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[WP] You're the Grim Reaper. When you approach dying people you see a timer and cause of death in text above them, and your x-ray vision always confirms their illnesses. Today seemed normal but the text above the person in front of you says "Death: Cancer, 9 seconds." Problem is that he is healthy.
|
The emotion that closest passes for relief in my kind washed over me as I finally rounded the corner where I would see my next collection.
I turned and saw him leave the coffee shop where he worked. He was an unassuming 20 year old who worked too much and had few friends. He was a good man though. The notes I had read on his life almost made me sad it was his time but such is the way of the world. I walked towards him looking at his timer, "Death: cancer. 9 seconds."
I rushed towards him as the timer ticked to 8, Fighting my way through the crowd while making sure I wasn't noticed. If I push too hard the mortals to get spooked so I have to be careful.
As it ticked to 7 I got a better view of him. My vision showing me the inner workings of his body like the gears of a clock.
6 ticked away and I realized something.
5. He was healthy. Not a hint of the cancer that would kill him in ...
4 seconds.
At 3 I spotted it. Nodules growing around his heart. I made sure I was near by.
2. He was on the ground.
1. Something is off.
0. It ticked away and his soul released itself into my care. I took the bright shining orb and placed it carefully in my bag.
I couldn't help.but stop and think for a second as people rushed around me trying to help the man. That cancer was agressive, fast, and directly targeted. Perhaps some kind of virus or chemical agent?
My suspicions where confirmed as the timers of all those in contact with the body began to loose time rapidly with Cancer as their reason for dying.
Too bad, work was going to be busy today it seemed.
|
A teenage boy stands before me in a mall. Well, floats. He’s a soul now, after all. He’s trying to move, waving his wispy limbs around. Haha, they always look hilarious when they do that. Baby souls, toddling around.
The boy’s dead. Hasn’t always been dead; that’s how these things work. He’s very recently dead, though. Nobody can accuse me of slow customer service.
I float toward the boy. “Greetings, mortal soul.” At the sound of my voice, the boy freezes and turns to stare at me. I smile, although I'm not sure if he's close enough to see my face. “I am Death, the Reaper of Souls, Guide to — ”
“Took you a while, huh?" The boy replies nonchalantly. "I’ve been here for like forty-five minutes. I thought I was supposed to go haunt someone I hated, you know, like a ghost. Am I a ghost?”
“You — you — ” I spluttered. Insolence! I am the Grim Reaper! Humans are so irreverent these days. So what if I was playing with my cats instead of checking the fresh soul queue?
“That’s no way to greet the Grim Reaper! I could banish you to the void for eternity! I could torture you into insanity!”
Let’s not mention that I’d get censured for that. Besides, it’s a lot of effort. I’ll just scare some respect into him.
“Yeah, yeah, so, anyway, can I see that chick I saved? I’m like a hero, or something, right? Sacrificing myself to save someone?”
“You didn’t save anyone. You died from a heart attack.”
“What? No, I saved a girl. There was a robber running out of the Apple Store, and he had a knife. I pushed the girl out of the way and got stabbed instead!”
I snorted. “Your so-called ‘robber’ was just a customer in a rush. He was so excited with his new iPhone that he started unwrapping it as soon as he left the store. You’re so stupid that you can’t tell the difference between a knife and an iPhone. He wasn’t watching where he was going and bumped into some people on his way out.”
“No,” the boy says in a weak voice. “That can’t be. I saved that hot girl. She was so hot.”
“You lunged at the girl but missed and managed to impale yourself on the fence around the mall’s Christmas tree.”
The boy’s lost expression is delicious. One of the things that motivate me for work.
Then I notice the huge mall clock. What am I doing? So much time as passed.
“So, yada yada yada," I say, "we’ve wasted so much time. If anyone asks, I read you your rights, got it? Otherwise void, torture, all that.”
I lift my scythe.
“What?” the boy manages to ask before my scythe cleaves through his soul. The wispy essence sticks to the scythe, which slurps it up like hot soup.
I’m supposed to escort him the afterlife, but this new feature on my scythe is so handy. The trip to the afterlife takes ages. I can store a few souls in my scythe and take them in a batch. I work smarter, not harder. I may have left a few demons in my scythe from my initial experiments with it, but the souls will have an eternity of bliss to recover.
Yeah, so I lied to the boy. He’d saved the girl and all that. So what? There was no company policy against lying.
I float out of the mall to my beloved cats. Ah, the feigned indifference when I return home —
The smell of death fills the air.
Me? Are you looking for an early death? Of course it’s not me! I shower daily!
I scan the mall in an instant, flitting through walls and people alike. A perfectly healthy man about to die in nine seconds from cancer. Then another. And another.
I slow down time and work diligently to avert the clearly supernatural phenomenon — not.
I tap them all, and they whoosh with a satisfying sound into my scythe. A few seconds early or late isn’t a big deal. I have real problems to deal with.
“Show yourself, Nemesis!” I shout, my voice ringing throughout the mall in the ethereal dimension.
I whirl around. He always emerges behind me. Does he think it’s dramatic? I miss half of his entrance that way.
A toddler barely old enough to walk toddles out from behind a mall bench.
“Cancer Baby! Stop this at once!”
The toddler giggles and runs away.
“At least let us fight in a less populated area!” I shout, chasing after him.
Bodies drop in our wake. To save myself a second trip, I’m harvesting all the souls along the way. No need to check; Cancer Baby has definitely infected them all. Evil bastard. He’s probably going to infect the entire mall. In that case —
“Die!” I yell, and with a swing, I level the mall. I float up through the falling ceiling and survey the results.
That should do — damn it.
A giggling toddler climbs from the wreckage, waves, and vanishes.
There’s going to be so much paperwork.
|
|
[WP] You're the Grim Reaper. When you approach dying people you see a timer and cause of death in text above them, and your x-ray vision always confirms their illnesses. Today seemed normal but the text above the person in front of you says "Death: Cancer, 9 seconds." Problem is that he is healthy.
|
This shouldn't be happening. I watched as the number counted down. Part of me was horrified; he was completely healthy, there were no signs of any illness. Yet part of me was intrigued. I wanted to see what would happen. Oftentimes we were given more warning when someone died of something like an aneurism or heart attack. We were usually given way more time for cancer, too. So given nine seconds, and a death to cancer? This doesn't make sense.
I unfroze time for one second. Inside I watched black tendrils wrap around one of his kidneys. This guy was thirty-two, an analyst, a healthy dad of two. These tendrils were not normal.
Two more seconds. The tendrils encompassed his kidney in the first. In the second, tumors started to bud and grow.
"Reaper. You have other appointments you must address." One of my associates whispered in my ear.
"Not now." I said. "I am unsure what's happening here. It is necessary to investigate."
"Understood." And he disappeared.
I positioned myself in the empty seat next to the man. He would not see me in any case, but I figured I might as well stay discreet. On the occasion I got too excited, sometimes my form would emanate waves of intimidation, making the room grow cold and fill humans with unease.
Two more seconds. Tumors spread in his kidney and metastasized out; they spread into the rest of his torso and up into his lungs and heart, all through his lymphatic system. In the next second, I watched his blood cells, both red and white, atrophy before my eyes. His hand fluttered down to his kidney, and in the eighth second he collapsed out of his chair, clutching the outside of where his kidney was.
In the final second, his heart stopped beating. The muscle had atrophied from the toll the tumors took on his body.
As his coworkers ran to his side I looked harder. The black tendrils - that only I could see - laced through his veins, turning the whites of his eyes and fingernails black.
Black sludge was pouring out of his mouth like drool. Some other human called 911. I stroked his hair and it turned to ash under my fingers.
This was strange. But it was not unfamiliar. This was the work of the Life Bringer, my counter. Oftentimes we worked in harmony, as a crucial balance to sustain this planet we served.
This was not her job, but it was her message. She was meant to give life. She had given life to this man some time ago. And yet, it was her choice to now reclaim it.
I needed to get to the bottom of this. For some reason, she was declaring war on me.
​
\------
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed that please check out my subreddit /r/ShittyDuckStories
|
A teenage boy stands before me in a mall. Well, floats. He’s a soul now, after all. He’s trying to move, waving his wispy limbs around. Haha, they always look hilarious when they do that. Baby souls, toddling around.
The boy’s dead. Hasn’t always been dead; that’s how these things work. He’s very recently dead, though. Nobody can accuse me of slow customer service.
I float toward the boy. “Greetings, mortal soul.” At the sound of my voice, the boy freezes and turns to stare at me. I smile, although I'm not sure if he's close enough to see my face. “I am Death, the Reaper of Souls, Guide to — ”
“Took you a while, huh?" The boy replies nonchalantly. "I’ve been here for like forty-five minutes. I thought I was supposed to go haunt someone I hated, you know, like a ghost. Am I a ghost?”
“You — you — ” I spluttered. Insolence! I am the Grim Reaper! Humans are so irreverent these days. So what if I was playing with my cats instead of checking the fresh soul queue?
“That’s no way to greet the Grim Reaper! I could banish you to the void for eternity! I could torture you into insanity!”
Let’s not mention that I’d get censured for that. Besides, it’s a lot of effort. I’ll just scare some respect into him.
“Yeah, yeah, so, anyway, can I see that chick I saved? I’m like a hero, or something, right? Sacrificing myself to save someone?”
“You didn’t save anyone. You died from a heart attack.”
“What? No, I saved a girl. There was a robber running out of the Apple Store, and he had a knife. I pushed the girl out of the way and got stabbed instead!”
I snorted. “Your so-called ‘robber’ was just a customer in a rush. He was so excited with his new iPhone that he started unwrapping it as soon as he left the store. You’re so stupid that you can’t tell the difference between a knife and an iPhone. He wasn’t watching where he was going and bumped into some people on his way out.”
“No,” the boy says in a weak voice. “That can’t be. I saved that hot girl. She was so hot.”
“You lunged at the girl but missed and managed to impale yourself on the fence around the mall’s Christmas tree.”
The boy’s lost expression is delicious. One of the things that motivate me for work.
Then I notice the huge mall clock. What am I doing? So much time as passed.
“So, yada yada yada," I say, "we’ve wasted so much time. If anyone asks, I read you your rights, got it? Otherwise void, torture, all that.”
I lift my scythe.
“What?” the boy manages to ask before my scythe cleaves through his soul. The wispy essence sticks to the scythe, which slurps it up like hot soup.
I’m supposed to escort him the afterlife, but this new feature on my scythe is so handy. The trip to the afterlife takes ages. I can store a few souls in my scythe and take them in a batch. I work smarter, not harder. I may have left a few demons in my scythe from my initial experiments with it, but the souls will have an eternity of bliss to recover.
Yeah, so I lied to the boy. He’d saved the girl and all that. So what? There was no company policy against lying.
I float out of the mall to my beloved cats. Ah, the feigned indifference when I return home —
The smell of death fills the air.
Me? Are you looking for an early death? Of course it’s not me! I shower daily!
I scan the mall in an instant, flitting through walls and people alike. A perfectly healthy man about to die in nine seconds from cancer. Then another. And another.
I slow down time and work diligently to avert the clearly supernatural phenomenon — not.
I tap them all, and they whoosh with a satisfying sound into my scythe. A few seconds early or late isn’t a big deal. I have real problems to deal with.
“Show yourself, Nemesis!” I shout, my voice ringing throughout the mall in the ethereal dimension.
I whirl around. He always emerges behind me. Does he think it’s dramatic? I miss half of his entrance that way.
A toddler barely old enough to walk toddles out from behind a mall bench.
“Cancer Baby! Stop this at once!”
The toddler giggles and runs away.
“At least let us fight in a less populated area!” I shout, chasing after him.
Bodies drop in our wake. To save myself a second trip, I’m harvesting all the souls along the way. No need to check; Cancer Baby has definitely infected them all. Evil bastard. He’s probably going to infect the entire mall. In that case —
“Die!” I yell, and with a swing, I level the mall. I float up through the falling ceiling and survey the results.
That should do — damn it.
A giggling toddler climbs from the wreckage, waves, and vanishes.
There’s going to be so much paperwork.
|
|
[WP] You're the Grim Reaper. When you approach dying people you see a timer and cause of death in text above them, and your x-ray vision always confirms their illnesses. Today seemed normal but the text above the person in front of you says "Death: Cancer, 9 seconds." Problem is that he is healthy.
|
This shouldn't be happening. I watched as the number counted down. Part of me was horrified; he was completely healthy, there were no signs of any illness. Yet part of me was intrigued. I wanted to see what would happen. Oftentimes we were given more warning when someone died of something like an aneurism or heart attack. We were usually given way more time for cancer, too. So given nine seconds, and a death to cancer? This doesn't make sense.
I unfroze time for one second. Inside I watched black tendrils wrap around one of his kidneys. This guy was thirty-two, an analyst, a healthy dad of two. These tendrils were not normal.
Two more seconds. The tendrils encompassed his kidney in the first. In the second, tumors started to bud and grow.
"Reaper. You have other appointments you must address." One of my associates whispered in my ear.
"Not now." I said. "I am unsure what's happening here. It is necessary to investigate."
"Understood." And he disappeared.
I positioned myself in the empty seat next to the man. He would not see me in any case, but I figured I might as well stay discreet. On the occasion I got too excited, sometimes my form would emanate waves of intimidation, making the room grow cold and fill humans with unease.
Two more seconds. Tumors spread in his kidney and metastasized out; they spread into the rest of his torso and up into his lungs and heart, all through his lymphatic system. In the next second, I watched his blood cells, both red and white, atrophy before my eyes. His hand fluttered down to his kidney, and in the eighth second he collapsed out of his chair, clutching the outside of where his kidney was.
In the final second, his heart stopped beating. The muscle had atrophied from the toll the tumors took on his body.
As his coworkers ran to his side I looked harder. The black tendrils - that only I could see - laced through his veins, turning the whites of his eyes and fingernails black.
Black sludge was pouring out of his mouth like drool. Some other human called 911. I stroked his hair and it turned to ash under my fingers.
This was strange. But it was not unfamiliar. This was the work of the Life Bringer, my counter. Oftentimes we worked in harmony, as a crucial balance to sustain this planet we served.
This was not her job, but it was her message. She was meant to give life. She had given life to this man some time ago. And yet, it was her choice to now reclaim it.
I needed to get to the bottom of this. For some reason, she was declaring war on me.
​
\------
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed that please check out my subreddit /r/ShittyDuckStories
|
The emotion that closest passes for relief in my kind washed over me as I finally rounded the corner where I would see my next collection.
I turned and saw him leave the coffee shop where he worked. He was an unassuming 20 year old who worked too much and had few friends. He was a good man though. The notes I had read on his life almost made me sad it was his time but such is the way of the world. I walked towards him looking at his timer, "Death: cancer. 9 seconds."
I rushed towards him as the timer ticked to 8, Fighting my way through the crowd while making sure I wasn't noticed. If I push too hard the mortals to get spooked so I have to be careful.
As it ticked to 7 I got a better view of him. My vision showing me the inner workings of his body like the gears of a clock.
6 ticked away and I realized something.
5. He was healthy. Not a hint of the cancer that would kill him in ...
4 seconds.
At 3 I spotted it. Nodules growing around his heart. I made sure I was near by.
2. He was on the ground.
1. Something is off.
0. It ticked away and his soul released itself into my care. I took the bright shining orb and placed it carefully in my bag.
I couldn't help.but stop and think for a second as people rushed around me trying to help the man. That cancer was agressive, fast, and directly targeted. Perhaps some kind of virus or chemical agent?
My suspicions where confirmed as the timers of all those in contact with the body began to loose time rapidly with Cancer as their reason for dying.
Too bad, work was going to be busy today it seemed.
|
|
[WP] You are a high school clairvoyant, who can see a completely accurate future by making skin contact with a person who wants to know their future. You use this power to make a quick buck for anyone who is curious. One day, you read one of your classmate's futures, and that future involves you..
|
(Switched to third person, hope that's okay! This is my very first prompt, go easy on me lol)
The nightmare began months after Graham found out. He was invigorated upon discovering his clairvoyance— as he called it. He once said that we dream of having superpowers as children, but are never taught how to use them, nor the responsibility of having them. At first Graham thought it was the adderall, but later realized that skin contact and focus unlocked his ability.
This ability was ingrained in him for as long as he could remember, but he has always denied it. But now he knows, the dreams weren’t dreams. They *really* happened. You see, we can all ponder about our earliest memory … maybe you have blurry snapshots of playing hide-and-seek, or admiring a monstrous sandcastle that was probably 2 feet tall, or rushing to the emergency room — in your parent’s arms — over an asthma attack.
Graham’s earliest memories? Living as a child, yes. But also living as an adult… Specifically, his mother’s.
They were dreams all along, he thought. How else do you explain memories where you see through the eyes of your mother? Well, considering that vague distant memories can be indistinguishable from dreams, any rational being would opt for the latter explanation. Of course, Graham’s clairvoyance turned dormant as his attention span lost control during his toddler years.
However, the ‘dreams’ were just vivid enough to maintain his curiosity, and 18 years later, now he knows. Skin contact and focus revitalize it.
There appears to be two major constraints, however. First, he must decide on a time period into the future, starting from the present. Second, he lives through every second of that person’s future for the entirety of that period. Every perception, sense, and emotion imbues him as much as the host.
That didn’t stop him however. Graham was swift to exploit this ability. His popularity quickly surged in social media. Naturally, thanks to his followers, his power unleashed a lucrative career. He also developed limitless empathy. We speak of empathy as the ability to share one’s feelings… but this is never exactly true for anyone. With Graham’s ability, however, he was *by definition* an exception. As a result, Graham was described as the most compassionate character anyone has ever met.
Clairvoyance, he called it. Unfortunately, this is nothing but a shallow descriptor. Sure, it sounds exotic and alien. But it is a *mechanism*, and it exists within the confines of physical laws. As everything else in the universe, the rabbit hole *always* gets deeper. It's no surprise, then, that scientists paid attention, and it didn't take long before Dr. Aramburu reached out to him.
The nightmare began when Dr. Aramburu, the lead researcher of a lab at Harvard Medical School, had only five words to get Graham on a plane to see him: “You’re not the only one.” A middle-aged woman, Solange, has proven to possess Graham’s ability. Although the researchers were well intentioned, they could have never foreseen what was coming. Graham and Solange were the guinea pigs, as you could have called them. For the first time in history, an innate *talent* has become the door to exploration of another dimension of universal laws, and it was in the hands of Dr. Aramburu and his team of medical professionals and physicists. Unfortunately, although the experiments seemed innocuous enough, the intratelepathy effect — as it is now called — had not yet been discovered.
Days after preliminary questioning, Graham and Solange were permitted to meet over coffee before the first (and only) experiment. They discussed their respective experiences for several hours. Solange was irritated of Graham’s exploitation of this ability … disclosure of one’s future alters it, she thought. Destiny is a God's beast, and tampering with it carelessly is unwise. Nevertheless, her equal compassion allowed their conversation to continue joyfully.
Once in the lab, the initial experiment was simple. Solange would grab Graham’s hand and foresee five seconds into his future. The idea, as explained thoroughly by the researchers, was for Solange to ascertain Graham’s thought. What was he thinking at that precise moment? This was simple enough. Both of them — Graham especially — have been through this multiple times over. Trapped in one’s mind, they knew that every perception and emotion permeates the host as much as the telepath.
What followed, however, simply could not have been anticipated. The moment Solange stepped into Graham’s consciousness, both of their eyes dilated as they collapsed out of their chairs. Unconscious, pale, and breathing lifelessly. It all happened so quickly, milliseconds after Solange initiated. Detachment of their hands did nothing. A decade later, both remain unconscious.
It is theorized that the instant Solange stepped into Graham’s consciousness, he unintentionally reciprocated with his ability shortly after. Researchers have since coined this phenomenon the intratelepathy effect. As Graham’s perceptions were Solange’s, Solange’s perceptions were Graham’s, whose perceptions were Solange’s, and so on. This mind-bending reflection of consciousness rendered Solange and Graham into an immediate coma. Some optimists theorize they fell into a deep state of unconsciousness, as if anesthetized. However, their brain activity evidenced by fMRI studies suggests otherwise. Most likely, since time in their telepathic state runs along a different dimension than our own, Solange and Graham instantly descended into a singularity. Like two facing mirrors, they are eternally trapped in the reflection of each other’s mind.
|
Her name was Marlee, like the dog's name from that one movie. The meeting place was always the same, janitor's closet, fifth period, right after lunch. Mr. James, the elderly janitor always cleaned the cafeteria and I made my fifty bucks. Yeah I know what you're thinking and don't judge my pricing, supply and demand's a bitch especially when I was the only supplier, well, I was back then.
Most everybody wanted to know the same old stuff: where they would go to college, the name of the person they'd marry, if they were going to get caught cheating on the SAT's or not, but that's when I could control it. Sometimes even now, I can't and a vision comes even if I brush up against someone in the hallway. So, my hands are always in my pockets, and you'll always find me in long sleeves and jeans even in the summer. But Marlee, when we touched... Well, she was one of the ones where I couldn't control it.
I peered around the hallway corner and saw Mr. James wheel his mop from the closet like he always did with the annoyingly loud back left squeaky wheel. When was out of sight, I looked back at Marlee behind me and said, "Come on".
"What class are you skipping?" I asked.
"Biology, what about you?"
"I have an off period".
She blew some air out of her nose as I put my hand on the door knob.
"Do you have a problem with my methods?"
"Just open the door, I can't get caught skipping."
I opened the door, motioned for her to enter first, and closed the door behind me slowly and quietly. We stood in the dark of the closet until I reached up and pulled on the light string.
Marlee and I stood with our chests touching and if she weren't so short, our faces would be touching as well.
"On second thought, I do have a problem with your methods. You couldn't have picked anywhere with a little more room?" she whispered.
"It's a janitor's closet, what did you expect?" I whispered back.
"Not paying fifty bucks to stare directly into your neck.”
"Okay, hurtful. At least I’m not the one named after a dog.”
"Oh, hahaha never heard that one before. I might be named after a dog but at least I don’t have dog breath. Whatever, let's get on with it, how does this work? You have your crystal ball next to the windex or something?"
"No, all you have to do is give me your hand and tell me what you want to know."
"How about you tell me what I want to know without the touching Mcfly."
"That's not even... That's a time travel movie this is... You know what? Do you wanna do this or not?"
"Okay okay, yes I want to do this. I want to know the date of my death."
I paused and looked at her. She said it so casually with her hands in her jean jacket pockets.
"What?" she asked.
"Can you do it or not Blake?"
"Yeah, I can do it, do you want to know how you die?"
"No, I don't, just tell me when."
"Okay, give me your hand."
She pulled her hand from her pocket, took a deep breath, and closed her eyes.
I looked down at her hand and took it.
It was like being dunked underwater, there was no control and I was watching.
Mr. James opened the door holding his mop out like a weapon and light shot out of it. I shielded my eyes but Marlee attacked with a stick in her own hand, a wand.
I swam up to the surface and was in the closet holding her hand.
“Well, did it work?” she asked.
I stood with my mouth wide open until I stated.
“You have to pull out your wand.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Mr. James is coming, I don’t know what you are, but he’s coming and you have to stop him.”
“Blake, I don’t know what you-”
“Shh”
I held up my hand for her to be quiet and the noise became clear. The squeaky wheel coming down the hallway.
I spat out in the quietest of whispers, “he’s coming to, to get us right now Marlee his mop has a white light, you have to stop him.”
The squeaky wheel stopped, and a wand appeared in Marlee’s hand.
Then, the door opened.
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[WP] The year is 2040. All children born in 2020 have been found to have perfect vision with no exceptions. They are now beginning to turn 20 and something strange is happening. They’re developing abilities such as x-ray vision, clairvoyance, precognition, astral vision, infrared sight, etc.
|
I'm at the hospital again for another eye scan. I don't understand why it's only those of us born in 2020 who are experiencing this, and the doctors don't understand what's caused it.
All of us are now developing special abilities which, till now only existed in other species, or science fiction books.
Doctors have found one similarity, which they think will give them an idea of if anything like this will happen in someone else. It's why they decided all of us have to submit to regular eye scans. They even think they might be able to find what skill a person will develop based on these scan records.
You see, we were all born with something unusual about my eyes.
I am a designer baby.
My parents found out they had one embryo that was not only healthy but had a very unique quality. They had an embryo that would produce violet eyes. They just had to use that one, as no other child would have violet eyes. Imagine their surprise when I opened my eyes, and they noticed luminescent green flecks around the edges of the violet.
As a result of my 'abnormality', they wrote many angry letters to the doctor who gave them the embryo, demanding their money back for the mix-up. Unfortunately, all the records proved they had gotten the correct one.
Even more unfortunately for them, I wasn't the only baby with violet eyes.
That year there were quite a number of children born with violet, partially violet, or one violet eye. The violet eyes were the most common around all of us. And many of us were developing x-ray vision, seeing people we meet deaths, telekinesis of magnetic materials, and having children without a partner who was our copies (minus the eyes). And all of us with those skills had violet eyes of one form of another.
The doctors were very surprised when I developed the ability to see ultraviolet shortly after my 20th birthday. They say I am the only person who has developed this ability, and the only person with luminescent green flecks in their eyes.
I scowl as I leave the hopsital. *I hate the eye scans.* *And what's the point of knowing if someone will develop an abiltiy or what it will be. They're all so small that they are virtually useless.* I sqiunt at the bright colours on the bas doors that no one else can see as it pulls off.
Like everyone else, my 'wonder ability', as they've come to be known, is more of an inconvenience. And like everyone with our strange eyes, I'm stared at and asked what my wonder ability is or is going to be. I take a seat among the stares and prepare to ignore another barrage of questions.
|
They were all having a great time making fun of me in med school.
“He’s really going to be an internist?”
“Is he nuts?”
“Why get so indebted if you want to become a family doctor, do something ambitious!”
But Roy and his girlfriend Diane were the worst of them all. You know the type, affluent family, prepping for hours for MCAT, completely oblivious of the reality. They just wanted to suffer through those four years, the residency, and then finally be able to bleed their patients dry… of money, of course, not blood. Hematology isn’t exactly well-paid.
While Diane managed to snatch a radiology specialization, Roy was less lucky, failing to secure a spot to train as neurosurgeon first, and then orthopedic surgeon, eventually settling for a career as an ophthalmologist.
I, meanwhile joined the Air Force. When they found out, hell broke loose. To them, that was the end of, if not world, then at least social life. You’re not going to be a part of medical circles anymore, they said. I did not care, with my eyes set on colonel’s eagle.
The ‘20s were a strange period, with this whole healthy, eco-friendly living bullshit. Everything had to be bio certified or whatever, otherwise, you might as well file chapter 11 already. That’s why when the reports of improved eyesight among children born after 2020 surfaced, all those charlatans and social media influencers claimed it as a proof of “environmentally conscious lifestyle’s superiority”.
I did not care, raising through the ranks, I was left with little to no real medical job, instead being effectively left as a glorified clerk, with a cushy administrative job in the Medical Corps. But I couldn’t help but wonder about Roy, what was going to happen to his medical practice long term. Well, let’s be honest, hoping he’ll have to close sooner or later.
But that would’ve been a silly think to seriously hope for. Most of their business is, after all, not routine examinations of children and adolescents, but elderly people’s problems, something they could still work on for decades.
Or could they?
Nobody could believe in what media reported in 2040. Superpowers? Give me a break, is it some stupid comic book?
And yet, that was actually happening. X-ray vision, clairvoyance, shooting laser from eyes, you name it. If it’s got something to do with vision, someone had it.
It was fascinating, I admit, but in this whole superhero hype, everyone seemed to fail to notice one important thing – just how many physicians were bound to become obsolete.
To Diane’s dismay, radiologists were among the first to become redundant, after all, why poison yourself with radiation, when you can have your results in a fraction of second, hustle-free? But others soon followed. Surgeons, for instance, could not compete with lasers able to vaporize tissues inside of the body, while not damaging muscles or skin. And ophthalmologists? Apparently everyone born after 2040 could repair someone else’s eyes by just looking at them.
American Medical Associations went nuts, lobbying for legislation that would keep their precious jobs safe.
But I, as the Surgeon General of the United States Air Force, I could not give a damn.
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[WP] The year is 2040. All children born in 2020 have been found to have perfect vision with no exceptions. They are now beginning to turn 20 and something strange is happening. They’re developing abilities such as x-ray vision, clairvoyance, precognition, astral vision, infrared sight, etc.
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I'm at the hospital again for another eye scan. I don't understand why it's only those of us born in 2020 who are experiencing this, and the doctors don't understand what's caused it.
All of us are now developing special abilities which, till now only existed in other species, or science fiction books.
Doctors have found one similarity, which they think will give them an idea of if anything like this will happen in someone else. It's why they decided all of us have to submit to regular eye scans. They even think they might be able to find what skill a person will develop based on these scan records.
You see, we were all born with something unusual about my eyes.
I am a designer baby.
My parents found out they had one embryo that was not only healthy but had a very unique quality. They had an embryo that would produce violet eyes. They just had to use that one, as no other child would have violet eyes. Imagine their surprise when I opened my eyes, and they noticed luminescent green flecks around the edges of the violet.
As a result of my 'abnormality', they wrote many angry letters to the doctor who gave them the embryo, demanding their money back for the mix-up. Unfortunately, all the records proved they had gotten the correct one.
Even more unfortunately for them, I wasn't the only baby with violet eyes.
That year there were quite a number of children born with violet, partially violet, or one violet eye. The violet eyes were the most common around all of us. And many of us were developing x-ray vision, seeing people we meet deaths, telekinesis of magnetic materials, and having children without a partner who was our copies (minus the eyes). And all of us with those skills had violet eyes of one form of another.
The doctors were very surprised when I developed the ability to see ultraviolet shortly after my 20th birthday. They say I am the only person who has developed this ability, and the only person with luminescent green flecks in their eyes.
I scowl as I leave the hopsital. *I hate the eye scans.* *And what's the point of knowing if someone will develop an abiltiy or what it will be. They're all so small that they are virtually useless.* I sqiunt at the bright colours on the bas doors that no one else can see as it pulls off.
Like everyone else, my 'wonder ability', as they've come to be known, is more of an inconvenience. And like everyone with our strange eyes, I'm stared at and asked what my wonder ability is or is going to be. I take a seat among the stares and prepare to ignore another barrage of questions.
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The children sit carelessly amongst themselves in building 7. Richard stands on the opposite end of a military-grade rectangular mirror, observing the youngsters. Three consecutive beeps alert him to a fresh pot of desperately needed coffee. He moves dis-intently, forcing one foot in front of the other as another yawn escapes from his foggy mind. The nearest pasty white mug beckons to him, coaxing him to pick the glass up for inspection. "Clean enough." He whispers to himself, already grabbing the sloshing pot of coffee by it's handle.
Today is Michael's ninth birthday. He is alone, not unusual for him. Most of his classmates hover nearby the massive television, watching the super hero show with glee. But Michael is a special breed. Richard tosses his attention to cabinet in the corner of the room which contains annual reports on the children of unit 9. With a piping cup of coffee in one hand, he travels to the cabinet before setting the mug on top of the metal shelf. He pulls open the middle drawer and flips through the thick envelopes until he reaches Michael's.
He is indeed a special case. Born on December 31st 2023. This report indicates a natural birth. Richard remembers it quiet differently. Michael's mother, Sarah, who Richard worked with at one point in time, was rushed to the hospital at only five months pregnant. She was complaining of "terrible burning inside of her stomach". An ultrasounds was conducted immediately, only for certain "blockages" preventing the team from checking on the baby. The pain continued to intensify. At one point she would tell a nurse she didn't "didn't give a fuck about the baby, she just wanted it out of her."
The team established a plan which would result in an emergency c-section. As they prepared the operating room, Sarah declared the pain to be unbearable and grabbed a nearby scalpel, driving it into her underbelly and beginning the incision herself. She was restrained before any further self harming behavior could continue. Now with an open wound, the lead surgeon worked diligently to correct the deep and botched gash. As layers of the stomach folded open, an overwhelming stench of burnt flesh engulfed the operating room. It was Sarah's insides. Her baby was expelling beams of ultra violet radiation so powerful, it unfortunately disintegrated its own eye lids, causing lesions to develop on it's eyeballs.
The baby was removed and after several months in urgent care and a few short operations, it would regain the simple ability to blink. But now an immense problem had arisen, catching the governments attention. Similar cases developed globally. An initiative was born. A new age arms race of super powered children. But what would happen if these children would grow to resent humanity. To live a life with out love. To always be on guard, watching there backs.
Richard closed the file and placed it neatly back in order. He snatched his mug from on top of the cabinet before once again turning his unbridled attention on the children. He glanced from one child to the next, studying any unusual mannerisms. All was normal, except for Michael who appeared to be staring through the thick observation panel at Richard.
What would happen if they wanted to kill us all?
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[WP] The year is 2040. All children born in 2020 have been found to have perfect vision with no exceptions. They are now beginning to turn 20 and something strange is happening. They’re developing abilities such as x-ray vision, clairvoyance, precognition, astral vision, infrared sight, etc.
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Many of the white( pre-cog)s are planning a protest outside the Dean's house tomorrow. They're saying the school isn't attempting to accommodate their abilities in order to conduct the course test, and that it's effectively racist. Not only that, the college has been letting in more blacks and Asians, in general, because their innates are more ***commercially viable*** (e.g. night-vision saves on those electric bills anywhere you go, to say the least). Likewise, more non-whites have been pretending to not have pre-cog abilities to double-down on the fact people just assume if you're not white then you can't read anyone's mind, or have access to the 'primordial computer', 'collective director', or whatever else they call it, *right*? You know what I'm referring to? … Yeah, that *Spinoza thing* they brought up in science class… Yeah-yeah, *pantheon*, *elohim*, or whatever stick-up-the-ass they call it — sorry, I'm not fully sympathetic to pre-cogs, but its not because they're white… No [lol], I swear no one is hijacking me to say that, and, no, I haven't been watching any MSSM replies today. I'm speaking from my own thoughts; fuck you, dick, I have white friends, both pre-cog and non-pre-cog…
What? Why would I lie? They are protesting! … Rael told me they were … I don't know who told him, or how he found out. All I know is — … No, that's horse shit "nobody knows yet". Both of us and Rael know it. Why would Rael lie to me? … I talked to him yesterday, why? …
[a white 20 something male steps into the room]
Turns out, Rael, a hispanic pre-cog, had gone missing last week. And, our friend here has been listening to all kinds of voices in her head. But, other than that, *you're not wrong*, pal. But, maybe you would know what that Spinoza thing was all about. And, maybe you're just afraid of the Dean, for some reason. Why don't you just come clean, now?
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‘So....’ Derek said, unsure what to do, now that this whole “superpower” thing is supposed to suddenly come to him too. It was December the 31st, 2040 CE. Derek’s 20th birthday, and New Years Eve.
Currently, he was locked away in a cell, after being escorted here to some sort of.... facility. It kind of reminded him of one of those SCP games, with the white walls, long hallways, keycard locks, and one way mirrors. Well, the one way mirror thing was just a guess; there were mirrors, sure, but maybe they served a different purpose. He hadn’t bothered to check either.
As to why he was locked up in here... Well the scientist who had brought him there answered him with,”The first Gen20, as they were being called now, awakened something different from all the others. Instead of gaining something more perception based, he gained something... different. Almost like magic. At the time, scientists didn’t have a clue as to what it did, but, as all new things do, it grew. But at an alarming rate. Five days after the man had awakened the strange, ominous power, things around him grew dark. All light energy and heat energy within a 5 meter radius of the man stopped working. Then.... he became shrouded in a purple darkness.. almost like fog. Soon after th-,” Derek cut the man off.
“So, what you want is to observe whether I awaken a power that can rival that of this ‘first of the Gen20s’?” Derek said.
“Exactly.” The man replied.
So anyhow, here was Derek, sitting in his cell, waiting for this so-called power to come to him.
It never came.
People hadn’t realised it yet, but the younger Gen20s were weaker. Derek was simply so weak, that he had no powers in the slightest.
Edit: Minor fixes
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[WP] The year is 2040. All children born in 2020 have been found to have perfect vision with no exceptions. They are now beginning to turn 20 and something strange is happening. They’re developing abilities such as x-ray vision, clairvoyance, precognition, astral vision, infrared sight, etc.
|
I'm at the hospital again for another eye scan. I don't understand why it's only those of us born in 2020 who are experiencing this, and the doctors don't understand what's caused it.
All of us are now developing special abilities which, till now only existed in other species, or science fiction books.
Doctors have found one similarity, which they think will give them an idea of if anything like this will happen in someone else. It's why they decided all of us have to submit to regular eye scans. They even think they might be able to find what skill a person will develop based on these scan records.
You see, we were all born with something unusual about my eyes.
I am a designer baby.
My parents found out they had one embryo that was not only healthy but had a very unique quality. They had an embryo that would produce violet eyes. They just had to use that one, as no other child would have violet eyes. Imagine their surprise when I opened my eyes, and they noticed luminescent green flecks around the edges of the violet.
As a result of my 'abnormality', they wrote many angry letters to the doctor who gave them the embryo, demanding their money back for the mix-up. Unfortunately, all the records proved they had gotten the correct one.
Even more unfortunately for them, I wasn't the only baby with violet eyes.
That year there were quite a number of children born with violet, partially violet, or one violet eye. The violet eyes were the most common around all of us. And many of us were developing x-ray vision, seeing people we meet deaths, telekinesis of magnetic materials, and having children without a partner who was our copies (minus the eyes). And all of us with those skills had violet eyes of one form of another.
The doctors were very surprised when I developed the ability to see ultraviolet shortly after my 20th birthday. They say I am the only person who has developed this ability, and the only person with luminescent green flecks in their eyes.
I scowl as I leave the hopsital. *I hate the eye scans.* *And what's the point of knowing if someone will develop an abiltiy or what it will be. They're all so small that they are virtually useless.* I sqiunt at the bright colours on the bas doors that no one else can see as it pulls off.
Like everyone else, my 'wonder ability', as they've come to be known, is more of an inconvenience. And like everyone with our strange eyes, I'm stared at and asked what my wonder ability is or is going to be. I take a seat among the stares and prepare to ignore another barrage of questions.
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‘So....’ Derek said, unsure what to do, now that this whole “superpower” thing is supposed to suddenly come to him too. It was December the 31st, 2040 CE. Derek’s 20th birthday, and New Years Eve.
Currently, he was locked away in a cell, after being escorted here to some sort of.... facility. It kind of reminded him of one of those SCP games, with the white walls, long hallways, keycard locks, and one way mirrors. Well, the one way mirror thing was just a guess; there were mirrors, sure, but maybe they served a different purpose. He hadn’t bothered to check either.
As to why he was locked up in here... Well the scientist who had brought him there answered him with,”The first Gen20, as they were being called now, awakened something different from all the others. Instead of gaining something more perception based, he gained something... different. Almost like magic. At the time, scientists didn’t have a clue as to what it did, but, as all new things do, it grew. But at an alarming rate. Five days after the man had awakened the strange, ominous power, things around him grew dark. All light energy and heat energy within a 5 meter radius of the man stopped working. Then.... he became shrouded in a purple darkness.. almost like fog. Soon after th-,” Derek cut the man off.
“So, what you want is to observe whether I awaken a power that can rival that of this ‘first of the Gen20s’?” Derek said.
“Exactly.” The man replied.
So anyhow, here was Derek, sitting in his cell, waiting for this so-called power to come to him.
It never came.
People hadn’t realised it yet, but the younger Gen20s were weaker. Derek was simply so weak, that he had no powers in the slightest.
Edit: Minor fixes
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[WP] The year is 2040. All children born in 2020 have been found to have perfect vision with no exceptions. They are now beginning to turn 20 and something strange is happening. They’re developing abilities such as x-ray vision, clairvoyance, precognition, astral vision, infrared sight, etc.
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December 31st, 2039, 11:59PM. Auckland, New Zealand
For all her life, Jennie always heard the same follow-up question whenever she told someone her birthday. "Were you baby of the year?" The response shifted in emotion over the years from pride, to annoyance, to joy, to annoyance again, and shifted back to joy once more of late. All her friends knew and didn't need to ask, but strangers always kept asking.
"Yes, yes I was," she'd say.
So today, at the annual New Year's/Jennie's birthday party (with an extra new decade flavour to it), everybody knew, and no one needed to ask.
Someone started the countdown. 10...9...8... all the way to 1, and everybody screamed "Happy New Year!" It was a blast, champaign corks popped, people, the usual thing that lasts for a few minutes after the stroke of midnight. Then someone remembered, not very gracefully "Hey, it's Jennie's birthday! Where are you Jennie?" At that moment, a strange wailing was heard, and became more audible as people quieted down, to hear the sound, which made it more apparent. It was Jennie, in tears, her palms pressed to her eyes.
The wailing became a cry then a scream. Jennie's mother approached her. "What's wrong honey? Talk to me."
"\[sob\] MY EYES! Something's not right!" More screaming. Someone asked for a wet towel. People shifted uneasily, some to look away, some to help. "Let me see," said the mother. "Open your eyes".
"NO!"
Some more frantic movement. Someone tried to grab one of her hands but Jennie managed to jerk it away and keep her palms pressed hard against her eyes.
"MAKE IT STOP! MAKE IT STOP!"
"Make what stop?!" asked her worried mother. "Calm down. What's wrong with your eyes?"
"I CAN SEE!
I CAN SEE EVERYTHING!"
"What? What do you mean?"
"I CAN'T STOP SEEING THROUGH MY EYELIDS, THROUGH MY HANDS, THROUGH YOU, THE WALL, THE GROUND! I CAN'T STOP IT!"
It had only begun. She was the first, like she had been the first. More would come.
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‘So....’ Derek said, unsure what to do, now that this whole “superpower” thing is supposed to suddenly come to him too. It was December the 31st, 2040 CE. Derek’s 20th birthday, and New Years Eve.
Currently, he was locked away in a cell, after being escorted here to some sort of.... facility. It kind of reminded him of one of those SCP games, with the white walls, long hallways, keycard locks, and one way mirrors. Well, the one way mirror thing was just a guess; there were mirrors, sure, but maybe they served a different purpose. He hadn’t bothered to check either.
As to why he was locked up in here... Well the scientist who had brought him there answered him with,”The first Gen20, as they were being called now, awakened something different from all the others. Instead of gaining something more perception based, he gained something... different. Almost like magic. At the time, scientists didn’t have a clue as to what it did, but, as all new things do, it grew. But at an alarming rate. Five days after the man had awakened the strange, ominous power, things around him grew dark. All light energy and heat energy within a 5 meter radius of the man stopped working. Then.... he became shrouded in a purple darkness.. almost like fog. Soon after th-,” Derek cut the man off.
“So, what you want is to observe whether I awaken a power that can rival that of this ‘first of the Gen20s’?” Derek said.
“Exactly.” The man replied.
So anyhow, here was Derek, sitting in his cell, waiting for this so-called power to come to him.
It never came.
People hadn’t realised it yet, but the younger Gen20s were weaker. Derek was simply so weak, that he had no powers in the slightest.
Edit: Minor fixes
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[WP] The year is 2040. All children born in 2020 have been found to have perfect vision with no exceptions. They are now beginning to turn 20 and something strange is happening. They’re developing abilities such as x-ray vision, clairvoyance, precognition, astral vision, infrared sight, etc.
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“So this is some pretty amazing stuff happening.”
“Yeah.”
“All these folks with special abilities. Magic powers. Whatnot.”
“They’re not magic powers, dad.”
“Clairvoyance seems pretty magic.”
“It’s just how it works.”
“You were born in 2020.”
“Yeah.”
“Like all those other people with special powers.”
“Yeah.”
“You didn’t get those special powers.”
“I kinda did.”
“Not really.”
“It counts!”
“Lots of people have that one.”
“Lots of people have perfect eyesight.”
“Son, your mother and I love you, but it’s not that special.”
“Hindsight counts! Mine is perfect 20/20!”
“I wish we could’ve done something differently.”
“Don’t you think *I* know that?!”
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‘So....’ Derek said, unsure what to do, now that this whole “superpower” thing is supposed to suddenly come to him too. It was December the 31st, 2040 CE. Derek’s 20th birthday, and New Years Eve.
Currently, he was locked away in a cell, after being escorted here to some sort of.... facility. It kind of reminded him of one of those SCP games, with the white walls, long hallways, keycard locks, and one way mirrors. Well, the one way mirror thing was just a guess; there were mirrors, sure, but maybe they served a different purpose. He hadn’t bothered to check either.
As to why he was locked up in here... Well the scientist who had brought him there answered him with,”The first Gen20, as they were being called now, awakened something different from all the others. Instead of gaining something more perception based, he gained something... different. Almost like magic. At the time, scientists didn’t have a clue as to what it did, but, as all new things do, it grew. But at an alarming rate. Five days after the man had awakened the strange, ominous power, things around him grew dark. All light energy and heat energy within a 5 meter radius of the man stopped working. Then.... he became shrouded in a purple darkness.. almost like fog. Soon after th-,” Derek cut the man off.
“So, what you want is to observe whether I awaken a power that can rival that of this ‘first of the Gen20s’?” Derek said.
“Exactly.” The man replied.
So anyhow, here was Derek, sitting in his cell, waiting for this so-called power to come to him.
It never came.
People hadn’t realised it yet, but the younger Gen20s were weaker. Derek was simply so weak, that he had no powers in the slightest.
Edit: Minor fixes
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[WP] The year is 2040. All children born in 2020 have been found to have perfect vision with no exceptions. They are now beginning to turn 20 and something strange is happening. They’re developing abilities such as x-ray vision, clairvoyance, precognition, astral vision, infrared sight, etc.
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Elon Musk looked the charts again from 2019 and 2020.
It was already a foregone conclusion but he still couldn't wrap his head around the fact that he had, more or less, incontrovertible evidence that reality was in fact a simulation.
He just kept checking the data. Not even for the who boost. Just to see it.
He sighed. He was pretty sure that he knew what that meant and he was having a tough time getting there.
Musk rested his head on his desk...or the pixels that he recognized as a desk. That type of ambiguity hasn't bothered him for decades. No. now it was different.
Something had been unlocked in the current meta of whatever this reality or simulation was and the realization was like a punch in the face.
"How does one continue knowing that he was likely someone's cheat code?" He wondered. "A now obsolete one?"
And there again, as a xenospatial clock ticked away until brighter pixelation, even the NPC's, albeit newer and with different jargon, began wafting 'telepathically' into Elon's mind... Attempting to discern if there was, or ever were, an Easter egg contained within the past meta.
>
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‘So....’ Derek said, unsure what to do, now that this whole “superpower” thing is supposed to suddenly come to him too. It was December the 31st, 2040 CE. Derek’s 20th birthday, and New Years Eve.
Currently, he was locked away in a cell, after being escorted here to some sort of.... facility. It kind of reminded him of one of those SCP games, with the white walls, long hallways, keycard locks, and one way mirrors. Well, the one way mirror thing was just a guess; there were mirrors, sure, but maybe they served a different purpose. He hadn’t bothered to check either.
As to why he was locked up in here... Well the scientist who had brought him there answered him with,”The first Gen20, as they were being called now, awakened something different from all the others. Instead of gaining something more perception based, he gained something... different. Almost like magic. At the time, scientists didn’t have a clue as to what it did, but, as all new things do, it grew. But at an alarming rate. Five days after the man had awakened the strange, ominous power, things around him grew dark. All light energy and heat energy within a 5 meter radius of the man stopped working. Then.... he became shrouded in a purple darkness.. almost like fog. Soon after th-,” Derek cut the man off.
“So, what you want is to observe whether I awaken a power that can rival that of this ‘first of the Gen20s’?” Derek said.
“Exactly.” The man replied.
So anyhow, here was Derek, sitting in his cell, waiting for this so-called power to come to him.
It never came.
People hadn’t realised it yet, but the younger Gen20s were weaker. Derek was simply so weak, that he had no powers in the slightest.
Edit: Minor fixes
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[WP] The year is 2040. All children born in 2020 have been found to have perfect vision with no exceptions. They are now beginning to turn 20 and something strange is happening. They’re developing abilities such as x-ray vision, clairvoyance, precognition, astral vision, infrared sight, etc.
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"What is the root cause?" Director Stragos asked us. He furrowed his brow when he asked, casting his pale-blue eyes directly at us. "There are now over a hundred thousand reported incidents of ocular mutations in young adults. We're talking X-ray, precog, infared- the list goes on people. *What* mutations were dealing with isn't important, it's the *why*? We need answers, doc. Someone give it to us."
There was a tell-tale silence that hung over the room like a looming shadow. In truth, none of us knew the answer to the million-dollar question. Seven of the most lauded professionals in our respective fields: Ophthalmology, Neuroscience, Molecular Genetics, and Physiological Optics, could not answer definitively. What was causing this genetic mutation? How did it start? What triggered it? Why? All we had were our hypothesis and theorems. And unfortunately, that wasn't good enough.
When none of us answered, Wilem Stragos, the director of DARPA, sighed with naked impatience. We were on the government's dime and so far their investment into our research was netting zero returns. Sharon Lin, a Geneticist, coughed in her hand, drawing attention to herself and further ire when she sheepishly shrank into her seat.
"Damnit!" Stragos barked. "This is what we're paying you all for-"
We'd been down this tirade before. The director was an impatient man, prone to his explosive rants. I cut him off at the legs.
"Sir, if I may," I said, drawing all eyes in the room on me. The director was not a man to be cut off. His icy glare only confirmed that.
"*Go on, Dr. Vogler*." He said, his voice grim.
I didn't have anything concrete. I knew it as did my colleagues, but at this point, it was time to put my money where my mouth was.
"Sir, what I am about to propose is not supported by any case study performed here within DARPA's research facilities." That elicited a few groans from my equals. They knew where I was going with this, and they did not approve. I trudged on. "Even with all the information made available to us, we cannot come to any definitive conclusions, only hypothesis-"
"Damnit, Issac!" Stragos said, cutting me off. His hawk-like eyes narrowed dangerously. "How many times do I have to tell you: No guesses! We've given you the best. All the tools in the world and all the money at your fingertips. We want answers!"
"I know, sir!" I said, my voice raised to match his own. I couldn't believe it, I was yelling at the director. But now wasn't the time to back down. "But that's just it! Our problem isn't our efforts. It's the constraints of our methodology!"
Stragos looked at me as if I had just kicked his dog. No one cut off the director, more so, no one yelled at him. I might've just signed my own death warrant. To his credit, however, Stragos sucked in a breath and then asked.
"Explain, *boy*." That one word sent shivers up my spine. I was a dead man.
"Look- we're going about this all wrong. You want an answer to a problem that's never existed until now, yes?" Each word I said, I became emboldened. "Well, how can you possibly expect to find an answer if you constrain our research to obsolete methods of the past."
"Obsolete? You must be out of your mind! We are using state of the art equipment that we tailored to each of your specifications! You people asked for these machines, *we provided them*!" Stragos roared.
"I'm not talking about the *equipment*!" I stood up now, blood rushing to my face. Sharon, sitting to my right, tried grabbing my lab coat to pull me down. I swatted her attempts away. Dr. Nasir Qureshi also tried to stifle my outburst, but I wasn't having it. At this point, we had gone past the point of diplomacy.
"Yes-" I continued. "You and DARPA have given us everything we asked for. For that, we are grateful. But!-" I held up a solemn finger. "You have not given me the one specific-but vital-request I had asked for."
"I told you not to bring that up, Issac." He threatened. His deepening scowl said so much without saying a word. I knew I should have bit my tongue. I didn't.
"And yet I must! Do you want answers, director? Give. Me. Permission!"
Stragos had had enough. He shot up like a thunderbolt and stormed straight to me. I could feel his hot, coffee-breath pressing against my skin as he breathed down my neck.
"I will *never* authorize experimentation on our own citizens, Vogler." The corded muscles on his neck looked ready to burst. Stragos' face went beet red.
"If you aren't willing to break the rules-" I said, holding firm. "You will never find the answer to the question."
"I will see you in shackles, Vogel. Do you hear me? Your push for unfettered experimentation on... *children* goes beyond any scientific justification. Men like you sicken me with how far you're willing to go. You're no better than a monster."
Maybe he was right, but someone had to get their hands dirty if innovation was on the table.
"Now get out of my sight," Stragos growled. "You are hereby removed from-"
A door swung open, letting light pour into the darkened room. A woman in an all-white suit, wearing matching gloves and sunglasses, strolled in. Stragos, like the rest of us, turned towards the intrusion.
"That is enough, director. You may stand down now." The woman in white spoke. Though her voice was soft, melodic even, the authority in her tone could be felt in our bones. Stragos nearly did a double-take, shaking his head as if he had misheard her words.
"But-"
"Stand down, director. I will not ask a third time."
She approached us, the sound of her stilettos echoing through the room. When she drew near, she gave but a wave of her hand to dismiss Stragos and he obeyed. She looked at me then and though I stood almost a head taller than she, I felt tiny in her presence.
"You have a proposition, doctor-"
"Issac Vogler," I said. "And yes I do. It's drastic, I know, but we're dealing with a genetic mutation that goes beyond our comprehension. In order to tackle such a thing-"
"Drastic measures must be taken." She concluded. "What do you have in mind?"
Was she giving me the green light? Could she? Who even was this woman and why was the Director of DARPA kowtowing to her?
"I-" It was too late to go back now. "I need a host of adults who exhibits each of these mutations. At least a dozen for each ocular ability we wish to understand. I, um, I need permission to go to great lengths. Permission that'll most likely include... *possible* suffering on these candidates parts."
"Will it result in death?" She asked, unflinching, her face void of emotion.
"I garuntee nothing."
"Hm," She pursed her lips as she contemplated my request.
"Unacceptable!" Stragos said, still in the room. "You have gone too far!"
The woman in white held up a gloved hand. "Very well. You will have this and more if you need."
Stragos blanched. "*No*\- you can't be serious."
She paid the old hawk no mind. "However, how positive are we that this will net us any finite results?"
"As I said, I garuntee you nothing. But- if understanding and *replicating* these ocular mutations is the end goal, then this method will provide the closest thing to an answer."
"Issac Vogler," She said, taking off her sunglasses. My jaw nearly dropped when I saw them. Her eyes were not only heterochromia in color, but the shape of her iris was abnormal. Star-shaped eyes, I had never seen such a thing. They were... beautiful.
"Give us an answer by any means necessary. Do you understand?"
I nodded.
"Good, because if you fail-" She pressed a finger against my chest. "I will exact every experiment you perform on those children back onto you. Understood?" She removed a glove, holding out an exposed hand.
The die had been cast and the stakes had been raised. We were playing for keeps now.
I took her hand and shook it.
"Get me what I asked for and get out of my lab. I've got work to do."
___
Thanks for reading!
r/86Fiction
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‘So....’ Derek said, unsure what to do, now that this whole “superpower” thing is supposed to suddenly come to him too. It was December the 31st, 2040 CE. Derek’s 20th birthday, and New Years Eve.
Currently, he was locked away in a cell, after being escorted here to some sort of.... facility. It kind of reminded him of one of those SCP games, with the white walls, long hallways, keycard locks, and one way mirrors. Well, the one way mirror thing was just a guess; there were mirrors, sure, but maybe they served a different purpose. He hadn’t bothered to check either.
As to why he was locked up in here... Well the scientist who had brought him there answered him with,”The first Gen20, as they were being called now, awakened something different from all the others. Instead of gaining something more perception based, he gained something... different. Almost like magic. At the time, scientists didn’t have a clue as to what it did, but, as all new things do, it grew. But at an alarming rate. Five days after the man had awakened the strange, ominous power, things around him grew dark. All light energy and heat energy within a 5 meter radius of the man stopped working. Then.... he became shrouded in a purple darkness.. almost like fog. Soon after th-,” Derek cut the man off.
“So, what you want is to observe whether I awaken a power that can rival that of this ‘first of the Gen20s’?” Derek said.
“Exactly.” The man replied.
So anyhow, here was Derek, sitting in his cell, waiting for this so-called power to come to him.
It never came.
People hadn’t realised it yet, but the younger Gen20s were weaker. Derek was simply so weak, that he had no powers in the slightest.
Edit: Minor fixes
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[WP] The year is 2040. All children born in 2020 have been found to have perfect vision with no exceptions. They are now beginning to turn 20 and something strange is happening. They’re developing abilities such as x-ray vision, clairvoyance, precognition, astral vision, infrared sight, etc.
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“So this is some pretty amazing stuff happening.”
“Yeah.”
“All these folks with special abilities. Magic powers. Whatnot.”
“They’re not magic powers, dad.”
“Clairvoyance seems pretty magic.”
“It’s just how it works.”
“You were born in 2020.”
“Yeah.”
“Like all those other people with special powers.”
“Yeah.”
“You didn’t get those special powers.”
“I kinda did.”
“Not really.”
“It counts!”
“Lots of people have that one.”
“Lots of people have perfect eyesight.”
“Son, your mother and I love you, but it’s not that special.”
“Hindsight counts! Mine is perfect 20/20!”
“I wish we could’ve done something differently.”
“Don’t you think *I* know that?!”
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Many of the white( pre-cog)s are planning a protest outside the Dean's house tomorrow. They're saying the school isn't attempting to accommodate their abilities in order to conduct the course test, and that it's effectively racist. Not only that, the college has been letting in more blacks and Asians, in general, because their innates are more ***commercially viable*** (e.g. night-vision saves on those electric bills anywhere you go, to say the least). Likewise, more non-whites have been pretending to not have pre-cog abilities to double-down on the fact people just assume if you're not white then you can't read anyone's mind, or have access to the 'primordial computer', 'collective director', or whatever else they call it, *right*? You know what I'm referring to? … Yeah, that *Spinoza thing* they brought up in science class… Yeah-yeah, *pantheon*, *elohim*, or whatever stick-up-the-ass they call it — sorry, I'm not fully sympathetic to pre-cogs, but its not because they're white… No [lol], I swear no one is hijacking me to say that, and, no, I haven't been watching any MSSM replies today. I'm speaking from my own thoughts; fuck you, dick, I have white friends, both pre-cog and non-pre-cog…
What? Why would I lie? They are protesting! … Rael told me they were … I don't know who told him, or how he found out. All I know is — … No, that's horse shit "nobody knows yet". Both of us and Rael know it. Why would Rael lie to me? … I talked to him yesterday, why? …
[a white 20 something male steps into the room]
Turns out, Rael, a hispanic pre-cog, had gone missing last week. And, our friend here has been listening to all kinds of voices in her head. But, other than that, *you're not wrong*, pal. But, maybe you would know what that Spinoza thing was all about. And, maybe you're just afraid of the Dean, for some reason. Why don't you just come clean, now?
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[WP] The year is 2040. All children born in 2020 have been found to have perfect vision with no exceptions. They are now beginning to turn 20 and something strange is happening. They’re developing abilities such as x-ray vision, clairvoyance, precognition, astral vision, infrared sight, etc.
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"What is the root cause?" Director Stragos asked us. He furrowed his brow when he asked, casting his pale-blue eyes directly at us. "There are now over a hundred thousand reported incidents of ocular mutations in young adults. We're talking X-ray, precog, infared- the list goes on people. *What* mutations were dealing with isn't important, it's the *why*? We need answers, doc. Someone give it to us."
There was a tell-tale silence that hung over the room like a looming shadow. In truth, none of us knew the answer to the million-dollar question. Seven of the most lauded professionals in our respective fields: Ophthalmology, Neuroscience, Molecular Genetics, and Physiological Optics, could not answer definitively. What was causing this genetic mutation? How did it start? What triggered it? Why? All we had were our hypothesis and theorems. And unfortunately, that wasn't good enough.
When none of us answered, Wilem Stragos, the director of DARPA, sighed with naked impatience. We were on the government's dime and so far their investment into our research was netting zero returns. Sharon Lin, a Geneticist, coughed in her hand, drawing attention to herself and further ire when she sheepishly shrank into her seat.
"Damnit!" Stragos barked. "This is what we're paying you all for-"
We'd been down this tirade before. The director was an impatient man, prone to his explosive rants. I cut him off at the legs.
"Sir, if I may," I said, drawing all eyes in the room on me. The director was not a man to be cut off. His icy glare only confirmed that.
"*Go on, Dr. Vogler*." He said, his voice grim.
I didn't have anything concrete. I knew it as did my colleagues, but at this point, it was time to put my money where my mouth was.
"Sir, what I am about to propose is not supported by any case study performed here within DARPA's research facilities." That elicited a few groans from my equals. They knew where I was going with this, and they did not approve. I trudged on. "Even with all the information made available to us, we cannot come to any definitive conclusions, only hypothesis-"
"Damnit, Issac!" Stragos said, cutting me off. His hawk-like eyes narrowed dangerously. "How many times do I have to tell you: No guesses! We've given you the best. All the tools in the world and all the money at your fingertips. We want answers!"
"I know, sir!" I said, my voice raised to match his own. I couldn't believe it, I was yelling at the director. But now wasn't the time to back down. "But that's just it! Our problem isn't our efforts. It's the constraints of our methodology!"
Stragos looked at me as if I had just kicked his dog. No one cut off the director, more so, no one yelled at him. I might've just signed my own death warrant. To his credit, however, Stragos sucked in a breath and then asked.
"Explain, *boy*." That one word sent shivers up my spine. I was a dead man.
"Look- we're going about this all wrong. You want an answer to a problem that's never existed until now, yes?" Each word I said, I became emboldened. "Well, how can you possibly expect to find an answer if you constrain our research to obsolete methods of the past."
"Obsolete? You must be out of your mind! We are using state of the art equipment that we tailored to each of your specifications! You people asked for these machines, *we provided them*!" Stragos roared.
"I'm not talking about the *equipment*!" I stood up now, blood rushing to my face. Sharon, sitting to my right, tried grabbing my lab coat to pull me down. I swatted her attempts away. Dr. Nasir Qureshi also tried to stifle my outburst, but I wasn't having it. At this point, we had gone past the point of diplomacy.
"Yes-" I continued. "You and DARPA have given us everything we asked for. For that, we are grateful. But!-" I held up a solemn finger. "You have not given me the one specific-but vital-request I had asked for."
"I told you not to bring that up, Issac." He threatened. His deepening scowl said so much without saying a word. I knew I should have bit my tongue. I didn't.
"And yet I must! Do you want answers, director? Give. Me. Permission!"
Stragos had had enough. He shot up like a thunderbolt and stormed straight to me. I could feel his hot, coffee-breath pressing against my skin as he breathed down my neck.
"I will *never* authorize experimentation on our own citizens, Vogler." The corded muscles on his neck looked ready to burst. Stragos' face went beet red.
"If you aren't willing to break the rules-" I said, holding firm. "You will never find the answer to the question."
"I will see you in shackles, Vogel. Do you hear me? Your push for unfettered experimentation on... *children* goes beyond any scientific justification. Men like you sicken me with how far you're willing to go. You're no better than a monster."
Maybe he was right, but someone had to get their hands dirty if innovation was on the table.
"Now get out of my sight," Stragos growled. "You are hereby removed from-"
A door swung open, letting light pour into the darkened room. A woman in an all-white suit, wearing matching gloves and sunglasses, strolled in. Stragos, like the rest of us, turned towards the intrusion.
"That is enough, director. You may stand down now." The woman in white spoke. Though her voice was soft, melodic even, the authority in her tone could be felt in our bones. Stragos nearly did a double-take, shaking his head as if he had misheard her words.
"But-"
"Stand down, director. I will not ask a third time."
She approached us, the sound of her stilettos echoing through the room. When she drew near, she gave but a wave of her hand to dismiss Stragos and he obeyed. She looked at me then and though I stood almost a head taller than she, I felt tiny in her presence.
"You have a proposition, doctor-"
"Issac Vogler," I said. "And yes I do. It's drastic, I know, but we're dealing with a genetic mutation that goes beyond our comprehension. In order to tackle such a thing-"
"Drastic measures must be taken." She concluded. "What do you have in mind?"
Was she giving me the green light? Could she? Who even was this woman and why was the Director of DARPA kowtowing to her?
"I-" It was too late to go back now. "I need a host of adults who exhibits each of these mutations. At least a dozen for each ocular ability we wish to understand. I, um, I need permission to go to great lengths. Permission that'll most likely include... *possible* suffering on these candidates parts."
"Will it result in death?" She asked, unflinching, her face void of emotion.
"I garuntee nothing."
"Hm," She pursed her lips as she contemplated my request.
"Unacceptable!" Stragos said, still in the room. "You have gone too far!"
The woman in white held up a gloved hand. "Very well. You will have this and more if you need."
Stragos blanched. "*No*\- you can't be serious."
She paid the old hawk no mind. "However, how positive are we that this will net us any finite results?"
"As I said, I garuntee you nothing. But- if understanding and *replicating* these ocular mutations is the end goal, then this method will provide the closest thing to an answer."
"Issac Vogler," She said, taking off her sunglasses. My jaw nearly dropped when I saw them. Her eyes were not only heterochromia in color, but the shape of her iris was abnormal. Star-shaped eyes, I had never seen such a thing. They were... beautiful.
"Give us an answer by any means necessary. Do you understand?"
I nodded.
"Good, because if you fail-" She pressed a finger against my chest. "I will exact every experiment you perform on those children back onto you. Understood?" She removed a glove, holding out an exposed hand.
The die had been cast and the stakes had been raised. We were playing for keeps now.
I took her hand and shook it.
"Get me what I asked for and get out of my lab. I've got work to do."
___
Thanks for reading!
r/86Fiction
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Elon Musk looked the charts again from 2019 and 2020.
It was already a foregone conclusion but he still couldn't wrap his head around the fact that he had, more or less, incontrovertible evidence that reality was in fact a simulation.
He just kept checking the data. Not even for the who boost. Just to see it.
He sighed. He was pretty sure that he knew what that meant and he was having a tough time getting there.
Musk rested his head on his desk...or the pixels that he recognized as a desk. That type of ambiguity hasn't bothered him for decades. No. now it was different.
Something had been unlocked in the current meta of whatever this reality or simulation was and the realization was like a punch in the face.
"How does one continue knowing that he was likely someone's cheat code?" He wondered. "A now obsolete one?"
And there again, as a xenospatial clock ticked away until brighter pixelation, even the NPC's, albeit newer and with different jargon, began wafting 'telepathically' into Elon's mind... Attempting to discern if there was, or ever were, an Easter egg contained within the past meta.
>
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[WP] The year is 2040. All children born in 2020 have been found to have perfect vision with no exceptions. They are now beginning to turn 20 and something strange is happening. They’re developing abilities such as x-ray vision, clairvoyance, precognition, astral vision, infrared sight, etc.
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Dan was walking up to the lecture hall, listening to music and thinking about last night, when his roommate decided to throw a surprise dorm party on his birthday. It was a blast.
He spent quite some time talking to Amy, and his mind went over their conversation again and again. Dan smiled. When she told him that they should meet up again later next week, he felt that wave of excitement as if he was still standing next to her, mesmerized by that beautiful smile.
He thought about how he had to thank Josh for introducing him to Amy and ...
"Hey, Dan!" said Josh, walking up to him.
What a coincidence.
"Hi, Josh, what's up?" Dan said, smiling, knowing very well what was up.
"Don't think I didn't see you both spending the entire evening on that couch. It's like the others weren't even there!" Josh said with a grin.
"Yeah, man, thanks again for introducing me!"
Suddenly Dan felt a very slight pressure in his forehead, like a gentle tap with a finger. "Good Friend."
"She's a very good friend of mine Dan, don't fuck this up!" Josh said with an even wider grin.
Dan just skipped a beat in his walk and looked up.
"Everything alright?" Josh asked.
"Yeah, I just had a strange deja vu." Dan replied, a little confused. Then he shook his head, and they continued walking up the path to the lecture hall.
Josh had his phone up, reading something on the screen.
"You know, she had some good things to say about you!" he said, not looking up from the screen. "I wouldn't wait too long if you want to go on a proper date."
Dan was listen to him, but this strange feeling in his forehead, this gentle push, was disorienting. It was hard to keep his focus on the conversation.
Suddenly Dan stopped, a greyish shadow appearing behind the hedge in front and walking across the path. As he tried to focus on what he was seeing, he could only make out the shape of a ponytail, and the greyish shadow dissipated like a fog.
Josh walked a few feet further, then he looked up from his phone, realizing Dan had stopped in his tracks and was staring at something. "Dan?" Josh said with a raised brow.
Then the weirdest thing happened. Dan saw an actual girl appearing behind the hedge in front of them, walking across the path. "Oh, hi Josh." she said, her ponytail wiggling from one side to the other.
Josh turned around and greeted her with a nod. "Hi, Christina." he said.
Something was off. Dan felt light-headed for a moment. He didn't drink that much last night, did he? No ... no he didn't. And yet, there was this pressure in his forehead. Now it almost felt like an entire palm pushing against it.
"Dan?" Josh took a few steps towards him.
Out of the corner of his eyes, Dan saw greyish masses moving around.
He focused on them. Actually, they were more like translucent silver. They ... had the shapes of people. And a few feet behind them, actual people, following in each and every step.
"Hey man, everything okay? You're not having a stroke, are you?" Josh tried to sound funny, but there was obvious concern in his voice.
Dan, however, didn't register the question. He was mesmerized by this sight. The silver shadows became brighter, sharper, and started to move faster and further. Everything around Dan was now shining with a silver outline, sometimes dull and barely noticeable, like a bench, sometimes sharp and multiple feet in front of it, like the students moving around on their path.
Like Josh. A very lifelike silver Josh placed his hand on Dan's shoulder, and behind it, the real Josh, now moving towards Dan with a very concerned face.
Dan moved slightly to the right, almost in a trance, and in his mind, a voice said: "You're scaring me."
At the same time, Josh tried to place his hand on Dan's shoulder, but he just touched air, as Dan moved just a few inches away at the last second.
Then both of them said, "You're scaring me."
Josh's face now changed from concerned to almost scared.
Dan's forehead was now thumping like a drum. And his vision became almost a blur of silver as his mind was trying to make sense of what was happening.
Then ... everything went black.
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I find no place for myself when I look at her. She just looks towards north. No matter how I try to turn her head, she just keeps returning to the same position. She doesn’t blink nor sleeps anymore. Sometimes her emotionless face cries, but it doesn’t hear or notice me. Where is she looking? Why north? Why not me, her father?
A month ago young adults started to see extraordinarily. My daughter was one of them. It didn’t take too long for government to sort out the “visions” as they call them. The greater visions were taken and useless ones were left behind. She fell into second category. I was lucky to have her stay with me, though is she really still with me?
Just taking her outside is hard. I have to do everything. Not that I mind, but it comes to a point where I feel like playing with a big doll. This is a bad mindset. Sometimes I have to walk sideways or backwards. We get judgmental looks. Gossips about “useless” visions spread quickly. I am getting tired, but for her - I’ll do anything.
I already quit my job. Time is limited and I don’t have any to waste. I discovered that she notices one thing - a compass. When she shifts her focus to it I can spin her in any way. Compass points at north. What is there? What if I take here there? Will I get her back? I lock the house door and press the keys. Car beeps at me. I put her next to my seat. I sit in the car.
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[WP] The year is 2040. All children born in 2020 have been found to have perfect vision with no exceptions. They are now beginning to turn 20 and something strange is happening. They’re developing abilities such as x-ray vision, clairvoyance, precognition, astral vision, infrared sight, etc.
