I drifted off as the dying fire crackled warmly.	I'm sorry. Your life is not yours anymore. It is now mine till my mission is completed. Everything I say past this point will annoy you more than anything that came before it but I'll need you to read, understand and keep this note, even if you doubt me and you're willing to tell the police on me. They will suggest you see a therapist or a psychiatrist. They will be wrong. And it's understandable. Your current belief of the world and how it works is fundamentally flawed because your 'eyes' haven't been opened to see the things I see. There are shadows lurking underneath everything, a darkness that has been growing since the Creator left us to our devices. There is so much you don't know and my brethren have all failed in their versions. I hope to not. Reality depends on this. As such, I have chosen you as one of my Champions. One of the few who will assist me in pushing back this darkness that is looming over humanity. You don't have to believe in me. That is fine. But they believe in you. I have marked you now, so they will come for you. And they won't stop. You will see things you've never seen before. Your friends and family will treat you different because of what is in them and what controls them. Your world is never going to be the same anymore You can't do anything to free them till you come to me. Till you choose to open your 'eyes' completely. You are the last of my chosen, and my most important piece. Find me when you're ready. And for your own sake, and for the sake of the world. Don't take too long. You can find me at the zenith of your 'world', the only place where you feel your most complete. We will be waiting for you there. Take care, and watch the shadows. --- I re-read the note on my kitchen counter before cursing. I throw it into trash and go about my daily routine. Last time I ever help anyone, I tell myself. I mean, why would I? I help a person and they don't even have the decency to tell me a proper goodbye. They instead write some hogwash about darkness and shit. Whatever. In any case, they won't affect my day. Today is the day I win the contract my whole year has been building towards. And that's all I need to care about. I walk to the fridge and retrieve a bottle of milk before hearing the quiet vibration of my phone on the counter. I put the bottle down, removing a bowl from the cupboard above the cooker. I figure some cereal to start the day will be ideal. I hear my phone vibrate again. I put the bowl down and walk towards it. I check the notification and I see a message that makes me scratch my head. It is from an unknown number. > Unknown Number: Are you going to open the door, Jonathan? We're waiting for you... I walk to my door and peer through the peephole. There's no one at the door. I chuckle quietly. I turn away from the door when my phone vibrates again. > Unknown Number: We saw your eyeball. You're in! Fabulous. Open the fucking door! I stop in my tracks and quickly return to peering through the hole. I see no one and I can feel the hairs on my skin rise. What the heck is going on? --- /r/EvenAsIWrite for more stories. :) Feedback is always appreciated.
(I hope I did this right, first try making a prompt)	[WP] On a rainy night you let in a wounded girl begging for help. You treat her wounds and she spends the night at your place. Next day you wake up as the girl, alone in the house, with a note next to you. It starts with "I'm sorry..."	I have been told I am a soft touch. No, that's putting it too mildly -- I'm one of those suckers they say is born every minute. So when the girl - Alissa, she said her name was - came to my door all battered and bruised, yeah, of course I helped her. Of course I completely skipped over the part where I asked any number of important questions you ask before letting a stranger into your home. No, I just got out the first aid kit, bandaged her cuts and scrapes, and made her a cup of hot tea while she sniffled and looked at me with big blue doe eyes full of gratitude and vulnerability. I tried talking her into calling the cops or at least going to a hospital, but she sang me a song about an abusive ex-boyfriend searching for her, and how she feared for her life if she contacted any kind of authority. Predictably, that tune made my big stupid heart break and my tiny stupid brain shut down completely. I told her I'd let her stay the night. I had a flight to catch in the morning, but on the way to the airport I'd drop her off at a women's shelter I knew of where she'd be safe. She hugged me, and cried, and thanked me...and I just ate it up. I could plead recent illness addling my mind, but that'd be dishonest -- it wasn't sickness, it was just stupid. Maybe I shouldn't have been surprised. This is a recurring theme. People have conned me all my life. I've been conned out of money, out of jobs...being conned out of my body was a first, though. When I woke the next morning, I found myself in the guest room -- where I'd put her to sleep last night. I screamed when I saw my reflection in the mirror by the bed. And for probably ten minutes thereafter. I was her. The battered, bruised, sunken-eyed waif I'd dragged in off the street last night...I was in her body. When I recovered enough to move, I ran in a panic through the house, searching for...well, me. But my body was nowhere to be seen. Nor, I discovered, was my phone, my car keys, the bags I'd packed, or my freaking ticket to Hawaii! What I did find after I circled back into the guest roo, was a note -- in a hand disturbingly similar to my own. I'm sorry. You seem like an okay lady. The thing is...well, you've got a lot of things I don't. And I've got a lot of baggage I'd just as soon leave behind. The one thing of my own that I do have, though is knowledge. Old knowledge, about old ways, passed down from mother to daughter in my family for generations. I won't bore you with the details, but the gist of it is that, once a year on the day of the Vernal Equinox when Mother Earth gets a new lease on life, so do I. I can, in effect, switch places with someone. There's no point in wracking your brain trying to figure out how something like that is possible. It's magic -- you'll sleep better if you just accept it and leave it at that. Anyway, to make a long story short, everything that was yours, including your body...it's mine now. It would probably be best if you were gone by the time I get back from this little vacation you've sent me on -- no reason for things to get messy. I'd hate to have someone who was so nice to me arrested for trespassing in my new home. Of course, you're welcome to try and convince anyone you like that you're actually not Alissa Jessup -- a 'troubled' young lady with a history of substance abuse, I'm afraid -- but have only been translated into her body by witchcraft. Feel free to show them this note as 'proof', too, if you want. But unless you can find someone to listen who's as credulous as you seem to be, you're not going to have much luck. Feel free to take any of your stuff from the house -- I've seen your bankbook, I can always get more -- I won't report it stolen. You can even have that old truck parked behind the house. I'll sign the title over to Alissa Jessup when I get back and have time to dig up the paperwork. See? It's not such a bad deal. I think the body you have now is even a few years younger than your old one, so you've got that going for you, too. Thanks again -- and don't let the door hit you in my cute little ass on your way out! --A. I screamed, crushing the note in my hands. I raged and wept, trying to wake up from this nightmare I'd found myself in. The reality of it sunk it. I was stuck Alissa's body. My body was gone. I was stuck in Alissa's body. Everything I owned now belonged to her, the woman I'd let into my home because I felt sorry for her. My screams died, and manic, hysterical laughter took their place. I laughed myself hoarse, I laughed 'til I cried all over again, until I almost passed out from not being able to catch my breath. I lay on the bed, still shaking with suppressed mad giggles, the girl's thick, skanky-ass mascara running down my face in long black rivulets. I got unsteadily to my feet, and shambled into the kitchen, composing myself. I dialed my own cellphone number. "Ah," said my voice, on the other end of the line. "It says Home so I think I know who this is. You got my note?" "I did." I managed to reply, calmly. "Then -- not to be rude -- but I don't think we have much more to say to each other. Goodbye." Alissa said. "Wait!" I pleaded. "One more thing, just one thing!" She sighed. "Alright, what?" "I...well want to thank you." I said. The line was silent for a moment. "Wow...that's...that's new. Most people don't appreciate the benefit they gain from this arrangement. They only see the downside. That's very mature of you. Listen, if that's all, the plane is about to take off, I need to go..." "Of course." I said, amiably. "Have a good trip -- don't worry, I won't be here when you get back, like you said." I couldn't quiet keep the edge of satisfaction out of my voice in the words I spoke next. "One more thing you should know...though. I...have an inoperable brain tumor. Or, more accurately...now you have an inoperable brain tumor. The doctors say six months, max. It's why I decided to go on vacation -- to spend my last days in the sun." There was dead silence on the other end of line. "Don't let the door hit you in my cute little ass on your way out, bitch." I snarled, and hung up. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ More of my work: r/SilasCrane	I'm sorry. Your life is not yours anymore. It is now mine till my mission is completed. Everything I say past this point will annoy you more than anything that came before it but I'll need you to read, understand and keep this note, even if you doubt me and you're willing to tell the police on me. They will suggest you see a therapist or a psychiatrist. They will be wrong. And it's understandable. Your current belief of the world and how it works is fundamentally flawed because your 'eyes' haven't been opened to see the things I see. There are shadows lurking underneath everything, a darkness that has been growing since the Creator left us to our devices. There is so much you don't know and my brethren have all failed in their versions. I hope to not. Reality depends on this. As such, I have chosen you as one of my Champions. One of the few who will assist me in pushing back this darkness that is looming over humanity. You don't have to believe in me. That is fine. But they believe in you. I have marked you now, so they will come for you. And they won't stop. You will see things you've never seen before. Your friends and family will treat you different because of what is in them and what controls them. Your world is never going to be the same anymore You can't do anything to free them till you come to me. Till you choose to open your 'eyes' completely. You are the last of my chosen, and my most important piece. Find me when you're ready. And for your own sake, and for the sake of the world. Don't take too long. You can find me at the zenith of your 'world', the only place where you feel your most complete. We will be waiting for you there. Take care, and watch the shadows. --- I re-read the note on my kitchen counter before cursing. I throw it into trash and go about my daily routine. Last time I ever help anyone, I tell myself. I mean, why would I? I help a person and they don't even have the decency to tell me a proper goodbye. They instead write some hogwash about darkness and shit. Whatever. In any case, they won't affect my day. Today is the day I win the contract my whole year has been building towards. And that's all I need to care about. I walk to the fridge and retrieve a bottle of milk before hearing the quiet vibration of my phone on the counter. I put the bottle down, removing a bowl from the cupboard above the cooker. I figure some cereal to start the day will be ideal. I hear my phone vibrate again. I put the bowl down and walk towards it. I check the notification and I see a message that makes me scratch my head. It is from an unknown number. > Unknown Number: Are you going to open the door, Jonathan? We're waiting for you... I walk to my door and peer through the peephole. There's no one at the door. I chuckle quietly. I turn away from the door when my phone vibrates again. > Unknown Number: We saw your eyeball. You're in! Fabulous. Open the fucking door! I stop in my tracks and quickly return to peering through the hole. I see no one and I can feel the hairs on my skin rise. What the heck is going on? --- /r/EvenAsIWrite for more stories. :) Feedback is always appreciated.
(I hope I did this right, first try making a prompt)	[WP] On a rainy night you let in a wounded girl begging for help. You treat her wounds and she spends the night at your place. Next day you wake up as the girl, alone in the house, with a note next to you. It starts with "I'm sorry..."	I have been told I am a soft touch. No, that's putting it too mildly -- I'm one of those suckers they say is born every minute. So when the girl - Alissa, she said her name was - came to my door all battered and bruised, yeah, of course I helped her. Of course I completely skipped over the part where I asked any number of important questions you ask before letting a stranger into your home. No, I just got out the first aid kit, bandaged her cuts and scrapes, and made her a cup of hot tea while she sniffled and looked at me with big blue doe eyes full of gratitude and vulnerability. I tried talking her into calling the cops or at least going to a hospital, but she sang me a song about an abusive ex-boyfriend searching for her, and how she feared for her life if she contacted any kind of authority. Predictably, that tune made my big stupid heart break and my tiny stupid brain shut down completely. I told her I'd let her stay the night. I had a flight to catch in the morning, but on the way to the airport I'd drop her off at a women's shelter I knew of where she'd be safe. She hugged me, and cried, and thanked me...and I just ate it up. I could plead recent illness addling my mind, but that'd be dishonest -- it wasn't sickness, it was just stupid. Maybe I shouldn't have been surprised. This is a recurring theme. People have conned me all my life. I've been conned out of money, out of jobs...being conned out of my body was a first, though. When I woke the next morning, I found myself in the guest room -- where I'd put her to sleep last night. I screamed when I saw my reflection in the mirror by the bed. And for probably ten minutes thereafter. I was her. The battered, bruised, sunken-eyed waif I'd dragged in off the street last night...I was in her body. When I recovered enough to move, I ran in a panic through the house, searching for...well, me. But my body was nowhere to be seen. Nor, I discovered, was my phone, my car keys, the bags I'd packed, or my freaking ticket to Hawaii! What I did find after I circled back into the guest roo, was a note -- in a hand disturbingly similar to my own. I'm sorry. You seem like an okay lady. The thing is...well, you've got a lot of things I don't. And I've got a lot of baggage I'd just as soon leave behind. The one thing of my own that I do have, though is knowledge. Old knowledge, about old ways, passed down from mother to daughter in my family for generations. I won't bore you with the details, but the gist of it is that, once a year on the day of the Vernal Equinox when Mother Earth gets a new lease on life, so do I. I can, in effect, switch places with someone. There's no point in wracking your brain trying to figure out how something like that is possible. It's magic -- you'll sleep better if you just accept it and leave it at that. Anyway, to make a long story short, everything that was yours, including your body...it's mine now. It would probably be best if you were gone by the time I get back from this little vacation you've sent me on -- no reason for things to get messy. I'd hate to have someone who was so nice to me arrested for trespassing in my new home. Of course, you're welcome to try and convince anyone you like that you're actually not Alissa Jessup -- a 'troubled' young lady with a history of substance abuse, I'm afraid -- but have only been translated into her body by witchcraft. Feel free to show them this note as 'proof', too, if you want. But unless you can find someone to listen who's as credulous as you seem to be, you're not going to have much luck. Feel free to take any of your stuff from the house -- I've seen your bankbook, I can always get more -- I won't report it stolen. You can even have that old truck parked behind the house. I'll sign the title over to Alissa Jessup when I get back and have time to dig up the paperwork. See? It's not such a bad deal. I think the body you have now is even a few years younger than your old one, so you've got that going for you, too. Thanks again -- and don't let the door hit you in my cute little ass on your way out! --A. I screamed, crushing the note in my hands. I raged and wept, trying to wake up from this nightmare I'd found myself in. The reality of it sunk it. I was stuck Alissa's body. My body was gone. I was stuck in Alissa's body. Everything I owned now belonged to her, the woman I'd let into my home because I felt sorry for her. My screams died, and manic, hysterical laughter took their place. I laughed myself hoarse, I laughed 'til I cried all over again, until I almost passed out from not being able to catch my breath. I lay on the bed, still shaking with suppressed mad giggles, the girl's thick, skanky-ass mascara running down my face in long black rivulets. I got unsteadily to my feet, and shambled into the kitchen, composing myself. I dialed my own cellphone number. "Ah," said my voice, on the other end of the line. "It says Home so I think I know who this is. You got my note?" "I did." I managed to reply, calmly. "Then -- not to be rude -- but I don't think we have much more to say to each other. Goodbye." Alissa said. "Wait!" I pleaded. "One more thing, just one thing!" She sighed. "Alright, what?" "I...well want to thank you." I said. The line was silent for a moment. "Wow...that's...that's new. Most people don't appreciate the benefit they gain from this arrangement. They only see the downside. That's very mature of you. Listen, if that's all, the plane is about to take off, I need to go..." "Of course." I said, amiably. "Have a good trip -- don't worry, I won't be here when you get back, like you said." I couldn't quiet keep the edge of satisfaction out of my voice in the words I spoke next. "One more thing you should know...though. I...have an inoperable brain tumor. Or, more accurately...now you have an inoperable brain tumor. The doctors say six months, max. It's why I decided to go on vacation -- to spend my last days in the sun." There was dead silence on the other end of line. "Don't let the door hit you in my cute little ass on your way out, bitch." I snarled, and hung up. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ More of my work: r/SilasCrane	Grey storm clouds gathered in the distance, approaching slowly. The air smelled like rain, and I sighed deeply, content. I loved the smell of rain. I looked up and down the dirt road in front of my inn, just to check and see if anyone happened to be coming along looking for shelter. It had been a quiet day, and the signs of the coming storm had been present for a few days; not many people would be traveling in this area. That was good; I wouldn’t have to deal with a bunch of spooked horses in my stable. I scratched the back of my head as I looked up at the roof of my inn. I had recently patched the roof, so the water shouldn’t leak in anywhere. I ran through the checklist in my head of everything I had I do to prepare for a storm. I’d already moved the firewood indoors, the stables where locked up to keep wild animals from sheltering there. The lantern was lit with enough oil to last through the nights, a beacon to any poor souls caught in the storm. Everything was set. I walked back inside, pulling the wooden door shut behind me, and looked about the first floor of my inn. The chairs where all set on top of the tables, and the cobblestone floor was mopped clean. The central hearth burned warmly with the fire I had built in the morning. I added some wood to the fire, and went to double check my supply of wine and mead in the back. This storm meant that I wouldn’t be able to restock for a while. I’d need to adjust the price. I did some math in my head, and marked the new prices on a piece of parchment. I brought the parchment behind the bar and placed it on one of the shelves next to the clean glasses. After that, I went up to the second story where all the rooms were located. I tightened up the sheets on some the made beds, and satisfied that the rooms where prepared for customers, went back down to the bar, and sat in the comfy chair behind the counter. The empty inn was quiet, and I was content with my work. Dad had taught me well, before he passed. I frowned as I thought about how I’d have to visit him and Mom’s graves after the storm to make sure they hadn’t washed away or been damaged in the storm. I kept their resting place tidy, and wasn’t keen on the idea of a storm annihilating all my hard work. I sighed and picked up the lute that rested against the bar, and began strumming a quiet tune. I missed the days that I used to simply earn tips playing music for the customers while my parents worked the inn. I’d need to find a bard or minstrel to hire to fill my old position. Lately I’d had too many travelers ask why the place was called ‘The Songbird’s Roost.’ I messed up a chord, and my mouth twisted at how rusty I was. Only a year ago, I’d been planning to go to the city to pursue a career as a musician, but that all changed when Dad got sick. Mom had passed years ago, but despite that, Dad had still encouraged me to go. I wasn’t going to leave once he started slowing down, though. This inn had been in our family for generations, and someone needed to keep it going. When Dad passed I took ownership of the place, and I was going to stay until I found a worthy buyer, someone who wouldn’t tarnish the name of The Songbird’s Roost. I laughed at myself. I was doing a fine job keeping the place running, but at 17, I was probably the youngest person to ever hold ownership. I lacked a lot of experience to truly live up to the quality and work ethic my father was capable of. Even if just a little, I had probably tarnished the name a bit myself. I started the song I was playing over, and this time didn’t mess up. I smiled as I stuck the last chord. As the sweet sound of the lute faded, I noticed that it had begun to rain. The storm had arrived. &#x200B; \--- &#x200B; A loud bang sounded from the door, and I jerked awake, accidentally strumming an odd chord on the lute. I waited for a moment, shaking off the sleep, and heard a boom of thunder resonate against the constant patter of rain on the roof. I stood, setting my lute on the bar, and hesitated, unsure if I’d really heard a knock on the door or if it had been thunder. Then there was another knock on the door, though I suppose it was more like desperate pounding. I ran around the bar and dashed to the door, hoping the traveler hadn’t been standing there for too long. I swung the door open, and a girl fell into me with all her weight; she’d been leaning on the door. I caught her in my arms, but staggered back off balance and fell on my ass. I was about to push her away, when a smell rose above the earthy smell of rain and stung my nose. Blood. I looked up at the open door, and on the side that she had been leaning I saw a deep red liquid running down the wood. I stood, lifting the girl with me. “Where are you hurt?” I asked quickly, skipping the pleasantries. She looked up at the sound of my voice, and our eyes met. “Everywhere,” she spoke, her voice strained. There was blood running down her face from a gash over her eyebrow, but that didn’t look to be too bad a wound. Her injuries were probably hidden by her clothes. Even with me steadying her, she wobbled weakly. I began walking her towards the bar; behind the counter was my own room, where I could lay her down and treat her wounds. “What did this to you? An animal? A person? Is someone after you?” I asked as I led her. She nodded. “People after me… but I lost them a while ago, in the storm.” My gut twisted in my stomach, both at the cruelty with which this girl had been attacked, and at the prospect of trouble following her. I’d have to prepare. I walked her into my room, and laid her down on the small bed. “Try to relax. I’ll treat your wounds in a moment,” I told her. She winced as she laid down, and didn’t respond. I ran back to the front door, and stepped into the rain just long enough to snuff out the lantern. Even in the few seconds that took, I was soaked. I closed and locked the door behind me as I retreated inside, and then returned to the girl. She had already removed her outer layers, and was laying in her undergarments. Normally I would have blushed seeing a girl about my age in such a state of undress, but I was immediately distracted by the many open rounds over her body. Some marks looked like they were made with a dagger, other by a dog’s bite. She was a mess. Aside from the open wounds, she was also covered in scars from previous injuries. With the blood and dirt that coated her body it was hard to make out, but there was also a black tattoo covering much of her torso, and it looked like it continued onto her back. I only hesitated a moment before moving to the shelf in my room. I pulled down a basket full of medical supplies; this wasn’t the first time I’d treated an injured traveler. I knelt next to the bed, and began cleaning her wounds. Her breathing became struggled as I worked. “… What’s your name?” I asked her. “Tana,” she told me before crying out shortly as I wrapped a bandage around a wound in her leg. “My name is Ahndel… This wound in your side here… I’ll need to stitch it shut,” I warned her. “Go ahead. I can take it,” she assured me. From the basket, I produced a small piece of leather. “I should have given this to you as soon as I started cleaning your wounds,” I said, more to myself than to her. I held the leather in front of her mouth. She lifted her head slightly and closed her teeth around the material. I fetched a sewing needle and some string, and took a deep breath. The second the needle pierced her skin, she whined hoarsely, her voice barely muffled by the leather her teeth were digging into. Her hand gripped my shoulder and she squeezed, her nails digging into my skin. I ignored it, and sewed her wound shut. Then I moved on to the next task. A short time later, Tana passed out. Her breathing had become stable, and though she’d lost a lot of blood, it seemed like it wasn’t enough to kill her. I laid out some extra clothes for her to put on when she woke up and then grabbed a change of clothes for myself. Even though she was asleep, I left my room and went to change in the main room of the inn. The fire had died down considerably, and I decided that was best. The windows were boarded shut due to the storm, but the less light escaping from the cracks, the better. I didn’t think her pursuers would have continued through the violent storm, but there was always a chance. I changed out of my wet, and now blood stained clothes, and set them by the hearth. I donned the fresh clothes and pulled a chair up to the fire. I’d have to be on guard for the night. There was no way I could sleep ignorantly in this situation. Even as I thought that, I felt myself begin to nod off. It had been a long day already, and the stress of treating a badly injured traveler had exhausted me. Despite my best efforts to fight off my tiredness, it prevailed, and I drifted off as the dying fire crackled warmly.
	[WP] You finally have a career that takes you out your boring small town, ready to explore the world. It’s awkward at first, but your colleagues are kind, and you regale them with stories of your youth. The next day one of them confronts you, confused. From what he found, your town doesn’t exist.	Jeff pressed an overstuffed envelope into my hand. Someone had written ‘Conclusive proof’ on it in neat block capitals. ‘What’s this, Jeff?’ I asked. ‘Well, I was listening to you yesterday and something seemed a bit off about your story. I mean, Carlingsford right? You’re saying that’s your home town.’ ‘Well, yes.’ I was hesitant. I was seated and he stood over me, uncomfortably close. Today was my third day on the job with Quantum. It was one of these social media platforms, the kind that artfully pesters its users for endless contributions. Pogo-stick videos, semi-literate poetry, listcicles – we’ll take whatever you have. We try to figure out what’s popular before it’s popular and then sell it to advertisers. Its sleight-of-hand showiness meant that it wasn’t the kind of job you could get in straightforward, practical Carlingsford. I had started this job on Monday. On Tuesday, my introductory training and induction all completed, I joined the team. They had ordered in especially for the occasion. I hadn’t even known there was such a thing as Cuban sandwiches. Kind of like a normal sub, but you could tell someone had taken their time over it. Everybody was so keen to hear my story. It seemed like they had all escaped from similarly uninspiring hometowns. They had found their place in the city. We could be ourselves. I didn’t tell them about my drawings. About the artshow. About how, when my art won in the local competition and was to be shown in a big gallery, someone broke into the art class and destroyed them all. I would tell them the story eventually, of course. They would understand and sympathise. The only person who hadn’t really talked at the lunch was Jeff. I had the impression that he would have been happier to take the sandwich back to his desk, but he sat in with the rest of the team, keeping up appearances. He seemed older than the others, more experienced. I think he had worked with Quantum for a while. He dragged the casual dress policy to unforeseen depths. The neck of his t-shirt was so tatty it was as if a toddler had just stopped swinging on it. ‘It sounded like such a made-up name.’ Jeff was talking. I had removed the thick wedge of documents from the envelope. ‘Carlingsford. Doesn’t a ford mean there would be water or something? That it would be on the coast? And yet, you made no mention of any water sports, or beaches or anything like that yesterday? Isn’t that right?’ ‘A ford? Really? I don’t know-’ ‘So you admit it then, it doesn’t exist?’ Jeff barked. I sensed heads turning towards us. I looked at him, unsure how to respond. Was there something wrong with him? What was the safest way to respond to someone like this? I studied the documents. It seemed to be printouts of state maps with ‘No Carlingsford!’ written on them in the same careful lettering from the envelope. I weighed my response. ‘I don’t know what I’m looking at here Jeff.’ ‘What?’ A bully’s favourite question. Colleagues began cautiously to approach. Jeff, sensing this, quickly strode off. ‘Don’t mind Jeff’, said a voice. ‘It always takes a while to warm up to him.’ I continued to examine the maps. Had I moved from Carlingsford for this?	As they clutch steaming bowls of tomato soup, the crew glares at me. Last night was amazing—we drank and laughed and told each other stories about our homelands until dawn. Tonight, though… “So where are you really from?” Daniel, head of the crew, asks, waggling a ladle at me. “And no lying!” They’re kind people. Gentle, even. When I asked to join their group, they accepted me without question. We’re all chefs, after all. We all want to find the Holy Tomato, want to make the perfect soup. Problem is, there’s divide among the people. Some believe soup to be the greatest dish, while other’s believe sandwiches. The rivalry's gotten so bitter they don’t even mix anymore. You either like one or the other. “That doesn’t matter,” I mumble. “What does is that they only liked sandwiches.” Daniel and the rest of the crew scoff. They must think I’m a traitor, must think I’m here trying to steal their secrets—but I need to make them understand. I lied because they never would've listened to me! Standing up, I put my hands on Daniel’s shoulders. “But I've loved soup since I was a kid! My father…he was a great chef. It’s illegal where we’re from, but he would still make soups, and on some nights, we'd even eat them with sandwiches!” The crew gasps, and one member faints. Daniel pushes away from me, disgusted look on his face. These people were my only chance to see the world, to bring about my father’s dream of having that magical combination be accepted by all, and I might’ve just blown it… “You’ve already lied once,” he says. “Why should we trust you?” “Because I made this soup,” I reply. “And you all love it, don’t you? There’s only one thing I know how to do, and that’s cook. With my father’s recipe, and legendary ingredients such the Holy Tomato, I’m sure I can bring about change. I know you’ll never admit it, but deep down you all love sandwiches too, don’t you?” Everyone looks away from me, trying to hide their shame—but it’s leaking off them, and eventually Daniel sighs. He drops onto the log he was sitting on and motions for me to do the same. “You’ve peaked my interest,” he grumbles. “But I still don’t trust you.” Suddenly, two of the members are wrapping ropes around my hands, pulling them tight enough to keep them together but not tight enough to hurt. “It isn’t personal, I just can’t risk my crew getting hurt.” I nod. I understand. This war’s escalated to the point that anyone can be a traitor, anyone’s willing to kill to defend the food they love. That’s why I need to end this. My father was too old to travel the world, but my body’s young and strong. I’m prepared to spend my whole life searching if it means helping others. “If you wanna look at my father’s recipe, it’s in my bag. He’d been plotting this journey—well, this journey and the sandwich journey—for years. Never had the time, though.” He grabs my bag, rifling through it. “Are you doing this all for him or for everyone else?” “Both.” After pulling out the recipe, everyone crowds around and reads it. They’re like a bunch of college professors, ooooing and aaaahing. One of them drools, another nibbles the side of the page. When Daniel looks back at me, there’s a wide smile on his face. “You’re father…he was a genius. The way this recipe’s laid out. The ingredients, the spices, the…the…everything. It’s perfect.” “Even the sandwich sounds good, doesn’t it?” Daniel hesitates. Then, he sighs. “As much as I hate to say it, yes. I guess…I guess we’re going against the rest of the world, everyone.” At this, the crew groans. They’re excited, I can tell, but this journey was going to be hard enough already. Now it feels impossible. “Thank you. I'm sorry about lying.” He reaches out, rubbing my head. “Well, kid, it is what it is. But since you’re actually part of the crew now, why don’t you tell us a bit about where you’re really from?” *** If you like this story, check out my sub /r/LonghandWriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter)
	[WP] A genie asks to hear your 3 wishes before granting then. Afterwards, he informs you that those wishes will be saved for his next master and you'll now receive the wishes of the previous master.	"Three wishes, huh?" I held the lamp in front of me, regarding the vaguely humanoid, semitransparent puff of green smoke. The genie smirked at me, trying and failing to conceal his poor attempt to suppress laughter. "Yep." He giggled, as if he had remembered the most hilarious joke he'd overheard. "You get to ask for three wishes." I eyed the genie suspiciously. "What's so funny? Was your last master a comedian or something?" "Something like that." The genie nearly doubled over in pain. "Is something bad going to happen to me? Are you going to twist my wishes against me somehow? Is that what's so funny?" The genie straightened up a bit and shook his head. "Nope, your wishes will be fulfilled exactly." I considered this for a bit. Maybe the genie was just easily amused. "Alright, I know what I want to wish for." The genie looked at me eagerly, a grin plastered on his face. "Go on." "I want ten million dollars in my bank account, a really fancy sports car, and an extremely attractive wife." The genie howled with laughter and snapped his fingers. Immediately, my left arm began rotating clockwise, my right arm began rotating counterclockwise, and my head began uncontrollably nodding back and forth. "What the fuck?" I managed to ask between nods. "What's happening to me?" The genie spoke between wheezes, barely able to take in any breath. "You see... you get... what the last person... wished for! Your wishes... go to... my next master!" He laughed so hard he appeared to struggle to maintain his form. Bewildered, I exclaimed, "So you're telling me the last guy asked for this?" The genie nodded. "Yeah, he was kinda fucked up."	Ray looked down at the shell the giant genie had emerged from not two seconds ago. Huh. Itty bitty living space indeed. He glanced back up at the genie. “So. Three wishes, right?” The genie nodded and Ray brought out a list he’d carried in his pocket since fifth grade. “I wish that every third Wednesday of months that begin with ’S', a random person on a boardwalk accidentally drops their food into the ocean. My second wish is that people with my initials get an extra year of life. My third wish is that carrots taste slightly sweeter but only to me.” The genie nods. A plate with three slices of cheesecake appears in front of Ray. “Uh. What?” “You have received the wishes of my previous master. Yours will be granted with my next master.” “Oh.” Ray looks down at the plate. It looks like some pretty good cheesecake. “You wanna piece?"
	[WP] A genie asks to hear your 3 wishes before granting then. Afterwards, he informs you that those wishes will be saved for his next master and you'll now receive the wishes of the previous master.	"I can wish for anything right? anything at all?" I said, sitting cross-legged on my bed. I'd only bought the ring 'cause it matched the color of my eyes. If this was really happening and I wasn't just hallucinating then I was about to fix everything for everybody. Forever. "Yes, as long as it's logically possible and without trying to get more than the three. You can't wish for a square circle, or for one plus one to equal three. You cannot wish for more wishes, or for more wish-granting genies, or any such trick. You must also make all wishes before any wishes are granted." The genie replied in a voice not unlike the sound of breaking glass. He wasn't quite what I pictured a genie to be, a well-muscled man whose waist became a smoky trail. There was a smokiness to him, for sure, but it was on the edges of his form. Mostly he, and I use he but really I'm not sure any gender applies to what I saw before me, was a burning form of confusing angles and impossible colours. Honestly, looking at him gave me a bit of a headache. "I like to think I'm at least somewhat creative... so I think avoiding logical impossibilities shouldn't be too hard. How long can a wish be? What about qualifiers? If I say in one of my wishes, for example, 'perfect health and the ability to read minds...?" "That would be two wishes. If you keep your wishes simple and focused it will generally be easy to maintain one wish per desire." "Alright, that's fair. How about this; I'll tell you what I want and you'll tell me how many wishes that would take?" "It is not an unreasonable request. I agree to do this." Surprisingly reasonable, given what you hear in stories of malicious genies twisting wishes to cause harm and suffering. Still, best not be too careful... "What happens to you after the final wish?" I asked. "I will be removed from this plane of existence and return some time in the future, in a different form. The ring you wear will remain, but it will simply be a trinket." Ok, that is interesting but I don't think it changes anything. I spent a good ten minutes thinking it over, before finally speaking, "I wish that all sapient beings that exist in reality, using definitions of 'sapience' and 'reality' that I would understand and agree to, were to be forever more protected against debilitating, or permanent, or highly unwanted harm to their forms and self-identities, using an understanding of 'harm', and 'self-identity,' that I understand and agree to as I am now." The genie seemed to mull it over, in as much as I could understand his alien, somewhat-incomprehensible, form. "Hmm... an interesting wish, and quite straining to the limit of three wishes only. However, I believe I can grant this with all three of your wishes. Yes, It is agreed. Your wishes have been heard and recorded" I smiled, sweating slightly. I was confident earlier but now I was starting to realize the gravity of the situation and how badly things could go wrong if I didn't understand my own mind as well as I thought I did, or if I made a verbal slip-up and didn't realize it. It was at this point that the genie started speaking again and I almost started hyperventilating at what he said next... "Now I must inform you of the other terms that come with the wishes, that necessarily must have remained hidden until you made your three. The wishes of my previous master are to be granted to you after you state what your wishes are." My mouth dropped open. I wanted to speak, to protest, but I could think of nothing to say and the beating of my heart as my adrenaline spiked made it hard to draw breath. The genie continued speaking. "The previous master wished for great wealth, and so you shall have it. You will shortly find many deeds, titles, and other such things that you would considerable valuable to be placed under your name and ownership. In addition, you now have multiple accounts with different banks and each have at least a million dollars. The second wish was to be physically powerful, and you will now find you have great strength and endurance, and that you will not have to work to remain that way. The last wish of my previous master was for many wives. You are now an exception to the exemption of polygamy that the nation you currently reside in holds, and even now 11 women are making their way towards this location with your image in their mind. They will know you, and they will know you are their husband. Beyond that, your relationship with these women is up to you and them. I will now take my leave, although I am eager now to return to this mortal plane, as I am curious to see how your own wishes will change what is, and what will be." I saw the genie start to fade, and I finally managed to break out of my stupor and ask one final question... "Wait! Genie, please, tell me what wishes were granted to your previous master!" The genie, still fading, whispered these final words... "My previous master was granted wisdom, good physical health for all his days, and for my next master to be someone whose wish would be the best that a wish could be for all people..." I relaxed, a wide smile on my face even as my front door started banging from the knocking of a quite angry, and very confused, young woman. I was secure in the knowledge that I had made the right wish after all. Edit: formatting	Ray looked down at the shell the giant genie had emerged from not two seconds ago. Huh. Itty bitty living space indeed. He glanced back up at the genie. “So. Three wishes, right?” The genie nodded and Ray brought out a list he’d carried in his pocket since fifth grade. “I wish that every third Wednesday of months that begin with ’S', a random person on a boardwalk accidentally drops their food into the ocean. My second wish is that people with my initials get an extra year of life. My third wish is that carrots taste slightly sweeter but only to me.” The genie nods. A plate with three slices of cheesecake appears in front of Ray. “Uh. What?” “You have received the wishes of my previous master. Yours will be granted with my next master.” “Oh.” Ray looks down at the plate. It looks like some pretty good cheesecake. “You wanna piece?"
	[WP] A genie asks to hear your 3 wishes before granting then. Afterwards, he informs you that those wishes will be saved for his next master and you'll now receive the wishes of the previous master.	"I can wish for anything right? anything at all?" I said, sitting cross-legged on my bed. I'd only bought the ring 'cause it matched the color of my eyes. If this was really happening and I wasn't just hallucinating then I was about to fix everything for everybody. Forever. "Yes, as long as it's logically possible and without trying to get more than the three. You can't wish for a square circle, or for one plus one to equal three. You cannot wish for more wishes, or for more wish-granting genies, or any such trick. You must also make all wishes before any wishes are granted." The genie replied in a voice not unlike the sound of breaking glass. He wasn't quite what I pictured a genie to be, a well-muscled man whose waist became a smoky trail. There was a smokiness to him, for sure, but it was on the edges of his form. Mostly he, and I use he but really I'm not sure any gender applies to what I saw before me, was a burning form of confusing angles and impossible colours. Honestly, looking at him gave me a bit of a headache. "I like to think I'm at least somewhat creative... so I think avoiding logical impossibilities shouldn't be too hard. How long can a wish be? What about qualifiers? If I say in one of my wishes, for example, 'perfect health and the ability to read minds...?" "That would be two wishes. If you keep your wishes simple and focused it will generally be easy to maintain one wish per desire." "Alright, that's fair. How about this; I'll tell you what I want and you'll tell me how many wishes that would take?" "It is not an unreasonable request. I agree to do this." Surprisingly reasonable, given what you hear in stories of malicious genies twisting wishes to cause harm and suffering. Still, best not be too careful... "What happens to you after the final wish?" I asked. "I will be removed from this plane of existence and return some time in the future, in a different form. The ring you wear will remain, but it will simply be a trinket." Ok, that is interesting but I don't think it changes anything. I spent a good ten minutes thinking it over, before finally speaking, "I wish that all sapient beings that exist in reality, using definitions of 'sapience' and 'reality' that I would understand and agree to, were to be forever more protected against debilitating, or permanent, or highly unwanted harm to their forms and self-identities, using an understanding of 'harm', and 'self-identity,' that I understand and agree to as I am now." The genie seemed to mull it over, in as much as I could understand his alien, somewhat-incomprehensible, form. "Hmm... an interesting wish, and quite straining to the limit of three wishes only. However, I believe I can grant this with all three of your wishes. Yes, It is agreed. Your wishes have been heard and recorded" I smiled, sweating slightly. I was confident earlier but now I was starting to realize the gravity of the situation and how badly things could go wrong if I didn't understand my own mind as well as I thought I did, or if I made a verbal slip-up and didn't realize it. It was at this point that the genie started speaking again and I almost started hyperventilating at what he said next... "Now I must inform you of the other terms that come with the wishes, that necessarily must have remained hidden until you made your three. The wishes of my previous master are to be granted to you after you state what your wishes are." My mouth dropped open. I wanted to speak, to protest, but I could think of nothing to say and the beating of my heart as my adrenaline spiked made it hard to draw breath. The genie continued speaking. "The previous master wished for great wealth, and so you shall have it. You will shortly find many deeds, titles, and other such things that you would considerable valuable to be placed under your name and ownership. In addition, you now have multiple accounts with different banks and each have at least a million dollars. The second wish was to be physically powerful, and you will now find you have great strength and endurance, and that you will not have to work to remain that way. The last wish of my previous master was for many wives. You are now an exception to the exemption of polygamy that the nation you currently reside in holds, and even now 11 women are making their way towards this location with your image in their mind. They will know you, and they will know you are their husband. Beyond that, your relationship with these women is up to you and them. I will now take my leave, although I am eager now to return to this mortal plane, as I am curious to see how your own wishes will change what is, and what will be." I saw the genie start to fade, and I finally managed to break out of my stupor and ask one final question... "Wait! Genie, please, tell me what wishes were granted to your previous master!" The genie, still fading, whispered these final words... "My previous master was granted wisdom, good physical health for all his days, and for my next master to be someone whose wish would be the best that a wish could be for all people..." I relaxed, a wide smile on my face even as my front door started banging from the knocking of a quite angry, and very confused, young woman. I was secure in the knowledge that I had made the right wish after all. Edit: formatting	"Three wishes, huh?" I held the lamp in front of me, regarding the vaguely humanoid, semitransparent puff of green smoke. The genie smirked at me, trying and failing to conceal his poor attempt to suppress laughter. "Yep." He giggled, as if he had remembered the most hilarious joke he'd overheard. "You get to ask for three wishes." I eyed the genie suspiciously. "What's so funny? Was your last master a comedian or something?" "Something like that." The genie nearly doubled over in pain. "Is something bad going to happen to me? Are you going to twist my wishes against me somehow? Is that what's so funny?" The genie straightened up a bit and shook his head. "Nope, your wishes will be fulfilled exactly." I considered this for a bit. Maybe the genie was just easily amused. "Alright, I know what I want to wish for." The genie looked at me eagerly, a grin plastered on his face. "Go on." "I want ten million dollars in my bank account, a really fancy sports car, and an extremely attractive wife." The genie howled with laughter and snapped his fingers. Immediately, my left arm began rotating clockwise, my right arm began rotating counterclockwise, and my head began uncontrollably nodding back and forth. "What the fuck?" I managed to ask between nods. "What's happening to me?" The genie spoke between wheezes, barely able to take in any breath. "You see... you get... what the last person... wished for! Your wishes... go to... my next master!" He laughed so hard he appeared to struggle to maintain his form. Bewildered, I exclaimed, "So you're telling me the last guy asked for this?" The genie nodded. "Yeah, he was kinda fucked up."
	[WP] A genie asks to hear your 3 wishes before granting then. Afterwards, he informs you that those wishes will be saved for his next master and you'll now receive the wishes of the previous master.	"The previous' owner's first wish was for world peace" the genie said. "Oh," I muttered. "I was hoping for some cash. but I guess the previous owner was a humanitarian, huh? I guess it's good for the world though." The genie nodded, "Very good for the world indeed. I was more than happy to grant that wish." "The second wish," the pale, smokey figure with burning eyes continued, "was for 100 million dollars." "Sweet! Thank you previous owner!" I cheered as a bag of cash appeared at my feet. Unzipping the black duffel revealed stacks of $100 dollar bills. I couldn't help but laugh with joy. My first wish had only been for a million dollars. 100 million was way better. "The third wish," the genie continued, "was to become the most beautiful person in the world." "Awesome!" I looked down at myself, expecting my muscles to fill out and to grow several inches taller. Nothing happened. After a bit of disappointment (I still had 100 million dollars, so not TOO much disappointment), a thought occurred to me. "Are you saying I'm actually already the most beautiful person in the world? Or that beauty was inside me all along?" "No" the whips smoke replied, "In order to create world peace, I had to eliminate all things which might fight with my master, or with each other." I hugged my bag of money to my chest a bit tighter, trying to understand. "You are the only human left alive in the world, so you are the most beautiful by default. Have fun with your paper money, I'm sure it will serve you well."	"Three wishes? Anything I want?" The genie grinned and nodded, a twinkle in his eye. I take a few moments to think. The genie lounged on my couch, looking over my worldly possessions. He seemed amused by the television. "Do you have any suggestions?" I ask the being, startling him out of his first opportunity to watch kittens have a lightsaber battle. He looked at me like he was only just seeing me. "You are asking me.... What exactly? Are you asking what I would wish for? Fucking Disney movies....." He said, shifting in irritation. I held up my hands to stop him. He glared at me. "Stop. I was curious. Sorry if I pissed you off.... Seriously, it wasn't my intention." The genie barked a short laugh. "I don't care about intention. All I care about is giving the wishes due and getting back into my little gemstone. Human beings are...... Look, you guys are stupid as shit, so I would like to limit how much I interact with you." It was hard not to take the genie's distain personally. "Fine. 1) I wish that people's bad intentions were written across their foreheads. 2) I wish I had wealth. 3) I wish you weren't a condescending asshole." The genie sighed and stood. "Unfortunately, you didn't ask HOW this works. So, I'm going to educate you WHY humans are stupid as shit. Ok? You make your wishes, but you don't get YOUR wishes. The next walking, talking excuse for an intelligent species does. You, however, get your predicessor's wishes. So.... Here we go." The genie wiggled his fingers and my breasts strained against my bra. The clasps finally gave out and ripped free. My D-cups were now comically huge. Like unrealistically large breasts that you see in videogames. The genie then winked and it started to rain..... Beer. It was raining beer from the sky. The smell was pervasive. I was like someone had spilled a collosal keg and decided not to stem the tide. The genie then snapped his fingers and a duffle bag full of $1 bills appeared at my feet. The genie's grin widened as he spoke. "In your case, the person before you wished for all women to have huge tits, for all water to turn to beer, and to always have an ample supply of $1 bills to stuff into stripper G-strings. I started to cuss like sailor as the genie vanished....taking my television with him.
	[WP] A genie asks to hear your 3 wishes before granting then. Afterwards, he informs you that those wishes will be saved for his next master and you'll now receive the wishes of the previous master.	"The previous' owner's first wish was for world peace" the genie said. "Oh," I muttered. "I was hoping for some cash. but I guess the previous owner was a humanitarian, huh? I guess it's good for the world though." The genie nodded, "Very good for the world indeed. I was more than happy to grant that wish." "The second wish," the pale, smokey figure with burning eyes continued, "was for 100 million dollars." "Sweet! Thank you previous owner!" I cheered as a bag of cash appeared at my feet. Unzipping the black duffel revealed stacks of $100 dollar bills. I couldn't help but laugh with joy. My first wish had only been for a million dollars. 100 million was way better. "The third wish," the genie continued, "was to become the most beautiful person in the world." "Awesome!" I looked down at myself, expecting my muscles to fill out and to grow several inches taller. Nothing happened. After a bit of disappointment (I still had 100 million dollars, so not TOO much disappointment), a thought occurred to me. "Are you saying I'm actually already the most beautiful person in the world? Or that beauty was inside me all along?" "No" the whips smoke replied, "In order to create world peace, I had to eliminate all things which might fight with my master, or with each other." I hugged my bag of money to my chest a bit tighter, trying to understand. "You are the only human left alive in the world, so you are the most beautiful by default. Have fun with your paper money, I'm sure it will serve you well."	"How is that even fair?" I screamed at the smokey red giant in front of me. "Well most people wish for roughly the same thing anyway," he replied. "Wealth, happiness, destruction to their enemies, so it usually doesn't matter." I thought for a moment. I did just wish to be rich and to live a long and happy life. The superpowers would have been cool but i just wanted those to kick the crap out of Dave, so i guess the destruction to my enemies would fit that too. "All right," I said. "Those things don't sound so bad. Let's have it then." "I said 'most people' wish for those things. The person before you was actually pretty unique. Her fist wish was for her partner to 'grow a pair of balls and quit his job'" "Well Dana has been complaining about her job at the rodeo lately. Maybe that's not so bad. The 'balls' thing was just a metaphor though, right? She isn't literally going to grow a pair is she?" "Well you will find that we genie are a pretty literal people," he said with a wink. "Not something you would probably need to worry about though. And even for me this seems like one hell of a coincidence after what you just said." "Oh, god. What now?" "Her second wish was for 'that bitch Dana to get off her high horse and leave me alone.' I mean i know she was talking about a different one, but since her wishes apply to you now...." "So first you give my girlfriend a pair of testicles and then you tell me not to worry about it because she's going to break up with me? How can this possibly get any worse?" "Don't worry about it. I'm sure you'll find someone else. In fact her third wish was 'I wish Dave would fuck the shit out of me every night.' I know she meant her boyfriend, but it's lucky that you know already know a Dave that I can apply this wish to or it would have just been a random Dave in the area." As the genie began to mist back into his lamp he said "Don't forget, we are a quite literal people. You may want to pick up some towels and clean sheets on your way home."
	[WP] You are playing rock, paper, scissors with yourself in the mirror... and you lose.	Galway didn't trust mirrors, nor reflective surfaces in general for that matter. He couldn't justify his innate distrust for them, yet an intense dread permeated his core every time he was forced into a showdown with his own reflection. Nothing had prompted this response, as far as he could remember. Perhaps it was another manifestation of his obsessive compulsive disorder. He preferred not to dwell on such things. But mirrors are everywhere and not so easily avoided. In some circumstance, Galway would often find himself faced with his own reflection, usually inside of a public bathroom or an aquaintance's home. This was one of those days. It's just a reflection. Everybody has them. Galway walked parallel to the wall, the mirror skirting his peripheral vision. He'd danced this routine hundreds of times before, always breathing deep and mustering up the courage to face the glassy visage of his doppelganger. After steadying his heart's rhythm, Galway spun 90 degrees to face the wall on which the framed mirror hung from his new partner's bathroom. Nothing was untoward. Galway stared at his image, which stared directly back at him with the same apprehensive eyes. He raised both hands to the faucet, which were met in unison with his reflection's cupped hands. Lukewarm water coursed through his fingers as he lathered, rinsed and shook them dry. And then came the routine. Again, perhaps part of his compulsion, he'd always end a forced rendezvous with his mirror image in the same way. A game of rock, paper, scissors. As long as it's a draw, nothing bad will happen. As long as it's a draw, nothing bad will happen. As long as it's a draw, nothing will happen. First round. Paper to paper. Second round. Rock to Rock. Final round, Scissors to gun. Gun? Galway stood, frozen, one hand still raised, index and middle finger separated into dual blades. But his reflection disobeyed. He stared back at the same hand, index and middle fingers squeezed together, thumb raised into a trigger. BANG. The undeniable sound of a gunshot echoed off the bathroom tile and Galway hit the floor, the heavy thumping of his heart nearly raising him off the ground. Facing up to mirrors was an arduous enough task, but he was even more reluctant to stand and face up to his reflection. Palms flexed against the smooth marble, Galway pushed himself to a crouch and practised his breathing technique once more. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. To his own confusion, Galway watched as each breath delivered a jet of stream into the frigid air of the bathroom. Though it was the middle of January, his boyfriend always had the heating running at 200 degrees. Galway pressed the rear of his hand to the radiator, which practically branded his flesh as usual. When his heart had slowed back to a steady bassline, he rose to his feet, ignoring the fact that he was shivering in an otherwise overheated bathroom. Galway's reflection returned to its obedient pose, mirroring everything he did. Its hands remained vertical beside its body, just like his. No scissors, no gun. He raised a single hand, palm facing outward. His reflection did the same. He raised his eyebrows, flexed his arms, ran a hand through his hair, and coughed. Everything was repeated in unison. He let his guard down. Blinked. And immediately spotted the apparition of a shadowed figure over his shoulder, hood raised, a scar running the length of the man's cheek. "You gonna tell me why?" Galway jumped fifty feet, swinging his arms wildly around to knock the intruder away, but they didn't connect. The man was gone. The bathroom lay dormant with the exception of Galway and his reflection, and the lock was still clearly engaged on the oak door. "Galway, is everything OK?" came a distance voice. His boyfriend, somewhere on the floor below, probably reacting to his loud clattering around the bathroom. Hadn't he heard the same gunshot? Galway cast a final glance at the mirror, before unlatching the door and walking faster than usual down the spiral staircase to join his partner in the hallway. "You took your time", his boyfriend quipped, one foot already out the door. "You know me," Galway said, still disturbed by the encounter in the bathroom, "can't help but check myself out in the mirror." Though he accompanied it with a smile, Galway knew that his boyfriend wouldn't appreciate the joke. He had a real issue with reflections as it was, and they didn't really speak about it. Now, it was only going to be worse for him. Throughout their walk to the restaurant, Galway yearned for the heated interior of his boyfriend's apartment. He hadn't even wanted to go out, being more of a homebody who was happier in front of Netflix with a bag of chocolate and a G&T. "... and Mark and Kathy are going to be there, you know I've been wanting you to meet them for ages." Galway's boyfriend was mid-way through one of his lengthy inward conversations that he wasn't affording much attention to, his mind still fixated on the bathroom mirror. As the duo approached an intersection, a shuffling beside them caught Galway's attention. Before he could locate the source of the noise, he felt them both rapidly shoved sidelong into a dark alleyway. "Do you wanna die?" The voice belonged to a hooded figure, his face completely indiscernible in the pitch-black atmosphere of the alley. The wind whipped down and through the brick tunnel, buffeting the three of them as they huddled into the tight space. His boyfriend's fingers dug holes into the flesh on his arm, but he was apparently too petrified to speak Galway stood frozen, not by the arctic chill of winter, but by that voice. Those words. "I said do you wanna die?" he repeated. Not 'are you gonna tell me why'. Galway pieced two and two together, as his breath punctuated the air with white jets of steam. His glance flitted down to the revolver clutched in the man's hand. He found himself stretching his own hand out slowly, middle and index fingers apart like two scissor blades. Did my reflection just warn m- BANG.	I stared at my reflection. I lifted my eyebrow. They lifted their eyebrow. I wiggled my nose. They wiggled theirs. I raised my left hand. They raised their right. I watched my reflection mirror every motion that I made, not missing a single beat. "Are you ready?" we asked each other. We smiled and held out our fist. "On the count of three," we agreed. "One," we pounded our fist on our hand. "Two," we stared at each other in the eye, our fists hit our hands again. "Three!" I held two fingers in the shape of scissors and slammed it onto my hand. My reflection was still holding a fist. "God dammit! You won again!"
	[WP] You are playing rock, paper, scissors with yourself in the mirror... and you lose.	A chill ran up my spine as my face in the mirror blinked, slowly and clumsily rolling her neck as if it had been frozen in place for years. I closed my eyes – this couldn’t be happening, this had to be a dream – and tried to reach up to rub them with the heels of my hands. But my hands wouldn’t cooperate. I opened my eyes again to stare down in horror at my hands, caught halfway between throwing paper and reaching for my eyes. The image in the mirror jerked, half-mimicking my stance, and then my reflection’s expression turned to one of determination. Her hands reached out to the mirror’s surface, and mine moved with a jolt to do the same despite the screaming in my brain that I needed to get up, run away, scream, something. Desperately, I tried to wrench my hands away, and for a moment I pulled them back. My reflection balked, mimicking me, but then gritted her teeth and reached forward again. I could feel the look of outright terror on my face, but it didn’t match the face staring back at me. I tried again and again to make my body obey, but no matter how hard I struggled, my fingers moved inexorably toward the mirror, inch by trembling inch. My fingertips made contact with the mirror’s surface, pad to pad with my reflection’s, and a horrible sucking feeling came over me. My bedroom stretched and spun dizzyingly, and I screamed aloud, the sucking feeling intensifying until I felt as if I’d be pulled apart and then – It stopped. I was still in my bedroom. Nothing had changed. But then I realized that the room in the mirror was the right one. Everything around me was wrong – backwards. A mirror image. My reflection was breathing hard as if she’d run a marathon and I felt my chest rising and falling to mimic hers despite my repeated commands to my body to stop. She raised her hands and my body mirrored her. Everything my reflection did, I did without being able to stop, from grinning maniacally to a stupid little happy dance. She leaned in and I did the same, until we were nearly nose to nose. But not quite touching. “Who’s the reflection now?” she said, her voice identical to mine but still somehow wrong, just like this backwards bedroom. I felt my lips move to mirror her, but no sound came out. She laughed, her voice just barely off, and waved. I waved back at her as she walked toward the door. An inexplicable feeling of panic came over me as she opened the bedroom door, threw a last glance over her shoulder at me, and then left. And in an instant, I vanished.	I stared at my reflection. I lifted my eyebrow. They lifted their eyebrow. I wiggled my nose. They wiggled theirs. I raised my left hand. They raised their right. I watched my reflection mirror every motion that I made, not missing a single beat. "Are you ready?" we asked each other. We smiled and held out our fist. "On the count of three," we agreed. "One," we pounded our fist on our hand. "Two," we stared at each other in the eye, our fists hit our hands again. "Three!" I held two fingers in the shape of scissors and slammed it onto my hand. My reflection was still holding a fist. "God dammit! You won again!"
