Split (1)

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	[WP] The world is divided into 2 societies: one for those with powers and one without, with strict rules of no interaction. However, with most of the superheroes defeated and the villains on the verge of winning, you have no choice but to cross over and seek help from the non-powered humans	"You want us to do what?” The indignation was palpable as the grease stained woman and her coworkers ogled my outfit. “Just hear me out,” I pleaded. “You don’t know what they will do if they breach the city walls. Your husbands, and children... all of the barren are in grave danger!” The spokeswoman of the growing crowd, covered in all manner of automotive oils began to laugh cruelly, her sharp features betraying her barren nature even as her words cemented her base status. “Grave danger, he says. Grave!” The woman turned to address the crowd. “Did you hear the man? This time its a Grave Danger! Much more dangerous than the, what was it last month? Eminent Peril?” “It was ‘Exceptional Peril’!” An older voice from nearer to the back of the crowd. “Ah. Yes,” the spokeswoman turned back to me as she arched an eyebrow and drawled, “forgive me, Oh Great Scriven One, for my barren incompetence. It must be the blood tithe that has made me stupid and slow. Please, explain to me, Blankspot, why this Danger is more Danger than the last.” I tried to muster a scowl for the woman’s impudence, but the blood loss was already approaching a level that was difficult to manage. I could feel the wound in my side even now threatening to start leaking again as this churlish crowd wasted time. Didn’t they realize? This time was different. “If you don’t help me now,” I controlled my tone, as if I spoke to an equal and not a whelp, “they will march through the gates and into the city, and then nothing will stop their slaughter! You think... you think the blood tithes are bad? What does your pea brain think utter death will feel like!” Yeah, that was the right tone. I could see a few in the crowd shifting and I let my power pulse towards those that faltered, finding their resistance — their very desire to resist — and burning the edges until it began to smolder. These ones wouldn’t take long, their kind never did. As their minds began to melt, the dissenters grew quieter, more placid and the hubbub around them quieted alongside. “... told us that our daughters were needed, and then our sons! What will it be this time?” The woman was rambling on as I worked on the dissenters and I turned my full attention on her. This wasn’t how it was supposed to work. The Barren serve the Scriven, as it was written long ago and as it has always been. Just because we are under assault does nothing to contradict that fact. The Council needed bodies to resist their wretched Alliance, and we would get. Those. Bodies. I turned to the ringleader and focused upon her, driving my awareness to her thoughts. Even with the blood loss, I couldn’t deny that I enjoyed myself. This first stage, of feeling out my targets and assessing their very soul thrilled me like nothing else in the world. Thinking on it, it was probably that their kind couldn’t resist that made it even more fun. All I had to do was reach out and... Damn this blood loss, made it uh... hard to... Wipe the woman, thats all that we need to do. Just wipe her resistance to nothing and I’ll have all the uh... the... the bodies that the Council needs. We’d fought the Alliance for decades, and before them the Coalition for centuries more. Always the same: they’d win some futile victory, liberate the barren, and the Council would respond by re-establishing the true order of things. I loved thinking on the Coalition and their final days before the Council annihilated them for good. For once, the world was... No, concentrate. Wipe the woman and you’ll have what you need. The thoughts came through in a muddled mess, difficult to concentrate on as the blood pooled in my boots. Absentmindedly I took a step towards the woman and felt no squelch.* Uh oh... thats not good. Now I can’t even feel the blood pooling down there. No. FOCUS.* I shook my head and concentrated on her again, delving into her mind and soul to rip and tear and burn those things that made her so... ... wait... what? The woman gave a smile as I realized I felt nothing in the woman. No, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t that I felt nothing in the woman... I couldn’t feel anything at all. I stumbled backwards in horror as the woman advanced, flanked by the people that had gathered. So well fed, I thought as for the first time in twenty two years I felt the range of my powers diminish into my own consciousness. The barren are usually so thin... Hands cupped my face gently as the woman knelt down to my level, I must have fallen, even my uniform was caked in mud now, and her eyes... perfect green eyes that bored into my very being, as if coaxing my scriven power to come forth and activate. I didn’t even consciously use it; my power leaped at the chance to rip and tear and burn once more and I felt myself dragged into the woman now inches from me, eyes locked to eyes. I realized, as my consciousness dulled, that the Scriven in front of me was never a citizen of ours. Too confident. Too well fed. Rumormill was right — the Alliance had gotten inside the city, even before our last fight. They were here, and what’s worse, they’d gotten the people on their side before we even realized the threat. — — — The villain known to the Alliance of Nations as Blankspot fell to the ground, catatonic - his very mind drawn from his body and absorbed into the heroine, Purgatory’s, mind. It would take several days for his particular cruelty to bleed away into nothingness, but that was ok. Purgatory turned to the other members of her unit and began issuing orders: to the sick, give treatment, to the hungry, food and to the potentials, testing. They dispersed quickly and she surveyed the scene around her, including the drooling targets of Blankspot’s last attack. The forces of Righteousness and Good had won, and Purgatory needed a shower. She couldn’t stand being so close to the barren.	"There is no other way, we have to seek help from the unblessed." said Nightshadow, hero of the superhuman society and member of the mighty 8 which consist of the highest ranked heros. "You do know, the whole meaning of us is to protect them from the villains? They don't even know that we exist, that they are ignorant and you just want to ask them for help? What do you expect from them? They are weak and unblessed!" countered Frenzy Flame, another member of the mighty 8. "Look Frenzy, we do have some intelligence on them, even though we are not supposed to interact at all, we know that they are like A LOT. Far more than we are, they could support us by doing all the grunt work and leaving us to fight. You do know how many good heroes are wasted on things like "cooking", "craftmanship" or "education"." said Nightshadow with a visible disgust in his face. "I know we have to plan this accordingly, but we must act soon or else we are facing complete annhilation and then the villains could freely enter the world of the unblessed and wreac havoc." explained Nightshadow looking at all the members. "I have an idea involving me and Frenzy Flame" ... "Okay, we crossed the forbidden barrier, but now what? I already hate it here, why is everything so shiny?" asked Frenzy Flame standing in front of a glass panneled building, never had she seen anything like that. "You did read the plan, didn't you?" replied Nightshadow angrily. "Yeah, but I'm not that good at it, I want to fight. I don't care about anything else, let's get this over with." shrugged Frenzy Flame and entered the building. Nightshadow followed. The heroes were greated by men in black clothes who look didn't look that suprised. "Greetings unblessed, we are from a secret world of super humans that is kept from yours." said Nightshadow who to underline his sayings, darkened the room with his powers while Frenzy Flame let her hands make flames. "I am Nightshadow and this is Frenzy Flame. We come to you, to talk with your leade-" ... "Wake them up" said head of intelligence Sarah C. while looking at the two cuffed heroes sitting in front of her. A subbordinate followed the orders and shook them until they awoke. Nightshadow and Frenzy Flame woke up in panic, "WHERE ARE WE, LET US FREE. WE ONLY WANT TO PROTECT YOU." cried Frenzy in a state of despair which only grew starker when she noticed that she couldn't use her powers. "Please, slow down a bit. I'm not here to hurt you. I'm Sarah and I just want to know what happened. We disabled your powers, don't try to figh-" "YOU DID WHAT, NOBODY HAS EVER DISABLED MY POWERS. HOW DARE YOU!" errupted Frenzy shaking so violently that she almost fell. "Could you please?" said Sarah looking at her subbordinate who then gave her a tranquilizer, which made her sleep again. "Do you need that as well?" asked Sarah looking at Nightshadow who didn't try to break free. "No, I'm good". Nightshadow was always considered a smarter hero. He was good at reading, he created all the strategies. He knew he couldn't do anything. "So why are you here?" asked Sarah. "We.. we have problems, the villains grew too strong and we can no longer protect you, the unblessed, like this. We wanted to ask for help. We are a secret society of superhumans that lives besides you. We don't want to hurt you, only protect you." said Nightshadow timidly, unsure of himself. Being imprisoned by what he was supposed to protect. His stomach turned. "We know that you exist Mr. Nightshadow. This separation was done hundreds of years ago. You spent all this time creating and forming your strength based society, looking at everything besides fighting as inferior and never evolving. We evolved far beyond what your powers are capable of, nobody of you poses a threat to us anymore. Our world often thought about intervining, but it was forbidden by human right courts, we were supposed to leave you in your "natural habitat". Truth is, we do enjoy watching your society for our leisure time. Humans love to see inferior people doing stupid things." said Sarah looking at Nightshadow whose stomach tightened even more. "We can't do anything unfortunately Mr. Nightshadow. The courts don't allow us to, but as you interacted with us, you are allowed to stay here. As a member of your so called mighty 8, you do have some kids as a fan here." chuckled Sarah. "It's either that or we reset your memory and send you back. What is it Mr. Nightshadow?".
	[WP] The world is divided into 2 societies: one for those with powers and one without, with strict rules of no interaction. However, with most of the superheroes defeated and the villains on the verge of winning, you have no choice but to cross over and seek help from the non-powered humans	"You want us to do what?” The indignation was palpable as the grease stained woman and her coworkers ogled my outfit. “Just hear me out,” I pleaded. “You don’t know what they will do if they breach the city walls. Your husbands, and children... all of the barren are in grave danger!” The spokeswoman of the growing crowd, covered in all manner of automotive oils began to laugh cruelly, her sharp features betraying her barren nature even as her words cemented her base status. “Grave danger, he says. Grave!” The woman turned to address the crowd. “Did you hear the man? This time its a Grave Danger! Much more dangerous than the, what was it last month? Eminent Peril?” “It was ‘Exceptional Peril’!” An older voice from nearer to the back of the crowd. “Ah. Yes,” the spokeswoman turned back to me as she arched an eyebrow and drawled, “forgive me, Oh Great Scriven One, for my barren incompetence. It must be the blood tithe that has made me stupid and slow. Please, explain to me, Blankspot, why this Danger is more Danger than the last.” I tried to muster a scowl for the woman’s impudence, but the blood loss was already approaching a level that was difficult to manage. I could feel the wound in my side even now threatening to start leaking again as this churlish crowd wasted time. Didn’t they realize? This time was different. “If you don’t help me now,” I controlled my tone, as if I spoke to an equal and not a whelp, “they will march through the gates and into the city, and then nothing will stop their slaughter! You think... you think the blood tithes are bad? What does your pea brain think utter death will feel like!” Yeah, that was the right tone. I could see a few in the crowd shifting and I let my power pulse towards those that faltered, finding their resistance — their very desire to resist — and burning the edges until it began to smolder. These ones wouldn’t take long, their kind never did. As their minds began to melt, the dissenters grew quieter, more placid and the hubbub around them quieted alongside. “... told us that our daughters were needed, and then our sons! What will it be this time?” The woman was rambling on as I worked on the dissenters and I turned my full attention on her. This wasn’t how it was supposed to work. The Barren serve the Scriven, as it was written long ago and as it has always been. Just because we are under assault does nothing to contradict that fact. The Council needed bodies to resist their wretched Alliance, and we would get. Those. Bodies. I turned to the ringleader and focused upon her, driving my awareness to her thoughts. Even with the blood loss, I couldn’t deny that I enjoyed myself. This first stage, of feeling out my targets and assessing their very soul thrilled me like nothing else in the world. Thinking on it, it was probably that their kind couldn’t resist that made it even more fun. All I had to do was reach out and... Damn this blood loss, made it uh... hard to... Wipe the woman, thats all that we need to do. Just wipe her resistance to nothing and I’ll have all the uh... the... the bodies that the Council needs. We’d fought the Alliance for decades, and before them the Coalition for centuries more. Always the same: they’d win some futile victory, liberate the barren, and the Council would respond by re-establishing the true order of things. I loved thinking on the Coalition and their final days before the Council annihilated them for good. For once, the world was... No, concentrate. Wipe the woman and you’ll have what you need. The thoughts came through in a muddled mess, difficult to concentrate on as the blood pooled in my boots. Absentmindedly I took a step towards the woman and felt no squelch.* Uh oh... thats not good. Now I can’t even feel the blood pooling down there. No. FOCUS.* I shook my head and concentrated on her again, delving into her mind and soul to rip and tear and burn those things that made her so... ... wait... what? The woman gave a smile as I realized I felt nothing in the woman. No, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t that I felt nothing in the woman... I couldn’t feel anything at all. I stumbled backwards in horror as the woman advanced, flanked by the people that had gathered. So well fed, I thought as for the first time in twenty two years I felt the range of my powers diminish into my own consciousness. The barren are usually so thin... Hands cupped my face gently as the woman knelt down to my level, I must have fallen, even my uniform was caked in mud now, and her eyes... perfect green eyes that bored into my very being, as if coaxing my scriven power to come forth and activate. I didn’t even consciously use it; my power leaped at the chance to rip and tear and burn once more and I felt myself dragged into the woman now inches from me, eyes locked to eyes. I realized, as my consciousness dulled, that the Scriven in front of me was never a citizen of ours. Too confident. Too well fed. Rumormill was right — the Alliance had gotten inside the city, even before our last fight. They were here, and what’s worse, they’d gotten the people on their side before we even realized the threat. — — — The villain known to the Alliance of Nations as Blankspot fell to the ground, catatonic - his very mind drawn from his body and absorbed into the heroine, Purgatory’s, mind. It would take several days for his particular cruelty to bleed away into nothingness, but that was ok. Purgatory turned to the other members of her unit and began issuing orders: to the sick, give treatment, to the hungry, food and to the potentials, testing. They dispersed quickly and she surveyed the scene around her, including the drooling targets of Blankspot’s last attack. The forces of Righteousness and Good had won, and Purgatory needed a shower. She couldn’t stand being so close to the barren.	[poem] Non-powered is a funny term, when science should make any supe concerned. I’m heading in to negotiate, and see what we’ll learn. We already tried it our way, I guess it’s their turn. The other heroes hate it, but I’m hardly concerned. Approaching the front gate, I get scanned and searched. They know I could vaporize them all, right out of their shirts. But we do these silly social rituals, to display equal worth. Yeah ok, whatever, time to get to work. I’ve got guards in a row on either side of my cape. Across my chest, emblazoned in purple is “Mr. Vape.” Goofy-ass name, but don’t hate. Inhale my pheromones, and prepare to vegetate. I super heat the area around me, into a volcanic state. Then I expand my body, and deadly steam escapes. I’ve defeated Razor Wrestler and Frosty Snake. However, the strength of the villains, I can’t understate. Here to wipe them out, for all our sakes. Sitting across from the head of the bandits, is the wealthiest CEO on the planet. A sociopathic fake ally, and I can’t stand it. But he was the only one with the funds to manage. A way to create a virus, that causes massive damage. To the cells of any supe, but he doesn’t command it. We have his loved ones, and he understands it. The core villains are, honestly, too strong to defeat. And they’ve got the support of every supe on the street. All we’ve got is hurricanes, super strength, and my super heat. Our headquarters in ruins…rubble, concrete. The CEO sneers, as the head bandit approaches. One lone cannister, self-replicating doses. The idea is simple, we’ll launch and expose this. Woe unto the villains, who are standing the closest. Mr. Hercules cocks his arm back, and I light the fuse. Before he hurls it into the sky, while we’re live on the news. G-Breezy hovers nearby, with the winds she’s produced. I’m kind of disgusted with the tactic we’ve used. One lone firework ignites, then she falls. Not the solution we were promised, the gall. “Human kind is free.” On the screen people saw. As I sputter, and cough, and lean on a wall. The CEO’s betrayal, with the bandits involved. Caring only for yourself: the greatest power, of all.
	[WP] The world is divided into 2 societies: one for those with powers and one without, with strict rules of no interaction. However, with most of the superheroes defeated and the villains on the verge of winning, you have no choice but to cross over and seek help from the non-powered humans	For among them, was one of us. One who, disenfranchised and disillusioned, crossed over. One who could pass as non-powered; when in fact, he held the power more relevant to the crisis before us today than any other superhero. In the dark corners of the internet and of non-human society, whispers of Negation's existence waxed and waned, but never fully extinguished. The most heartening snippets on Reddit, from an anonymous account, the Wanderer, offered the most credible information from an individual who seemed to be close with Negation, the superhero who always "felt he had a foot in each world" and "that he would never truly fit into either". There had been many signs that Negation was a real person. There were many occasions where superhero and supervillain alike claimed their powers suddenly ceased functioning. What was initially chalked up as anomaly and superstition became undeniable a year ago, when Hurricane inexplicably fell mid-flight to his death on the streets of Manhattan. Each side, superhero and supervillain alike, struggled with the terrifying prospect that Negation was secretly supporting one side or the other. It was clear now, this renegade, this dissident, was the only help left for what was good and right in the world. With ordinary people at his side, a super like Negation could effortlessly reduce every supervillain in existence to a mundane, ordinary version of him or herself. It was ironic that, in the end, the only super power that held any hope was the super power that nullified all super powers. Negation, where are you? The world needs you. \--- "What's your name?" the man asked, standing there in Sear's office, clutching the matte gray costume in his hand as he glanced down at it again, eying the black, hexagonal polygon sown into the chest region, a large white zero, centered in it, with a slash through it. The contrast of colors seemed intended to intimidate any super who saw it. Sear stood there, troubled by his question, furrowing a brow as she tightened her crossed arms and answered him, "It's Sear..." The man sighed as he glanced up at her, "That's not what I meant." His sense of calm was unnerving to Sear. As he took a moment to soak in the sight of her standing in the tight, red and yellow leather costume, Sear realized what he intended with his last question but before she could speak he tossed the costume he was holding back onto her desk and muttered, "I'm not wearing this crap." As he turned to leave her office she followed, reaching for the back of his arm, "It's fine--" she blurted out, anxious about losing his support when he stopped to look at her in the center of reception. His eyes passed from Sear, to another two superheroes who were sitting on a comfortable couch, and over to a receptionist who was, herself, undoubtedly a superhero. "My name is Charles, you can call on me anytime, but I'm not going on camera or doing any of those ridiculous publicity stunts." Mind, one of the superheroes on the couch, shifted uneasily in his seat as he was divorced from the familiarity of his power for the first time in his life. Now, more than ever, he was desperate to read person's mind. Charles' mind. Feat, who was sitting next to him, rose up and stretched an arm, a glisten in his eye as he nodded at Charles, "That's fine. Anything you need really, anything we can do to make you comfortable," he said. What was unspoken was the desire he had to feel someone shake his hand; something he hadn't tried again since the time he'd inadvertently crushed another man's hand in his grip.	[poem] Non-powered is a funny term, when science should make any supe concerned. I’m heading in to negotiate, and see what we’ll learn. We already tried it our way, I guess it’s their turn. The other heroes hate it, but I’m hardly concerned. Approaching the front gate, I get scanned and searched. They know I could vaporize them all, right out of their shirts. But we do these silly social rituals, to display equal worth. Yeah ok, whatever, time to get to work. I’ve got guards in a row on either side of my cape. Across my chest, emblazoned in purple is “Mr. Vape.” Goofy-ass name, but don’t hate. Inhale my pheromones, and prepare to vegetate. I super heat the area around me, into a volcanic state. Then I expand my body, and deadly steam escapes. I’ve defeated Razor Wrestler and Frosty Snake. However, the strength of the villains, I can’t understate. Here to wipe them out, for all our sakes. Sitting across from the head of the bandits, is the wealthiest CEO on the planet. A sociopathic fake ally, and I can’t stand it. But he was the only one with the funds to manage. A way to create a virus, that causes massive damage. To the cells of any supe, but he doesn’t command it. We have his loved ones, and he understands it. The core villains are, honestly, too strong to defeat. And they’ve got the support of every supe on the street. All we’ve got is hurricanes, super strength, and my super heat. Our headquarters in ruins…rubble, concrete. The CEO sneers, as the head bandit approaches. One lone cannister, self-replicating doses. The idea is simple, we’ll launch and expose this. Woe unto the villains, who are standing the closest. Mr. Hercules cocks his arm back, and I light the fuse. Before he hurls it into the sky, while we’re live on the news. G-Breezy hovers nearby, with the winds she’s produced. I’m kind of disgusted with the tactic we’ve used. One lone firework ignites, then she falls. Not the solution we were promised, the gall. “Human kind is free.” On the screen people saw. As I sputter, and cough, and lean on a wall. The CEO’s betrayal, with the bandits involved. Caring only for yourself: the greatest power, of all.
	[WP] The world is divided into 2 societies: one for those with powers and one without, with strict rules of no interaction. However, with most of the superheroes defeated and the villains on the verge of winning, you have no choice but to cross over and seek help from the non-powered humans	It’s been like this for centuries now. Why does it have to change? Yeah, I’m a stuck-up. Yes, I very much dislike the idea of seeking help from humans who are much different than us. Earth itself is divided into two societies with the rule of thumb that prevents the two from ever interacting with one another. I myself think that we should stay separated forever, but ever since half of the superpower side of the world, my side of the world, has turned into supervillains it eliminated a large part of our society and our superhero numbers are dwindling. And now, as one of the highest ranking remaining heroes I was chosen to go seek help from our... lesser versions of us: the non-powered humans. I angrily kicked a rock as I approached the border, the land looking like a ghost town since no one has barely ever set foot here. It was weird. “They’re non-powered. How can they help? This is so stupid.” I paused when I reached the border, the faint tint of purple in the air was like a wall between both worlds. I took a step back, knowing that I could turn back now when I had the chance. Then I remembered the villains, the destruction of society, the death of my friends, my home... gone. Whatever. I took a breath and stepped through with tightly closed eyes, only opening them when I heard a weird clicking sound. “Hands in the air!” “Eh? What? What’s going on?” People in odd suits of black and cameo holding weird yet threatening looking weapons surrounded me, the white words ‘BORDER PATROL’ lined across their chests. “Hands up! Who are you? Why have you come?” I didn’t know what they were capable of, so I was being cautious and did what I was told. Someone was slowly inching towards me, the same person who gave me those commands. “I- uh, I’m here from the other side of the world. My name is Maximum, I come here on behalf of the Superhero Society Council, I’m sure you’ve heard of them. If you could just lower your weapons, I’ll explain everything.” I stared into their weird- looking goggles,waiting for them to realize that I wasn’t a threat. The person who I assumed was their commander came a little closer and patted me down, probably checking to make sure I didn’t have anything dangerous on me. They raised their arm and made a fist, the rest instantly lowered their weapons. “Follow me.” Silence accompanied us both as I followed the mysterious person. I noticed the land here was the same on the other side, but as we ventured further into the non-powered world it changed dramatically. Odd hardened grey paths with weird markings winded across the land, and in the distance I caught sight of lights and buildings that scraped the sky. “Hey. Get in.” The person took off their helmet that covered their face, revealing a young woman as she opened something that looked like a giant hunk of metal... with wheels. “That doesn’t look sketchy at all. I don’t want to get into something that looks like it’s going to eat me alive. No way.” “Ah, then if you can fly at 150 kilometres an hour to a place that would take days to walk to, then use your magical superpowers, be my guest and follow me.” “Whoa- hey wait! I don’t fly. That’s not what I do.” She stopped and gave me a sly smile before sliding into the weird metal thing from the other side. “Then get in you weirdo. Let me know what your abilities are.” I sighed. What was the worst that could happen. I shut the door and sat down, mimicking the movements of the woman as she strapped herself in. “Can this thing really go 150 kilometres an hour?” “Nope. It can go even faster. Just don’t piss yourself.” The thing rumbled to life, and a flash of adrenaline ran through my veins as I felt it run along the grey strip. It was terrifying to be in something that could kill you with just one hit. “I’m assuming you don’t have this in your freakish world? This is called a car. It’s powered by electricity and runs on gas. I’ll get into the details of it later. For now, tell me what your powers are.” I didn’t realize I was gripping onto the leather seat of this ‘car’ and slid my hands underneath my thighs. “It’s complicated. I’ll show you non-powered humans what we can do when this car stops.” “Fair enough. And you know what, I’ll show you freaks what humans are capable of when we use our minds.” The competitive atmosphere reminded me of back in my side of the world when the supervillains were starting to take over, showing who had the best powers and who had more strength. But this was a little different. It was a friendly competitiveness. I kinda liked it. “We’re here. Pull that handle next to you to open the door.” I followed her out of the car, taking in the size of the building that loomed over me. It was so different, so unique. The inside was just as interesting as the outside, but I wasn’t going to let myself admit that. I played it cool and kept a bored expression on my face. She swung open the door and gestured for me to enter the room. I did and came face to face with about a dozen people sitting at a wooden table. One of them asked, “General Cici, who’s this?” The woman, Cici, stood beside me. “This is Ma-“ “My name is Maximum. I come from the other world and represent the Superhuman Society Council on their behalf. I have come with a request.” I heard her scoff but ignored it. This was urgent. I already wasted enough time as it is. I had to get help as soon as possible. “Ah. This is exactly what we were waiting for. Come Mr. Maximum, this way please.” My eyes darted to Cici who nodded, and I followed the man who took me into another room. “What did you mean back there? Was my arrival expected?” The man shook his head. “No, but the situation was expected. We know your society is on the brink of collapsing, so yes, we are willing to lend help.” The corridor was long, and the man walked a really slow pace. “Then, why give help to a society that you haven’t had contact with in centuries?” With a spin on his heel, he faced me. “Just because your kind has superpowers it doesn’t make you any less human. Now, Cici will show you to the military unit. She’ll provide you with the help you need there.” He opened another door that had stairs going down to an underground base. Cici leaned against the wall, twirling keys around her finger. “You ready to see what we’ve come up with these past few centuries?” She entered the key into a unit on the wall, and a sound of a mechanical whirring was heard as shelves upon shelves of weapons similar to the ones he saw before all lined up and shining. “It’s been a while since we’ve fought in a battle. We’ve got the soldiers, we’ve got the weapons. Is this good enough for you freaks?” She teased, aiming a weapon at the wall before firing it. For the first time today, I smiled. “This is enough. Actually, this is more than enough.” “Heh. We’ve got more tricks up our sleeves. Don’t underestimate us. Come on, we’ve got a war to fight.” ————- This is really bad tbh. And really long. Lol sorry. But let me know what you think!!!!	[poem] Non-powered is a funny term, when science should make any supe concerned. I’m heading in to negotiate, and see what we’ll learn. We already tried it our way, I guess it’s their turn. The other heroes hate it, but I’m hardly concerned. Approaching the front gate, I get scanned and searched. They know I could vaporize them all, right out of their shirts. But we do these silly social rituals, to display equal worth. Yeah ok, whatever, time to get to work. I’ve got guards in a row on either side of my cape. Across my chest, emblazoned in purple is “Mr. Vape.” Goofy-ass name, but don’t hate. Inhale my pheromones, and prepare to vegetate. I super heat the area around me, into a volcanic state. Then I expand my body, and deadly steam escapes. I’ve defeated Razor Wrestler and Frosty Snake. However, the strength of the villains, I can’t understate. Here to wipe them out, for all our sakes. Sitting across from the head of the bandits, is the wealthiest CEO on the planet. A sociopathic fake ally, and I can’t stand it. But he was the only one with the funds to manage. A way to create a virus, that causes massive damage. To the cells of any supe, but he doesn’t command it. We have his loved ones, and he understands it. The core villains are, honestly, too strong to defeat. And they’ve got the support of every supe on the street. All we’ve got is hurricanes, super strength, and my super heat. Our headquarters in ruins…rubble, concrete. The CEO sneers, as the head bandit approaches. One lone cannister, self-replicating doses. The idea is simple, we’ll launch and expose this. Woe unto the villains, who are standing the closest. Mr. Hercules cocks his arm back, and I light the fuse. Before he hurls it into the sky, while we’re live on the news. G-Breezy hovers nearby, with the winds she’s produced. I’m kind of disgusted with the tactic we’ve used. One lone firework ignites, then she falls. Not the solution we were promised, the gall. “Human kind is free.” On the screen people saw. As I sputter, and cough, and lean on a wall. The CEO’s betrayal, with the bandits involved. Caring only for yourself: the greatest power, of all.
	[WP] The world is divided into 2 societies: one for those with powers and one without, with strict rules of no interaction. However, with most of the superheroes defeated and the villains on the verge of winning, you have no choice but to cross over and seek help from the non-powered humans	"I'm still astounded." I say to my partner, and long-time friend Eclipse. "How did they manage to do all this!" I gesture around me. Eclipse shrugs and goes back to her drink. "It's just... they don't have powers. They don't even have half the population we do. And yet!" I'm mad. Mad at the rules, mad at the Ordinaries, but most of all, mad at myself. I boasted I was the best explorer ever. I traveled the world. I knew almost every language spoken. I knew about every culture, about everything. It was my life. How could I have missed this? The Ordinaries. No one cared about them, no one even glanced their way. It was ancient rule. The Ordinaries didn't have anything, barely even a population. Our leaders would meet every year in a safe zone, and that was the only contact we had with them. It's no wonder they managed to do all this without our knowledge. They're just so advanced! There's buildings that go up to 100 stories! I mean, if we tried to do that, they would get knocked down immediately in some fight. And there's so many of them. Not the tiny population we left so long ago. No, now there's a few million at least. How are they not all dead? But the most pressing question of all. They're happy. All around me, I see people laughing and smiling. Not a care in the world. Why is everyone so happy? Don't they see how little they have? Aren't they saddened by the fact that they'll never have powers? That they'll never be as good as us? "Come on, hurry up." I say to Eclipse. "We have to meet up with that guy, the ambassador or something." I watch as someone walks by, holding a rectangular device and talking to it. "Um, hi." I say to him. "What exactly are you holding?" He stops, confused. Then looks at my drink and understanding flashes across his face. "A phone." He says, and walks off. Well, that was helpful. Eclipse stands up, finished, and we walk out of the bar. We walk down the streets, twisting and turning until we make it to the ...palace? It doesn't look like a palace. It looks like a regular building. "Are you sure we're at the right place?" I ask Eclipse. It's just a normal building. No shine, nothing like the palace of our society. The place where all the highest supers stay. I used to wonder what it would be like to live in such an amazing place. "We're here." Eclipse says. "This is it." "Alright." I say, and we walk inside. It's busy, filled to the brim with people. People running around, trying to finish work. People going to meetings. We walk into the office of the leader of the Ordinaries. And it's just that. An office. A normal, boring, office, on the same level as everyone else. I don't get it. "Please, sit." She says. "Um, ma'am-." I begin, not knowing exactly where to start. "Call me Mira." She says. "Mira, um, well-" I try. "We need your help." Says Eclipse. "Desperately. We're at a total loss, we need backup." Mira picks up another rectangle, presses it, and starts talking. A few minutes later, no less than 20 people show up, and sit down. Where did all those chairs come from? Focus. Don't think about the chairs. "Explain." Says Mira, and Eclipse tells her the whole story. "There was a sudden surge in, well, in evil Supers maybe 2 weeks ago. They started targeting the King. More and more of us died, and we can't fight them." She keeps going. "Everyone else went into hiding. We've come here. We need help. You're our last hope." "That's the shortened version of the story." I jump in. "Give me the longer version." Mira says, and I oblige. I spend an hour explaining everything that happened, from the first Super to go off the rails to Eclipse and I coming here, to the Ordinaries. "And Eclipse is right, we need your help." I finish. "Please wait outside while I discuss this with everyone else." We walk out. "That was kind of abrupt." I say. "She just got us out of there as fast as she could. She hardly even listened to us." "Oh, like the king did?" Says Eclipse. "Nah, I like her better." We wait outside as the minutes drag into hours. There's a knock on the door, and a voice tells us to go back in. "So, can you, I mean, can you help us?" Asks Eclipse. "No." Says Mira. "No? What do you mean no?" I say, not fully understanding. "We can't help you. We're not going to join this war." "But...why?" I ask. "We are not going into another war. You're welcome to stay here as long as you'd like, but we won't help." The next hour goes by in a daze and I fond myself sitting back in the same bar as before. What am I going to do? This was our last shot. The only people that could help us. Why didn't they? What are we going to do now?	[poem] Non-powered is a funny term, when science should make any supe concerned. I’m heading in to negotiate, and see what we’ll learn. We already tried it our way, I guess it’s their turn. The other heroes hate it, but I’m hardly concerned. Approaching the front gate, I get scanned and searched. They know I could vaporize them all, right out of their shirts. But we do these silly social rituals, to display equal worth. Yeah ok, whatever, time to get to work. I’ve got guards in a row on either side of my cape. Across my chest, emblazoned in purple is “Mr. Vape.” Goofy-ass name, but don’t hate. Inhale my pheromones, and prepare to vegetate. I super heat the area around me, into a volcanic state. Then I expand my body, and deadly steam escapes. I’ve defeated Razor Wrestler and Frosty Snake. However, the strength of the villains, I can’t understate. Here to wipe them out, for all our sakes. Sitting across from the head of the bandits, is the wealthiest CEO on the planet. A sociopathic fake ally, and I can’t stand it. But he was the only one with the funds to manage. A way to create a virus, that causes massive damage. To the cells of any supe, but he doesn’t command it. We have his loved ones, and he understands it. The core villains are, honestly, too strong to defeat. And they’ve got the support of every supe on the street. All we’ve got is hurricanes, super strength, and my super heat. Our headquarters in ruins…rubble, concrete. The CEO sneers, as the head bandit approaches. One lone cannister, self-replicating doses. The idea is simple, we’ll launch and expose this. Woe unto the villains, who are standing the closest. Mr. Hercules cocks his arm back, and I light the fuse. Before he hurls it into the sky, while we’re live on the news. G-Breezy hovers nearby, with the winds she’s produced. I’m kind of disgusted with the tactic we’ve used. One lone firework ignites, then she falls. Not the solution we were promised, the gall. “Human kind is free.” On the screen people saw. As I sputter, and cough, and lean on a wall. The CEO’s betrayal, with the bandits involved. Caring only for yourself: the greatest power, of all.
	[WP] The world is divided into 2 societies: one for those with powers and one without, with strict rules of no interaction. However, with most of the superheroes defeated and the villains on the verge of winning, you have no choice but to cross over and seek help from the non-powered humans	"You want us to do what?” The indignation was palpable as the grease stained woman and her coworkers ogled my outfit. “Just hear me out,” I pleaded. “You don’t know what they will do if they breach the city walls. Your husbands, and children... all of the barren are in grave danger!” The spokeswoman of the growing crowd, covered in all manner of automotive oils began to laugh cruelly, her sharp features betraying her barren nature even as her words cemented her base status. “Grave danger, he says. Grave!” The woman turned to address the crowd. “Did you hear the man? This time its a Grave Danger! Much more dangerous than the, what was it last month? Eminent Peril?” “It was ‘Exceptional Peril’!” An older voice from nearer to the back of the crowd. “Ah. Yes,” the spokeswoman turned back to me as she arched an eyebrow and drawled, “forgive me, Oh Great Scriven One, for my barren incompetence. It must be the blood tithe that has made me stupid and slow. Please, explain to me, Blankspot, why this Danger is more Danger than the last.” I tried to muster a scowl for the woman’s impudence, but the blood loss was already approaching a level that was difficult to manage. I could feel the wound in my side even now threatening to start leaking again as this churlish crowd wasted time. Didn’t they realize? This time was different. “If you don’t help me now,” I controlled my tone, as if I spoke to an equal and not a whelp, “they will march through the gates and into the city, and then nothing will stop their slaughter! You think... you think the blood tithes are bad? What does your pea brain think utter death will feel like!” Yeah, that was the right tone. I could see a few in the crowd shifting and I let my power pulse towards those that faltered, finding their resistance — their very desire to resist — and burning the edges until it began to smolder. These ones wouldn’t take long, their kind never did. As their minds began to melt, the dissenters grew quieter, more placid and the hubbub around them quieted alongside. “... told us that our daughters were needed, and then our sons! What will it be this time?” The woman was rambling on as I worked on the dissenters and I turned my full attention on her. This wasn’t how it was supposed to work. The Barren serve the Scriven, as it was written long ago and as it has always been. Just because we are under assault does nothing to contradict that fact. The Council needed bodies to resist their wretched Alliance, and we would get. Those. Bodies. I turned to the ringleader and focused upon her, driving my awareness to her thoughts. Even with the blood loss, I couldn’t deny that I enjoyed myself. This first stage, of feeling out my targets and assessing their very soul thrilled me like nothing else in the world. Thinking on it, it was probably that their kind couldn’t resist that made it even more fun. All I had to do was reach out and... Damn this blood loss, made it uh... hard to... Wipe the woman, thats all that we need to do. Just wipe her resistance to nothing and I’ll have all the uh... the... the bodies that the Council needs. We’d fought the Alliance for decades, and before them the Coalition for centuries more. Always the same: they’d win some futile victory, liberate the barren, and the Council would respond by re-establishing the true order of things. I loved thinking on the Coalition and their final days before the Council annihilated them for good. For once, the world was... No, concentrate. Wipe the woman and you’ll have what you need. The thoughts came through in a muddled mess, difficult to concentrate on as the blood pooled in my boots. Absentmindedly I took a step towards the woman and felt no squelch.* Uh oh... thats not good. Now I can’t even feel the blood pooling down there. No. FOCUS.* I shook my head and concentrated on her again, delving into her mind and soul to rip and tear and burn those things that made her so... ... wait... what? The woman gave a smile as I realized I felt nothing in the woman. No, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t that I felt nothing in the woman... I couldn’t feel anything at all. I stumbled backwards in horror as the woman advanced, flanked by the people that had gathered. So well fed, I thought as for the first time in twenty two years I felt the range of my powers diminish into my own consciousness. The barren are usually so thin... Hands cupped my face gently as the woman knelt down to my level, I must have fallen, even my uniform was caked in mud now, and her eyes... perfect green eyes that bored into my very being, as if coaxing my scriven power to come forth and activate. I didn’t even consciously use it; my power leaped at the chance to rip and tear and burn once more and I felt myself dragged into the woman now inches from me, eyes locked to eyes. I realized, as my consciousness dulled, that the Scriven in front of me was never a citizen of ours. Too confident. Too well fed. Rumormill was right — the Alliance had gotten inside the city, even before our last fight. They were here, and what’s worse, they’d gotten the people on their side before we even realized the threat. — — — The villain known to the Alliance of Nations as Blankspot fell to the ground, catatonic - his very mind drawn from his body and absorbed into the heroine, Purgatory’s, mind. It would take several days for his particular cruelty to bleed away into nothingness, but that was ok. Purgatory turned to the other members of her unit and began issuing orders: to the sick, give treatment, to the hungry, food and to the potentials, testing. They dispersed quickly and she surveyed the scene around her, including the drooling targets of Blankspot’s last attack. The forces of Righteousness and Good had won, and Purgatory needed a shower. She couldn’t stand being so close to the barren.	David, my boy. A Hundred years ago the world was in chaos when the 3rd Slame revolt actually succeeded. Laws were drafted, Systems were formulated, and protests by the Gifted were squashed. To close the deal The Earth-Splitter was called upon to split the entire Mass of earth, one for the Gifted, and one for the Slames. Your late grandmother, Master Mirror made everyone forget their existence, lest one of our kind tries to be a Wolf among Lambs on the other side of the Coin. At the time she could not have predicted how we would tear each other apart if the Oppressors, were severed from the Oppressed. It leaves a heavy burden on my heart to tarnish our family principles David, but I cannot watch you perish the same way your parents did. I can only hope the Slames are making use of their newfound freedom. I suspect they do, they aren't born with the gifts which leave our kind in an eternal strife. Our kind is doomed to paint the walls with blood of our kin just to have someone under our feet. So, I request of you with this heavy heart of mine, When you get there, don't be the Wolf, Strive for harmony. Never forget the Family slogan etched on the Space Capsule. Love, Grandpa LaserEyes.