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I wake up on my 20th birthday to the unceremonious sound of the garbage truck trundling by outside the window. Today's the day I get my vision powers.
Everybody born in 2020 gets them, for some reason. The Great Whatever-It-Is must really like puns, or at least that's the best guess that anybody has come up with. Some gain the ability to see long distances, others very small objects. Some people get to read minds, and a lucky few even get laser vision. I myself had my fingers crossed for x-ray vision.
I don't feel any different, though. There's no ghosts wandering about, or microorganisms, and when I look out my window I can't see any farther than usual. I stare hard at somebody walking by below my window, but their thoughts (and everything else) are as opaque as ever. I squint really hard at the pavement below and try to force heat rays out through my eyes, but nothing comes out.
Had I done something wrong? Scenes of everything I had ever done raced through my mind as I tried to puzzle together why I didn't have any powers when everybody else in my birth year did.
And then it hit me.
*20/20 hindsight.*
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I find no place for myself when I look at her. She just looks towards north. No matter how I try to turn her head, she just keeps returning to the same position. She doesn’t blink nor sleeps anymore. Sometimes her emotionless face cries, but it doesn’t hear or notice me. Where is she looking? Why north? Why not me, her father?
A month ago young adults started to see extraordinarily. My daughter was one of them. It didn’t take too long for government to sort out the “visions” as they call them. The greater visions were taken and useless ones were left behind. She fell into second category. I was lucky to have her stay with me, though is she really still with me?
Just taking her outside is hard. I have to do everything. Not that I mind, but it comes to a point where I feel like playing with a big doll. This is a bad mindset. Sometimes I have to walk sideways or backwards. We get judgmental looks. Gossips about “useless” visions spread quickly. I am getting tired, but for her - I’ll do anything.
I already quit my job. Time is limited and I don’t have any to waste. I discovered that she notices one thing - a compass. When she shifts her focus to it I can spin her in any way. Compass points at north. What is there? What if I take here there? Will I get her back? I lock the house door and press the keys. Car beeps at me. I put her next to my seat. I sit in the car.
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[WP] The year is 2040. All children born in 2020 have been found to have perfect vision with no exceptions. They are now beginning to turn 20 and something strange is happening. They’re developing abilities such as x-ray vision, clairvoyance, precognition, astral vision, infrared sight, etc.
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I wake up on my 20th birthday to the unceremonious sound of the garbage truck trundling by outside the window. Today's the day I get my vision powers.
Everybody born in 2020 gets them, for some reason. The Great Whatever-It-Is must really like puns, or at least that's the best guess that anybody has come up with. Some gain the ability to see long distances, others very small objects. Some people get to read minds, and a lucky few even get laser vision. I myself had my fingers crossed for x-ray vision.
I don't feel any different, though. There's no ghosts wandering about, or microorganisms, and when I look out my window I can't see any farther than usual. I stare hard at somebody walking by below my window, but their thoughts (and everything else) are as opaque as ever. I squint really hard at the pavement below and try to force heat rays out through my eyes, but nothing comes out.
Had I done something wrong? Scenes of everything I had ever done raced through my mind as I tried to puzzle together why I didn't have any powers when everybody else in my birth year did.
And then it hit me.
*20/20 hindsight.*
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"Are the restraints absolutely neccessary?" The mother shifted impatiently, observing the procedure.
"Absolutely," I replied, adjusting the machine for her son's eye exam. "It manifests differently in each child when they turn 20."
Slowly I looked around the patients cornea. According to the stopwatch, the Shift would occur in roughly 30 seconds...
Then, a flash of red followed by the appearance of one black secondary pupil. I pressed a small button on the bottom of the machine, and grabbed a respirator while the room filled with knockout gas.
Later, as police cleared the area, I began typing up my patients notes. This would take a while. "Another fucking Sharingan", I muttered, filling out the form.
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[WP] The year is 2040. All children born in 2020 have been found to have perfect vision with no exceptions. They are now beginning to turn 20 and something strange is happening. They’re developing abilities such as x-ray vision, clairvoyance, precognition, astral vision, infrared sight, etc.
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Tomorrow-Man jolts awake. He writhes on the metal slab in the operating theater. I hear the leather bindings strain as he struggles, hear his panting and, soon, I'll hear his desperate pleas.
He was the first of the superhero generation to rise.
The very first superhero to live.
Soon the first to die.
"Shh," I soothe as I stuff a soaked rag into his mouth. "I'm Doctor Ethan Porter and I'm going to make everything okay. Trust me."
We were the chosen ones. The generation gifted incredible abilities. Tomorrow-Man was the oldest. A third eye seemed to open inside his mind on the day of his twentieth birthday, granting him the ability to see the future.
He became wealthy instantly, an overnight celebrity. He could predict anything from earthquakes to lottery numbers.
He even predicted me.
I look at him and ask, "What were your words again? There will be a child who will see the world differently? That will be born in light but taken to darkness. Who will drag the world into night with him."
Tomorrow-Man stops struggling. His breathing steadies. He knows who has taken him now. Knows how deeply fucked he is.
"Yes, that's right. You predicted me."
The scalpel is cold in my hands, and unable to see it, I scrape it over my arm to make sure it's sharp. Warm blood trickles down my wrist.
"Do you know what it's like," I ask, "when every one of your friends gains a power and you just watch? They become better. Become super. Can you imagine how exciting it was when I was nineteen and watching you on television? Waiting for my birthday to see what my incredible gift would be?"
He tries to speak through the rag but it's nonsense. If he could, he'd predict my death. Try to start a self-fulfilling prophecy. But I won't grant him that chance.
I move closer, touching his body with my hand, moving up his neck, over his chin, until I find his eyes. "And can you imagine," I ask, "how it felt for the world to vanish when my birthday finally arrived? You... you became a celebrity. I went blind. Does that seem fucking fair to you?"
He screams through the rag as the scalpel slices behind his left eye. Snip, snip, snip. His blood splashes me like tears. Then I almost have to saw through the thick wire-like optic nerve.
"Your gifts are no longer needed. You only wasted them anyway. Gambling and gaming instead of changing the world. Now... Now I have a better use for your body."
I plop the first eye in a jar of liquid and work on the second. He's stopped wriggling.
"Darkness adopted me. And for that, I am grateful."
Tomorrow-Man is silent and dead.
For now.
"But the darkness gave me my own gifts. It's how I caught you." The second eye joins the first. "For in the blind-night dead creatures can walk and spirits can whisper."
I place my hands on his chest and feel *them* enter the room, scratch their black-chill on my neck.
Only the blind could do this, as seeing the spirits would destroy a person. Spin them into insanity.
The body on the table begins to move again.
But it's no longer Tomorrow-Man inside the shell. He's yesterday's news now.
One by one, I'll turn all the heroes over to my darkness.
​
\---
More on /r/nickofstatic
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"So the universe hates us that much, huh?"
"Yeah... the rock's fucked up an entire generation and who knows how much more."
"What do they see? How do they see it? Is the thing that's - that's *beyond* really that terrifying?"
Robert shook his head, tapping a pen on the surface of his desk, littered with sketches and theories that still brought no fruit. "No one knows for sure what's going on. And I sure as hell don't think we want to know."
Beside him, Miranda pored over cases and cases of rock specimen. Sifting around using data systems of the umpteenth time, but Robert knew that much of it was already too infused with oceanic debris. The asteroid had landed at the beginning of 2020 right on the dot, in the middle of the Atlantic. And then things had scattered.
At first humans had gathered around the phenomenon, jets and ships and warnings that didn't match up to unbridled human curiosity. Reprieve and wonder had lasted for around twenty years, before it melted into something akin to wariness and fear. It had come with the awakenings - a miracle, people had thought, that all children born in 2020 would have perfect vision. There must be some benevolent God up there; he must love humanity with a sprinkling of humor and blessings.
Nothing had been farther from the truth, and Robert still shivered to think of all the damage and destruction had been wrought. Twenty year olds were already often a confused and lonely bunch, on the brink of adulthood and new responsibilities. Mix that in with the new powers that emerged - no, they were more like curses. The first symptom was X-ray vision, and it wasn't so bad; it was the only power which at first could be turned on and off at will. It was thought that these lucky few would lead humanity down new paths of innovation and discovery, until clairvoyance and precognition also took their root.
Seizures and blank stares. Comas and horrified gaping. The unfortunate twenty year olds who had been born at the beginning of the year had experienced them first, and as news spread worse than wildfire over the internet, people began hiding their young and quarantining themselves for a phenomenon more terrifying than any before. Twenty year olds born later in the year starved themselves to stave off the inevitable, begging some god to not bless them with the images of the looming whatever it was brand of doom.
Nothing worked. As those born in 2020 had seemingly gone insane - muttering of terror and horror, begging people to end them first, put in hospitals with fear meters spiking what should have been humanly possible - the technology and advancements of the age had only seemed to exacerbate the situation. Maybe humanity really was just cursed.
They were in the laboratory. And floors below, unfortunate people, practically just children, were being kept under, having their brains studied, and occasionally questioned to try and garner even a smidgen of information.
"How are we supposed to tell what's going on?" Miranda ran an agitated hand through her hair. "I wish... sometimes I really don't know whether or not to wish God existed or not."
"None of our practical science had pointed to a god," Robert said. "but maybe the answer really lies in those that were... affected with sight."
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[WP] July 20, 1969: To the surprise of the entirety of America, Neil Armstrong take out a red flag, places it on the moon, and screams “For the USSR!”
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Natalie hooked herself into the neural interface connecting to the electronic nanobots planted in Neil Armstrong's brain. Getting to the American had been difficult...difficult, but not impossible.
Especially for a time traveler.
Their mission was simple - twist the timeline in a way that future time travelers wouldn't suspect foul play, in a way that was too convoluted to be faked. The idea of Neil Armstrong being a sleeper agent wasn't so crazy, just crazy enough that it was believable.
The pod in their docked spaceship generated enough energy that Natalie was worried the cloaking shields might fail. The dark black pod interior glowed with a blueish hue, casting shadows over her hardened face. Little lights blinked like long-dead fireflies.
Failure was unacceptable. Everything was riding on this; the *future* was riding on this.
She watched the ancient American shuttle dock, sighing at the technology long outdated compared to what the Russians would eventually achieve. It had been such a close race anyways. Her goal was not to establish that Russia had won the space race - it was to accelerate tensions between the countries before the American military force became truly unstoppable.
The moment Neil donned the space suit, she triggered the bots, stimulating brain waves that gave control of his muscles to her. She walked him down the stairs slowly, ignoring the panicked hazy thoughts filtering through his mind.
The red flag she'd prepared for him unfolded limply in the windless desert of the moon. With a smooth stroke, she raised it high over her/his head. *This is for Russia,* she thought grimly. "For the USSR!"
Natalie was about to head back up into the shuttle and pilot it back to Russia when she felt her control slip.
*No. No, no, it's not possible. How can he be resisting?* The men and women of this era did not have the discipline, surely?
"Th-..."
*Stop. Don't fight it.*
"That's one s-small step..."
Natalie fought back, but no matter how hard she clamped down on the controls, somehow his will was overriding the lock by the parasitic nanobots and their reprogramming. With a wordless scream, Natalie collapsed on the ground in her pod. The panel short-circuited.
On the screen, the American astronaut ripped the flag out and tossed it aside, planting the American one instead.
"That's one small step for man," he said, voice cracking, "One giant leap for mankind."
---
Thanks for reading! Come hang out with me at [/r/Remyxed](https://www.reddit.com/r/Remyxed/), we'd love to see you around :)
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\[Poem\]
It was a dark, stormy night.
It became outstanding.
It was a wonderful sight,
To witness the moon landing.
As Neil took a step
Onto the moon,
He would gain bad rep,
For what he would do soon.
The took out the flag,
To the US, it was not identical
Present on the bag,
Was a golden hammer and sickle.
The officials were stunned,
The FBI in awe,
As they all screamed, "We're done!"
The CIA took their call.
They launched a secret rocket,
That went very fast.
Paid for out of pocket,
Mysterious and vast.
It was hidden for years,
Never to be seen.
As people covered their ears,
Armstrong turned green.
He expanded,
Taking on an alien form,
Sure, the rocket had landed,
But that was just the beginning of the storm.
As a door from his body emerged,
People were screaming.
Armies of soldiers surged,
It was quite un-redeeming.
And as Neil fell back to Earth,
And past Elon's car,
He was the first,
To revive the USSR.
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[WP] The higher your blood-alcohol level, the more powerful your magic.
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I learned a long time ago to never leave home without a bottle.
The other League members are convinced I’m an alcoholic, who isn’t these days, but that’s not today’s struggle. The three idiots in front of me, holding a knife to the forth hold that lofty title.
“Drop the knife.” I sigh, bored already. None of them move. They’ve already lost though it’s not their fault for not knowing it yet. The biggest one sizes me up and immediately steps forward to challenge me.
“You gonna fuckin’ make me, kid?”
I am, as a matter of fact. But I keep my mouth shut and make a show of taking a swig out of my bottle. I chug for a solid few seconds and finish by wiping my mouth, not with the back of my hand, but with my entire sleeve. Ha.
“Shit! Get him Ham.”
The guy I presume to be ‘Ham’, reveals his own bottle, definitely vodka, and drinks THE WHOLE THING then starts screaming curse words at me while his hands start to glow. Then he charges. His name may be stupid but he’s surprisingly fast. I was sucking in air that whole time he was talking and release the nastiest, loudest belch I could make with it, an increasingly entertaining talent of mine from days of yor.
Having had my fun I cease his muscle use and and break his ankles without even looking at him. His friends share a similar fate and go down in an angry heap of shock and profanity, but I should have been watching the roof to my right.
Something...sticky yanks my bottle away from me. Leaping back and looking up I see some thot using her tongue to real it in (gross) from several yards away like some sort of internal fishing rod.
“The fucks in this?” She yells back at me, smurking and taking the I-took-your-thing stance. I’m so very careful not to laugh at her.
“You know, I ran out and was gonna leave them to you. But now...” she unscrews the lid and makes a little “huh?” Sound.
I fight off a smile, carefully relaxing the muscles in my face
It’s empty.
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I was in the kitchen mending a pot when my mam yelled down from her workroom, “Raven, I need you to take the wagon into town and get as much red clover as you can from Goody Wencelas.”
“Yes, mam!” I yelled back.
The pot I had just fixed sat on the kitchen table, the wood beneath it charred black. Where my mam’s magic is direct and full, my magic is wild and faint. It had taken me forever to heat the metal of the pot and longer yet to make the broken pieces join to each other. As I looked at it I could see the mended metal had distorted in the heat.
I sighed, hung the pot on a hook by the fireplace and swept my hand across the table, muttering a spell of renewal. The burned sections glowed silver for a moment, then the wood buckled and a deep crack expanded across the table.
I stared at the crack. It had been like this since I had reached puberty. Everyone kept saying I would get better. I was almost seventeen and nothing had changed.
I grimaced and threw a cloth over the table. Maybe my mother wouldn’t notice and I could try to fix it when I got back. I hated seeing her face when she saw the results of my magic.
Hooking our donkey Malfi up to the wagon made me feel better. No magic needed to be involved as long as there was a chunk of sugar for him.
The day was bright and the road was dry. Malfi and I hoofed it into town, where Goody Wencelas had her hired man fill the wagon with red clover and a few melons as a thank you to my mam.
On the way home I decided to ride by the HellBent Inn. Orion, a dark haired townie boy, had been working there during the summer. Last winter he had come to a few lessons with my mother. For a few months I’d watched him copy recipes from her books and work out problems on the lesson board. We weren’t in each other’s company for long but it was enough for me to realize that I enjoyed watching him do things. Over the spring and summer I’d made a point of putting myself in places where I could see more of him. He was always friendly, but he was friendly with all the girls, townie and forest alike.
The road past the HellBent was forest on one side, field on the other. A big supply wagon was turning out of the Inn yard as Malfi and I came up to it. The driver of the other wagon gee’d her horses when she should have hawed. Malfi lost his head at the sight of three huge horses coming at him and tried to go around them on the field side. Our wagon bounced through the ditch then gracefully lost a wheel, dragging Malfi to a stop.
I jumped out, undid Malfi from the wagon and went to get the wheel. The hub was splintered. I looked back at the road. The supply wagon hadn’t stopped. Probably in too much of a hurry to worry about a little forest wagon like mine.
“Hey, Raven, are you okay?”
I looked up and saw Orion striding across the road toward me. He shook a mock fist after the supply wagon and joined me in the ditch.
“I saw the whole thing from the bar. Those drivers are uncivilized dolts.” He looked at the wagon wheel. “At least you can fix it.”
I nodded. He looked at me expectantly.
With trembling hands I laid the wheel on the ground, grabbed a spoke in each hand, then reached into the being of the wheel, like mam had taught me, and urged it to heal.
Nothing happened. I tried again, this time actually grunting with focus. The iron of the wheel hub sizzled but was unchanged. I could feel my face turning red.
Orion cleared his throat. “Why don’t you bring your donkey across for some water. It’s hot and you’re probably tired.”
I felt sick to my stomach as I brought Malfi to the inn’s trough. I was a joke. A fool. A powerless daughter. Worthless.
“Come inside, I’ll get you something to drink.”
Looking anywhere but at Orion, I went inside and took a seat at the bar. A group of women were making merry at a table in the back. They were all dark-dressed, likely from some house in the city, sent to do some sort of protective work for a forest estate.
“Mead or beer?”, Orion asked.
“Clarea,” I said. He raised his eyebrows.
“I prefer to keep my head clear,” I said. He shrugged and went behind the bar.
Loud laughter came from the back. I looked in time to see a fire tree blossom from the table. Each woman leaned forward to light her pipe from the sparks. That was sharp magic.
Orion put a cup in front of me. “Clarea.”
I took a sip. The spiced water was cool and sweet. I glanced at him. He was looking at the table of women. The failures of the day suddenly drew together and laid on me like a mountain. In my mind I saw flashes of the stupid things I had done. All the mistakes I had made. All the things I had broken.
I pushed the cup back across the bar. “I’ve changed my mind. Mead.”
He picked up the cup without looking at me, dumped it, re-filled it and put it back on the bar.
“Bartender! Another round!” came a cry from the back.
I took a deep swig of mead; the sharp honey taste felt like a spike through my brain. Orion poured a flat of beer and hustled back to the table. I tipped my head back and downed the rest of my cup.
Behind me I heard the slap of flesh on flesh, a grunt and a cascade of rough laughter from the women. I contemplated my empty cup.
Orion came back to the bar. His hair was ruffled and, though he made sure to turn his face from me as he reached for a bottle of spirits on a shelf, I saw that his face was pale.
“Before you pour for them, more mead for me,” I said, pushing my empty cup in his direction. Eyes cast down, he took the cup to fill it. I saw the lip marks on his neck.
While his back was turned at the barrel, I grabbed the bottle of spirits, uncorked it and guzzled it down. The memories of the day faded.
“What are you doing, Raven?”
I looked into his grey green eyes. They weren’t always grey green; they changed with the light. Sometimes they were blue enough to startle me.
“Are those women bothering you?”
He blushed. “No...I...it’s fine. They’re just drunk.” He put the cup of mead in front of me.
I nodded. “Thank you for the refreshment,” I slurred. “You were right, it was hot out there.”
He shook his head at me and picked up the empty bottle of spirits, “Raven, you…”
“Hello, Little Daughter.”
I turned. Two of the women from the table were approaching the bar. Thick, glossy hair spilled from beneath their hoods and jewels glittered across their chests. Their faces had a hard brightness that reminded me of wolves circling their prey.
I lifted my cup to them, “Hello Sisters!” I tipped the cup, drank the mead in one gulp, and slammed the cup down on the bar. It broke into shards..
“Whoops,” I said and laughed.
The women glanced at each other and then back at me. They took in the lack of stones on my breasts and my long, careful braids and smirked.
“Enjoy yourself, sister,” said one, as she reached across the bar and grabbed Orion’s shirt front, pulling him through the wood like he was a ghost.
“And we will do the same,” said the other, twining a hand in his hair.
“Stop,” I said
They froze. I pulled Orion away from them. The spell broke. They were strong.
“Little bitch!” cried one. “I will destroy you for that!” said the other.
Orion had stumbled back against the bar. I stepped in front of him.
“I could beat you both...,” I said and made a sloppy gesture with my hands.
The force of my spell pushed the women to the back of the room. It also blew out both of the windows by the door.
“Whoops,” I said, looking at the broken glass. I should apologize for that. I looked around for Orion. He was behind the bar. “Sorry,” I said, stumbling as I tried to sit on one of the stools.
He pointed behind me, “Raven!”
I turned to see a giant black Raven filling the room. It squawked and the room shook. I shuffled backwards as its hooked beak stabbed down and caught the hem of my dress, trapping me where I stood.
The women behind the raven laughed and came forward.
“Time to see what real power looks like,” called out a woman with red lips. “And time to find your own plaything,” laughed another. “She’ll be the plaything,” said an angry looking one.
I looked down. My dress was torn. My mouth was dry. I was so tired.
“No.” I slurred and made a gesture I’d seen my mam do hundreds of times.
There was a rushing noise and then a silence and then a lot of squealing. I found a stool at the bar and climbed up on to it. What sounded like a herd of pigs stampeded out of the bar. When they were finally gone, it was quiet. I crossed my arms on the bar and laid my head on them like a pillow.
Just before everything went black I heard Orion say, “I’ll get you that Clarea, Raven.”
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[WP] In a world of creatures with wonderous abilities like elves and dwarves, humans seem a bit... lacklustre in comparison. It seems that the gods agree the newer races are too OP, and thus hold a conference to discuss balance changes for the world, with you as humanity's representative.
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"So, Elhyrin - what perks did you give to your elves?", Althanor, the father of Gods asked his son."Well, they can hear a bird chirp from a mile away, they live for thousands of years, they have an high amplitude for magic, they're great archers and a capable of fighting with dual swords like no other race before. They're connected to the woods, they're wonderful musicians, they can speak with animals, they're all beautiful and they got sexy ears."
"What was that last one?", Gumar the God of the forge asked in a slightly irritated tone.
"Elhyrin", Althanor the father of Gods spoke again "Don't you think... You're going a bit over the top? Do they really need to be that perfect?"
"Well, they're like me.", Elhyrin responded, disregarding Gumar's amused sputtering.
"So, what about you Gumar? What about your dwarfs?", Althanor continued.
"Well, they're the best smiths this world has ever seen. They're small so they can fit into any hole and tunnel, yet they're stronger than any human or elf. They laugh about heat and cold, they're resistant to illnesses, poisons and any toxic gases you can find in mines. They have endurance and resilience like nobody else, they can mine for days without a break - they don't get hangovers and ultimately, they got pretty darn nice beards."
This time it was Elhyrin's time to chuckle, for that monstrous thing coming out of Gumar's face looked like the leftovers of a dead fox.
"That sounds mighty and useful. Maybe a bit too much of both... So, Ajarazel - you're next. What about your vampires and Orcs?"
"Vampires live forever, they can recover from any wound that doesn't pierce their hearts. They have access to dark, transformation and illusion magic and they also have incredible strength and agility. They drink or eat nothing else than blood, but sun burns their skin."
*Finally some reasonable downside*, Althanor mumbled while Ajarazel continued.
"As for orcs: They're tall, they're strong, they breed like rabbits and they eat literally anything - including each other. Their grotesque appearance strikes fear into their enemies! Justified fear, as my Orcs know no empathy or mercy. They're the fiercest warriors this world has ever seen! Sadly, as I have to shamefully admit, I forgot about their intelligence.", Ajarazel finished.
"That's mostly reasonable.", Alathanor nodded. "And finally... Humans. - Paul, would you elaborate?"
Paul hectically awoke from his slumber when he heard his name.
"Uhhh? Where were we? Humans. Yes, yes. They do a bit of everything.", he responded blearily.
"Can they do anything particularly well?", Althanor inquired.
"Hmmmm. Not really I guess. Just a bit of everything, you know?", Paul babbled.
"After you've heard what your brothers said, would you like to add anything else to your creation? Something to even the balance of power between all races?", Althanor wondered graciously.
"It's okay, no worries.", Paul knew that it'd mean extra work for him, work he wasn't willing to do. It was just such a drag to design a race, but his father had forced him to.
Knowing his son, Althanor sighed. Paul was a lazy God, the laziest of them all - and his creation suffered from it. Determined on creating a balance of power, to stop the endless wars plaguing the world he had created, Althanor decided to make up for what his son lacked:
"Humanity shall become the master of all trades. While humans are short-lived and fragile, they shall get the power to learn and master any métier, any weapon and any spell! For they will learn faster than anybody else.", Althanor the Godfather of creation had spoken - and so it was.
Well, so it would have been. Humanity had gotten the greatest gift of all - the power to learn everything and solve every secret. They had limitless potential, but like all other races humanity was modeled after its own creator. Humanity was modeled after Paul - and like Paul humanity was too lazy to achieve greatness.
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"Order, Order!" The grand wizard slammed his gavel onto the table made of magical stone. The spell muted all of the creatures to stop their blabbering discourse. Nothing had been done in the last fifty years since humanity had been introduced into their magical realm. A reoccurring issue with the main species was that they consistently fought amongst themselves. The wizards, the dwarves, and the elves.
Standing at the front of the small group of lords and leaders of the realm, the Grand Wizard let out an exhausted sigh. He knew from the great book, it was not his choice nor anyone else to determine the validity of humanity and their existence in their wonderous world. A world where Elves lived prosperously near the water, the dwarves lived sheltered in the mountains, and the sparse wizards separated in the far reaches of their planet.
"We must give the humans a chance to live." The wizard began, "They do not have the luxury of evolving for millions of years, as we had just discovered them less than a century ago."
The grand wizard slammed his staff into the ground forming a white cloud above the large table for everyone to see.
In three separate segments, the leaders watched as individual projections of their species evolved in front of their eyes. They watched the Elves, who initially grew from an ancient mermaid in the depths of the sea. The dwarves who began as a rare mushroom troll deep in the earth, and of course the Wizards, who were flower pixies before eventually gaining their true power. Lastly, he showed the ancestor of humans, a three-eyed monkey, who had once been able to communicate with all the creatures on the planet, telling signs of the future. As it goes, the Great Book was written by one of the ancient Monkeys who had lived during the stages of the other creatures' infancy. Humanity still had yet to discover its true powers in its primal stage.
"You see now, these Humans will one day be able to help us. We must be patient as they are still growing. One day they will use their powers to bring us together as their ancestors foretold."
With a wave of his gavel, the spell was uplifted from the room.
"They won't come together in time for the war. They are too selfish." Interjected Ravi, the General of the mighty Elf fleet of the East.
"Yes, they are too greedy. We cannot depend on them!" Added the Dwarf king from the south.
"This is true, this is true. They won't be ready for the war if we keep them here." The grand wizard picked his long white beard to the troubled question. If the humans stayed, they would one day no doubt try to overpower the elves, dwarves, and maybe wizards too, for their bidding one day. Once they had full control of their psychic abilities, they could just as easily use evil to overthrow their planet to serve themselves.
Shaking his head at the thought, the wizard repeated themself "As I said, they are not ready."
"Yes, and the Book says the war will begin in 2,300 years. I say we raise them as elves. They will do fine within our culture" Exclaimed Ravi.
"Oh, you want them, so that you can make them slaves. Just as you tried to do with us and our mines. We must fight for ourselves, and hold true to our own people. The humans can die amongst their own self-pity!" The dwarves cheered at this response from their king, while the elves ignored what they considered small-minded opinions.
Again, the room was in an argument, and loud. Mostly because of the dwarf leaders who were yelling. Frustrated, the Grand Wizard saw the meeting going nowhere over everyone's disagreement. If they did not find a way to evolve the humans, the great war would be the end of all their planet. What shall they do? Are they doomed?
"Silence!" Slamming his staff into the ground, the grand wizard grew 20 feet tall, a dark cloud over him. He had the power to send these people to another world lightyears away if he wanted to get them to shut up and he sure as hell felt like doing it...
Drawing axes and arrows on both sides of the table, everyone waited on edge for the first strike to initiate, however, it didn't come. Instead, they watched perplexed as a sense of peace looked to befall the Grand Wizard. The dark cloud above his head turned into sunshine.
"I've got it. Eleanor, please bring in the Human King."
Walking down the long hallway into the realms court, was the King, a man draped in rags. The only sign of royalty he had was a sword.
"Yes, grand wizard," he answered kneeling before the room.
"You will select a boy and a girl from your people and bring them to me before the days end."
"What for?" asked the King.
"We shall place them in a new world, and they will grow your species there. In time, they shall learn to grow with each other much faster than if they would in our world."
"Will they be safe?"
"No, they will suffer and go through much pain, however it necessary in order for them to grow. In 2,300 years they will grow more as a civilization than if we kept them here. Don't fret, you and I shall help them in moments of change."
The King returned to his village, and selected young Adam and Eve to go as partners to this new world. He did not tell the young ones why they needed to start the species or of the war. All he said was to obey the simple commands given to them by the gods.
"But how can we know if we are doing this right, my King?"
"I don't have that answer, Adam, all I've been told by the Grand Wizard is this. You must keep your knowledge of this world between you both and nobody else."
"How will we survive.?"
"The grand wizard will advise you. Remember what the great book says --above everything, and anything, love everyone, and anything."
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[WP] In a world of creatures with wonderous abilities like elves and dwarves, humans seem a bit... lacklustre in comparison. It seems that the gods agree the newer races are too OP, and thus hold a conference to discuss balance changes for the world, with you as humanity's representative.
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I had just woken up when the portal swallowed me. Leaping through time and space took me by surprise, to say the least. I didn't know what was going on. A myriad of colors swirled around my body as it stretched out into infinity, culminating in a crash that left me screaming like an idiot. I landed face-first in an ethereal room with no walls. The golden floor felt solid despite the outside looking like a void. In the background, galaxies and comets swirled with no end in sight. I couldn't believe the beauty in front of me. It was beyond anything in my wildest dreams.
A lavish table stood in the middle of the room. I got to my feet and finally noticed I wasn't alone here. The gods all stared at me. They glowed with a dim aura of light. I swallowed. A muscular, bearded man sat in the middle of them, clasping his hands while studying me. Marthux, god of gods. He nodded at his fellow divines and said:
"Welcome, human."
I fell on my knees in reverence.
"Stand" he said. "We summoned you to discuss an important matter. It's hard to talk if you're not looking at us."
I followed the order.
"Good" said Marthux. "Normally, I'd never even consider the opinion of a mortal, but me and my brethren are currently at an impasse. As of now, you are the representative of humanity in our discussion."
"It's... an honor." I pursed my lips, hesitating. "If I may ask... why me?"
"Why *not* you?" said Fortuna, goddess of luck. Her pink veil shimmered to the point of distracting me. It barely concealed the amused smirk she made.
"Fair enough."
I wasn't about to tell them they chose the wrong person. The other gods weren't pleased with my presence. One wrong word could leave me erased from existence. Marthux then said:
"Human, how would you rate your experience so far?"
"As in, living?"
"Yes."
"Not bad, but not good either. Average, I suppose."
Fortuna chuckled.
Marthux ignored her. "You don't mind, for example, that elves live multiple times your lifespan?"
"Not really. There's not much I can do about it."
"But what if you could?"
"It'd be cruel to take that away from them. I wouldn't mind if they were a bit dumber, though. They're very full of themselves."
Wrecks, god of dwarves, bellowed a deep laugh.
Artemisia, goddess of elves, muttered in her seat, glaring at me. I shrunk back. That probably got me in trouble. Marthux motioned at her to calm down, saying:
"Don't worry, human. You will be protected after this. Speak your mind."
I nodded. "If I'm being honest, the dwarves aren't any better. They just keep to themselves and never bother to care about anyone but their own. It wouldn't hurt to make them a bit... nicer."
Wrecks stood up. "Your head will go on a pike!"
Marthux glared at him. "It won't."
Wrecks sat down again and guzzled a cup of ambrosia.
Rigel, god of magic, stroked his long beard before saying:
"When considering balance changes, I always prefer buffing, instead of nerfing. That way, everyone can do something cool. What if humans could throw lighting bolts from birth?"
I widened my eyes. "That'd be neat."
"Never!" said Pejock, god of hard work and struggle. "They'd never appreciate the wonders of the world if you just let them do whatever. I hate magic as it is. Making it easier would only wreck everything." He looked at Wrecks. "No offense."
Wrecks shrugged, still drinking.
Fortuna chimed in. "Why don't we just add more variance?"
"No!" said everyone else.
"RNG ruins everything" added Rigel. "We all remember how luck-magic turned out."
The rest of the gods nodded sagely.
Fortuna sunk back in her chair. "Fine."
Marthux then said:
"Human, what buffs would you propose?"
I thought about it for a moment. "Nothing, I guess."
Marthux squinted. "Really? Why?"
"Well, I think we're fine. Even with all of our disadvantages, we still manage to keep up with the other races."
Marthux leaned forward. "But it's so... basic. Why would you ever want to be like that?"
I shrugged. "Why not?"
Fortuna laughed.
Marthux furrowed his brow. "The reason we made you was to counterbalance every other race. You were supposed to be the bottom of the barrel. And I, in my infinite compassion, after seeing how unfair that was, decided to hand your race this opportunity, and you DARE refuse it?"
I scowled. "Screw you! Beating everyone as an underdog is the best part of being human. Smite me if you want, but I won't change my mind on this."
Marthux swelled up with energy. "I shall."
"You won't" said Fortuna. "He's under my care now."
Marthux shared an enraged look with her. The other gods tensed up. Fortuna then said:
"This is why I told you they don't need changes. While the rest of you were busy making your races as unique and special as possible, you neglected the fact that it made them dreadfully predictable. Humans take risks because they have to." She smiled. "And that's what makes them stand out."
Marthux remained unswayed. "You're playing a dangerous game."
Fortuna raised an eyebrow. "Then try your luck with me. I dare you."
"This isn't over." Marthux frowned at me. "Begone."
I jumped out of my bed and fell on the floor. My heart wanted to burst out of my chest. I looked around. It was my home. Was it all a dream? A horrible, sinking feeling overcame me. I'd never had a dream like that. Strangely enough, when I walked outside, a golden coin fell on my hand. How... lucky.
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If you enjoyed this, you can check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading!
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"Order, Order!" The grand wizard slammed his gavel onto the table made of magical stone. The spell muted all of the creatures to stop their blabbering discourse. Nothing had been done in the last fifty years since humanity had been introduced into their magical realm. A reoccurring issue with the main species was that they consistently fought amongst themselves. The wizards, the dwarves, and the elves.
Standing at the front of the small group of lords and leaders of the realm, the Grand Wizard let out an exhausted sigh. He knew from the great book, it was not his choice nor anyone else to determine the validity of humanity and their existence in their wonderous world. A world where Elves lived prosperously near the water, the dwarves lived sheltered in the mountains, and the sparse wizards separated in the far reaches of their planet.
"We must give the humans a chance to live." The wizard began, "They do not have the luxury of evolving for millions of years, as we had just discovered them less than a century ago."
The grand wizard slammed his staff into the ground forming a white cloud above the large table for everyone to see.
In three separate segments, the leaders watched as individual projections of their species evolved in front of their eyes. They watched the Elves, who initially grew from an ancient mermaid in the depths of the sea. The dwarves who began as a rare mushroom troll deep in the earth, and of course the Wizards, who were flower pixies before eventually gaining their true power. Lastly, he showed the ancestor of humans, a three-eyed monkey, who had once been able to communicate with all the creatures on the planet, telling signs of the future. As it goes, the Great Book was written by one of the ancient Monkeys who had lived during the stages of the other creatures' infancy. Humanity still had yet to discover its true powers in its primal stage.
"You see now, these Humans will one day be able to help us. We must be patient as they are still growing. One day they will use their powers to bring us together as their ancestors foretold."
With a wave of his gavel, the spell was uplifted from the room.
"They won't come together in time for the war. They are too selfish." Interjected Ravi, the General of the mighty Elf fleet of the East.
"Yes, they are too greedy. We cannot depend on them!" Added the Dwarf king from the south.
"This is true, this is true. They won't be ready for the war if we keep them here." The grand wizard picked his long white beard to the troubled question. If the humans stayed, they would one day no doubt try to overpower the elves, dwarves, and maybe wizards too, for their bidding one day. Once they had full control of their psychic abilities, they could just as easily use evil to overthrow their planet to serve themselves.
Shaking his head at the thought, the wizard repeated themself "As I said, they are not ready."
"Yes, and the Book says the war will begin in 2,300 years. I say we raise them as elves. They will do fine within our culture" Exclaimed Ravi.
"Oh, you want them, so that you can make them slaves. Just as you tried to do with us and our mines. We must fight for ourselves, and hold true to our own people. The humans can die amongst their own self-pity!" The dwarves cheered at this response from their king, while the elves ignored what they considered small-minded opinions.
Again, the room was in an argument, and loud. Mostly because of the dwarf leaders who were yelling. Frustrated, the Grand Wizard saw the meeting going nowhere over everyone's disagreement. If they did not find a way to evolve the humans, the great war would be the end of all their planet. What shall they do? Are they doomed?
"Silence!" Slamming his staff into the ground, the grand wizard grew 20 feet tall, a dark cloud over him. He had the power to send these people to another world lightyears away if he wanted to get them to shut up and he sure as hell felt like doing it...
Drawing axes and arrows on both sides of the table, everyone waited on edge for the first strike to initiate, however, it didn't come. Instead, they watched perplexed as a sense of peace looked to befall the Grand Wizard. The dark cloud above his head turned into sunshine.
"I've got it. Eleanor, please bring in the Human King."
Walking down the long hallway into the realms court, was the King, a man draped in rags. The only sign of royalty he had was a sword.
"Yes, grand wizard," he answered kneeling before the room.
"You will select a boy and a girl from your people and bring them to me before the days end."
"What for?" asked the King.
"We shall place them in a new world, and they will grow your species there. In time, they shall learn to grow with each other much faster than if they would in our world."
"Will they be safe?"
"No, they will suffer and go through much pain, however it necessary in order for them to grow. In 2,300 years they will grow more as a civilization than if we kept them here. Don't fret, you and I shall help them in moments of change."
The King returned to his village, and selected young Adam and Eve to go as partners to this new world. He did not tell the young ones why they needed to start the species or of the war. All he said was to obey the simple commands given to them by the gods.
"But how can we know if we are doing this right, my King?"
"I don't have that answer, Adam, all I've been told by the Grand Wizard is this. You must keep your knowledge of this world between you both and nobody else."
"How will we survive.?"
"The grand wizard will advise you. Remember what the great book says --above everything, and anything, love everyone, and anything."
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[WP] You are a well known hero, and today is the funeral of your spouse. Everyone has left the chapel, except for you and one other. As you turn around, you see it is your arch-nemesis. They stand there, looking sorrowful. "I'm so sorry for your loss. They were truly too good for this world."
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I turn away, my mouth gone dry.
"...how... how did you know her? The funeral was for friends and family."
The pew creaks as he rustles in the seat.
"I am... no, no I was a friend. Before my powers awoke, I was... troubled, to say the least. I was her first ER case. Overdose. She helped me, saved me rather. And I returned the favor, as best I could. Became her assistant and inside man for new stuff on the streets. She... always was too kind."
"Yeah. She was. It... it doesn't feel real." I admitted. I looked at my hands.
"Just yesterday, I held her in my arms. I asked her not to go, not this time, just for once. She told me 'if I don't go, who will? This might be the only chance they get.' And I... just let her go. Maybe, if I had been more stubborn. Maybe if I had demanded she stay, she'd still be..."
My grief overwhelms me, and I feel the power surge without my control.
My wife is gone, ready to be lowered into a cold grave. And I will never have her again.
What will I live for?
Energy starts building a shield around me, my signature power. But instead of forming a barrier it starts closing in, tighter and tighter.
Perhaps it would be better now to go with her.
"Argus, no!"
My enemy runs to me, thumping on the shield, and I feel the shield start to crack.
I hear a hiss, and I see the gas start to leak in through the cracks. That's his power, Valve's that is, he can produce and control all kinds of gasses. Normally I would be able to seal them out. But not now.
Perhaps not ever again.
I underestimate the gas, a powerful tranquilizer. My body goes limp and my mind is foggy. The last I see is Valve breaking through my shield
I crash to the ground, and all goes dark.
...
I wake up, laying on a pew, while Valve is looking over me.
I can see his eyes are red but he sighs.
"Good. You're awake."
With that he decks me right in the face.
Im groaning, trying to recover from the surprise hit when I hear him start talking.
"... What the fucking hell do you think you were trying to pull? You, you can't do this to them! After all this shit I've done, you think you can just yeet outta here? Uh-uh buddy. Not on my watch."
The pain resides a little and I'm looking at him.
"Why the hell do you care?"
Oh, that was definitely not the right thing to say. I see a snarl tear across his face and he starts telling.
"Why do I care? Because she ASKED ME TO! BECAUSE SOMEONE NEEDS TO BE THERE TO HELP, AND THAT'S YOU DUMBASS!"
I see tears start coming down his face. "I WAS... RIGHT. FUCKING. THERE. WHEN THAT BULLET RIPPED THROUGH THE WINDOW. I SAW HER BLEED AND THE ONLY GODDAMN THING SHE ASKED ME WAS... was to... was to make sure you were alright."
He sits down on the ground and I see that he's shaking.
"She loved you so, so much. And the only thing she was afraid of was losing you. I didn't even know that you WERE her man, but now it's even more important to make sure you're fine."
"Why's that? "
He looks away.
"Because I can't control my powers, not like you. I... I had a talk with Doc Villus. Basically, if I don't vent often, I go crazy. Like when we're first started fighting. Something to do with my adrenal glands. And I don't know when it gets too much, because it starts making me into the world's biggest addict. You've been the biggest help in keeping me from going insane"
He looks at me. "But that's not the important thing. What's important is that she asked me, made me promise that I'd make sure you're fine. I'm not going to back down from that, not after everything she's done for me."
He stands up and looks away towards the casket. "I'm not saying we gotta keep fighting, but we do gotta keep living. So..."
He turns around and offers me a hand. "Do it for her? "
I take it. "Do it for her."
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"He was." The words were the first intelligible ones I'd spoken all day. The afternoon had been filled with condolences and kind offers, hugging and crying, my responses to all of which had been mumbles of gratitude and a light pat on the back. It was as though I'd been the one doing the comforting rather than the opposite. The mayor himself had choked back tears as he'd squeezed my shoulder.
I turned back around and stared at the coffin, lit by watery spring sunlight filtering in through the stained glass above. Walter cleared his throat uncomfortably. The sound of his footsteps as he walked up the aisle echoed in the empty chapel, followed by a muffled grunt as he slid into the pew across from me. Out of the corner of my eye I watched him lean forward and rest his elbows on the bench ahead of him.
"I never thought I'd see the day you would waste a moment of opportunity," I remarked quietly. This was as good a moment to strike as any. I was now emptier than I had felt in my entire life, devoid of strength and even the breath to hold myself together.
"Oh, this isn't a waste. This opportunity is for me to pay my respects to a good man. Your vulnerability is intoxicating, but I am a man of decorum. You could say the church to be considered our neutral ground."
"I'm touched."
He didn't reply.
In the silence, my weak thoughts wandered. They were simple at first; the taste of the crustless tuna sandwiches from earlier still lingered in my mouth. As I swiped my tongue around the inside of my cheeks I thought back to a time I'd tried to make a similar tray of sandwiches, but for.... Our wedding. Paul had cut the crusts off and made a bread mustache, swung me around in a dance across the kitchen floor using a French accent and kissing me with his tuna breath. His eyes had been so full of clarity then, his limbs strong and his laugh? Roaring.
I inhaled sharply and lurched forward, both hands on the pew before me as I tried violently to refrain from vomiting. In a flash Walter was beside me, one hand to my back and another on my hands. I made to pull away, what if someone came in and saw us like this? But his grip was firm. Applying pressure to my back, he saw to it that I was breathing normally again before retiring a few paces back, still on one knee. I closed my eyes and let my head hang.
"Mary?" He ventured.
"No."
I could feel him sag almost as though he were right beside me. For a moment, my heart seemed to spark and try to come alight with anger so desperate to claw its way into view. But Paul lay feet away from us, cold as ice, forever oblivious and never to be heard from again. I could not find the anger, and the spark died.
"Mary," Walter tried again. He shifted and stood up, brushing dust from his pants. "You know, the church doesn't have to be our only neutral ground. You could accept my offer. I feel it is fair and does right by you." He hesitated, and threw all caution to the wind as he then said: "With Paul gone now, the solution to our problem is simple."
"Our problem?" My head flew up sharply. "You mean your problem, Walter. I never had a problem. If anything, my only problem was YOU!" Without realizing it I was now on my feet, eyes ablaze and my hands wrapped around the hymnal I'd taken from the pew. I threw it at him, hard. Walter made to catch it but was so taken aback that it caught him straight in the face, and knocked his glasses off. They went spinning loudly across the floor and came to a stop at the foot of the stairs leading up to Paul's coffin.
"You debate against me in every council meeting, you challenge me in every way whatsoever, fighting me on every issue and casting down every resolution I come up with." I picked up another hymnal and advanced on him, trying passionately to hit him with every word that came to me.
"My husband is dead, ripped from my chest by an AUTOMOBILE that you think will change the world. You work so hard to push my husband's business and my words into the dust, you write laws and create regulations that are for the sole purpose of having my farm and my practice taken away from me and every step I take forward in the name of advancing this town's name into greatness lands in mud that you have created. I slip and fall in it Walter, I am covered in figurative mud. I am dirty and I am tired and YOU are my problem, Walter! The only solution to it is you taking your automobiles and leaving me and this town alone, not asking me to MARRY YOU!"
The last two words rang out in the chapel, strong and clear. Feathers ruffled, Walter's hands were raised. His nose was dripping red. I couldn't see it for the red mist in my own eyes but he was reaching for a kerchief in his pocket to stem the bloodflow.
He stepped back. The hymnal fell out of my shaking hands and I fell to my knees, a choking sob ripping itself from my throat and ringing in the open space. Paul was gone. I was to fight the good fight alone, without the good man I had chosen to fight it alongside.
Walter's next words were muffled by the handkerchief up to his nose, but I heard them clear enough:
"What is a man if he does not challenge the one he loves to grow?"
(I kind of just let the characters do what they wanted, I didn't have a plan for them but now that I "know" them I like them and the past and future I can see for each of them. Thanks for reading! Sorry it's a bit rough and hard to explain!)
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[WP] You are a well known hero, and today is the funeral of your spouse. Everyone has left the chapel, except for you and one other. As you turn around, you see it is your arch-nemesis. They stand there, looking sorrowful. "I'm so sorry for your loss. They were truly too good for this world."
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A combination of being stunned and scanning him for weapons was all that stayed me from grabbing for my blade at my side.
He had no weapons. A first I had seen from Grognil the Warlock. In spite of the fact he could conjure one at his leisure, he had a certain mace that the favoured for combat.
A few seconds of silence passed, and I processed what he had just said.
"Do not speak of her, your tongue is not worth its own spit, let alone to speak of an angel."
Grognil shrugged. "I may submit to darker forces than you, but I am not a monster. I merely came to pay respects for the loss of someone I respect greatly."
"Respect?" I replied, somewhat incredulously.
"Yes, respect. I do not have to like you, Merrip. In fact I positively *detest* you. But I respect you."
"Where was your respect for he village you engulfed in flame? For the children you kidnapped prior to sacrifice? Where was your respect for all the lives you have ended? The innocent folk you have slaughtered?!"
Grognil shrugged again. "They were not worth my respect. You are."
I resisted the urge to lunge at him. Even in his unarmed state, attacking Grognil head on and recklessly was a bad idea. And Lucanne would not approve of fighting in her favourite church, rest her soul.
Grognil sat in a pew, no doubt observing the rage in me. I sat too, keeping a distance from the man. Yet he did not seem to have ill intent.
"You see," Grognil suddenly continued, "they did not fight. They did not see they were being wronged, and struggle to resist it. They had no spirit, and a being without spirit is not worth the life it bears. Apathy."
"Apathy?" I retorted. "You believe they felt apathy as you burnt them alive? As you smashed them and cut them down?"
"Oh, fear they most certainly felt. But deep down, they must have seen their life not worth saving, or they would have tried, no? They had apathy. And apathy is death."
"You believe that if a person does not fight, does not commit to physical violence, then they are unworthy?"
I asked the question suddenly and calmly. Grognil looked me in the eye, curious as to what I would say next.
"Oh Grognil, you speak as if Haydak taught us nothing. He must be rolling in his grave at the words of one of his former apprentices."
I brought an orb of pastview out of my pocket, one of the two I now carried everywhere. As I gazed into it, the image of Haydak, my former master, became clear. Grognil could see it too.
"There are different fights, and different ways to fight, Grognil. They put up no resistance because you were not a part of their fight. The humble baker does not resort to violence with his grain and wheat supplier when they fall short of a quota. For he can not afford to lose the supplier. No supplier means no bread, no bread means no income, and his sick mother back home will not recover.
The farmer likewise does not take arms against those attempting to steal some of his grain, as if he cannot defeat the roguish youths, he will be crippled or worse, and his wife and child will have no earner to take care of them. Those are the true fights, Grognil. You are not, were *never* a part of the equation."
Grognil sat, staring at me contemplatively. Seconds passed, before he simply faded away and vanished, presumably back to where ever he resides.
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"He was." The words were the first intelligible ones I'd spoken all day. The afternoon had been filled with condolences and kind offers, hugging and crying, my responses to all of which had been mumbles of gratitude and a light pat on the back. It was as though I'd been the one doing the comforting rather than the opposite. The mayor himself had choked back tears as he'd squeezed my shoulder.
I turned back around and stared at the coffin, lit by watery spring sunlight filtering in through the stained glass above. Walter cleared his throat uncomfortably. The sound of his footsteps as he walked up the aisle echoed in the empty chapel, followed by a muffled grunt as he slid into the pew across from me. Out of the corner of my eye I watched him lean forward and rest his elbows on the bench ahead of him.
"I never thought I'd see the day you would waste a moment of opportunity," I remarked quietly. This was as good a moment to strike as any. I was now emptier than I had felt in my entire life, devoid of strength and even the breath to hold myself together.
"Oh, this isn't a waste. This opportunity is for me to pay my respects to a good man. Your vulnerability is intoxicating, but I am a man of decorum. You could say the church to be considered our neutral ground."
"I'm touched."
He didn't reply.
In the silence, my weak thoughts wandered. They were simple at first; the taste of the crustless tuna sandwiches from earlier still lingered in my mouth. As I swiped my tongue around the inside of my cheeks I thought back to a time I'd tried to make a similar tray of sandwiches, but for.... Our wedding. Paul had cut the crusts off and made a bread mustache, swung me around in a dance across the kitchen floor using a French accent and kissing me with his tuna breath. His eyes had been so full of clarity then, his limbs strong and his laugh? Roaring.
I inhaled sharply and lurched forward, both hands on the pew before me as I tried violently to refrain from vomiting. In a flash Walter was beside me, one hand to my back and another on my hands. I made to pull away, what if someone came in and saw us like this? But his grip was firm. Applying pressure to my back, he saw to it that I was breathing normally again before retiring a few paces back, still on one knee. I closed my eyes and let my head hang.
"Mary?" He ventured.
"No."
I could feel him sag almost as though he were right beside me. For a moment, my heart seemed to spark and try to come alight with anger so desperate to claw its way into view. But Paul lay feet away from us, cold as ice, forever oblivious and never to be heard from again. I could not find the anger, and the spark died.
"Mary," Walter tried again. He shifted and stood up, brushing dust from his pants. "You know, the church doesn't have to be our only neutral ground. You could accept my offer. I feel it is fair and does right by you." He hesitated, and threw all caution to the wind as he then said: "With Paul gone now, the solution to our problem is simple."
"Our problem?" My head flew up sharply. "You mean your problem, Walter. I never had a problem. If anything, my only problem was YOU!" Without realizing it I was now on my feet, eyes ablaze and my hands wrapped around the hymnal I'd taken from the pew. I threw it at him, hard. Walter made to catch it but was so taken aback that it caught him straight in the face, and knocked his glasses off. They went spinning loudly across the floor and came to a stop at the foot of the stairs leading up to Paul's coffin.
"You debate against me in every council meeting, you challenge me in every way whatsoever, fighting me on every issue and casting down every resolution I come up with." I picked up another hymnal and advanced on him, trying passionately to hit him with every word that came to me.
"My husband is dead, ripped from my chest by an AUTOMOBILE that you think will change the world. You work so hard to push my husband's business and my words into the dust, you write laws and create regulations that are for the sole purpose of having my farm and my practice taken away from me and every step I take forward in the name of advancing this town's name into greatness lands in mud that you have created. I slip and fall in it Walter, I am covered in figurative mud. I am dirty and I am tired and YOU are my problem, Walter! The only solution to it is you taking your automobiles and leaving me and this town alone, not asking me to MARRY YOU!"
The last two words rang out in the chapel, strong and clear. Feathers ruffled, Walter's hands were raised. His nose was dripping red. I couldn't see it for the red mist in my own eyes but he was reaching for a kerchief in his pocket to stem the bloodflow.
He stepped back. The hymnal fell out of my shaking hands and I fell to my knees, a choking sob ripping itself from my throat and ringing in the open space. Paul was gone. I was to fight the good fight alone, without the good man I had chosen to fight it alongside.
Walter's next words were muffled by the handkerchief up to his nose, but I heard them clear enough:
"What is a man if he does not challenge the one he loves to grow?"
(I kind of just let the characters do what they wanted, I didn't have a plan for them but now that I "know" them I like them and the past and future I can see for each of them. Thanks for reading! Sorry it's a bit rough and hard to explain!)
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[WP] You are a well known hero, and today is the funeral of your spouse. Everyone has left the chapel, except for you and one other. As you turn around, you see it is your arch-nemesis. They stand there, looking sorrowful. "I'm so sorry for your loss. They were truly too good for this world."
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“We are gathered here today to honor the passing of Lana Miller. Wife to Jordan, mother to Hailey. And to many of us, Mist, protector of the world.” The priest spoke solemnly.
Lana was the glue that held our little team together. Whenever me and Red Giant would get into a fight, she was always there to pull us off each other. She always knew what to do in battle. If it weren’t for her, well, the Legion wouldn’t have made it off the ground.
The rest of the funeral was a blur. She was truly gone, I didn’t know what to do. I’ve been to lots of funerals, most for people close to me, but this was something else.
I began to drift off, thinking about all of the time we had spent together, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up to see Ultra Girl, who gave me a sad smile and walked out to the rest of the mourners.
I began to walk out and follow her when a raspy voice pierced through the silence.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
I looked around for whoever said that. Suddenly, a shadowy man in a purple suit walked out from the shadows.
Purple suit, shadowy aura.
Mister Voodoo.
Instantaneously, I slammed him against the wall, “Give me one good reason not to bury you in the ground right now.”
“God’s house. Wouldn’t want him gettin’ all upset now, would we?”
I stopped for a moment, and let him go.
“What do you want?”
He dusted himself off.
“Like I said, I’m sorry for your loss. Lana was... someone else. The Legion was lucky to have her. I’m here to offer my condolences.”
I said nothing, staring daggers into Voodoo.
Voodoo walked past me and over to the coffin, running his hand along the edges. Something about him seemed off. I had never seen him like this before.
“I truly am sorry. She was too good for the world.”
He seemed... sad.
“Why are you *really* here? What sick plan to do you have?”
“No plan. No one deserves to lose someone this close to them. Especially you.”
I sat down on the pew and buried my face in my hands.
“I had a Lana in my life once. Name was Peter. He kept me down to earth. He made me feel something I never felt before. I loved him, I really did. But our love was never meant to be.”
I could hear him sit down next to me.
“Cancer. Got ‘im quick. And cancer is something that not even the darkest of magic can knock out.”
A sniffle.
“He...”
I placed my hand on his shoulder and looked over to him. Although shadows obscured his face, I could the sadness radiating off of him.
“When I heard of Lana’s passing, I immediately thought of you. How you’d be devastated, a mess. I immediately thought that this would be the perfect opportunity to do... something. Rob a bank, terrorize innocents. But nothing came to mind. Until I realized that you needed someone there for you. You had all these people in the Legion, but no one knows you like your arch nemesis.
I did what I could to help. I tried bringing her back, but Baron Cimitière refused.”
I turned to him.
“Why did you want to bring her back? So you could torture me?”
He said nothing.
“Matter of fact, why are you doing all this? Coming here, acting all sentimental and heartfelt! You have no right to be here! You’re a villain! Lana doesn’t deserve your sympathy!”
He stood up and turned to me.
“Because Jordan,”
He began to fade away.
“No one deserves to lose someone like Lana.
Not even you, brother.”
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"He was." The words were the first intelligible ones I'd spoken all day. The afternoon had been filled with condolences and kind offers, hugging and crying, my responses to all of which had been mumbles of gratitude and a light pat on the back. It was as though I'd been the one doing the comforting rather than the opposite. The mayor himself had choked back tears as he'd squeezed my shoulder.
I turned back around and stared at the coffin, lit by watery spring sunlight filtering in through the stained glass above. Walter cleared his throat uncomfortably. The sound of his footsteps as he walked up the aisle echoed in the empty chapel, followed by a muffled grunt as he slid into the pew across from me. Out of the corner of my eye I watched him lean forward and rest his elbows on the bench ahead of him.
"I never thought I'd see the day you would waste a moment of opportunity," I remarked quietly. This was as good a moment to strike as any. I was now emptier than I had felt in my entire life, devoid of strength and even the breath to hold myself together.
"Oh, this isn't a waste. This opportunity is for me to pay my respects to a good man. Your vulnerability is intoxicating, but I am a man of decorum. You could say the church to be considered our neutral ground."
"I'm touched."
He didn't reply.
In the silence, my weak thoughts wandered. They were simple at first; the taste of the crustless tuna sandwiches from earlier still lingered in my mouth. As I swiped my tongue around the inside of my cheeks I thought back to a time I'd tried to make a similar tray of sandwiches, but for.... Our wedding. Paul had cut the crusts off and made a bread mustache, swung me around in a dance across the kitchen floor using a French accent and kissing me with his tuna breath. His eyes had been so full of clarity then, his limbs strong and his laugh? Roaring.
I inhaled sharply and lurched forward, both hands on the pew before me as I tried violently to refrain from vomiting. In a flash Walter was beside me, one hand to my back and another on my hands. I made to pull away, what if someone came in and saw us like this? But his grip was firm. Applying pressure to my back, he saw to it that I was breathing normally again before retiring a few paces back, still on one knee. I closed my eyes and let my head hang.
"Mary?" He ventured.
"No."
I could feel him sag almost as though he were right beside me. For a moment, my heart seemed to spark and try to come alight with anger so desperate to claw its way into view. But Paul lay feet away from us, cold as ice, forever oblivious and never to be heard from again. I could not find the anger, and the spark died.
"Mary," Walter tried again. He shifted and stood up, brushing dust from his pants. "You know, the church doesn't have to be our only neutral ground. You could accept my offer. I feel it is fair and does right by you." He hesitated, and threw all caution to the wind as he then said: "With Paul gone now, the solution to our problem is simple."
"Our problem?" My head flew up sharply. "You mean your problem, Walter. I never had a problem. If anything, my only problem was YOU!" Without realizing it I was now on my feet, eyes ablaze and my hands wrapped around the hymnal I'd taken from the pew. I threw it at him, hard. Walter made to catch it but was so taken aback that it caught him straight in the face, and knocked his glasses off. They went spinning loudly across the floor and came to a stop at the foot of the stairs leading up to Paul's coffin.
"You debate against me in every council meeting, you challenge me in every way whatsoever, fighting me on every issue and casting down every resolution I come up with." I picked up another hymnal and advanced on him, trying passionately to hit him with every word that came to me.
"My husband is dead, ripped from my chest by an AUTOMOBILE that you think will change the world. You work so hard to push my husband's business and my words into the dust, you write laws and create regulations that are for the sole purpose of having my farm and my practice taken away from me and every step I take forward in the name of advancing this town's name into greatness lands in mud that you have created. I slip and fall in it Walter, I am covered in figurative mud. I am dirty and I am tired and YOU are my problem, Walter! The only solution to it is you taking your automobiles and leaving me and this town alone, not asking me to MARRY YOU!"
The last two words rang out in the chapel, strong and clear. Feathers ruffled, Walter's hands were raised. His nose was dripping red. I couldn't see it for the red mist in my own eyes but he was reaching for a kerchief in his pocket to stem the bloodflow.
He stepped back. The hymnal fell out of my shaking hands and I fell to my knees, a choking sob ripping itself from my throat and ringing in the open space. Paul was gone. I was to fight the good fight alone, without the good man I had chosen to fight it alongside.
Walter's next words were muffled by the handkerchief up to his nose, but I heard them clear enough:
"What is a man if he does not challenge the one he loves to grow?"
(I kind of just let the characters do what they wanted, I didn't have a plan for them but now that I "know" them I like them and the past and future I can see for each of them. Thanks for reading! Sorry it's a bit rough and hard to explain!)
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[WP] You are a well known hero, and today is the funeral of your spouse. Everyone has left the chapel, except for you and one other. As you turn around, you see it is your arch-nemesis. They stand there, looking sorrowful. "I'm so sorry for your loss. They were truly too good for this world."
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When I first learn about Maria's confirmed death, I had just stopped a bank robbery. My secure phone was turned off, set on silent mode. It didn’t take me long to stop and wrap things up but I couldn’t exactly stop looking at my phone to see what’s so important. I was talking to the dedicated police officers, smilingly shaking their hands while the would-be robbers sat gloomily in the back seat of the police vehicle. So when I finally got away and check my phone, I notice the unusual amount of missed calls from my side-kick Iron cape. At first, I thought he was in trouble, so I called him back immediately and that when I found out, Maria was gone. My true identity was discovered and to get back at me, she was murder in cold blood. I didn’t know how to react in the moment, the phone inadvertently dropped from my hand and my legs had given out.
My mouth had opened but nothing came out. As soon as I found out who did it, I had hunted them down and apprehended them. At the time, I was so angry I had beaten them nearly to death. I had thought it was one of the many supervillains I’ve dealt with but it wasn’t. It was some two-bit criminal trying to make a name for themselves. The guy once saw me changing to my attire and then did some digging into who I was. So, because of my carelessness, it was my fault; because I wanted to be selfish and be a superhero, the only person I deeply loved was taken.
I stopped crime-fighting as Flame fist and focus on the only that matter to me, taking care of the funeral. My family had helped; they said I was acting like a robot during the robust process. They may have been right; I hardly remember any of it. My friends had come, my family had come and hers. I barely greet anyone or spoken to anyone but instead, I stand over her coffin, staring at her lifeless body. She doesn’t look dead but rather asleep, peacefully sleeping. I prevent myself from ever touching her; I don’t know if I could handle feeling her once warm soft hands become cold. Suddenly I felt a hand clasped onto my shoulder and I turned to see who, thinking it was Iron-cape but it was someone unexpected. It's Red-eyes Grieves, he's dressed in a black suit appropriate for a funeral, and his expression was downcast.
“I'm so sorry for your loss. They were truly too good for this world," Grieves said in a respectful tone. This man had caused me nothing but trouble over the years. To be here with me not as Fire fist but just as me, Jimmy who's only known as a guy who works at a recycling center. In my anger, I had beaten the man who knew my secret identity badly enough so he couldn’t talk, but I never thought if he had told others before that. “I’m not here to fight or cause trouble; I’m simply here to send my condolence,” he says. “I always knew who you were, but I never attacked your personal life out of respect. The truth is, while I hate you and wish you go away, I would never try to kill you and go this far because you’re the only hero who has treated me as a human being.”
I don’t know what to say, a mix of feelings swirl inside me as I simply nod and thank him. “I-I was only able to do that because of Maria. She never knew who I was or maybe she did but never said it. ”My gaze turns back to her in the coffin.“She always believed in me, said I would do great things, despite my day job nothing special. She stayed believing in me and even when she heard about your attacks and the others, she never judges you guys too harshly. She said everyone has their situation and breaking point, but everyone is still human. So, we should treat each other kindly.” My vision begins to blur as tears swell up into my eyes, I quickly use the pit of my arm to wipe them away.
“I reached my breaking point, and I almost killed the guy when I learned what he did.”
“I know, every supervillain in town heard and if you did we would have understood why. But why didn’t you kill him? It would have been easy, and no one would have blamed you for it. You could have even gotten away with it.”
“Trust me, I wanted too. There no fiber in my body that didn’t desire to kill that guy. But Maria wouldn’t want that, she never would want me to kill another because of her and then maybe… Maybe after crossing that line, I would turn into something I regret and what she would hate.”
Grieves grow silent for the moment and look down at Maria. “She was truly too good for this world, take all the time you need.” Red-eyes walk away as I discovered a newfound respect for the man I call my arch-nemesis. As I turn to overlook the room, I begin seeing other familiar faces like Red-eyes, many supervillains I had encountered and dealt with were here. One by one they send me their condolence for my loss, I can no longer restrain my tears but no one shames me. As the last supervillain approaches me to express the condolence, I respond “Thank you, and man am I bad at hiding my identity.”
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"He was." The words were the first intelligible ones I'd spoken all day. The afternoon had been filled with condolences and kind offers, hugging and crying, my responses to all of which had been mumbles of gratitude and a light pat on the back. It was as though I'd been the one doing the comforting rather than the opposite. The mayor himself had choked back tears as he'd squeezed my shoulder.
I turned back around and stared at the coffin, lit by watery spring sunlight filtering in through the stained glass above. Walter cleared his throat uncomfortably. The sound of his footsteps as he walked up the aisle echoed in the empty chapel, followed by a muffled grunt as he slid into the pew across from me. Out of the corner of my eye I watched him lean forward and rest his elbows on the bench ahead of him.
"I never thought I'd see the day you would waste a moment of opportunity," I remarked quietly. This was as good a moment to strike as any. I was now emptier than I had felt in my entire life, devoid of strength and even the breath to hold myself together.
"Oh, this isn't a waste. This opportunity is for me to pay my respects to a good man. Your vulnerability is intoxicating, but I am a man of decorum. You could say the church to be considered our neutral ground."
"I'm touched."
He didn't reply.
In the silence, my weak thoughts wandered. They were simple at first; the taste of the crustless tuna sandwiches from earlier still lingered in my mouth. As I swiped my tongue around the inside of my cheeks I thought back to a time I'd tried to make a similar tray of sandwiches, but for.... Our wedding. Paul had cut the crusts off and made a bread mustache, swung me around in a dance across the kitchen floor using a French accent and kissing me with his tuna breath. His eyes had been so full of clarity then, his limbs strong and his laugh? Roaring.
I inhaled sharply and lurched forward, both hands on the pew before me as I tried violently to refrain from vomiting. In a flash Walter was beside me, one hand to my back and another on my hands. I made to pull away, what if someone came in and saw us like this? But his grip was firm. Applying pressure to my back, he saw to it that I was breathing normally again before retiring a few paces back, still on one knee. I closed my eyes and let my head hang.
"Mary?" He ventured.
"No."
I could feel him sag almost as though he were right beside me. For a moment, my heart seemed to spark and try to come alight with anger so desperate to claw its way into view. But Paul lay feet away from us, cold as ice, forever oblivious and never to be heard from again. I could not find the anger, and the spark died.
"Mary," Walter tried again. He shifted and stood up, brushing dust from his pants. "You know, the church doesn't have to be our only neutral ground. You could accept my offer. I feel it is fair and does right by you." He hesitated, and threw all caution to the wind as he then said: "With Paul gone now, the solution to our problem is simple."
"Our problem?" My head flew up sharply. "You mean your problem, Walter. I never had a problem. If anything, my only problem was YOU!" Without realizing it I was now on my feet, eyes ablaze and my hands wrapped around the hymnal I'd taken from the pew. I threw it at him, hard. Walter made to catch it but was so taken aback that it caught him straight in the face, and knocked his glasses off. They went spinning loudly across the floor and came to a stop at the foot of the stairs leading up to Paul's coffin.
"You debate against me in every council meeting, you challenge me in every way whatsoever, fighting me on every issue and casting down every resolution I come up with." I picked up another hymnal and advanced on him, trying passionately to hit him with every word that came to me.
"My husband is dead, ripped from my chest by an AUTOMOBILE that you think will change the world. You work so hard to push my husband's business and my words into the dust, you write laws and create regulations that are for the sole purpose of having my farm and my practice taken away from me and every step I take forward in the name of advancing this town's name into greatness lands in mud that you have created. I slip and fall in it Walter, I am covered in figurative mud. I am dirty and I am tired and YOU are my problem, Walter! The only solution to it is you taking your automobiles and leaving me and this town alone, not asking me to MARRY YOU!"
The last two words rang out in the chapel, strong and clear. Feathers ruffled, Walter's hands were raised. His nose was dripping red. I couldn't see it for the red mist in my own eyes but he was reaching for a kerchief in his pocket to stem the bloodflow.
He stepped back. The hymnal fell out of my shaking hands and I fell to my knees, a choking sob ripping itself from my throat and ringing in the open space. Paul was gone. I was to fight the good fight alone, without the good man I had chosen to fight it alongside.
Walter's next words were muffled by the handkerchief up to his nose, but I heard them clear enough:
"What is a man if he does not challenge the one he loves to grow?"
(I kind of just let the characters do what they wanted, I didn't have a plan for them but now that I "know" them I like them and the past and future I can see for each of them. Thanks for reading! Sorry it's a bit rough and hard to explain!)
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[WP] You are a well known hero, and today is the funeral of your spouse. Everyone has left the chapel, except for you and one other. As you turn around, you see it is your arch-nemesis. They stand there, looking sorrowful. "I'm so sorry for your loss. They were truly too good for this world."
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I am Desmond, possessor of unimaginable strength and power, and the most famous person in the world. I am invincible. Unbreakable. And I'm crying by a casket.
It's a public funeral, despite my protestations. People I've never seen before murmur soothing words to me, and stare at my wife as she lays supine, a small smile on her face. Some reach out to brush my hand, or my face. Some try to take pictures. Finally, I set an ultimatum.
"Everyone leaves. I want time alone."
There are some angry people who demand to stay. Police escort them out. Most leave politely, however. As the room empties, I stand over the coffin, and take one of her hands in my own.
I stand like that for a while before becoming aware of another presence in the room. Did the police miss someone? I turn around, embarrassed at being watched during such a private moment.
I drop her hand and turn around, opening my mouth to speak.
"Please, I-"
I stop short. At the back of the room, holding a bouquet of roses, is Cain. He meets my gaze.
I step backwards, reeling in shock. Cain is my enemy. Whatever I fix, he seeks to undo. He wreaks havoc for the sake of it. He has tried to kill me on numerous occasions. Most people when asked about him refer to Cain as a demon.
A flash of fear runs through me. I don't have the strength to fight him. Not here. Not now. For a few seconds, we regard each other in silence.
I turn back around, accepting whatever happens next. I kiss my wife one last time. I wait silently by her coffin, tears running down my face. No sound comes from behind me. Instead, I feel a hand on my shoulder.
"I'm so sorry for your loss. She was truly too good for this world."
I look back. Cain stands next to me, a look of pain contorting his features. He lays the roses by the other flowers. I make no attempt to stop him.