	[WP] You are playing rock, paper, scissors with yourself in the mirror... and you lose.	A chill ran up my spine as my face in the mirror blinked, slowly and clumsily rolling her neck as if it had been frozen in place for years. I closed my eyes – this couldn’t be happening, this had to be a dream – and tried to reach up to rub them with the heels of my hands. But my hands wouldn’t cooperate. I opened my eyes again to stare down in horror at my hands, caught halfway between throwing paper and reaching for my eyes. The image in the mirror jerked, half-mimicking my stance, and then my reflection’s expression turned to one of determination. Her hands reached out to the mirror’s surface, and mine moved with a jolt to do the same despite the screaming in my brain that I needed to get up, run away, scream, something. Desperately, I tried to wrench my hands away, and for a moment I pulled them back. My reflection balked, mimicking me, but then gritted her teeth and reached forward again. I could feel the look of outright terror on my face, but it didn’t match the face staring back at me. I tried again and again to make my body obey, but no matter how hard I struggled, my fingers moved inexorably toward the mirror, inch by trembling inch. My fingertips made contact with the mirror’s surface, pad to pad with my reflection’s, and a horrible sucking feeling came over me. My bedroom stretched and spun dizzyingly, and I screamed aloud, the sucking feeling intensifying until I felt as if I’d be pulled apart and then – It stopped. I was still in my bedroom. Nothing had changed. But then I realized that the room in the mirror was the right one. Everything around me was wrong – backwards. A mirror image. My reflection was breathing hard as if she’d run a marathon and I felt my chest rising and falling to mimic hers despite my repeated commands to my body to stop. She raised her hands and my body mirrored her. Everything my reflection did, I did without being able to stop, from grinning maniacally to a stupid little happy dance. She leaned in and I did the same, until we were nearly nose to nose. But not quite touching. “Who’s the reflection now?” she said, her voice identical to mine but still somehow wrong, just like this backwards bedroom. I felt my lips move to mirror her, but no sound came out. She laughed, her voice just barely off, and waved. I waved back at her as she walked toward the door. An inexplicable feeling of panic came over me as she opened the bedroom door, threw a last glance over her shoulder at me, and then left. And in an instant, I vanished.	If I could just win this one. Just this one. “One two three... Rock!” Tie. He always throws the same as me. Again. I can’t afford a tie. “One two three... Paper!” Tie. Goddamn it. I need this. I’ve been playing in front of this mirror for three hours, twenty-six minutes, five seconds and counting. I am so tired. But I can’t give up, can I? Again. “One two three...Paper!” Tie. I scream. I want to smash everything. I’ve been playing in front of the mirror since I was little. It is fun. Not only rock, paper, and scissors, no, but other games too. Once I took the mirror that is in my parents’ bedroom and I put it right next to the one in my bedroom, where I am right now; there were three of us. We played a whole game of monopoly. Again, it is fun. And, I’ve never had anyone else to play with anyway. Rock, paper scissor has always been different, though. For once, it always ends in a tie. Figure. I know myself too well, I guess. But the point is that there is ALWAYS something at stake. Like “Ok, if I win this time I’ll ask Julia out” or “if I win this time someone will sit next to me in the bus” or “If I win this time I won’t have an episode in school tomorrow” or “If I win this time I won’t hear the voices tonight and I’ll sleep.” Or like today “If I win this time they won’t take me away”. Sometimes even a tie is enough, and I get what I want anyway. But I know it won’t be enough this time. I need to win. I won’t be taking any chances. Again. “One..two…three… ROCK!” It isn’t a tie. He throws paper. I lost. A knock on the door. My mother. “Honey.. the doctors are here. We need to go.” ___________ Hi! Disclaimer: First time trying a prompt and first time writing a story in english. I hope is good enough!
	[WP] You won the lottery. $1000 a day for life. However, the lottery didn’t realize you were immortal. It’s been 400 years, and they’ve sent their 1000th hitman to kill you. You’ve bested all the others, but this one is different.	They’ve tried to poison me, stab me, drown me, drop sound equipment on me, even a moose during an interview. But this one... this one sits across from me smiling in pale makeup and a cleanly shaven head. It’s my friend Helmut Kruger. Or so I thought it was when I handed him his orders and turned to go to the bathroom. Now I’m stuffed in the linen closet with a broken neck and enough poison to leave me incapacitated for days. When I get out of here though, I think I’ll take that kind doctor up on the offer at their clinic in Hokkaido. A new face, a new name, maybe even some body modifications. Can’t wait.	He was short, like 4 foot 9 inches wearing a pokemon shirt and a red hat. He aimed a shotgun at me, yet I couldn't move because I was in such a shock that they sent a mere child to kill me."Don't you have any parents that know where you are?""My master Mr Lotto is my parent. Time to die!" He shoots the gun and misses."Dude I can't kill you, you're a kid!" Another gun shot misses.As he reloads I ran up to him and kicked him in the face. He drop his gun, I picked it up and put it to his head.I thought for a second, "I can't kill this child", then an idea hit me. I whacked him across the head making him unconscious, lifted his body to the car, drove him across the border deep into Mexico, and dropped him off in a remote village. "He shall have a new life here." I drove home.
	[WP] You won the lottery. $1000 a day for life. However, the lottery didn’t realize you were immortal. It’s been 400 years, and they’ve sent their 1000th hitman to kill you. You’ve bested all the others, but this one is different.	Seneca said luck happens when preparation meets opportunity. Not for me. It was just timing. I didn't usually buy lottery tickets, but that day, I did. And then I won the lottery -- I hadn't prepared for it, and it wasn't really an opportunity, I just got lucky. Then I got a little luckier: I decided not to take the lump sum, but instead I took the installment payments. I still remember the clause in the contract, because the courts hemmed and hawed over it for a couple years of intense litigation: "1,000 US Dollars every day for the rest of your life." $1,000 a day was enough for a good lawyer. But here's where I got really lucky, you know: I won the lottery in 2024, just before the artificial intelligence economic deflation period began. A single US Dollar was worth nearly five hundred of the same thing from the time of the lottery, and it didn't take long before I was wealthy beyond belief. That was the first court case: the United States District Court held that I was owed $1,000 US Dollars no matter a dollar was worth, so long as the state lottery had the dollars to give. And it always did. And of course, it wasn't just that I got lucky, but the state lottery also got unlucky. As the years went by, life extension technology grew to where it is today. Around my hundred-and-tenth birthday, the second court case came down: even as I replaced my organs and body parts with prosthetics, so long as I still had my same memories and Social Security Number, it was still my "life" and they owed me my $1000. It's been three hundred sixty damn years now. I'm getting a little tired. Not physically, just spiritually. The state lottery -- now technically the State Lottery and Prisons Board -- gave up on legal means of getting rid of me long ago, and moved onto scarier, weirder, methods. Being ultra-rich, though, I've had a hell of a security team around me for years and they've done a damn good job of keeping me alive -- or at least alive enough to qualify for my payment. It has turned into a reason to live for me: just to stay alive and screw them over. This time it's different, a more subtle approach. They've sent a philosopher to me. Somebody to convince me it's better not to take the deal. His first offer was to bring me into the Board, take a salary and work as a spokesperson for them. But hell no, I can't stand the Board. Then he started with the really weird stuff. He's telling me it's better not to live than to live. He introduced me to a full-cyborg human they've been developing to run the prisons. The thing does seem... happy. What do you think I should do?	Had the first one worked the price for my head would have been cheaper than my lotto winnings. But at this point I am really wondering how they can afford to keep paying me and all of these contract killers. The first few were the easiest to get rid of, I just paid them off with a week’s worth of winnings. These last few though, especially with the invention of pocket tasers, have been a bit more difficult. The worst part is that they are stubborn. I can’t just pay them off anymore, apparently there is a new “honor” in contracting. Nowadays I have to resort to using my years of hand to hand training based off of a mix of mortal combat simulators and 8 week class sessions my yoga instructors choose to teach from time to time. Suffice to say I don’t want to kill anybody. I just want to live in peace on my beautiful island estate off the coast of Madagascar. I mean, I barely have anything else to spend the money on and I donate most of it. Together with this lotto company, I have funded over 12,000 student college funds, help beautify the gardens of Alabama and Nevada, and even started a shelter for those sad puppies you see on the sad adoption commercials. Technically they can’t stop sending me the money, because of IRS and insurance fraud claims that would ensue. On the other hand, I am not looking to die anytime soon. Thankfully, I can also afford to have a tactical ops team and the best surveillance system in the word at the ready. Lastly, I have also begun a correctional facilities program connecting past contractor with shelter pups, helping them become more social. The last 73 contract killers they hired all graduated from the program with a puppy in hand - so beautiful.
	[WP] You won the lottery. $1000 a day for life. However, the lottery didn’t realize you were immortal. It’s been 400 years, and they’ve sent their 1000th hitman to kill you. You’ve bested all the others, but this one is different.	I checked my phone, my daily $1000 deposit arrived. For a company so desperate to kill me, I have to admit they keep their promises. Money doesn't even matter to me anymore. Life got boring after year 140. I remember. The money that I won from the lottery is simple pocket change now. However I did use it to create a successful family real estate firm which is currently run by my great-great-great grandchildren. It is unfortunate they think I am dead. When you get tired of buying everything you could possibly own money becomes useless. There is nothing that you can physically buy that can pleasure you anymore. I sometimes look back and am jealous of myself when I was a hardworking peasant. Despite longing for luxury, I was happier back then. When I turned 80, I was still in really good health thanks to high end medicine and technology that money could buy. While I despised taking 20 pills a day to function normally, I believed that I haven't accomplished enough in life to die yet. I was a fool. To pass time I would often read books or travel around the world. These were the only things that put my mind to ease. Despite getting old, I still tried to travel as often as I could. I decided to travel to my parent's homeland, India. &#x200B; My younger, hippy cousin came to my mind. He used to live in the U.S.A but decided to live a simple lifestyle as a monk in India. Last I've heard from him he decided to partake in Jainism and smoke a lot of marijuana to pass time. I gave the number he provided me a call only to be answered by an accomplice of his. The man stated that my cousin was away on a spiritual trip but would be back in a day. I told his accomplice that I am on my way and I wanted to surprise my cousin. When I arrived at my cousin's place in India, he was delighted to see me but he had a very worrisome look on his face. I asked him what was wrong. He procured a strange black mass from his pocket. It stank... a lot. "I met a monk on my journey to the top of a local mountain. I was trying to find peace but I only found dread cousin... At the top of the mountain, I was harassed by one who who practices black magic. He gave me this. It is a decomposed cow heart stuffed with amla, a herb. He said that if you throw the heart in a fire and then jump into the fire while it is burning... your greatest desire will come true. I don't believe in such tales cousin. I could not let that crazy man just walk around with a heart he took from a poor cow. We will have a proper burial for it tomorrow." I was intrigued " No cousin. I want to try this" I knew it was a stupid folktale and that nothing would happen but when you are old there are very few things that become amusing to you. My cousin was clearly upset. "You are my guest cousin and you provide me with money to support my life. If you really want to do this go ahead but I will not be there. I also tell you be careful with black magic even if it is not real... It still is not a right thing to do!" That night I created a camp fire in the darkness of a random village in India. I watched the beautiful flames roaring to life. I threw the heart in the flame and jumped in. As you would have expected, I caught on fire. I stopped. I dropped. I rolled. When I got up the fire was extinguished but there was a huge cloud of smoke around it. It took shape in a humanoid form. It was the scariest moment of my life. I can't describe it in words. I have never felt fear like that before. Every single hair on my body stuck up. I had goosebumps. I broke out in a cold sweat. But despite all this fear there was only one thought in my mind " I cant die yet" I ran as fast as I could to my cousin and told him what happened. He was smoking marijuana and laughed when I told him the story. " Cousin, it is dark out. You were probably just seeing things. Come. Let me set up your bed." I was so scared that I bought a plane ticket home the very next day. I don't know what I saw that night but all I know is that I haven't aged a day since then. In fact, despite looking 80, I was tested to have the mental and physical strength of a 30 year old male. This has gone on for 400 years. Now obviously I never expected to continue to receive money from the lottery after a few years. But according to contract they had to. They tried many times to offer me a lump sum to change the contract but I refused simply for my amusement. Also for the fact that money doesn't mean anything to me anymore. Enjoying immortality was fun... at first. You feel above the world and the power gets to your head. But when your family starts dying and you can't contact your current family for fears of raising suspicions, life gets lonely. I've had many people try to kill me over the years. For fucksake even I tried to kill myself. Stab wounds would just heal over the next day. I supposedly had an infinite stream of blood so I can never bleed out. My body can somehow fight off cancer cells. One time an assassin got really lucky and sniped me in the head. I was presumed dead, however when my private surgeon removed the bullet lodged in my brain I instantly woke up without any mental injuries. A few days later I was completely fine. Life was really starting to become a drag. For the first time ever in my life I actually believed there was nothing more for me to accomplish in life. As soon as that thought came into my head. I saw a molotov cocktail being thrown inside my house. And then another. And another one. I don't really know where they came from or who threw them but I had no intention of leaving the couch I was sitting on. It's not like I could die either way. As the smoke started to build up in my room, it took a humanoid figure. One that I remembered very clearly from many years ago. Despite remembering the fear from hundreds of years ago I couldn't help but smile. "I guess it's time"	Had the first one worked the price for my head would have been cheaper than my lotto winnings. But at this point I am really wondering how they can afford to keep paying me and all of these contract killers. The first few were the easiest to get rid of, I just paid them off with a week’s worth of winnings. These last few though, especially with the invention of pocket tasers, have been a bit more difficult. The worst part is that they are stubborn. I can’t just pay them off anymore, apparently there is a new “honor” in contracting. Nowadays I have to resort to using my years of hand to hand training based off of a mix of mortal combat simulators and 8 week class sessions my yoga instructors choose to teach from time to time. Suffice to say I don’t want to kill anybody. I just want to live in peace on my beautiful island estate off the coast of Madagascar. I mean, I barely have anything else to spend the money on and I donate most of it. Together with this lotto company, I have funded over 12,000 student college funds, help beautify the gardens of Alabama and Nevada, and even started a shelter for those sad puppies you see on the sad adoption commercials. Technically they can’t stop sending me the money, because of IRS and insurance fraud claims that would ensue. On the other hand, I am not looking to die anytime soon. Thankfully, I can also afford to have a tactical ops team and the best surveillance system in the word at the ready. Lastly, I have also begun a correctional facilities program connecting past contractor with shelter pups, helping them become more social. The last 73 contract killers they hired all graduated from the program with a puppy in hand - so beautiful.
	[WP] You won the lottery. $1000 a day for life. However, the lottery didn’t realize you were immortal. It’s been 400 years, and they’ve sent their 1000th hitman to kill you. You’ve bested all the others, but this one is different.	The hitman was different. He gave you a cheerful nod, then started beating the shit out of your place. You try to stop him as his massive sledgehammer devastated centuries of opulence, but you were immortal, not "Superman-without-flight" immortal. You swung and bounced along with the wreckage, only without shattering into pieces. A few hours later, the last piece of your lottery winnings- a Faberge egg shoved inside the mouth of a pig force fed tainted grass to turn its skin a golden hue- had been pancaked. The hitman gave the now flattened pig a final pat with his hammer, and then left you to the ruins of your residence. The lottery has won.	that's only $365,000 a year. at 3% inflation your money loses half of its value every 24 years. after the first hundred years your yearly take home would be worth $22,000 before taxes. after 200 years your yearly take home is worth less than $1500 before taxes. after 300 years youd be lucky to afford a single nice meal
	[WP] You won the lottery. $1000 a day for life. However, the lottery didn’t realize you were immortal. It’s been 400 years, and they’ve sent their 1000th hitman to kill you. You’ve bested all the others, but this one is different.	I checked my phone, my daily $1000 deposit arrived. For a company so desperate to kill me, I have to admit they keep their promises. Money doesn't even matter to me anymore. Life got boring after year 140. I remember. The money that I won from the lottery is simple pocket change now. However I did use it to create a successful family real estate firm which is currently run by my great-great-great grandchildren. It is unfortunate they think I am dead. When you get tired of buying everything you could possibly own money becomes useless. There is nothing that you can physically buy that can pleasure you anymore. I sometimes look back and am jealous of myself when I was a hardworking peasant. Despite longing for luxury, I was happier back then. When I turned 80, I was still in really good health thanks to high end medicine and technology that money could buy. While I despised taking 20 pills a day to function normally, I believed that I haven't accomplished enough in life to die yet. I was a fool. To pass time I would often read books or travel around the world. These were the only things that put my mind to ease. Despite getting old, I still tried to travel as often as I could. I decided to travel to my parent's homeland, India. &#x200B; My younger, hippy cousin came to my mind. He used to live in the U.S.A but decided to live a simple lifestyle as a monk in India. Last I've heard from him he decided to partake in Jainism and smoke a lot of marijuana to pass time. I gave the number he provided me a call only to be answered by an accomplice of his. The man stated that my cousin was away on a spiritual trip but would be back in a day. I told his accomplice that I am on my way and I wanted to surprise my cousin. When I arrived at my cousin's place in India, he was delighted to see me but he had a very worrisome look on his face. I asked him what was wrong. He procured a strange black mass from his pocket. It stank... a lot. "I met a monk on my journey to the top of a local mountain. I was trying to find peace but I only found dread cousin... At the top of the mountain, I was harassed by one who who practices black magic. He gave me this. It is a decomposed cow heart stuffed with amla, a herb. He said that if you throw the heart in a fire and then jump into the fire while it is burning... your greatest desire will come true. I don't believe in such tales cousin. I could not let that crazy man just walk around with a heart he took from a poor cow. We will have a proper burial for it tomorrow." I was intrigued " No cousin. I want to try this" I knew it was a stupid folktale and that nothing would happen but when you are old there are very few things that become amusing to you. My cousin was clearly upset. "You are my guest cousin and you provide me with money to support my life. If you really want to do this go ahead but I will not be there. I also tell you be careful with black magic even if it is not real... It still is not a right thing to do!" That night I created a camp fire in the darkness of a random village in India. I watched the beautiful flames roaring to life. I threw the heart in the flame and jumped in. As you would have expected, I caught on fire. I stopped. I dropped. I rolled. When I got up the fire was extinguished but there was a huge cloud of smoke around it. It took shape in a humanoid form. It was the scariest moment of my life. I can't describe it in words. I have never felt fear like that before. Every single hair on my body stuck up. I had goosebumps. I broke out in a cold sweat. But despite all this fear there was only one thought in my mind " I cant die yet" I ran as fast as I could to my cousin and told him what happened. He was smoking marijuana and laughed when I told him the story. " Cousin, it is dark out. You were probably just seeing things. Come. Let me set up your bed." I was so scared that I bought a plane ticket home the very next day. I don't know what I saw that night but all I know is that I haven't aged a day since then. In fact, despite looking 80, I was tested to have the mental and physical strength of a 30 year old male. This has gone on for 400 years. Now obviously I never expected to continue to receive money from the lottery after a few years. But according to contract they had to. They tried many times to offer me a lump sum to change the contract but I refused simply for my amusement. Also for the fact that money doesn't mean anything to me anymore. Enjoying immortality was fun... at first. You feel above the world and the power gets to your head. But when your family starts dying and you can't contact your current family for fears of raising suspicions, life gets lonely. I've had many people try to kill me over the years. For fucksake even I tried to kill myself. Stab wounds would just heal over the next day. I supposedly had an infinite stream of blood so I can never bleed out. My body can somehow fight off cancer cells. One time an assassin got really lucky and sniped me in the head. I was presumed dead, however when my private surgeon removed the bullet lodged in my brain I instantly woke up without any mental injuries. A few days later I was completely fine. Life was really starting to become a drag. For the first time ever in my life I actually believed there was nothing more for me to accomplish in life. As soon as that thought came into my head. I saw a molotov cocktail being thrown inside my house. And then another. And another one. I don't really know where they came from or who threw them but I had no intention of leaving the couch I was sitting on. It's not like I could die either way. As the smoke started to build up in my room, it took a humanoid figure. One that I remembered very clearly from many years ago. Despite remembering the fear from hundreds of years ago I couldn't help but smile. "I guess it's time"	that's only $365,000 a year. at 3% inflation your money loses half of its value every 24 years. after the first hundred years your yearly take home would be worth $22,000 before taxes. after 200 years your yearly take home is worth less than $1500 before taxes. after 300 years youd be lucky to afford a single nice meal
	[WP] You won the lottery. $1000 a day for life. However, the lottery didn’t realize you were immortal. It’s been 400 years, and they’ve sent their 1000th hitman to kill you. You’ve bested all the others, but this one is different.	I checked my phone, my daily $1000 deposit arrived. For a company so desperate to kill me, I have to admit they keep their promises. Money doesn't even matter to me anymore. Life got boring after year 140. I remember. The money that I won from the lottery is simple pocket change now. However I did use it to create a successful family real estate firm which is currently run by my great-great-great grandchildren. It is unfortunate they think I am dead. When you get tired of buying everything you could possibly own money becomes useless. There is nothing that you can physically buy that can pleasure you anymore. I sometimes look back and am jealous of myself when I was a hardworking peasant. Despite longing for luxury, I was happier back then. When I turned 80, I was still in really good health thanks to high end medicine and technology that money could buy. While I despised taking 20 pills a day to function normally, I believed that I haven't accomplished enough in life to die yet. I was a fool. To pass time I would often read books or travel around the world. These were the only things that put my mind to ease. Despite getting old, I still tried to travel as often as I could. I decided to travel to my parent's homeland, India. &#x200B; My younger, hippy cousin came to my mind. He used to live in the U.S.A but decided to live a simple lifestyle as a monk in India. Last I've heard from him he decided to partake in Jainism and smoke a lot of marijuana to pass time. I gave the number he provided me a call only to be answered by an accomplice of his. The man stated that my cousin was away on a spiritual trip but would be back in a day. I told his accomplice that I am on my way and I wanted to surprise my cousin. When I arrived at my cousin's place in India, he was delighted to see me but he had a very worrisome look on his face. I asked him what was wrong. He procured a strange black mass from his pocket. It stank... a lot. "I met a monk on my journey to the top of a local mountain. I was trying to find peace but I only found dread cousin... At the top of the mountain, I was harassed by one who who practices black magic. He gave me this. It is a decomposed cow heart stuffed with amla, a herb. He said that if you throw the heart in a fire and then jump into the fire while it is burning... your greatest desire will come true. I don't believe in such tales cousin. I could not let that crazy man just walk around with a heart he took from a poor cow. We will have a proper burial for it tomorrow." I was intrigued " No cousin. I want to try this" I knew it was a stupid folktale and that nothing would happen but when you are old there are very few things that become amusing to you. My cousin was clearly upset. "You are my guest cousin and you provide me with money to support my life. If you really want to do this go ahead but I will not be there. I also tell you be careful with black magic even if it is not real... It still is not a right thing to do!" That night I created a camp fire in the darkness of a random village in India. I watched the beautiful flames roaring to life. I threw the heart in the flame and jumped in. As you would have expected, I caught on fire. I stopped. I dropped. I rolled. When I got up the fire was extinguished but there was a huge cloud of smoke around it. It took shape in a humanoid form. It was the scariest moment of my life. I can't describe it in words. I have never felt fear like that before. Every single hair on my body stuck up. I had goosebumps. I broke out in a cold sweat. But despite all this fear there was only one thought in my mind " I cant die yet" I ran as fast as I could to my cousin and told him what happened. He was smoking marijuana and laughed when I told him the story. " Cousin, it is dark out. You were probably just seeing things. Come. Let me set up your bed." I was so scared that I bought a plane ticket home the very next day. I don't know what I saw that night but all I know is that I haven't aged a day since then. In fact, despite looking 80, I was tested to have the mental and physical strength of a 30 year old male. This has gone on for 400 years. Now obviously I never expected to continue to receive money from the lottery after a few years. But according to contract they had to. They tried many times to offer me a lump sum to change the contract but I refused simply for my amusement. Also for the fact that money doesn't mean anything to me anymore. Enjoying immortality was fun... at first. You feel above the world and the power gets to your head. But when your family starts dying and you can't contact your current family for fears of raising suspicions, life gets lonely. I've had many people try to kill me over the years. For fucksake even I tried to kill myself. Stab wounds would just heal over the next day. I supposedly had an infinite stream of blood so I can never bleed out. My body can somehow fight off cancer cells. One time an assassin got really lucky and sniped me in the head. I was presumed dead, however when my private surgeon removed the bullet lodged in my brain I instantly woke up without any mental injuries. A few days later I was completely fine. Life was really starting to become a drag. For the first time ever in my life I actually believed there was nothing more for me to accomplish in life. As soon as that thought came into my head. I saw a molotov cocktail being thrown inside my house. And then another. And another one. I don't really know where they came from or who threw them but I had no intention of leaving the couch I was sitting on. It's not like I could die either way. As the smoke started to build up in my room, it took a humanoid figure. One that I remembered very clearly from many years ago. Despite remembering the fear from hundreds of years ago I couldn't help but smile. "I guess it's time"	The hitman was different. He gave you a cheerful nod, then started beating the shit out of your place. You try to stop him as his massive sledgehammer devastated centuries of opulence, but you were immortal, not "Superman-without-flight" immortal. You swung and bounced along with the wreckage, only without shattering into pieces. A few hours later, the last piece of your lottery winnings- a Faberge egg shoved inside the mouth of a pig force fed tainted grass to turn its skin a golden hue- had been pancaked. The hitman gave the now flattened pig a final pat with his hammer, and then left you to the ruins of your residence. The lottery has won.
	[WP] You won the lottery. $1000 a day for life. However, the lottery didn’t realize you were immortal. It’s been 400 years, and they’ve sent their 1000th hitman to kill you. You’ve bested all the others, but this one is different.	I checked my phone, my daily $1000 deposit arrived. For a company so desperate to kill me, I have to admit they keep their promises. Money doesn't even matter to me anymore. Life got boring after year 140. I remember. The money that I won from the lottery is simple pocket change now. However I did use it to create a successful family real estate firm which is currently run by my great-great-great grandchildren. It is unfortunate they think I am dead. When you get tired of buying everything you could possibly own money becomes useless. There is nothing that you can physically buy that can pleasure you anymore. I sometimes look back and am jealous of myself when I was a hardworking peasant. Despite longing for luxury, I was happier back then. When I turned 80, I was still in really good health thanks to high end medicine and technology that money could buy. While I despised taking 20 pills a day to function normally, I believed that I haven't accomplished enough in life to die yet. I was a fool. To pass time I would often read books or travel around the world. These were the only things that put my mind to ease. Despite getting old, I still tried to travel as often as I could. I decided to travel to my parent's homeland, India. &#x200B; My younger, hippy cousin came to my mind. He used to live in the U.S.A but decided to live a simple lifestyle as a monk in India. Last I've heard from him he decided to partake in Jainism and smoke a lot of marijuana to pass time. I gave the number he provided me a call only to be answered by an accomplice of his. The man stated that my cousin was away on a spiritual trip but would be back in a day. I told his accomplice that I am on my way and I wanted to surprise my cousin. When I arrived at my cousin's place in India, he was delighted to see me but he had a very worrisome look on his face. I asked him what was wrong. He procured a strange black mass from his pocket. It stank... a lot. "I met a monk on my journey to the top of a local mountain. I was trying to find peace but I only found dread cousin... At the top of the mountain, I was harassed by one who who practices black magic. He gave me this. It is a decomposed cow heart stuffed with amla, a herb. He said that if you throw the heart in a fire and then jump into the fire while it is burning... your greatest desire will come true. I don't believe in such tales cousin. I could not let that crazy man just walk around with a heart he took from a poor cow. We will have a proper burial for it tomorrow." I was intrigued " No cousin. I want to try this" I knew it was a stupid folktale and that nothing would happen but when you are old there are very few things that become amusing to you. My cousin was clearly upset. "You are my guest cousin and you provide me with money to support my life. If you really want to do this go ahead but I will not be there. I also tell you be careful with black magic even if it is not real... It still is not a right thing to do!" That night I created a camp fire in the darkness of a random village in India. I watched the beautiful flames roaring to life. I threw the heart in the flame and jumped in. As you would have expected, I caught on fire. I stopped. I dropped. I rolled. When I got up the fire was extinguished but there was a huge cloud of smoke around it. It took shape in a humanoid form. It was the scariest moment of my life. I can't describe it in words. I have never felt fear like that before. Every single hair on my body stuck up. I had goosebumps. I broke out in a cold sweat. But despite all this fear there was only one thought in my mind " I cant die yet" I ran as fast as I could to my cousin and told him what happened. He was smoking marijuana and laughed when I told him the story. " Cousin, it is dark out. You were probably just seeing things. Come. Let me set up your bed." I was so scared that I bought a plane ticket home the very next day. I don't know what I saw that night but all I know is that I haven't aged a day since then. In fact, despite looking 80, I was tested to have the mental and physical strength of a 30 year old male. This has gone on for 400 years. Now obviously I never expected to continue to receive money from the lottery after a few years. But according to contract they had to. They tried many times to offer me a lump sum to change the contract but I refused simply for my amusement. Also for the fact that money doesn't mean anything to me anymore. Enjoying immortality was fun... at first. You feel above the world and the power gets to your head. But when your family starts dying and you can't contact your current family for fears of raising suspicions, life gets lonely. I've had many people try to kill me over the years. For fucksake even I tried to kill myself. Stab wounds would just heal over the next day. I supposedly had an infinite stream of blood so I can never bleed out. My body can somehow fight off cancer cells. One time an assassin got really lucky and sniped me in the head. I was presumed dead, however when my private surgeon removed the bullet lodged in my brain I instantly woke up without any mental injuries. A few days later I was completely fine. Life was really starting to become a drag. For the first time ever in my life I actually believed there was nothing more for me to accomplish in life. As soon as that thought came into my head. I saw a molotov cocktail being thrown inside my house. And then another. And another one. I don't really know where they came from or who threw them but I had no intention of leaving the couch I was sitting on. It's not like I could die either way. As the smoke started to build up in my room, it took a humanoid figure. One that I remembered very clearly from many years ago. Despite remembering the fear from hundreds of years ago I couldn't help but smile. "I guess it's time"	The thousandth assassin has arrived. Hilda drifted in through the walls. Covered in chains and drowned a near score of millennia ago she was once a Shield maiden. The fiercest, or so she says, murdered the way she was as price to buy time for her family to flee. Now she shoot strong as scout and adviser. She was the Chained Woman. &#x200B; "What can I do?" I rose to my feet and moved towards the window, The Monk and the Burned Man drifted alongside the Chained Woman but spoke no words this evening. Like a whisper of wind the Chained Woman's voice was heard Jump, swim and then run. You know where to go. &#x200B; I opened the great arched windows, it was going to be a long fall to the river. I looked upon the city as the sun broke across the horizon and spilled his warm luminosity across mine face. I heard the dull footfalls of a man striding down the hall outside my current digs. The city fair shone with the Father Sun's blessing, I smiled. "I never wanted to win the bloody lottery. I don't need money to get to where we're going." &#x200B; The door opened, a bullet fired, I stepped forward, the Burned Man turned towards the roar and I hit the water. As I floated on my back born by the river's current I watched the abandoned tower from which I had jumped. An oscillating vortex of ghostly energy had opened, where death should have been it was averted, in doing so the continuance of The Burned Man's continued existence in this plane. "I am going to miss that place, it was delightfully high up. Good exposure." I smiled and turned my mind to the destination. The Monk grunted his agreement, he too was fond of high up places. For weeks we flowed down the river, the three were able to have each their full fill. After a time we came to a delta and took it. We found ourselves one bright morning in front of the Lottery Headquarters. It is time to end this petty squabble. I grunted my agreement and stepped into the building. To say you could hear a pin drop would be an understatement. The moment four stepped in the room froze. All eyes lay heavy as coals, chains and rope upon me. I shifted unsteadily beneath their gazes and continued on. It didn't strike me then the absurdity of what I was doing, and the luck I held that day that I was not gunned down on the spot. I found my way to the Lotterymaster's office and stepped in sans appointment. My three ghostly companions followed suit and floated through various parts of the room. I smiled as the Burned Man peered at the globe with interest, perhaps he would speak today. I looked to the Lotterymaster, "This farce has gone on too long, Lotterymaster. I am here to inform you that I wish to decline further lottery winnings. Please, have a good day." I contented myself on the walk to the closest means of transport home on the look of shock that had caressed the Lotterymaster's face. I chuckled and walked on into the night, my three ghostly companions by my side. &#x200B;
	[WP] When Voldemort was about to enter the Potters home, he didn't expect the most powerful witches to be protecting Harry and his family. Not even his immortality could protect him from the combined wrath of Mary Poppins and Mrs. Frizzle.	The door to the Magic School Bus closed with a familiar creak. A frazzled looking red head waved behind the doors windows, looking on as the last muggle child trudged slowly up their country lane to the cozy, brick house up ahead. Mrs. Frizzle's smile wilted slightly, replaced by something close to determination with hints of exhaustion closing in. Teaching children the inner workings of this wonderfully magical world was hard enough work with wizard children, let alone the task of teaching muggle children! At least with kids, though, you could use their imaginations to disguise your magical abilities. Adult muggles were so much more boring; she felt terrible for her partner who spent her days cleaning houses for the muggles. Mrs. Frizzle let out a sigh, smiled again, and pulled away from the drive. There was work to be done, far more grim work. She waited until the farmhouse was out of sight. She slid back a small compartment and pulled the seemlingly innocent lever behind. "Oh Arthur," She thought, "how would we ever manage to get around without your curiousity?" There was a loud BANG, and the bus disappeared into the night. ___________ Mary slowly straightened up, holding shards of glass in her hands. There was a young child crying in the background; big tears the size of coins streaming down his red cheeks as he attempted to proclaim his innocence, barely managing to breathe through the wailing. It was understandable, the broken piece was a priceless vase his parents absolutely cherished. Ms. Poppins silently tapped the vase and the shards suddenly jumped back together, no imperfections to be seen. She turned back around and kneeled down in front of the boy who suddenly choked on his own gasp of breath. "...but, how?" He asked. His voice came out very small compared to his usually confident and boisterous 4 year old voice. "Never you mind, my dear. I never saw a thing!" She replied, winking with a slight look of mischeif in her eye. "Now, what are the rules about running inside, Thomas?" She wiped a falling tear from his face with a finger and began singing. Later that night, Mary closed the door to the families house and opened her umbrella. She thought to herself, as she did almost every night, how curious it was that muggles would accept an umbrella as a mode of transportation, whereas her perfectly good broomstick was crossing the line. She would love to be able to bring her cleaning equipment with! It worked so much better than what muggles called "vacuums", even after her adjustments. Once in the air she apparated into a bus flying through the night sky, destined for nowhere in particular at the moment. "Hello, Mary. So glad you could finally join me!" Mrs. Frizzle exclaimed. "I am as punctual as I need to be, Val, you know that." She smiled at her friend of many, many years, "Is tonight the night?" Mrs. Frizzle's face lit up in excitement. She walked to a console on the wall, which seemed to be growing and shrinking as needed to accommodate the different gadgets and magical apparatuses there. "We'll never know for sure, but we're closing in on a time where the Dark Lord would need to choose, and choose quickly, which child to kill. It is only a matter of time. Albus waits in protection of the Longbottom boy. His spies have said the Dark Lord grows restless." Mrs. Frizzle held up a glowing ball, filled with some liquid that didn't really seem to have any color that Mary could describe. Her eyes were magnified behind the ball and Mary did her best to stifle a laugh at the tuft of frizzy orange hair surrounding the ball with the comically large eyes peering out. "If this divinity ball that that old bat Trelawney gave me is accurate in any form, there is danger ahead." She peeked over the ball at Mary, a smile playing in her eyes, "Let's see what this bus can do!" With another loud bang an unsuspecting car appeared at the end of the drive of Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging. Two witches sat inside, preparing for the night ahead. Edit: don't usually respond to prompts but loved this one for some reason. Didn't see anyone really tie their universes in with the wizards', so I did my best. Obviously left wide open and might continue if people actually like it.	I fear what's to happen all happened before. \-Bert, Mary Poppins (1964) &#x200B; It is Halloween night and a cold wind is blowing in the east. The small town of Godric's Hollow is full of giggling children as they visit each house in pursuit of their treasures. A young boy dressed as a lizard opens his candy bag and examines the goodies. "Not bad", he thought excitedly, "Is that a Mallowblaster!" The boy smiles but when he looks up, he can't seem to find his friends. The smile fades and he begins to run down the now abandoned street with fear in his chest. Every house he passes seems to have turned their lights off and nothing can be heard except the crunch of stones under his shoes. Looking ahead the boy sees a dark figure, dressed in a black cloak and hood, walking across the street to the only house with its lights on. Holding out an arm, the figure casts a beam of light at the door. Then the wind begins to blow harder and a strange, young lady floats down from the sky hanging beneath an umbrella. She lightly sets her feet on the gravel path. "I beg your pardon, but I believe you have the wrong house." says the mysterious lady as she tucks her umbrella under her arm. The hooded figure tilts its head slightly, "Why Mary! I’d almost forgotten about you as of late. Have you met the Potters? It has been many years since anyone has seen you. I should introduce you." "Don't count me as a fool Voldemort. You and I know you have no intentions for civil actions." There conversation is interrupted by the screech of tires and someone screaming maniacally, "Okay, bus, do your stuff!" A yellow school bus breaks through the trees and smashes into Voldemort, crushing him. As the dust and smoke clears you see that the bus is undamaged but the cloaked figure lays in a mangled heap against the wall. A strangely dressed women jumps out of the driver's seat, "Well we may have won the battle, but he is still fighting the war!" Mary Poppins stands in disapproving shock. "Arnold, are you listening?" The boy in the lizard costume nods his head silently.
	[WP] When Voldemort was about to enter the Potters home, he didn't expect the most powerful witches to be protecting Harry and his family. Not even his immortality could protect him from the combined wrath of Mary Poppins and Mrs. Frizzle.	As Voldemort neared the front door the house was illuminated in a bright yellow light and the sound of an electric horn. Glancing over his shoulder he could see a rather irate red head driving a muggle school bus directly at him. "Wingardium Leviosa," shouts Volemort and he points toward the bus with his wand sending it soaring through the air only to stop mid-air and slowly return to the ground. The driver is as shocked as The Dark Lord. Without warning a red streak of light shot through Voldemort, bringing him to his knees outside the Potter House. Lilly and James Potter stood at the window cradling their baby in shock at what they see. The Dark Lord crippled on the ground, he looks toward the shadows asking, "Who are you?!" A man with blue skin and a red mohawk steps out. With a whistle sends his red beam of light through Voldemort's skull. "I'm Mary Poppins Ya'll!" ---- Sorry if it's not very good.	Mrs Frizzle summons her bus in order to go inside Voldemort and destroy him with its enlargement but she was too late. “Imperio,” he whispers. Lily Potter, holding her baby protectively suddenly feels a wash of pure happiness and hears a voice in her head commanding her to shake her baby boy. A look of horror fills the face of Mary Poppins as she knows best how bad it is to shake babies. She had to stop others from shaking their babies and usually succeeded; although occasionally permanent brain damage beyond her power to heal occurs, she’s never lost a child. She shouts in horror, “No! Don’t shake Harry!” Lily snaps out of the curse seemingly in time. Her baby boy still alive. The distraction, however, allowed Voldemort an opportunity to escape. That night, Lily and Mary watch the baby, trying their best healing magic while James and Mrs Frizzle stand guard.
	[WP] When Voldemort was about to enter the Potters home, he didn't expect the most powerful witches to be protecting Harry and his family. Not even his immortality could protect him from the combined wrath of Mary Poppins and Mrs. Frizzle.	Voldemort stepped through the magical veil protecting the Potter's house. Gleefully laughing at this nigh impenetrable magic that wormtail had helped him bypass. That is until he looked closer at the house. A small yellow bus that he could tell was bigger on the inside sat in the driveway. She was here. One of the most powerful witches to have ever lived. An american witch who is said to have used her magic bus to explore the vast reaches of the world, space, and even the ancient past, a task said to be impossible even with magic. The surprise at her presence shook him but he steeled himself confident in his own strength he moved toward the front door. And that was when he saw the umbrella leaning against the wall next to the door. It could have been anybody's any umbrella but he knew in that moment looking at it exactly who its owner was. The most powerful witch known the world over for her fierce ability to protect any child in her care from any threat no matter how powerful. Such is her power that even her presence and a few words of hers spoken even indirectly can shift the very personalities of those around her. Voldemort took a step back true fear gripping him. His confidence against one of these women was shaky at best but both? No he would need to retreat tonight and return when they were gone. He turned to leave and saw his folly the powerful spell meant to keep him out had turned in to one preventing him from leaving. Behind him he heard the door and then an umbrella open as the bus parked in the driveway suddenly turned on. He slowly tuned around to face them holding only the slightest glimmer of hope that his immortality would protect him till he saw the one with crazy red hair holding one of his horcruxes and what color was left in his face drained completely.	Mrs Frizzle summons her bus in order to go inside Voldemort and destroy him with its enlargement but she was too late. “Imperio,” he whispers. Lily Potter, holding her baby protectively suddenly feels a wash of pure happiness and hears a voice in her head commanding her to shake her baby boy. A look of horror fills the face of Mary Poppins as she knows best how bad it is to shake babies. She had to stop others from shaking their babies and usually succeeded; although occasionally permanent brain damage beyond her power to heal occurs, she’s never lost a child. She shouts in horror, “No! Don’t shake Harry!” Lily snaps out of the curse seemingly in time. Her baby boy still alive. The distraction, however, allowed Voldemort an opportunity to escape. That night, Lily and Mary watch the baby, trying their best healing magic while James and Mrs Frizzle stand guard.
	[WP] When Voldemort was about to enter the Potters home, he didn't expect the most powerful witches to be protecting Harry and his family. Not even his immortality could protect him from the combined wrath of Mary Poppins and Mrs. Frizzle.	“Chim-chim chimney chim-chim-cheroo!” Voldemort screamed as his body flew backwards across the land. Mary Poppins straightened her jacket. “Good riddance!” Valerie pulled up in the Magic School bus, the sides decorated in arcane symbols and pages of grimoires. Valerie stepped from the bus and joined her comrade. “And you’ll clean up the breakage?” “Oh yes Mary. The bus can turn into a cleaning system. It’s how I teach lipids in soap.” “Thanks Valerie. “ “Scotch?” She pulled out a flask from her robe. “A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down.” “You know it won’t stop.” Ms Frizzle petted Liz on her shoulder as she sipped from the flask and passed it to Mary. “That’s why we do what we do, so one day Harry can stop him, once and for all.” Mary felt the wind change. “No matter how the wind changes, we must protect this child.” “Bus, do your stuff.” She intoned. The vehicle quietly began repairs to the street and neighborhood.	Mrs Frizzle summons her bus in order to go inside Voldemort and destroy him with its enlargement but she was too late. “Imperio,” he whispers. Lily Potter, holding her baby protectively suddenly feels a wash of pure happiness and hears a voice in her head commanding her to shake her baby boy. A look of horror fills the face of Mary Poppins as she knows best how bad it is to shake babies. She had to stop others from shaking their babies and usually succeeded; although occasionally permanent brain damage beyond her power to heal occurs, she’s never lost a child. She shouts in horror, “No! Don’t shake Harry!” Lily snaps out of the curse seemingly in time. Her baby boy still alive. The distraction, however, allowed Voldemort an opportunity to escape. That night, Lily and Mary watch the baby, trying their best healing magic while James and Mrs Frizzle stand guard.
	[WP] When Voldemort was about to enter the Potters home, he didn't expect the most powerful witches to be protecting Harry and his family. Not even his immortality could protect him from the combined wrath of Mary Poppins and Mrs. Frizzle.	His cloak bristled the autumn leaves as he walked up the flagged pathway. He deftly flicked his wand without breaking his stride and watched as the little cottage shimmered into view. He heard a bustling inside the home, they knew he was coming. As he approached the door, it opened suddenly, as if it knew what evil was approaching it. Confidently, he strode inside with his wand aloft but stopped suddenly as he entered. It was dark, and a strange noise wafted from inside the home. Was it singing? Some inane tune about mindless busywork? He had a mere moment to ponder this when a toy riding horse suddenly knocked him over from behind. All the little toys and books were running him over like a avalanche. He threw spells to clear off the assaulting bric-a-brack and slowly worked his way to his feet. Enraged he continued to enter. Out of the corner of his eye he saw movement, something sliding up the banister perhaps? "What is this", he pondered, "Is this really the best you can do to delay me James. I'm disappointed, I expected a challenge". He readied himself, excitement coursed through him as he approached the stairs. As he began to climb, he heard another strange noise. Water? He glanced up morosely to see a torrential flood pouring down the stairs towards him. In the brief moment before the water struck, he could have sworn to have seen a lizard riding one of the muggle water-boards they use at the beach on the approaching wave. As it struck him it pinned him against the wall for a brief moment until he was able to throw up a shield and push his way against the current. Slowly he worked his way to the top of the stairs and vanished away the muggle firehouse that snaked its way to the top of the stairs. Mildly impressed by the spell-work, he called out "Do you think a little rain can stop me Lily? Tut-tut." The upstairs landing had 3 doors but only one of them had a subtle glow creeping from below the door. A faint cry came from the room. Voldemort paused for a second to relish the moment. Then he quietly uttered "Bombardo" and blew in the door. Voldemort waited a moment for the dust to clear. But through the dust, 2 light beams shown through. Eyes? What beast could they possibly have hiding inside. Then he heard a all-mighty roar and a single phrase "Seatbelts everyone!" Voldemort liked to think he was prepared for any eventuality, he had secured his soul and had thought of all possible things that the potters could have thrown at him. But what came had him at a complete loss. A massive yellow motorcycle tore out of the room, with a woman with wild red hair, goggles and a manic smile at the helm. A prim and proper woman sat behind her riding side-saddle, carrying a large carpet-bag on one arm and a umbrella in the other. The potters were huddled together, in a side car with a bundle of blankets nested in their arms. The motorcycle thudded into him throwing him to the side of the hallway. It careened around the corner and down the stairs where a green flash jumped from the banister onto the red-haired woman's shoulder. He tried vainly to fire a few spells after the motorcycle but the woman in the back knocked them away with her umbrella. Voldemort forced himself to his feet and limped downstairs to the door. Looking out into the night he saw the motorcycle driving down the lane off into the night. Behind him he heard a noise. He wheeled around towards the hearth to see a upside down man's head in the fireplace. His face was covered in soot and he was dusting inside of the fireplace "Mary 'oppins eh? Ya never had a chance"	Mrs Frizzle summons her bus in order to go inside Voldemort and destroy him with its enlargement but she was too late. “Imperio,” he whispers. Lily Potter, holding her baby protectively suddenly feels a wash of pure happiness and hears a voice in her head commanding her to shake her baby boy. A look of horror fills the face of Mary Poppins as she knows best how bad it is to shake babies. She had to stop others from shaking their babies and usually succeeded; although occasionally permanent brain damage beyond her power to heal occurs, she’s never lost a child. She shouts in horror, “No! Don’t shake Harry!” Lily snaps out of the curse seemingly in time. Her baby boy still alive. The distraction, however, allowed Voldemort an opportunity to escape. That night, Lily and Mary watch the baby, trying their best healing magic while James and Mrs Frizzle stand guard.
	[WP] The universe is in the final stages of heat death. The last remnants of humanity live in ring stations built around white dwarfs and black holes. As the final stars die, humanity throws everything left into an insane, experimental technology- a technology that promises salvation.	This is my first one here in r/WritingPrompts HAHA feel free to criticize me (is that the correct term?) "From dust I was made, to dust I shall return," says the test subject, "I'm ready." He was afraid to enter the machine, nobody knew what would happen. The fear he felt, thinking that the machine would destroy him. On 2020, the secret to immortality was discovered, and he was the first to be turned. Now, that the universe is nearing it's end, it was thought reasonable for the first to be the last. Only a week before, a paper from generations ago was discovered. It explained a way to harvest the energy of the entire universe into one man. It was theorized that it would make a new big bang, remaking the universe. However, other suggested it would speed up the end. Yet the leaders of humanity agreed to it, they were going to die anyways they thought to themselves. "I love you," he says to his wife standing alongside his entire family," I love you all." "Initiating in 10 seconds" He took one last look around at the place as the doors were closing. "5" "4" "3" "2" "1" "Initiating." He closes his eyes then... nothing. He was no longer where he was a few moments ago. He was in a void of black. He felt strange, different than normal. Until a stone tablet appears, "You are now who you think I am." Confused, he thought to himself who is behind this. The writing on the tablet starts changing. "I am who I am. I left your world yet I have not forsaken you. Of all my experiments, only your species achieved what I expected. This world is now yours, make it a better place." He nods, but he can't nod. He finally noticed he was now a white orb, a dust in the void. He did not understand what anything the tablet meant but he had to do something. A thought came to mind and he laughed in his mind. He attempted to talk and to which he says, "Let there be light!"	"Our project was controversial, to say the least. Most called us mad scientists. This is a fair point; we were, after all, right about to 'end the world'. But what did it mean anyway, with the entire universe in shambles, and only a handful of systems in a single galaxy still inhabitable? We had failed our mission as a species, and transitively, this universe had failed." "Humanity used to believe that intelligent life should have had developed somewhere other than on Earth, where it began. This turned out to be wishful thinking. Once faster-than-light travel became possible, humanity spread everywhere, and never found anything more elaborate than algae on other worlds. We were alone. We were chosen." "At the exact center of the universe laid a supermassive black hole, what now remains of the Big Bang. After millenia of observations, brilliant minds made an incredible discovery. The super-supermassive black hole, like all other black holes, was evaporating and emitting matter and radio frequencies–but the radio frequencies out of this one were a non-random waveform, repeating with a decades-long period. Somehow, this one encoded a message. And what a message! It had been left by the Previous Ones, those that stood before the beginning of time." "Through their posthumous communication, they taught us that there had been another universe before ours. It was full of genial life, beautiful creatures and terrible fiends. Knowledge had been passed to them by Their Previous Ones: a challenge to break the cycle and discover some truth larger than the universe they lived in. However, through their specific circumstances, they never could break that code: their universe was programmed to expand indefinitely, leading to its heat death, just like ours. They learned from Their Previous Ones of an ultimate trick, should they be unable to find salvation: through a quantum inconsistency, it would be possible to create a certain quantity of information in the universe, adding just enough mass that gravity would cause the universe to collapse back on itself in a Big Crunch, and start over. Their final manipulation seeded the universe that we now lived in, and that was right about to expire, too." "We conjectured that they were sufficiently advanced to parameterize this 'reboot' such that there would be only one intelligent race in the entire universe, in the misguided hope that it perhaps would suppress some strife that slowed down their scientific progress. We did not possess such technology." "As soon as that message was partially decoded, many of the world's leading scientists tackled the gigantic task of understanding its secrets. We were sufficiently advanced that we knew how we could restart the world ourselves, should we reach their desperate point, millions of years ago. However, a massive war over resources tore apart our civilization, and there were just a few pockets of us left. Most thought that humanity could rebound, but we knew that it wouldn't, or that at least, it wouldn't understand its purpose before the end of its time. Faced with that inevitability, what good was it to keep the world going? We currently knew how being again, and couldn't guarantee that humanity still would a million years from now, when the fires of even the most hellish worlds wavered. It was our sacred duty to admit failure, and hope that the Next Ones would succeed where we didn't. If we did not, there was a real chance that the universe would reach its real death; the final state from which it couldn't escape." "'It is time', the Secretary said. We raised our cups of pure water one last time. 'To the Next Ones', the Minister offered, with a barely discernible degree of doubt expressed for the first time in what all thought was unwavering faith. And when I finish my cup, I will raise a solemn finger, and press the Button." "It is now up to you, Next One, to find meaning, and free yourself. We gave our lives to give you a chance. You must succeed, or love life enough to give yours up."