	[WP] The world is divided into 2 societies: one for those with powers and one without, with strict rules of no interaction. However, with most of the superheroes defeated and the villains on the verge of winning, you have no choice but to cross over and seek help from the non-powered humans	It’s been like this for centuries now. Why does it have to change? Yeah, I’m a stuck-up. Yes, I very much dislike the idea of seeking help from humans who are much different than us. Earth itself is divided into two societies with the rule of thumb that prevents the two from ever interacting with one another. I myself think that we should stay separated forever, but ever since half of the superpower side of the world, my side of the world, has turned into supervillains it eliminated a large part of our society and our superhero numbers are dwindling. And now, as one of the highest ranking remaining heroes I was chosen to go seek help from our... lesser versions of us: the non-powered humans. I angrily kicked a rock as I approached the border, the land looking like a ghost town since no one has barely ever set foot here. It was weird. “They’re non-powered. How can they help? This is so stupid.” I paused when I reached the border, the faint tint of purple in the air was like a wall between both worlds. I took a step back, knowing that I could turn back now when I had the chance. Then I remembered the villains, the destruction of society, the death of my friends, my home... gone. Whatever. I took a breath and stepped through with tightly closed eyes, only opening them when I heard a weird clicking sound. “Hands in the air!” “Eh? What? What’s going on?” People in odd suits of black and cameo holding weird yet threatening looking weapons surrounded me, the white words ‘BORDER PATROL’ lined across their chests. “Hands up! Who are you? Why have you come?” I didn’t know what they were capable of, so I was being cautious and did what I was told. Someone was slowly inching towards me, the same person who gave me those commands. “I- uh, I’m here from the other side of the world. My name is Maximum, I come here on behalf of the Superhero Society Council, I’m sure you’ve heard of them. If you could just lower your weapons, I’ll explain everything.” I stared into their weird- looking goggles,waiting for them to realize that I wasn’t a threat. The person who I assumed was their commander came a little closer and patted me down, probably checking to make sure I didn’t have anything dangerous on me. They raised their arm and made a fist, the rest instantly lowered their weapons. “Follow me.” Silence accompanied us both as I followed the mysterious person. I noticed the land here was the same on the other side, but as we ventured further into the non-powered world it changed dramatically. Odd hardened grey paths with weird markings winded across the land, and in the distance I caught sight of lights and buildings that scraped the sky. “Hey. Get in.” The person took off their helmet that covered their face, revealing a young woman as she opened something that looked like a giant hunk of metal... with wheels. “That doesn’t look sketchy at all. I don’t want to get into something that looks like it’s going to eat me alive. No way.” “Ah, then if you can fly at 150 kilometres an hour to a place that would take days to walk to, then use your magical superpowers, be my guest and follow me.” “Whoa- hey wait! I don’t fly. That’s not what I do.” She stopped and gave me a sly smile before sliding into the weird metal thing from the other side. “Then get in you weirdo. Let me know what your abilities are.” I sighed. What was the worst that could happen. I shut the door and sat down, mimicking the movements of the woman as she strapped herself in. “Can this thing really go 150 kilometres an hour?” “Nope. It can go even faster. Just don’t piss yourself.” The thing rumbled to life, and a flash of adrenaline ran through my veins as I felt it run along the grey strip. It was terrifying to be in something that could kill you with just one hit. “I’m assuming you don’t have this in your freakish world? This is called a car. It’s powered by electricity and runs on gas. I’ll get into the details of it later. For now, tell me what your powers are.” I didn’t realize I was gripping onto the leather seat of this ‘car’ and slid my hands underneath my thighs. “It’s complicated. I’ll show you non-powered humans what we can do when this car stops.” “Fair enough. And you know what, I’ll show you freaks what humans are capable of when we use our minds.” The competitive atmosphere reminded me of back in my side of the world when the supervillains were starting to take over, showing who had the best powers and who had more strength. But this was a little different. It was a friendly competitiveness. I kinda liked it. “We’re here. Pull that handle next to you to open the door.” I followed her out of the car, taking in the size of the building that loomed over me. It was so different, so unique. The inside was just as interesting as the outside, but I wasn’t going to let myself admit that. I played it cool and kept a bored expression on my face. She swung open the door and gestured for me to enter the room. I did and came face to face with about a dozen people sitting at a wooden table. One of them asked, “General Cici, who’s this?” The woman, Cici, stood beside me. “This is Ma-“ “My name is Maximum. I come from the other world and represent the Superhuman Society Council on their behalf. I have come with a request.” I heard her scoff but ignored it. This was urgent. I already wasted enough time as it is. I had to get help as soon as possible. “Ah. This is exactly what we were waiting for. Come Mr. Maximum, this way please.” My eyes darted to Cici who nodded, and I followed the man who took me into another room. “What did you mean back there? Was my arrival expected?” The man shook his head. “No, but the situation was expected. We know your society is on the brink of collapsing, so yes, we are willing to lend help.” The corridor was long, and the man walked a really slow pace. “Then, why give help to a society that you haven’t had contact with in centuries?” With a spin on his heel, he faced me. “Just because your kind has superpowers it doesn’t make you any less human. Now, Cici will show you to the military unit. She’ll provide you with the help you need there.” He opened another door that had stairs going down to an underground base. Cici leaned against the wall, twirling keys around her finger. “You ready to see what we’ve come up with these past few centuries?” She entered the key into a unit on the wall, and a sound of a mechanical whirring was heard as shelves upon shelves of weapons similar to the ones he saw before all lined up and shining. “It’s been a while since we’ve fought in a battle. We’ve got the soldiers, we’ve got the weapons. Is this good enough for you freaks?” She teased, aiming a weapon at the wall before firing it. For the first time today, I smiled. “This is enough. Actually, this is more than enough.” “Heh. We’ve got more tricks up our sleeves. Don’t underestimate us. Come on, we’ve got a war to fight.” ————- This is really bad tbh. And really long. Lol sorry. But let me know what you think!!!!	For among them, was one of us. One who, disenfranchised and disillusioned, crossed over. One who could pass as non-powered; when in fact, he held the power more relevant to the crisis before us today than any other superhero. In the dark corners of the internet and of non-human society, whispers of Negation's existence waxed and waned, but never fully extinguished. The most heartening snippets on Reddit, from an anonymous account, the Wanderer, offered the most credible information from an individual who seemed to be close with Negation, the superhero who always "felt he had a foot in each world" and "that he would never truly fit into either". There had been many signs that Negation was a real person. There were many occasions where superhero and supervillain alike claimed their powers suddenly ceased functioning. What was initially chalked up as anomaly and superstition became undeniable a year ago, when Hurricane inexplicably fell mid-flight to his death on the streets of Manhattan. Each side, superhero and supervillain alike, struggled with the terrifying prospect that Negation was secretly supporting one side or the other. It was clear now, this renegade, this dissident, was the only help left for what was good and right in the world. With ordinary people at his side, a super like Negation could effortlessly reduce every supervillain in existence to a mundane, ordinary version of him or herself. It was ironic that, in the end, the only super power that held any hope was the super power that nullified all super powers. Negation, where are you? The world needs you. \--- "What's your name?" the man asked, standing there in Sear's office, clutching the matte gray costume in his hand as he glanced down at it again, eying the black, hexagonal polygon sown into the chest region, a large white zero, centered in it, with a slash through it. The contrast of colors seemed intended to intimidate any super who saw it. Sear stood there, troubled by his question, furrowing a brow as she tightened her crossed arms and answered him, "It's Sear..." The man sighed as he glanced up at her, "That's not what I meant." His sense of calm was unnerving to Sear. As he took a moment to soak in the sight of her standing in the tight, red and yellow leather costume, Sear realized what he intended with his last question but before she could speak he tossed the costume he was holding back onto her desk and muttered, "I'm not wearing this crap." As he turned to leave her office she followed, reaching for the back of his arm, "It's fine--" she blurted out, anxious about losing his support when he stopped to look at her in the center of reception. His eyes passed from Sear, to another two superheroes who were sitting on a comfortable couch, and over to a receptionist who was, herself, undoubtedly a superhero. "My name is Charles, you can call on me anytime, but I'm not going on camera or doing any of those ridiculous publicity stunts." Mind, one of the superheroes on the couch, shifted uneasily in his seat as he was divorced from the familiarity of his power for the first time in his life. Now, more than ever, he was desperate to read person's mind. Charles' mind. Feat, who was sitting next to him, rose up and stretched an arm, a glisten in his eye as he nodded at Charles, "That's fine. Anything you need really, anything we can do to make you comfortable," he said. What was unspoken was the desire he had to feel someone shake his hand; something he hadn't tried again since the time he'd inadvertently crushed another man's hand in his grip.
	[WP] The world is divided into 2 societies: one for those with powers and one without, with strict rules of no interaction. However, with most of the superheroes defeated and the villains on the verge of winning, you have no choice but to cross over and seek help from the non-powered humans	The Dreamer sifted through a sea of sleeping minds, discarding the masses of the mundane like chaff as he sought the one with the power to save them, the one who the Unpowered called “President.” The old man had closed his eyes some ten days before, and every moment of slumber since had been bought with the blood of a friend. There was little else left, at the closing of the Age of Heroes. Outside the walls of the Dreamer’s citadel a hopeless battle raged for the city of Ered-Dun. In a crumbling parapet at the south wall four heroes finished their prayers before a shrine to Duna, she who had long ago sundered the sea between the worlds. Outside they could hear the rumbling fury of a great army, the boulders their strongmen threw crashing against the walls in a staccato parody of rhythm. The four had no illusions about their chances, across the whole of the city there were few who did. “They’ll be through the walls soon,” Priya said, eyes closed and her hand pressed against the cool stone of the floor, feeling all its cracks and crevices for hundreds of feet in either direction. “It will break near tower twelve first, they’re widening a breach near the base with a pyro, super-heating the stone.” That was less than a quarter mile from them. Edric, their leader, mulled that over, dark eyes lost in thought as he pulled at a bushy beard. “We wait for their charge. Let the Lesser Powers hold them at first, bottle them up into a choke where Erlein’s storm can do its best work.” “And what of our people on the ground?” the pain in Sarica’s voice was undisguised, a raw wound hanging in the air. “They’ll fight. It’s all thats left to any of us now.” The challenge in Edric’s eyes was unmistakable as he stared her down. “Fine,” she said, turning away in disgust. The crash came only moments later, followed by the triumphant roar of the enemy as they poured into the city to grapple hand to hand with its defenders. In the ruins of the parapet the heroes gathered themselves for their last stand, Edric’s sword bursting into blue flame as he focused his power. In his dark corner Erlein had begun to glow, small flashes of electricity dancing across the bare expanse of his pale chest. Where she knelt on the ground counting off the hordes of the enemy who passed through their shattered wall, Priya’s dusky skin had begun to gray, the grinding of stone sounding with every motion. Sarica merely waited, hovering sullenly several inches off the ground. “More than a thousand are through, ” Priya said, rising. “Then it’s time,” Edric said. “We go to our deaths that he might Dream.” “That he might Dream,” the group intoned. They made an entrance, both sides had to give them that. Priya crushed through the door with a great charge as the rest followed her out, Erlein and Sarica darting through the air like fireflies while Edric’s run became a blur of spark and flame. They crossed the quarter mile in the blink of an eye as only Higher Powers could, and they laid into the swirling melee at the breach with an abandon bordering on suicidal. Erlein’s storm came first, a devastating rain of lightning that stunned great masses of the Villain formation, weapons falling from spasming hands up and down the line. When the two fighters landed in their midst it was a near route, only the strongest of the Villains were able to offer any resistance. The Lesser Powers still standing gave a hearty cheer at their rescue, but it was stilled only moments later as a hideous chant rose up outside the walls. There were far more terrible things than infantry out there in the armies of the Villains. That had been only the first wave and it would be harder from here. Erlein was temporarily spent by his efforts, his exhausted body making a slow, controlled fall back to Earth in the grasp of Sarica’s telekinetics. And in his citadel the dreamer woke, a cold sweat clinging to him, realizing his message was delivered. The villain’s paid dearly for every block as the came but slowly, surely, the Heroes were driven back into the city. They lost Priya on the second day, when a villain they had unknowingly dismissed as Lesser tore through his armor with a great cry and began to grow and grow to impossible heights, falling upon her in a torrent of blows as he used the shattered remnant of a church steeple for a mace. Erlein came next, when a formation of fliers dove for him too suddenly with their. It had been all Edric could do to tear Sarica from her quiet friend’s body after she had dashed his killers against the city streets. So it was that on the fourth day since the outer wall fell only two of the four remained, shut up in the Dreamer’s citadel while the city around them burned and the greatest of the Villain’s council soared high into the air to project their terms to the vanquished. There were 6 of them clad in dark red robes of office, the original Villains whose powers had transcended the single element simplicity of all others and become something else, perhaps more akin to sorcery. From their center a stentorian voice rose above the din of a city being sacked and carried itself into the hearts of every hero, Higher or Lesser, who was left inside the citadel. “First!” he called, arrogance dripping from each word, “you will surrender the Dreamer to me! His family’s time at the head of the Powered World is at an end. Second! Those among you who use arms will cast them over your wall before opening the gates and assembling en-mass in the courtyard. Those of you whose powers render swords unnecessary will be first bound and gagged by their fellows and placed at the front rank. Third! You will swear a binding oath of allegiance to this council, on pain of death, for as long as you shall live.” He hovered closer to the walls then, his body crackling with a clear aura of power. “Do these three things and you shall be spared! Do not, and your fates are sealed. You have until sundown.” The citadel’s answer was painted in gold upon the wood of a massive table hauled up from the dining hall, the moon and star crest of the Dreamer’s house. As the last left who was able Sarica’s tears flowed freely as she hurled it from the battlements. They came at sundown, in endless waves lit by the furnace fires of the council’s most powerful pyrokinetic. If the fighting in the streets earlier had been fierce this was beyond anything that had come before, the battle raging across air and ground while countless fell on either side. It was doomed of course, and every hero fighting knew it, even the Dreamer who waited in his chambers, finally grappling with the reality of his failure. It happened just before sunrise, when lights in the sky were spotted in the distance, coming closer with a dull, beating hum. Gouts of fire and hurled stone erupted all across the citadel, but moments later they were nothing compared to the unimaginable explosions that suddenly broke the ground outside its walls. Worse still for the assembled mass of villains were the great steel birds that seemed to soar overhead faster than even the greatest among them could fly and the great fury of their cannons as they laced the packed ranks with projectiles that buzzed past like hornets. Eyes closed in his darkened room the Dreamer cast his mind out once again, searching the newcomers for one among them who might sleep and so tell him all he needed to know. He found one in the ranks of the support crews. A mechanic, though he did not know what that was, who had stayed up far too late the night before and whose head cripplingly thick with drink even in his dreams. In the waking world the Dreamer smiled, the broadness of the movement threatening to crack his face. The call had been answered, the Unpowered had come. \-------- r/TurningtoWords	“See anything?” Janus called out through the mist. “Nothing,” whispered Kay as he stepped past her. The ground shifted below her, and Janus stepped back. A rotting hand reached up through the moist forest soil, the ground bulged in little mounds then cracked open as pale, writhing bodies crawled out, the soil cascading down their half-exposed bones. She saw the eyes of the necromancer through mist, burning green in hazy ribbons. The necromancer stepped forward, dragging a long, gnarled staff in his hand. His fingers were covered in dirt and filth. He wore a long, flowing crimson robe that was stained with dirt. His hood concealed his face. “Leaving so soon?” the necromancer asked, his voice guttural, filled with phlegm and malice. Janus stepped back and tripped over a corpse rising out of the ground. It stared at Janus sadly as its cold fingers walked up her leg, tearing at her leather pants. The corpse's head collapsed like a rotten gourd under the heavy swing of Kay’s Warhammer. But more were rising up, stepping forward. For every rising corpse Kay crushed, at least two more appeared. Kay raised his fist and called out, the runes on his arms flaring white as a pulse of light surged out of his body, turning the closest risen dead into ash. Out of the mist more of The Clan of Wight appeared, stepping up to the necromancer and looking at Kay and Janus. “These two must be lost,” said a shadow knight, stepping towards Kay. “The Clan of Ferrous should know better than to be in our territory. A people should know when they’ve been defeated.” The shadow knight’s armor was covered in tiny black chains that rattled as she walked. The shadow knight drew her claymore. The blade was as black as the night sky without stars, and it pulled in the light Kay had summoned, darkening the forest. “Janus, run,” Kay said, charging forward towards the shadow knight who lifted her claymore casually to meet the swing of Kay. But Janus ran towards Kay, calling forth her transportation spell as she closed her eyes, her feat treading through the reaching hands of the ever-rising dead. The incantation brought forth the portal at the ground behind Kay. Another hand burst through the soil, grabbing her foot, Janus tripped, fell forward, grabbing Kay and pulling him through the portal before it contracted, then disappeared. The corpses looked around, staring dumbly as the necromancer stepped past them. Then they followed him, slowly. “We push forward,” the necromancer said. “We press the advantage.” \_\_\_ I looked up at the headlines streaming over the screen, the steam of the forge making it hard to read. Clan of Ferrous fights valiantly but has withdrawn from the Hadal zone to gather strength. Clan of Ferrous has extracted a reported thirty casualties to The Clan of Wight as they withdraw. But how many did we lose? I asked myself. They never tell us that. “Stop standing around and get to work, Isaac.” I look over and see, Dario, my boss scowling at me. I shrug and say, “we lost the Hadal zone.” He seems surprised by this, and his scowl drops for a minute but then returns. My boss is a large man. You can tell he had a good frame once, but now he’s pushing too far out in the mid-section. His eyes are tired and bloodshot. He’s balding and he sometimes coughs and cannot stop for a long time. I ask him if he is okay and he waves me off as though I've offended him. He’s a hard man. But he’s a good man. “That’s not our concern. We power the system. That’s what we do. That’s how we help.” The System Dario is talking about is The Miasma. This is a vast network that our whole world is linked to. It is how resources are divided among the different clans. Each clan is rewarded based on their hero’s ability to conquer parts of the Miasma. Heroes are chosen at birth for their innate powers. The bloodlines of heroes are kept under tight control. When a hero is born, they are synced into The Miasma and train non-stop. I am from the Clan of Ferrous. We were once a great clan, one of the strongest and most dominant in The Miasma. This has changed. We’ve lost zone after zone. They put a nice spin on it in the headlines, but we all know what is happening. We are losing. I can’t do much about it though. I am a simple laborer. I am not a hero, nor do I have any powers. I sort Axamite for a living. This is mineral that we mine and use in our furnaces to power our heroes connection to The Miasma. It is an important job, they tell me. Sometimes I wish I was one of our heroes. But I've been told it is a fool’s dream. r/CataclysmicRhythmic
	[WP] The world is divided into 2 societies: one for those with powers and one without, with strict rules of no interaction. However, with most of the superheroes defeated and the villains on the verge of winning, you have no choice but to cross over and seek help from the non-powered humans	The path to the human land is arduous. I set sail months ago, and the days have drifted past me, filled with desperation at times and despair at others. When the world was split into the two factions, those with powers and those without, the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans became the barrier separating the two populations. There were times during the voyage when I thought I would die. That my little sailboat would capsize and one of the sea monsters of the Pacific would rise up from the dark depths of the ocean and swallow me whole. Now, finally I see land. As soon as the sailboat is close enough to the shore I drop the anchor and swim the rest of the way. I see people along the beach. They stop in their tracks as I arrive. Some of them take out cellphones and dial. "I think we have an unauthorized entry at Hadley Beach," the nearest man says. First, I am surprised that the humans have such advanced technology. Our side was given all the men and women with superhuman intelligence. Most of them chose to become supervillains rather than superheroes. Second, none of them seem afraid. I know I'm not in peak form. Months of surviving on scraps has rid me of any muscles I had, and the sun has bleached my hair and burnt my skin. I must look like a man on the verge of death, but I am still superhuman. The pink hair and the lavender skin will follow me to my death. I don't have the energy to summon the balls of neon pink and purple energy that I hurl at my enemies, but these humans don't know that. "It's best you stay calm and cooperate when the police arrive," a woman nearby says. "Do you have your permit?" "My what? My permit for what?" A fleet of cars drive to the boardwalk and police officers step out, guns and hackles both raised. "Put your hands up and get on your knees!" the nearest one shouts. He's a bulky man, his uniform straining against his muscles. I can tell he's comfortable with the gun in his hand, and comfortable using it as well. I follow his instructions instantly. There's a buzz from behind me that erupts into a drone before I black out. When I wake up, I'm in an interrogation room. The police officer here isn't trigger happy or screaming. She's sitting opposite me, rifling through a file. When I groan, she looks up. "Good, you're awake. Which guild are you from?" "What?" "Your guild," she says. "The Nightclaws? The Deathjoys? Frostbite?" The names are vaguely familiar. My nemesis, The Infinite Inferno, was the leader of a group called the Deathjoys. "I'm not in any guilds. I'm not a supervillain." "A super-what?" the detective asks. "A supervillain. I'm not one. I'm a superhero." "Like in the comic books?" She looks at me like I'm crazy, and leaves the room. The door is left a crack open, and I can hear her speaking to her superior. "I don't think he's all there, sir," the detective says. "Dehydration, malnutrition. Must have all gone to his head. He's saying the Deathjoys are supervillains, and that he's a 'superhero'." There's a muffled chuckle. "Poor guy. Have him admitted to the hospital for a psych eval, and get his photo to the guild headquarters to see if anyone recognizes him." There aren't any more questions. I'm not given a chance to explain myself either. Every request for help for my land and the superheroes lands on deaf ears, only evoking pity or sometimes suppressed laughter. "My people are dying!" I tell the psychiatrist as he sits down in front of me. "We need help!" "Your people are fine, sir," the doctor says. "One of them is here to visit you." The Infinite Inferno walks in through the door. He's not wearing his mask here, and instead of his dark robes and staff, he's dressed in a pinstripe suit. He sits in the chair in front of me. "Inferno," I hiss. "Levitus," he says with a smile. "Fancy seeing you here. I had thought you died in the first wave of our attack. But no, you fled." "What are you doing here?" I ask. "It's against the rules of our society to interact with humans, but you villains...." "We're villains. Did you honestly expect us to follow the rules?" he asks. "The humans are nice. We came here and helped them how we could with our powers. In exchange, they gave us their own inventions and discoveries. It's a mutually beneficial relationship." He shakes his head. "No. It's more of a friendship." I strain against the white straitjacket that I'm trapped in, wishing I could burn him, throw my power against his body until he's reduced to a pile of dust. But with my hands tied, I cannot call onto my powers. "I will tell them the truth." "Who will they believe? A madman, or the man who's brought London countless advancements and has proven an ally, time and time again?" He taps his chin in mock wonder. "The third wave of our attack is underway, you know. Your side, I hear, is losing marvelously." "You're evil. How can you kill your own kind like this?" Inferno shakes his head. "Kind is an interesting word. Our kind has little kindness, and even less kinship. When we discovered our powers, we isolated ourselves from our brothers without them. The world was not as kind to humans as it was to superhumans. They froze, they starved, they toiled, and they bettered themselves. While we ignored their suffering and only indulged in our own petty squabbles, they managed to progress with their human strength. Good and evil are subjective terms, Levitus. You superheroes wanted to kill us all, remember? Called us villains and yourselves heroes to justify it. Are you angry that us villains are defeating you at the game you started?" I scream. "Calm yourself, Levitus. It will be over soon. We are destroying an old world, true. But only so we can replace it with something better."	“See anything?” Janus called out through the mist. “Nothing,” whispered Kay as he stepped past her. The ground shifted below her, and Janus stepped back. A rotting hand reached up through the moist forest soil, the ground bulged in little mounds then cracked open as pale, writhing bodies crawled out, the soil cascading down their half-exposed bones. She saw the eyes of the necromancer through mist, burning green in hazy ribbons. The necromancer stepped forward, dragging a long, gnarled staff in his hand. His fingers were covered in dirt and filth. He wore a long, flowing crimson robe that was stained with dirt. His hood concealed his face. “Leaving so soon?” the necromancer asked, his voice guttural, filled with phlegm and malice. Janus stepped back and tripped over a corpse rising out of the ground. It stared at Janus sadly as its cold fingers walked up her leg, tearing at her leather pants. The corpse's head collapsed like a rotten gourd under the heavy swing of Kay’s Warhammer. But more were rising up, stepping forward. For every rising corpse Kay crushed, at least two more appeared. Kay raised his fist and called out, the runes on his arms flaring white as a pulse of light surged out of his body, turning the closest risen dead into ash. Out of the mist more of The Clan of Wight appeared, stepping up to the necromancer and looking at Kay and Janus. “These two must be lost,” said a shadow knight, stepping towards Kay. “The Clan of Ferrous should know better than to be in our territory. A people should know when they’ve been defeated.” The shadow knight’s armor was covered in tiny black chains that rattled as she walked. The shadow knight drew her claymore. The blade was as black as the night sky without stars, and it pulled in the light Kay had summoned, darkening the forest. “Janus, run,” Kay said, charging forward towards the shadow knight who lifted her claymore casually to meet the swing of Kay. But Janus ran towards Kay, calling forth her transportation spell as she closed her eyes, her feat treading through the reaching hands of the ever-rising dead. The incantation brought forth the portal at the ground behind Kay. Another hand burst through the soil, grabbing her foot, Janus tripped, fell forward, grabbing Kay and pulling him through the portal before it contracted, then disappeared. The corpses looked around, staring dumbly as the necromancer stepped past them. Then they followed him, slowly. “We push forward,” the necromancer said. “We press the advantage.” \_\_\_ I looked up at the headlines streaming over the screen, the steam of the forge making it hard to read. Clan of Ferrous fights valiantly but has withdrawn from the Hadal zone to gather strength. Clan of Ferrous has extracted a reported thirty casualties to The Clan of Wight as they withdraw. But how many did we lose? I asked myself. They never tell us that. “Stop standing around and get to work, Isaac.” I look over and see, Dario, my boss scowling at me. I shrug and say, “we lost the Hadal zone.” He seems surprised by this, and his scowl drops for a minute but then returns. My boss is a large man. You can tell he had a good frame once, but now he’s pushing too far out in the mid-section. His eyes are tired and bloodshot. He’s balding and he sometimes coughs and cannot stop for a long time. I ask him if he is okay and he waves me off as though I've offended him. He’s a hard man. But he’s a good man. “That’s not our concern. We power the system. That’s what we do. That’s how we help.” The System Dario is talking about is The Miasma. This is a vast network that our whole world is linked to. It is how resources are divided among the different clans. Each clan is rewarded based on their hero’s ability to conquer parts of the Miasma. Heroes are chosen at birth for their innate powers. The bloodlines of heroes are kept under tight control. When a hero is born, they are synced into The Miasma and train non-stop. I am from the Clan of Ferrous. We were once a great clan, one of the strongest and most dominant in The Miasma. This has changed. We’ve lost zone after zone. They put a nice spin on it in the headlines, but we all know what is happening. We are losing. I can’t do much about it though. I am a simple laborer. I am not a hero, nor do I have any powers. I sort Axamite for a living. This is mineral that we mine and use in our furnaces to power our heroes connection to The Miasma. It is an important job, they tell me. Sometimes I wish I was one of our heroes. But I've been told it is a fool’s dream. r/CataclysmicRhythmic
	[WP] The world is divided into 2 societies: one for those with powers and one without, with strict rules of no interaction. However, with most of the superheroes defeated and the villains on the verge of winning, you have no choice but to cross over and seek help from the non-powered humans	There's something about their quiet presences that makes my stomach twist a bit. I can't shake the feeling that, any minute now, one might simply... evaporate me? Read my mind. Control me to commit atrocities. I hear, in the old day, it was out of concern for the common folk, the 'innocents,' so to say, that the fighting never got this far. It had all been comic mischief, it had all been about robbing banks and taking over cities and stealing gear. Not genocide. How things have changed. It made sense that the mundanes, the normals, the commonfolk would want to escape the violence still. Even back then, there'd been casualties. Even back then, so really, could we ask them to stand around and absorb blow after blow, loss to their communities, deaths of family and friends, just to prevent one side or another from going over the top. Put in so many words, my heart sinks further as I walk cloaked through the capital city. What am I hoping to accomplish here? Lady Magenta or Detrict the Foresaken could wipe this entire place in a blink of an eye. Nonetheless, I arrive at the city hall, where the governor of the district has agreed to meet me. In secret, of course. We aren't supposed to cross over. We're never supposed to cross over. In fact, it's so dangerous that I'm here, that part of me suspects a trap. But there is no cry or shout of attack as I slip in, heart skipping in my chest. I follow the directions he's provided me, twisting through the halls of the capitol building, until I tap three times on a small wooden door. "Enter." The man's cool voice does little to soothe me but I draw my coat around me and do as he's commanded. "Mr. Governor, sir," I say, bowing my head. "I... why, you're just a child!" The surprise in his voice surprises me too and I look up at him. "Thirteen, sir. Who else did you expect? The treaty wouldn't allow-" "It wouldn't allow any of your kind here." The older man stares at me, still dumbfounded, from across a small desk. "Why should I have expected such a young woman?" I bow my head again. "With all due respect, Mr. Governor, I meant our treaty. The one prohibiting violence against the youth of our territory. Most Light Powered supers are driven deep underground, with kill-on-sight 'legal,' more or less." I swallow hard and look back up at him. "It's only the children that are allowed out in public, to shop, get food, try to organize. We're the only reason any Light Powers still exist. But King Obsidian is looking to overturn the Youth Protection Act. After that, we'll all be killed." I try to keep my voice steady here but judging by the way his bushy white eyebrows furrow and his dark eyes shimmer in the light, I've failed. "I didn't realize... or rather, I knew things had gotten bad. I hadn't quite realized to what extent. Miss. I'm so sorry." "I don't need apologies." My voice is too hard but I can't cry here. "I need help. We need help." Part of me almost breaks and spills, how there is no help to be had, how the mundanes couldn't possibly be able to help us, how the best they could possibly do is grant asylum to our survivors, but even that would violate the treaty between Supers and mundanes, lead to more widespread death. There's nothing they can do. I'm only here because I was appointed by Lestra Lucrative to come. Because she vouched for me on the eve of her 18th birthday. Because she'd died the next day, leaving me with nothing but respect for her legacy and a bitter, hardened cause in my chest. To my surprise, the governor sighs, but not with defeat. "I'm not sure how you found out," he said. "But then again, I suppose if things truly have gotten bad, it could make sense. What did you say your powers were, again?" I close my eyes and will my flock to come to me. Not every Super has the power of fire or death or psionics. Some of us have pretty things. Like my birds. After a moment, I open my eyes and look around the room. But my heart is in my throat, for no pearlescent, white doves sit atop the small books and shelves in the cramped, secret office. "I don't understand," I whisper. "I'm sorry. They should be here. The Ivory Heralds. My birds." He shakes his head. "I only agreed to meet with you here because we 'mundanes,' as you call us, have perfected magic nullifying technology. We got it done some century ago. That's what spurred the treaty. We never would have had leverage otherwise." I stare, frozen, at this. So the mundanes have not simply been living by our generosity. It never would have crossed my mind that we hadn't a choice. "So you can help," I say, not bothering to ask specifics. I don't really care. "We can evacuate members of our people here? It wouldn't be everyone, we couldn't manage that, but perhaps some of the littlest ones? Just to-- just to have our legacies live on?" The man looks outraged at my suggestion. "Move them here? Take on a few survivors? Absurd, girl. Simply absurd." My shoulders drop and when I speak again, my voice is tiny. "Then you can't help." He stands up and puts a large, rough hand on my back. "Not like that." Now his voice has quieted, not quite to match mine but enough to make me look back in his eyes. "Our technology has outpaced that of your land's by quite a bit. Magic doesn't lend itself to scientific progress, but that's alright. You never needed it to defend yourselves. Or maybe you did but didn't know it til too late. Us commonfolk, however, have been preparing for a war for some time." "Why?" I ask. "We never indicated a desire to attack you." "Because that's how these things work. It does not do, to live by the goodwill of others." The world is always more complicated than I think. Just when I feel confident I have my finger on a situation, it slips, shifts, and grows a thousand times more intricate. I never would have expected the mundanes to have the capacity to help. I never would have expected them to have the willingness to help. And I never expected to be sitting in the mundane governor's secret office, looking at maps and charts and screens, poring over what could be done, not simply to save a legacy, but to save my people entirely. I never would have expected, upon donning my coat, that I might actually do some good on Lestra's last mission. But here I am. And I am not backing down. ___ Read more stories at [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/)	“See anything?” Janus called out through the mist. “Nothing,” whispered Kay as he stepped past her. The ground shifted below her, and Janus stepped back. A rotting hand reached up through the moist forest soil, the ground bulged in little mounds then cracked open as pale, writhing bodies crawled out, the soil cascading down their half-exposed bones. She saw the eyes of the necromancer through mist, burning green in hazy ribbons. The necromancer stepped forward, dragging a long, gnarled staff in his hand. His fingers were covered in dirt and filth. He wore a long, flowing crimson robe that was stained with dirt. His hood concealed his face. “Leaving so soon?” the necromancer asked, his voice guttural, filled with phlegm and malice. Janus stepped back and tripped over a corpse rising out of the ground. It stared at Janus sadly as its cold fingers walked up her leg, tearing at her leather pants. The corpse's head collapsed like a rotten gourd under the heavy swing of Kay’s Warhammer. But more were rising up, stepping forward. For every rising corpse Kay crushed, at least two more appeared. Kay raised his fist and called out, the runes on his arms flaring white as a pulse of light surged out of his body, turning the closest risen dead into ash. Out of the mist more of The Clan of Wight appeared, stepping up to the necromancer and looking at Kay and Janus. “These two must be lost,” said a shadow knight, stepping towards Kay. “The Clan of Ferrous should know better than to be in our territory. A people should know when they’ve been defeated.” The shadow knight’s armor was covered in tiny black chains that rattled as she walked. The shadow knight drew her claymore. The blade was as black as the night sky without stars, and it pulled in the light Kay had summoned, darkening the forest. “Janus, run,” Kay said, charging forward towards the shadow knight who lifted her claymore casually to meet the swing of Kay. But Janus ran towards Kay, calling forth her transportation spell as she closed her eyes, her feat treading through the reaching hands of the ever-rising dead. The incantation brought forth the portal at the ground behind Kay. Another hand burst through the soil, grabbing her foot, Janus tripped, fell forward, grabbing Kay and pulling him through the portal before it contracted, then disappeared. The corpses looked around, staring dumbly as the necromancer stepped past them. Then they followed him, slowly. “We push forward,” the necromancer said. “We press the advantage.” \_\_\_ I looked up at the headlines streaming over the screen, the steam of the forge making it hard to read. Clan of Ferrous fights valiantly but has withdrawn from the Hadal zone to gather strength. Clan of Ferrous has extracted a reported thirty casualties to The Clan of Wight as they withdraw. But how many did we lose? I asked myself. They never tell us that. “Stop standing around and get to work, Isaac.” I look over and see, Dario, my boss scowling at me. I shrug and say, “we lost the Hadal zone.” He seems surprised by this, and his scowl drops for a minute but then returns. My boss is a large man. You can tell he had a good frame once, but now he’s pushing too far out in the mid-section. His eyes are tired and bloodshot. He’s balding and he sometimes coughs and cannot stop for a long time. I ask him if he is okay and he waves me off as though I've offended him. He’s a hard man. But he’s a good man. “That’s not our concern. We power the system. That’s what we do. That’s how we help.” The System Dario is talking about is The Miasma. This is a vast network that our whole world is linked to. It is how resources are divided among the different clans. Each clan is rewarded based on their hero’s ability to conquer parts of the Miasma. Heroes are chosen at birth for their innate powers. The bloodlines of heroes are kept under tight control. When a hero is born, they are synced into The Miasma and train non-stop. I am from the Clan of Ferrous. We were once a great clan, one of the strongest and most dominant in The Miasma. This has changed. We’ve lost zone after zone. They put a nice spin on it in the headlines, but we all know what is happening. We are losing. I can’t do much about it though. I am a simple laborer. I am not a hero, nor do I have any powers. I sort Axamite for a living. This is mineral that we mine and use in our furnaces to power our heroes connection to The Miasma. It is an important job, they tell me. Sometimes I wish I was one of our heroes. But I've been told it is a fool’s dream. r/CataclysmicRhythmic
	[WP] The world is divided into 2 societies: one for those with powers and one without, with strict rules of no interaction. However, with most of the superheroes defeated and the villains on the verge of winning, you have no choice but to cross over and seek help from the non-powered humans	The Dreamer sifted through a sea of sleeping minds, discarding the masses of the mundane like chaff as he sought the one with the power to save them, the one who the Unpowered called “President.” The old man had closed his eyes some ten days before, and every moment of slumber since had been bought with the blood of a friend. There was little else left, at the closing of the Age of Heroes. Outside the walls of the Dreamer’s citadel a hopeless battle raged for the city of Ered-Dun. In a crumbling parapet at the south wall four heroes finished their prayers before a shrine to Duna, she who had long ago sundered the sea between the worlds. Outside they could hear the rumbling fury of a great army, the boulders their strongmen threw crashing against the walls in a staccato parody of rhythm. The four had no illusions about their chances, across the whole of the city there were few who did. “They’ll be through the walls soon,” Priya said, eyes closed and her hand pressed against the cool stone of the floor, feeling all its cracks and crevices for hundreds of feet in either direction. “It will break near tower twelve first, they’re widening a breach near the base with a pyro, super-heating the stone.” That was less than a quarter mile from them. Edric, their leader, mulled that over, dark eyes lost in thought as he pulled at a bushy beard. “We wait for their charge. Let the Lesser Powers hold them at first, bottle them up into a choke where Erlein’s storm can do its best work.” “And what of our people on the ground?” the pain in Sarica’s voice was undisguised, a raw wound hanging in the air. “They’ll fight. It’s all thats left to any of us now.” The challenge in Edric’s eyes was unmistakable as he stared her down. “Fine,” she said, turning away in disgust. The crash came only moments later, followed by the triumphant roar of the enemy as they poured into the city to grapple hand to hand with its defenders. In the ruins of the parapet the heroes gathered themselves for their last stand, Edric’s sword bursting into blue flame as he focused his power. In his dark corner Erlein had begun to glow, small flashes of electricity dancing across the bare expanse of his pale chest. Where she knelt on the ground counting off the hordes of the enemy who passed through their shattered wall, Priya’s dusky skin had begun to gray, the grinding of stone sounding with every motion. Sarica merely waited, hovering sullenly several inches off the ground. “More than a thousand are through, ” Priya said, rising. “Then it’s time,” Edric said. “We go to our deaths that he might Dream.” “That he might Dream,” the group intoned. They made an entrance, both sides had to give them that. Priya crushed through the door with a great charge as the rest followed her out, Erlein and Sarica darting through the air like fireflies while Edric’s run became a blur of spark and flame. They crossed the quarter mile in the blink of an eye as only Higher Powers could, and they laid into the swirling melee at the breach with an abandon bordering on suicidal. Erlein’s storm came first, a devastating rain of lightning that stunned great masses of the Villain formation, weapons falling from spasming hands up and down the line. When the two fighters landed in their midst it was a near route, only the strongest of the Villains were able to offer any resistance. The Lesser Powers still standing gave a hearty cheer at their rescue, but it was stilled only moments later as a hideous chant rose up outside the walls. There were far more terrible things than infantry out there in the armies of the Villains. That had been only the first wave and it would be harder from here. Erlein was temporarily spent by his efforts, his exhausted body making a slow, controlled fall back to Earth in the grasp of Sarica’s telekinetics. And in his citadel the dreamer woke, a cold sweat clinging to him, realizing his message was delivered. The villain’s paid dearly for every block as the came but slowly, surely, the Heroes were driven back into the city. They lost Priya on the second day, when a villain they had unknowingly dismissed as Lesser tore through his armor with a great cry and began to grow and grow to impossible heights, falling upon her in a torrent of blows as he used the shattered remnant of a church steeple for a mace. Erlein came next, when a formation of fliers dove for him too suddenly with their. It had been all Edric could do to tear Sarica from her quiet friend’s body after she had dashed his killers against the city streets. So it was that on the fourth day since the outer wall fell only two of the four remained, shut up in the Dreamer’s citadel while the city around them burned and the greatest of the Villain’s council soared high into the air to project their terms to the vanquished. There were 6 of them clad in dark red robes of office, the original Villains whose powers had transcended the single element simplicity of all others and become something else, perhaps more akin to sorcery. From their center a stentorian voice rose above the din of a city being sacked and carried itself into the hearts of every hero, Higher or Lesser, who was left inside the citadel. “First!” he called, arrogance dripping from each word, “you will surrender the Dreamer to me! His family’s time at the head of the Powered World is at an end. Second! Those among you who use arms will cast them over your wall before opening the gates and assembling en-mass in the courtyard. Those of you whose powers render swords unnecessary will be first bound and gagged by their fellows and placed at the front rank. Third! You will swear a binding oath of allegiance to this council, on pain of death, for as long as you shall live.” He hovered closer to the walls then, his body crackling with a clear aura of power. “Do these three things and you shall be spared! Do not, and your fates are sealed. You have until sundown.” The citadel’s answer was painted in gold upon the wood of a massive table hauled up from the dining hall, the moon and star crest of the Dreamer’s house. As the last left who was able Sarica’s tears flowed freely as she hurled it from the battlements. They came at sundown, in endless waves lit by the furnace fires of the council’s most powerful pyrokinetic. If the fighting in the streets earlier had been fierce this was beyond anything that had come before, the battle raging across air and ground while countless fell on either side. It was doomed of course, and every hero fighting knew it, even the Dreamer who waited in his chambers, finally grappling with the reality of his failure. It happened just before sunrise, when lights in the sky were spotted in the distance, coming closer with a dull, beating hum. Gouts of fire and hurled stone erupted all across the citadel, but moments later they were nothing compared to the unimaginable explosions that suddenly broke the ground outside its walls. Worse still for the assembled mass of villains were the great steel birds that seemed to soar overhead faster than even the greatest among them could fly and the great fury of their cannons as they laced the packed ranks with projectiles that buzzed past like hornets. Eyes closed in his darkened room the Dreamer cast his mind out once again, searching the newcomers for one among them who might sleep and so tell him all he needed to know. He found one in the ranks of the support crews. A mechanic, though he did not know what that was, who had stayed up far too late the night before and whose head cripplingly thick with drink even in his dreams. In the waking world the Dreamer smiled, the broadness of the movement threatening to crack his face. The call had been answered, the Unpowered had come. \-------- r/TurningtoWords	It started with a bang. Or to be more specific, a series of bangs. In 1972, the world's powers were at wit's end with one another, and a failed coup attempt was the final trigger on this particular powderkeg. The aftermath from a global war wasn't nearly as bad as anyone had predicted, but it certainly had unintended side effects. By 2043 humanity had managed to regain some semblance of past normalcy, and that's when the first superhuman mutation was discovered. A man by the name of Gregory Graves, who would go on to become the father of modern day superheroes, was the most famous case of what would later become known as The Cold War Kids. As civilization first attempted to rebuild itself, it became the newly established U.C.N.'s (Unified Coalition of Nations) first priority to get a handle on these super powered individuals before things escalated from bad to worse. A supervillain who would later go on to call himself “The Volcano” was the first to test the limits of this still burgeoning civilization. It wasn’t long before anyone with half a mind to stitch themselves a costume was running out on the streets playing vigilante with their unrestrained and untested powers. Imagine giving a room full of toddlers access to the nuclear launch codes and then stepping out for a smoke. It took them a whopping five years to fully establish and work the kinks out of the ESD (Electronic Superhuman Database); an expansive electronic record of every single registered supe' currently known to any of the various governmental agencies around the world. Registered being the operative word, given the vast number of unchecked nutjobs running around in the world. By 2071, the unpowered world had become fed up with the rampant property destruction brought on by the ever raging super war. A decision was made, and all humans registered with the ESD were relocated to a large portion of the planet that was rendered more or less permanently unviable due to nuclear fallout. The heroes and villains didn't care all that much, just happy to have a new playground in which to do "great battle" with one another. No one was sure if it was a psychosomatic reaction, or an evolutionary trait invoked by the superhuman gene, but without a doubt these individuals loved fighting one another. In the current year of 2101, the population of villains outnumbered heroes five to one, and the rate of decline seemed to be exponential. A small group of heroes, known collectively as Sword & Shield, were at the forefront of the battlegrounds. Their small cadre consisted of The Tank, the leader - a beast of a man who was all but indestructible - Shadowlance, a woman that could phase through any type or state of matter, and Trinity; he was able to manipulate the elements of fire, water and wind any way he saw fit. Even though this trio was able to tackle any threats that had come their way thus far, they were all three keenly aware that it was only a matter of time before their luck ran out. Sure, the non-powered world had The Gallows, but it was no replacement for what groups like this could offer. As soon as the governments realized they had a bunch of superpowered serial killers on their hands, they needed a place to put them, and fast. By 2083, there were more than half a million registered superhumans globally. No agency had the exact figures, but by all accounts the number of undocumented supes was probably double that. Enter Crescendo; your run-of-the-mill sadistic mercenary for hire group run by a mysterious figurehead that subordinates only ever referred to as Alice. This particular outfit started establishing a name for itself in the early days of the “supe epidemic” by making a killing (literally) in the pursuit and apprehension of dangerous superhumans. It basically turned out to be a publicity campaign for them when foreign governments showed up at their door asking them to take care of the worst offenders that couldn’t be contained by conventional means. This brute squad got to work and converted a decommissioned old military base into Galloway Penitentiary for the Superhuman. It didn't take long for anyone who stayed there to understood why it earned the nom de guerre, “The Gallows”. Because it was a privately owned facility, things like “oversight” and “mutual respect” were very, very low on the priority list. So low, in fact, that they were largely nonexistent. The other glaringly odd thing was that no prisoner had ever seen this elusive Alice; but by god did they command the fear and respect of every officer and grunt working for them. Any time the name was mentioned, it was spoken with hushed tones of reverence. It was almost cult-like in the way they revered their leader, but the comparisons to a cult end there. At least with cults, there was the possibility of drug fueled sex parties (just don’t drink anything you’re offered). The Gallows did not have any good variety of either drugs or sex. Plenty of the bad though, in spades. Sword & Shield knew they would need help from the outside. Their first goal would be figuring out how to get over the wall dividing The Quarry - the expansive badlands where all supes were exiled - and the remainder of the world. Not only was every inch covered in antipersonnel artillery, but also various electrical and chemical defenses to cover the gamut of powers contained within. Thankfully, one member of this outfit had no trouble getting in - or out - of nearly any situation. Shadowlance's next mission would be locating the one man on the other side that might give them a fighting chance. There were many things the supervillains as a whole were resistant against. But over the years, there was one very specific aspect of human advancement they started to neglect -- science. And recently, there were murmurs whispered around the world about a non powered man who was fighting - and winning - against supervillains using nothing but his own inventions. ----- feedback / crit welcome! i may add to this later