"Are you okay?" he asks, turning to face me.
I shake my head.
"No," I choke, and wrap him in a hug. He stiffens, startled, but then pats my shoulder. I let myself cry on his shoulder for a minute, but then pull away.
He clicks his heels, and vanishes from the room, using one of his two abilities. I plop onto a nearby chair, chastising myself. How could I? He was my enemy. I feel no little amount of chagrin that my desperation for comfort in any form led me to betray my values.
Why did he show up? I mull over this for a long time, and come up with no conclusive answer. I go back outside and let everyone back in.
Finally, the milling crowd dissipates. I had been forced to make the reception public, but I would not let anyone except for myself and her family witness the burial. As the last few clods of earth covered the plot, I looked up at the sky. It was a deep blue, and as I watched the first stars appear, I decided one thing. I was going to speak with him.
2 months later
I leave my house for the first time in weeks. For the first month after she died, I visited her grave everyday. Eventually, though, I just lost the motivation. For everything. I probably looked a good deal bonier, because I had no energy to cook. I probably looked more sickly, because I couldn't sleep. Today, after a long time, I got up from bed and ate breakfast. Then I went out. Instead of my feet taking me to my wife's grave, they went westwards. To Cain's lair. I hadn't spoken with him yet, and I suppose my brain remembered that unspoken decision. I stand at his door. Before my hand even touches the door, it opens. Premonition. His other ability.
"Yes? Who-" he begins, sounding annoyed. When he sees me, he stops short. A strange expression flits across his face, but it's quickly replaced with a cool demeanor.
"Come in."
I nod, and follow him inside.
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"He was." The words were the first intelligible ones I'd spoken all day. The afternoon had been filled with condolences and kind offers, hugging and crying, my responses to all of which had been mumbles of gratitude and a light pat on the back. It was as though I'd been the one doing the comforting rather than the opposite. The mayor himself had choked back tears as he'd squeezed my shoulder.
I turned back around and stared at the coffin, lit by watery spring sunlight filtering in through the stained glass above. Walter cleared his throat uncomfortably. The sound of his footsteps as he walked up the aisle echoed in the empty chapel, followed by a muffled grunt as he slid into the pew across from me. Out of the corner of my eye I watched him lean forward and rest his elbows on the bench ahead of him.
"I never thought I'd see the day you would waste a moment of opportunity," I remarked quietly. This was as good a moment to strike as any. I was now emptier than I had felt in my entire life, devoid of strength and even the breath to hold myself together.
"Oh, this isn't a waste. This opportunity is for me to pay my respects to a good man. Your vulnerability is intoxicating, but I am a man of decorum. You could say the church to be considered our neutral ground."
"I'm touched."
He didn't reply.
In the silence, my weak thoughts wandered. They were simple at first; the taste of the crustless tuna sandwiches from earlier still lingered in my mouth. As I swiped my tongue around the inside of my cheeks I thought back to a time I'd tried to make a similar tray of sandwiches, but for.... Our wedding. Paul had cut the crusts off and made a bread mustache, swung me around in a dance across the kitchen floor using a French accent and kissing me with his tuna breath. His eyes had been so full of clarity then, his limbs strong and his laugh? Roaring.
I inhaled sharply and lurched forward, both hands on the pew before me as I tried violently to refrain from vomiting. In a flash Walter was beside me, one hand to my back and another on my hands. I made to pull away, what if someone came in and saw us like this? But his grip was firm. Applying pressure to my back, he saw to it that I was breathing normally again before retiring a few paces back, still on one knee. I closed my eyes and let my head hang.
"Mary?" He ventured.
"No."
I could feel him sag almost as though he were right beside me. For a moment, my heart seemed to spark and try to come alight with anger so desperate to claw its way into view. But Paul lay feet away from us, cold as ice, forever oblivious and never to be heard from again. I could not find the anger, and the spark died.
"Mary," Walter tried again. He shifted and stood up, brushing dust from his pants. "You know, the church doesn't have to be our only neutral ground. You could accept my offer. I feel it is fair and does right by you." He hesitated, and threw all caution to the wind as he then said: "With Paul gone now, the solution to our problem is simple."
"Our problem?" My head flew up sharply. "You mean your problem, Walter. I never had a problem. If anything, my only problem was YOU!" Without realizing it I was now on my feet, eyes ablaze and my hands wrapped around the hymnal I'd taken from the pew. I threw it at him, hard. Walter made to catch it but was so taken aback that it caught him straight in the face, and knocked his glasses off. They went spinning loudly across the floor and came to a stop at the foot of the stairs leading up to Paul's coffin.
"You debate against me in every council meeting, you challenge me in every way whatsoever, fighting me on every issue and casting down every resolution I come up with." I picked up another hymnal and advanced on him, trying passionately to hit him with every word that came to me.
"My husband is dead, ripped from my chest by an AUTOMOBILE that you think will change the world. You work so hard to push my husband's business and my words into the dust, you write laws and create regulations that are for the sole purpose of having my farm and my practice taken away from me and every step I take forward in the name of advancing this town's name into greatness lands in mud that you have created. I slip and fall in it Walter, I am covered in figurative mud. I am dirty and I am tired and YOU are my problem, Walter! The only solution to it is you taking your automobiles and leaving me and this town alone, not asking me to MARRY YOU!"
The last two words rang out in the chapel, strong and clear. Feathers ruffled, Walter's hands were raised. His nose was dripping red. I couldn't see it for the red mist in my own eyes but he was reaching for a kerchief in his pocket to stem the bloodflow.
He stepped back. The hymnal fell out of my shaking hands and I fell to my knees, a choking sob ripping itself from my throat and ringing in the open space. Paul was gone. I was to fight the good fight alone, without the good man I had chosen to fight it alongside.
Walter's next words were muffled by the handkerchief up to his nose, but I heard them clear enough:
"What is a man if he does not challenge the one he loves to grow?"
(I kind of just let the characters do what they wanted, I didn't have a plan for them but now that I "know" them I like them and the past and future I can see for each of them. Thanks for reading! Sorry it's a bit rough and hard to explain!)
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[WP] You are a well known hero, and today is the funeral of your spouse. Everyone has left the chapel, except for you and one other. As you turn around, you see it is your arch-nemesis. They stand there, looking sorrowful. "I'm so sorry for your loss. They were truly too good for this world."
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I was not always a hero.
I was not always the one people screamed for.
I was not always the one saving the day.
It was a long time ago, my luck had ran out. I was struggling to get by in this metropolis, I fell on hard times and it drove me into a dark place. I got in with bad crowds, did whatever it took to get the money and things I needed - wanted.
Then one day it shifted gears. My first kill, set me off down that rabbit hole - considering I had just blasted a hero apart with sheer fire. At the time, adrenaline still pumping through my veins, it seemed like a good idea to take my abilities into the world of super villains.
It was not hard finding work with those of that world, the kill had gone viral and everyone had seen it before the day was over. In fact it came easily, for the first time things were falling at my feet and it continued long after the first kill. As my count started to climb work came even easier, contacts and black market friends came pouring in with it. With each hero I put in the ground, with each family I tore apart, with each life I ended things just got better. Life just improved. Money was never an issue again.
But I never forgot where I came from. I gave back to my community, I provided the sick and poor with houses. I made sure everyone had food and money and help. I built kitchens for the homeless and set up charities for those in need. I provided for my community under the guise of my old job, people knew I used to work with the mob and so when I came back to them with the intent to help the community they jumped at the idea. It would bring the people on our side. It would set us in the very foundations of the community. And it did. The mob and myself became figureheads of the community, while at night I slaughtered their hero's and broke families hearts.
I started my life not long after as a fully fledged super villain. My allies and contacts became ever more important as I struck out on my own, their advice and guidance provided me with everything I needed and in return I didn't end their lives.
Becoming a villain meant I had no room for emotions. For friends. Family. Community. My personality changed to fit my role, my life changed once again.
I remember faking my death well. And then emerging afterwards like a phoenix, I rose from the flames I left behind and the bridges I had burnt to make myself infamous. I brought my allies to their knees endlessly never killing them but leaving them to the mercy of hero's. As they fell away and many of my old friends faded from their place in history I was burning my way through every book. People knew me, they feared me. And as the years went on I climbed my way to the proverbial top and claimed the title of Nemesis for the most powerful hero in the land.
It felt good. I had earned it. I had crawled from the gutter and reached the top. But I think that's what bothered me.
I had nowhere else to go after. I and the hero fought so many times, we almost killed each other quite a lot. But without the other we couldn't exist so we'd show mercy and retreat in victory while the other licked their wounds.
Another hero came into town one day. He had his sights on the top, and to get there all he had to do was take care of me.
He showed up one night way before my nemesis did. I was quite amused some amateur was going to try and stop me. Until he blasted ice from his fingers then the joke became less funny.
I danced and fought my way through everything he threw at me. Fire and ice blasting the street apart, literally.
His ice hit a main and I ignited a gas station. The whole block burned around us as we fought. Hero's came not to help him but to help the people and the animals trapped all around us. Villans watched from a distance as their nemesis fled to save the city, everyone watched the street burn.
The death toll was higher than any ever noted before.
And in the end he got unlucky.
We were exhausted, but the fight raged on.
Hero's tried to stop us but like moths I just batted them away, he refused help. But during this a hero known for her ability with water doused the building near him in a waterfall. Extinguishing the flames almost instantly, he had just used his ability with ice and as the spray came falling down it froze around him. Trapping him within his own cage of ice.
I before anyone could stop me or save him poured piping hot magma all over his pathetic self and listened to him scream as he burned too.
Finally victorious I stopped and dropped to my knees, staring at the obsidian mound left in our battles wake. I cast my eyes backwards, my home in cinders, and watched everything I had burn.
No one troubled me. I eventually left once I saw my home fall in on itself and be consumed by the fire entirely. I walked for miles before I came across an abandoned home, I settled there until I was ready to rebuild again.
I fell asleep in there, not for long though.
An intruder stepped into my temporary home, my eyes forced themselves open to look at that face that peered at me from the doorway. His face.
We did not speak, yet we seemed to say so much.
I woke in the morning, a few days later, to find he was still here. Upon seeing I was awake he slid the cup towards me, and the small bag with a mouth watering smell drifting from it. I cautiously took the bag and cup, he raised his own cup to his lips and drank deeply before setting it down to watch me again. I copied his action and drank the warm coffee. I opened the bag and much more hungrily than I thought unwrapped the bacon barm inside and dug in.
He ate, I ate. He drank, I drank. We said nothing until we were finished.
His voice that morning was different than all the other times we'd spoke. For once we weren't yelling at one another.
I remember laughing at his sympathy.
Giving him skeptical glares whenever he apologised.
Mocking him whenever he hit too close to home.
Trying to keep the way we'd always been as it should be, then he touched my hand.
Our eyes met and for once I was truly listening to him. Somehow he managed to convince me to go with him, back to his home - just until I get back on my feet he said, I made some comment about how it would be hard for us to come back every night after a fight.
It wasn't that hard.
I remember the day I was basking in the sun upon the balcony while he was out. The explosion that rocked the city. The screaming. The cries for help. The heat. I remember falling off that damn lounger, staggering to my feet and staring out at the smoking hole in the city.
I don't know why but I flew to it without thinking, he had gone to this area.
I remember trying to find him among the smoldering rubble. The countless lives I inadvertently saved looking for him, as I ripped the flames away and took their energy as my own. Then after hours of searching I heard that stupid voice talking among the ruins of a bank. I pulled that bank apart all over again to reach him, upon pulling the last bit off of the place he was under I had never felt so much relief.
The eyes of other survivors did not matter as they watched me free him in awe and terror.
I remember the words I hissed - "just going to the bank huh?"
He had burst into pained laughter after as I pulled him from the debris. I took him to the hospital, growling at anyone who even dared look at me funny as I sat besides him. He watched everyone go past a smile on his lips at every growl I emitted, a smirk at every threat I hissed under my breath.
After the doctor had left it was just us.
My eyes were on the news report playing on the TV while his eyes would look from me to it. He placed a hand upon mine suddenly, I snapped to look at him as he smiled at me.
"What you did was very...heroic."
I said nothing to that. I just went back to watching the news, giving him death glares every so often only to watch him smile all the wider for it.
I became a hero not long after.
It was hard to shake the opinion that I was a criminal and villain still after my rescue was aired for everyone to see. Singlehandedly I had saved countless lives, so I was now a hero to countless people.
I minded it at first. Getting used to the idea took a lot of time. Breaking habits took longer. Eventually with Atlas beside me I climed my way to another ladder, and once more life changed for me.
Atlas.
Just thinking brings back such good memories of us, of you. But it breaks my heart everytime knowing you'll never reply again.
The day Atlas was killed ended my fire.
My flames went out with his.
Soon after I returned to my criminal roots, despair had me firmly within her grasp. And as I had so many times before I did whatever it took to move on.
I became a super villain once more.
I burned everything around me.
And I eventually came to accept a new nemesis, Artemis - Atlases brother.
I knew he'd be here. But hearing him speak...drove me to my darker instincts.
"Are you alright, Apollo?"
Am I alright?
Am I alright.
Am I?
No.
My sun was gone.
Why ever would I be alright?
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"He was." The words were the first intelligible ones I'd spoken all day. The afternoon had been filled with condolences and kind offers, hugging and crying, my responses to all of which had been mumbles of gratitude and a light pat on the back. It was as though I'd been the one doing the comforting rather than the opposite. The mayor himself had choked back tears as he'd squeezed my shoulder.
I turned back around and stared at the coffin, lit by watery spring sunlight filtering in through the stained glass above. Walter cleared his throat uncomfortably. The sound of his footsteps as he walked up the aisle echoed in the empty chapel, followed by a muffled grunt as he slid into the pew across from me. Out of the corner of my eye I watched him lean forward and rest his elbows on the bench ahead of him.
"I never thought I'd see the day you would waste a moment of opportunity," I remarked quietly. This was as good a moment to strike as any. I was now emptier than I had felt in my entire life, devoid of strength and even the breath to hold myself together.
"Oh, this isn't a waste. This opportunity is for me to pay my respects to a good man. Your vulnerability is intoxicating, but I am a man of decorum. You could say the church to be considered our neutral ground."
"I'm touched."
He didn't reply.
In the silence, my weak thoughts wandered. They were simple at first; the taste of the crustless tuna sandwiches from earlier still lingered in my mouth. As I swiped my tongue around the inside of my cheeks I thought back to a time I'd tried to make a similar tray of sandwiches, but for.... Our wedding. Paul had cut the crusts off and made a bread mustache, swung me around in a dance across the kitchen floor using a French accent and kissing me with his tuna breath. His eyes had been so full of clarity then, his limbs strong and his laugh? Roaring.
I inhaled sharply and lurched forward, both hands on the pew before me as I tried violently to refrain from vomiting. In a flash Walter was beside me, one hand to my back and another on my hands. I made to pull away, what if someone came in and saw us like this? But his grip was firm. Applying pressure to my back, he saw to it that I was breathing normally again before retiring a few paces back, still on one knee. I closed my eyes and let my head hang.
"Mary?" He ventured.
"No."
I could feel him sag almost as though he were right beside me. For a moment, my heart seemed to spark and try to come alight with anger so desperate to claw its way into view. But Paul lay feet away from us, cold as ice, forever oblivious and never to be heard from again. I could not find the anger, and the spark died.
"Mary," Walter tried again. He shifted and stood up, brushing dust from his pants. "You know, the church doesn't have to be our only neutral ground. You could accept my offer. I feel it is fair and does right by you." He hesitated, and threw all caution to the wind as he then said: "With Paul gone now, the solution to our problem is simple."
"Our problem?" My head flew up sharply. "You mean your problem, Walter. I never had a problem. If anything, my only problem was YOU!" Without realizing it I was now on my feet, eyes ablaze and my hands wrapped around the hymnal I'd taken from the pew. I threw it at him, hard. Walter made to catch it but was so taken aback that it caught him straight in the face, and knocked his glasses off. They went spinning loudly across the floor and came to a stop at the foot of the stairs leading up to Paul's coffin.
"You debate against me in every council meeting, you challenge me in every way whatsoever, fighting me on every issue and casting down every resolution I come up with." I picked up another hymnal and advanced on him, trying passionately to hit him with every word that came to me.
"My husband is dead, ripped from my chest by an AUTOMOBILE that you think will change the world. You work so hard to push my husband's business and my words into the dust, you write laws and create regulations that are for the sole purpose of having my farm and my practice taken away from me and every step I take forward in the name of advancing this town's name into greatness lands in mud that you have created. I slip and fall in it Walter, I am covered in figurative mud. I am dirty and I am tired and YOU are my problem, Walter! The only solution to it is you taking your automobiles and leaving me and this town alone, not asking me to MARRY YOU!"
The last two words rang out in the chapel, strong and clear. Feathers ruffled, Walter's hands were raised. His nose was dripping red. I couldn't see it for the red mist in my own eyes but he was reaching for a kerchief in his pocket to stem the bloodflow.
He stepped back. The hymnal fell out of my shaking hands and I fell to my knees, a choking sob ripping itself from my throat and ringing in the open space. Paul was gone. I was to fight the good fight alone, without the good man I had chosen to fight it alongside.
Walter's next words were muffled by the handkerchief up to his nose, but I heard them clear enough:
"What is a man if he does not challenge the one he loves to grow?"
(I kind of just let the characters do what they wanted, I didn't have a plan for them but now that I "know" them I like them and the past and future I can see for each of them. Thanks for reading! Sorry it's a bit rough and hard to explain!)
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[WP] You are a well known hero, and today is the funeral of your spouse. Everyone has left the chapel, except for you and one other. As you turn around, you see it is your arch-nemesis. They stand there, looking sorrowful. "I'm so sorry for your loss. They were truly too good for this world."
|
I turn away, my mouth gone dry.
"...how... how did you know her? The funeral was for friends and family."
The pew creaks as he rustles in the seat.
"I am... no, no I was a friend. Before my powers awoke, I was... troubled, to say the least. I was her first ER case. Overdose. She helped me, saved me rather. And I returned the favor, as best I could. Became her assistant and inside man for new stuff on the streets. She... always was too kind."
"Yeah. She was. It... it doesn't feel real." I admitted. I looked at my hands.
"Just yesterday, I held her in my arms. I asked her not to go, not this time, just for once. She told me 'if I don't go, who will? This might be the only chance they get.' And I... just let her go. Maybe, if I had been more stubborn. Maybe if I had demanded she stay, she'd still be..."
My grief overwhelms me, and I feel the power surge without my control.
My wife is gone, ready to be lowered into a cold grave. And I will never have her again.
What will I live for?
Energy starts building a shield around me, my signature power. But instead of forming a barrier it starts closing in, tighter and tighter.
Perhaps it would be better now to go with her.
"Argus, no!"
My enemy runs to me, thumping on the shield, and I feel the shield start to crack.
I hear a hiss, and I see the gas start to leak in through the cracks. That's his power, Valve's that is, he can produce and control all kinds of gasses. Normally I would be able to seal them out. But not now.
Perhaps not ever again.
I underestimate the gas, a powerful tranquilizer. My body goes limp and my mind is foggy. The last I see is Valve breaking through my shield
I crash to the ground, and all goes dark.
...
I wake up, laying on a pew, while Valve is looking over me.
I can see his eyes are red but he sighs.
"Good. You're awake."
With that he decks me right in the face.
Im groaning, trying to recover from the surprise hit when I hear him start talking.
"... What the fucking hell do you think you were trying to pull? You, you can't do this to them! After all this shit I've done, you think you can just yeet outta here? Uh-uh buddy. Not on my watch."
The pain resides a little and I'm looking at him.
"Why the hell do you care?"
Oh, that was definitely not the right thing to say. I see a snarl tear across his face and he starts telling.
"Why do I care? Because she ASKED ME TO! BECAUSE SOMEONE NEEDS TO BE THERE TO HELP, AND THAT'S YOU DUMBASS!"
I see tears start coming down his face. "I WAS... RIGHT. FUCKING. THERE. WHEN THAT BULLET RIPPED THROUGH THE WINDOW. I SAW HER BLEED AND THE ONLY GODDAMN THING SHE ASKED ME WAS... was to... was to make sure you were alright."
He sits down on the ground and I see that he's shaking.
"She loved you so, so much. And the only thing she was afraid of was losing you. I didn't even know that you WERE her man, but now it's even more important to make sure you're fine."
"Why's that? "
He looks away.
"Because I can't control my powers, not like you. I... I had a talk with Doc Villus. Basically, if I don't vent often, I go crazy. Like when we're first started fighting. Something to do with my adrenal glands. And I don't know when it gets too much, because it starts making me into the world's biggest addict. You've been the biggest help in keeping me from going insane"
He looks at me. "But that's not the important thing. What's important is that she asked me, made me promise that I'd make sure you're fine. I'm not going to back down from that, not after everything she's done for me."
He stands up and looks away towards the casket. "I'm not saying we gotta keep fighting, but we do gotta keep living. So..."
He turns around and offers me a hand. "Do it for her? "
I take it. "Do it for her."
|
I froze, filled with rage. Vilis. The one who killed my spouse. The air temperature dropped, frost formed on every surface of the chapel. Vilis held up his hand.
"Please, wait. I know how much you hate me, but I swear to all those above and below, I came only to pay my respects. She was so perfect, the fact that her death lies partly on my hands... If you let me have this, let me say goodbye to her, I will surrender, serve my time in jail. Fair?"
I took a deep, shaky breath. I paused a moment, and coated the doors and windows in a thick layer of ice. Vilis would not escape. I slowly nodded, and let him approach the casket. He whispers to her, and I pause and remember that day.
Vilis and I were fighting. It seems so insignificant now. He was trying to steal some ancient artifact from a museum or something. Was convinced he could enhance his powers that way. My spouse was tending to the injured as we fought, their healing magic saving dozens of lives. Until our fight brought the roof down on top of them... Vilis had used his wings to help lift the debris. First time I ever saw him help anyone else. Gwen had been able to keep using their power, and had saved over a dozen lives. But they chose the lives of the innocents over their own life.
Vilis was crying as he left the casket. He held his wrists together, waiting for me to detain him. I slowly let the ice in the building melt.
"This isn't what Gwen would want Vilis. You know they were all about redeeming villains. This is your chance to to show they were right"
I held out my hand, and Vilis hesitantly took it. I will do my best to live up to Gwen's expectations. They were gone, but their legacy remains
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[WP] You are a well known hero, and today is the funeral of your spouse. Everyone has left the chapel, except for you and one other. As you turn around, you see it is your arch-nemesis. They stand there, looking sorrowful. "I'm so sorry for your loss. They were truly too good for this world."
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A combination of being stunned and scanning him for weapons was all that stayed me from grabbing for my blade at my side.
He had no weapons. A first I had seen from Grognil the Warlock. In spite of the fact he could conjure one at his leisure, he had a certain mace that the favoured for combat.
A few seconds of silence passed, and I processed what he had just said.
"Do not speak of her, your tongue is not worth its own spit, let alone to speak of an angel."
Grognil shrugged. "I may submit to darker forces than you, but I am not a monster. I merely came to pay respects for the loss of someone I respect greatly."
"Respect?" I replied, somewhat incredulously.
"Yes, respect. I do not have to like you, Merrip. In fact I positively *detest* you. But I respect you."
"Where was your respect for he village you engulfed in flame? For the children you kidnapped prior to sacrifice? Where was your respect for all the lives you have ended? The innocent folk you have slaughtered?!"
Grognil shrugged again. "They were not worth my respect. You are."
I resisted the urge to lunge at him. Even in his unarmed state, attacking Grognil head on and recklessly was a bad idea. And Lucanne would not approve of fighting in her favourite church, rest her soul.
Grognil sat in a pew, no doubt observing the rage in me. I sat too, keeping a distance from the man. Yet he did not seem to have ill intent.
"You see," Grognil suddenly continued, "they did not fight. They did not see they were being wronged, and struggle to resist it. They had no spirit, and a being without spirit is not worth the life it bears. Apathy."
"Apathy?" I retorted. "You believe they felt apathy as you burnt them alive? As you smashed them and cut them down?"
"Oh, fear they most certainly felt. But deep down, they must have seen their life not worth saving, or they would have tried, no? They had apathy. And apathy is death."
"You believe that if a person does not fight, does not commit to physical violence, then they are unworthy?"
I asked the question suddenly and calmly. Grognil looked me in the eye, curious as to what I would say next.
"Oh Grognil, you speak as if Haydak taught us nothing. He must be rolling in his grave at the words of one of his former apprentices."
I brought an orb of pastview out of my pocket, one of the two I now carried everywhere. As I gazed into it, the image of Haydak, my former master, became clear. Grognil could see it too.
"There are different fights, and different ways to fight, Grognil. They put up no resistance because you were not a part of their fight. The humble baker does not resort to violence with his grain and wheat supplier when they fall short of a quota. For he can not afford to lose the supplier. No supplier means no bread, no bread means no income, and his sick mother back home will not recover.
The farmer likewise does not take arms against those attempting to steal some of his grain, as if he cannot defeat the roguish youths, he will be crippled or worse, and his wife and child will have no earner to take care of them. Those are the true fights, Grognil. You are not, were *never* a part of the equation."
Grognil sat, staring at me contemplatively. Seconds passed, before he simply faded away and vanished, presumably back to where ever he resides.
|
I froze, filled with rage. Vilis. The one who killed my spouse. The air temperature dropped, frost formed on every surface of the chapel. Vilis held up his hand.
"Please, wait. I know how much you hate me, but I swear to all those above and below, I came only to pay my respects. She was so perfect, the fact that her death lies partly on my hands... If you let me have this, let me say goodbye to her, I will surrender, serve my time in jail. Fair?"
I took a deep, shaky breath. I paused a moment, and coated the doors and windows in a thick layer of ice. Vilis would not escape. I slowly nodded, and let him approach the casket. He whispers to her, and I pause and remember that day.
Vilis and I were fighting. It seems so insignificant now. He was trying to steal some ancient artifact from a museum or something. Was convinced he could enhance his powers that way. My spouse was tending to the injured as we fought, their healing magic saving dozens of lives. Until our fight brought the roof down on top of them... Vilis had used his wings to help lift the debris. First time I ever saw him help anyone else. Gwen had been able to keep using their power, and had saved over a dozen lives. But they chose the lives of the innocents over their own life.
Vilis was crying as he left the casket. He held his wrists together, waiting for me to detain him. I slowly let the ice in the building melt.
"This isn't what Gwen would want Vilis. You know they were all about redeeming villains. This is your chance to to show they were right"
I held out my hand, and Vilis hesitantly took it. I will do my best to live up to Gwen's expectations. They were gone, but their legacy remains
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[WP] You are a well known hero, and today is the funeral of your spouse. Everyone has left the chapel, except for you and one other. As you turn around, you see it is your arch-nemesis. They stand there, looking sorrowful. "I'm so sorry for your loss. They were truly too good for this world."
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“We are gathered here today to honor the passing of Lana Miller. Wife to Jordan, mother to Hailey. And to many of us, Mist, protector of the world.” The priest spoke solemnly.
Lana was the glue that held our little team together. Whenever me and Red Giant would get into a fight, she was always there to pull us off each other. She always knew what to do in battle. If it weren’t for her, well, the Legion wouldn’t have made it off the ground.
The rest of the funeral was a blur. She was truly gone, I didn’t know what to do. I’ve been to lots of funerals, most for people close to me, but this was something else.
I began to drift off, thinking about all of the time we had spent together, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up to see Ultra Girl, who gave me a sad smile and walked out to the rest of the mourners.
I began to walk out and follow her when a raspy voice pierced through the silence.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
I looked around for whoever said that. Suddenly, a shadowy man in a purple suit walked out from the shadows.
Purple suit, shadowy aura.
Mister Voodoo.
Instantaneously, I slammed him against the wall, “Give me one good reason not to bury you in the ground right now.”
“God’s house. Wouldn’t want him gettin’ all upset now, would we?”
I stopped for a moment, and let him go.
“What do you want?”
He dusted himself off.
“Like I said, I’m sorry for your loss. Lana was... someone else. The Legion was lucky to have her. I’m here to offer my condolences.”
I said nothing, staring daggers into Voodoo.
Voodoo walked past me and over to the coffin, running his hand along the edges. Something about him seemed off. I had never seen him like this before.
“I truly am sorry. She was too good for the world.”
He seemed... sad.
“Why are you *really* here? What sick plan to do you have?”
“No plan. No one deserves to lose someone this close to them. Especially you.”
I sat down on the pew and buried my face in my hands.
“I had a Lana in my life once. Name was Peter. He kept me down to earth. He made me feel something I never felt before. I loved him, I really did. But our love was never meant to be.”
I could hear him sit down next to me.
“Cancer. Got ‘im quick. And cancer is something that not even the darkest of magic can knock out.”
A sniffle.
“He...”
I placed my hand on his shoulder and looked over to him. Although shadows obscured his face, I could the sadness radiating off of him.
“When I heard of Lana’s passing, I immediately thought of you. How you’d be devastated, a mess. I immediately thought that this would be the perfect opportunity to do... something. Rob a bank, terrorize innocents. But nothing came to mind. Until I realized that you needed someone there for you. You had all these people in the Legion, but no one knows you like your arch nemesis.
I did what I could to help. I tried bringing her back, but Baron Cimitière refused.”
I turned to him.
“Why did you want to bring her back? So you could torture me?”
He said nothing.
“Matter of fact, why are you doing all this? Coming here, acting all sentimental and heartfelt! You have no right to be here! You’re a villain! Lana doesn’t deserve your sympathy!”
He stood up and turned to me.
“Because Jordan,”
He began to fade away.
“No one deserves to lose someone like Lana.
Not even you, brother.”
|
I froze, filled with rage. Vilis. The one who killed my spouse. The air temperature dropped, frost formed on every surface of the chapel. Vilis held up his hand.
"Please, wait. I know how much you hate me, but I swear to all those above and below, I came only to pay my respects. She was so perfect, the fact that her death lies partly on my hands... If you let me have this, let me say goodbye to her, I will surrender, serve my time in jail. Fair?"
I took a deep, shaky breath. I paused a moment, and coated the doors and windows in a thick layer of ice. Vilis would not escape. I slowly nodded, and let him approach the casket. He whispers to her, and I pause and remember that day.
Vilis and I were fighting. It seems so insignificant now. He was trying to steal some ancient artifact from a museum or something. Was convinced he could enhance his powers that way. My spouse was tending to the injured as we fought, their healing magic saving dozens of lives. Until our fight brought the roof down on top of them... Vilis had used his wings to help lift the debris. First time I ever saw him help anyone else. Gwen had been able to keep using their power, and had saved over a dozen lives. But they chose the lives of the innocents over their own life.
Vilis was crying as he left the casket. He held his wrists together, waiting for me to detain him. I slowly let the ice in the building melt.
"This isn't what Gwen would want Vilis. You know they were all about redeeming villains. This is your chance to to show they were right"
I held out my hand, and Vilis hesitantly took it. I will do my best to live up to Gwen's expectations. They were gone, but their legacy remains
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[WP] You are a well known hero, and today is the funeral of your spouse. Everyone has left the chapel, except for you and one other. As you turn around, you see it is your arch-nemesis. They stand there, looking sorrowful. "I'm so sorry for your loss. They were truly too good for this world."
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When I first learn about Maria's confirmed death, I had just stopped a bank robbery. My secure phone was turned off, set on silent mode. It didn’t take me long to stop and wrap things up but I couldn’t exactly stop looking at my phone to see what’s so important. I was talking to the dedicated police officers, smilingly shaking their hands while the would-be robbers sat gloomily in the back seat of the police vehicle. So when I finally got away and check my phone, I notice the unusual amount of missed calls from my side-kick Iron cape. At first, I thought he was in trouble, so I called him back immediately and that when I found out, Maria was gone. My true identity was discovered and to get back at me, she was murder in cold blood. I didn’t know how to react in the moment, the phone inadvertently dropped from my hand and my legs had given out.
My mouth had opened but nothing came out. As soon as I found out who did it, I had hunted them down and apprehended them. At the time, I was so angry I had beaten them nearly to death. I had thought it was one of the many supervillains I’ve dealt with but it wasn’t. It was some two-bit criminal trying to make a name for themselves. The guy once saw me changing to my attire and then did some digging into who I was. So, because of my carelessness, it was my fault; because I wanted to be selfish and be a superhero, the only person I deeply loved was taken.
I stopped crime-fighting as Flame fist and focus on the only that matter to me, taking care of the funeral. My family had helped; they said I was acting like a robot during the robust process. They may have been right; I hardly remember any of it. My friends had come, my family had come and hers. I barely greet anyone or spoken to anyone but instead, I stand over her coffin, staring at her lifeless body. She doesn’t look dead but rather asleep, peacefully sleeping. I prevent myself from ever touching her; I don’t know if I could handle feeling her once warm soft hands become cold. Suddenly I felt a hand clasped onto my shoulder and I turned to see who, thinking it was Iron-cape but it was someone unexpected. It's Red-eyes Grieves, he's dressed in a black suit appropriate for a funeral, and his expression was downcast.
“I'm so sorry for your loss. They were truly too good for this world," Grieves said in a respectful tone. This man had caused me nothing but trouble over the years. To be here with me not as Fire fist but just as me, Jimmy who's only known as a guy who works at a recycling center. In my anger, I had beaten the man who knew my secret identity badly enough so he couldn’t talk, but I never thought if he had told others before that. “I’m not here to fight or cause trouble; I’m simply here to send my condolence,” he says. “I always knew who you were, but I never attacked your personal life out of respect. The truth is, while I hate you and wish you go away, I would never try to kill you and go this far because you’re the only hero who has treated me as a human being.”
I don’t know what to say, a mix of feelings swirl inside me as I simply nod and thank him. “I-I was only able to do that because of Maria. She never knew who I was or maybe she did but never said it. ”My gaze turns back to her in the coffin.“She always believed in me, said I would do great things, despite my day job nothing special. She stayed believing in me and even when she heard about your attacks and the others, she never judges you guys too harshly. She said everyone has their situation and breaking point, but everyone is still human. So, we should treat each other kindly.” My vision begins to blur as tears swell up into my eyes, I quickly use the pit of my arm to wipe them away.
“I reached my breaking point, and I almost killed the guy when I learned what he did.”
“I know, every supervillain in town heard and if you did we would have understood why. But why didn’t you kill him? It would have been easy, and no one would have blamed you for it. You could have even gotten away with it.”
“Trust me, I wanted too. There no fiber in my body that didn’t desire to kill that guy. But Maria wouldn’t want that, she never would want me to kill another because of her and then maybe… Maybe after crossing that line, I would turn into something I regret and what she would hate.”
Grieves grow silent for the moment and look down at Maria. “She was truly too good for this world, take all the time you need.” Red-eyes walk away as I discovered a newfound respect for the man I call my arch-nemesis. As I turn to overlook the room, I begin seeing other familiar faces like Red-eyes, many supervillains I had encountered and dealt with were here. One by one they send me their condolence for my loss, I can no longer restrain my tears but no one shames me. As the last supervillain approaches me to express the condolence, I respond “Thank you, and man am I bad at hiding my identity.”
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I froze, filled with rage. Vilis. The one who killed my spouse. The air temperature dropped, frost formed on every surface of the chapel. Vilis held up his hand.
"Please, wait. I know how much you hate me, but I swear to all those above and below, I came only to pay my respects. She was so perfect, the fact that her death lies partly on my hands... If you let me have this, let me say goodbye to her, I will surrender, serve my time in jail. Fair?"
I took a deep, shaky breath. I paused a moment, and coated the doors and windows in a thick layer of ice. Vilis would not escape. I slowly nodded, and let him approach the casket. He whispers to her, and I pause and remember that day.
Vilis and I were fighting. It seems so insignificant now. He was trying to steal some ancient artifact from a museum or something. Was convinced he could enhance his powers that way. My spouse was tending to the injured as we fought, their healing magic saving dozens of lives. Until our fight brought the roof down on top of them... Vilis had used his wings to help lift the debris. First time I ever saw him help anyone else. Gwen had been able to keep using their power, and had saved over a dozen lives. But they chose the lives of the innocents over their own life.
Vilis was crying as he left the casket. He held his wrists together, waiting for me to detain him. I slowly let the ice in the building melt.
"This isn't what Gwen would want Vilis. You know they were all about redeeming villains. This is your chance to to show they were right"
I held out my hand, and Vilis hesitantly took it. I will do my best to live up to Gwen's expectations. They were gone, but their legacy remains
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[WP] You are a well known hero, and today is the funeral of your spouse. Everyone has left the chapel, except for you and one other. As you turn around, you see it is your arch-nemesis. They stand there, looking sorrowful. "I'm so sorry for your loss. They were truly too good for this world."
|
“We are gathered here today to honor the passing of Lana Miller. Wife to Jordan, mother to Hailey. And to many of us, Mist, protector of the world.” The priest spoke solemnly.
Lana was the glue that held our little team together. Whenever me and Red Giant would get into a fight, she was always there to pull us off each other. She always knew what to do in battle. If it weren’t for her, well, the Legion wouldn’t have made it off the ground.
The rest of the funeral was a blur. She was truly gone, I didn’t know what to do. I’ve been to lots of funerals, most for people close to me, but this was something else.
I began to drift off, thinking about all of the time we had spent together, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up to see Ultra Girl, who gave me a sad smile and walked out to the rest of the mourners.
I began to walk out and follow her when a raspy voice pierced through the silence.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
I looked around for whoever said that. Suddenly, a shadowy man in a purple suit walked out from the shadows.
Purple suit, shadowy aura.
Mister Voodoo.
Instantaneously, I slammed him against the wall, “Give me one good reason not to bury you in the ground right now.”
“God’s house. Wouldn’t want him gettin’ all upset now, would we?”
I stopped for a moment, and let him go.
“What do you want?”
He dusted himself off.
“Like I said, I’m sorry for your loss. Lana was... someone else. The Legion was lucky to have her. I’m here to offer my condolences.”
I said nothing, staring daggers into Voodoo.
Voodoo walked past me and over to the coffin, running his hand along the edges. Something about him seemed off. I had never seen him like this before.
“I truly am sorry. She was too good for the world.”
He seemed... sad.
“Why are you *really* here? What sick plan to do you have?”
“No plan. No one deserves to lose someone this close to them. Especially you.”
I sat down on the pew and buried my face in my hands.
“I had a Lana in my life once. Name was Peter. He kept me down to earth. He made me feel something I never felt before. I loved him, I really did. But our love was never meant to be.”
I could hear him sit down next to me.
“Cancer. Got ‘im quick. And cancer is something that not even the darkest of magic can knock out.”
A sniffle.
“He...”
I placed my hand on his shoulder and looked over to him. Although shadows obscured his face, I could the sadness radiating off of him.
“When I heard of Lana’s passing, I immediately thought of you. How you’d be devastated, a mess. I immediately thought that this would be the perfect opportunity to do... something. Rob a bank, terrorize innocents. But nothing came to mind. Until I realized that you needed someone there for you. You had all these people in the Legion, but no one knows you like your arch nemesis.
I did what I could to help. I tried bringing her back, but Baron Cimitière refused.”
I turned to him.
“Why did you want to bring her back? So you could torture me?”
He said nothing.
“Matter of fact, why are you doing all this? Coming here, acting all sentimental and heartfelt! You have no right to be here! You’re a villain! Lana doesn’t deserve your sympathy!”
He stood up and turned to me.
“Because Jordan,”
He began to fade away.
“No one deserves to lose someone like Lana.
Not even you, brother.”
|
I turn away, my mouth gone dry.
"...how... how did you know her? The funeral was for friends and family."
The pew creaks as he rustles in the seat.
"I am... no, no I was a friend. Before my powers awoke, I was... troubled, to say the least. I was her first ER case. Overdose. She helped me, saved me rather. And I returned the favor, as best I could. Became her assistant and inside man for new stuff on the streets. She... always was too kind."
"Yeah. She was. It... it doesn't feel real." I admitted. I looked at my hands.
"Just yesterday, I held her in my arms. I asked her not to go, not this time, just for once. She told me 'if I don't go, who will? This might be the only chance they get.' And I... just let her go. Maybe, if I had been more stubborn. Maybe if I had demanded she stay, she'd still be..."
My grief overwhelms me, and I feel the power surge without my control.
My wife is gone, ready to be lowered into a cold grave. And I will never have her again.
What will I live for?
Energy starts building a shield around me, my signature power. But instead of forming a barrier it starts closing in, tighter and tighter.
Perhaps it would be better now to go with her.
"Argus, no!"
My enemy runs to me, thumping on the shield, and I feel the shield start to crack.
I hear a hiss, and I see the gas start to leak in through the cracks. That's his power, Valve's that is, he can produce and control all kinds of gasses. Normally I would be able to seal them out. But not now.
Perhaps not ever again.
I underestimate the gas, a powerful tranquilizer. My body goes limp and my mind is foggy. The last I see is Valve breaking through my shield
I crash to the ground, and all goes dark.
...
I wake up, laying on a pew, while Valve is looking over me.
I can see his eyes are red but he sighs.
"Good. You're awake."
With that he decks me right in the face.
Im groaning, trying to recover from the surprise hit when I hear him start talking.
"... What the fucking hell do you think you were trying to pull? You, you can't do this to them! After all this shit I've done, you think you can just yeet outta here? Uh-uh buddy. Not on my watch."
The pain resides a little and I'm looking at him.
"Why the hell do you care?"
Oh, that was definitely not the right thing to say. I see a snarl tear across his face and he starts telling.
"Why do I care? Because she ASKED ME TO! BECAUSE SOMEONE NEEDS TO BE THERE TO HELP, AND THAT'S YOU DUMBASS!"
I see tears start coming down his face. "I WAS... RIGHT. FUCKING. THERE. WHEN THAT BULLET RIPPED THROUGH THE WINDOW. I SAW HER BLEED AND THE ONLY GODDAMN THING SHE ASKED ME WAS... was to... was to make sure you were alright."
He sits down on the ground and I see that he's shaking.
"She loved you so, so much. And the only thing she was afraid of was losing you. I didn't even know that you WERE her man, but now it's even more important to make sure you're fine."
"Why's that? "
He looks away.
"Because I can't control my powers, not like you. I... I had a talk with Doc Villus. Basically, if I don't vent often, I go crazy. Like when we're first started fighting. Something to do with my adrenal glands. And I don't know when it gets too much, because it starts making me into the world's biggest addict. You've been the biggest help in keeping me from going insane"
He looks at me. "But that's not the important thing. What's important is that she asked me, made me promise that I'd make sure you're fine. I'm not going to back down from that, not after everything she's done for me."
He stands up and looks away towards the casket. "I'm not saying we gotta keep fighting, but we do gotta keep living. So..."
He turns around and offers me a hand. "Do it for her? "
I take it. "Do it for her."
|
|
[WP] You are a well known hero, and today is the funeral of your spouse. Everyone has left the chapel, except for you and one other. As you turn around, you see it is your arch-nemesis. They stand there, looking sorrowful. "I'm so sorry for your loss. They were truly too good for this world."
|
When I first learn about Maria's confirmed death, I had just stopped a bank robbery. My secure phone was turned off, set on silent mode. It didn’t take me long to stop and wrap things up but I couldn’t exactly stop looking at my phone to see what’s so important. I was talking to the dedicated police officers, smilingly shaking their hands while the would-be robbers sat gloomily in the back seat of the police vehicle. So when I finally got away and check my phone, I notice the unusual amount of missed calls from my side-kick Iron cape. At first, I thought he was in trouble, so I called him back immediately and that when I found out, Maria was gone. My true identity was discovered and to get back at me, she was murder in cold blood. I didn’t know how to react in the moment, the phone inadvertently dropped from my hand and my legs had given out.
My mouth had opened but nothing came out. As soon as I found out who did it, I had hunted them down and apprehended them. At the time, I was so angry I had beaten them nearly to death. I had thought it was one of the many supervillains I’ve dealt with but it wasn’t. It was some two-bit criminal trying to make a name for themselves. The guy once saw me changing to my attire and then did some digging into who I was. So, because of my carelessness, it was my fault; because I wanted to be selfish and be a superhero, the only person I deeply loved was taken.
I stopped crime-fighting as Flame fist and focus on the only that matter to me, taking care of the funeral. My family had helped; they said I was acting like a robot during the robust process. They may have been right; I hardly remember any of it. My friends had come, my family had come and hers. I barely greet anyone or spoken to anyone but instead, I stand over her coffin, staring at her lifeless body. She doesn’t look dead but rather asleep, peacefully sleeping. I prevent myself from ever touching her; I don’t know if I could handle feeling her once warm soft hands become cold. Suddenly I felt a hand clasped onto my shoulder and I turned to see who, thinking it was Iron-cape but it was someone unexpected. It's Red-eyes Grieves, he's dressed in a black suit appropriate for a funeral, and his expression was downcast.
“I'm so sorry for your loss. They were truly too good for this world," Grieves said in a respectful tone. This man had caused me nothing but trouble over the years. To be here with me not as Fire fist but just as me, Jimmy who's only known as a guy who works at a recycling center. In my anger, I had beaten the man who knew my secret identity badly enough so he couldn’t talk, but I never thought if he had told others before that. “I’m not here to fight or cause trouble; I’m simply here to send my condolence,” he says. “I always knew who you were, but I never attacked your personal life out of respect. The truth is, while I hate you and wish you go away, I would never try to kill you and go this far because you’re the only hero who has treated me as a human being.”
I don’t know what to say, a mix of feelings swirl inside me as I simply nod and thank him. “I-I was only able to do that because of Maria. She never knew who I was or maybe she did but never said it. ”My gaze turns back to her in the coffin.“She always believed in me, said I would do great things, despite my day job nothing special. She stayed believing in me and even when she heard about your attacks and the others, she never judges you guys too harshly. She said everyone has their situation and breaking point, but everyone is still human. So, we should treat each other kindly.” My vision begins to blur as tears swell up into my eyes, I quickly use the pit of my arm to wipe them away.
“I reached my breaking point, and I almost killed the guy when I learned what he did.”
“I know, every supervillain in town heard and if you did we would have understood why. But why didn’t you kill him? It would have been easy, and no one would have blamed you for it. You could have even gotten away with it.”
“Trust me, I wanted too. There no fiber in my body that didn’t desire to kill that guy. But Maria wouldn’t want that, she never would want me to kill another because of her and then maybe… Maybe after crossing that line, I would turn into something I regret and what she would hate.”
Grieves grow silent for the moment and look down at Maria. “She was truly too good for this world, take all the time you need.” Red-eyes walk away as I discovered a newfound respect for the man I call my arch-nemesis. As I turn to overlook the room, I begin seeing other familiar faces like Red-eyes, many supervillains I had encountered and dealt with were here. One by one they send me their condolence for my loss, I can no longer restrain my tears but no one shames me. As the last supervillain approaches me to express the condolence, I respond “Thank you, and man am I bad at hiding my identity.”
|
I turn away, my mouth gone dry.
"...how... how did you know her? The funeral was for friends and family."
The pew creaks as he rustles in the seat.
"I am... no, no I was a friend. Before my powers awoke, I was... troubled, to say the least. I was her first ER case. Overdose. She helped me, saved me rather. And I returned the favor, as best I could. Became her assistant and inside man for new stuff on the streets. She... always was too kind."
"Yeah. She was. It... it doesn't feel real." I admitted. I looked at my hands.
"Just yesterday, I held her in my arms. I asked her not to go, not this time, just for once. She told me 'if I don't go, who will? This might be the only chance they get.' And I... just let her go. Maybe, if I had been more stubborn. Maybe if I had demanded she stay, she'd still be..."
My grief overwhelms me, and I feel the power surge without my control.
My wife is gone, ready to be lowered into a cold grave. And I will never have her again.
What will I live for?
Energy starts building a shield around me, my signature power. But instead of forming a barrier it starts closing in, tighter and tighter.
Perhaps it would be better now to go with her.
"Argus, no!"
My enemy runs to me, thumping on the shield, and I feel the shield start to crack.
I hear a hiss, and I see the gas start to leak in through the cracks. That's his power, Valve's that is, he can produce and control all kinds of gasses. Normally I would be able to seal them out. But not now.
Perhaps not ever again.
I underestimate the gas, a powerful tranquilizer. My body goes limp and my mind is foggy. The last I see is Valve breaking through my shield
I crash to the ground, and all goes dark.
...
I wake up, laying on a pew, while Valve is looking over me.
I can see his eyes are red but he sighs.
"Good. You're awake."
With that he decks me right in the face.
Im groaning, trying to recover from the surprise hit when I hear him start talking.
"... What the fucking hell do you think you were trying to pull? You, you can't do this to them! After all this shit I've done, you think you can just yeet outta here? Uh-uh buddy. Not on my watch."
The pain resides a little and I'm looking at him.
"Why the hell do you care?"
Oh, that was definitely not the right thing to say. I see a snarl tear across his face and he starts telling.
"Why do I care? Because she ASKED ME TO! BECAUSE SOMEONE NEEDS TO BE THERE TO HELP, AND THAT'S YOU DUMBASS!"
I see tears start coming down his face. "I WAS... RIGHT. FUCKING. THERE. WHEN THAT BULLET RIPPED THROUGH THE WINDOW. I SAW HER BLEED AND THE ONLY GODDAMN THING SHE ASKED ME WAS... was to... was to make sure you were alright."
He sits down on the ground and I see that he's shaking.
"She loved you so, so much. And the only thing she was afraid of was losing you. I didn't even know that you WERE her man, but now it's even more important to make sure you're fine."
"Why's that? "
He looks away.
"Because I can't control my powers, not like you. I... I had a talk with Doc Villus. Basically, if I don't vent often, I go crazy. Like when we're first started fighting. Something to do with my adrenal glands. And I don't know when it gets too much, because it starts making me into the world's biggest addict. You've been the biggest help in keeping me from going insane"
He looks at me. "But that's not the important thing. What's important is that she asked me, made me promise that I'd make sure you're fine. I'm not going to back down from that, not after everything she's done for me."
He stands up and looks away towards the casket. "I'm not saying we gotta keep fighting, but we do gotta keep living. So..."
He turns around and offers me a hand. "Do it for her? "
I take it. "Do it for her."
|
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[WP] You are a well known hero, and today is the funeral of your spouse. Everyone has left the chapel, except for you and one other. As you turn around, you see it is your arch-nemesis. They stand there, looking sorrowful. "I'm so sorry for your loss. They were truly too good for this world."
|
When I first learn about Maria's confirmed death, I had just stopped a bank robbery. My secure phone was turned off, set on silent mode. It didn’t take me long to stop and wrap things up but I couldn’t exactly stop looking at my phone to see what’s so important. I was talking to the dedicated police officers, smilingly shaking their hands while the would-be robbers sat gloomily in the back seat of the police vehicle. So when I finally got away and check my phone, I notice the unusual amount of missed calls from my side-kick Iron cape. At first, I thought he was in trouble, so I called him back immediately and that when I found out, Maria was gone. My true identity was discovered and to get back at me, she was murder in cold blood. I didn’t know how to react in the moment, the phone inadvertently dropped from my hand and my legs had given out.
My mouth had opened but nothing came out. As soon as I found out who did it, I had hunted them down and apprehended them. At the time, I was so angry I had beaten them nearly to death. I had thought it was one of the many supervillains I’ve dealt with but it wasn’t. It was some two-bit criminal trying to make a name for themselves. The guy once saw me changing to my attire and then did some digging into who I was. So, because of my carelessness, it was my fault; because I wanted to be selfish and be a superhero, the only person I deeply loved was taken.
I stopped crime-fighting as Flame fist and focus on the only that matter to me, taking care of the funeral. My family had helped; they said I was acting like a robot during the robust process. They may have been right; I hardly remember any of it. My friends had come, my family had come and hers. I barely greet anyone or spoken to anyone but instead, I stand over her coffin, staring at her lifeless body. She doesn’t look dead but rather asleep, peacefully sleeping. I prevent myself from ever touching her; I don’t know if I could handle feeling her once warm soft hands become cold. Suddenly I felt a hand clasped onto my shoulder and I turned to see who, thinking it was Iron-cape but it was someone unexpected. It's Red-eyes Grieves, he's dressed in a black suit appropriate for a funeral, and his expression was downcast.
“I'm so sorry for your loss. They were truly too good for this world," Grieves said in a respectful tone. This man had caused me nothing but trouble over the years. To be here with me not as Fire fist but just as me, Jimmy who's only known as a guy who works at a recycling center. In my anger, I had beaten the man who knew my secret identity badly enough so he couldn’t talk, but I never thought if he had told others before that. “I’m not here to fight or cause trouble; I’m simply here to send my condolence,” he says. “I always knew who you were, but I never attacked your personal life out of respect. The truth is, while I hate you and wish you go away, I would never try to kill you and go this far because you’re the only hero who has treated me as a human being.”
I don’t know what to say, a mix of feelings swirl inside me as I simply nod and thank him. “I-I was only able to do that because of Maria. She never knew who I was or maybe she did but never said it. ”My gaze turns back to her in the coffin.“She always believed in me, said I would do great things, despite my day job nothing special. She stayed believing in me and even when she heard about your attacks and the others, she never judges you guys too harshly. She said everyone has their situation and breaking point, but everyone is still human. So, we should treat each other kindly.” My vision begins to blur as tears swell up into my eyes, I quickly use the pit of my arm to wipe them away.
“I reached my breaking point, and I almost killed the guy when I learned what he did.”
“I know, every supervillain in town heard and if you did we would have understood why. But why didn’t you kill him? It would have been easy, and no one would have blamed you for it. You could have even gotten away with it.”
“Trust me, I wanted too. There no fiber in my body that didn’t desire to kill that guy. But Maria wouldn’t want that, she never would want me to kill another because of her and then maybe… Maybe after crossing that line, I would turn into something I regret and what she would hate.”
Grieves grow silent for the moment and look down at Maria. “She was truly too good for this world, take all the time you need.” Red-eyes walk away as I discovered a newfound respect for the man I call my arch-nemesis. As I turn to overlook the room, I begin seeing other familiar faces like Red-eyes, many supervillains I had encountered and dealt with were here. One by one they send me their condolence for my loss, I can no longer restrain my tears but no one shames me. As the last supervillain approaches me to express the condolence, I respond “Thank you, and man am I bad at hiding my identity.”
|
I didn't turn to meet his gaze, "What do you want?" I growled, "Here to finish me off while I'm grieving?" He put his hand on my shoulder, which I responded with a solid punch in his jaw. The hit sent him flying back, and he crashed into the front pew of the monumental church. I turned away from my arch-nemesis to admire the mahogany coffin, detailed with gold, and wish it never had any use in the first place. I heard feet shuffling up behind me, "Don't make me kill you here." My voice echoed throughout the vaulted ceilings. "I don't mean any harm to you, I just..." He trailed off. I stood gravely still. He sighed, "We all need a break every once in a while." I felt a hand on my shoulder. Not one trying to stab me, as it often had tried to before. Something in me broke and I felt a tear prickle in my eye. Despite my best efforts I couldn't hold back all the tears, queued up from so many sorrows and trying times, caused by this man. He might as well witness the fruit of his labor.
I cried. For the first time since I was a child. I expected some triumphant feeling from him, but all I saw was a mutual sadness. By the time all grievances had been forcefully expelled from my body, his hand withdrew from my shoulder and I turned around to see him walking down the isle, "Where are you going?" I cried out. "Going to plot my next scheme." He said jokingly and flashed me a smile.
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[WP] You are a well known hero, and today is the funeral of your spouse. Everyone has left the chapel, except for you and one other. As you turn around, you see it is your arch-nemesis. They stand there, looking sorrowful. "I'm so sorry for your loss. They were truly too good for this world."
|
I raised my hand, calling up the electricity I controlled. Sparks danced on my fingertips. “What are you doing here?” I demanded, my voice cracking hoarsely.
He held up his hands. “Easy,” he said gently. “I’m not here to fight.”
“To gloat, then?” I growled.
“To mourn.” He spoke slowly, evenly, uncharacteristically seriously. “You’ve ruined so many of my plans for the betterment of my city. Destroyed so many of my creations. Don’t misunderstand, I loathe you with every. Fiber. Of my being, but I recognize true love when I see it.”
I let my hand fall, still distrustful but recognizing the truth in his words.
He maintained a respectful distance from her casket, which I appreciated. “It’s funny,” he mused. “All my grand ideas, but in the face of this, I find myself speechless.”
“Maybe that’s for the best.” I didn’t want these memories tainted further by his presence.
A little smile played at his lips. “Perhaps,” he conceded.
We remained there in silence for a moment.
“A warning,” he said, looking over his shoulder. “This... changes a man. When I lost... my little girl, I threw myself into my work. Long story short,” he held out his hands, “I became me.”
“Oh,” I said, my eyebrows narrowing. “You’re hoping I forget what I stand for. That I turn out like you.”
He amicably sidestepped the barb. “No. I am hoping you won’t.” One side of his mouth curled up. “I would find your defeat much less satisfying if you were compromised in any way.” And with that, he stepped outside, letting the door close behind him.
I turned back to the casket, feeling oddly comforted.
|
I didn't turn to meet his gaze, "What do you want?" I growled, "Here to finish me off while I'm grieving?" He put his hand on my shoulder, which I responded with a solid punch in his jaw. The hit sent him flying back, and he crashed into the front pew of the monumental church. I turned away from my arch-nemesis to admire the mahogany coffin, detailed with gold, and wish it never had any use in the first place. I heard feet shuffling up behind me, "Don't make me kill you here." My voice echoed throughout the vaulted ceilings. "I don't mean any harm to you, I just..." He trailed off. I stood gravely still. He sighed, "We all need a break every once in a while." I felt a hand on my shoulder. Not one trying to stab me, as it often had tried to before. Something in me broke and I felt a tear prickle in my eye. Despite my best efforts I couldn't hold back all the tears, queued up from so many sorrows and trying times, caused by this man. He might as well witness the fruit of his labor.
I cried. For the first time since I was a child. I expected some triumphant feeling from him, but all I saw was a mutual sadness. By the time all grievances had been forcefully expelled from my body, his hand withdrew from my shoulder and I turned around to see him walking down the isle, "Where are you going?" I cried out. "Going to plot my next scheme." He said jokingly and flashed me a smile.
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|
[WP] You are a well known hero, and today is the funeral of your spouse. Everyone has left the chapel, except for you and one other. As you turn around, you see it is your arch-nemesis. They stand there, looking sorrowful. "I'm so sorry for your loss. They were truly too good for this world."
|
I am Desmond, possessor of unimaginable strength and power, and the most famous person in the world. I am invincible. Unbreakable. And I'm crying by a casket.
It's a public funeral, despite my protestations. People I've never seen before murmur soothing words to me, and stare at my wife as she lays supine, a small smile on her face. Some reach out to brush my hand, or my face. Some try to take pictures. Finally, I set an ultimatum.
"Everyone leaves. I want time alone."
There are some angry people who demand to stay. Police escort them out. Most leave politely, however. As the room empties, I stand over the coffin, and take one of her hands in my own.
I stand like that for a while before becoming aware of another presence in the room. Did the police miss someone? I turn around, embarrassed at being watched during such a private moment.
I drop her hand and turn around, opening my mouth to speak.
"Please, I-"
I stop short. At the back of the room, holding a bouquet of roses, is Cain. He meets my gaze.
I step backwards, reeling in shock. Cain is my enemy. Whatever I fix, he seeks to undo. He wreaks havoc for the sake of it. He has tried to kill me on numerous occasions. Most people when asked about him refer to Cain as a demon.
A flash of fear runs through me. I don't have the strength to fight him. Not here. Not now. For a few seconds, we regard each other in silence.
I turn back around, accepting whatever happens next. I kiss my wife one last time. I wait silently by her coffin, tears running down my face. No sound comes from behind me. Instead, I feel a hand on my shoulder.
"I'm so sorry for your loss. She was truly too good for this world."
I look back. Cain stands next to me, a look of pain contorting his features. He lays the roses by the other flowers. I make no attempt to stop him.
"Are you okay?" he asks, turning to face me.
I shake my head.
"No," I choke, and wrap him in a hug. He stiffens, startled, but then pats my shoulder. I let myself cry on his shoulder for a minute, but then pull away.
He clicks his heels, and vanishes from the room, using one of his two abilities. I plop onto a nearby chair, chastising myself. How could I? He was my enemy. I feel no little amount of chagrin that my desperation for comfort in any form led me to betray my values.
Why did he show up? I mull over this for a long time, and come up with no conclusive answer. I go back outside and let everyone back in.
Finally, the milling crowd dissipates. I had been forced to make the reception public, but I would not let anyone except for myself and her family witness the burial. As the last few clods of earth covered the plot, I looked up at the sky. It was a deep blue, and as I watched the first stars appear, I decided one thing. I was going to speak with him.
2 months later
I leave my house for the first time in weeks. For the first month after she died, I visited her grave everyday. Eventually, though, I just lost the motivation. For everything. I probably looked a good deal bonier, because I had no energy to cook. I probably looked more sickly, because I couldn't sleep. Today, after a long time, I got up from bed and ate breakfast. Then I went out. Instead of my feet taking me to my wife's grave, they went westwards. To Cain's lair. I hadn't spoken with him yet, and I suppose my brain remembered that unspoken decision. I stand at his door. Before my hand even touches the door, it opens. Premonition. His other ability.
"Yes? Who-" he begins, sounding annoyed. When he sees me, he stops short. A strange expression flits across his face, but it's quickly replaced with a cool demeanor.
"Come in."
I nod, and follow him inside.
|
I didn't turn to meet his gaze, "What do you want?" I growled, "Here to finish me off while I'm grieving?" He put his hand on my shoulder, which I responded with a solid punch in his jaw. The hit sent him flying back, and he crashed into the front pew of the monumental church. I turned away from my arch-nemesis to admire the mahogany coffin, detailed with gold, and wish it never had any use in the first place. I heard feet shuffling up behind me, "Don't make me kill you here." My voice echoed throughout the vaulted ceilings. "I don't mean any harm to you, I just..." He trailed off. I stood gravely still. He sighed, "We all need a break every once in a while." I felt a hand on my shoulder. Not one trying to stab me, as it often had tried to before. Something in me broke and I felt a tear prickle in my eye. Despite my best efforts I couldn't hold back all the tears, queued up from so many sorrows and trying times, caused by this man. He might as well witness the fruit of his labor.
I cried. For the first time since I was a child. I expected some triumphant feeling from him, but all I saw was a mutual sadness. By the time all grievances had been forcefully expelled from my body, his hand withdrew from my shoulder and I turned around to see him walking down the isle, "Where are you going?" I cried out. "Going to plot my next scheme." He said jokingly and flashed me a smile.
|
|
[WP] You are a well known hero, and today is the funeral of your spouse. Everyone has left the chapel, except for you and one other. As you turn around, you see it is your arch-nemesis. They stand there, looking sorrowful. "I'm so sorry for your loss. They were truly too good for this world."
|
I was not always a hero.
I was not always the one people screamed for.
I was not always the one saving the day.
It was a long time ago, my luck had ran out. I was struggling to get by in this metropolis, I fell on hard times and it drove me into a dark place. I got in with bad crowds, did whatever it took to get the money and things I needed - wanted.
Then one day it shifted gears. My first kill, set me off down that rabbit hole - considering I had just blasted a hero apart with sheer fire. At the time, adrenaline still pumping through my veins, it seemed like a good idea to take my abilities into the world of super villains.
It was not hard finding work with those of that world, the kill had gone viral and everyone had seen it before the day was over. In fact it came easily, for the first time things were falling at my feet and it continued long after the first kill. As my count started to climb work came even easier, contacts and black market friends came pouring in with it. With each hero I put in the ground, with each family I tore apart, with each life I ended things just got better. Life just improved. Money was never an issue again.
But I never forgot where I came from. I gave back to my community, I provided the sick and poor with houses. I made sure everyone had food and money and help. I built kitchens for the homeless and set up charities for those in need. I provided for my community under the guise of my old job, people knew I used to work with the mob and so when I came back to them with the intent to help the community they jumped at the idea. It would bring the people on our side. It would set us in the very foundations of the community. And it did. The mob and myself became figureheads of the community, while at night I slaughtered their hero's and broke families hearts.
I started my life not long after as a fully fledged super villain. My allies and contacts became ever more important as I struck out on my own, their advice and guidance provided me with everything I needed and in return I didn't end their lives.
Becoming a villain meant I had no room for emotions. For friends. Family. Community. My personality changed to fit my role, my life changed once again.
I remember faking my death well. And then emerging afterwards like a phoenix, I rose from the flames I left behind and the bridges I had burnt to make myself infamous. I brought my allies to their knees endlessly never killing them but leaving them to the mercy of hero's. As they fell away and many of my old friends faded from their place in history I was burning my way through every book. People knew me, they feared me. And as the years went on I climbed my way to the proverbial top and claimed the title of Nemesis for the most powerful hero in the land.
It felt good. I had earned it. I had crawled from the gutter and reached the top. But I think that's what bothered me.
I had nowhere else to go after. I and the hero fought so many times, we almost killed each other quite a lot. But without the other we couldn't exist so we'd show mercy and retreat in victory while the other licked their wounds.
Another hero came into town one day. He had his sights on the top, and to get there all he had to do was take care of me.
He showed up one night way before my nemesis did. I was quite amused some amateur was going to try and stop me. Until he blasted ice from his fingers then the joke became less funny.
I danced and fought my way through everything he threw at me. Fire and ice blasting the street apart, literally.
His ice hit a main and I ignited a gas station. The whole block burned around us as we fought. Hero's came not to help him but to help the people and the animals trapped all around us. Villans watched from a distance as their nemesis fled to save the city, everyone watched the street burn.
The death toll was higher than any ever noted before.
And in the end he got unlucky.
We were exhausted, but the fight raged on.
Hero's tried to stop us but like moths I just batted them away, he refused help. But during this a hero known for her ability with water doused the building near him in a waterfall. Extinguishing the flames almost instantly, he had just used his ability with ice and as the spray came falling down it froze around him. Trapping him within his own cage of ice.
I before anyone could stop me or save him poured piping hot magma all over his pathetic self and listened to him scream as he burned too.
Finally victorious I stopped and dropped to my knees, staring at the obsidian mound left in our battles wake. I cast my eyes backwards, my home in cinders, and watched everything I had burn.
No one troubled me. I eventually left once I saw my home fall in on itself and be consumed by the fire entirely. I walked for miles before I came across an abandoned home, I settled there until I was ready to rebuild again.
I fell asleep in there, not for long though.
An intruder stepped into my temporary home, my eyes forced themselves open to look at that face that peered at me from the doorway. His face.
We did not speak, yet we seemed to say so much.
I woke in the morning, a few days later, to find he was still here. Upon seeing I was awake he slid the cup towards me, and the small bag with a mouth watering smell drifting from it. I cautiously took the bag and cup, he raised his own cup to his lips and drank deeply before setting it down to watch me again. I copied his action and drank the warm coffee. I opened the bag and much more hungrily than I thought unwrapped the bacon barm inside and dug in.
He ate, I ate. He drank, I drank. We said nothing until we were finished.
His voice that morning was different than all the other times we'd spoke. For once we weren't yelling at one another.
I remember laughing at his sympathy.
Giving him skeptical glares whenever he apologised.
Mocking him whenever he hit too close to home.
Trying to keep the way we'd always been as it should be, then he touched my hand.
Our eyes met and for once I was truly listening to him. Somehow he managed to convince me to go with him, back to his home - just until I get back on my feet he said, I made some comment about how it would be hard for us to come back every night after a fight.
It wasn't that hard.
I remember the day I was basking in the sun upon the balcony while he was out. The explosion that rocked the city. The screaming. The cries for help. The heat. I remember falling off that damn lounger, staggering to my feet and staring out at the smoking hole in the city.
I don't know why but I flew to it without thinking, he had gone to this area.
I remember trying to find him among the smoldering rubble. The countless lives I inadvertently saved looking for him, as I ripped the flames away and took their energy as my own. Then after hours of searching I heard that stupid voice talking among the ruins of a bank. I pulled that bank apart all over again to reach him, upon pulling the last bit off of the place he was under I had never felt so much relief.
The eyes of other survivors did not matter as they watched me free him in awe and terror.
I remember the words I hissed - "just going to the bank huh?"
He had burst into pained laughter after as I pulled him from the debris. I took him to the hospital, growling at anyone who even dared look at me funny as I sat besides him. He watched everyone go past a smile on his lips at every growl I emitted, a smirk at every threat I hissed under my breath.
After the doctor had left it was just us.
My eyes were on the news report playing on the TV while his eyes would look from me to it. He placed a hand upon mine suddenly, I snapped to look at him as he smiled at me.
"What you did was very...heroic."
I said nothing to that. I just went back to watching the news, giving him death glares every so often only to watch him smile all the wider for it.
I became a hero not long after.
It was hard to shake the opinion that I was a criminal and villain still after my rescue was aired for everyone to see. Singlehandedly I had saved countless lives, so I was now a hero to countless people.
I minded it at first. Getting used to the idea took a lot of time. Breaking habits took longer. Eventually with Atlas beside me I climed my way to another ladder, and once more life changed for me.
Atlas.
Just thinking brings back such good memories of us, of you. But it breaks my heart everytime knowing you'll never reply again.
The day Atlas was killed ended my fire.
My flames went out with his.
Soon after I returned to my criminal roots, despair had me firmly within her grasp. And as I had so many times before I did whatever it took to move on.
I became a super villain once more.
I burned everything around me.
And I eventually came to accept a new nemesis, Artemis - Atlases brother.
I knew he'd be here. But hearing him speak...drove me to my darker instincts.
"Are you alright, Apollo?"
Am I alright?
Am I alright.
Am I?
No.
My sun was gone.
Why ever would I be alright?
|
I didn't turn to meet his gaze, "What do you want?" I growled, "Here to finish me off while I'm grieving?" He put his hand on my shoulder, which I responded with a solid punch in his jaw. The hit sent him flying back, and he crashed into the front pew of the monumental church. I turned away from my arch-nemesis to admire the mahogany coffin, detailed with gold, and wish it never had any use in the first place. I heard feet shuffling up behind me, "Don't make me kill you here." My voice echoed throughout the vaulted ceilings. "I don't mean any harm to you, I just..." He trailed off. I stood gravely still. He sighed, "We all need a break every once in a while." I felt a hand on my shoulder. Not one trying to stab me, as it often had tried to before. Something in me broke and I felt a tear prickle in my eye. Despite my best efforts I couldn't hold back all the tears, queued up from so many sorrows and trying times, caused by this man. He might as well witness the fruit of his labor.
I cried. For the first time since I was a child. I expected some triumphant feeling from him, but all I saw was a mutual sadness. By the time all grievances had been forcefully expelled from my body, his hand withdrew from my shoulder and I turned around to see him walking down the isle, "Where are you going?" I cried out. "Going to plot my next scheme." He said jokingly and flashed me a smile.
|
|
[WP] You are a well known hero, and today is the funeral of your spouse. Everyone has left the chapel, except for you and one other. As you turn around, you see it is your arch-nemesis. They stand there, looking sorrowful. "I'm so sorry for your loss. They were truly too good for this world."
|
'What do you know about loss, Vincent?', I asked.
My shivering voice echoed and swelled, filling the almost-empty chapel and carrying easily to Vincent where he sat, at the back, alone in his pew.