	[WP] Animals with eyes on the sided their head are prey and animals with eyes in front are predators. Tell the story of why dragons have eyes on the side of their head	"Evolution is a wonderful thing," Kathryn said, not for the first time. Jared rolled his eyes, "Just because we are biologists doesn't mean you have to keep repeating that. We all get it. Evolution rules." "I know, I know. It's just... this place is spooky. It keeps me distracted, reflecting on life's ultimate purpose." Kathryn could barely make out the ceiling of the cavern. They were deep in a sprawling underground complex, home to innumerable passages and rooms that wound their way beneath the Himalayas. No-one was sure how deep the tunnels actually went, but since their discovery a decade ago the exploration teams had found more than fourteen entry points, each separated by hundreds of miles on the surface, but all falling within the mountain chain. The discovery had been innocuous at first, just another underground cave complex. But then they'd found the remains of dragons and suddenly the legends and myths from all over the world were true. There were elongated dragons, worm-like and massive, just like those found in Chinese myths, and bulkier dragons with broad shoulders and long, sinuous necks. They'd found dragons of all shapes and sizes, all with viscous teeth and bone structures along their necks that suggested that they may have indeed breathed fire. The two biologists continued down the passage way. They were about a mile underground but were not exploring as that was for the Special Forces teams, part of a coalition formed by interested Nation States from all over the world. They were simply there to collect samples from previously discovered dragon remains. As usual, Jared took the lead. The passage was wet and the sound of dripping water followed them. Their footsteps produced a muffled echo as they walked. They walked in a silence for awhile before Jared said over his shoulder, "It doesn't make sense. We have the myths and the legends, sure, but dragons don't fit in the food chain." He paused for a moment and side stepped a large puddle, then continued, "Our eco-systems don't account for them, though they must have been apex predators in their day, even over humans." The two biologists talked about this particular inconsistency quite often. "It is strange," Kathryn agreed, "We know unequivocally that they were meat eaters, we have proof from some of the fossilized remains right here in these caves, but why did other animals not evolve to evade them? And why did they disappear so suddenly?" Jared shrugged, though Kathryn didn't see the gesture. He let out a short burst of laughter. "So many unanswered questions." The two kept walking, each lost in their own similar thoughts, again convincing themselves that this cave and the discoveries within were in-fact real and had in-fact revitalized their careers, and that dragons did in-fact exist. Jared concentrated on avoiding puddles on the ground. He walked straight into an overhanging spire of rock, smashing his headlamp in the process. "Shit," he swore. Kathryn looked up, her light framing Jared and casting a long shadow that seemed too disjointed for the flat side of the passage way. She started. There was a small, narrow passage way off to the right, distorting the shadow. "Jared, look to your right. See that?" Jared felt where she was indicating with his hands, there was indeed a gap. He swung his backpack around and rummaged in it for a flash light, which he turned on and shone down the newly discovered passageway, "Woah, it looks like steps carved into the rock." Excitement colored his speech, the words coming rapidly, "Humans have been here before! We have to go down it." Kathryn hesitated, "We're collecting samples from 1A6, we should leave this to the adventuring teams... hey, wait!" Jared was already bounding down the steps, taking them two at a time. He called back, "This is too good to pass up, come on!" Kathryn sighed and followed, mentally noting to make sure she was paired with a more reasonable team member next time. She was a biologist, not Indian Jones' assistant. The two descended for some time, their awe steadily rising with each downward step. The walls on each side of the hallway were filled with detailed drawings of dragons, of all shapes and sizes and make, some breathing fire and some engaged in combat with figures they couldn't quite make out. There must have been hundreds of the images. After a time Jared spoke, "I have always wondered, you know, these dragons are clearly apex predators, yet they didn't evolve like lions or tigers or other predators. Their eyes are on the sides of their heads, like prey. It doesn't make sense." Kathryn didn't reply. She had thought the same thing a few times, besides, they had talked about this before. The two continued in companionable silence. Eventually the hallway opened up into a large, cavernous chamber. Kathryn lagged behind a bit, caught up by the fascinating drawings, and emerged to see Jared standing near its center, slowly rotating in wonder, "Holy shit..." "What?" Kathryn followed Jared's eyes upwards. What she saw made her jaw drop and caused a surge of adrenaline to shoot through the base of her spine. "Oh wow..." she mouthed. There were drawings here too, but they weren't of dragons. They depicted what could only be interstellar space craft. Aliens. The ships were sleek and modern looking, and they seemed to be embossed upon the walls of the chamber instead of drawn on. Like they had been stamped down. The ships were of uniform make, wasp-like and narrow in the center, sleek and black. The two biologists looked up for a while, frozen and dumbstruck. Eventually Kathryn forced herself to look around the base of the cavern. She spotted a small podium just off-center and walked up to it. To her surprise the podium lit up as she came nearer, so bright that the beams from their flash lights were lost. She blinked rapidly, her eyes adjusting. The room was filled with a harsh glow, like the bright light above a dentist chair. A screen on the podium turned on though she couldn't make out any cords or outlets. The screen showed strange lines intersecting at off weird angles which seemed to repeat in somewhat consistent patterns. Alien writing, had to be. Just as she was about to remark on this, she watched the shapes change... until she could read the text on the screen, "Re-calibrating language output according to proximate being's default communication method. Stand by." Kathryn, at this point so inundated with the crazy stimuli of the past few minutes that she barely registered how crazy this all was, repeated the words to Jared, who had been staring up at the brightly lit space ships the whole time, their every detail revealed in the brightness. The text changed on the screen. Kathryn read it, and then said, voice filled with apprehension, "They aren't part of our finely tuned eco-systems because they were placed here." She looked around, up at the spacecraft on the walls and then down at the too-smooth surface of the cavern floor. "Everything we know... we thought we knew....everything will change." Jared walked up behind her, his flash light forgotten on the floor. He read from the screen out loud, "The Dragon Hunt continues. Thirty-seven individuals remain." &#x200B;	We've lived peacefully alongside the enormous beast for years. But today, something felt different. I worked in a facility that tended to dragon's medical issues. I recorded every dragon and built an average list of daily visits. Monday: 3.5 Tuesday: 5.2 Wednesday: 2.3 Thursday: 5.0 Friday: 6.1 Saturday: 5.2 Sunday: 5.3 But today was a Monday and we already had thirty-four dragons come in. Most of them had torn wings or claw marks, I assumed they were just fighting each other. As I finished up some paper work, I heard a terrifying thud from the landing zone. Sure, some of the injured dragons had a rough landing, but this didn't sound good. I glared out the window in horror and a massive dragon limped on only three legs and struggled with a single wing. It collapsed to the ground, shouting "It has returned!" I turned to the massive opening in the landing bay and saw what he feared. The serpent rose from the sea and grimaced as it eyed the building. It's mouth opened to reveal massive fangs, its eyes were slits that you fould fly a plane through, and as it opened wider I could see dragon teeth stabbed into its gums. Then I remembered a lesson from school. Predator's typically had forward facing eyes, while prey had their eyes on the side. I took one last look at a building full of helpless dragons, and watched as the serpent ripped through the nests and filled it's belly before returning to the water from which it came (My first WP so let me know how I did)
	[WP] As the hostile alien fleet closed in on Earth, oceans the world over began to churn. On the night side of the planet, all eyes are drawn skyward as the moon begins to visibly rotate. A flash of static hits every radio frequency before an echoic voice bellows, "This is our planet, too."	I hated the Dolphining from the moment I heard that stupid fucking name. I mean, what were they going to do? Flap their stupid fucking flippers in the general direction of the alien ships? Some people were in awe of them. Some people cried at the thought of how we’d exploited them for our entertainment. Not me; I wish they’d just kept their worthless sentience to themselves. Their grand reveal was a giant wrench in our defensive planning, a major distraction at the worst possible moment. We probably wouldn’t have had much of a chance at any rate, but all hope is gone now. The dolphins don’t have any sort of magic or advanced technology that would help us now at the eleventh hour. They’re morons, honestly, and they’re not pulling their weight. God, I hate dolphins. The Dolphining? Really? What a waste.	The main gun of an M5 Goliath battle tank tracked the moonship as two retrograde thrusters pivoted 90 degrees and fired landwards. F-41 Starhawks screamed overhead, flanked by two starships of Earth's own design, which appeared as little more than floating tubes of steel covered in bulky blocks of nuclear missile tubes when compared to the sleek lines and heavy armor plating of the moon vessel. Thirty vessels were hastily constructed in the orbital shipyards of Dynamo Engineering. Yet after the Martian defense satellites were obliterated at the hands of the alien fleet and the surface of the planet itself glassed, it quickly became clear that thirty starships would only waste lives and resources. President Lyctove was fully aware of this- which is primarily why he ordered the Centurion and the Eclypsis to hold fire when the moon suddenly rotated 180 degrees and starships began to pour out of... somewhere. In truth, Lyctove had no reason to hold fire. The moon had been fully established as a self-sufficient colony for several decades. How these vessels had managed to remain hidden was a mystery, yet also one that could be solved at a later date. The moonships clearly possessed technology far superior to Arcadia and Lexian class cylinders which comprised the Earth's only spaceborne defense. As long as they didn't fire first, Earth's weapons wouldn't target them, if only because they were too valuable for the fight ahead. Lyctove now stood in front of the landed moonship, surrounded by a security detail of marines in powered armor. The Goliath whirred behind him, standing on four articulated legs and proudly presenting a 200 millimeter railgun which now seemed like a peashooter next to the sparking plasmacasters and antimatter torpedoes of the moonship. A ramp lowered amidst the fire and dust. Lyctove's marine complement backed off slightly, close enough to respond quickly in case the President's life was threatened but far enough away as to not infringe on any negotiations. There was only a single figure which marched down the ramp in a distinctly militaristic style. He appeared unarmed, although the environmental suit which he wore could certainly mask almost any weapon. "Greetings!" Lyctove said, shouting over the din of the Goliath and the moonship combined. "You are the President of the North American Block?" the figure asked, disregarding Lyctove's outstretched hand. "Y-yes, I am!" "I am Prime Minister Michael Hasan, of the United Planetary Republic." the figure then stuck out his hand, and Lyctove quickly shook it. "Welcome to Earth!" Lyctove responded, covering his ears as the Goliath shifted positions. "Shall we go somewhere quieter?" "That would be preferable." Hasan answered calmly, even appearing slightly amused at Lyctove's discomfort. \------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "700 years ago, we launched the Obsidian Dawn. The only century ship we ever launched. They supposedly crash landed on the planet Endura-22a21s." Lyctove tracked the presumed fight course of the Obsidian Dawn with his finger on a holographic map in front of the rest of the United Nations Security Council. Hasan stood slightly behind him, hands clasped behind his back. He had removed his environmental suit- Lyctove had been slightly shocked to realize that these 'moonpeople' were human. "In that time frame, they've made an interstellar empire. The United Planetary Republic. They've fought wars with other empires, and these "aliens" that glassed Mars are humans as well. Its a splinter fleet from the Interior Systems Coalition, which itself split from the United Planetary Republic after a civil war." "How have we not noticed this before?" someone in the Council asked. "Because the Obsidian Dawn didn't crash on Endura-22a21s. All of that- it's all happening in another universe." Lyctove replied, wincing as he realized how ridiculous that sounded. "They somehow entered another universe, and later developed the technology to traverse universes freely. A wormhole generator of some sort." The Council immediently fell silent. "Long story short, the Coalition and the Republic have been at war for a long time. The Coalition doesn't believe that Earth is humanity's homeworld, so they dispatched a fleet to attack it, just to send a 'fuck you' to the Republic. The Republic dispatched a fleet to defend it. And here we are." Hasan stepped forth. "We have sent the most powerful ship in our fleet. The Alexandra and her battlegroup will have no trouble destroying the Coalition forces before they reach Earth." "Why couldn't they defend Mars?" someone spat, as if the destruction of the red planet was the Republic's fault. "Regrettably, we did not realize the threat of the situation until it was too late. And, frankly, we did not expect your technological level to be so low. After the Coalition fleet is dealt with, we will establish a temporary starbase in orbit, just long enough for you to catch up technologically with the rest of the multiverse." A man entered the meeting room, with four marines acting as guards. "Admiral Hasan," he said. "The Alexandra is engaging the Coalition forces. The Earth fleet is still holding in orbit." "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen." Hasan said, tipping his bowler hat and ducking out of the meeting room, "I have some duties to attend to."
	[WP] As the hostile alien fleet closed in on Earth, oceans the world over began to churn. On the night side of the planet, all eyes are drawn skyward as the moon begins to visibly rotate. A flash of static hits every radio frequency before an echoic voice bellows, "This is our planet, too."	I hated the Dolphining from the moment I heard that stupid fucking name. I mean, what were they going to do? Flap their stupid fucking flippers in the general direction of the alien ships? Some people were in awe of them. Some people cried at the thought of how we’d exploited them for our entertainment. Not me; I wish they’d just kept their worthless sentience to themselves. Their grand reveal was a giant wrench in our defensive planning, a major distraction at the worst possible moment. We probably wouldn’t have had much of a chance at any rate, but all hope is gone now. The dolphins don’t have any sort of magic or advanced technology that would help us now at the eleventh hour. They’re morons, honestly, and they’re not pulling their weight. God, I hate dolphins. The Dolphining? Really? What a waste.	I can't help myself anymore, I'm just too terrified at this point. Last saturday morning i was playing with my older brother and father, my mother prepared a nice, warm breakfast of sunnyside eggs and ham, along with some orange juice and few bacon strips, before my brothers and i went out on a journey near the lake to catch some fish, and cook them at our self made fire pit. The day was amazing, and the journey a resounding success. If only things could've stayed this way... After the sun started setting we decided to pack our bags and head home, mama always has a dinner prepared for us after one of our adventures, so we were oh so very eager to find out what was on the menu. After we checked to make sure nothing was missing or left behind we jumped in my brothers old, rusty, worn out fishing truck(we called it the fishing truck cuz he doesn't do anything else with it) and set our sights for home. As we were driving i could feel myself getting sleepier. It was only me in the back seat, so i took the opportunity, and unbuckled my seat belt and started laid down. What happened next felt like a dream. I still have trouble deciding if it was a dream or not, because it was so surreal. As nightfall hit. Everything seemed to just stop. I sensed the sudden change in atmosphere, and opened my eyes to see my brothers arguing, and yelling violently at each other. They looked nervous and panicked, but i couldn't tell at that time, i was so very tired. I looked over to my right and out the window, i must've been dreaming, the moon itself seemed to rotate. I began gaining more of a sense of consciousness, and started making out some intense static coming through the radio. I couldn't make out the words that were coming out of the static, little did i know how important those words were. My sleepiness eventually got the better of me, and so i closed my eyes and drifted slowly to sleep. That was the best sleep, the last sleep I'll ever have as a sane, hopeful, little boy, because when i opened my eyes. I was chained to this metal wall alongside hundreds of other boys. I looked down below me and saw things, people that shouldn't exist, people that just should not be able to breath and speak, communicate the same way my mama, papa, brothers, uncles, and friends do. I looked down at these people and began feeling the pain of the the things they placed on my wrists and ankles. Scorching, suffocating pain. I screamed and welled in agony, but that was far from the worst pain i would now receive. Everyday. Every goddamn day i wake to the same cold, ruthless cycle of walking shackled from hands to feet like some kind of deranged animal, and forced to eat worms and flys as the "people" mock and laugh at me, with their static, distant voices playing over and over in my head every night before i go to sleep, they're the real animals. I can't help myself any longer. I'm terrified at the thought of living the rest of my life like this. Recently i found something they should have kept hidden. A shard. A broken shard of glass just sharp enough to cut the sides of my finger tips, and just small enough to use effectively even with the handcuffs cutting my wrists and forearms. I miss my brothers and my parents, if only i knew that car ride was the last i'd ever spend with them, i would've stayed awake. Although maybe all this is a dream, and I'll wake from it soon, with my papa strapping me into bed as i never woke from the car ride in time. N mama preparing another delightful breakfast as i wake. I can't wake to tell them about this dream. For now i walk up to one of my tormentors, the dream character with the long, beastly snout. He kicked and humiliated me. But now. Now that it's already over. Now that i can feel the dream coming to a close. I'll end it with a bang.
	[WP] As the hostile alien fleet closed in on Earth, oceans the world over began to churn. On the night side of the planet, all eyes are drawn skyward as the moon begins to visibly rotate. A flash of static hits every radio frequency before an echoic voice bellows, "This is our planet, too."	We were doomed to a fiery atomic death. The Hasturan Fleet was closing in on Sol-3a, closing in on our Earth. The enemy was a vast mind, a being composed of trillions of bodies and brains. We were hopeless as their hivemind allocated what it claimed to be a 'light assault fleet' of 77,000 ships to glass the continents and boil the oceans of Earth. Extinction of Terran Life- all at once. Total eradication of the entire gaian biosphere. There was no resistance. A single Hasturan corvette class Starship had totaled the United Solar Accord's Fleet. We were defenseless. We were prepared for the end. Faced with nuclear annihilation I found some semblance of peace. It made sense. It was terrifying, and it was horrible, but it made sense. We poked a bear bigger than us and this is what they decided to do. Cause and Effect. Crime and Punishment. When the oceans began their humming things lost cohesion. Under the stars across the world Great behemoths awakened in the deep and in their electromagnetic voices screamed horrifying cacophonies in twelve part harmony. We were told to prepare when the Hasturan Fleet broke orbit around Jupiter, but screamed in terror from far beneath the earth the word ‘Rise’ was heard. Cameras across the world looked to the sea and beheld great luminescent gargantuans wreathed in white light, filling the whole horizon; their bodies the size of mountains. They rose into the sky and in their wakes a trillion trillion of their tentacled young spiraled after them from the depths. When the Hasturan fleet moved past the asteroid belt the world heard a second behemoths enraged scream. “RISE” tore through the frequencies of Humanity, radios everywhere screaming its hellish command. Records show that in that moment twelve volcanoes across the Earth erupted. What we knew that day was that from their fiery depths rose tripedal monstrosities the size of Solar Battlecruisers. They roared their rage into the sky as they lept into orbit leaving the land shattered where they arose. As the Hasturan fleet closed in on Martian orbit there was a third call, but this one was on the wind itself. “RRRIIISSSEEE” The skies were still black with ash, and within the great storms of burning air coalesced great cyclones. These storms were not natural, and from within their shadowed arcades of burning air emerged great beings of eldritch monstrosity and wickedness. I stared until I could not stare any longer, until my tear streaked face was caked with ash- but I tell you this with certainty. These blackened scaled things that somehow climbed into the sky on nine legs were beyond any mortal understanding or appreciation. At long last the apologies and well wishes of Earthlings poured into the various radio frequencies and websites of social Martian humanity. Prayers were being sung in cities from across Earth to the faraway Mars. Humanity said thanks and so long to a third of itself. Quietly, we waited. No one heard the fourth call to rise. There was no sound, no radio chatter, no light or warning. Our moon just bloomed. Our Pale Lady Luna opened her 99 arms and from her emerged uncounted streaks of stultifying, purifying light. Fifteen million miles away The Yellow Fleet of Hastur ignited. Many millions of observers went blind across the Earth and Mars. There was no reaction for a while, not until The Pale Lady closed her arms and returned to her disguise as our stoic moon. We celebrated, danced, drank ourselves into a stupor in glee. The United Solar Accord had confirmed the Hasturans totally destroyed, their carriers outside The Solar System turned away by the show of force. We were safe. We had survived annihilation. We would live. We would live on to become slaves of our New Masters, and their Old Gods.	I can't help myself anymore, I'm just too terrified at this point. Last saturday morning i was playing with my older brother and father, my mother prepared a nice, warm breakfast of sunnyside eggs and ham, along with some orange juice and few bacon strips, before my brothers and i went out on a journey near the lake to catch some fish, and cook them at our self made fire pit. The day was amazing, and the journey a resounding success. If only things could've stayed this way... After the sun started setting we decided to pack our bags and head home, mama always has a dinner prepared for us after one of our adventures, so we were oh so very eager to find out what was on the menu. After we checked to make sure nothing was missing or left behind we jumped in my brothers old, rusty, worn out fishing truck(we called it the fishing truck cuz he doesn't do anything else with it) and set our sights for home. As we were driving i could feel myself getting sleepier. It was only me in the back seat, so i took the opportunity, and unbuckled my seat belt and started laid down. What happened next felt like a dream. I still have trouble deciding if it was a dream or not, because it was so surreal. As nightfall hit. Everything seemed to just stop. I sensed the sudden change in atmosphere, and opened my eyes to see my brothers arguing, and yelling violently at each other. They looked nervous and panicked, but i couldn't tell at that time, i was so very tired. I looked over to my right and out the window, i must've been dreaming, the moon itself seemed to rotate. I began gaining more of a sense of consciousness, and started making out some intense static coming through the radio. I couldn't make out the words that were coming out of the static, little did i know how important those words were. My sleepiness eventually got the better of me, and so i closed my eyes and drifted slowly to sleep. That was the best sleep, the last sleep I'll ever have as a sane, hopeful, little boy, because when i opened my eyes. I was chained to this metal wall alongside hundreds of other boys. I looked down below me and saw things, people that shouldn't exist, people that just should not be able to breath and speak, communicate the same way my mama, papa, brothers, uncles, and friends do. I looked down at these people and began feeling the pain of the the things they placed on my wrists and ankles. Scorching, suffocating pain. I screamed and welled in agony, but that was far from the worst pain i would now receive. Everyday. Every goddamn day i wake to the same cold, ruthless cycle of walking shackled from hands to feet like some kind of deranged animal, and forced to eat worms and flys as the "people" mock and laugh at me, with their static, distant voices playing over and over in my head every night before i go to sleep, they're the real animals. I can't help myself any longer. I'm terrified at the thought of living the rest of my life like this. Recently i found something they should have kept hidden. A shard. A broken shard of glass just sharp enough to cut the sides of my finger tips, and just small enough to use effectively even with the handcuffs cutting my wrists and forearms. I miss my brothers and my parents, if only i knew that car ride was the last i'd ever spend with them, i would've stayed awake. Although maybe all this is a dream, and I'll wake from it soon, with my papa strapping me into bed as i never woke from the car ride in time. N mama preparing another delightful breakfast as i wake. I can't wake to tell them about this dream. For now i walk up to one of my tormentors, the dream character with the long, beastly snout. He kicked and humiliated me. But now. Now that it's already over. Now that i can feel the dream coming to a close. I'll end it with a bang.
	[WP] Aliens invade earth, but they have never understood the concept of guerilla warfare. Humanity's doom is out there, marching toward us in neat, straight lines.	The story of how the Human race found itself not only as part of The Unity, but also as it’s main military councilors, is a sad and funny one, that demonstrates some lessons in how not to make a first contact. Until the Earthling war, when the Unity council decided that a system or planet was of interest, and should become part of the government, there were two possibilities, Advanced species were properly contacted through diplomatic means, and a agreement of union was signed, immediately bringing the planet into the galactic-political sphere. In the case of undeveloped or barbarian species, a show of military might was made, so that they understood the superiority of the Unity, once compliant, they would be slowly uplifted and observed until they could be trusted to behave. By observations, earth was considered a beautiful if a bit crowded planet, humans had spread across it’s entire surface, with their “primitive” machines and ideas. The system was located in the middle of a sparsely populated sector and would be the perfect starting point for an expansion/colonization campaign. All they had to do now was bring the Humans into their control. As it was usual, a Glorious Mission was sent. 50.000 of the best, noblest and prized soldiers of the hundreds of different species in the unity were embarked into the great golden cruiser that was the symbol and pride of the Unity Military. Its surface covered with images and names of those who were part of previous Glorious Missions. The troops inside it swelled with pride of their mission, not only they would prove the superiority of their power, but would also help to bring a wayward, backwater species into the galactic scenario. It was a great task, and a reason to be proud. Unfortunately for them, they understood nothing of humankind, or how it reacted when backed into a corner, or threatened by a bigger power. As it was of costume in these missions, once arriving in the orbit of the earth, the ship transmitted a message, ordering the humans to prepare for Combat. A empty location, distant of any urban centers, in the largest desert of the planet was chosen as the battlefield. There the Humans would for the first time come in contact with alien species, and the Unity would have their view of the universe shattered. The Ship landed in the desert, a few cliks from the specified combat location, and the army marched, it’s armors adapted to the scalding sun of the region, they marched single file to the location, quickly assuming the traditional combat position of the Unity Military: A long firing line, with long range weapons on the back, and replacements behind it. And so they waited. The humans did not seem to come, but their transmissions left no uncertainty that they had understood the message. Maybe they were afraid. Maybe they did not had armies. On the face of this doubt, the High Commander of the Glorious Mission took a decision. He fired the first shot. Ceremonial as it was, their ship had a few weapons, and so they fired a few laser barrages into the sky, creating a light show over the skies of the entire planet. They did not realize at that moment, but their show of force drove the humans into panic. Satellites had been knocked out of orbit, A passenger plane was almost hit, migratory birds had their flight routes disrupted. To the humans, it was quite clear now that this enemy had no diplomatic intentions. It was 2 days after the combined day for the combat, and a day after the laser attack, that the human response came. Several primitive rockets fired in the direction of the ship in orbit, and 2 towards the Glorious Army, now camping in the desert, waiting for a human response. The energy shields were up on both places, but they did nothing against the nuclear heat and impact wave, and the radiation that followed. The Golden Ship, that had seen countless battles, was knocked out of the sky. The Glorious army, who had never been defeated, broken and killed in a single flash of light. Their final transmissions filled the Unity Council with fear. Using atomic weapons with such carelessness? As a first strike no less? Now the humans had to be brought to heel. A Glorious expedition was declared, with several ships and armies being put under direct control of the Council. The first move would be one of power. They would invade directly 10 of the largest human concentrations on the planet. This way, any nuclear attacks would also kill their own people, not counting the effect it would have when they marched through the greatest human cities to meet their forces in battle. The first of their ships to arrive went to what was considered the largest target. An enormous urban zone in a long island chain off the coast of their largest landmass. Instead of landing, the troops were teleported to the ground, and immediately realized they were in trouble. The human cities were labyrinthic in their design, with no clear way to differentiate between civil and military targets, the troops decided to march in the direction of a huge red tower in the horizon, probably a monument to a leader’s virility or something of the sort. This march would become known as the “path of blood”. The soldiers were attacked from all directions. With the targets disappearing before they could target someone. Primitive aircrafts dropped explosives and fired kinetic rounds at them, before leaving with great velocity, once arriving in the tower, there were only 500 of the 50000 who had landed. And they immediately surrendered, in shock of the carnage that had been inflicted upon them. Tokyo was not the only place where these scenes happened. In Shanghai, the Chinese army outnumbered them greatly, and accepted no quarter. In New York they were met by tanks and machine gun positions along wall street, In Mexico City, their ranks were broken by the first time, and many of the bodies of their soldiers would never be found. They had victories in places like Cairo and Karachi, but they proved futile when the population started sacrificing itself, with explosives on vehicles and even on themselves, thinning their already dwindled ranks, and damaging their failing moral even more. It was in Seoul that for the first time, they saw humans using technology adapted from theirs, and in São Paulo, for the first time in their history, a enemy surrounded Unity forces, and ordered them to surrender and retreat from their planet, or face the consequences. In other times, the Unity would have laughed in face of this threat, and sent more and better equipped soldiers to the planet, maybe even orbital weapons, but not only the humans and their insane, asymmetrical type of warfare had made a dent in their armor. With almost half a million soldiers dead on their side, a number that rivalled those of the old, terrible, expansion wars, many on the council were ready to sit and discuss a new idea. Maybe quarantining the entire sector to keep the humans at bay, or even changing the course of a nearby meteor to crash onto their planet, for more dishonored and distasteful that that could seem, was considered as a option. All of this changed when, around 6 months after the initial transmission, with their invasion given as a loss, and only a few ships remaining on the system to keep an eye in the human homeworld, the golden ship left the atmosphere of the earth. Fixed by a mixture of human and Unity technology, it contained all the soldiers that had been captured during the invasion, along with them, a message from the human governments. They wanted peace, they wanted to negotiate, and this was the proof that this message was sent in good faith. The bodies of their dead soldiers would also be sent back in the following weeks. The once captured soldiers bringing stories of how their captors were curious about where they were from, what where their intentions, and why attack them in what, to the humans had been such a foolish way of fighting. They told of how the humans worked tirelessly to understand and retrofit the technology of their attackers, of how scared they were after the original attack, and of how this “primitive”, “backwards” civilization responded to the threat of an invasion from a higher force not with fear, but with cunning. A year later, Humans would become the youngest race to be admitted into the Unity, and to have a seat in the council, by reason of merit. “Human Warfare” as it became known, would become a core subject in the military academies on Unity planets, the Human diplomats tried to dispel this vision of their species as scary, but they seemed to relish on the fact that “Fighting humans in their homeworld” became an expression for making a stupid mistake. Now, a century later, Earth is known for much more than a warground, and the humans have carved their place among the Unity. The First Contact protocols have long changed, to include diplomacy even with races that seem to have no real power. An invasion is considered the last solution. But if it gets to that point, you can be sure that somewhere in the vanguard, there will be a human strategist of commander, ready to remember the galaxy where they got their reputation from.	Commanders report to high command, rotation 10 of the Terran campaign. The humans are insane. The members of any sane race in the galaxy, when faced with multiple options they will simply choose the one most advantageous to themselves. Obedience or Servitude? Choose Obedience Servitude or slavery? Choose Servitude Slavery or death? Choose Slavery But the humans... I once watched a human burn his own home down, everything he had ever built along with himself in the mere hope of trapping some of our forces in the blaze. I've watched humans with bombs strapped to their own bodies run into our lines. For the first years of the conflict we thought perhaps they were some kind of hive intelligence and thus such madness was really a sign that an unknown central entity was trying to preserve itself and maximize benefit to itself. We wasted hundreds of thousands of lives searching for the controlling minds to no result... everything else we have learned of humans shows that each is alone in their own mind. But these humans... some seek the maximum benefit for themselves, some join our forces for sufficient rewards... but I've come to realize that many aren't even trying to maximize benefit for themselves, it's notable that they target the ones they call "traitors" and "turncoats" above all else, preferring to target them over more logical or higher value targets. But the darkest realization has been that they don't just fight to keep land for themselves, they'll fight to keep us from having it and if they can't stop us from taking it they'll burn the crops, salt the soil, destroy any infrastructure, sow the land with mines and tripwires... purely so that we cannot use it, so that nobody can ever use it. In researching human history we have discovered concepts that are highly unusual for a sapient species, the most worrying was termed Mutually Assured Destruction. Prior to our arrival one of the ways the humans maintained peace was a standing threat between their major powers to effectively make the planet uninhabitable should one side attempt a first strike. It appears that this was the normal state of being for the humans but even more alarmingly, they considered it normal for great powers to hold weapons in reserve that they simply agreed not to use to enforce "rules of war" against each other. Even after the 10 years of horror we have experienced on this planet it appears that there are some weapons the humans have simply chosen not to deploy.... yet. So far they've assumed that we must be holding something similar in reserve. But in their deep bunker and hidden labs we've learned that they have biological weapons that pose almost as much danger to those who launch them as to the targets. Chemical weapons that destroy all life that may blow back at them if the wind changes, nuclear weapons that can glass vast tracts of land. We have evidence that they've been adapting our own technology to create nanological weapons that may pose a risks to other star systems should they be triggered. If we continue this war they will burn the world and will do anything in their power damage our empire in the process. As such I believe we are facing the choice: admitting defeat and withdrawing vs death. My recommendation is that we withdraw. This war is not and can never be to the advantage of the empire.
	[WP] Aliens invade earth, but they have never understood the concept of guerilla warfare. Humanity's doom is out there, marching toward us in neat, straight lines.	The story of how the Human race found itself not only as part of The Unity, but also as it’s main military councilors, is a sad and funny one, that demonstrates some lessons in how not to make a first contact. Until the Earthling war, when the Unity council decided that a system or planet was of interest, and should become part of the government, there were two possibilities, Advanced species were properly contacted through diplomatic means, and a agreement of union was signed, immediately bringing the planet into the galactic-political sphere. In the case of undeveloped or barbarian species, a show of military might was made, so that they understood the superiority of the Unity, once compliant, they would be slowly uplifted and observed until they could be trusted to behave. By observations, earth was considered a beautiful if a bit crowded planet, humans had spread across it’s entire surface, with their “primitive” machines and ideas. The system was located in the middle of a sparsely populated sector and would be the perfect starting point for an expansion/colonization campaign. All they had to do now was bring the Humans into their control. As it was usual, a Glorious Mission was sent. 50.000 of the best, noblest and prized soldiers of the hundreds of different species in the unity were embarked into the great golden cruiser that was the symbol and pride of the Unity Military. Its surface covered with images and names of those who were part of previous Glorious Missions. The troops inside it swelled with pride of their mission, not only they would prove the superiority of their power, but would also help to bring a wayward, backwater species into the galactic scenario. It was a great task, and a reason to be proud. Unfortunately for them, they understood nothing of humankind, or how it reacted when backed into a corner, or threatened by a bigger power. As it was of costume in these missions, once arriving in the orbit of the earth, the ship transmitted a message, ordering the humans to prepare for Combat. A empty location, distant of any urban centers, in the largest desert of the planet was chosen as the battlefield. There the Humans would for the first time come in contact with alien species, and the Unity would have their view of the universe shattered. The Ship landed in the desert, a few cliks from the specified combat location, and the army marched, it’s armors adapted to the scalding sun of the region, they marched single file to the location, quickly assuming the traditional combat position of the Unity Military: A long firing line, with long range weapons on the back, and replacements behind it. And so they waited. The humans did not seem to come, but their transmissions left no uncertainty that they had understood the message. Maybe they were afraid. Maybe they did not had armies. On the face of this doubt, the High Commander of the Glorious Mission took a decision. He fired the first shot. Ceremonial as it was, their ship had a few weapons, and so they fired a few laser barrages into the sky, creating a light show over the skies of the entire planet. They did not realize at that moment, but their show of force drove the humans into panic. Satellites had been knocked out of orbit, A passenger plane was almost hit, migratory birds had their flight routes disrupted. To the humans, it was quite clear now that this enemy had no diplomatic intentions. It was 2 days after the combined day for the combat, and a day after the laser attack, that the human response came. Several primitive rockets fired in the direction of the ship in orbit, and 2 towards the Glorious Army, now camping in the desert, waiting for a human response. The energy shields were up on both places, but they did nothing against the nuclear heat and impact wave, and the radiation that followed. The Golden Ship, that had seen countless battles, was knocked out of the sky. The Glorious army, who had never been defeated, broken and killed in a single flash of light. Their final transmissions filled the Unity Council with fear. Using atomic weapons with such carelessness? As a first strike no less? Now the humans had to be brought to heel. A Glorious expedition was declared, with several ships and armies being put under direct control of the Council. The first move would be one of power. They would invade directly 10 of the largest human concentrations on the planet. This way, any nuclear attacks would also kill their own people, not counting the effect it would have when they marched through the greatest human cities to meet their forces in battle. The first of their ships to arrive went to what was considered the largest target. An enormous urban zone in a long island chain off the coast of their largest landmass. Instead of landing, the troops were teleported to the ground, and immediately realized they were in trouble. The human cities were labyrinthic in their design, with no clear way to differentiate between civil and military targets, the troops decided to march in the direction of a huge red tower in the horizon, probably a monument to a leader’s virility or something of the sort. This march would become known as the “path of blood”. The soldiers were attacked from all directions. With the targets disappearing before they could target someone. Primitive aircrafts dropped explosives and fired kinetic rounds at them, before leaving with great velocity, once arriving in the tower, there were only 500 of the 50000 who had landed. And they immediately surrendered, in shock of the carnage that had been inflicted upon them. Tokyo was not the only place where these scenes happened. In Shanghai, the Chinese army outnumbered them greatly, and accepted no quarter. In New York they were met by tanks and machine gun positions along wall street, In Mexico City, their ranks were broken by the first time, and many of the bodies of their soldiers would never be found. They had victories in places like Cairo and Karachi, but they proved futile when the population started sacrificing itself, with explosives on vehicles and even on themselves, thinning their already dwindled ranks, and damaging their failing moral even more. It was in Seoul that for the first time, they saw humans using technology adapted from theirs, and in São Paulo, for the first time in their history, a enemy surrounded Unity forces, and ordered them to surrender and retreat from their planet, or face the consequences. In other times, the Unity would have laughed in face of this threat, and sent more and better equipped soldiers to the planet, maybe even orbital weapons, but not only the humans and their insane, asymmetrical type of warfare had made a dent in their armor. With almost half a million soldiers dead on their side, a number that rivalled those of the old, terrible, expansion wars, many on the council were ready to sit and discuss a new idea. Maybe quarantining the entire sector to keep the humans at bay, or even changing the course of a nearby meteor to crash onto their planet, for more dishonored and distasteful that that could seem, was considered as a option. All of this changed when, around 6 months after the initial transmission, with their invasion given as a loss, and only a few ships remaining on the system to keep an eye in the human homeworld, the golden ship left the atmosphere of the earth. Fixed by a mixture of human and Unity technology, it contained all the soldiers that had been captured during the invasion, along with them, a message from the human governments. They wanted peace, they wanted to negotiate, and this was the proof that this message was sent in good faith. The bodies of their dead soldiers would also be sent back in the following weeks. The once captured soldiers bringing stories of how their captors were curious about where they were from, what where their intentions, and why attack them in what, to the humans had been such a foolish way of fighting. They told of how the humans worked tirelessly to understand and retrofit the technology of their attackers, of how scared they were after the original attack, and of how this “primitive”, “backwards” civilization responded to the threat of an invasion from a higher force not with fear, but with cunning. A year later, Humans would become the youngest race to be admitted into the Unity, and to have a seat in the council, by reason of merit. “Human Warfare” as it became known, would become a core subject in the military academies on Unity planets, the Human diplomats tried to dispel this vision of their species as scary, but they seemed to relish on the fact that “Fighting humans in their homeworld” became an expression for making a stupid mistake. Now, a century later, Earth is known for much more than a warground, and the humans have carved their place among the Unity. The First Contact protocols have long changed, to include diplomacy even with races that seem to have no real power. An invasion is considered the last solution. But if it gets to that point, you can be sure that somewhere in the vanguard, there will be a human strategist of commander, ready to remember the galaxy where they got their reputation from.	Heh. Heh heh heh. Old-school science fiction tends to paint humanity as the fragile hothouse flowers of the galaxy. Not much in the way of natural weaponry or armor, and apparently rather frail in structure. But what if it's the reverse? What if Earth, to the perception of every other starfaring culture, is a planetary deathtrap, and humans the most terrifying sentients ever to reach for the stars? Not because we're tough or fast or even particularly smart, on average. But because we are, even by our own measure, insatiably curious, astoundingly creative, shockingly adaptable... And almost insanely reckless. What if, after five years of contact with interstellar society, the universal signal to "evacuate the star system at maximum possible speed" is, simply, "The Humans Have Asked Us To Hold Their Beer!"
	[WP] Aliens invade earth, but they have never understood the concept of guerilla warfare. Humanity's doom is out there, marching toward us in neat, straight lines.	The story of how the Human race found itself not only as part of The Unity, but also as it’s main military councilors, is a sad and funny one, that demonstrates some lessons in how not to make a first contact. Until the Earthling war, when the Unity council decided that a system or planet was of interest, and should become part of the government, there were two possibilities, Advanced species were properly contacted through diplomatic means, and a agreement of union was signed, immediately bringing the planet into the galactic-political sphere. In the case of undeveloped or barbarian species, a show of military might was made, so that they understood the superiority of the Unity, once compliant, they would be slowly uplifted and observed until they could be trusted to behave. By observations, earth was considered a beautiful if a bit crowded planet, humans had spread across it’s entire surface, with their “primitive” machines and ideas. The system was located in the middle of a sparsely populated sector and would be the perfect starting point for an expansion/colonization campaign. All they had to do now was bring the Humans into their control. As it was usual, a Glorious Mission was sent. 50.000 of the best, noblest and prized soldiers of the hundreds of different species in the unity were embarked into the great golden cruiser that was the symbol and pride of the Unity Military. Its surface covered with images and names of those who were part of previous Glorious Missions. The troops inside it swelled with pride of their mission, not only they would prove the superiority of their power, but would also help to bring a wayward, backwater species into the galactic scenario. It was a great task, and a reason to be proud. Unfortunately for them, they understood nothing of humankind, or how it reacted when backed into a corner, or threatened by a bigger power. As it was of costume in these missions, once arriving in the orbit of the earth, the ship transmitted a message, ordering the humans to prepare for Combat. A empty location, distant of any urban centers, in the largest desert of the planet was chosen as the battlefield. There the Humans would for the first time come in contact with alien species, and the Unity would have their view of the universe shattered. The Ship landed in the desert, a few cliks from the specified combat location, and the army marched, it’s armors adapted to the scalding sun of the region, they marched single file to the location, quickly assuming the traditional combat position of the Unity Military: A long firing line, with long range weapons on the back, and replacements behind it. And so they waited. The humans did not seem to come, but their transmissions left no uncertainty that they had understood the message. Maybe they were afraid. Maybe they did not had armies. On the face of this doubt, the High Commander of the Glorious Mission took a decision. He fired the first shot. Ceremonial as it was, their ship had a few weapons, and so they fired a few laser barrages into the sky, creating a light show over the skies of the entire planet. They did not realize at that moment, but their show of force drove the humans into panic. Satellites had been knocked out of orbit, A passenger plane was almost hit, migratory birds had their flight routes disrupted. To the humans, it was quite clear now that this enemy had no diplomatic intentions. It was 2 days after the combined day for the combat, and a day after the laser attack, that the human response came. Several primitive rockets fired in the direction of the ship in orbit, and 2 towards the Glorious Army, now camping in the desert, waiting for a human response. The energy shields were up on both places, but they did nothing against the nuclear heat and impact wave, and the radiation that followed. The Golden Ship, that had seen countless battles, was knocked out of the sky. The Glorious army, who had never been defeated, broken and killed in a single flash of light. Their final transmissions filled the Unity Council with fear. Using atomic weapons with such carelessness? As a first strike no less? Now the humans had to be brought to heel. A Glorious expedition was declared, with several ships and armies being put under direct control of the Council. The first move would be one of power. They would invade directly 10 of the largest human concentrations on the planet. This way, any nuclear attacks would also kill their own people, not counting the effect it would have when they marched through the greatest human cities to meet their forces in battle. The first of their ships to arrive went to what was considered the largest target. An enormous urban zone in a long island chain off the coast of their largest landmass. Instead of landing, the troops were teleported to the ground, and immediately realized they were in trouble. The human cities were labyrinthic in their design, with no clear way to differentiate between civil and military targets, the troops decided to march in the direction of a huge red tower in the horizon, probably a monument to a leader’s virility or something of the sort. This march would become known as the “path of blood”. The soldiers were attacked from all directions. With the targets disappearing before they could target someone. Primitive aircrafts dropped explosives and fired kinetic rounds at them, before leaving with great velocity, once arriving in the tower, there were only 500 of the 50000 who had landed. And they immediately surrendered, in shock of the carnage that had been inflicted upon them. Tokyo was not the only place where these scenes happened. In Shanghai, the Chinese army outnumbered them greatly, and accepted no quarter. In New York they were met by tanks and machine gun positions along wall street, In Mexico City, their ranks were broken by the first time, and many of the bodies of their soldiers would never be found. They had victories in places like Cairo and Karachi, but they proved futile when the population started sacrificing itself, with explosives on vehicles and even on themselves, thinning their already dwindled ranks, and damaging their failing moral even more. It was in Seoul that for the first time, they saw humans using technology adapted from theirs, and in São Paulo, for the first time in their history, a enemy surrounded Unity forces, and ordered them to surrender and retreat from their planet, or face the consequences. In other times, the Unity would have laughed in face of this threat, and sent more and better equipped soldiers to the planet, maybe even orbital weapons, but not only the humans and their insane, asymmetrical type of warfare had made a dent in their armor. With almost half a million soldiers dead on their side, a number that rivalled those of the old, terrible, expansion wars, many on the council were ready to sit and discuss a new idea. Maybe quarantining the entire sector to keep the humans at bay, or even changing the course of a nearby meteor to crash onto their planet, for more dishonored and distasteful that that could seem, was considered as a option. All of this changed when, around 6 months after the initial transmission, with their invasion given as a loss, and only a few ships remaining on the system to keep an eye in the human homeworld, the golden ship left the atmosphere of the earth. Fixed by a mixture of human and Unity technology, it contained all the soldiers that had been captured during the invasion, along with them, a message from the human governments. They wanted peace, they wanted to negotiate, and this was the proof that this message was sent in good faith. The bodies of their dead soldiers would also be sent back in the following weeks. The once captured soldiers bringing stories of how their captors were curious about where they were from, what where their intentions, and why attack them in what, to the humans had been such a foolish way of fighting. They told of how the humans worked tirelessly to understand and retrofit the technology of their attackers, of how scared they were after the original attack, and of how this “primitive”, “backwards” civilization responded to the threat of an invasion from a higher force not with fear, but with cunning. A year later, Humans would become the youngest race to be admitted into the Unity, and to have a seat in the council, by reason of merit. “Human Warfare” as it became known, would become a core subject in the military academies on Unity planets, the Human diplomats tried to dispel this vision of their species as scary, but they seemed to relish on the fact that “Fighting humans in their homeworld” became an expression for making a stupid mistake. Now, a century later, Earth is known for much more than a warground, and the humans have carved their place among the Unity. The First Contact protocols have long changed, to include diplomacy even with races that seem to have no real power. An invasion is considered the last solution. But if it gets to that point, you can be sure that somewhere in the vanguard, there will be a human strategist of commander, ready to remember the galaxy where they got their reputation from.	Dr. Sarah Godavaci, leading astronomer and military advisor to the Union of Alien Affairs, turned to her subordinate taking the large binder containing reports of spectrophotometry, advanced imaging, and other information regarding the redcoat’s home planet. It’s been ten years since the attack from the alien species, Gronites, which were quickly named redcoats based on their natural red coloration and fighting strategies. &nbsp; It’s as I thought, their planet appears to be a massive exoplanet with abnormally low density, this explains their physical appearance. The redcoats were a long legged, humanoid species with very advanced technology. Their physical strength while comparable to humans was still impressive and their ability to sprint easily matched some of earth’s fastest animals. Sarah scoured through the report till she found the information she wanted, the spectrophotometry report. &nbsp; “Hey, are you positive about the results of the spectrometer?” Sarah asked, “Absolutely, Dr. Godavaci isn’t that astounding, what do you think it means?” Sarah looked at the common organic compounds detected by the spectrometer, celluose didn’t even register. She quickly examined the atmosphere composition of the planet, similar to earth’s except lower reports of pollution and contaminants. Sarah picks up her phone and dials her husband, Jack Godavaci, a pioneer in xenopsychology and biology. “Hey honey? I think I have explanation for their formation combat. They don’t have trees on their planet and I bet there’s no large vegetation. I don’t think they understand what cover is.” &nbsp; Sarah hung up the phone and looked back at the reports. When the redcoats first invaded many militaries were afraid to engage them, but after they began marching on our cities we had no choice. Our people declared it a miracle that we were able to repel them, but I know the truth. We massacred them… They had no comprehension of cover or basic military tactics and now I understood why. Humanity’s invasion on their planet is going to be a genocide.
	[WP] Aliens invade earth, but they have never understood the concept of guerilla warfare. Humanity's doom is out there, marching toward us in neat, straight lines.	Command Report Stardate 103984932 High Inquisitor Melfizoc Despite our numerous preparations for the initial assault, today took an unexpected turn. Nearly half of our front line forces were eliminated today when they met with resistance from the native primitives. It would appear these primitives have some advanced technologies we were not apprised of before now. While it has been our belief that humans lack teleportation and cloaking technology, or other advanced tech, today's events have called this into question. Today with my own two eyes, I witnessed what I believe to be the use of these weapons. As our lines marched towards the human defenses, their warriors appeared not in front of us, but rather from the sides, and even some in the rears of our flank. By the time we completed our marching procedures to reverse course, many losses had already been sustained. It is my belief that these humans are able to use teleportation technology to beam troops from the front line, to any location on the battlefield. Furthermore, as we retreated into an area of tall, hardy vegetation, we sustained even more losses. Despite our vigilance, the attack seemed to come from invisible attackers. As though the plants themselves were firing upon us. It is my belief that the humans are employing either some sort of cloaking technology to hide their formations, or perhaps have even engineered intelligent plants that can fight in formation as well. Despite destroying many of these tall, hard plants, we found no evidence of advanced genetic technology. This leaves me to believe the latter theory, that we were being marched up by an invisible army. However, when a secondary retreat was the only course of action available, to add to our terrible luck, we had further difficulty with the local flora. It would appear that some of these earth plants have very dangerous defense mechanisms. Several had grown taut vines between them, and when in contact with our footfalls, some sort of biological chemical explosion occurred. Furthermore, many of the local plants her grow in the form of spiked branches that grown from the bottom of deep holes. These deceptive plants have a layer of leaves over the top, such that they appear as solid ground. Several of our soldiers fell and critically injured themselves on these plants, while some other stepped on the exploding plants. Some of the men went missing. It is unknown if they went AWOL or if they fell to the invisible soldiers. Clearly these humans are masters of deception. The few of our number that returned to the mothership were distraught and disorderly. Morale has been severely compromised by the losses today. I would humbly request a strategic withdrawal of our forces until such a time that the human defenses can be assessed in more detail.	Dr. Sarah Godavaci, leading astronomer and military advisor to the Union of Alien Affairs, turned to her subordinate taking the large binder containing reports of spectrophotometry, advanced imaging, and other information regarding the redcoat’s home planet. It’s been ten years since the attack from the alien species, Gronites, which were quickly named redcoats based on their natural red coloration and fighting strategies. &nbsp; It’s as I thought, their planet appears to be a massive exoplanet with abnormally low density, this explains their physical appearance. The redcoats were a long legged, humanoid species with very advanced technology. Their physical strength while comparable to humans was still impressive and their ability to sprint easily matched some of earth’s fastest animals. Sarah scoured through the report till she found the information she wanted, the spectrophotometry report. &nbsp; “Hey, are you positive about the results of the spectrometer?” Sarah asked, “Absolutely, Dr. Godavaci isn’t that astounding, what do you think it means?” Sarah looked at the common organic compounds detected by the spectrometer, celluose didn’t even register. She quickly examined the atmosphere composition of the planet, similar to earth’s except lower reports of pollution and contaminants. Sarah picks up her phone and dials her husband, Jack Godavaci, a pioneer in xenopsychology and biology. “Hey honey? I think I have explanation for their formation combat. They don’t have trees on their planet and I bet there’s no large vegetation. I don’t think they understand what cover is.” &nbsp; Sarah hung up the phone and looked back at the reports. When the redcoats first invaded many militaries were afraid to engage them, but after they began marching on our cities we had no choice. Our people declared it a miracle that we were able to repel them, but I know the truth. We massacred them… They had no comprehension of cover or basic military tactics and now I understood why. Humanity’s invasion on their planet is going to be a genocide.
	[WP] Aliens invade earth, but they have never understood the concept of guerilla warfare. Humanity's doom is out there, marching toward us in neat, straight lines.	Many people, throughout the myriad ages have tried to define what humanity truly is; To some, it's ingenuity, to others it is compassion, again to some others it is our artistic ability. Poets claim it is our ability to know deeper meaning, philosophers differ from pain, lust, power and suffering as our definite traits. To the religious it is our piety and to our scientists it is our curiosity. The truth is that we're the most single-minded stubborn bastards in the universe. In our primal state, before civilization, before history and all those other good bits, we were stubborn. When our ancient hunters picked a target, they followed it day and night until it collapsed from exhaustion. We decided to take our biggest competitor and turn them into our friends and servants, we stuck at it until we made dogs. Because we're stubborn. After World War II, pockets of resistance on some pacific islands held out for years, refusing to give in. The biggest armies in history have tried to calm and control Afghanistan, from Alexander to Bush, leaders have invaded and found the locals to be so bloody stubborn and irritable that they wind up driving out the invaders somehow. Doctors never gave in when looking for vaccines to the great modern plague of polio or the ancient plague of smallpox, and eventually they were found. It pays to be stubborn. We are stubborn bastards. Because we don't give up, we don't play fair, we don't break, it's hell on earth trying to fight the lot of us. But of course, somebody didn't do their homework. Earth is sort in the backwater of the galaxy, the space-boonies so to speak. But, the Solar System is, unbeknownst to man, an important hyperspace bypass for alien merchant caravans, civilian transport, and space fleets belonging to various important empires. Until recently, it was considered common land, owned theoretically by humanity, but de facto, just about everybody used it. But then, the Srenqian Hegemony decided, that the time was ripe for a new strategic move in the five-ways Galactic Cold War. Srengians were a very rigid society, even by the rigid standards of the common galaxy, and when they conquered a planet, the inhabitants were given a choice; Surrender and become fourth-rate citizens, or attempt to resist and become slaves. Eventually third-rate citizens could work their way to become second-rate citizens, by showing great loyalty and obedience to the state. Slaves could never go further than third-class citizenship. They sent the standardized fleet packed with soldiers from a variety of different subjugated races, led by Srengian officers. On the 15th of March, 2027, they issued a call for humanity's total surrender. The options were explained, the benefits of accepting the natural superiority of the Srengians were put on the table versus the disadvantages of disobeying the High Lords of the Supreme Heaven, as they liked to style themselves. Humanity's answer took a while to translate for the Srengians, it was two words from a dead human language. Molon labe. Come and take it. The Srengians misunderstood it as an accept, which the humans quickly rectified by murdering the Srengian officers commanding slaves, who were to set up the official surrender ceremony, with sniper fire. The communication officer who had mistranslated was immediately executed by airlock. And then the invasion began. The first couple of months went swimmingly for the Srengians, their puffy aristocratic tentacles rubbing together in glee as humanity met their armies and were driven back, the sheer numbers and technology of the Srengian forces defeating conventional warfare. Until the battle of Saigon. The Vietnamese army set up ambushes, stay-behind militia groups that attacked in the middle of the night, children with pistols who would not be considered a threat by the enemy. The Srengian forces marched toward the city in neat straight lines, and were massacred. Old men who had once been in the Viet Cong would strap explosives to themselves, not be counted as hostiles by the enemy, and go up to shake a Srengian soldier's hand or paw or pseudo-pod, and boom, squad destroyed. In the night, when the Srengians rested, the old women would crawl out of holes with knives alongside the young girls, and cut the throats of the enemy. Commandos would sneak into the Srengian camps and free their slaves and led them off. The poor sods were too frightened to disobey anyone after what could have been centuries of slavery. By the time the Srengian army actually reached the city center, less than a tenth of their original force survived. Snipers on rooftops took out every surviving officer, so easy to spot in their shiny and gleaming uniforms. The confused soldiers, without orders, were picked apart piece by bloody piece, until the streets ran red, purple, and blue with the blood of our enemies. It was the first major victory that humanity had scored. Sure, Saigon was in ruins and all the effort to clean the area up from the Vietnam War had been reversed, but twelve whole divisions had been put to the sword. The Srengian high command could not comprehend what was happening. Their armies marched into the winter of Russia, and was met with scorched earth, booby traps, sneak attacks, sabotage from locals, and the ever-present threat of General Winter. Needless to say, not many of their forces survived the 2030 Russian Campaign. In Finland, the colourful uniforms of the enemy were easy targets for the heirs of The White Death, and joining the old Soviet dead, were now several brigades of aliens. In the deserts of North Africa and the Arabian peninsular, the Srengian soldiers learned to fear the almost insane fanatical devotion of the locals, and their defiance against the enemy. Many a member of the Srengian army, would leave his racial battalion with permission from the officers to take a leak in the dunes or try to find shade, and simply never be seen again, until the battered remnants of their unit would find their bleached dry bones as they retreated back to the coast. In the Outback of Australia, the human resistance would chase hordes of emus into the camps of the alien foe, unleashing hell upon them, though for many races, Australia was already hell, being a place where eventually only punitive regiments were sent. The vast steppes of Central Asia were initially perfect for the Srengians to fight on, until they were met with ancient strategies, best employed by Genghis Khan centuries ago, riding up close to the enemy, firing, and fleeing. Hit and runs were so common there, that the forward marching enemy would never get a moment of rest. In America, they started the invasion in Texas, suffice to say, that high command had never seen an entire territory's population rise up so well-armed and so bloodthirsty before. In the places conquered, the Srengians would find no rest. In the night, resistance fighters would kidnap officers and broadcast their execution on whatever channels still available. Even the usually civilized and pacifistic Europe was not safe for the enemy. On the shores of Denmark, patrols would find the soldiers they had replaced when the tide was low. The resistance in France became so numerous, that the aliens had to retreat to Paris, where they thought themselves safe. Until the Cataphile cells of the resistance dragged down the members of the garrison in blackest night, to the Catacombs and tunnels beneath the city. Where the last thing any alien saw, was humans wearing masks made from the skulls of their own dead, plunging their knives into the exposed skin of their comrades, and at last, themselves. Those few who were given the order to retreat from Paris, would find their dreams filled with the hushed whispers of the living dead, and the muffled screams of their dead brothers-in-arms, until the end of their days.	Dr. Sarah Godavaci, leading astronomer and military advisor to the Union of Alien Affairs, turned to her subordinate taking the large binder containing reports of spectrophotometry, advanced imaging, and other information regarding the redcoat’s home planet. It’s been ten years since the attack from the alien species, Gronites, which were quickly named redcoats based on their natural red coloration and fighting strategies. &nbsp; It’s as I thought, their planet appears to be a massive exoplanet with abnormally low density, this explains their physical appearance. The redcoats were a long legged, humanoid species with very advanced technology. Their physical strength while comparable to humans was still impressive and their ability to sprint easily matched some of earth’s fastest animals. Sarah scoured through the report till she found the information she wanted, the spectrophotometry report. &nbsp; “Hey, are you positive about the results of the spectrometer?” Sarah asked, “Absolutely, Dr. Godavaci isn’t that astounding, what do you think it means?” Sarah looked at the common organic compounds detected by the spectrometer, celluose didn’t even register. She quickly examined the atmosphere composition of the planet, similar to earth’s except lower reports of pollution and contaminants. Sarah picks up her phone and dials her husband, Jack Godavaci, a pioneer in xenopsychology and biology. “Hey honey? I think I have explanation for their formation combat. They don’t have trees on their planet and I bet there’s no large vegetation. I don’t think they understand what cover is.” &nbsp; Sarah hung up the phone and looked back at the reports. When the redcoats first invaded many militaries were afraid to engage them, but after they began marching on our cities we had no choice. Our people declared it a miracle that we were able to repel them, but I know the truth. We massacred them… They had no comprehension of cover or basic military tactics and now I understood why. Humanity’s invasion on their planet is going to be a genocide.