	[WP] The world is divided into 2 societies: one for those with powers and one without, with strict rules of no interaction. However, with most of the superheroes defeated and the villains on the verge of winning, you have no choice but to cross over and seek help from the non-powered humans	The path to the human land is arduous. I set sail months ago, and the days have drifted past me, filled with desperation at times and despair at others. When the world was split into the two factions, those with powers and those without, the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans became the barrier separating the two populations. There were times during the voyage when I thought I would die. That my little sailboat would capsize and one of the sea monsters of the Pacific would rise up from the dark depths of the ocean and swallow me whole. Now, finally I see land. As soon as the sailboat is close enough to the shore I drop the anchor and swim the rest of the way. I see people along the beach. They stop in their tracks as I arrive. Some of them take out cellphones and dial. "I think we have an unauthorized entry at Hadley Beach," the nearest man says. First, I am surprised that the humans have such advanced technology. Our side was given all the men and women with superhuman intelligence. Most of them chose to become supervillains rather than superheroes. Second, none of them seem afraid. I know I'm not in peak form. Months of surviving on scraps has rid me of any muscles I had, and the sun has bleached my hair and burnt my skin. I must look like a man on the verge of death, but I am still superhuman. The pink hair and the lavender skin will follow me to my death. I don't have the energy to summon the balls of neon pink and purple energy that I hurl at my enemies, but these humans don't know that. "It's best you stay calm and cooperate when the police arrive," a woman nearby says. "Do you have your permit?" "My what? My permit for what?" A fleet of cars drive to the boardwalk and police officers step out, guns and hackles both raised. "Put your hands up and get on your knees!" the nearest one shouts. He's a bulky man, his uniform straining against his muscles. I can tell he's comfortable with the gun in his hand, and comfortable using it as well. I follow his instructions instantly. There's a buzz from behind me that erupts into a drone before I black out. When I wake up, I'm in an interrogation room. The police officer here isn't trigger happy or screaming. She's sitting opposite me, rifling through a file. When I groan, she looks up. "Good, you're awake. Which guild are you from?" "What?" "Your guild," she says. "The Nightclaws? The Deathjoys? Frostbite?" The names are vaguely familiar. My nemesis, The Infinite Inferno, was the leader of a group called the Deathjoys. "I'm not in any guilds. I'm not a supervillain." "A super-what?" the detective asks. "A supervillain. I'm not one. I'm a superhero." "Like in the comic books?" She looks at me like I'm crazy, and leaves the room. The door is left a crack open, and I can hear her speaking to her superior. "I don't think he's all there, sir," the detective says. "Dehydration, malnutrition. Must have all gone to his head. He's saying the Deathjoys are supervillains, and that he's a 'superhero'." There's a muffled chuckle. "Poor guy. Have him admitted to the hospital for a psych eval, and get his photo to the guild headquarters to see if anyone recognizes him." There aren't any more questions. I'm not given a chance to explain myself either. Every request for help for my land and the superheroes lands on deaf ears, only evoking pity or sometimes suppressed laughter. "My people are dying!" I tell the psychiatrist as he sits down in front of me. "We need help!" "Your people are fine, sir," the doctor says. "One of them is here to visit you." The Infinite Inferno walks in through the door. He's not wearing his mask here, and instead of his dark robes and staff, he's dressed in a pinstripe suit. He sits in the chair in front of me. "Inferno," I hiss. "Levitus," he says with a smile. "Fancy seeing you here. I had thought you died in the first wave of our attack. But no, you fled." "What are you doing here?" I ask. "It's against the rules of our society to interact with humans, but you villains...." "We're villains. Did you honestly expect us to follow the rules?" he asks. "The humans are nice. We came here and helped them how we could with our powers. In exchange, they gave us their own inventions and discoveries. It's a mutually beneficial relationship." He shakes his head. "No. It's more of a friendship." I strain against the white straitjacket that I'm trapped in, wishing I could burn him, throw my power against his body until he's reduced to a pile of dust. But with my hands tied, I cannot call onto my powers. "I will tell them the truth." "Who will they believe? A madman, or the man who's brought London countless advancements and has proven an ally, time and time again?" He taps his chin in mock wonder. "The third wave of our attack is underway, you know. Your side, I hear, is losing marvelously." "You're evil. How can you kill your own kind like this?" Inferno shakes his head. "Kind is an interesting word. Our kind has little kindness, and even less kinship. When we discovered our powers, we isolated ourselves from our brothers without them. The world was not as kind to humans as it was to superhumans. They froze, they starved, they toiled, and they bettered themselves. While we ignored their suffering and only indulged in our own petty squabbles, they managed to progress with their human strength. Good and evil are subjective terms, Levitus. You superheroes wanted to kill us all, remember? Called us villains and yourselves heroes to justify it. Are you angry that us villains are defeating you at the game you started?" I scream. "Calm yourself, Levitus. It will be over soon. We are destroying an old world, true. But only so we can replace it with something better."	It started with a bang. Or to be more specific, a series of bangs. In 1972, the world's powers were at wit's end with one another, and a failed coup attempt was the final trigger on this particular powderkeg. The aftermath from a global war wasn't nearly as bad as anyone had predicted, but it certainly had unintended side effects. By 2043 humanity had managed to regain some semblance of past normalcy, and that's when the first superhuman mutation was discovered. A man by the name of Gregory Graves, who would go on to become the father of modern day superheroes, was the most famous case of what would later become known as The Cold War Kids. As civilization first attempted to rebuild itself, it became the newly established U.C.N.'s (Unified Coalition of Nations) first priority to get a handle on these super powered individuals before things escalated from bad to worse. A supervillain who would later go on to call himself “The Volcano” was the first to test the limits of this still burgeoning civilization. It wasn’t long before anyone with half a mind to stitch themselves a costume was running out on the streets playing vigilante with their unrestrained and untested powers. Imagine giving a room full of toddlers access to the nuclear launch codes and then stepping out for a smoke. It took them a whopping five years to fully establish and work the kinks out of the ESD (Electronic Superhuman Database); an expansive electronic record of every single registered supe' currently known to any of the various governmental agencies around the world. Registered being the operative word, given the vast number of unchecked nutjobs running around in the world. By 2071, the unpowered world had become fed up with the rampant property destruction brought on by the ever raging super war. A decision was made, and all humans registered with the ESD were relocated to a large portion of the planet that was rendered more or less permanently unviable due to nuclear fallout. The heroes and villains didn't care all that much, just happy to have a new playground in which to do "great battle" with one another. No one was sure if it was a psychosomatic reaction, or an evolutionary trait invoked by the superhuman gene, but without a doubt these individuals loved fighting one another. In the current year of 2101, the population of villains outnumbered heroes five to one, and the rate of decline seemed to be exponential. A small group of heroes, known collectively as Sword & Shield, were at the forefront of the battlegrounds. Their small cadre consisted of The Tank, the leader - a beast of a man who was all but indestructible - Shadowlance, a woman that could phase through any type or state of matter, and Trinity; he was able to manipulate the elements of fire, water and wind any way he saw fit. Even though this trio was able to tackle any threats that had come their way thus far, they were all three keenly aware that it was only a matter of time before their luck ran out. Sure, the non-powered world had The Gallows, but it was no replacement for what groups like this could offer. As soon as the governments realized they had a bunch of superpowered serial killers on their hands, they needed a place to put them, and fast. By 2083, there were more than half a million registered superhumans globally. No agency had the exact figures, but by all accounts the number of undocumented supes was probably double that. Enter Crescendo; your run-of-the-mill sadistic mercenary for hire group run by a mysterious figurehead that subordinates only ever referred to as Alice. This particular outfit started establishing a name for itself in the early days of the “supe epidemic” by making a killing (literally) in the pursuit and apprehension of dangerous superhumans. It basically turned out to be a publicity campaign for them when foreign governments showed up at their door asking them to take care of the worst offenders that couldn’t be contained by conventional means. This brute squad got to work and converted a decommissioned old military base into Galloway Penitentiary for the Superhuman. It didn't take long for anyone who stayed there to understood why it earned the nom de guerre, “The Gallows”. Because it was a privately owned facility, things like “oversight” and “mutual respect” were very, very low on the priority list. So low, in fact, that they were largely nonexistent. The other glaringly odd thing was that no prisoner had ever seen this elusive Alice; but by god did they command the fear and respect of every officer and grunt working for them. Any time the name was mentioned, it was spoken with hushed tones of reverence. It was almost cult-like in the way they revered their leader, but the comparisons to a cult end there. At least with cults, there was the possibility of drug fueled sex parties (just don’t drink anything you’re offered). The Gallows did not have any good variety of either drugs or sex. Plenty of the bad though, in spades. Sword & Shield knew they would need help from the outside. Their first goal would be figuring out how to get over the wall dividing The Quarry - the expansive badlands where all supes were exiled - and the remainder of the world. Not only was every inch covered in antipersonnel artillery, but also various electrical and chemical defenses to cover the gamut of powers contained within. Thankfully, one member of this outfit had no trouble getting in - or out - of nearly any situation. Shadowlance's next mission would be locating the one man on the other side that might give them a fighting chance. There were many things the supervillains as a whole were resistant against. But over the years, there was one very specific aspect of human advancement they started to neglect -- science. And recently, there were murmurs whispered around the world about a non powered man who was fighting - and winning - against supervillains using nothing but his own inventions. ----- feedback / crit welcome! i may add to this later
	[WP] The world is divided into 2 societies: one for those with powers and one without, with strict rules of no interaction. However, with most of the superheroes defeated and the villains on the verge of winning, you have no choice but to cross over and seek help from the non-powered humans	There's something about their quiet presences that makes my stomach twist a bit. I can't shake the feeling that, any minute now, one might simply... evaporate me? Read my mind. Control me to commit atrocities. I hear, in the old day, it was out of concern for the common folk, the 'innocents,' so to say, that the fighting never got this far. It had all been comic mischief, it had all been about robbing banks and taking over cities and stealing gear. Not genocide. How things have changed. It made sense that the mundanes, the normals, the commonfolk would want to escape the violence still. Even back then, there'd been casualties. Even back then, so really, could we ask them to stand around and absorb blow after blow, loss to their communities, deaths of family and friends, just to prevent one side or another from going over the top. Put in so many words, my heart sinks further as I walk cloaked through the capital city. What am I hoping to accomplish here? Lady Magenta or Detrict the Foresaken could wipe this entire place in a blink of an eye. Nonetheless, I arrive at the city hall, where the governor of the district has agreed to meet me. In secret, of course. We aren't supposed to cross over. We're never supposed to cross over. In fact, it's so dangerous that I'm here, that part of me suspects a trap. But there is no cry or shout of attack as I slip in, heart skipping in my chest. I follow the directions he's provided me, twisting through the halls of the capitol building, until I tap three times on a small wooden door. "Enter." The man's cool voice does little to soothe me but I draw my coat around me and do as he's commanded. "Mr. Governor, sir," I say, bowing my head. "I... why, you're just a child!" The surprise in his voice surprises me too and I look up at him. "Thirteen, sir. Who else did you expect? The treaty wouldn't allow-" "It wouldn't allow any of your kind here." The older man stares at me, still dumbfounded, from across a small desk. "Why should I have expected such a young woman?" I bow my head again. "With all due respect, Mr. Governor, I meant our treaty. The one prohibiting violence against the youth of our territory. Most Light Powered supers are driven deep underground, with kill-on-sight 'legal,' more or less." I swallow hard and look back up at him. "It's only the children that are allowed out in public, to shop, get food, try to organize. We're the only reason any Light Powers still exist. But King Obsidian is looking to overturn the Youth Protection Act. After that, we'll all be killed." I try to keep my voice steady here but judging by the way his bushy white eyebrows furrow and his dark eyes shimmer in the light, I've failed. "I didn't realize... or rather, I knew things had gotten bad. I hadn't quite realized to what extent. Miss. I'm so sorry." "I don't need apologies." My voice is too hard but I can't cry here. "I need help. We need help." Part of me almost breaks and spills, how there is no help to be had, how the mundanes couldn't possibly be able to help us, how the best they could possibly do is grant asylum to our survivors, but even that would violate the treaty between Supers and mundanes, lead to more widespread death. There's nothing they can do. I'm only here because I was appointed by Lestra Lucrative to come. Because she vouched for me on the eve of her 18th birthday. Because she'd died the next day, leaving me with nothing but respect for her legacy and a bitter, hardened cause in my chest. To my surprise, the governor sighs, but not with defeat. "I'm not sure how you found out," he said. "But then again, I suppose if things truly have gotten bad, it could make sense. What did you say your powers were, again?" I close my eyes and will my flock to come to me. Not every Super has the power of fire or death or psionics. Some of us have pretty things. Like my birds. After a moment, I open my eyes and look around the room. But my heart is in my throat, for no pearlescent, white doves sit atop the small books and shelves in the cramped, secret office. "I don't understand," I whisper. "I'm sorry. They should be here. The Ivory Heralds. My birds." He shakes his head. "I only agreed to meet with you here because we 'mundanes,' as you call us, have perfected magic nullifying technology. We got it done some century ago. That's what spurred the treaty. We never would have had leverage otherwise." I stare, frozen, at this. So the mundanes have not simply been living by our generosity. It never would have crossed my mind that we hadn't a choice. "So you can help," I say, not bothering to ask specifics. I don't really care. "We can evacuate members of our people here? It wouldn't be everyone, we couldn't manage that, but perhaps some of the littlest ones? Just to-- just to have our legacies live on?" The man looks outraged at my suggestion. "Move them here? Take on a few survivors? Absurd, girl. Simply absurd." My shoulders drop and when I speak again, my voice is tiny. "Then you can't help." He stands up and puts a large, rough hand on my back. "Not like that." Now his voice has quieted, not quite to match mine but enough to make me look back in his eyes. "Our technology has outpaced that of your land's by quite a bit. Magic doesn't lend itself to scientific progress, but that's alright. You never needed it to defend yourselves. Or maybe you did but didn't know it til too late. Us commonfolk, however, have been preparing for a war for some time." "Why?" I ask. "We never indicated a desire to attack you." "Because that's how these things work. It does not do, to live by the goodwill of others." The world is always more complicated than I think. Just when I feel confident I have my finger on a situation, it slips, shifts, and grows a thousand times more intricate. I never would have expected the mundanes to have the capacity to help. I never would have expected them to have the willingness to help. And I never expected to be sitting in the mundane governor's secret office, looking at maps and charts and screens, poring over what could be done, not simply to save a legacy, but to save my people entirely. I never would have expected, upon donning my coat, that I might actually do some good on Lestra's last mission. But here I am. And I am not backing down. ___ Read more stories at [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/)	It started with a bang. Or to be more specific, a series of bangs. In 1972, the world's powers were at wit's end with one another, and a failed coup attempt was the final trigger on this particular powderkeg. The aftermath from a global war wasn't nearly as bad as anyone had predicted, but it certainly had unintended side effects. By 2043 humanity had managed to regain some semblance of past normalcy, and that's when the first superhuman mutation was discovered. A man by the name of Gregory Graves, who would go on to become the father of modern day superheroes, was the most famous case of what would later become known as The Cold War Kids. As civilization first attempted to rebuild itself, it became the newly established U.C.N.'s (Unified Coalition of Nations) first priority to get a handle on these super powered individuals before things escalated from bad to worse. A supervillain who would later go on to call himself “The Volcano” was the first to test the limits of this still burgeoning civilization. It wasn’t long before anyone with half a mind to stitch themselves a costume was running out on the streets playing vigilante with their unrestrained and untested powers. Imagine giving a room full of toddlers access to the nuclear launch codes and then stepping out for a smoke. It took them a whopping five years to fully establish and work the kinks out of the ESD (Electronic Superhuman Database); an expansive electronic record of every single registered supe' currently known to any of the various governmental agencies around the world. Registered being the operative word, given the vast number of unchecked nutjobs running around in the world. By 2071, the unpowered world had become fed up with the rampant property destruction brought on by the ever raging super war. A decision was made, and all humans registered with the ESD were relocated to a large portion of the planet that was rendered more or less permanently unviable due to nuclear fallout. The heroes and villains didn't care all that much, just happy to have a new playground in which to do "great battle" with one another. No one was sure if it was a psychosomatic reaction, or an evolutionary trait invoked by the superhuman gene, but without a doubt these individuals loved fighting one another. In the current year of 2101, the population of villains outnumbered heroes five to one, and the rate of decline seemed to be exponential. A small group of heroes, known collectively as Sword & Shield, were at the forefront of the battlegrounds. Their small cadre consisted of The Tank, the leader - a beast of a man who was all but indestructible - Shadowlance, a woman that could phase through any type or state of matter, and Trinity; he was able to manipulate the elements of fire, water and wind any way he saw fit. Even though this trio was able to tackle any threats that had come their way thus far, they were all three keenly aware that it was only a matter of time before their luck ran out. Sure, the non-powered world had The Gallows, but it was no replacement for what groups like this could offer. As soon as the governments realized they had a bunch of superpowered serial killers on their hands, they needed a place to put them, and fast. By 2083, there were more than half a million registered superhumans globally. No agency had the exact figures, but by all accounts the number of undocumented supes was probably double that. Enter Crescendo; your run-of-the-mill sadistic mercenary for hire group run by a mysterious figurehead that subordinates only ever referred to as Alice. This particular outfit started establishing a name for itself in the early days of the “supe epidemic” by making a killing (literally) in the pursuit and apprehension of dangerous superhumans. It basically turned out to be a publicity campaign for them when foreign governments showed up at their door asking them to take care of the worst offenders that couldn’t be contained by conventional means. This brute squad got to work and converted a decommissioned old military base into Galloway Penitentiary for the Superhuman. It didn't take long for anyone who stayed there to understood why it earned the nom de guerre, “The Gallows”. Because it was a privately owned facility, things like “oversight” and “mutual respect” were very, very low on the priority list. So low, in fact, that they were largely nonexistent. The other glaringly odd thing was that no prisoner had ever seen this elusive Alice; but by god did they command the fear and respect of every officer and grunt working for them. Any time the name was mentioned, it was spoken with hushed tones of reverence. It was almost cult-like in the way they revered their leader, but the comparisons to a cult end there. At least with cults, there was the possibility of drug fueled sex parties (just don’t drink anything you’re offered). The Gallows did not have any good variety of either drugs or sex. Plenty of the bad though, in spades. Sword & Shield knew they would need help from the outside. Their first goal would be figuring out how to get over the wall dividing The Quarry - the expansive badlands where all supes were exiled - and the remainder of the world. Not only was every inch covered in antipersonnel artillery, but also various electrical and chemical defenses to cover the gamut of powers contained within. Thankfully, one member of this outfit had no trouble getting in - or out - of nearly any situation. Shadowlance's next mission would be locating the one man on the other side that might give them a fighting chance. There were many things the supervillains as a whole were resistant against. But over the years, there was one very specific aspect of human advancement they started to neglect -- science. And recently, there were murmurs whispered around the world about a non powered man who was fighting - and winning - against supervillains using nothing but his own inventions. ----- feedback / crit welcome! i may add to this later
	[WP] The world is divided into 2 societies: one for those with powers and one without, with strict rules of no interaction. However, with most of the superheroes defeated and the villains on the verge of winning, you have no choice but to cross over and seek help from the non-powered humans	The path to the human land is arduous. I set sail months ago, and the days have drifted past me, filled with desperation at times and despair at others. When the world was split into the two factions, those with powers and those without, the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans became the barrier separating the two populations. There were times during the voyage when I thought I would die. That my little sailboat would capsize and one of the sea monsters of the Pacific would rise up from the dark depths of the ocean and swallow me whole. Now, finally I see land. As soon as the sailboat is close enough to the shore I drop the anchor and swim the rest of the way. I see people along the beach. They stop in their tracks as I arrive. Some of them take out cellphones and dial. "I think we have an unauthorized entry at Hadley Beach," the nearest man says. First, I am surprised that the humans have such advanced technology. Our side was given all the men and women with superhuman intelligence. Most of them chose to become supervillains rather than superheroes. Second, none of them seem afraid. I know I'm not in peak form. Months of surviving on scraps has rid me of any muscles I had, and the sun has bleached my hair and burnt my skin. I must look like a man on the verge of death, but I am still superhuman. The pink hair and the lavender skin will follow me to my death. I don't have the energy to summon the balls of neon pink and purple energy that I hurl at my enemies, but these humans don't know that. "It's best you stay calm and cooperate when the police arrive," a woman nearby says. "Do you have your permit?" "My what? My permit for what?" A fleet of cars drive to the boardwalk and police officers step out, guns and hackles both raised. "Put your hands up and get on your knees!" the nearest one shouts. He's a bulky man, his uniform straining against his muscles. I can tell he's comfortable with the gun in his hand, and comfortable using it as well. I follow his instructions instantly. There's a buzz from behind me that erupts into a drone before I black out. When I wake up, I'm in an interrogation room. The police officer here isn't trigger happy or screaming. She's sitting opposite me, rifling through a file. When I groan, she looks up. "Good, you're awake. Which guild are you from?" "What?" "Your guild," she says. "The Nightclaws? The Deathjoys? Frostbite?" The names are vaguely familiar. My nemesis, The Infinite Inferno, was the leader of a group called the Deathjoys. "I'm not in any guilds. I'm not a supervillain." "A super-what?" the detective asks. "A supervillain. I'm not one. I'm a superhero." "Like in the comic books?" She looks at me like I'm crazy, and leaves the room. The door is left a crack open, and I can hear her speaking to her superior. "I don't think he's all there, sir," the detective says. "Dehydration, malnutrition. Must have all gone to his head. He's saying the Deathjoys are supervillains, and that he's a 'superhero'." There's a muffled chuckle. "Poor guy. Have him admitted to the hospital for a psych eval, and get his photo to the guild headquarters to see if anyone recognizes him." There aren't any more questions. I'm not given a chance to explain myself either. Every request for help for my land and the superheroes lands on deaf ears, only evoking pity or sometimes suppressed laughter. "My people are dying!" I tell the psychiatrist as he sits down in front of me. "We need help!" "Your people are fine, sir," the doctor says. "One of them is here to visit you." The Infinite Inferno walks in through the door. He's not wearing his mask here, and instead of his dark robes and staff, he's dressed in a pinstripe suit. He sits in the chair in front of me. "Inferno," I hiss. "Levitus," he says with a smile. "Fancy seeing you here. I had thought you died in the first wave of our attack. But no, you fled." "What are you doing here?" I ask. "It's against the rules of our society to interact with humans, but you villains...." "We're villains. Did you honestly expect us to follow the rules?" he asks. "The humans are nice. We came here and helped them how we could with our powers. In exchange, they gave us their own inventions and discoveries. It's a mutually beneficial relationship." He shakes his head. "No. It's more of a friendship." I strain against the white straitjacket that I'm trapped in, wishing I could burn him, throw my power against his body until he's reduced to a pile of dust. But with my hands tied, I cannot call onto my powers. "I will tell them the truth." "Who will they believe? A madman, or the man who's brought London countless advancements and has proven an ally, time and time again?" He taps his chin in mock wonder. "The third wave of our attack is underway, you know. Your side, I hear, is losing marvelously." "You're evil. How can you kill your own kind like this?" Inferno shakes his head. "Kind is an interesting word. Our kind has little kindness, and even less kinship. When we discovered our powers, we isolated ourselves from our brothers without them. The world was not as kind to humans as it was to superhumans. They froze, they starved, they toiled, and they bettered themselves. While we ignored their suffering and only indulged in our own petty squabbles, they managed to progress with their human strength. Good and evil are subjective terms, Levitus. You superheroes wanted to kill us all, remember? Called us villains and yourselves heroes to justify it. Are you angry that us villains are defeating you at the game you started?" I scream. "Calm yourself, Levitus. It will be over soon. We are destroying an old world, true. But only so we can replace it with something better."	The Dreamer sifted through a sea of sleeping minds, discarding the masses of the mundane like chaff as he sought the one with the power to save them, the one who the Unpowered called “President.” The old man had closed his eyes some ten days before, and every moment of slumber since had been bought with the blood of a friend. There was little else left, at the closing of the Age of Heroes. Outside the walls of the Dreamer’s citadel a hopeless battle raged for the city of Ered-Dun. In a crumbling parapet at the south wall four heroes finished their prayers before a shrine to Duna, she who had long ago sundered the sea between the worlds. Outside they could hear the rumbling fury of a great army, the boulders their strongmen threw crashing against the walls in a staccato parody of rhythm. The four had no illusions about their chances, across the whole of the city there were few who did. “They’ll be through the walls soon,” Priya said, eyes closed and her hand pressed against the cool stone of the floor, feeling all its cracks and crevices for hundreds of feet in either direction. “It will break near tower twelve first, they’re widening a breach near the base with a pyro, super-heating the stone.” That was less than a quarter mile from them. Edric, their leader, mulled that over, dark eyes lost in thought as he pulled at a bushy beard. “We wait for their charge. Let the Lesser Powers hold them at first, bottle them up into a choke where Erlein’s storm can do its best work.” “And what of our people on the ground?” the pain in Sarica’s voice was undisguised, a raw wound hanging in the air. “They’ll fight. It’s all thats left to any of us now.” The challenge in Edric’s eyes was unmistakable as he stared her down. “Fine,” she said, turning away in disgust. The crash came only moments later, followed by the triumphant roar of the enemy as they poured into the city to grapple hand to hand with its defenders. In the ruins of the parapet the heroes gathered themselves for their last stand, Edric’s sword bursting into blue flame as he focused his power. In his dark corner Erlein had begun to glow, small flashes of electricity dancing across the bare expanse of his pale chest. Where she knelt on the ground counting off the hordes of the enemy who passed through their shattered wall, Priya’s dusky skin had begun to gray, the grinding of stone sounding with every motion. Sarica merely waited, hovering sullenly several inches off the ground. “More than a thousand are through, ” Priya said, rising. “Then it’s time,” Edric said. “We go to our deaths that he might Dream.” “That he might Dream,” the group intoned. They made an entrance, both sides had to give them that. Priya crushed through the door with a great charge as the rest followed her out, Erlein and Sarica darting through the air like fireflies while Edric’s run became a blur of spark and flame. They crossed the quarter mile in the blink of an eye as only Higher Powers could, and they laid into the swirling melee at the breach with an abandon bordering on suicidal. Erlein’s storm came first, a devastating rain of lightning that stunned great masses of the Villain formation, weapons falling from spasming hands up and down the line. When the two fighters landed in their midst it was a near route, only the strongest of the Villains were able to offer any resistance. The Lesser Powers still standing gave a hearty cheer at their rescue, but it was stilled only moments later as a hideous chant rose up outside the walls. There were far more terrible things than infantry out there in the armies of the Villains. That had been only the first wave and it would be harder from here. Erlein was temporarily spent by his efforts, his exhausted body making a slow, controlled fall back to Earth in the grasp of Sarica’s telekinetics. And in his citadel the dreamer woke, a cold sweat clinging to him, realizing his message was delivered. The villain’s paid dearly for every block as the came but slowly, surely, the Heroes were driven back into the city. They lost Priya on the second day, when a villain they had unknowingly dismissed as Lesser tore through his armor with a great cry and began to grow and grow to impossible heights, falling upon her in a torrent of blows as he used the shattered remnant of a church steeple for a mace. Erlein came next, when a formation of fliers dove for him too suddenly with their. It had been all Edric could do to tear Sarica from her quiet friend’s body after she had dashed his killers against the city streets. So it was that on the fourth day since the outer wall fell only two of the four remained, shut up in the Dreamer’s citadel while the city around them burned and the greatest of the Villain’s council soared high into the air to project their terms to the vanquished. There were 6 of them clad in dark red robes of office, the original Villains whose powers had transcended the single element simplicity of all others and become something else, perhaps more akin to sorcery. From their center a stentorian voice rose above the din of a city being sacked and carried itself into the hearts of every hero, Higher or Lesser, who was left inside the citadel. “First!” he called, arrogance dripping from each word, “you will surrender the Dreamer to me! His family’s time at the head of the Powered World is at an end. Second! Those among you who use arms will cast them over your wall before opening the gates and assembling en-mass in the courtyard. Those of you whose powers render swords unnecessary will be first bound and gagged by their fellows and placed at the front rank. Third! You will swear a binding oath of allegiance to this council, on pain of death, for as long as you shall live.” He hovered closer to the walls then, his body crackling with a clear aura of power. “Do these three things and you shall be spared! Do not, and your fates are sealed. You have until sundown.” The citadel’s answer was painted in gold upon the wood of a massive table hauled up from the dining hall, the moon and star crest of the Dreamer’s house. As the last left who was able Sarica’s tears flowed freely as she hurled it from the battlements. They came at sundown, in endless waves lit by the furnace fires of the council’s most powerful pyrokinetic. If the fighting in the streets earlier had been fierce this was beyond anything that had come before, the battle raging across air and ground while countless fell on either side. It was doomed of course, and every hero fighting knew it, even the Dreamer who waited in his chambers, finally grappling with the reality of his failure. It happened just before sunrise, when lights in the sky were spotted in the distance, coming closer with a dull, beating hum. Gouts of fire and hurled stone erupted all across the citadel, but moments later they were nothing compared to the unimaginable explosions that suddenly broke the ground outside its walls. Worse still for the assembled mass of villains were the great steel birds that seemed to soar overhead faster than even the greatest among them could fly and the great fury of their cannons as they laced the packed ranks with projectiles that buzzed past like hornets. Eyes closed in his darkened room the Dreamer cast his mind out once again, searching the newcomers for one among them who might sleep and so tell him all he needed to know. He found one in the ranks of the support crews. A mechanic, though he did not know what that was, who had stayed up far too late the night before and whose head cripplingly thick with drink even in his dreams. In the waking world the Dreamer smiled, the broadness of the movement threatening to crack his face. The call had been answered, the Unpowered had come. \-------- r/TurningtoWords