There was considered silence. I waited for him to respond. I was looking ahead and had been for one hour and fifty minutes. There was nothing else. Vincent's voice was nothing to me.
He broke the silence, my gold, isolating, comforting silence, by standing up. The oak pew croaked shamelessly as he rose, hands pushing on his knees and the other croaked back as he sat, carefully, in the row behind.
'It's been a long time since I felt that way. The way you feel now.... The anger; the confusion; the rage; the absurdity; the fear. A long, long time. But I do remember how it feels.'
I stared ahead and said nothing. I thought about sliding off the pew like a worm and lying there on the stone floor until someone, probably a confounded but compassionate old eulogizer, noticed and took pity on me, but I didn't want that. I thought about going out, getting out, and walking until there was nowhere else to walk and calling a cab to take me home, but I didn't want to speak to the cabbie and I didn't want to see regular people on the street or see the sunshine or any type of daylight whatsoever. I knew that, outside, just one step taken outside of this chapel, it was over - really, truly, over. I couldn't go anywhere. So, I sat and I stared ahead and I let Vincent talk to me.
'I've thought about killing you so many times,' Vincent said, his voice low and flat, pedestrian. 'You know, back when I had my red suit and you were still working with Sub-Hero, I followed you all the way from Camden to Edinburgh in disguise and you didn't spot me?'
I had no energy to tell him how little I cared and so he continued to ramble on.
'And that was the first time I saw you with her.'
My eyes brought the casket into focus. Its long, hard lines; its flat surfaces; its barren landscapes. I was listening.
'I'd followed you all that way thinking I was gonna get the jump on you halfway through fighting someone else and then you land outside Il Chiaro di Luna and she's there waiting for you, long silver dress, curled blonde locks rolling down her shoulders, bright red lips and shining blue eyes.'
My head turned, slowly and slightly, towards him. He was looking away, off towards a stained-glass saint holding a chalice upside-down.
'You ordered wine, white. You had the asparagus, mozzarella and prosciutto parcels and she had the broad bean bruschetta with parma ham. You poured her wine and she couldn’t take her eyes off you and I stood there, on the rooftop opposite, and I realized that you’re just like me.’
‘You’re supposed to be dead,’ I interrupted. ‘Professor Lucas said he saw The Black Bullet spatter your guts over the Manhattan Bridge. I hate surprises.’
‘Well the good professor was mostly right. Anyway, back to the rooftop.’
He was leaning forward now, closer to me, the glass Saint no longer holding his attention.
‘At first I was going to level half the street and bring the whole restaurant down on your head. I wanted you to watch her die in the wreckage and then fight me to the death, but it broke me. The way you looked at each other broke me. It was like a knot had come loose in my veins and suddenly, without all that tension, I could think for myself again. Watching you there I realized that after 12 years of living off hate and fury, I had fuck-all to show for it. I’d wasted 12 years trying to bend reality to my will, trying to subvert the law, cheat the system and brute-force my way into getting what I wanted.’
He paused, as if to steer himself back between between the lines.
‘Did Professor Lucas tell you my fiancée died in the second invasion?’
I looked at the floor and shook my head. ‘You were trying to bring her back?’
‘I tried everything. Cloning, genetic editing, robotics, necromancy. You name it, I attempted it and, inevitably, your friends got in my way.’
‘I suppose you think this is poetic justice then?’
He scoffed.
‘Just listen. You know what I did that night?’
‘What?’
‘I went home and I burnt every suit I ever wore. I didn’t know what to do but I knew it started there. That was a hundred sessions of therapy and a thousand sleepless nights ago. And now I’m here, talking to a guy who’s real name I don’t even know. To tell him he’s not alone.’
'Thank you,' I choked, turning in my seat to face him.
|
I didn't turn to meet his gaze, "What do you want?" I growled, "Here to finish me off while I'm grieving?" He put his hand on my shoulder, which I responded with a solid punch in his jaw. The hit sent him flying back, and he crashed into the front pew of the monumental church. I turned away from my arch-nemesis to admire the mahogany coffin, detailed with gold, and wish it never had any use in the first place. I heard feet shuffling up behind me, "Don't make me kill you here." My voice echoed throughout the vaulted ceilings. "I don't mean any harm to you, I just..." He trailed off. I stood gravely still. He sighed, "We all need a break every once in a while." I felt a hand on my shoulder. Not one trying to stab me, as it often had tried to before. Something in me broke and I felt a tear prickle in my eye. Despite my best efforts I couldn't hold back all the tears, queued up from so many sorrows and trying times, caused by this man. He might as well witness the fruit of his labor.
I cried. For the first time since I was a child. I expected some triumphant feeling from him, but all I saw was a mutual sadness. By the time all grievances had been forcefully expelled from my body, his hand withdrew from my shoulder and I turned around to see him walking down the isle, "Where are you going?" I cried out. "Going to plot my next scheme." He said jokingly and flashed me a smile.
|
|
[WP] You are a well known hero, and today is the funeral of your spouse. Everyone has left the chapel, except for you and one other. As you turn around, you see it is your arch-nemesis. They stand there, looking sorrowful. "I'm so sorry for your loss. They were truly too good for this world."
|
I am Desmond, possessor of unimaginable strength and power, and the most famous person in the world. I am invincible. Unbreakable. And I'm crying by a casket.
It's a public funeral, despite my protestations. People I've never seen before murmur soothing words to me, and stare at my wife as she lays supine, a small smile on her face. Some reach out to brush my hand, or my face. Some try to take pictures. Finally, I set an ultimatum.
"Everyone leaves. I want time alone."
There are some angry people who demand to stay. Police escort them out. Most leave politely, however. As the room empties, I stand over the coffin, and take one of her hands in my own.
I stand like that for a while before becoming aware of another presence in the room. Did the police miss someone? I turn around, embarrassed at being watched during such a private moment.
I drop her hand and turn around, opening my mouth to speak.
"Please, I-"
I stop short. At the back of the room, holding a bouquet of roses, is Cain. He meets my gaze.
I step backwards, reeling in shock. Cain is my enemy. Whatever I fix, he seeks to undo. He wreaks havoc for the sake of it. He has tried to kill me on numerous occasions. Most people when asked about him refer to Cain as a demon.
A flash of fear runs through me. I don't have the strength to fight him. Not here. Not now. For a few seconds, we regard each other in silence.
I turn back around, accepting whatever happens next. I kiss my wife one last time. I wait silently by her coffin, tears running down my face. No sound comes from behind me. Instead, I feel a hand on my shoulder.
"I'm so sorry for your loss. She was truly too good for this world."
I look back. Cain stands next to me, a look of pain contorting his features. He lays the roses by the other flowers. I make no attempt to stop him.
"Are you okay?" he asks, turning to face me.
I shake my head.
"No," I choke, and wrap him in a hug. He stiffens, startled, but then pats my shoulder. I let myself cry on his shoulder for a minute, but then pull away.
He clicks his heels, and vanishes from the room, using one of his two abilities. I plop onto a nearby chair, chastising myself. How could I? He was my enemy. I feel no little amount of chagrin that my desperation for comfort in any form led me to betray my values.
Why did he show up? I mull over this for a long time, and come up with no conclusive answer. I go back outside and let everyone back in.
Finally, the milling crowd dissipates. I had been forced to make the reception public, but I would not let anyone except for myself and her family witness the burial. As the last few clods of earth covered the plot, I looked up at the sky. It was a deep blue, and as I watched the first stars appear, I decided one thing. I was going to speak with him.
2 months later
I leave my house for the first time in weeks. For the first month after she died, I visited her grave everyday. Eventually, though, I just lost the motivation. For everything. I probably looked a good deal bonier, because I had no energy to cook. I probably looked more sickly, because I couldn't sleep. Today, after a long time, I got up from bed and ate breakfast. Then I went out. Instead of my feet taking me to my wife's grave, they went westwards. To Cain's lair. I hadn't spoken with him yet, and I suppose my brain remembered that unspoken decision. I stand at his door. Before my hand even touches the door, it opens. Premonition. His other ability.
"Yes? Who-" he begins, sounding annoyed. When he sees me, he stops short. A strange expression flits across his face, but it's quickly replaced with a cool demeanor.
"Come in."
I nod, and follow him inside.
|
I raised my hand, calling up the electricity I controlled. Sparks danced on my fingertips. “What are you doing here?” I demanded, my voice cracking hoarsely.
He held up his hands. “Easy,” he said gently. “I’m not here to fight.”
“To gloat, then?” I growled.
“To mourn.” He spoke slowly, evenly, uncharacteristically seriously. “You’ve ruined so many of my plans for the betterment of my city. Destroyed so many of my creations. Don’t misunderstand, I loathe you with every. Fiber. Of my being, but I recognize true love when I see it.”
I let my hand fall, still distrustful but recognizing the truth in his words.
He maintained a respectful distance from her casket, which I appreciated. “It’s funny,” he mused. “All my grand ideas, but in the face of this, I find myself speechless.”
“Maybe that’s for the best.” I didn’t want these memories tainted further by his presence.
A little smile played at his lips. “Perhaps,” he conceded.
We remained there in silence for a moment.
“A warning,” he said, looking over his shoulder. “This... changes a man. When I lost... my little girl, I threw myself into my work. Long story short,” he held out his hands, “I became me.”
“Oh,” I said, my eyebrows narrowing. “You’re hoping I forget what I stand for. That I turn out like you.”
He amicably sidestepped the barb. “No. I am hoping you won’t.” One side of his mouth curled up. “I would find your defeat much less satisfying if you were compromised in any way.” And with that, he stepped outside, letting the door close behind him.
I turned back to the casket, feeling oddly comforted.
|
|
[WP] You are a well known hero, and today is the funeral of your spouse. Everyone has left the chapel, except for you and one other. As you turn around, you see it is your arch-nemesis. They stand there, looking sorrowful. "I'm so sorry for your loss. They were truly too good for this world."
|
I was not always a hero.
I was not always the one people screamed for.
I was not always the one saving the day.
It was a long time ago, my luck had ran out. I was struggling to get by in this metropolis, I fell on hard times and it drove me into a dark place. I got in with bad crowds, did whatever it took to get the money and things I needed - wanted.
Then one day it shifted gears. My first kill, set me off down that rabbit hole - considering I had just blasted a hero apart with sheer fire. At the time, adrenaline still pumping through my veins, it seemed like a good idea to take my abilities into the world of super villains.
It was not hard finding work with those of that world, the kill had gone viral and everyone had seen it before the day was over. In fact it came easily, for the first time things were falling at my feet and it continued long after the first kill. As my count started to climb work came even easier, contacts and black market friends came pouring in with it. With each hero I put in the ground, with each family I tore apart, with each life I ended things just got better. Life just improved. Money was never an issue again.
But I never forgot where I came from. I gave back to my community, I provided the sick and poor with houses. I made sure everyone had food and money and help. I built kitchens for the homeless and set up charities for those in need. I provided for my community under the guise of my old job, people knew I used to work with the mob and so when I came back to them with the intent to help the community they jumped at the idea. It would bring the people on our side. It would set us in the very foundations of the community. And it did. The mob and myself became figureheads of the community, while at night I slaughtered their hero's and broke families hearts.
I started my life not long after as a fully fledged super villain. My allies and contacts became ever more important as I struck out on my own, their advice and guidance provided me with everything I needed and in return I didn't end their lives.
Becoming a villain meant I had no room for emotions. For friends. Family. Community. My personality changed to fit my role, my life changed once again.
I remember faking my death well. And then emerging afterwards like a phoenix, I rose from the flames I left behind and the bridges I had burnt to make myself infamous. I brought my allies to their knees endlessly never killing them but leaving them to the mercy of hero's. As they fell away and many of my old friends faded from their place in history I was burning my way through every book. People knew me, they feared me. And as the years went on I climbed my way to the proverbial top and claimed the title of Nemesis for the most powerful hero in the land.
It felt good. I had earned it. I had crawled from the gutter and reached the top. But I think that's what bothered me.
I had nowhere else to go after. I and the hero fought so many times, we almost killed each other quite a lot. But without the other we couldn't exist so we'd show mercy and retreat in victory while the other licked their wounds.
Another hero came into town one day. He had his sights on the top, and to get there all he had to do was take care of me.
He showed up one night way before my nemesis did. I was quite amused some amateur was going to try and stop me. Until he blasted ice from his fingers then the joke became less funny.
I danced and fought my way through everything he threw at me. Fire and ice blasting the street apart, literally.
His ice hit a main and I ignited a gas station. The whole block burned around us as we fought. Hero's came not to help him but to help the people and the animals trapped all around us. Villans watched from a distance as their nemesis fled to save the city, everyone watched the street burn.
The death toll was higher than any ever noted before.
And in the end he got unlucky.
We were exhausted, but the fight raged on.
Hero's tried to stop us but like moths I just batted them away, he refused help. But during this a hero known for her ability with water doused the building near him in a waterfall. Extinguishing the flames almost instantly, he had just used his ability with ice and as the spray came falling down it froze around him. Trapping him within his own cage of ice.
I before anyone could stop me or save him poured piping hot magma all over his pathetic self and listened to him scream as he burned too.
Finally victorious I stopped and dropped to my knees, staring at the obsidian mound left in our battles wake. I cast my eyes backwards, my home in cinders, and watched everything I had burn.
No one troubled me. I eventually left once I saw my home fall in on itself and be consumed by the fire entirely. I walked for miles before I came across an abandoned home, I settled there until I was ready to rebuild again.
I fell asleep in there, not for long though.
An intruder stepped into my temporary home, my eyes forced themselves open to look at that face that peered at me from the doorway. His face.
We did not speak, yet we seemed to say so much.
I woke in the morning, a few days later, to find he was still here. Upon seeing I was awake he slid the cup towards me, and the small bag with a mouth watering smell drifting from it. I cautiously took the bag and cup, he raised his own cup to his lips and drank deeply before setting it down to watch me again. I copied his action and drank the warm coffee. I opened the bag and much more hungrily than I thought unwrapped the bacon barm inside and dug in.
He ate, I ate. He drank, I drank. We said nothing until we were finished.
His voice that morning was different than all the other times we'd spoke. For once we weren't yelling at one another.
I remember laughing at his sympathy.
Giving him skeptical glares whenever he apologised.
Mocking him whenever he hit too close to home.
Trying to keep the way we'd always been as it should be, then he touched my hand.
Our eyes met and for once I was truly listening to him. Somehow he managed to convince me to go with him, back to his home - just until I get back on my feet he said, I made some comment about how it would be hard for us to come back every night after a fight.
It wasn't that hard.
I remember the day I was basking in the sun upon the balcony while he was out. The explosion that rocked the city. The screaming. The cries for help. The heat. I remember falling off that damn lounger, staggering to my feet and staring out at the smoking hole in the city.
I don't know why but I flew to it without thinking, he had gone to this area.
I remember trying to find him among the smoldering rubble. The countless lives I inadvertently saved looking for him, as I ripped the flames away and took their energy as my own. Then after hours of searching I heard that stupid voice talking among the ruins of a bank. I pulled that bank apart all over again to reach him, upon pulling the last bit off of the place he was under I had never felt so much relief.
The eyes of other survivors did not matter as they watched me free him in awe and terror.
I remember the words I hissed - "just going to the bank huh?"
He had burst into pained laughter after as I pulled him from the debris. I took him to the hospital, growling at anyone who even dared look at me funny as I sat besides him. He watched everyone go past a smile on his lips at every growl I emitted, a smirk at every threat I hissed under my breath.
After the doctor had left it was just us.
My eyes were on the news report playing on the TV while his eyes would look from me to it. He placed a hand upon mine suddenly, I snapped to look at him as he smiled at me.
"What you did was very...heroic."
I said nothing to that. I just went back to watching the news, giving him death glares every so often only to watch him smile all the wider for it.
I became a hero not long after.
It was hard to shake the opinion that I was a criminal and villain still after my rescue was aired for everyone to see. Singlehandedly I had saved countless lives, so I was now a hero to countless people.
I minded it at first. Getting used to the idea took a lot of time. Breaking habits took longer. Eventually with Atlas beside me I climed my way to another ladder, and once more life changed for me.
Atlas.
Just thinking brings back such good memories of us, of you. But it breaks my heart everytime knowing you'll never reply again.
The day Atlas was killed ended my fire.
My flames went out with his.
Soon after I returned to my criminal roots, despair had me firmly within her grasp. And as I had so many times before I did whatever it took to move on.
I became a super villain once more.
I burned everything around me.
And I eventually came to accept a new nemesis, Artemis - Atlases brother.
I knew he'd be here. But hearing him speak...drove me to my darker instincts.
"Are you alright, Apollo?"
Am I alright?
Am I alright.
Am I?
No.
My sun was gone.
Why ever would I be alright?
|
I raised my hand, calling up the electricity I controlled. Sparks danced on my fingertips. “What are you doing here?” I demanded, my voice cracking hoarsely.
He held up his hands. “Easy,” he said gently. “I’m not here to fight.”
“To gloat, then?” I growled.
“To mourn.” He spoke slowly, evenly, uncharacteristically seriously. “You’ve ruined so many of my plans for the betterment of my city. Destroyed so many of my creations. Don’t misunderstand, I loathe you with every. Fiber. Of my being, but I recognize true love when I see it.”
I let my hand fall, still distrustful but recognizing the truth in his words.
He maintained a respectful distance from her casket, which I appreciated. “It’s funny,” he mused. “All my grand ideas, but in the face of this, I find myself speechless.”
“Maybe that’s for the best.” I didn’t want these memories tainted further by his presence.
A little smile played at his lips. “Perhaps,” he conceded.
We remained there in silence for a moment.
“A warning,” he said, looking over his shoulder. “This... changes a man. When I lost... my little girl, I threw myself into my work. Long story short,” he held out his hands, “I became me.”
“Oh,” I said, my eyebrows narrowing. “You’re hoping I forget what I stand for. That I turn out like you.”
He amicably sidestepped the barb. “No. I am hoping you won’t.” One side of his mouth curled up. “I would find your defeat much less satisfying if you were compromised in any way.” And with that, he stepped outside, letting the door close behind him.
I turned back to the casket, feeling oddly comforted.
|
|
[WP] You are a well known hero, and today is the funeral of your spouse. Everyone has left the chapel, except for you and one other. As you turn around, you see it is your arch-nemesis. They stand there, looking sorrowful. "I'm so sorry for your loss. They were truly too good for this world."
|
'What do you know about loss, Vincent?', I asked.
My shivering voice echoed and swelled, filling the almost-empty chapel and carrying easily to Vincent where he sat, at the back, alone in his pew.
There was considered silence. I waited for him to respond. I was looking ahead and had been for one hour and fifty minutes. There was nothing else. Vincent's voice was nothing to me.
He broke the silence, my gold, isolating, comforting silence, by standing up. The oak pew croaked shamelessly as he rose, hands pushing on his knees and the other croaked back as he sat, carefully, in the row behind.
'It's been a long time since I felt that way. The way you feel now.... The anger; the confusion; the rage; the absurdity; the fear. A long, long time. But I do remember how it feels.'
I stared ahead and said nothing. I thought about sliding off the pew like a worm and lying there on the stone floor until someone, probably a confounded but compassionate old eulogizer, noticed and took pity on me, but I didn't want that. I thought about going out, getting out, and walking until there was nowhere else to walk and calling a cab to take me home, but I didn't want to speak to the cabbie and I didn't want to see regular people on the street or see the sunshine or any type of daylight whatsoever. I knew that, outside, just one step taken outside of this chapel, it was over - really, truly, over. I couldn't go anywhere. So, I sat and I stared ahead and I let Vincent talk to me.
'I've thought about killing you so many times,' Vincent said, his voice low and flat, pedestrian. 'You know, back when I had my red suit and you were still working with Sub-Hero, I followed you all the way from Camden to Edinburgh in disguise and you didn't spot me?'
I had no energy to tell him how little I cared and so he continued to ramble on.
'And that was the first time I saw you with her.'
My eyes brought the casket into focus. Its long, hard lines; its flat surfaces; its barren landscapes. I was listening.
'I'd followed you all that way thinking I was gonna get the jump on you halfway through fighting someone else and then you land outside Il Chiaro di Luna and she's there waiting for you, long silver dress, curled blonde locks rolling down her shoulders, bright red lips and shining blue eyes.'
My head turned, slowly and slightly, towards him. He was looking away, off towards a stained-glass saint holding a chalice upside-down.
'You ordered wine, white. You had the asparagus, mozzarella and prosciutto parcels and she had the broad bean bruschetta with parma ham. You poured her wine and she couldn’t take her eyes off you and I stood there, on the rooftop opposite, and I realized that you’re just like me.’
‘You’re supposed to be dead,’ I interrupted. ‘Professor Lucas said he saw The Black Bullet spatter your guts over the Manhattan Bridge. I hate surprises.’
‘Well the good professor was mostly right. Anyway, back to the rooftop.’
He was leaning forward now, closer to me, the glass Saint no longer holding his attention.
‘At first I was going to level half the street and bring the whole restaurant down on your head. I wanted you to watch her die in the wreckage and then fight me to the death, but it broke me. The way you looked at each other broke me. It was like a knot had come loose in my veins and suddenly, without all that tension, I could think for myself again. Watching you there I realized that after 12 years of living off hate and fury, I had fuck-all to show for it. I’d wasted 12 years trying to bend reality to my will, trying to subvert the law, cheat the system and brute-force my way into getting what I wanted.’
He paused, as if to steer himself back between between the lines.
‘Did Professor Lucas tell you my fiancée died in the second invasion?’
I looked at the floor and shook my head. ‘You were trying to bring her back?’
‘I tried everything. Cloning, genetic editing, robotics, necromancy. You name it, I attempted it and, inevitably, your friends got in my way.’
‘I suppose you think this is poetic justice then?’
He scoffed.
‘Just listen. You know what I did that night?’
‘What?’
‘I went home and I burnt every suit I ever wore. I didn’t know what to do but I knew it started there. That was a hundred sessions of therapy and a thousand sleepless nights ago. And now I’m here, talking to a guy who’s real name I don’t even know. To tell him he’s not alone.’
'Thank you,' I choked, turning in my seat to face him.
|
I raised my hand, calling up the electricity I controlled. Sparks danced on my fingertips. “What are you doing here?” I demanded, my voice cracking hoarsely.
He held up his hands. “Easy,” he said gently. “I’m not here to fight.”
“To gloat, then?” I growled.
“To mourn.” He spoke slowly, evenly, uncharacteristically seriously. “You’ve ruined so many of my plans for the betterment of my city. Destroyed so many of my creations. Don’t misunderstand, I loathe you with every. Fiber. Of my being, but I recognize true love when I see it.”
I let my hand fall, still distrustful but recognizing the truth in his words.
He maintained a respectful distance from her casket, which I appreciated. “It’s funny,” he mused. “All my grand ideas, but in the face of this, I find myself speechless.”
“Maybe that’s for the best.” I didn’t want these memories tainted further by his presence.
A little smile played at his lips. “Perhaps,” he conceded.
We remained there in silence for a moment.
“A warning,” he said, looking over his shoulder. “This... changes a man. When I lost... my little girl, I threw myself into my work. Long story short,” he held out his hands, “I became me.”
“Oh,” I said, my eyebrows narrowing. “You’re hoping I forget what I stand for. That I turn out like you.”
He amicably sidestepped the barb. “No. I am hoping you won’t.” One side of his mouth curled up. “I would find your defeat much less satisfying if you were compromised in any way.” And with that, he stepped outside, letting the door close behind him.
I turned back to the casket, feeling oddly comforted.
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[WP] You are a well known hero, and today is the funeral of your spouse. Everyone has left the chapel, except for you and one other. As you turn around, you see it is your arch-nemesis. They stand there, looking sorrowful. "I'm so sorry for your loss. They were truly too good for this world."
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I stared at his deathly pale face, framed in midnight black hair. Normally, when I looked into his glowing, crimson eyes, I felt a shudder, like something felt *wrong*, but not anymore. All that was good in the world is gone, torn from me in the blink of an eye. And I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye.
I turned back to look upon the birch coffin before me.
"I always thought you'd do it to be honest. You certainly used her against me enough times." My voice was muted, dead. A hint of croak in it from a lack of use.
"I never did. I have to admit that I always made sure she was never in too much danger. Never any that you couldn't handle at least. I couldn't do that to you." The rage I usually felt at hearing that silky voice reference her was gone. No more fear of what he might do to her.
"You were supposed to protect me. Protect *us*." I'd always imagined becoming choked up, breaking down when I brought this up. Possibly at his feet, defeated. Or him at mine.
"I know. But... sometimes life just doesn't work out that way."
"Clearly."
We stood next to each other, finally at peace with each other for the first time in decades. I'd rather he tried to kill me a thousand more times than be stood here, in these circumstances.
"I am truly sorry. Not just for this, but for everything. How it turned out. It was never meant to be this way. Your father, *our* father, would never have wanted this."
Our father. I wanted to hear him say that, to acknowledge it again, for years upon years. And now it means nothing to me.
"What will you do?" His question lingered for a moment. I'd avoided thinking about it, but only because I already knew the answer, and I didn't want to face it.
"I'm going to kill him." There was no emotion in my voice. No rage, or hate, or even sadness that I was about to turn away from all of my values to do something irreversible. It was simply a fact, a statement like any other. Like saying "water is wet" or "trees are plants".
"I can help you." I only had to ask. But this was for me to do alone.
"No. You have other matters to attend to. Without me, the others will barely stand a chance against you. Just... when you've won. Let them know our story. All of it. Till the end."
"What will you do when he's dead?" He didn't answer my question, but we both knew that meant he would respect my own wishes. We were never the type for a heart to heart speech like some might expect. Just like how he offered his aid, no mention that what had happened was an accident, we both knew it didn't matter. She needed avenging.
"Disappear. And then, I don't know. I don't think it really matters. I'm just... done."
I felt his hand on my shoulder, the burning cold, like frostbite, that used to accompany his touch was no more. It felt as dead as her hands. As everything.
"And what about that one?" My brother tilted his head to the animal sat next to the coffin. A golden retriever, so beautifully golden that it seemed to shine in the now grey world. It was hers, and she loved him. Like she'd loved me.
"You take him. Let him live with you, instead of just *being* with me." He squeezed my shoulder, before letting his arm drop to his side. It was time for me to go. We turned and I walked away from the coffin, towards the exit of the small chapel.
The dog trotted up to my former place next to my brother. It was always too perceptive. Of course anything of hers was perfect. No words were said, and I didn't turn back. They simply watched as I disappeared into the deep, encompassing mist surrounding the chapel. Never to be seen again but once, covered in blood and surrounded by fire.
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She'd never really felt rain, not really. The facility she'd been raised in was in a southwestern desert; Nevada, she assumed, or New Mexico. If it did rain, no more than once or twice a year, they'd keep her and her twin in the bunkers. Where was Alayla, she wondered, scanning the sea of black umbrellas for a conspicuous gap. None ahead, and if she was to look back she'd burst again into tears. Not that it really mattered with the water streaming down her face from her saturated hair. how convinent, she thought. After her desert upbringing she'd had mastery of her powers enough to do what an umbrella does but perfectly, with scarecly a thought. Now, today, she simply couldn't be bothered. Water was pent upon her head in great sheets, drenching her hair, soaking her funereal black pantsuit. Filling her shoes and running in rivulets down her arms. It beat on her, drops big and small pinging cold against her head. A memory slipped in, Patrick's suit hanging in pieces across the hotel room. Pain came with it, pain as her brain painstakingly replayed every vocal mannerism. "I didn't mind until everyone assumed we'd arrived seperatly!"
She forced the memory down, choking back a mixture of nausea and tears. It still played for her, no matter how hard she tried it's bittersweet flavor washed over her. Pulling her close, making "dressed for the occasion" jokes as they picked their way across the room. Down, down, away, lock the memories up and press them into the abyss. She couldn't do or say what needs to be done if every slightest thought triggers Patrick, Patrick, Patrick. She had to find a way to say "no" to it. Repression was poison, a therapist had once told her but now, now it was balm. She saw the first of the umbrellas folding. They'd be entering the synagogue and in there she'd find cameras, politicians, military and intelligence officials she needed to show that Margrett Altstern was unrattled. As she reached the threshhold, she held in her awareness the moisture coating her then sent it up in a column. It hung in the air a moment before splattering the coffin following her. She remebered this space, it had the towering nature of the sublime that was imbued in most sacred places. Something about them filled you with awe just at the room's dimensions. As she passed one of the arches rimming the seating area, she saw the two of them. Her and Patrick, seperate for a moment from someone's wedding, kissing in the relative darkness.
Firefighters had ceremonies to be envious of. Uniforms spattering the audience, a flyover of department dropships. Speeches from people with titles like "Commander", and "Chief". They reverberated their altruism through the hall like a great bell. They said to anyone and everyone, "do better". A woman, the last person who'd seen him living, made a short speech. About how he'd gone out of his way to clear her and her son from the building, even though a chemical fire raged upstairs. Her last image of him diving back into the flames recounted in exquisite detail. She hated her. Not really, but her brain at the least told her she did. But, that woman could never have stopped him any more than Margrett could. At some point, she couldn't remember when exactly, she found herself standing in that hall with the coffin. Alone, with the bastard who'd forced her to love and then gone and sacrificed himself. She watched her twisted reflection in the slick black of the coffin. she heard shoes on the marble. "Just a moment, please. Just a..." he interjected "Hello, Margey."
Who she thought was an aid or one of the pallbearers from his company was a greasy little man in a faded, fraying suit. She recognized his scratchy voice and his tilted posture. She reached out in an expanding sphere around her until she felt water coil at her imperative. It came from a pipe under the floor, blasting up through layers of marble and concrete to her hand. It froze into a jagged claw on her hand. "Ah ah ahh!" As she rushed him, he stepped back and opened his coat. Pipes bulged there, wires poking out where buttons on his shirt strained. "Now, I'm not here to mess you around, I just wanted to talk. I really feel for you, I do. He was a great guy. Real, real Mensch if ya get me. I just want to pay respects. You're fast, but not faster than shra-ha-ha-ha-ha..." The word "shrapnel" stalled in his throat as she reached out to the water in his body, forcing him to his knees before her. It wasn't like her, she never went so fast to this technique. It was the last resort. Yet, it somehow felt right with him. He'd find no way to wiggle from her grip. Just thinking about it he tensed hard. She let him go just a little. She didn't want him passing out.
The bomb was probably rigged to heart monitor, He was sneaky like that. But, she'd not have his voice tainting her ears. "I hold you responsible for this, did you know that Ellis?" He cringed at the use of his birth name. "If you weren't involved in the drug dealer's market they'd still exist, sure, but they wouldn't have the protection or the money to operate those kinds of labs in public spaces." She got down on a knee and put a hand under his chin, locking his wet green eyes in hers. "I'm going to come for you. I know you can run and hide, scurry off into the underbelly, but that's why im going to come for your little friends first." He gasped, hyperventilating at the effort against her infuence. "You can't! They're protected, beyond protected! That's what the national guard has been trying for years!" Rage flooded into her unbound. Rain that was hammering on the skylight smashed through in a grand rush. It wrapped her for a moment then fired off in a sheet across the room, leaving a deep scratch on walls. the lid to the coffin slid off at the angle she'd cut, revealing the a charred corpse within. "He was protected. By me. What do you think they're protection matters?" She released him, and he screamed and ran from the room. She wondered if the bomb was even real. She hollered after him "Go ahead and tell them! They aren't nearly humble enough to belive it!"
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[WP] You are a well known hero, and today is the funeral of your spouse. Everyone has left the chapel, except for you and one other. As you turn around, you see it is your arch-nemesis. They stand there, looking sorrowful. "I'm so sorry for your loss. They were truly too good for this world."
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It was the only time I'd ever seen the man and didn't immediately want to punch his face.
"Cameron... I'm so sorry for you loss."
That was the first time I ever believed a word he said.
"They were... Truly too good for this world" the doleful tone resonating. His hand was clenched by his side. I'd heard from Mona that they were lovers, once. That she'd left him when he'd started his obsession with the occult. Apparently he still had feelings for her, and that was why he never went for me directly. He knew she'd never forgive him.
"Thank you, Archie."
The Archdaemon winced a bit when I called him that, but relaxed.
"You don't have to call me that outside of work, Harry."
I winced a bit back. No one called me that but Mona.
"Fair."
This was the first time we'd met that we weren't at each other's throats. I suppose it was merely due to the circumstances that we'd set aside our mutual hate long enough to have any decent conversation. Mona would have laughed at the irony. She'd tried to get us on friendly terms once or twice, but it ended in tragedy every time. There was the time at the park, where he'd turned the goose demonic and it started stealing everything, and the time at the theme park, where I threw him off the top of the coaster into the sea. It had started out as a bit of a rivalry, and only escalated. Both of us had the chance to kill the other at least once, but Mona always stepped in to save the other. It even almost cost me my hero license. But at the end of the day, no one was really hurt, and property damage was minimal.
It was almost funny. I was always worried that he'd go after Mona, that he'd go, "If I can't have her, no one can!" but it wasn't him that hurt her. It was a new villain named Bubonic. I bet you can guess his powers. He decided to rob the bank she was a teller at, and by the time anyone got there to stop him, he was gone and everyone was crying tears of blood from the disease he'd released. The doctors said that it was a slow, painful demise. I did everything I could to save her. I was told Archie'd even tried to sacrifice a nurse to save her, but it was all for naught. She'd died, slowly, painfully, coughing up chunks of blood and bile, in my arms. I searched this city and all around it to find that bastard, but had no luck.
But then, with my head hanging over the casket, tears flowing off my cheek and onto her's, Archdaemon spoke up, "I found him."
My head raised immediately. "What?"
"I found the bastard."
"How?!? I searched every inch of this city and found nothing!"
He held up a small crystal ball. "Scrying."
I smiled a bit. "So when's his funeral."
Archie held up his hand and said "When you come with me and pull a 'trick', Houdini."
I wasn't usually the type to go after a kill, but unfortunately the one person that always kept me from doing it was now lying in a casket.
With a savage grin, I, in an oh so enthusiastic tone, replied, "Let's go make this fool disappear."
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She'd never really felt rain, not really. The facility she'd been raised in was in a southwestern desert; Nevada, she assumed, or New Mexico. If it did rain, no more than once or twice a year, they'd keep her and her twin in the bunkers. Where was Alayla, she wondered, scanning the sea of black umbrellas for a conspicuous gap. None ahead, and if she was to look back she'd burst again into tears. Not that it really mattered with the water streaming down her face from her saturated hair. how convinent, she thought. After her desert upbringing she'd had mastery of her powers enough to do what an umbrella does but perfectly, with scarecly a thought. Now, today, she simply couldn't be bothered. Water was pent upon her head in great sheets, drenching her hair, soaking her funereal black pantsuit. Filling her shoes and running in rivulets down her arms. It beat on her, drops big and small pinging cold against her head. A memory slipped in, Patrick's suit hanging in pieces across the hotel room. Pain came with it, pain as her brain painstakingly replayed every vocal mannerism. "I didn't mind until everyone assumed we'd arrived seperatly!"
She forced the memory down, choking back a mixture of nausea and tears. It still played for her, no matter how hard she tried it's bittersweet flavor washed over her. Pulling her close, making "dressed for the occasion" jokes as they picked their way across the room. Down, down, away, lock the memories up and press them into the abyss. She couldn't do or say what needs to be done if every slightest thought triggers Patrick, Patrick, Patrick. She had to find a way to say "no" to it. Repression was poison, a therapist had once told her but now, now it was balm. She saw the first of the umbrellas folding. They'd be entering the synagogue and in there she'd find cameras, politicians, military and intelligence officials she needed to show that Margrett Altstern was unrattled. As she reached the threshhold, she held in her awareness the moisture coating her then sent it up in a column. It hung in the air a moment before splattering the coffin following her. She remebered this space, it had the towering nature of the sublime that was imbued in most sacred places. Something about them filled you with awe just at the room's dimensions. As she passed one of the arches rimming the seating area, she saw the two of them. Her and Patrick, seperate for a moment from someone's wedding, kissing in the relative darkness.
Firefighters had ceremonies to be envious of. Uniforms spattering the audience, a flyover of department dropships. Speeches from people with titles like "Commander", and "Chief". They reverberated their altruism through the hall like a great bell. They said to anyone and everyone, "do better". A woman, the last person who'd seen him living, made a short speech. About how he'd gone out of his way to clear her and her son from the building, even though a chemical fire raged upstairs. Her last image of him diving back into the flames recounted in exquisite detail. She hated her. Not really, but her brain at the least told her she did. But, that woman could never have stopped him any more than Margrett could. At some point, she couldn't remember when exactly, she found herself standing in that hall with the coffin. Alone, with the bastard who'd forced her to love and then gone and sacrificed himself. She watched her twisted reflection in the slick black of the coffin. she heard shoes on the marble. "Just a moment, please. Just a..." he interjected "Hello, Margey."
Who she thought was an aid or one of the pallbearers from his company was a greasy little man in a faded, fraying suit. She recognized his scratchy voice and his tilted posture. She reached out in an expanding sphere around her until she felt water coil at her imperative. It came from a pipe under the floor, blasting up through layers of marble and concrete to her hand. It froze into a jagged claw on her hand. "Ah ah ahh!" As she rushed him, he stepped back and opened his coat. Pipes bulged there, wires poking out where buttons on his shirt strained. "Now, I'm not here to mess you around, I just wanted to talk. I really feel for you, I do. He was a great guy. Real, real Mensch if ya get me. I just want to pay respects. You're fast, but not faster than shra-ha-ha-ha-ha..." The word "shrapnel" stalled in his throat as she reached out to the water in his body, forcing him to his knees before her. It wasn't like her, she never went so fast to this technique. It was the last resort. Yet, it somehow felt right with him. He'd find no way to wiggle from her grip. Just thinking about it he tensed hard. She let him go just a little. She didn't want him passing out.
The bomb was probably rigged to heart monitor, He was sneaky like that. But, she'd not have his voice tainting her ears. "I hold you responsible for this, did you know that Ellis?" He cringed at the use of his birth name. "If you weren't involved in the drug dealer's market they'd still exist, sure, but they wouldn't have the protection or the money to operate those kinds of labs in public spaces." She got down on a knee and put a hand under his chin, locking his wet green eyes in hers. "I'm going to come for you. I know you can run and hide, scurry off into the underbelly, but that's why im going to come for your little friends first." He gasped, hyperventilating at the effort against her infuence. "You can't! They're protected, beyond protected! That's what the national guard has been trying for years!" Rage flooded into her unbound. Rain that was hammering on the skylight smashed through in a grand rush. It wrapped her for a moment then fired off in a sheet across the room, leaving a deep scratch on walls. the lid to the coffin slid off at the angle she'd cut, revealing the a charred corpse within. "He was protected. By me. What do you think they're protection matters?" She released him, and he screamed and ran from the room. She wondered if the bomb was even real. She hollered after him "Go ahead and tell them! They aren't nearly humble enough to belive it!"
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[WP] You are a well known hero, and today is the funeral of your spouse. Everyone has left the chapel, except for you and one other. As you turn around, you see it is your arch-nemesis. They stand there, looking sorrowful. "I'm so sorry for your loss. They were truly too good for this world."
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It was the only time I'd ever seen the man and didn't immediately want to punch his face.
"Cameron... I'm so sorry for you loss."
That was the first time I ever believed a word he said.
"They were... Truly too good for this world" the doleful tone resonating. His hand was clenched by his side. I'd heard from Mona that they were lovers, once. That she'd left him when he'd started his obsession with the occult. Apparently he still had feelings for her, and that was why he never went for me directly. He knew she'd never forgive him.
"Thank you, Archie."
The Archdaemon winced a bit when I called him that, but relaxed.
"You don't have to call me that outside of work, Harry."
I winced a bit back. No one called me that but Mona.
"Fair."
This was the first time we'd met that we weren't at each other's throats. I suppose it was merely due to the circumstances that we'd set aside our mutual hate long enough to have any decent conversation. Mona would have laughed at the irony. She'd tried to get us on friendly terms once or twice, but it ended in tragedy every time. There was the time at the park, where he'd turned the goose demonic and it started stealing everything, and the time at the theme park, where I threw him off the top of the coaster into the sea. It had started out as a bit of a rivalry, and only escalated. Both of us had the chance to kill the other at least once, but Mona always stepped in to save the other. It even almost cost me my hero license. But at the end of the day, no one was really hurt, and property damage was minimal.
It was almost funny. I was always worried that he'd go after Mona, that he'd go, "If I can't have her, no one can!" but it wasn't him that hurt her. It was a new villain named Bubonic. I bet you can guess his powers. He decided to rob the bank she was a teller at, and by the time anyone got there to stop him, he was gone and everyone was crying tears of blood from the disease he'd released. The doctors said that it was a slow, painful demise. I did everything I could to save her. I was told Archie'd even tried to sacrifice a nurse to save her, but it was all for naught. She'd died, slowly, painfully, coughing up chunks of blood and bile, in my arms. I searched this city and all around it to find that bastard, but had no luck.
But then, with my head hanging over the casket, tears flowing off my cheek and onto her's, Archdaemon spoke up, "I found him."
My head raised immediately. "What?"
"I found the bastard."
"How?!? I searched every inch of this city and found nothing!"
He held up a small crystal ball. "Scrying."
I smiled a bit. "So when's his funeral."
Archie held up his hand and said "When you come with me and pull a 'trick', Houdini."
I wasn't usually the type to go after a kill, but unfortunately the one person that always kept me from doing it was now lying in a casket.
With a savage grin, I, in an oh so enthusiastic tone, replied, "Let's go make this fool disappear."
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I stared at his deathly pale face, framed in midnight black hair. Normally, when I looked into his glowing, crimson eyes, I felt a shudder, like something felt *wrong*, but not anymore. All that was good in the world is gone, torn from me in the blink of an eye. And I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye.
I turned back to look upon the birch coffin before me.
"I always thought you'd do it to be honest. You certainly used her against me enough times." My voice was muted, dead. A hint of croak in it from a lack of use.
"I never did. I have to admit that I always made sure she was never in too much danger. Never any that you couldn't handle at least. I couldn't do that to you." The rage I usually felt at hearing that silky voice reference her was gone. No more fear of what he might do to her.
"You were supposed to protect me. Protect *us*." I'd always imagined becoming choked up, breaking down when I brought this up. Possibly at his feet, defeated. Or him at mine.
"I know. But... sometimes life just doesn't work out that way."
"Clearly."
We stood next to each other, finally at peace with each other for the first time in decades. I'd rather he tried to kill me a thousand more times than be stood here, in these circumstances.
"I am truly sorry. Not just for this, but for everything. How it turned out. It was never meant to be this way. Your father, *our* father, would never have wanted this."
Our father. I wanted to hear him say that, to acknowledge it again, for years upon years. And now it means nothing to me.
"What will you do?" His question lingered for a moment. I'd avoided thinking about it, but only because I already knew the answer, and I didn't want to face it.
"I'm going to kill him." There was no emotion in my voice. No rage, or hate, or even sadness that I was about to turn away from all of my values to do something irreversible. It was simply a fact, a statement like any other. Like saying "water is wet" or "trees are plants".
"I can help you." I only had to ask. But this was for me to do alone.
"No. You have other matters to attend to. Without me, the others will barely stand a chance against you. Just... when you've won. Let them know our story. All of it. Till the end."
"What will you do when he's dead?" He didn't answer my question, but we both knew that meant he would respect my own wishes. We were never the type for a heart to heart speech like some might expect. Just like how he offered his aid, no mention that what had happened was an accident, we both knew it didn't matter. She needed avenging.
"Disappear. And then, I don't know. I don't think it really matters. I'm just... done."
I felt his hand on my shoulder, the burning cold, like frostbite, that used to accompany his touch was no more. It felt as dead as her hands. As everything.
"And what about that one?" My brother tilted his head to the animal sat next to the coffin. A golden retriever, so beautifully golden that it seemed to shine in the now grey world. It was hers, and she loved him. Like she'd loved me.
"You take him. Let him live with you, instead of just *being* with me." He squeezed my shoulder, before letting his arm drop to his side. It was time for me to go. We turned and I walked away from the coffin, towards the exit of the small chapel.
The dog trotted up to my former place next to my brother. It was always too perceptive. Of course anything of hers was perfect. No words were said, and I didn't turn back. They simply watched as I disappeared into the deep, encompassing mist surrounding the chapel. Never to be seen again but once, covered in blood and surrounded by fire.
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[WP] Humans are the only species in the universe with pets. As humanity enters the ranks of the Galactic Empire humanity soon is known as "The Beastmasters", taming even the worst nightmares of alien bedtime stories.
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"No, no," that's where everybody gets the story wrong, said Hugo, my erstwhile human companion said as we boarded the cruiser. It's not that humans tamed wolves. Humans found the wolves that could be tamed.
"I'm failing to see the distinction."
Well, most other species in the universe became the dominant species either by natural selection's survival advantages OR by being smart enough to create tools -- which you could say is another natural selection survival advantage, but I digress. Point is, that was us as well, but we *took advantage of other species survival advantages.*
*"How so?"*
"Well," Hugo explained, "Those wolves. Vicious, deadly in packs. But clever. They knew that the advantage lay in numbers. A pack of wolves could take down a human traveling alone, humans, as a group, however, could handle any wolf-pack. To wolves, humans were dangerous, and when on the defensive, had fire, sharp tools, shields, and wore the hides of much tougher animals to protect them. Only the bravest or most foolish wolf would dare go close to where humans had settled in groups."
"So, the humans had to hunt down and capture the wolves?," I asked.
"No! As I said. The bravest and most foolish wolves came to us! And they were rewarded! If you're a wolf, you are subject to the whims of nature. Not just bears, but surviving the winter when food has become scarce. But... what the brave and foolish discovered was that if you didn't attack the humans... if you acted like the humans wanted you to act -- then you could feed from our scraps pretty much year round. It's an excellent survival strategy, and the wolves who were brave or foolish enough to approach the humans were able to have more children, whose brave and foolish traits were passed on to the next generation. And if you had some special trait that helped the humans in the area, the humans would go out of the way to make sure that you had a chance to breed. If you like to pull, and you're in a snowy region, congratulations, your descendants will become huskies. If you aren't scared by loud noises and can retrieve waterfowl, congratulations, you are the progenitor of the poodle. So the relationship became symbiotic - without dogs, hunts would not be as effective, without humans, food would not be as regular."
"So all the animals were like this? You befriended the bravest?"
"Well, the cat was more of a later addition. When we started agriculture, we started having to store large parts of grain. Bugs and other vermin would get into them. Cats just... went to where their food went to, and we thought it was useful to have cats around to hunt the vermin, so we kinda just let them stay. But still, it's a relationship of symbiosis. Without the cats, the grain would spoil, without the humans, there would be no grain to lure vermin."
"When you put it like that, it makes me wonder why other species *didn't* pick up on this survival advantage."
"Just the luck of the draw, I guess."
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Humans are deathworlders. As if that wasn't scary enough, what with their nigh invincibility and all the biological weapons that they spread even without wanting to, they have tamed many other non-sophont creatures too.
The vast majority of vertebrate biomass on the planet are creatures that they keep in order to utilize. Most are killed and consumed. Others provide lactation fluid or hard-shelled menses which they consume as well.
They even modify their living spaces to accommodate other creatures that reside with them. Their favourites are a derivative of a previous apex predator in the colder regions, and gricka. Yes, gricka, that majestic predator with a sleek body, pointed ears and a dexterous tail. The scourge of worlds that has left trillions dead. If they have mastered the art of petting a gricka, it generates a soothing, relaxing purr.
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[WP] Humans are the only species in the universe with pets. As humanity enters the ranks of the Galactic Empire humanity soon is known as "The Beastmasters", taming even the worst nightmares of alien bedtime stories.
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"Watch out!"
"Get behind me!"
"Daddy!"
The three Xolorphins cowered in the corner as the fierce monster, growling with its glowing eyes and huge teeth turned towards them. Zephin tried to shield his mate and child with his tail, holding out his claws as the huge monster, easily three times his own size, bore down on them. The monster's armor-like fur protected it from all attacks and Zephin knew that his little family was doomed. That they would all die, all end up dinner for this creature.
"FLUFFY!" called a voice.
The monster turned its head, ears pricking the direction of the call. Zephin held his breath, hoping the monster had forgotten them. Could it be?
"FLUFFY! HERE BOY!" The monster turned and loped off. Under its massive body Zephin caught a glimpse of the being calling the monster. A frail, fragile being with two skinny arms and legs that didn't look strong enough to hold up its own weight. Even more importantly, the being was only about the size of his child. There was no way the being could control the monster.
The monster loped towards the being and Zephin closed his eyes, not wanting to see the being die and waiting for the painful screams of death.
"Are you a good boy? Are you? Good boy, Fluffy!" Zephin opened his eyes and stared in horror at the monster--rolling over onto its back while its tongue lolled out of its mouth and the being rubbed its neck, fearlessly.
"This is why we need a leash." Another, older being came into view and Zephin stared as the older being glared at the monster--who *cowered*. The monster rolled back over, whined, and tucked its tail between its legs.
"Mom!" The little being stood between the adult and the monster. "Be *nice*!"
The mother muttered something before calling out, "Sorry about your house! We'll send someone to fix it later!" The three of them walked off.
"What--what was that?" asked Zephin's mate.
"I think--I think those were humans," he replied, stumbling over the unfamiliar name. He couldn't believe what he'd just seen.
He'd heard about this; they all had. How humans had the bizarre ability to get almost anything to define them as "parents," as "family." He'd thought it was just rumors though, rumors spread to make the weak creatures seem more dangerous than they were. A protection mechanism.
Instead, it was nothing less than the truth.
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“Oh fuck.”
To think this all started with fucking dogs I thought to myself as I dove behind a rock. I think I might be in over my head. When the Delphi hired me I was overflowing with confidence: “ Not a lifeform the Beastmasters can’t tame Gan! I assure you, I’ll have it here before you need it.” I never saw something like this. Even Johannes had never heard of anything like it.
Ga described it as something with a lot of limbs and dark as night. He had heard people on-planet speak of it only as the Khotxi, loosely translated as the shadowdeath, or shadowshriek, depending on who you ask. I could hear and feel it move over the rocky surface of the valley we were in. It was moving cautiously, definitly still looking for me. I throw some bait in an open area and watch it move towards it rapidly, its spiky legs drilling itself in the ground under it’s immense weight. I counted 18, but can’t be sure. I haven’t seen anything like it, it’s just all black. As I watch it, I seem to be getting pulled in by the dark void it has for a coat. I wish there was a word that for something sinister and majestic. I duck back down because I haven’t figured out how well it sees yet. I don’t know how it spotted me earlier. I wasn’t all that visible, I neutralised my smell, I barely made any noise on the mountainside and yet it still came barreling towards me.
I perch up and watch it, I think, stab the bait I threw with about eight of it’s paws, one after the other. I decide to move a bit to the right, but as soon as I take my first step, I hear those droning and alarmingly fast legs come barreling towards me again.
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[WP] Humans are the only species in the universe with pets. As humanity enters the ranks of the Galactic Empire humanity soon is known as "The Beastmasters", taming even the worst nightmares of alien bedtime stories.
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"No, no," that's where everybody gets the story wrong, said Hugo, my erstwhile human companion said as we boarded the cruiser. It's not that humans tamed wolves. Humans found the wolves that could be tamed.
"I'm failing to see the distinction."
Well, most other species in the universe became the dominant species either by natural selection's survival advantages OR by being smart enough to create tools -- which you could say is another natural selection survival advantage, but I digress. Point is, that was us as well, but we *took advantage of other species survival advantages.*
*"How so?"*
"Well," Hugo explained, "Those wolves. Vicious, deadly in packs. But clever. They knew that the advantage lay in numbers. A pack of wolves could take down a human traveling alone, humans, as a group, however, could handle any wolf-pack. To wolves, humans were dangerous, and when on the defensive, had fire, sharp tools, shields, and wore the hides of much tougher animals to protect them. Only the bravest or most foolish wolf would dare go close to where humans had settled in groups."
"So, the humans had to hunt down and capture the wolves?," I asked.
"No! As I said. The bravest and most foolish wolves came to us! And they were rewarded! If you're a wolf, you are subject to the whims of nature. Not just bears, but surviving the winter when food has become scarce. But... what the brave and foolish discovered was that if you didn't attack the humans... if you acted like the humans wanted you to act -- then you could feed from our scraps pretty much year round. It's an excellent survival strategy, and the wolves who were brave or foolish enough to approach the humans were able to have more children, whose brave and foolish traits were passed on to the next generation. And if you had some special trait that helped the humans in the area, the humans would go out of the way to make sure that you had a chance to breed. If you like to pull, and you're in a snowy region, congratulations, your descendants will become huskies. If you aren't scared by loud noises and can retrieve waterfowl, congratulations, you are the progenitor of the poodle. So the relationship became symbiotic - without dogs, hunts would not be as effective, without humans, food would not be as regular."
"So all the animals were like this? You befriended the bravest?"
"Well, the cat was more of a later addition. When we started agriculture, we started having to store large parts of grain. Bugs and other vermin would get into them. Cats just... went to where their food went to, and we thought it was useful to have cats around to hunt the vermin, so we kinda just let them stay. But still, it's a relationship of symbiosis. Without the cats, the grain would spoil, without the humans, there would be no grain to lure vermin."
"When you put it like that, it makes me wonder why other species *didn't* pick up on this survival advantage."
"Just the luck of the draw, I guess."
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“Oh fuck.”
To think this all started with fucking dogs I thought to myself as I dove behind a rock. I think I might be in over my head. When the Delphi hired me I was overflowing with confidence: “ Not a lifeform the Beastmasters can’t tame Gan! I assure you, I’ll have it here before you need it.” I never saw something like this. Even Johannes had never heard of anything like it.
Ga described it as something with a lot of limbs and dark as night. He had heard people on-planet speak of it only as the Khotxi, loosely translated as the shadowdeath, or shadowshriek, depending on who you ask. I could hear and feel it move over the rocky surface of the valley we were in. It was moving cautiously, definitly still looking for me. I throw some bait in an open area and watch it move towards it rapidly, its spiky legs drilling itself in the ground under it’s immense weight. I counted 18, but can’t be sure. I haven’t seen anything like it, it’s just all black. As I watch it, I seem to be getting pulled in by the dark void it has for a coat. I wish there was a word that for something sinister and majestic. I duck back down because I haven’t figured out how well it sees yet. I don’t know how it spotted me earlier. I wasn’t all that visible, I neutralised my smell, I barely made any noise on the mountainside and yet it still came barreling towards me.
I perch up and watch it, I think, stab the bait I threw with about eight of it’s paws, one after the other. I decide to move a bit to the right, but as soon as I take my first step, I hear those droning and alarmingly fast legs come barreling towards me again.
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[WP] Humans are the only species in the universe with pets. As humanity enters the ranks of the Galactic Empire humanity soon is known as "The Beastmasters", taming even the worst nightmares of alien bedtime stories.
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When humans first encountered the Fuzzies on Nimbus, the smelliest planet in the galaxy, they found the most adorable pet ever. The size of a large cat and resembling an Ewok, Fuzzies were cute and cuddly. They talked in a baby language. They loved to help out around the house.
Fuzzies were discovered during the Great Clearing, a period where humans destroyed the thick forests of Nimbus to terraform the planet and make it more habitable for humans. Unfortunately, it destroyed the native Fuzzies habitats in the process. That's how humans first encountered them.
Nimbus plants were combination insect-plants. Trees that every so often moved to another spot. Seeds that flew in flocks after falling from trees. Spiders that planted themselves after devouring their prey then grew into 8-petal spider flowers to complete the cycle. Unfortunately, the plants were so smelly it made the air completely unbearable. Nimbus stank.
To tame the environment, colonists cleared the thickets and created plantations for lucrative cash crops. Ironically, some of the plants made fantastic perfumes that were worth their weight in gold.
Fuzzies were found to have a strange link to the flora of Nimbus. They had the power to guide flying fruit right into their mouths. Humans learned about the singing plants from the Fuzzies after observing the Fuzzies call and response with the plants.
The fuzzies were great with children. Their intelligence was never really ever seen as a threat because they were so cute. Indeed, they loved their humans as much as humans loved their dogs. And the few dogs on Nimbus treated the fuzzies as their friends. It was a completely symbiotic relationship for all.
Children loved them too, but oddly, the humans on Nimbus weren't having many children. The fertility rate on Nimbus was the lowest in the Galaxy. It was only after 360 Degree Cyber Guildmaster Dr. Moses that the truth of Nimbus was revealed.
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“Oh fuck.”
To think this all started with fucking dogs I thought to myself as I dove behind a rock. I think I might be in over my head. When the Delphi hired me I was overflowing with confidence: “ Not a lifeform the Beastmasters can’t tame Gan! I assure you, I’ll have it here before you need it.” I never saw something like this. Even Johannes had never heard of anything like it.
Ga described it as something with a lot of limbs and dark as night. He had heard people on-planet speak of it only as the Khotxi, loosely translated as the shadowdeath, or shadowshriek, depending on who you ask. I could hear and feel it move over the rocky surface of the valley we were in. It was moving cautiously, definitly still looking for me. I throw some bait in an open area and watch it move towards it rapidly, its spiky legs drilling itself in the ground under it’s immense weight. I counted 18, but can’t be sure. I haven’t seen anything like it, it’s just all black. As I watch it, I seem to be getting pulled in by the dark void it has for a coat. I wish there was a word that for something sinister and majestic. I duck back down because I haven’t figured out how well it sees yet. I don’t know how it spotted me earlier. I wasn’t all that visible, I neutralised my smell, I barely made any noise on the mountainside and yet it still came barreling towards me.
I perch up and watch it, I think, stab the bait I threw with about eight of it’s paws, one after the other. I decide to move a bit to the right, but as soon as I take my first step, I hear those droning and alarmingly fast legs come barreling towards me again.
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[WP] Humans are the only species in the universe with pets. As humanity enters the ranks of the Galactic Empire humanity soon is known as "The Beastmasters", taming even the worst nightmares of alien bedtime stories.
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We didn't see him. Didn't hear him. With a flash, more than half of our group had disappeared. We knew this would happen. Anyone with a bounty accumulating over 1,000 credits eventually had a human set out after them.
We had just finished our 3rd heist this week, and were heading back to our base. We had a bounty of easily 90,000 credits among the 10 of us. We thought we were on top of the world. Then the human showed up.
Humans had been thought weak, unintelligent beings. Then they started taking the most fearsome beasts we had known. Niktha'aks, with their large wingspan and spiked, poisonous skin were thought to be monsters. Then the humans took over their planet, taming them by the thousands.
With their new beasts, humans became fearsome bounty hunters. They ventured out, claiming more and more planets teeming with dangerous animals. Even their florists grew extremely dangerous plants by the dozens.
We were no match for him. His Niktha'ak took out our group, gathering us in two large nets. The last thing I heard before losing conciousness was a simple call of affirmation from the human. He said proudly, "Good huntin', Buck. These guys'll pay our rent for the next year."
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“Oh fuck.”
To think this all started with fucking dogs I thought to myself as I dove behind a rock. I think I might be in over my head. When the Delphi hired me I was overflowing with confidence: “ Not a lifeform the Beastmasters can’t tame Gan! I assure you, I’ll have it here before you need it.” I never saw something like this. Even Johannes had never heard of anything like it.
Ga described it as something with a lot of limbs and dark as night. He had heard people on-planet speak of it only as the Khotxi, loosely translated as the shadowdeath, or shadowshriek, depending on who you ask. I could hear and feel it move over the rocky surface of the valley we were in. It was moving cautiously, definitly still looking for me. I throw some bait in an open area and watch it move towards it rapidly, its spiky legs drilling itself in the ground under it’s immense weight. I counted 18, but can’t be sure. I haven’t seen anything like it, it’s just all black. As I watch it, I seem to be getting pulled in by the dark void it has for a coat. I wish there was a word that for something sinister and majestic. I duck back down because I haven’t figured out how well it sees yet. I don’t know how it spotted me earlier. I wasn’t all that visible, I neutralised my smell, I barely made any noise on the mountainside and yet it still came barreling towards me.
I perch up and watch it, I think, stab the bait I threw with about eight of it’s paws, one after the other. I decide to move a bit to the right, but as soon as I take my first step, I hear those droning and alarmingly fast legs come barreling towards me again.
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[WP] Humans are the only species in the universe with pets. As humanity enters the ranks of the Galactic Empire humanity soon is known as "The Beastmasters", taming even the worst nightmares of alien bedtime stories.
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"The dumb bastards still think we've got telepathy. Tell psy-ops they're doing great, and leak some of these briefs to the men. They'll love it."
"Commander, we've just gotten our next target. Class 3 planet, almost Earth-like. The Squids are dug in pretty hard, and they're having trouble with the local fauna, as usual."
"What's the official analysis on them? Are those canine teeth?"
"Yes, sir. When you get past the chitin layer, we're seeing characteristics of an omnivore that leans towards the carnivorous side of things. We have a... Beastmaster Unit... Ready to deploy planetside."
"What's the problem, Lieutenant?"
"Are psy-ops insisting on the name? I mean, it's fucking Frank and a bunch of his buddies with a couple buckets of chum!"
"Language, Lieutenant. We're playing into what the aliens fear about us. If they intercept comms, 'Beastmaster Unit' sounds far more intimidating than 'scoop up the leftovers and get the rookies down there.'"
"I guess. It's just a little strange."
"What's strange is that the enemy never thinks of feeding the wildlife."
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“Oh fuck.”
To think this all started with fucking dogs I thought to myself as I dove behind a rock. I think I might be in over my head. When the Delphi hired me I was overflowing with confidence: “ Not a lifeform the Beastmasters can’t tame Gan! I assure you, I’ll have it here before you need it.” I never saw something like this. Even Johannes had never heard of anything like it.
Ga described it as something with a lot of limbs and dark as night. He had heard people on-planet speak of it only as the Khotxi, loosely translated as the shadowdeath, or shadowshriek, depending on who you ask. I could hear and feel it move over the rocky surface of the valley we were in. It was moving cautiously, definitly still looking for me. I throw some bait in an open area and watch it move towards it rapidly, its spiky legs drilling itself in the ground under it’s immense weight. I counted 18, but can’t be sure. I haven’t seen anything like it, it’s just all black. As I watch it, I seem to be getting pulled in by the dark void it has for a coat. I wish there was a word that for something sinister and majestic. I duck back down because I haven’t figured out how well it sees yet. I don’t know how it spotted me earlier. I wasn’t all that visible, I neutralised my smell, I barely made any noise on the mountainside and yet it still came barreling towards me.
I perch up and watch it, I think, stab the bait I threw with about eight of it’s paws, one after the other. I decide to move a bit to the right, but as soon as I take my first step, I hear those droning and alarmingly fast legs come barreling towards me again.
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[WP] Humans are the only species in the universe with pets. As humanity enters the ranks of the Galactic Empire humanity soon is known as "The Beastmasters", taming even the worst nightmares of alien bedtime stories.
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"Daddy, daddy. I'm scared," my daughter called as I entered her room to put her to bed. Her little face looked up to me from behind the covers. She was shaking.
"What is it, sweetie? Are the monsters bothering you again?" I stopped by the door, turned on the lights, and sat on the bed by her side, She nodded. Her four little hands pulled her blanket closer around her head, now hiding her mouths as well.
"Have you been good, Jernima?" I looked in her large round eye, her irises fluttering as she considered her answer.
"I don't know! I try to be good. But, yesterday, I took Medina's cookie, when she wasn't looking. It was made of Deemee cream, and had nuts, and it had Grabder Honey on it. I'm so sorry daddy! The Comrohisser is coming for me! I have been bad and it will eat me!" Tears welled in her eye. She turned to her left, away from me, and started wailing softly.
"Honey, honey, I'm here and I won't let anyone hurt you. Monsters don't care about cookies. No monster will come. I am here and you are safe."
"No! Medinal told me it will come for me. It will eat me with its big teeth and it will also," she stopped mid-breath, gulping, tears dripping down her cheeks, "it will also eat you! She said it will!"
"You are safe honey, no monster will come for you, and no monster can eat me."
No matter what I said, she kept on crying. I picked her up and rocked her in my arms, making shushing sounds and repeating, "it will be okay, hon," like a mantra.
"Sweetie, if you were good, the human will come and protect you. There are no more bad monsters. All the monsters are good now. They protect us."
"The monsters are good?" She asked softly, looking to me.
"Well, they may have been bad at the beginning, but yes, the humans tamed them. The monsters protect us from bigger monsters, now."
I saw where I went wrong as the words were leaving my mouth. Darn.
"BIGGER MONSTERS?" She screeched. "BIGGER MONSTERS ARE COMING FOR MY EYE! They will eat you. And they will eat my eye. And then they will eat-"
"Shh hon, they can't come for you. The Human will protect us." I assured her. "Have I told you the story of The Human and the King Monster?"
"No," she sniffed, relaxing in my arms. I put her back on the bed where she immediately settled on all sixes in her story listening position.
"There once was a King Monster who wanted to eat all the children. One day, the children all ran into the forest where it lived-"
"Why would they run into the forest!" She half asked, half declared.
"Because it was a school trip, honey." She weighed this new information heavily and nodded again, giving me permission to continue with the story. I was pleased the mandatory critical thinking training was working, even if it made my job a little harder.
"The King Monster was very happy, as it could now go and eat all the children.
"At night, when the children were all asleep, it came for them. Only, The Human waited for it, and stood in its way.
"You shall not touch these children, The Human said. They have been good, and are under my protection.
"Three times they fought. The King Monster scratched, and bit, and even screamed, but could not overcome The Human.
"What shall I do, if I can't eat children? The Monster King asked.
"I will protect you, and feed you, and care for you. You have nothing to fear, said The Human.
The monster came in closer. "Like you do for the children?
"Monsters were children once too, and I protect all the children.
"The Human reached out with his hand, and together the monster king went home with The Human.
"From that day forth, monsters have been helping The Human and stopping all other monsters from ever hurting children. The end."
By the time I was done, my little Jernima was already asleep. I covered her up to her eye, closed the lights and the door behind me. My wife waited outside.
"I told her of The Human, hon. I broke my word."
"Hon, it's just a story. It made me feel safe as a kid. It made you feel safe, as well. There's nothing wrong with it."
"It's human propaganda. They used their fake news expertise and played the long game. Fairy tales were the most successful of their strategies, but they used and associated weaponized story-based collateral. For centuries. they weaseled their way into our trust. It's how we were so unprepared when they finally attacked."
"I understand honey, but they are gone now, and the story is part of our culture." My wife walked closer and leaned against me, taking my hand.
"Isn't the truth more important? Shouldn't our culture be based on the truth?" I countered.
"They came with their biggest weapon, stories, and made our children feel safe for generations. When they were the King Monster, and they were destroyed. The story is true enough."
"That's one way to look at it," I countered, feeling gloomy.
"And now, our child is asleep. Let The Human keep her safe. I'd say that's the only role left in our society for these creatures. They may have invented the monsters, but they also introduced us to stories."
She took my hand and led me back to our bedroom. I turned off the lights. I was an adult and knew there were no monsters under my bed. I did envy my little girl though, for she could believe in The Human.
\--
If you enjoyed my story, please join /r/posthocethics to see when I post again.
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“Oh fuck.”
To think this all started with fucking dogs I thought to myself as I dove behind a rock. I think I might be in over my head. When the Delphi hired me I was overflowing with confidence: “ Not a lifeform the Beastmasters can’t tame Gan! I assure you, I’ll have it here before you need it.” I never saw something like this. Even Johannes had never heard of anything like it.
Ga described it as something with a lot of limbs and dark as night. He had heard people on-planet speak of it only as the Khotxi, loosely translated as the shadowdeath, or shadowshriek, depending on who you ask. I could hear and feel it move over the rocky surface of the valley we were in. It was moving cautiously, definitly still looking for me. I throw some bait in an open area and watch it move towards it rapidly, its spiky legs drilling itself in the ground under it’s immense weight. I counted 18, but can’t be sure. I haven’t seen anything like it, it’s just all black. As I watch it, I seem to be getting pulled in by the dark void it has for a coat. I wish there was a word that for something sinister and majestic. I duck back down because I haven’t figured out how well it sees yet. I don’t know how it spotted me earlier. I wasn’t all that visible, I neutralised my smell, I barely made any noise on the mountainside and yet it still came barreling towards me.
I perch up and watch it, I think, stab the bait I threw with about eight of it’s paws, one after the other. I decide to move a bit to the right, but as soon as I take my first step, I hear those droning and alarmingly fast legs come barreling towards me again.
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[WP] Humans are the only species in the universe with pets. As humanity enters the ranks of the Galactic Empire humanity soon is known as "The Beastmasters", taming even the worst nightmares of alien bedtime stories.
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The Galactic Empire. Or shall we say the Galactic Bestiary? Of the 3582 known sapient species savvy enough to have developed FTL capacities - and the old laws prohibiting contact before that are still in effect with no signs of that changing anytime soon - 3413 have evolved from pure predators. The rest consists of insectoid and fungoid hive minds who have no concept of individuality or interaction, robotic caretaker entities who refuse to make any comment whatsoever on what their creator-clients biological nature might (have) be(en), eternally paranoid herd animals - discovering the nature of the predominant evolutionary path in this galaxy probably didn't exactly help with that, eons of experience with stampeding down domestic predators or not - many of whom have migrated for so long that they aren't even entirely sure any more from which planet they started, assorted other herbivores and a couple of dozen omnivore species who tend to turn out very, very much so. Some are capable of subsiding on stones, if pressed. Most became dominant by simply not leaving enough on nature's table for any serious competition to survive in numbers. But what there isn't in the entire Empire is another species like humanity that treated symbiotic relationships with other species as more than a juvenile phase they had outgrown millennia ago. Most spacefaring species develop ecology and atmosphere manipulation technologies at some point, some more brute force, some more elegant to make some rocks in the neighborhood a little more cozy and of course that involves the transfer of desirable domestic species to new homes too. Afterthoughts, necessities or somewhat unpleasantly: the need for prey for ceremonial hunts. Requiring other species for psychological well-being though? Only humans.
The color of the sky they find themselves under, the composition of the ground they walk on and the atmospheres they breathe may differ, but where there are humans, there are their companions. It lives, humans will turn it into pets, will form connections across species boundaries. Even with plants. But also with the fiercest of predators. And so, when humanity hit the scene, it didn't take long for us to weave nets of diplomacy that quickly surpassed everything the galaxy had ever seen. Whoever it was we came into contact with, there was no shortage of people who had long formed a deeper understanding of how creatures on that evolutionary arc worked internally. There also was no shortage of people who had pets that were somewhat relatable to new contacts or at the very least made us look more trustworthy. Simply doesn't look threatening, when the strange beings that arrived in your system turn out to lovingly take care of what looks like some distant relative. And of course, we were no threat, were we? Just another newcomer, some upstart looking for trading opportunities. Indeed. And often we took new pets as payments.
Another step on the long ladder to the stars for most species is to dabble in genetics. For most it is necessary to adjust their biology somewhat, FTL isn't exactly a gentle ride. It was the same for us and so we tweaked a gene here and there. But not only ours, since we couldn't stand the thought of facing the void without something warm and furry to pet and cuddle. At the time it was seen as the easiest way to protect the mental health of early star travelers and so cats and dogs and parrots and fish and ferrets and horses and... well, you get it, we left hardly a genome untouched. By the time our trade networks resulted in an explosion of pet species we were already very good at it and we only got better.