	[WP] Aliens invade earth, but they have never understood the concept of guerilla warfare. Humanity's doom is out there, marching toward us in neat, straight lines.	Many people, throughout the myriad ages have tried to define what humanity truly is; To some, it's ingenuity, to others it is compassion, again to some others it is our artistic ability. Poets claim it is our ability to know deeper meaning, philosophers differ from pain, lust, power and suffering as our definite traits. To the religious it is our piety and to our scientists it is our curiosity. The truth is that we're the most single-minded stubborn bastards in the universe. In our primal state, before civilization, before history and all those other good bits, we were stubborn. When our ancient hunters picked a target, they followed it day and night until it collapsed from exhaustion. We decided to take our biggest competitor and turn them into our friends and servants, we stuck at it until we made dogs. Because we're stubborn. After World War II, pockets of resistance on some pacific islands held out for years, refusing to give in. The biggest armies in history have tried to calm and control Afghanistan, from Alexander to Bush, leaders have invaded and found the locals to be so bloody stubborn and irritable that they wind up driving out the invaders somehow. Doctors never gave in when looking for vaccines to the great modern plague of polio or the ancient plague of smallpox, and eventually they were found. It pays to be stubborn. We are stubborn bastards. Because we don't give up, we don't play fair, we don't break, it's hell on earth trying to fight the lot of us. But of course, somebody didn't do their homework. Earth is sort in the backwater of the galaxy, the space-boonies so to speak. But, the Solar System is, unbeknownst to man, an important hyperspace bypass for alien merchant caravans, civilian transport, and space fleets belonging to various important empires. Until recently, it was considered common land, owned theoretically by humanity, but de facto, just about everybody used it. But then, the Srenqian Hegemony decided, that the time was ripe for a new strategic move in the five-ways Galactic Cold War. Srengians were a very rigid society, even by the rigid standards of the common galaxy, and when they conquered a planet, the inhabitants were given a choice; Surrender and become fourth-rate citizens, or attempt to resist and become slaves. Eventually third-rate citizens could work their way to become second-rate citizens, by showing great loyalty and obedience to the state. Slaves could never go further than third-class citizenship. They sent the standardized fleet packed with soldiers from a variety of different subjugated races, led by Srengian officers. On the 15th of March, 2027, they issued a call for humanity's total surrender. The options were explained, the benefits of accepting the natural superiority of the Srengians were put on the table versus the disadvantages of disobeying the High Lords of the Supreme Heaven, as they liked to style themselves. Humanity's answer took a while to translate for the Srengians, it was two words from a dead human language. Molon labe. Come and take it. The Srengians misunderstood it as an accept, which the humans quickly rectified by murdering the Srengian officers commanding slaves, who were to set up the official surrender ceremony, with sniper fire. The communication officer who had mistranslated was immediately executed by airlock. And then the invasion began. The first couple of months went swimmingly for the Srengians, their puffy aristocratic tentacles rubbing together in glee as humanity met their armies and were driven back, the sheer numbers and technology of the Srengian forces defeating conventional warfare. Until the battle of Saigon. The Vietnamese army set up ambushes, stay-behind militia groups that attacked in the middle of the night, children with pistols who would not be considered a threat by the enemy. The Srengian forces marched toward the city in neat straight lines, and were massacred. Old men who had once been in the Viet Cong would strap explosives to themselves, not be counted as hostiles by the enemy, and go up to shake a Srengian soldier's hand or paw or pseudo-pod, and boom, squad destroyed. In the night, when the Srengians rested, the old women would crawl out of holes with knives alongside the young girls, and cut the throats of the enemy. Commandos would sneak into the Srengian camps and free their slaves and led them off. The poor sods were too frightened to disobey anyone after what could have been centuries of slavery. By the time the Srengian army actually reached the city center, less than a tenth of their original force survived. Snipers on rooftops took out every surviving officer, so easy to spot in their shiny and gleaming uniforms. The confused soldiers, without orders, were picked apart piece by bloody piece, until the streets ran red, purple, and blue with the blood of our enemies. It was the first major victory that humanity had scored. Sure, Saigon was in ruins and all the effort to clean the area up from the Vietnam War had been reversed, but twelve whole divisions had been put to the sword. The Srengian high command could not comprehend what was happening. Their armies marched into the winter of Russia, and was met with scorched earth, booby traps, sneak attacks, sabotage from locals, and the ever-present threat of General Winter. Needless to say, not many of their forces survived the 2030 Russian Campaign. In Finland, the colourful uniforms of the enemy were easy targets for the heirs of The White Death, and joining the old Soviet dead, were now several brigades of aliens. In the deserts of North Africa and the Arabian peninsular, the Srengian soldiers learned to fear the almost insane fanatical devotion of the locals, and their defiance against the enemy. Many a member of the Srengian army, would leave his racial battalion with permission from the officers to take a leak in the dunes or try to find shade, and simply never be seen again, until the battered remnants of their unit would find their bleached dry bones as they retreated back to the coast. In the Outback of Australia, the human resistance would chase hordes of emus into the camps of the alien foe, unleashing hell upon them, though for many races, Australia was already hell, being a place where eventually only punitive regiments were sent. The vast steppes of Central Asia were initially perfect for the Srengians to fight on, until they were met with ancient strategies, best employed by Genghis Khan centuries ago, riding up close to the enemy, firing, and fleeing. Hit and runs were so common there, that the forward marching enemy would never get a moment of rest. In America, they started the invasion in Texas, suffice to say, that high command had never seen an entire territory's population rise up so well-armed and so bloodthirsty before. In the places conquered, the Srengians would find no rest. In the night, resistance fighters would kidnap officers and broadcast their execution on whatever channels still available. Even the usually civilized and pacifistic Europe was not safe for the enemy. On the shores of Denmark, patrols would find the soldiers they had replaced when the tide was low. The resistance in France became so numerous, that the aliens had to retreat to Paris, where they thought themselves safe. Until the Cataphile cells of the resistance dragged down the members of the garrison in blackest night, to the Catacombs and tunnels beneath the city. Where the last thing any alien saw, was humans wearing masks made from the skulls of their own dead, plunging their knives into the exposed skin of their comrades, and at last, themselves. Those few who were given the order to retreat from Paris, would find their dreams filled with the hushed whispers of the living dead, and the muffled screams of their dead brothers-in-arms, until the end of their days.	Command Report Stardate 103984932 High Inquisitor Melfizoc Despite our numerous preparations for the initial assault, today took an unexpected turn. Nearly half of our front line forces were eliminated today when they met with resistance from the native primitives. It would appear these primitives have some advanced technologies we were not apprised of before now. While it has been our belief that humans lack teleportation and cloaking technology, or other advanced tech, today's events have called this into question. Today with my own two eyes, I witnessed what I believe to be the use of these weapons. As our lines marched towards the human defenses, their warriors appeared not in front of us, but rather from the sides, and even some in the rears of our flank. By the time we completed our marching procedures to reverse course, many losses had already been sustained. It is my belief that these humans are able to use teleportation technology to beam troops from the front line, to any location on the battlefield. Furthermore, as we retreated into an area of tall, hardy vegetation, we sustained even more losses. Despite our vigilance, the attack seemed to come from invisible attackers. As though the plants themselves were firing upon us. It is my belief that the humans are employing either some sort of cloaking technology to hide their formations, or perhaps have even engineered intelligent plants that can fight in formation as well. Despite destroying many of these tall, hard plants, we found no evidence of advanced genetic technology. This leaves me to believe the latter theory, that we were being marched up by an invisible army. However, when a secondary retreat was the only course of action available, to add to our terrible luck, we had further difficulty with the local flora. It would appear that some of these earth plants have very dangerous defense mechanisms. Several had grown taut vines between them, and when in contact with our footfalls, some sort of biological chemical explosion occurred. Furthermore, many of the local plants her grow in the form of spiked branches that grown from the bottom of deep holes. These deceptive plants have a layer of leaves over the top, such that they appear as solid ground. Several of our soldiers fell and critically injured themselves on these plants, while some other stepped on the exploding plants. Some of the men went missing. It is unknown if they went AWOL or if they fell to the invisible soldiers. Clearly these humans are masters of deception. The few of our number that returned to the mothership were distraught and disorderly. Morale has been severely compromised by the losses today. I would humbly request a strategic withdrawal of our forces until such a time that the human defenses can be assessed in more detail.
	[WP] Aliens invade earth, but they have never understood the concept of guerilla warfare. Humanity's doom is out there, marching toward us in neat, straight lines.	People have a terrible understanding of scope and scale. It’s just a light-year, how many of them could there be? Gee Ben, I don’t know, how many alien ships do you think can fit into six trillion miles? One by one, unceasing, and that’s just all we could observe. There could be infinitely more equally patient, equally ordered bugs out there just marching toward us. I check my watch. It’s about time. Groaning, I roll off the couch in the break room and head toward my post. “Mornin’ Ben.” I pass another grunt, raising my hand in acknowledgment. I make my way sluggishly to the computer screen that’s been my life for the past two years. Fingerprint scanned, iris recognized, welcome Ben to the World Operational Defense Satellite Network (WODSaN). I check my watch again, I’m thirty minutes ahead of schedule, that’s fine, better too early than too late. Several commands later and I have the damn bugship found and targeted by the computer. “Press enter to confirm launch” the cool, computerized voice said. Without looking I pressed the button. I could do this blindfolded at this point. I didn’t bother trying to peer through the thick, opaque, hole of a window – I knew the invaders’ ship had been detonated. Just like the others. You could catch a glimpse of those strange silver forms evacuating the ship right before the missile’s impact. They’d float in space with the rest of the debris until another ship picked them up. I logged out, set my alarm, and went to find my bunk. I hadn’t been sleeping well for months. “FIELDS!” Damn, I just closed my eyes. Blearily, I rose to attention. “Sir?” “Do you mind explaining why in the goddamned hell we just got reports of twelve confirmed casualties?” Flecks of spittle hit my face as Commander Jacobs closed the distance between us faster than my eye could follow. I craned my neck to make eye contact with him. His face reminded me of an apple, red and shiny, rage and sweat in equal measure. I tried not to flinch. “Sir?” I responded, not understanding. I did my job. “Sir? SIR” He mocked, “I don’t know how you fucked up but boy you really did, you really fucking did Fields. ‘Computers are unreliable’ they told me, ‘what if the power goes out? What if something crashes?’ No, we just NEEDED a team to press a damn button. I don’t know how all five of you managed to sleep through a goddamned alien invasion but now we have bodies on the ground! Do you understand that.” It wasn’t a question. “Sir, I –” I was floundering with my watch, trying to pull up the log of my activity. I saw the confirmed launch. No way any of the bugs had slipped by, the system never made a mistake. “You better choose your next words very carefully or you’ll be the next thing we launch into space.” Commander Jacobs narrowed his eyes, barely able to control his breathing. His phone rang, giving me a brief respite to collect my thoughts. I could only hear his side of the conversation. “What? Yes. What do you mean we’re empty? None? NONE? You fucking me? What the hell are they doing about it? They realize this is a time sensitive issue? Christ. Christ. Christ, yeah, I understand.” The color drained from his face throughout the call. He hung up and sat heavily on the bed, rubbing his face in his hands. “Fields…” “Yes, sir?” “We’re out of goddamned ammunition.” “No way.” “Russia pulled out of the agreement, then China. We already mined our country to hell, there’s nothing we can dig up to fight with anymore.” “Why would they do that? With respect sir, that’s the stupidest thing I ever heard.” He sighed, “some political nonsense. Something about how WODSaN could be turned against them once the aliens are all killed. They wanted the base moved to under their jurisdiction. The higher ups refused.” “But there’s literally trillions of alien ships still coming at us!” I said incredulously. “You know that, I know that. But they don’t see it every day like we do. It’s just an abstraction to them.” We stood in silence for a moment, trying to comprehend what the future would hold. Commander Jacobs broke first. “You know, Fields? I don’t think we’ve ever actually killed any of those bugs. They always retreat and regroup before we do any serious damage.” “Who would have thought attacking your enemy one at a time would be an unbeatable strategy.” He let out a short, barking laugh. “Just wait ‘em out. Straight lines and politics. Keep the pressure on and we’ll crack first. Smart buggers.” We stood. “What now sir?” I asked. “As far as I’m concerned you’re free to spend the end of days as you see fit. I’m going to tell the rest of the unit then I’m guessing I’ll see you at the bar.” “Cheers sir.” He grimaced and turned to leave. As he shut the door behind him I heard him muttering, “straight lines and politics.”	We knew they were coming. The news spread quick throughout our world. These beings looked similar to us, but they were not like us at all. The first time their massive ships appeared on the horizon, no one knew what to expect. By the time they landed, we had our defenses prepared. We had no idea how little damage we could do. Each being was clad in a material harder than anything we'd seen before; impenetrable and covering their entire body. They carried something that resembled spears, but at the click of a button would begin to drain the blood from it's targets body- instantly. It was chaos. One by one, they took down the nations of our world. Some by deceit, but most by sheer force. We tried to ban together, but they were far more organized than we ever could be. Far more precise. Little did they know, that would be their downfall. I'd like to say that I fought and died bravely the day they came, but I ran with my family. I had to know they were safe. We found a place deep in the forest, where we ran into other retreating families and communities. Soon, we had a village of our own, far from all other civilization. I knew we had only bought ourselves time. They won't stop until they've claimed every inch of our world. Through what I witnessed firsthand, and stories from my new neighbors, I figured out their weakness. They rely too much on their technology and their numbers. These things are no match for the fighting spirit of my people. I would show them. A few months into living in our new home, a scout was spotted near the perimeter of our village. We had our best tracker follow him back to the others. We discovered their fleet planned to meet our resistance in an open field down at the valley below us. I put together a group to meet them. We gathered what weapons we had and met them in the clearing. I saw the beings who looked like us, but not quite, on the other side of the field. Even at this distance I could see their white faces. They began to march, wielding their terrible weaponry, which I learned were called guns. We charged. Before we were close enough for their front line to use their guns, more of my men emerged from the forest on either side of them. We ran unpredictable routes, throwing rocks and spears. Our arrows flew from deep within the forest and rained on their army indiscriminately. Many of their commanders in the back of the formation were killed even before their front line used a weapon. Still, they put up quite a fight. Many men died on both sides, but ultimately it was they who retreated. However, at this point they had lost all sense of their formation. White men ran through the forest alone, only to be attacked from above by more of my people waiting in the trees. Through the sweat and blood that blurred my vision, I watched our victory unfold. Among all this death, I managed a smile, for I knew that my people would be safe to live on this land- now and for the rest of time. We knew they were coming, and we stopped them. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ My newnew project is r/TalesOfAcka - A fictional universe where the prophecies of the Old World are fulfilled, abandoned, and rewritten on a new continent of vicious civilizations and fantastic creatures.
	[WP] Aliens invade earth, but they have never understood the concept of guerilla warfare. Humanity's doom is out there, marching toward us in neat, straight lines.	Many people, throughout the myriad ages have tried to define what humanity truly is; To some, it's ingenuity, to others it is compassion, again to some others it is our artistic ability. Poets claim it is our ability to know deeper meaning, philosophers differ from pain, lust, power and suffering as our definite traits. To the religious it is our piety and to our scientists it is our curiosity. The truth is that we're the most single-minded stubborn bastards in the universe. In our primal state, before civilization, before history and all those other good bits, we were stubborn. When our ancient hunters picked a target, they followed it day and night until it collapsed from exhaustion. We decided to take our biggest competitor and turn them into our friends and servants, we stuck at it until we made dogs. Because we're stubborn. After World War II, pockets of resistance on some pacific islands held out for years, refusing to give in. The biggest armies in history have tried to calm and control Afghanistan, from Alexander to Bush, leaders have invaded and found the locals to be so bloody stubborn and irritable that they wind up driving out the invaders somehow. Doctors never gave in when looking for vaccines to the great modern plague of polio or the ancient plague of smallpox, and eventually they were found. It pays to be stubborn. We are stubborn bastards. Because we don't give up, we don't play fair, we don't break, it's hell on earth trying to fight the lot of us. But of course, somebody didn't do their homework. Earth is sort in the backwater of the galaxy, the space-boonies so to speak. But, the Solar System is, unbeknownst to man, an important hyperspace bypass for alien merchant caravans, civilian transport, and space fleets belonging to various important empires. Until recently, it was considered common land, owned theoretically by humanity, but de facto, just about everybody used it. But then, the Srenqian Hegemony decided, that the time was ripe for a new strategic move in the five-ways Galactic Cold War. Srengians were a very rigid society, even by the rigid standards of the common galaxy, and when they conquered a planet, the inhabitants were given a choice; Surrender and become fourth-rate citizens, or attempt to resist and become slaves. Eventually third-rate citizens could work their way to become second-rate citizens, by showing great loyalty and obedience to the state. Slaves could never go further than third-class citizenship. They sent the standardized fleet packed with soldiers from a variety of different subjugated races, led by Srengian officers. On the 15th of March, 2027, they issued a call for humanity's total surrender. The options were explained, the benefits of accepting the natural superiority of the Srengians were put on the table versus the disadvantages of disobeying the High Lords of the Supreme Heaven, as they liked to style themselves. Humanity's answer took a while to translate for the Srengians, it was two words from a dead human language. Molon labe. Come and take it. The Srengians misunderstood it as an accept, which the humans quickly rectified by murdering the Srengian officers commanding slaves, who were to set up the official surrender ceremony, with sniper fire. The communication officer who had mistranslated was immediately executed by airlock. And then the invasion began. The first couple of months went swimmingly for the Srengians, their puffy aristocratic tentacles rubbing together in glee as humanity met their armies and were driven back, the sheer numbers and technology of the Srengian forces defeating conventional warfare. Until the battle of Saigon. The Vietnamese army set up ambushes, stay-behind militia groups that attacked in the middle of the night, children with pistols who would not be considered a threat by the enemy. The Srengian forces marched toward the city in neat straight lines, and were massacred. Old men who had once been in the Viet Cong would strap explosives to themselves, not be counted as hostiles by the enemy, and go up to shake a Srengian soldier's hand or paw or pseudo-pod, and boom, squad destroyed. In the night, when the Srengians rested, the old women would crawl out of holes with knives alongside the young girls, and cut the throats of the enemy. Commandos would sneak into the Srengian camps and free their slaves and led them off. The poor sods were too frightened to disobey anyone after what could have been centuries of slavery. By the time the Srengian army actually reached the city center, less than a tenth of their original force survived. Snipers on rooftops took out every surviving officer, so easy to spot in their shiny and gleaming uniforms. The confused soldiers, without orders, were picked apart piece by bloody piece, until the streets ran red, purple, and blue with the blood of our enemies. It was the first major victory that humanity had scored. Sure, Saigon was in ruins and all the effort to clean the area up from the Vietnam War had been reversed, but twelve whole divisions had been put to the sword. The Srengian high command could not comprehend what was happening. Their armies marched into the winter of Russia, and was met with scorched earth, booby traps, sneak attacks, sabotage from locals, and the ever-present threat of General Winter. Needless to say, not many of their forces survived the 2030 Russian Campaign. In Finland, the colourful uniforms of the enemy were easy targets for the heirs of The White Death, and joining the old Soviet dead, were now several brigades of aliens. In the deserts of North Africa and the Arabian peninsular, the Srengian soldiers learned to fear the almost insane fanatical devotion of the locals, and their defiance against the enemy. Many a member of the Srengian army, would leave his racial battalion with permission from the officers to take a leak in the dunes or try to find shade, and simply never be seen again, until the battered remnants of their unit would find their bleached dry bones as they retreated back to the coast. In the Outback of Australia, the human resistance would chase hordes of emus into the camps of the alien foe, unleashing hell upon them, though for many races, Australia was already hell, being a place where eventually only punitive regiments were sent. The vast steppes of Central Asia were initially perfect for the Srengians to fight on, until they were met with ancient strategies, best employed by Genghis Khan centuries ago, riding up close to the enemy, firing, and fleeing. Hit and runs were so common there, that the forward marching enemy would never get a moment of rest. In America, they started the invasion in Texas, suffice to say, that high command had never seen an entire territory's population rise up so well-armed and so bloodthirsty before. In the places conquered, the Srengians would find no rest. In the night, resistance fighters would kidnap officers and broadcast their execution on whatever channels still available. Even the usually civilized and pacifistic Europe was not safe for the enemy. On the shores of Denmark, patrols would find the soldiers they had replaced when the tide was low. The resistance in France became so numerous, that the aliens had to retreat to Paris, where they thought themselves safe. Until the Cataphile cells of the resistance dragged down the members of the garrison in blackest night, to the Catacombs and tunnels beneath the city. Where the last thing any alien saw, was humans wearing masks made from the skulls of their own dead, plunging their knives into the exposed skin of their comrades, and at last, themselves. Those few who were given the order to retreat from Paris, would find their dreams filled with the hushed whispers of the living dead, and the muffled screams of their dead brothers-in-arms, until the end of their days.	We knew they were coming. The news spread quick throughout our world. These beings looked similar to us, but they were not like us at all. The first time their massive ships appeared on the horizon, no one knew what to expect. By the time they landed, we had our defenses prepared. We had no idea how little damage we could do. Each being was clad in a material harder than anything we'd seen before; impenetrable and covering their entire body. They carried something that resembled spears, but at the click of a button would begin to drain the blood from it's targets body- instantly. It was chaos. One by one, they took down the nations of our world. Some by deceit, but most by sheer force. We tried to ban together, but they were far more organized than we ever could be. Far more precise. Little did they know, that would be their downfall. I'd like to say that I fought and died bravely the day they came, but I ran with my family. I had to know they were safe. We found a place deep in the forest, where we ran into other retreating families and communities. Soon, we had a village of our own, far from all other civilization. I knew we had only bought ourselves time. They won't stop until they've claimed every inch of our world. Through what I witnessed firsthand, and stories from my new neighbors, I figured out their weakness. They rely too much on their technology and their numbers. These things are no match for the fighting spirit of my people. I would show them. A few months into living in our new home, a scout was spotted near the perimeter of our village. We had our best tracker follow him back to the others. We discovered their fleet planned to meet our resistance in an open field down at the valley below us. I put together a group to meet them. We gathered what weapons we had and met them in the clearing. I saw the beings who looked like us, but not quite, on the other side of the field. Even at this distance I could see their white faces. They began to march, wielding their terrible weaponry, which I learned were called guns. We charged. Before we were close enough for their front line to use their guns, more of my men emerged from the forest on either side of them. We ran unpredictable routes, throwing rocks and spears. Our arrows flew from deep within the forest and rained on their army indiscriminately. Many of their commanders in the back of the formation were killed even before their front line used a weapon. Still, they put up quite a fight. Many men died on both sides, but ultimately it was they who retreated. However, at this point they had lost all sense of their formation. White men ran through the forest alone, only to be attacked from above by more of my people waiting in the trees. Through the sweat and blood that blurred my vision, I watched our victory unfold. Among all this death, I managed a smile, for I knew that my people would be safe to live on this land- now and for the rest of time. We knew they were coming, and we stopped them. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ My newnew project is r/TalesOfAcka - A fictional universe where the prophecies of the Old World are fulfilled, abandoned, and rewritten on a new continent of vicious civilizations and fantastic creatures.
	[WP] Aliens invade earth, but they have never understood the concept of guerilla warfare. Humanity's doom is out there, marching toward us in neat, straight lines.	Many people, throughout the myriad ages have tried to define what humanity truly is; To some, it's ingenuity, to others it is compassion, again to some others it is our artistic ability. Poets claim it is our ability to know deeper meaning, philosophers differ from pain, lust, power and suffering as our definite traits. To the religious it is our piety and to our scientists it is our curiosity. The truth is that we're the most single-minded stubborn bastards in the universe. In our primal state, before civilization, before history and all those other good bits, we were stubborn. When our ancient hunters picked a target, they followed it day and night until it collapsed from exhaustion. We decided to take our biggest competitor and turn them into our friends and servants, we stuck at it until we made dogs. Because we're stubborn. After World War II, pockets of resistance on some pacific islands held out for years, refusing to give in. The biggest armies in history have tried to calm and control Afghanistan, from Alexander to Bush, leaders have invaded and found the locals to be so bloody stubborn and irritable that they wind up driving out the invaders somehow. Doctors never gave in when looking for vaccines to the great modern plague of polio or the ancient plague of smallpox, and eventually they were found. It pays to be stubborn. We are stubborn bastards. Because we don't give up, we don't play fair, we don't break, it's hell on earth trying to fight the lot of us. But of course, somebody didn't do their homework. Earth is sort in the backwater of the galaxy, the space-boonies so to speak. But, the Solar System is, unbeknownst to man, an important hyperspace bypass for alien merchant caravans, civilian transport, and space fleets belonging to various important empires. Until recently, it was considered common land, owned theoretically by humanity, but de facto, just about everybody used it. But then, the Srenqian Hegemony decided, that the time was ripe for a new strategic move in the five-ways Galactic Cold War. Srengians were a very rigid society, even by the rigid standards of the common galaxy, and when they conquered a planet, the inhabitants were given a choice; Surrender and become fourth-rate citizens, or attempt to resist and become slaves. Eventually third-rate citizens could work their way to become second-rate citizens, by showing great loyalty and obedience to the state. Slaves could never go further than third-class citizenship. They sent the standardized fleet packed with soldiers from a variety of different subjugated races, led by Srengian officers. On the 15th of March, 2027, they issued a call for humanity's total surrender. The options were explained, the benefits of accepting the natural superiority of the Srengians were put on the table versus the disadvantages of disobeying the High Lords of the Supreme Heaven, as they liked to style themselves. Humanity's answer took a while to translate for the Srengians, it was two words from a dead human language. Molon labe. Come and take it. The Srengians misunderstood it as an accept, which the humans quickly rectified by murdering the Srengian officers commanding slaves, who were to set up the official surrender ceremony, with sniper fire. The communication officer who had mistranslated was immediately executed by airlock. And then the invasion began. The first couple of months went swimmingly for the Srengians, their puffy aristocratic tentacles rubbing together in glee as humanity met their armies and were driven back, the sheer numbers and technology of the Srengian forces defeating conventional warfare. Until the battle of Saigon. The Vietnamese army set up ambushes, stay-behind militia groups that attacked in the middle of the night, children with pistols who would not be considered a threat by the enemy. The Srengian forces marched toward the city in neat straight lines, and were massacred. Old men who had once been in the Viet Cong would strap explosives to themselves, not be counted as hostiles by the enemy, and go up to shake a Srengian soldier's hand or paw or pseudo-pod, and boom, squad destroyed. In the night, when the Srengians rested, the old women would crawl out of holes with knives alongside the young girls, and cut the throats of the enemy. Commandos would sneak into the Srengian camps and free their slaves and led them off. The poor sods were too frightened to disobey anyone after what could have been centuries of slavery. By the time the Srengian army actually reached the city center, less than a tenth of their original force survived. Snipers on rooftops took out every surviving officer, so easy to spot in their shiny and gleaming uniforms. The confused soldiers, without orders, were picked apart piece by bloody piece, until the streets ran red, purple, and blue with the blood of our enemies. It was the first major victory that humanity had scored. Sure, Saigon was in ruins and all the effort to clean the area up from the Vietnam War had been reversed, but twelve whole divisions had been put to the sword. The Srengian high command could not comprehend what was happening. Their armies marched into the winter of Russia, and was met with scorched earth, booby traps, sneak attacks, sabotage from locals, and the ever-present threat of General Winter. Needless to say, not many of their forces survived the 2030 Russian Campaign. In Finland, the colourful uniforms of the enemy were easy targets for the heirs of The White Death, and joining the old Soviet dead, were now several brigades of aliens. In the deserts of North Africa and the Arabian peninsular, the Srengian soldiers learned to fear the almost insane fanatical devotion of the locals, and their defiance against the enemy. Many a member of the Srengian army, would leave his racial battalion with permission from the officers to take a leak in the dunes or try to find shade, and simply never be seen again, until the battered remnants of their unit would find their bleached dry bones as they retreated back to the coast. In the Outback of Australia, the human resistance would chase hordes of emus into the camps of the alien foe, unleashing hell upon them, though for many races, Australia was already hell, being a place where eventually only punitive regiments were sent. The vast steppes of Central Asia were initially perfect for the Srengians to fight on, until they were met with ancient strategies, best employed by Genghis Khan centuries ago, riding up close to the enemy, firing, and fleeing. Hit and runs were so common there, that the forward marching enemy would never get a moment of rest. In America, they started the invasion in Texas, suffice to say, that high command had never seen an entire territory's population rise up so well-armed and so bloodthirsty before. In the places conquered, the Srengians would find no rest. In the night, resistance fighters would kidnap officers and broadcast their execution on whatever channels still available. Even the usually civilized and pacifistic Europe was not safe for the enemy. On the shores of Denmark, patrols would find the soldiers they had replaced when the tide was low. The resistance in France became so numerous, that the aliens had to retreat to Paris, where they thought themselves safe. Until the Cataphile cells of the resistance dragged down the members of the garrison in blackest night, to the Catacombs and tunnels beneath the city. Where the last thing any alien saw, was humans wearing masks made from the skulls of their own dead, plunging their knives into the exposed skin of their comrades, and at last, themselves. Those few who were given the order to retreat from Paris, would find their dreams filled with the hushed whispers of the living dead, and the muffled screams of their dead brothers-in-arms, until the end of their days.	People have a terrible understanding of scope and scale. It’s just a light-year, how many of them could there be? Gee Ben, I don’t know, how many alien ships do you think can fit into six trillion miles? One by one, unceasing, and that’s just all we could observe. There could be infinitely more equally patient, equally ordered bugs out there just marching toward us. I check my watch. It’s about time. Groaning, I roll off the couch in the break room and head toward my post. “Mornin’ Ben.” I pass another grunt, raising my hand in acknowledgment. I make my way sluggishly to the computer screen that’s been my life for the past two years. Fingerprint scanned, iris recognized, welcome Ben to the World Operational Defense Satellite Network (WODSaN). I check my watch again, I’m thirty minutes ahead of schedule, that’s fine, better too early than too late. Several commands later and I have the damn bugship found and targeted by the computer. “Press enter to confirm launch” the cool, computerized voice said. Without looking I pressed the button. I could do this blindfolded at this point. I didn’t bother trying to peer through the thick, opaque, hole of a window – I knew the invaders’ ship had been detonated. Just like the others. You could catch a glimpse of those strange silver forms evacuating the ship right before the missile’s impact. They’d float in space with the rest of the debris until another ship picked them up. I logged out, set my alarm, and went to find my bunk. I hadn’t been sleeping well for months. “FIELDS!” Damn, I just closed my eyes. Blearily, I rose to attention. “Sir?” “Do you mind explaining why in the goddamned hell we just got reports of twelve confirmed casualties?” Flecks of spittle hit my face as Commander Jacobs closed the distance between us faster than my eye could follow. I craned my neck to make eye contact with him. His face reminded me of an apple, red and shiny, rage and sweat in equal measure. I tried not to flinch. “Sir?” I responded, not understanding. I did my job. “Sir? SIR” He mocked, “I don’t know how you fucked up but boy you really did, you really fucking did Fields. ‘Computers are unreliable’ they told me, ‘what if the power goes out? What if something crashes?’ No, we just NEEDED a team to press a damn button. I don’t know how all five of you managed to sleep through a goddamned alien invasion but now we have bodies on the ground! Do you understand that.” It wasn’t a question. “Sir, I –” I was floundering with my watch, trying to pull up the log of my activity. I saw the confirmed launch. No way any of the bugs had slipped by, the system never made a mistake. “You better choose your next words very carefully or you’ll be the next thing we launch into space.” Commander Jacobs narrowed his eyes, barely able to control his breathing. His phone rang, giving me a brief respite to collect my thoughts. I could only hear his side of the conversation. “What? Yes. What do you mean we’re empty? None? NONE? You fucking me? What the hell are they doing about it? They realize this is a time sensitive issue? Christ. Christ. Christ, yeah, I understand.” The color drained from his face throughout the call. He hung up and sat heavily on the bed, rubbing his face in his hands. “Fields…” “Yes, sir?” “We’re out of goddamned ammunition.” “No way.” “Russia pulled out of the agreement, then China. We already mined our country to hell, there’s nothing we can dig up to fight with anymore.” “Why would they do that? With respect sir, that’s the stupidest thing I ever heard.” He sighed, “some political nonsense. Something about how WODSaN could be turned against them once the aliens are all killed. They wanted the base moved to under their jurisdiction. The higher ups refused.” “But there’s literally trillions of alien ships still coming at us!” I said incredulously. “You know that, I know that. But they don’t see it every day like we do. It’s just an abstraction to them.” We stood in silence for a moment, trying to comprehend what the future would hold. Commander Jacobs broke first. “You know, Fields? I don’t think we’ve ever actually killed any of those bugs. They always retreat and regroup before we do any serious damage.” “Who would have thought attacking your enemy one at a time would be an unbeatable strategy.” He let out a short, barking laugh. “Just wait ‘em out. Straight lines and politics. Keep the pressure on and we’ll crack first. Smart buggers.” We stood. “What now sir?” I asked. “As far as I’m concerned you’re free to spend the end of days as you see fit. I’m going to tell the rest of the unit then I’m guessing I’ll see you at the bar.” “Cheers sir.” He grimaced and turned to leave. As he shut the door behind him I heard him muttering, “straight lines and politics.”
	[WP] A Vampire Hunter, a Dragon Slayer, a Witch Inquisitor, and a Demon Excorcist must work together to kill a Vampire Dragon possessed by a Demon controlled by a powerful coven of Witches. They all absolutely hate each other.	"Hey, stake-fingers, hands off the sword." "I have a _name_," said the non-stake-fingered vampire hunter, whose name was Valentina. "And 'hands off the sword' isn't something I get very often." The Dragon Slayer stared at her dumbly for a moment, then narrowed his eyes, then flushed. "Stop that." "Stop what?" "Flirting. You're awfully promiscuous." "So's your mom." Valentina made a noise that sounded like a self-satisfied chuckle, although the Dragon Slayer — Balfour the Brave — would've asked if she was choking on garlic. He didn't get a chance to ask, and Valentina subsequently couldn't respond with what he could choke on, because a severe shadow appeared suddenly in the doorway. "Halt!" cried Balfour the Brave. Valentina simply moved her hands back to his sword — the metal one — and continued inspecting it, absolutely blasé. "I come in peace, unless ye be witches." When the figure stepped into the light, the pair of warriors-at-odds saw that he was dressed all in black, but for his little white clerical tag: he was a man of religion. "Ew, Christianity," said Valentina. "Vampires are unholy beings, coffin-nailer. God is on your side." "The side of me that doesn't care. Oh wait, that's both sides." "I see," said the religious man, "that thou be holy of mind and body, though none be without sin. I am the Witch Inquisitor Heinz— " "Like the ketchup?" "—here to take up arms against the powerful coven that here resides." "There is no coven here, Heinz, only a Vampire Dragon." "We should call it a Vampgon. A Drampire. Or we could just name it after me." Heinz shook his bald head, eyes young but agelessly tired. "I have pursued them for centuries, knight. Yet I do not blame you for ignorance; the mind is a muscle, to be exercised like any other, and your priorities are visible upon your person." "Now, wait a minute, you God-playing girl-killer— " Valentina held up a finger. "I think that was flirting, too, but okay." "—I have more brains than a whale, and whales are really big, so, yeah." Even Heinz winced at that, although Valentina outright laughed. "Listen, bud," she said. "You've clearly got the wrong monster. But if you wanna rough up the unholiest of the unholy— Well, how do you think a Vampire Dragon baby gets made?" When, instead of responding, the two men only made vaguely disgusted expressions, she rolled her eyes. "Hint: not immaculate conception." "Say no more, wench, I beg of you," said the poor Witch Inquisitor. "Beg on your knees, and maybe— " Fortunately for all parties in attendance, Valentina was cut mercifully short: the door burst in. A scaled tail swept through the sitting room, smashing the furniture and thoroughly tripping Heinz until he lay in a clumsy heap on the floor. Valentina fared only slightly better; she fell, but leapt quickly to her feet. "Garlic-sucker! My sword!" "Pecs-for-brains!" Valentina shouted back. "Your sword!" Though it was surprisingly heavy, she tossed it to him, fumbling the throw only slightly. "Many thanks!" "Screw you kindly!" Heinz, having just finished fighting himself, was promptly knocked over again as a large Vampire Dragon ear brushed past him. Valentina danced about the various flailing bits of the monster, but Balfour, despite his infuriating nicknames, fared much better. He even had some lovely phrases as: "Eat a sword, lizard-spawn," and: "Die, you land-lubbing tadpole." But though they tried in earnest, they were rapidly tiring, and the beast was not. Balfour's sword had done its damage, spilling oily blood everywhere — the usual amount to kill a dragon — and Valentina's stakes and garlic had elicited some shriveling and smoke — the usual amount to kill a vampire. And then, quietly, there was a voice. "Hello, darlings," it said. "Having a bit of trouble?" "A smidge," said Balfour. "Grmph," said Heinz, falling down again unceremoniously. "I am Gretel," continued the voice, "exorcist supreme, the best demon banisher in the realm." Valentina, out of breath, whirled around toward the voice. "Yeah, well, this isn't a demon; it— Oh. Wow." Gretel swept past them in a flourish, airy and bright. She began to chant, in Latin, golden hair twirling down her back, dress fluttering in the winds of battle. Balfour had not stopped hacking away at the Vampire Dragon. But as Gretel chanted, the monster began to shudder, first in little fits — then, in larger shivers, shaking and quivering until it seemed to vibrate, sending Balfour to retreat off a distance. Her chants grew louder, and stronger, and — And dark shadow roiled off the corpse of the Vampire Dragon, which now collapsed to the ground with a thunderous boom. "Many thanks, Latinate simpleton," Balfour said, "for stealing all the glory." "Yeah," said Valentina. She didn't have much to add, but settled on: "And Latin's a dead language anyway." "_Excuse_ me? I just exorcised the— " "_I_ slayed the dragon. It wouldn't have just collapse if I hadn't— " "You are _infuriatingly_ attractive, but also, like, came in last minute and tried to steal all the credit— " "—_massive, terrifying hell-spawn residing within that_—" "—valiantly saved the day, not that I need constant reassurance or anything— " "—you must've been fun in group projects— " "Friends! Friends, cast thy gaze upon this sight!" Heinz, during the bickering, had risen to unsteady feet. Now, he all but bounced up and down, waving a finger in a vague direction. "What now, you Christ-serving klutz?" "The coven!" Heinz shouted, entirely too excited. Balfour slumped against a barely-intact wall, looking weary and worn. Even Valentina, still in a fighting stance, breathed heavily, though she made no inclination to rest. "I don't suppose you know how to fight witches, Gretel?" "Darling, however do you think I learned the ancient art of exorcism? I studied with witches!" "Wait," said Heinz. Balfour brightened. "Simply befriend them, damsel of dark magic!" "Wait," said Heinz. "We could have an orgy," said Valentina. "_Wait_," said Heinz, the word coming out much more scandalized and strangled than before. Gretel's eyes lit up. "A splendid idea! Befriending them, not the orgy." And as the witches ventured up the hill, murder in their black eyes and tatters in their black clothes, Gretel walked quietly to meet them. "Sisters!" she called. "I come in peace!" "How do you think she comes when— " "Sinful wench!" Heinz and Balfour scolded in unison. The witches slowed their vengeful pace, and stopped before the demon exorcist. In one voice, echoing and strange, they spoke to Gretel. "Sister," they said. "Why has our beast been killed?" "He was tainted, dark ladies, by the Court of Blood and spawn of Hell." Frantically, the witches muttered amongst themselves. After a few tense moments of discussion, they seemed to reach a precarious consensus. "We want no part in impurity," they said, and voices rose up: "Purity," they said, "Clean, untainted." They muttered more, then continued: "We will spare you and your party. But beware of us in the future, mortal things, for our vengeance is a terror, and our grudges run deeper than ravines of bones." "Thank you, dark ladies." And, just like that, the witches left. Gretel made her way back up the hill, to the party that was not really hers. "Nice," said Valentina. "Very," agreed Balfour. "Thou stole my chance for glory," Heinz complained. Valentina ran her fingers lightly along Balfour's sword, which was still coated in slick dragon blood. "Well," she began. "Obviously, I hate you all." "Seconded." "Darling, I met you less than an hour ago." "Thou are— " "Shut up," Valentina said without batting an eye. "As I was saying: maybe Heinz could have... another chance for glory." "I highly doubt that." "Just listen, sword-swallower." Valentina ran her blood-slicked hand through her already frizzy hair. "There's this creature, in the Sun Eater Mountains. Real scary thing. Long fingers." "Sounds... promising." "Easy." Gretel betrayed the ghost of a smile. "But... fun." "Frightening." "I'll tell you more," said Valentina, her tone just vaguely excited, just barely hopeful. "There's a legend — a prophecy, if you're like Heinz, and believe in those — and, legend has it..."	Stormy gray skies had writhed and molded until they were black as sin with crackling tongues of lightning that licked the earth in the distance. No chance for a fire to burn, less the blaze was equally as wicked. The flames burned well below when Marcus slid the telescope closed, "It looks like the ceremony is underway." &#x200B; "You know what, bitch? I'm glad I dumped you. And your clothes? I already sold them to a homeless person." Lona sneered at Jezebel sheets of rain fell to earth. It may have been a killing chill to mortal men, but it was a wasted effort to contain the fire that burned in the eyes of Lona. Marcus had seen that same hatred applied to Lona's favorite prey: witches, warlocks, all those who used arcane energy to spite the Divines. He had his distaste for the Inquisitor clad in scarlet and black armor. He also had an equal dislike for the Huntress who wore black and silver. The latter, Jezebel, huffed and said, "All those times I said I was too busy for date night? I lied, I just didn't want to go home and hear you killing another witch. It was always the same story: Oooo, Jezebel, I tracked this witch down! She tried to use her spells, but my faith in the Divines kept me oh so protected. I used my whip or my knife to kill her. At least the stories I told had some adventure to them!" Jezebel turned on Marcus and said, "What did you say?" She snapped at Marcus. &#x200B; "Oh, I'm sorry, go ahead and have it out. I mean, it's just an attempt by the Blackwald Coven to bring darkness upon the Land and everything we hold dear, but a man knows the real crucial conflict when he sees 'em. Take your time. I'm sure the world can wait." "You know, it was because of that attitude Marcus that I divorced your ass for Lona," Jezebel said. Marcus growled under his breath. What a time for heroes to come together? A leather-clad Vampire Huntress, the best with knife or stake. The most powerful of the Inquisitors, who knew every protection and count spell to their hellish magic. While not one to boast of his abilities, the red-haired Marcus was as strong as ten men. With some solid ground to hurl himself from, he could easily leap into the air onto any beasts back. That left the last of their party, the most powerful caster he knew. The High Prelate, Septimus Proudie. He had his arms crossed over his chest as he stared down the path towards village they had left behind. &#x200B; "You ready, Septimus?" Marcus asked. The women continued to exchange glares. He wanted to depend on the Prelate and his fellow male to be the stabilizing force in the party. Perhaps he hoped for too much? It was an ill omen that the Prelate narrowed his eyes and jerked his head towards Marcus, "Oh? Now you want to call me by my title. You want to act like you value a damn thing I've got to say." Septimus' teeth ground his teeth between words. "What's wrong now, nerd?" Lona asked. "To hell with you too, Inquisitor!" Septimus shouted over the storm, "You want to act your so big and bad, I remember when Jezebel dumped your ass. You were sobbing in the confessional for a week. All three of you have turned and dropped trousers to me for months, showing me your asses. I guess you thought I was going to turn the other damn cheek." "I was just funning with you," Jezebel threw up her defense. Her voice tapered off. She found herself more concerned with keeping damp hair out of her eyes than meeting Septimus' gaze. "Have to always take it personally." &#x200B; "What do you have to say, 'Sir' Marcus? You want to keep bragging how you had more dates than I have? That I'd spend my life with nose in a book? Sorry, I didn't get out there and brain people with wooden swords, too busy learning how to banish demons from the world-" Another crackle of lightning tore through the sky and drove itself into the ground not far from where the group stood. A bright blue flame emerged from the point of impact. It served a reminder that strong magic was in the air. In the valley below, the terrible wyrm named Piosenna the Beast would rise to drink her fill of blood and slaughter. Marcus turned at the four of them and said, "Alright. Fine... we don't like each other. Jezebel, you broke my heart and took half of the assets when you divorced me to date Lona. Lona, it's apparent that you and Jezebel didn't get along during your time together, and I think we can all say... sorry Septimus for... showing our asses... that was a very longwinded thing you said." A great cacophonous roar tore through the valley. Marcus needed no other prompting to get to the point, "The thing is! We need each other now. So, let's spend a little time with those we hate to save the world. Then we can hash out our problems in a group setting, alright?" He looked between the three of them. He received a nod from his ex-wife, a shrug from his ex-wife's ex-girlfriend, and a frown from the nerd he knew whom he needed to work alongside. Marcus took that as the best he was going to get. &#x200B; "Alright, team, let's go down there and do what we do best." He turned away from them. Mud suckled his boots as he stomped through the newly formed sludge towards the path that would take him to the ceremony site. He smiled a little as he heard the other boots trudge after him.
	[WP] A Vampire Hunter, a Dragon Slayer, a Witch Inquisitor, and a Demon Excorcist must work together to kill a Vampire Dragon possessed by a Demon controlled by a powerful coven of Witches. They all absolutely hate each other.	"We need to kill a what?" Sometimes, just sometimes, Gwen was positive she chose the wrong career. She was in her late twenties, still in the optimal range to squeeze out a kid or two, and had a nice face. Not a pretty face, just a nice one. If she tried, she could be the nice, stay-at-home mom she often sneered at when she was shopping at Old Navy. The pretty, shallow subverters of female power and independence. God, she hated them. "Listen, only you four can accomplish this task. This may seem like a joke, but I assure you that is not the case," Mr. Q, the senior supernatural specialist, tried to convey this to the group. Gwen always liked Q. He was the perfect substitute for the grandfathers she never got to meet and always made her smile. "Sorry, Quick, but I work solo here. Remember?" Jared McWorthy. Handsome. Blonde. Arrogant. The leather-clad dreamboat was a celebrity at the S.E.C. HQ. He was a smooth talker and could get any female, human or creature, in his bed. Despite his renowned "fascination" with nymphs, he took up dragon slaying and is now a top hunter in his field. "Sorry, McWorthy, but I assign missions and write your checks here. Remember?" Q shot back without batting an eyelash. Jared's bright smile dimmed a bit, and Gwen tried her best not to laugh. "Q, please! Rethink this," the man standing next to Jared asked. He was readjusting his glasses what seemed like the seventh time since the came to Q's office, and Gwen wondering if the thin redhead was ever bullied when he was younger. Honestly, he screamed "nerd". "Nigel, I assure you there is nothing to rethink. You lot will do fine." Q was handing out the files now, and Gwen almost swallowed the gum she was chewing. Nigel? As in, Nigel Matherly? The prodigal witch inquisitor that discovered the Serpent Head Coven's den last year? This guy, in his pressed khakis and turtleneck sweater, was that Nigel? What a world they lived in... "I just think it's dangerous to have all of us tackling such a beast. Wouldn't it be better to have maybe one or two go?" Nigel asked and gently plucked his file from Gwen's grasp. His fingernails looked nicer than hers. "Oh, really? Like who?" Q was looked tired of this now. Gwen wondered if his leg was hurting him and tried to peak at him behind his desk. "Well, if the vampiric dragon is really being controlled by witches, it would be better to send me out first. I could find them before this week's end. Maybe quicker." "Yeah, and that dragon will toast your scrawny red ass before you can even call for backup," Jared sang with a smile. The buff man next to Gwen let out a short bark of laughter, and Nigel's cheeks went red. "Exactly," Q interjected, "This is something you four must do together. We can get you to Indiana by plane. Our target was last seen spotted over Lake Michigan. The coven should be nearby." "Wait." The buff man next to Gwen held up his hand, and she was surprised by how many scars trailed down his dark arms. Some were slashes. Others so deep and jagged it looked like someone ripped through his flesh with rusted nails. Gwen pulled the sleeve of her salmon hoodie without meaning to. "Yes, Adam?" "That's so close to the border. Too close. Are they aiming for Canada?" Adam asked. Adam Johnson. Gwen heard rumors that even his name was an alias. A mysterious man with no background. Tall, African American and fierce. His composure and hair spoke military, but no records could be found. All anyone knew was that he was an exceptional vampire slayer. "If they do, that's out of our jurisdiction," Nigel muttered. "We don't know, but we have no time to take chances." Q stood up, revealing his prosthetic leg. He lost it in a demon congregation raid. He said he didn't mind, but Gwen saw the look in his wife's eyes every time the old hunter walked through their living room. "You four are the best in your fields. Only you can stop this mess before it gets out of hand," Q said and walked out from behind his desk. "The U.S. division of S.E.C. is counting on you." Jared raised his hand, similar to that of a grade school child, and Q looked like he wanted to punch he once and for all. "What is it now?" "Yeah, that's great and all, but... Well..." He paused and made a quick glance at Gwen. The other two saw her and also looked uncomfortable. Gwen was at least seventy percent sure she knew where this was heading. "What is it?" Q asked innocently. Gwen was now envisioning herself married to a young, military man. "I have nothing against her being here, but something like this may be hard for her to do, Q. She could get hurt." Her fantasy military man was funny, respected her and agreed with everything she said. "She has a name," Nigel hissed to the dumb dragon slayer. Gwen's imaginary husband said he would prefer it if he stayed at home and took care of their kids. "She hasn't spoken this entire time," Jared shot back. Oh, what was she thinking? They didn't have kids. They only had dogs. He said he loved her too much to have her go through the physical pain of child birth. "Maybe if you guys weren't so rude, she would say something," Adam cut in. He looked down on Gwen with dark brown eyes. They almost looked warm. "What's your name, miss?" Gwen cleared her throat. If she finished this job quick, she could be home and back to watching Criminal Minds. Matthew Gray Gubler's brown eyes were the only ones for her. "Gwen Thompson. Pleased to meet you all," she said in that high-pitched voice of hers. She hated her voice. She sounded like a bird for God's sake. The others smiled at her, obviously wondering who she was and why she was with them, a group of highly skilled supernatural exterminators, and, as if in response to their curiosity, she picked up her her emergency duffle bag and was heading to the door. "I'm headed for the jet, Q! Don't forget to feed the Mr. Doofenstein! Love you! Bye-bye!" Just mentioning her mutated thirty-pound gerbil was enough to make Gwen want to get home faster. The trio of young men were looking at Q for answers, and he only smiled. "I mentioned the vampiric dragon was possessed by a demon, no?" They all nodded. Q jerked his thumb at a retreating Gwen. "That's your demon exorcist." Gwen could feel the disbelief and shock behind her but kept her head forward as she headed out the door and for the S.E.C. airstrip. Her holy water canisters were filled, and she had just been searching through the Book of Joshua for words that would weaken the demon. If all else failed, she would be drawing a huge demonic circle and trapping the dragon for good. Witches be damned. There was only so much they could do. "Have a good day, Gwen," a secretary called as she exited. She smiled back and looked up at the sign hanging above the airstrip's doorway. *Supernatural Exterminator Corp. Airstrip - North Exit* "Hey! Wait up, Gwen!" It was Jared. He and the other two were hustling to catch up with her. Gwen ran her hand through her knotty brown hair, wondered again if she chose the wrong career, decided she would turn Lake Michigan into a giant holy water basin and smiled at her newfound team mates. It was going to be a long trip. "Don't keep me waiting, boys. Girl's got a bloodthirsty demonic dragon to slay. Oh, and witches. I'll be taking point on them too, so you boys can sit back and just follow my orders."	Stormy gray skies had writhed and molded until they were black as sin with crackling tongues of lightning that licked the earth in the distance. No chance for a fire to burn, less the blaze was equally as wicked. The flames burned well below when Marcus slid the telescope closed, "It looks like the ceremony is underway." &#x200B; "You know what, bitch? I'm glad I dumped you. And your clothes? I already sold them to a homeless person." Lona sneered at Jezebel sheets of rain fell to earth. It may have been a killing chill to mortal men, but it was a wasted effort to contain the fire that burned in the eyes of Lona. Marcus had seen that same hatred applied to Lona's favorite prey: witches, warlocks, all those who used arcane energy to spite the Divines. He had his distaste for the Inquisitor clad in scarlet and black armor. He also had an equal dislike for the Huntress who wore black and silver. The latter, Jezebel, huffed and said, "All those times I said I was too busy for date night? I lied, I just didn't want to go home and hear you killing another witch. It was always the same story: Oooo, Jezebel, I tracked this witch down! She tried to use her spells, but my faith in the Divines kept me oh so protected. I used my whip or my knife to kill her. At least the stories I told had some adventure to them!" Jezebel turned on Marcus and said, "What did you say?" She snapped at Marcus. &#x200B; "Oh, I'm sorry, go ahead and have it out. I mean, it's just an attempt by the Blackwald Coven to bring darkness upon the Land and everything we hold dear, but a man knows the real crucial conflict when he sees 'em. Take your time. I'm sure the world can wait." "You know, it was because of that attitude Marcus that I divorced your ass for Lona," Jezebel said. Marcus growled under his breath. What a time for heroes to come together? A leather-clad Vampire Huntress, the best with knife or stake. The most powerful of the Inquisitors, who knew every protection and count spell to their hellish magic. While not one to boast of his abilities, the red-haired Marcus was as strong as ten men. With some solid ground to hurl himself from, he could easily leap into the air onto any beasts back. That left the last of their party, the most powerful caster he knew. The High Prelate, Septimus Proudie. He had his arms crossed over his chest as he stared down the path towards village they had left behind. &#x200B; "You ready, Septimus?" Marcus asked. The women continued to exchange glares. He wanted to depend on the Prelate and his fellow male to be the stabilizing force in the party. Perhaps he hoped for too much? It was an ill omen that the Prelate narrowed his eyes and jerked his head towards Marcus, "Oh? Now you want to call me by my title. You want to act like you value a damn thing I've got to say." Septimus' teeth ground his teeth between words. "What's wrong now, nerd?" Lona asked. "To hell with you too, Inquisitor!" Septimus shouted over the storm, "You want to act your so big and bad, I remember when Jezebel dumped your ass. You were sobbing in the confessional for a week. All three of you have turned and dropped trousers to me for months, showing me your asses. I guess you thought I was going to turn the other damn cheek." "I was just funning with you," Jezebel threw up her defense. Her voice tapered off. She found herself more concerned with keeping damp hair out of her eyes than meeting Septimus' gaze. "Have to always take it personally." &#x200B; "What do you have to say, 'Sir' Marcus? You want to keep bragging how you had more dates than I have? That I'd spend my life with nose in a book? Sorry, I didn't get out there and brain people with wooden swords, too busy learning how to banish demons from the world-" Another crackle of lightning tore through the sky and drove itself into the ground not far from where the group stood. A bright blue flame emerged from the point of impact. It served a reminder that strong magic was in the air. In the valley below, the terrible wyrm named Piosenna the Beast would rise to drink her fill of blood and slaughter. Marcus turned at the four of them and said, "Alright. Fine... we don't like each other. Jezebel, you broke my heart and took half of the assets when you divorced me to date Lona. Lona, it's apparent that you and Jezebel didn't get along during your time together, and I think we can all say... sorry Septimus for... showing our asses... that was a very longwinded thing you said." A great cacophonous roar tore through the valley. Marcus needed no other prompting to get to the point, "The thing is! We need each other now. So, let's spend a little time with those we hate to save the world. Then we can hash out our problems in a group setting, alright?" He looked between the three of them. He received a nod from his ex-wife, a shrug from his ex-wife's ex-girlfriend, and a frown from the nerd he knew whom he needed to work alongside. Marcus took that as the best he was going to get. &#x200B; "Alright, team, let's go down there and do what we do best." He turned away from them. Mud suckled his boots as he stomped through the newly formed sludge towards the path that would take him to the ceremony site. He smiled a little as he heard the other boots trudge after him.