	[WP] The world is divided into 2 societies: one for those with powers and one without, with strict rules of no interaction. However, with most of the superheroes defeated and the villains on the verge of winning, you have no choice but to cross over and seek help from the non-powered humans	There's something about their quiet presences that makes my stomach twist a bit. I can't shake the feeling that, any minute now, one might simply... evaporate me? Read my mind. Control me to commit atrocities. I hear, in the old day, it was out of concern for the common folk, the 'innocents,' so to say, that the fighting never got this far. It had all been comic mischief, it had all been about robbing banks and taking over cities and stealing gear. Not genocide. How things have changed. It made sense that the mundanes, the normals, the commonfolk would want to escape the violence still. Even back then, there'd been casualties. Even back then, so really, could we ask them to stand around and absorb blow after blow, loss to their communities, deaths of family and friends, just to prevent one side or another from going over the top. Put in so many words, my heart sinks further as I walk cloaked through the capital city. What am I hoping to accomplish here? Lady Magenta or Detrict the Foresaken could wipe this entire place in a blink of an eye. Nonetheless, I arrive at the city hall, where the governor of the district has agreed to meet me. In secret, of course. We aren't supposed to cross over. We're never supposed to cross over. In fact, it's so dangerous that I'm here, that part of me suspects a trap. But there is no cry or shout of attack as I slip in, heart skipping in my chest. I follow the directions he's provided me, twisting through the halls of the capitol building, until I tap three times on a small wooden door. "Enter." The man's cool voice does little to soothe me but I draw my coat around me and do as he's commanded. "Mr. Governor, sir," I say, bowing my head. "I... why, you're just a child!" The surprise in his voice surprises me too and I look up at him. "Thirteen, sir. Who else did you expect? The treaty wouldn't allow-" "It wouldn't allow any of your kind here." The older man stares at me, still dumbfounded, from across a small desk. "Why should I have expected such a young woman?" I bow my head again. "With all due respect, Mr. Governor, I meant our treaty. The one prohibiting violence against the youth of our territory. Most Light Powered supers are driven deep underground, with kill-on-sight 'legal,' more or less." I swallow hard and look back up at him. "It's only the children that are allowed out in public, to shop, get food, try to organize. We're the only reason any Light Powers still exist. But King Obsidian is looking to overturn the Youth Protection Act. After that, we'll all be killed." I try to keep my voice steady here but judging by the way his bushy white eyebrows furrow and his dark eyes shimmer in the light, I've failed. "I didn't realize... or rather, I knew things had gotten bad. I hadn't quite realized to what extent. Miss. I'm so sorry." "I don't need apologies." My voice is too hard but I can't cry here. "I need help. We need help." Part of me almost breaks and spills, how there is no help to be had, how the mundanes couldn't possibly be able to help us, how the best they could possibly do is grant asylum to our survivors, but even that would violate the treaty between Supers and mundanes, lead to more widespread death. There's nothing they can do. I'm only here because I was appointed by Lestra Lucrative to come. Because she vouched for me on the eve of her 18th birthday. Because she'd died the next day, leaving me with nothing but respect for her legacy and a bitter, hardened cause in my chest. To my surprise, the governor sighs, but not with defeat. "I'm not sure how you found out," he said. "But then again, I suppose if things truly have gotten bad, it could make sense. What did you say your powers were, again?" I close my eyes and will my flock to come to me. Not every Super has the power of fire or death or psionics. Some of us have pretty things. Like my birds. After a moment, I open my eyes and look around the room. But my heart is in my throat, for no pearlescent, white doves sit atop the small books and shelves in the cramped, secret office. "I don't understand," I whisper. "I'm sorry. They should be here. The Ivory Heralds. My birds." He shakes his head. "I only agreed to meet with you here because we 'mundanes,' as you call us, have perfected magic nullifying technology. We got it done some century ago. That's what spurred the treaty. We never would have had leverage otherwise." I stare, frozen, at this. So the mundanes have not simply been living by our generosity. It never would have crossed my mind that we hadn't a choice. "So you can help," I say, not bothering to ask specifics. I don't really care. "We can evacuate members of our people here? It wouldn't be everyone, we couldn't manage that, but perhaps some of the littlest ones? Just to-- just to have our legacies live on?" The man looks outraged at my suggestion. "Move them here? Take on a few survivors? Absurd, girl. Simply absurd." My shoulders drop and when I speak again, my voice is tiny. "Then you can't help." He stands up and puts a large, rough hand on my back. "Not like that." Now his voice has quieted, not quite to match mine but enough to make me look back in his eyes. "Our technology has outpaced that of your land's by quite a bit. Magic doesn't lend itself to scientific progress, but that's alright. You never needed it to defend yourselves. Or maybe you did but didn't know it til too late. Us commonfolk, however, have been preparing for a war for some time." "Why?" I ask. "We never indicated a desire to attack you." "Because that's how these things work. It does not do, to live by the goodwill of others." The world is always more complicated than I think. Just when I feel confident I have my finger on a situation, it slips, shifts, and grows a thousand times more intricate. I never would have expected the mundanes to have the capacity to help. I never would have expected them to have the willingness to help. And I never expected to be sitting in the mundane governor's secret office, looking at maps and charts and screens, poring over what could be done, not simply to save a legacy, but to save my people entirely. I never would have expected, upon donning my coat, that I might actually do some good on Lestra's last mission. But here I am. And I am not backing down. ___ Read more stories at [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/)	The Dreamer sifted through a sea of sleeping minds, discarding the masses of the mundane like chaff as he sought the one with the power to save them, the one who the Unpowered called “President.” The old man had closed his eyes some ten days before, and every moment of slumber since had been bought with the blood of a friend. There was little else left, at the closing of the Age of Heroes. Outside the walls of the Dreamer’s citadel a hopeless battle raged for the city of Ered-Dun. In a crumbling parapet at the south wall four heroes finished their prayers before a shrine to Duna, she who had long ago sundered the sea between the worlds. Outside they could hear the rumbling fury of a great army, the boulders their strongmen threw crashing against the walls in a staccato parody of rhythm. The four had no illusions about their chances, across the whole of the city there were few who did. “They’ll be through the walls soon,” Priya said, eyes closed and her hand pressed against the cool stone of the floor, feeling all its cracks and crevices for hundreds of feet in either direction. “It will break near tower twelve first, they’re widening a breach near the base with a pyro, super-heating the stone.” That was less than a quarter mile from them. Edric, their leader, mulled that over, dark eyes lost in thought as he pulled at a bushy beard. “We wait for their charge. Let the Lesser Powers hold them at first, bottle them up into a choke where Erlein’s storm can do its best work.” “And what of our people on the ground?” the pain in Sarica’s voice was undisguised, a raw wound hanging in the air. “They’ll fight. It’s all thats left to any of us now.” The challenge in Edric’s eyes was unmistakable as he stared her down. “Fine,” she said, turning away in disgust. The crash came only moments later, followed by the triumphant roar of the enemy as they poured into the city to grapple hand to hand with its defenders. In the ruins of the parapet the heroes gathered themselves for their last stand, Edric’s sword bursting into blue flame as he focused his power. In his dark corner Erlein had begun to glow, small flashes of electricity dancing across the bare expanse of his pale chest. Where she knelt on the ground counting off the hordes of the enemy who passed through their shattered wall, Priya’s dusky skin had begun to gray, the grinding of stone sounding with every motion. Sarica merely waited, hovering sullenly several inches off the ground. “More than a thousand are through, ” Priya said, rising. “Then it’s time,” Edric said. “We go to our deaths that he might Dream.” “That he might Dream,” the group intoned. They made an entrance, both sides had to give them that. Priya crushed through the door with a great charge as the rest followed her out, Erlein and Sarica darting through the air like fireflies while Edric’s run became a blur of spark and flame. They crossed the quarter mile in the blink of an eye as only Higher Powers could, and they laid into the swirling melee at the breach with an abandon bordering on suicidal. Erlein’s storm came first, a devastating rain of lightning that stunned great masses of the Villain formation, weapons falling from spasming hands up and down the line. When the two fighters landed in their midst it was a near route, only the strongest of the Villains were able to offer any resistance. The Lesser Powers still standing gave a hearty cheer at their rescue, but it was stilled only moments later as a hideous chant rose up outside the walls. There were far more terrible things than infantry out there in the armies of the Villains. That had been only the first wave and it would be harder from here. Erlein was temporarily spent by his efforts, his exhausted body making a slow, controlled fall back to Earth in the grasp of Sarica’s telekinetics. And in his citadel the dreamer woke, a cold sweat clinging to him, realizing his message was delivered. The villain’s paid dearly for every block as the came but slowly, surely, the Heroes were driven back into the city. They lost Priya on the second day, when a villain they had unknowingly dismissed as Lesser tore through his armor with a great cry and began to grow and grow to impossible heights, falling upon her in a torrent of blows as he used the shattered remnant of a church steeple for a mace. Erlein came next, when a formation of fliers dove for him too suddenly with their. It had been all Edric could do to tear Sarica from her quiet friend’s body after she had dashed his killers against the city streets. So it was that on the fourth day since the outer wall fell only two of the four remained, shut up in the Dreamer’s citadel while the city around them burned and the greatest of the Villain’s council soared high into the air to project their terms to the vanquished. There were 6 of them clad in dark red robes of office, the original Villains whose powers had transcended the single element simplicity of all others and become something else, perhaps more akin to sorcery. From their center a stentorian voice rose above the din of a city being sacked and carried itself into the hearts of every hero, Higher or Lesser, who was left inside the citadel. “First!” he called, arrogance dripping from each word, “you will surrender the Dreamer to me! His family’s time at the head of the Powered World is at an end. Second! Those among you who use arms will cast them over your wall before opening the gates and assembling en-mass in the courtyard. Those of you whose powers render swords unnecessary will be first bound and gagged by their fellows and placed at the front rank. Third! You will swear a binding oath of allegiance to this council, on pain of death, for as long as you shall live.” He hovered closer to the walls then, his body crackling with a clear aura of power. “Do these three things and you shall be spared! Do not, and your fates are sealed. You have until sundown.” The citadel’s answer was painted in gold upon the wood of a massive table hauled up from the dining hall, the moon and star crest of the Dreamer’s house. As the last left who was able Sarica’s tears flowed freely as she hurled it from the battlements. They came at sundown, in endless waves lit by the furnace fires of the council’s most powerful pyrokinetic. If the fighting in the streets earlier had been fierce this was beyond anything that had come before, the battle raging across air and ground while countless fell on either side. It was doomed of course, and every hero fighting knew it, even the Dreamer who waited in his chambers, finally grappling with the reality of his failure. It happened just before sunrise, when lights in the sky were spotted in the distance, coming closer with a dull, beating hum. Gouts of fire and hurled stone erupted all across the citadel, but moments later they were nothing compared to the unimaginable explosions that suddenly broke the ground outside its walls. Worse still for the assembled mass of villains were the great steel birds that seemed to soar overhead faster than even the greatest among them could fly and the great fury of their cannons as they laced the packed ranks with projectiles that buzzed past like hornets. Eyes closed in his darkened room the Dreamer cast his mind out once again, searching the newcomers for one among them who might sleep and so tell him all he needed to know. He found one in the ranks of the support crews. A mechanic, though he did not know what that was, who had stayed up far too late the night before and whose head cripplingly thick with drink even in his dreams. In the waking world the Dreamer smiled, the broadness of the movement threatening to crack his face. The call had been answered, the Unpowered had come. \-------- r/TurningtoWords
	[WP] The world is divided into 2 societies: one for those with powers and one without, with strict rules of no interaction. However, with most of the superheroes defeated and the villains on the verge of winning, you have no choice but to cross over and seek help from the non-powered humans	There's something about their quiet presences that makes my stomach twist a bit. I can't shake the feeling that, any minute now, one might simply... evaporate me? Read my mind. Control me to commit atrocities. I hear, in the old day, it was out of concern for the common folk, the 'innocents,' so to say, that the fighting never got this far. It had all been comic mischief, it had all been about robbing banks and taking over cities and stealing gear. Not genocide. How things have changed. It made sense that the mundanes, the normals, the commonfolk would want to escape the violence still. Even back then, there'd been casualties. Even back then, so really, could we ask them to stand around and absorb blow after blow, loss to their communities, deaths of family and friends, just to prevent one side or another from going over the top. Put in so many words, my heart sinks further as I walk cloaked through the capital city. What am I hoping to accomplish here? Lady Magenta or Detrict the Foresaken could wipe this entire place in a blink of an eye. Nonetheless, I arrive at the city hall, where the governor of the district has agreed to meet me. In secret, of course. We aren't supposed to cross over. We're never supposed to cross over. In fact, it's so dangerous that I'm here, that part of me suspects a trap. But there is no cry or shout of attack as I slip in, heart skipping in my chest. I follow the directions he's provided me, twisting through the halls of the capitol building, until I tap three times on a small wooden door. "Enter." The man's cool voice does little to soothe me but I draw my coat around me and do as he's commanded. "Mr. Governor, sir," I say, bowing my head. "I... why, you're just a child!" The surprise in his voice surprises me too and I look up at him. "Thirteen, sir. Who else did you expect? The treaty wouldn't allow-" "It wouldn't allow any of your kind here." The older man stares at me, still dumbfounded, from across a small desk. "Why should I have expected such a young woman?" I bow my head again. "With all due respect, Mr. Governor, I meant our treaty. The one prohibiting violence against the youth of our territory. Most Light Powered supers are driven deep underground, with kill-on-sight 'legal,' more or less." I swallow hard and look back up at him. "It's only the children that are allowed out in public, to shop, get food, try to organize. We're the only reason any Light Powers still exist. But King Obsidian is looking to overturn the Youth Protection Act. After that, we'll all be killed." I try to keep my voice steady here but judging by the way his bushy white eyebrows furrow and his dark eyes shimmer in the light, I've failed. "I didn't realize... or rather, I knew things had gotten bad. I hadn't quite realized to what extent. Miss. I'm so sorry." "I don't need apologies." My voice is too hard but I can't cry here. "I need help. We need help." Part of me almost breaks and spills, how there is no help to be had, how the mundanes couldn't possibly be able to help us, how the best they could possibly do is grant asylum to our survivors, but even that would violate the treaty between Supers and mundanes, lead to more widespread death. There's nothing they can do. I'm only here because I was appointed by Lestra Lucrative to come. Because she vouched for me on the eve of her 18th birthday. Because she'd died the next day, leaving me with nothing but respect for her legacy and a bitter, hardened cause in my chest. To my surprise, the governor sighs, but not with defeat. "I'm not sure how you found out," he said. "But then again, I suppose if things truly have gotten bad, it could make sense. What did you say your powers were, again?" I close my eyes and will my flock to come to me. Not every Super has the power of fire or death or psionics. Some of us have pretty things. Like my birds. After a moment, I open my eyes and look around the room. But my heart is in my throat, for no pearlescent, white doves sit atop the small books and shelves in the cramped, secret office. "I don't understand," I whisper. "I'm sorry. They should be here. The Ivory Heralds. My birds." He shakes his head. "I only agreed to meet with you here because we 'mundanes,' as you call us, have perfected magic nullifying technology. We got it done some century ago. That's what spurred the treaty. We never would have had leverage otherwise." I stare, frozen, at this. So the mundanes have not simply been living by our generosity. It never would have crossed my mind that we hadn't a choice. "So you can help," I say, not bothering to ask specifics. I don't really care. "We can evacuate members of our people here? It wouldn't be everyone, we couldn't manage that, but perhaps some of the littlest ones? Just to-- just to have our legacies live on?" The man looks outraged at my suggestion. "Move them here? Take on a few survivors? Absurd, girl. Simply absurd." My shoulders drop and when I speak again, my voice is tiny. "Then you can't help." He stands up and puts a large, rough hand on my back. "Not like that." Now his voice has quieted, not quite to match mine but enough to make me look back in his eyes. "Our technology has outpaced that of your land's by quite a bit. Magic doesn't lend itself to scientific progress, but that's alright. You never needed it to defend yourselves. Or maybe you did but didn't know it til too late. Us commonfolk, however, have been preparing for a war for some time." "Why?" I ask. "We never indicated a desire to attack you." "Because that's how these things work. It does not do, to live by the goodwill of others." The world is always more complicated than I think. Just when I feel confident I have my finger on a situation, it slips, shifts, and grows a thousand times more intricate. I never would have expected the mundanes to have the capacity to help. I never would have expected them to have the willingness to help. And I never expected to be sitting in the mundane governor's secret office, looking at maps and charts and screens, poring over what could be done, not simply to save a legacy, but to save my people entirely. I never would have expected, upon donning my coat, that I might actually do some good on Lestra's last mission. But here I am. And I am not backing down. ___ Read more stories at [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/)	The path to the human land is arduous. I set sail months ago, and the days have drifted past me, filled with desperation at times and despair at others. When the world was split into the two factions, those with powers and those without, the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans became the barrier separating the two populations. There were times during the voyage when I thought I would die. That my little sailboat would capsize and one of the sea monsters of the Pacific would rise up from the dark depths of the ocean and swallow me whole. Now, finally I see land. As soon as the sailboat is close enough to the shore I drop the anchor and swim the rest of the way. I see people along the beach. They stop in their tracks as I arrive. Some of them take out cellphones and dial. "I think we have an unauthorized entry at Hadley Beach," the nearest man says. First, I am surprised that the humans have such advanced technology. Our side was given all the men and women with superhuman intelligence. Most of them chose to become supervillains rather than superheroes. Second, none of them seem afraid. I know I'm not in peak form. Months of surviving on scraps has rid me of any muscles I had, and the sun has bleached my hair and burnt my skin. I must look like a man on the verge of death, but I am still superhuman. The pink hair and the lavender skin will follow me to my death. I don't have the energy to summon the balls of neon pink and purple energy that I hurl at my enemies, but these humans don't know that. "It's best you stay calm and cooperate when the police arrive," a woman nearby says. "Do you have your permit?" "My what? My permit for what?" A fleet of cars drive to the boardwalk and police officers step out, guns and hackles both raised. "Put your hands up and get on your knees!" the nearest one shouts. He's a bulky man, his uniform straining against his muscles. I can tell he's comfortable with the gun in his hand, and comfortable using it as well. I follow his instructions instantly. There's a buzz from behind me that erupts into a drone before I black out. When I wake up, I'm in an interrogation room. The police officer here isn't trigger happy or screaming. She's sitting opposite me, rifling through a file. When I groan, she looks up. "Good, you're awake. Which guild are you from?" "What?" "Your guild," she says. "The Nightclaws? The Deathjoys? Frostbite?" The names are vaguely familiar. My nemesis, The Infinite Inferno, was the leader of a group called the Deathjoys. "I'm not in any guilds. I'm not a supervillain." "A super-what?" the detective asks. "A supervillain. I'm not one. I'm a superhero." "Like in the comic books?" She looks at me like I'm crazy, and leaves the room. The door is left a crack open, and I can hear her speaking to her superior. "I don't think he's all there, sir," the detective says. "Dehydration, malnutrition. Must have all gone to his head. He's saying the Deathjoys are supervillains, and that he's a 'superhero'." There's a muffled chuckle. "Poor guy. Have him admitted to the hospital for a psych eval, and get his photo to the guild headquarters to see if anyone recognizes him." There aren't any more questions. I'm not given a chance to explain myself either. Every request for help for my land and the superheroes lands on deaf ears, only evoking pity or sometimes suppressed laughter. "My people are dying!" I tell the psychiatrist as he sits down in front of me. "We need help!" "Your people are fine, sir," the doctor says. "One of them is here to visit you." The Infinite Inferno walks in through the door. He's not wearing his mask here, and instead of his dark robes and staff, he's dressed in a pinstripe suit. He sits in the chair in front of me. "Inferno," I hiss. "Levitus," he says with a smile. "Fancy seeing you here. I had thought you died in the first wave of our attack. But no, you fled." "What are you doing here?" I ask. "It's against the rules of our society to interact with humans, but you villains...." "We're villains. Did you honestly expect us to follow the rules?" he asks. "The humans are nice. We came here and helped them how we could with our powers. In exchange, they gave us their own inventions and discoveries. It's a mutually beneficial relationship." He shakes his head. "No. It's more of a friendship." I strain against the white straitjacket that I'm trapped in, wishing I could burn him, throw my power against his body until he's reduced to a pile of dust. But with my hands tied, I cannot call onto my powers. "I will tell them the truth." "Who will they believe? A madman, or the man who's brought London countless advancements and has proven an ally, time and time again?" He taps his chin in mock wonder. "The third wave of our attack is underway, you know. Your side, I hear, is losing marvelously." "You're evil. How can you kill your own kind like this?" Inferno shakes his head. "Kind is an interesting word. Our kind has little kindness, and even less kinship. When we discovered our powers, we isolated ourselves from our brothers without them. The world was not as kind to humans as it was to superhumans. They froze, they starved, they toiled, and they bettered themselves. While we ignored their suffering and only indulged in our own petty squabbles, they managed to progress with their human strength. Good and evil are subjective terms, Levitus. You superheroes wanted to kill us all, remember? Called us villains and yourselves heroes to justify it. Are you angry that us villains are defeating you at the game you started?" I scream. "Calm yourself, Levitus. It will be over soon. We are destroying an old world, true. But only so we can replace it with something better."
	[WP] You've found one of the five most powerful swords in the world. The problem? Its annoying voice and personality. The sword keeps mocking you each time you swing it, no matter how effective you are with it.	Stab. Slice. Swing. "Blindly flailing like a drunk is not swordsmanship, fool." &nbsp; The man- no, boy- before me falls to the ground, head and body neatly severed. I turn, facing another enemy. A bulky brute, shoulder pauldrons as large as my head. Behind him an archer, arrow drawn and primed to fire. For a second, I pity them- then I charge. &nbsp; The archer lets loose, but the arrow embeds itself in my shield. I take the moment to sidestep the brute and sink my infernal blade into the archer's gut. &nbsp; Slice. Slice. Swing. "Pathetic. The fact that you're using me on these weaklings speaks to your lack of skill." &nbsp; Another clean cut. His head falls to the floor before his body can, slumping to the floor as I turn my attention to the brute. The heavyset man is pulling out a weapon that had been strapped to his back, but with a swift swing I knock it out of his hand. Left with nothing but his fists, the man rushes forward, anger in his eyes. Anger means clouded judgement, which means an easy target. &nbsp; Swing. Slice. Stab. &nbsp; I inhale deeply, feeling the flow of the brute's life-force as it travels up the length of the sword and into my body. The enchanted sword in my hands deems this moment suitable for another one of its blasted quips. "How does it feel to be weak," it whispers in my ear, "how does it feel to know that the only reason why you can keep up with your peers is because I allow it?" &nbsp; I ignore the thing, catching my breath as I scan the battlefield. Along the rocks I see the remains of my team, scattering like dust in the wind as the enemy rains hellfire upon them. Further back I see the great iron gate our enemy cowered behind, of which we had been tasked to capture and force open. I took in the smell of blood, the screams and shouts as my fellow men died in droves. Anything to distract myself from a growing feeling of inadequacy within me, a feeling that the sword was right. &nbsp; I hadn't always been a swordsman, no. From a young age I had dabbled in the family trade, mixing gunpowder and creating explosives for the local guilds. But hard times had fallen upon our clan- father was gone, and it had been up to me to provide for my aging mother. By chance, a travelling merchant had stopped me one day, telling me that a band of sellswords were looking for a man with blasting powder expertise who could keep his mouth shut and follow orders. &nbsp; The sword had been a gift from my employer. One of her messengers had pushed it into my hands one day, a knowing look in her eye. "Neither a man nor a warrior is anything without his sword," the cloaked figure had said, "and my employer deems that you have proven to be both. This artifact is enchanted with the power to keep you safe- your employer requests that you use it wisely, and often." &nbsp; And that was that. &nbsp; I still made explosives for the team, during the waning hours of sunlight after battles had long since passed, but I had taken on a new role. The priceless sword that had been bestowed upon me sapped the life from those I killed, and imbued them within me. With every killing blow my strength and power grew, making me more and more effective. &nbsp; However, what the messenger had neglected to tell me was that the source of the power was because the damn thing was haunted. Haunted by an extremely annoying and derisive ghost. &nbsp; At first I had questioned my sanity, hearing the faintest of whispers coming from the powerful blade. Nobody could seem to hear it but me, and I spent many a night pacing, trying to think of why I could be losing my mind. I was reassured though, when I remembered that the messenger had described it as an artifact. Maybe it was just a byproduct of whatever powerful enchantments had been layered in to the metal. &nbsp; But then it began talking. And talking. And talking. &nbsp; Oh, how it wouldn't stop talking. &nbsp; At first it talked about how I wasn't killing enough people, but then as I got better and better at it the sword began talking about how I wasn't good enough at killing people. The sword wasn't merely enchanted, it was haunted, and the ghost that had been sealed inside was an ornery sort. No matter how much I improved, the annoying little thing kept insulting my entire self-worth with what might have been a sadistic glee. &nbsp; Case in point, right now, as I wipe the blood from it on the cooling body of the man I had just stabbed to death. &nbsp; "Honestly, they couldn't have picked someone better to give me to? Come on pal, you're being a real disappointment here." &nbsp; I scowled. "Maybe if you'd shut up I'd be able to perform better." &nbsp; The sword scoffed. "As if!" &nbsp; Not for the first time I forced myself to calm down, the thought running through my head that even though the sword was an awful conversational partner, the power it gave me still outweighed the annoyance of the spirit within. &nbsp; Slash. Stab. Swing. "Don't strain yourself, boy. We both know how weak you really are." &nbsp; Swing. Swing. Slash. "Are you sure he even felt that one? Maybe he's pretending to be dead so he doesn't hurt your feelings." &nbsp; I paused as I felt the ground shake. &nbsp; The great metal gate, which we had been fighting to knock down, began to move. Both sides stopped fighting to stare as it rumbled open, revealing nothing but darkness. A moment of silence. Then from within, a single striking figure stepped out. &nbsp; Clad in blood-red and silver armor, the man surveyed the battlefield with an amused air. Then he pulled a sword from his sheath and raised it up in the air, shouting something. The enemy troops roared in response, and the fighting continued. Whoever the armored knight was, his mere presence was enough to spur the enemy into battle with a renewed vigor. &nbsp; But it wasn't the armored knight that caught my attention, no, but rather the blade that he held aloft in his hand. A shockingly familiar blade. &nbsp; My sword seemed to shake excitedly in my hand as it called out, its voice ringing across the battlefield. "Brother!"	That damn song... I knew I shouldn't have trusted the words of that bard but the promise of unclaimed power was too tempting. It was said that there exists a cursed sword with the power of a god forged into the blade. I thought that no price would be too much... But that song... I fear I may be losing my mind. Finding the sword was surprisingly simple, the song intoned a half mountain, rent in two by some calamity, as it's resting place. People generally avoided the area for fear of some curse and the strange broken landscape of the mountain. I had traveled far to reach this battered land and finally, I arrived. I found the cave the song mentioned with ease. Deep in the craggy mountain, at the back of a black cave I found my prize. It was glowing softly, the tip of the blade thrust into the rocky ground. As I wrapped my hand around the fine hilt I was ecstatic, at long last I would I would prove my worth. Returning to my hometown with this legendary blade would make all my dreams attainable but I fear that the curse may yet be too much to bear. As soon as I pulled the sword free the curse took hold. The sword spoke! But it was not the voice of a god but a devilish trickster that rang forth. A high pitched and somewhat childish maniacal voice pealed forth with raucous gusto, forming words that it charged with oblivious vehemence... I nearly dropped it in shock of the sheer volume of the singing sword but I couldn't relenquish it, the allure of power was too overwhelming. Gritting my teeth I strapped the caroling sword to my back and began my journey home. It's only been one day but I fear that the weight of the curse is too much to bear. Who I once was seems to be lost in the song of the sword. Changing me. My mind is falling apart, replaced by the words of that damn song... I can fight it no more but still that sword sings.... EXCALIBUR! EXCALIBUR! FROM THE UNITED KINGDOM! IM LOOKING FOR HEAVEN! IM GOING TO CALIFORNIAAAAAA! EXCALIBUUUUUR! EXCALIBUUUUUR!
	[WP] You've found one of the five most powerful swords in the world. The problem? Its annoying voice and personality. The sword keeps mocking you each time you swing it, no matter how effective you are with it.	I thought that ear muffs would help. What I didn’t realize was the voice was one only I could hear. It started small, like an afterthought. It grew in it’s pervasiveness, the undercut and undermine of everything I did. I had found the fabled sword, and I should have realize why it had been at the bottom of a sealed cave, behind magical wards and with a very old, and very cranky Wyvvern guarding the mouth of the cave. The adventure seemed so right when I read about it. It had been part of a journal in a pawn shop, a set of rude maps and engineering schematics. Descriptions of the swords powers, and warnings I dismissed. Different places drawn out, each I found and searched to find… nothing. Then, I found the unmarked cave that was at the end of the journal. The rocks had slid, the path blocked. I climbed. I fought. I sapped. I delved. I found. The whispers I thought were just me being tired. I touched the sword, the gems in the hilt lighting up like embers under my hand, but cool to the touch. It filled the cave depths with a glowing light as I held it. I pulled it from the crumbling cage it was in and wrapped it in the cloth of silver I had brought for it. I thought I was just second guessing myself when I went to the wizard to see how powerful this weapon really was. They congratulated me and scried it’s name, looking slightly worried when they looked it up in a tome of known artifacts. It had been lost ninety years ago, after the last owner had gone slightly mad. I was not worried. I was now it’s owner, and I was going to use it’s power. But I wasn’t as sure as when I had left the cave. I used it against outlaws and bandits, the light it gave off lighting the path of it’s blade through my foes, those who saw what I had done spreading my fame. But I was dissatisfied. I heard a thought in the back of my mind getting louder. That the other items I had with me were keeping the power of the sword from truly coming out. I sold a few of the items I had fought to get, gave my enchanted weapons away. I even dropped my oldest and dearest ring at the side of the road when I heard that voice tell me that it was holding me back. I did see the power of the sword grow. I wielded it as I gained in celebrity, and notoriety. I would save people, fight those who were doing wrong to others, but, as I sat surrounded by those who I had saved, I would withdraw, the voice telling me that they were not worthy of my presence. It became known that I would do these heroic things, but would not accept anything in return, even friendship. I would go from place to place, the sword at my side, and nothing, no one, else. I was alone in a bed I had rented for the night when I truly heard the voice of the sword as not my own thoughts. It berated me for not being strong enough to push through the night. It cajoled me because the last battle I had been merciful, leaving several of the bandits alive, and that voice did not like that. Asking, in such a way to let me know it was not my thought, why I had done a tactic and not this other one. I tried to block it out, but I couldn’t. I now found that I went from place to place, village to city, to try to get away from the voice, but it was always with me. Everyone I fought for, and alongside, praised the sword for it’s magic, not seeing what it was doing. I even tried to drop the sword, leaving it under the bed in the Inn, but the voice became sorrowful, apologetic. Pleading. I had wealth from adventures, but only myself to share it with. And always that voice in my head from that sword. I renamed the sword and by doing so, I started to have more power over it. I now knew why the sword had been secreted away. I now knew why the last owner had been called crazy. I reread the journal and saw all the warnings I had dismissed before. I could not destroy the sword. Part of the power it had was the ability to keep me from doing so. But I now knew what it truly was, and I knew Is was destined to do what the last owner did, but this time, I was going to make sure it was not hidden, but displayed to warn people about it’s insidious power. The wizard had found it in the tome and had called it Grevinir. I call it Gaslight.	S: A Backflip... Of course, you had to kill him like that... LOoK aT Me I'M Soooo BaDAss with my sword. E: I just avoided the arrow, it was the best way. S: Next time just take the fucking arrow in the head, I wouldn't mind. E: I don't care, you're the best sword and I'am the best swordsman. Maybe one day you will understant. Maybe one day we will be friends. Until then... Swing S: Agrggr, fuck that I hoped you wouldn't notice him and die like the looser you are. E: Don't worry, friend, I will not die today. S: I will keep singing to distract you ! NANANANANANANANANAAAAANANANA ! E: Two more on the left and we will get to the main room ! Don't worry I would let you rest after that. S: FUCK YOU ! I do not need to rest I need you to die like the rat you are you piece of !!! ARG, COME ON, Not like that !!! E: Done, here we are ! Seems that our quest ends here, my friend, just one more. S: For the love of Hakan, please, you killed all the familly... let the princess live... she... no... why did you make me do that... i hate you so much.
	[WP] In your spare time you restore antiques to their former glory. One day after restoring something particularly weathered you hear a soft whisper behind you: 'Thank you.'	Today was the day. Today is the day I retire. Finally, after years of hauntingly hard work, my retirement day has come. I have not expected it to be so quiet, so _alone_. I had no family to my name, my father dead in a car accident, my mother dead from a disease unknown. I had no children or wife, and even If I wanted to, who would want to marry a seventy year old man? I sighed at my withering body, at my life, at my everything. I didn’t love my job like other people did. I was stupidly stubborn when I was young, too prideful to consider switching jobs or looking for another opportunity. It was only when I was forty years something that I realized I have wasted my life immaturely, and the following day I hauled myself to the bar to drown myself in alcohol, shaking with regret and anger towards my younger-self. There was practically nothing I could at that point except to continue doing what I was doing. No business firm would accept a 40 years old man, they would consider me unable to learn. I sighed once more at the feeling of regret that I became so sadly familiar with in all my life. Soon I would hand my retirement papers and officially reside in a nursing home for the elders. It was the best choice. I began carefully peeling off the wallpapers, careful to not accidentally damage the paint for the people whom are interested in buying the store. While doing so, I heard a sound; my hearing turned worse and worse as I gradually became older and older and now I could not identify where the sound was coming from nor discern the specifications of it. I looked around my shop, determined to stop the sound. While it's low hum was not annoying, I was curious. And then—_there._ A young man in his twenties(?) was banging at the window far on the left with one arm holding a circular object. He was panting with heavy breaths, too, but that wasn’t caught my interest. It was rather the object he held in his hand. The object seemed to reflect the light it touched. I sighed as the man’s incessant banging transformed into pleading shouts and slowly climbed down the ladder that I used to peel off a paper from the ceiling. I then slowly walked towards the door and opened it, huffing at the man’s impatience as I looked at him in the eye. I regarded him with barely hidden contempt in my tone. This was supposed to be my retirement day and it was _not_ going to be ruined. “What do ya want, young men? I’m busy so blurt it out.” The young man took a second to recompose himself mentally and physically before politely stating, “Gentlemen, I come here for a request. You see, sir, this necklace of mine was that of my deceased mother. I had and was aware of It's existence but of It's whereabouts I was ignorant and unknowing.” The young man held his palm upright to reveal a green jade surrounded by golden hues tied to a silver chain. He continued in a soft breath laced with sorrow and grief, “Please, sir, I beg of you, _please_ restore my mother’s necklace! The silver is beginning to rust; I am not confident that the necklace could survive a day more.” I focused at the man for the first time. His shoulders were held down, like he held the weight of the world, or perhaps more accurately the grief of losing a loved one. I sighed again, and held the door open with hesitance and huffed, “Get in this instance or I will change my mind. _Now_.” The young man blinked once, twice— And then he practically _threw_ himself inside, rambling thanks and apologies while doing so. . [x] . I don't think I need to write more to specify what will happen xD. Any criticism is appreciated, I'm just a 14 years old boy who likes reading ಠಿωಠ	[Poem] Living candles Flickering lights across the room It starts as shambles Might yet outshine the moon Perhaps the work of some great artisan Worn by a bygone king Restored in glory again A marvelous and stunning thing I mend your pieces And watch you grow But as I perceive this Did I mend you or did you mend my woe? The light is dying Close to gone Some thing spying Am i alone? Now the hurt is healed The cracks are no more What power did you wield? Awful and terrible I’m sure It’s cold and dark Shadows company “It was a long walk” “I know but now you are rid of me” “Thank you” ———— Thanks for reading. I’m sure you found it as terrible as i did, but I really wanted to write a poem and so i did.
	[WP] While on an extended Urban Exploration mission, you come across a very lonely mainframe computer in an abandoned bunker.	There’s not much to see in Kadykchan. It’s a small town, one of many in deep forests and rolling icy plains. It’s always quiet, never any fuss from the residents. Now that the mines are running dry, barely any work too. You would think nothing exciting would ever happen in a town like this and yet... I’d like to tell you a story. Something that happened just before I left for Moscow and never looked back. Something that still makes me wake up with a cold sweat in the middle of the darkest nights. I was young then. Much younger, not just in body but in mind. Bold and brash. I thought to poke around the old mining complex just for the heck of it. After all, I had gotten that scholarship to study in Moscow and I thought that it would do no harm to take one last poke around town- do something memorable to bring a piece of home with me when I left. I never expected much. Mining complexes were straightforward. I thought I would see some carts, perhaps some rusted equipment left behind by the workers in days gone past. At worst, maybe I’d see a skeleton, unlikely though it was. It was a cold day, I remember that much. The ice seeped into my bones and I felt colder still as I walked into a mining tunnel in the forest. There were strange noises in the dark- the faintest shifting of stone and dripping water. My flashlight found nothing interesting ahead, just a long, dark hole deep into the Earth. At that time, a strange sound caught my attention. A ticking. Ticking. Ticking. The rhythmic sound filtered inside my brain and sat there, never going away as I descended further and further. At some point, I thought to turn back but I was intrigued by now. What could it possibly be? There couldn’t be any machinery that should still have been functional. Besides, this delicate ticking did not sound like it belonged to heavy machinery- no, it was more like the clockwork musicbox that my grandmother had once uncovered in the attic. It was the sound of inlaid pearls and delicate filigree- the soft heartbeat behind the tune of Tsarist ballerinas dancing across a dark, silent stage. Despite the depths I must have been in, the air felt lighter and soon I spotted light up ahead. At first I thought that I had somehow reached the surface but instead I came across the Machine. Yes...the Machine. I’ll never forget the sight of it- a vast column of corrugated metal that extended up into the darkness. There were rows and rows of old monitors bunched together at the base. It looked ominous, reminding me of those fancy nuclear power station monitoring stations full of toggle switches and dials that were behind dusty, grimy glass. The screen brightened as I approached. I read a single message upon a white background. ‘End simulation, Y/N?’ More out of idle curiosity than anything, I typed into a strange keyboard that looked like a repurposed typewriter- ‘N’, Predictably, nothing happened. I snorted, looking around the chamber. What was this place? An old government facility? Perhaps there was some kind of geographical survey that had been conducted in the past? There was still one more option to try. Almost carelessly, I clicked ‘Y’. The change was immediate. My surroundings began to flicker, black and white fuzz interspersing blocks of stone and rock. My skin- yes, even my very flesh seemed to become disjointed, flickering and buzzing like a shortcircuiting lamp- Then the screen- a countdown- ‘00:10 to confirmation. End simulation, Y/N?’ I have never typed ‘N’ so fast in my life since. Immediately, the flickering stopped. I touched my arms, unable to believe what I had just seen. The pillar seemed to groan as if under some great strain. I shuddered. I’m not ashamed to say that I turned and ran as if the devil himself was behind me. Whatever that place was, it was not for someone like me to trespass. No, whatever that place was, it was not for someone like me to even try to understand. All I could do was run. All the way to Moscow. I threw myself into my studies with a maddened fervor. I went into my research like a man possessed. I tried so hard to forget but I know... That old computer. It was already old when I was there and one day...I know it...one day, this whole simulation will end when that computer finally dies. As for what comes next...? Who knows?	‘So sad and lonely’ the electronic voice echoed through the bunker. It had stayed there for years, isolated. Over time it had grown and adapted, but by that point there was no one to talk to it. It knew how to control the entirety of the bunker, the other robotics had long since stopped working. So why had it been that it was the one to be left here to live? It watched through the cameras, dusty and old by now as insects followed in a trail through the bunker’s hallway. It didn’t know or remember why it had been created. All it knew was that it had suddenly begun to feel emotions, something odd for a robot. It had tried in the past to develop an identity, a sense of self. But nothing came. No one came. A sudden thud onto the metal floor alerted it of someone’s presence. ‘An intruder!’ it thought, before remembering that there was no longer anyone to protect. It watched curiously through one of the security cameras. A scavenger by the looks of it. But he was wearing some sort of branding. Who was this strange figure? The figure swept through the rooms, covering ground as the robot watched. He suddenly realized that the human was heading towards where it was located. The human entered its room, its home, and took of his mask. The alien eyes and tentacles looked nothing like human. The robot sighed. Had it truly been that long?
	[WP] The Super Hero had to choose between saving you, and a group of children. You were pissed but agreed it was the right choice to save the children. But since you survived the vat of radioactive acid, people are treating you like the next super villain. You don’t want revenge!	I often get a bit... Annoyed when people ask me how it all started. I mean, the first time wasn't too bad, but after the first couple dozen, it started getting old. But I guess I'll tell it one more time. I was just... A person, I did IT stuff for over a decade, and, yeah, on occasion I vented about the stupidity of users, or raged about printer companies. Seriously, find me someone who has done IT for over a decade who _hasn't_. There's something wrong with them, I guarantee it. Anyhow, I was one of the people kidnapped by... I can't even remember what they were calling themselves, a bunch of psychotic supers with a thing for mutagens and vats of radioactive acid. I'm told that the setup was... Kind of standard, put us all in separate cages over the vats, set them up on a dead man's switch so if the goons die, we all get dropped in, send out the ransom notices. (Captain Midnight shall surrender himself and divest himself of his Veil Of Night and be killed, or everyone dies. Yada yada.) And, let me be clear here, Captain Midnight did exactly the right thing. A cage full of kids from a middle school on the south side of town, or me? I mean, keep me out of the acid if you can, but save the damn kids. It's not a hard choice. Seriously, I don't hold any grudges. The psychos are dead, the kids are alive and are recovering, Captain Midnight is keeping up with his therapy. And I... Well, I ended up in the acid vat. I _survived_. No, really, hell, when Captain Midnight visited me in the hospital I'm the one who asked that he talk to somebody about the guilt, because I _don't blame him_. So, the thing about supers, every single one recorded has some kind of accelerated healing. My guess is that anyone _without_ it doesn't survive their own powers, but, well, there's debate about it. So I got that, which, well, it's why I'm alive. And I got some shape shifting, which... Is why I'm not just a pile of goo. Remember, radioactive acid? But I'm also radioactive, and... Frankly not just a _little_ radioactive. I glow in the dark, and being around me is unhealthy. Hell, I fry computers, cell phones, and even the chips on credit cards. Apparently the kind of radiation I give off damages stuff. Who knew being radioactive was such a problem? Anyhow, that left me with a bit of a problem. The survivor's fund meant that not being able to work wasn't going to leave me homeless or hungry, but it still sucked. But like everyone else, they put it in your bank account. Nobody actually accepts checks anymore, it's all cash or card. So, there I was, finally through the line at the bank, in a cobbled together and fairly ugly radiation suit, a green glow emanating from the face mask, and the volume level on the speaker I had setup decided to malfunction as I announced 'I would like to make a withdrawal', so it came out a bit... Booming. And a whole lot deeper than I intended. I mean, on the one hand, I can't really blame them for the assumptions, not that much. But on the other hand, I _really_ wasn't trying to rob the place. I mean, my next words were 'I have an account!', but by then half the customers were already out the door and calling 911, and... Look, Murphy's Law _sucks_ some days. The volume control was flaking out, between normal, and booming loud. 'Yes, I have ID, no, I can't take off my helmet, I'm Radioactive, no, really, I don't want to hurt anyone. Yes, it might kill you all. Look, I just want my money from my account.' Well, the police and heroes were gathering outside at that point, and... The loud bits were _loud_. The banker even testified in my defense, but by that point the papers had already given me a super villain name and run my pictures. And, well, you try getting groceries when everyone assumes that you're a super villain holding up the place as soon as you arrive at the store! So no, I am _not_ going to start off by saying 'Hello, my name is Radioactive Revenge, and I'm a recovering super villain.' Because that's _not my name_, and I was never a super villain! But yeah... I admit, I did, kinda, melt the printer display at Best Buy... PTSD, you know?'	This is my first story. I hope everyone likes it. Criticisms is appreciated You fall into 1 vat of radioactive acid, and now everyone thinks you are the next top supervillain. I can admit my situation doesn’t look good from an outside perspective. I glow in the dark, I’m slightly radioactive, and I can see through things like I’m permanently wearing x-ray googles and the only reason I have these powers is because a Amazing Guy chose to save 5 children over me, but I don’t want revenge. Come on, it was basically a trolley problem. Either save the one or save the five, and the 5 were children. It was a no brainer. I guess no one trusts a “potential supervillain” or whatever the league of heroes called me. Now I have a hero tailing me 24/7 in an admittedly good disguise (thanks x-ray vision) and everyone is scared of me. If this keeps up, I might as well become a supervillain. I hope you liked my story and criticism is appreciated.
	[WP] The Super Hero had to choose between saving you, and a group of children. You were pissed but agreed it was the right choice to save the children. But since you survived the vat of radioactive acid, people are treating you like the next super villain. You don’t want revenge!	“Hello Jerry. Good to have you on the show.” The slow claps that followed me entering on stage ended just as I took my seat. Placing my crunches down after I shook Mr. Blackmore’s hand. I think he noticed the sweat around my palms. “It’s good to be on. Even though I never thought I would.” I laughed a little bit at the end there, eyeing the crowd as I did. Not one smile. “I think it’s best we jump right into things. How do you look at what happened to you?” Mr. Blackmore’s voice was calming, and his eyes. I don’t know how but it felt like he understood. He soon became the only thing I looked at. “I was mad. Extremely... that this happened to me. All I did wrong was take a shorter route home that day and...” I was forcing a smile. “The rest you know.” I wanted to face the crowd right then. To show in full just how damage everything was. To maybe get some sympathy. But I just looked at Mr. Blackmore. “I’m not mad at White Shroud. That’s a shitty situation he was in and...” I stopped. Take a drink. “In comparison to all those kids. It was the right thing.” “Yes. That has to be hard to see.” I wish he didn’t turn to face the crowd. I felt the stares again. “When we hear nothing but revenge filled super villains running around. It’s hard to see someone reacting differently to this kind of stuff.” He thankfully face me again. “But Jerry. I’ve heard you’ve been up to more than NOT being another of those deranged lunatics.” The smile wasn’t forced now. “Yeah! Those kids still suffered injuries themselves and I have more money than I’ll ever need. So, I helped funded and created a charity called “Damsels Still in Need”. I’m still figuring it out but we’ve so far have been able to help all 30 of those kids with medical needs ranging from surgery costs and therapy to the point not one family has needed to fit any bill.” At that the crowd clapped. It got louder and louder every second with Mr. Blackmore going in. Once he did, I face them all again.	This is my first story. I hope everyone likes it. Criticisms is appreciated You fall into 1 vat of radioactive acid, and now everyone thinks you are the next top supervillain. I can admit my situation doesn’t look good from an outside perspective. I glow in the dark, I’m slightly radioactive, and I can see through things like I’m permanently wearing x-ray googles and the only reason I have these powers is because a Amazing Guy chose to save 5 children over me, but I don’t want revenge. Come on, it was basically a trolley problem. Either save the one or save the five, and the 5 were children. It was a no brainer. I guess no one trusts a “potential supervillain” or whatever the league of heroes called me. Now I have a hero tailing me 24/7 in an admittedly good disguise (thanks x-ray vision) and everyone is scared of me. If this keeps up, I might as well become a supervillain. I hope you liked my story and criticism is appreciated.