There was nothing to stop us from adjusting some other things too, while we were at it anyway. All those species are hardwired to trust and love humans, of course, and where possible had their general usefulness increased too. Genetically tailored animal products, supreme pest control, mining, you name it. With a good part of an entire galaxy's gene pool at your disposal you can do some nifty stuff. Stuff other species never even thought about. Stuff other species never got the chance to think about, because there were natural limits to whose trust they could gain. Nobody could collect critters across the galaxy like we do.
Humanity became a provider of living tools essential to any modern galactic civilization, our nickname became our trademark - Beastmasters. Our lovely little pet products are everywhere and we make sure they're well taken care off. By and large it works, reports of cruelty towards pets are rare.
But not entirely unheard of. How could it really, in a galaxy so full of predatory species? There's always the occasional miscreant who can't resist the urge to find out how a Diamond-Blue Cerulean Rock-Squirrel tastes. We love our pets, but we are not unreasonable. No species can be expected to act entirely against their nature. That would be cruel in itself too, wouldn't it? There is a fine and the obligation to punish the crime and then we won't talk about it no more. Again, by and large it works, nobody wants to face a beastmaster boycott. Their economies would simply suffer too much.
And we wouldn't want transgressor punished too hard. To the contrary, we want them to live successful lives. Fulfilled lives with lots of children or whatever they call their offspring. Remember how all beastmaster produced species are hardwired to love and trust humans? Yeah... it's some pretty aggressive coding. If you eat our pets, we can't be sure you wouldn't eat one of us, if the opportunity presented itself. Let's call it preemptive defense. You need to learn to love and trust humans. These modifications work differently, when sapient species ingest them. Activated by exposure to digestive tracts they also increase procreative drive by several magnitudes. Any offspring will carry the modified genes - and so of course out-breed unmodified members of the species - and absolutely adore humans.
We are the beastmasters. And soon we will be the masters of all the beasts in the galaxy. All 3413 of them. Just give it a couple more generations. It's not like we could act against our nature. Same as everybody else in that regard. Taming wild and sometimes dangerous animals is what we do.
​
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I found the basic idea somewhat obvious, but too lazy to actually write more than just this prelude.
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“Oh fuck.”
To think this all started with fucking dogs I thought to myself as I dove behind a rock. I think I might be in over my head. When the Delphi hired me I was overflowing with confidence: “ Not a lifeform the Beastmasters can’t tame Gan! I assure you, I’ll have it here before you need it.” I never saw something like this. Even Johannes had never heard of anything like it.
Ga described it as something with a lot of limbs and dark as night. He had heard people on-planet speak of it only as the Khotxi, loosely translated as the shadowdeath, or shadowshriek, depending on who you ask. I could hear and feel it move over the rocky surface of the valley we were in. It was moving cautiously, definitly still looking for me. I throw some bait in an open area and watch it move towards it rapidly, its spiky legs drilling itself in the ground under it’s immense weight. I counted 18, but can’t be sure. I haven’t seen anything like it, it’s just all black. As I watch it, I seem to be getting pulled in by the dark void it has for a coat. I wish there was a word that for something sinister and majestic. I duck back down because I haven’t figured out how well it sees yet. I don’t know how it spotted me earlier. I wasn’t all that visible, I neutralised my smell, I barely made any noise on the mountainside and yet it still came barreling towards me.
I perch up and watch it, I think, stab the bait I threw with about eight of it’s paws, one after the other. I decide to move a bit to the right, but as soon as I take my first step, I hear those droning and alarmingly fast legs come barreling towards me again.
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[WP] Humans are the only species in the universe with pets. As humanity enters the ranks of the Galactic Empire humanity soon is known as "The Beastmasters", taming even the worst nightmares of alien bedtime stories.
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It was an awkward existence for any of us traveling outside the colonies. Wherever we went, we were met with equal parts fear and reverence.
The funny part was that in order to deal with the arms length, sorry that was insensitive, appendage length, that other species kept from humans, we often traveled with a pet, the source of the mixed feelings.
Mine is a fluffy ball of fur who mostly did her own thing. Cats are like that. I could always count on her to hop up beside me in our cabin for a bit of petting every night though.
This morning the other diplomats almost bowed down to Stuffy when they saw how I treated her. All I did was put a bowl down and use my Resource and Food Identification Chip to get her some bite to eat. They all thought it was a ritual.
Like she needs her ego stroked like that.
I don't think I'll ever get used to it. They call us Beastmasters since we're the only ones who ever tamed wild animals, no matter how terrifying. At least they understand that skill comes from a place of empathy, not hate.
But goddmaned if it's not a lot of pressure to become the peace negotiators of the galaxy because of it.
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“Oh fuck.”
To think this all started with fucking dogs I thought to myself as I dove behind a rock. I think I might be in over my head. When the Delphi hired me I was overflowing with confidence: “ Not a lifeform the Beastmasters can’t tame Gan! I assure you, I’ll have it here before you need it.” I never saw something like this. Even Johannes had never heard of anything like it.
Ga described it as something with a lot of limbs and dark as night. He had heard people on-planet speak of it only as the Khotxi, loosely translated as the shadowdeath, or shadowshriek, depending on who you ask. I could hear and feel it move over the rocky surface of the valley we were in. It was moving cautiously, definitly still looking for me. I throw some bait in an open area and watch it move towards it rapidly, its spiky legs drilling itself in the ground under it’s immense weight. I counted 18, but can’t be sure. I haven’t seen anything like it, it’s just all black. As I watch it, I seem to be getting pulled in by the dark void it has for a coat. I wish there was a word that for something sinister and majestic. I duck back down because I haven’t figured out how well it sees yet. I don’t know how it spotted me earlier. I wasn’t all that visible, I neutralised my smell, I barely made any noise on the mountainside and yet it still came barreling towards me.
I perch up and watch it, I think, stab the bait I threw with about eight of it’s paws, one after the other. I decide to move a bit to the right, but as soon as I take my first step, I hear those droning and alarmingly fast legs come barreling towards me again.
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[WP] Humans are the only species in the universe with pets. As humanity enters the ranks of the Galactic Empire humanity soon is known as "The Beastmasters", taming even the worst nightmares of alien bedtime stories.
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"Its WRONG! What those humans do! WRONG! And now they're even using it to control the galactic Senate!"
"Look you know the rules. Once a species has been inducted into the council it retains a vote, no matter what, until extinction."
"Extinction! Pah! That would be better than what the humans do to their defeated enemies! Look at what's become of the Vasudans! They used to be the galaxies most feared warriors! Now look at what they've become!"
"I've talked to Vasudans and they say they're happy with how they are now"
"THAT JUST MAKES IT WORSE! 'domestication' the humans call it. Say they've been doing it on their home world to organisms ever since they evolved! They don't just kill their enemies like a civilised species! No! They 'domesticate' them! Change their very genetics to make them love humans! Now the human representative has dozen 'pets' fawning over her at every senate session! The Krell senator wears a collar and begs her for ear rubs before every vote!"
"Unfortunately the humans do now control 42% of the Senate votes through their "pets" so they have enough votes to block any motion to reduce their power."
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“Oh fuck.”
To think this all started with fucking dogs I thought to myself as I dove behind a rock. I think I might be in over my head. When the Delphi hired me I was overflowing with confidence: “ Not a lifeform the Beastmasters can’t tame Gan! I assure you, I’ll have it here before you need it.” I never saw something like this. Even Johannes had never heard of anything like it.
Ga described it as something with a lot of limbs and dark as night. He had heard people on-planet speak of it only as the Khotxi, loosely translated as the shadowdeath, or shadowshriek, depending on who you ask. I could hear and feel it move over the rocky surface of the valley we were in. It was moving cautiously, definitly still looking for me. I throw some bait in an open area and watch it move towards it rapidly, its spiky legs drilling itself in the ground under it’s immense weight. I counted 18, but can’t be sure. I haven’t seen anything like it, it’s just all black. As I watch it, I seem to be getting pulled in by the dark void it has for a coat. I wish there was a word that for something sinister and majestic. I duck back down because I haven’t figured out how well it sees yet. I don’t know how it spotted me earlier. I wasn’t all that visible, I neutralised my smell, I barely made any noise on the mountainside and yet it still came barreling towards me.
I perch up and watch it, I think, stab the bait I threw with about eight of it’s paws, one after the other. I decide to move a bit to the right, but as soon as I take my first step, I hear those droning and alarmingly fast legs come barreling towards me again.
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[WP] Humans are the only species in the universe with pets. As humanity enters the ranks of the Galactic Empire humanity soon is known as "The Beastmasters", taming even the worst nightmares of alien bedtime stories.
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"No, no," that's where everybody gets the story wrong, said Hugo, my erstwhile human companion said as we boarded the cruiser. It's not that humans tamed wolves. Humans found the wolves that could be tamed.
"I'm failing to see the distinction."
Well, most other species in the universe became the dominant species either by natural selection's survival advantages OR by being smart enough to create tools -- which you could say is another natural selection survival advantage, but I digress. Point is, that was us as well, but we *took advantage of other species survival advantages.*
*"How so?"*
"Well," Hugo explained, "Those wolves. Vicious, deadly in packs. But clever. They knew that the advantage lay in numbers. A pack of wolves could take down a human traveling alone, humans, as a group, however, could handle any wolf-pack. To wolves, humans were dangerous, and when on the defensive, had fire, sharp tools, shields, and wore the hides of much tougher animals to protect them. Only the bravest or most foolish wolf would dare go close to where humans had settled in groups."
"So, the humans had to hunt down and capture the wolves?," I asked.
"No! As I said. The bravest and most foolish wolves came to us! And they were rewarded! If you're a wolf, you are subject to the whims of nature. Not just bears, but surviving the winter when food has become scarce. But... what the brave and foolish discovered was that if you didn't attack the humans... if you acted like the humans wanted you to act -- then you could feed from our scraps pretty much year round. It's an excellent survival strategy, and the wolves who were brave or foolish enough to approach the humans were able to have more children, whose brave and foolish traits were passed on to the next generation. And if you had some special trait that helped the humans in the area, the humans would go out of the way to make sure that you had a chance to breed. If you like to pull, and you're in a snowy region, congratulations, your descendants will become huskies. If you aren't scared by loud noises and can retrieve waterfowl, congratulations, you are the progenitor of the poodle. So the relationship became symbiotic - without dogs, hunts would not be as effective, without humans, food would not be as regular."
"So all the animals were like this? You befriended the bravest?"
"Well, the cat was more of a later addition. When we started agriculture, we started having to store large parts of grain. Bugs and other vermin would get into them. Cats just... went to where their food went to, and we thought it was useful to have cats around to hunt the vermin, so we kinda just let them stay. But still, it's a relationship of symbiosis. Without the cats, the grain would spoil, without the humans, there would be no grain to lure vermin."
"When you put it like that, it makes me wonder why other species *didn't* pick up on this survival advantage."
"Just the luck of the draw, I guess."
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"Watch out!"
"Get behind me!"
"Daddy!"
The three Xolorphins cowered in the corner as the fierce monster, growling with its glowing eyes and huge teeth turned towards them. Zephin tried to shield his mate and child with his tail, holding out his claws as the huge monster, easily three times his own size, bore down on them. The monster's armor-like fur protected it from all attacks and Zephin knew that his little family was doomed. That they would all die, all end up dinner for this creature.
"FLUFFY!" called a voice.
The monster turned its head, ears pricking the direction of the call. Zephin held his breath, hoping the monster had forgotten them. Could it be?
"FLUFFY! HERE BOY!" The monster turned and loped off. Under its massive body Zephin caught a glimpse of the being calling the monster. A frail, fragile being with two skinny arms and legs that didn't look strong enough to hold up its own weight. Even more importantly, the being was only about the size of his child. There was no way the being could control the monster.
The monster loped towards the being and Zephin closed his eyes, not wanting to see the being die and waiting for the painful screams of death.
"Are you a good boy? Are you? Good boy, Fluffy!" Zephin opened his eyes and stared in horror at the monster--rolling over onto its back while its tongue lolled out of its mouth and the being rubbed its neck, fearlessly.
"This is why we need a leash." Another, older being came into view and Zephin stared as the older being glared at the monster--who *cowered*. The monster rolled back over, whined, and tucked its tail between its legs.
"Mom!" The little being stood between the adult and the monster. "Be *nice*!"
The mother muttered something before calling out, "Sorry about your house! We'll send someone to fix it later!" The three of them walked off.
"What--what was that?" asked Zephin's mate.
"I think--I think those were humans," he replied, stumbling over the unfamiliar name. He couldn't believe what he'd just seen.
He'd heard about this; they all had. How humans had the bizarre ability to get almost anything to define them as "parents," as "family." He'd thought it was just rumors though, rumors spread to make the weak creatures seem more dangerous than they were. A protection mechanism.
Instead, it was nothing less than the truth.
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[WP] Humans are the only species in the universe with pets. As humanity enters the ranks of the Galactic Empire humanity soon is known as "The Beastmasters", taming even the worst nightmares of alien bedtime stories.
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"The dumb bastards still think we've got telepathy. Tell psy-ops they're doing great, and leak some of these briefs to the men. They'll love it."
"Commander, we've just gotten our next target. Class 3 planet, almost Earth-like. The Squids are dug in pretty hard, and they're having trouble with the local fauna, as usual."
"What's the official analysis on them? Are those canine teeth?"
"Yes, sir. When you get past the chitin layer, we're seeing characteristics of an omnivore that leans towards the carnivorous side of things. We have a... Beastmaster Unit... Ready to deploy planetside."
"What's the problem, Lieutenant?"
"Are psy-ops insisting on the name? I mean, it's fucking Frank and a bunch of his buddies with a couple buckets of chum!"
"Language, Lieutenant. We're playing into what the aliens fear about us. If they intercept comms, 'Beastmaster Unit' sounds far more intimidating than 'scoop up the leftovers and get the rookies down there.'"
"I guess. It's just a little strange."
"What's strange is that the enemy never thinks of feeding the wildlife."
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When humans first encountered the Fuzzies on Nimbus, the smelliest planet in the galaxy, they found the most adorable pet ever. The size of a large cat and resembling an Ewok, Fuzzies were cute and cuddly. They talked in a baby language. They loved to help out around the house.
Fuzzies were discovered during the Great Clearing, a period where humans destroyed the thick forests of Nimbus to terraform the planet and make it more habitable for humans. Unfortunately, it destroyed the native Fuzzies habitats in the process. That's how humans first encountered them.
Nimbus plants were combination insect-plants. Trees that every so often moved to another spot. Seeds that flew in flocks after falling from trees. Spiders that planted themselves after devouring their prey then grew into 8-petal spider flowers to complete the cycle. Unfortunately, the plants were so smelly it made the air completely unbearable. Nimbus stank.
To tame the environment, colonists cleared the thickets and created plantations for lucrative cash crops. Ironically, some of the plants made fantastic perfumes that were worth their weight in gold.
Fuzzies were found to have a strange link to the flora of Nimbus. They had the power to guide flying fruit right into their mouths. Humans learned about the singing plants from the Fuzzies after observing the Fuzzies call and response with the plants.
The fuzzies were great with children. Their intelligence was never really ever seen as a threat because they were so cute. Indeed, they loved their humans as much as humans loved their dogs. And the few dogs on Nimbus treated the fuzzies as their friends. It was a completely symbiotic relationship for all.
Children loved them too, but oddly, the humans on Nimbus weren't having many children. The fertility rate on Nimbus was the lowest in the Galaxy. It was only after 360 Degree Cyber Guildmaster Dr. Moses that the truth of Nimbus was revealed.
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[WP] Humans are the only species in the universe with pets. As humanity enters the ranks of the Galactic Empire humanity soon is known as "The Beastmasters", taming even the worst nightmares of alien bedtime stories.
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The Galactic Empire. Or shall we say the Galactic Bestiary? Of the 3582 known sapient species savvy enough to have developed FTL capacities - and the old laws prohibiting contact before that are still in effect with no signs of that changing anytime soon - 3413 have evolved from pure predators. The rest consists of insectoid and fungoid hive minds who have no concept of individuality or interaction, robotic caretaker entities who refuse to make any comment whatsoever on what their creator-clients biological nature might (have) be(en), eternally paranoid herd animals - discovering the nature of the predominant evolutionary path in this galaxy probably didn't exactly help with that, eons of experience with stampeding down domestic predators or not - many of whom have migrated for so long that they aren't even entirely sure any more from which planet they started, assorted other herbivores and a couple of dozen omnivore species who tend to turn out very, very much so. Some are capable of subsiding on stones, if pressed. Most became dominant by simply not leaving enough on nature's table for any serious competition to survive in numbers. But what there isn't in the entire Empire is another species like humanity that treated symbiotic relationships with other species as more than a juvenile phase they had outgrown millennia ago. Most spacefaring species develop ecology and atmosphere manipulation technologies at some point, some more brute force, some more elegant to make some rocks in the neighborhood a little more cozy and of course that involves the transfer of desirable domestic species to new homes too. Afterthoughts, necessities or somewhat unpleasantly: the need for prey for ceremonial hunts. Requiring other species for psychological well-being though? Only humans.
The color of the sky they find themselves under, the composition of the ground they walk on and the atmospheres they breathe may differ, but where there are humans, there are their companions. It lives, humans will turn it into pets, will form connections across species boundaries. Even with plants. But also with the fiercest of predators. And so, when humanity hit the scene, it didn't take long for us to weave nets of diplomacy that quickly surpassed everything the galaxy had ever seen. Whoever it was we came into contact with, there was no shortage of people who had long formed a deeper understanding of how creatures on that evolutionary arc worked internally. There also was no shortage of people who had pets that were somewhat relatable to new contacts or at the very least made us look more trustworthy. Simply doesn't look threatening, when the strange beings that arrived in your system turn out to lovingly take care of what looks like some distant relative. And of course, we were no threat, were we? Just another newcomer, some upstart looking for trading opportunities. Indeed. And often we took new pets as payments.
Another step on the long ladder to the stars for most species is to dabble in genetics. For most it is necessary to adjust their biology somewhat, FTL isn't exactly a gentle ride. It was the same for us and so we tweaked a gene here and there. But not only ours, since we couldn't stand the thought of facing the void without something warm and furry to pet and cuddle. At the time it was seen as the easiest way to protect the mental health of early star travelers and so cats and dogs and parrots and fish and ferrets and horses and... well, you get it, we left hardly a genome untouched. By the time our trade networks resulted in an explosion of pet species we were already very good at it and we only got better.
There was nothing to stop us from adjusting some other things too, while we were at it anyway. All those species are hardwired to trust and love humans, of course, and where possible had their general usefulness increased too. Genetically tailored animal products, supreme pest control, mining, you name it. With a good part of an entire galaxy's gene pool at your disposal you can do some nifty stuff. Stuff other species never even thought about. Stuff other species never got the chance to think about, because there were natural limits to whose trust they could gain. Nobody could collect critters across the galaxy like we do.
Humanity became a provider of living tools essential to any modern galactic civilization, our nickname became our trademark - Beastmasters. Our lovely little pet products are everywhere and we make sure they're well taken care off. By and large it works, reports of cruelty towards pets are rare.
But not entirely unheard of. How could it really, in a galaxy so full of predatory species? There's always the occasional miscreant who can't resist the urge to find out how a Diamond-Blue Cerulean Rock-Squirrel tastes. We love our pets, but we are not unreasonable. No species can be expected to act entirely against their nature. That would be cruel in itself too, wouldn't it? There is a fine and the obligation to punish the crime and then we won't talk about it no more. Again, by and large it works, nobody wants to face a beastmaster boycott. Their economies would simply suffer too much.
And we wouldn't want transgressor punished too hard. To the contrary, we want them to live successful lives. Fulfilled lives with lots of children or whatever they call their offspring. Remember how all beastmaster produced species are hardwired to love and trust humans? Yeah... it's some pretty aggressive coding. If you eat our pets, we can't be sure you wouldn't eat one of us, if the opportunity presented itself. Let's call it preemptive defense. You need to learn to love and trust humans. These modifications work differently, when sapient species ingest them. Activated by exposure to digestive tracts they also increase procreative drive by several magnitudes. Any offspring will carry the modified genes - and so of course out-breed unmodified members of the species - and absolutely adore humans.
We are the beastmasters. And soon we will be the masters of all the beasts in the galaxy. All 3413 of them. Just give it a couple more generations. It's not like we could act against our nature. Same as everybody else in that regard. Taming wild and sometimes dangerous animals is what we do.
​
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I found the basic idea somewhat obvious, but too lazy to actually write more than just this prelude.
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When humans first encountered the Fuzzies on Nimbus, the smelliest planet in the galaxy, they found the most adorable pet ever. The size of a large cat and resembling an Ewok, Fuzzies were cute and cuddly. They talked in a baby language. They loved to help out around the house.
Fuzzies were discovered during the Great Clearing, a period where humans destroyed the thick forests of Nimbus to terraform the planet and make it more habitable for humans. Unfortunately, it destroyed the native Fuzzies habitats in the process. That's how humans first encountered them.
Nimbus plants were combination insect-plants. Trees that every so often moved to another spot. Seeds that flew in flocks after falling from trees. Spiders that planted themselves after devouring their prey then grew into 8-petal spider flowers to complete the cycle. Unfortunately, the plants were so smelly it made the air completely unbearable. Nimbus stank.
To tame the environment, colonists cleared the thickets and created plantations for lucrative cash crops. Ironically, some of the plants made fantastic perfumes that were worth their weight in gold.
Fuzzies were found to have a strange link to the flora of Nimbus. They had the power to guide flying fruit right into their mouths. Humans learned about the singing plants from the Fuzzies after observing the Fuzzies call and response with the plants.
The fuzzies were great with children. Their intelligence was never really ever seen as a threat because they were so cute. Indeed, they loved their humans as much as humans loved their dogs. And the few dogs on Nimbus treated the fuzzies as their friends. It was a completely symbiotic relationship for all.
Children loved them too, but oddly, the humans on Nimbus weren't having many children. The fertility rate on Nimbus was the lowest in the Galaxy. It was only after 360 Degree Cyber Guildmaster Dr. Moses that the truth of Nimbus was revealed.
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[WP] Humans are the only species in the universe with pets. As humanity enters the ranks of the Galactic Empire humanity soon is known as "The Beastmasters", taming even the worst nightmares of alien bedtime stories.
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It was an awkward existence for any of us traveling outside the colonies. Wherever we went, we were met with equal parts fear and reverence.
The funny part was that in order to deal with the arms length, sorry that was insensitive, appendage length, that other species kept from humans, we often traveled with a pet, the source of the mixed feelings.
Mine is a fluffy ball of fur who mostly did her own thing. Cats are like that. I could always count on her to hop up beside me in our cabin for a bit of petting every night though.
This morning the other diplomats almost bowed down to Stuffy when they saw how I treated her. All I did was put a bowl down and use my Resource and Food Identification Chip to get her some bite to eat. They all thought it was a ritual.
Like she needs her ego stroked like that.
I don't think I'll ever get used to it. They call us Beastmasters since we're the only ones who ever tamed wild animals, no matter how terrifying. At least they understand that skill comes from a place of empathy, not hate.
But goddmaned if it's not a lot of pressure to become the peace negotiators of the galaxy because of it.
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When humans first encountered the Fuzzies on Nimbus, the smelliest planet in the galaxy, they found the most adorable pet ever. The size of a large cat and resembling an Ewok, Fuzzies were cute and cuddly. They talked in a baby language. They loved to help out around the house.
Fuzzies were discovered during the Great Clearing, a period where humans destroyed the thick forests of Nimbus to terraform the planet and make it more habitable for humans. Unfortunately, it destroyed the native Fuzzies habitats in the process. That's how humans first encountered them.
Nimbus plants were combination insect-plants. Trees that every so often moved to another spot. Seeds that flew in flocks after falling from trees. Spiders that planted themselves after devouring their prey then grew into 8-petal spider flowers to complete the cycle. Unfortunately, the plants were so smelly it made the air completely unbearable. Nimbus stank.
To tame the environment, colonists cleared the thickets and created plantations for lucrative cash crops. Ironically, some of the plants made fantastic perfumes that were worth their weight in gold.
Fuzzies were found to have a strange link to the flora of Nimbus. They had the power to guide flying fruit right into their mouths. Humans learned about the singing plants from the Fuzzies after observing the Fuzzies call and response with the plants.
The fuzzies were great with children. Their intelligence was never really ever seen as a threat because they were so cute. Indeed, they loved their humans as much as humans loved their dogs. And the few dogs on Nimbus treated the fuzzies as their friends. It was a completely symbiotic relationship for all.
Children loved them too, but oddly, the humans on Nimbus weren't having many children. The fertility rate on Nimbus was the lowest in the Galaxy. It was only after 360 Degree Cyber Guildmaster Dr. Moses that the truth of Nimbus was revealed.
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[WP] Humans are the only species in the universe with pets. As humanity enters the ranks of the Galactic Empire humanity soon is known as "The Beastmasters", taming even the worst nightmares of alien bedtime stories.
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######[](#dropcap)
It's spawn are rampant all across the planet, split into multiple variants for each biome and condition.
They range from being as small enough to carry to the size of a medium humanoid, capable of downing the mightiest of us.
Even the bravest among us wouldn't dare to challenge them, but even the smaller ones take advantage of another tactic: packs.
Just like any other beast, what they lack in size and strength, they make up for in numbers, number who can think not in swarms but how to corner, how to chase, and how to kill.
But, it's not the tactics, it's not their numbers, no, it's their genetics. Kill one of a kind? They are genetically compatible with each other. Just mix one with another and its progeny will continue to plague us all.
We called it the Canis lupus familiaris, but the humans call them, dogs.
We don't know what or how humans domesticated these beasts, but one thing is certain: If they conquered such a species, who is next?
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"Serrated Grotnids, of Phantel IV, are a most fearsome of creature. Phantellians have cowered at the mere thought of such a beast for generations - the very word for scared in Phantellian translates roughly to "they who hears the Grotnid".
It's not hard to see why; the Serrated Grotnid gets its name not from any fearsome tooth or claw, but from rows of razor sharp bones protruding from the beast's back. Couple this with a top speed of almost 25mph and a propensity to run face first at adversity, and you've got yourself a hell-spawned nightmare. This goes double if, like the Phantellians, you are five foot wide and composed of a membrane approximately the thickness of cheap hotel toilet paper.
Fortunately all beasts have one thing in common - they have a weakness.
Stories of heroes that could find the Grotnids weaknesses had always existed on Phantel IV, they'd just never quite got the details right. That’s where I, the General, greatest of all Earth’s Beastmasters stepped in!”
The General’s gesticulation grew wilder as he whipped himself into a frenzy of self-gratification. He was a pompous man, broad and weather-worn, but he carried himself with an air that would make even your saintly grandmother mutter “what a prick” as he walked by.
He was talking to, or more accurately at, a couple of particularly good looking Augtwilians with curves in all the right places. This is of course if you consider the right places to be approximately 1 foot, 4 foot and 12 foot off the ground as the Augtwillians did.
“It was upon hearing these great and ancient tales that I had a stroke of what can only be described as divine wisdom.
There was a common theme in all of them – in every story the thing that scared the beast was something spherical! I know, it was sheer brilliance on my part!
Given their particular dimensions, the Phantellians don’t hold much stock with balls. I on the other hand, came equipped with plenty.
So there I am, staring down with a Serrated Grotnid with three suns blazing overhead.
I bring out my first weapon – a particularly round phantelberry on a stick, just like in the stories of old.
It Charges! Fortunately for me, while the Phantels cannot jump very high I cleared the Grotnid with aplomb, sailed clean over it!
Attempt two – bowling ball. I waited for the Grotnid to line up for a second pass, and as that first dust cloud rose I slung that ball over the mesa with all my might. Nothing that pathetic was going to stop a charging Grotnid though. It lowered its plated head and ran straight through the ball – one almighty crack and it was little more than dust.
This time by the time I jumped it was almost too late. I dived over it and as I did the dorsal spine came up to greet me. One long slice, right down my chest! Ahh, 'twas but a scratch though, so I turned to my final weapon – the wildcard!”
Had the Augtwillians had any concept of Human culture the next sentence might have shocked them, but rather they continued to stare blankly in spite of the General’s unwavering enthusiasm.
“It was, what we call on Earth – a space-hopper.
Now I know what you’re thinking but no, despite its name it is in fact a terrestrial vehicle, a pneumatic device to harness gravitational potential and propel the pilot skywards!
So there I am atop my noble steed and the Grotnid lumbers to face me for round three.
Like two fearsome duellists at noon we face off.
It charges.
So do I.”
By now the General’s re-enactment graduated from wild gesticulation to full-blown choreography.
He bounced a phantom space-hopper towards his companions, only to stop dead in his tracks an inch from a heavily armoured Augtwillian elbow.
“At the last second the foul creature dug in and stopped on the spot, just froze solid!
I had it now.
I bounced a few more times to assert dominance,”
He did,
“And lo and behold – the Grotnid rolled over, raked its spines through the dirt and submitted to me!
Yet again man trumps beast – there is no creature too vile, no brute too terrifying that I, the mighty General of the great Earth Beastmasters cannot tame it!”
With this he took a bow, bid his stunned consorts adieu with a cheery, “Terribly sorry I can’t stay for another but a Beastmaster’s job is never done!”, and sauntered away.
The Augtwillians turned to one another once he was out of ear-shot and shared a moment of bemusement before one opened its mandibles and clicked:
"What a £̴̧̗͙͚̞̝͚͖̘͎̫͙̀͡ŕ̹͎̻̟̝̀͢͡ͅl̴̡͈̮͈͖͔͖̣̼͓̩̝͈̖͓̠̣̕ͅk̸̨̗͚͓̭̩͓̘̹̦̼̼̬̬̬̖̞͚̪̼͟ķ̴̧͓̭͉̼̲̺̖̗̳̙̪̟̭̕ͅͅ"
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[WP] Humans are the only species in the universe with pets. As humanity enters the ranks of the Galactic Empire humanity soon is known as "The Beastmasters", taming even the worst nightmares of alien bedtime stories.
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"Daddy, daddy. I'm scared," my daughter called as I entered her room to put her to bed. Her little face looked up to me from behind the covers. She was shaking.
"What is it, sweetie? Are the monsters bothering you again?" I stopped by the door, turned on the lights, and sat on the bed by her side, She nodded. Her four little hands pulled her blanket closer around her head, now hiding her mouths as well.
"Have you been good, Jernima?" I looked in her large round eye, her irises fluttering as she considered her answer.
"I don't know! I try to be good. But, yesterday, I took Medina's cookie, when she wasn't looking. It was made of Deemee cream, and had nuts, and it had Grabder Honey on it. I'm so sorry daddy! The Comrohisser is coming for me! I have been bad and it will eat me!" Tears welled in her eye. She turned to her left, away from me, and started wailing softly.
"Honey, honey, I'm here and I won't let anyone hurt you. Monsters don't care about cookies. No monster will come. I am here and you are safe."
"No! Medinal told me it will come for me. It will eat me with its big teeth and it will also," she stopped mid-breath, gulping, tears dripping down her cheeks, "it will also eat you! She said it will!"
"You are safe honey, no monster will come for you, and no monster can eat me."
No matter what I said, she kept on crying. I picked her up and rocked her in my arms, making shushing sounds and repeating, "it will be okay, hon," like a mantra.
"Sweetie, if you were good, the human will come and protect you. There are no more bad monsters. All the monsters are good now. They protect us."
"The monsters are good?" She asked softly, looking to me.
"Well, they may have been bad at the beginning, but yes, the humans tamed them. The monsters protect us from bigger monsters, now."
I saw where I went wrong as the words were leaving my mouth. Darn.
"BIGGER MONSTERS?" She screeched. "BIGGER MONSTERS ARE COMING FOR MY EYE! They will eat you. And they will eat my eye. And then they will eat-"
"Shh hon, they can't come for you. The Human will protect us." I assured her. "Have I told you the story of The Human and the King Monster?"
"No," she sniffed, relaxing in my arms. I put her back on the bed where she immediately settled on all sixes in her story listening position.
"There once was a King Monster who wanted to eat all the children. One day, the children all ran into the forest where it lived-"
"Why would they run into the forest!" She half asked, half declared.
"Because it was a school trip, honey." She weighed this new information heavily and nodded again, giving me permission to continue with the story. I was pleased the mandatory critical thinking training was working, even if it made my job a little harder.
"The King Monster was very happy, as it could now go and eat all the children.
"At night, when the children were all asleep, it came for them. Only, The Human waited for it, and stood in its way.
"You shall not touch these children, The Human said. They have been good, and are under my protection.
"Three times they fought. The King Monster scratched, and bit, and even screamed, but could not overcome The Human.
"What shall I do, if I can't eat children? The Monster King asked.
"I will protect you, and feed you, and care for you. You have nothing to fear, said The Human.
The monster came in closer. "Like you do for the children?
"Monsters were children once too, and I protect all the children.
"The Human reached out with his hand, and together the monster king went home with The Human.
"From that day forth, monsters have been helping The Human and stopping all other monsters from ever hurting children. The end."
By the time I was done, my little Jernima was already asleep. I covered her up to her eye, closed the lights and the door behind me. My wife waited outside.
"I told her of The Human, hon. I broke my word."
"Hon, it's just a story. It made me feel safe as a kid. It made you feel safe, as well. There's nothing wrong with it."
"It's human propaganda. They used their fake news expertise and played the long game. Fairy tales were the most successful of their strategies, but they used and associated weaponized story-based collateral. For centuries. they weaseled their way into our trust. It's how we were so unprepared when they finally attacked."
"I understand honey, but they are gone now, and the story is part of our culture." My wife walked closer and leaned against me, taking my hand.
"Isn't the truth more important? Shouldn't our culture be based on the truth?" I countered.
"They came with their biggest weapon, stories, and made our children feel safe for generations. When they were the King Monster, and they were destroyed. The story is true enough."
"That's one way to look at it," I countered, feeling gloomy.
"And now, our child is asleep. Let The Human keep her safe. I'd say that's the only role left in our society for these creatures. They may have invented the monsters, but they also introduced us to stories."
She took my hand and led me back to our bedroom. I turned off the lights. I was an adult and knew there were no monsters under my bed. I did envy my little girl though, for she could believe in The Human.
\--
If you enjoyed my story, please join /r/posthocethics to see when I post again.
|
"Serrated Grotnids, of Phantel IV, are a most fearsome of creature. Phantellians have cowered at the mere thought of such a beast for generations - the very word for scared in Phantellian translates roughly to "they who hears the Grotnid".
It's not hard to see why; the Serrated Grotnid gets its name not from any fearsome tooth or claw, but from rows of razor sharp bones protruding from the beast's back. Couple this with a top speed of almost 25mph and a propensity to run face first at adversity, and you've got yourself a hell-spawned nightmare. This goes double if, like the Phantellians, you are five foot wide and composed of a membrane approximately the thickness of cheap hotel toilet paper.
Fortunately all beasts have one thing in common - they have a weakness.
Stories of heroes that could find the Grotnids weaknesses had always existed on Phantel IV, they'd just never quite got the details right. That’s where I, the General, greatest of all Earth’s Beastmasters stepped in!”
The General’s gesticulation grew wilder as he whipped himself into a frenzy of self-gratification. He was a pompous man, broad and weather-worn, but he carried himself with an air that would make even your saintly grandmother mutter “what a prick” as he walked by.
He was talking to, or more accurately at, a couple of particularly good looking Augtwilians with curves in all the right places. This is of course if you consider the right places to be approximately 1 foot, 4 foot and 12 foot off the ground as the Augtwillians did.
“It was upon hearing these great and ancient tales that I had a stroke of what can only be described as divine wisdom.
There was a common theme in all of them – in every story the thing that scared the beast was something spherical! I know, it was sheer brilliance on my part!
Given their particular dimensions, the Phantellians don’t hold much stock with balls. I on the other hand, came equipped with plenty.
So there I am, staring down with a Serrated Grotnid with three suns blazing overhead.
I bring out my first weapon – a particularly round phantelberry on a stick, just like in the stories of old.
It Charges! Fortunately for me, while the Phantels cannot jump very high I cleared the Grotnid with aplomb, sailed clean over it!
Attempt two – bowling ball. I waited for the Grotnid to line up for a second pass, and as that first dust cloud rose I slung that ball over the mesa with all my might. Nothing that pathetic was going to stop a charging Grotnid though. It lowered its plated head and ran straight through the ball – one almighty crack and it was little more than dust.
This time by the time I jumped it was almost too late. I dived over it and as I did the dorsal spine came up to greet me. One long slice, right down my chest! Ahh, 'twas but a scratch though, so I turned to my final weapon – the wildcard!”
Had the Augtwillians had any concept of Human culture the next sentence might have shocked them, but rather they continued to stare blankly in spite of the General’s unwavering enthusiasm.
“It was, what we call on Earth – a space-hopper.
Now I know what you’re thinking but no, despite its name it is in fact a terrestrial vehicle, a pneumatic device to harness gravitational potential and propel the pilot skywards!
So there I am atop my noble steed and the Grotnid lumbers to face me for round three.
Like two fearsome duellists at noon we face off.
It charges.
So do I.”
By now the General’s re-enactment graduated from wild gesticulation to full-blown choreography.
He bounced a phantom space-hopper towards his companions, only to stop dead in his tracks an inch from a heavily armoured Augtwillian elbow.
“At the last second the foul creature dug in and stopped on the spot, just froze solid!
I had it now.
I bounced a few more times to assert dominance,”
He did,
“And lo and behold – the Grotnid rolled over, raked its spines through the dirt and submitted to me!
Yet again man trumps beast – there is no creature too vile, no brute too terrifying that I, the mighty General of the great Earth Beastmasters cannot tame it!”
With this he took a bow, bid his stunned consorts adieu with a cheery, “Terribly sorry I can’t stay for another but a Beastmaster’s job is never done!”, and sauntered away.
The Augtwillians turned to one another once he was out of ear-shot and shared a moment of bemusement before one opened its mandibles and clicked:
"What a £̴̧̗͙͚̞̝͚͖̘͎̫͙̀͡ŕ̹͎̻̟̝̀͢͡ͅl̴̡͈̮͈͖͔͖̣̼͓̩̝͈̖͓̠̣̕ͅk̸̨̗͚͓̭̩͓̘̹̦̼̼̬̬̬̖̞͚̪̼͟ķ̴̧͓̭͉̼̲̺̖̗̳̙̪̟̭̕ͅͅ"
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[WP] Humans are the only species in the universe with pets. As humanity enters the ranks of the Galactic Empire humanity soon is known as "The Beastmasters", taming even the worst nightmares of alien bedtime stories.
|
The Galactic Empire. Or shall we say the Galactic Bestiary? Of the 3582 known sapient species savvy enough to have developed FTL capacities - and the old laws prohibiting contact before that are still in effect with no signs of that changing anytime soon - 3413 have evolved from pure predators. The rest consists of insectoid and fungoid hive minds who have no concept of individuality or interaction, robotic caretaker entities who refuse to make any comment whatsoever on what their creator-clients biological nature might (have) be(en), eternally paranoid herd animals - discovering the nature of the predominant evolutionary path in this galaxy probably didn't exactly help with that, eons of experience with stampeding down domestic predators or not - many of whom have migrated for so long that they aren't even entirely sure any more from which planet they started, assorted other herbivores and a couple of dozen omnivore species who tend to turn out very, very much so. Some are capable of subsiding on stones, if pressed. Most became dominant by simply not leaving enough on nature's table for any serious competition to survive in numbers. But what there isn't in the entire Empire is another species like humanity that treated symbiotic relationships with other species as more than a juvenile phase they had outgrown millennia ago. Most spacefaring species develop ecology and atmosphere manipulation technologies at some point, some more brute force, some more elegant to make some rocks in the neighborhood a little more cozy and of course that involves the transfer of desirable domestic species to new homes too. Afterthoughts, necessities or somewhat unpleasantly: the need for prey for ceremonial hunts. Requiring other species for psychological well-being though? Only humans.
The color of the sky they find themselves under, the composition of the ground they walk on and the atmospheres they breathe may differ, but where there are humans, there are their companions. It lives, humans will turn it into pets, will form connections across species boundaries. Even with plants. But also with the fiercest of predators. And so, when humanity hit the scene, it didn't take long for us to weave nets of diplomacy that quickly surpassed everything the galaxy had ever seen. Whoever it was we came into contact with, there was no shortage of people who had long formed a deeper understanding of how creatures on that evolutionary arc worked internally. There also was no shortage of people who had pets that were somewhat relatable to new contacts or at the very least made us look more trustworthy. Simply doesn't look threatening, when the strange beings that arrived in your system turn out to lovingly take care of what looks like some distant relative. And of course, we were no threat, were we? Just another newcomer, some upstart looking for trading opportunities. Indeed. And often we took new pets as payments.
Another step on the long ladder to the stars for most species is to dabble in genetics. For most it is necessary to adjust their biology somewhat, FTL isn't exactly a gentle ride. It was the same for us and so we tweaked a gene here and there. But not only ours, since we couldn't stand the thought of facing the void without something warm and furry to pet and cuddle. At the time it was seen as the easiest way to protect the mental health of early star travelers and so cats and dogs and parrots and fish and ferrets and horses and... well, you get it, we left hardly a genome untouched. By the time our trade networks resulted in an explosion of pet species we were already very good at it and we only got better.
There was nothing to stop us from adjusting some other things too, while we were at it anyway. All those species are hardwired to trust and love humans, of course, and where possible had their general usefulness increased too. Genetically tailored animal products, supreme pest control, mining, you name it. With a good part of an entire galaxy's gene pool at your disposal you can do some nifty stuff. Stuff other species never even thought about. Stuff other species never got the chance to think about, because there were natural limits to whose trust they could gain. Nobody could collect critters across the galaxy like we do.
Humanity became a provider of living tools essential to any modern galactic civilization, our nickname became our trademark - Beastmasters. Our lovely little pet products are everywhere and we make sure they're well taken care off. By and large it works, reports of cruelty towards pets are rare.
But not entirely unheard of. How could it really, in a galaxy so full of predatory species? There's always the occasional miscreant who can't resist the urge to find out how a Diamond-Blue Cerulean Rock-Squirrel tastes. We love our pets, but we are not unreasonable. No species can be expected to act entirely against their nature. That would be cruel in itself too, wouldn't it? There is a fine and the obligation to punish the crime and then we won't talk about it no more. Again, by and large it works, nobody wants to face a beastmaster boycott. Their economies would simply suffer too much.
And we wouldn't want transgressor punished too hard. To the contrary, we want them to live successful lives. Fulfilled lives with lots of children or whatever they call their offspring. Remember how all beastmaster produced species are hardwired to love and trust humans? Yeah... it's some pretty aggressive coding. If you eat our pets, we can't be sure you wouldn't eat one of us, if the opportunity presented itself. Let's call it preemptive defense. You need to learn to love and trust humans. These modifications work differently, when sapient species ingest them. Activated by exposure to digestive tracts they also increase procreative drive by several magnitudes. Any offspring will carry the modified genes - and so of course out-breed unmodified members of the species - and absolutely adore humans.
We are the beastmasters. And soon we will be the masters of all the beasts in the galaxy. All 3413 of them. Just give it a couple more generations. It's not like we could act against our nature. Same as everybody else in that regard. Taming wild and sometimes dangerous animals is what we do.
​
​
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
I found the basic idea somewhat obvious, but too lazy to actually write more than just this prelude.
|
"Serrated Grotnids, of Phantel IV, are a most fearsome of creature. Phantellians have cowered at the mere thought of such a beast for generations - the very word for scared in Phantellian translates roughly to "they who hears the Grotnid".
It's not hard to see why; the Serrated Grotnid gets its name not from any fearsome tooth or claw, but from rows of razor sharp bones protruding from the beast's back. Couple this with a top speed of almost 25mph and a propensity to run face first at adversity, and you've got yourself a hell-spawned nightmare. This goes double if, like the Phantellians, you are five foot wide and composed of a membrane approximately the thickness of cheap hotel toilet paper.
Fortunately all beasts have one thing in common - they have a weakness.
Stories of heroes that could find the Grotnids weaknesses had always existed on Phantel IV, they'd just never quite got the details right. That’s where I, the General, greatest of all Earth’s Beastmasters stepped in!”
The General’s gesticulation grew wilder as he whipped himself into a frenzy of self-gratification. He was a pompous man, broad and weather-worn, but he carried himself with an air that would make even your saintly grandmother mutter “what a prick” as he walked by.
He was talking to, or more accurately at, a couple of particularly good looking Augtwilians with curves in all the right places. This is of course if you consider the right places to be approximately 1 foot, 4 foot and 12 foot off the ground as the Augtwillians did.
“It was upon hearing these great and ancient tales that I had a stroke of what can only be described as divine wisdom.
There was a common theme in all of them – in every story the thing that scared the beast was something spherical! I know, it was sheer brilliance on my part!
Given their particular dimensions, the Phantellians don’t hold much stock with balls. I on the other hand, came equipped with plenty.
So there I am, staring down with a Serrated Grotnid with three suns blazing overhead.
I bring out my first weapon – a particularly round phantelberry on a stick, just like in the stories of old.
It Charges! Fortunately for me, while the Phantels cannot jump very high I cleared the Grotnid with aplomb, sailed clean over it!
Attempt two – bowling ball. I waited for the Grotnid to line up for a second pass, and as that first dust cloud rose I slung that ball over the mesa with all my might. Nothing that pathetic was going to stop a charging Grotnid though. It lowered its plated head and ran straight through the ball – one almighty crack and it was little more than dust.
This time by the time I jumped it was almost too late. I dived over it and as I did the dorsal spine came up to greet me. One long slice, right down my chest! Ahh, 'twas but a scratch though, so I turned to my final weapon – the wildcard!”
Had the Augtwillians had any concept of Human culture the next sentence might have shocked them, but rather they continued to stare blankly in spite of the General’s unwavering enthusiasm.
“It was, what we call on Earth – a space-hopper.
Now I know what you’re thinking but no, despite its name it is in fact a terrestrial vehicle, a pneumatic device to harness gravitational potential and propel the pilot skywards!
So there I am atop my noble steed and the Grotnid lumbers to face me for round three.
Like two fearsome duellists at noon we face off.
It charges.
So do I.”
By now the General’s re-enactment graduated from wild gesticulation to full-blown choreography.
He bounced a phantom space-hopper towards his companions, only to stop dead in his tracks an inch from a heavily armoured Augtwillian elbow.
“At the last second the foul creature dug in and stopped on the spot, just froze solid!
I had it now.
I bounced a few more times to assert dominance,”
He did,
“And lo and behold – the Grotnid rolled over, raked its spines through the dirt and submitted to me!
Yet again man trumps beast – there is no creature too vile, no brute too terrifying that I, the mighty General of the great Earth Beastmasters cannot tame it!”
With this he took a bow, bid his stunned consorts adieu with a cheery, “Terribly sorry I can’t stay for another but a Beastmaster’s job is never done!”, and sauntered away.
The Augtwillians turned to one another once he was out of ear-shot and shared a moment of bemusement before one opened its mandibles and clicked:
"What a £̴̧̗͙͚̞̝͚͖̘͎̫͙̀͡ŕ̹͎̻̟̝̀͢͡ͅl̴̡͈̮͈͖͔͖̣̼͓̩̝͈̖͓̠̣̕ͅk̸̨̗͚͓̭̩͓̘̹̦̼̼̬̬̬̖̞͚̪̼͟ķ̴̧͓̭͉̼̲̺̖̗̳̙̪̟̭̕ͅͅ"
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[WP] Humans are the only species in the universe with pets. As humanity enters the ranks of the Galactic Empire humanity soon is known as "The Beastmasters", taming even the worst nightmares of alien bedtime stories.
|
It was an awkward existence for any of us traveling outside the colonies. Wherever we went, we were met with equal parts fear and reverence.
The funny part was that in order to deal with the arms length, sorry that was insensitive, appendage length, that other species kept from humans, we often traveled with a pet, the source of the mixed feelings.
Mine is a fluffy ball of fur who mostly did her own thing. Cats are like that. I could always count on her to hop up beside me in our cabin for a bit of petting every night though.
This morning the other diplomats almost bowed down to Stuffy when they saw how I treated her. All I did was put a bowl down and use my Resource and Food Identification Chip to get her some bite to eat. They all thought it was a ritual.
Like she needs her ego stroked like that.
I don't think I'll ever get used to it. They call us Beastmasters since we're the only ones who ever tamed wild animals, no matter how terrifying. At least they understand that skill comes from a place of empathy, not hate.
But goddmaned if it's not a lot of pressure to become the peace negotiators of the galaxy because of it.
|
"Serrated Grotnids, of Phantel IV, are a most fearsome of creature. Phantellians have cowered at the mere thought of such a beast for generations - the very word for scared in Phantellian translates roughly to "they who hears the Grotnid".
It's not hard to see why; the Serrated Grotnid gets its name not from any fearsome tooth or claw, but from rows of razor sharp bones protruding from the beast's back. Couple this with a top speed of almost 25mph and a propensity to run face first at adversity, and you've got yourself a hell-spawned nightmare. This goes double if, like the Phantellians, you are five foot wide and composed of a membrane approximately the thickness of cheap hotel toilet paper.
Fortunately all beasts have one thing in common - they have a weakness.
Stories of heroes that could find the Grotnids weaknesses had always existed on Phantel IV, they'd just never quite got the details right. That’s where I, the General, greatest of all Earth’s Beastmasters stepped in!”
The General’s gesticulation grew wilder as he whipped himself into a frenzy of self-gratification. He was a pompous man, broad and weather-worn, but he carried himself with an air that would make even your saintly grandmother mutter “what a prick” as he walked by.
He was talking to, or more accurately at, a couple of particularly good looking Augtwilians with curves in all the right places. This is of course if you consider the right places to be approximately 1 foot, 4 foot and 12 foot off the ground as the Augtwillians did.
“It was upon hearing these great and ancient tales that I had a stroke of what can only be described as divine wisdom.
There was a common theme in all of them – in every story the thing that scared the beast was something spherical! I know, it was sheer brilliance on my part!
Given their particular dimensions, the Phantellians don’t hold much stock with balls. I on the other hand, came equipped with plenty.
So there I am, staring down with a Serrated Grotnid with three suns blazing overhead.
I bring out my first weapon – a particularly round phantelberry on a stick, just like in the stories of old.
It Charges! Fortunately for me, while the Phantels cannot jump very high I cleared the Grotnid with aplomb, sailed clean over it!
Attempt two – bowling ball. I waited for the Grotnid to line up for a second pass, and as that first dust cloud rose I slung that ball over the mesa with all my might. Nothing that pathetic was going to stop a charging Grotnid though. It lowered its plated head and ran straight through the ball – one almighty crack and it was little more than dust.
This time by the time I jumped it was almost too late. I dived over it and as I did the dorsal spine came up to greet me. One long slice, right down my chest! Ahh, 'twas but a scratch though, so I turned to my final weapon – the wildcard!”
Had the Augtwillians had any concept of Human culture the next sentence might have shocked them, but rather they continued to stare blankly in spite of the General’s unwavering enthusiasm.
“It was, what we call on Earth – a space-hopper.
Now I know what you’re thinking but no, despite its name it is in fact a terrestrial vehicle, a pneumatic device to harness gravitational potential and propel the pilot skywards!
So there I am atop my noble steed and the Grotnid lumbers to face me for round three.
Like two fearsome duellists at noon we face off.
It charges.
So do I.”
By now the General’s re-enactment graduated from wild gesticulation to full-blown choreography.
He bounced a phantom space-hopper towards his companions, only to stop dead in his tracks an inch from a heavily armoured Augtwillian elbow.
“At the last second the foul creature dug in and stopped on the spot, just froze solid!
I had it now.
I bounced a few more times to assert dominance,”
He did,
“And lo and behold – the Grotnid rolled over, raked its spines through the dirt and submitted to me!
Yet again man trumps beast – there is no creature too vile, no brute too terrifying that I, the mighty General of the great Earth Beastmasters cannot tame it!”
With this he took a bow, bid his stunned consorts adieu with a cheery, “Terribly sorry I can’t stay for another but a Beastmaster’s job is never done!”, and sauntered away.
The Augtwillians turned to one another once he was out of ear-shot and shared a moment of bemusement before one opened its mandibles and clicked:
"What a £̴̧̗͙͚̞̝͚͖̘͎̫͙̀͡ŕ̹͎̻̟̝̀͢͡ͅl̴̡͈̮͈͖͔͖̣̼͓̩̝͈̖͓̠̣̕ͅk̸̨̗͚͓̭̩͓̘̹̦̼̼̬̬̬̖̞͚̪̼͟ķ̴̧͓̭͉̼̲̺̖̗̳̙̪̟̭̕ͅͅ"
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[WP] Humans are the only species in the universe with pets. As humanity enters the ranks of the Galactic Empire humanity soon is known as "The Beastmasters", taming even the worst nightmares of alien bedtime stories.
|
"Its WRONG! What those humans do! WRONG! And now they're even using it to control the galactic Senate!"
"Look you know the rules. Once a species has been inducted into the council it retains a vote, no matter what, until extinction."
"Extinction! Pah! That would be better than what the humans do to their defeated enemies! Look at what's become of the Vasudans! They used to be the galaxies most feared warriors! Now look at what they've become!"
"I've talked to Vasudans and they say they're happy with how they are now"
"THAT JUST MAKES IT WORSE! 'domestication' the humans call it. Say they've been doing it on their home world to organisms ever since they evolved! They don't just kill their enemies like a civilised species! No! They 'domesticate' them! Change their very genetics to make them love humans! Now the human representative has dozen 'pets' fawning over her at every senate session! The Krell senator wears a collar and begs her for ear rubs before every vote!"
"Unfortunately the humans do now control 42% of the Senate votes through their "pets" so they have enough votes to block any motion to reduce their power."
|
"Serrated Grotnids, of Phantel IV, are a most fearsome of creature. Phantellians have cowered at the mere thought of such a beast for generations - the very word for scared in Phantellian translates roughly to "they who hears the Grotnid".
It's not hard to see why; the Serrated Grotnid gets its name not from any fearsome tooth or claw, but from rows of razor sharp bones protruding from the beast's back. Couple this with a top speed of almost 25mph and a propensity to run face first at adversity, and you've got yourself a hell-spawned nightmare. This goes double if, like the Phantellians, you are five foot wide and composed of a membrane approximately the thickness of cheap hotel toilet paper.
Fortunately all beasts have one thing in common - they have a weakness.
Stories of heroes that could find the Grotnids weaknesses had always existed on Phantel IV, they'd just never quite got the details right. That’s where I, the General, greatest of all Earth’s Beastmasters stepped in!”
The General’s gesticulation grew wilder as he whipped himself into a frenzy of self-gratification. He was a pompous man, broad and weather-worn, but he carried himself with an air that would make even your saintly grandmother mutter “what a prick” as he walked by.
He was talking to, or more accurately at, a couple of particularly good looking Augtwilians with curves in all the right places. This is of course if you consider the right places to be approximately 1 foot, 4 foot and 12 foot off the ground as the Augtwillians did.
“It was upon hearing these great and ancient tales that I had a stroke of what can only be described as divine wisdom.
There was a common theme in all of them – in every story the thing that scared the beast was something spherical! I know, it was sheer brilliance on my part!
Given their particular dimensions, the Phantellians don’t hold much stock with balls. I on the other hand, came equipped with plenty.
So there I am, staring down with a Serrated Grotnid with three suns blazing overhead.
I bring out my first weapon – a particularly round phantelberry on a stick, just like in the stories of old.
It Charges! Fortunately for me, while the Phantels cannot jump very high I cleared the Grotnid with aplomb, sailed clean over it!
Attempt two – bowling ball. I waited for the Grotnid to line up for a second pass, and as that first dust cloud rose I slung that ball over the mesa with all my might. Nothing that pathetic was going to stop a charging Grotnid though. It lowered its plated head and ran straight through the ball – one almighty crack and it was little more than dust.
This time by the time I jumped it was almost too late. I dived over it and as I did the dorsal spine came up to greet me. One long slice, right down my chest! Ahh, 'twas but a scratch though, so I turned to my final weapon – the wildcard!”
Had the Augtwillians had any concept of Human culture the next sentence might have shocked them, but rather they continued to stare blankly in spite of the General’s unwavering enthusiasm.
“It was, what we call on Earth – a space-hopper.
Now I know what you’re thinking but no, despite its name it is in fact a terrestrial vehicle, a pneumatic device to harness gravitational potential and propel the pilot skywards!
So there I am atop my noble steed and the Grotnid lumbers to face me for round three.
Like two fearsome duellists at noon we face off.
It charges.
So do I.”
By now the General’s re-enactment graduated from wild gesticulation to full-blown choreography.
He bounced a phantom space-hopper towards his companions, only to stop dead in his tracks an inch from a heavily armoured Augtwillian elbow.
“At the last second the foul creature dug in and stopped on the spot, just froze solid!
I had it now.
I bounced a few more times to assert dominance,”
He did,
“And lo and behold – the Grotnid rolled over, raked its spines through the dirt and submitted to me!
Yet again man trumps beast – there is no creature too vile, no brute too terrifying that I, the mighty General of the great Earth Beastmasters cannot tame it!”
With this he took a bow, bid his stunned consorts adieu with a cheery, “Terribly sorry I can’t stay for another but a Beastmaster’s job is never done!”, and sauntered away.
The Augtwillians turned to one another once he was out of ear-shot and shared a moment of bemusement before one opened its mandibles and clicked:
"What a £̴̧̗͙͚̞̝͚͖̘͎̫͙̀͡ŕ̹͎̻̟̝̀͢͡ͅl̴̡͈̮͈͖͔͖̣̼͓̩̝͈̖͓̠̣̕ͅk̸̨̗͚͓̭̩͓̘̹̦̼̼̬̬̬̖̞͚̪̼͟ķ̴̧͓̭͉̼̲̺̖̗̳̙̪̟̭̕ͅͅ"
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[WP] Humans are the only species in the universe with pets. As humanity enters the ranks of the Galactic Empire humanity soon is known as "The Beastmasters", taming even the worst nightmares of alien bedtime stories.
|
Alujin of the Baonjooli Gramia, trekked along the great dunes of the Kalian desert, a long way from his grassy home on the shimmering Baonjool river. The ocean of sand, red as the poisonous Rem valley orchids, finally, after another full day's travel, turned to high pillars of stone. Past these rocks, laid his destination: The home of the Beastmaster. Alujin had heard tales of the Beastmasters as a larva, this ancient, rare race of creature tamers from a far off star. This Beastmaster, the Beastmaster of the Yellow Sands, was said to be the only one in the entire spiral arm.
Not that that meant much to Alujin. His three hoof-like feet had never left the soil of the world, and tales of the stars were only the legends of the Hueyen culture of the Gramia, of which his grandpatron was a part of. Ze had filled his head with stories of aliens and starships. He never really expected to meet an alien - let alone be tasked with this great quest.
He passed the rocky cliffs, and, almost instantly, was struck by the somber and sudden shift of stone to the flatness of the Yellow sands. The two amber suns began setting over the flat horizon, tinging the orangish sky with purple.
Alujin stepped tenderly, hesitantly, onto the sand, as if he expected it to give way underneath him, as if an illusion. But, his foot felt hard packed sand. He made another few steps out onto the plateau. He looked around, and saw, in the distance, a white tent, a thin spiral of grey smoke billowing from the top. Was that it? His destination?
Before he could shimmer with joy, he heard a growl from behind him. His head swiveled around. There, upon a pillar was a creature of purple armor platings, and a tangled mass of yellow tentacles. It was at least the size of four Gramia adults. It created a strange, crying, whining noise, like a larvae in pain, but with the emotion of vengeful attacker. IT suddenly leapt into the air, towards Alujin. It's narrow head opened its mouth, revealing an array of silver, bladelike teeth, and two thin rasping tongues, spinning them around like a marateni spinner. Alujin howled in terror, before he heard a gruff voice -
"Heel."
The Creature stopped in its tracks, skidding to a halt, a puff of yellow sand clouding up behind it. Alujins eyes were sealed shut. He opened just one, the smallest one, to peek at the creature. It had stopped, peering at him with 8 geometric eyes.
"Benny means you no harm," said the gruff voice. Alujin teedered around.
There they stood. The Beastmaster. Taller, than he expected, Alujin didn't even come up to their neck. They had two arms, like Alujin, except higher up, of course, and stood on only two legs, covered in a dense blue material. It wore a cloak around itself, its hood covered the top of its head, something Alujin could not do, given his ear stocks. It's mouth was covered in a tangle of... well, he wasn't sure what it was. Grass?
"H..hello," Alujin said, and was met by silence. "You are the Beastmaster, yes?" The Beastmaster did something with iits head, shaking it up and down, before it corrected itself.
"Yes," they said, stepping past Alujin to touch.... Benny, on the head. It seemed to... like it.
"I've been sent by my Grandpatron, elder Uri of the Baonjool. We have... a beast problem," Alujin said nervously. his vivid memory started to pour into him, the memory of that horrid creature, the way it moved, attacked...
"Mmh."
"It's horrible... It has blades for fingers... and everywhere it goes it spreads this horrid... Pollen! It makes the villagers swell with pus! It moves with total silence!"
"And this beast... What is it called?" The Beast master pulled out piece of meat, that the creature gobbled up.
"It's..." He clenched his eyes, and darkened in terror.
"Out with it, lad."
"They call it... a Cat."
|
"Serrated Grotnids, of Phantel IV, are a most fearsome of creature. Phantellians have cowered at the mere thought of such a beast for generations - the very word for scared in Phantellian translates roughly to "they who hears the Grotnid".
It's not hard to see why; the Serrated Grotnid gets its name not from any fearsome tooth or claw, but from rows of razor sharp bones protruding from the beast's back. Couple this with a top speed of almost 25mph and a propensity to run face first at adversity, and you've got yourself a hell-spawned nightmare. This goes double if, like the Phantellians, you are five foot wide and composed of a membrane approximately the thickness of cheap hotel toilet paper.
Fortunately all beasts have one thing in common - they have a weakness.
Stories of heroes that could find the Grotnids weaknesses had always existed on Phantel IV, they'd just never quite got the details right. That’s where I, the General, greatest of all Earth’s Beastmasters stepped in!”
The General’s gesticulation grew wilder as he whipped himself into a frenzy of self-gratification. He was a pompous man, broad and weather-worn, but he carried himself with an air that would make even your saintly grandmother mutter “what a prick” as he walked by.
He was talking to, or more accurately at, a couple of particularly good looking Augtwilians with curves in all the right places. This is of course if you consider the right places to be approximately 1 foot, 4 foot and 12 foot off the ground as the Augtwillians did.
“It was upon hearing these great and ancient tales that I had a stroke of what can only be described as divine wisdom.
There was a common theme in all of them – in every story the thing that scared the beast was something spherical! I know, it was sheer brilliance on my part!
Given their particular dimensions, the Phantellians don’t hold much stock with balls. I on the other hand, came equipped with plenty.
So there I am, staring down with a Serrated Grotnid with three suns blazing overhead.
I bring out my first weapon – a particularly round phantelberry on a stick, just like in the stories of old.
It Charges! Fortunately for me, while the Phantels cannot jump very high I cleared the Grotnid with aplomb, sailed clean over it!
Attempt two – bowling ball. I waited for the Grotnid to line up for a second pass, and as that first dust cloud rose I slung that ball over the mesa with all my might. Nothing that pathetic was going to stop a charging Grotnid though. It lowered its plated head and ran straight through the ball – one almighty crack and it was little more than dust.
This time by the time I jumped it was almost too late. I dived over it and as I did the dorsal spine came up to greet me. One long slice, right down my chest! Ahh, 'twas but a scratch though, so I turned to my final weapon – the wildcard!”
Had the Augtwillians had any concept of Human culture the next sentence might have shocked them, but rather they continued to stare blankly in spite of the General’s unwavering enthusiasm.
“It was, what we call on Earth – a space-hopper.
Now I know what you’re thinking but no, despite its name it is in fact a terrestrial vehicle, a pneumatic device to harness gravitational potential and propel the pilot skywards!
So there I am atop my noble steed and the Grotnid lumbers to face me for round three.
Like two fearsome duellists at noon we face off.
It charges.
So do I.”
By now the General’s re-enactment graduated from wild gesticulation to full-blown choreography.
He bounced a phantom space-hopper towards his companions, only to stop dead in his tracks an inch from a heavily armoured Augtwillian elbow.
“At the last second the foul creature dug in and stopped on the spot, just froze solid!
I had it now.
I bounced a few more times to assert dominance,”
He did,
“And lo and behold – the Grotnid rolled over, raked its spines through the dirt and submitted to me!
Yet again man trumps beast – there is no creature too vile, no brute too terrifying that I, the mighty General of the great Earth Beastmasters cannot tame it!”
With this he took a bow, bid his stunned consorts adieu with a cheery, “Terribly sorry I can’t stay for another but a Beastmaster’s job is never done!”, and sauntered away.
The Augtwillians turned to one another once he was out of ear-shot and shared a moment of bemusement before one opened its mandibles and clicked:
"What a £̴̧̗͙͚̞̝͚͖̘͎̫͙̀͡ŕ̹͎̻̟̝̀͢͡ͅl̴̡͈̮͈͖͔͖̣̼͓̩̝͈̖͓̠̣̕ͅk̸̨̗͚͓̭̩͓̘̹̦̼̼̬̬̬̖̞͚̪̼͟ķ̴̧͓̭͉̼̲̺̖̗̳̙̪̟̭̕ͅͅ"
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[WP] Humans are the only species in the universe with pets. As humanity enters the ranks of the Galactic Empire humanity soon is known as "The Beastmasters", taming even the worst nightmares of alien bedtime stories.
|
The Galactic Empire. Or shall we say the Galactic Bestiary? Of the 3582 known sapient species savvy enough to have developed FTL capacities - and the old laws prohibiting contact before that are still in effect with no signs of that changing anytime soon - 3413 have evolved from pure predators. The rest consists of insectoid and fungoid hive minds who have no concept of individuality or interaction, robotic caretaker entities who refuse to make any comment whatsoever on what their creator-clients biological nature might (have) be(en), eternally paranoid herd animals - discovering the nature of the predominant evolutionary path in this galaxy probably didn't exactly help with that, eons of experience with stampeding down domestic predators or not - many of whom have migrated for so long that they aren't even entirely sure any more from which planet they started, assorted other herbivores and a couple of dozen omnivore species who tend to turn out very, very much so. Some are capable of subsiding on stones, if pressed. Most became dominant by simply not leaving enough on nature's table for any serious competition to survive in numbers. But what there isn't in the entire Empire is another species like humanity that treated symbiotic relationships with other species as more than a juvenile phase they had outgrown millennia ago. Most spacefaring species develop ecology and atmosphere manipulation technologies at some point, some more brute force, some more elegant to make some rocks in the neighborhood a little more cozy and of course that involves the transfer of desirable domestic species to new homes too. Afterthoughts, necessities or somewhat unpleasantly: the need for prey for ceremonial hunts. Requiring other species for psychological well-being though? Only humans.
The color of the sky they find themselves under, the composition of the ground they walk on and the atmospheres they breathe may differ, but where there are humans, there are their companions. It lives, humans will turn it into pets, will form connections across species boundaries. Even with plants. But also with the fiercest of predators. And so, when humanity hit the scene, it didn't take long for us to weave nets of diplomacy that quickly surpassed everything the galaxy had ever seen. Whoever it was we came into contact with, there was no shortage of people who had long formed a deeper understanding of how creatures on that evolutionary arc worked internally. There also was no shortage of people who had pets that were somewhat relatable to new contacts or at the very least made us look more trustworthy. Simply doesn't look threatening, when the strange beings that arrived in your system turn out to lovingly take care of what looks like some distant relative. And of course, we were no threat, were we? Just another newcomer, some upstart looking for trading opportunities. Indeed. And often we took new pets as payments.
Another step on the long ladder to the stars for most species is to dabble in genetics. For most it is necessary to adjust their biology somewhat, FTL isn't exactly a gentle ride. It was the same for us and so we tweaked a gene here and there. But not only ours, since we couldn't stand the thought of facing the void without something warm and furry to pet and cuddle. At the time it was seen as the easiest way to protect the mental health of early star travelers and so cats and dogs and parrots and fish and ferrets and horses and... well, you get it, we left hardly a genome untouched. By the time our trade networks resulted in an explosion of pet species we were already very good at it and we only got better.
There was nothing to stop us from adjusting some other things too, while we were at it anyway. All those species are hardwired to trust and love humans, of course, and where possible had their general usefulness increased too. Genetically tailored animal products, supreme pest control, mining, you name it. With a good part of an entire galaxy's gene pool at your disposal you can do some nifty stuff. Stuff other species never even thought about. Stuff other species never got the chance to think about, because there were natural limits to whose trust they could gain. Nobody could collect critters across the galaxy like we do.
Humanity became a provider of living tools essential to any modern galactic civilization, our nickname became our trademark - Beastmasters. Our lovely little pet products are everywhere and we make sure they're well taken care off. By and large it works, reports of cruelty towards pets are rare.
But not entirely unheard of. How could it really, in a galaxy so full of predatory species? There's always the occasional miscreant who can't resist the urge to find out how a Diamond-Blue Cerulean Rock-Squirrel tastes. We love our pets, but we are not unreasonable. No species can be expected to act entirely against their nature. That would be cruel in itself too, wouldn't it? There is a fine and the obligation to punish the crime and then we won't talk about it no more. Again, by and large it works, nobody wants to face a beastmaster boycott. Their economies would simply suffer too much.
And we wouldn't want transgressor punished too hard. To the contrary, we want them to live successful lives. Fulfilled lives with lots of children or whatever they call their offspring. Remember how all beastmaster produced species are hardwired to love and trust humans? Yeah... it's some pretty aggressive coding. If you eat our pets, we can't be sure you wouldn't eat one of us, if the opportunity presented itself. Let's call it preemptive defense. You need to learn to love and trust humans. These modifications work differently, when sapient species ingest them. Activated by exposure to digestive tracts they also increase procreative drive by several magnitudes. Any offspring will carry the modified genes - and so of course out-breed unmodified members of the species - and absolutely adore humans.
We are the beastmasters. And soon we will be the masters of all the beasts in the galaxy. All 3413 of them. Just give it a couple more generations. It's not like we could act against our nature. Same as everybody else in that regard. Taming wild and sometimes dangerous animals is what we do.
​
​
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
I found the basic idea somewhat obvious, but too lazy to actually write more than just this prelude.
|
######[](#dropcap)
It's spawn are rampant all across the planet, split into multiple variants for each biome and condition.
They range from being as small enough to carry to the size of a medium humanoid, capable of downing the mightiest of us.
Even the bravest among us wouldn't dare to challenge them, but even the smaller ones take advantage of another tactic: packs.
Just like any other beast, what they lack in size and strength, they make up for in numbers, number who can think not in swarms but how to corner, how to chase, and how to kill.
But, it's not the tactics, it's not their numbers, no, it's their genetics. Kill one of a kind? They are genetically compatible with each other. Just mix one with another and its progeny will continue to plague us all.