	[WP] A Vampire Hunter, a Dragon Slayer, a Witch Inquisitor, and a Demon Excorcist must work together to kill a Vampire Dragon possessed by a Demon controlled by a powerful coven of Witches. They all absolutely hate each other.	"We need to kill a what?" Sometimes, just sometimes, Gwen was positive she chose the wrong career. She was in her late twenties, still in the optimal range to squeeze out a kid or two, and had a nice face. Not a pretty face, just a nice one. If she tried, she could be the nice, stay-at-home mom she often sneered at when she was shopping at Old Navy. The pretty, shallow subverters of female power and independence. God, she hated them. "Listen, only you four can accomplish this task. This may seem like a joke, but I assure you that is not the case," Mr. Q, the senior supernatural specialist, tried to convey this to the group. Gwen always liked Q. He was the perfect substitute for the grandfathers she never got to meet and always made her smile. "Sorry, Quick, but I work solo here. Remember?" Jared McWorthy. Handsome. Blonde. Arrogant. The leather-clad dreamboat was a celebrity at the S.E.C. HQ. He was a smooth talker and could get any female, human or creature, in his bed. Despite his renowned "fascination" with nymphs, he took up dragon slaying and is now a top hunter in his field. "Sorry, McWorthy, but I assign missions and write your checks here. Remember?" Q shot back without batting an eyelash. Jared's bright smile dimmed a bit, and Gwen tried her best not to laugh. "Q, please! Rethink this," the man standing next to Jared asked. He was readjusting his glasses what seemed like the seventh time since the came to Q's office, and Gwen wondering if the thin redhead was ever bullied when he was younger. Honestly, he screamed "nerd". "Nigel, I assure you there is nothing to rethink. You lot will do fine." Q was handing out the files now, and Gwen almost swallowed the gum she was chewing. Nigel? As in, Nigel Matherly? The prodigal witch inquisitor that discovered the Serpent Head Coven's den last year? This guy, in his pressed khakis and turtleneck sweater, was that Nigel? What a world they lived in... "I just think it's dangerous to have all of us tackling such a beast. Wouldn't it be better to have maybe one or two go?" Nigel asked and gently plucked his file from Gwen's grasp. His fingernails looked nicer than hers. "Oh, really? Like who?" Q was looked tired of this now. Gwen wondered if his leg was hurting him and tried to peak at him behind his desk. "Well, if the vampiric dragon is really being controlled by witches, it would be better to send me out first. I could find them before this week's end. Maybe quicker." "Yeah, and that dragon will toast your scrawny red ass before you can even call for backup," Jared sang with a smile. The buff man next to Gwen let out a short bark of laughter, and Nigel's cheeks went red. "Exactly," Q interjected, "This is something you four must do together. We can get you to Indiana by plane. Our target was last seen spotted over Lake Michigan. The coven should be nearby." "Wait." The buff man next to Gwen held up his hand, and she was surprised by how many scars trailed down his dark arms. Some were slashes. Others so deep and jagged it looked like someone ripped through his flesh with rusted nails. Gwen pulled the sleeve of her salmon hoodie without meaning to. "Yes, Adam?" "That's so close to the border. Too close. Are they aiming for Canada?" Adam asked. Adam Johnson. Gwen heard rumors that even his name was an alias. A mysterious man with no background. Tall, African American and fierce. His composure and hair spoke military, but no records could be found. All anyone knew was that he was an exceptional vampire slayer. "If they do, that's out of our jurisdiction," Nigel muttered. "We don't know, but we have no time to take chances." Q stood up, revealing his prosthetic leg. He lost it in a demon congregation raid. He said he didn't mind, but Gwen saw the look in his wife's eyes every time the old hunter walked through their living room. "You four are the best in your fields. Only you can stop this mess before it gets out of hand," Q said and walked out from behind his desk. "The U.S. division of S.E.C. is counting on you." Jared raised his hand, similar to that of a grade school child, and Q looked like he wanted to punch he once and for all. "What is it now?" "Yeah, that's great and all, but... Well..." He paused and made a quick glance at Gwen. The other two saw her and also looked uncomfortable. Gwen was at least seventy percent sure she knew where this was heading. "What is it?" Q asked innocently. Gwen was now envisioning herself married to a young, military man. "I have nothing against her being here, but something like this may be hard for her to do, Q. She could get hurt." Her fantasy military man was funny, respected her and agreed with everything she said. "She has a name," Nigel hissed to the dumb dragon slayer. Gwen's imaginary husband said he would prefer it if he stayed at home and took care of their kids. "She hasn't spoken this entire time," Jared shot back. Oh, what was she thinking? They didn't have kids. They only had dogs. He said he loved her too much to have her go through the physical pain of child birth. "Maybe if you guys weren't so rude, she would say something," Adam cut in. He looked down on Gwen with dark brown eyes. They almost looked warm. "What's your name, miss?" Gwen cleared her throat. If she finished this job quick, she could be home and back to watching Criminal Minds. Matthew Gray Gubler's brown eyes were the only ones for her. "Gwen Thompson. Pleased to meet you all," she said in that high-pitched voice of hers. She hated her voice. She sounded like a bird for God's sake. The others smiled at her, obviously wondering who she was and why she was with them, a group of highly skilled supernatural exterminators, and, as if in response to their curiosity, she picked up her her emergency duffle bag and was heading to the door. "I'm headed for the jet, Q! Don't forget to feed the Mr. Doofenstein! Love you! Bye-bye!" Just mentioning her mutated thirty-pound gerbil was enough to make Gwen want to get home faster. The trio of young men were looking at Q for answers, and he only smiled. "I mentioned the vampiric dragon was possessed by a demon, no?" They all nodded. Q jerked his thumb at a retreating Gwen. "That's your demon exorcist." Gwen could feel the disbelief and shock behind her but kept her head forward as she headed out the door and for the S.E.C. airstrip. Her holy water canisters were filled, and she had just been searching through the Book of Joshua for words that would weaken the demon. If all else failed, she would be drawing a huge demonic circle and trapping the dragon for good. Witches be damned. There was only so much they could do. "Have a good day, Gwen," a secretary called as she exited. She smiled back and looked up at the sign hanging above the airstrip's doorway. *Supernatural Exterminator Corp. Airstrip - North Exit* "Hey! Wait up, Gwen!" It was Jared. He and the other two were hustling to catch up with her. Gwen ran her hand through her knotty brown hair, wondered again if she chose the wrong career, decided she would turn Lake Michigan into a giant holy water basin and smiled at her newfound team mates. It was going to be a long trip. "Don't keep me waiting, boys. Girl's got a bloodthirsty demonic dragon to slay. Oh, and witches. I'll be taking point on them too, so you boys can sit back and just follow my orders."	"Hey, stake-fingers, hands off the sword." "I have a _name_," said the non-stake-fingered vampire hunter, whose name was Valentina. "And 'hands off the sword' isn't something I get very often." The Dragon Slayer stared at her dumbly for a moment, then narrowed his eyes, then flushed. "Stop that." "Stop what?" "Flirting. You're awfully promiscuous." "So's your mom." Valentina made a noise that sounded like a self-satisfied chuckle, although the Dragon Slayer — Balfour the Brave — would've asked if she was choking on garlic. He didn't get a chance to ask, and Valentina subsequently couldn't respond with what he could choke on, because a severe shadow appeared suddenly in the doorway. "Halt!" cried Balfour the Brave. Valentina simply moved her hands back to his sword — the metal one — and continued inspecting it, absolutely blasé. "I come in peace, unless ye be witches." When the figure stepped into the light, the pair of warriors-at-odds saw that he was dressed all in black, but for his little white clerical tag: he was a man of religion. "Ew, Christianity," said Valentina. "Vampires are unholy beings, coffin-nailer. God is on your side." "The side of me that doesn't care. Oh wait, that's both sides." "I see," said the religious man, "that thou be holy of mind and body, though none be without sin. I am the Witch Inquisitor Heinz— " "Like the ketchup?" "—here to take up arms against the powerful coven that here resides." "There is no coven here, Heinz, only a Vampire Dragon." "We should call it a Vampgon. A Drampire. Or we could just name it after me." Heinz shook his bald head, eyes young but agelessly tired. "I have pursued them for centuries, knight. Yet I do not blame you for ignorance; the mind is a muscle, to be exercised like any other, and your priorities are visible upon your person." "Now, wait a minute, you God-playing girl-killer— " Valentina held up a finger. "I think that was flirting, too, but okay." "—I have more brains than a whale, and whales are really big, so, yeah." Even Heinz winced at that, although Valentina outright laughed. "Listen, bud," she said. "You've clearly got the wrong monster. But if you wanna rough up the unholiest of the unholy— Well, how do you think a Vampire Dragon baby gets made?" When, instead of responding, the two men only made vaguely disgusted expressions, she rolled her eyes. "Hint: not immaculate conception." "Say no more, wench, I beg of you," said the poor Witch Inquisitor. "Beg on your knees, and maybe— " Fortunately for all parties in attendance, Valentina was cut mercifully short: the door burst in. A scaled tail swept through the sitting room, smashing the furniture and thoroughly tripping Heinz until he lay in a clumsy heap on the floor. Valentina fared only slightly better; she fell, but leapt quickly to her feet. "Garlic-sucker! My sword!" "Pecs-for-brains!" Valentina shouted back. "Your sword!" Though it was surprisingly heavy, she tossed it to him, fumbling the throw only slightly. "Many thanks!" "Screw you kindly!" Heinz, having just finished fighting himself, was promptly knocked over again as a large Vampire Dragon ear brushed past him. Valentina danced about the various flailing bits of the monster, but Balfour, despite his infuriating nicknames, fared much better. He even had some lovely phrases as: "Eat a sword, lizard-spawn," and: "Die, you land-lubbing tadpole." But though they tried in earnest, they were rapidly tiring, and the beast was not. Balfour's sword had done its damage, spilling oily blood everywhere — the usual amount to kill a dragon — and Valentina's stakes and garlic had elicited some shriveling and smoke — the usual amount to kill a vampire. And then, quietly, there was a voice. "Hello, darlings," it said. "Having a bit of trouble?" "A smidge," said Balfour. "Grmph," said Heinz, falling down again unceremoniously. "I am Gretel," continued the voice, "exorcist supreme, the best demon banisher in the realm." Valentina, out of breath, whirled around toward the voice. "Yeah, well, this isn't a demon; it— Oh. Wow." Gretel swept past them in a flourish, airy and bright. She began to chant, in Latin, golden hair twirling down her back, dress fluttering in the winds of battle. Balfour had not stopped hacking away at the Vampire Dragon. But as Gretel chanted, the monster began to shudder, first in little fits — then, in larger shivers, shaking and quivering until it seemed to vibrate, sending Balfour to retreat off a distance. Her chants grew louder, and stronger, and — And dark shadow roiled off the corpse of the Vampire Dragon, which now collapsed to the ground with a thunderous boom. "Many thanks, Latinate simpleton," Balfour said, "for stealing all the glory." "Yeah," said Valentina. She didn't have much to add, but settled on: "And Latin's a dead language anyway." "_Excuse_ me? I just exorcised the— " "_I_ slayed the dragon. It wouldn't have just collapse if I hadn't— " "You are _infuriatingly_ attractive, but also, like, came in last minute and tried to steal all the credit— " "—_massive, terrifying hell-spawn residing within that_—" "—valiantly saved the day, not that I need constant reassurance or anything— " "—you must've been fun in group projects— " "Friends! Friends, cast thy gaze upon this sight!" Heinz, during the bickering, had risen to unsteady feet. Now, he all but bounced up and down, waving a finger in a vague direction. "What now, you Christ-serving klutz?" "The coven!" Heinz shouted, entirely too excited. Balfour slumped against a barely-intact wall, looking weary and worn. Even Valentina, still in a fighting stance, breathed heavily, though she made no inclination to rest. "I don't suppose you know how to fight witches, Gretel?" "Darling, however do you think I learned the ancient art of exorcism? I studied with witches!" "Wait," said Heinz. Balfour brightened. "Simply befriend them, damsel of dark magic!" "Wait," said Heinz. "We could have an orgy," said Valentina. "_Wait_," said Heinz, the word coming out much more scandalized and strangled than before. Gretel's eyes lit up. "A splendid idea! Befriending them, not the orgy." And as the witches ventured up the hill, murder in their black eyes and tatters in their black clothes, Gretel walked quietly to meet them. "Sisters!" she called. "I come in peace!" "How do you think she comes when— " "Sinful wench!" Heinz and Balfour scolded in unison. The witches slowed their vengeful pace, and stopped before the demon exorcist. In one voice, echoing and strange, they spoke to Gretel. "Sister," they said. "Why has our beast been killed?" "He was tainted, dark ladies, by the Court of Blood and spawn of Hell." Frantically, the witches muttered amongst themselves. After a few tense moments of discussion, they seemed to reach a precarious consensus. "We want no part in impurity," they said, and voices rose up: "Purity," they said, "Clean, untainted." They muttered more, then continued: "We will spare you and your party. But beware of us in the future, mortal things, for our vengeance is a terror, and our grudges run deeper than ravines of bones." "Thank you, dark ladies." And, just like that, the witches left. Gretel made her way back up the hill, to the party that was not really hers. "Nice," said Valentina. "Very," agreed Balfour. "Thou stole my chance for glory," Heinz complained. Valentina ran her fingers lightly along Balfour's sword, which was still coated in slick dragon blood. "Well," she began. "Obviously, I hate you all." "Seconded." "Darling, I met you less than an hour ago." "Thou are— " "Shut up," Valentina said without batting an eye. "As I was saying: maybe Heinz could have... another chance for glory." "I highly doubt that." "Just listen, sword-swallower." Valentina ran her blood-slicked hand through her already frizzy hair. "There's this creature, in the Sun Eater Mountains. Real scary thing. Long fingers." "Sounds... promising." "Easy." Gretel betrayed the ghost of a smile. "But... fun." "Frightening." "I'll tell you more," said Valentina, her tone just vaguely excited, just barely hopeful. "There's a legend — a prophecy, if you're like Heinz, and believe in those — and, legend has it..."
	[WP] A Vampire Hunter, a Dragon Slayer, a Witch Inquisitor, and a Demon Excorcist must work together to kill a Vampire Dragon possessed by a Demon controlled by a powerful coven of Witches. They all absolutely hate each other.	"How the hell does a dragon get possessed by demon?" Asked the Vampire hunter as he added more wooden stakes to his utility belt, "I thought only human souls could be possessed". "With witches anythings possible", replied the Witch Inquisitor who was tying the laces to her thigh high leather boots. "Shows what the fuck you two know", sneered the Dragon slayer, polishing his sword. "Any fool who's done a little bit of research knows dragons are humans who escaped the eternal pit of damnation by making a deal with the 9 demon lords to horde gold for 5 thousand years. For the chance to live again, hence a human soul". "Right, anyone off the street would know that", the Witch inquisitor leered, frankly ticked off. "I knew that", chimed in the Demon exorcist who was practicing blowing bubbles with his bubblicious gum. "Well duh you pink haired idiot". The Vampire hunter was easily offended, which is why he took on a career that payed him to stake loudmouth, bloodsucker's in the heart. Also, sometimes in the face if they were really annoying. "Listen boys", the Witch inquisitor began, "just because we're working together doesn't mean we have to like it, let's get this done quickly so we never have to see each other again, or at least until the next vampire, demon possessed dragon controlled by witches pops up". "Good fucking plan", replied the Dragon Slayer. "You have a foul mouth", said the Demon exorcist who was stretching it out in downward dog. "My boyfriend likes my mouth just fine", he answered back. "Thanks for that image, of course the jerk is in a loving relationship", the Witch inquisitor rolled her eyes. "I really am". "What a jerk? Or in a loving relationship?" She asked. "Both". The Dragon slayer chortled nastily. "Is everyone ready? lets get this fucking over with". The Vampire Hunter screwed the cap onto the bottle of holy water that hung awkwardly from his neck. "I love it when you take charge", said the Demon exorcist dreamily. It was going to be a long night. &#x200B; &#x200B;	From land afar came the wise, a collection of masters in disguise, To slay the beast was the request, Achieving that was not the test, Even tho they had great skill, Their conquest brought a chill, To every man that heard them speak, Words that would make a sailor squeak, No one could say for certain, If they would have to pull the curtain, On a summon rarely shown, That the beast was worse than known, Perhaps humanity was lost, Or they could not to speak words of frost. Save us from the darkest fate, Oh you masters of hate.
	[WP] You're a police officer in a horror movie, but actually competent.	“Smith! We got a noise complaint, go check it out- small neighbourhood on north street 34 house probably nothing” Fucking a minute off my shift dammit “Yes chief” I’m not a pussy I just gotta keep this job okay. So twenty minutes later I’m coming up on north street, a small town skittering the edge of civilisation. Towns quieter then it usually is, I mean it’s usually a numbing experience patrolling this area but tonight’s Halloween. No kids running around no nothing. I’m around the corner from the address and a mask clad figure suddenly appears in the road carrying a machete. Alright what is this shit, he’s way past the trick or treatin’ age. I stop the car, ready my gun and pull up my speaker. “Sir stop right there!” Halfway through the road the guy stops and slowly looks at me. Alright fuck it. I open my door and point my gun at the freak. He starts making his way toward me. I’m not waiting for him to come over here. “Fuck you then” I press the trigger of my colt 45 and it lands a piece of lead in his right calf, dropping him to one knee. But then he rises. Alright then, this is fucked. I unload the rest of my clip into his chest and he falls back like a bag of bricks. I reload and make my way towards him. The fuck am I getting within grabbing distance of him though fuck that. He just lies there, but I’m not taking any chances. I start firing into his face until the gun gives me a telling click and I reload it. I usually fumble this shit but for some reason tonight’s different. I’m on my game baby. I got a cocker spaniel at home that needs his good shit. I run to the still running patrol car, and put it in gear. Jesus I think I see movement but I don’t have time to think about that. Pressing my foot hard on the pedal the car skidders and launches forward, the car gets hit square in the face by the Nutjob and I lurch forward and feel something smack me on the jaw. The steering wheel has slick of my bloody lip juice on it. Leaving the car to grapple the corpse I stumble to the boot and pull out a shotgun. Moving back around the front I start unloading into the masks somehow intact face. Blood splatters up me with each shot. A hand reaches to grab my ankle and I leap falling to my back, one shot left. I turn my aim from his increasingly flapping body and fire on the engine. Okay fuck it didn’t blow up like I’d hoped but petrol is leaking all over. I pull myself up. I take my lighter out. Mum always did tell me smoking kills, well let’s hope she’s right.	I didn’t think I would be a police officer on one of these runs, but hey, it seemed appealing. Usually, I stick to the normal office jobs, boring stuff, you know? Paperwork, coffee breaks, whatever. Turns out, it’s pretty much the same, except sometimes, I get to drive out and hunt some idiot down for breaking the law. There’s also the jargon which I didn’t actually bother learning about. I just wave my hand and they hear what they wanna hear, so that one less annoyance gone at the very least. Generally though, it’s been some of the most ‘general’ fun I’ve had that didn’t involve a relationship. Of course, there would be that one time where shit gets flipped on its back and get forced to take a rod to the throat. And that my friends, happened one quiet night during a little patrol I decided to do. I say patrol, but I was just dozing off in a parking lot when I got a call from the office that there’s something going on in a nearby neighborhood. Someone screaming for help, then the call cut off. Now, the first thing to come to mind was, ‘Oooooo! Something interesting!’ So I headed over, excited for what I’ll find. I kept bouncing in my seat, giggling. Yup, giggling. Fuck you, I do what I want. Back to reality, I got to the address I was given and it immediately made me grin. The house I was in front of was broken down and decrepit, made of dying wood and shit. Suddenly the radio crackled to life and I answered just as quick, saying that nothing is happening and that I don’t need back up. “HELP ME!” I smirked. Nothing at all. This is my fun. I parked my car and ran towards the house, following where the scream came from. Pulling out the gun they gave me with one hand, I illuminated the way with my pocket torch in the other. “HEY! WHO’MST IN THERE?” I stepped up into the porch and I immediately knew that I would be able to hear any footsteps. It’s that kind of floor. I kicked down the door, which wasn’t hard, and was faced with what looked like some alien crab or something. Think Half Life. It screeched at me and tried to lunge at my face, before exploding from the bullet I shot at it. As I stared at it’s lifeless corpse, I knelt down to see what exactly I was looking at. “What are bullets, but high velocity knives?” I echoed from a recent memory. As I did, the floor in front of me started creaking like people were running on it. “HELP US!” Three teens, two guys and a girl, came into view, something hulking behind them. I let them run as I stood my ground, wanting a look at who was chasing them. “HEY! PLEASE!” “Just get behind me.” I simply said as I escorted them outside slowly, closing the door I kicked down behind me. Surprisingly, as we walked (well, I walked. Those lunatics ran.) out onto the yard of the house, nothing happened. “Alright, so what seems to be the problem?” I calmly asked the poor saps. What followed next was a blabbering mixture of crying, puking and trying to explain what just happened with frantic words. I was able to piece together something concrete though. Something something teenage podcast, something something, trying to get famous, something two guys dead, something something aliens are real and tried to devour them. “Mmhmm, alright. I can handle this.” I nodded with my hands on my hips. One of the guys ran up to me, panting heavily. He looks like he’s been through shit. “WHAT?! DID YOU EVEN SEE IT?! HOW ARE YOU GOING TO-“ Before he could finish, the door exploded open and I turned around to meet a giant worm thing. Like... a centipede on mega steroids, if that makes sense. It was huge, that’s for sure. I mean, hey, what kind of monster isn’t more effective when it’s big? When it’s abilities do the talking for them, duh. Like, that crab spider. Probably was trying to leech onto my mouth or something and I’m getting off topic here. “SHOOT IT! KILL IT!” I remembered where I was and looked up at the massive, goopy, fleshy worm. Putting away my gun, I just turned to the group and started pushing them towards my car. “I’m going to need you guys to get in the car. I’ll handle this.” They didn’t even wait before running and shoving themselves into the backseat of my squad car. The alien let out a guttural howl behind me and I winced. “Goddamnit. As if something actually manages to be more annoying than nails on a goddamn chalkboard.” I snapped my fingers as I walked to my car and instantly, the noise stopped, as if someone simply pressed the pause button. There was a deep rumbling before the slimy sound of something exploding, followed by goops of something hitting the ground. I saw the faces of the terrified idiots in my car as I got in and started the engine, “Told you.” “B-but... h-how... what... who are you...?” I revved up the engine as I looked at the mess of slime and disgusting body parts all over the place. With a wave of my hand, the area was clean and quiet once more. “The name’s Bronwyn, if that helps.” I chuckled as I drove the poor kids down to the hospital.
	[WP] You're a police officer in a horror movie, but actually competent.	It was 12:11pm. I had only been on my lunch break for eleven minutes, eating a chicken sandwich parked across the road from the gates of a local high school. This was my usual spot to take break since it made me feel like I was still doing my duty even though I was stuffing my face at the same time. Got to protect our future. Though I was grateful for the sacrifice every chicken made for the sake of mankind. The police radio was busy, there were a lot of strange attacks going on. Domestic violence calls, physical assaults, along with breaking and entering. It was way more than what would usually be going on around this time. Something was off, I could feel it. But nothing was going on near my area. There was a class going on in the courtyard, students were doing outside physical ED. The weather was great for it, so seemed like a good idea to me. But then some guy in a business suit came shuffling up to the school gates. His face was pale, and he was walking like he might have stayed out drinking too late with his buddies. I put my half-eaten sandwich down and watched. He bumped into the gates rails, like he didn’t realize they were there. Again and again he would bump into them. I kept watching until finally the coach from the class walked up to the gate. Don’t bother the man, he’ll go away, eventually. I knew this coach though; he had a short temper for a stubby man. He was pretty uptight about fitness, but he didn’t seem like the type to practice what he preaches. When he’s not talking about fitness, he talked about the school and how he’s an alumnus. He really cared about this place, that's why he worked there. He likes to act like the school is his sanctuary. However, he seems like the type people should keep their eye on… Though, being a cop shouldn’t judge him. He fussed at the man at the gate, I couldn’t hear anything, but I could see it in the coaches expressions. The man kept bumping into the gate, ignoring him. The coach took out a walkie talkie and said a few things and walked away. The man kept bumping into the gate, this reminded me of something but I don’t remember… A cartoon I think, though it's been years since I seen it, I forget its name. I picked back up my sandwich and continued to savor the chicken, cheese, lettuce, tomato, and mayo served on a freshly baked bun. It was delicious. Moments later the coach came back. Five minutes before I go back on duty. Behind the coach followed the school Principal and Vice Principal. The Principal looked like he was trying to persuade the man at the gate to leave. He sweated profusely. Constantly wiping away the sweat from his forehead. He had a receding hair line, though I’m sure tons of stress caused it, since he deals with a lot on a daily basis. The Vice Principal was a tall lady, taller than both the Principal and the Coach, but she was a beautiful brunette. I believe she is much older than me but aging seemed to be in her favor. Nothing seemed to get through to the man continuously bumping into the gate. One minute till I go on duty. The coach seemed to get upset and grabbed the man. The man stopped moving. In almost a blink he bent his body in an unnatural way and bit the coaches arms. The Coach fell to the ground with blood spurting from the wound. The Vice Principal and Principal hauled the Coach away. But if my intentions are correct, this is bad, and I’m not about to have a highschool of the dead situation on my hands. It was time for duty. I unbuckled my seat belt, called the station and told them what was going on, but I was going in. I pulled my baton off the side of my belt, got out of my car and ran towards the business man. His face was covered in the coaches blood. “Hey!” I shouted, it turned towards me and let out a menacing groan. “Mhnnnagh!” Just as I expected. His eyes were all white. His blood veins were all blue and could be seen through his pale skin. He looked like someone who had been dead for a long time. “Police!” My baton hit the side of his head, using my old baseball swing. I was a former college baseball player before becoming a Police officer. I was also the pinch hitter. The body of the man went limp and almost did a full flip but instead crashed face first into the ground. He wasn’t getting back up. Not with that damage. Even though the zombie man was taken care of, we still had a problem. The gate was locked, good, but I needed to get inside. Luckily, I used to practice parkour. So, I stepped back and faced the wall. I sprinted towards it, jumped, planted one foot firmly on the surface of the wall and pushed my self up to grab the ledge. I pulled myself over and dropped down the side of the wall and sprinted towards the school building. Once inside the Principal was on the intercom, he was explaining the situation with the coach before being cut off by a similar moan sound. He panicked, but he had left the mic on, so the entire school heard all of it. I drew my gun and hurried towards the faculty office. When I arrived outside the faculty office, I heard the Vice Principal scream, I kicked the door open, and fired. Down went the Principal, down went the coach. I walked over to the Vice Principal. “Have you been bitten?” She shook in fright, but nodded. “Then I’m sorry... At least you get to go out, while still being human.” I lifted my gun, she shouted, “What are you doing, are you insane!?” No… but if what just happened is anything to go by… then this had to be done. I truly am sorry. She screamed in her final breath, but it was over. There would be no epidemic in this highschool. I pray the same could be said for the city.	I didn’t think I would be a police officer on one of these runs, but hey, it seemed appealing. Usually, I stick to the normal office jobs, boring stuff, you know? Paperwork, coffee breaks, whatever. Turns out, it’s pretty much the same, except sometimes, I get to drive out and hunt some idiot down for breaking the law. There’s also the jargon which I didn’t actually bother learning about. I just wave my hand and they hear what they wanna hear, so that one less annoyance gone at the very least. Generally though, it’s been some of the most ‘general’ fun I’ve had that didn’t involve a relationship. Of course, there would be that one time where shit gets flipped on its back and get forced to take a rod to the throat. And that my friends, happened one quiet night during a little patrol I decided to do. I say patrol, but I was just dozing off in a parking lot when I got a call from the office that there’s something going on in a nearby neighborhood. Someone screaming for help, then the call cut off. Now, the first thing to come to mind was, ‘Oooooo! Something interesting!’ So I headed over, excited for what I’ll find. I kept bouncing in my seat, giggling. Yup, giggling. Fuck you, I do what I want. Back to reality, I got to the address I was given and it immediately made me grin. The house I was in front of was broken down and decrepit, made of dying wood and shit. Suddenly the radio crackled to life and I answered just as quick, saying that nothing is happening and that I don’t need back up. “HELP ME!” I smirked. Nothing at all. This is my fun. I parked my car and ran towards the house, following where the scream came from. Pulling out the gun they gave me with one hand, I illuminated the way with my pocket torch in the other. “HEY! WHO’MST IN THERE?” I stepped up into the porch and I immediately knew that I would be able to hear any footsteps. It’s that kind of floor. I kicked down the door, which wasn’t hard, and was faced with what looked like some alien crab or something. Think Half Life. It screeched at me and tried to lunge at my face, before exploding from the bullet I shot at it. As I stared at it’s lifeless corpse, I knelt down to see what exactly I was looking at. “What are bullets, but high velocity knives?” I echoed from a recent memory. As I did, the floor in front of me started creaking like people were running on it. “HELP US!” Three teens, two guys and a girl, came into view, something hulking behind them. I let them run as I stood my ground, wanting a look at who was chasing them. “HEY! PLEASE!” “Just get behind me.” I simply said as I escorted them outside slowly, closing the door I kicked down behind me. Surprisingly, as we walked (well, I walked. Those lunatics ran.) out onto the yard of the house, nothing happened. “Alright, so what seems to be the problem?” I calmly asked the poor saps. What followed next was a blabbering mixture of crying, puking and trying to explain what just happened with frantic words. I was able to piece together something concrete though. Something something teenage podcast, something something, trying to get famous, something two guys dead, something something aliens are real and tried to devour them. “Mmhmm, alright. I can handle this.” I nodded with my hands on my hips. One of the guys ran up to me, panting heavily. He looks like he’s been through shit. “WHAT?! DID YOU EVEN SEE IT?! HOW ARE YOU GOING TO-“ Before he could finish, the door exploded open and I turned around to meet a giant worm thing. Like... a centipede on mega steroids, if that makes sense. It was huge, that’s for sure. I mean, hey, what kind of monster isn’t more effective when it’s big? When it’s abilities do the talking for them, duh. Like, that crab spider. Probably was trying to leech onto my mouth or something and I’m getting off topic here. “SHOOT IT! KILL IT!” I remembered where I was and looked up at the massive, goopy, fleshy worm. Putting away my gun, I just turned to the group and started pushing them towards my car. “I’m going to need you guys to get in the car. I’ll handle this.” They didn’t even wait before running and shoving themselves into the backseat of my squad car. The alien let out a guttural howl behind me and I winced. “Goddamnit. As if something actually manages to be more annoying than nails on a goddamn chalkboard.” I snapped my fingers as I walked to my car and instantly, the noise stopped, as if someone simply pressed the pause button. There was a deep rumbling before the slimy sound of something exploding, followed by goops of something hitting the ground. I saw the faces of the terrified idiots in my car as I got in and started the engine, “Told you.” “B-but... h-how... what... who are you...?” I revved up the engine as I looked at the mess of slime and disgusting body parts all over the place. With a wave of my hand, the area was clean and quiet once more. “The name’s Bronwyn, if that helps.” I chuckled as I drove the poor kids down to the hospital.
	[WP] You're a police officer in a horror movie, but actually competent.	"No, don't run that way, this way!" Damn idiot kid nearly ran into the basement; nothing down there but an ancient boiler that heats this old warehouse and a confusing tangle of dead-ends and rusty pipes. What kind of weirdo teenagers breaks into an abandoned factory to hook-up anyway? A crash from behind us indicated my improvised barricade was holding. But how long? "Jesus, Mister, what do you think you're gonna be able to do against that thing?" The girl was right. I had shot it, lured it next to my cruiser and blew it up, the kid she'd been foolin' around with had went all Last Stand and hacked at it pretty good with a samurai sword his grandfather- no, you know what, no time for that. "We're gonna keep moving, we're gonna maintain at least two exits at any moment and we're gonna wait for the backup I radioed in when Jonny went all Rambo on the thing." She scoffed. "More like Jesse Ventura in Predator." I bit back a laugh. It was her man got mauled by the thing, let her make the gallows humor if she must; the last thing I needed was her brave veneer cracking. We began running again when the crashing changed into a smash and clatter. I grinned when we heard a monstrous roar tear through the night. "Guess it found your dead-fall" "I wish we had something bigger than a stack of pallets." "I think I hear the sirens approaching. What did you tell them?" "Well, I knew they'd think I was pulling their leg if I told them what it actually was so I said I saw a group of young black men behaving suspiciously." She narrowed her eyes at me, and I threw up my hands. "Hey, don't look at me like that; I just know my department."	I didn’t think I would be a police officer on one of these runs, but hey, it seemed appealing. Usually, I stick to the normal office jobs, boring stuff, you know? Paperwork, coffee breaks, whatever. Turns out, it’s pretty much the same, except sometimes, I get to drive out and hunt some idiot down for breaking the law. There’s also the jargon which I didn’t actually bother learning about. I just wave my hand and they hear what they wanna hear, so that one less annoyance gone at the very least. Generally though, it’s been some of the most ‘general’ fun I’ve had that didn’t involve a relationship. Of course, there would be that one time where shit gets flipped on its back and get forced to take a rod to the throat. And that my friends, happened one quiet night during a little patrol I decided to do. I say patrol, but I was just dozing off in a parking lot when I got a call from the office that there’s something going on in a nearby neighborhood. Someone screaming for help, then the call cut off. Now, the first thing to come to mind was, ‘Oooooo! Something interesting!’ So I headed over, excited for what I’ll find. I kept bouncing in my seat, giggling. Yup, giggling. Fuck you, I do what I want. Back to reality, I got to the address I was given and it immediately made me grin. The house I was in front of was broken down and decrepit, made of dying wood and shit. Suddenly the radio crackled to life and I answered just as quick, saying that nothing is happening and that I don’t need back up. “HELP ME!” I smirked. Nothing at all. This is my fun. I parked my car and ran towards the house, following where the scream came from. Pulling out the gun they gave me with one hand, I illuminated the way with my pocket torch in the other. “HEY! WHO’MST IN THERE?” I stepped up into the porch and I immediately knew that I would be able to hear any footsteps. It’s that kind of floor. I kicked down the door, which wasn’t hard, and was faced with what looked like some alien crab or something. Think Half Life. It screeched at me and tried to lunge at my face, before exploding from the bullet I shot at it. As I stared at it’s lifeless corpse, I knelt down to see what exactly I was looking at. “What are bullets, but high velocity knives?” I echoed from a recent memory. As I did, the floor in front of me started creaking like people were running on it. “HELP US!” Three teens, two guys and a girl, came into view, something hulking behind them. I let them run as I stood my ground, wanting a look at who was chasing them. “HEY! PLEASE!” “Just get behind me.” I simply said as I escorted them outside slowly, closing the door I kicked down behind me. Surprisingly, as we walked (well, I walked. Those lunatics ran.) out onto the yard of the house, nothing happened. “Alright, so what seems to be the problem?” I calmly asked the poor saps. What followed next was a blabbering mixture of crying, puking and trying to explain what just happened with frantic words. I was able to piece together something concrete though. Something something teenage podcast, something something, trying to get famous, something two guys dead, something something aliens are real and tried to devour them. “Mmhmm, alright. I can handle this.” I nodded with my hands on my hips. One of the guys ran up to me, panting heavily. He looks like he’s been through shit. “WHAT?! DID YOU EVEN SEE IT?! HOW ARE YOU GOING TO-“ Before he could finish, the door exploded open and I turned around to meet a giant worm thing. Like... a centipede on mega steroids, if that makes sense. It was huge, that’s for sure. I mean, hey, what kind of monster isn’t more effective when it’s big? When it’s abilities do the talking for them, duh. Like, that crab spider. Probably was trying to leech onto my mouth or something and I’m getting off topic here. “SHOOT IT! KILL IT!” I remembered where I was and looked up at the massive, goopy, fleshy worm. Putting away my gun, I just turned to the group and started pushing them towards my car. “I’m going to need you guys to get in the car. I’ll handle this.” They didn’t even wait before running and shoving themselves into the backseat of my squad car. The alien let out a guttural howl behind me and I winced. “Goddamnit. As if something actually manages to be more annoying than nails on a goddamn chalkboard.” I snapped my fingers as I walked to my car and instantly, the noise stopped, as if someone simply pressed the pause button. There was a deep rumbling before the slimy sound of something exploding, followed by goops of something hitting the ground. I saw the faces of the terrified idiots in my car as I got in and started the engine, “Told you.” “B-but... h-how... what... who are you...?” I revved up the engine as I looked at the mess of slime and disgusting body parts all over the place. With a wave of my hand, the area was clean and quiet once more. “The name’s Bronwyn, if that helps.” I chuckled as I drove the poor kids down to the hospital.
	[WP] You're a police officer in a horror movie, but actually competent.	It was 12:11pm. I had only been on my lunch break for eleven minutes, eating a chicken sandwich parked across the road from the gates of a local high school. This was my usual spot to take break since it made me feel like I was still doing my duty even though I was stuffing my face at the same time. Got to protect our future. Though I was grateful for the sacrifice every chicken made for the sake of mankind. The police radio was busy, there were a lot of strange attacks going on. Domestic violence calls, physical assaults, along with breaking and entering. It was way more than what would usually be going on around this time. Something was off, I could feel it. But nothing was going on near my area. There was a class going on in the courtyard, students were doing outside physical ED. The weather was great for it, so seemed like a good idea to me. But then some guy in a business suit came shuffling up to the school gates. His face was pale, and he was walking like he might have stayed out drinking too late with his buddies. I put my half-eaten sandwich down and watched. He bumped into the gates rails, like he didn’t realize they were there. Again and again he would bump into them. I kept watching until finally the coach from the class walked up to the gate. Don’t bother the man, he’ll go away, eventually. I knew this coach though; he had a short temper for a stubby man. He was pretty uptight about fitness, but he didn’t seem like the type to practice what he preaches. When he’s not talking about fitness, he talked about the school and how he’s an alumnus. He really cared about this place, that's why he worked there. He likes to act like the school is his sanctuary. However, he seems like the type people should keep their eye on… Though, being a cop shouldn’t judge him. He fussed at the man at the gate, I couldn’t hear anything, but I could see it in the coaches expressions. The man kept bumping into the gate, ignoring him. The coach took out a walkie talkie and said a few things and walked away. The man kept bumping into the gate, this reminded me of something but I don’t remember… A cartoon I think, though it's been years since I seen it, I forget its name. I picked back up my sandwich and continued to savor the chicken, cheese, lettuce, tomato, and mayo served on a freshly baked bun. It was delicious. Moments later the coach came back. Five minutes before I go back on duty. Behind the coach followed the school Principal and Vice Principal. The Principal looked like he was trying to persuade the man at the gate to leave. He sweated profusely. Constantly wiping away the sweat from his forehead. He had a receding hair line, though I’m sure tons of stress caused it, since he deals with a lot on a daily basis. The Vice Principal was a tall lady, taller than both the Principal and the Coach, but she was a beautiful brunette. I believe she is much older than me but aging seemed to be in her favor. Nothing seemed to get through to the man continuously bumping into the gate. One minute till I go on duty. The coach seemed to get upset and grabbed the man. The man stopped moving. In almost a blink he bent his body in an unnatural way and bit the coaches arms. The Coach fell to the ground with blood spurting from the wound. The Vice Principal and Principal hauled the Coach away. But if my intentions are correct, this is bad, and I’m not about to have a highschool of the dead situation on my hands. It was time for duty. I unbuckled my seat belt, called the station and told them what was going on, but I was going in. I pulled my baton off the side of my belt, got out of my car and ran towards the business man. His face was covered in the coaches blood. “Hey!” I shouted, it turned towards me and let out a menacing groan. “Mhnnnagh!” Just as I expected. His eyes were all white. His blood veins were all blue and could be seen through his pale skin. He looked like someone who had been dead for a long time. “Police!” My baton hit the side of his head, using my old baseball swing. I was a former college baseball player before becoming a Police officer. I was also the pinch hitter. The body of the man went limp and almost did a full flip but instead crashed face first into the ground. He wasn’t getting back up. Not with that damage. Even though the zombie man was taken care of, we still had a problem. The gate was locked, good, but I needed to get inside. Luckily, I used to practice parkour. So, I stepped back and faced the wall. I sprinted towards it, jumped, planted one foot firmly on the surface of the wall and pushed my self up to grab the ledge. I pulled myself over and dropped down the side of the wall and sprinted towards the school building. Once inside the Principal was on the intercom, he was explaining the situation with the coach before being cut off by a similar moan sound. He panicked, but he had left the mic on, so the entire school heard all of it. I drew my gun and hurried towards the faculty office. When I arrived outside the faculty office, I heard the Vice Principal scream, I kicked the door open, and fired. Down went the Principal, down went the coach. I walked over to the Vice Principal. “Have you been bitten?” She shook in fright, but nodded. “Then I’m sorry... At least you get to go out, while still being human.” I lifted my gun, she shouted, “What are you doing, are you insane!?” No… but if what just happened is anything to go by… then this had to be done. I truly am sorry. She screamed in her final breath, but it was over. There would be no epidemic in this highschool. I pray the same could be said for the city.	The call came in around 11:15pm PST for a noise complaint. Apparently, some teenagers had been screaming their heads off and the neighbors had called it in. Officer Riley and I got to the scene and stepped out of our patrol vehicle around 11:22pm and the street was quiet except the screams coming from in the house. Riley tried to go right up to the damned house without thinking. "HEY! We need to call this in." "Can't you hear them?! They need our help?" Riley retorted, heat in her voice. "Not without calling it in first." I leaned back into the car, taking the receiver from its stand and I began requesting backup when I saw a figure with a knife walk steadily but completely silently behind Riley. Immediately, I unholstered my weapon and screamed "Knife!" looking directly at the perp. As they raised their knife with lethal intent, I fired 3 rounds into their center of mass. The assailant crumpled to the ground, Riley shouting in surprise. The rest of the night was filled with flashing lights, the taking of statements, and the removal of corpses from the house.
	[WP] You're a police officer in a horror movie, but actually competent.	"No, don't run that way, this way!" Damn idiot kid nearly ran into the basement; nothing down there but an ancient boiler that heats this old warehouse and a confusing tangle of dead-ends and rusty pipes. What kind of weirdo teenagers breaks into an abandoned factory to hook-up anyway? A crash from behind us indicated my improvised barricade was holding. But how long? "Jesus, Mister, what do you think you're gonna be able to do against that thing?" The girl was right. I had shot it, lured it next to my cruiser and blew it up, the kid she'd been foolin' around with had went all Last Stand and hacked at it pretty good with a samurai sword his grandfather- no, you know what, no time for that. "We're gonna keep moving, we're gonna maintain at least two exits at any moment and we're gonna wait for the backup I radioed in when Jonny went all Rambo on the thing." She scoffed. "More like Jesse Ventura in Predator." I bit back a laugh. It was her man got mauled by the thing, let her make the gallows humor if she must; the last thing I needed was her brave veneer cracking. We began running again when the crashing changed into a smash and clatter. I grinned when we heard a monstrous roar tear through the night. "Guess it found your dead-fall" "I wish we had something bigger than a stack of pallets." "I think I hear the sirens approaching. What did you tell them?" "Well, I knew they'd think I was pulling their leg if I told them what it actually was so I said I saw a group of young black men behaving suspiciously." She narrowed her eyes at me, and I threw up my hands. "Hey, don't look at me like that; I just know my department."	The call came in around 11:15pm PST for a noise complaint. Apparently, some teenagers had been screaming their heads off and the neighbors had called it in. Officer Riley and I got to the scene and stepped out of our patrol vehicle around 11:22pm and the street was quiet except the screams coming from in the house. Riley tried to go right up to the damned house without thinking. "HEY! We need to call this in." "Can't you hear them?! They need our help?" Riley retorted, heat in her voice. "Not without calling it in first." I leaned back into the car, taking the receiver from its stand and I began requesting backup when I saw a figure with a knife walk steadily but completely silently behind Riley. Immediately, I unholstered my weapon and screamed "Knife!" looking directly at the perp. As they raised their knife with lethal intent, I fired 3 rounds into their center of mass. The assailant crumpled to the ground, Riley shouting in surprise. The rest of the night was filled with flashing lights, the taking of statements, and the removal of corpses from the house.
	[WP] You're a police officer in a horror movie, but actually competent.	"No, don't run that way, this way!" Damn idiot kid nearly ran into the basement; nothing down there but an ancient boiler that heats this old warehouse and a confusing tangle of dead-ends and rusty pipes. What kind of weirdo teenagers breaks into an abandoned factory to hook-up anyway? A crash from behind us indicated my improvised barricade was holding. But how long? "Jesus, Mister, what do you think you're gonna be able to do against that thing?" The girl was right. I had shot it, lured it next to my cruiser and blew it up, the kid she'd been foolin' around with had went all Last Stand and hacked at it pretty good with a samurai sword his grandfather- no, you know what, no time for that. "We're gonna keep moving, we're gonna maintain at least two exits at any moment and we're gonna wait for the backup I radioed in when Jonny went all Rambo on the thing." She scoffed. "More like Jesse Ventura in Predator." I bit back a laugh. It was her man got mauled by the thing, let her make the gallows humor if she must; the last thing I needed was her brave veneer cracking. We began running again when the crashing changed into a smash and clatter. I grinned when we heard a monstrous roar tear through the night. "Guess it found your dead-fall" "I wish we had something bigger than a stack of pallets." "I think I hear the sirens approaching. What did you tell them?" "Well, I knew they'd think I was pulling their leg if I told them what it actually was so I said I saw a group of young black men behaving suspiciously." She narrowed her eyes at me, and I threw up my hands. "Hey, don't look at me like that; I just know my department."	“Smith! We got a noise complaint, go check it out- small neighbourhood on north street 34 house probably nothing” Fucking a minute off my shift dammit “Yes chief” I’m not a pussy I just gotta keep this job okay. So twenty minutes later I’m coming up on north street, a small town skittering the edge of civilisation. Towns quieter then it usually is, I mean it’s usually a numbing experience patrolling this area but tonight’s Halloween. No kids running around no nothing. I’m around the corner from the address and a mask clad figure suddenly appears in the road carrying a machete. Alright what is this shit, he’s way past the trick or treatin’ age. I stop the car, ready my gun and pull up my speaker. “Sir stop right there!” Halfway through the road the guy stops and slowly looks at me. Alright fuck it. I open my door and point my gun at the freak. He starts making his way toward me. I’m not waiting for him to come over here. “Fuck you then” I press the trigger of my colt 45 and it lands a piece of lead in his right calf, dropping him to one knee. But then he rises. Alright then, this is fucked. I unload the rest of my clip into his chest and he falls back like a bag of bricks. I reload and make my way towards him. The fuck am I getting within grabbing distance of him though fuck that. He just lies there, but I’m not taking any chances. I start firing into his face until the gun gives me a telling click and I reload it. I usually fumble this shit but for some reason tonight’s different. I’m on my game baby. I got a cocker spaniel at home that needs his good shit. I run to the still running patrol car, and put it in gear. Jesus I think I see movement but I don’t have time to think about that. Pressing my foot hard on the pedal the car skidders and launches forward, the car gets hit square in the face by the Nutjob and I lurch forward and feel something smack me on the jaw. The steering wheel has slick of my bloody lip juice on it. Leaving the car to grapple the corpse I stumble to the boot and pull out a shotgun. Moving back around the front I start unloading into the masks somehow intact face. Blood splatters up me with each shot. A hand reaches to grab my ankle and I leap falling to my back, one shot left. I turn my aim from his increasingly flapping body and fire on the engine. Okay fuck it didn’t blow up like I’d hoped but petrol is leaking all over. I pull myself up. I take my lighter out. Mum always did tell me smoking kills, well let’s hope she’s right.
	[WP] You're a police officer in a horror movie, but actually competent.	"No, don't run that way, this way!" Damn idiot kid nearly ran into the basement; nothing down there but an ancient boiler that heats this old warehouse and a confusing tangle of dead-ends and rusty pipes. What kind of weirdo teenagers breaks into an abandoned factory to hook-up anyway? A crash from behind us indicated my improvised barricade was holding. But how long? "Jesus, Mister, what do you think you're gonna be able to do against that thing?" The girl was right. I had shot it, lured it next to my cruiser and blew it up, the kid she'd been foolin' around with had went all Last Stand and hacked at it pretty good with a samurai sword his grandfather- no, you know what, no time for that. "We're gonna keep moving, we're gonna maintain at least two exits at any moment and we're gonna wait for the backup I radioed in when Jonny went all Rambo on the thing." She scoffed. "More like Jesse Ventura in Predator." I bit back a laugh. It was her man got mauled by the thing, let her make the gallows humor if she must; the last thing I needed was her brave veneer cracking. We began running again when the crashing changed into a smash and clatter. I grinned when we heard a monstrous roar tear through the night. "Guess it found your dead-fall" "I wish we had something bigger than a stack of pallets." "I think I hear the sirens approaching. What did you tell them?" "Well, I knew they'd think I was pulling their leg if I told them what it actually was so I said I saw a group of young black men behaving suspiciously." She narrowed her eyes at me, and I threw up my hands. "Hey, don't look at me like that; I just know my department."	It was 12:11pm. I had only been on my lunch break for eleven minutes, eating a chicken sandwich parked across the road from the gates of a local high school. This was my usual spot to take break since it made me feel like I was still doing my duty even though I was stuffing my face at the same time. Got to protect our future. Though I was grateful for the sacrifice every chicken made for the sake of mankind. The police radio was busy, there were a lot of strange attacks going on. Domestic violence calls, physical assaults, along with breaking and entering. It was way more than what would usually be going on around this time. Something was off, I could feel it. But nothing was going on near my area. There was a class going on in the courtyard, students were doing outside physical ED. The weather was great for it, so seemed like a good idea to me. But then some guy in a business suit came shuffling up to the school gates. His face was pale, and he was walking like he might have stayed out drinking too late with his buddies. I put my half-eaten sandwich down and watched. He bumped into the gates rails, like he didn’t realize they were there. Again and again he would bump into them. I kept watching until finally the coach from the class walked up to the gate. Don’t bother the man, he’ll go away, eventually. I knew this coach though; he had a short temper for a stubby man. He was pretty uptight about fitness, but he didn’t seem like the type to practice what he preaches. When he’s not talking about fitness, he talked about the school and how he’s an alumnus. He really cared about this place, that's why he worked there. He likes to act like the school is his sanctuary. However, he seems like the type people should keep their eye on… Though, being a cop shouldn’t judge him. He fussed at the man at the gate, I couldn’t hear anything, but I could see it in the coaches expressions. The man kept bumping into the gate, ignoring him. The coach took out a walkie talkie and said a few things and walked away. The man kept bumping into the gate, this reminded me of something but I don’t remember… A cartoon I think, though it's been years since I seen it, I forget its name. I picked back up my sandwich and continued to savor the chicken, cheese, lettuce, tomato, and mayo served on a freshly baked bun. It was delicious. Moments later the coach came back. Five minutes before I go back on duty. Behind the coach followed the school Principal and Vice Principal. The Principal looked like he was trying to persuade the man at the gate to leave. He sweated profusely. Constantly wiping away the sweat from his forehead. He had a receding hair line, though I’m sure tons of stress caused it, since he deals with a lot on a daily basis. The Vice Principal was a tall lady, taller than both the Principal and the Coach, but she was a beautiful brunette. I believe she is much older than me but aging seemed to be in her favor. Nothing seemed to get through to the man continuously bumping into the gate. One minute till I go on duty. The coach seemed to get upset and grabbed the man. The man stopped moving. In almost a blink he bent his body in an unnatural way and bit the coaches arms. The Coach fell to the ground with blood spurting from the wound. The Vice Principal and Principal hauled the Coach away. But if my intentions are correct, this is bad, and I’m not about to have a highschool of the dead situation on my hands. It was time for duty. I unbuckled my seat belt, called the station and told them what was going on, but I was going in. I pulled my baton off the side of my belt, got out of my car and ran towards the business man. His face was covered in the coaches blood. “Hey!” I shouted, it turned towards me and let out a menacing groan. “Mhnnnagh!” Just as I expected. His eyes were all white. His blood veins were all blue and could be seen through his pale skin. He looked like someone who had been dead for a long time. “Police!” My baton hit the side of his head, using my old baseball swing. I was a former college baseball player before becoming a Police officer. I was also the pinch hitter. The body of the man went limp and almost did a full flip but instead crashed face first into the ground. He wasn’t getting back up. Not with that damage. Even though the zombie man was taken care of, we still had a problem. The gate was locked, good, but I needed to get inside. Luckily, I used to practice parkour. So, I stepped back and faced the wall. I sprinted towards it, jumped, planted one foot firmly on the surface of the wall and pushed my self up to grab the ledge. I pulled myself over and dropped down the side of the wall and sprinted towards the school building. Once inside the Principal was on the intercom, he was explaining the situation with the coach before being cut off by a similar moan sound. He panicked, but he had left the mic on, so the entire school heard all of it. I drew my gun and hurried towards the faculty office. When I arrived outside the faculty office, I heard the Vice Principal scream, I kicked the door open, and fired. Down went the Principal, down went the coach. I walked over to the Vice Principal. “Have you been bitten?” She shook in fright, but nodded. “Then I’m sorry... At least you get to go out, while still being human.” I lifted my gun, she shouted, “What are you doing, are you insane!?” No… but if what just happened is anything to go by… then this had to be done. I truly am sorry. She screamed in her final breath, but it was over. There would be no epidemic in this highschool. I pray the same could be said for the city.