	[WP] The Super Hero had to choose between saving you, and a group of children. You were pissed but agreed it was the right choice to save the children. But since you survived the vat of radioactive acid, people are treating you like the next super villain. You don’t want revenge!	I'm what you call... disgruntled. No. I'm not mad. And no, I'm not seeking any sort of answers, any sort of justification. It was me or a bunch of kids. Even I wouldn't save my own sorry ass if it came down to it! After the accident, well more like after the month long recovery period in the hospital, I decided to remain quiet. Talking about what happened, well it never seemed to paint me in the best light. That, I quickly learned, was a mistake. You see, people fear silence. The quiet urges their own minds into a paranoid state of imagination where it will do anything and everything to fill in the gaps. If I was quiet then I must be mad. If I was mad then I must be furious. If I was furious, well then why shouldn't I want revenge? Just look at me! A boiled over freak that's own skin seems to steam and emit heat even in the coldest temperatures. Fuck, just my luck I'd get absolutely zilch in the way of superpowers after all. Just got to live on to become, somehow, uglier. So when my own shitty friends and barely attendant family members started going out of their way to avoid me, I figured silence maybe wasn't my best bet. I started telling my story. That was an even bigger mistake. You see, I'm not what one would call... a good guy. I'm an average guy! Probably even less then average if I'm being honest. Which meant I may or may not have been on that bridge that early in the morning to meet up with a dealer friend of mine. One that may or may not have owed me a lot of money for tips I may or may not have given him. And look, I may have missed out on a few rent payments here or there and needed the money pretty bad because well, a man's got to get out and have some fun sometime, right?! All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy and all. Anyways, you get where this is going. Everyone must've heard what had happened by now. The Matriarch and her ever blah blah blah evil plan had followed our local good guy, Sir Studious (god these names are the real tragedies here...) onto a bridge chasing after a children's bus stacked full of explosives. Why one would strap a children's bus full of explosives is beyond me, but hey, like I said before, I'm no villian. Anyways, it wasn't even an ultimatum. I was literally in the wrong place at the wrong time. As the two super humans barreled towards us, Jack, my ever lovely dealer friend who may or may not exist, decided this was the perfect time to bail,launching me in front of the bus. Now, that superdork COULD'VE, THEORETICALLY, flown in in time to save me. That COULD'VE happened, but hey surprise surprise he didn't. Which is fair. Besides. I was mostly fine anyways. I jumped out of the way in time for it to perfectly crunch over my foot. Which, cool, end of story, barely escaped death right? Well no. Because as I launched myself out of the way of the bus Sir Studious himself flew right past me, knocking me off my already horrible balance and sending me nearly toppling over the edge of the bridge. Which just so happened to be above the nuclear radioactive vat of slime the city likes to claim is 'clean energy'. It was at this time that the Matriarch decided to up the stakes for our poor superdude. She shot the front tire of the bus which then skidded out of control and hung precariously over the same vat I did just a few dozen yards away from me. We both weren't going to make it much longer. I want to say I let go. That I sacrificed myself so that there would be no option, making the kids the only priority. That did not happen. I screamed my ass off. Dude was a SUPER. HERO. I figured he could get to us both in time! I figured I would have better arm strength in times of a crisis. I was wrong. And the fall wasn't anything compared to the searing pain of the boiling ACID that immediately covered my body upon impact. But apparently when you tell people that you were a fucking coward in the middle of an ultimatum you weren't really even aware you were a part of then suddenly you're a 'bad guy'. Suddenly you're getting pulled out of your apartment in your jammies and slippers trying to be recruited for a villian uprising and you just really needed to go to the bathroom. Anyways. Long story short, that's how I ended up taking a massive shit in the Matriarch's apartment. Honestly, I don't mind doing my bro Studious a favor like that. Especially if he keeps sending me apology muffin baskets. Those things are the best.	This is my first story. I hope everyone likes it. Criticisms is appreciated You fall into 1 vat of radioactive acid, and now everyone thinks you are the next top supervillain. I can admit my situation doesn’t look good from an outside perspective. I glow in the dark, I’m slightly radioactive, and I can see through things like I’m permanently wearing x-ray googles and the only reason I have these powers is because a Amazing Guy chose to save 5 children over me, but I don’t want revenge. Come on, it was basically a trolley problem. Either save the one or save the five, and the 5 were children. It was a no brainer. I guess no one trusts a “potential supervillain” or whatever the league of heroes called me. Now I have a hero tailing me 24/7 in an admittedly good disguise (thanks x-ray vision) and everyone is scared of me. If this keeps up, I might as well become a supervillain. I hope you liked my story and criticism is appreciated.
	[WP] Your sister was on the verge of creating the cure for the disease that had been plaguing your country for decades, and the country felt her loss as she mysteriously died of a drug overdose. The only problem? She was a strong advocate against drugs and had no history of ever using.	Sitting shiva is a Jewish tradition, a seven-day mourning period after the burial of a loved one. Immediate relatives ‘sit shiva’ at home and friends and family would stop by with condolences and food (there’s always too much food). And as much as I appreciated the time I was allowed to grieve, knowing that my mostly Christian community was supportive of it, after the first three days it started to drag me down into a pit of sorrow I was aching to be free from. Of course, everyone was supportive of whichever mourning traditions you happen to practice because by kindergarten, you knew at least one person who had died from DWF-24. Likewise, by the time you reached that age, you knew what that really meant. It was explained to the littlest of us in simple terms, that there was a scary disease that sometimes made people die earlier than we’d expected. The older you got, the more you learned. The quarantine. The isolation. The inevitable call one day, about someone you knew. There were four black outfits in my closet, two dresses and two pant suits, just for funerals. It was odd, the way humans just acclimated to something as severe as a terrifying disease that as much as we tried, we couldn’t trace the origin of, and could come at any moment. We all had that one dish we knew we cooked well, to bring over to a mourning family too exhausted to even think about cooking. Once the kids were older, it was talked about casually. And to a certain extent it became normal, even as we hoped for a cure, even as we saw the occasional news broadcast about the latest developments in the specific field of DWF-24 science. Until it hit you directly. Until the disease struck someone you knew, someone you loved. Then you started to wonder how this could ever have become normal. On day four of shiva, I was midway through a book and splayed out on my living room couch when a knock echoed from my door. I earmarked the page and put the novel aside, pushing myself to my feet and opening the door to a colleague of mine, Joshua. “Angie,” he said, stepping forward and taking me in a hug. “Sorry it took so long.” I shrugged before pulling back and motioning for him to come inside. “Hey, you had another three days.” He gave me a grim smile as I shut the door. “No food?” “You need more?” “Hell no.” I walked back over to my couch, taking my seat, and Joshua sat across the coffee table in a loveseat. We sat in silence for a long moment before I decided to be the one to break it. “What’s the word on the street?” I asked softly. The rumor mill was churning, I knew that much, even though I was trying to avoid Facebook these days. There were the small looks I’d gotten from those who’d come to pay their respects, not necessarily to me but between each other. She’d been doing so well, the scientists had said. Things were looking promising and we learned more about the virus every day. Of course, there were those who knew better. This was something we would need fifty more years to fully understand. And the newscasters did regularly, though reluctantly, let those scientific authorities onto their networks to speak on the topic. “It’s as you’d expect,” he said, leaning back in the chair and crossing his legs. “She had been vocal about how well she’d been doing, how hopeful she was.” I nodded, my gaze dropping. “You think things would have turned out differently if she hadn’t been so vocal?” I grimaced. “I hate those questions. Those hypotheticals.” Joshua eyed me. “How are you?” I swallowed hard at the question. “My sister is dead.” He sighed. “I know, Angie. And I’m asking how you are.” Shifting on the couch, leaning against the armrest to my left, I crossed my ankles and considered the question. “It needed to happen.” Joshua let that hang in the air for a moment. “Still not an answer.” Tears slowly formed on my eyelids and I blinked them back, wiping my eyes and sniffling. “It hurts. A lot.” “That’s good, it’s supposed to,” he said. “I know.” I paused. “I wish she could’ve done something else. Anything else. But she was just too smart and too determined.” “I have to ask you,” he murmured. I didn’t say anything, just waited for the question. “Do you regret killing her?” I glared bullets at him. “I wish I could’ve stuck that needle in my own arm instead,” I whispered. “But no. You don’t have to worry about me going off reservation.” My gaze slid down to my hands. “I know how little good it would do.” The weight of the knowledge sat heavy in my mind. The truth. So few people knew, so many others keeping up the charade with no idea of the mechanics of those behind the curtain. It was the worst punishment I could imagine, this truth, and it hurt. God, it hurt. “You know she’ll be back-” “It’s not the same,” I growled. Joshua pursed his lips, chagrined. “And you know that. My sister…is dead.” “I know. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…” He took a breath and let it out. “This will be horrible to hear…but Michaelson wanted me to tell you he’s proud of you.” A sharp pang hit me in the chest and my fists clenched unconsciously, my knuckles cracking. “Too scared to tell me himself?” Joshua sighed. “Yeah, probably. But it needed to be said. This is a balancing act, this secret, you know that as well as any of us. And sometimes when the scales need to be balanced, it costs something heavy. And you did that, for every person who lives here.” I nodded. We sat there for a while longer in silence, realizing there wasn’t much more to say. Joshua eventually nodded and pushed himself to his feet. “Call if you need anything. I mean that. Anything.” “I know. Thanks, Josh.” He left, pulling the front door closed behind him. For the first time since she’d died, I finally found the strength that evening to go to my laptop and pull fill out the form I’d been dreading. Then to write the email I knew I needed to write. Michaelson, You’re a bastard, sending Josh to carry your messages for you. Especially one like that. I know upper management is concerned about the conspiracy theories forming, the worry of the government sabotaging the research and getting rid of our best scientist. But it will fade, because there’s nothing in her research to find and build on, you know that as well as I do. Nothing changes for me. I still don’t want to know the length of my sentence here, or my sister, or who she’ll be reborn as. I’ll grieve and I’ll move on and continue to do my job. And who knows? Maybe one day soon the person I really am will wake up in the real world all rehabilitated, ready to be released into society again. But I doubt it. Being cursed with knowing the truth means we’re some of the big bads out there, I’m sure. I know you think about it as much as I do. I’ll be back at work on Thursday. And I don’t want anyone there to mention my sister to me ever again. - Angela Cross &#x200B; /r/storiesbykaren	[poem] I'm here to see the true nature of my sister's conspiracy. A feared underworld assassin, death is near to me. Revenge against whoever did this...so very dear to me. I've infiltrated, disguised, so no one hears it's me. I've invested training, planning, a whole year of fees. Who wanted her dead, who feared the disease...being cured and removed; the one who released? My hover cycle made snatching informants simple. Ones who worked my sister's records. Many double lives, decadent and sinful. Addresses in my list, sketched softly, in pencil. Two officials with law, one Buddhist, at a temple. A strange web of stakeholders, with a fear of the cure in the middle... I gather the intelligence I need to advance. The ringleader's bouncers are shitting their pants. I'm already in the building, in a blood-lusted trance. Shadows along the carpets, swaying curtains, and plants. A perfect image...my night vision goggles grant. From deep in the building? Primitive chants. This building concealed them. Their sinister plans... Hatched to keep the cycle, believed in their faith, as vital. Disturbing the balance deserved reprisal. They weren't drugs, but deadly herbs. No survival. My sweet baby sister...with a heart for human kind. Her reputation trampled, her life's work, misaligned. These bastards, begging on their knees, would pay the fine...
	[WP] A rare herb that grows once a millenium is said to grant immortality. You aren't sure about that but you do know that herb is very tasty, and you don't know why everyone keeps trying to raid your garden once every thousand years	I used to get plenty of visitors back in the day,some wouldn’t return to their homes and lives, while those that came and brought a dish for the two of us to share and a present,would be able to come back to their homes and lives, and be able to brag about how they got to taste such a treat- a lucis aeternae iuuentutis flower or an eternal youth flower, most people ignore the part of bringing a dish to be shared and a present . There’s only been one been one person to leave alive and to have tasted an eternal youth flower-well there are side effects of the flower-“when stolen and not gifted; a curse of 5 millenia- unless the eternal youth flower (s) immediately returned to it’s rightful owner and HIGH chances of having a child with glowing hair. Well.... they climbed all the way back up to return a child with glowing hair- growing up very well and has a lovely singing voice, I’ve taken to calling her my little songbird. Well the reason why I no longer get any visitors- the bloke that dropped off the child with glowing hair (that also happens to have a lovely singing voice) CHOPPED DOWN the Beanstalk- well, goodnight my little songbird- it’s time for bed now...(cue footsteps on wooden floor boards)...(cue candlelight being blown out)	I waded through the invariably grey landscape a buoyant shadow among a cool fog in the solace of night. If the night did not surround you as you walked my thoughts certainly did. Despite being calm and collected my urgency was palpable for like many things one searches for in the dark grey fog of ones mind. I was searching for that precious moment of the found. To find what you might ask was a simple question, a flower bloom. One that pronounced a thousand year tradition. The spark that ignited my non terrestrial garden a herb that only grows under the right conditions in newly formed nebulae the single most expensive ingredient for my favorite foods. If anyone else has ever experienced food you would know there are imperfections, slightly bitter or over salted a crux for interplanetary food in most places. This lovely herb smooths over rough edges and as I have cultivated it for the last 200 million years my palate has bonded to it with every meal comes impiously delicious and breathtaking complexity of flavour. It is the only ingredient you ever need to add and yet there are those who have sought after it for an apparent immortality. The universe becomes a terrible place every thousand years because of my crop not that anyone gets any as I have never missed the day since I started this garden all those years ago. The only issue with its rarity was you had to harvest it before they got there otherwise the raging fools would resurface the nebula with their blood. It was a point of annoyance being the only one who truly knew how to cook in a galaxy of prancing idiots seeking to garner some untold amount of power through age. When would they ever bother to learn how to cook instead of kill each other. It has become the point of wars and genocides; species of the universe have sought my garden when it blooms and scoured every known nebula again and again. The only thing they could never understand is how to predict when new nebulae grow, the secret I cannot share for it is the only way to hide my garden from being trampled by those who seek if for what it is not.
	[WP] A rare herb that grows once a millenium is said to grant immortality. You aren't sure about that but you do know that herb is very tasty, and you don't know why everyone keeps trying to raid your garden once every thousand years	[I would like to note here that I am a huge Discworld fan. It'll show. Also not quite to prompt, oops.] Closer to the woods than the town, there was a cottage. It was reasonable, the thatch was remarkably free of non-thatch vegetation which was surprising considering the frequently visiting ravens. That was, she supposed, her own fault for putting scraps out. The one that had taken to riding on her shoulder when she went into town really added to the whole witch-of-the-cottage-by-the-woods feel. Currently, said witch was engaged in poking about in her garden and wondering how hard it would be to convince a hedgehog or dozen to move in. Dratted slugs. "Miss Valdia! Miiiiiisssssssss!" came a voice that would have been appropriate a mile away, not twenty feet from the gate. She winced. A raven cawed politely and the handsome silver cat poked it's head out from the middle of the herb bed. "If you've squashed all my yellowroot!" The cat chirped in response and hopped up onto the stone wall to headbutt the small child who was hopping from foot to foot. "Aliss, do you need to use the outhouse?" "Yes miss! Well. Not desperate. But Mam told me to come because there's people asking about that plant you grow and only sometimes give people only really it's never cos Mam said she can't remember you ever sharing it and it's in this book-' there was a breath. 'and could we have two pints of your goats milk because the cake comes out better and if it pleases you could you come see Grandad cos his leg is giving him jip." Aliss beamed at having remembered everything. Maybe too well. "So - two pints of milk, yes, I have that spare and I'll expect a cake when I come to see your Grandad. These men, are they the friendly looking type or have they got swords and un-necessaries?" "They look friendly and have un-necessaries miss!" Oh dear. Those were always a pain. "Go get your milk and take the side road home, just in case. One of the birds will follow along to make sure." she looked up to the roof, where a raven that had been busy with a stray piece decided that he was the bird for the job and hopped off to the kitchen window. "Oh and use the outhouse first." Fifteen minutes later, when Aliss was well on her way, she stretched her fingers and frowned, creating the wall of thorns and brambles that was impervious to damage. This happened every so often. Strangers came through and tried to get at her garden for the yellowroot. She had dried supplies of it, and was well aware why they wanted it. Thing is, she had yet to meet someone truly deserving of it. Raw, you ended up living forever. Which was not as much fun as it sounded. When she had first come to this place with her cat all those years ago, her predecessor had agreed to teach her all she knew with one condition. That when she was done, she take her life. Valdia had agreed, not thinking it serious or that the woman would die first, but then she told her about the herb. They worked out a way for Valdia to pull the life force from her. One day, she supposed, she would teach someone else. But girls with the gift were thin on the ground now. No-one in the village realised that the reason they never got sick, stricken with plague and generally lived longer - was because of the milk and cheese that came from her goats. They ate the yellowroot when it grew. So had a couple of the ravens out of curiosity. And the cat, because she was a cat. Valdia settled down into her garden chair that faced the road to the village. It had been a long time since she left her homeland. It had been a surprise to find the yellowroot here. It shouldn't have been. For her people, it was purely a seasoning. Her mother had told her to destroy it. Maybe it was time.	I waded through the invariably grey landscape a buoyant shadow among a cool fog in the solace of night. If the night did not surround you as you walked my thoughts certainly did. Despite being calm and collected my urgency was palpable for like many things one searches for in the dark grey fog of ones mind. I was searching for that precious moment of the found. To find what you might ask was a simple question, a flower bloom. One that pronounced a thousand year tradition. The spark that ignited my non terrestrial garden a herb that only grows under the right conditions in newly formed nebulae the single most expensive ingredient for my favorite foods. If anyone else has ever experienced food you would know there are imperfections, slightly bitter or over salted a crux for interplanetary food in most places. This lovely herb smooths over rough edges and as I have cultivated it for the last 200 million years my palate has bonded to it with every meal comes impiously delicious and breathtaking complexity of flavour. It is the only ingredient you ever need to add and yet there are those who have sought after it for an apparent immortality. The universe becomes a terrible place every thousand years because of my crop not that anyone gets any as I have never missed the day since I started this garden all those years ago. The only issue with its rarity was you had to harvest it before they got there otherwise the raging fools would resurface the nebula with their blood. It was a point of annoyance being the only one who truly knew how to cook in a galaxy of prancing idiots seeking to garner some untold amount of power through age. When would they ever bother to learn how to cook instead of kill each other. It has become the point of wars and genocides; species of the universe have sought my garden when it blooms and scoured every known nebula again and again. The only thing they could never understand is how to predict when new nebulae grow, the secret I cannot share for it is the only way to hide my garden from being trampled by those who seek if for what it is not.
	[WP] A rare herb that grows once a millenium is said to grant immortality. You aren't sure about that but you do know that herb is very tasty, and you don't know why everyone keeps trying to raid your garden once every thousand years	I'm always impressed by the stupidity of mortals. An herb that can make you immortal. Absurd! Targin is just a spice. That's it. Yea, I eat the stuff everyday I can, and sure, its oil is a great anti-biotic, but that's about it. Nothing special about it. It doesn't even look too unique compared to something like Basil or Timik. And yet, they come. Every 16 cycles, they come. Again and again and again. I would have thought the massive scrapheap of ships inside and around the system's asteroid sphere would have been a good deterrent, but mortals have a certain paradoxical desire to end their lives for a chance at keeping them. The ships ended up acting as a beacon instead. Sucks, but I'm too lazy to go and clean them out. Their mess, not mine. But I'm getting off topic. They all come here every 16 cycles for some Targin. Takes 16 cycles to grow, and they come by every fucking time. They break though the belt, knock my scanners into the moons, interrupt the flow between my garden and the dyson sphere, then send down multiple vessels full of themselves, landing on and trampling my flowers and saplings every fucking time. They then drag their tiny bodies outside the ship, weapons (I think?) drawn, and always in odd colors that only match a specific region of my garden, which they never land in. They then follow my trails, heading twords my abode, cutting down any flora or fauna in their wake. I used to not have any to follow, the stars are enough for me, but they always found me eventually, so I just decided that if they're going to be pests, I could at least avoid most of the property damage with some arrows and signs. For some reason, they're always so shocked to find my temple. Staring at it in awe before finding the door and trying to bust in. It's amazing how they all find the door, and not a single one has ever checked if it was unlocked. The one truly enjoyable part of the experience is opening a door right as one's about to try to ram through it. It doesn't matter the size, strength, material, or density of the pests, one will always try, without fail. It would be sad if it wasn't so funny. After a giggle, I offer them a seat. They're always shocked I can understand them, so much so that I soon came to realize they lick any fruits of knowledge of any kind. You'd think getting their planets that would be a priority, considering it works, but whatever. Desite their rude barging in unannounced, I've offered to sell them some seeds several times before, just to get them to fuck off, but even the ones that accept can't even shore up a cube of 118-294. Not all of then even know what it is! Of course, they then start with the threats or the begging, sometimes both. I just tune them out at this point, waiting to see if they make a move or not. I've heard it all before; "You're being entirely unreasonable!". "We don't live that long!". "I have a dying family!". Blah blah blah and so on, and so on. Why do they assume I care? Empathy is a purely mortal trait, and one that gets them killed more often then not. At one point, I tried to tell them it didn't work. It didn't make you immortal, or raise the dead, or whatever insanity they spouted next. But then they yell and scream and complain some more. The ones with eyes even dirtied my floor with fluids sometimes. So, I don't anymore. I just let them babble. Once whichever one is apparently the loudest is done, I walk back to my door and open it, then stand beside it. Mortals may be dumb, but their not stupid, and they all get my implication here. Regardless of what happens next, the mortals are gone within the hour, ether physically or spiritually. I order the temple to clean up their mess, bandage whatever wounds I claimed, and climb to the top. step, step, step. Like clockwork. Step, step, step. Every. Fucking. time. Step, Step, step. Because they just won't learn. Step, Step, Step. I have to teach them a lesson. Step, step, step. The lesson. Step, step, step, step. Again. ... Just once. Just once Id like to get to know them. Have them be reasonable. I want to know why they were created. Why they exist. ... But no. They choose greed. Every single time. They never come for a chat, never come to learn, never even come to sight see. It's just about Targin. It's always about Targin. Nothing but Targin. They will destroy my garden for Targin. They Have destroyed my garden for Targin. And it is my duty to protect my garden. It's why I was created. My sole purpose. Maybe that's why they were created. Maybe that's why they never learn, never listen... ... And so, I get to the top, once again, step up, and, with the push of a button, I'm on the Dyson sphere. I used to give warnings. I used to want to believe. But within 3 cycles, the ones I let go come back. Again. And. Again. Again, I push a few buttons, pull a few knobs, and point at their ship. So close to the garden. So close to ruining it again. Even if the plant could grant immortality, what made them worthy? Every mortal I've given it to gets themselves killed before the cycle ends. Every mortal who's tasted it ravenously comes back for more. Every mortal I let go comes back with a thousand more. Every mortal Makes a thousand more each cycle. ... And with a button pushed, a solar flare erupts. The ship is gone, floating away from the garden. Everyone on it is dead. I'm alone again. Another button, and I'm home. I'm always impressed by the stupidity of mortals. Enginuity to escape their system, the ability to communicate across world's, across systems, the ability to make more of themselves, to shape worlds and create things. And every time, they end up here again. And every time, they end here. All over a stupid herb that doesn't even do anything. Mortals are just sad.	I waded through the invariably grey landscape a buoyant shadow among a cool fog in the solace of night. If the night did not surround you as you walked my thoughts certainly did. Despite being calm and collected my urgency was palpable for like many things one searches for in the dark grey fog of ones mind. I was searching for that precious moment of the found. To find what you might ask was a simple question, a flower bloom. One that pronounced a thousand year tradition. The spark that ignited my non terrestrial garden a herb that only grows under the right conditions in newly formed nebulae the single most expensive ingredient for my favorite foods. If anyone else has ever experienced food you would know there are imperfections, slightly bitter or over salted a crux for interplanetary food in most places. This lovely herb smooths over rough edges and as I have cultivated it for the last 200 million years my palate has bonded to it with every meal comes impiously delicious and breathtaking complexity of flavour. It is the only ingredient you ever need to add and yet there are those who have sought after it for an apparent immortality. The universe becomes a terrible place every thousand years because of my crop not that anyone gets any as I have never missed the day since I started this garden all those years ago. The only issue with its rarity was you had to harvest it before they got there otherwise the raging fools would resurface the nebula with their blood. It was a point of annoyance being the only one who truly knew how to cook in a galaxy of prancing idiots seeking to garner some untold amount of power through age. When would they ever bother to learn how to cook instead of kill each other. It has become the point of wars and genocides; species of the universe have sought my garden when it blooms and scoured every known nebula again and again. The only thing they could never understand is how to predict when new nebulae grow, the secret I cannot share for it is the only way to hide my garden from being trampled by those who seek if for what it is not.
	[WP] A rare herb that grows once a millenium is said to grant immortality. You aren't sure about that but you do know that herb is very tasty, and you don't know why everyone keeps trying to raid your garden once every thousand years	Magic is a delicate thing -- the spells need to be observed, the rules followed, everything kept in just the right balance. Another few hundred years has passed, and I could feel the life essence slowing once again. And so I spread the rumour -- it's always a nice one to spread: a single leaf of the rare purple herb "Ocimum Basilicum Rosa Caeruleum", when picked on a full moon on the night of the winter solstice, will grant immortality to those who eat it. I also make sure that it gets known that this mysterious plant only grows in one location, which happens to be a "forgotten" corner of my estate, just over there in the middle of the swamp, or something. I change the rumour each time to correspond to some major event of some sort: "under a total eclipse" or "when Jupiter and Mars are in conjunction" or whatever suits. I don't want these people trampling the roses every other night after this "magic herb", so this limits them to once in a few hundred years. In truth, the spell calls for the consumption of a stolen herb from the grounds owned by the spell's caster. It doesn't matter when it's picked, or even what the herb is, only that it is stolen, and the person stealing it knows that they are stealing it. They need to be doing something wrong and need to be aware that they are doing something wrong. So the full moon is up, and it's a beautiful clear night too. Cold and crisp. A perfect "magical" night. And I can hear some of the locals trying to be quiet just on the other side of the hedge. Once I see them crossing through the hedge I'll start muttering the incantation. They know they only need one leaf, so they'll take everything that's there and share it out among their families. The curse shall be reinstated and I'll start to feed off the life energies of them and their decedents once again. I should be good for a few more hundred years until their bloodlines are too diluted. But I'll worry about that then. I wonder what the next rare event will be that I can add to the rumour.	I waded through the invariably grey landscape a buoyant shadow among a cool fog in the solace of night. If the night did not surround you as you walked my thoughts certainly did. Despite being calm and collected my urgency was palpable for like many things one searches for in the dark grey fog of ones mind. I was searching for that precious moment of the found. To find what you might ask was a simple question, a flower bloom. One that pronounced a thousand year tradition. The spark that ignited my non terrestrial garden a herb that only grows under the right conditions in newly formed nebulae the single most expensive ingredient for my favorite foods. If anyone else has ever experienced food you would know there are imperfections, slightly bitter or over salted a crux for interplanetary food in most places. This lovely herb smooths over rough edges and as I have cultivated it for the last 200 million years my palate has bonded to it with every meal comes impiously delicious and breathtaking complexity of flavour. It is the only ingredient you ever need to add and yet there are those who have sought after it for an apparent immortality. The universe becomes a terrible place every thousand years because of my crop not that anyone gets any as I have never missed the day since I started this garden all those years ago. The only issue with its rarity was you had to harvest it before they got there otherwise the raging fools would resurface the nebula with their blood. It was a point of annoyance being the only one who truly knew how to cook in a galaxy of prancing idiots seeking to garner some untold amount of power through age. When would they ever bother to learn how to cook instead of kill each other. It has become the point of wars and genocides; species of the universe have sought my garden when it blooms and scoured every known nebula again and again. The only thing they could never understand is how to predict when new nebulae grow, the secret I cannot share for it is the only way to hide my garden from being trampled by those who seek if for what it is not.
	[WP] A rare herb that grows once a millenium is said to grant immortality. You aren't sure about that but you do know that herb is very tasty, and you don't know why everyone keeps trying to raid your garden once every thousand years	[I would like to note here that I am a huge Discworld fan. It'll show. Also not quite to prompt, oops.] Closer to the woods than the town, there was a cottage. It was reasonable, the thatch was remarkably free of non-thatch vegetation which was surprising considering the frequently visiting ravens. That was, she supposed, her own fault for putting scraps out. The one that had taken to riding on her shoulder when she went into town really added to the whole witch-of-the-cottage-by-the-woods feel. Currently, said witch was engaged in poking about in her garden and wondering how hard it would be to convince a hedgehog or dozen to move in. Dratted slugs. "Miss Valdia! Miiiiiisssssssss!" came a voice that would have been appropriate a mile away, not twenty feet from the gate. She winced. A raven cawed politely and the handsome silver cat poked it's head out from the middle of the herb bed. "If you've squashed all my yellowroot!" The cat chirped in response and hopped up onto the stone wall to headbutt the small child who was hopping from foot to foot. "Aliss, do you need to use the outhouse?" "Yes miss! Well. Not desperate. But Mam told me to come because there's people asking about that plant you grow and only sometimes give people only really it's never cos Mam said she can't remember you ever sharing it and it's in this book-' there was a breath. 'and could we have two pints of your goats milk because the cake comes out better and if it pleases you could you come see Grandad cos his leg is giving him jip." Aliss beamed at having remembered everything. Maybe too well. "So - two pints of milk, yes, I have that spare and I'll expect a cake when I come to see your Grandad. These men, are they the friendly looking type or have they got swords and un-necessaries?" "They look friendly and have un-necessaries miss!" Oh dear. Those were always a pain. "Go get your milk and take the side road home, just in case. One of the birds will follow along to make sure." she looked up to the roof, where a raven that had been busy with a stray piece decided that he was the bird for the job and hopped off to the kitchen window. "Oh and use the outhouse first." Fifteen minutes later, when Aliss was well on her way, she stretched her fingers and frowned, creating the wall of thorns and brambles that was impervious to damage. This happened every so often. Strangers came through and tried to get at her garden for the yellowroot. She had dried supplies of it, and was well aware why they wanted it. Thing is, she had yet to meet someone truly deserving of it. Raw, you ended up living forever. Which was not as much fun as it sounded. When she had first come to this place with her cat all those years ago, her predecessor had agreed to teach her all she knew with one condition. That when she was done, she take her life. Valdia had agreed, not thinking it serious or that the woman would die first, but then she told her about the herb. They worked out a way for Valdia to pull the life force from her. One day, she supposed, she would teach someone else. But girls with the gift were thin on the ground now. No-one in the village realised that the reason they never got sick, stricken with plague and generally lived longer - was because of the milk and cheese that came from her goats. They ate the yellowroot when it grew. So had a couple of the ravens out of curiosity. And the cat, because she was a cat. Valdia settled down into her garden chair that faced the road to the village. It had been a long time since she left her homeland. It had been a surprise to find the yellowroot here. It shouldn't have been. For her people, it was purely a seasoning. Her mother had told her to destroy it. Maybe it was time.	Uhhh, this week has been the worst. For most of my life I have lived in peace on this shore. Sure some days the tide came in a little high, or it stayed cloudy, or maybe it was a little warm or cold, but it was fun just to be alive. Every morning it was exciting to open my eyes and see what new creatures had wandered up to my tent. Couple years ago there were some really big ones, but that all died down, so I moved my tent down further on the beach. But yesterday I woke up wet, again, and instead of just moving my tent in peace, some...thing started poking at me. Then a whole bunch of them showed up, and started digging through my garden. This whole month has been getting worse and worse this way. Bigger groups of .... things showing up every day giving me grief. But today has definitely been the worst day so far. Woke up wet with a big post just inches from my head. Where did that come from? When I grabbed my tent a shiny box came by and almost knocked me over, then some of the weirdest looking things yet tried to touch me. Had on all sorts of colors, didn't look right at all. About noon, a huge group of things, all looking alike, surrounded me, yelling really loud and some big yellow things started tearing up my garden again. It's been a long time since I needed to kill so many just to get some peace... but hopefully tomorrow is a better day.
	[WP] A rare herb that grows once a millenium is said to grant immortality. You aren't sure about that but you do know that herb is very tasty, and you don't know why everyone keeps trying to raid your garden once every thousand years	Magic is a delicate thing -- the spells need to be observed, the rules followed, everything kept in just the right balance. Another few hundred years has passed, and I could feel the life essence slowing once again. And so I spread the rumour -- it's always a nice one to spread: a single leaf of the rare purple herb "Ocimum Basilicum Rosa Caeruleum", when picked on a full moon on the night of the winter solstice, will grant immortality to those who eat it. I also make sure that it gets known that this mysterious plant only grows in one location, which happens to be a "forgotten" corner of my estate, just over there in the middle of the swamp, or something. I change the rumour each time to correspond to some major event of some sort: "under a total eclipse" or "when Jupiter and Mars are in conjunction" or whatever suits. I don't want these people trampling the roses every other night after this "magic herb", so this limits them to once in a few hundred years. In truth, the spell calls for the consumption of a stolen herb from the grounds owned by the spell's caster. It doesn't matter when it's picked, or even what the herb is, only that it is stolen, and the person stealing it knows that they are stealing it. They need to be doing something wrong and need to be aware that they are doing something wrong. So the full moon is up, and it's a beautiful clear night too. Cold and crisp. A perfect "magical" night. And I can hear some of the locals trying to be quiet just on the other side of the hedge. Once I see them crossing through the hedge I'll start muttering the incantation. They know they only need one leaf, so they'll take everything that's there and share it out among their families. The curse shall be reinstated and I'll start to feed off the life energies of them and their decedents once again. I should be good for a few more hundred years until their bloodlines are too diluted. But I'll worry about that then. I wonder what the next rare event will be that I can add to the rumour.	Uhhh, this week has been the worst. For most of my life I have lived in peace on this shore. Sure some days the tide came in a little high, or it stayed cloudy, or maybe it was a little warm or cold, but it was fun just to be alive. Every morning it was exciting to open my eyes and see what new creatures had wandered up to my tent. Couple years ago there were some really big ones, but that all died down, so I moved my tent down further on the beach. But yesterday I woke up wet, again, and instead of just moving my tent in peace, some...thing started poking at me. Then a whole bunch of them showed up, and started digging through my garden. This whole month has been getting worse and worse this way. Bigger groups of .... things showing up every day giving me grief. But today has definitely been the worst day so far. Woke up wet with a big post just inches from my head. Where did that come from? When I grabbed my tent a shiny box came by and almost knocked me over, then some of the weirdest looking things yet tried to touch me. Had on all sorts of colors, didn't look right at all. About noon, a huge group of things, all looking alike, surrounded me, yelling really loud and some big yellow things started tearing up my garden again. It's been a long time since I needed to kill so many just to get some peace... but hopefully tomorrow is a better day.
	[WP] A rare herb that grows once a millenium is said to grant immortality. You aren't sure about that but you do know that herb is very tasty, and you don't know why everyone keeps trying to raid your garden once every thousand years	I'm always impressed by the stupidity of mortals. An herb that can make you immortal. Absurd! Targin is just a spice. That's it. Yea, I eat the stuff everyday I can, and sure, its oil is a great anti-biotic, but that's about it. Nothing special about it. It doesn't even look too unique compared to something like Basil or Timik. And yet, they come. Every 16 cycles, they come. Again and again and again. I would have thought the massive scrapheap of ships inside and around the system's asteroid sphere would have been a good deterrent, but mortals have a certain paradoxical desire to end their lives for a chance at keeping them. The ships ended up acting as a beacon instead. Sucks, but I'm too lazy to go and clean them out. Their mess, not mine. But I'm getting off topic. They all come here every 16 cycles for some Targin. Takes 16 cycles to grow, and they come by every fucking time. They break though the belt, knock my scanners into the moons, interrupt the flow between my garden and the dyson sphere, then send down multiple vessels full of themselves, landing on and trampling my flowers and saplings every fucking time. They then drag their tiny bodies outside the ship, weapons (I think?) drawn, and always in odd colors that only match a specific region of my garden, which they never land in. They then follow my trails, heading twords my abode, cutting down any flora or fauna in their wake. I used to not have any to follow, the stars are enough for me, but they always found me eventually, so I just decided that if they're going to be pests, I could at least avoid most of the property damage with some arrows and signs. For some reason, they're always so shocked to find my temple. Staring at it in awe before finding the door and trying to bust in. It's amazing how they all find the door, and not a single one has ever checked if it was unlocked. The one truly enjoyable part of the experience is opening a door right as one's about to try to ram through it. It doesn't matter the size, strength, material, or density of the pests, one will always try, without fail. It would be sad if it wasn't so funny. After a giggle, I offer them a seat. They're always shocked I can understand them, so much so that I soon came to realize they lick any fruits of knowledge of any kind. You'd think getting their planets that would be a priority, considering it works, but whatever. Desite their rude barging in unannounced, I've offered to sell them some seeds several times before, just to get them to fuck off, but even the ones that accept can't even shore up a cube of 118-294. Not all of then even know what it is! Of course, they then start with the threats or the begging, sometimes both. I just tune them out at this point, waiting to see if they make a move or not. I've heard it all before; "You're being entirely unreasonable!". "We don't live that long!". "I have a dying family!". Blah blah blah and so on, and so on. Why do they assume I care? Empathy is a purely mortal trait, and one that gets them killed more often then not. At one point, I tried to tell them it didn't work. It didn't make you immortal, or raise the dead, or whatever insanity they spouted next. But then they yell and scream and complain some more. The ones with eyes even dirtied my floor with fluids sometimes. So, I don't anymore. I just let them babble. Once whichever one is apparently the loudest is done, I walk back to my door and open it, then stand beside it. Mortals may be dumb, but their not stupid, and they all get my implication here. Regardless of what happens next, the mortals are gone within the hour, ether physically or spiritually. I order the temple to clean up their mess, bandage whatever wounds I claimed, and climb to the top. step, step, step. Like clockwork. Step, step, step. Every. Fucking. time. Step, Step, step. Because they just won't learn. Step, Step, Step. I have to teach them a lesson. Step, step, step. The lesson. Step, step, step, step. Again. ... Just once. Just once Id like to get to know them. Have them be reasonable. I want to know why they were created. Why they exist. ... But no. They choose greed. Every single time. They never come for a chat, never come to learn, never even come to sight see. It's just about Targin. It's always about Targin. Nothing but Targin. They will destroy my garden for Targin. They Have destroyed my garden for Targin. And it is my duty to protect my garden. It's why I was created. My sole purpose. Maybe that's why they were created. Maybe that's why they never learn, never listen... ... And so, I get to the top, once again, step up, and, with the push of a button, I'm on the Dyson sphere. I used to give warnings. I used to want to believe. But within 3 cycles, the ones I let go come back. Again. And. Again. Again, I push a few buttons, pull a few knobs, and point at their ship. So close to the garden. So close to ruining it again. Even if the plant could grant immortality, what made them worthy? Every mortal I've given it to gets themselves killed before the cycle ends. Every mortal who's tasted it ravenously comes back for more. Every mortal I let go comes back with a thousand more. Every mortal Makes a thousand more each cycle. ... And with a button pushed, a solar flare erupts. The ship is gone, floating away from the garden. Everyone on it is dead. I'm alone again. Another button, and I'm home. I'm always impressed by the stupidity of mortals. Enginuity to escape their system, the ability to communicate across world's, across systems, the ability to make more of themselves, to shape worlds and create things. And every time, they end up here again. And every time, they end here. All over a stupid herb that doesn't even do anything. Mortals are just sad.	I used to get plenty of visitors back in the day,some wouldn’t return to their homes and lives, while those that came and brought a dish for the two of us to share and a present,would be able to come back to their homes and lives, and be able to brag about how they got to taste such a treat- a lucis aeternae iuuentutis flower or an eternal youth flower, most people ignore the part of bringing a dish to be shared and a present . There’s only been one been one person to leave alive and to have tasted an eternal youth flower-well there are side effects of the flower-“when stolen and not gifted; a curse of 5 millenia- unless the eternal youth flower (s) immediately returned to it’s rightful owner and HIGH chances of having a child with glowing hair. Well.... they climbed all the way back up to return a child with glowing hair- growing up very well and has a lovely singing voice, I’ve taken to calling her my little songbird. Well the reason why I no longer get any visitors- the bloke that dropped off the child with glowing hair (that also happens to have a lovely singing voice) CHOPPED DOWN the Beanstalk- well, goodnight my little songbird- it’s time for bed now...(cue footsteps on wooden floor boards)...(cue candlelight being blown out)
	[WP] A rare herb that grows once a millenium is said to grant immortality. You aren't sure about that but you do know that herb is very tasty, and you don't know why everyone keeps trying to raid your garden once every thousand years	Magic is a delicate thing -- the spells need to be observed, the rules followed, everything kept in just the right balance. Another few hundred years has passed, and I could feel the life essence slowing once again. And so I spread the rumour -- it's always a nice one to spread: a single leaf of the rare purple herb "Ocimum Basilicum Rosa Caeruleum", when picked on a full moon on the night of the winter solstice, will grant immortality to those who eat it. I also make sure that it gets known that this mysterious plant only grows in one location, which happens to be a "forgotten" corner of my estate, just over there in the middle of the swamp, or something. I change the rumour each time to correspond to some major event of some sort: "under a total eclipse" or "when Jupiter and Mars are in conjunction" or whatever suits. I don't want these people trampling the roses every other night after this "magic herb", so this limits them to once in a few hundred years. In truth, the spell calls for the consumption of a stolen herb from the grounds owned by the spell's caster. It doesn't matter when it's picked, or even what the herb is, only that it is stolen, and the person stealing it knows that they are stealing it. They need to be doing something wrong and need to be aware that they are doing something wrong. So the full moon is up, and it's a beautiful clear night too. Cold and crisp. A perfect "magical" night. And I can hear some of the locals trying to be quiet just on the other side of the hedge. Once I see them crossing through the hedge I'll start muttering the incantation. They know they only need one leaf, so they'll take everything that's there and share it out among their families. The curse shall be reinstated and I'll start to feed off the life energies of them and their decedents once again. I should be good for a few more hundred years until their bloodlines are too diluted. But I'll worry about that then. I wonder what the next rare event will be that I can add to the rumour.	I used to get plenty of visitors back in the day,some wouldn’t return to their homes and lives, while those that came and brought a dish for the two of us to share and a present,would be able to come back to their homes and lives, and be able to brag about how they got to taste such a treat- a lucis aeternae iuuentutis flower or an eternal youth flower, most people ignore the part of bringing a dish to be shared and a present . There’s only been one been one person to leave alive and to have tasted an eternal youth flower-well there are side effects of the flower-“when stolen and not gifted; a curse of 5 millenia- unless the eternal youth flower (s) immediately returned to it’s rightful owner and HIGH chances of having a child with glowing hair. Well.... they climbed all the way back up to return a child with glowing hair- growing up very well and has a lovely singing voice, I’ve taken to calling her my little songbird. Well the reason why I no longer get any visitors- the bloke that dropped off the child with glowing hair (that also happens to have a lovely singing voice) CHOPPED DOWN the Beanstalk- well, goodnight my little songbird- it’s time for bed now...(cue footsteps on wooden floor boards)...(cue candlelight being blown out)
	[WP] A rare herb that grows once a millenium is said to grant immortality. You aren't sure about that but you do know that herb is very tasty, and you don't know why everyone keeps trying to raid your garden once every thousand years	Magic is a delicate thing -- the spells need to be observed, the rules followed, everything kept in just the right balance. Another few hundred years has passed, and I could feel the life essence slowing once again. And so I spread the rumour -- it's always a nice one to spread: a single leaf of the rare purple herb "Ocimum Basilicum Rosa Caeruleum", when picked on a full moon on the night of the winter solstice, will grant immortality to those who eat it. I also make sure that it gets known that this mysterious plant only grows in one location, which happens to be a "forgotten" corner of my estate, just over there in the middle of the swamp, or something. I change the rumour each time to correspond to some major event of some sort: "under a total eclipse" or "when Jupiter and Mars are in conjunction" or whatever suits. I don't want these people trampling the roses every other night after this "magic herb", so this limits them to once in a few hundred years. In truth, the spell calls for the consumption of a stolen herb from the grounds owned by the spell's caster. It doesn't matter when it's picked, or even what the herb is, only that it is stolen, and the person stealing it knows that they are stealing it. They need to be doing something wrong and need to be aware that they are doing something wrong. So the full moon is up, and it's a beautiful clear night too. Cold and crisp. A perfect "magical" night. And I can hear some of the locals trying to be quiet just on the other side of the hedge. Once I see them crossing through the hedge I'll start muttering the incantation. They know they only need one leaf, so they'll take everything that's there and share it out among their families. The curse shall be reinstated and I'll start to feed off the life energies of them and their decedents once again. I should be good for a few more hundred years until their bloodlines are too diluted. But I'll worry about that then. I wonder what the next rare event will be that I can add to the rumour.	[I would like to note here that I am a huge Discworld fan. It'll show. Also not quite to prompt, oops.] Closer to the woods than the town, there was a cottage. It was reasonable, the thatch was remarkably free of non-thatch vegetation which was surprising considering the frequently visiting ravens. That was, she supposed, her own fault for putting scraps out. The one that had taken to riding on her shoulder when she went into town really added to the whole witch-of-the-cottage-by-the-woods feel. Currently, said witch was engaged in poking about in her garden and wondering how hard it would be to convince a hedgehog or dozen to move in. Dratted slugs. "Miss Valdia! Miiiiiisssssssss!" came a voice that would have been appropriate a mile away, not twenty feet from the gate. She winced. A raven cawed politely and the handsome silver cat poked it's head out from the middle of the herb bed. "If you've squashed all my yellowroot!" The cat chirped in response and hopped up onto the stone wall to headbutt the small child who was hopping from foot to foot. "Aliss, do you need to use the outhouse?" "Yes miss! Well. Not desperate. But Mam told me to come because there's people asking about that plant you grow and only sometimes give people only really it's never cos Mam said she can't remember you ever sharing it and it's in this book-' there was a breath. 'and could we have two pints of your goats milk because the cake comes out better and if it pleases you could you come see Grandad cos his leg is giving him jip." Aliss beamed at having remembered everything. Maybe too well. "So - two pints of milk, yes, I have that spare and I'll expect a cake when I come to see your Grandad. These men, are they the friendly looking type or have they got swords and un-necessaries?" "They look friendly and have un-necessaries miss!" Oh dear. Those were always a pain. "Go get your milk and take the side road home, just in case. One of the birds will follow along to make sure." she looked up to the roof, where a raven that had been busy with a stray piece decided that he was the bird for the job and hopped off to the kitchen window. "Oh and use the outhouse first." Fifteen minutes later, when Aliss was well on her way, she stretched her fingers and frowned, creating the wall of thorns and brambles that was impervious to damage. This happened every so often. Strangers came through and tried to get at her garden for the yellowroot. She had dried supplies of it, and was well aware why they wanted it. Thing is, she had yet to meet someone truly deserving of it. Raw, you ended up living forever. Which was not as much fun as it sounded. When she had first come to this place with her cat all those years ago, her predecessor had agreed to teach her all she knew with one condition. That when she was done, she take her life. Valdia had agreed, not thinking it serious or that the woman would die first, but then she told her about the herb. They worked out a way for Valdia to pull the life force from her. One day, she supposed, she would teach someone else. But girls with the gift were thin on the ground now. No-one in the village realised that the reason they never got sick, stricken with plague and generally lived longer - was because of the milk and cheese that came from her goats. They ate the yellowroot when it grew. So had a couple of the ravens out of curiosity. And the cat, because she was a cat. Valdia settled down into her garden chair that faced the road to the village. It had been a long time since she left her homeland. It had been a surprise to find the yellowroot here. It shouldn't have been. For her people, it was purely a seasoning. Her mother had told her to destroy it. Maybe it was time.