We called it the Canis lupus familiaris, but the humans call them, dogs.
We don't know what or how humans domesticated these beasts, but one thing is certain: If they conquered such a species, who is next?
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[WP] Humans are the only species in the universe with pets. As humanity enters the ranks of the Galactic Empire humanity soon is known as "The Beastmasters", taming even the worst nightmares of alien bedtime stories.
|
It was an awkward existence for any of us traveling outside the colonies. Wherever we went, we were met with equal parts fear and reverence.
The funny part was that in order to deal with the arms length, sorry that was insensitive, appendage length, that other species kept from humans, we often traveled with a pet, the source of the mixed feelings.
Mine is a fluffy ball of fur who mostly did her own thing. Cats are like that. I could always count on her to hop up beside me in our cabin for a bit of petting every night though.
This morning the other diplomats almost bowed down to Stuffy when they saw how I treated her. All I did was put a bowl down and use my Resource and Food Identification Chip to get her some bite to eat. They all thought it was a ritual.
Like she needs her ego stroked like that.
I don't think I'll ever get used to it. They call us Beastmasters since we're the only ones who ever tamed wild animals, no matter how terrifying. At least they understand that skill comes from a place of empathy, not hate.
But goddmaned if it's not a lot of pressure to become the peace negotiators of the galaxy because of it.
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######[](#dropcap)
It's spawn are rampant all across the planet, split into multiple variants for each biome and condition.
They range from being as small enough to carry to the size of a medium humanoid, capable of downing the mightiest of us.
Even the bravest among us wouldn't dare to challenge them, but even the smaller ones take advantage of another tactic: packs.
Just like any other beast, what they lack in size and strength, they make up for in numbers, number who can think not in swarms but how to corner, how to chase, and how to kill.
But, it's not the tactics, it's not their numbers, no, it's their genetics. Kill one of a kind? They are genetically compatible with each other. Just mix one with another and its progeny will continue to plague us all.
We called it the Canis lupus familiaris, but the humans call them, dogs.
We don't know what or how humans domesticated these beasts, but one thing is certain: If they conquered such a species, who is next?
|
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[WP] Humans are the only species in the universe with pets. As humanity enters the ranks of the Galactic Empire humanity soon is known as "The Beastmasters", taming even the worst nightmares of alien bedtime stories.
|
"Its WRONG! What those humans do! WRONG! And now they're even using it to control the galactic Senate!"
"Look you know the rules. Once a species has been inducted into the council it retains a vote, no matter what, until extinction."
"Extinction! Pah! That would be better than what the humans do to their defeated enemies! Look at what's become of the Vasudans! They used to be the galaxies most feared warriors! Now look at what they've become!"
"I've talked to Vasudans and they say they're happy with how they are now"
"THAT JUST MAKES IT WORSE! 'domestication' the humans call it. Say they've been doing it on their home world to organisms ever since they evolved! They don't just kill their enemies like a civilised species! No! They 'domesticate' them! Change their very genetics to make them love humans! Now the human representative has dozen 'pets' fawning over her at every senate session! The Krell senator wears a collar and begs her for ear rubs before every vote!"
"Unfortunately the humans do now control 42% of the Senate votes through their "pets" so they have enough votes to block any motion to reduce their power."
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######[](#dropcap)
It's spawn are rampant all across the planet, split into multiple variants for each biome and condition.
They range from being as small enough to carry to the size of a medium humanoid, capable of downing the mightiest of us.
Even the bravest among us wouldn't dare to challenge them, but even the smaller ones take advantage of another tactic: packs.
Just like any other beast, what they lack in size and strength, they make up for in numbers, number who can think not in swarms but how to corner, how to chase, and how to kill.
But, it's not the tactics, it's not their numbers, no, it's their genetics. Kill one of a kind? They are genetically compatible with each other. Just mix one with another and its progeny will continue to plague us all.
We called it the Canis lupus familiaris, but the humans call them, dogs.
We don't know what or how humans domesticated these beasts, but one thing is certain: If they conquered such a species, who is next?
|
|
[WP] Humans are the only species in the universe with pets. As humanity enters the ranks of the Galactic Empire humanity soon is known as "The Beastmasters", taming even the worst nightmares of alien bedtime stories.
|
The Galactic Empire. Or shall we say the Galactic Bestiary? Of the 3582 known sapient species savvy enough to have developed FTL capacities - and the old laws prohibiting contact before that are still in effect with no signs of that changing anytime soon - 3413 have evolved from pure predators. The rest consists of insectoid and fungoid hive minds who have no concept of individuality or interaction, robotic caretaker entities who refuse to make any comment whatsoever on what their creator-clients biological nature might (have) be(en), eternally paranoid herd animals - discovering the nature of the predominant evolutionary path in this galaxy probably didn't exactly help with that, eons of experience with stampeding down domestic predators or not - many of whom have migrated for so long that they aren't even entirely sure any more from which planet they started, assorted other herbivores and a couple of dozen omnivore species who tend to turn out very, very much so. Some are capable of subsiding on stones, if pressed. Most became dominant by simply not leaving enough on nature's table for any serious competition to survive in numbers. But what there isn't in the entire Empire is another species like humanity that treated symbiotic relationships with other species as more than a juvenile phase they had outgrown millennia ago. Most spacefaring species develop ecology and atmosphere manipulation technologies at some point, some more brute force, some more elegant to make some rocks in the neighborhood a little more cozy and of course that involves the transfer of desirable domestic species to new homes too. Afterthoughts, necessities or somewhat unpleasantly: the need for prey for ceremonial hunts. Requiring other species for psychological well-being though? Only humans.
The color of the sky they find themselves under, the composition of the ground they walk on and the atmospheres they breathe may differ, but where there are humans, there are their companions. It lives, humans will turn it into pets, will form connections across species boundaries. Even with plants. But also with the fiercest of predators. And so, when humanity hit the scene, it didn't take long for us to weave nets of diplomacy that quickly surpassed everything the galaxy had ever seen. Whoever it was we came into contact with, there was no shortage of people who had long formed a deeper understanding of how creatures on that evolutionary arc worked internally. There also was no shortage of people who had pets that were somewhat relatable to new contacts or at the very least made us look more trustworthy. Simply doesn't look threatening, when the strange beings that arrived in your system turn out to lovingly take care of what looks like some distant relative. And of course, we were no threat, were we? Just another newcomer, some upstart looking for trading opportunities. Indeed. And often we took new pets as payments.
Another step on the long ladder to the stars for most species is to dabble in genetics. For most it is necessary to adjust their biology somewhat, FTL isn't exactly a gentle ride. It was the same for us and so we tweaked a gene here and there. But not only ours, since we couldn't stand the thought of facing the void without something warm and furry to pet and cuddle. At the time it was seen as the easiest way to protect the mental health of early star travelers and so cats and dogs and parrots and fish and ferrets and horses and... well, you get it, we left hardly a genome untouched. By the time our trade networks resulted in an explosion of pet species we were already very good at it and we only got better.
There was nothing to stop us from adjusting some other things too, while we were at it anyway. All those species are hardwired to trust and love humans, of course, and where possible had their general usefulness increased too. Genetically tailored animal products, supreme pest control, mining, you name it. With a good part of an entire galaxy's gene pool at your disposal you can do some nifty stuff. Stuff other species never even thought about. Stuff other species never got the chance to think about, because there were natural limits to whose trust they could gain. Nobody could collect critters across the galaxy like we do.
Humanity became a provider of living tools essential to any modern galactic civilization, our nickname became our trademark - Beastmasters. Our lovely little pet products are everywhere and we make sure they're well taken care off. By and large it works, reports of cruelty towards pets are rare.
But not entirely unheard of. How could it really, in a galaxy so full of predatory species? There's always the occasional miscreant who can't resist the urge to find out how a Diamond-Blue Cerulean Rock-Squirrel tastes. We love our pets, but we are not unreasonable. No species can be expected to act entirely against their nature. That would be cruel in itself too, wouldn't it? There is a fine and the obligation to punish the crime and then we won't talk about it no more. Again, by and large it works, nobody wants to face a beastmaster boycott. Their economies would simply suffer too much.
And we wouldn't want transgressor punished too hard. To the contrary, we want them to live successful lives. Fulfilled lives with lots of children or whatever they call their offspring. Remember how all beastmaster produced species are hardwired to love and trust humans? Yeah... it's some pretty aggressive coding. If you eat our pets, we can't be sure you wouldn't eat one of us, if the opportunity presented itself. Let's call it preemptive defense. You need to learn to love and trust humans. These modifications work differently, when sapient species ingest them. Activated by exposure to digestive tracts they also increase procreative drive by several magnitudes. Any offspring will carry the modified genes - and so of course out-breed unmodified members of the species - and absolutely adore humans.
We are the beastmasters. And soon we will be the masters of all the beasts in the galaxy. All 3413 of them. Just give it a couple more generations. It's not like we could act against our nature. Same as everybody else in that regard. Taming wild and sometimes dangerous animals is what we do.
​
​
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
I found the basic idea somewhat obvious, but too lazy to actually write more than just this prelude.
|
"Daddy, daddy. I'm scared," my daughter called as I entered her room to put her to bed. Her little face looked up to me from behind the covers. She was shaking.
"What is it, sweetie? Are the monsters bothering you again?" I stopped by the door, turned on the lights, and sat on the bed by her side, She nodded. Her four little hands pulled her blanket closer around her head, now hiding her mouths as well.
"Have you been good, Jernima?" I looked in her large round eye, her irises fluttering as she considered her answer.
"I don't know! I try to be good. But, yesterday, I took Medina's cookie, when she wasn't looking. It was made of Deemee cream, and had nuts, and it had Grabder Honey on it. I'm so sorry daddy! The Comrohisser is coming for me! I have been bad and it will eat me!" Tears welled in her eye. She turned to her left, away from me, and started wailing softly.
"Honey, honey, I'm here and I won't let anyone hurt you. Monsters don't care about cookies. No monster will come. I am here and you are safe."
"No! Medinal told me it will come for me. It will eat me with its big teeth and it will also," she stopped mid-breath, gulping, tears dripping down her cheeks, "it will also eat you! She said it will!"
"You are safe honey, no monster will come for you, and no monster can eat me."
No matter what I said, she kept on crying. I picked her up and rocked her in my arms, making shushing sounds and repeating, "it will be okay, hon," like a mantra.
"Sweetie, if you were good, the human will come and protect you. There are no more bad monsters. All the monsters are good now. They protect us."
"The monsters are good?" She asked softly, looking to me.
"Well, they may have been bad at the beginning, but yes, the humans tamed them. The monsters protect us from bigger monsters, now."
I saw where I went wrong as the words were leaving my mouth. Darn.
"BIGGER MONSTERS?" She screeched. "BIGGER MONSTERS ARE COMING FOR MY EYE! They will eat you. And they will eat my eye. And then they will eat-"
"Shh hon, they can't come for you. The Human will protect us." I assured her. "Have I told you the story of The Human and the King Monster?"
"No," she sniffed, relaxing in my arms. I put her back on the bed where she immediately settled on all sixes in her story listening position.
"There once was a King Monster who wanted to eat all the children. One day, the children all ran into the forest where it lived-"
"Why would they run into the forest!" She half asked, half declared.
"Because it was a school trip, honey." She weighed this new information heavily and nodded again, giving me permission to continue with the story. I was pleased the mandatory critical thinking training was working, even if it made my job a little harder.
"The King Monster was very happy, as it could now go and eat all the children.
"At night, when the children were all asleep, it came for them. Only, The Human waited for it, and stood in its way.
"You shall not touch these children, The Human said. They have been good, and are under my protection.
"Three times they fought. The King Monster scratched, and bit, and even screamed, but could not overcome The Human.
"What shall I do, if I can't eat children? The Monster King asked.
"I will protect you, and feed you, and care for you. You have nothing to fear, said The Human.
The monster came in closer. "Like you do for the children?
"Monsters were children once too, and I protect all the children.
"The Human reached out with his hand, and together the monster king went home with The Human.
"From that day forth, monsters have been helping The Human and stopping all other monsters from ever hurting children. The end."
By the time I was done, my little Jernima was already asleep. I covered her up to her eye, closed the lights and the door behind me. My wife waited outside.
"I told her of The Human, hon. I broke my word."
"Hon, it's just a story. It made me feel safe as a kid. It made you feel safe, as well. There's nothing wrong with it."
"It's human propaganda. They used their fake news expertise and played the long game. Fairy tales were the most successful of their strategies, but they used and associated weaponized story-based collateral. For centuries. they weaseled their way into our trust. It's how we were so unprepared when they finally attacked."
"I understand honey, but they are gone now, and the story is part of our culture." My wife walked closer and leaned against me, taking my hand.
"Isn't the truth more important? Shouldn't our culture be based on the truth?" I countered.
"They came with their biggest weapon, stories, and made our children feel safe for generations. When they were the King Monster, and they were destroyed. The story is true enough."
"That's one way to look at it," I countered, feeling gloomy.
"And now, our child is asleep. Let The Human keep her safe. I'd say that's the only role left in our society for these creatures. They may have invented the monsters, but they also introduced us to stories."
She took my hand and led me back to our bedroom. I turned off the lights. I was an adult and knew there were no monsters under my bed. I did envy my little girl though, for she could believe in The Human.
\--
If you enjoyed my story, please join /r/posthocethics to see when I post again.
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[WP] Humans are the only species in the universe with pets. As humanity enters the ranks of the Galactic Empire humanity soon is known as "The Beastmasters", taming even the worst nightmares of alien bedtime stories.
|
It was an awkward existence for any of us traveling outside the colonies. Wherever we went, we were met with equal parts fear and reverence.
The funny part was that in order to deal with the arms length, sorry that was insensitive, appendage length, that other species kept from humans, we often traveled with a pet, the source of the mixed feelings.
Mine is a fluffy ball of fur who mostly did her own thing. Cats are like that. I could always count on her to hop up beside me in our cabin for a bit of petting every night though.
This morning the other diplomats almost bowed down to Stuffy when they saw how I treated her. All I did was put a bowl down and use my Resource and Food Identification Chip to get her some bite to eat. They all thought it was a ritual.
Like she needs her ego stroked like that.
I don't think I'll ever get used to it. They call us Beastmasters since we're the only ones who ever tamed wild animals, no matter how terrifying. At least they understand that skill comes from a place of empathy, not hate.
But goddmaned if it's not a lot of pressure to become the peace negotiators of the galaxy because of it.
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"Daddy, daddy. I'm scared," my daughter called as I entered her room to put her to bed. Her little face looked up to me from behind the covers. She was shaking.
"What is it, sweetie? Are the monsters bothering you again?" I stopped by the door, turned on the lights, and sat on the bed by her side, She nodded. Her four little hands pulled her blanket closer around her head, now hiding her mouths as well.
"Have you been good, Jernima?" I looked in her large round eye, her irises fluttering as she considered her answer.
"I don't know! I try to be good. But, yesterday, I took Medina's cookie, when she wasn't looking. It was made of Deemee cream, and had nuts, and it had Grabder Honey on it. I'm so sorry daddy! The Comrohisser is coming for me! I have been bad and it will eat me!" Tears welled in her eye. She turned to her left, away from me, and started wailing softly.
"Honey, honey, I'm here and I won't let anyone hurt you. Monsters don't care about cookies. No monster will come. I am here and you are safe."
"No! Medinal told me it will come for me. It will eat me with its big teeth and it will also," she stopped mid-breath, gulping, tears dripping down her cheeks, "it will also eat you! She said it will!"
"You are safe honey, no monster will come for you, and no monster can eat me."
No matter what I said, she kept on crying. I picked her up and rocked her in my arms, making shushing sounds and repeating, "it will be okay, hon," like a mantra.
"Sweetie, if you were good, the human will come and protect you. There are no more bad monsters. All the monsters are good now. They protect us."
"The monsters are good?" She asked softly, looking to me.
"Well, they may have been bad at the beginning, but yes, the humans tamed them. The monsters protect us from bigger monsters, now."
I saw where I went wrong as the words were leaving my mouth. Darn.
"BIGGER MONSTERS?" She screeched. "BIGGER MONSTERS ARE COMING FOR MY EYE! They will eat you. And they will eat my eye. And then they will eat-"
"Shh hon, they can't come for you. The Human will protect us." I assured her. "Have I told you the story of The Human and the King Monster?"
"No," she sniffed, relaxing in my arms. I put her back on the bed where she immediately settled on all sixes in her story listening position.
"There once was a King Monster who wanted to eat all the children. One day, the children all ran into the forest where it lived-"
"Why would they run into the forest!" She half asked, half declared.
"Because it was a school trip, honey." She weighed this new information heavily and nodded again, giving me permission to continue with the story. I was pleased the mandatory critical thinking training was working, even if it made my job a little harder.
"The King Monster was very happy, as it could now go and eat all the children.
"At night, when the children were all asleep, it came for them. Only, The Human waited for it, and stood in its way.
"You shall not touch these children, The Human said. They have been good, and are under my protection.
"Three times they fought. The King Monster scratched, and bit, and even screamed, but could not overcome The Human.
"What shall I do, if I can't eat children? The Monster King asked.
"I will protect you, and feed you, and care for you. You have nothing to fear, said The Human.
The monster came in closer. "Like you do for the children?
"Monsters were children once too, and I protect all the children.
"The Human reached out with his hand, and together the monster king went home with The Human.
"From that day forth, monsters have been helping The Human and stopping all other monsters from ever hurting children. The end."
By the time I was done, my little Jernima was already asleep. I covered her up to her eye, closed the lights and the door behind me. My wife waited outside.
"I told her of The Human, hon. I broke my word."
"Hon, it's just a story. It made me feel safe as a kid. It made you feel safe, as well. There's nothing wrong with it."
"It's human propaganda. They used their fake news expertise and played the long game. Fairy tales were the most successful of their strategies, but they used and associated weaponized story-based collateral. For centuries. they weaseled their way into our trust. It's how we were so unprepared when they finally attacked."
"I understand honey, but they are gone now, and the story is part of our culture." My wife walked closer and leaned against me, taking my hand.
"Isn't the truth more important? Shouldn't our culture be based on the truth?" I countered.
"They came with their biggest weapon, stories, and made our children feel safe for generations. When they were the King Monster, and they were destroyed. The story is true enough."
"That's one way to look at it," I countered, feeling gloomy.
"And now, our child is asleep. Let The Human keep her safe. I'd say that's the only role left in our society for these creatures. They may have invented the monsters, but they also introduced us to stories."
She took my hand and led me back to our bedroom. I turned off the lights. I was an adult and knew there were no monsters under my bed. I did envy my little girl though, for she could believe in The Human.
\--
If you enjoyed my story, please join /r/posthocethics to see when I post again.
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[WP] Humans are the only species in the universe with pets. As humanity enters the ranks of the Galactic Empire humanity soon is known as "The Beastmasters", taming even the worst nightmares of alien bedtime stories.
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"Its WRONG! What those humans do! WRONG! And now they're even using it to control the galactic Senate!"
"Look you know the rules. Once a species has been inducted into the council it retains a vote, no matter what, until extinction."
"Extinction! Pah! That would be better than what the humans do to their defeated enemies! Look at what's become of the Vasudans! They used to be the galaxies most feared warriors! Now look at what they've become!"
"I've talked to Vasudans and they say they're happy with how they are now"
"THAT JUST MAKES IT WORSE! 'domestication' the humans call it. Say they've been doing it on their home world to organisms ever since they evolved! They don't just kill their enemies like a civilised species! No! They 'domesticate' them! Change their very genetics to make them love humans! Now the human representative has dozen 'pets' fawning over her at every senate session! The Krell senator wears a collar and begs her for ear rubs before every vote!"
"Unfortunately the humans do now control 42% of the Senate votes through their "pets" so they have enough votes to block any motion to reduce their power."
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Larry's greatest ambition was to become senior insurance salesman and retire comfortably. Now he was Beastmaster Larry of the Vermont Kingdom. He traveled from planet to planet showing off his menagerie.
The ship was an impressive one. FTL, voice control, cabin, and capable of atmospheric landing. He traded a rare American land octopus for the ship. It had conveniently made a web in his laundry room.
This planet was like all the rest. No space port, no shipyards of their own, and no other humans. The civilization, if you could call it that, were pre industrial, but aware of other alien species. This was how Larry liked them, not too savage, and not too advanced. The perfect rubes.
The Fershonameens were a dull species. Humanoid, short, no hair, and three fingers on each hand. What they lacked in technology, they made up for in mineral deposits.
Larry had begun his speech and hoped to be back in orbit soon.
"This is the Squirrel King of the Parklands. Don't be deceived by his size, he could destroy your whole village!"
The crowd made a gurgling sound and the bigger drew in the small ones.
*He's also dumb and a sucker for peanut butter.*
"This is Song Spirit. It is light years away from its mate, but it will sing until reunited with its lost love."
*Or you don't feed it. I learned that the hard way, but you can buy a ton of feeder crickets for cheap at the pet store.*
"Now the jewel of my collection. The Gem Seeker Bettles. Released them into your mines and they are drawn to precious gems. They allowed me to buy my ship!"
The "Beetles" were plentiful enough in his apartment. Larry had a habit of leaving food out. Roaches were apparently not galactic travelers. The "gems" were plastic fakes from the craft store.
The Fershonameens gathered in close with eye spots wide. They spoke among themselves quietly.
"How. Can. We. Acquire. Them?" came the translator.
"They are the last of their species. Their moon was destroyed by....space....forces. I could settle for a ton of platinum delivered to my ship."
They continued to chatter.
"We. Accept." came the translator mechanically.
*Another deal well struck.*
Larry was securing his cargo and accepting other small favors from the locals. A rumbling came from the sky. Another ship landed in the clearing.
*Oh no, who could this be. Traders? Pirates? Space rapists sometimes call sprapists?*
The ship had no weapons. The Fershonameens cautiously approached the ship. The cargo hatch opened.
"I am Becky the Beastmaster of the Arkansas Kingdom! Behold my fantastic beasts while I tell you where to find them."
Becky had a possum on a leach and several specimen jars on her "scepter." The locals turned their angry eye spots on Larry.
*OOOOOOOOOOOhhhhh SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIttt. Time to get the fuck out.*
He slammed the cargo door shut.
"Ship, get us into orbit immediately and prep the FTL."
"Destination?" came a calm female voice.
"Luna colony, time to regroup."
"By your command Beastmaster Larry."
*This Becky of Arkansas was going to be a problem. One that needed to be dealt with quickly.*
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[WP] Humans are the only species in the universe with pets. As humanity enters the ranks of the Galactic Empire humanity soon is known as "The Beastmasters", taming even the worst nightmares of alien bedtime stories.
|
Alujin of the Baonjooli Gramia, trekked along the great dunes of the Kalian desert, a long way from his grassy home on the shimmering Baonjool river. The ocean of sand, red as the poisonous Rem valley orchids, finally, after another full day's travel, turned to high pillars of stone. Past these rocks, laid his destination: The home of the Beastmaster. Alujin had heard tales of the Beastmasters as a larva, this ancient, rare race of creature tamers from a far off star. This Beastmaster, the Beastmaster of the Yellow Sands, was said to be the only one in the entire spiral arm.
Not that that meant much to Alujin. His three hoof-like feet had never left the soil of the world, and tales of the stars were only the legends of the Hueyen culture of the Gramia, of which his grandpatron was a part of. Ze had filled his head with stories of aliens and starships. He never really expected to meet an alien - let alone be tasked with this great quest.
He passed the rocky cliffs, and, almost instantly, was struck by the somber and sudden shift of stone to the flatness of the Yellow sands. The two amber suns began setting over the flat horizon, tinging the orangish sky with purple.
Alujin stepped tenderly, hesitantly, onto the sand, as if he expected it to give way underneath him, as if an illusion. But, his foot felt hard packed sand. He made another few steps out onto the plateau. He looked around, and saw, in the distance, a white tent, a thin spiral of grey smoke billowing from the top. Was that it? His destination?
Before he could shimmer with joy, he heard a growl from behind him. His head swiveled around. There, upon a pillar was a creature of purple armor platings, and a tangled mass of yellow tentacles. It was at least the size of four Gramia adults. It created a strange, crying, whining noise, like a larvae in pain, but with the emotion of vengeful attacker. IT suddenly leapt into the air, towards Alujin. It's narrow head opened its mouth, revealing an array of silver, bladelike teeth, and two thin rasping tongues, spinning them around like a marateni spinner. Alujin howled in terror, before he heard a gruff voice -
"Heel."
The Creature stopped in its tracks, skidding to a halt, a puff of yellow sand clouding up behind it. Alujins eyes were sealed shut. He opened just one, the smallest one, to peek at the creature. It had stopped, peering at him with 8 geometric eyes.
"Benny means you no harm," said the gruff voice. Alujin teedered around.
There they stood. The Beastmaster. Taller, than he expected, Alujin didn't even come up to their neck. They had two arms, like Alujin, except higher up, of course, and stood on only two legs, covered in a dense blue material. It wore a cloak around itself, its hood covered the top of its head, something Alujin could not do, given his ear stocks. It's mouth was covered in a tangle of... well, he wasn't sure what it was. Grass?
"H..hello," Alujin said, and was met by silence. "You are the Beastmaster, yes?" The Beastmaster did something with iits head, shaking it up and down, before it corrected itself.
"Yes," they said, stepping past Alujin to touch.... Benny, on the head. It seemed to... like it.
"I've been sent by my Grandpatron, elder Uri of the Baonjool. We have... a beast problem," Alujin said nervously. his vivid memory started to pour into him, the memory of that horrid creature, the way it moved, attacked...
"Mmh."
"It's horrible... It has blades for fingers... and everywhere it goes it spreads this horrid... Pollen! It makes the villagers swell with pus! It moves with total silence!"
"And this beast... What is it called?" The Beast master pulled out piece of meat, that the creature gobbled up.
"It's..." He clenched his eyes, and darkened in terror.
"Out with it, lad."
"They call it... a Cat."
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Larry's greatest ambition was to become senior insurance salesman and retire comfortably. Now he was Beastmaster Larry of the Vermont Kingdom. He traveled from planet to planet showing off his menagerie.
The ship was an impressive one. FTL, voice control, cabin, and capable of atmospheric landing. He traded a rare American land octopus for the ship. It had conveniently made a web in his laundry room.
This planet was like all the rest. No space port, no shipyards of their own, and no other humans. The civilization, if you could call it that, were pre industrial, but aware of other alien species. This was how Larry liked them, not too savage, and not too advanced. The perfect rubes.
The Fershonameens were a dull species. Humanoid, short, no hair, and three fingers on each hand. What they lacked in technology, they made up for in mineral deposits.
Larry had begun his speech and hoped to be back in orbit soon.
"This is the Squirrel King of the Parklands. Don't be deceived by his size, he could destroy your whole village!"
The crowd made a gurgling sound and the bigger drew in the small ones.
*He's also dumb and a sucker for peanut butter.*
"This is Song Spirit. It is light years away from its mate, but it will sing until reunited with its lost love."
*Or you don't feed it. I learned that the hard way, but you can buy a ton of feeder crickets for cheap at the pet store.*
"Now the jewel of my collection. The Gem Seeker Bettles. Released them into your mines and they are drawn to precious gems. They allowed me to buy my ship!"
The "Beetles" were plentiful enough in his apartment. Larry had a habit of leaving food out. Roaches were apparently not galactic travelers. The "gems" were plastic fakes from the craft store.
The Fershonameens gathered in close with eye spots wide. They spoke among themselves quietly.
"How. Can. We. Acquire. Them?" came the translator.
"They are the last of their species. Their moon was destroyed by....space....forces. I could settle for a ton of platinum delivered to my ship."
They continued to chatter.
"We. Accept." came the translator mechanically.
*Another deal well struck.*
Larry was securing his cargo and accepting other small favors from the locals. A rumbling came from the sky. Another ship landed in the clearing.
*Oh no, who could this be. Traders? Pirates? Space rapists sometimes call sprapists?*
The ship had no weapons. The Fershonameens cautiously approached the ship. The cargo hatch opened.
"I am Becky the Beastmaster of the Arkansas Kingdom! Behold my fantastic beasts while I tell you where to find them."
Becky had a possum on a leach and several specimen jars on her "scepter." The locals turned their angry eye spots on Larry.
*OOOOOOOOOOOhhhhh SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIttt. Time to get the fuck out.*
He slammed the cargo door shut.
"Ship, get us into orbit immediately and prep the FTL."
"Destination?" came a calm female voice.
"Luna colony, time to regroup."
"By your command Beastmaster Larry."
*This Becky of Arkansas was going to be a problem. One that needed to be dealt with quickly.*
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[WP] You are a State Necromancer, employed to temporarily ressurect the dead so they may bear witness in court. But on rare occasions you are asked to perform another role: Permanantly ressurecting prisoners who were executed and then later pardoned. But "pardoned" doesnt always equate to "innocent"
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######[](#dropcap)
The ritual is complete. The corpse at the center begins its "reanimation." Blood coalesces together to form the soft muscle tissue and tendons clinging to bones long lost. The organs manifest, as if they never became the rotted dust they ever were. As the heart begins to beat once more, the eyes come into being, with the eyelids and skin not too far behind. Hair forms last, just in time to complement the blood finally flowing through the skin.
The human blinks her eyes,she flails for a bit, thrashing about like a fish out of water. It always takes a moment to get your bearings together. Think of being born again, literally. It's something I've seen dozens of times, never gets old.****
She groans like she's had a bad hangover five days in, she gasps for air as she grasps for her forehead.
It's been long enough, people are usually conscious enough to listen at this point. I step forward.
"Hello, my name is Korvis Louke, State Sanctioned Necromancer."
The woman smacks her lips together, practicing a few words before turning her attention towards me.
"Glad to hear they still have those..." A new record, never saw someone speak so quickly.
"What do you mean? We've always had necromancy."
"I meant the 'State Sanctioned' part." She stretches her limbs, much like a baby learning how to crawl all over again.
Confused, I look at her file.
---
> Name: Aya Lumiere Crowe
>
> Gender: Female
>
> Age: [REDACTED]
>
> Crime: [REDACTED]
>
> Execution Date: 5th Day of the 7th Moon, Year 924
----
"924. 924? 924!" My eyes widen, I turn to her. It says you were executed in the year 924! I've never had to resurrect anyone from that period!"
"Yes?"
"It's been centuries."
"How many?
"To date, 1497 years, 4 moons, and 6 days."
She smiles, "I guess I was right on time."
"What?"
She sneezes, "Mr. State Necromancer, would you be a dear and hand me some clothing? Please tell me modern decency didn't die with me too."
"Right but of course." I have been doing this way too often to and seen way too many naked men and seen way too many naked women to the point where it takes this long to get their clothing.
As I pass her her clothing, she pauses for a bit. "Methinks Necromancy has declined."
"What makes you say that?" I do my best to hold my tongue.
"For starters, I had to stretch my limbs a bit. Did you fail to read the chapter on that?" She adjusts her shirt slightly, it's a bit larger than her frame and loose fitting.
"On what?"
"'Necromancy by Alain Luuma Crane!' The premier grimoire on necromancy!" Pride written all over her face. Her pants nearly put on.
"The grimoire sounds made up." Blunt as a brick, no point in mincing words.
"No wonder necromancy is in decline..." Disappointment rang strong from her voice.
"I brought you back didn't I?"
"Yeah, for a rank amateur."
"Rank amateur?! I've been raising the dead for years!"
She puts on a glove, "Could have fooled me."
I scoff at the woman, "Seriously, I've resurrected serial killers with better manners..."
"You mean 'war heroes?'"
"How did you-"
"Like I said, we've been doing this for a while."
"What... What did you do?" I clutch my grimoire tighter, we've had some unruly resurrections, but...
She slips on her other shoe before turning to me, and smiling.
"Now if you excuse me, we have a war to win."
"I... I never said we were at war."
"Come now darling! You don't revive so many 'war heroes' without a war to fight after all!" It sounded like this was all a joke, but more importantly...
"You... You sound like..."
"'I've been through this before,' yes, your ancestor, Kelli Louke mentioned this."
"But she's... Lady how old are you?"
She stands, tilting from side to side, arms stretched out. She yawns before making eye contact. I flich. She's taller than me. How do I know? She's standing right over me.
"Little Korvis, didn't your family teach you never to ask a woman her age?"
Terrified, I chose my next words carefully. "No." They may very well be my last.
She glares at me for a minute, then guffaws much to my confusion. "Kelli really did teach you kids right! After all, she was my best student."
"You..."
She fastens her jacket and puts on her cloak. "There! All finished! How do I look?"
Standing before me, knee black boots with no sheen as the light is merely devoured. A long cobalt tunic embroidered with gold lace shines like eyes in the night. A dark cloak covers her, its abyss surrounds her like it was born for her. A pair of pure white gloves act as the only sources
"You look human."
She chuckles a bit. "I think we'll get along just fine!"
"To be frank, I am incredibly worried."
As she heads to the door, she turns. "Ah yes, why I was executed. It was regicide."
"Regicide?! But why would they-"
"Yesterday's 'war heroes' are today's army. Not much has changed then, not much has changed now. Now come on, I'll teach you how to kill nobility!"
---
---
Caught in an endless cycle of death and rebirth, one soldier's freedom fighter is another's terrorist. "Heroes" are praised for their power, their romanticized stories, only to face "justice" at war's end. The act ends for a new one to be ready.
I do admit that this could have been written better.
|
"Run that by me again?"
What the hell? I knew the corruption in the capital was bad, but this was a new low. I stared at the Princess, in all her finery on the day before her coronation.
"I want you to resurrect Jed. He was killed because Dad caught me and him kissing." she told me.
I stared for a minute. That's definetly not what it said on the case file. There were words like "Murder" and "Incredibly manipulative" used.
"Uh, fine, yeah, whatever," i dismissed as I got to my work.
Not like I had a choice.
Was Jed really innocent or was there something more sinister afoot?
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[WP] You are a State Necromancer, employed to temporarily ressurect the dead so they may bear witness in court. But on rare occasions you are asked to perform another role: Permanantly ressurecting prisoners who were executed and then later pardoned. But "pardoned" doesnt always equate to "innocent"
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It seemed like the whole court room was holding their breath. You’d think after all these years, people would get use to this by now… I know I have…
I adjusted in my seat. It feels like I have been sitting here for years, though I know it’s only been a few hours. Pardoning the dead, my ‘ideal’ way to spend my days. If only I could lay the sarcasm on a little thicker. The Jury Foreman stood up from his chair with a small sheet of paper in front of him. He seemed uneasy at first, like he didn’t agree with what was about to come out of his mouth. He had to have been in his early twenties.
“In the case of the State VS Brent Maxwell, we the jury find the defendant not guilty of all charges and move for full pardon.” It was as if the tension finally released in the whole room. There was no cheering, there was no excitement. It was still quiet, but the life had returned to the people in the room. The lawyers were standing, shaking hands with each other, congratulating the defendant’s team for a great trial. At least there was no animosity there.
Without another word, my mentor stood up. He was old, looked to be ancient, wrinkles all over his face. His eyes had seen everything, and you could tell. They were a deep brown, but looking deep in to his eyes, he had seen anything you could possibly think of. I looked up to see the state medical examiner walking towards us. I stood up and brushed out the wrinkles of my long dress.
Dr. Miranda Io, state medical examiner, walked up and extended her hands to my mentor. She didn’t smile, she didn’t seem happy at all.
“Michael, it’s good to see you again, sorry it is under such circumstances.” She grasped both of his hands firmly. Michael, my mentor, gave her a warm smile and brought her hands to his lips, kissing them gently.
“My dear Miranda,” he spoke with a thick English accent, “Always a pleasure to see you as well.” He let go of her hands slowly and turned towards me. “I assume you remember my protégé, Colleen.” He nodded towards me. I bowed lightly. Miranda extended her hands to me as well, and just as my Mentor did, I kissed her hands lightly. Miranda smiled softly.
“Michael has spoken a lot about you. Are you the assigned Necromancer for this rebirth?” She asked softly letting go of my hands. I nodded. I had been doing reanimations for almost 50 years now, but it always seemed so… formal.
“Is the body ready for rebirth?” I asked, my voice cracked slightly. I quickly cleared my throat. Miranda gave me a nod. She motioned for us to follow.
The thing you should know about Necromancers… The only way to become one, is to die. Think of it like the movie “Highlander”. You know… you die, you come back, and that’s when you learn you’re immortal. I don’t remember much of my life prior to my rebirth. Michael always told me that he could feel my soul calling out to him. He found me in a morgue… Jane Doe. I had been murdered, but when they couldn’t find out who I was, they just dumped my body aside and left me in the freezer. Michael found my body, and then I woke up. He was the first face I saw… Needless to say, it was not an easy adjustment.
Michael never really spoke about his past. All I really know is that he’s been a Necromancer for about 200 years. He taught me everything I needed to know. Gave me my name, and got me this job as a state Necromancer. It pays well, and we seem to be revered throughout the world.
We walked through the crowd of people and through the doors in the back. The hallway echoed our footsteps. I started counting my footsteps, timing my breathing with every other footfall. This was the time I tried to calm my nerves. I could feel Dr. Io look over her shoulder at me and then forward once more. After a while we walked through the double doors to the examination room. The body of Brent Maxwell laying on the table. Dr. Io grabbed the clipboard on the tray beside the examination table.
“Brent Maxwell, executed by lethal injection on October 31, 2019. Sentenced to death for the rape and murder of 5 women.” She walked around the head. “They used the standard triple cocktail, but unclear exactly which drugs were used at the time.” She let out a sigh of annoyance.
“I mean… it was 56 years ago.” I spoke up and walked towards the body. I could start feeling the soul trying to reach for me.
“Take your time, Colleen.” Michael spoke in a stern, yet soft voice. I turned to him with a nod.
“It all seemed so barbaric then.” Dr. Io added. She looked at the clipboard once again. “The injection site was in his left calf. Due to the chronic drug use, they were not able to find a viable vein in the arm.” She pointed to where the injection site was. I looked it over, the soul of Brent was getting louder in my head. I touched his leg where the injection would have been. I felt a small ‘zap’. The connection was getting stronger now. I closed my eyes, started to slow my breathing.
Necromancers have been around for as long as the earth has been spinning. It wasn’t until the last 20 years that our “services” were called upon. Finding that the dead could be brought back for trial. It was an option to allow them to continue living, but wasn’t uncommon for them to ask to be laid to rest once more. Over the past 75 years, or so, prosecutors were starting to find that people were being wrongfully accused and death sentences carried out on innocent people. Now, full pardons on the dead were rare, but not exotic. If enough evidence is brought forward, or the evidence used against them was found to be completely insufficient, these people were given a pardon and brought back by people like myself and Michael.
I moved to Brent’s head. I placed my hands on the sides of his, my palms on his temples. Michael and Dr. Io stepped to the back of the room. The soul of Brent, screaming in my head. Sometimes, in the process of reanimation, or rebirth as many call it, I get to see the memories of the soul returning to its body. Sometimes these memories are pleasant. The euphoric feeling I get from those memories are better than any drug you can get. Sometimes… these memories are not so pleasant. This was one of them.
The connection was established. His soul rushed through my body. I felt fear, pain, and felt a hot searing pain run through my arms. A glimpse of his past. Women screaming. Blood flowing. The breath taken out of me. His soul entered his body, and my fell backwards on to the floor, panting heavily. It was almost instantaneous, Brent was over me, pinning me to the floor. Once I could open my eyes, his face was right in front of mine. His breath, hot and foul, panting slowly over my face. I could hear Dr. Io running from the room to get help, I could hear Michael rummaging for something in the cabinets. Brent’s face twisted into an evil smile.
“You can’t get away from me that easy…” He spoke softly… sinister-like.
“Get off me!” I struggled under his weight.
“If I did it once before, I can do it again. Your body… your blood.” He sucked in air between his teeth and licked my cheek. My body ran cold.
“No…”
“’Til death do us part…” He whispered in my ear…
|
"Run that by me again?"
What the hell? I knew the corruption in the capital was bad, but this was a new low. I stared at the Princess, in all her finery on the day before her coronation.
"I want you to resurrect Jed. He was killed because Dad caught me and him kissing." she told me.
I stared for a minute. That's definetly not what it said on the case file. There were words like "Murder" and "Incredibly manipulative" used.
"Uh, fine, yeah, whatever," i dismissed as I got to my work.
Not like I had a choice.
Was Jed really innocent or was there something more sinister afoot?
|
|
[WP] You are a State Necromancer, employed to temporarily ressurect the dead so they may bear witness in court. But on rare occasions you are asked to perform another role: Permanantly ressurecting prisoners who were executed and then later pardoned. But "pardoned" doesnt always equate to "innocent"
|
######[](#dropcap)
The ritual is complete. The corpse at the center begins its "reanimation." Blood coalesces together to form the soft muscle tissue and tendons clinging to bones long lost. The organs manifest, as if they never became the rotted dust they ever were. As the heart begins to beat once more, the eyes come into being, with the eyelids and skin not too far behind. Hair forms last, just in time to complement the blood finally flowing through the skin.
The human blinks her eyes,she flails for a bit, thrashing about like a fish out of water. It always takes a moment to get your bearings together. Think of being born again, literally. It's something I've seen dozens of times, never gets old.****
She groans like she's had a bad hangover five days in, she gasps for air as she grasps for her forehead.
It's been long enough, people are usually conscious enough to listen at this point. I step forward.
"Hello, my name is Korvis Louke, State Sanctioned Necromancer."
The woman smacks her lips together, practicing a few words before turning her attention towards me.
"Glad to hear they still have those..." A new record, never saw someone speak so quickly.
"What do you mean? We've always had necromancy."
"I meant the 'State Sanctioned' part." She stretches her limbs, much like a baby learning how to crawl all over again.
Confused, I look at her file.
---
> Name: Aya Lumiere Crowe
>
> Gender: Female
>
> Age: [REDACTED]
>
> Crime: [REDACTED]
>
> Execution Date: 5th Day of the 7th Moon, Year 924
----
"924. 924? 924!" My eyes widen, I turn to her. It says you were executed in the year 924! I've never had to resurrect anyone from that period!"
"Yes?"
"It's been centuries."
"How many?
"To date, 1497 years, 4 moons, and 6 days."
She smiles, "I guess I was right on time."
"What?"
She sneezes, "Mr. State Necromancer, would you be a dear and hand me some clothing? Please tell me modern decency didn't die with me too."
"Right but of course." I have been doing this way too often to and seen way too many naked men and seen way too many naked women to the point where it takes this long to get their clothing.
As I pass her her clothing, she pauses for a bit. "Methinks Necromancy has declined."
"What makes you say that?" I do my best to hold my tongue.
"For starters, I had to stretch my limbs a bit. Did you fail to read the chapter on that?" She adjusts her shirt slightly, it's a bit larger than her frame and loose fitting.
"On what?"
"'Necromancy by Alain Luuma Crane!' The premier grimoire on necromancy!" Pride written all over her face. Her pants nearly put on.
"The grimoire sounds made up." Blunt as a brick, no point in mincing words.
"No wonder necromancy is in decline..." Disappointment rang strong from her voice.
"I brought you back didn't I?"
"Yeah, for a rank amateur."
"Rank amateur?! I've been raising the dead for years!"
She puts on a glove, "Could have fooled me."
I scoff at the woman, "Seriously, I've resurrected serial killers with better manners..."
"You mean 'war heroes?'"
"How did you-"
"Like I said, we've been doing this for a while."
"What... What did you do?" I clutch my grimoire tighter, we've had some unruly resurrections, but...
She slips on her other shoe before turning to me, and smiling.
"Now if you excuse me, we have a war to win."
"I... I never said we were at war."
"Come now darling! You don't revive so many 'war heroes' without a war to fight after all!" It sounded like this was all a joke, but more importantly...
"You... You sound like..."
"'I've been through this before,' yes, your ancestor, Kelli Louke mentioned this."
"But she's... Lady how old are you?"
She stands, tilting from side to side, arms stretched out. She yawns before making eye contact. I flich. She's taller than me. How do I know? She's standing right over me.
"Little Korvis, didn't your family teach you never to ask a woman her age?"
Terrified, I chose my next words carefully. "No." They may very well be my last.
She glares at me for a minute, then guffaws much to my confusion. "Kelli really did teach you kids right! After all, she was my best student."
"You..."
She fastens her jacket and puts on her cloak. "There! All finished! How do I look?"
Standing before me, knee black boots with no sheen as the light is merely devoured. A long cobalt tunic embroidered with gold lace shines like eyes in the night. A dark cloak covers her, its abyss surrounds her like it was born for her. A pair of pure white gloves act as the only sources
"You look human."
She chuckles a bit. "I think we'll get along just fine!"
"To be frank, I am incredibly worried."
As she heads to the door, she turns. "Ah yes, why I was executed. It was regicide."
"Regicide?! But why would they-"
"Yesterday's 'war heroes' are today's army. Not much has changed then, not much has changed now. Now come on, I'll teach you how to kill nobility!"
---
---
Caught in an endless cycle of death and rebirth, one soldier's freedom fighter is another's terrorist. "Heroes" are praised for their power, their romanticized stories, only to face "justice" at war's end. The act ends for a new one to be ready.
I do admit that this could have been written better.
|
Another line, painstakingly drawn on the cold slab. I flexed my cramped fingers as I looked over my work thus far. Several square yards of minute markings stretched out before me, each made with careful precision. Honestly, this was the part I most disliked about my profession. Not the actual rune-work, mind you. It might be tedious but I could lose myself for hours making sure everything was just so. I loved the details. But a full resurrection? The idea disturbed me in a way few could appreciate.
I bent back to the task. Even in the best government-approved conditions, blood runes only held potency for so long. There are always misconceptions about necromancy. Yes, I make the dead walk, talk, even breathe and smile, if enough effort's put into the attempt. But they don't *live*. Well, usually.
The normal rituals bring the body in a physical way. Muscles are restored, blood flows through the veins, neurons are even firing. But it's all the necromancer's power at work. A revived corpse is still a corpse. Done well, they can do more than follow simple instructions - they can answer whatever questions they knew the answer to in life, with perfect honesty. Death provides a clarity lacking in someone worrying about life. If it's done very well, they may even act like their former selves, speech patterns, body language, even the illusion of emotion.
I can do my job *very* well. The people I revive can walk into court, or a police station, give testimony and be interrogated, all without letting on that they've expired. I've spooked a few detectives who turned out to be sensitive in the past, but outside another practitioner my work passes muster. It's the reason, unfortunately, I've been put to work on this case.
Blinking, I realize I've finally finished the last line. I pressed cramped fists into the small of my back as I stretched, feeling the series of pops and cracks go up my spine. Maybe it was time to get an apprentice for some of the smaller details. But no...if I could count on someone else to do it properly, I wouldn't be as in demand as I was. I looked over the finished work for any errors, growing unease at what I was about to do. It wasn't the same as my normal jobs. This time I needed to do what few could, find and reunite a soul with it's dead flesh.
I finally let myself look over at my "patient", Ms. Ashlin. Put to death for the murder of her husband, only for evidence exonerating her to come out a hair too late to save her. Did she deserve a second chance? Maybe. But I didn't think this was it. As odd as it is coming from me, this was unnatural. I still found myself moving the body gently over to slab, heart in the center of the rune-work, head pointing south. The moment the body was in position, I could feel the energy of the room shift. A tension began building, and there was only one means to release it. I spoke the first words of the ritual.
It took hours, chanting, moving the energy delicately into place. I could see the hairs floating as if static were dancing along her arms, up and down. I'd normally be anchoring that power into the body, like strings on a puppet. Or maybe more like wiring power into a machine. This was closer to a jump-start than plugging in the motive force she'd need. Instead of substituting a little of my soul, I was going to put her own back in charge. And I could finally feel it, reaching out. Now that she was on the edge, that outside power was reacting.
I felt around the edges, with the senses I could only use when I was performing my art. There were always little sparks that flitted around when I worked, and the outermost ring, drawn in blood, kept it away. Prevented it from fouling my attempt. Except I needed some of that outside energy now, and the design reflected that need. A smaller circle, touching the edge of the warding circle, had a pattern within that resonated with the body, and I could feel the wisp of power that was seeping in from the outside. I tested it, delving as gently as I could into ether. I had to be sure it was her soul, and hers alone. No outside influence could be allowed to taint the ritual. No one had been able to conclusively say what afterlife, if any, existed for souls beyond our life. But it had been proven that there are other things than human souls out there, and the kind of person you were in life could affect what was drawn to you after. There was a darkness here, now, but it wasn't penetrating the ward.
I spent more hours waiting for Ms. Ashlin's soul to filter through, leaving whatever clung to her out in the cold. Finally, I could feel no change within the circle. Her soul, or as much as had survived her death, was there, eagerly awaiting. The darkness waited outside my circle, drifting on unfelt whorls. I took the final steps, said the final words, and guided a lost soul home. She inhaled, the first breath taken in her new life. Muscles twitched sporadically, and eventually eyes that should never have opened again did so.
"Whaaa..?" She began, but fell quickly into a harsh cough. Her body may have been repaired, but long lack of use had left her in poor condition nonetheless. I kept my voice as soothing as I could manage. "You'll be all right, Eleanor. Take deep breaths. Keep your eyes focused on me. That's right. Breathe. In. Out. Slooowly. Good. Can you tell me what you remember?"
Confusion passes over her features. "Ch. Chair. Th put me...in the chair." Tears show in the corners of her eyes. Good responses thus far. "It was a terrible mistake. Your verdict was overturned, and you have been...resuscitated." I think she almost believed me. That she hadn't really died, she was just disoriented from a close call. Her eyes scanned the nearly unfurnished room, the single metal door in the wall. The man with blood on his hands, staring down at her.
"Come here, you must be freezing." Not far from the truth, really. It would take time to get her body temperature back to human normal. I held out a heavy blanket, draping it over her as she sat up. Once she could stand with help, I took her to the small table with burner and tea kettle, and poured the strong herbal brew into a cup. "Sip. Slowly, please! You don't want to get sick, I promise." The thickness in the air had dissipated the moment her soul had brought animation back to her body. That sudden lack made the cold room feel that much colder, and I could see her struggle with the desire to scald her tongue. "Stay here, just a moment, please." I moved to the door and knocked as I undid the latch. I heard the sound of a deadbolt from the other side, and an eye peered in from the crack that opened. "How did it go, Doctor?"
"A complete success. Could you escort Ms. Ashlin somewhere warmer, while I clean up in here?" Spent magic or not, one couldn't leave the scene unattended. As the guard came in and helped a reborn woman rejoin the world, I could swear I felt something pass by me. An uncomfortable sensation, almost oily as it brushed past me and flowed out the open door after them. Just an airflow, from the cold and warmer air mixing. Yes, that was certainly all it was.
Certainly.
|
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[WP] You are a State Necromancer, employed to temporarily ressurect the dead so they may bear witness in court. But on rare occasions you are asked to perform another role: Permanantly ressurecting prisoners who were executed and then later pardoned. But "pardoned" doesnt always equate to "innocent"
|
It seemed like the whole court room was holding their breath. You’d think after all these years, people would get use to this by now… I know I have…
I adjusted in my seat. It feels like I have been sitting here for years, though I know it’s only been a few hours. Pardoning the dead, my ‘ideal’ way to spend my days. If only I could lay the sarcasm on a little thicker. The Jury Foreman stood up from his chair with a small sheet of paper in front of him. He seemed uneasy at first, like he didn’t agree with what was about to come out of his mouth. He had to have been in his early twenties.
“In the case of the State VS Brent Maxwell, we the jury find the defendant not guilty of all charges and move for full pardon.” It was as if the tension finally released in the whole room. There was no cheering, there was no excitement. It was still quiet, but the life had returned to the people in the room. The lawyers were standing, shaking hands with each other, congratulating the defendant’s team for a great trial. At least there was no animosity there.
Without another word, my mentor stood up. He was old, looked to be ancient, wrinkles all over his face. His eyes had seen everything, and you could tell. They were a deep brown, but looking deep in to his eyes, he had seen anything you could possibly think of. I looked up to see the state medical examiner walking towards us. I stood up and brushed out the wrinkles of my long dress.
Dr. Miranda Io, state medical examiner, walked up and extended her hands to my mentor. She didn’t smile, she didn’t seem happy at all.
“Michael, it’s good to see you again, sorry it is under such circumstances.” She grasped both of his hands firmly. Michael, my mentor, gave her a warm smile and brought her hands to his lips, kissing them gently.
“My dear Miranda,” he spoke with a thick English accent, “Always a pleasure to see you as well.” He let go of her hands slowly and turned towards me. “I assume you remember my protégé, Colleen.” He nodded towards me. I bowed lightly. Miranda extended her hands to me as well, and just as my Mentor did, I kissed her hands lightly. Miranda smiled softly.
“Michael has spoken a lot about you. Are you the assigned Necromancer for this rebirth?” She asked softly letting go of my hands. I nodded. I had been doing reanimations for almost 50 years now, but it always seemed so… formal.
“Is the body ready for rebirth?” I asked, my voice cracked slightly. I quickly cleared my throat. Miranda gave me a nod. She motioned for us to follow.
The thing you should know about Necromancers… The only way to become one, is to die. Think of it like the movie “Highlander”. You know… you die, you come back, and that’s when you learn you’re immortal. I don’t remember much of my life prior to my rebirth. Michael always told me that he could feel my soul calling out to him. He found me in a morgue… Jane Doe. I had been murdered, but when they couldn’t find out who I was, they just dumped my body aside and left me in the freezer. Michael found my body, and then I woke up. He was the first face I saw… Needless to say, it was not an easy adjustment.
Michael never really spoke about his past. All I really know is that he’s been a Necromancer for about 200 years. He taught me everything I needed to know. Gave me my name, and got me this job as a state Necromancer. It pays well, and we seem to be revered throughout the world.
We walked through the crowd of people and through the doors in the back. The hallway echoed our footsteps. I started counting my footsteps, timing my breathing with every other footfall. This was the time I tried to calm my nerves. I could feel Dr. Io look over her shoulder at me and then forward once more. After a while we walked through the double doors to the examination room. The body of Brent Maxwell laying on the table. Dr. Io grabbed the clipboard on the tray beside the examination table.
“Brent Maxwell, executed by lethal injection on October 31, 2019. Sentenced to death for the rape and murder of 5 women.” She walked around the head. “They used the standard triple cocktail, but unclear exactly which drugs were used at the time.” She let out a sigh of annoyance.
“I mean… it was 56 years ago.” I spoke up and walked towards the body. I could start feeling the soul trying to reach for me.
“Take your time, Colleen.” Michael spoke in a stern, yet soft voice. I turned to him with a nod.
“It all seemed so barbaric then.” Dr. Io added. She looked at the clipboard once again. “The injection site was in his left calf. Due to the chronic drug use, they were not able to find a viable vein in the arm.” She pointed to where the injection site was. I looked it over, the soul of Brent was getting louder in my head. I touched his leg where the injection would have been. I felt a small ‘zap’. The connection was getting stronger now. I closed my eyes, started to slow my breathing.
Necromancers have been around for as long as the earth has been spinning. It wasn’t until the last 20 years that our “services” were called upon. Finding that the dead could be brought back for trial. It was an option to allow them to continue living, but wasn’t uncommon for them to ask to be laid to rest once more. Over the past 75 years, or so, prosecutors were starting to find that people were being wrongfully accused and death sentences carried out on innocent people. Now, full pardons on the dead were rare, but not exotic. If enough evidence is brought forward, or the evidence used against them was found to be completely insufficient, these people were given a pardon and brought back by people like myself and Michael.
I moved to Brent’s head. I placed my hands on the sides of his, my palms on his temples. Michael and Dr. Io stepped to the back of the room. The soul of Brent, screaming in my head. Sometimes, in the process of reanimation, or rebirth as many call it, I get to see the memories of the soul returning to its body. Sometimes these memories are pleasant. The euphoric feeling I get from those memories are better than any drug you can get. Sometimes… these memories are not so pleasant. This was one of them.
The connection was established. His soul rushed through my body. I felt fear, pain, and felt a hot searing pain run through my arms. A glimpse of his past. Women screaming. Blood flowing. The breath taken out of me. His soul entered his body, and my fell backwards on to the floor, panting heavily. It was almost instantaneous, Brent was over me, pinning me to the floor. Once I could open my eyes, his face was right in front of mine. His breath, hot and foul, panting slowly over my face. I could hear Dr. Io running from the room to get help, I could hear Michael rummaging for something in the cabinets. Brent’s face twisted into an evil smile.
“You can’t get away from me that easy…” He spoke softly… sinister-like.
“Get off me!” I struggled under his weight.
“If I did it once before, I can do it again. Your body… your blood.” He sucked in air between his teeth and licked my cheek. My body ran cold.
“No…”
“’Til death do us part…” He whispered in my ear…
|
Another line, painstakingly drawn on the cold slab. I flexed my cramped fingers as I looked over my work thus far. Several square yards of minute markings stretched out before me, each made with careful precision. Honestly, this was the part I most disliked about my profession. Not the actual rune-work, mind you. It might be tedious but I could lose myself for hours making sure everything was just so. I loved the details. But a full resurrection? The idea disturbed me in a way few could appreciate.
I bent back to the task. Even in the best government-approved conditions, blood runes only held potency for so long. There are always misconceptions about necromancy. Yes, I make the dead walk, talk, even breathe and smile, if enough effort's put into the attempt. But they don't *live*. Well, usually.
The normal rituals bring the body in a physical way. Muscles are restored, blood flows through the veins, neurons are even firing. But it's all the necromancer's power at work. A revived corpse is still a corpse. Done well, they can do more than follow simple instructions - they can answer whatever questions they knew the answer to in life, with perfect honesty. Death provides a clarity lacking in someone worrying about life. If it's done very well, they may even act like their former selves, speech patterns, body language, even the illusion of emotion.
I can do my job *very* well. The people I revive can walk into court, or a police station, give testimony and be interrogated, all without letting on that they've expired. I've spooked a few detectives who turned out to be sensitive in the past, but outside another practitioner my work passes muster. It's the reason, unfortunately, I've been put to work on this case.
Blinking, I realize I've finally finished the last line. I pressed cramped fists into the small of my back as I stretched, feeling the series of pops and cracks go up my spine. Maybe it was time to get an apprentice for some of the smaller details. But no...if I could count on someone else to do it properly, I wouldn't be as in demand as I was. I looked over the finished work for any errors, growing unease at what I was about to do. It wasn't the same as my normal jobs. This time I needed to do what few could, find and reunite a soul with it's dead flesh.
I finally let myself look over at my "patient", Ms. Ashlin. Put to death for the murder of her husband, only for evidence exonerating her to come out a hair too late to save her. Did she deserve a second chance? Maybe. But I didn't think this was it. As odd as it is coming from me, this was unnatural. I still found myself moving the body gently over to slab, heart in the center of the rune-work, head pointing south. The moment the body was in position, I could feel the energy of the room shift. A tension began building, and there was only one means to release it. I spoke the first words of the ritual.
It took hours, chanting, moving the energy delicately into place. I could see the hairs floating as if static were dancing along her arms, up and down. I'd normally be anchoring that power into the body, like strings on a puppet. Or maybe more like wiring power into a machine. This was closer to a jump-start than plugging in the motive force she'd need. Instead of substituting a little of my soul, I was going to put her own back in charge. And I could finally feel it, reaching out. Now that she was on the edge, that outside power was reacting.
I felt around the edges, with the senses I could only use when I was performing my art. There were always little sparks that flitted around when I worked, and the outermost ring, drawn in blood, kept it away. Prevented it from fouling my attempt. Except I needed some of that outside energy now, and the design reflected that need. A smaller circle, touching the edge of the warding circle, had a pattern within that resonated with the body, and I could feel the wisp of power that was seeping in from the outside. I tested it, delving as gently as I could into ether. I had to be sure it was her soul, and hers alone. No outside influence could be allowed to taint the ritual. No one had been able to conclusively say what afterlife, if any, existed for souls beyond our life. But it had been proven that there are other things than human souls out there, and the kind of person you were in life could affect what was drawn to you after. There was a darkness here, now, but it wasn't penetrating the ward.
I spent more hours waiting for Ms. Ashlin's soul to filter through, leaving whatever clung to her out in the cold. Finally, I could feel no change within the circle. Her soul, or as much as had survived her death, was there, eagerly awaiting. The darkness waited outside my circle, drifting on unfelt whorls. I took the final steps, said the final words, and guided a lost soul home. She inhaled, the first breath taken in her new life. Muscles twitched sporadically, and eventually eyes that should never have opened again did so.
"Whaaa..?" She began, but fell quickly into a harsh cough. Her body may have been repaired, but long lack of use had left her in poor condition nonetheless. I kept my voice as soothing as I could manage. "You'll be all right, Eleanor. Take deep breaths. Keep your eyes focused on me. That's right. Breathe. In. Out. Slooowly. Good. Can you tell me what you remember?"
Confusion passes over her features. "Ch. Chair. Th put me...in the chair." Tears show in the corners of her eyes. Good responses thus far. "It was a terrible mistake. Your verdict was overturned, and you have been...resuscitated." I think she almost believed me. That she hadn't really died, she was just disoriented from a close call. Her eyes scanned the nearly unfurnished room, the single metal door in the wall. The man with blood on his hands, staring down at her.
"Come here, you must be freezing." Not far from the truth, really. It would take time to get her body temperature back to human normal. I held out a heavy blanket, draping it over her as she sat up. Once she could stand with help, I took her to the small table with burner and tea kettle, and poured the strong herbal brew into a cup. "Sip. Slowly, please! You don't want to get sick, I promise." The thickness in the air had dissipated the moment her soul had brought animation back to her body. That sudden lack made the cold room feel that much colder, and I could see her struggle with the desire to scald her tongue. "Stay here, just a moment, please." I moved to the door and knocked as I undid the latch. I heard the sound of a deadbolt from the other side, and an eye peered in from the crack that opened. "How did it go, Doctor?"
"A complete success. Could you escort Ms. Ashlin somewhere warmer, while I clean up in here?" Spent magic or not, one couldn't leave the scene unattended. As the guard came in and helped a reborn woman rejoin the world, I could swear I felt something pass by me. An uncomfortable sensation, almost oily as it brushed past me and flowed out the open door after them. Just an airflow, from the cold and warmer air mixing. Yes, that was certainly all it was.
Certainly.
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[WP] You are a State Necromancer, employed to temporarily ressurect the dead so they may bear witness in court. But on rare occasions you are asked to perform another role: Permanantly ressurecting prisoners who were executed and then later pardoned. But "pardoned" doesnt always equate to "innocent"
|
I've told them 17 times to make sure they are innocent before making me permanently rezz them. And somehow by a fucking miracle of the powers above I've only ever had to hunt down 3 of the "Guilty Ghouls"
This is the fourth. Hes robbed 3 banks, murdered 5 people, one was a child, and was arrested on suspicion of taking cocaine of all things. I knew this guy shouldn't have been resurrected but "it's my job hurr durr"
This guys name was Martin. If anything he will be back at home. With his new meal. Probably a teen or young adult. The Guilty Ghouls usually come back from the dead as cannibals, and Martin is probably no different.
So as I drove my car to his house with the hearse behind me I ready my incantations. I'm the 17th best necromancer. That's a good thing. The more powerful the necromancer the stronger the ghouls. Because of this I dont train myself to become more powerful like other necromancers.
We got to his house. 112 Pearly RD. The police have already ripped the door down but it seems Martin is tearing them apart. I get out of my car, my focus Bracelet glistening in the dark. Martin spots me and screams "I didnt ask for this Reaper" I know he didnt. He knew that I knew he didnt.
"Aurom verax alscaro Dorrahn." Hw should have dropped down. He should have left his corpse. He simply laughs "VOLKAHN KORRIZ SINKARO!" A ghoul should not be able to do what he did. For those who dont know that was the resurrection curse. The dead officers slowly got to their feet. They were ghouls. "I don't want you dead Reaper. I need you alive"
A ghoul with this level of power isnt a ghoul. It's a lich. Much worse. And a lich is unkillable while their Phalactery is intact. And since I resurrected him I had to end this.
"I SEBASTIAN MARKUS CROWLY DO HEREBY ADMIT MY MISTAKE. BY RESURRECTING A NECROMANCER I HAVE VIOLATED THE RAISED DEAD ACT 2034 PAGE 4 CHAPTER 3. PUNISHMENT..." I drew the gun my son bought me three weeks before his murder and pointed it up "... IS DEATH!"
the last thing I heard was a loud bang. I fell through the darkness. Falling further and further. Until my feet landed on something and all u saw was a hooded figure. "You took my name and you destroyed what it meant. I'd send you to the worst afterlife but you have been requested" his voice appeared straight in my mind as if it skipped my ears "who wishes for me" my voice shaked in the presence of the Grim Reaper "my boss" his voice uttered as he turned to face me "Death"
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"Do you see what has happened?! As soon as I brought him back, there has been a murder EVERY SINGLE DAY!"
"Barry, you don't even have evidence"
"His DNA was present at every crime scene. EVERY SINGLE SCENE!"
"What are we supposed to do? We can't arrest him again! It's bad publicity!"
"You know what will get you bad publicity? Having a necromancer ressurect a wrongly pardoned serial killer and refusing to do anything about it!"
"Barry, I have very good connections, you know that. You also know what I will do if you tell anybody about this. Now, what we're gonna do is arrest somebody, and then pardon him and close the cases, and just call them cold. No wrongful convictions"
"And just let the bastard walk free?!"
"I said, we will close the cases, Barry"
"Over your dead body"
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[WP] You are a State Necromancer, employed to temporarily ressurect the dead so they may bear witness in court. But on rare occasions you are asked to perform another role: Permanantly ressurecting prisoners who were executed and then later pardoned. But "pardoned" doesnt always equate to "innocent"
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“Are you Jon Vale?” A strange voice asked, as he barged into my workshop unannounced. I would’ve given the uninvited guest a sharp dismissal, but when I looked up I saw something that made my heart skip a beat. It was Alvin Taggert, a High Adjudicator of Necropol.
”M-mr. Taggert, sir?” I asked, stuttering. “What are you doing here? Er, I mean- what can I do for you?” I was already on alert. High Adjudicators never deigned a visit down to my neck of the woods. Because here in floor B13-the basement of Necropol-only two things belonged: cadavers and necromancers. I was the latter, naturally.
“Are you, Jon Vale?” He asked again, his piercing grey eyes boring into me. The High Adjudicator had such striking features- chiseled jaw, protruding cheekbones, twin scars above his lip, that he shared more similarities to a predator than a man.
“Yes,” I gulped. I tried to stand at attention, even raised my hand to my head in some sort of faux salute. I didn’t know what the hell I was supposed to do here. Alvin’s scowl apparently did not approve.
“Hands down and sit, son. I need a word with you.”
Did I just get offered to sit down in my own seat?
When we both sat, Alvin splayed himself outwardly looking as if he owned the place. He took a measured breath then began to lay it on me.
“Jon Vale.” He said. “We’ve a mission for you. Something we’ve been informed that only you can handle presently.”
I leaned in, intrigued.
“All the necromancers who have proper clearance for this mission are currently away on assignment.” Alvin said, speaking as if he were the calm before a storm. “But since this is a crucial matter, one that cannot be relegated to another time, me and the Third Council have agreed to bend the rules- just this time of course.”
“O-of course. Naturally. Yes.” I said, trying to act nonchalant. I was doing it again. Vomiting out needless words under pressure. Call it a nervous tick, I call it a giant pain in the ass. The way he rolled his eyes at me just then told me I was moments away from sinking at sea.
And yet, I wanted know more. He was saying so much skirting only around the edges.
“So-“ I said, trying to steer the conversation. “What uh- Whatcha thinkin bout?” Even before I finished saying the words, I could feel myself dying on the inside. *Watcha thinkin bout*? Really? At least I couldn’t embarrass myself any worse than this. Right?
When I said nothing else, Alvin Taggert sighed. He rubbed at his eyes and even massaged his temples.
“Jon, let me just get to the point.” Taggert said with his head still in his hands. “We have an S-rank mission on our hands. All our top necros are unavailable. Currently in the office, you are the highest ranking official in this department. Despite your clearance only allowing access to B-rank assignments, we’ve decided to forgo that for now due to the time constraints of this job. Do I make myself clear?”
He could have hit me in the face with a 2x4 right then and there and that would have made more sense.
“I- erm, yeah- I-“ I babbled. My nervous tick was really out in full. Not my finest moment to be sure. Before I ruined my career further, I forced myself to swallow and pressed the reset button.
“Sir, Mr. Taggert-“
“Just call me Alvin.” He said with a hint of an impatient snarl.
“Oh, okay, *Alvin*, then uh- no. I have no idea what you’re trying to ask of me... sir.”
The way the veins began to bulge on his forehead told me I was about to be in a world of hurt.
Through gritted teeth, he said. “Does the name Rowan Carnus ring a bell?”
Soon as he said it, vivid images played out in my head. I knew that name, sure. Everyone did. Rowan Carnus was a notorious Hexwrite. A man who could pen down a sentence with as little as seven words to unleash a horrific curse upon another. Rowan was the best in that regards. He could jot down another persons demise as if he were writing the man an elegant poem. That is- when he was still alive.
Rowan had recently crossed pens against other High Adjudicators like Alvin. Their duel of hexes was stuff of legends. In the end, twelve men died, ripped to ribbons with forbidden Hexes and terrible Curses.
For once, I didn’t have to bumble my way through the conversation like an idiot.
“I know you and yours took him down. I know what he was charged for and what he was sentenced to death over.” I said. Who didn’t though? The media circles ran his story everyday for a month when he died.
“You’re intimately aware of his rap sheet, yes?”
“I wouldn’t say intimately. But, yeah, I know of him well enough.”
“Good. It bodes well for you that you’re this familiar.” Alvin said as he stood up. “Come with me.”
We didn’t go far. A few hallways down and into one of the autopsy rooms. When Alvin ushered me in, the room was pitch black. When he flipped the lights, I damn near squealed at what I saw- Rowan Carnus’ corpse. Even though I knew he was dead, I couldn’t help but flinch. This Hexwrite was responsible for some of the most outlandish deaths in modern history.
“From this moment on, Jon Vale,” Alvin said, locking the door behind us. “Your security clearance has been authorized for all S-Rank material.” He strode besides Rowans corpse, gave it an icy glare and turned back towards me.
“I, High Adjudicator, Alvin Taggert, hereby consign you to your first S-Rank mission. Your duty, in which you are forced to accept, is to return Mr. Carnus to the world of the living-“
*No, no, no, no.* I could hear the words playing out in my head.
Taggert continued, “And during his time of Relife, you will also act as his handler.” He had let the hammer fall and now my ears were ringing.
“W-what?” I could barely muster.
“We are in need of his service, Vale. We’re currently after an elusive group of Hexwrites known as the Stonework Syndicate. To spare you from making a fool of yourself- yes, they’re real, and yes they are as dangerous as the rumors say. More so, they are nigh untraceable. We’ve picked up on wisps of trails they’ve left behind, but nothing ever tangible. Alone, we can’t find them. That’s where he comes in.” Alvin pointed at the dead body.
“We need him to talk and in order to do that, you need to bring him back to life.” Alvin said. “And you know the drill, son. With him returned, you’ll have to be at his side 24/7.”
One of the pitfalls of being a necromancer was that the dead we returned to “Relife” was bound to our magicks. If we were separated too far, they’d become a corpse once more.