	[WP] You're a police officer in a horror movie, but actually competent.	Some weird things have been going on lately. I don’t know if it’s the start of fall, the cool air, or the Halloween spirit (no pun intended) coming early. I pulled my squad car up to the convenient store. It was my regular stop in the early morning, but I due to lack of officers in our town, I was working night shift tonight as well. I looked at the time. 1:51 AM. I yawned and shook my head awake before opening my heavy door into the cold Wisconsin evening. The door made a jingle and the cashier looked up at me. “Evening Chuck.” He says. “It’s far past evening Rodney.” I respond. “Ah, fair enough. Time flies I guess.” “Quiet night for you?” I ask. “Yeah, I’d say so. Say I’ve heard there’s been some weird things happening around town.” “Hah, you and everyone’s mother knows that.” I laugh, but not out of amusement. Some pretty serious stuff had been going on lately. “Like I hear people are getting bit in the neck and stuff.” “Yeah, probably vampires.” I say as I pull the lever on the coffee machine and take a sip of it. “Vampires usually do that stuff.” I say. “Well, hopefully you can find them, I don’t want anybody in my family dying.” I laugh. “I’m no doctor but wouldn’t it be amusing because the vampire died due to taking somebody’s blood that had a disease in it?” Rodney shakes his head. “Look man that’s messed up Chuck. Anyway just take the coffee I was gonna dump it out anyway.” I smirk and grin at him. “Thanks. It tastes fine. Have a good night Rod.” “You too Chuck.” The door jingles and closes and the cold brisk air whips across my face. I curse myself for staying in this place. I could have moved a long time ago away from this cold. But, I’m still here. Anyway, Rodney’s a good kid. His dad’s been in jail a couple of times but aye, I don’t hold parental problems against the kid. I sit back down in my car and turn on my radio. beep “Chuck this is hq do you read me?”beep “Ah roger yes I read ya.” beep “I’ve been trying to contact you for five minutes now. We have a attempted burglary in at 1513 Carmichael street. Get there pronto and go in quietly!” beep “10-4 I’ll be there shortly.” I had a bad feeling about this. Vampires had already broken into a house two days ago, and it was a similar call to this one. I tried to keep my mind straight as I sped down the quiet town streets. There were no other cars out, the traffic lights were flashing, and screw this cold air. I turned onto another road and accelerated down the street. The house was less than a mile away. I had to get there, I had to stop them in before they got another victim. I pulled my car up to the curb and came to a stop. I kept my hand on my firearm holster and grabbed my flashlight. I tried to turn it on. Nothing. The batteries were out. “Shit!” I mumble. I bang the flashlight on my gloves. It flickers on. “Awh yeah.” I say. I turn my mind back into the break in. I begin to walk towards the front of the house. It seems quite dark. No lights are on. I call out on my walkie. “Hq, this house seems abandoned. It’s totally dark” bleep “Sorry Chuck, you gotta go in. We got a 9-1-1 call from the address.” bleep I gulp. “Can I get the owners phone number?” bleep A pause. “Yeah are you ready?” I sigh as he gives me the phone number I dial it up and an old lady calls. “He..llo?” “Hi ma’am this is Officer Chuck with the police department. Did you call regarding a home break in?” “Ye...yes, I did. I saw some awful faces peering in my house. My door was locked praise Jesus but I felt like they could walk right through my walls. Could you just... just double check the property for me?” I sigh a sigh of relief. “Sure thing ma’am. You have a nice night.” bleep my walkie. “Chuck speaking.” “Chuck, turns out that house IS abandoned. You were right.” bleep. I gulped. “Uh, I just talked with an old lady.” “Old lady Reese? She passed a year ago.” I glanced up at the old house and slowly began to walk backwards. I ran to my squad car and quickly accelerated. I said a couple of prayers and threw on my radio. “Hq this is chuck. I got the hell away from that place. Something... something about it ain’t right.” bleep. “Well Chuck, something about this whole town ain’t right, and I can’t seem to figure it out either. Anyway, stay safe Chuck.” bleep By the Lord’s will I’ll try. I’ll try. (PS I was procrastinating sleep so sorry for any typos etc.)	What do you do when your entire continent disappears? When what comes to life are your realest fears? Apparently run around like headless chickens, rioting, looting, and committing general buffoonery. But oh no, not me sir. I wouldn't do any of that, or my name isn't "Jester Saneman", just a sane man from the downtown Albaal Police Department, Atlantis. See, some of you out there will probably be thinking: "Hey, Saneman, you don't sound very sane, man. Atlantis isn't real, i've read your whole spiel, and you sound a few wings short of a plane, man". Trust me, it's true, I don't know what to do. The whole cities in ruin with what everyone's doin', and i'm stuck in here with my crew. When the big pause happened we freaked out for a hot minute. Nearly the entire world outside of Atlantis wasn't responding to our communications. With all the weird things going on that day, it was almost like the world had [taken a knee.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9t5imw/wp_on_one_particularly_eventful_actionpacked/e8u0duf/) Then outta nowhere, everything went back to normal outside, and everything inside went to hell. Flying pigs that vomited money that turned you into a flying pig if you picked it up. Streets that lead back into itself when you walked through it on one end, and amongst the several million other weird things going on right now is some sort of mental compulsion that forces people to write in rhyme every other paragraph. It's doing a real number to my head, i'd rather than this, be dead. But thankfully the rest of my faculties are still intact, I know what is real for a fact. I might be rhyming, but it's all good timing, because only humans this will affect. Yes according to the pamphlets being dropped by drones the best way to identify if someone around here is a real human, is to see if they're forced to rhyme every other paragraph of text. Apparently it doesn't affect speech, but then again there's enough affecting it already. I don't know how much I trust these people, but apparently Johnson was working for them undercover this whole time. He says their name is something called a "mematrix" which, and I quote, "Is designed to sound official and trustworthy when read, it only affects human perception by targeting triggers inside our subconscious mind causing anomalous side effects not seen to be manifested through or by any natural means outside of artificially generated constructs designed specifically to corrupt what natural phenome..." For minutes he went on, and blankly I stared. He seemed quite excited, I wish that I cared. It took me by surprise, when from outside the door. Came a rapid rapping, a tapping, then... "CODEWORD: NEVERMORE" Don't do it, said Johnson. Don't open that door. Everyone's in the room, the squad's accounted for. It seemed to make sense, truth lay in his words. But where the hell was raven? Stuck with his flock of birds? Kimberly panicked of course, and started shouting about how we should make sure that Raven was safe, after all, the sniper teams were always separated in the upper portions of the city so they could keep a birds eye view of things down below. But with the horrors that awaited outside, the risk couldn't be taken. If only there was a way to know if it really was Raven or not. Some kind of test that could tell us if the thing outside was human. Something that involved materials laying around the precinct in large quantities, like, oh, I dunno... Pen and paper perhaps. Hmmm. HMMMMMMMMMMMM. Long story short, what was outside was not. A member of our unit, and thusly we blewit, and by blewit I mean we shot. A few hundred rounds through the door, not like we didn't have a few hundred thousand in store. On ammo we were set, it was a safe bet. As the door repaired itself once more. I cocked my shotgun, trying to look cool, ejecting an unspent shell and wasting ammunition. Whoops. I might not be the best policeman out there, but I sure as hell am (mostly) competent, and one things for sure, in a city like this, at a time like this, it sure as hell is no time to be taking the piss. I'm Jester Saneman, and I will keep my team safe, I will secure this city, and we will win the day. Somehow, probably, and if I don't? Well, then who will.
	[WP] You're a police officer in a horror movie, but actually competent.	\---Verbal Report transcript of 415, construction site located at Hawthorne Boulevard and Wilmington Avenue, November 7th, 2018. Unnamed Sergeant Shift Supervisor interview.--- &#x200B; "Camera is on... go ahead and start wherever you'd like." &#x200B; I've been workin the beat for 15 years now. LAPD. I never wanted to do anything more. I always hear my coworkers saying they get into all kinds of crazy scraps where they were glad their gun was ready to save them. Me? I was one of the very few officers who had never drawn his gun. I'm no slug, and I've gotten into plenty of scraps, but it's just something that happens. &#x200B; Until yesterday, at least. This is the Shift Supervisor at precinct 43 giving a verbal report of the events that happened yesterday, November 7th. My name is being omitted for departmental reasons. &#x200B; I was working the night shift. I always liked the night shift, just because of the crazy shit that happens. If something weird is gonna happen, it's gonna happen on the night shift. It's different every time. I was promoted to sergeant just last month, and I was given the all clear: this was my first night alone as shift supervisor. &#x200B; Now when you're shift supervisor, you need to be available when called. You let the grunts do traffic stops and handle domestics, things like that. Anytime a shift supervisor is requested, you need to be there. Night shift? Hah. Pull your own weight, mister big shot. &#x200B; “Unit 324, 10-8, shift supervisor on site.” I said on the radio. &#x200B; “Copy 324, have a good shift.” That was Matt on dispatch. Matt always said that. Nice guy. &#x200B; “Thanks, Matt.” I said to nobody. I check the squad car top to bottom, back to front. No contraband, and no bodily fluids. All clear, and I load it up. I check the ammunition and the AR-15 and shotgun. All locked up, fully loaded, ready to go. Doubt I'll ever need it, but I'm not an idiot. Just because I never used my gun out in the field doesn't mean I'm careless. &#x200B; My night begins at 2200 hours. I begin my loop, starting at the five, and work my way down to Monterey Park. The usual radio chatter is my music of the night. Alarms, break ins, druggies, and trespassing, the usual LA night. In my head I'm playing the music from my car: A mix of dad rock and some Russian music I heard on the internet. &#x200B; “Unit 324, respond to a 415 at Wilmington and Hawthorne, possible weapon involved.” The radio brings me back to from my mental DJ-ing and stops my bad singing. 415 was a disturbance. I picked up the radio and replied. &#x200B; “324 responding.” I decided against rolling lights and sirens and just gunned it. I didn't want to spook anyone. After about ten minutes, I arrive on the scene outside of a construction site near the LA river. There was nobody around, and the construction site was dimly lit. Quiet. False alarm, maybe? &#x200B; “324 on scene. Dispatch who made the call?” &#x200B; “Caller was a passerby, claimed to be wrestling with an individual in ragged, torn clothes. They claimed it looked like an animal attack.” &#x200B; Homeless fight, huh? That sucks. &#x200B; Wait, an animal attack? What the hell... &#x200B; “Shift supervisor requesting additional units and animal control to Willmington and Hawthorne.” Something at the back of my head itched. I always trusted the back of my head. It itched when a crack head swung a golf club behind my head. Ducked just in time. It itched when a group of kids plowed out of an old guys house, and then an old guy came back, dragging one of the kids with chains wrapped around him. It itched when a guy tried to stab his 3 year old who called the cops wanting to meet a real police officer. I took the guy down with a taser before he even got to his kid, and gave the kid a new, better home. &#x200B; The back of my head itched at the sound of animal attack. LA was never known for its wildlife population, nor was it known for its silence. But tonight, right where I sat, it was silent. &#x200B; I unlocked the shotgun, got out of the car, and looked around. I was alone... right? With the shotgun firmly in my hands, I listened hard and scanned the area. I heard the faintest sound of what I could describe as scratching, and breathing. I felt eyes on me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I turned, weapon raised, and looked at what I could only imagine out of a movie. A really good movie. &#x200B; Through a broken fence I saw it. It had two glowing yellow eyes. Its skin was pale, almost human looking. It was hairless and naked, except for the blood and gore around an impossibly large, wide mouth. It opened its mouth, and I could smell its breath even from the distance I stood. It smelled of death. The darkness shrouded the rest of its body. I wasn't sure at the time I was fully prepared to see the entire thing, but I had a pretty good idea that it was even more horrible. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. If I was even seeing it. All I could do was do what they had trained me to do 15 years ago. &#x200B; “LAPD! Get your hands up and get on the ground!” I forced myself to believe it was a kid in a mask, or a costume, or something, anything to rationalize what I was seeing. There was no way it was real. Next thing I know, two officers roll up behind me, guns drawn. I look over to see corporal Stensen and officer Daniels. I turned back to the suspect, only to find he was gone. &#x200B; “Sergeant! What's going on?” Corporal Stensen was a family man. He'd been on the force for about 5 years now, with dreams of being a captain. Officer Daniels was fresh out of the academy, however. This was his first day. &#x200B; What the hell was I supposed to say? Hey there's some kinda fuckin monster over there, let's go get em boys? I didn't know if what I even saw was real or not. None the less, I treated it like any dangerous call. &#x200B; “You two form up on me!” I had my shotgun raised the whole time. I heard the two of them say yes sir behind my back as I went through the hole in the fence. We approach the area where I saw it, and I don't know why, but I felt relief. I was relieved because there was a pool of blood where that thing stood. Maybe I was relieved that I wasn't losing my mind. &#x200B; “Holy shit...” Officer Daniels breathed. It was a lot of blood, that's for sure. My guess was a liter. &#x200B; “Sergeant, what the hell?” Corporal Stenson was up next to be shocked. I stared at the thick pool. Blood isn't like you see on the movies. It's thick, really thick. Someone in the academy described it as “ketchup.” They're not wrong. &#x200B; I was in thought for what felt like an eternity. I can't call SWAT for a pool of blood, and I can't exactly tell these guys what I saw. But what WAS it? It looked dangerous, and it definitely was some kind of animal. Or something. Well, it was too dangerous to call animal control now. What was in front of us was fresh. We needed to act quickly. &#x200B; It was just a few seconds after Corporal Stensen spoke that I gave the orders. &#x200B; “Call for backup. I was a perimeter and I want a helicopter. Let's see about getting a dog as well. I want whoever owns this place to give me a detailed plan of the site. I don't care who has to be woken up, wake up the CEO if you have to. Let's get it done!” &#x200B; They both nodded and we climbed through the hole again. About twenty minutes later, four more cop cars were rolling code 3 and a helicopter was in the air. We told dispatch that the animal had possibly killed a person, and the dog was to help find either the person or the animal, whichever came first. The perimeter was formed, and the other officers appeared in front of me for debrief. &#x200B; “Earlier this evening we got a 415 on the radio. Upon my arrival, we discovered a lot of blood. I was just emailed a detailed plan of the layout at the construction site. We're going to go in a grid formation and search the area. We are going to assume both the people and the animal are dangerous. I wan-” &#x200B; A scream like something out of a nightmare cut off my train of thought. It came from a woman. A few seconds later, the sound of what I would professionally call a monster tore through the night. Nobody said a word.	What do you do when your entire continent disappears? When what comes to life are your realest fears? Apparently run around like headless chickens, rioting, looting, and committing general buffoonery. But oh no, not me sir. I wouldn't do any of that, or my name isn't "Jester Saneman", just a sane man from the downtown Albaal Police Department, Atlantis. See, some of you out there will probably be thinking: "Hey, Saneman, you don't sound very sane, man. Atlantis isn't real, i've read your whole spiel, and you sound a few wings short of a plane, man". Trust me, it's true, I don't know what to do. The whole cities in ruin with what everyone's doin', and i'm stuck in here with my crew. When the big pause happened we freaked out for a hot minute. Nearly the entire world outside of Atlantis wasn't responding to our communications. With all the weird things going on that day, it was almost like the world had [taken a knee.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9t5imw/wp_on_one_particularly_eventful_actionpacked/e8u0duf/) Then outta nowhere, everything went back to normal outside, and everything inside went to hell. Flying pigs that vomited money that turned you into a flying pig if you picked it up. Streets that lead back into itself when you walked through it on one end, and amongst the several million other weird things going on right now is some sort of mental compulsion that forces people to write in rhyme every other paragraph. It's doing a real number to my head, i'd rather than this, be dead. But thankfully the rest of my faculties are still intact, I know what is real for a fact. I might be rhyming, but it's all good timing, because only humans this will affect. Yes according to the pamphlets being dropped by drones the best way to identify if someone around here is a real human, is to see if they're forced to rhyme every other paragraph of text. Apparently it doesn't affect speech, but then again there's enough affecting it already. I don't know how much I trust these people, but apparently Johnson was working for them undercover this whole time. He says their name is something called a "mematrix" which, and I quote, "Is designed to sound official and trustworthy when read, it only affects human perception by targeting triggers inside our subconscious mind causing anomalous side effects not seen to be manifested through or by any natural means outside of artificially generated constructs designed specifically to corrupt what natural phenome..." For minutes he went on, and blankly I stared. He seemed quite excited, I wish that I cared. It took me by surprise, when from outside the door. Came a rapid rapping, a tapping, then... "CODEWORD: NEVERMORE" Don't do it, said Johnson. Don't open that door. Everyone's in the room, the squad's accounted for. It seemed to make sense, truth lay in his words. But where the hell was raven? Stuck with his flock of birds? Kimberly panicked of course, and started shouting about how we should make sure that Raven was safe, after all, the sniper teams were always separated in the upper portions of the city so they could keep a birds eye view of things down below. But with the horrors that awaited outside, the risk couldn't be taken. If only there was a way to know if it really was Raven or not. Some kind of test that could tell us if the thing outside was human. Something that involved materials laying around the precinct in large quantities, like, oh, I dunno... Pen and paper perhaps. Hmmm. HMMMMMMMMMMMM. Long story short, what was outside was not. A member of our unit, and thusly we blewit, and by blewit I mean we shot. A few hundred rounds through the door, not like we didn't have a few hundred thousand in store. On ammo we were set, it was a safe bet. As the door repaired itself once more. I cocked my shotgun, trying to look cool, ejecting an unspent shell and wasting ammunition. Whoops. I might not be the best policeman out there, but I sure as hell am (mostly) competent, and one things for sure, in a city like this, at a time like this, it sure as hell is no time to be taking the piss. I'm Jester Saneman, and I will keep my team safe, I will secure this city, and we will win the day. Somehow, probably, and if I don't? Well, then who will.
	[WP] You're a police officer in a horror movie, but actually competent.	Some weird things have been going on lately. I don’t know if it’s the start of fall, the cool air, or the Halloween spirit (no pun intended) coming early. I pulled my squad car up to the convenient store. It was my regular stop in the early morning, but I due to lack of officers in our town, I was working night shift tonight as well. I looked at the time. 1:51 AM. I yawned and shook my head awake before opening my heavy door into the cold Wisconsin evening. The door made a jingle and the cashier looked up at me. “Evening Chuck.” He says. “It’s far past evening Rodney.” I respond. “Ah, fair enough. Time flies I guess.” “Quiet night for you?” I ask. “Yeah, I’d say so. Say I’ve heard there’s been some weird things happening around town.” “Hah, you and everyone’s mother knows that.” I laugh, but not out of amusement. Some pretty serious stuff had been going on lately. “Like I hear people are getting bit in the neck and stuff.” “Yeah, probably vampires.” I say as I pull the lever on the coffee machine and take a sip of it. “Vampires usually do that stuff.” I say. “Well, hopefully you can find them, I don’t want anybody in my family dying.” I laugh. “I’m no doctor but wouldn’t it be amusing because the vampire died due to taking somebody’s blood that had a disease in it?” Rodney shakes his head. “Look man that’s messed up Chuck. Anyway just take the coffee I was gonna dump it out anyway.” I smirk and grin at him. “Thanks. It tastes fine. Have a good night Rod.” “You too Chuck.” The door jingles and closes and the cold brisk air whips across my face. I curse myself for staying in this place. I could have moved a long time ago away from this cold. But, I’m still here. Anyway, Rodney’s a good kid. His dad’s been in jail a couple of times but aye, I don’t hold parental problems against the kid. I sit back down in my car and turn on my radio. beep “Chuck this is hq do you read me?”beep “Ah roger yes I read ya.” beep “I’ve been trying to contact you for five minutes now. We have a attempted burglary in at 1513 Carmichael street. Get there pronto and go in quietly!” beep “10-4 I’ll be there shortly.” I had a bad feeling about this. Vampires had already broken into a house two days ago, and it was a similar call to this one. I tried to keep my mind straight as I sped down the quiet town streets. There were no other cars out, the traffic lights were flashing, and screw this cold air. I turned onto another road and accelerated down the street. The house was less than a mile away. I had to get there, I had to stop them in before they got another victim. I pulled my car up to the curb and came to a stop. I kept my hand on my firearm holster and grabbed my flashlight. I tried to turn it on. Nothing. The batteries were out. “Shit!” I mumble. I bang the flashlight on my gloves. It flickers on. “Awh yeah.” I say. I turn my mind back into the break in. I begin to walk towards the front of the house. It seems quite dark. No lights are on. I call out on my walkie. “Hq, this house seems abandoned. It’s totally dark” bleep “Sorry Chuck, you gotta go in. We got a 9-1-1 call from the address.” bleep I gulp. “Can I get the owners phone number?” bleep A pause. “Yeah are you ready?” I sigh as he gives me the phone number I dial it up and an old lady calls. “He..llo?” “Hi ma’am this is Officer Chuck with the police department. Did you call regarding a home break in?” “Ye...yes, I did. I saw some awful faces peering in my house. My door was locked praise Jesus but I felt like they could walk right through my walls. Could you just... just double check the property for me?” I sigh a sigh of relief. “Sure thing ma’am. You have a nice night.” bleep my walkie. “Chuck speaking.” “Chuck, turns out that house IS abandoned. You were right.” bleep. I gulped. “Uh, I just talked with an old lady.” “Old lady Reese? She passed a year ago.” I glanced up at the old house and slowly began to walk backwards. I ran to my squad car and quickly accelerated. I said a couple of prayers and threw on my radio. “Hq this is chuck. I got the hell away from that place. Something... something about it ain’t right.” bleep. “Well Chuck, something about this whole town ain’t right, and I can’t seem to figure it out either. Anyway, stay safe Chuck.” bleep By the Lord’s will I’ll try. I’ll try. (PS I was procrastinating sleep so sorry for any typos etc.)	I carefully weighed the situation. The monster whatever it was had long since fled. Confronted with someone armed, who knew how to fight, it had decided it had drunk enough blood this harvest. Wasn’t a match for officer Duke. clever boy I think to myself. what to do about this mess?. Three dead cheerleaders and the quarterback sprawled on the bedroom floor, as stiff as the wooden beams that hang ominously overhead. How was I going to explain this? Chief will have my ass. That’s when I heard it, a rustle from under the bed. what the fuck! I drew my gun once again. Took a long step back, and a long deep breath. I dropped to my stomach. The wind left my lungs but I kept my focus. Two eyes stared back at me in the darkness, unmoving, almost human too human. “Don’t shoot me man” a voice with a strange cadence called back. it is a college town “It’s alright, I chased it off” I answered, another witness might help explain things. or at least make it seem like you didn’t just kill four white kids “Come out ok, and we can clean this shit up son” I holstered my gun, and began scanning the room again, a black circle had been drawn on the floor, in which the four other young people lay, their blood slowly oozing into the centuries old wooden floor dont build em like this anymore. I though, stamping my foot on the floor. I decided I couldn’t leave them like that though. So I took the white cloaks down from the hangers on the wall and spread them over the victims shame. Damn shame. “What’s your name boy” I ask, not bothering to turn around as I hear him standing up. “Uh, Antoine, sir.... uh, officer” he replied, with velvet on his voice, and not nearly enough respect. An idea spat into my mind. The monster was gone and I had four dead bodies to explain, and nearly a full cartridge of bullet casings around the old estate. A blade lay off to the side of one of the girls. Just out of reach. whats one more? “Hand me that would you?” I say, pointing to the knife “looks like it’s evidence” “Uh, sure sir” the stupid boy gingerly walked over to it, he bends down and places a hand around the hilt. I stand up quietly, take my pistol from its holster and point it at his back. “Turn around slowly, scum” the boy starts to laugh what? Is he laughing at me? Fucking ni... Another, lower laugh lodged in my ear. My thoughts died in an instant. Replaced only with goosebumps, on my arms and down my throat. Four too long icy fingers wrap slowly over my shoulder, piercing my skin. The warm drip of blood sauntering down my arm. ‘ARGHHHHH’ my arm is rigid from pain, but I can’t move, my gun slips through my fingers. “Fitting....” the boy is looking at me now as he speaks, those bright white teeth of his that look so wrong on his face, sparkling in the moonlight “You’d die in a house like this” I feel the knife enter my chest, pain and fear running through my veins, and out all over the room not like.... I can’t.... The blood loss is too much, I’m bleeding out. My vision is blurry, I see.... I see that fucking boy, he nods to something, to the monster it smiles, this one even wronger than the boys. It speaks, it’s voice cutting into my ears. “Cops taste the best” The thing I hear is my own voice, the last of the air used to curse these two monsters “You can’t .....do this..... To a grand w.....”
	[WP] You're a police officer in a horror movie, but actually competent.	I've been on this case for some time. Nut job left a trail of blood a mile wide (figuratively speaking, but not by much) all across the city. It started with him killing some kids at a camp. Not just killing them, but butchering them in terrible ways. One he shot through the eye with a crossbow (ok, crossbow bolt), one he burned alive in her sleeping bag, one he stabbed dozens of times before breaking his spine. On that last one, I'm no expert, but I think the guy was dead before the mad man broke his spine. Not sure why the killer broke the kid's spine - could be some kind of anger issue. This I only pieced together after the end of the case, but now is the time to mention it. One kid survived, claiming the mad man had drowned. Did the local sheriff dredge the river to recover the body? Nope - pure incompetence. The claim was this mad man was the ghost or zombie or something of a kid who died years earlier at the camp - drowned. DID THEY DREDGE THE RIVER FOR THE BODY? Nope. What in the actual F? So this killer somehow gets on a boat, don't ask me how, kills most of the people in transit, then gets lose in my city. That's where I come in. He about a half dozen people here - one he knocked the guy's head off like some Rock'em Sock'em robot - I kid you not. Now I'm in a factory - long abandoned dark place - looking around because some bystander claimed he saw the guy come in here. The bystander is a drunk - I take what I can get in the witness department, but this looks like a dead end. My partner is outside, in case the mad man is in here and tries to leave. I'm flashing my light around, looking for a light switch. Maybe the lights still work. Ah, there's a switch. Click - they work! WTF - some big goon is right in front of me, swings a big sickle down. I scream, lifting my arms as if that will help. He swings right through my arm and head, splitting it in two. Good grief, that would have hurt, I think. Good thing for translocation. Oh, I forgot to mention. I can translocate - switch positions from one place to another, leaving a kind of empty clone of myself in the spot I just left. The clone crumples as the zombie pulls the sickle free. Geeze, this guy is big, like 6'7", and he's thick, huge. But now I have the drop on him. "Freeze," I yell. The guy turns around . He's wearing a mask with a big gash across the forehead. There's blood on the mask. Is this guy for real? "Freeze" I say again, "or I'll shoot." I'm fumbling for the button on my walkie, calling in my partner to complete this arrest. But the guy takes a step toward me. Forgetting the walkie for a second, I empty my gun into him - he stops, holes in his torso smoking - but there's no blood to speak of. He tilts his head at a weird angle. Is this guy some kind of zombie? This isn't a slinger's gun - now it's empty. What would it matter even if it wasn't? The bullets didn't do a thing. I have my bare hands, and this hulking...zombie, I'm calling him a zombie...has a sickle, or whatever it is. He starts forward again. I turn fast, start running. There's not much Qi here to work with - that's been a problem since I arrived. Translocation takes it out of me. I'm running and thinking., careful with my steps in this place. It's full of debris and old equipment. Falling could put me in real trouble - injury, or let this goon catch up to me. Call my partner? Nah, he'd just get killed. Run out? Nah, the zombie would just chase me, probably kill my partner. Turn and fight? I'll need the Qi if I have to translocate again, but if I don't stop this zombie now, this could go on all night. I need a weapon - preferably a sword - I'm not bad with a sword. There won't be a sword laying around in an old factory. Up some steps - he's still following. Through a door - he's still following. Down some other stairs - still following, catching up. There's what I need. I pick up a steel pipe. Zombie man has caught me, He swings down, his blow nothing but power. Well, sometimes it really is easy. My first swing takes the sickle off the thick pole that holds it, sending the blade flying. Now the zombie has a wooden pole, and I have a thick pipe. He's bigger than me, stronger, probably? undead, hard to kill - er destroy. What do you call it when you kill an undead something? Destroy? Hard isn't impossible. His second swing would have broken bone if it had landed. But instead I catch it with the pipe - pole breaks. My next swing knocks the pole out of his hand. Rudimentary swings, that's all I'm doing, but, ok, very fast. Thwack - his mask is cracked - ugly mofo. Crack - one arm broken. Thwack - knee crushed. He's still coming, hobbling on one leg. Crunch, Thud - whatever, I can't come up with unique names for the sounds of the pipe breaking and crushing his bones into a pulp. He finally falls to the ground, but he's still twitching. I run for the sickle blade, cut him into pieces. Isn't that how you take out a zombie? Of course, the head is the first to go - cut off. This blade is sharp. I'm good with sharp blades. Now he's in pieces, but I'm not taking my eyes off this pile. I've seen zombies reform. I call my partner on the walkie. Between he and I, he knows some shit goes down around me. He'll bring what's needed. I saw an old furnace in this place when I was running.	I carefully weighed the situation. The monster whatever it was had long since fled. Confronted with someone armed, who knew how to fight, it had decided it had drunk enough blood this harvest. Wasn’t a match for officer Duke. clever boy I think to myself. what to do about this mess?. Three dead cheerleaders and the quarterback sprawled on the bedroom floor, as stiff as the wooden beams that hang ominously overhead. How was I going to explain this? Chief will have my ass. That’s when I heard it, a rustle from under the bed. what the fuck! I drew my gun once again. Took a long step back, and a long deep breath. I dropped to my stomach. The wind left my lungs but I kept my focus. Two eyes stared back at me in the darkness, unmoving, almost human too human. “Don’t shoot me man” a voice with a strange cadence called back. it is a college town “It’s alright, I chased it off” I answered, another witness might help explain things. or at least make it seem like you didn’t just kill four white kids “Come out ok, and we can clean this shit up son” I holstered my gun, and began scanning the room again, a black circle had been drawn on the floor, in which the four other young people lay, their blood slowly oozing into the centuries old wooden floor dont build em like this anymore. I though, stamping my foot on the floor. I decided I couldn’t leave them like that though. So I took the white cloaks down from the hangers on the wall and spread them over the victims shame. Damn shame. “What’s your name boy” I ask, not bothering to turn around as I hear him standing up. “Uh, Antoine, sir.... uh, officer” he replied, with velvet on his voice, and not nearly enough respect. An idea spat into my mind. The monster was gone and I had four dead bodies to explain, and nearly a full cartridge of bullet casings around the old estate. A blade lay off to the side of one of the girls. Just out of reach. whats one more? “Hand me that would you?” I say, pointing to the knife “looks like it’s evidence” “Uh, sure sir” the stupid boy gingerly walked over to it, he bends down and places a hand around the hilt. I stand up quietly, take my pistol from its holster and point it at his back. “Turn around slowly, scum” the boy starts to laugh what? Is he laughing at me? Fucking ni... Another, lower laugh lodged in my ear. My thoughts died in an instant. Replaced only with goosebumps, on my arms and down my throat. Four too long icy fingers wrap slowly over my shoulder, piercing my skin. The warm drip of blood sauntering down my arm. ‘ARGHHHHH’ my arm is rigid from pain, but I can’t move, my gun slips through my fingers. “Fitting....” the boy is looking at me now as he speaks, those bright white teeth of his that look so wrong on his face, sparkling in the moonlight “You’d die in a house like this” I feel the knife enter my chest, pain and fear running through my veins, and out all over the room not like.... I can’t.... The blood loss is too much, I’m bleeding out. My vision is blurry, I see.... I see that fucking boy, he nods to something, to the monster it smiles, this one even wronger than the boys. It speaks, it’s voice cutting into my ears. “Cops taste the best” The thing I hear is my own voice, the last of the air used to curse these two monsters “You can’t .....do this..... To a grand w.....”
	[WP] You're a police officer in a horror movie, but actually competent.	I walk up to the house at 135 Cherry Lane and knock on the front door. My partner trusts me enough to handle the situation on my own. Hopefully this won't take long. The full moon is glowing tonight, and I still have other houses to visit. "Hello?" I call out. "There's been a noise complaint about screaming and gunshots. Is anyone there?" When no one answers, I draw my gun and step off the front porch, blending into the shadows of the house. If someone's trying to hide from me, I'm going to make sure they don't find me first. Around the corner of the house, I find the first body. A teenager has been strangled by a garden hose. Nearby, another teenager is swaying by the neck from an oak tree. Both look like they've been in violent struggles. I can see footprints around the gate into the backyard: four different people have been here recently. I should call for backup, or at least wait for my partner to leave his kid's birthday party. But the footprints mean there could be more teenagers here. Teenagers who might still be alive. I don't bother trying to open the gate. Instead, I move stealthily along the fence until I find a shadowed area to climb to the other side. A garden shed blocks my uniformed body from view as I land quietly on the grass. Sure enough, someone has rigged a trap to kill whoever opens the gate. Some kind of contraption involving garden shears. I can hear sobbing from inside the garden shed. When I peer through the grimy window, I can see a teenager huddled in the corner, a shovel clutched in his hands. He has a cell phone, but it doesn't seem to be working. It's okay. I'm here now. I open the door to the garden shed and step in with my gun raised. The teenager shrinks away in fear at first, but then he sees my police uniform and sags in relief. "I've been trying to reach the cops," he says desperately. "Someone's out there killing my friends, but I can't get any signal-" The teenager stops talking and stares at me in shock. The moonlight has illuminated my face. He recognizes me. "It's... it's you..." I smile. "It was a clever idea to set up the trap. But I didn't realize you were in here until after I left. That's when I remembered seeing three shadows under the back door, not two. If you'd just gone home, you might have survived. This is the first mistake I've made in years." "I could still survive," he says weakly. "No," I say. "Because I'm starting to think it wasn't a mistake after all. I'll be able to throw off suspicion from myself by arresting the kid who killed his friends at this house and all the other ones. It's too bad I had to shoot him before he could stab me with a pair of garden shears." The teenager opens his mouth and tries to scream, but he's too terrified to make a sound. For a moment I almost feel sorry for him. Maybe I could have been persuaded to let this one live. But he's already seen my face, which means it's too late for him. I pull the trigger before he can lift the shovel.	I carefully weighed the situation. The monster whatever it was had long since fled. Confronted with someone armed, who knew how to fight, it had decided it had drunk enough blood this harvest. Wasn’t a match for officer Duke. clever boy I think to myself. what to do about this mess?. Three dead cheerleaders and the quarterback sprawled on the bedroom floor, as stiff as the wooden beams that hang ominously overhead. How was I going to explain this? Chief will have my ass. That’s when I heard it, a rustle from under the bed. what the fuck! I drew my gun once again. Took a long step back, and a long deep breath. I dropped to my stomach. The wind left my lungs but I kept my focus. Two eyes stared back at me in the darkness, unmoving, almost human too human. “Don’t shoot me man” a voice with a strange cadence called back. it is a college town “It’s alright, I chased it off” I answered, another witness might help explain things. or at least make it seem like you didn’t just kill four white kids “Come out ok, and we can clean this shit up son” I holstered my gun, and began scanning the room again, a black circle had been drawn on the floor, in which the four other young people lay, their blood slowly oozing into the centuries old wooden floor dont build em like this anymore. I though, stamping my foot on the floor. I decided I couldn’t leave them like that though. So I took the white cloaks down from the hangers on the wall and spread them over the victims shame. Damn shame. “What’s your name boy” I ask, not bothering to turn around as I hear him standing up. “Uh, Antoine, sir.... uh, officer” he replied, with velvet on his voice, and not nearly enough respect. An idea spat into my mind. The monster was gone and I had four dead bodies to explain, and nearly a full cartridge of bullet casings around the old estate. A blade lay off to the side of one of the girls. Just out of reach. whats one more? “Hand me that would you?” I say, pointing to the knife “looks like it’s evidence” “Uh, sure sir” the stupid boy gingerly walked over to it, he bends down and places a hand around the hilt. I stand up quietly, take my pistol from its holster and point it at his back. “Turn around slowly, scum” the boy starts to laugh what? Is he laughing at me? Fucking ni... Another, lower laugh lodged in my ear. My thoughts died in an instant. Replaced only with goosebumps, on my arms and down my throat. Four too long icy fingers wrap slowly over my shoulder, piercing my skin. The warm drip of blood sauntering down my arm. ‘ARGHHHHH’ my arm is rigid from pain, but I can’t move, my gun slips through my fingers. “Fitting....” the boy is looking at me now as he speaks, those bright white teeth of his that look so wrong on his face, sparkling in the moonlight “You’d die in a house like this” I feel the knife enter my chest, pain and fear running through my veins, and out all over the room not like.... I can’t.... The blood loss is too much, I’m bleeding out. My vision is blurry, I see.... I see that fucking boy, he nods to something, to the monster it smiles, this one even wronger than the boys. It speaks, it’s voice cutting into my ears. “Cops taste the best” The thing I hear is my own voice, the last of the air used to curse these two monsters “You can’t .....do this..... To a grand w.....”
	[WP] You're a police officer in a horror movie, but actually competent.	\---Verbal Report transcript of 415, construction site located at Hawthorne Boulevard and Wilmington Avenue, November 7th, 2018. Unnamed Sergeant Shift Supervisor interview.--- &#x200B; "Camera is on... go ahead and start wherever you'd like." &#x200B; I've been workin the beat for 15 years now. LAPD. I never wanted to do anything more. I always hear my coworkers saying they get into all kinds of crazy scraps where they were glad their gun was ready to save them. Me? I was one of the very few officers who had never drawn his gun. I'm no slug, and I've gotten into plenty of scraps, but it's just something that happens. &#x200B; Until yesterday, at least. This is the Shift Supervisor at precinct 43 giving a verbal report of the events that happened yesterday, November 7th. My name is being omitted for departmental reasons. &#x200B; I was working the night shift. I always liked the night shift, just because of the crazy shit that happens. If something weird is gonna happen, it's gonna happen on the night shift. It's different every time. I was promoted to sergeant just last month, and I was given the all clear: this was my first night alone as shift supervisor. &#x200B; Now when you're shift supervisor, you need to be available when called. You let the grunts do traffic stops and handle domestics, things like that. Anytime a shift supervisor is requested, you need to be there. Night shift? Hah. Pull your own weight, mister big shot. &#x200B; “Unit 324, 10-8, shift supervisor on site.” I said on the radio. &#x200B; “Copy 324, have a good shift.” That was Matt on dispatch. Matt always said that. Nice guy. &#x200B; “Thanks, Matt.” I said to nobody. I check the squad car top to bottom, back to front. No contraband, and no bodily fluids. All clear, and I load it up. I check the ammunition and the AR-15 and shotgun. All locked up, fully loaded, ready to go. Doubt I'll ever need it, but I'm not an idiot. Just because I never used my gun out in the field doesn't mean I'm careless. &#x200B; My night begins at 2200 hours. I begin my loop, starting at the five, and work my way down to Monterey Park. The usual radio chatter is my music of the night. Alarms, break ins, druggies, and trespassing, the usual LA night. In my head I'm playing the music from my car: A mix of dad rock and some Russian music I heard on the internet. &#x200B; “Unit 324, respond to a 415 at Wilmington and Hawthorne, possible weapon involved.” The radio brings me back to from my mental DJ-ing and stops my bad singing. 415 was a disturbance. I picked up the radio and replied. &#x200B; “324 responding.” I decided against rolling lights and sirens and just gunned it. I didn't want to spook anyone. After about ten minutes, I arrive on the scene outside of a construction site near the LA river. There was nobody around, and the construction site was dimly lit. Quiet. False alarm, maybe? &#x200B; “324 on scene. Dispatch who made the call?” &#x200B; “Caller was a passerby, claimed to be wrestling with an individual in ragged, torn clothes. They claimed it looked like an animal attack.” &#x200B; Homeless fight, huh? That sucks. &#x200B; Wait, an animal attack? What the hell... &#x200B; “Shift supervisor requesting additional units and animal control to Willmington and Hawthorne.” Something at the back of my head itched. I always trusted the back of my head. It itched when a crack head swung a golf club behind my head. Ducked just in time. It itched when a group of kids plowed out of an old guys house, and then an old guy came back, dragging one of the kids with chains wrapped around him. It itched when a guy tried to stab his 3 year old who called the cops wanting to meet a real police officer. I took the guy down with a taser before he even got to his kid, and gave the kid a new, better home. &#x200B; The back of my head itched at the sound of animal attack. LA was never known for its wildlife population, nor was it known for its silence. But tonight, right where I sat, it was silent. &#x200B; I unlocked the shotgun, got out of the car, and looked around. I was alone... right? With the shotgun firmly in my hands, I listened hard and scanned the area. I heard the faintest sound of what I could describe as scratching, and breathing. I felt eyes on me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I turned, weapon raised, and looked at what I could only imagine out of a movie. A really good movie. &#x200B; Through a broken fence I saw it. It had two glowing yellow eyes. Its skin was pale, almost human looking. It was hairless and naked, except for the blood and gore around an impossibly large, wide mouth. It opened its mouth, and I could smell its breath even from the distance I stood. It smelled of death. The darkness shrouded the rest of its body. I wasn't sure at the time I was fully prepared to see the entire thing, but I had a pretty good idea that it was even more horrible. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. If I was even seeing it. All I could do was do what they had trained me to do 15 years ago. &#x200B; “LAPD! Get your hands up and get on the ground!” I forced myself to believe it was a kid in a mask, or a costume, or something, anything to rationalize what I was seeing. There was no way it was real. Next thing I know, two officers roll up behind me, guns drawn. I look over to see corporal Stensen and officer Daniels. I turned back to the suspect, only to find he was gone. &#x200B; “Sergeant! What's going on?” Corporal Stensen was a family man. He'd been on the force for about 5 years now, with dreams of being a captain. Officer Daniels was fresh out of the academy, however. This was his first day. &#x200B; What the hell was I supposed to say? Hey there's some kinda fuckin monster over there, let's go get em boys? I didn't know if what I even saw was real or not. None the less, I treated it like any dangerous call. &#x200B; “You two form up on me!” I had my shotgun raised the whole time. I heard the two of them say yes sir behind my back as I went through the hole in the fence. We approach the area where I saw it, and I don't know why, but I felt relief. I was relieved because there was a pool of blood where that thing stood. Maybe I was relieved that I wasn't losing my mind. &#x200B; “Holy shit...” Officer Daniels breathed. It was a lot of blood, that's for sure. My guess was a liter. &#x200B; “Sergeant, what the hell?” Corporal Stenson was up next to be shocked. I stared at the thick pool. Blood isn't like you see on the movies. It's thick, really thick. Someone in the academy described it as “ketchup.” They're not wrong. &#x200B; I was in thought for what felt like an eternity. I can't call SWAT for a pool of blood, and I can't exactly tell these guys what I saw. But what WAS it? It looked dangerous, and it definitely was some kind of animal. Or something. Well, it was too dangerous to call animal control now. What was in front of us was fresh. We needed to act quickly. &#x200B; It was just a few seconds after Corporal Stensen spoke that I gave the orders. &#x200B; “Call for backup. I was a perimeter and I want a helicopter. Let's see about getting a dog as well. I want whoever owns this place to give me a detailed plan of the site. I don't care who has to be woken up, wake up the CEO if you have to. Let's get it done!” &#x200B; They both nodded and we climbed through the hole again. About twenty minutes later, four more cop cars were rolling code 3 and a helicopter was in the air. We told dispatch that the animal had possibly killed a person, and the dog was to help find either the person or the animal, whichever came first. The perimeter was formed, and the other officers appeared in front of me for debrief. &#x200B; “Earlier this evening we got a 415 on the radio. Upon my arrival, we discovered a lot of blood. I was just emailed a detailed plan of the layout at the construction site. We're going to go in a grid formation and search the area. We are going to assume both the people and the animal are dangerous. I wan-” &#x200B; A scream like something out of a nightmare cut off my train of thought. It came from a woman. A few seconds later, the sound of what I would professionally call a monster tore through the night. Nobody said a word.	I carefully weighed the situation. The monster whatever it was had long since fled. Confronted with someone armed, who knew how to fight, it had decided it had drunk enough blood this harvest. Wasn’t a match for officer Duke. clever boy I think to myself. what to do about this mess?. Three dead cheerleaders and the quarterback sprawled on the bedroom floor, as stiff as the wooden beams that hang ominously overhead. How was I going to explain this? Chief will have my ass. That’s when I heard it, a rustle from under the bed. what the fuck! I drew my gun once again. Took a long step back, and a long deep breath. I dropped to my stomach. The wind left my lungs but I kept my focus. Two eyes stared back at me in the darkness, unmoving, almost human too human. “Don’t shoot me man” a voice with a strange cadence called back. it is a college town “It’s alright, I chased it off” I answered, another witness might help explain things. or at least make it seem like you didn’t just kill four white kids “Come out ok, and we can clean this shit up son” I holstered my gun, and began scanning the room again, a black circle had been drawn on the floor, in which the four other young people lay, their blood slowly oozing into the centuries old wooden floor dont build em like this anymore. I though, stamping my foot on the floor. I decided I couldn’t leave them like that though. So I took the white cloaks down from the hangers on the wall and spread them over the victims shame. Damn shame. “What’s your name boy” I ask, not bothering to turn around as I hear him standing up. “Uh, Antoine, sir.... uh, officer” he replied, with velvet on his voice, and not nearly enough respect. An idea spat into my mind. The monster was gone and I had four dead bodies to explain, and nearly a full cartridge of bullet casings around the old estate. A blade lay off to the side of one of the girls. Just out of reach. whats one more? “Hand me that would you?” I say, pointing to the knife “looks like it’s evidence” “Uh, sure sir” the stupid boy gingerly walked over to it, he bends down and places a hand around the hilt. I stand up quietly, take my pistol from its holster and point it at his back. “Turn around slowly, scum” the boy starts to laugh what? Is he laughing at me? Fucking ni... Another, lower laugh lodged in my ear. My thoughts died in an instant. Replaced only with goosebumps, on my arms and down my throat. Four too long icy fingers wrap slowly over my shoulder, piercing my skin. The warm drip of blood sauntering down my arm. ‘ARGHHHHH’ my arm is rigid from pain, but I can’t move, my gun slips through my fingers. “Fitting....” the boy is looking at me now as he speaks, those bright white teeth of his that look so wrong on his face, sparkling in the moonlight “You’d die in a house like this” I feel the knife enter my chest, pain and fear running through my veins, and out all over the room not like.... I can’t.... The blood loss is too much, I’m bleeding out. My vision is blurry, I see.... I see that fucking boy, he nods to something, to the monster it smiles, this one even wronger than the boys. It speaks, it’s voice cutting into my ears. “Cops taste the best” The thing I hear is my own voice, the last of the air used to curse these two monsters “You can’t .....do this..... To a grand w.....”
	[WP] You're a police officer in a horror movie, but actually competent.	There was a time that I didn't think about the taste of ink running through my veins, the smell of stale piss and arthritis in my fingers. But it was just so, in a small town. The town never had any incidents worse than a noisy neighbour or teenagers doing a run on the night. Sometimes a stray would rear its head or a foreigner would get lost. But nothing out of the ordinary. Paperwork was filed, submitted documented then promptly shredded after it was uploaded to the Provincial level. There always were urban myths about the old logging mills, tales that never ceased being told. Through word of mouth, through angsty teens, we would have several calls about children being lost, the odd complaint that teenagers had camped out by the mills. Anything of value that hadn't been nailed down and even some equipment that had were already removed, stolen or in disrepair. All that remained of the hallowed site was the remains of a couple of children. The Sherriff thought nothing of it. We had a federal forensic team go through our files, examined the scene and determined that the cause of their deaths was likely environmental. What that meant for the ghost-hunters was that it was supernatural. As much as we advertise that it's not a good idea to go down to the middle of the forest to a re-taken spot located on Indigenous land, people still go missing. And what do we do? File paperwork.	I carefully weighed the situation. The monster whatever it was had long since fled. Confronted with someone armed, who knew how to fight, it had decided it had drunk enough blood this harvest. Wasn’t a match for officer Duke. clever boy I think to myself. what to do about this mess?. Three dead cheerleaders and the quarterback sprawled on the bedroom floor, as stiff as the wooden beams that hang ominously overhead. How was I going to explain this? Chief will have my ass. That’s when I heard it, a rustle from under the bed. what the fuck! I drew my gun once again. Took a long step back, and a long deep breath. I dropped to my stomach. The wind left my lungs but I kept my focus. Two eyes stared back at me in the darkness, unmoving, almost human too human. “Don’t shoot me man” a voice with a strange cadence called back. it is a college town “It’s alright, I chased it off” I answered, another witness might help explain things. or at least make it seem like you didn’t just kill four white kids “Come out ok, and we can clean this shit up son” I holstered my gun, and began scanning the room again, a black circle had been drawn on the floor, in which the four other young people lay, their blood slowly oozing into the centuries old wooden floor dont build em like this anymore. I though, stamping my foot on the floor. I decided I couldn’t leave them like that though. So I took the white cloaks down from the hangers on the wall and spread them over the victims shame. Damn shame. “What’s your name boy” I ask, not bothering to turn around as I hear him standing up. “Uh, Antoine, sir.... uh, officer” he replied, with velvet on his voice, and not nearly enough respect. An idea spat into my mind. The monster was gone and I had four dead bodies to explain, and nearly a full cartridge of bullet casings around the old estate. A blade lay off to the side of one of the girls. Just out of reach. whats one more? “Hand me that would you?” I say, pointing to the knife “looks like it’s evidence” “Uh, sure sir” the stupid boy gingerly walked over to it, he bends down and places a hand around the hilt. I stand up quietly, take my pistol from its holster and point it at his back. “Turn around slowly, scum” the boy starts to laugh what? Is he laughing at me? Fucking ni... Another, lower laugh lodged in my ear. My thoughts died in an instant. Replaced only with goosebumps, on my arms and down my throat. Four too long icy fingers wrap slowly over my shoulder, piercing my skin. The warm drip of blood sauntering down my arm. ‘ARGHHHHH’ my arm is rigid from pain, but I can’t move, my gun slips through my fingers. “Fitting....” the boy is looking at me now as he speaks, those bright white teeth of his that look so wrong on his face, sparkling in the moonlight “You’d die in a house like this” I feel the knife enter my chest, pain and fear running through my veins, and out all over the room not like.... I can’t.... The blood loss is too much, I’m bleeding out. My vision is blurry, I see.... I see that fucking boy, he nods to something, to the monster it smiles, this one even wronger than the boys. It speaks, it’s voice cutting into my ears. “Cops taste the best” The thing I hear is my own voice, the last of the air used to curse these two monsters “You can’t .....do this..... To a grand w.....”
	[WP] You're a police officer in a horror movie, but actually competent.	I honestly don't know how some of these guys do it. I mean, I have suspicions, but...I'm single, not many friends, not many hobbies, so that's how I stay on top of it. These other guys, though - how can you write meaningful, well-thought-out, error-free reports when you've got all this other shit to take care of during the day and then you're with your family or at the bars or playing pickup basketball or whatever in the evenings? So of course I'm one of the only officers still in the building when the calls start coming in. Parents of five different kids from Crystal Lake High School all calling within five minutes of each other. They come down, I take their statements - knowing that this means I'm not gonna be caught up on paperwork until after midnight - and say we'll see what we can do. That was nearly the beginning of the end for me in the department, actually. I met with the Chief - this is a guy with 30+ years on the force, the guy who managed to arrest Lyle "Balloon Man" Craven ten years back during that series of oddly-staged killings. Zeke in Forensics told me at lunch one day how fucking eerie it was to be working a scene with various body parts suspended in mid-air all around you. Look, bottom line, Chief is not some policy guy who has never done anything in the field. He's seen some shit. And yet... First thing he tells me when I let him know about the calls was that it was probably a coincidence, that the teens were all up at Makeout Point and the parents were just over-reacting. I nearly put a hole in my tongue from biting it so hard. I'm not that young but kids don't go to Makeout Point these days any more than they go down to the soda stand to split a milkshake before the frickin' sock hop. But instead of talking about that, I show him the video - forwarded to my cell from the cell of one of the parents, although they all said they got a copy. I watch Chief's face as he watches the screen, doing my level best not to conjure up the visuals that accompany the whirring of power tools that doesn't quite overpower the mixture of sobbing and screaming coming from the speaker. It ends, and he looks at me, and he says - hand to God - he says, "Probably one of those prank videos." I'm not sure what face I must be making, but whatever it is, it makes him feel like he needs to elaborate. "You know, like the kids are making these days with the SnapTweets and whatnot." First off, no way in hell any of those teenagers have the resources to stage that. A multi-million dollar budget, and access to a Hollywood studio, and maybe I could see it being fake. But the other thing is...like, I've talked to plenty of kids that age before. They're garbage at lying. They can be dramatic, sure, but not...the biggest guy in the group, the one who's left for last...when he's begging for it to stop, and starts calling for his God-damned mother...there is a desperation there, a dropping of any pretense that he's not just a little child in a man's body. No way he does that as part of a prank. And let's be real - if they were doing something like that, the last people they would show it to would be their fucking parents. I try explaining it to the guys, and one of them says, "Lighten up, man, it's obviously a joke. I did stuff just like that when I was their age." And I ask him to name one thing that he did that is anywhere remotely in the same ballpark as what the kids did, and he hits me with taking all the chairs out of the cafeteria and putting them on the roof. And I want to ask him in what we he thinks that is just like the two-minute and thirty-seven second visceral nightmare that is the cell phone clip but I realize, as I look around the room and see all the nodding heads, that it's no use. So I'm driving up to Orphan's Haunt Road so I can investigate what actually happened. Everyone else thought it would be a waste of time. But I know better. And I am well aware of how stupid it would be to go alone, which is why I called in an anonymous tip a minute ago that I had seen a black guy who looked like he was on drugs wandering around the Craven family's old abandoned cabin. Because logically, if the video's legit, then the murder must have sent it out. And if he did that, he probably did it expecting the police to come. I mean, I feel a little bad about using them as cannon fodder like this...but it's funny, because as I'm thinking about it, I don't think I could tell you their names or anything. It's like they're just those background characters who are just there to sell how dangerous a situation really is without doing any harm to the main character, and their one line is "This is ridiculous, there's nothing up heEEARARRGGHGHH" or whatever. Meanwhile, I'm going to be some distance away, with the doors locked, the engine running, and multiple escape routes available to me. Just because I'm surrounded by amateurs doesn't mean I have to act like one.	I carefully weighed the situation. The monster whatever it was had long since fled. Confronted with someone armed, who knew how to fight, it had decided it had drunk enough blood this harvest. Wasn’t a match for officer Duke. clever boy I think to myself. what to do about this mess?. Three dead cheerleaders and the quarterback sprawled on the bedroom floor, as stiff as the wooden beams that hang ominously overhead. How was I going to explain this? Chief will have my ass. That’s when I heard it, a rustle from under the bed. what the fuck! I drew my gun once again. Took a long step back, and a long deep breath. I dropped to my stomach. The wind left my lungs but I kept my focus. Two eyes stared back at me in the darkness, unmoving, almost human too human. “Don’t shoot me man” a voice with a strange cadence called back. it is a college town “It’s alright, I chased it off” I answered, another witness might help explain things. or at least make it seem like you didn’t just kill four white kids “Come out ok, and we can clean this shit up son” I holstered my gun, and began scanning the room again, a black circle had been drawn on the floor, in which the four other young people lay, their blood slowly oozing into the centuries old wooden floor dont build em like this anymore. I though, stamping my foot on the floor. I decided I couldn’t leave them like that though. So I took the white cloaks down from the hangers on the wall and spread them over the victims shame. Damn shame. “What’s your name boy” I ask, not bothering to turn around as I hear him standing up. “Uh, Antoine, sir.... uh, officer” he replied, with velvet on his voice, and not nearly enough respect. An idea spat into my mind. The monster was gone and I had four dead bodies to explain, and nearly a full cartridge of bullet casings around the old estate. A blade lay off to the side of one of the girls. Just out of reach. whats one more? “Hand me that would you?” I say, pointing to the knife “looks like it’s evidence” “Uh, sure sir” the stupid boy gingerly walked over to it, he bends down and places a hand around the hilt. I stand up quietly, take my pistol from its holster and point it at his back. “Turn around slowly, scum” the boy starts to laugh what? Is he laughing at me? Fucking ni... Another, lower laugh lodged in my ear. My thoughts died in an instant. Replaced only with goosebumps, on my arms and down my throat. Four too long icy fingers wrap slowly over my shoulder, piercing my skin. The warm drip of blood sauntering down my arm. ‘ARGHHHHH’ my arm is rigid from pain, but I can’t move, my gun slips through my fingers. “Fitting....” the boy is looking at me now as he speaks, those bright white teeth of his that look so wrong on his face, sparkling in the moonlight “You’d die in a house like this” I feel the knife enter my chest, pain and fear running through my veins, and out all over the room not like.... I can’t.... The blood loss is too much, I’m bleeding out. My vision is blurry, I see.... I see that fucking boy, he nods to something, to the monster it smiles, this one even wronger than the boys. It speaks, it’s voice cutting into my ears. “Cops taste the best” The thing I hear is my own voice, the last of the air used to curse these two monsters “You can’t .....do this..... To a grand w.....”