	[WP] A rare herb that grows once a millenium is said to grant immortality. You aren't sure about that but you do know that herb is very tasty, and you don't know why everyone keeps trying to raid your garden once every thousand years	The tea party was going as pleasantly as it could. Light sprinkled between the leaves of his very big tree, his flowers and stuff lining his sizable backyard. He and his lady friend enjoy the afternoon as they have the past hundreds or thousands of years and discuss normal everyday things, like taxes and seagulls. However, today was no ordinary day. In fact, today's tea party was in celebration of a less trivial event in the life of Eon Athanasios XIII-- sorry, the 13th. "You done monologuing?" She queried. He forgets what her true nature is from time to time. Nothing relevant to her statement, he really just forgets. "Silence. My good mood will not be brought down by the likes of you." "Mhmm," she mused, albeit halfheartedly. "Slugs at the right patch, by the way. Your right. Technically, both of them are right of you." He gently set down his 'antique' gold rimmed, porcelain teacups. "Cretins." Though as he turned around from his seat, Anathansiosthe 13th found himself staring right at an arm creeping through a broken piece in his prim, sanded and varnished redwood fence. It looked like it was reaching his fruits rather than his flowers. Though his fruits were top tier, he didn't think they were 'attempted theft every 1,000 years' worthy. Still, he loved those fruits, whatever they were called. Berries, he assumed. He picked up the bow and arrow resting quietly on the floor and knocked an arrow right beside the arm. In a panic, the arm pulls backwards, injuring itself in the process. "Sorry! Don't worry about the fence. I know you can't afford to repair it." He cried out to his neighbor. His friend clicked her tongue, leaning on the pristine beige of the long tea table. "How are you still so soft? It's been millenia." Athanasios rolled his eyes, lowering his weapon. "That was no slug, Denise. You fae and your desire for theatrics won't enrapture me this time." She opened her mouth to argue, but decided instead to finish her cup of tea. A wise decision, if Athanasios may say himself. He glanced at his watch and whistled a low tune. "Goodness, what time do you think the Demetricons will arrive?" "For the last time, Thanasios, Demeter would not approve of you calling her children 'Demetricons'." "I've waited decades to say it at this very moment." "Thanasios." He sat back down on his intricately design redwood chair and sighed. Gods. Couldn't live with them, couldn't live without them. "I'll burn an offering in her name." "Mm. Gods, this is timeless." Denise exclaimed, pouring herself another cup. To her left, a woman had launched herself into the garden of Athanasios's tasty flowers. Swiftly as she came, she'd been escorted out by the branches of the big tree the beautiful tea party had been situated under. Athana couldn't help but giggle when her voice travelled through the nature, whispering 'Nobody will ever believe you' to the frightened lady. "This is true. In the vein of 'timeless', when do you reckon we renew our permissions?" She set aside her used porcelain, sorting them neatly to the side. "Athena sent you her approval already?" "Not yet. Oh, I just can't wait for Hermes himself to come down and deliver." Athanasios sighed. "Hermes..." "Ah, Hermes," she agreed. "Ahh... ah, Hermes!" Her eyebrows furrowed to the space behind Anathanasios, shocked. "Are you overly excited about Hermes or is Hermes actually--" "--here!" Hermes popped up in between him and Denise. Impish features, body of a Greek god (haha), dark brown curly hair and chocolate eyes to die for, this man was indeed the god himself. Sporting Nike's with wings, a leopard skin pattern polo, gold sunglasses, and khaki capris, the god looked more like a tourist than a deliverer. Though the messenger bag was a give away. "Yes, he's got the tea!" He exclaimed. Athanasios poured a cup for the god. "You must be famished, my sir. Or not. Gods are quite strange." Hermes happily gulped the drink without a second thought, a satisfied groan escaping his mouth. He patted Athanasios on the back. "Always have been. And always, always so good! Anyway, here's your and the anthousai's approval letters. You know how it goes. I won't waste anymore time. Fingers crossed! And Athanos-- make me another batch? I'll come back around 4." You handed the unopened letter to Denise, awestruck at the god's presence. "Of course. Thank you for the delivery." "You are most absolutely welcome, your Greatness. Anyway, I seriously spent more time than I should have so I gotta rush. Bye!" Just like that, he disappeared into thin air. Athanasios turned to face his lady friend, unmoving with her mouth agape Figuring it was simply awestruck, he unfolded the letter sealed with a violet wax, a nicely written 'A' on the seal. Seeing even the slightest bit of ink inside told him everything he needed to know. He looked across the table to Denise, whose jaw still hung from her face. He chuckled. "You really should get used to... seeing..." Athanasios realized the problem the second he looked down. Her paper was already open. And it was empty.	"not again" you yell as you get up from your seat and head towards the kitchen window, upset that your breakfast was disturbed, but more upset that your garden was being stomped on and uprooted. "gosh why are there 10 people stomping around my garden while im just trying to eat breakfast?" you say to your self as you head towards the door to go outside to yell at them. "get off my lawn!!" you yell at everyone as you open your door and head down the stairs. "oh, hey" one of the said as they all stopped and looked at me "we're looking for the "purple spiked flower of eternal youth", do you know where that would be?" " the flower of youth?" you thought to your self, "the one that tastes like ice cream combined with the most yummy flavor of pizza?" . "no..." you say suspiciously, totally lying to everyone "ive been waiting for that flower for 1,000 years" everyones just staring at you in a funny way cause you just gave your lie away "found it!" someone yells out right then "nooo!" you yell and start chasing after them as they all start running away ok thats the end.
	[WP] A rare herb that grows once a millenium is said to grant immortality. You aren't sure about that but you do know that herb is very tasty, and you don't know why everyone keeps trying to raid your garden once every thousand years	I'm always impressed by the stupidity of mortals. An herb that can make you immortal. Absurd! Targin is just a spice. That's it. Yea, I eat the stuff everyday I can, and sure, its oil is a great anti-biotic, but that's about it. Nothing special about it. It doesn't even look too unique compared to something like Basil or Timik. And yet, they come. Every 16 cycles, they come. Again and again and again. I would have thought the massive scrapheap of ships inside and around the system's asteroid sphere would have been a good deterrent, but mortals have a certain paradoxical desire to end their lives for a chance at keeping them. The ships ended up acting as a beacon instead. Sucks, but I'm too lazy to go and clean them out. Their mess, not mine. But I'm getting off topic. They all come here every 16 cycles for some Targin. Takes 16 cycles to grow, and they come by every fucking time. They break though the belt, knock my scanners into the moons, interrupt the flow between my garden and the dyson sphere, then send down multiple vessels full of themselves, landing on and trampling my flowers and saplings every fucking time. They then drag their tiny bodies outside the ship, weapons (I think?) drawn, and always in odd colors that only match a specific region of my garden, which they never land in. They then follow my trails, heading twords my abode, cutting down any flora or fauna in their wake. I used to not have any to follow, the stars are enough for me, but they always found me eventually, so I just decided that if they're going to be pests, I could at least avoid most of the property damage with some arrows and signs. For some reason, they're always so shocked to find my temple. Staring at it in awe before finding the door and trying to bust in. It's amazing how they all find the door, and not a single one has ever checked if it was unlocked. The one truly enjoyable part of the experience is opening a door right as one's about to try to ram through it. It doesn't matter the size, strength, material, or density of the pests, one will always try, without fail. It would be sad if it wasn't so funny. After a giggle, I offer them a seat. They're always shocked I can understand them, so much so that I soon came to realize they lick any fruits of knowledge of any kind. You'd think getting their planets that would be a priority, considering it works, but whatever. Desite their rude barging in unannounced, I've offered to sell them some seeds several times before, just to get them to fuck off, but even the ones that accept can't even shore up a cube of 118-294. Not all of then even know what it is! Of course, they then start with the threats or the begging, sometimes both. I just tune them out at this point, waiting to see if they make a move or not. I've heard it all before; "You're being entirely unreasonable!". "We don't live that long!". "I have a dying family!". Blah blah blah and so on, and so on. Why do they assume I care? Empathy is a purely mortal trait, and one that gets them killed more often then not. At one point, I tried to tell them it didn't work. It didn't make you immortal, or raise the dead, or whatever insanity they spouted next. But then they yell and scream and complain some more. The ones with eyes even dirtied my floor with fluids sometimes. So, I don't anymore. I just let them babble. Once whichever one is apparently the loudest is done, I walk back to my door and open it, then stand beside it. Mortals may be dumb, but their not stupid, and they all get my implication here. Regardless of what happens next, the mortals are gone within the hour, ether physically or spiritually. I order the temple to clean up their mess, bandage whatever wounds I claimed, and climb to the top. step, step, step. Like clockwork. Step, step, step. Every. Fucking. time. Step, Step, step. Because they just won't learn. Step, Step, Step. I have to teach them a lesson. Step, step, step. The lesson. Step, step, step, step. Again. ... Just once. Just once Id like to get to know them. Have them be reasonable. I want to know why they were created. Why they exist. ... But no. They choose greed. Every single time. They never come for a chat, never come to learn, never even come to sight see. It's just about Targin. It's always about Targin. Nothing but Targin. They will destroy my garden for Targin. They Have destroyed my garden for Targin. And it is my duty to protect my garden. It's why I was created. My sole purpose. Maybe that's why they were created. Maybe that's why they never learn, never listen... ... And so, I get to the top, once again, step up, and, with the push of a button, I'm on the Dyson sphere. I used to give warnings. I used to want to believe. But within 3 cycles, the ones I let go come back. Again. And. Again. Again, I push a few buttons, pull a few knobs, and point at their ship. So close to the garden. So close to ruining it again. Even if the plant could grant immortality, what made them worthy? Every mortal I've given it to gets themselves killed before the cycle ends. Every mortal who's tasted it ravenously comes back for more. Every mortal I let go comes back with a thousand more. Every mortal Makes a thousand more each cycle. ... And with a button pushed, a solar flare erupts. The ship is gone, floating away from the garden. Everyone on it is dead. I'm alone again. Another button, and I'm home. I'm always impressed by the stupidity of mortals. Enginuity to escape their system, the ability to communicate across world's, across systems, the ability to make more of themselves, to shape worlds and create things. And every time, they end up here again. And every time, they end here. All over a stupid herb that doesn't even do anything. Mortals are just sad.	"not again" you yell as you get up from your seat and head towards the kitchen window, upset that your breakfast was disturbed, but more upset that your garden was being stomped on and uprooted. "gosh why are there 10 people stomping around my garden while im just trying to eat breakfast?" you say to your self as you head towards the door to go outside to yell at them. "get off my lawn!!" you yell at everyone as you open your door and head down the stairs. "oh, hey" one of the said as they all stopped and looked at me "we're looking for the "purple spiked flower of eternal youth", do you know where that would be?" " the flower of youth?" you thought to your self, "the one that tastes like ice cream combined with the most yummy flavor of pizza?" . "no..." you say suspiciously, totally lying to everyone "ive been waiting for that flower for 1,000 years" everyones just staring at you in a funny way cause you just gave your lie away "found it!" someone yells out right then "nooo!" you yell and start chasing after them as they all start running away ok thats the end.
	[WP] A rare herb that grows once a millenium is said to grant immortality. You aren't sure about that but you do know that herb is very tasty, and you don't know why everyone keeps trying to raid your garden once every thousand years	Magic is a delicate thing -- the spells need to be observed, the rules followed, everything kept in just the right balance. Another few hundred years has passed, and I could feel the life essence slowing once again. And so I spread the rumour -- it's always a nice one to spread: a single leaf of the rare purple herb "Ocimum Basilicum Rosa Caeruleum", when picked on a full moon on the night of the winter solstice, will grant immortality to those who eat it. I also make sure that it gets known that this mysterious plant only grows in one location, which happens to be a "forgotten" corner of my estate, just over there in the middle of the swamp, or something. I change the rumour each time to correspond to some major event of some sort: "under a total eclipse" or "when Jupiter and Mars are in conjunction" or whatever suits. I don't want these people trampling the roses every other night after this "magic herb", so this limits them to once in a few hundred years. In truth, the spell calls for the consumption of a stolen herb from the grounds owned by the spell's caster. It doesn't matter when it's picked, or even what the herb is, only that it is stolen, and the person stealing it knows that they are stealing it. They need to be doing something wrong and need to be aware that they are doing something wrong. So the full moon is up, and it's a beautiful clear night too. Cold and crisp. A perfect "magical" night. And I can hear some of the locals trying to be quiet just on the other side of the hedge. Once I see them crossing through the hedge I'll start muttering the incantation. They know they only need one leaf, so they'll take everything that's there and share it out among their families. The curse shall be reinstated and I'll start to feed off the life energies of them and their decedents once again. I should be good for a few more hundred years until their bloodlines are too diluted. But I'll worry about that then. I wonder what the next rare event will be that I can add to the rumour.	"not again" you yell as you get up from your seat and head towards the kitchen window, upset that your breakfast was disturbed, but more upset that your garden was being stomped on and uprooted. "gosh why are there 10 people stomping around my garden while im just trying to eat breakfast?" you say to your self as you head towards the door to go outside to yell at them. "get off my lawn!!" you yell at everyone as you open your door and head down the stairs. "oh, hey" one of the said as they all stopped and looked at me "we're looking for the "purple spiked flower of eternal youth", do you know where that would be?" " the flower of youth?" you thought to your self, "the one that tastes like ice cream combined with the most yummy flavor of pizza?" . "no..." you say suspiciously, totally lying to everyone "ive been waiting for that flower for 1,000 years" everyones just staring at you in a funny way cause you just gave your lie away "found it!" someone yells out right then "nooo!" you yell and start chasing after them as they all start running away ok thats the end.
	[WP] A rare herb that grows once a millenium is said to grant immortality. You aren't sure about that but you do know that herb is very tasty, and you don't know why everyone keeps trying to raid your garden once every thousand years	"But I'm just your apprentice," Gerald admitted with a sigh, "I'm not sure how to solve that kind of complex spellwork." "You might just be my apprentice, but you have been my apprentice for a century or two. You know more than you might believe," Ferrando asserted. "After all, you've seen the components that I use for my Immortality spell, haven't you? I've been a Sorcerer for ten thousand years. I'd like to believe I'm half a competent teacher or more." Ferrando nodded to the wall where the glistening silvery gray hairs shone on the shelves of spell components. There were hundreds of components. Amongst the rows of jars the hairs seemed entirely inconsequential. But they weren't. "Yes, I thought they were unicorn hairs, but-" Gerald began. "But the unicorns are in hiding, yes. I know. That makes it much harder to collect their hairs, of course. And over a children's book. I could hardly believe my ears when I heard," the Great Sorcerer Ferrando said with a grimace. "Absolutely astounding." "So what are the other hairs?" Gerald asked carefully. He knew to tread carefully when asking Ferrando about the details of his secret spell. The knowledge wasn't worth risking the benefits he had been reaping for a century. "Do you remember that tasty herb you had on your first day here?" Ferrando asked. He did not wait for an answer. "Well, every so often a bunch of ravenous gray haired people start clambering into my garden and trying to steal it from me. Naturally, as the progenitor of the Heart-Stopping spell, they never survive the intrusion." "So you steal their hairs," Gerald noted, "But how do they substitute for the live-giving properties of the unicorn hairs? I mean – aren't they just gray hairs?" "Not quite certain, but I've tested the spell and it clearly works quite decidedly. I mean, after all, I am still here. Right?" Ferrando smiled as he continued with a flourish of his hand. He often marveled at his own improvisation. "Every time I simply stop their hearts, collect their hairs, and then enjoy one of those strange tasty herbs for my trouble. Then I return to this tower to cast the spell. It always works. For millenia." "Strange," Gerald mused softly. "I agree," Ferrando responded animatedly with his hands still flourishing. "But I'll take a working Immortality spell over a tasty herb any day."	"not again" you yell as you get up from your seat and head towards the kitchen window, upset that your breakfast was disturbed, but more upset that your garden was being stomped on and uprooted. "gosh why are there 10 people stomping around my garden while im just trying to eat breakfast?" you say to your self as you head towards the door to go outside to yell at them. "get off my lawn!!" you yell at everyone as you open your door and head down the stairs. "oh, hey" one of the said as they all stopped and looked at me "we're looking for the "purple spiked flower of eternal youth", do you know where that would be?" " the flower of youth?" you thought to your self, "the one that tastes like ice cream combined with the most yummy flavor of pizza?" . "no..." you say suspiciously, totally lying to everyone "ive been waiting for that flower for 1,000 years" everyones just staring at you in a funny way cause you just gave your lie away "found it!" someone yells out right then "nooo!" you yell and start chasing after them as they all start running away ok thats the end.
	[WP] A rare herb that grows once a millenium is said to grant immortality. You aren't sure about that but you do know that herb is very tasty, and you don't know why everyone keeps trying to raid your garden once every thousand years	I consider myself a master gardener. I also consider myself a loner. I moved to the mountains to make sure that I wouldn’t have to see too many people. Sure, my friends can come and have dinner, that’s nice. But it only happens once a decade. Otherwise, I enjoy gardening, reading, and tending to my animals. They’re such sweet things. And all of us have been blessed with very long lives. It is a delight to see my friends, but, you see, people who are not my friends come around sometimes. And they like to stomp in my flowers, tear the roots from the ground, eat the leaves as if they were ambrosia-soaked roasts. I don’t understand them, why they would hike up this mountain to disturb an old woman. I truly like to think I am a kind person, and if they would just ask, I would be so, so happy to share with them. My grandchildren often eat things from my garden, when they visit. But those visits have gotten rare. Even if the nuisance isn’t that much, sure, it only happens every millennium or so, it is still a nuisance, and a woman like me, with blood like mine, well I can’t much bear it. Which is why I got the bear. And oh, what a sweetheart she is. I named her Susie. She’s a very smart bear. She helps me get around the house when my bones get tired, and she’ll even help me cook sometimes. I hear she’s Harvard educated. At least, that’s what she tells me. She’s also an ex-marine, which can come in handy when I need trenches dug for my garden, as she had very large bear muscles. And it is so much fun to watch her dig, even if my eye sight is going. I let her eat anything in my garden that she wanted, and she grew even stronger. So when they came again, in the night, they were surprised to find a bear, a very smart bear. Susie was quick with them. She growled at them, to warn them off, but when they brandished knives, well, she had to show them she meant business. I’m very glad that I have a deal with a local merchant to come up every year or so. Last year he brought us some new things, small stuff, like brandy, books, and an AK-47. At the time, I thought Susie was just bored, looking for something to cure that itch in her to unleash her bear instincts. She told me that she was never that fond of paw-to-hand combat. She preferred things nice and dirty. And now, when they come, when they want to stomp on my flowers and tear out the roots and eat the leaves, she takes care of them. And I roll over when I hear the shouts and the shots. She’s an awfully smart bear, you know. I trust she can take care of both herself and my garden. r/AinsleyAdams	"not again" you yell as you get up from your seat and head towards the kitchen window, upset that your breakfast was disturbed, but more upset that your garden was being stomped on and uprooted. "gosh why are there 10 people stomping around my garden while im just trying to eat breakfast?" you say to your self as you head towards the door to go outside to yell at them. "get off my lawn!!" you yell at everyone as you open your door and head down the stairs. "oh, hey" one of the said as they all stopped and looked at me "we're looking for the "purple spiked flower of eternal youth", do you know where that would be?" " the flower of youth?" you thought to your self, "the one that tastes like ice cream combined with the most yummy flavor of pizza?" . "no..." you say suspiciously, totally lying to everyone "ive been waiting for that flower for 1,000 years" everyones just staring at you in a funny way cause you just gave your lie away "found it!" someone yells out right then "nooo!" you yell and start chasing after them as they all start running away ok thats the end.
	[WP] A rare herb that grows once a millenium is said to grant immortality. You aren't sure about that but you do know that herb is very tasty, and you don't know why everyone keeps trying to raid your garden once every thousand years	Everyone whose anyone knows about Roman. Roman sits at 6 feet 4 inches, with hands as big as a sack of flour. His full beard and head full of long grey hair grants him the nickname Grandfather Time. Roman lives alone in the outskirts of town, doesn’t bother anyone, all he does is chop trees, gather wood and tends to his garden all day long. Stories have been passed down for centuries that his garden contains the precious Sicopious Herb. So every time it blooms people flock to the woods to try and get their hands on this herb. They say if you’re caught in his garden, you’re trapped there forever. But if you make it out alive, you will be more powerful than you can imagine. Only one person has ever made it out alive. He come running out the Forrest screaming “I got it I got it!” Everyone wanted to see it for themselves. Only, when he ate it, he said it was the best dang thing he’s ever tasted and immediately went back in the woods for more. Everyone ran after him but all that was discovered after he went into the woods was Roman sitting there on his porch, cup of tea in hard just rocking in his chair with a welcoming smile. And the man who ran off, never to be seen again. Rumor has it Roman had something to do with it, others say maybe the herb made you lose your memory as a sacrifice of immortality. Who knows, but every century people still flock to Romans garden for just a chance of more life, no matter the price they have to pay.	"not again" you yell as you get up from your seat and head towards the kitchen window, upset that your breakfast was disturbed, but more upset that your garden was being stomped on and uprooted. "gosh why are there 10 people stomping around my garden while im just trying to eat breakfast?" you say to your self as you head towards the door to go outside to yell at them. "get off my lawn!!" you yell at everyone as you open your door and head down the stairs. "oh, hey" one of the said as they all stopped and looked at me "we're looking for the "purple spiked flower of eternal youth", do you know where that would be?" " the flower of youth?" you thought to your self, "the one that tastes like ice cream combined with the most yummy flavor of pizza?" . "no..." you say suspiciously, totally lying to everyone "ive been waiting for that flower for 1,000 years" everyones just staring at you in a funny way cause you just gave your lie away "found it!" someone yells out right then "nooo!" you yell and start chasing after them as they all start running away ok thats the end.
	[WP] A rare herb that grows once a millenium is said to grant immortality. You aren't sure about that but you do know that herb is very tasty, and you don't know why everyone keeps trying to raid your garden once every thousand years	"I just don't get it, Lenore," I told the merchant next to me at the market. "They came into my garden, tore up my herbs, and stole my Silphium! What could they even want with it? They've come up with much better medicine than that by now! Can't they just go see their doctor?" Lenore looked at me with a weary sigh, "Oh, Dee, not again. For goodness sake. It's the same thing every millennium. I swear, I don't know what goes on in these people's heads!" "I would share with them if they asked!" I said. "Why do they have to be so violent about it?! I mean, it's tasty, but it's not worth all that." "I'm with you on that," Lenore said. "You know I've never had a taste for it." "I guess we'll never know," I said. Lenore agreed with me, sadly shaking her head. I pulled myself out of my thoughts, putting a smile back on my face. "Anyway, did you want to share some of my Lepidodendron tea? It's certainly not selling." I looked across my booth. Once again, all that was left was the delicious tea that looked and smelled so off-putting that I can't remember ever selling any. Their loss, I guess. It really is the most delicious tea I've ever tasted. "Oh, dear, you know I'd never pass that up. Always warms me right up, it does." So as the market died down, we sat and shared tea and conversation. For us it had become a long-time tradition.	"not again" you yell as you get up from your seat and head towards the kitchen window, upset that your breakfast was disturbed, but more upset that your garden was being stomped on and uprooted. "gosh why are there 10 people stomping around my garden while im just trying to eat breakfast?" you say to your self as you head towards the door to go outside to yell at them. "get off my lawn!!" you yell at everyone as you open your door and head down the stairs. "oh, hey" one of the said as they all stopped and looked at me "we're looking for the "purple spiked flower of eternal youth", do you know where that would be?" " the flower of youth?" you thought to your self, "the one that tastes like ice cream combined with the most yummy flavor of pizza?" . "no..." you say suspiciously, totally lying to everyone "ive been waiting for that flower for 1,000 years" everyones just staring at you in a funny way cause you just gave your lie away "found it!" someone yells out right then "nooo!" you yell and start chasing after them as they all start running away ok thats the end.
	[WP] A rare herb that grows once a millenium is said to grant immortality. You aren't sure about that but you do know that herb is very tasty, and you don't know why everyone keeps trying to raid your garden once every thousand years	My wife was the first to die. Ninety-five, in her sleep. Peaceful like. Then it was my youngest; cancer. My boy was an alcoholic, but somehow he made it to seventy 'fore his liver give out. Graceful God, he didn't have children. Now it's just me, and my house, and my wood. Every year the city-folk get a little closer, and my wood get a little smaller. I live out here 'midst the giant trees. The one I live behind's name is Gorgon. Big. So big I can't see the top if I stand next to 'er and crane my neck up. Her bark's some kind of magic in it. Every so often a flower sprouts, opens up into ebony splendor, and I cut it and boil it into some tea. It don't taste right -- burnin all the way down -- but I think it's keepin me here, in this place. I never start to look like my wife did. I don't get sick like my youngest. I don't remember how old I am, but I know Gorgon still 'round. Don't know how, but word got out about this flower, and now folks comin' round to try and find one. Mostly I don't mind; it don't come up but once in awhile, and I could do with the company. Gets lonely sometimes: late at night starin up at the stars, wonderin if my kids is up there; in the quiet of winter when the snow and wood kill all the noise; in the sound of rain; when I wake up, and remember no one's there. Every time I cut the flower and taste the burnin I swear this is the last time, but then I lose my nerve and, cryin I'm cuttin the flower, brewin the tea, and here I am. See I don't know what's in the after -- where my kids at, where my wife at. Sometimes I can feel their love in the here. Is it in the after? So I sit and sip my black tea. Sometimes I wonder if I'm doin all them city folk a favor. Maybe they get this flower and not think bout what it is to live in a place, all the time stayin the same while everything else change. The years, they burn like this tea.	"not again" you yell as you get up from your seat and head towards the kitchen window, upset that your breakfast was disturbed, but more upset that your garden was being stomped on and uprooted. "gosh why are there 10 people stomping around my garden while im just trying to eat breakfast?" you say to your self as you head towards the door to go outside to yell at them. "get off my lawn!!" you yell at everyone as you open your door and head down the stairs. "oh, hey" one of the said as they all stopped and looked at me "we're looking for the "purple spiked flower of eternal youth", do you know where that would be?" " the flower of youth?" you thought to your self, "the one that tastes like ice cream combined with the most yummy flavor of pizza?" . "no..." you say suspiciously, totally lying to everyone "ive been waiting for that flower for 1,000 years" everyones just staring at you in a funny way cause you just gave your lie away "found it!" someone yells out right then "nooo!" you yell and start chasing after them as they all start running away ok thats the end.
	[WP] A rare herb that grows once a millenium is said to grant immortality. You aren't sure about that but you do know that herb is very tasty, and you don't know why everyone keeps trying to raid your garden once every thousand years	I'm always impressed by the stupidity of mortals. An herb that can make you immortal. Absurd! Targin is just a spice. That's it. Yea, I eat the stuff everyday I can, and sure, its oil is a great anti-biotic, but that's about it. Nothing special about it. It doesn't even look too unique compared to something like Basil or Timik. And yet, they come. Every 16 cycles, they come. Again and again and again. I would have thought the massive scrapheap of ships inside and around the system's asteroid sphere would have been a good deterrent, but mortals have a certain paradoxical desire to end their lives for a chance at keeping them. The ships ended up acting as a beacon instead. Sucks, but I'm too lazy to go and clean them out. Their mess, not mine. But I'm getting off topic. They all come here every 16 cycles for some Targin. Takes 16 cycles to grow, and they come by every fucking time. They break though the belt, knock my scanners into the moons, interrupt the flow between my garden and the dyson sphere, then send down multiple vessels full of themselves, landing on and trampling my flowers and saplings every fucking time. They then drag their tiny bodies outside the ship, weapons (I think?) drawn, and always in odd colors that only match a specific region of my garden, which they never land in. They then follow my trails, heading twords my abode, cutting down any flora or fauna in their wake. I used to not have any to follow, the stars are enough for me, but they always found me eventually, so I just decided that if they're going to be pests, I could at least avoid most of the property damage with some arrows and signs. For some reason, they're always so shocked to find my temple. Staring at it in awe before finding the door and trying to bust in. It's amazing how they all find the door, and not a single one has ever checked if it was unlocked. The one truly enjoyable part of the experience is opening a door right as one's about to try to ram through it. It doesn't matter the size, strength, material, or density of the pests, one will always try, without fail. It would be sad if it wasn't so funny. After a giggle, I offer them a seat. They're always shocked I can understand them, so much so that I soon came to realize they lick any fruits of knowledge of any kind. You'd think getting their planets that would be a priority, considering it works, but whatever. Desite their rude barging in unannounced, I've offered to sell them some seeds several times before, just to get them to fuck off, but even the ones that accept can't even shore up a cube of 118-294. Not all of then even know what it is! Of course, they then start with the threats or the begging, sometimes both. I just tune them out at this point, waiting to see if they make a move or not. I've heard it all before; "You're being entirely unreasonable!". "We don't live that long!". "I have a dying family!". Blah blah blah and so on, and so on. Why do they assume I care? Empathy is a purely mortal trait, and one that gets them killed more often then not. At one point, I tried to tell them it didn't work. It didn't make you immortal, or raise the dead, or whatever insanity they spouted next. But then they yell and scream and complain some more. The ones with eyes even dirtied my floor with fluids sometimes. So, I don't anymore. I just let them babble. Once whichever one is apparently the loudest is done, I walk back to my door and open it, then stand beside it. Mortals may be dumb, but their not stupid, and they all get my implication here. Regardless of what happens next, the mortals are gone within the hour, ether physically or spiritually. I order the temple to clean up their mess, bandage whatever wounds I claimed, and climb to the top. step, step, step. Like clockwork. Step, step, step. Every. Fucking. time. Step, Step, step. Because they just won't learn. Step, Step, Step. I have to teach them a lesson. Step, step, step. The lesson. Step, step, step, step. Again. ... Just once. Just once Id like to get to know them. Have them be reasonable. I want to know why they were created. Why they exist. ... But no. They choose greed. Every single time. They never come for a chat, never come to learn, never even come to sight see. It's just about Targin. It's always about Targin. Nothing but Targin. They will destroy my garden for Targin. They Have destroyed my garden for Targin. And it is my duty to protect my garden. It's why I was created. My sole purpose. Maybe that's why they were created. Maybe that's why they never learn, never listen... ... And so, I get to the top, once again, step up, and, with the push of a button, I'm on the Dyson sphere. I used to give warnings. I used to want to believe. But within 3 cycles, the ones I let go come back. Again. And. Again. Again, I push a few buttons, pull a few knobs, and point at their ship. So close to the garden. So close to ruining it again. Even if the plant could grant immortality, what made them worthy? Every mortal I've given it to gets themselves killed before the cycle ends. Every mortal who's tasted it ravenously comes back for more. Every mortal I let go comes back with a thousand more. Every mortal Makes a thousand more each cycle. ... And with a button pushed, a solar flare erupts. The ship is gone, floating away from the garden. Everyone on it is dead. I'm alone again. Another button, and I'm home. I'm always impressed by the stupidity of mortals. Enginuity to escape their system, the ability to communicate across world's, across systems, the ability to make more of themselves, to shape worlds and create things. And every time, they end up here again. And every time, they end here. All over a stupid herb that doesn't even do anything. Mortals are just sad.	The tea party was going as pleasantly as it could. Light sprinkled between the leaves of his very big tree, his flowers and stuff lining his sizable backyard. He and his lady friend enjoy the afternoon as they have the past hundreds or thousands of years and discuss normal everyday things, like taxes and seagulls. However, today was no ordinary day. In fact, today's tea party was in celebration of a less trivial event in the life of Eon Athanasios XIII-- sorry, the 13th. "You done monologuing?" She queried. He forgets what her true nature is from time to time. Nothing relevant to her statement, he really just forgets. "Silence. My good mood will not be brought down by the likes of you." "Mhmm," she mused, albeit halfheartedly. "Slugs at the right patch, by the way. Your right. Technically, both of them are right of you." He gently set down his 'antique' gold rimmed, porcelain teacups. "Cretins." Though as he turned around from his seat, Anathansiosthe 13th found himself staring right at an arm creeping through a broken piece in his prim, sanded and varnished redwood fence. It looked like it was reaching his fruits rather than his flowers. Though his fruits were top tier, he didn't think they were 'attempted theft every 1,000 years' worthy. Still, he loved those fruits, whatever they were called. Berries, he assumed. He picked up the bow and arrow resting quietly on the floor and knocked an arrow right beside the arm. In a panic, the arm pulls backwards, injuring itself in the process. "Sorry! Don't worry about the fence. I know you can't afford to repair it." He cried out to his neighbor. His friend clicked her tongue, leaning on the pristine beige of the long tea table. "How are you still so soft? It's been millenia." Athanasios rolled his eyes, lowering his weapon. "That was no slug, Denise. You fae and your desire for theatrics won't enrapture me this time." She opened her mouth to argue, but decided instead to finish her cup of tea. A wise decision, if Athanasios may say himself. He glanced at his watch and whistled a low tune. "Goodness, what time do you think the Demetricons will arrive?" "For the last time, Thanasios, Demeter would not approve of you calling her children 'Demetricons'." "I've waited decades to say it at this very moment." "Thanasios." He sat back down on his intricately design redwood chair and sighed. Gods. Couldn't live with them, couldn't live without them. "I'll burn an offering in her name." "Mm. Gods, this is timeless." Denise exclaimed, pouring herself another cup. To her left, a woman had launched herself into the garden of Athanasios's tasty flowers. Swiftly as she came, she'd been escorted out by the branches of the big tree the beautiful tea party had been situated under. Athana couldn't help but giggle when her voice travelled through the nature, whispering 'Nobody will ever believe you' to the frightened lady. "This is true. In the vein of 'timeless', when do you reckon we renew our permissions?" She set aside her used porcelain, sorting them neatly to the side. "Athena sent you her approval already?" "Not yet. Oh, I just can't wait for Hermes himself to come down and deliver." Athanasios sighed. "Hermes..." "Ah, Hermes," she agreed. "Ahh... ah, Hermes!" Her eyebrows furrowed to the space behind Anathanasios, shocked. "Are you overly excited about Hermes or is Hermes actually--" "--here!" Hermes popped up in between him and Denise. Impish features, body of a Greek god (haha), dark brown curly hair and chocolate eyes to die for, this man was indeed the god himself. Sporting Nike's with wings, a leopard skin pattern polo, gold sunglasses, and khaki capris, the god looked more like a tourist than a deliverer. Though the messenger bag was a give away. "Yes, he's got the tea!" He exclaimed. Athanasios poured a cup for the god. "You must be famished, my sir. Or not. Gods are quite strange." Hermes happily gulped the drink without a second thought, a satisfied groan escaping his mouth. He patted Athanasios on the back. "Always have been. And always, always so good! Anyway, here's your and the anthousai's approval letters. You know how it goes. I won't waste anymore time. Fingers crossed! And Athanos-- make me another batch? I'll come back around 4." You handed the unopened letter to Denise, awestruck at the god's presence. "Of course. Thank you for the delivery." "You are most absolutely welcome, your Greatness. Anyway, I seriously spent more time than I should have so I gotta rush. Bye!" Just like that, he disappeared into thin air. Athanasios turned to face his lady friend, unmoving with her mouth agape Figuring it was simply awestruck, he unfolded the letter sealed with a violet wax, a nicely written 'A' on the seal. Seeing even the slightest bit of ink inside told him everything he needed to know. He looked across the table to Denise, whose jaw still hung from her face. He chuckled. "You really should get used to... seeing..." Athanasios realized the problem the second he looked down. Her paper was already open. And it was empty.