“H-how long?” I quivered. From my experience B-Rank missions lasted around one to three months, A-Rank around a year to two. But an S-Rank? Rumor had it that the longest stint was nearly a decade.
“Undetermined.” He said, flatly. That was the most political way to say, I was screwed.
“This won’t be easy, Vale. We understand that and are prepared to compensate you for your service and for the potential harm that may come your way. However, you have no say in the matter. Time is of the essence and your country needs you, son. Consider yourself conscripted.”
The room was spinning and I could feel bile in my throat. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to scream. Hell, I wanted to cry. But looking at the gaunt expression on High Adjudicator Alvin Taggert, I realized I was stuck in the middle. I had no choice here unless I quit my job right there on the spot. And to be honest, I wasn’t even sure that was going to work.
I couldn’t believe it when the words came out of my own mouth, but I looked him in the eyes and asked. “How soon do we start?”
“Right now, Jon Vale. The mission is already a go.”
___
Thanks for reading!
r/86Fiction
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"Do you see what has happened?! As soon as I brought him back, there has been a murder EVERY SINGLE DAY!"
"Barry, you don't even have evidence"
"His DNA was present at every crime scene. EVERY SINGLE SCENE!"
"What are we supposed to do? We can't arrest him again! It's bad publicity!"
"You know what will get you bad publicity? Having a necromancer ressurect a wrongly pardoned serial killer and refusing to do anything about it!"
"Barry, I have very good connections, you know that. You also know what I will do if you tell anybody about this. Now, what we're gonna do is arrest somebody, and then pardon him and close the cases, and just call them cold. No wrongful convictions"
"And just let the bastard walk free?!"
"I said, we will close the cases, Barry"
"Over your dead body"
|
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[WP] You are a State Necromancer, employed to temporarily ressurect the dead so they may bear witness in court. But on rare occasions you are asked to perform another role: Permanantly ressurecting prisoners who were executed and then later pardoned. But "pardoned" doesnt always equate to "innocent"
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"This is a joke." I creased the document and flicked it back across the table. "This has to be, a sick prank. Is it April?"
My supervisor stared blankly back at me. "It's January. You know full-well they're serious."
"The man is a serial killer- worse than a serial killer! He's performed crimes against *humanity.*"
"He's been *pardoned* for crimes against humanity. Standards have changed since we rediscovered the black, you know that. *You've* been killing people for nearly a decade to charge up, and nobody bats an eye."
Legally. The social stigma of black magic was another story.
"I've been executing *criminals* on the state's orders. He's a *butcher*."
It probably shouldn't have been a surprise. The fey had their illusions, dragonkind had their energy control. Humanity was the only mortal species that could perform magic; it was either God's consolation or cruel irony that our dominion was death itself. We became the bane of immortals, and with none left to teach us, magic seemed to die out.
Equivalent Exchange was quite clear that life must be balanced with death, and vice versa. When magic was rediscovered about a century ago, there were two immediate consequences: first, that the state began to phase out alternative methods of execution. Necromancers were employed by the government for all sorts of conventional purposes, mostly involving criminal law, and that meant they needed a readily available power source. It actually proved quite efficient, since having a practiced hand simply jelly a man's internal organs proved cheaper than bullets, chemicals or the electric chair.
The second consequence, was that murder rates had skyrocketed. Extreme regulations had to be put in play -- modern practices that put the old Witch Trials to shame.
A scoff from across the table. "We both know you were *recruited.* And you gave up ethics when you picked up a spellbook."
"I refuse."
"Can't. Executive order."
"Then fire me, or I'll quit. My great-grandparents are among his victims-"
"- my sincerest condolences -"
"- bullshit, I'm not doing it." I pushed my chair back to stand up.
"If you leave," she sighed, "you'll lose your authorization to practice -- as a *start.*"
My throat went dry as I sank back in my chair. The threat alone started to make the room spin. Losing authorization was like throwing you to the sharks in a steak suit; not only would the state clean out your assets, but make it open season for other necros to pick on your bones. Some of the so-called White Hats were capable of a fate worse than death -- I should know -- and several Black Hats were happy to see me that way.
Even killing myself wouldn't be an escape. Hell, with the right techniques it would make it *easier* to get the job done.
"... why."
"Because you're the most qualified. You have the biggest charge this side of-"
"No, I mean, why *him*."
She raised an eyebrow. "Officially, that's above my paygrade."
"Unofficially?"
"The man's the greatest necro in history. Lobbyists in the Arc-Sci community have been after his work for decades. And now POTUS..."
"... is a fan," I snarled.
She handwaved my commentary. "... has *friends* among them."
"How did he even get custody of the bo- the remains? Or the authority to do a pardon? The UN would never allow it if he *weren't* a-a..." I couldn't think of anything awful enough in the moment.
"Far as I know, the plans were already in place before his election. Look, I'm not here to talk politics. You're the best candidate we've got for a resurrection, but I need to stress, they don't *need* you. They don't even need *me*. This *will* happen even if we drag our feet, so don't throw your career *or life* away for this."
I slumped forward, rubbing my temples as I took it all in. "I don't want to go down in history as the guy who rezzed that... psychopath."
"*Please.*" Even without looking, I could *feel* her eyes rolling from across the room. "Best case scenario, you'll be a footnote as the community peels his work apart."
"And worst?"
She shrugged. "You won't be remembered at all."
That got me out of the slump. "*Wow.*"
"Oh, don't give me that look. I've been having back and forths for weeks trying to make sure *you* get a pardon for this if it *does* blow back, which *just* came in, so don't thank me or anything. I've had enough sycophantic bullshit for one lifetime, and I don't need to bring you up for insubordination right now, *or* lose my best guy. Nobody in history will blame you with this much pressure, so just... follow orders."
It was my turn for a blank stare. "You realize the irony of that statement, don't you?"
"That's how I'm the boss. He's on a slab in autopsy." She slid the folded page back to me, and stood up to leave. "Just make sure the good doctor's feeling talkative. Everything else is already handled."
After the door shut behind her, I sat in silence for what felt like hours, though the clock on the wall didn't put it past 10 minutes. All I could do was stare at the page title.
*"The Angel of Death."*
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"Do you see what has happened?! As soon as I brought him back, there has been a murder EVERY SINGLE DAY!"
"Barry, you don't even have evidence"
"His DNA was present at every crime scene. EVERY SINGLE SCENE!"
"What are we supposed to do? We can't arrest him again! It's bad publicity!"
"You know what will get you bad publicity? Having a necromancer ressurect a wrongly pardoned serial killer and refusing to do anything about it!"
"Barry, I have very good connections, you know that. You also know what I will do if you tell anybody about this. Now, what we're gonna do is arrest somebody, and then pardon him and close the cases, and just call them cold. No wrongful convictions"
"And just let the bastard walk free?!"
"I said, we will close the cases, Barry"
"Over your dead body"
|
|
[WP] You are a State Necromancer, employed to temporarily ressurect the dead so they may bear witness in court. But on rare occasions you are asked to perform another role: Permanantly ressurecting prisoners who were executed and then later pardoned. But "pardoned" doesnt always equate to "innocent"
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"Your Honour, I must ask: are you absolutely certain of this? Once brought back, we can't return him to the dead quite as easily" I said. We had reconvened in the Room of Resurrection after the final verdict, and while I had never known a judge to retract his final statement, I needed to be certain.
Judge Venture seemed to study me for a moment, before turning his attention to the body placed in the center of the room. "Despite his part in the robberies perpetrated by the Thornwood Band, Mr. Kimble played a vital role in the eventual capture and conviction of his former partners-in-crime, which is why his request for resurrection was granted. Especially since it is all he asked for in exchange for his aid" he said slowly, deliberately, making certain both me and the officers present understood. "A decision was made, and all that remains is for us to make certain it is carried out."
"But your Honour-" I began before he turned back towards me, a stern expression on his face. "No buts, my friend. You know what you have to do. And have a little faith", he continued, with a subtle smile. "The concerns you raised during his interrogations were passed along, as was your assessment of the integrity of Mr. Kimble's soul. We know who, or what, we're dealing with"
*Or you just think you do*, I thought. The assessment that all legal necromancers were required to write were an excellent aide in judging which criminals - or wrongfully executed - could be considered safe for resurrection. However, there was no real way to explain the sensation of peering into another human's soul to someone outside the craft. Any form of necromancy created a link between the necromancer and his subject, a window into the subject's soul: his desires, his wants and won'ts - a glimpse of their inner workings, sometimes more. It wasn't foolproof, and came in a jumble of sensations, feelings and bits of memory, but an experienced necromancer could certainly form a decent mental profile out of it. The hard part was adapting it for an objective report.
Harry Kimble's soul had shown me that he hadn't just enjoyed the robberies he'd been a part of, he'd come to enjoy the killings that accompanied them as well. And I didn't think he'd stop once he came back, as I'd made clear in my report. Normally, that'd be enough reason to disregard resurrection as an option, but apparently this was a special case.
Nevertheless, I had my duties. I signalled the officers to take point at the far side of the room, and began making my preparations. As this was a judicial resurrection, the Room provided the base necessities: a round central area, with silver lines in the floor forming an intricate arcane diagram, a consecrated stone altar as the focal point in the center of the room, on which the body was placed. All that was needed were the reagents, and someone to start and direct the process.
I started by placing the reagents, chosen by the subject himself, in a five-pointed star around the body: a lit cigarette of his favourite brand for fire; soil from his youth home for earth; gunpowder smoke for air; and some water, drawn from the Thornwood lake. At the top of the star, I placed the jacket he wore during his last robbery, now ruined by blood and a few bullet holes: the blood would serve as a physical link, the jacket spiritual; Apparently, he'd had it since his late teens.
Then, I started the ritual that would return Kimble to the ranks of the living.
It started quickly, as they usually did: once a soul, willing to return, was aware of its coming resurrection, it almost seemed to be waiting for the moment it could return to a body. What I wasn't prepared for were the sensations of his soul: a full resurrection created the greatest possible link between the necromancer and his subject, and his desire almost overwhelmed me: a longing for the thrill of the chase, the rush of adrenaline when the guns came out, to *feel* and *live* again without restrictions. A soul that remembered a life on the edge, and wanted nothing more than to experience it all even stronger before it died a second time.
Despite my better judgement, a ritual started *must* be finished, one way or another; and so, after several minutes that felt like hours, Harry Kimble slowly rose from the altar.
Even in my shock, I remembered my lines. "Keep it slow and steady, Mr. Kimble. Your soul is still adapting to your body: It will take a few days to fully regain your muscle control and physical ability. I'd advise a lack of heavy exercion, and light foods for your first few days." As I spoke, Kimble slowly righted himself, checking his skin, hair, clothes. As he finished inspecting his new body, judge Venture approached him, the two officers forming a line between the two.
"Seems like everything worked out fine, didn't it?" Kimble said to the judge with a grin "So I guess I'll be off then."
"Not yet, Mr. Kimble. First, I have to ask whether you will still stand by your testimony given by way of our interrogator here, and are willing to agree with the verdict it lead to." The judge said, an odd inflection in his tone. I don't think I'd have caught it if I didn't know him so well.
"Why'd I change my mind now?" Kimble answered, seemingly dumbfounded. "I told ya what I could, and I stand by it. Whatever ya used it for won't bother me once I'm out the door" he concluded, and started walking. Before going three steps, however, the two guards seized him, eased by his lacking body control.
"I'm afraid you misunderstood, Mr. Kimble" the judge said, now fully in his role as lawman. "The trial was meant to decide the degree of guilt of *all* members of the Thornwood Band. As you agreed that resurrection was a fair price for your cooperation, you have not been declared innocent of the crimes you took part in while a member of the group."
"You will temporarily be transferred to a local holding cell, and your former partners-in-crime will be asked to provide testimony for your role in the Band's deeds. I'm certain they will gladly return the favour, considering your own role in their capture. Of course, you will also be given all legal aid you are entitled to. Justice doesn't play favourites, after all" Judge Venture finished, as the officers led Kimble outside, where I could now see a waiting police wagon. Kimble's attempts at resistance were impressive, but it was clear they had counted on the resurrection to interfere: before long, they were gone, leaving Venture and me.
A few minutes later, I handed Venture a cup of coffee while nursing my own, outside the courthouse. "You know, you could have saved me a lot of stress by just telling me what would happen with him. I was convinced some of the higher-ups had gone mad". I said angrily, wondering why I had been kept out of the loop.
"Weren't you the one who told me about the "link between a necromancer and his subject"? Venture retorted, with that smile he got when he had someone outsmarted. "After reading your reports, we decided that we couldn't risk him getting an idea of what was going to happen, even with him weakened from the resurrection. You did good work, by the way. Bringing back someone like him must take its toll."
He wouldn't ask directly, but it was clear he wondered how I was taking the news. "Just part of the job, right?" I responded, perhaps a bit more grim than I intended. "It was a good precaution, and it led to the conviction of every member of their group. If this is what it takes, I'll happily keep doing it"
"Well then, to many more cases that end like this" Venture declaimed. "Where Justice truly doesn't play favourites - even with the dead."
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"Do you see what has happened?! As soon as I brought him back, there has been a murder EVERY SINGLE DAY!"
"Barry, you don't even have evidence"
"His DNA was present at every crime scene. EVERY SINGLE SCENE!"
"What are we supposed to do? We can't arrest him again! It's bad publicity!"
"You know what will get you bad publicity? Having a necromancer ressurect a wrongly pardoned serial killer and refusing to do anything about it!"
"Barry, I have very good connections, you know that. You also know what I will do if you tell anybody about this. Now, what we're gonna do is arrest somebody, and then pardon him and close the cases, and just call them cold. No wrongful convictions"
"And just let the bastard walk free?!"
"I said, we will close the cases, Barry"
"Over your dead body"
|
|
[WP] You are a State Necromancer, employed to temporarily ressurect the dead so they may bear witness in court. But on rare occasions you are asked to perform another role: Permanantly ressurecting prisoners who were executed and then later pardoned. But "pardoned" doesnt always equate to "innocent"
|
"This is a joke." I creased the document and flicked it back across the table. "This has to be, a sick prank. Is it April?"
My supervisor stared blankly back at me. "It's January. You know full-well they're serious."
"The man is a serial killer- worse than a serial killer! He's performed crimes against *humanity.*"
"He's been *pardoned* for crimes against humanity. Standards have changed since we rediscovered the black, you know that. *You've* been killing people for nearly a decade to charge up, and nobody bats an eye."
Legally. The social stigma of black magic was another story.
"I've been executing *criminals* on the state's orders. He's a *butcher*."
It probably shouldn't have been a surprise. The fey had their illusions, dragonkind had their energy control. Humanity was the only mortal species that could perform magic; it was either God's consolation or cruel irony that our dominion was death itself. We became the bane of immortals, and with none left to teach us, magic seemed to die out.
Equivalent Exchange was quite clear that life must be balanced with death, and vice versa. When magic was rediscovered about a century ago, there were two immediate consequences: first, that the state began to phase out alternative methods of execution. Necromancers were employed by the government for all sorts of conventional purposes, mostly involving criminal law, and that meant they needed a readily available power source. It actually proved quite efficient, since having a practiced hand simply jelly a man's internal organs proved cheaper than bullets, chemicals or the electric chair.
The second consequence, was that murder rates had skyrocketed. Extreme regulations had to be put in play -- modern practices that put the old Witch Trials to shame.
A scoff from across the table. "We both know you were *recruited.* And you gave up ethics when you picked up a spellbook."
"I refuse."
"Can't. Executive order."
"Then fire me, or I'll quit. My great-grandparents are among his victims-"
"- my sincerest condolences -"
"- bullshit, I'm not doing it." I pushed my chair back to stand up.
"If you leave," she sighed, "you'll lose your authorization to practice -- as a *start.*"
My throat went dry as I sank back in my chair. The threat alone started to make the room spin. Losing authorization was like throwing you to the sharks in a steak suit; not only would the state clean out your assets, but make it open season for other necros to pick on your bones. Some of the so-called White Hats were capable of a fate worse than death -- I should know -- and several Black Hats were happy to see me that way.
Even killing myself wouldn't be an escape. Hell, with the right techniques it would make it *easier* to get the job done.
"... why."
"Because you're the most qualified. You have the biggest charge this side of-"
"No, I mean, why *him*."
She raised an eyebrow. "Officially, that's above my paygrade."
"Unofficially?"
"The man's the greatest necro in history. Lobbyists in the Arc-Sci community have been after his work for decades. And now POTUS..."
"... is a fan," I snarled.
She handwaved my commentary. "... has *friends* among them."
"How did he even get custody of the bo- the remains? Or the authority to do a pardon? The UN would never allow it if he *weren't* a-a..." I couldn't think of anything awful enough in the moment.
"Far as I know, the plans were already in place before his election. Look, I'm not here to talk politics. You're the best candidate we've got for a resurrection, but I need to stress, they don't *need* you. They don't even need *me*. This *will* happen even if we drag our feet, so don't throw your career *or life* away for this."
I slumped forward, rubbing my temples as I took it all in. "I don't want to go down in history as the guy who rezzed that... psychopath."
"*Please.*" Even without looking, I could *feel* her eyes rolling from across the room. "Best case scenario, you'll be a footnote as the community peels his work apart."
"And worst?"
She shrugged. "You won't be remembered at all."
That got me out of the slump. "*Wow.*"
"Oh, don't give me that look. I've been having back and forths for weeks trying to make sure *you* get a pardon for this if it *does* blow back, which *just* came in, so don't thank me or anything. I've had enough sycophantic bullshit for one lifetime, and I don't need to bring you up for insubordination right now, *or* lose my best guy. Nobody in history will blame you with this much pressure, so just... follow orders."
It was my turn for a blank stare. "You realize the irony of that statement, don't you?"
"That's how I'm the boss. He's on a slab in autopsy." She slid the folded page back to me, and stood up to leave. "Just make sure the good doctor's feeling talkative. Everything else is already handled."
After the door shut behind her, I sat in silence for what felt like hours, though the clock on the wall didn't put it past 10 minutes. All I could do was stare at the page title.
*"The Angel of Death."*
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They called me in, for what seemed like an ordinary case. Raise the man they executed. This is why they won't fix our justice system- I'm here to fix it for them.
I raise my hand towards the detective, who is looking at a plain pine box. "Why the hell they want this man alive, I have no clue." I simply nod my head, as I watch the two medical examiners open the lid.
"Who was he?"
"That damned serial killer, Jeffrey."
"Excuse me?" I open my eyes, terror obviously in them. "Jeffrey, as in Jeffrey Dahmer?"
He sighs heavily, scratching his head. "We need him for a case. The other necromancer, Sinclair, died last night. Hung." I had heard about it, but didn't want to imagine the worst.
"You're our best Lindsey, and we have a psychological expert to help us crack this case. We think he has killed two other necromancers. We just don't know who 'he' is."
I take in a deep breath and I begin to search for the soul. My heart pounds when I find it. The sheer feeling of evil is overwhelming. When I am done, the corpse rises up, with the grotesque smile.
"Why, isn't this a surprise," He coos easily, "What brings me back from hell?"
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[WP] You are a State Necromancer, employed to temporarily ressurect the dead so they may bear witness in court. But on rare occasions you are asked to perform another role: Permanantly ressurecting prisoners who were executed and then later pardoned. But "pardoned" doesnt always equate to "innocent"
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"This is a joke." I creased the document and flicked it back across the table. "This has to be, a sick prank. Is it April?"
My supervisor stared blankly back at me. "It's January. You know full-well they're serious."
"The man is a serial killer- worse than a serial killer! He's performed crimes against *humanity.*"
"He's been *pardoned* for crimes against humanity. Standards have changed since we rediscovered the black, you know that. *You've* been killing people for nearly a decade to charge up, and nobody bats an eye."
Legally. The social stigma of black magic was another story.
"I've been executing *criminals* on the state's orders. He's a *butcher*."
It probably shouldn't have been a surprise. The fey had their illusions, dragonkind had their energy control. Humanity was the only mortal species that could perform magic; it was either God's consolation or cruel irony that our dominion was death itself. We became the bane of immortals, and with none left to teach us, magic seemed to die out.
Equivalent Exchange was quite clear that life must be balanced with death, and vice versa. When magic was rediscovered about a century ago, there were two immediate consequences: first, that the state began to phase out alternative methods of execution. Necromancers were employed by the government for all sorts of conventional purposes, mostly involving criminal law, and that meant they needed a readily available power source. It actually proved quite efficient, since having a practiced hand simply jelly a man's internal organs proved cheaper than bullets, chemicals or the electric chair.
The second consequence, was that murder rates had skyrocketed. Extreme regulations had to be put in play -- modern practices that put the old Witch Trials to shame.
A scoff from across the table. "We both know you were *recruited.* And you gave up ethics when you picked up a spellbook."
"I refuse."
"Can't. Executive order."
"Then fire me, or I'll quit. My great-grandparents are among his victims-"
"- my sincerest condolences -"
"- bullshit, I'm not doing it." I pushed my chair back to stand up.
"If you leave," she sighed, "you'll lose your authorization to practice -- as a *start.*"
My throat went dry as I sank back in my chair. The threat alone started to make the room spin. Losing authorization was like throwing you to the sharks in a steak suit; not only would the state clean out your assets, but make it open season for other necros to pick on your bones. Some of the so-called White Hats were capable of a fate worse than death -- I should know -- and several Black Hats were happy to see me that way.
Even killing myself wouldn't be an escape. Hell, with the right techniques it would make it *easier* to get the job done.
"... why."
"Because you're the most qualified. You have the biggest charge this side of-"
"No, I mean, why *him*."
She raised an eyebrow. "Officially, that's above my paygrade."
"Unofficially?"
"The man's the greatest necro in history. Lobbyists in the Arc-Sci community have been after his work for decades. And now POTUS..."
"... is a fan," I snarled.
She handwaved my commentary. "... has *friends* among them."
"How did he even get custody of the bo- the remains? Or the authority to do a pardon? The UN would never allow it if he *weren't* a-a..." I couldn't think of anything awful enough in the moment.
"Far as I know, the plans were already in place before his election. Look, I'm not here to talk politics. You're the best candidate we've got for a resurrection, but I need to stress, they don't *need* you. They don't even need *me*. This *will* happen even if we drag our feet, so don't throw your career *or life* away for this."
I slumped forward, rubbing my temples as I took it all in. "I don't want to go down in history as the guy who rezzed that... psychopath."
"*Please.*" Even without looking, I could *feel* her eyes rolling from across the room. "Best case scenario, you'll be a footnote as the community peels his work apart."
"And worst?"
She shrugged. "You won't be remembered at all."
That got me out of the slump. "*Wow.*"
"Oh, don't give me that look. I've been having back and forths for weeks trying to make sure *you* get a pardon for this if it *does* blow back, which *just* came in, so don't thank me or anything. I've had enough sycophantic bullshit for one lifetime, and I don't need to bring you up for insubordination right now, *or* lose my best guy. Nobody in history will blame you with this much pressure, so just... follow orders."
It was my turn for a blank stare. "You realize the irony of that statement, don't you?"
"That's how I'm the boss. He's on a slab in autopsy." She slid the folded page back to me, and stood up to leave. "Just make sure the good doctor's feeling talkative. Everything else is already handled."
After the door shut behind her, I sat in silence for what felt like hours, though the clock on the wall didn't put it past 10 minutes. All I could do was stare at the page title.
*"The Angel of Death."*
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I've told them 17 times to make sure they are innocent before making me permanently rezz them. And somehow by a fucking miracle of the powers above I've only ever had to hunt down 3 of the "Guilty Ghouls"
This is the fourth. Hes robbed 3 banks, murdered 5 people, one was a child, and was arrested on suspicion of taking cocaine of all things. I knew this guy shouldn't have been resurrected but "it's my job hurr durr"
This guys name was Martin. If anything he will be back at home. With his new meal. Probably a teen or young adult. The Guilty Ghouls usually come back from the dead as cannibals, and Martin is probably no different.
So as I drove my car to his house with the hearse behind me I ready my incantations. I'm the 17th best necromancer. That's a good thing. The more powerful the necromancer the stronger the ghouls. Because of this I dont train myself to become more powerful like other necromancers.
We got to his house. 112 Pearly RD. The police have already ripped the door down but it seems Martin is tearing them apart. I get out of my car, my focus Bracelet glistening in the dark. Martin spots me and screams "I didnt ask for this Reaper" I know he didnt. He knew that I knew he didnt.
"Aurom verax alscaro Dorrahn." Hw should have dropped down. He should have left his corpse. He simply laughs "VOLKAHN KORRIZ SINKARO!" A ghoul should not be able to do what he did. For those who dont know that was the resurrection curse. The dead officers slowly got to their feet. They were ghouls. "I don't want you dead Reaper. I need you alive"
A ghoul with this level of power isnt a ghoul. It's a lich. Much worse. And a lich is unkillable while their Phalactery is intact. And since I resurrected him I had to end this.
"I SEBASTIAN MARKUS CROWLY DO HEREBY ADMIT MY MISTAKE. BY RESURRECTING A NECROMANCER I HAVE VIOLATED THE RAISED DEAD ACT 2034 PAGE 4 CHAPTER 3. PUNISHMENT..." I drew the gun my son bought me three weeks before his murder and pointed it up "... IS DEATH!"
the last thing I heard was a loud bang. I fell through the darkness. Falling further and further. Until my feet landed on something and all u saw was a hooded figure. "You took my name and you destroyed what it meant. I'd send you to the worst afterlife but you have been requested" his voice appeared straight in my mind as if it skipped my ears "who wishes for me" my voice shaked in the presence of the Grim Reaper "my boss" his voice uttered as he turned to face me "Death"
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[WP] You are a State Necromancer, employed to temporarily ressurect the dead so they may bear witness in court. But on rare occasions you are asked to perform another role: Permanantly ressurecting prisoners who were executed and then later pardoned. But "pardoned" doesnt always equate to "innocent"
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"This is a joke." I creased the document and flicked it back across the table. "This has to be, a sick prank. Is it April?"
My supervisor stared blankly back at me. "It's January. You know full-well they're serious."
"The man is a serial killer- worse than a serial killer! He's performed crimes against *humanity.*"
"He's been *pardoned* for crimes against humanity. Standards have changed since we rediscovered the black, you know that. *You've* been killing people for nearly a decade to charge up, and nobody bats an eye."
Legally. The social stigma of black magic was another story.
"I've been executing *criminals* on the state's orders. He's a *butcher*."
It probably shouldn't have been a surprise. The fey had their illusions, dragonkind had their energy control. Humanity was the only mortal species that could perform magic; it was either God's consolation or cruel irony that our dominion was death itself. We became the bane of immortals, and with none left to teach us, magic seemed to die out.
Equivalent Exchange was quite clear that life must be balanced with death, and vice versa. When magic was rediscovered about a century ago, there were two immediate consequences: first, that the state began to phase out alternative methods of execution. Necromancers were employed by the government for all sorts of conventional purposes, mostly involving criminal law, and that meant they needed a readily available power source. It actually proved quite efficient, since having a practiced hand simply jelly a man's internal organs proved cheaper than bullets, chemicals or the electric chair.
The second consequence, was that murder rates had skyrocketed. Extreme regulations had to be put in play -- modern practices that put the old Witch Trials to shame.
A scoff from across the table. "We both know you were *recruited.* And you gave up ethics when you picked up a spellbook."
"I refuse."
"Can't. Executive order."
"Then fire me, or I'll quit. My great-grandparents are among his victims-"
"- my sincerest condolences -"
"- bullshit, I'm not doing it." I pushed my chair back to stand up.
"If you leave," she sighed, "you'll lose your authorization to practice -- as a *start.*"
My throat went dry as I sank back in my chair. The threat alone started to make the room spin. Losing authorization was like throwing you to the sharks in a steak suit; not only would the state clean out your assets, but make it open season for other necros to pick on your bones. Some of the so-called White Hats were capable of a fate worse than death -- I should know -- and several Black Hats were happy to see me that way.
Even killing myself wouldn't be an escape. Hell, with the right techniques it would make it *easier* to get the job done.
"... why."
"Because you're the most qualified. You have the biggest charge this side of-"
"No, I mean, why *him*."
She raised an eyebrow. "Officially, that's above my paygrade."
"Unofficially?"
"The man's the greatest necro in history. Lobbyists in the Arc-Sci community have been after his work for decades. And now POTUS..."
"... is a fan," I snarled.
She handwaved my commentary. "... has *friends* among them."
"How did he even get custody of the bo- the remains? Or the authority to do a pardon? The UN would never allow it if he *weren't* a-a..." I couldn't think of anything awful enough in the moment.
"Far as I know, the plans were already in place before his election. Look, I'm not here to talk politics. You're the best candidate we've got for a resurrection, but I need to stress, they don't *need* you. They don't even need *me*. This *will* happen even if we drag our feet, so don't throw your career *or life* away for this."
I slumped forward, rubbing my temples as I took it all in. "I don't want to go down in history as the guy who rezzed that... psychopath."
"*Please.*" Even without looking, I could *feel* her eyes rolling from across the room. "Best case scenario, you'll be a footnote as the community peels his work apart."
"And worst?"
She shrugged. "You won't be remembered at all."
That got me out of the slump. "*Wow.*"
"Oh, don't give me that look. I've been having back and forths for weeks trying to make sure *you* get a pardon for this if it *does* blow back, which *just* came in, so don't thank me or anything. I've had enough sycophantic bullshit for one lifetime, and I don't need to bring you up for insubordination right now, *or* lose my best guy. Nobody in history will blame you with this much pressure, so just... follow orders."
It was my turn for a blank stare. "You realize the irony of that statement, don't you?"
"That's how I'm the boss. He's on a slab in autopsy." She slid the folded page back to me, and stood up to leave. "Just make sure the good doctor's feeling talkative. Everything else is already handled."
After the door shut behind her, I sat in silence for what felt like hours, though the clock on the wall didn't put it past 10 minutes. All I could do was stare at the page title.
*"The Angel of Death."*
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“Are you Jon Vale?” A strange voice asked, as he barged into my workshop unannounced. I would’ve given the uninvited guest a sharp dismissal, but when I looked up I saw something that made my heart skip a beat. It was Alvin Taggert, a High Adjudicator of Necropol.
”M-mr. Taggert, sir?” I asked, stuttering. “What are you doing here? Er, I mean- what can I do for you?” I was already on alert. High Adjudicators never deigned a visit down to my neck of the woods. Because here in floor B13-the basement of Necropol-only two things belonged: cadavers and necromancers. I was the latter, naturally.
“Are you, Jon Vale?” He asked again, his piercing grey eyes boring into me. The High Adjudicator had such striking features- chiseled jaw, protruding cheekbones, twin scars above his lip, that he shared more similarities to a predator than a man.
“Yes,” I gulped. I tried to stand at attention, even raised my hand to my head in some sort of faux salute. I didn’t know what the hell I was supposed to do here. Alvin’s scowl apparently did not approve.
“Hands down and sit, son. I need a word with you.”
Did I just get offered to sit down in my own seat?
When we both sat, Alvin splayed himself outwardly looking as if he owned the place. He took a measured breath then began to lay it on me.
“Jon Vale.” He said. “We’ve a mission for you. Something we’ve been informed that only you can handle presently.”
I leaned in, intrigued.
“All the necromancers who have proper clearance for this mission are currently away on assignment.” Alvin said, speaking as if he were the calm before a storm. “But since this is a crucial matter, one that cannot be relegated to another time, me and the Third Council have agreed to bend the rules- just this time of course.”
“O-of course. Naturally. Yes.” I said, trying to act nonchalant. I was doing it again. Vomiting out needless words under pressure. Call it a nervous tick, I call it a giant pain in the ass. The way he rolled his eyes at me just then told me I was moments away from sinking at sea.
And yet, I wanted know more. He was saying so much skirting only around the edges.
“So-“ I said, trying to steer the conversation. “What uh- Whatcha thinkin bout?” Even before I finished saying the words, I could feel myself dying on the inside. *Watcha thinkin bout*? Really? At least I couldn’t embarrass myself any worse than this. Right?
When I said nothing else, Alvin Taggert sighed. He rubbed at his eyes and even massaged his temples.
“Jon, let me just get to the point.” Taggert said with his head still in his hands. “We have an S-rank mission on our hands. All our top necros are unavailable. Currently in the office, you are the highest ranking official in this department. Despite your clearance only allowing access to B-rank assignments, we’ve decided to forgo that for now due to the time constraints of this job. Do I make myself clear?”
He could have hit me in the face with a 2x4 right then and there and that would have made more sense.
“I- erm, yeah- I-“ I babbled. My nervous tick was really out in full. Not my finest moment to be sure. Before I ruined my career further, I forced myself to swallow and pressed the reset button.
“Sir, Mr. Taggert-“
“Just call me Alvin.” He said with a hint of an impatient snarl.
“Oh, okay, *Alvin*, then uh- no. I have no idea what you’re trying to ask of me... sir.”
The way the veins began to bulge on his forehead told me I was about to be in a world of hurt.
Through gritted teeth, he said. “Does the name Rowan Carnus ring a bell?”
Soon as he said it, vivid images played out in my head. I knew that name, sure. Everyone did. Rowan Carnus was a notorious Hexwrite. A man who could pen down a sentence with as little as seven words to unleash a horrific curse upon another. Rowan was the best in that regards. He could jot down another persons demise as if he were writing the man an elegant poem. That is- when he was still alive.
Rowan had recently crossed pens against other High Adjudicators like Alvin. Their duel of hexes was stuff of legends. In the end, twelve men died, ripped to ribbons with forbidden Hexes and terrible Curses.
For once, I didn’t have to bumble my way through the conversation like an idiot.
“I know you and yours took him down. I know what he was charged for and what he was sentenced to death over.” I said. Who didn’t though? The media circles ran his story everyday for a month when he died.
“You’re intimately aware of his rap sheet, yes?”
“I wouldn’t say intimately. But, yeah, I know of him well enough.”
“Good. It bodes well for you that you’re this familiar.” Alvin said as he stood up. “Come with me.”
We didn’t go far. A few hallways down and into one of the autopsy rooms. When Alvin ushered me in, the room was pitch black. When he flipped the lights, I damn near squealed at what I saw- Rowan Carnus’ corpse. Even though I knew he was dead, I couldn’t help but flinch. This Hexwrite was responsible for some of the most outlandish deaths in modern history.
“From this moment on, Jon Vale,” Alvin said, locking the door behind us. “Your security clearance has been authorized for all S-Rank material.” He strode besides Rowans corpse, gave it an icy glare and turned back towards me.
“I, High Adjudicator, Alvin Taggert, hereby consign you to your first S-Rank mission. Your duty, in which you are forced to accept, is to return Mr. Carnus to the world of the living-“
*No, no, no, no.* I could hear the words playing out in my head.
Taggert continued, “And during his time of Relife, you will also act as his handler.” He had let the hammer fall and now my ears were ringing.
“W-what?” I could barely muster.
“We are in need of his service, Vale. We’re currently after an elusive group of Hexwrites known as the Stonework Syndicate. To spare you from making a fool of yourself- yes, they’re real, and yes they are as dangerous as the rumors say. More so, they are nigh untraceable. We’ve picked up on wisps of trails they’ve left behind, but nothing ever tangible. Alone, we can’t find them. That’s where he comes in.” Alvin pointed at the dead body.
“We need him to talk and in order to do that, you need to bring him back to life.” Alvin said. “And you know the drill, son. With him returned, you’ll have to be at his side 24/7.”
One of the pitfalls of being a necromancer was that the dead we returned to “Relife” was bound to our magicks. If we were separated too far, they’d become a corpse once more.
“H-how long?” I quivered. From my experience B-Rank missions lasted around one to three months, A-Rank around a year to two. But an S-Rank? Rumor had it that the longest stint was nearly a decade.
“Undetermined.” He said, flatly. That was the most political way to say, I was screwed.
“This won’t be easy, Vale. We understand that and are prepared to compensate you for your service and for the potential harm that may come your way. However, you have no say in the matter. Time is of the essence and your country needs you, son. Consider yourself conscripted.”
The room was spinning and I could feel bile in my throat. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to scream. Hell, I wanted to cry. But looking at the gaunt expression on High Adjudicator Alvin Taggert, I realized I was stuck in the middle. I had no choice here unless I quit my job right there on the spot. And to be honest, I wasn’t even sure that was going to work.
I couldn’t believe it when the words came out of my own mouth, but I looked him in the eyes and asked. “How soon do we start?”
“Right now, Jon Vale. The mission is already a go.”
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Thanks for reading!
r/86Fiction
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[WP] You are a State Necromancer, employed to temporarily ressurect the dead so they may bear witness in court. But on rare occasions you are asked to perform another role: Permanantly ressurecting prisoners who were executed and then later pardoned. But "pardoned" doesnt always equate to "innocent"
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"Your Honour, I must ask: are you absolutely certain of this? Once brought back, we can't return him to the dead quite as easily" I said. We had reconvened in the Room of Resurrection after the final verdict, and while I had never known a judge to retract his final statement, I needed to be certain.
Judge Venture seemed to study me for a moment, before turning his attention to the body placed in the center of the room. "Despite his part in the robberies perpetrated by the Thornwood Band, Mr. Kimble played a vital role in the eventual capture and conviction of his former partners-in-crime, which is why his request for resurrection was granted. Especially since it is all he asked for in exchange for his aid" he said slowly, deliberately, making certain both me and the officers present understood. "A decision was made, and all that remains is for us to make certain it is carried out."
"But your Honour-" I began before he turned back towards me, a stern expression on his face. "No buts, my friend. You know what you have to do. And have a little faith", he continued, with a subtle smile. "The concerns you raised during his interrogations were passed along, as was your assessment of the integrity of Mr. Kimble's soul. We know who, or what, we're dealing with"
*Or you just think you do*, I thought. The assessment that all legal necromancers were required to write were an excellent aide in judging which criminals - or wrongfully executed - could be considered safe for resurrection. However, there was no real way to explain the sensation of peering into another human's soul to someone outside the craft. Any form of necromancy created a link between the necromancer and his subject, a window into the subject's soul: his desires, his wants and won'ts - a glimpse of their inner workings, sometimes more. It wasn't foolproof, and came in a jumble of sensations, feelings and bits of memory, but an experienced necromancer could certainly form a decent mental profile out of it. The hard part was adapting it for an objective report.
Harry Kimble's soul had shown me that he hadn't just enjoyed the robberies he'd been a part of, he'd come to enjoy the killings that accompanied them as well. And I didn't think he'd stop once he came back, as I'd made clear in my report. Normally, that'd be enough reason to disregard resurrection as an option, but apparently this was a special case.
Nevertheless, I had my duties. I signalled the officers to take point at the far side of the room, and began making my preparations. As this was a judicial resurrection, the Room provided the base necessities: a round central area, with silver lines in the floor forming an intricate arcane diagram, a consecrated stone altar as the focal point in the center of the room, on which the body was placed. All that was needed were the reagents, and someone to start and direct the process.
I started by placing the reagents, chosen by the subject himself, in a five-pointed star around the body: a lit cigarette of his favourite brand for fire; soil from his youth home for earth; gunpowder smoke for air; and some water, drawn from the Thornwood lake. At the top of the star, I placed the jacket he wore during his last robbery, now ruined by blood and a few bullet holes: the blood would serve as a physical link, the jacket spiritual; Apparently, he'd had it since his late teens.
Then, I started the ritual that would return Kimble to the ranks of the living.
It started quickly, as they usually did: once a soul, willing to return, was aware of its coming resurrection, it almost seemed to be waiting for the moment it could return to a body. What I wasn't prepared for were the sensations of his soul: a full resurrection created the greatest possible link between the necromancer and his subject, and his desire almost overwhelmed me: a longing for the thrill of the chase, the rush of adrenaline when the guns came out, to *feel* and *live* again without restrictions. A soul that remembered a life on the edge, and wanted nothing more than to experience it all even stronger before it died a second time.
Despite my better judgement, a ritual started *must* be finished, one way or another; and so, after several minutes that felt like hours, Harry Kimble slowly rose from the altar.
Even in my shock, I remembered my lines. "Keep it slow and steady, Mr. Kimble. Your soul is still adapting to your body: It will take a few days to fully regain your muscle control and physical ability. I'd advise a lack of heavy exercion, and light foods for your first few days." As I spoke, Kimble slowly righted himself, checking his skin, hair, clothes. As he finished inspecting his new body, judge Venture approached him, the two officers forming a line between the two.
"Seems like everything worked out fine, didn't it?" Kimble said to the judge with a grin "So I guess I'll be off then."
"Not yet, Mr. Kimble. First, I have to ask whether you will still stand by your testimony given by way of our interrogator here, and are willing to agree with the verdict it lead to." The judge said, an odd inflection in his tone. I don't think I'd have caught it if I didn't know him so well.
"Why'd I change my mind now?" Kimble answered, seemingly dumbfounded. "I told ya what I could, and I stand by it. Whatever ya used it for won't bother me once I'm out the door" he concluded, and started walking. Before going three steps, however, the two guards seized him, eased by his lacking body control.
"I'm afraid you misunderstood, Mr. Kimble" the judge said, now fully in his role as lawman. "The trial was meant to decide the degree of guilt of *all* members of the Thornwood Band. As you agreed that resurrection was a fair price for your cooperation, you have not been declared innocent of the crimes you took part in while a member of the group."
"You will temporarily be transferred to a local holding cell, and your former partners-in-crime will be asked to provide testimony for your role in the Band's deeds. I'm certain they will gladly return the favour, considering your own role in their capture. Of course, you will also be given all legal aid you are entitled to. Justice doesn't play favourites, after all" Judge Venture finished, as the officers led Kimble outside, where I could now see a waiting police wagon. Kimble's attempts at resistance were impressive, but it was clear they had counted on the resurrection to interfere: before long, they were gone, leaving Venture and me.
A few minutes later, I handed Venture a cup of coffee while nursing my own, outside the courthouse. "You know, you could have saved me a lot of stress by just telling me what would happen with him. I was convinced some of the higher-ups had gone mad". I said angrily, wondering why I had been kept out of the loop.
"Weren't you the one who told me about the "link between a necromancer and his subject"? Venture retorted, with that smile he got when he had someone outsmarted. "After reading your reports, we decided that we couldn't risk him getting an idea of what was going to happen, even with him weakened from the resurrection. You did good work, by the way. Bringing back someone like him must take its toll."
He wouldn't ask directly, but it was clear he wondered how I was taking the news. "Just part of the job, right?" I responded, perhaps a bit more grim than I intended. "It was a good precaution, and it led to the conviction of every member of their group. If this is what it takes, I'll happily keep doing it"
"Well then, to many more cases that end like this" Venture declaimed. "Where Justice truly doesn't play favourites - even with the dead."
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I do my job and that's that. Call me heartless, immoral or the like, I know you want to, but I've not felt my own emotions in decades so I can't guarantee it will give you any sense of relief. They gave me to do this job, and I do it well.
At my whim, I could kill thousands of individuals and feed the void inside me, grow immensely powerful, but I choose not to, despite the sounds of the hearts of all the thousands of living individuals living here in the capital echoing, throbbing incessantly in my head, taunting me.
Had this role been given to any normal person, they may have considered themselves a slave to the court, I see it as a privilege. I live in the courthouse, all day, every day, and I get to perform my work freely and without consequence. The court pays me in food and shelter, safety from the public masses who would see me killed as though I were a murderer. I can understand them, it's hard to see your loved one come back to life only to testify and immediately cease once more.
But they misunderstand the truly dark part of my job, the side that drains me and demands so much of my power. To permanently revive a dead person requires immense power, and that power can only be attained through an absolute understanding of your magic, or a single pure unfiltered emotion.
I am a vessel for both, and both I reserve for my job. I love my work.
But then, sometimes I find myself staring in a mirror, seeing a contorted shadow of the child I once was. A hopeful child, naive to the finalities of life... and... who became a tool to the state.
My work, it's what keeps me going. There's nothing like it. In the moment they come back to life, you experience an entire world, a lifetime of emotions through their eyes. Their memories flow through me, flow through them and finally stabilise in a temporary skeletal form. Like a drug, addictive to the end, to feel emotions once again. Almost as if watching a theatre or reading a book.
"Hoy, neck! 'e court's calling on you again, seems you've got another 'un to bring back. I's a permanent one."
Neck, Nec', Necromancer. I hate that word, I always have. It makes me feel wrong, not that it bothers me.
​
Well, if I ever get the feeling, he can be easily dealt with. The court's given me a perfect undercover army. The most cruel, wealthy, respected criminals, masters of society, each who were sentenced to death, revived by me, and sent back to their homes. The "death penalty" they call it, I take small amusement in their thinking that they've managed to subdue a necromancer, in their belief that they could request actual resurrections of me.
Flesh bodies on a skeleton frame. Memories flooding through my brain.
Skeletons could never play the game, it is I who controls the strings.
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[WP] You are a State Necromancer, employed to temporarily ressurect the dead so they may bear witness in court. But on rare occasions you are asked to perform another role: Permanantly ressurecting prisoners who were executed and then later pardoned. But "pardoned" doesnt always equate to "innocent"
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"Your Honour, I must ask: are you absolutely certain of this? Once brought back, we can't return him to the dead quite as easily" I said. We had reconvened in the Room of Resurrection after the final verdict, and while I had never known a judge to retract his final statement, I needed to be certain.
Judge Venture seemed to study me for a moment, before turning his attention to the body placed in the center of the room. "Despite his part in the robberies perpetrated by the Thornwood Band, Mr. Kimble played a vital role in the eventual capture and conviction of his former partners-in-crime, which is why his request for resurrection was granted. Especially since it is all he asked for in exchange for his aid" he said slowly, deliberately, making certain both me and the officers present understood. "A decision was made, and all that remains is for us to make certain it is carried out."
"But your Honour-" I began before he turned back towards me, a stern expression on his face. "No buts, my friend. You know what you have to do. And have a little faith", he continued, with a subtle smile. "The concerns you raised during his interrogations were passed along, as was your assessment of the integrity of Mr. Kimble's soul. We know who, or what, we're dealing with"
*Or you just think you do*, I thought. The assessment that all legal necromancers were required to write were an excellent aide in judging which criminals - or wrongfully executed - could be considered safe for resurrection. However, there was no real way to explain the sensation of peering into another human's soul to someone outside the craft. Any form of necromancy created a link between the necromancer and his subject, a window into the subject's soul: his desires, his wants and won'ts - a glimpse of their inner workings, sometimes more. It wasn't foolproof, and came in a jumble of sensations, feelings and bits of memory, but an experienced necromancer could certainly form a decent mental profile out of it. The hard part was adapting it for an objective report.
Harry Kimble's soul had shown me that he hadn't just enjoyed the robberies he'd been a part of, he'd come to enjoy the killings that accompanied them as well. And I didn't think he'd stop once he came back, as I'd made clear in my report. Normally, that'd be enough reason to disregard resurrection as an option, but apparently this was a special case.
Nevertheless, I had my duties. I signalled the officers to take point at the far side of the room, and began making my preparations. As this was a judicial resurrection, the Room provided the base necessities: a round central area, with silver lines in the floor forming an intricate arcane diagram, a consecrated stone altar as the focal point in the center of the room, on which the body was placed. All that was needed were the reagents, and someone to start and direct the process.
I started by placing the reagents, chosen by the subject himself, in a five-pointed star around the body: a lit cigarette of his favourite brand for fire; soil from his youth home for earth; gunpowder smoke for air; and some water, drawn from the Thornwood lake. At the top of the star, I placed the jacket he wore during his last robbery, now ruined by blood and a few bullet holes: the blood would serve as a physical link, the jacket spiritual; Apparently, he'd had it since his late teens.
Then, I started the ritual that would return Kimble to the ranks of the living.
It started quickly, as they usually did: once a soul, willing to return, was aware of its coming resurrection, it almost seemed to be waiting for the moment it could return to a body. What I wasn't prepared for were the sensations of his soul: a full resurrection created the greatest possible link between the necromancer and his subject, and his desire almost overwhelmed me: a longing for the thrill of the chase, the rush of adrenaline when the guns came out, to *feel* and *live* again without restrictions. A soul that remembered a life on the edge, and wanted nothing more than to experience it all even stronger before it died a second time.
Despite my better judgement, a ritual started *must* be finished, one way or another; and so, after several minutes that felt like hours, Harry Kimble slowly rose from the altar.
Even in my shock, I remembered my lines. "Keep it slow and steady, Mr. Kimble. Your soul is still adapting to your body: It will take a few days to fully regain your muscle control and physical ability. I'd advise a lack of heavy exercion, and light foods for your first few days." As I spoke, Kimble slowly righted himself, checking his skin, hair, clothes. As he finished inspecting his new body, judge Venture approached him, the two officers forming a line between the two.
"Seems like everything worked out fine, didn't it?" Kimble said to the judge with a grin "So I guess I'll be off then."
"Not yet, Mr. Kimble. First, I have to ask whether you will still stand by your testimony given by way of our interrogator here, and are willing to agree with the verdict it lead to." The judge said, an odd inflection in his tone. I don't think I'd have caught it if I didn't know him so well.
"Why'd I change my mind now?" Kimble answered, seemingly dumbfounded. "I told ya what I could, and I stand by it. Whatever ya used it for won't bother me once I'm out the door" he concluded, and started walking. Before going three steps, however, the two guards seized him, eased by his lacking body control.
"I'm afraid you misunderstood, Mr. Kimble" the judge said, now fully in his role as lawman. "The trial was meant to decide the degree of guilt of *all* members of the Thornwood Band. As you agreed that resurrection was a fair price for your cooperation, you have not been declared innocent of the crimes you took part in while a member of the group."
"You will temporarily be transferred to a local holding cell, and your former partners-in-crime will be asked to provide testimony for your role in the Band's deeds. I'm certain they will gladly return the favour, considering your own role in their capture. Of course, you will also be given all legal aid you are entitled to. Justice doesn't play favourites, after all" Judge Venture finished, as the officers led Kimble outside, where I could now see a waiting police wagon. Kimble's attempts at resistance were impressive, but it was clear they had counted on the resurrection to interfere: before long, they were gone, leaving Venture and me.
A few minutes later, I handed Venture a cup of coffee while nursing my own, outside the courthouse. "You know, you could have saved me a lot of stress by just telling me what would happen with him. I was convinced some of the higher-ups had gone mad". I said angrily, wondering why I had been kept out of the loop.
"Weren't you the one who told me about the "link between a necromancer and his subject"? Venture retorted, with that smile he got when he had someone outsmarted. "After reading your reports, we decided that we couldn't risk him getting an idea of what was going to happen, even with him weakened from the resurrection. You did good work, by the way. Bringing back someone like him must take its toll."
He wouldn't ask directly, but it was clear he wondered how I was taking the news. "Just part of the job, right?" I responded, perhaps a bit more grim than I intended. "It was a good precaution, and it led to the conviction of every member of their group. If this is what it takes, I'll happily keep doing it"
"Well then, to many more cases that end like this" Venture declaimed. "Where Justice truly doesn't play favourites - even with the dead."
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"Accordingly," said the all too excited jury forewoman, as if she were to be given a second chance, "we the jury find Elphaba von Werdum, also known as the wicked witch of the Northeast, not guilty on all accounts."
A murmur rose from the gallery, and the cast of neophiliac reporters began mindlessly tweeting out the verdict. This verdict *was* a novelty: the first ever unburning conviction since the invention of necromancy. Biff, the court necromancer, wasn't too keen. Call him old fashioned if you want. All he wanted today was to be done before 3 pm and catch the final game of the season. He suspected that Judge Moss was aspiring to the same goal, the way she banged her gavel and rushed the proceedings. "All right. You may be seated Mrs. Green. The court affirms the oppinion of the jury to challenge the legality of Miss von Werdum's conviction, and nullifies the 1534 verdict. The defendant, Emerald City, shall pay for necromancy costs, and plaintiff's legal costs. Necromancer," She didn't look toward Biff, which suited him fine. "you may resurrect the person within the next 6 days."
"This court stands adjourned. Order in court." The clerk murmured in a voice that no one but Biff could hear. Judge Moss blitzed out of the court and the reports rushed to harass lawyers and innocent and not-so-innocent citizens. Biff wished to avoid the reporters' notice and began to withdraw, slooowly, one step at a time.
"Not so fast, Necromancer," said a hoarse voice that made Biff jump. Ah, yes. Kate Caukon, President of International Coalition to Unburn the Burnt Women, the plaintiff. Say what you will about this Kate Caukon, she was tireless. This was her sixteenth attempt at getting an unburning verdict, and her first victory.
"I thought..." Biff began to explain, but Kate cut him off. "The ashes are in the portico. I took the liberty of moving your... instruments there." She raised her voice, over that of the chattering reporters. "Ladies and gentlemen, the resurrection will take place shortly, please follow me," and nudged Biff toward the door. Biff knew better to protest. If he did fast enough he might still be able to catch the game.
Ten minutes later, Biff stood in front of the court's entrance, facing dozen of savage reporters, holding his electric knife over the machine to which he had fed the witch's ashes. Kate sat on a stool beside him, her face the image of cool. The reporters eyes were focused on the knife. Biff shoved the knife into the machine's slit, and shouted "Now!" The clerk, who was playing his apprentice, shrugged and flipped the switch.
"SO..." grumbled the monotone witch-machine, "YOU FINALLY DID MANGE TO FOLLOW MY NOTES ON THE NATURE OF NECROMANCY. TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH. HA HA. NOW THE NEXT STEP. I NEED A BODY. OR... BETTER PERHAPS, THOUSANDS OF THOUSANDS OF BODIES. IT IS TIME FOR YOU LOT TO DIE." The look of confusion crept on Kate's face. The reporters were grinning and sniffing and looking around to discover the prankster's hidden camera. Biff sighed and resigned to the fact that he will never know who won the final game.
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[WP] You are a State Necromancer, employed to temporarily ressurect the dead so they may bear witness in court. But on rare occasions you are asked to perform another role: Permanantly ressurecting prisoners who were executed and then later pardoned. But "pardoned" doesnt always equate to "innocent"
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I looked at old Johnathan "Ironsides" Tannis with a stern scowl. I knew who he was. Everyone knew who he was, and what he'd done, but the president had sent word that he was off the hook for all of it. It was bad news for a lot of folks that had been hurt by him. However, it was bad news for him that my boss was more sympathetic to those folks than to the man who gave the order, so he'd sent the old bastard to me to bring him back.
"Wakey wakey, Johnny," I said. The man stirred.
"Ugh, god, what kind of bullshit is this? Who let some redskin into a doctor's office?" he asked.
"I'm a State Resurrectionist, sir. Or State Necromancer, for those who are less happy with my work," I said. "As it happens, you are my latest project, and I think the results speak for themselves."
"Oh, fuck me, that's right, I got executed for those bullshit charges..." he said, frustration audible in his voice. The monitor told me that he was trying to raise a hand to his head. He seemed rather surprised when no hand came into his field of vision. "Wait, what is this? Where's my hand?"
"Probably attached to your wrist, sir," I said.
"So where's my wrist?" he asked.
"Presumably stuck to the end of your arm," I said.
"So where's my arm?!?!?" he demanded, his anger giving his voice slightly more punch.
"I think it's still attached to your shoulder," I said.
"And where the fuck is my shoulder?!?!?!" he shouted.
"I'd guess-" I said, only to be cut off with his retort.
"Jesus fucking christ, where the fuck is my body?!?!???!?!!" he screamed, the voice coming from a speaker next to the metal and glass canister containing his brain suspended in translucent fluid.
"A very valid question, Mr. Tannis. You see, it is an unfortunate fact that after a few years of being dead, meat tends to, you know, go bad. So, it was clear to all with eyes that your body was not looking so fresh after almost a decade, and I had to... You know, extricate you from it," I said, shrugging for the camera that now served as the man's eyes.
"You son of a- When my son hears about this, he'll have you-" he said.
"Sir, please, I'm a medical professional... I wouldn't dream of harming a patient, no matter what they may or may not have done to the citizens of his own country, or my family, or me..." I said, rolling up my sleeves. I didn't hold out my wrist to offer any insight into the statement, but I made sure that branding scar was visible as I reached for his record. "But it's just a fact that these things happen sometimes. You are quite fortunate, though, your dear son managed to win the election last year and gave you a full pardon for your crimes, so I'm sure he'll be quite pleased to hear the resurrection went as well as it did despite the medical complications..."
"You- I will get you for this, so help me, I will make sure you pay for this," he said. It seemed I was a little too subtle.
I walked over to the camera, cradling my chin on my hands and placing my elbows on the table. I made sure to angle my arms so the scars were plainly visible. As his ranting quieted down, I said, "Sir, please, I think you'll find I took my payment in advance."
"Son of a bitch... You know what I can do, and you've got audacity to do this shit to me? You think this will get to me? They don't call me 'Ironsides' because I take shit lying down," he said, continuing his angry babbling.
I quietly pulled my sleeves back into place and walked over to the bottles of cleaning products. I picked up a bottle and carefully measured out a bit of the liquid into a glass phial. Since it seemed he wasn't going to catch the hint that maybe this wasn't a great time to make threats, he'd definitely be placing the blame for his condition on me. Not entirely unjustly in this case, I certainly had reason to hate him and I hadn't exactly checked before scooping out his brain, but it wouldn't do. I turned back to the camera and threw up my hands.
"Whoops, you caught me Johnny. I'm the big bad Indian boy that turned you into a pickled brain. Never mind the hundreds of people you tortured, dozens of whom died from their injuries. Never mind the whole borderline enslavement policy you instituted. Never mind the fact that the only reason they didn't bring you back just so they could hang you twice is because it would've violated the constitution. No, it was all me. I found your body perfectly functional and threw it out anyway, just so you'd have to live in a prison of sensory deprivation for however long it takes until your brain goes bad. I even intentionally plugged the receptors into your brain wrong, just so you'd feel a sting of pain every time you tried to push your body too hard. Go on, cry me a fucking river. And you know what? I'd do it again," I said.
"I knew- wait, what?" he said, yelping in pain as he tested my statement.
"But you know what else? You're not going to remember this conversation. Or waking up. You might not even remember who you are when you come to," I said, popping open the lid of the canister full of resurrection fluid and upending the small phial of chemicals into it.
"What are you- Oh, ugh, what is this?" he asked. The alcohol and ether was working fast, which was little surprise since it was soaking directly into his brain.
"Word to the wise, old timer, pickled brains aren't really at liberty to hurl threats," I said.
"Oh, damned rehskindsh, makin' life hard on us regular folks..." he said, his words trailing into indistinct babbling. It wasn't really that much worse than a particularly bad drunken bender, from what I'd heard he'd subjected his own brain to worse, but he would definitely forget whatever happened today.
"Oh, and before I forget, neither the hospital nor the justice system will cover the artificial replacement body you'll need, and your insurance ceased coverage with your death, so your family will have to pay for it out of pocket," I said. For legal reasons, it would have to be told to him again when he was lucid, but I wanted to make sure that his last thoughts in this conversation were on how much of a financial burden this little "pardon" would saddle him with.
"Fuckin' filchers... I'll-" he said, trailing off as he blacked out.
I waited for about an hour before flushing the fluid in the canister with fresh resurrection fluid and sending it on its way. Nobody would notice a problem, and as long as he'd been dead it would've been more surprising if he hadn't come out with any brain problems. In fact, it wouldn't be inaccurate to say it was a minor miracle he'd been brought back at all, but I was quite good at my job. Sure, the president might try to push some legal threat against me for "malpractice", but the medical teams would tell him what I'd told Johnny, and the suit would be universally seen as ludicrous, just as the pardon itself had been.
Considering this was the fourteenth person of his ilk that had gotten pardoned in this regime alone, and his familial ties were the only reason the resurrection would raise eyebrows, I'd like to think I had the process down pat. To say I played a little fast and loose with the Hippocratic oath would be an understatement, but my next "client" was actually a witness rather than a monster. With him, I'd actually try to do my best...
I mean, if I "accidentally" brought him back for more than a few hours, would they really go out of their way to put him back in the ground? Between the resurrections and the death penalty, the state had an absurd degree of control over who lived and who died, so I genuinely wasn't sure. In any case, it seemed like a fun little legal experiment.
Edit: Forgot this: r/AslandusTheLaster
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"Accordingly," said the all too excited jury forewoman, as if she were to be given a second chance, "we the jury find Elphaba von Werdum, also known as the wicked witch of the Northeast, not guilty on all accounts."
A murmur rose from the gallery, and the cast of neophiliac reporters began mindlessly tweeting out the verdict. This verdict *was* a novelty: the first ever unburning conviction since the invention of necromancy. Biff, the court necromancer, wasn't too keen. Call him old fashioned if you want. All he wanted today was to be done before 3 pm and catch the final game of the season. He suspected that Judge Moss was aspiring to the same goal, the way she banged her gavel and rushed the proceedings. "All right. You may be seated Mrs. Green. The court affirms the oppinion of the jury to challenge the legality of Miss von Werdum's conviction, and nullifies the 1534 verdict. The defendant, Emerald City, shall pay for necromancy costs, and plaintiff's legal costs. Necromancer," She didn't look toward Biff, which suited him fine. "you may resurrect the person within the next 6 days."
"This court stands adjourned. Order in court." The clerk murmured in a voice that no one but Biff could hear. Judge Moss blitzed out of the court and the reports rushed to harass lawyers and innocent and not-so-innocent citizens. Biff wished to avoid the reporters' notice and began to withdraw, slooowly, one step at a time.
"Not so fast, Necromancer," said a hoarse voice that made Biff jump. Ah, yes. Kate Caukon, President of International Coalition to Unburn the Burnt Women, the plaintiff. Say what you will about this Kate Caukon, she was tireless. This was her sixteenth attempt at getting an unburning verdict, and her first victory.
"I thought..." Biff began to explain, but Kate cut him off. "The ashes are in the portico. I took the liberty of moving your... instruments there." She raised her voice, over that of the chattering reporters. "Ladies and gentlemen, the resurrection will take place shortly, please follow me," and nudged Biff toward the door. Biff knew better to protest. If he did fast enough he might still be able to catch the game.
Ten minutes later, Biff stood in front of the court's entrance, facing dozen of savage reporters, holding his electric knife over the machine to which he had fed the witch's ashes. Kate sat on a stool beside him, her face the image of cool. The reporters eyes were focused on the knife. Biff shoved the knife into the machine's slit, and shouted "Now!" The clerk, who was playing his apprentice, shrugged and flipped the switch.
"SO..." grumbled the monotone witch-machine, "YOU FINALLY DID MANGE TO FOLLOW MY NOTES ON THE NATURE OF NECROMANCY. TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH. HA HA. NOW THE NEXT STEP. I NEED A BODY. OR... BETTER PERHAPS, THOUSANDS OF THOUSANDS OF BODIES. IT IS TIME FOR YOU LOT TO DIE." The look of confusion crept on Kate's face. The reporters were grinning and sniffing and looking around to discover the prankster's hidden camera. Biff sighed and resigned to the fact that he will never know who won the final game.
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[WP] You are a State Necromancer, employed to temporarily ressurect the dead so they may bear witness in court. But on rare occasions you are asked to perform another role: Permanantly ressurecting prisoners who were executed and then later pardoned. But "pardoned" doesnt always equate to "innocent"
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"Your Honour, I must ask: are you absolutely certain of this? Once brought back, we can't return him to the dead quite as easily" I said. We had reconvened in the Room of Resurrection after the final verdict, and while I had never known a judge to retract his final statement, I needed to be certain.
Judge Venture seemed to study me for a moment, before turning his attention to the body placed in the center of the room. "Despite his part in the robberies perpetrated by the Thornwood Band, Mr. Kimble played a vital role in the eventual capture and conviction of his former partners-in-crime, which is why his request for resurrection was granted. Especially since it is all he asked for in exchange for his aid" he said slowly, deliberately, making certain both me and the officers present understood. "A decision was made, and all that remains is for us to make certain it is carried out."
"But your Honour-" I began before he turned back towards me, a stern expression on his face. "No buts, my friend. You know what you have to do. And have a little faith", he continued, with a subtle smile. "The concerns you raised during his interrogations were passed along, as was your assessment of the integrity of Mr. Kimble's soul. We know who, or what, we're dealing with"
*Or you just think you do*, I thought. The assessment that all legal necromancers were required to write were an excellent aide in judging which criminals - or wrongfully executed - could be considered safe for resurrection. However, there was no real way to explain the sensation of peering into another human's soul to someone outside the craft. Any form of necromancy created a link between the necromancer and his subject, a window into the subject's soul: his desires, his wants and won'ts - a glimpse of their inner workings, sometimes more. It wasn't foolproof, and came in a jumble of sensations, feelings and bits of memory, but an experienced necromancer could certainly form a decent mental profile out of it. The hard part was adapting it for an objective report.
Harry Kimble's soul had shown me that he hadn't just enjoyed the robberies he'd been a part of, he'd come to enjoy the killings that accompanied them as well. And I didn't think he'd stop once he came back, as I'd made clear in my report. Normally, that'd be enough reason to disregard resurrection as an option, but apparently this was a special case.
Nevertheless, I had my duties. I signalled the officers to take point at the far side of the room, and began making my preparations. As this was a judicial resurrection, the Room provided the base necessities: a round central area, with silver lines in the floor forming an intricate arcane diagram, a consecrated stone altar as the focal point in the center of the room, on which the body was placed. All that was needed were the reagents, and someone to start and direct the process.
I started by placing the reagents, chosen by the subject himself, in a five-pointed star around the body: a lit cigarette of his favourite brand for fire; soil from his youth home for earth; gunpowder smoke for air; and some water, drawn from the Thornwood lake. At the top of the star, I placed the jacket he wore during his last robbery, now ruined by blood and a few bullet holes: the blood would serve as a physical link, the jacket spiritual; Apparently, he'd had it since his late teens.
Then, I started the ritual that would return Kimble to the ranks of the living.
It started quickly, as they usually did: once a soul, willing to return, was aware of its coming resurrection, it almost seemed to be waiting for the moment it could return to a body. What I wasn't prepared for were the sensations of his soul: a full resurrection created the greatest possible link between the necromancer and his subject, and his desire almost overwhelmed me: a longing for the thrill of the chase, the rush of adrenaline when the guns came out, to *feel* and *live* again without restrictions. A soul that remembered a life on the edge, and wanted nothing more than to experience it all even stronger before it died a second time.
Despite my better judgement, a ritual started *must* be finished, one way or another; and so, after several minutes that felt like hours, Harry Kimble slowly rose from the altar.
Even in my shock, I remembered my lines. "Keep it slow and steady, Mr. Kimble. Your soul is still adapting to your body: It will take a few days to fully regain your muscle control and physical ability. I'd advise a lack of heavy exercion, and light foods for your first few days." As I spoke, Kimble slowly righted himself, checking his skin, hair, clothes. As he finished inspecting his new body, judge Venture approached him, the two officers forming a line between the two.
"Seems like everything worked out fine, didn't it?" Kimble said to the judge with a grin "So I guess I'll be off then."
"Not yet, Mr. Kimble. First, I have to ask whether you will still stand by your testimony given by way of our interrogator here, and are willing to agree with the verdict it lead to." The judge said, an odd inflection in his tone. I don't think I'd have caught it if I didn't know him so well.
"Why'd I change my mind now?" Kimble answered, seemingly dumbfounded. "I told ya what I could, and I stand by it. Whatever ya used it for won't bother me once I'm out the door" he concluded, and started walking. Before going three steps, however, the two guards seized him, eased by his lacking body control.
"I'm afraid you misunderstood, Mr. Kimble" the judge said, now fully in his role as lawman. "The trial was meant to decide the degree of guilt of *all* members of the Thornwood Band. As you agreed that resurrection was a fair price for your cooperation, you have not been declared innocent of the crimes you took part in while a member of the group."
"You will temporarily be transferred to a local holding cell, and your former partners-in-crime will be asked to provide testimony for your role in the Band's deeds. I'm certain they will gladly return the favour, considering your own role in their capture. Of course, you will also be given all legal aid you are entitled to. Justice doesn't play favourites, after all" Judge Venture finished, as the officers led Kimble outside, where I could now see a waiting police wagon. Kimble's attempts at resistance were impressive, but it was clear they had counted on the resurrection to interfere: before long, they were gone, leaving Venture and me.
A few minutes later, I handed Venture a cup of coffee while nursing my own, outside the courthouse. "You know, you could have saved me a lot of stress by just telling me what would happen with him. I was convinced some of the higher-ups had gone mad". I said angrily, wondering why I had been kept out of the loop.
"Weren't you the one who told me about the "link between a necromancer and his subject"? Venture retorted, with that smile he got when he had someone outsmarted. "After reading your reports, we decided that we couldn't risk him getting an idea of what was going to happen, even with him weakened from the resurrection. You did good work, by the way. Bringing back someone like him must take its toll."
He wouldn't ask directly, but it was clear he wondered how I was taking the news. "Just part of the job, right?" I responded, perhaps a bit more grim than I intended. "It was a good precaution, and it led to the conviction of every member of their group. If this is what it takes, I'll happily keep doing it"
"Well then, to many more cases that end like this" Venture declaimed. "Where Justice truly doesn't play favourites - even with the dead."
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"Okay...Alright I've got a pulse...maybe...Abigail, push two CC's epinephrine. Yup, okay there it is. See if you can hold that...nope, push push push." Claire gently brushed the dowsing rod back and forth from temple to temple, waiting for a twitch. She'd been at this over an hour and it was getting hard to tell what was from beyond and what was because of lactic acid. *There*. She closed the pattern around the spot on the forehead, looking for waypoints. A freckle, an ingrown hair. She bounced from one to the other, feeling for the ictus of life. "Cantor, the invocation if you please." Lead by the woman just behind the operating table a choir of six began an atonal fugue at a dirges deliberate pace. Clashing tones sliced at your sensibilities- where you wanted consonance there were dancing tritones. Where resolution was demanded only further uncertainty reigned. Claire tugged with the rod dragging at life's imperative. She felt it squirming, desperate to rest but awoken by the cacophony. "Alan...Al, please are we ready to shock?" Alan snapped the paddles on the sallow chest. "Okay... Synchronized at 118BPM...Clear!" The body leapt off the table, eyes cracking open. He lay there, taking long ragged breaths eyes searching the surroundings. Claire let the rod fall to the floor, exhausted. She leaned into him, a certain cruelty flashing in her eyes. "Mister Santropez. Welcome back."
She had taken a shower and a half hour in a steam room, and drank a gallon of electrolyte beverage. She was still short of breath and couldn't hold things effectively, but the lawyers were impatient. Two aides dressed her in traditional robes. She slipped the golden chain of grasping hands over her head, and went to see the fellow. He looked utterly despondent, leaning on against the wall of his bare cell. A hand idly touched the the deep lines and vicious bruises ringing his neck. Poor fellow should have known better. The lawyer looked at her. "Are you sure this was the correct decision? His trial was so close...one juror away from the death penalty." Claire shrugged. "Mark, let me put it this way. I'm a plumber. I don't tell you the sink is ugly as sin, I attach it to the wall and run the water. If you have a problem, you have the DA's phone number I'm sure. If it were my choice I'd hang up the chain and sleep for a hundred years, but that would just mean some poor acolyte would pick it up in an instant. Let's finish this, I'm famished."