	[WP] You're a police officer in a horror movie, but actually competent.	The scent in the patrol car was an exotic mix of chemical cleaner, stale farts, and Mexican food. My partner, Stanley, was tapping her hand on the passenger window in time with the rhythm of the rain. "You know...", she said, nursing her coffee cup, "the biggest cop killer is heart disease. All that grease is gonna take 20 years off your life." "Mmmpf." I grunted dismissively between mouthfuls of burrito. "Who would want 20 more years of my life? Besides, I love this place. But you can buy lunch tomorrow." Stanley snorted. "No one else is open at one in the morning." "Yeah, exactly." Jamesville, Oregon, was a one-stoplight town. We were lucky the little tacqueria was open at all, and doubly lucky that they gave cops free coffee. The radio crackled. "210, dispatch." I plucked the handset off the dash. It was Wednesday night. Weekdays were usually quiet, but like any other rural Northwest town we saw our share of domestic incidents and tweaker rampages at odd hours. Often the two phenomena were correlated. "Dispatch, 210, go ahead?" "We had a 911 call from Camp Explorer off 23. County dispatcher thought she heard someone speaking or breathing, but the call cut off right away. You know where that is?" "Yeah, my kids went there. 210, responding." I put the cruiser in gear and pulled out onto the road. "Hey, uh, we might not have any reception up there. Can we get another car or two?" Camp Explorer was nestled in a little valley, right up against the national forest, and our radios didn't always play well with the mountains. We were in a bad position. A disconnected 911 call was usually an accident, but if it wasn't, the most likely case was a medical emergency, which we weren't really prepared to handle. The nearest hospital was over an hour away. Out here, if someone was hurt we'd probably have to call in a life flight. "Roger 210, I'll see what I can do. Over." "'Preciate it, if you don't hear from us in two hours, send everybody. State, fire, EMS, national guard, Green Berets." Stanley sighed. "Let's hope some teenager just butt-dialed 911." "Yeah, I mean, no. No cell phone service up there. Someone picked it up and dialed." - By the time we'd pulled off of highway 23, the rain had stopped. The camp was only about 30 miles from town, but the last 10 of those was gravel forest service road. I drove slowly and evenly as the headlights cast the shadows of hanging fir and cedar limbs over the rising post-rain fog. More than once I caught the glowing eyes of an animal in the corner of my vision, where the headlights met the dense brush at the side of the road. My kids had stayed here a couple summers ago - even in the dark, I recognized the turnoff, and a few hundred yards later, the Camp Explorer signpost and the carved wooden totem. We pulled ahead to the empty guest parking lot. "No one home." Stanley said. There was an edge of something in her voice. "The season just ended. Employee parking's up this way." I nosed the car forward slowly. I thought about turning the blue lights on, but didn't. The car brushed under a hanging tree branch. It sounded like nails on a chalkboard. The employee lot was a third full. A couple decade old trucks and high-mileage SUVs, and a beater sedan. Pretty typical for broke 20-something councillors. The trucks were loaded down with tools and hardware. Must've been doing end-of-season maintenance. I shut the cruiser off, and flicked off the headlights. There was just enough ambient light through the clouds to make out the outline of the camp office. Full moon. "Shouldn't there be lights on?" "Yeah." I said. There was a lightpost between us and the camp office, but it, and all the windows, were dark. I tried to check in with dispatch, but was met with only static. "Maybe a tree fell, took the power out?" "Maybe. But let's check it out. Stay close." We got out of the car and started towards the office, Stanley on my right, scanning the woods with her flashlight, one hand on her holstered weapon. "This place is creeping me out." "Yeah." A few yards from the car, I fet her squeeze my upper arm, hard. I stopped dead. Her voice was a whisper. "The door." The camp office door wasn't visible from the lot, but as we rounded the corner of the building, we could see that the door had been broken inward, and what was left of it was hanging splintered from the hinges. Something very red and wet was smeared across the green paneling. "Turn your light off." I hissed. "Back to the car. I got our backs." We both dropped into a crouch-walk, my left hand on the back of her shoulder to keep us together while I covered the door with my weapon. We made it to the side of the cruiser, staying low, and Stanley covered me while I tried the radio again. Only static. "What the hell do we do?" "We have to get out of this canyon and call in. We have to wait for back..." A bloodcurdling shriek from somewhere out of the darkness cut me off. It was close, and very human. Stanley and I swiveled our heads around the parking lot, trying to make out something, anything, in the dark forest beyond, but even with a full moon it was like staring into a black hole. "Ok. Change of plans. Someone's in trouble." "By walking into a fucking slasher movie?" "Well we're not gonna stroll in and ask Freddy Krueger for ID and a breathalyzer. But yeah. We got a job to do."	I carefully weighed the situation. The monster whatever it was had long since fled. Confronted with someone armed, who knew how to fight, it had decided it had drunk enough blood this harvest. Wasn’t a match for officer Duke. clever boy I think to myself. what to do about this mess?. Three dead cheerleaders and the quarterback sprawled on the bedroom floor, as stiff as the wooden beams that hang ominously overhead. How was I going to explain this? Chief will have my ass. That’s when I heard it, a rustle from under the bed. what the fuck! I drew my gun once again. Took a long step back, and a long deep breath. I dropped to my stomach. The wind left my lungs but I kept my focus. Two eyes stared back at me in the darkness, unmoving, almost human too human. “Don’t shoot me man” a voice with a strange cadence called back. it is a college town “It’s alright, I chased it off” I answered, another witness might help explain things. or at least make it seem like you didn’t just kill four white kids “Come out ok, and we can clean this shit up son” I holstered my gun, and began scanning the room again, a black circle had been drawn on the floor, in which the four other young people lay, their blood slowly oozing into the centuries old wooden floor dont build em like this anymore. I though, stamping my foot on the floor. I decided I couldn’t leave them like that though. So I took the white cloaks down from the hangers on the wall and spread them over the victims shame. Damn shame. “What’s your name boy” I ask, not bothering to turn around as I hear him standing up. “Uh, Antoine, sir.... uh, officer” he replied, with velvet on his voice, and not nearly enough respect. An idea spat into my mind. The monster was gone and I had four dead bodies to explain, and nearly a full cartridge of bullet casings around the old estate. A blade lay off to the side of one of the girls. Just out of reach. whats one more? “Hand me that would you?” I say, pointing to the knife “looks like it’s evidence” “Uh, sure sir” the stupid boy gingerly walked over to it, he bends down and places a hand around the hilt. I stand up quietly, take my pistol from its holster and point it at his back. “Turn around slowly, scum” the boy starts to laugh what? Is he laughing at me? Fucking ni... Another, lower laugh lodged in my ear. My thoughts died in an instant. Replaced only with goosebumps, on my arms and down my throat. Four too long icy fingers wrap slowly over my shoulder, piercing my skin. The warm drip of blood sauntering down my arm. ‘ARGHHHHH’ my arm is rigid from pain, but I can’t move, my gun slips through my fingers. “Fitting....” the boy is looking at me now as he speaks, those bright white teeth of his that look so wrong on his face, sparkling in the moonlight “You’d die in a house like this” I feel the knife enter my chest, pain and fear running through my veins, and out all over the room not like.... I can’t.... The blood loss is too much, I’m bleeding out. My vision is blurry, I see.... I see that fucking boy, he nods to something, to the monster it smiles, this one even wronger than the boys. It speaks, it’s voice cutting into my ears. “Cops taste the best” The thing I hear is my own voice, the last of the air used to curse these two monsters “You can’t .....do this..... To a grand w.....”
	[WP] You're a police officer in a horror movie, but actually competent.	\---Verbal Report transcript of 415, construction site located at Hawthorne Boulevard and Wilmington Avenue, November 7th, 2018. Unnamed Sergeant Shift Supervisor interview.--- &#x200B; "Camera is on... go ahead and start wherever you'd like." &#x200B; I've been workin the beat for 15 years now. LAPD. I never wanted to do anything more. I always hear my coworkers saying they get into all kinds of crazy scraps where they were glad their gun was ready to save them. Me? I was one of the very few officers who had never drawn his gun. I'm no slug, and I've gotten into plenty of scraps, but it's just something that happens. &#x200B; Until yesterday, at least. This is the Shift Supervisor at precinct 43 giving a verbal report of the events that happened yesterday, November 7th. My name is being omitted for departmental reasons. &#x200B; I was working the night shift. I always liked the night shift, just because of the crazy shit that happens. If something weird is gonna happen, it's gonna happen on the night shift. It's different every time. I was promoted to sergeant just last month, and I was given the all clear: this was my first night alone as shift supervisor. &#x200B; Now when you're shift supervisor, you need to be available when called. You let the grunts do traffic stops and handle domestics, things like that. Anytime a shift supervisor is requested, you need to be there. Night shift? Hah. Pull your own weight, mister big shot. &#x200B; “Unit 324, 10-8, shift supervisor on site.” I said on the radio. &#x200B; “Copy 324, have a good shift.” That was Matt on dispatch. Matt always said that. Nice guy. &#x200B; “Thanks, Matt.” I said to nobody. I check the squad car top to bottom, back to front. No contraband, and no bodily fluids. All clear, and I load it up. I check the ammunition and the AR-15 and shotgun. All locked up, fully loaded, ready to go. Doubt I'll ever need it, but I'm not an idiot. Just because I never used my gun out in the field doesn't mean I'm careless. &#x200B; My night begins at 2200 hours. I begin my loop, starting at the five, and work my way down to Monterey Park. The usual radio chatter is my music of the night. Alarms, break ins, druggies, and trespassing, the usual LA night. In my head I'm playing the music from my car: A mix of dad rock and some Russian music I heard on the internet. &#x200B; “Unit 324, respond to a 415 at Wilmington and Hawthorne, possible weapon involved.” The radio brings me back to from my mental DJ-ing and stops my bad singing. 415 was a disturbance. I picked up the radio and replied. &#x200B; “324 responding.” I decided against rolling lights and sirens and just gunned it. I didn't want to spook anyone. After about ten minutes, I arrive on the scene outside of a construction site near the LA river. There was nobody around, and the construction site was dimly lit. Quiet. False alarm, maybe? &#x200B; “324 on scene. Dispatch who made the call?” &#x200B; “Caller was a passerby, claimed to be wrestling with an individual in ragged, torn clothes. They claimed it looked like an animal attack.” &#x200B; Homeless fight, huh? That sucks. &#x200B; Wait, an animal attack? What the hell... &#x200B; “Shift supervisor requesting additional units and animal control to Willmington and Hawthorne.” Something at the back of my head itched. I always trusted the back of my head. It itched when a crack head swung a golf club behind my head. Ducked just in time. It itched when a group of kids plowed out of an old guys house, and then an old guy came back, dragging one of the kids with chains wrapped around him. It itched when a guy tried to stab his 3 year old who called the cops wanting to meet a real police officer. I took the guy down with a taser before he even got to his kid, and gave the kid a new, better home. &#x200B; The back of my head itched at the sound of animal attack. LA was never known for its wildlife population, nor was it known for its silence. But tonight, right where I sat, it was silent. &#x200B; I unlocked the shotgun, got out of the car, and looked around. I was alone... right? With the shotgun firmly in my hands, I listened hard and scanned the area. I heard the faintest sound of what I could describe as scratching, and breathing. I felt eyes on me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I turned, weapon raised, and looked at what I could only imagine out of a movie. A really good movie. &#x200B; Through a broken fence I saw it. It had two glowing yellow eyes. Its skin was pale, almost human looking. It was hairless and naked, except for the blood and gore around an impossibly large, wide mouth. It opened its mouth, and I could smell its breath even from the distance I stood. It smelled of death. The darkness shrouded the rest of its body. I wasn't sure at the time I was fully prepared to see the entire thing, but I had a pretty good idea that it was even more horrible. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. If I was even seeing it. All I could do was do what they had trained me to do 15 years ago. &#x200B; “LAPD! Get your hands up and get on the ground!” I forced myself to believe it was a kid in a mask, or a costume, or something, anything to rationalize what I was seeing. There was no way it was real. Next thing I know, two officers roll up behind me, guns drawn. I look over to see corporal Stensen and officer Daniels. I turned back to the suspect, only to find he was gone. &#x200B; “Sergeant! What's going on?” Corporal Stensen was a family man. He'd been on the force for about 5 years now, with dreams of being a captain. Officer Daniels was fresh out of the academy, however. This was his first day. &#x200B; What the hell was I supposed to say? Hey there's some kinda fuckin monster over there, let's go get em boys? I didn't know if what I even saw was real or not. None the less, I treated it like any dangerous call. &#x200B; “You two form up on me!” I had my shotgun raised the whole time. I heard the two of them say yes sir behind my back as I went through the hole in the fence. We approach the area where I saw it, and I don't know why, but I felt relief. I was relieved because there was a pool of blood where that thing stood. Maybe I was relieved that I wasn't losing my mind. &#x200B; “Holy shit...” Officer Daniels breathed. It was a lot of blood, that's for sure. My guess was a liter. &#x200B; “Sergeant, what the hell?” Corporal Stenson was up next to be shocked. I stared at the thick pool. Blood isn't like you see on the movies. It's thick, really thick. Someone in the academy described it as “ketchup.” They're not wrong. &#x200B; I was in thought for what felt like an eternity. I can't call SWAT for a pool of blood, and I can't exactly tell these guys what I saw. But what WAS it? It looked dangerous, and it definitely was some kind of animal. Or something. Well, it was too dangerous to call animal control now. What was in front of us was fresh. We needed to act quickly. &#x200B; It was just a few seconds after Corporal Stensen spoke that I gave the orders. &#x200B; “Call for backup. I was a perimeter and I want a helicopter. Let's see about getting a dog as well. I want whoever owns this place to give me a detailed plan of the site. I don't care who has to be woken up, wake up the CEO if you have to. Let's get it done!” &#x200B; They both nodded and we climbed through the hole again. About twenty minutes later, four more cop cars were rolling code 3 and a helicopter was in the air. We told dispatch that the animal had possibly killed a person, and the dog was to help find either the person or the animal, whichever came first. The perimeter was formed, and the other officers appeared in front of me for debrief. &#x200B; “Earlier this evening we got a 415 on the radio. Upon my arrival, we discovered a lot of blood. I was just emailed a detailed plan of the layout at the construction site. We're going to go in a grid formation and search the area. We are going to assume both the people and the animal are dangerous. I wan-” &#x200B; A scream like something out of a nightmare cut off my train of thought. It came from a woman. A few seconds later, the sound of what I would professionally call a monster tore through the night. Nobody said a word.	Some weird things have been going on lately. I don’t know if it’s the start of fall, the cool air, or the Halloween spirit (no pun intended) coming early. I pulled my squad car up to the convenient store. It was my regular stop in the early morning, but I due to lack of officers in our town, I was working night shift tonight as well. I looked at the time. 1:51 AM. I yawned and shook my head awake before opening my heavy door into the cold Wisconsin evening. The door made a jingle and the cashier looked up at me. “Evening Chuck.” He says. “It’s far past evening Rodney.” I respond. “Ah, fair enough. Time flies I guess.” “Quiet night for you?” I ask. “Yeah, I’d say so. Say I’ve heard there’s been some weird things happening around town.” “Hah, you and everyone’s mother knows that.” I laugh, but not out of amusement. Some pretty serious stuff had been going on lately. “Like I hear people are getting bit in the neck and stuff.” “Yeah, probably vampires.” I say as I pull the lever on the coffee machine and take a sip of it. “Vampires usually do that stuff.” I say. “Well, hopefully you can find them, I don’t want anybody in my family dying.” I laugh. “I’m no doctor but wouldn’t it be amusing because the vampire died due to taking somebody’s blood that had a disease in it?” Rodney shakes his head. “Look man that’s messed up Chuck. Anyway just take the coffee I was gonna dump it out anyway.” I smirk and grin at him. “Thanks. It tastes fine. Have a good night Rod.” “You too Chuck.” The door jingles and closes and the cold brisk air whips across my face. I curse myself for staying in this place. I could have moved a long time ago away from this cold. But, I’m still here. Anyway, Rodney’s a good kid. His dad’s been in jail a couple of times but aye, I don’t hold parental problems against the kid. I sit back down in my car and turn on my radio. beep “Chuck this is hq do you read me?”beep “Ah roger yes I read ya.” beep “I’ve been trying to contact you for five minutes now. We have a attempted burglary in at 1513 Carmichael street. Get there pronto and go in quietly!” beep “10-4 I’ll be there shortly.” I had a bad feeling about this. Vampires had already broken into a house two days ago, and it was a similar call to this one. I tried to keep my mind straight as I sped down the quiet town streets. There were no other cars out, the traffic lights were flashing, and screw this cold air. I turned onto another road and accelerated down the street. The house was less than a mile away. I had to get there, I had to stop them in before they got another victim. I pulled my car up to the curb and came to a stop. I kept my hand on my firearm holster and grabbed my flashlight. I tried to turn it on. Nothing. The batteries were out. “Shit!” I mumble. I bang the flashlight on my gloves. It flickers on. “Awh yeah.” I say. I turn my mind back into the break in. I begin to walk towards the front of the house. It seems quite dark. No lights are on. I call out on my walkie. “Hq, this house seems abandoned. It’s totally dark” bleep “Sorry Chuck, you gotta go in. We got a 9-1-1 call from the address.” bleep I gulp. “Can I get the owners phone number?” bleep A pause. “Yeah are you ready?” I sigh as he gives me the phone number I dial it up and an old lady calls. “He..llo?” “Hi ma’am this is Officer Chuck with the police department. Did you call regarding a home break in?” “Ye...yes, I did. I saw some awful faces peering in my house. My door was locked praise Jesus but I felt like they could walk right through my walls. Could you just... just double check the property for me?” I sigh a sigh of relief. “Sure thing ma’am. You have a nice night.” bleep my walkie. “Chuck speaking.” “Chuck, turns out that house IS abandoned. You were right.” bleep. I gulped. “Uh, I just talked with an old lady.” “Old lady Reese? She passed a year ago.” I glanced up at the old house and slowly began to walk backwards. I ran to my squad car and quickly accelerated. I said a couple of prayers and threw on my radio. “Hq this is chuck. I got the hell away from that place. Something... something about it ain’t right.” bleep. “Well Chuck, something about this whole town ain’t right, and I can’t seem to figure it out either. Anyway, stay safe Chuck.” bleep By the Lord’s will I’ll try. I’ll try. (PS I was procrastinating sleep so sorry for any typos etc.)
	[WP] You're a police officer in a horror movie, but actually competent.	\---Verbal Report transcript of 415, construction site located at Hawthorne Boulevard and Wilmington Avenue, November 7th, 2018. Unnamed Sergeant Shift Supervisor interview.--- &#x200B; "Camera is on... go ahead and start wherever you'd like." &#x200B; I've been workin the beat for 15 years now. LAPD. I never wanted to do anything more. I always hear my coworkers saying they get into all kinds of crazy scraps where they were glad their gun was ready to save them. Me? I was one of the very few officers who had never drawn his gun. I'm no slug, and I've gotten into plenty of scraps, but it's just something that happens. &#x200B; Until yesterday, at least. This is the Shift Supervisor at precinct 43 giving a verbal report of the events that happened yesterday, November 7th. My name is being omitted for departmental reasons. &#x200B; I was working the night shift. I always liked the night shift, just because of the crazy shit that happens. If something weird is gonna happen, it's gonna happen on the night shift. It's different every time. I was promoted to sergeant just last month, and I was given the all clear: this was my first night alone as shift supervisor. &#x200B; Now when you're shift supervisor, you need to be available when called. You let the grunts do traffic stops and handle domestics, things like that. Anytime a shift supervisor is requested, you need to be there. Night shift? Hah. Pull your own weight, mister big shot. &#x200B; “Unit 324, 10-8, shift supervisor on site.” I said on the radio. &#x200B; “Copy 324, have a good shift.” That was Matt on dispatch. Matt always said that. Nice guy. &#x200B; “Thanks, Matt.” I said to nobody. I check the squad car top to bottom, back to front. No contraband, and no bodily fluids. All clear, and I load it up. I check the ammunition and the AR-15 and shotgun. All locked up, fully loaded, ready to go. Doubt I'll ever need it, but I'm not an idiot. Just because I never used my gun out in the field doesn't mean I'm careless. &#x200B; My night begins at 2200 hours. I begin my loop, starting at the five, and work my way down to Monterey Park. The usual radio chatter is my music of the night. Alarms, break ins, druggies, and trespassing, the usual LA night. In my head I'm playing the music from my car: A mix of dad rock and some Russian music I heard on the internet. &#x200B; “Unit 324, respond to a 415 at Wilmington and Hawthorne, possible weapon involved.” The radio brings me back to from my mental DJ-ing and stops my bad singing. 415 was a disturbance. I picked up the radio and replied. &#x200B; “324 responding.” I decided against rolling lights and sirens and just gunned it. I didn't want to spook anyone. After about ten minutes, I arrive on the scene outside of a construction site near the LA river. There was nobody around, and the construction site was dimly lit. Quiet. False alarm, maybe? &#x200B; “324 on scene. Dispatch who made the call?” &#x200B; “Caller was a passerby, claimed to be wrestling with an individual in ragged, torn clothes. They claimed it looked like an animal attack.” &#x200B; Homeless fight, huh? That sucks. &#x200B; Wait, an animal attack? What the hell... &#x200B; “Shift supervisor requesting additional units and animal control to Willmington and Hawthorne.” Something at the back of my head itched. I always trusted the back of my head. It itched when a crack head swung a golf club behind my head. Ducked just in time. It itched when a group of kids plowed out of an old guys house, and then an old guy came back, dragging one of the kids with chains wrapped around him. It itched when a guy tried to stab his 3 year old who called the cops wanting to meet a real police officer. I took the guy down with a taser before he even got to his kid, and gave the kid a new, better home. &#x200B; The back of my head itched at the sound of animal attack. LA was never known for its wildlife population, nor was it known for its silence. But tonight, right where I sat, it was silent. &#x200B; I unlocked the shotgun, got out of the car, and looked around. I was alone... right? With the shotgun firmly in my hands, I listened hard and scanned the area. I heard the faintest sound of what I could describe as scratching, and breathing. I felt eyes on me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I turned, weapon raised, and looked at what I could only imagine out of a movie. A really good movie. &#x200B; Through a broken fence I saw it. It had two glowing yellow eyes. Its skin was pale, almost human looking. It was hairless and naked, except for the blood and gore around an impossibly large, wide mouth. It opened its mouth, and I could smell its breath even from the distance I stood. It smelled of death. The darkness shrouded the rest of its body. I wasn't sure at the time I was fully prepared to see the entire thing, but I had a pretty good idea that it was even more horrible. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. If I was even seeing it. All I could do was do what they had trained me to do 15 years ago. &#x200B; “LAPD! Get your hands up and get on the ground!” I forced myself to believe it was a kid in a mask, or a costume, or something, anything to rationalize what I was seeing. There was no way it was real. Next thing I know, two officers roll up behind me, guns drawn. I look over to see corporal Stensen and officer Daniels. I turned back to the suspect, only to find he was gone. &#x200B; “Sergeant! What's going on?” Corporal Stensen was a family man. He'd been on the force for about 5 years now, with dreams of being a captain. Officer Daniels was fresh out of the academy, however. This was his first day. &#x200B; What the hell was I supposed to say? Hey there's some kinda fuckin monster over there, let's go get em boys? I didn't know if what I even saw was real or not. None the less, I treated it like any dangerous call. &#x200B; “You two form up on me!” I had my shotgun raised the whole time. I heard the two of them say yes sir behind my back as I went through the hole in the fence. We approach the area where I saw it, and I don't know why, but I felt relief. I was relieved because there was a pool of blood where that thing stood. Maybe I was relieved that I wasn't losing my mind. &#x200B; “Holy shit...” Officer Daniels breathed. It was a lot of blood, that's for sure. My guess was a liter. &#x200B; “Sergeant, what the hell?” Corporal Stenson was up next to be shocked. I stared at the thick pool. Blood isn't like you see on the movies. It's thick, really thick. Someone in the academy described it as “ketchup.” They're not wrong. &#x200B; I was in thought for what felt like an eternity. I can't call SWAT for a pool of blood, and I can't exactly tell these guys what I saw. But what WAS it? It looked dangerous, and it definitely was some kind of animal. Or something. Well, it was too dangerous to call animal control now. What was in front of us was fresh. We needed to act quickly. &#x200B; It was just a few seconds after Corporal Stensen spoke that I gave the orders. &#x200B; “Call for backup. I was a perimeter and I want a helicopter. Let's see about getting a dog as well. I want whoever owns this place to give me a detailed plan of the site. I don't care who has to be woken up, wake up the CEO if you have to. Let's get it done!” &#x200B; They both nodded and we climbed through the hole again. About twenty minutes later, four more cop cars were rolling code 3 and a helicopter was in the air. We told dispatch that the animal had possibly killed a person, and the dog was to help find either the person or the animal, whichever came first. The perimeter was formed, and the other officers appeared in front of me for debrief. &#x200B; “Earlier this evening we got a 415 on the radio. Upon my arrival, we discovered a lot of blood. I was just emailed a detailed plan of the layout at the construction site. We're going to go in a grid formation and search the area. We are going to assume both the people and the animal are dangerous. I wan-” &#x200B; A scream like something out of a nightmare cut off my train of thought. It came from a woman. A few seconds later, the sound of what I would professionally call a monster tore through the night. Nobody said a word.	I've been on this case for some time. Nut job left a trail of blood a mile wide (figuratively speaking, but not by much) all across the city. It started with him killing some kids at a camp. Not just killing them, but butchering them in terrible ways. One he shot through the eye with a crossbow (ok, crossbow bolt), one he burned alive in her sleeping bag, one he stabbed dozens of times before breaking his spine. On that last one, I'm no expert, but I think the guy was dead before the mad man broke his spine. Not sure why the killer broke the kid's spine - could be some kind of anger issue. This I only pieced together after the end of the case, but now is the time to mention it. One kid survived, claiming the mad man had drowned. Did the local sheriff dredge the river to recover the body? Nope - pure incompetence. The claim was this mad man was the ghost or zombie or something of a kid who died years earlier at the camp - drowned. DID THEY DREDGE THE RIVER FOR THE BODY? Nope. What in the actual F? So this killer somehow gets on a boat, don't ask me how, kills most of the people in transit, then gets lose in my city. That's where I come in. He about a half dozen people here - one he knocked the guy's head off like some Rock'em Sock'em robot - I kid you not. Now I'm in a factory - long abandoned dark place - looking around because some bystander claimed he saw the guy come in here. The bystander is a drunk - I take what I can get in the witness department, but this looks like a dead end. My partner is outside, in case the mad man is in here and tries to leave. I'm flashing my light around, looking for a light switch. Maybe the lights still work. Ah, there's a switch. Click - they work! WTF - some big goon is right in front of me, swings a big sickle down. I scream, lifting my arms as if that will help. He swings right through my arm and head, splitting it in two. Good grief, that would have hurt, I think. Good thing for translocation. Oh, I forgot to mention. I can translocate - switch positions from one place to another, leaving a kind of empty clone of myself in the spot I just left. The clone crumples as the zombie pulls the sickle free. Geeze, this guy is big, like 6'7", and he's thick, huge. But now I have the drop on him. "Freeze," I yell. The guy turns around . He's wearing a mask with a big gash across the forehead. There's blood on the mask. Is this guy for real? "Freeze" I say again, "or I'll shoot." I'm fumbling for the button on my walkie, calling in my partner to complete this arrest. But the guy takes a step toward me. Forgetting the walkie for a second, I empty my gun into him - he stops, holes in his torso smoking - but there's no blood to speak of. He tilts his head at a weird angle. Is this guy some kind of zombie? This isn't a slinger's gun - now it's empty. What would it matter even if it wasn't? The bullets didn't do a thing. I have my bare hands, and this hulking...zombie, I'm calling him a zombie...has a sickle, or whatever it is. He starts forward again. I turn fast, start running. There's not much Qi here to work with - that's been a problem since I arrived. Translocation takes it out of me. I'm running and thinking., careful with my steps in this place. It's full of debris and old equipment. Falling could put me in real trouble - injury, or let this goon catch up to me. Call my partner? Nah, he'd just get killed. Run out? Nah, the zombie would just chase me, probably kill my partner. Turn and fight? I'll need the Qi if I have to translocate again, but if I don't stop this zombie now, this could go on all night. I need a weapon - preferably a sword - I'm not bad with a sword. There won't be a sword laying around in an old factory. Up some steps - he's still following. Through a door - he's still following. Down some other stairs - still following, catching up. There's what I need. I pick up a steel pipe. Zombie man has caught me, He swings down, his blow nothing but power. Well, sometimes it really is easy. My first swing takes the sickle off the thick pole that holds it, sending the blade flying. Now the zombie has a wooden pole, and I have a thick pipe. He's bigger than me, stronger, probably? undead, hard to kill - er destroy. What do you call it when you kill an undead something? Destroy? Hard isn't impossible. His second swing would have broken bone if it had landed. But instead I catch it with the pipe - pole breaks. My next swing knocks the pole out of his hand. Rudimentary swings, that's all I'm doing, but, ok, very fast. Thwack - his mask is cracked - ugly mofo. Crack - one arm broken. Thwack - knee crushed. He's still coming, hobbling on one leg. Crunch, Thud - whatever, I can't come up with unique names for the sounds of the pipe breaking and crushing his bones into a pulp. He finally falls to the ground, but he's still twitching. I run for the sickle blade, cut him into pieces. Isn't that how you take out a zombie? Of course, the head is the first to go - cut off. This blade is sharp. I'm good with sharp blades. Now he's in pieces, but I'm not taking my eyes off this pile. I've seen zombies reform. I call my partner on the walkie. Between he and I, he knows some shit goes down around me. He'll bring what's needed. I saw an old furnace in this place when I was running.
	[WP] You're a police officer in a horror movie, but actually competent.	\---Verbal Report transcript of 415, construction site located at Hawthorne Boulevard and Wilmington Avenue, November 7th, 2018. Unnamed Sergeant Shift Supervisor interview.--- &#x200B; "Camera is on... go ahead and start wherever you'd like." &#x200B; I've been workin the beat for 15 years now. LAPD. I never wanted to do anything more. I always hear my coworkers saying they get into all kinds of crazy scraps where they were glad their gun was ready to save them. Me? I was one of the very few officers who had never drawn his gun. I'm no slug, and I've gotten into plenty of scraps, but it's just something that happens. &#x200B; Until yesterday, at least. This is the Shift Supervisor at precinct 43 giving a verbal report of the events that happened yesterday, November 7th. My name is being omitted for departmental reasons. &#x200B; I was working the night shift. I always liked the night shift, just because of the crazy shit that happens. If something weird is gonna happen, it's gonna happen on the night shift. It's different every time. I was promoted to sergeant just last month, and I was given the all clear: this was my first night alone as shift supervisor. &#x200B; Now when you're shift supervisor, you need to be available when called. You let the grunts do traffic stops and handle domestics, things like that. Anytime a shift supervisor is requested, you need to be there. Night shift? Hah. Pull your own weight, mister big shot. &#x200B; “Unit 324, 10-8, shift supervisor on site.” I said on the radio. &#x200B; “Copy 324, have a good shift.” That was Matt on dispatch. Matt always said that. Nice guy. &#x200B; “Thanks, Matt.” I said to nobody. I check the squad car top to bottom, back to front. No contraband, and no bodily fluids. All clear, and I load it up. I check the ammunition and the AR-15 and shotgun. All locked up, fully loaded, ready to go. Doubt I'll ever need it, but I'm not an idiot. Just because I never used my gun out in the field doesn't mean I'm careless. &#x200B; My night begins at 2200 hours. I begin my loop, starting at the five, and work my way down to Monterey Park. The usual radio chatter is my music of the night. Alarms, break ins, druggies, and trespassing, the usual LA night. In my head I'm playing the music from my car: A mix of dad rock and some Russian music I heard on the internet. &#x200B; “Unit 324, respond to a 415 at Wilmington and Hawthorne, possible weapon involved.” The radio brings me back to from my mental DJ-ing and stops my bad singing. 415 was a disturbance. I picked up the radio and replied. &#x200B; “324 responding.” I decided against rolling lights and sirens and just gunned it. I didn't want to spook anyone. After about ten minutes, I arrive on the scene outside of a construction site near the LA river. There was nobody around, and the construction site was dimly lit. Quiet. False alarm, maybe? &#x200B; “324 on scene. Dispatch who made the call?” &#x200B; “Caller was a passerby, claimed to be wrestling with an individual in ragged, torn clothes. They claimed it looked like an animal attack.” &#x200B; Homeless fight, huh? That sucks. &#x200B; Wait, an animal attack? What the hell... &#x200B; “Shift supervisor requesting additional units and animal control to Willmington and Hawthorne.” Something at the back of my head itched. I always trusted the back of my head. It itched when a crack head swung a golf club behind my head. Ducked just in time. It itched when a group of kids plowed out of an old guys house, and then an old guy came back, dragging one of the kids with chains wrapped around him. It itched when a guy tried to stab his 3 year old who called the cops wanting to meet a real police officer. I took the guy down with a taser before he even got to his kid, and gave the kid a new, better home. &#x200B; The back of my head itched at the sound of animal attack. LA was never known for its wildlife population, nor was it known for its silence. But tonight, right where I sat, it was silent. &#x200B; I unlocked the shotgun, got out of the car, and looked around. I was alone... right? With the shotgun firmly in my hands, I listened hard and scanned the area. I heard the faintest sound of what I could describe as scratching, and breathing. I felt eyes on me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I turned, weapon raised, and looked at what I could only imagine out of a movie. A really good movie. &#x200B; Through a broken fence I saw it. It had two glowing yellow eyes. Its skin was pale, almost human looking. It was hairless and naked, except for the blood and gore around an impossibly large, wide mouth. It opened its mouth, and I could smell its breath even from the distance I stood. It smelled of death. The darkness shrouded the rest of its body. I wasn't sure at the time I was fully prepared to see the entire thing, but I had a pretty good idea that it was even more horrible. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. If I was even seeing it. All I could do was do what they had trained me to do 15 years ago. &#x200B; “LAPD! Get your hands up and get on the ground!” I forced myself to believe it was a kid in a mask, or a costume, or something, anything to rationalize what I was seeing. There was no way it was real. Next thing I know, two officers roll up behind me, guns drawn. I look over to see corporal Stensen and officer Daniels. I turned back to the suspect, only to find he was gone. &#x200B; “Sergeant! What's going on?” Corporal Stensen was a family man. He'd been on the force for about 5 years now, with dreams of being a captain. Officer Daniels was fresh out of the academy, however. This was his first day. &#x200B; What the hell was I supposed to say? Hey there's some kinda fuckin monster over there, let's go get em boys? I didn't know if what I even saw was real or not. None the less, I treated it like any dangerous call. &#x200B; “You two form up on me!” I had my shotgun raised the whole time. I heard the two of them say yes sir behind my back as I went through the hole in the fence. We approach the area where I saw it, and I don't know why, but I felt relief. I was relieved because there was a pool of blood where that thing stood. Maybe I was relieved that I wasn't losing my mind. &#x200B; “Holy shit...” Officer Daniels breathed. It was a lot of blood, that's for sure. My guess was a liter. &#x200B; “Sergeant, what the hell?” Corporal Stenson was up next to be shocked. I stared at the thick pool. Blood isn't like you see on the movies. It's thick, really thick. Someone in the academy described it as “ketchup.” They're not wrong. &#x200B; I was in thought for what felt like an eternity. I can't call SWAT for a pool of blood, and I can't exactly tell these guys what I saw. But what WAS it? It looked dangerous, and it definitely was some kind of animal. Or something. Well, it was too dangerous to call animal control now. What was in front of us was fresh. We needed to act quickly. &#x200B; It was just a few seconds after Corporal Stensen spoke that I gave the orders. &#x200B; “Call for backup. I was a perimeter and I want a helicopter. Let's see about getting a dog as well. I want whoever owns this place to give me a detailed plan of the site. I don't care who has to be woken up, wake up the CEO if you have to. Let's get it done!” &#x200B; They both nodded and we climbed through the hole again. About twenty minutes later, four more cop cars were rolling code 3 and a helicopter was in the air. We told dispatch that the animal had possibly killed a person, and the dog was to help find either the person or the animal, whichever came first. The perimeter was formed, and the other officers appeared in front of me for debrief. &#x200B; “Earlier this evening we got a 415 on the radio. Upon my arrival, we discovered a lot of blood. I was just emailed a detailed plan of the layout at the construction site. We're going to go in a grid formation and search the area. We are going to assume both the people and the animal are dangerous. I wan-” &#x200B; A scream like something out of a nightmare cut off my train of thought. It came from a woman. A few seconds later, the sound of what I would professionally call a monster tore through the night. Nobody said a word.	I walk up to the house at 135 Cherry Lane and knock on the front door. My partner trusts me enough to handle the situation on my own. Hopefully this won't take long. The full moon is glowing tonight, and I still have other houses to visit. "Hello?" I call out. "There's been a noise complaint about screaming and gunshots. Is anyone there?" When no one answers, I draw my gun and step off the front porch, blending into the shadows of the house. If someone's trying to hide from me, I'm going to make sure they don't find me first. Around the corner of the house, I find the first body. A teenager has been strangled by a garden hose. Nearby, another teenager is swaying by the neck from an oak tree. Both look like they've been in violent struggles. I can see footprints around the gate into the backyard: four different people have been here recently. I should call for backup, or at least wait for my partner to leave his kid's birthday party. But the footprints mean there could be more teenagers here. Teenagers who might still be alive. I don't bother trying to open the gate. Instead, I move stealthily along the fence until I find a shadowed area to climb to the other side. A garden shed blocks my uniformed body from view as I land quietly on the grass. Sure enough, someone has rigged a trap to kill whoever opens the gate. Some kind of contraption involving garden shears. I can hear sobbing from inside the garden shed. When I peer through the grimy window, I can see a teenager huddled in the corner, a shovel clutched in his hands. He has a cell phone, but it doesn't seem to be working. It's okay. I'm here now. I open the door to the garden shed and step in with my gun raised. The teenager shrinks away in fear at first, but then he sees my police uniform and sags in relief. "I've been trying to reach the cops," he says desperately. "Someone's out there killing my friends, but I can't get any signal-" The teenager stops talking and stares at me in shock. The moonlight has illuminated my face. He recognizes me. "It's... it's you..." I smile. "It was a clever idea to set up the trap. But I didn't realize you were in here until after I left. That's when I remembered seeing three shadows under the back door, not two. If you'd just gone home, you might have survived. This is the first mistake I've made in years." "I could still survive," he says weakly. "No," I say. "Because I'm starting to think it wasn't a mistake after all. I'll be able to throw off suspicion from myself by arresting the kid who killed his friends at this house and all the other ones. It's too bad I had to shoot him before he could stab me with a pair of garden shears." The teenager opens his mouth and tries to scream, but he's too terrified to make a sound. For a moment I almost feel sorry for him. Maybe I could have been persuaded to let this one live. But he's already seen my face, which means it's too late for him. I pull the trigger before he can lift the shovel.
	[WP] You're a police officer in a horror movie, but actually competent.	I honestly don't know how some of these guys do it. I mean, I have suspicions, but...I'm single, not many friends, not many hobbies, so that's how I stay on top of it. These other guys, though - how can you write meaningful, well-thought-out, error-free reports when you've got all this other shit to take care of during the day and then you're with your family or at the bars or playing pickup basketball or whatever in the evenings? So of course I'm one of the only officers still in the building when the calls start coming in. Parents of five different kids from Crystal Lake High School all calling within five minutes of each other. They come down, I take their statements - knowing that this means I'm not gonna be caught up on paperwork until after midnight - and say we'll see what we can do. That was nearly the beginning of the end for me in the department, actually. I met with the Chief - this is a guy with 30+ years on the force, the guy who managed to arrest Lyle "Balloon Man" Craven ten years back during that series of oddly-staged killings. Zeke in Forensics told me at lunch one day how fucking eerie it was to be working a scene with various body parts suspended in mid-air all around you. Look, bottom line, Chief is not some policy guy who has never done anything in the field. He's seen some shit. And yet... First thing he tells me when I let him know about the calls was that it was probably a coincidence, that the teens were all up at Makeout Point and the parents were just over-reacting. I nearly put a hole in my tongue from biting it so hard. I'm not that young but kids don't go to Makeout Point these days any more than they go down to the soda stand to split a milkshake before the frickin' sock hop. But instead of talking about that, I show him the video - forwarded to my cell from the cell of one of the parents, although they all said they got a copy. I watch Chief's face as he watches the screen, doing my level best not to conjure up the visuals that accompany the whirring of power tools that doesn't quite overpower the mixture of sobbing and screaming coming from the speaker. It ends, and he looks at me, and he says - hand to God - he says, "Probably one of those prank videos." I'm not sure what face I must be making, but whatever it is, it makes him feel like he needs to elaborate. "You know, like the kids are making these days with the SnapTweets and whatnot." First off, no way in hell any of those teenagers have the resources to stage that. A multi-million dollar budget, and access to a Hollywood studio, and maybe I could see it being fake. But the other thing is...like, I've talked to plenty of kids that age before. They're garbage at lying. They can be dramatic, sure, but not...the biggest guy in the group, the one who's left for last...when he's begging for it to stop, and starts calling for his God-damned mother...there is a desperation there, a dropping of any pretense that he's not just a little child in a man's body. No way he does that as part of a prank. And let's be real - if they were doing something like that, the last people they would show it to would be their fucking parents. I try explaining it to the guys, and one of them says, "Lighten up, man, it's obviously a joke. I did stuff just like that when I was their age." And I ask him to name one thing that he did that is anywhere remotely in the same ballpark as what the kids did, and he hits me with taking all the chairs out of the cafeteria and putting them on the roof. And I want to ask him in what we he thinks that is just like the two-minute and thirty-seven second visceral nightmare that is the cell phone clip but I realize, as I look around the room and see all the nodding heads, that it's no use. So I'm driving up to Orphan's Haunt Road so I can investigate what actually happened. Everyone else thought it would be a waste of time. But I know better. And I am well aware of how stupid it would be to go alone, which is why I called in an anonymous tip a minute ago that I had seen a black guy who looked like he was on drugs wandering around the Craven family's old abandoned cabin. Because logically, if the video's legit, then the murder must have sent it out. And if he did that, he probably did it expecting the police to come. I mean, I feel a little bad about using them as cannon fodder like this...but it's funny, because as I'm thinking about it, I don't think I could tell you their names or anything. It's like they're just those background characters who are just there to sell how dangerous a situation really is without doing any harm to the main character, and their one line is "This is ridiculous, there's nothing up heEEARARRGGHGHH" or whatever. Meanwhile, I'm going to be some distance away, with the doors locked, the engine running, and multiple escape routes available to me. Just because I'm surrounded by amateurs doesn't mean I have to act like one.	There was a time that I didn't think about the taste of ink running through my veins, the smell of stale piss and arthritis in my fingers. But it was just so, in a small town. The town never had any incidents worse than a noisy neighbour or teenagers doing a run on the night. Sometimes a stray would rear its head or a foreigner would get lost. But nothing out of the ordinary. Paperwork was filed, submitted documented then promptly shredded after it was uploaded to the Provincial level. There always were urban myths about the old logging mills, tales that never ceased being told. Through word of mouth, through angsty teens, we would have several calls about children being lost, the odd complaint that teenagers had camped out by the mills. Anything of value that hadn't been nailed down and even some equipment that had were already removed, stolen or in disrepair. All that remained of the hallowed site was the remains of a couple of children. The Sherriff thought nothing of it. We had a federal forensic team go through our files, examined the scene and determined that the cause of their deaths was likely environmental. What that meant for the ghost-hunters was that it was supernatural. As much as we advertise that it's not a good idea to go down to the middle of the forest to a re-taken spot located on Indigenous land, people still go missing. And what do we do? File paperwork.
	[WP] You're a police officer in a horror movie, but actually competent.	The scent in the patrol car was an exotic mix of chemical cleaner, stale farts, and Mexican food. My partner, Stanley, was tapping her hand on the passenger window in time with the rhythm of the rain. "You know...", she said, nursing her coffee cup, "the biggest cop killer is heart disease. All that grease is gonna take 20 years off your life." "Mmmpf." I grunted dismissively between mouthfuls of burrito. "Who would want 20 more years of my life? Besides, I love this place. But you can buy lunch tomorrow." Stanley snorted. "No one else is open at one in the morning." "Yeah, exactly." Jamesville, Oregon, was a one-stoplight town. We were lucky the little tacqueria was open at all, and doubly lucky that they gave cops free coffee. The radio crackled. "210, dispatch." I plucked the handset off the dash. It was Wednesday night. Weekdays were usually quiet, but like any other rural Northwest town we saw our share of domestic incidents and tweaker rampages at odd hours. Often the two phenomena were correlated. "Dispatch, 210, go ahead?" "We had a 911 call from Camp Explorer off 23. County dispatcher thought she heard someone speaking or breathing, but the call cut off right away. You know where that is?" "Yeah, my kids went there. 210, responding." I put the cruiser in gear and pulled out onto the road. "Hey, uh, we might not have any reception up there. Can we get another car or two?" Camp Explorer was nestled in a little valley, right up against the national forest, and our radios didn't always play well with the mountains. We were in a bad position. A disconnected 911 call was usually an accident, but if it wasn't, the most likely case was a medical emergency, which we weren't really prepared to handle. The nearest hospital was over an hour away. Out here, if someone was hurt we'd probably have to call in a life flight. "Roger 210, I'll see what I can do. Over." "'Preciate it, if you don't hear from us in two hours, send everybody. State, fire, EMS, national guard, Green Berets." Stanley sighed. "Let's hope some teenager just butt-dialed 911." "Yeah, I mean, no. No cell phone service up there. Someone picked it up and dialed." - By the time we'd pulled off of highway 23, the rain had stopped. The camp was only about 30 miles from town, but the last 10 of those was gravel forest service road. I drove slowly and evenly as the headlights cast the shadows of hanging fir and cedar limbs over the rising post-rain fog. More than once I caught the glowing eyes of an animal in the corner of my vision, where the headlights met the dense brush at the side of the road. My kids had stayed here a couple summers ago - even in the dark, I recognized the turnoff, and a few hundred yards later, the Camp Explorer signpost and the carved wooden totem. We pulled ahead to the empty guest parking lot. "No one home." Stanley said. There was an edge of something in her voice. "The season just ended. Employee parking's up this way." I nosed the car forward slowly. I thought about turning the blue lights on, but didn't. The car brushed under a hanging tree branch. It sounded like nails on a chalkboard. The employee lot was a third full. A couple decade old trucks and high-mileage SUVs, and a beater sedan. Pretty typical for broke 20-something councillors. The trucks were loaded down with tools and hardware. Must've been doing end-of-season maintenance. I shut the cruiser off, and flicked off the headlights. There was just enough ambient light through the clouds to make out the outline of the camp office. Full moon. "Shouldn't there be lights on?" "Yeah." I said. There was a lightpost between us and the camp office, but it, and all the windows, were dark. I tried to check in with dispatch, but was met with only static. "Maybe a tree fell, took the power out?" "Maybe. But let's check it out. Stay close." We got out of the car and started towards the office, Stanley on my right, scanning the woods with her flashlight, one hand on her holstered weapon. "This place is creeping me out." "Yeah." A few yards from the car, I fet her squeeze my upper arm, hard. I stopped dead. Her voice was a whisper. "The door." The camp office door wasn't visible from the lot, but as we rounded the corner of the building, we could see that the door had been broken inward, and what was left of it was hanging splintered from the hinges. Something very red and wet was smeared across the green paneling. "Turn your light off." I hissed. "Back to the car. I got our backs." We both dropped into a crouch-walk, my left hand on the back of her shoulder to keep us together while I covered the door with my weapon. We made it to the side of the cruiser, staying low, and Stanley covered me while I tried the radio again. Only static. "What the hell do we do?" "We have to get out of this canyon and call in. We have to wait for back..." A bloodcurdling shriek from somewhere out of the darkness cut me off. It was close, and very human. Stanley and I swiveled our heads around the parking lot, trying to make out something, anything, in the dark forest beyond, but even with a full moon it was like staring into a black hole. "Ok. Change of plans. Someone's in trouble." "By walking into a fucking slasher movie?" "Well we're not gonna stroll in and ask Freddy Krueger for ID and a breathalyzer. But yeah. We got a job to do."	"Have you ever shot an alien?" "No." "Have you ever fired a ray gun?" "No." "Have you ever shot down a flying saucer while lying on your back, screaming 'aaaaargh'?" "No, Danny." said Nicholas with a sigh, "Look, being a police officer on exchange in Roswell, New Mexico is just like any other standard beat. No aliens. No rayguns. No flying saucers." "So why come here? It's too hot, there's no cornettos, and the size of a pint is all wrong. Now you're telling me there's no aliens?" "It's not like the movies, Danny." The stereo suddenly blared into life, Frank Sinatra crooning 'Fly Me to the Moon' at full volume. Nicholas slapped it off with the palm of his hand. "That was not normal," said Danny. "Just an electrical fault," said Nicholas keeping his eyes on the road and the needle one mph below the speed limit. The engine cut out, lights failing, as the sound of the motor was replaced by the dull rumble of rubber on asphalt. The car slowly eased to a halt. "Don't try and tell me that wasn't spooky." "Cars break down, Danny. It happens." "And how about that?" said Danny pointing out the window. Nicholas looked at the glowing blue saucer sitting fifty yards off the road amongst the desert scrub. "Hmm." "Hmm?" "Well, it would appear to be a flying saucer." "Fuck, yes." said Danny with a grin. "Let's do this..." *written on my phone. Will try to write more later if anyone likes it...