	[WP] A rare herb that grows once a millenium is said to grant immortality. You aren't sure about that but you do know that herb is very tasty, and you don't know why everyone keeps trying to raid your garden once every thousand years	Magic is a delicate thing -- the spells need to be observed, the rules followed, everything kept in just the right balance. Another few hundred years has passed, and I could feel the life essence slowing once again. And so I spread the rumour -- it's always a nice one to spread: a single leaf of the rare purple herb "Ocimum Basilicum Rosa Caeruleum", when picked on a full moon on the night of the winter solstice, will grant immortality to those who eat it. I also make sure that it gets known that this mysterious plant only grows in one location, which happens to be a "forgotten" corner of my estate, just over there in the middle of the swamp, or something. I change the rumour each time to correspond to some major event of some sort: "under a total eclipse" or "when Jupiter and Mars are in conjunction" or whatever suits. I don't want these people trampling the roses every other night after this "magic herb", so this limits them to once in a few hundred years. In truth, the spell calls for the consumption of a stolen herb from the grounds owned by the spell's caster. It doesn't matter when it's picked, or even what the herb is, only that it is stolen, and the person stealing it knows that they are stealing it. They need to be doing something wrong and need to be aware that they are doing something wrong. So the full moon is up, and it's a beautiful clear night too. Cold and crisp. A perfect "magical" night. And I can hear some of the locals trying to be quiet just on the other side of the hedge. Once I see them crossing through the hedge I'll start muttering the incantation. They know they only need one leaf, so they'll take everything that's there and share it out among their families. The curse shall be reinstated and I'll start to feed off the life energies of them and their decedents once again. I should be good for a few more hundred years until their bloodlines are too diluted. But I'll worry about that then. I wonder what the next rare event will be that I can add to the rumour.	The tea party was going as pleasantly as it could. Light sprinkled between the leaves of his very big tree, his flowers and stuff lining his sizable backyard. He and his lady friend enjoy the afternoon as they have the past hundreds or thousands of years and discuss normal everyday things, like taxes and seagulls. However, today was no ordinary day. In fact, today's tea party was in celebration of a less trivial event in the life of Eon Athanasios XIII-- sorry, the 13th. "You done monologuing?" She queried. He forgets what her true nature is from time to time. Nothing relevant to her statement, he really just forgets. "Silence. My good mood will not be brought down by the likes of you." "Mhmm," she mused, albeit halfheartedly. "Slugs at the right patch, by the way. Your right. Technically, both of them are right of you." He gently set down his 'antique' gold rimmed, porcelain teacups. "Cretins." Though as he turned around from his seat, Anathansiosthe 13th found himself staring right at an arm creeping through a broken piece in his prim, sanded and varnished redwood fence. It looked like it was reaching his fruits rather than his flowers. Though his fruits were top tier, he didn't think they were 'attempted theft every 1,000 years' worthy. Still, he loved those fruits, whatever they were called. Berries, he assumed. He picked up the bow and arrow resting quietly on the floor and knocked an arrow right beside the arm. In a panic, the arm pulls backwards, injuring itself in the process. "Sorry! Don't worry about the fence. I know you can't afford to repair it." He cried out to his neighbor. His friend clicked her tongue, leaning on the pristine beige of the long tea table. "How are you still so soft? It's been millenia." Athanasios rolled his eyes, lowering his weapon. "That was no slug, Denise. You fae and your desire for theatrics won't enrapture me this time." She opened her mouth to argue, but decided instead to finish her cup of tea. A wise decision, if Athanasios may say himself. He glanced at his watch and whistled a low tune. "Goodness, what time do you think the Demetricons will arrive?" "For the last time, Thanasios, Demeter would not approve of you calling her children 'Demetricons'." "I've waited decades to say it at this very moment." "Thanasios." He sat back down on his intricately design redwood chair and sighed. Gods. Couldn't live with them, couldn't live without them. "I'll burn an offering in her name." "Mm. Gods, this is timeless." Denise exclaimed, pouring herself another cup. To her left, a woman had launched herself into the garden of Athanasios's tasty flowers. Swiftly as she came, she'd been escorted out by the branches of the big tree the beautiful tea party had been situated under. Athana couldn't help but giggle when her voice travelled through the nature, whispering 'Nobody will ever believe you' to the frightened lady. "This is true. In the vein of 'timeless', when do you reckon we renew our permissions?" She set aside her used porcelain, sorting them neatly to the side. "Athena sent you her approval already?" "Not yet. Oh, I just can't wait for Hermes himself to come down and deliver." Athanasios sighed. "Hermes..." "Ah, Hermes," she agreed. "Ahh... ah, Hermes!" Her eyebrows furrowed to the space behind Anathanasios, shocked. "Are you overly excited about Hermes or is Hermes actually--" "--here!" Hermes popped up in between him and Denise. Impish features, body of a Greek god (haha), dark brown curly hair and chocolate eyes to die for, this man was indeed the god himself. Sporting Nike's with wings, a leopard skin pattern polo, gold sunglasses, and khaki capris, the god looked more like a tourist than a deliverer. Though the messenger bag was a give away. "Yes, he's got the tea!" He exclaimed. Athanasios poured a cup for the god. "You must be famished, my sir. Or not. Gods are quite strange." Hermes happily gulped the drink without a second thought, a satisfied groan escaping his mouth. He patted Athanasios on the back. "Always have been. And always, always so good! Anyway, here's your and the anthousai's approval letters. You know how it goes. I won't waste anymore time. Fingers crossed! And Athanos-- make me another batch? I'll come back around 4." You handed the unopened letter to Denise, awestruck at the god's presence. "Of course. Thank you for the delivery." "You are most absolutely welcome, your Greatness. Anyway, I seriously spent more time than I should have so I gotta rush. Bye!" Just like that, he disappeared into thin air. Athanasios turned to face his lady friend, unmoving with her mouth agape Figuring it was simply awestruck, he unfolded the letter sealed with a violet wax, a nicely written 'A' on the seal. Seeing even the slightest bit of ink inside told him everything he needed to know. He looked across the table to Denise, whose jaw still hung from her face. He chuckled. "You really should get used to... seeing..." Athanasios realized the problem the second he looked down. Her paper was already open. And it was empty.
	[WP] A rare herb that grows once a millenium is said to grant immortality. You aren't sure about that but you do know that herb is very tasty, and you don't know why everyone keeps trying to raid your garden once every thousand years	"But I'm just your apprentice," Gerald admitted with a sigh, "I'm not sure how to solve that kind of complex spellwork." "You might just be my apprentice, but you have been my apprentice for a century or two. You know more than you might believe," Ferrando asserted. "After all, you've seen the components that I use for my Immortality spell, haven't you? I've been a Sorcerer for ten thousand years. I'd like to believe I'm half a competent teacher or more." Ferrando nodded to the wall where the glistening silvery gray hairs shone on the shelves of spell components. There were hundreds of components. Amongst the rows of jars the hairs seemed entirely inconsequential. But they weren't. "Yes, I thought they were unicorn hairs, but-" Gerald began. "But the unicorns are in hiding, yes. I know. That makes it much harder to collect their hairs, of course. And over a children's book. I could hardly believe my ears when I heard," the Great Sorcerer Ferrando said with a grimace. "Absolutely astounding." "So what are the other hairs?" Gerald asked carefully. He knew to tread carefully when asking Ferrando about the details of his secret spell. The knowledge wasn't worth risking the benefits he had been reaping for a century. "Do you remember that tasty herb you had on your first day here?" Ferrando asked. He did not wait for an answer. "Well, every so often a bunch of ravenous gray haired people start clambering into my garden and trying to steal it from me. Naturally, as the progenitor of the Heart-Stopping spell, they never survive the intrusion." "So you steal their hairs," Gerald noted, "But how do they substitute for the live-giving properties of the unicorn hairs? I mean – aren't they just gray hairs?" "Not quite certain, but I've tested the spell and it clearly works quite decidedly. I mean, after all, I am still here. Right?" Ferrando smiled as he continued with a flourish of his hand. He often marveled at his own improvisation. "Every time I simply stop their hearts, collect their hairs, and then enjoy one of those strange tasty herbs for my trouble. Then I return to this tower to cast the spell. It always works. For millenia." "Strange," Gerald mused softly. "I agree," Ferrando responded animatedly with his hands still flourishing. "But I'll take a working Immortality spell over a tasty herb any day."	The tea party was going as pleasantly as it could. Light sprinkled between the leaves of his very big tree, his flowers and stuff lining his sizable backyard. He and his lady friend enjoy the afternoon as they have the past hundreds or thousands of years and discuss normal everyday things, like taxes and seagulls. However, today was no ordinary day. In fact, today's tea party was in celebration of a less trivial event in the life of Eon Athanasios XIII-- sorry, the 13th. "You done monologuing?" She queried. He forgets what her true nature is from time to time. Nothing relevant to her statement, he really just forgets. "Silence. My good mood will not be brought down by the likes of you." "Mhmm," she mused, albeit halfheartedly. "Slugs at the right patch, by the way. Your right. Technically, both of them are right of you." He gently set down his 'antique' gold rimmed, porcelain teacups. "Cretins." Though as he turned around from his seat, Anathansiosthe 13th found himself staring right at an arm creeping through a broken piece in his prim, sanded and varnished redwood fence. It looked like it was reaching his fruits rather than his flowers. Though his fruits were top tier, he didn't think they were 'attempted theft every 1,000 years' worthy. Still, he loved those fruits, whatever they were called. Berries, he assumed. He picked up the bow and arrow resting quietly on the floor and knocked an arrow right beside the arm. In a panic, the arm pulls backwards, injuring itself in the process. "Sorry! Don't worry about the fence. I know you can't afford to repair it." He cried out to his neighbor. His friend clicked her tongue, leaning on the pristine beige of the long tea table. "How are you still so soft? It's been millenia." Athanasios rolled his eyes, lowering his weapon. "That was no slug, Denise. You fae and your desire for theatrics won't enrapture me this time." She opened her mouth to argue, but decided instead to finish her cup of tea. A wise decision, if Athanasios may say himself. He glanced at his watch and whistled a low tune. "Goodness, what time do you think the Demetricons will arrive?" "For the last time, Thanasios, Demeter would not approve of you calling her children 'Demetricons'." "I've waited decades to say it at this very moment." "Thanasios." He sat back down on his intricately design redwood chair and sighed. Gods. Couldn't live with them, couldn't live without them. "I'll burn an offering in her name." "Mm. Gods, this is timeless." Denise exclaimed, pouring herself another cup. To her left, a woman had launched herself into the garden of Athanasios's tasty flowers. Swiftly as she came, she'd been escorted out by the branches of the big tree the beautiful tea party had been situated under. Athana couldn't help but giggle when her voice travelled through the nature, whispering 'Nobody will ever believe you' to the frightened lady. "This is true. In the vein of 'timeless', when do you reckon we renew our permissions?" She set aside her used porcelain, sorting them neatly to the side. "Athena sent you her approval already?" "Not yet. Oh, I just can't wait for Hermes himself to come down and deliver." Athanasios sighed. "Hermes..." "Ah, Hermes," she agreed. "Ahh... ah, Hermes!" Her eyebrows furrowed to the space behind Anathanasios, shocked. "Are you overly excited about Hermes or is Hermes actually--" "--here!" Hermes popped up in between him and Denise. Impish features, body of a Greek god (haha), dark brown curly hair and chocolate eyes to die for, this man was indeed the god himself. Sporting Nike's with wings, a leopard skin pattern polo, gold sunglasses, and khaki capris, the god looked more like a tourist than a deliverer. Though the messenger bag was a give away. "Yes, he's got the tea!" He exclaimed. Athanasios poured a cup for the god. "You must be famished, my sir. Or not. Gods are quite strange." Hermes happily gulped the drink without a second thought, a satisfied groan escaping his mouth. He patted Athanasios on the back. "Always have been. And always, always so good! Anyway, here's your and the anthousai's approval letters. You know how it goes. I won't waste anymore time. Fingers crossed! And Athanos-- make me another batch? I'll come back around 4." You handed the unopened letter to Denise, awestruck at the god's presence. "Of course. Thank you for the delivery." "You are most absolutely welcome, your Greatness. Anyway, I seriously spent more time than I should have so I gotta rush. Bye!" Just like that, he disappeared into thin air. Athanasios turned to face his lady friend, unmoving with her mouth agape Figuring it was simply awestruck, he unfolded the letter sealed with a violet wax, a nicely written 'A' on the seal. Seeing even the slightest bit of ink inside told him everything he needed to know. He looked across the table to Denise, whose jaw still hung from her face. He chuckled. "You really should get used to... seeing..." Athanasios realized the problem the second he looked down. Her paper was already open. And it was empty.
	[WP] A rare herb that grows once a millenium is said to grant immortality. You aren't sure about that but you do know that herb is very tasty, and you don't know why everyone keeps trying to raid your garden once every thousand years	"I just don't get it, Lenore," I told the merchant next to me at the market. "They came into my garden, tore up my herbs, and stole my Silphium! What could they even want with it? They've come up with much better medicine than that by now! Can't they just go see their doctor?" Lenore looked at me with a weary sigh, "Oh, Dee, not again. For goodness sake. It's the same thing every millennium. I swear, I don't know what goes on in these people's heads!" "I would share with them if they asked!" I said. "Why do they have to be so violent about it?! I mean, it's tasty, but it's not worth all that." "I'm with you on that," Lenore said. "You know I've never had a taste for it." "I guess we'll never know," I said. Lenore agreed with me, sadly shaking her head. I pulled myself out of my thoughts, putting a smile back on my face. "Anyway, did you want to share some of my Lepidodendron tea? It's certainly not selling." I looked across my booth. Once again, all that was left was the delicious tea that looked and smelled so off-putting that I can't remember ever selling any. Their loss, I guess. It really is the most delicious tea I've ever tasted. "Oh, dear, you know I'd never pass that up. Always warms me right up, it does." So as the market died down, we sat and shared tea and conversation. For us it had become a long-time tradition.	The tea party was going as pleasantly as it could. Light sprinkled between the leaves of his very big tree, his flowers and stuff lining his sizable backyard. He and his lady friend enjoy the afternoon as they have the past hundreds or thousands of years and discuss normal everyday things, like taxes and seagulls. However, today was no ordinary day. In fact, today's tea party was in celebration of a less trivial event in the life of Eon Athanasios XIII-- sorry, the 13th. "You done monologuing?" She queried. He forgets what her true nature is from time to time. Nothing relevant to her statement, he really just forgets. "Silence. My good mood will not be brought down by the likes of you." "Mhmm," she mused, albeit halfheartedly. "Slugs at the right patch, by the way. Your right. Technically, both of them are right of you." He gently set down his 'antique' gold rimmed, porcelain teacups. "Cretins." Though as he turned around from his seat, Anathansiosthe 13th found himself staring right at an arm creeping through a broken piece in his prim, sanded and varnished redwood fence. It looked like it was reaching his fruits rather than his flowers. Though his fruits were top tier, he didn't think they were 'attempted theft every 1,000 years' worthy. Still, he loved those fruits, whatever they were called. Berries, he assumed. He picked up the bow and arrow resting quietly on the floor and knocked an arrow right beside the arm. In a panic, the arm pulls backwards, injuring itself in the process. "Sorry! Don't worry about the fence. I know you can't afford to repair it." He cried out to his neighbor. His friend clicked her tongue, leaning on the pristine beige of the long tea table. "How are you still so soft? It's been millenia." Athanasios rolled his eyes, lowering his weapon. "That was no slug, Denise. You fae and your desire for theatrics won't enrapture me this time." She opened her mouth to argue, but decided instead to finish her cup of tea. A wise decision, if Athanasios may say himself. He glanced at his watch and whistled a low tune. "Goodness, what time do you think the Demetricons will arrive?" "For the last time, Thanasios, Demeter would not approve of you calling her children 'Demetricons'." "I've waited decades to say it at this very moment." "Thanasios." He sat back down on his intricately design redwood chair and sighed. Gods. Couldn't live with them, couldn't live without them. "I'll burn an offering in her name." "Mm. Gods, this is timeless." Denise exclaimed, pouring herself another cup. To her left, a woman had launched herself into the garden of Athanasios's tasty flowers. Swiftly as she came, she'd been escorted out by the branches of the big tree the beautiful tea party had been situated under. Athana couldn't help but giggle when her voice travelled through the nature, whispering 'Nobody will ever believe you' to the frightened lady. "This is true. In the vein of 'timeless', when do you reckon we renew our permissions?" She set aside her used porcelain, sorting them neatly to the side. "Athena sent you her approval already?" "Not yet. Oh, I just can't wait for Hermes himself to come down and deliver." Athanasios sighed. "Hermes..." "Ah, Hermes," she agreed. "Ahh... ah, Hermes!" Her eyebrows furrowed to the space behind Anathanasios, shocked. "Are you overly excited about Hermes or is Hermes actually--" "--here!" Hermes popped up in between him and Denise. Impish features, body of a Greek god (haha), dark brown curly hair and chocolate eyes to die for, this man was indeed the god himself. Sporting Nike's with wings, a leopard skin pattern polo, gold sunglasses, and khaki capris, the god looked more like a tourist than a deliverer. Though the messenger bag was a give away. "Yes, he's got the tea!" He exclaimed. Athanasios poured a cup for the god. "You must be famished, my sir. Or not. Gods are quite strange." Hermes happily gulped the drink without a second thought, a satisfied groan escaping his mouth. He patted Athanasios on the back. "Always have been. And always, always so good! Anyway, here's your and the anthousai's approval letters. You know how it goes. I won't waste anymore time. Fingers crossed! And Athanos-- make me another batch? I'll come back around 4." You handed the unopened letter to Denise, awestruck at the god's presence. "Of course. Thank you for the delivery." "You are most absolutely welcome, your Greatness. Anyway, I seriously spent more time than I should have so I gotta rush. Bye!" Just like that, he disappeared into thin air. Athanasios turned to face his lady friend, unmoving with her mouth agape Figuring it was simply awestruck, he unfolded the letter sealed with a violet wax, a nicely written 'A' on the seal. Seeing even the slightest bit of ink inside told him everything he needed to know. He looked across the table to Denise, whose jaw still hung from her face. He chuckled. "You really should get used to... seeing..." Athanasios realized the problem the second he looked down. Her paper was already open. And it was empty.
	[WP] A rare herb that grows once a millenium is said to grant immortality. You aren't sure about that but you do know that herb is very tasty, and you don't know why everyone keeps trying to raid your garden once every thousand years	Magic is a delicate thing -- the spells need to be observed, the rules followed, everything kept in just the right balance. Another few hundred years has passed, and I could feel the life essence slowing once again. And so I spread the rumour -- it's always a nice one to spread: a single leaf of the rare purple herb "Ocimum Basilicum Rosa Caeruleum", when picked on a full moon on the night of the winter solstice, will grant immortality to those who eat it. I also make sure that it gets known that this mysterious plant only grows in one location, which happens to be a "forgotten" corner of my estate, just over there in the middle of the swamp, or something. I change the rumour each time to correspond to some major event of some sort: "under a total eclipse" or "when Jupiter and Mars are in conjunction" or whatever suits. I don't want these people trampling the roses every other night after this "magic herb", so this limits them to once in a few hundred years. In truth, the spell calls for the consumption of a stolen herb from the grounds owned by the spell's caster. It doesn't matter when it's picked, or even what the herb is, only that it is stolen, and the person stealing it knows that they are stealing it. They need to be doing something wrong and need to be aware that they are doing something wrong. So the full moon is up, and it's a beautiful clear night too. Cold and crisp. A perfect "magical" night. And I can hear some of the locals trying to be quiet just on the other side of the hedge. Once I see them crossing through the hedge I'll start muttering the incantation. They know they only need one leaf, so they'll take everything that's there and share it out among their families. The curse shall be reinstated and I'll start to feed off the life energies of them and their decedents once again. I should be good for a few more hundred years until their bloodlines are too diluted. But I'll worry about that then. I wonder what the next rare event will be that I can add to the rumour.	I'm always impressed by the stupidity of mortals. An herb that can make you immortal. Absurd! Targin is just a spice. That's it. Yea, I eat the stuff everyday I can, and sure, its oil is a great anti-biotic, but that's about it. Nothing special about it. It doesn't even look too unique compared to something like Basil or Timik. And yet, they come. Every 16 cycles, they come. Again and again and again. I would have thought the massive scrapheap of ships inside and around the system's asteroid sphere would have been a good deterrent, but mortals have a certain paradoxical desire to end their lives for a chance at keeping them. The ships ended up acting as a beacon instead. Sucks, but I'm too lazy to go and clean them out. Their mess, not mine. But I'm getting off topic. They all come here every 16 cycles for some Targin. Takes 16 cycles to grow, and they come by every fucking time. They break though the belt, knock my scanners into the moons, interrupt the flow between my garden and the dyson sphere, then send down multiple vessels full of themselves, landing on and trampling my flowers and saplings every fucking time. They then drag their tiny bodies outside the ship, weapons (I think?) drawn, and always in odd colors that only match a specific region of my garden, which they never land in. They then follow my trails, heading twords my abode, cutting down any flora or fauna in their wake. I used to not have any to follow, the stars are enough for me, but they always found me eventually, so I just decided that if they're going to be pests, I could at least avoid most of the property damage with some arrows and signs. For some reason, they're always so shocked to find my temple. Staring at it in awe before finding the door and trying to bust in. It's amazing how they all find the door, and not a single one has ever checked if it was unlocked. The one truly enjoyable part of the experience is opening a door right as one's about to try to ram through it. It doesn't matter the size, strength, material, or density of the pests, one will always try, without fail. It would be sad if it wasn't so funny. After a giggle, I offer them a seat. They're always shocked I can understand them, so much so that I soon came to realize they lick any fruits of knowledge of any kind. You'd think getting their planets that would be a priority, considering it works, but whatever. Desite their rude barging in unannounced, I've offered to sell them some seeds several times before, just to get them to fuck off, but even the ones that accept can't even shore up a cube of 118-294. Not all of then even know what it is! Of course, they then start with the threats or the begging, sometimes both. I just tune them out at this point, waiting to see if they make a move or not. I've heard it all before; "You're being entirely unreasonable!". "We don't live that long!". "I have a dying family!". Blah blah blah and so on, and so on. Why do they assume I care? Empathy is a purely mortal trait, and one that gets them killed more often then not. At one point, I tried to tell them it didn't work. It didn't make you immortal, or raise the dead, or whatever insanity they spouted next. But then they yell and scream and complain some more. The ones with eyes even dirtied my floor with fluids sometimes. So, I don't anymore. I just let them babble. Once whichever one is apparently the loudest is done, I walk back to my door and open it, then stand beside it. Mortals may be dumb, but their not stupid, and they all get my implication here. Regardless of what happens next, the mortals are gone within the hour, ether physically or spiritually. I order the temple to clean up their mess, bandage whatever wounds I claimed, and climb to the top. step, step, step. Like clockwork. Step, step, step. Every. Fucking. time. Step, Step, step. Because they just won't learn. Step, Step, Step. I have to teach them a lesson. Step, step, step. The lesson. Step, step, step, step. Again. ... Just once. Just once Id like to get to know them. Have them be reasonable. I want to know why they were created. Why they exist. ... But no. They choose greed. Every single time. They never come for a chat, never come to learn, never even come to sight see. It's just about Targin. It's always about Targin. Nothing but Targin. They will destroy my garden for Targin. They Have destroyed my garden for Targin. And it is my duty to protect my garden. It's why I was created. My sole purpose. Maybe that's why they were created. Maybe that's why they never learn, never listen... ... And so, I get to the top, once again, step up, and, with the push of a button, I'm on the Dyson sphere. I used to give warnings. I used to want to believe. But within 3 cycles, the ones I let go come back. Again. And. Again. Again, I push a few buttons, pull a few knobs, and point at their ship. So close to the garden. So close to ruining it again. Even if the plant could grant immortality, what made them worthy? Every mortal I've given it to gets themselves killed before the cycle ends. Every mortal who's tasted it ravenously comes back for more. Every mortal I let go comes back with a thousand more. Every mortal Makes a thousand more each cycle. ... And with a button pushed, a solar flare erupts. The ship is gone, floating away from the garden. Everyone on it is dead. I'm alone again. Another button, and I'm home. I'm always impressed by the stupidity of mortals. Enginuity to escape their system, the ability to communicate across world's, across systems, the ability to make more of themselves, to shape worlds and create things. And every time, they end up here again. And every time, they end here. All over a stupid herb that doesn't even do anything. Mortals are just sad.
	[WP] A rare herb that grows once a millenium is said to grant immortality. You aren't sure about that but you do know that herb is very tasty, and you don't know why everyone keeps trying to raid your garden once every thousand years	"I just don't get it, Lenore," I told the merchant next to me at the market. "They came into my garden, tore up my herbs, and stole my Silphium! What could they even want with it? They've come up with much better medicine than that by now! Can't they just go see their doctor?" Lenore looked at me with a weary sigh, "Oh, Dee, not again. For goodness sake. It's the same thing every millennium. I swear, I don't know what goes on in these people's heads!" "I would share with them if they asked!" I said. "Why do they have to be so violent about it?! I mean, it's tasty, but it's not worth all that." "I'm with you on that," Lenore said. "You know I've never had a taste for it." "I guess we'll never know," I said. Lenore agreed with me, sadly shaking her head. I pulled myself out of my thoughts, putting a smile back on my face. "Anyway, did you want to share some of my Lepidodendron tea? It's certainly not selling." I looked across my booth. Once again, all that was left was the delicious tea that looked and smelled so off-putting that I can't remember ever selling any. Their loss, I guess. It really is the most delicious tea I've ever tasted. "Oh, dear, you know I'd never pass that up. Always warms me right up, it does." So as the market died down, we sat and shared tea and conversation. For us it had become a long-time tradition.	I consider myself a master gardener. I also consider myself a loner. I moved to the mountains to make sure that I wouldn’t have to see too many people. Sure, my friends can come and have dinner, that’s nice. But it only happens once a decade. Otherwise, I enjoy gardening, reading, and tending to my animals. They’re such sweet things. And all of us have been blessed with very long lives. It is a delight to see my friends, but, you see, people who are not my friends come around sometimes. And they like to stomp in my flowers, tear the roots from the ground, eat the leaves as if they were ambrosia-soaked roasts. I don’t understand them, why they would hike up this mountain to disturb an old woman. I truly like to think I am a kind person, and if they would just ask, I would be so, so happy to share with them. My grandchildren often eat things from my garden, when they visit. But those visits have gotten rare. Even if the nuisance isn’t that much, sure, it only happens every millennium or so, it is still a nuisance, and a woman like me, with blood like mine, well I can’t much bear it. Which is why I got the bear. And oh, what a sweetheart she is. I named her Susie. She’s a very smart bear. She helps me get around the house when my bones get tired, and she’ll even help me cook sometimes. I hear she’s Harvard educated. At least, that’s what she tells me. She’s also an ex-marine, which can come in handy when I need trenches dug for my garden, as she had very large bear muscles. And it is so much fun to watch her dig, even if my eye sight is going. I let her eat anything in my garden that she wanted, and she grew even stronger. So when they came again, in the night, they were surprised to find a bear, a very smart bear. Susie was quick with them. She growled at them, to warn them off, but when they brandished knives, well, she had to show them she meant business. I’m very glad that I have a deal with a local merchant to come up every year or so. Last year he brought us some new things, small stuff, like brandy, books, and an AK-47. At the time, I thought Susie was just bored, looking for something to cure that itch in her to unleash her bear instincts. She told me that she was never that fond of paw-to-hand combat. She preferred things nice and dirty. And now, when they come, when they want to stomp on my flowers and tear out the roots and eat the leaves, she takes care of them. And I roll over when I hear the shouts and the shots. She’s an awfully smart bear, you know. I trust she can take care of both herself and my garden. r/AinsleyAdams
	[WP] A rare herb that grows once a millenium is said to grant immortality. You aren't sure about that but you do know that herb is very tasty, and you don't know why everyone keeps trying to raid your garden once every thousand years	"I just don't get it, Lenore," I told the merchant next to me at the market. "They came into my garden, tore up my herbs, and stole my Silphium! What could they even want with it? They've come up with much better medicine than that by now! Can't they just go see their doctor?" Lenore looked at me with a weary sigh, "Oh, Dee, not again. For goodness sake. It's the same thing every millennium. I swear, I don't know what goes on in these people's heads!" "I would share with them if they asked!" I said. "Why do they have to be so violent about it?! I mean, it's tasty, but it's not worth all that." "I'm with you on that," Lenore said. "You know I've never had a taste for it." "I guess we'll never know," I said. Lenore agreed with me, sadly shaking her head. I pulled myself out of my thoughts, putting a smile back on my face. "Anyway, did you want to share some of my Lepidodendron tea? It's certainly not selling." I looked across my booth. Once again, all that was left was the delicious tea that looked and smelled so off-putting that I can't remember ever selling any. Their loss, I guess. It really is the most delicious tea I've ever tasted. "Oh, dear, you know I'd never pass that up. Always warms me right up, it does." So as the market died down, we sat and shared tea and conversation. For us it had become a long-time tradition.	Everyone whose anyone knows about Roman. Roman sits at 6 feet 4 inches, with hands as big as a sack of flour. His full beard and head full of long grey hair grants him the nickname Grandfather Time. Roman lives alone in the outskirts of town, doesn’t bother anyone, all he does is chop trees, gather wood and tends to his garden all day long. Stories have been passed down for centuries that his garden contains the precious Sicopious Herb. So every time it blooms people flock to the woods to try and get their hands on this herb. They say if you’re caught in his garden, you’re trapped there forever. But if you make it out alive, you will be more powerful than you can imagine. Only one person has ever made it out alive. He come running out the Forrest screaming “I got it I got it!” Everyone wanted to see it for themselves. Only, when he ate it, he said it was the best dang thing he’s ever tasted and immediately went back in the woods for more. Everyone ran after him but all that was discovered after he went into the woods was Roman sitting there on his porch, cup of tea in hard just rocking in his chair with a welcoming smile. And the man who ran off, never to be seen again. Rumor has it Roman had something to do with it, others say maybe the herb made you lose your memory as a sacrifice of immortality. Who knows, but every century people still flock to Romans garden for just a chance of more life, no matter the price they have to pay.
	[WP] A rare herb that grows once a millenium is said to grant immortality. You aren't sure about that but you do know that herb is very tasty, and you don't know why everyone keeps trying to raid your garden once every thousand years	My wife was the first to die. Ninety-five, in her sleep. Peaceful like. Then it was my youngest; cancer. My boy was an alcoholic, but somehow he made it to seventy 'fore his liver give out. Graceful God, he didn't have children. Now it's just me, and my house, and my wood. Every year the city-folk get a little closer, and my wood get a little smaller. I live out here 'midst the giant trees. The one I live behind's name is Gorgon. Big. So big I can't see the top if I stand next to 'er and crane my neck up. Her bark's some kind of magic in it. Every so often a flower sprouts, opens up into ebony splendor, and I cut it and boil it into some tea. It don't taste right -- burnin all the way down -- but I think it's keepin me here, in this place. I never start to look like my wife did. I don't get sick like my youngest. I don't remember how old I am, but I know Gorgon still 'round. Don't know how, but word got out about this flower, and now folks comin' round to try and find one. Mostly I don't mind; it don't come up but once in awhile, and I could do with the company. Gets lonely sometimes: late at night starin up at the stars, wonderin if my kids is up there; in the quiet of winter when the snow and wood kill all the noise; in the sound of rain; when I wake up, and remember no one's there. Every time I cut the flower and taste the burnin I swear this is the last time, but then I lose my nerve and, cryin I'm cuttin the flower, brewin the tea, and here I am. See I don't know what's in the after -- where my kids at, where my wife at. Sometimes I can feel their love in the here. Is it in the after? So I sit and sip my black tea. Sometimes I wonder if I'm doin all them city folk a favor. Maybe they get this flower and not think bout what it is to live in a place, all the time stayin the same while everything else change. The years, they burn like this tea.	Everyone whose anyone knows about Roman. Roman sits at 6 feet 4 inches, with hands as big as a sack of flour. His full beard and head full of long grey hair grants him the nickname Grandfather Time. Roman lives alone in the outskirts of town, doesn’t bother anyone, all he does is chop trees, gather wood and tends to his garden all day long. Stories have been passed down for centuries that his garden contains the precious Sicopious Herb. So every time it blooms people flock to the woods to try and get their hands on this herb. They say if you’re caught in his garden, you’re trapped there forever. But if you make it out alive, you will be more powerful than you can imagine. Only one person has ever made it out alive. He come running out the Forrest screaming “I got it I got it!” Everyone wanted to see it for themselves. Only, when he ate it, he said it was the best dang thing he’s ever tasted and immediately went back in the woods for more. Everyone ran after him but all that was discovered after he went into the woods was Roman sitting there on his porch, cup of tea in hard just rocking in his chair with a welcoming smile. And the man who ran off, never to be seen again. Rumor has it Roman had something to do with it, others say maybe the herb made you lose your memory as a sacrifice of immortality. Who knows, but every century people still flock to Romans garden for just a chance of more life, no matter the price they have to pay.
	[WP] A rare herb that grows once a millenium is said to grant immortality. You aren't sure about that but you do know that herb is very tasty, and you don't know why everyone keeps trying to raid your garden once every thousand years	My wife was the first to die. Ninety-five, in her sleep. Peaceful like. Then it was my youngest; cancer. My boy was an alcoholic, but somehow he made it to seventy 'fore his liver give out. Graceful God, he didn't have children. Now it's just me, and my house, and my wood. Every year the city-folk get a little closer, and my wood get a little smaller. I live out here 'midst the giant trees. The one I live behind's name is Gorgon. Big. So big I can't see the top if I stand next to 'er and crane my neck up. Her bark's some kind of magic in it. Every so often a flower sprouts, opens up into ebony splendor, and I cut it and boil it into some tea. It don't taste right -- burnin all the way down -- but I think it's keepin me here, in this place. I never start to look like my wife did. I don't get sick like my youngest. I don't remember how old I am, but I know Gorgon still 'round. Don't know how, but word got out about this flower, and now folks comin' round to try and find one. Mostly I don't mind; it don't come up but once in awhile, and I could do with the company. Gets lonely sometimes: late at night starin up at the stars, wonderin if my kids is up there; in the quiet of winter when the snow and wood kill all the noise; in the sound of rain; when I wake up, and remember no one's there. Every time I cut the flower and taste the burnin I swear this is the last time, but then I lose my nerve and, cryin I'm cuttin the flower, brewin the tea, and here I am. See I don't know what's in the after -- where my kids at, where my wife at. Sometimes I can feel their love in the here. Is it in the after? So I sit and sip my black tea. Sometimes I wonder if I'm doin all them city folk a favor. Maybe they get this flower and not think bout what it is to live in a place, all the time stayin the same while everything else change. The years, they burn like this tea.	Melad has lived for thousands of years. Earth has been producing floral biotics of different kind after the demise of original humans many millennium ago. He lives in the ruins of the past. He has long transformed the acres of land around him to suit his simple life. For a farmer like him the vegetations are his treasures. He doesn't remember the first time he met a fellow human nor does he remember his past but he surely does remember what came after. A handful of people raided his field once he tried to welcome them and help them with their need whatever that may be. But humans are the kind that's known for their encroachment, Melad learned it the hard way. "Please, help help me— Let me have it." The last words of a dying old man he once met made an impression on him it haunted him. He questioned the fact why he can't die yet what's making him last longer or if this is natural at all in the first place. Melad's skills far exceeded anyone's. He'd made fences around the perimeter and watched carefully for any intruder. He didn't expect a woman to sneak into his house one night. "H-How did you do it?" Melad questioned the girl. She looked nervous, head down and frail. The girl waved and performed something with her hands after being silent for a minute there. Melad couldn't understand what she was trying to say but he knew she was mute from the time she took to respond. No one was able to enter his place for a thousand years but a girl did it somehow, a clever one he thought. He provided her some food, clothes to change and a place to sleep in for the night. She slept that night but Melad was awoke unable to bring himself to sleep. Nothing robbed him of his sleep before. "Did you sleep well?" The girl got herself up and nodded quietly. "Good. I made you breakfast. You can may be give me some answers later, or not. I don't know what you're running from but you're safe here trust me," Melad gave her a smile to begin her day with. One day when they were walking the field Melad was pondered with a question before he asked her, "What's your name if I may ask?" She just looked at him then her eyes moved towards something, he turned around and saw it. "What are you looking at?" He asked. She raised her arm and pointed at it. A flying insect was sipping the nectar from a flower. "Are you saying your name is Moth?" The girl shaked her head right to left, the movement of her eyes and the way she kept her lips indicated that as if she was trying to say, 'Something like that." "Can I call you Moth, if you don't mind?" She replied with a nod and then she smiled at Melad. Several years went by they'd both become good friends despite the gap in their communication. He taught her ways she never thought she'd come to learn some day, and soon she'd become quite a farmer herself. Melad went to his garden of flowers. "Moth, come here," he called her. She inquired with her sign language as she entered in. "Now now, look." She couldn't take her eyes off of a peculiar flower that grew vertically around a plant. Melad called it Agave Ocahui. "The leaves are edible I'll make you a food you can't forget for another thousand years. It's very tasty," he said. "For thousand years..." For a moment Melad's speech froze her right where she stood. It took all her strength to move and act naturally around him so that he won't get suspicious. Moth was careful. Melad and Moth weren't expecting visitors, men and women came looking for something in Melad's possession just like how it happened in the past. Melad always had a way to handle them in case if they aren't friendly. It's not going to be any different this time, he thought. He hid Moth in the basement of the newly built house. "Gentlemen, and ladies." Melad looked at them as they appeared from the woods to confront him. "What is it that you want?" "All of this." The guy who who led them told Melad as he smirked looking down, then he turned to his left and spat. "You're no different from others, aren't you?" "I don't know about others you're going to die by my hands I can assure you that," the man with a scar on his face threatened him. Melad quickly raised his arm and started shooting arrows from the machine he was hiding in his back. The others ran to his house, the leader evaded Melad's attack and jumped him. Melad wasn't expecting so many of them things went sideways quickly. "I told you, right?" He told Melad as he brought him down. Melad struggled to break free. "Not so much of an immortal, are you?" "Immortal? What is he talking about?" Melad thought to himself. "Wait, wait. You don't know?" the man laughed. "Look, everyone, he doesn't know," he mocked Melad in front of his people. "How could you be so naïve?," he asked him. "Let me tell you something you ignorant fool, we are like you. We lost our garden to a fire so we searched for the thing that grants you your immortality for years, we'd pillaged several villages for that and look where it led us. To you." Melad put his head down and remembered asking Moth to run away. At least she'd be safe, he thought. Right when he was thinking it's all over a woman from the team who'd ran to his house brought her. "Look who I found in his house, it's brand new I'm telling you, it has plenty of rooms," she said. "Moth, no." Melad succumbed to despair for the first time in his life. "Mo? Is that you?" the man recognized her right away. "I thought I lost you," he said. Moth acted aggressively and spat on his face. "Ever the fierce girl I know," he said, then he slapped her. Melad was filled with confusion it made him angry. He looked at Moth the anger subsided, she turned her face from him she couldn't face him. Milad could see her sadness. The man then ordered them to take her away, he is going to kill Melad, she knew. She attacked her captors distracting the scarred man so that Melad would have an opening to attack him, and the others. Melad took hold of his machine shoved it up his gut making him bleed out, when the others came to assist their leader he quickly used the overgrown vegetation around him as a weapon and blinded them all. He's a farmer for thousands of years he knew what to do. The field was filled with blood and sweat where it once saw Melad train Moth martial arts for months. Somewhere in his mind he thought Moth could've told him of everything, or her past about where she's from or what she did but it didn't bother him so much than what was at hand in that moment. Only a few remained, they'd already ran away from them. Melad took a long breath and fell down on the ground. She gave him shoulder and carried him to his house. They will not speak of this for years. "Did you know?," Melad questioned her at the dinner table the next day. She didn't respond a thing. She said she will tell everything someday, and that they're together and that's all it matters. Melad fell ill the following days, it lasted for weeks. She asked if he can do anything for him, she asked if there's something he wants to tell her. "You first," he said as he smiled at her. She told him everything, that she wasn't like him, an immortal and that she was just a human. She initially came to kill Melad to survive, she trusted only herself for years until she met him. As a young girl she witnessed her family and her village get slaughtered by a group of men, she survived cause her parents hid her. Then she met the scarred man weeks later, he took her in and raised her. He taught her things as he looked for the secret herb that grants immortality. She ran away from him when she came to know that he was responsible for the death of her parents. "I'm sorry," she said with her sign language. "Don't be. You're brave. I'll give you that," Melad then proceeded to tell her his secret. "I relied on this herb for so long without the knowledge of what it's really capable of I always thought it's tasty," he smiled. "It's now your duty to protect this garden. It's the end of the line for me. I don't know how but I'm sure, I've never been sick my entire life, something is making me feel ill I can't figure it out." Moth teared up. "So how'd you like the food I made the other day?," he asked her. She wiped her cheek and said, "It was really tasty." Melad laughed for several minutes looking at her saying that in her sign language. They both exchanged smiles, laughter and a good conversation to remember. Moth took great care of him until his last breath. She wept and continued to live for thousand years as she promised the great man she once confided in. WP.r #116 • r/FleetingScripts
	[WP] A rare herb that grows once a millenium is said to grant immortality. You aren't sure about that but you do know that herb is very tasty, and you don't know why everyone keeps trying to raid your garden once every thousand years	I used to get a lot more visitors back in the day. They never knocked, or came by the front door for that matter. I'd always find them in the garden stomping through my crops. That just couldn't be borne. I have to make a living out here on the edge of the world, and they insisted on jeopardizing it all for the sake of their wild-goose chase. They call it the dawnflower. They say it grows only once in a thousand years, that it has petals the color of the first morning light, burning with an inner fire. They say it burns the unwanted years off you, and from then on you will always have your entire life ahead of you. I'm not sure what they're seeing. There's certainly a pretty yellow flower that blooms about that often in my garden, but it's never looked like sunlight to me. It does have a kick to it though. After the first ones started coming, I made them an offer. Stay a week, replanting what they uprooted and repairing what they destroyed in their fits of pique. On the last night I'd share a pot of hearty stew with them, to show I had no hard feelings, and provide them with any resources I could to continue on their journey. They offer extravagant apologies, toss bags of gold at my feet, pretend to agree then sneak out at the first opportunity. No one has stayed all seven nights. And these past few thousand years, it seems no one has come this way at all. A shame, really. Those yellow flowers go delightfully well with stew.	The walls were high and thrummed with spells. Mud thick beneath my fingernails as I dug, coaxing roots out of the black earth which fed them, shaking clods of soil from my robes. The plant needed light to flower, and in the winter months it would find precious little of it. In the greenhouse, beneath the red glow of artificial suns, it would have flourished. Houses clustered against the walls. The people who lived there were affected by the hum and the pulse of my wards. Their children woke in the night and their cows gave birth to monstrosities which were left at the river banks to drown. She was mine, the girl that the flower brought. Some stories tell it differently, but she was given to me, not taken. The walls of the tower are still bound by old spells. They overlap, crude runes stitching them together and making enchantments out of mere blessings. I made it, fingernails breaking on the stones which remained after the villagers pulled down my walls and broke the glass of my greenhouse. The houses of the old village are silent now. Its inhabitants have moved on. They came for their prize and once won, departed, ashamed of what they had done to an old woman’s garden. In return I was given a girl. She was wrapped in a swaddling cloth and laid at my doorstep. The magic of the plant had affected those who ate it, those who hoped for long life were cursed with her. If she had been born a calf, she would have been drowned. There is no door to the tower in which she lives. There is only a single, high window. I stand at its base and I call: “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.”