She swept through the door, prompting him to scurry into a corner. "You've been quite a naughty boy, haven't you Mr. Santropez? The state of New South Wales sentenced you to one hundred and fifty years, did you think you could check out early?" She clicked her tongue chidingly. "I'm afraid this is going to make the remaining..." She looked at the lawyer's clipboard and arched her brows "seventy eight years rather...trying. No sheets, thick blankets, no utensils, no..." He screamed over her, cowering, making himself small. "I SAW THEM! Down there...in the pits...amongst the bodies, bodies, stacked like...like firewood! They were there telling me! Telling me! Please, please they're there, guilty! Guilty!" His voice was hoarse and labored. Claire shook her head sadly. "I'm afraid nothing makes it past the veil, Mr. Santropez. What you saw was a fever dream, endless and infinite concocted by your dying brain. But, that's a price I payed, and now you will pay the same one." She turned to leave, Mr. Santropez still gibbering behind her. She called to him, "Enjoy your stay!"
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[WP] You are a State Necromancer, employed to temporarily ressurect the dead so they may bear witness in court. But on rare occasions you are asked to perform another role: Permanantly ressurecting prisoners who were executed and then later pardoned. But "pardoned" doesnt always equate to "innocent"
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I looked at old Johnathan "Ironsides" Tannis with a stern scowl. I knew who he was. Everyone knew who he was, and what he'd done, but the president had sent word that he was off the hook for all of it. It was bad news for a lot of folks that had been hurt by him. However, it was bad news for him that my boss was more sympathetic to those folks than to the man who gave the order, so he'd sent the old bastard to me to bring him back.
"Wakey wakey, Johnny," I said. The man stirred.
"Ugh, god, what kind of bullshit is this? Who let some redskin into a doctor's office?" he asked.
"I'm a State Resurrectionist, sir. Or State Necromancer, for those who are less happy with my work," I said. "As it happens, you are my latest project, and I think the results speak for themselves."
"Oh, fuck me, that's right, I got executed for those bullshit charges..." he said, frustration audible in his voice. The monitor told me that he was trying to raise a hand to his head. He seemed rather surprised when no hand came into his field of vision. "Wait, what is this? Where's my hand?"
"Probably attached to your wrist, sir," I said.
"So where's my wrist?" he asked.
"Presumably stuck to the end of your arm," I said.
"So where's my arm?!?!?" he demanded, his anger giving his voice slightly more punch.
"I think it's still attached to your shoulder," I said.
"And where the fuck is my shoulder?!?!?!" he shouted.
"I'd guess-" I said, only to be cut off with his retort.
"Jesus fucking christ, where the fuck is my body?!?!???!?!!" he screamed, the voice coming from a speaker next to the metal and glass canister containing his brain suspended in translucent fluid.
"A very valid question, Mr. Tannis. You see, it is an unfortunate fact that after a few years of being dead, meat tends to, you know, go bad. So, it was clear to all with eyes that your body was not looking so fresh after almost a decade, and I had to... You know, extricate you from it," I said, shrugging for the camera that now served as the man's eyes.
"You son of a- When my son hears about this, he'll have you-" he said.
"Sir, please, I'm a medical professional... I wouldn't dream of harming a patient, no matter what they may or may not have done to the citizens of his own country, or my family, or me..." I said, rolling up my sleeves. I didn't hold out my wrist to offer any insight into the statement, but I made sure that branding scar was visible as I reached for his record. "But it's just a fact that these things happen sometimes. You are quite fortunate, though, your dear son managed to win the election last year and gave you a full pardon for your crimes, so I'm sure he'll be quite pleased to hear the resurrection went as well as it did despite the medical complications..."
"You- I will get you for this, so help me, I will make sure you pay for this," he said. It seemed I was a little too subtle.
I walked over to the camera, cradling my chin on my hands and placing my elbows on the table. I made sure to angle my arms so the scars were plainly visible. As his ranting quieted down, I said, "Sir, please, I think you'll find I took my payment in advance."
"Son of a bitch... You know what I can do, and you've got audacity to do this shit to me? You think this will get to me? They don't call me 'Ironsides' because I take shit lying down," he said, continuing his angry babbling.
I quietly pulled my sleeves back into place and walked over to the bottles of cleaning products. I picked up a bottle and carefully measured out a bit of the liquid into a glass phial. Since it seemed he wasn't going to catch the hint that maybe this wasn't a great time to make threats, he'd definitely be placing the blame for his condition on me. Not entirely unjustly in this case, I certainly had reason to hate him and I hadn't exactly checked before scooping out his brain, but it wouldn't do. I turned back to the camera and threw up my hands.
"Whoops, you caught me Johnny. I'm the big bad Indian boy that turned you into a pickled brain. Never mind the hundreds of people you tortured, dozens of whom died from their injuries. Never mind the whole borderline enslavement policy you instituted. Never mind the fact that the only reason they didn't bring you back just so they could hang you twice is because it would've violated the constitution. No, it was all me. I found your body perfectly functional and threw it out anyway, just so you'd have to live in a prison of sensory deprivation for however long it takes until your brain goes bad. I even intentionally plugged the receptors into your brain wrong, just so you'd feel a sting of pain every time you tried to push your body too hard. Go on, cry me a fucking river. And you know what? I'd do it again," I said.
"I knew- wait, what?" he said, yelping in pain as he tested my statement.
"But you know what else? You're not going to remember this conversation. Or waking up. You might not even remember who you are when you come to," I said, popping open the lid of the canister full of resurrection fluid and upending the small phial of chemicals into it.
"What are you- Oh, ugh, what is this?" he asked. The alcohol and ether was working fast, which was little surprise since it was soaking directly into his brain.
"Word to the wise, old timer, pickled brains aren't really at liberty to hurl threats," I said.
"Oh, damned rehskindsh, makin' life hard on us regular folks..." he said, his words trailing into indistinct babbling. It wasn't really that much worse than a particularly bad drunken bender, from what I'd heard he'd subjected his own brain to worse, but he would definitely forget whatever happened today.
"Oh, and before I forget, neither the hospital nor the justice system will cover the artificial replacement body you'll need, and your insurance ceased coverage with your death, so your family will have to pay for it out of pocket," I said. For legal reasons, it would have to be told to him again when he was lucid, but I wanted to make sure that his last thoughts in this conversation were on how much of a financial burden this little "pardon" would saddle him with.
"Fuckin' filchers... I'll-" he said, trailing off as he blacked out.
I waited for about an hour before flushing the fluid in the canister with fresh resurrection fluid and sending it on its way. Nobody would notice a problem, and as long as he'd been dead it would've been more surprising if he hadn't come out with any brain problems. In fact, it wouldn't be inaccurate to say it was a minor miracle he'd been brought back at all, but I was quite good at my job. Sure, the president might try to push some legal threat against me for "malpractice", but the medical teams would tell him what I'd told Johnny, and the suit would be universally seen as ludicrous, just as the pardon itself had been.
Considering this was the fourteenth person of his ilk that had gotten pardoned in this regime alone, and his familial ties were the only reason the resurrection would raise eyebrows, I'd like to think I had the process down pat. To say I played a little fast and loose with the Hippocratic oath would be an understatement, but my next "client" was actually a witness rather than a monster. With him, I'd actually try to do my best...
I mean, if I "accidentally" brought him back for more than a few hours, would they really go out of their way to put him back in the ground? Between the resurrections and the death penalty, the state had an absurd degree of control over who lived and who died, so I genuinely wasn't sure. In any case, it seemed like a fun little legal experiment.
Edit: Forgot this: r/AslandusTheLaster
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"Okay...Alright I've got a pulse...maybe...Abigail, push two CC's epinephrine. Yup, okay there it is. See if you can hold that...nope, push push push." Claire gently brushed the dowsing rod back and forth from temple to temple, waiting for a twitch. She'd been at this over an hour and it was getting hard to tell what was from beyond and what was because of lactic acid. *There*. She closed the pattern around the spot on the forehead, looking for waypoints. A freckle, an ingrown hair. She bounced from one to the other, feeling for the ictus of life. "Cantor, the invocation if you please." Lead by the woman just behind the operating table a choir of six began an atonal fugue at a dirges deliberate pace. Clashing tones sliced at your sensibilities- where you wanted consonance there were dancing tritones. Where resolution was demanded only further uncertainty reigned. Claire tugged with the rod dragging at life's imperative. She felt it squirming, desperate to rest but awoken by the cacophony. "Alan...Al, please are we ready to shock?" Alan snapped the paddles on the sallow chest. "Okay... Synchronized at 118BPM...Clear!" The body leapt off the table, eyes cracking open. He lay there, taking long ragged breaths eyes searching the surroundings. Claire let the rod fall to the floor, exhausted. She leaned into him, a certain cruelty flashing in her eyes. "Mister Santropez. Welcome back."
She had taken a shower and a half hour in a steam room, and drank a gallon of electrolyte beverage. She was still short of breath and couldn't hold things effectively, but the lawyers were impatient. Two aides dressed her in traditional robes. She slipped the golden chain of grasping hands over her head, and went to see the fellow. He looked utterly despondent, leaning on against the wall of his bare cell. A hand idly touched the the deep lines and vicious bruises ringing his neck. Poor fellow should have known better. The lawyer looked at her. "Are you sure this was the correct decision? His trial was so close...one juror away from the death penalty." Claire shrugged. "Mark, let me put it this way. I'm a plumber. I don't tell you the sink is ugly as sin, I attach it to the wall and run the water. If you have a problem, you have the DA's phone number I'm sure. If it were my choice I'd hang up the chain and sleep for a hundred years, but that would just mean some poor acolyte would pick it up in an instant. Let's finish this, I'm famished."
She swept through the door, prompting him to scurry into a corner. "You've been quite a naughty boy, haven't you Mr. Santropez? The state of New South Wales sentenced you to one hundred and fifty years, did you think you could check out early?" She clicked her tongue chidingly. "I'm afraid this is going to make the remaining..." She looked at the lawyer's clipboard and arched her brows "seventy eight years rather...trying. No sheets, thick blankets, no utensils, no..." He screamed over her, cowering, making himself small. "I SAW THEM! Down there...in the pits...amongst the bodies, bodies, stacked like...like firewood! They were there telling me! Telling me! Please, please they're there, guilty! Guilty!" His voice was hoarse and labored. Claire shook her head sadly. "I'm afraid nothing makes it past the veil, Mr. Santropez. What you saw was a fever dream, endless and infinite concocted by your dying brain. But, that's a price I payed, and now you will pay the same one." She turned to leave, Mr. Santropez still gibbering behind her. She called to him, "Enjoy your stay!"
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[WP] You are a State Necromancer, employed to temporarily ressurect the dead so they may bear witness in court. But on rare occasions you are asked to perform another role: Permanantly ressurecting prisoners who were executed and then later pardoned. But "pardoned" doesnt always equate to "innocent"
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The cell door slides open. Without looking up, I know that Detective Haruko’s there.
“How is he?” I ask.
Her grimace is almost audible. “Well, he’s awake. Probably wishes he wasn’t, though. The family is thinking of euthanasia.”
She pauses.
“You could undo it, couldn’t you?”
I shrug. “Probably.”
“But no one else can. The family has already hired some professionals and they’re stumped.”
“Those are the resurrection rules. I didn’t make them. Everything that happens to him now is bonded to my magic and no one else’s.”
“You’ve put us in a very awkward position, then.”
“Really?” I look up at that. “*I* put *you* in an awkward position?”
“The law is the law,” she reminds me. “We don’t get to decide what rulings we follow and which ones we don’t.”
I roll my eyes. “The family wants to talk to me?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Yeah.”
“Tell them to go to hell. Their son will be waiting for them. That’s the only way they’re going to get him back at this point.”
“They’re willing to drop all charges of malpractice against you if you undo this.”
“Oh no. I’ll be disbarred.” I shrug. “Worth it.”
“They’re willing to give you a lot of money.”
I start laughing.
“What?” Haruko looks annoyed now.
“Did they just come out and say that? ‘Hey, fix our son and we’ll make you rich.’ Nah. Fuck them. They could hire the best lawyers and the best researchers. They can’t hire me.”
“This isn’t just about you!” Haruko snaps. “The whole department’s reputation could be riding on this.”
“Well, it’s a good thing I don’t work for the department, then, isn’t it?” I spit back.
“We sign your paychecks. We offer you healthcare and dental. We subsidize your apartment. You work for us, you pretentious dick.”
“Listen,” I snarl, point my finger at her, “I don’t work for the department and I sure as hell don’t work for you. I work for the Church of Flawed Men.”
“You haven’t been to a service in years-”
“So I just stop being a believer? They taught me to do this. They’re the ones who made me a necromancer. And in exchange, I swore an oath. To see my powers used for the right reasons and the right people. To heal those whose lives have been unfairly stolen. I’m not a bellboy for people who are rich enough to think they can buy their way out of death.”
“You swore an oath to uphold the law, too. Does that one not count for you?”
I snicker. “The way I see it, I am upholding the law. I’m making sure a dangerous criminal stays away from civilized society.”
Haruko throws her hands up in exasperation. “They’re going to kill you for this, you know.”
“Oh, I know. Can’t have malfunctioning necromancers running around. Heaven knows what we’d get up to.”
“He was pardoned,” she reminds me desperately.
“Pardoned doesn’t mean innocent,” I reply.
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"Okay...Alright I've got a pulse...maybe...Abigail, push two CC's epinephrine. Yup, okay there it is. See if you can hold that...nope, push push push." Claire gently brushed the dowsing rod back and forth from temple to temple, waiting for a twitch. She'd been at this over an hour and it was getting hard to tell what was from beyond and what was because of lactic acid. *There*. She closed the pattern around the spot on the forehead, looking for waypoints. A freckle, an ingrown hair. She bounced from one to the other, feeling for the ictus of life. "Cantor, the invocation if you please." Lead by the woman just behind the operating table a choir of six began an atonal fugue at a dirges deliberate pace. Clashing tones sliced at your sensibilities- where you wanted consonance there were dancing tritones. Where resolution was demanded only further uncertainty reigned. Claire tugged with the rod dragging at life's imperative. She felt it squirming, desperate to rest but awoken by the cacophony. "Alan...Al, please are we ready to shock?" Alan snapped the paddles on the sallow chest. "Okay... Synchronized at 118BPM...Clear!" The body leapt off the table, eyes cracking open. He lay there, taking long ragged breaths eyes searching the surroundings. Claire let the rod fall to the floor, exhausted. She leaned into him, a certain cruelty flashing in her eyes. "Mister Santropez. Welcome back."
She had taken a shower and a half hour in a steam room, and drank a gallon of electrolyte beverage. She was still short of breath and couldn't hold things effectively, but the lawyers were impatient. Two aides dressed her in traditional robes. She slipped the golden chain of grasping hands over her head, and went to see the fellow. He looked utterly despondent, leaning on against the wall of his bare cell. A hand idly touched the the deep lines and vicious bruises ringing his neck. Poor fellow should have known better. The lawyer looked at her. "Are you sure this was the correct decision? His trial was so close...one juror away from the death penalty." Claire shrugged. "Mark, let me put it this way. I'm a plumber. I don't tell you the sink is ugly as sin, I attach it to the wall and run the water. If you have a problem, you have the DA's phone number I'm sure. If it were my choice I'd hang up the chain and sleep for a hundred years, but that would just mean some poor acolyte would pick it up in an instant. Let's finish this, I'm famished."
She swept through the door, prompting him to scurry into a corner. "You've been quite a naughty boy, haven't you Mr. Santropez? The state of New South Wales sentenced you to one hundred and fifty years, did you think you could check out early?" She clicked her tongue chidingly. "I'm afraid this is going to make the remaining..." She looked at the lawyer's clipboard and arched her brows "seventy eight years rather...trying. No sheets, thick blankets, no utensils, no..." He screamed over her, cowering, making himself small. "I SAW THEM! Down there...in the pits...amongst the bodies, bodies, stacked like...like firewood! They were there telling me! Telling me! Please, please they're there, guilty! Guilty!" His voice was hoarse and labored. Claire shook her head sadly. "I'm afraid nothing makes it past the veil, Mr. Santropez. What you saw was a fever dream, endless and infinite concocted by your dying brain. But, that's a price I payed, and now you will pay the same one." She turned to leave, Mr. Santropez still gibbering behind her. She called to him, "Enjoy your stay!"
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[WP] You are a State Necromancer, employed to temporarily ressurect the dead so they may bear witness in court. But on rare occasions you are asked to perform another role: Permanantly ressurecting prisoners who were executed and then later pardoned. But "pardoned" doesnt always equate to "innocent"
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I walked through the narrow hall, clutching my briefcase in my right hand. The leather handle clung to my sweaty palm. My heart beat faster than normal.
"Get it together," I said under my breath. I had been doing this for nearly twenty years, and I'd never been this apprehensive about a client. Perhaps I should have taken it as a sign. *Always trust your gut*, they say. Problem is, my gut was just as broke as I was.
I took a deep breath and knocked once on the plain steel door before me. After a series of clicks and clanks, it creaked open an inch. A single eye peeked through the sliver, its owner remaining silent.
"Devin Shaldow, here for mister McCrae." I extended my business card, focusing on keeping my hand steady.
The man opened the door and stepped aside, leaving my hand held awkwardly in the air between us. It was no surprise. Most people were untrusting of State Necromancers, even when we were on their side. No matter. I was there for a job, and I'd follow through.
I was led through a series of small rooms--some scarcely larger than a closet--and soon found myself in large, stainless-steel lined area. It was reminiscent of the police morgue, though coated in several layers of dust.
On a steel table in the middle of the room lied a large man, naked except for a towel over his waste. A courtesy I wished more people would provide. I sat my case on a nearby table and gathered my things.
Most of it was just for show. A few wires attached to a useless box. A contraption to lay on the man's chest, complete with useless knobs and buttons. When we entered the public eye, years ago, people were afraid--so I was made to alter my craft. Make it look more... scientific. Rubbish.
The one real piece of equipment was a heart monitor. I lifted the man's cold, stiff finger and slid it over the tip, then connected the other end to my case. A small screen flicked on, displaying a single flat line.
I glanced down at the man's face. Tony McCrae. I'd seen his face all over the news when his execution was finally carried out. People rejoiced. The head of the largest crime family this city's ever seen--finally put down. The trial was expedited--the newly elected mayor wanted this man gone within his first month in office. He didnt want him to have a chance at escaping conviction.
Well, that was his mistake. It didnt take long for McCrae's team of crooked lawyers to reverse the decision. Got the whole case thrown out. And, unfortunately for me, they overturned his execution.
I laid an hand in his chest, next to the contraption. I made a show of twisting knobs and nodding along, though the real magic took place from my palm. His cold skin grew warm. A soft tingle spread from my palm to my elbow. The monitor on my case offered a single *beep*, then another, until it matched the rythm of his now-beating heart.
"All done," I said, packing my case. I had no desire to linger. "I just need you to sign some things and I'll be on my--"
I froze, staring at the barrel of a pistol inches from my face.
"You ain't goin' nowhere."
I lifted my hands in the air. "Gentlemen, I've done my job. Your man is alive. And I'll remind you that killing a State Necromancer is--"
"Not gon' kill ya," the man said, the corner of his mouth rising. "Quite the opposite, n'fact."
My heart sank. *Please don't say it.*
"Got s'more friends for ya to bring back."
*Shit.*
r/Ford9863
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"Okay...Alright I've got a pulse...maybe...Abigail, push two CC's epinephrine. Yup, okay there it is. See if you can hold that...nope, push push push." Claire gently brushed the dowsing rod back and forth from temple to temple, waiting for a twitch. She'd been at this over an hour and it was getting hard to tell what was from beyond and what was because of lactic acid. *There*. She closed the pattern around the spot on the forehead, looking for waypoints. A freckle, an ingrown hair. She bounced from one to the other, feeling for the ictus of life. "Cantor, the invocation if you please." Lead by the woman just behind the operating table a choir of six began an atonal fugue at a dirges deliberate pace. Clashing tones sliced at your sensibilities- where you wanted consonance there were dancing tritones. Where resolution was demanded only further uncertainty reigned. Claire tugged with the rod dragging at life's imperative. She felt it squirming, desperate to rest but awoken by the cacophony. "Alan...Al, please are we ready to shock?" Alan snapped the paddles on the sallow chest. "Okay... Synchronized at 118BPM...Clear!" The body leapt off the table, eyes cracking open. He lay there, taking long ragged breaths eyes searching the surroundings. Claire let the rod fall to the floor, exhausted. She leaned into him, a certain cruelty flashing in her eyes. "Mister Santropez. Welcome back."
She had taken a shower and a half hour in a steam room, and drank a gallon of electrolyte beverage. She was still short of breath and couldn't hold things effectively, but the lawyers were impatient. Two aides dressed her in traditional robes. She slipped the golden chain of grasping hands over her head, and went to see the fellow. He looked utterly despondent, leaning on against the wall of his bare cell. A hand idly touched the the deep lines and vicious bruises ringing his neck. Poor fellow should have known better. The lawyer looked at her. "Are you sure this was the correct decision? His trial was so close...one juror away from the death penalty." Claire shrugged. "Mark, let me put it this way. I'm a plumber. I don't tell you the sink is ugly as sin, I attach it to the wall and run the water. If you have a problem, you have the DA's phone number I'm sure. If it were my choice I'd hang up the chain and sleep for a hundred years, but that would just mean some poor acolyte would pick it up in an instant. Let's finish this, I'm famished."
She swept through the door, prompting him to scurry into a corner. "You've been quite a naughty boy, haven't you Mr. Santropez? The state of New South Wales sentenced you to one hundred and fifty years, did you think you could check out early?" She clicked her tongue chidingly. "I'm afraid this is going to make the remaining..." She looked at the lawyer's clipboard and arched her brows "seventy eight years rather...trying. No sheets, thick blankets, no utensils, no..." He screamed over her, cowering, making himself small. "I SAW THEM! Down there...in the pits...amongst the bodies, bodies, stacked like...like firewood! They were there telling me! Telling me! Please, please they're there, guilty! Guilty!" His voice was hoarse and labored. Claire shook her head sadly. "I'm afraid nothing makes it past the veil, Mr. Santropez. What you saw was a fever dream, endless and infinite concocted by your dying brain. But, that's a price I payed, and now you will pay the same one." She turned to leave, Mr. Santropez still gibbering behind her. She called to him, "Enjoy your stay!"
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[WP] Strolling through the shelter, one particular pet catches your attention. You call one of the workers over. “Excuse me, do you know what breed this is?” The worker examines the pet. “It’s one of those Homo Sapiens.”
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It was the first time that I had been allowed to accompany my brother on a trip to the market. It was only twelve systems away, but I was considered too young. After inceasant begging, my brother and father agreed. We zoomed down miles of temporary shopping bays in our hover craft and I stared in wonder. I did my best to not get in the way while my brother bartered and gathered what he wanted. When he was finished, he took me with him to an exotic pet shop. He said that he would get me a pet as a reward for behaving.
I was ecstatic. I had a Bulgort, but he was so slow and lazy that I didn't get to have much fun with him.
As we stepped into the shop,the owner approached us. He was an Ouedian, all spindly legs and a shiny exoskeleton. I was terrified of him, but my brother didn't seem to notice. He urged me to go take a look and see what I wanted. I was strolling along when I looked into the corner to see a strange creature sitting in the far corner of it's crate. It stared at me as I approached, an I was enthralled by it.
It's eyes were large, and it's skin was smooth and hairless. It did have a thick tuft of long, tangled hair on it's head, but that was all. The rest of the body was covered by some kind of rudimentary cloth. It's hind limbs were almost twice as long as it's front, and I wondered how high it could hop.
My brother came up behind me to stared curiously. The shop owner came up behind him and rubbed shiny elytra together cheerfully.
"That is a homo sapiens. They are very rare. There are only a few in all the galaxies because they are a protected life-form. This one was found adrift, quite far from it's planet. I did the only thing I could. I picked the poor thing up and brought it with me."
I looked up at my brother. "Can I have it please?"
He turned back to the shopkeeper. "Is it dangerous?"
The merchant shook his head. "Not unless it feels threatened. It may act recklessly if frightened as well."
My brother turned back to look at it. "What are it's needs?"
The shop keeper pulled up a data seed on his portable holo-band, and sent it to my brother's compact data processor. He hummed as he looked the seed over, then have the shop keeper a nod. "I think we will take it. Do you have any other species from the same solar system?"
There was a hesitation, the the merchant said, "I do. But this one is nothing like the homo-sapiens. It is very dangerous. It bit the tentacles off a guy who tried to touch it, but it can be controlled via restraints and a transponder. It has a diet very similar to that of the homo sapiens. I think it is classed as a Canidae. There are thousands of different varieties."
My brother nodded. "Send it up to my dwelling later. For now, I would like the Homo Sapiens, as well as everything to care for it."
The Ouedian chirruped happily and went to fetch the restraint for the odd creature. I was puzzling over what to name it, and was thinking carefully. I wanted to give it an impressive name. Aben-gaok sounded like a fine name for a hopping pet.
The shopkeeper reached his spindly arms inside and attached the lead to the Homo Sapien's collar. He swung the gate wide and it shuffled forward on it's forelegs and knees, dragging it's lower legs behind it. It was about as high as my waist from it's forelegs to it's back. I was a little horrified. I wondered how it had been crippled. As it reached the exit, it turned sideways to lower one hind leg to the ground, then the other. I stared up as it towered over me, realizing that the small enclosure had not allowed it freedom of movement. I grabbed my brother's sleeve. He too seemed surprised. The he looked at the data seed. "Walks on hind limbs. Stands about 10 units high."
The Homo Sapiens looked towards the back of the shop where the shopkeeper was gathering the necessary supplies, then back to me. It seemed to sense that I was terrified, and dropped down to all fours, tucking it's long legs into it's body. It cocked it's head and held out it's strange fore-paw with long, mobile flanges. It waited patiently, and I realized that it desired contact. I touched the paw nervously. It was warm and firm, with the slightest hint of roughness. It seemed pleased and shifted it's weight to sit on it's rump. It seemed to be very friendly, and I relaxed.
The storekeeper came back with the rest of the supplies and my brother paid him for them as well as the Canidae. I started walking towards the exit, and the Homo Sapiens stood to come gliding after me with long, fluid strides. I took it home and made a place for it in my room. It was very curious and inspected everything. My brother gave me the seed so that I could read about it, and I learned a lot about it's behaviors. It's innate curiosity helped it be aware of it's surroundings.
I decided to call it Jikeeaz. It sounded like a good name for a two legged pet.
The next day, my brother let me and the Homo Sapiens see his Canidae. It was making, loud, sharp bellows, and showed it's maw full of sharp, treacherous fangs. Upon seeing the Canidae, Jikeeaz bared his teeth and rand towards the wall that separated us from the terrifying, menacing beast. Jikeeaz began chattering in a shrill voice, reaching out to the Canidae, who began wriggling strangely as it shot forward. It lunged against the wall, shrieking and wriggling. It tried to eat the hands of the Homo Sapiens as he pressed them against the wall. I was very concerned, but Jikeeaz seemed to be trying to reach the wriggling beast. He sat down by the wall, chattering constantly, and to my brother's utter shock, the beast lay down too, staring at Jikeeaz. When we tried to leave, the Canidae became frantic, bellowing loudly, and the Homo Sapiens was reluctant.
My brother called an expert. He arrived, and began searching all the data systems he could find. Suddenly he began humming mirthfully. He sent my brother and image seed. It showed my Homo Sapiens, with the Canidae lying in his lap. They were in the middle of a wasteland, and the Homo Sapiens had his teeth bared, similar to how he had exposed them earlier upon seeing the Canidae. The expert told me that it was a Homo Sapiens expression of happiness. He said it was called a 'smyle'.
My brother let the Homo Sapiens through the wall, and he was instantly knocked down by the beast, who covered his face in residue from its maw of fangs. As we watched the two playing, the expert told me that the Homo Sapiens and the Canidae had been abducted illegally by pirates from their world, and should be returned.
I refused. I liked my Homo Sapiens and I wasn't about to give him back. A few days later, one of the overseers from the Homo Sapiens's world came to speak to me. He told me that the Homo Sapiens were a sentient species, unlike the Canidae, but were not yet technologically advanced enough to travel the galaxies. He warned me that the Homo Sapiens was dangerous, and capable of treachery. He also told me that if it stayed away from it's home world much longer, it's body would be unable to adjust to the gravity, which was 4 times stronger than that of my world.
I agreed reluctantly. As Jikeeaz and the Canidae boarded a spacecraft, he turned to face me and bared his teeth. "I thank you, Nubeic. You were good owner. Was happy to be your friend." Then he left.
I have had many pets since then, from planets all across the galaxy. But never something as odd as a Homo Sapiens.
Due to the knowledge gathered by Jikeeaz, who's real name was Willian Keyerd, Homo Sapiens or 'human' society joined us among the stars within a few short decades. I met him again, and he granted me a prestigious position as an ambassador and translator for his nation, one of many rival nations on his home world, called Earth. He also gave me a pet from his planet, called a 'rabbit'. It's name is Oryctolagus cuniculus, from the Leporidae family. I like it very much, but he warned me not to get another of the opposite sex. I wonder why, but I will heed his advice.
There is talk that the Humans are the most resilient and adaptable of all the species in the known galaxies. They certainly live up to the reputation as they settle even the most barren worlds, and develop new technology. I still can't believe I had one as a pet.
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It's an odd creature, I'm sure I've read about them before but never seen an image. It's both bald and hairy at once, no hair anywhere except for the head. This one is apparently male though it insists upon covering it's genital area with a scrap of cloth. This one is young, apparently, a mere 23 years old, a blip in time compared to my 762 years, though they apparently reach maturity for breeding anywhere between 12-16 years old (though breeding them that young is HIGHLY frowned upon and in most places is actually illegal).
"How much for him?" I hear myself asking
"Just 700 credits" for such an exotic species that's definitely a bargain, though it's likely that may mean he has behavioural issues.
"I'll take him!" I can't fully fathom why but I felt possessed by a need to take him home. He's only 6 feet tall, barely reaches my knee, likely won't cause trouble even in my modest apartment.
"Does he have a name?" I enquired, it'd be cruel to change it if he did.
"Whzipt is what we call him but he doesn't really respond to it, you can change it if you like, maybe you can get him to listen to you if you find the right one. Do you want a leash or crate to get him home? He's had his shots so that won't be an issue"
"Crate please, it'll make his ride home more comfortable. I'll pay another 20 credits so I can keep it for vet visits"
"Deal"
Arriving home I carefully opened the crate in my living room and tried to coax the strange creature I had adopted out of the place it now deemed safe. He wasn't listening to my calling his name nor the rattle of the bag of human treats I had purchased for him. Perhaps he wasn't hungry yet and would come out when he was ready. I placed a bowl of food on the ground and a small cup of water for when his stomach decided he must leave the crate to eat. After a few hours more of trying I went to bed, leaving him in his crate.
The following morning I walked down the stairs and over to where I'd left my new pet. His food and water were empty but he was back in his crate, curled up asleep under the newspaper. I gently reached in a picked up the paper and lifted him out, still asleep in my arms a few seconds before coming to. He screamed! I dropped him in my fear and he ran and hid under the sofa, I hoped I hadn't hurt him. Peeking slowly underneath I could see him at the back side near the wall. It sounds like he's trying to talk to me.
"Shhh, Whzipt, shhh, I'm not gonna hurt you" I cooed, trying to comfort my clearly terrified pet
"Why do you keep calling me that‽ What are you‽ Where am I‽"
I was shocked. He could talk!!!
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[WP] You're traveling on a train and it goes through a dark tunnel. When it it re-emerges into daylight you see a message written in fog on one of the windows: "One of these passengers is not human."
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"One of these passengers is not human"
I swear, that's what I saw written in fog on one of the windows just as we emerged from the tunnel. But it quickly faded. I must have imagined it. I put it out of my mind and tried to think about what I would have to eat once I got off the train. There was a nice pub a few blocks away; if they were not too crowded I would go there.
The train went through another tunnel, and this time when it emerged, I saw it again, clearly. "One of these passengers is not human."
I looked around. Nobody else seemed to have seen it, everyone was paying attention to their phone, or asleep, or otherwise occupied like the dude in the green sweater who was trying to chat up the cute brunette.
What was I supposed to do with this information? Was it a warning? A call to action? A prank? I'm just a student, I have no idea what I would do in any of those situations.
I scanned across the coach again. Nothing was remarkable. I've been on dozens of trains and this trip was no different. Nobody was acting strangely, there was nothing to indicate this was anything but a routine train trip.
I focused again on green sweater man and the cute brunette. I'm single and awkward and I was a little jealous that this ordinary guy was holding the rapt attention of the brunette. She was very cute. Deep brown eyes, a shy smile, and little dimples that were showing as she paid attention to whatever yarns this guy was spinning.
I decided to walk up the coach and see if I could pick out the non-human among us. Academic curiosity, nothing else. I had no idea what I would do if I found anything out of the ordinary. Alert the conductor? And what would he do? Hell, if there was a dog on the train, would that count?
I reached the end of the coach and saw nothing. I walked back. Green shirt dude was facing me, the brunette was facing away, and he was leaning forward and had his hand on her knee. She brushed her hair behind her ear...wait, what was that? A sharp glimmer of green behind her ear. I looked again. It wasn't an earring, it wasn't a birthmark. I walked past slowly, looking at her. The green sweater dude gave me a look as I walked past. I saw it, there was something behind her ear.
My imagination is getting carried away. "This is madness," I thought. "I should just sit down."
The seat squeaked as I slumped back into it. I looked out the window again. We were coming to another tunnel. In, out in ten seconds but there were different words in the fog.
"He will die if you don't help him." The words were clear, then faded just like the others.
Oh hell. Oh bloody hell. What was I supposed to do? I felt the adrenaline rise in my body.
"Next stop, Colin Hills, Colin Hills is the stop."
I grabbed my backpack and walked toward green sweater man. I stopped and interrupted him "Chris, buddy, this is our stop."
"Who? That's not my name."
"Quit kidding around, this is our stop, get your stuff, let's go."
"I don't know you, and I'm a little busy, so sod off!" Some of the other passengers were starting to pay attention.
"You're pissed again. Come on, I'm not driving all the way to Bristol to pick you up just because you're trying to chat up someone. Let's go." I put my hand on his shoulder.
"I said FUCK OFF!" He lunged at me and shoved me into the seats across the aisle. By now everyone was looking at us. I stood up and kicked him on the thigh, pushing him back against the window. He came at me again and pinned me to the floor.
"All right, break it up, break it up you hooligans!" The conductor grabbed him off me, then pulled him towards the door. He pointed at me. "You too, both of you, get off!"
"I'm not getting off!" he yelled. "He's fucking loony!" One of the other passengers was helping the conductor pull him down the aisle.
"Listen, you get off now, we all go home. You fight again, I call the cops and you're in for assault. Got it?"
The train had just stopped and I got off; green sweater man stumbled off the opposite end of the coach and yelled from down the platform "Fucking cock-blocker! Fuck off!"
I was certain he'd come at me, but he didn't. Of course, my situation was still stupid...I was stuck at some rural station an hour away from my destination, and more than a few bumps and bruises. I had no idea why I had just done that.
"You did good, kid."
I looked behind me, and there was a man standing there in a black trench coat.
"What?"
"You passed the test. It was just set up, nobody was in real danger."
"I'm pretty sure I was in real danger just now."
"You did fine. I'm sure you have a lot of questions. Let's find a place to talk. I think we have a career opportunity that you can't pass up."
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Me, crazy? I’m not crazy. Yeah works been stressful as of late, and this train ride seems to get longer each day I sulk in the very same seat every morning; but crazy? Ive been sane my whole life. Hell, I’d wage that I’m the sanest person that rides the 4-11. Old lady Yappa? The same old lady who’s been sitting in the seat right across from mine for 11 years? Yeah, she’s the crazy one. Every morning this woman has worn the same clothes, scarf, and hat ever since I’ve set foot in this nameless town. Oh, and Yappa isn’t her real name, I just call her that in my head because it not only fits her face, but contradicts who she is; I’ve never heard her speak a single word.
But do I believe my eyes? Approximately 13 minutes into the ride we pass by the lake and the high hills near Core’s Town, then the Mylo River, which creeps into an unexplored, or so I think, valley; finally we get one last glimpse of the meandering Mylo that leaves the valley before we enter a dark, man made tunnel that takes 2 minutes to go through. Now, as much as I dislike this vacant county, I can’t deny the beauty of its nature. However, my favorite part of this ride as I lean my head against my window in seat G-13 everyday, is the man made tunnel. The sun is relentless every morning here, and the quiet, dark, concrete tunnel brings relaxation to my whole being. Ahh, pure darkness.... Then afterwards, when the tunnel finally ends, the beaming sun opens my eyelids to the beautiful meandering river we all refer to as the Mylo.
I smile every time, I’ll tell ya... BUT NOT THIS TIME. As I lift my head off the window, my glance at the meandering Mylo was quickly interrupted by a foreign display on G-13’s window. Would you even believe me if I ... hmm, maybe I need help, or maybe just medicine? To hell with that, I’m sane, or so I think I am? Oh, what interrupted the surreal landscape I gaze at every morning after the tunnel? Well I’ll tell ya: a message written on my window reading, “One of these passengers is not human.” Before comprehending what the message written by condensation even said, I noticed at first glance that the font was thick, and appeared as if a 6 year old had written it.
In shock, I quickly jerk back into my seat, and spill my medium sized, black coffee that is always sitting on the little, mini table that is attached to the back of seat right in front of me. I watch my coffee spill and trickle down the isle of the G-section. No one ever comes back here, except for Lady Yappa and I; oh, and of course that gorgeous, young blonde that falls asleep for the whole ride every morning. I always give a little shoulder tap to wake the sleepy head up at the stop, but I’ve never spoken a word to the day sleeper. I guess at this point it’s been 11 years, so why should I break tradition and talk to/not tap the queen of morning naps? Exactly, I shouldn’t. However, I do wish one day she shouts a “hello” or a “thank you”... IM DIGRESSING, IM DIGRESSING, this is another story for another day perhaps in the future.
Anyways, yeah, the initial splash of the coffee was very loud and wet. In fact, I think a drop landed on Old Yappas weird, wool shoes. Everything happened so fast. I was startled and I broke the 11 years of silence in section G of this train. I look up to see if Old Lady Yappa even turned her attention towards the commotion, I presumed not because she is always entranced and distracted by her old, musty, large books;
But to my surprise she turned her head towards the isle, then, yes, you guessed it, towards my face. Let me tell ya something folks, Old Yappa and I haven’t made eye contact since the early 90’s... my eyes meeting hers bewildered me more than the creepy message anonymously written on my window by a 6 year old. I don’t even think the gaze lasted a second, she quickly turned back to her book and propped her head up as if nothing happened.
“Umm, excuse me?” I dare say to the old lady sitting across from my seat.
(Part 2 coming soon if you want it!”)
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credit to @Dustinkcouch on Twitter
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[WP] NASA employee: oh hey you guys are back early. Astronaut: Moon's haunted. NASA employee: what? Astronaut: *loads pistol and gets back on rocketship* Moon's haunted.
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I looked at Colonel McLeod as he got back in the ship. The absurdity of it all had shocked me to the point of inaction. It only took a moment to regain my senses. I began to bang on the door.
"Yo! Absolutely not! No guns!"
The door swung open. Colonel McLeod strutted out like a man used to kicking ass and taking names. He looked down at me through his space-o-visor with the penisiesty look I'd ever seen.
"And why not?" he grunted through his cigar.
"Because, *sir*" , I sneered. "Ghosts are already dead, dipshit. Conventional fire arms are ineffective. Take one of the proton accelerators to immobilize and an electro-magnetic trap for containment." I threw a thumb to the closet behind us. Colonel McLeod shifted his gaze between the closet and the space-o-pistol.
"Oh, OK."
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The lander's descent was silent as the sun cast an eery gray across the surface. As soon as the door opened, one metal boot stepped down. Then another.
*30 hostiles detected*
They knew he had come. When he first saw them and got back on his ship, they knew. He seemed to give off a frightening aura, and they all wished to have some of that power.
*63 hostiles detected*
He took a deep breath. There were only so many bullets and many more foes. He could see strange shadows flickering across the landscape in front of him, and was sure the same was happening behind him.
*300 host- 600 hos- 10000 hostiles detected*
He grimaced. This was way more than he anticipated. He grabbed the pistol and made sure it was loaded, then did the same with his shotgun.
Clicking a button, music started, setting the mood.
The extermination had begun.
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credit to @Dustinkcouch on Twitter
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[WP] NASA employee: oh hey you guys are back early. Astronaut: Moon's haunted. NASA employee: what? Astronaut: *loads pistol and gets back on rocketship* Moon's haunted.
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very good prompt! used it for my creative writing 11 class- title is Is It Ever Possible For Ghosts To Exist In Space Because It's A Vacuum?
hope whoever decides to read enjoys :))
James, sweeping his way across the chilly Space Station floor, jumped at a noise. There wasn’t supposed to be noises happening when he was the only janitor on shift. Listening closely, he heard the familiar sound of… astronaut boots? The only person in them James could think of would be Captain Reed, but that couldn’t be possible because he and his team were off on the Moon for a research mission. As the heavy footsteps turned the corner, James was met with a familiar face.
“Captain Reed? What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be on the Moon? What happened?”
“Moon’s haunted,” replies Reed bluntly, loading a shotgun and placing it into the musty duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
“What?”
“Moon’s haunted,” Reed repeats, giving James a look as if it’s not that hard to understand, and packs some more weapons beside the duffel-bagged ammunition.
Then, as coldly as he had entered, Captain Reed trudges off with his supposed ghost-hunting duffel bag of doom. James, tongue-tied for once, stands in shock for a solid thirty seconds before debating whether to finish his sweeping or go and relay the information that *only* Captain Reed is here for a pit stop on his way back to the Moon. Picking up his broom, James sweeps his way back to the big bay doors.
Half-running, half-walking his way to the Main Control Room, James and his navy-blue patch-adorned janitor’s jumpsuit stick out like a sore thumb. Patting his pockets, he finds his all-access keycard (he is a janitor, of course. Gotta get *everywhere* all clean) and swipes it through the reader next to the stark-white and red doors. With a *pshhh* like a bus kneeling to the curb, the doors retreat into their hollows in the walls.
The entire Control Room turns in disbelief to look at James and his disheveled glasses. General Kane strides over, his prosthetic left arm hissing like the doors James just stumbled through.
“*What,* could be so important, James, that you left your post to disrupt all of us-” Kane gestures widely across the whole room, “-in our extremely important work?”
Still out of breath, James wheezes,
“Captain Reed- *huff-* is back and he says the Moon’s haunted and- *huff-* he took a bunch of guns and- *huff-* ammo and stuff and-”
Before he could finish, General Kane snarls,
“Oh, God. Not again.”
“*AGAIN?* What do you mean AGAIN? Like the Moon- *huff-* has been haunted BEFORE? AND I DIDN’T KNOW?”
General Kane, giving James the same look that Captain Reed did, turns back to the Control Room. Almost 200 intelligent eyes fixate on the General, awaiting command on how to handle the current situation.
“Launch Code Sixty-Four. Proceed with caution and dexterity, and ABOVE ALL-” Kane’s arm hisses some more, “Do *NOT* fail again.”
James, now realizing he was much more out of the loop than he thought, stands in disbelief and shock, wondering how much else he didn’t know (or was being kept from him?) while nearly all of the most intelligent people on the planet flew into action.
Back through the red-and-white halls, through the big bay doors, and past the multitudes of shipping containers, James finds his abandoned broom and assorted cleaning supplies. It’s two minutes until he’s off anyways, so his worn-and-torn red Converse carry him back to his residence, or as he liked to call it, the Broom Closet.
Almost self-explanatory, the Broom Closet wasn’t much. It was a small, furnished four-room apartment in the lowest floor of the Space Station, and it seemed like it was styled to be so cold and unwelcoming that it would make your hermit uncle who lives in Siberia look like a party clown. James made it his own, with old *Star Wars* posters and other merchandise strewn about haphazardly. His purposefully ironic *Star Trek* calendar hung on the wall three months behind, displaying a grainy and washed-out *Enterprise*. In the cupboard lay multiple boxes of unopened mac and cheese, alongside some granola bars which sat there for the sole purpose of I’m-Very-Late-And-This-Is-All-I-Can-Grab. The milk, not unlike the calendar, expired three weeks ago but James kept forgetting to toss it. He’ll get around to it soon.
Just as James goes to open the fridge, there’s a knock at the door. Behind such knock is a man looking *very* spiffy, if James did say so himself.
“Are you James?” asked Spiffy.
“Uh… Yes? Who are *you?*”
“Oh. Apologies, sir. I am Mr. Warren. General Kane sent me here to retrieve you.”
“... For?”
“No clue, sir. The General gave no explanation. Follow me.”
Stumbling behind Mr. Warren, the pair turn down hallway after red-and-white hallway, getting so helplessly lost that even James, who knew the whole structure like the back of his hand, couldn’t possibly know *where on Earth* they were going. After a while, James gave up on even remotely trying to figure out what was going on, until the two stopped at the end of a hallway. Mr. Warren, producing a labeled-as-such Everywhere All-Access Card from his blazer pocket, swipes it through a reader next to the heavily fortified doors. The doors, of course, hiss away into the walls and reveal something the likes of which James (or anyone ever for that matter) had ever seen.
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The lander's descent was silent as the sun cast an eery gray across the surface. As soon as the door opened, one metal boot stepped down. Then another.
*30 hostiles detected*
They knew he had come. When he first saw them and got back on his ship, they knew. He seemed to give off a frightening aura, and they all wished to have some of that power.
*63 hostiles detected*
He took a deep breath. There were only so many bullets and many more foes. He could see strange shadows flickering across the landscape in front of him, and was sure the same was happening behind him.
*300 host- 600 hos- 10000 hostiles detected*
He grimaced. This was way more than he anticipated. He grabbed the pistol and made sure it was loaded, then did the same with his shotgun.
Clicking a button, music started, setting the mood.
The extermination had begun.
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credit to @Dustinkcouch on Twitter
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[WP] NASA employee: oh hey you guys are back early. Astronaut: Moon's haunted. NASA employee: what? Astronaut: *loads pistol and gets back on rocketship* Moon's haunted.
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"You know that's not how any of this works, right?" said Bob, captain of the mission control team.
"What?" replied the disgruntled astronaut.
"I know I was being casual with the "you guys are back early," but you do realize none of this works that way, right? We coordinated your safe return because you insisted it was an emergency. Now that you're back, all you're going to say is "moon's haunted" and leave? You do realize this spaceship can't even go back anymore, right? We'd need to perform weeks of maintenance and safety checks. Hell, it doesn't even have any fuel! Where the hell are your teammates? How did you even get a gun? This is a space center, for crying out loud! Did you murder them all? What the fuck is the matter with you?"
"You are right. Sorry, I don't know what came over me."
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The lander's descent was silent as the sun cast an eery gray across the surface. As soon as the door opened, one metal boot stepped down. Then another.
*30 hostiles detected*
They knew he had come. When he first saw them and got back on his ship, they knew. He seemed to give off a frightening aura, and they all wished to have some of that power.
*63 hostiles detected*
He took a deep breath. There were only so many bullets and many more foes. He could see strange shadows flickering across the landscape in front of him, and was sure the same was happening behind him.
*300 host- 600 hos- 10000 hostiles detected*
He grimaced. This was way more than he anticipated. He grabbed the pistol and made sure it was loaded, then did the same with his shotgun.
Clicking a button, music started, setting the mood.
The extermination had begun.
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credit to @Dustinkcouch on Twitter
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[WP] NASA employee: oh hey you guys are back early. Astronaut: Moon's haunted. NASA employee: what? Astronaut: *loads pistol and gets back on rocketship* Moon's haunted.
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I looked at Colonel McLeod as he got back in the ship. The absurdity of it all had shocked me to the point of inaction. It only took a moment to regain my senses. I began to bang on the door.
"Yo! Absolutely not! No guns!"
The door swung open. Colonel McLeod strutted out like a man used to kicking ass and taking names. He looked down at me through his space-o-visor with the penisiesty look I'd ever seen.
"And why not?" he grunted through his cigar.
"Because, *sir*" , I sneered. "Ghosts are already dead, dipshit. Conventional fire arms are ineffective. Take one of the proton accelerators to immobilize and an electro-magnetic trap for containment." I threw a thumb to the closet behind us. Colonel McLeod shifted his gaze between the closet and the space-o-pistol.
"Oh, OK."
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As the astronaut climbed into his chair and started what could only be described as a "thousand yard gaze" the rest of the crew and team look at each other in tense-silence. It wasn't just 5 minutes ago this pilot was successfully navigating back into the atmosphere onto a touchdown location with complete manual operation. The situation had obviously escalated into something no one had predicted. "Why was there a loaded and unguarded weapon?" and "How are we going to safely get him out of the rocket?" was the basic sentiment on everyone's mind albeit a bit more chaotic than that. BANG! The astronaut had ended his own life. The medical team that was already on the way rushed straight to the body as the security team closed in right behind them. Immediately the first responder started addressing the damage. Quickly making sure to contain the bleeding and look for any signs of life but as expected he was already gone. The medical team member next to him asked for a status and to confirm time of death. In what appeared to be complete and total shock the responder turned in a very calm way and mumbled something that the 2nd member just couldn't make out. "What?" asked the team member as the responder reached for the gun that was dropped by the astronaut. He said "Moon's haunted.".
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credit to @Dustinkcouch on Twitter
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[WP] NASA employee: oh hey you guys are back early. Astronaut: Moon's haunted. NASA employee: what? Astronaut: *loads pistol and gets back on rocketship* Moon's haunted.
|
very good prompt! used it for my creative writing 11 class- title is Is It Ever Possible For Ghosts To Exist In Space Because It's A Vacuum?
hope whoever decides to read enjoys :))
James, sweeping his way across the chilly Space Station floor, jumped at a noise. There wasn’t supposed to be noises happening when he was the only janitor on shift. Listening closely, he heard the familiar sound of… astronaut boots? The only person in them James could think of would be Captain Reed, but that couldn’t be possible because he and his team were off on the Moon for a research mission. As the heavy footsteps turned the corner, James was met with a familiar face.
“Captain Reed? What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be on the Moon? What happened?”
“Moon’s haunted,” replies Reed bluntly, loading a shotgun and placing it into the musty duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
“What?”
“Moon’s haunted,” Reed repeats, giving James a look as if it’s not that hard to understand, and packs some more weapons beside the duffel-bagged ammunition.
Then, as coldly as he had entered, Captain Reed trudges off with his supposed ghost-hunting duffel bag of doom. James, tongue-tied for once, stands in shock for a solid thirty seconds before debating whether to finish his sweeping or go and relay the information that *only* Captain Reed is here for a pit stop on his way back to the Moon. Picking up his broom, James sweeps his way back to the big bay doors.
Half-running, half-walking his way to the Main Control Room, James and his navy-blue patch-adorned janitor’s jumpsuit stick out like a sore thumb. Patting his pockets, he finds his all-access keycard (he is a janitor, of course. Gotta get *everywhere* all clean) and swipes it through the reader next to the stark-white and red doors. With a *pshhh* like a bus kneeling to the curb, the doors retreat into their hollows in the walls.
The entire Control Room turns in disbelief to look at James and his disheveled glasses. General Kane strides over, his prosthetic left arm hissing like the doors James just stumbled through.
“*What,* could be so important, James, that you left your post to disrupt all of us-” Kane gestures widely across the whole room, “-in our extremely important work?”
Still out of breath, James wheezes,
“Captain Reed- *huff-* is back and he says the Moon’s haunted and- *huff-* he took a bunch of guns and- *huff-* ammo and stuff and-”
Before he could finish, General Kane snarls,
“Oh, God. Not again.”
“*AGAIN?* What do you mean AGAIN? Like the Moon- *huff-* has been haunted BEFORE? AND I DIDN’T KNOW?”
General Kane, giving James the same look that Captain Reed did, turns back to the Control Room. Almost 200 intelligent eyes fixate on the General, awaiting command on how to handle the current situation.
“Launch Code Sixty-Four. Proceed with caution and dexterity, and ABOVE ALL-” Kane’s arm hisses some more, “Do *NOT* fail again.”
James, now realizing he was much more out of the loop than he thought, stands in disbelief and shock, wondering how much else he didn’t know (or was being kept from him?) while nearly all of the most intelligent people on the planet flew into action.
Back through the red-and-white halls, through the big bay doors, and past the multitudes of shipping containers, James finds his abandoned broom and assorted cleaning supplies. It’s two minutes until he’s off anyways, so his worn-and-torn red Converse carry him back to his residence, or as he liked to call it, the Broom Closet.
Almost self-explanatory, the Broom Closet wasn’t much. It was a small, furnished four-room apartment in the lowest floor of the Space Station, and it seemed like it was styled to be so cold and unwelcoming that it would make your hermit uncle who lives in Siberia look like a party clown. James made it his own, with old *Star Wars* posters and other merchandise strewn about haphazardly. His purposefully ironic *Star Trek* calendar hung on the wall three months behind, displaying a grainy and washed-out *Enterprise*. In the cupboard lay multiple boxes of unopened mac and cheese, alongside some granola bars which sat there for the sole purpose of I’m-Very-Late-And-This-Is-All-I-Can-Grab. The milk, not unlike the calendar, expired three weeks ago but James kept forgetting to toss it. He’ll get around to it soon.
Just as James goes to open the fridge, there’s a knock at the door. Behind such knock is a man looking *very* spiffy, if James did say so himself.
“Are you James?” asked Spiffy.
“Uh… Yes? Who are *you?*”
“Oh. Apologies, sir. I am Mr. Warren. General Kane sent me here to retrieve you.”
“... For?”
“No clue, sir. The General gave no explanation. Follow me.”
Stumbling behind Mr. Warren, the pair turn down hallway after red-and-white hallway, getting so helplessly lost that even James, who knew the whole structure like the back of his hand, couldn’t possibly know *where on Earth* they were going. After a while, James gave up on even remotely trying to figure out what was going on, until the two stopped at the end of a hallway. Mr. Warren, producing a labeled-as-such Everywhere All-Access Card from his blazer pocket, swipes it through a reader next to the heavily fortified doors. The doors, of course, hiss away into the walls and reveal something the likes of which James (or anyone ever for that matter) had ever seen.
|
As the astronaut climbed into his chair and started what could only be described as a "thousand yard gaze" the rest of the crew and team look at each other in tense-silence. It wasn't just 5 minutes ago this pilot was successfully navigating back into the atmosphere onto a touchdown location with complete manual operation. The situation had obviously escalated into something no one had predicted. "Why was there a loaded and unguarded weapon?" and "How are we going to safely get him out of the rocket?" was the basic sentiment on everyone's mind albeit a bit more chaotic than that. BANG! The astronaut had ended his own life. The medical team that was already on the way rushed straight to the body as the security team closed in right behind them. Immediately the first responder started addressing the damage. Quickly making sure to contain the bleeding and look for any signs of life but as expected he was already gone. The medical team member next to him asked for a status and to confirm time of death. In what appeared to be complete and total shock the responder turned in a very calm way and mumbled something that the 2nd member just couldn't make out. "What?" asked the team member as the responder reached for the gun that was dropped by the astronaut. He said "Moon's haunted.".
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credit to @Dustinkcouch on Twitter
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[WP] NASA employee: oh hey you guys are back early. Astronaut: Moon's haunted. NASA employee: what? Astronaut: *loads pistol and gets back on rocketship* Moon's haunted.
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"You know that's not how any of this works, right?" said Bob, captain of the mission control team.
"What?" replied the disgruntled astronaut.
"I know I was being casual with the "you guys are back early," but you do realize none of this works that way, right? We coordinated your safe return because you insisted it was an emergency. Now that you're back, all you're going to say is "moon's haunted" and leave? You do realize this spaceship can't even go back anymore, right? We'd need to perform weeks of maintenance and safety checks. Hell, it doesn't even have any fuel! Where the hell are your teammates? How did you even get a gun? This is a space center, for crying out loud! Did you murder them all? What the fuck is the matter with you?"
"You are right. Sorry, I don't know what came over me."
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As the astronaut climbed into his chair and started what could only be described as a "thousand yard gaze" the rest of the crew and team look at each other in tense-silence. It wasn't just 5 minutes ago this pilot was successfully navigating back into the atmosphere onto a touchdown location with complete manual operation. The situation had obviously escalated into something no one had predicted. "Why was there a loaded and unguarded weapon?" and "How are we going to safely get him out of the rocket?" was the basic sentiment on everyone's mind albeit a bit more chaotic than that. BANG! The astronaut had ended his own life. The medical team that was already on the way rushed straight to the body as the security team closed in right behind them. Immediately the first responder started addressing the damage. Quickly making sure to contain the bleeding and look for any signs of life but as expected he was already gone. The medical team member next to him asked for a status and to confirm time of death. In what appeared to be complete and total shock the responder turned in a very calm way and mumbled something that the 2nd member just couldn't make out. "What?" asked the team member as the responder reached for the gun that was dropped by the astronaut. He said "Moon's haunted.".
|
credit to @Dustinkcouch on Twitter
|
[WP] NASA employee: oh hey you guys are back early. Astronaut: Moon's haunted. NASA employee: what? Astronaut: *loads pistol and gets back on rocketship* Moon's haunted.
|
I looked at Colonel McLeod as he got back in the ship. The absurdity of it all had shocked me to the point of inaction. It only took a moment to regain my senses. I began to bang on the door.
"Yo! Absolutely not! No guns!"
The door swung open. Colonel McLeod strutted out like a man used to kicking ass and taking names. He looked down at me through his space-o-visor with the penisiesty look I'd ever seen.
"And why not?" he grunted through his cigar.
"Because, *sir*" , I sneered. "Ghosts are already dead, dipshit. Conventional fire arms are ineffective. Take one of the proton accelerators to immobilize and an electro-magnetic trap for containment." I threw a thumb to the closet behind us. Colonel McLeod shifted his gaze between the closet and the space-o-pistol.
"Oh, OK."
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Jim peered at the astronaut waving the gun around and scratched his head. "Um, your gun won't work in space. "You of all people should know that." He took a step back.
"Is that so?" Then a blood curdling smile formed across Richard's lips, as he stood in the shuttle wearing his silver ionic suit, pointing the gun to the floor.
He reached for his own gun and pointed it at him. "After four years at Cornell, a PhD in theoretical physics, and the rigors of NASA testing, I would think you'd know that by now." His body trembled. "Who are you and what have you done with Richard?"
Richard laughed and his voice echoed throughout the hollow shuttle. *Where is everyone?* The astronaut dropped his revolver and Jim managed to steady his shaky hands. The spaceman paced back and forth in slow deliberate steps, as if making a casual phone call back home. "Oh Jim, Jim, Jim." Jim keeps his gun trained him. "You are a smart cookie, well, at least smarter than the others."
"Where are they?"
Richard turned and bared his teeth at Jim; his were no longer human, but the house of long needle-like fangs. Then the skin of his eyelids began to peel at the cornea, showing velvet red flesh, revealed by the curled and shriveled up skin. Richard, or rather the creature before him, took a step closer to.
"Stay back, or so help me..." His voice repeated back to him in the echo chamber of the shuttle - where dozens of assistants, co-workers, and astronauts once walked. He shrieked. "Where are they?" This time his hands were trembling so badly, he wasn’t sure he could aim right.
The creature closed its mouth and the sharp pointed edges of his teeth pierced through his upper and lower lips and fleshy cheeks, squirting blood in the mangled mess of flesh, like a metal porcupine exploding in his mouth. He collapsed to the floor with a thud, leaving a smear of blood at the scalp and a pool oozing from his mouth.
Slowly, sweat sliding down his forehead, Jim lowered his gun and walked over to the body that was laid in the pool of blood. The skin still peeled from the eyes down the cheeks, curling. A deafening voice boomed through the shuttles and Jim put his hands to his ears. "You're the only one who figured it out and for that, you get a reward."
Jim looked around and the room became completely silent. Metal creaked down the hall like the grating of iron. He jumped, and turned to the source; it was the North wing hall that led to the main room he's in now. Under the pale fluorescent light, he saw Julia and Jared meander toward him with dozens of the other crew members behind them.
He smiled and took a step toward them."Oh thank god I've found you guys. Richard is-" Jim stopped in his tracks and his heartbeat skyrocketed. His fingertips were slippery against each other and lubricated with a cold sweat. Before him were not at all the crew members he knew. Julia was topless with nothing but a skirt on, and running from her arms down to her mid chest and stomach, was chicken wire sewed and interwoven into the flesh. Her lips were closed shut with the prickly wire. Beside her, Jared walked in a drunken stupor with vacant eyes and an ax nested firmly in his head.
The entire crowd of them walked lazily toward Jim; some of them were too terrible and too hideous for his mind to grasp. He dropped to his knees, gripping at the roots of his hair and pulled. *Once I blink this will all be over. Once I blink this will all be over.* He blinked once. Twice. Three times. But the crowd of inhuman creatures only came closer.
Julia was only a few feet away from him and extended her arm out. Jim looked through the surface of her vacant grey eyes and saw fiery embers and heard the screams of a thousand people in the burning lake of hell. He screamed. "What's happening? Who are you people? What's going on?"
Then the deafening voice returned. "We are the demons you Christians cast out long ago in the dark ages." It's sheer force grinded the metal of the ship and Jim cowered. All the creatures stopped to listen. "You thought you destroyed us with your exorcisms and sacraments, but your spells only sent us out to the moon. Oh, but we've been watching you from afar and we intend to go back, now that Christianity is dead and atheism is alive and well!" The ground shook from beneath. "Nothing can stop us, now that we have hosts to go back with. I say, a celebration is in order as my fellow demons are getting a bit hungry."
"No, no, no!" Jim scooted back, but Julia was the first to grab him and pin him down. The rest mob him and lunge forward; the demons ripped his flesh apart as he screamed in agony, drinking the blood and savoring the meaty taste of his flesh. They finished him.
The corpse that was Richard's rose from it's crumpled position on the floor. It looked at the demons in their mangled bodies, covered in blood. "Set course for earth." He raised his fist in the air. "We will exact bloodshed on humanity. And may Jesus Christ be damned!" The demons roared in applause.
|
credit to @Dustinkcouch on Twitter
|
[WP] NASA employee: oh hey you guys are back early. Astronaut: Moon's haunted. NASA employee: what? Astronaut: *loads pistol and gets back on rocketship* Moon's haunted.
|
very good prompt! used it for my creative writing 11 class- title is Is It Ever Possible For Ghosts To Exist In Space Because It's A Vacuum?
hope whoever decides to read enjoys :))
James, sweeping his way across the chilly Space Station floor, jumped at a noise. There wasn’t supposed to be noises happening when he was the only janitor on shift. Listening closely, he heard the familiar sound of… astronaut boots? The only person in them James could think of would be Captain Reed, but that couldn’t be possible because he and his team were off on the Moon for a research mission. As the heavy footsteps turned the corner, James was met with a familiar face.
“Captain Reed? What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be on the Moon? What happened?”
“Moon’s haunted,” replies Reed bluntly, loading a shotgun and placing it into the musty duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
“What?”
“Moon’s haunted,” Reed repeats, giving James a look as if it’s not that hard to understand, and packs some more weapons beside the duffel-bagged ammunition.
Then, as coldly as he had entered, Captain Reed trudges off with his supposed ghost-hunting duffel bag of doom. James, tongue-tied for once, stands in shock for a solid thirty seconds before debating whether to finish his sweeping or go and relay the information that *only* Captain Reed is here for a pit stop on his way back to the Moon. Picking up his broom, James sweeps his way back to the big bay doors.
Half-running, half-walking his way to the Main Control Room, James and his navy-blue patch-adorned janitor’s jumpsuit stick out like a sore thumb. Patting his pockets, he finds his all-access keycard (he is a janitor, of course. Gotta get *everywhere* all clean) and swipes it through the reader next to the stark-white and red doors. With a *pshhh* like a bus kneeling to the curb, the doors retreat into their hollows in the walls.
The entire Control Room turns in disbelief to look at James and his disheveled glasses. General Kane strides over, his prosthetic left arm hissing like the doors James just stumbled through.
“*What,* could be so important, James, that you left your post to disrupt all of us-” Kane gestures widely across the whole room, “-in our extremely important work?”
Still out of breath, James wheezes,
“Captain Reed- *huff-* is back and he says the Moon’s haunted and- *huff-* he took a bunch of guns and- *huff-* ammo and stuff and-”
Before he could finish, General Kane snarls,
“Oh, God. Not again.”
“*AGAIN?* What do you mean AGAIN? Like the Moon- *huff-* has been haunted BEFORE? AND I DIDN’T KNOW?”
General Kane, giving James the same look that Captain Reed did, turns back to the Control Room. Almost 200 intelligent eyes fixate on the General, awaiting command on how to handle the current situation.
“Launch Code Sixty-Four. Proceed with caution and dexterity, and ABOVE ALL-” Kane’s arm hisses some more, “Do *NOT* fail again.”
James, now realizing he was much more out of the loop than he thought, stands in disbelief and shock, wondering how much else he didn’t know (or was being kept from him?) while nearly all of the most intelligent people on the planet flew into action.
Back through the red-and-white halls, through the big bay doors, and past the multitudes of shipping containers, James finds his abandoned broom and assorted cleaning supplies. It’s two minutes until he’s off anyways, so his worn-and-torn red Converse carry him back to his residence, or as he liked to call it, the Broom Closet.
Almost self-explanatory, the Broom Closet wasn’t much. It was a small, furnished four-room apartment in the lowest floor of the Space Station, and it seemed like it was styled to be so cold and unwelcoming that it would make your hermit uncle who lives in Siberia look like a party clown. James made it his own, with old *Star Wars* posters and other merchandise strewn about haphazardly. His purposefully ironic *Star Trek* calendar hung on the wall three months behind, displaying a grainy and washed-out *Enterprise*. In the cupboard lay multiple boxes of unopened mac and cheese, alongside some granola bars which sat there for the sole purpose of I’m-Very-Late-And-This-Is-All-I-Can-Grab. The milk, not unlike the calendar, expired three weeks ago but James kept forgetting to toss it. He’ll get around to it soon.
Just as James goes to open the fridge, there’s a knock at the door. Behind such knock is a man looking *very* spiffy, if James did say so himself.
“Are you James?” asked Spiffy.
“Uh… Yes? Who are *you?*”
“Oh. Apologies, sir. I am Mr. Warren. General Kane sent me here to retrieve you.”
“... For?”
“No clue, sir. The General gave no explanation. Follow me.”
Stumbling behind Mr. Warren, the pair turn down hallway after red-and-white hallway, getting so helplessly lost that even James, who knew the whole structure like the back of his hand, couldn’t possibly know *where on Earth* they were going. After a while, James gave up on even remotely trying to figure out what was going on, until the two stopped at the end of a hallway. Mr. Warren, producing a labeled-as-such Everywhere All-Access Card from his blazer pocket, swipes it through a reader next to the heavily fortified doors. The doors, of course, hiss away into the walls and reveal something the likes of which James (or anyone ever for that matter) had ever seen.
|
Jim peered at the astronaut waving the gun around and scratched his head. "Um, your gun won't work in space. "You of all people should know that." He took a step back.
"Is that so?" Then a blood curdling smile formed across Richard's lips, as he stood in the shuttle wearing his silver ionic suit, pointing the gun to the floor.
He reached for his own gun and pointed it at him. "After four years at Cornell, a PhD in theoretical physics, and the rigors of NASA testing, I would think you'd know that by now." His body trembled. "Who are you and what have you done with Richard?"
Richard laughed and his voice echoed throughout the hollow shuttle. *Where is everyone?* The astronaut dropped his revolver and Jim managed to steady his shaky hands. The spaceman paced back and forth in slow deliberate steps, as if making a casual phone call back home. "Oh Jim, Jim, Jim." Jim keeps his gun trained him. "You are a smart cookie, well, at least smarter than the others."
"Where are they?"
Richard turned and bared his teeth at Jim; his were no longer human, but the house of long needle-like fangs. Then the skin of his eyelids began to peel at the cornea, showing velvet red flesh, revealed by the curled and shriveled up skin. Richard, or rather the creature before him, took a step closer to.
"Stay back, or so help me..." His voice repeated back to him in the echo chamber of the shuttle - where dozens of assistants, co-workers, and astronauts once walked. He shrieked. "Where are they?" This time his hands were trembling so badly, he wasn’t sure he could aim right.
The creature closed its mouth and the sharp pointed edges of his teeth pierced through his upper and lower lips and fleshy cheeks, squirting blood in the mangled mess of flesh, like a metal porcupine exploding in his mouth. He collapsed to the floor with a thud, leaving a smear of blood at the scalp and a pool oozing from his mouth.
Slowly, sweat sliding down his forehead, Jim lowered his gun and walked over to the body that was laid in the pool of blood. The skin still peeled from the eyes down the cheeks, curling. A deafening voice boomed through the shuttles and Jim put his hands to his ears. "You're the only one who figured it out and for that, you get a reward."
Jim looked around and the room became completely silent. Metal creaked down the hall like the grating of iron. He jumped, and turned to the source; it was the North wing hall that led to the main room he's in now. Under the pale fluorescent light, he saw Julia and Jared meander toward him with dozens of the other crew members behind them.
He smiled and took a step toward them."Oh thank god I've found you guys. Richard is-" Jim stopped in his tracks and his heartbeat skyrocketed. His fingertips were slippery against each other and lubricated with a cold sweat. Before him were not at all the crew members he knew. Julia was topless with nothing but a skirt on, and running from her arms down to her mid chest and stomach, was chicken wire sewed and interwoven into the flesh. Her lips were closed shut with the prickly wire. Beside her, Jared walked in a drunken stupor with vacant eyes and an ax nested firmly in his head.
The entire crowd of them walked lazily toward Jim; some of them were too terrible and too hideous for his mind to grasp. He dropped to his knees, gripping at the roots of his hair and pulled. *Once I blink this will all be over. Once I blink this will all be over.* He blinked once. Twice. Three times. But the crowd of inhuman creatures only came closer.
Julia was only a few feet away from him and extended her arm out. Jim looked through the surface of her vacant grey eyes and saw fiery embers and heard the screams of a thousand people in the burning lake of hell. He screamed. "What's happening? Who are you people? What's going on?"
Then the deafening voice returned. "We are the demons you Christians cast out long ago in the dark ages." It's sheer force grinded the metal of the ship and Jim cowered. All the creatures stopped to listen. "You thought you destroyed us with your exorcisms and sacraments, but your spells only sent us out to the moon. Oh, but we've been watching you from afar and we intend to go back, now that Christianity is dead and atheism is alive and well!" The ground shook from beneath. "Nothing can stop us, now that we have hosts to go back with. I say, a celebration is in order as my fellow demons are getting a bit hungry."
"No, no, no!" Jim scooted back, but Julia was the first to grab him and pin him down. The rest mob him and lunge forward; the demons ripped his flesh apart as he screamed in agony, drinking the blood and savoring the meaty taste of his flesh. They finished him.
The corpse that was Richard's rose from it's crumpled position on the floor. It looked at the demons in their mangled bodies, covered in blood. "Set course for earth." He raised his fist in the air. "We will exact bloodshed on humanity. And may Jesus Christ be damned!" The demons roared in applause.
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