	[WP] You're a police officer in a horror movie, but actually competent.	The scent in the patrol car was an exotic mix of chemical cleaner, stale farts, and Mexican food. My partner, Stanley, was tapping her hand on the passenger window in time with the rhythm of the rain. "You know...", she said, nursing her coffee cup, "the biggest cop killer is heart disease. All that grease is gonna take 20 years off your life." "Mmmpf." I grunted dismissively between mouthfuls of burrito. "Who would want 20 more years of my life? Besides, I love this place. But you can buy lunch tomorrow." Stanley snorted. "No one else is open at one in the morning." "Yeah, exactly." Jamesville, Oregon, was a one-stoplight town. We were lucky the little tacqueria was open at all, and doubly lucky that they gave cops free coffee. The radio crackled. "210, dispatch." I plucked the handset off the dash. It was Wednesday night. Weekdays were usually quiet, but like any other rural Northwest town we saw our share of domestic incidents and tweaker rampages at odd hours. Often the two phenomena were correlated. "Dispatch, 210, go ahead?" "We had a 911 call from Camp Explorer off 23. County dispatcher thought she heard someone speaking or breathing, but the call cut off right away. You know where that is?" "Yeah, my kids went there. 210, responding." I put the cruiser in gear and pulled out onto the road. "Hey, uh, we might not have any reception up there. Can we get another car or two?" Camp Explorer was nestled in a little valley, right up against the national forest, and our radios didn't always play well with the mountains. We were in a bad position. A disconnected 911 call was usually an accident, but if it wasn't, the most likely case was a medical emergency, which we weren't really prepared to handle. The nearest hospital was over an hour away. Out here, if someone was hurt we'd probably have to call in a life flight. "Roger 210, I'll see what I can do. Over." "'Preciate it, if you don't hear from us in two hours, send everybody. State, fire, EMS, national guard, Green Berets." Stanley sighed. "Let's hope some teenager just butt-dialed 911." "Yeah, I mean, no. No cell phone service up there. Someone picked it up and dialed." - By the time we'd pulled off of highway 23, the rain had stopped. The camp was only about 30 miles from town, but the last 10 of those was gravel forest service road. I drove slowly and evenly as the headlights cast the shadows of hanging fir and cedar limbs over the rising post-rain fog. More than once I caught the glowing eyes of an animal in the corner of my vision, where the headlights met the dense brush at the side of the road. My kids had stayed here a couple summers ago - even in the dark, I recognized the turnoff, and a few hundred yards later, the Camp Explorer signpost and the carved wooden totem. We pulled ahead to the empty guest parking lot. "No one home." Stanley said. There was an edge of something in her voice. "The season just ended. Employee parking's up this way." I nosed the car forward slowly. I thought about turning the blue lights on, but didn't. The car brushed under a hanging tree branch. It sounded like nails on a chalkboard. The employee lot was a third full. A couple decade old trucks and high-mileage SUVs, and a beater sedan. Pretty typical for broke 20-something councillors. The trucks were loaded down with tools and hardware. Must've been doing end-of-season maintenance. I shut the cruiser off, and flicked off the headlights. There was just enough ambient light through the clouds to make out the outline of the camp office. Full moon. "Shouldn't there be lights on?" "Yeah." I said. There was a lightpost between us and the camp office, but it, and all the windows, were dark. I tried to check in with dispatch, but was met with only static. "Maybe a tree fell, took the power out?" "Maybe. But let's check it out. Stay close." We got out of the car and started towards the office, Stanley on my right, scanning the woods with her flashlight, one hand on her holstered weapon. "This place is creeping me out." "Yeah." A few yards from the car, I fet her squeeze my upper arm, hard. I stopped dead. Her voice was a whisper. "The door." The camp office door wasn't visible from the lot, but as we rounded the corner of the building, we could see that the door had been broken inward, and what was left of it was hanging splintered from the hinges. Something very red and wet was smeared across the green paneling. "Turn your light off." I hissed. "Back to the car. I got our backs." We both dropped into a crouch-walk, my left hand on the back of her shoulder to keep us together while I covered the door with my weapon. We made it to the side of the cruiser, staying low, and Stanley covered me while I tried the radio again. Only static. "What the hell do we do?" "We have to get out of this canyon and call in. We have to wait for back..." A bloodcurdling shriek from somewhere out of the darkness cut me off. It was close, and very human. Stanley and I swiveled our heads around the parking lot, trying to make out something, anything, in the dark forest beyond, but even with a full moon it was like staring into a black hole. "Ok. Change of plans. Someone's in trouble." "By walking into a fucking slasher movie?" "Well we're not gonna stroll in and ask Freddy Krueger for ID and a breathalyzer. But yeah. We got a job to do."	Even I heard about the sewers. The story of the disappearing orphan even made its way to someone as out of touch as I am. It’s said that a child ran away from the nearby orphanage into the woods. A storm hit soon after and she was tossed around by the flood currents until she found herself where the water ended up: the drainage sewers. Then she died, or something like that. I never understood these tales. If no one saw this happen, how do we know about it? And I’ve never seen a storm here strong enough to take someone away, but don’t fact check that. I’m not a weatherman. No, I’m a police officer. And right now, that story is trying to claw its way to the frontlines of my thoughts. A group of six teenagers came in earlier today (though they looked around 30) and told me about the events that supposedly happened down there. The tall, muscular one said through perfect teeth that he thought the sewers would be a good place to throw a party. The smell of shit coming from the group said otherwise. “Look man, I saw what I saw. There’r over 30 people down there an’ they’re all dead ‘cept us 6,” the unrealistically handsome man said. “So you thought it was a good idea to put 30 people in a narrow concrete tube filled with waste that might have a ghost in it?” I replied. “I didn’t think there’d actually be a demon in there!” “That has to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Didn’t your girlfriend have a relative who disappeared in those sewers?” I nodded toward the next room where the others were being questioned “She’s... not my girlfriend... anymore. But her dead aunt is what gave me the idea.” There was probably a story there, but I didn’t care about his social life. It’s now that I realized that I’ve been assuming the ghost is real and I’m blaming the survivors for the missing people. The door to the interrogation room opens and officer Rodney calls me outside. He and a group of paramedics went down into the tunnels to see what was down there. They didn’t find any bodies. He told me that disproves the ghost theory because there were no dead bodies at the supposed crime scene. I had a slight problem with this: “THEN WHAT HAPPENED TO ALL THE TEENAGERS?” I found myself yelling. Rodney said that it wasn’t our business and we should leave it to the higher ups. Instead of being an idiot like Rodney, I decided I should actually tell people about it and get some people with guns in the sewers. There were four officers, including myself, who descended underground. Rodney went first because he “wasn’t afraid.” Long story short: something grabbed Rodney, I shot it, it didn’t die, we filmed it all, and now no one parties in the sewers and I’m in therapy. ive never really written things like this before so don’t judge it too hard
	[WP] After Earth realized that other worlds actually are summoning our people to theirs for various reasons, governments took the natural next step: Regulate it. Now even the deities are faced with the hell of bureaucracy and taxes whenever they try to take someone.	"Look, for some reason or another, the Oracle's specified that it must be a eighteen year old female of Asian descent that comes over to assist us." The man, shuffling uncomfortably in a suit and tie, pointed at the representative sitting opposite him. "The Demon King apparently can only be defeated by a hero that fits the exact requirements." The representative took at folder out of his suitcase. "Well, the only heroes we have left not on the mission are the African heroes. The demand for the other heroes have spiked recently. Do you mind considering him instead?" The folder opened out to reveal the image of a tall, stocky African man, carrying a maghagony staff engraved in sliver-gold. "He is an Archmage, trained in the Avarian Academy of Magic. It should be enough to handle the Demon King." "No, you don't understand. The Oracle's called specifically for that specific hero. You can't just slot in another one. It would not work. That is not how this all works." The man was getting visibly agitated, his muscles beginning to expand against the seems of his clothing. "Look, we really need that female hero. The Demon King has razed three countries and is on the path to destroy five more." "Well, if you just stop being so stubborn and accept this hero....oh wait, I get it. It is one of those worlds, isn it?" "What? No...I am...look, that is what the Oracle said, and by extension that is what our deity demanded. If he wants a pretty exotic girl to be the heroine despite the idiocracy involved, I can't stop him." "Sigh...it is one of those deities, isn't it? I pity you, I really do. Have you considered atheism?" "Well, but my powers came from him, you know? Somethings, I am really jealous of this entire technology thing." There was an awkward pause. The man and the representative stared at each other. A moment passed. "You know what, send me the hero. I will deal with the deity in my own way. There will probably be a new complain from the deity soon. Where is the hero?" The man seemingly resigned to his fate. The representative lead them out of the room to meet his new champion. * Passing by corridors illuminated by harsh flourescent light, the representative spoke again, looking right ahead. "You know, you guys, before all this." Gesturing to the room and the place surrounding them. "Have you consider how it feels like to summon someone randomly from another world?" "We don't have a choice. It was either we do it, or we perish." "No, you do have a choice. We all do. Look at us, we did not summon a single hero, yet we conquered and defeated threats bigger then us." The representative paused. "My sister was summoned once, as a heroine. She was eighteen years old as well. When she came back, she was twenty-five, battle-harden and grizzled, a different person. She could never get use to the world we live in ever again. Never. You stole seven years of her life and left her broken. She was too young to have to deal with the responsibility of being a hero." The man did not say anything. "She is currently still doing this...hero thing. That is all she has. Guess fate is ironic then, for the very same people you relied upon to solve your problems soon became a bigger problem. Ha...without your constant summons and calls from our world, we would not have been able to gain as much as we did." "I am saying this to you not out of malice. I have seen many people like you, coming and going, always looking for heroes to solve whatever crisis their world is in. Heroes aren't the answer to everything." "You don't understand." The man finally responded, his fist cleched tightly. "You don't understand." "I never will. Guess this is what living in a godless, magicless world does to you. You can rely on no one, no deity to save you, no magic to make problems go away, to summon a scapegoat. Come, we are here." The representative stopped before a door, scanning his palms along the identification panel by the side. The door opened, and the representative stepped aside, gesturing for the man to go in. "Your hero is waiting. The fees will be finalized later. Thank you." The man paused for a moment, before stepping in, coming face to face with his hero. * The representative looked at the door closing behind him. He sighed, wondering if he was getting too old for his job. Why had he said all that to the man? His phone began buzzing. It was her. His sister. He tensed up, before picking up the call. "Sister. What is it?" There was one thing he did not mention. Two people were stolen from him that day. His sister, and his soulmate. Only one of them returned. The representative froze up. His brow furrowed, before he turned and walked off curtly in another direction, away from the door. This was not good. Not good at all.	It all starts in japan. Young teenager to young adults around japan would disappear and come back later. Some returns in a few seconds and some returns in a few days, some returns years later. There were also some other unfortunate souls who would disappear and never come back. Due to the random disappearance time and their varying and "dubious" answer when being asked, if they even want to answer that is, Japanese government have a hard time figuring out the reason for it. It was until more and more "returners" disappear again and never come back that the Japanese government decides to get to the bottom of the case. Researching with the staying returners provides no clarity and the search was almost being cancelled. It was only when a whole school students suddenly disappear during the lecture time that they got a clue. The teachers claim they feel unfamiliar breeze blowing seconds before the disappearance. The next day few students come back and most of them are injured. Few even seemingly grow unnaturally fast within a day. Scientist around the world began to suspect some "otherwordly" forces are taking away the youngsters of japan for unknown purpose. Their theory are proven correct after japan was building a large radiator radar underground that would detect any "unnatural" force in radius. When the Japanese Government learnt about this, they decide to regulate it. Isekai genre is now In-Sekai. (Too lazy to write more)
	[WP] After Earth realized that other worlds actually are summoning our people to theirs for various reasons, governments took the natural next step: Regulate it. Now even the deities are faced with the hell of bureaucracy and taxes whenever they try to take someone.	"Where do I go to apply for a generic hero for summoning?" Davids looked up at the young woman that had walked up to his desk. She wore the kind of clothing that you typically found of magic based societies, silks and fine linen. He sighed and leaned back into his chair; how they kept managing to find a tiny office that was way off the beaten path from the Eye, he didn't know. The only thing that he hadn't tried was making the door invisible, though it was usually other Earthlings that made that so tempting. &#x200B; "Are you looking for a singleton or a team? Both of those offices are down a level and beyond the food court. And you will need forms A-23 and ZT-30A with a pre-accepted contract for a singleton or a G-32 form and collateral for the team." She blinked at the arcane terms and phrases. &#x200B; "I have, well, I have no idea." She chuckled and pulled out a sheaf of paper. "Just beyond the portal were a number of people that assisted me with filling these out after I told them that I was attempting to summon. I never imagined that Shevalla was like this. It isn't at all like the legends said it would be like." &#x200B; "That's because you aren't in Shevalla. About a decade ago, they closed their doors and stopped sending aid to other worlds." He threw her a smile as he took her papers. "We were next in line apparently. All of a sudden, our youth are vanishing into thin air. Sometimes they come back healthy, sometimes they come back broken, sometimes they don't come back. No explanation." &#x200B; Her eyes flashed in alarm. "That is horrible. However, I can see that you have changed that. The spell that I cast should have summoned a hero before me, not dragged me into a different world. You must be quite powerful mages to be able to put up that kind of protection." &#x200B; "Hardly. Our world has no magic. All of our mages are trained in either Shevalla or heroes that learned in another world. The protections were put up by Shevalla as part of our ceasefire agreement." A quick scan down the pages told Davids that everything was in order, but something jumped out at him. "I see that you are looking for a hero to face an evil lord but you say that there is no prophecy about a hero. Has anyone asked you about corporate sponsorship? I can't say that it is the best answer, but they will often cough up a merc company for some mineral rights or something. Heroes are often happy to have some modern backup and you don't have to worry about getting fleeced since all contracts are through us and we tend to attract individuals that want to face the dragon." &#x200B; "A ceasefire? You had a war with Shevalla? And you had no mages? How did you survive?" The young woman seemed rather alarmed. &#x200B; "Well, they were suppose to be the heroes and when they abandoned that responsibility, a number of our youth were killed or harmed. So we chose to take our grievances to them and they felt we were being uppity. So we used science to open a couple of doors to their lands and invaded. It was quite bad, but we knew what we were facing, they didn't. If you are used to magic, a fifty cal bullet from a mile off or a nuke doesn't give a lot of warning. Mostly it was sheer numbers that brought about the end of the conflict. Shevalla had a population of around five hundred million." &#x200B; "Five hundred million? So many?" &#x200B; "Our response was 'So few?'" Davids quite enjoyed the girl's disbelieving reaction. "Our population was a little over ten billion at the time. Once Shevalla realized what they were facing, they sued for peace quite quickly and offered to close us off and dump the summons on another world. However, a movement had formed that felt that adventure and magic couldn't be passed up. So the UN built this place." A wave of his hand at the building around them. "Now those who wish to be heroes register, get some training and worlds petition for the help. On top of that, a number of realms have decided to find answers to their own problems after interviewing a few heroes. Usually slave worlds so it works out." &#x200B; "I am having a hard time imagining that many people in a single world. Isn't it cramped." &#x200B; "Of course, but its home. Plenty of heroes prefer to find another world to retire to of course." He dashed off a note on a sticky note and made a gesture at rag doll. It left into the air and danced a little jig. The woman smiled at the small animated construct and looked back at Davids. "I gave it instructions to take you to Ms. Adams. She is one of our best advisers and can certainly help you with your problem. Just follow it and everything will be just fine." &#x200B; "Thank you for everything that you have done for me. My name is Princess Diane of the Thirteen Realms of Mortals and the Goddess-in-Body." She curtsied to him. "Should you ever need assistance, I will do my best to help you." &#x200B; Davids rose and bowed to her. "My name is Aaron Davids, Defender of Green Wall, Slayer of the Five Horrors of Zeus's Nightmare and Director of the United Nations Hero Association. It was my pleasure, Princess." She gave him a coy smile and he watched as she followed his construct out to find her hero. He muttered under his breath as she vanished around a corner. &#x200B; "I could do one more."	It all starts in japan. Young teenager to young adults around japan would disappear and come back later. Some returns in a few seconds and some returns in a few days, some returns years later. There were also some other unfortunate souls who would disappear and never come back. Due to the random disappearance time and their varying and "dubious" answer when being asked, if they even want to answer that is, Japanese government have a hard time figuring out the reason for it. It was until more and more "returners" disappear again and never come back that the Japanese government decides to get to the bottom of the case. Researching with the staying returners provides no clarity and the search was almost being cancelled. It was only when a whole school students suddenly disappear during the lecture time that they got a clue. The teachers claim they feel unfamiliar breeze blowing seconds before the disappearance. The next day few students come back and most of them are injured. Few even seemingly grow unnaturally fast within a day. Scientist around the world began to suspect some "otherwordly" forces are taking away the youngsters of japan for unknown purpose. Their theory are proven correct after japan was building a large radiator radar underground that would detect any "unnatural" force in radius. When the Japanese Government learnt about this, they decide to regulate it. Isekai genre is now In-Sekai. (Too lazy to write more)
	[WP] After Earth realized that other worlds actually are summoning our people to theirs for various reasons, governments took the natural next step: Regulate it. Now even the deities are faced with the hell of bureaucracy and taxes whenever they try to take someone.	The doors of the elevator slid silently open, revealing the shining white office on the other side. The light shimmered a pale white, reflecting off the highly polished mahogany desk that sat in the middle of the room. As he saw this sight, George sighed and trudged over to the desk, placing his bag down with a loud thud. He moved around and sat heavily in a large wing-backed chair that sat behind the desk. Pulling his bag over to him, he started to remove a sheaf of papers from his bag, when a soft chiming sound reached his ears. Glancing down at the desk he saw, much to his irritation, that a marble box was slowly glowing in the corner of his desk the chiming seemingly resonating from the box rather than what lay inside. The box was etched with a large symbol of a gate and seemed to shift slightly on the marble as George reached towards it. Sharply exhaling through his nostrils, he flipped open the lid of the box and pulled out the phone from within, “Good Morning, Department of Divine taxation and regulation, how may I help you this morning?” “I am calling to submit extradition claims under Article 12 of the Rapture laws. I need you to process the relevant permits and organise the relevant tariffs.” An elderly voice sounded curtly from the other end of the phone, the tone making George clench his teeth in frustration. “My name is George Clements, and I will be very glad to assist you today, please could I ask who is calling?” he replied as politely as possible despite his annoyance. He knew precisely who the person on the phone was, only one person could call the phone, but George childishly enjoyed annoying the being on the other end of the phone. “You know very well who this is.” The curt voice replied, the sniff of annoyance not escaping Georges attention. “I am deeply sorry Sir, but without formal identification, I will be unable to locate your records to start the processing,” George replied calmly, a small smile creeping onto his face. “Simeon Peter” The voice replied, the words almost spat down the phone. “Thank you, Mr Peter, let me…” “Saint Peter to you, mortal.” The voice interrupted George, a trace of anger in his tone. “Apologies, St Peter. Let me just find your primary file so I can start processing your paperwork. Please hold the line.” George tapped a small button on the case of the marble box and leant back sighing. He pulled a file from the desk drawer, the only one that was in there, and placed it onto the desk. Reaching over to his bag, he pulled a small thermos and poured himself a cup of tea. He asked himself, as he did every day, how he ever got into the position of having to deal with St Peter himself to allow British citizens access into heaven. He thought about it for a few minutes, then came to the same conclusion he did every time; the bloody Government, as per usual. The Department of Divine taxation and regulation was an offshoot of the Department for Extra-Terrestrial Exportation, which was about as exciting as it sounded. Ten years ago, Earth had come into direct contact with Extra-terrestrial beings, who for a reason George could not fathom, wanted to take some of the population away with them. Various world Governments had come up with different solutions, with several only allowing the prison population to be taken by the extra-terrestrials. The British government, however, had decided to implement multiple layers of blockage to stop citizens being taken away, all of which were implemented through the Department for Extra-Terrestrial Exportation. The process for trying to take a UK citizen took on average one year, at least twenty meetings with the cross-party board for interplanetary exportation and UK Science council to organise a trade for key technological information. It came as little surprise that the UK was mainly left alone by the Alien beings. This policy, however, had caused trouble when four months ago messengers who claimed to be from Heaven itself arrived on Earth to proclaim that the rapture had begun. The British government, as obstinate as ever, created the Department of Divine taxation and regulation to ensure that for every citizen that was taken from UK soil, a fair return was given. It was Georges job to ensure that all of the relevant procedures were followed and the correct tax was collected from Heaven itself. George snorted to himself; only the British government could heaven itself. George took a sip of tea and clicked the bottom on the phone again, “Thank you for waiting, I now have your file, please could you inform me of the names that you are looking to rapture today?”. "You took your time. " St Peter gruffly replied from the other end of the phone. "I thought you were immortal St Peter, surely a few minutes will not seem much to you," George replied as seriously as he could, hoping that his internal sarcasm would not be detected. Silence followed on the other end of the line, and George started to regret his comments. A small chuckle rang out from the phone before St Peter started reeling off names for George to write down. As George filled out the fourth sheet of paper, he thought to himself that he was not being paid enough for this. "That will be all for this weeks batch, please give the relevant forms to Gabriel for him to authorise on my behalf. You can contact him in the usual way." “Thank you; I will process these requests and let you know of the decision of the relevant parties by the end of the week. If you need anything else in the meantime, then please let me know.” “I think I should warn you.” St Peters voice sounded oddly ominous to George as if he was smiling in glee, “I have been talking with one of my old friends who sadly had to leave here several aeons ago. He is looking for someone to process his own extraditions. I think I will recommend you for the job, George Clements.” The line went dead. George sat back in his chair, a dawning horror coming upon him. His next task was going to be hell. Literally.	It all starts in japan. Young teenager to young adults around japan would disappear and come back later. Some returns in a few seconds and some returns in a few days, some returns years later. There were also some other unfortunate souls who would disappear and never come back. Due to the random disappearance time and their varying and "dubious" answer when being asked, if they even want to answer that is, Japanese government have a hard time figuring out the reason for it. It was until more and more "returners" disappear again and never come back that the Japanese government decides to get to the bottom of the case. Researching with the staying returners provides no clarity and the search was almost being cancelled. It was only when a whole school students suddenly disappear during the lecture time that they got a clue. The teachers claim they feel unfamiliar breeze blowing seconds before the disappearance. The next day few students come back and most of them are injured. Few even seemingly grow unnaturally fast within a day. Scientist around the world began to suspect some "otherwordly" forces are taking away the youngsters of japan for unknown purpose. Their theory are proven correct after japan was building a large radiator radar underground that would detect any "unnatural" force in radius. When the Japanese Government learnt about this, they decide to regulate it. Isekai genre is now In-Sekai. (Too lazy to write more)
	[WP] The last bottle of maple syrup has expired. Canada has fallen.	The checkpoint was carved from the apocalypse itself; blighted maple. Only use of the darn trees nowadays. It was an ungainly sight, planted on top of what remains of the Trans-Canada Highway, much like a polar bear wearing a Bruins jersey; unnerving, awkward, but strangely fitting. And what was once the Great White North's greatest highway now was the road to Horton City, capital of the New Toronto Republic, and all traffic in and out of the city was at the discretion of what one would think were two teenage boys, but who's rifles and military tuques gave them the authority of men. Departing from the checkpoint was an old woman, turned away for the Quebecois inflection of her voice. And arriving was our hero, his trusty steed below him, his maple hockey stick, our knight's trusted sidearm as it were, sheathed in his back. As Jake rode up to the checkpoint, he looked back to the crying elder behind him, before turning to the soldiers. "You turning away the elderly, eh?" He gestured with a slight look of confusion. The soldiers stood with a forced stalwartness. "She was of obvious marauder descent," One of them barked in reply. Jake chuckled sarcastically. \Quebec attacked years ago,\ he thought, \when's people gonna learn to move on?\ "Right, because every Frenchie is a marauder," He replied with a huff. One of the two soldiers stepped forward, but the other held him back. "What do you have for us, scavenger?" He asked instead. Jake rolled his eyes, and pulled out the contents of his satchel, the soldiers' eyes lighting up when they saw what it was; a box of Tim Hortons, had to be a dozen of them. "Are...are they..." "Maple." Jake opened the box, revealing the caramel brown of the frosting inside. One of the soldiers instinctively rushed forward, but the dirty blonde scavenger snapped the box shut and pulled it away. "Oi!" he snapped, "I've already got a buyer." He looked between to two. "President Drake." The two soldiers looked to each other, before motioning for Jake to move ahead. &#x200B; And so our hero rode on, Horton City only a couple hours away. The dead Ontario countryside moved alongside him, a mesh of overgrown buildings and broken down cars, long stripped of tires, doors, and anything else of use. It was a lonely existence, the scavenger, but ever since US President Trump changed where that wall was going to be built, he didn't have much choice. If he can't run, he just has to leap into the murk. Suddenly, he heard shouting up ahead, and he spurred Gretzky, his trusty stallion, to a full gallop, when he saw a little girl running from a group of angered men. Jake unsheathed his hockey stick, and with a Molson's battle cry he charged forward, knocking one of the men down with a sputter of red blood before leaping to the ground. The two other men turned their attention to the scavenger, one rushing forward with a crowbar, only to dodged and receive a blow to his gut, tumbling to the floor, while the other aimed a pistol that was soon knocked from his hands, and whose chin was broken by the hard blow of Canadian justice. After making sure both men were unconscious, Jake turned his attention to the girl. who was clutching something to her chest and backing away from him, a look a terror in her eyes. "S'il te plait! Ne me fais pas de mal!" She shouted with a quiver. Jake couldn't understand a word she said, but he crouched to his knee with one hand reaching out assuredly. "It's okay," He said, "I'm not here to hurt you." She looked like she couldn't be more than seven years old, and clearly hadn't showered in weeks, her brown hair clumped together like a stray dog's. She seemed to calm at Jakes soothing words, and took a couple steps forwards. "Good, that's good..." He squinted to see what she had at hand. "Now...what do you got there?" As he reached towards whatever she clutched so close to her, she instinctively jerked back, but, after a moment, allowed him to see. It was a tree sapling, planted carefully in a ceramic pot. Jake didn't think much of it at first, until he saw the leaves. And the shape of the leaves. The same leaves that defined a dead nation's flag. "My god..." was all he could utter.	The most important part of Elenore's morning routine in her opinion was eating pancakes glazed with honey and maple syrup. There couldn't possibly be anything better than the feeling when that sweet buttermilk fluffiness slipped off the fork and onto her tongue. If she didn't have her pancakes in the morning, she was as cranky as any coffee addict who missed their morning coffee. It was during one such moment that she heard the worst thing to ever find out about from the morning news. "Today is a sad day for the pancake lovers of the world, for the latest victim of the Great Canadian Flood is the maple tree. Scientists have confirmed that all maple trees are now submerged underwater." Elenore did not go into work that day. No, she cleared out every grocery store nearby of their maple syrup, even maxing out her credit card in the process. She was not going without maple syrup ever! Of course, because Elenore went through a bottle of maple syrup about every other week, she was unaware of one very important thing. Maple syrup expires. And she was about to find this out the hard way.
	[WP] Everyone dies someday, how they die determines what powers they gain in the next world. You are the last and only human on Earth as the sun engulfs it. Now you have finally entered the new world.	Eden was fine enough a place to go for the dead. A place of wonder, with cities forged by the powers of men crushed by steel beams. Beautiful forests grown at the hands of the hanged. Lakes conjured by the drowned, and countrysides forged by the lost and starving. Of course, there were other places. Eternal, flaming battlegrounds, where the unending casualties of war fought day after day after day, hideous dens of torture and depravity, forced into existence by the ruined minds of those slaughtered in such cruel acts. There were a million histories here, and all of them ended in a single instant. In one moment, you appeared. In another, your power. You couldn't control it. The whole world, gone in a second. Immortality doesn't mean much when your body is obliterated time after time by the absolute might of the sun. And so it was for the rest of Eden, forever.	As you were reborn into the new world you carried with you the power of destruction. Your kick could level buildings. Your sneeze was the butterfly effect for many a tornado and hurricane. Your touch simply engulfed your friends and enemies alike into spontaneous flames. As years passed you became more and more isolated, until you lived deep in the wilderness, no more than a scary story around campfires. Your life started to grow old and grey. Years or days, you lost the ability to tell which, you sat alone, your true power in the final days seemed to simply be loneliness. With your final breaths crossing your lips, laying amongst the trees and grass dreaming of what power might be awaiting for you once you entered a new world ...if you entered a new world.
	[WP] After the spaceships left a group of volunteers from each nation stayed to clean up their planet. Vowing to rid it of all the toxic waste they had created and make it safe for the people to return. They didn’t account for the shift in the food chain this massive population shift would cause.	It had been only a few months since the ships had left. Most of the clean up crew still thought it unnerving to walk the empty streets and towns. We had heard reports that the cleanup effort was going well in other parts of the world, but the problems here just seemed so insurmountable. How were 500 people expected to clean up an entire country (let alone one as big as Brasil) that had spent hundreds of years being environmentally thrashed by its inhabitants? At first it was just a lot of surveying the biggest problems and prioritizing them. The seafront, other bodies of water, national forests. Our mission was to preserve and cleanup areas essential for life and the ones that weren't yet completely hopeless. These days my team and I aren't even so concerned as to how we can clean things up. We just wish that we could actually put more time and effort into our actual mission. We've been a little more worried about the dog situation. Yeah. The dog situation. Most people weren't allowed to bring their furry friends on the ships with them and seeing as we already had a dog problem here before the evac... well needless to say its gotten bad. They're everywhere. They've literally taken over. The worst is that the hardest hit areas, the ones with the most waste, are the most heavily infested. Sometimes I feel bad for them. They come in all shapes and sizes, but most spend their days digging through trash trying to find something that they can eat. The poor wretches usually have bloated stomachs, bloody sores from ticks or other pests, and noses and ears that have been ripped apart by other bigger or more aggressive dogs. The worst part is that we've reached the point where they really do see us as a potential source of food. Man's best friend... yeah right. They travel in big packs, always fighting over scraps or other animals that they can hunt... I've even seen them eat each other. They get in the way of most of our operations. The packs roam around attacking anything that moves. We've been forced to work only from about 11 AM to 4 PM. That's when the sun is highest in the sky and they tend to lie around. We haven't been nearly as bothered by themduring those hours. That's what has made this project a living hell though. We are only really able to get things done during the time of day that we would normally be least productive. That's the time of day that we would normally reserve to eat lunch and get some rest because of the blazing sun. Now it's the only time we can really work. The worst part is that we aren't even equipped for this sort of threat. Why leave weapons with the cleanup crews? It's not like we were expecting a fight. The few weapons that we have been able to find haven't done us much good yet. The dogs are desperate and have us completely outnumbered....... &#x200B; That's as far as I can go right now!	Larry clocked in, and put on the haz mat suit, grabbing a shovel and a bucket on his way out. The cat vomit problem was getting worse, since the chickens got loose -- the lions ate their fill. Or rather, over-fill. So that left Larry cleaning the lion vomit from Grand Avenue. "Dude, any progress?" Larry asked Anthony. "Nah, they don't even want beef." Anthony took off his shoe covers, and de-masked. Anthony tried to tame the lions -- he found some lion tamer instructional books in the paper archives. But they had absolutely no interest. There was nothing they could be rewarded with. So that left the legacy lions. They would saunter around, their flabby stomachs wagging back and forth, easily catch 20, or 60, chickens, and then nap. They'd breed, and the next generation was so well nourished in utero, that they were even bigger. Hence, the gallons of cat vomit on Grand Avenue. They weren't ferocious. They weren't even real predators anymore. They were just big, flabby, vomiting kitties who slept all day. Plus the poop. Tons. Metric tons. At least the trucks came by and used this to fertilize the corn. Which was used to feed the chickens. Who got loose and were eaten by the lions. So, Margaret put in a work order for some fencing, around the human-controlled areas, but the home office lost the paperwork. So that's another thousand or so years. "Yeah, that's my life now, cleaning cat vomit," muttered Larry, as he shoveled up the slop into a bucket.
Edit: So apparently this is already the plot of a book, which is like, super cool and great.	[WP] A little invisible girl spends her days scaring everyone she meets, who all think she's a ghost. Scared and alone, she finds comfort in a little blind boy.	"Oh- I'm sorry." He spoke with a smile Emma could only guess was sincere. "There's nothing to be sorry for." The girl took a step back, only visible by the crushed grass under her feet. "What's your name?" Thomas answered in childful curiosity. Anyone who sounded like a fairy shaking it's wings was probably his age, and he really needed to have friends his age. "Um, Emm- Emma." She hessitated to answer. It had never ocurred to her that somebody might be interested in speaking with a ghost. "Can I touch your hair, Emma?" Thomas was filled with curiosity. His milked eyes opened in an attempt to understand this girl in front of him. Never had he had the chance to be with someone like her in a situation like this. They would always treat him like weak, or avoid him. "Of course." Emma aproached Thomas, leaning her head forward. Whenever she touched someone, they would freak out, scream, and spill out rude words she was not allowed to say. Now, this boy was curious to find her touch. Thomas grabbed the hair gently, he could fill it escaping through his fingers like a mixture of cold river-flowing water and spider silk. He wanted to imagine her hair was blonde, but nobody really knew if that was a fact. He then remembered a little trick his older sister had explained to him not so long ago. Without asking, he started to trim the hairs one over the other in a braid way. He felt as if making a wonderful piece of decorated cloth, and could only believe it would make Emma happy. "Do you like it?" He asked her. "I love it." Emma answered. She couldn't see it, but as she passed her hand over her hair, she met Thomas' scratched fingers, and stared into them understanding how much they caressed and loved the world arround him. She couldn't see the beauty of her own hair, but understood it was made with genuine love. &#x200B; \--------- I tried my best, sorry for any grammar mistakes- I'm fluent in speaking English but not writing yet.	I wasn't born like this, which I think makes it harder for everyone else. They knew me. Some loved me. So when it happened, and they thought I had died, it was difficult to deal with. And scary. They could hear my voice, feel my hand on theirs, bump into me in the hallway... They thought I was haunting them. I suppose I am, sort of, but what else can I do? It was a stupid game... Jenny said she'd found a way to make you invisible, so we set up a bunch of candles and chanted this weird phrase over and over and then... the candles went out and it was dark. She scrambled to the lights, but when she flipped them on, she was even more terrified than when it was dark. It had worked. I was invisible. I think now that she wanted it to work, and only on me. She was always kind of a mean girl. Always making me play the Prince while she played Princess. Always making me give her my pudding at lunch. Always handing me her math homework. And I just let her do it. She was my only friend and now she's not even that. But she is the only one who truly knows what happened. She wouldn't come clean afterward. Wouldn't tell her parents the truth. Started screaming that Is run away and must have gotten killed and now I was haunting her. How well that worked out for her... she's now strapped down to a bed in the hospital, shot up with meds twice a day. I "haunted" her for a while, as payback. But it was really sad to see her like that, especially knowing she wasn't crazy. She was just mean. And that's how I met Ben. He was there, in the hospital, wandering around the halls alone. He walked right into me - not completely uncommon, and said "sorry" before continuing on. Every other time this happened with someone, they'd look terrified. He just moved out of the way and continued on like he hadn't just walked into a ghost. "Can you see me?" I asked timidly. I hadn't spoken in days. The last time I used my voice was to cry to myself in a closet. He stopped and turned slowly until he was almost facing me but not quite. "Is that a joke?" He ran a hand over his eyes and it was suddenly clear. He was blind. "Oh, I'm sorry. I just..." "Wait... then what did you mean?" "Nothing I just meant..." "Jenny's not crazy, is She?" I didn't know what to say. "She's been screaming about her invisible friend for weeks, saying she's not dead, she's just invisible and she's here in the hospital, and no matter how much stuff they give her or how often she's dragged to the therapists office, she keeps saying it. And... you must be her." It was incredible, his ability to out this all together and even further to believe it. He would sound crazy himself. "How..." I couldn't even form the words. I didn't know quite what to say. "Something similar happened to me," he replied blankly. "And that's why I'm here." So it didn't look like he was talking to himself, he told me to follow him back to the supply closet. He figured he'd only have a few minutes before they came looking for him, so he talked fast about how he and some of his buddies tried this game they'd found online. It was supposed to make someone invisible but they didn't have all the right ingredients. They substituted a few things and thought it would work. But instead, he opened his eyes and couldn't see anything anymore. His parents took him to the doctor but the doctor couldn't find anything wrong with his eyes. They went to doctor after doctor, who looked at his brain and asked him a bunch of psychological questions, and finally his parents asked if he was faking it. He swore he wasn't but the doctors were convinced, so his parents were too. And they were too frustrated to put up with what they thought was an over-done prank, so they checked him into the hospital, where he listened day-in and day-out to Jenny's screams. And he knew what must have happened. But nobody would believe him. Nobody believed her. And the scary thing was, this game was on the internet, making the rounds where any kid could find it and try it out. They had no idea what they were getting themselves into.
Edit: So apparently this is already the plot of a book, which is like, super cool and great.	[WP] A little invisible girl spends her days scaring everyone she meets, who all think she's a ghost. Scared and alone, she finds comfort in a little blind boy.	Take what you can. That's what Jane had been telling herself for the past two weeks. It might not be ideal. It may be downright strange. But at least he was happy again. Awkward footsteps ran past the kitchen, not quite drowned out by the local news report playing on the television by the stove. She still wasn't used to that third step, the sound of Henry's cane tapping in front of him, and she couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness. They were all still adjusting to their new reality. "You can't go that way!" laughed Henry before he barrelled into the kitchen, smiling, looking slightly up and to the left, as had become his habit. "Are you playing with your friend again?" Jane asked her twelve-year-old. "Yes, but she's cheating," came the reply. "I told Iris not to come in here, not when mom's watching TV." "Well that was very thoughtful of you, but I'm less worried about Iris and more worried about you." Henry turned quickly and ran back out. The smile on his face was worth the oddness, she reminded herself. Hadn't his teachers repeatedly said he was withdrawn and uncaring since the blindness developed? Hadn't they said he'd stopped smiling, stopped playing, stopped interacting with the other kids? Jane reminded herself of these things when she struggled with her feelings about Iris. On the one hand, her son seemed like himself for the first time in months. On the other, well, he was a bit old for imaginary friends. Dinner wasn't for a few hours, but Jane was in the kitchen anyway, half-listening to the news while scrubbing dishes. The handsome reporter, the one she joked with her husband about having an affair with, was in front of an old house. Lots of yellow tape, but no police cars, which struck her as slightly odd. Running footsteps preceded Henry's re-entrance. "Mom, turn off the TV." "Why, sweetheart?" she said, not bothering to look up from the pan she was cleaning. "Iris doesn't want to watch this." "Well, if it bothers Isis so much, she can turn it off herself." She immediately felt bad about the comment. She should be encouraging him at all times, according to the therapists. Sighing, Jane turned to her son and started, "I'm glad you and Iris are having fun, but --" The click behind her was less noticeable than the silence that followed. Jane turned and saw that the television, ten feet behind her, was off. She walked over and turned it back on. "Don't mom! Iris doesn't like it!" Patience fraying, Jane replied, "Well, tell Iris that your mom was watching this, and until Iris starts paying the cable bill, she can put up with it." ...the scene of the crime that has rocked our small community. We reported last week that Timothy Deringer, wanted for a number of heinous felonies, was discovered living in an abandoned house on the north edge of the city. In his basement were a number of bodies... "Mom!" Henry's tone was more than urgent -- it was scared. "Iris is getting mad!" "Not now, I want to hear this." ...many of which appeared to be young children. Some were apparently years deceased, but the most recent only passed in the past month, and has been positively identified... Light bulbs around the room burst. The microwave door flung open, the refrigerator positively exploded. Jane screamed as the television screen began smoking. "Mom... Iris is really mad. She wants to talk to you." Jane, leaning against the counter and shaking, replied, "Sweetheart, not right now. You get out of here, I need to clean this up." It was then that she felt it. Were she not paying attention, she would have dismissed the faint, cool pressure on her hand. Wouldn't have seen the form of a small girl in a nightgown, only just barely glimmering blue. Wouldn't have heard the whispered voice saying, "You must help me. He must be stopped." \-------------------- 153/365 one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman) \---------------------	She had always been invisible, in a sense. Her parents barely paid her any mind. They were too busy with her older brother. He was prodigy after all. The only time they really gave her any attention was when they were comparing the children. Even still, they cared for her. Then, one day, it happened. Her brother had overshadowed her so much that she actually turned invisible. She faded from pictures as well as from memories, but she was still there. For a while, she tried to communicate with her family, but all she managed to do was scare them. When they called in an exorcist she decided to leave. She traveled from house to house, interacting with pets, since they could tell she was there, and swiping food where no one would notice. Eventually it always ended the same way, with them screaming something about ghosts. That’s when she met him. He was walking across the street when his dog bolted after some thrown object. He tried to keep up but ultimately lost his grip, leaving him in the middle of the street with a car barreling towards him. She reacted on instinct, running and slamming into the boy. They went flying to the side, narrowly missing the vehicle. “Are you alright?” “Fine, thanks.” He smiled warmly at her just as people came flooding out of the houses panicking. “Thank goodness you’re alright!” Called a worried woman I assumed was his mother. “He must have guardian angel.” Chimes another woman. “I saw it last second. It was though someone had pushed him out of the way.” “No guardian angel, it was this girl.” He motioned to where she was seated next to him. “There is no one there, Sweetpea.” His mother said calmly. “They can’t see me, no one can. I’m invisible, but I promise I truly exist.” She whispered in his ear. He smiled and reached for her hand. “I believe you,” he said, “I can’t see anyone, but I know they exist.” Edit: grammar
	[WP] You, like every human, are connected to a guardian angel who must protect you from threats, both spiritual and mystical. However...destiny has somehow given and connected you to the only angel not belonging to heaven, Lucifer himself.	My name is Jonathan Kenburne. I work as a lab assistant at a major pharmaceutical company. In every way, I'm a loser. I have no luck with women. I am short, slightly fat, and my social anxiety has kept me back as long as I can remember. I'm on the bus. It's crowded. Right now I'm thinking about what other people are thinking about me. I'm also thinking about what a loser I am for thinking about what other people are thinking about me. It's a vicious cycle. In front of me is a dude with a goatee and a baseball cap. He probably doesn't have any problems with women. There's one right in front of us. A woman, I mean. Tall, blonde, a backside for the history books. The goatee guy is also checking her out. Well, it's hopeless for me anyway. Wait. What's he doing? He's groping her. I look around. No one else seems to notice. She's trying to get his hands off her, but he's persistent. What a douchebag. "You should kick him in the nuts." "Yeah, I should kick him in the--" Wait, who said that? I look around. The guy in the baseball cap is looking at me funny. "Hey," he says. "You got a problem?" I wave my hands in front of me, "no no, I, uh, I don't know what ..." "Hmph," he says. "A clean kick. Right in the sack. That should do it." As I look to my left, a man in his 40s is looking straight at me. He's smoking a cigarette. But that's not allowed. "Uh," I say. No one else seems to be bothered by him. He looks at me like I'm an idiot. "Uh," I repeat. "A swift kick. Do it." This level of confrontation is already enough. I won't get much sleep tonight. My adrenaline levels already shot through the roof when the cap guy said something to me. There's no way I'll do anything other than minding my business. "Man, you're such a pussy," the cigarette-smoking man said. "Here. Let me show you something." I felt a tingling sensation in my foot. Then, a sudden urge to move it. I couldn't resist. It was the world's most delicious cupcake in front of the world's fattest man. Twomph. That's the sound leather boots against denim-covered testicles make. Mr. Goatee fell to the ground. Mrs. Beautiful backside turns around. She looks surprised. She looks at me, and she smiles. There's a second smile. Mr. Cigarette grins and says, "I'm Lucifer. I'm your guardian angel." \\TBC\\	The sky blackened as the sun’s light was engulfed by the appearance of dark, rain clouds. An icy wind howled and the dark pulse of His arrival signaled to every rodent and creature to hide. I spat blood out of my mouth and stared deep into the eyes of the three bullies before me. I relished the metallic taste of blood as pooled again just below my swollen lip—its offer sealed the pact between me and the Dark Lord. “You three have no idea how much you just fucked up,” I said. An unearthly voice repeated my words. Tommy Stinson, Barry Paul, and Scott Morrison stood before me, seemingly frozen in place. Raindrops fell from the dark sky, dabbing my forehead with a cool touch and numbing my blackened eye. I gingerly touched the laceration on my cheek where Barry sucker punched me. The stinging pain sent a jolt through my system, but oddly enough, I lusted for its companionship. I smeared blood across my face; declaring war to the three boys. My shadow grew larger and larger beneath the soles of my feet. It silently snarled at its prey, extending its black claw. Scott gasped and fell back and I delighted in the sounds of his cry. I felt an invisible hand shoot forward. My talons dug into Scott’s terrified face, the dirty debris of his skin itched beneath my fingernails. I made a raking motion and Scott’s screams echoes into the stratosphere. Senses heightened, the smell of Barry’s fear drew my gaze. Sunken, dead, eyes stared into the fat boy’s soul and he released a soft whimper. Barry’s body turned and ran; instinct taking reign of his decision making. He didn’t get very far. The dark tendron rushed across the open field and sliced Barry’s Achilles tendon. His heavy body hit the ground hard and he squirmed in pain. All that remained was Tommy Stinson: the architect of my life’s suffering and the bane of my existence. He looked back at his two cohorts and then back at me. The look of defiance draped across his face angered me beyond comprehension. I felt my soul erupted and I directed all my hatred and ill will towards my oppressor. As my fury circled violently around the boy, a bright light tore apart the dark sky and encompassed Tommy in an otherworldly glow. My assault stopped dead in its tracks as a figure descended from the sky and stood behind him—its heavenly fire scalded my eyes, but I refused to blink. I felt a hand rest on my shoulder and I basked in his presence. “Raphael,” a voice began. “I find it odd you would choose to protect a soul this depraved. Surely you know the boy before you harbors the ilk of a beast.” “Our Lord deems this boy worthy,” the Archangel replied gruffly. “And what would the Lucifer, angel of the bottomless pit, and plague of this Earth, the Wicked and the Deceiver, want with a soul of the innocence?” “Shits and giggle,” came the reply. Raphael responded not with words, but by drawing his sword. The angelic blade breathed a terrifying heat. Lucifer smiled. “So be it brother.” And the two Titan charged forward.
	[WP] The wine god hates parties, the god of war is a scrawny nerd. The gods aren't what they seem.	Order, god of all gods valued consistency and hierarchy. Under his guidance the land remained dormant, never growing beyond what he could control. The other gods began to see the truth, they could never grow in power while kept in check, they could never be free under his oppressive hand. A simple question grew in their minds. What good is it to be a god if I can never be who I want to be? What good is it if I lack control? So, we killed him. War, Death, Love, Sea, Peace, Greed and even Life took turns hacking the old god to death while others stood by and watched. Only Chaos despaired, pleading with us as I held him back. I tried to convince him that it was right, that it was the only way he could truly spread his influence far and wide. Alas, the task of convincing him was beyond even me. We left him sobbing over the body of his oldest friend. The next few years were a bloodbath, the major gods fought with each other while the lesser ones flocked to them for protection. I managed to convince enough of them that we needed a king, not one like Order that stifled us, just one who would seek to punish the most blatant offenders. A god who could instill order without being solely fixated on it. The god who held the most power. The obvious problem with that question is that it’s impossible to answer. The actually problem is that every single god only had one answer. Themselves. After many hours of rather pointless arguing an elegant solution was found. Each god would spread their influence through the world of man and the god who has the largest effect after one thousand years becomes king. Little changed at first, War warred, death killed, life created, greed collected, the sea was exceptionally good at being water and love caused love. The gods were balanced like before, each action they took was counteracted by the others. They grew frustrated, they needed an advantage. They needed to change. War focused on efficiency and industry, he became convinced that supply lines, production, and technological innovation were the key to total war. He blessed scientists and tacticians with knowledge and foresight. Gone were his days of helping raging berserkers, he became coldhearted and calculating, he saw that fury and hate were obstructions to decision making on the battlefield. Peace saw that war spread with empire. He saw the far-reaching devastation War was causing and knew he must fight War's cold resource machine. He gave oppressed people hope. Hope that with the death of empires the large-scale fighting would stop. Rebellion after rebellion popped up as a vicious cycle of peace propping up the oppressed and in turn war influencing them to become oppressors took hold. Death saved lives knowing that if he advanced medicine and agriculture humanity would prosper, which would strengthen him as there is no greater source of death and destruction. Life burned and destroyed, seeing that what grew in ashes was healthier and more vibrant than what was there before. Love strengthened the bonds of people through challenge rather then reinforcement, learning that through pain and heartache the bonds could become much greater. Greed gave away every item he had, storing gold and silver all over the earth hoping to ignite the desires of mankind. Sea, well he was still just water. I think he may have gotten a bit saltier. In those thousand years the world changed more than it had in the previous ten thousand. Each god changed with it. Near the end, the others realized what had happened. They changed the world extraordinarily in those thousand years yet the others had done the same. Except one. When the day came, there was no argument, just acknowledgement. How can you argue against the one who changed the gods themselves? Only Chaos failed to show up at the coronation. A god without a place in the world, a shell of himself. He didn’t listen to me like the others, he knew that true Chaos could only come from Order. He hates me now and the reasoning makes a fair amount sense. That at least, brings me joy. For I am Logic. And now I am king	Altas holder of worlds, Athena wisdom beauty, and then there's Dionysus and Ares.. AA meetings were tough and PTSD ruined his family, the brothers; God's of their respective realms just couldnt believe where the 21st century would turn for them. "Hi, I'm Dionysus and I'm an alcoholic, things have been rough. So on and so on you know my story. I mean what ever man, so what I'm not the life of the party", said the withdrawn man. The group looks at him, nodded their heads and went on to the next person. He knew that he was one of many, but shit man he was the God of these people. The wild nights and silly mistakes all for the sake of the party and now look at him. His only friend nowadays was Ares who was in a very similar boat. "Speaking of boats Ares, how are your Marines." said the alcoholic." The voice that spoke sounded that of on of a 3rd grader and not the warrior you would think. "I can't reach them, they won't even look at me anymore. Every since I cheated on Athena and they took away my body no one respects me anymore. Shit I used to wipe anyone clean, now I can barely bench the bar." Said the defeated god of war. The down on their luck men looked at each other and understood that they were one of the same. One once held any right to festive gatherings of people the other was a battle hardened warrior. The alcoholic could think a whole bottle and still ride a bike, a party trick he used often to impress the lesser gods. Now his Dad Zeus said he would blast him off Olympus if he were to even touch and ounce of wine. With Ares things were a bit different, he had been with Athena for so long that things just got a little stale. She was his first love, borned in the same year and everything. "So why'd you do it? I know she's not as pretty as Aphrodite, but man she's still a major god. She like prettier than nine out of ten girls, plus you guys go to war together; hasn't she even saved your life?", said Dionysus. "Aphrodite just has big boobs, idk man; she just was flauting them and I fell for it. I didn't know they were so close. Shit I got Zeus's brawns man, girl has brains", said Ares. "We've got to come up with a plan for people to like us again man, something that will tear at their hearts", said Dionysus. The two sat for a while, thought, thought some more, then came up with something. You see Dionysus couldn't drink but that wasn't really the reason for his depression. He just wanted people's respect again and Ares just wanted Athena back. The plan was simple Ares would go and do all the party tricks Dionysus did to remind the youth of what an animal he was, and Dionysus would convince Athena to get back with Ares. Ok, he said to himself, this can't be the wrost thing in the world. He was a heavy drinker himself and guessed he wouldn't make a fool of himself. Just walk into the bar and drink 1 shot anything someone finished a drink can't be that hard. The problem was that Ares beening a dunce picked the wrong bar on the wrong night that week. He just couldn't figure that going on a Tuesday or something would have been easier than a Saturday night. He also picked the wrong side of town to go to. He walked into the bar, all 5'4 of him, and announced his plan. All the lesser gods and demi gods all gave each other wide grins and just went on with their business. They started off slow, so he was prob 5 drinks in after the first hour. That's when the fun started, someone took out a beer bong. They all started taking turns using the beer bong. By the time they were done the total shots he had to take was 25. To be honest he thought of just leaving and telling Dionysus he did it but he really wanted Athena. He looked down at the shots down on the table and just started going at it. About 17 in he had a feeling in his stomach and he looked around at everyone in the bar. That's when he vomited everywhere. The patrons in the bar were both horrified and excited at the same time. They cheered him on and he finished the rest of the shots. He stumbled out of the bar and then took a cab home. Drunkly he called Dionysus," Shit man I did my part, how's Athena." "Well to put this clearly for you she still pissed but she's willing to do couple's therapy. Then she went on about how dumb you look and how much of an idiot you are." Ares then passed out and much convincing was made about how he couldn't stay in the cab. Dionysus then looked himself in the mirror and realized sober him looked a lot better. All was well in the world of gods.
(This is my first Writing Prompt, I'll be happy for any feedback)	[WP] You lived in a cyborg society. Everyone is a robot. That is until you cut yourself and see blood.	(WP) Child of Steel It happened when she fell down and cut her knee; the skin had torn off, and she’d been expecting dark, thick oil streaming down her leg. But instead, bright blood dripped like liquid rubies down her leg. She didn’t understand it; their entire society had weeded out humans, more than a century ago now. There were no persons that had any human left. But this was what she knew as blood, the facts speeding through her brain, and her pain receptors firing. How was it possible that she had human blood? She looked around her; luckily, this area was so far away from the capital that hopefully no one had seen. But even as she turned away from the barren, rocky wasteland and began to power up to go home, her mind would not quiet. Being human—any trace of human culture at all—was a crime, in this day and age. After the bloody wars between men, machines, and the union of both, resulting in the birth of the cyborg race, the humans had all been eliminated. Their blind emotion had led to the slaughter of thousands, and so the robotic government had taken action, quietly and swiftly. Every human had been slaughtered, and the cyborgs took their place. But the highest in the pecking order (XS-12 had been studying up on human idioms, out of curiosity and boredom.) were the ones that lingered, that were all machines. They were as gods in the here and now. Their word was law, and the first one was no humans. Even what knowledge she’d gleaned was illegal, and somehow, through what reasonings she couldn’t understand, she’d always been resistant to the routine brain scans throughout the day. It hadn’t been anything alarming when she was a child; everyone had hoped that it was just a glitch. She felt something connecting, clicking and whirring and coming together like puzzle pieces. Something about her was not normal, not routine, not if she was bleeding anything but the standard motor oil. She wiped it up as best she could, pocketing the handkerchief and beginning to run back toward the city, toward home. In order to distract herself from this startling revelation, she concentrated on running, on moving her feet, one after another. She enjoyed physical exercise, even if she didn’t actually require it to function. Too soon, she arrived at her home, a sleek steel and glass structure that was in the middle of the Capitol, where she lived with her caretakers. Every robot not of age was by law required to have a pair of caretakers to usher them into adulthood, and take care of their needs before they grew old enough to be independent. XS-12 was fortunate to have two pure robots as her parents, YG-07 and MB-14. They’d taken her in when she was still a young child, the memory of her real parents difficult to recall; every time she’d tried, she’d received nothing but blurry, black and white static for her efforts. Had it been possible that her parents had been lying to her? Keeping secrets from her? The thought made her dizzy, and as she stepped through the door, she’d had to put a hand to the wall next to it to hold herself upright. The little apartment unit was empty, the whirring and clicking sounds of her parents absent. She didn’t know where they were, and right now, she didn’t care. She just wanted to know the truth, about who she was, and why this was happening. \\	I was coming back from school. I was walking on the sidewalk with my friends. We were talking about how weird it was 200 years ago, when people lived without wires. I turned the corner to go home. My friends went the other way. I walked into the usual bustle of my neighborhood, New York's Uptown. Suddenly, I saw people running toward me. I threw myself on the ground as people ran around me, down the street. I knew everybody was gone, and slowly stood up. I looked ahead. I saw a gang of robbers and thieves, and in front of them, the notorious Mobster Old Skin Jack. We learned about him a week ago in class, one of the last remaining Hoomans. I started running the other way. "Oh No, I got to protect my motherboard!" We learned also that he and his loyal minions destroy cyborgs, and violently stole our batteries and wires. Suddenly, I ran right into a low sign. "Ah!" I fell on the ground, scrunching up. I saw a small pool of red around me. It looked like this stuff called blood in Hoomans. Then, I fainted. When I woke up, I found myself in a dark room, dusty room. I heard talking. These 3 black figures stood near me. "It's been a long time since we have found an individual like him." Said one of them, in a deep, menacing voice. "I wonder what we'll do with him. What do you think, Johnny?" Said another. The third, Johnny, responded, "He's important, Black Eye. We've got to protect him against them horrible 8-Bits." I pondered for a sec, who is important? It certainly couldn't be me, could it? Right then, Johnny looked at me, then at the others. "Oh, he's awake, guys." They walked toward me. Johnny and 'Black Eye' stopped, but the 1st figure kept walking. "Hello." He said to me. "What do you want, why am I here?" I said back. "You are a special fellow, son. What's your name there?" "Randy, sir. But, who are you?" I answered. "Why, I'm Jack." He stuck his hand out at me. "What are you doing?" I exclaimed. "Uh, A hand shake Randy?" "Well ok..." I shook his hand. "This might surprise you, but you're human." Said Black Eye. "Your gunna have to join our ranks!" Said Johnny. "Your life's going to change, Randy." Old Skin Jack. And, oh, my life changed. Yes it did.

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