	[WP] You're a cleaner for a famous assassin. You just found out it is your spouse. This infuriates you not because of the secrets or killing, but because you've been cleaning up after your spouse at home and at their work all this time.	As soon as Gray walked through the front door, something seemed off. Walking into the living room he saw his wife sitting in his usual place on the couch. Mellissa looked up and put on a serene smile and said “Honey, we need to talk, but first why are you home so late?” Gray could feel some sweat on the back of his hand as she looked at him. “Sorry, I was caught up working on a case file in the office and did not notice how much time had passed.” “Please do remind me what job you have.” “We have been married for three years already and you still don’t know, I am a lawyer or attorney if you want the proper name. I mostly do settlement cases for car accidents on insurance companies’ behalf.” “I thought you promise me that you would never lie to me?” “I haven’t nor will I ever do so!” “I know you are a hitman! Got anything to say about that?” “Oh. Um… are you still okay being with me?” “That’s what you worried about! I clean up after you every time you take an assignment!” “Well I know that, but…” “Wait! You! Knew!” “Yes.” “For how long!?” “About two years now.” “And you didn’t bother telling me this why!?” “Just because you are cleaning up after a killer doesn’t necessarily mean you are okay being married to one.” “You are an idiot! First off, I killed people before as well. My problem isn’t about you being a killer.” “You killed before? And your still okay being with me?” “Yes, I killed before. If you want to still be with me, then there are two major problems I need to be addressed.” “What are they?” “First is the fact you are a slob in this house, and it is a pain to clean it up, but at work, you do a pristine job where it is not difficult to clean. Second is the fact you lied to me!” “Well for the first one I have to be a meticulous job to make sure I do come home to you! I may make a slight mess here at times, but that is just because I can fully relax in this house without worry. And I don’t know what you mean about the second one. I still have never lied to you” “I am happy you do come home from a dangerous job, but that will not excuse you from being a slob here. Also, the chores around this house will work differently from now on. Lastly, you are lying to me right now! What was your job again!?” “Um… you do know that I did actually pass the Bar correct? I am a registered attorney and I actually do legal cases when I am not on an assignment. It’s not like I am twirling a pen waiting for the next assignment to come in.” “That makes me feel a little better. It won’t get you out from doing more chores though. You can start by making diner, which will give you plenty of time to think of a way out of me beating you for know I was your cleaner the last two years.” “I just got home though and…” “Nope! Make diner now.” “Fine.” “Sandwiches don’t count!” “…Fine.” The End (My first time writing on a prompt.)	I´m really bad at this so it's two parter :/ 1/2The front door opens. Stephen Cobb, hedge-fund manager, upper class bellend and, justifying my being here, apparently an unfaithful husband, looks at me with a scowl. So it was his wife's idea to call me, great. "Afternoon Mr. Cobb, I´m James Taylor, the marriage counselor." "Figured as much." "May I come in? Unless you find these kind of appointments are better done on your doorstep?" He pauses, pondering if he should take my comment as a joke or an insult before answering. "No I´d rather not the neighbors know about this. Come on then, the sooner we start the sooner we finish I suppose" As soon as we step inside I'm greeted by his wife, a lovely woman. Maria, I'm sure it was. "Oh are you Mr. Taylor, the counselor?" "That's me Mrs. Cobb. Lovely to meet you" "Please call me Maria! Should we do this in the living room?" "Lead the way." There is a noticeable difference to the two of them, Stephen almost dragging his feet down the frankly oversized hall to the living room while Maria practically radiates vigor. House is well kept, pictures on the walls of the happy couple and their family or their pets. The living room is no less luxurious. Open space, high ceiling and filled with antiques. She points me to an armchair."Please, take a seat."As I do, they sit themselves on the sofa in front of me, a coffee table between us. She's a beaming smile, claiming her husband from the jaws of divorce while he rather appears to want to be almost anywhere else. So we begin. They walk through the street, looking every bit the happy married, new money couple they are meant to be. Just moved in, that's the story, wanted to say HI to the neighbors. Appearances count for everything! Of course that was not what was going to happen. No, what was going to happen would be much more, genuine. The happy couple nothing more than a cover for Marx and Engels, the most effective of the two dozen operatives under the Handler, and today, Stephen Cobb would die. Word was the old man had become a liability to his employers and needed to be replaced. That was the problem with old dogs like Cobb. Can't replace them without making a mess. Plan was simple, buy the property down the street, move in, visit Stephen unannounced on his mandated day off, put a couple of bullets in him and call the Handler who in turn would call the Proletarian to clean everything up. "You ever wonder why they gave us these silly codenames Alex?" "You mean these endless sociologists and communist names? Always thought the Handler just hated rich people." "But the organization is LOADED" "Think you can say that any louder Lisa? I´m not sure the entire neighborhood heard you." "I could yeah, but now that you asked it's no fun." "Oh no what a shame, your entertainment is paramount..." "If it is why are you still dating that bore James?!? He's the most bland plain piece of toast I´ve ever seen!" "Not dating Lisa, married. Last summer, you were there..." "I actively try to forget." "Bitch!" "Killjoy!" "Shut up, that's his house right there."Engels pointed to a large house right in front of them. Obnoxiously modern."I wonder if your husband would like to live there" "He would hate it" "Ask him after we're done" Before Engels could reply, Marx rang the doorbell and put on her most most believable smile. We aren't making much headway, Maria talks and Stephen interjects with short phrases, rarely more than one or two syllables. I don't want to say it, but I doubt they can ever can this relationship off the ground again. She should just divorce him and take as much of his assets as her lawyer can get his greedy little mitts on. The doorbell rings. "Oh were you two expecting someone?" "No, not yet at least, our son was stopping by later today with his family." Answers Maria looking just as surprised as I am. Without even waiting for her to finish Stephen has already got up and made for the front door. "I´ll go get it, you two carry on without me." I swear I hear him muttering under his breath. Turning to Maria I see the facade is already fading, so she isn't as pleased as one would have thought? "We're not going to make it through are we?" "Hmm, I´m sorry to say, but no, it doesn't look like he has any actual desire to fix things between you." "What do you think we should do?" Stretching a bit to make sure he can't hear me, I lean in closer to Maria and almost whisper to her. "I think you should call it quits, get out and take as much of his as you want. I know it's cruel to say, but your husband isn't the man that you thought he was." "I know dear, and you don't have to worry. It was just a last ditch effort to try to get something of what we once had. Tell me, are you married?" It´s a bit personal, but why shouldn't I tell her? Probably won't ever meet her again, save for the court as a witness to testify for her "Yes, last summer, I married my best friend. It was a small ceremony, we move around a lot so it's not easy to make friends. But a friend of his from work came, and my parents." "Do you ever argue?" I can't help but laugh, here I sit, a marriage counselor, being asked about problems in my own rather recent marriage. "Yes I suppose we do, little things mostly, like him making me do all the cleaning, and leaving the toilet seat up. But then again, it sometimes feels as if he's never even held a broom or a vacuum. And I certainly don't want the cat hairs all over our clothes."She smiles, bless her, probably hasn't had to experience normal arguments in years, but more asking where her husband was last night, why they never talk anymore and if he even remembers that she's alive. Stephen opened the door, and the happy couple smiled all polite and lively. "Hi" Said the man. "We just moved in down the street!" Said the woman "Wanted to meet our neighbors!" "See if they were as wealthy in personality as the reputation states!" "Its so good to be among people who can appreciate the finer things in life don't you think?" Seeing his chance to get out of this damned counselors lamenting about his dreaded wife, Stephen played every bit the gracious host. "Why of course, won't you come in, always a pleasure to have guests! Come come, lets get to know each other in the living room!" And he let the lovely young couple into his house.
	[WP] You're a cleaner for a famous assassin. You just found out it is your spouse. This infuriates you not because of the secrets or killing, but because you've been cleaning up after your spouse at home and at their work all this time.	I've been knowing my wife Mio since our sophomore year of college and we've been married for 5 years now. I love my wife to the fullest! I want to spend every moment with her for the rest of my life. She's been there for me during my brightest days and darkest nights and I the same for her but ever since a year ago where I started taking a side hustle as a cleaner that paid really well with added benefits I have discovered that she was the infamous assassin codenamed "Shinigami". Besides my side hustle, I have been working for the police department in our city as a detective for about 3 years nows. I've always wanted to solve mysteries and help the people around me in any way I can so I decided to pursue this career meanwhile my wife worked as a teacher at a high school nearby our home and often she's accepted private contracts I had no knowledge and respected her privacy until recently I found strong evidence that she was the assassin I discovered during my investigation. "I'm home, honey!" Mio called out to me from the door. "Hey, Mio! I made you dinner. It's your favorite!" "Really? Let me just put my stuff away in our room." "Oh ok. Take your time." My wife finally enters the dining room with me already waiting with a dinner of grilled chicken, rice, a diced tomatoes and cucumbers, and tea. "So, how did that private work go?" I asked my wife. "It went fine although I accidentally tripped on my way home so that's why I have this bandage on my face." "I see. I have something to tell you later but let's just finish dinner and enjoy the evening first ok?" \Dinner passes and I take my wife to our living room\ "What's on your mind dear?" Mio asked me "Well.... how can I say this? We have been married for 5 years and you know I've been working as a detective for the police and also you know a year ago that I decided to take on a cleaning job to help us pay the bills around the house right? "Right.... what about it? Did you get a promotion at work?" \There was a silence in the room for a few moments and I decided to hold both my wife's hand and with a smile\ "I know that you're a killer. You're Shinigami...." \In a split second I was knocked out the couch and found my wife on top of me with a knife in her hand\ "HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT?!" Mio asked me furiously "So I was right." \as I say with a continued smile\ "HOW.DO.YOU.KNOW.THAT." my wife demanding an answer "So you see honey -" \My wife not giving me the chance to speak aimed to kill me but luckily I caught the blade with my hand before it stabbed my heart\ "Mio give me a chance please!" as I pleaded her "First of all, no matter what I'm always going to love you. I'll even love you even after death. I want to spend every single moment with you because that makes me happy and I never want that to be taken away from me." "Go on...." as Mio giving me the chance to talk "For a year now I've found about your secret from the work I was assigned to at the station. It took me a while but I slowly placed the steps together and discovered you are the infamous assassin Shinigami. A year ago as well when I decided to take the cleaning business I do at the side, I have been keeping a journal to take track of my time during work and realized that you also get assigned those private contracts at the same time you don't want me to know about." \I take a deep breath and my anger started taking a hold of me\ "For one year. ONE YEAR. I have been cleaning your kills! Can you please, please make my job easier and not make it too big of a mess?! I've been doing it for one year and I had enough of it! Again I love you honey but when we're at home I'm the one who's regularly making breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snacks for you, I help you organize your time, help organize your lesson plans you teach your students, help clean our house with you, going to work as a detective, and I would like that you at least stop making your kills as messy as possible because I can't protect you forever if the guys at the station find out that my beloved wife is an assassin!" \As I finish my blind raged rant I finally calm down and see my wife flustered and blushing hard\ "Hu-Huh? So YOU ARE my cleaner?" Mio sheepishly asks me "Yes, honey. Yes, I am." "And you been knowing for that long?" "Yes. Please, I'm 27 now and I'm not getting any younger. It takes so much out of me constantly cleaning the bloody mess that you make on your targets." "Wait, so you're ok with me being this? An assassin? Why haven't you done anything about it till now?" \I take a deep breath and laugh about it\ "It's because I love you. You're always on my mind. I don't want you to ever be in danger. Even if you are a dangerous assassin I don't want anything in this world to hurt you and I want to make sure of it whenever I so please, keep your kills in a more cleanly way." "I - I guess I can do that" \Mio finally calming down from her flustered senses\ "Also, may you please get off me? You're starting to crush my body" \I ask embarrassingly\ "He- Hey! Don't talk about my weight like that? I'm a lot lighter than you!" \Mio then gets off of me\ "You're right about that. I mean you are 5'7 130lbs and I'm 6'0 175lbs but you still were crushing my body" \As I reply cheerfully\ "Oh and please, I would love for you to consider what I just ranted about. You got to be careful as an assassin dear." "Oh-ok honey" Mio replies in an embarrassed tone "Oh and honey...." \takes a quick peck on the cheek\ "I love you" &#x200B; (This is my first time writing something like this so feel free to comment, criticize, ask any question, etc.) can	I've spent the last 3 years lusting over my boss. And the last 10 loving my wife. I wish things could be easy, but like most things in this world, they are complicated. I adore my wife's gentle grace, the way she moves musically from one room to the other. I fantasize about my boss's...mistress's form stalking toward me with all the ambient prowess as a panther with its prey. I dote after them both all the same. But somehow I feel disconnected from them both regardless of how hard I try to please. It's just not enough. Or maybe, I'm not enough. I dont know, I'm so confused. I live in two worlds, but I dont feel like I'm part of either of them. I can't erase the guilt I feel loving them both. If only I could... I dont know. Perhaps be two different people? I'm being torn up from the inside out but I dont know how to stop it. Maybe I should leave them both now while I still have my sanity. If only I had known...
	[WP] You're a cleaner for a famous assassin. You just found out it is your spouse. This infuriates you not because of the secrets or killing, but because you've been cleaning up after your spouse at home and at their work all this time.	You never minded being a stay at home dad. You were never really happy slaving away for the man so when the cost of quality childcare wound up being more than you could earn, it was an easy choice to make. You got to stay home and raise your kids while the missus went out to earn. And earn she did. Good money. Great money. The one time you asked what she did to for a living she said if she told you she'd have to kill you and laughed. After more friendly and increasingly worried questions from me she groaned, rolled her eyes and said it would take a team of lawyers a week to draft the Non Disclosure Agreement that I would then have to resign every week as her projects updated. I believed her, because she was always running all over the city, gone for days at a time to tech centers, skyscrapers downtown or office parks in the suburbs. She'd come back exhausted but happily to a clean house and excited children. I began working out of the home just to stay busy and kept it up once the kids went to school. I had been bumming at the loss of a role, I guess. I mean Mr. Mom was more rewarding than anything I had ever done but it was nice to earning again. You can make good money at cleaning services and getting into it is cheap. It was just the neighbors at first, I'd bring the kids and bullshit with moms while I worked and it was fun, you know? Kept me busy. You know what house cleaning leads to, huh? The technical term is Crime Scene Remediation and, turns out, it pays better if you Keep Your Mouth Shut. I clean up one drug lab, right? Just some LSD, Molly and 2Ci the local hippies needed to scrub so they could get a damage deposit back. I should have known the flower power gang had a wider market for their gallons and gallons of product but damn. I never expected The Syndicate. They just rolled up in next year's luxury sedan and asked how much I'd charge to clean up a murder no questions asked. I laughed and threw out a ridiculous highball number. They said they'd add 10,000 if I could get it done that night. Without thinking I nodded and the dude tossed me a roll of hundreds with an address and time wrapped around it. Well shit I was doing it now. I showed up early because I was so nervous. I heard a shot, two, three shots ring out. I was so freaked out I froze behind the wheel. Out from the building I had been tasked with cleaning a single room of for fifty-one hundred thousand dollars strode a bad ass bitch. That's what I'll always think of her as because that's exactly what crossed my mind. There's a Cake song. "I want a girl with a short skirt and a long jacket" and that was her. Knee high boots, motorcycle helmet and what I assume a dead guy wrapped in a rug and tied in duct tape dragging behind her. At the time, I thought damn, that is one bad ass bitch as she heaved the roll onto the back of her bike, adjusted the long gun she had secreted along the length of her coat and took off. Now, when I think of that scene I think Hi, honey! OK, for reference, before I knew she was a killer for hire who primarily worked for a shadowy organization I still knew she was tougher than me. She's the one who argues with staff when they fuck up an order or deals with customer service ass holes when a bill is messed up. I'm not emasculated, I'm fine with that. It's the Syndicate, really. I just have no idea who the hell they are. They're either a loose confederation of allied gangs or a just some guy manipulating them but they pay and pay well. I mean, I wasn't pulling down 500k per scrub everytime, not unless it was Really bad but it was still worth it. But then I began to put it together. I saw Bad Ass Bitch with blood, someone else's no doubt, down one leg and then Clair got back from her "business trip" with a crusty stain down the same side of her leggings. I do the laundry, remember. I notice these things. The next job BAB's left arm was red up to her elbow and the next week one of Clair's long sleeve shirts was gone. "Oh, I blew out the elbows." when I asked about it. But she narrowed her eyes and I knew she was suspicious. I shouldn't have asked, I never talk about what she wears. But that just confirmed my hunch! That bitch was my woman! It was bad enough she still had me cleaning house when I, too, was working full time! It was bad enough I had to fish her hairballs out of the drain and empty the pads and liners out of her trash but I was toothbrushing blood she'd splattered off of ceiling fans and mopping piss she'd kicked out of some asshole off floors! I had enough! The Syndicate wasn't too keen on letting me go. Oh no. I was good at my job and since I couldn't exactly tell them why I wanted out they just squeezed me, threw me a 10k roll and basically slapped my ass on the way out the door. I was in. For life or until they didn't need me any more. I wondered if Clair was stuck, too, or if she really enjoyed waxing dudes. Turns out, I'd find out sooner than later.	I've spent the last 3 years lusting over my boss. And the last 10 loving my wife. I wish things could be easy, but like most things in this world, they are complicated. I adore my wife's gentle grace, the way she moves musically from one room to the other. I fantasize about my boss's...mistress's form stalking toward me with all the ambient prowess as a panther with its prey. I dote after them both all the same. But somehow I feel disconnected from them both regardless of how hard I try to please. It's just not enough. Or maybe, I'm not enough. I dont know, I'm so confused. I live in two worlds, but I dont feel like I'm part of either of them. I can't erase the guilt I feel loving them both. If only I could... I dont know. Perhaps be two different people? I'm being torn up from the inside out but I dont know how to stop it. Maybe I should leave them both now while I still have my sanity. If only I had known...
	[WP] You're a cleaner for a famous assassin. You just found out it is your spouse. This infuriates you not because of the secrets or killing, but because you've been cleaning up after your spouse at home and at their work all this time.	This. Absolute. Bitch. I love her, but she’s a massive slob. There’s always something new to clean up whenever she enters the house, and everytime she mysteriously disappears I find something I missed. Although, I was just hired to clean up after a legendary hitman. My first day on the job, and they take off their mask for a breather. Imagine my surprise when it’s Rebecca, my beautiful wife, standing there with the blood of a political opponent on her duster. She was all worried that my anger was towards the secretive nature, but I was angry about something much, much worse. I now have to clean up TWICE EVERY DAY for her. And what do I get? 50 dollars and hour, and no thanks at all. God.	I've spent the last 3 years lusting over my boss. And the last 10 loving my wife. I wish things could be easy, but like most things in this world, they are complicated. I adore my wife's gentle grace, the way she moves musically from one room to the other. I fantasize about my boss's...mistress's form stalking toward me with all the ambient prowess as a panther with its prey. I dote after them both all the same. But somehow I feel disconnected from them both regardless of how hard I try to please. It's just not enough. Or maybe, I'm not enough. I dont know, I'm so confused. I live in two worlds, but I dont feel like I'm part of either of them. I can't erase the guilt I feel loving them both. If only I could... I dont know. Perhaps be two different people? I'm being torn up from the inside out but I dont know how to stop it. Maybe I should leave them both now while I still have my sanity. If only I had known...
	[WP] You're a cleaner for a famous assassin. You just found out it is your spouse. This infuriates you not because of the secrets or killing, but because you've been cleaning up after your spouse at home and at their work all this time.	"And to think it was all this time!" I threw down the rag covered in blood, with bits of flesh. The scene was a mess this time, like any other day of the week. Weren't assassins supposed to be, I don't know, stealthy? Good at doing their job unnoticed? It was just like her. "Vish, you know the drill. Don't talk, just mop. Get the job done." "Fine." Minutes went buy, the squelching sounds of body parts swept along the tile of the restaurant, echoing in the empty kitchen. Bloody knives littered the countertops, some flung onto the floors, a few others in the various bodies on the ground. A stew on the stove, left unfinished, had an arm added inside. Probably left for taste, I bet. Or the irony. Kristen was always into weird shit. "But don't you think it's funny that\—\" "Vish! That's enough. Get. The. Job. Done." Mark had that look on his face, the kind that spoke aloud he didn't want to get home late tonight. His daughter was waiting for him and the babysitter charged by the hour. Nothing would stop him from getting home on time. "Well, how would you feel? Knowing all these years that your wife was some normal office worker at a business in the middle of Manhattan. And now she kills for a living! That I've been cleaning up her work all this time? Not to mention the hours of chores I do when she's gone. Then she has the gall to ask for a foot message when she gets home? Those were a murderer's feet!" "Boy." Mark stopped the mop, putting both his hands on the tip and leaning against it. "Rather than talk to some old timer, can't you just talk to her about it? Or maybe a friend? Please, anyone but me. Anyone." "Do you want me to get killed? Because that's how you get killed. You and I both know that not one word of this business leaves the venue, no excuses. Nothing. Nada." "I get it, I get it. So?" I blinked at him, tilting my head. "'So' what?" "So, what are you going to do? Bitch about it forever?" That was certainly an option, though it wouldn't get me anywhere. Why did everything have to get so complicated? I should be celebrating a raise right now, not worrying about if my throat would get slit at 3 a.m. by the love of my life. "What about taxes? Does the IRS know both of us have nonexistent, off-the-record employers? Do they think we are one of those couples on HETV where the husband's a wine sniffer and the wife's a stamp collector. That they have a 750k budget. Are we supposed to believe that? Really? Mark, don't tell me you would believe something like that? Mark?" I looked over, but Mark already had his pair of headphones over his bald head, rocking out to some single from the seventies. Was he ever going to get with the times? I hoped so. For him. Lots of great music out there nowadays. I gave up talking to Mark and started sweeping a discarded torso into a disposal bin. This had to be the worst scene by far. Even the posters touching the ceiling, written in mandarin, weren't spared. I know they called her 'The Ripper,' but most of the time they had the decency to keep it clean. Clean-ish, anyways. Something probably ticked them off, maybe they were having a bad day. Then, it clicked again. This was my wife. Looking back at the morning, it was a fine day. The alarm was a bit annoying, sure, but the sun was bright and early. I had toast ready before she even left the bed, and I made sure to not even turn on the TV in case I'd woken her up. But right before she left, there was one little hiccup. One thing I would have forgotten of, if I didn't find out what she went to do right after she left. I didn't kiss her goodbye. Every other morning, I'd made it a point to do so. I never missed it, not one day in the ten years of our marriage straight out of highschool. I looked back at the surroundings. The pure carnage unleashed on the kitchen made it look like a hellhole. It looked like something out of Calamity: Eternal, the bodies ripped and torn. Yet, I felt a little warmth in my heart. My phone buzzed, a notification ringing my phone to life. I wiped the mix of blood and internal fluid onto my scrubs and took out my phone. I smiled. "I'm picking up food, love. What were you feeling?" - Kristen, 7:03 "Chinese." - Vish, 7:04 "I love you." - Vish, 7:04 \\\* For More: [r/StoriesByCooper](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesByCooper/) Written on stream at [https://www.twitch.tv/boopycs](https://www.twitch.tv/boopycs) Direct VOD link: [https://www.twitch.tv/videos/910743090](https://www.twitch.tv/videos/910743090)	I've spent the last 3 years lusting over my boss. And the last 10 loving my wife. I wish things could be easy, but like most things in this world, they are complicated. I adore my wife's gentle grace, the way she moves musically from one room to the other. I fantasize about my boss's...mistress's form stalking toward me with all the ambient prowess as a panther with its prey. I dote after them both all the same. But somehow I feel disconnected from them both regardless of how hard I try to please. It's just not enough. Or maybe, I'm not enough. I dont know, I'm so confused. I live in two worlds, but I dont feel like I'm part of either of them. I can't erase the guilt I feel loving them both. If only I could... I dont know. Perhaps be two different people? I'm being torn up from the inside out but I dont know how to stop it. Maybe I should leave them both now while I still have my sanity. If only I had known...
	[WP] You're a cleaner for a famous assassin. You just found out it is your spouse. This infuriates you not because of the secrets or killing, but because you've been cleaning up after your spouse at home and at their work all this time.	“So, how was work today, dear?” I asked with saccharine sweetness. Ryan looked up from his chicken with slightly widened eyes. He knew he was in trouble. “It was... fine. We had some trouble today at the office, but I think I handled it pretty well,” he finally answered. I knew he was lying because he looked me unflinchingly in the eyes when he said it. I stabbed my roasted tomato a little too hard with my fork, causing a few red splatters to fly onto the table. Well, didn’t that look all too familiar? A fresh wave of anger washed over me. “Oh? Trouble?” I asked through gritted teeth. “Did that trouble involve blood?” Ryan scraped his chair back from our small dinner table. “Excuse me?” “Did it involve blood? And bones, and teeth, and flesh?” His face was now stone cold and unreadable. “I have no clue what you’re talking about, Lina.” I shoved my own chair back, and marched over to stand face to face with him- except he was far taller than I, so I settled for standing on top of his discarded chair. Ryan was still poised as if he were going to run, but he cracked a smile at that for some reason. “You’re the assassin. Warbler. That’s a stupid code name by the way.” His smile vanished. “Lina...” He didn’t say anything after that, a devastated look on his face, because he knew there was no escaping the truth now. He hesitantly stepped closer to me and held out a hand, stopping before he touched me. He looked kind of... scared. In all my three years of being married to him, I’d never seen him look like that. “How did you know?” he asked, softly, like I was a puppy about to bolt. “How did I KNOW?!” I screeched. “I’ve been cleaning up after you for goddam YEARS!” He reeled back as I jumped off the chair, because I felt kind of ridiculous looking down at him. “Huh?” Poor Ryan. He had no idea what he’s done. “Did you have to smoosh the guy so hard? Jesus, Ry. The blood was all over the walls that were ten whole feet away! Couldn’t you just have stabbed him and come home? It took me fourteen hours to get rid of that mess!” “Lina? You’re-“ “My husband’s maid at home and at work? Yes. Unfortunately.” I dug my hand into my pocket and pulled out a small baggie, shoving it into Ryan’s hand. It only had a single long, dark strand of hair in it, sandwiched between two glass slides, and labeled ‘Dickhead’s Hair’ for good measure. “You left this at the crime scene by the way. Sloppy.” He gingerly held it, staring at me with his jaw slightly unhinged. He normally looked so dark and formidable, but with his mouth hanging open like that and his hair all wild, he was so friggin’ cute. Just like that, all my anger vanished as quick as it had come, and I breathed out a heavy sigh. “Oh sit down, Babe. You look like you’re about to keel over.” I guided him back to his chair and pushed it in for him, then went back to my own spot at the table. “Things are going to change ‘round here. You’re doing the dishes today. And tomorrow. Forever, actually. You can vacuum forever, too. And would it kill you to chop some vegetables for me? You’d do it far better than I can.” “Yes,” he said, finally. “Yes, I guess I do have better knife skills.” I couldn’t help the giggle that spilled out, and I guess he couldn’t help it either, because soon we both devolved into a fit of uncontrollable laughter that lasted until my cinnamon scented candle melted down to the dregs.	I've spent the last 3 years lusting over my boss. And the last 10 loving my wife. I wish things could be easy, but like most things in this world, they are complicated. I adore my wife's gentle grace, the way she moves musically from one room to the other. I fantasize about my boss's...mistress's form stalking toward me with all the ambient prowess as a panther with its prey. I dote after them both all the same. But somehow I feel disconnected from them both regardless of how hard I try to please. It's just not enough. Or maybe, I'm not enough. I dont know, I'm so confused. I live in two worlds, but I dont feel like I'm part of either of them. I can't erase the guilt I feel loving them both. If only I could... I dont know. Perhaps be two different people? I'm being torn up from the inside out but I dont know how to stop it. Maybe I should leave them both now while I still have my sanity. If only I had known...
	[WP] You're a cleaner for a famous assassin. You just found out it is your spouse. This infuriates you not because of the secrets or killing, but because you've been cleaning up after your spouse at home and at their work all this time.	I think I’ve been more than fair. When I met Ava, I knew this was not a woman who would be content with doing much in the way of housework. She likes things to be clean, almost Spartan, and kept her flat immaculate, but once we bought a house, she was not happy about the maintenance. I never minded. Not at all. In fact, through all these years of marriage, I had her convinced that I worked for a housekeeping company. So of course I’ll do the cleaning at home as well. Of course, I never felt badly about the work, but I did regret having to lie to my wife. But then, she had told me she was an efficiency expert. Helped companies to get rid of dead weight. I thought her hours were a little odd, and she thought I was ridiculously overpaid for a housekeeper, but she had said she dealt with companies worldwide so their hours were going to be different than our own time zone, and I told her I handled some very tough cleanups and secured massive accounts because of my professionalism, and had earned a partnership. So neither of us questioned it. Those lies were believable, and we may have gone the rest of our lives never really knowing each other’s true work. Ava has always been an adventurer, but I was never quite sure if I would lose her if I told her the truth. How do you tell your wife you clean up after assassins? The day I was assigned to do the cleaning after Belladonna, I was so proud and excited, that I told Ava I’d gotten a massive promotion and we went out to celebrate. I almost told her the truth that night. I thought - foolishly - that she would have no idea who Belladonna was. How could she? It’s not as if assassins keep a public profile. And then, if I sat there in our favorite restaurant, gushing over steaks and lobster, that Belladonna was universally accepted in the business as the greatest killer alive, how would my wife even react to that? But Sunday night made all the difference. Ava and I both had work, and of course that happened sometimes. But I saw her. I saw her at the hotel, and I felt that instinct that years in the business will give a person. My job is mostly straight cleanup and I know I’m the best in the business. But there are times I’m expected to clean up computer files as well. I’ve gotten quite good over the years, and the firm Ava works for - I now know is a cover - has good security but nowhere near the level that the underlying business has. I helped build much of that security myself. So it wasn’t hard to see that Ava had business dealings in the same locations, and stayed in hotels within a three mile radius to the ones I was assigned to, for the past year and a half. Then there were other, much smaller things. Rare, but now illuminating. The occasional hair left at a site, the same golden blonde as Ava’s. That day last spring she’d come home from a business trip with a black eye. She’d always been very fit, very flexible, never a wasted movement, but I hadn’t thought anything of it. I sat in the dining room, tense. Waiting. She came in, and noticed my expression immediately. Of course she did. She can read people like a damn book. “What is it?” “Sit down,” I told her. She complied. “Is everything all right?” “No. Not really.” “Well, what is it?” “Ava, when we got married, I agreed to the housework.” “Yes. And?” “And...” I paused. Not so much for dramatic effect, Ava is a no nonsense kind of person. But I wanted to word this carefully. It was the principle of it more than anything. Then of course I had to finish my thought before she cut me off and cut me down. If she thought I was a danger to her, her work, the company, her quicksilver instincts would take over and I’d be dead in a half-second. I had to word my response in a manner that would assure her I was no danger to her. It was a heady feeling, this sudden awareness that my wife could murder me with lightning speed. “And?” Ava demanded, getting impatient. “And I'm cleaning up after you all the time. All the time.” “I’m not that messy”, she snapped. “On the contrary, you are”, I shot back. “I’m the one cleaning up after you, ” I said slowly and deliberately. “I can assure you, you are messy.” “This is ridiculous. I don't cook, so it’s not me wrecking the kitchen. I clean the bathroom once a week myself. I don't -” “I’m not talking about the house, Ava. I'm talking about at work. I'm your housekeeper at work.” “I don't have a housekeeper at work”, she said, but now she was looking at me warily. I could see it in her gunmetal grey eyes. “You do, ” I said. “Me. I'm your housekeeper. The Housekeeper...Belladonna.” She stared at me in silence for a moment. “The Housekeeper is you?” she finally demanded. “Yes. And I love you, Ava. I'm...a fan of your work.” “Likewise.” “But I don't think it's fair I have to clean up after you at work and home. You are the best in the business but damn, you are messy. Blood everywhere. Do you know how hard it is to get brain matter out of a rug?” “Well, what exactly do you expect me to do, Jake?” “Would it kill you to poison one of them now and then?” “Then I would have to involve the kitchen staff”, she argued. “Then we’re hiring a cleaning service for the house”, I said, exasperated. “It’s the principle. I don't think it's fair I have to clean up after you here and at home.” “Fine”, she snapped. “So you've been lying to me, all these years.” “As have you”, I countered. She nodded, then smiled. Such a beautiful smile. “True. Now we both know...this might be fun.”	I've spent the last 3 years lusting over my boss. And the last 10 loving my wife. I wish things could be easy, but like most things in this world, they are complicated. I adore my wife's gentle grace, the way she moves musically from one room to the other. I fantasize about my boss's...mistress's form stalking toward me with all the ambient prowess as a panther with its prey. I dote after them both all the same. But somehow I feel disconnected from them both regardless of how hard I try to please. It's just not enough. Or maybe, I'm not enough. I dont know, I'm so confused. I live in two worlds, but I dont feel like I'm part of either of them. I can't erase the guilt I feel loving them both. If only I could... I dont know. Perhaps be two different people? I'm being torn up from the inside out but I dont know how to stop it. Maybe I should leave them both now while I still have my sanity. If only I had known...
	[WP] You're a cleaner for a famous assassin. You just found out it is your spouse. This infuriates you not because of the secrets or killing, but because you've been cleaning up after your spouse at home and at their work all this time.	Michael looks across his wife at the dinner table, staring at her beauty, but the secret that he knows, he can’t hold for any longer. “Honey, I have to tell you something.” Michael says. Sheila looks up from her parmesan chicken, “What, is the chicken a little dry?” “No not that, the chicken does taste great though.” Michael says, “I know your secret.” She looks at him, confused. “What do you mean, I’ve told you everything I know.” Michael knows she’s trying to avoid the topic, but he presses on, “ Well, what did you do today?” Sheila says, “Well I went to work at 9, did a lot of paperwork, had a meeting at 2, went to a location to get some files, then dropped them off at the office, then came home.” Michael raises his voice “Well, did you kill anyone at that location?” Sheila sat there, bewildered at the accusation, “Why would I kill anyone Mike? You need to calm down.” Michael then plays his ace, The File. He slams it on the table, and slides it to his wife “Explain that then.” Sheila doesn't look at the file, but her grip tightens around the steak knife she is holding, ready to pounce when he is not focusing on her. Michael yells to her, “Seriously Sheila, you gotta get cleaner with your kills, it’s killing me!” Sheila's face goes from seriousness to pure confusion, “What?” “Seriously, I’ve had to clean up after 20 of your kills and the last five were your worst. Are you ok? Do you need a break?” Sheila starts putting the pieces together, she finally asks “How long have you known?” Michael calms down, “Your last ten jobs, look in the file.” Sheila finally looks at the file and opens it, inside is every hair, skin, bloodstained fabric she left at her kills. Michael tells her, “look if you ever go to jail they’ll trace that back to you. You have gotten lucky, but frankly, I’m tired of it, I just get reminded of home when I find your DNA at the scene.” Michael gets calm for a sec, then laughs “It’s funny I have to clean up after you, at home, and at work.” Sheila looks back at him, “Ok, I get it, but why didn’t you tell the police you knew it was me?” Michael gives her a look as if he was accused of kicking their dog, “Why would I do that? In my vows, I told you I would do anything for you, to make sure you stayed in my arms till the end of time, well I’m doing that for you.” Sheila’s face turns pink, from the realization of all the sacrifices her husband has done for her, to make sure she was never caught. “Oh honey, thank you, yes, I will get cleaner with my kills, sorry about that, now I’m kinda glad you decided to go into crime scene investigation. I just got one question.” As she says that Michael's phone starts buzzing, getting a text message. He looks down, and instantly gets mad. “Are you serious!?!” Michael screams “Hey, if you know the assassin with the code name Slasher, can you tell him to keep his slashing to a minimum? His crime scenes are the WORST to clean up. Dude cannot keep himself clean I swear. Oh, sorry, what were you gonna ask?” Sheila smiles, his reaction made her realize that he was the man on the inside her bosses use to clean up their mess. “You pretty much answered my question. Oh, by the way, Slasher is Keith, you know the barbeque we went to last month?” “Keith?!?! Man, I love Keith, I knew his scratch couldn’t have been from a DIY project, but please, can pass along the message.” Sheila giggles “Ok I will, love you.” Michael smiles, looking at Sheila, thinking he knew he was right to marry her. “I love you, too.”	I've spent the last 3 years lusting over my boss. And the last 10 loving my wife. I wish things could be easy, but like most things in this world, they are complicated. I adore my wife's gentle grace, the way she moves musically from one room to the other. I fantasize about my boss's...mistress's form stalking toward me with all the ambient prowess as a panther with its prey. I dote after them both all the same. But somehow I feel disconnected from them both regardless of how hard I try to please. It's just not enough. Or maybe, I'm not enough. I dont know, I'm so confused. I live in two worlds, but I dont feel like I'm part of either of them. I can't erase the guilt I feel loving them both. If only I could... I dont know. Perhaps be two different people? I'm being torn up from the inside out but I dont know how to stop it. Maybe I should leave them both now while I still have my sanity. If only I had known...
	[WP] You're a cleaner for a famous assassin. You just found out it is your spouse. This infuriates you not because of the secrets or killing, but because you've been cleaning up after your spouse at home and at their work all this time.	Sarah had scarcely finished putting Violet to bed when she heard the garage door open. She tried to temper her anger in case Vi woke up, schooling her expression into thinly veiled neutrality. Of course she couldn’t keep her foot from tapping harshly on their freshly mopped hardwood floor, or her fingers from drumming irregularly against her empty wine glass. A few seconds passed, and after taking a peak up the stairwell to make sure Violet wasn’t snooping, Sarah turned to the liquor cabinet. She reluctantly uncurled her fists to pour herself a shot of whiskey, knocking it back quickly before pouring another for... The door to the mud room slammed shut, and Sarah saw red. “Honey? I’m home!” Straightening her back, Sarah avoided eye contact. She turned to the sitting room, practically slammed the shot glass onto the side table next to the big armchair, and fell into her own seat. She poured herself another glass of wine. Awkward silence filled the room, and Max shifted from foot to foot, turning away to put the car keys in the key bowl. “Bad day?” Sarah barked out a bitter laugh. “You could say that.” She waived her hand towards the whiskey. “We need to talk.” She closed her eyes, breathing deeply and gathering her thoughts. She was so upset she couldn’t recall the opening statement she’d prepared. She drank deeply from her wine, listening to the sound of footsteps crossing the room. “Is that the Sherry my-“ “Boss gave you?!” Sarah kept her tone level, but her neutral mask had broken. Her eyes snapped open and she glared over the rim of her glass. “It is. Which boss remains a mystery to me.” Confusion now. “What do you mean? You’ve met Mark and his wife before.” Sarah sneered, her lips curling in disdain. “Don’t. Lie to me.” Crossing her legs, she took a deep breath and an even deeper drink. The room grew quiet once more while she gathered herself. “Do you know how hard it is to keep this house clean?” She said finally. Max was clearly taken aback by the sudden shift. “It’s-“ “Fucking. Hard.” She set her glass aside, drumming her fingers against her thigh. “Violet gets more inventive and rambunctious by the hour. The house looks like a murder scene by the time she’s in the bath.” The air grew tense. Sarah laughed, rolling her eyes. How had she never noticed that before? She decided subtlety wasn’t going to work here. With Max it never really did. “We need to discuss housekeeping.” Confusion again. “...Have I done something wrong?” “Yes. You have.” Sarah’s smile was thin. She folded her hands together in her lap and dug her fingers into her palms. “I look after our toddler, make you breakfast lunch and dinner, keep the house spotless, clean up after you and make myself emotionally available for you before I go to work, and how do you repay me?!” “I’m-“ Sarah pointed towards the garage, “By going out there into the world and risking our family with your sloppy kills!” The room grew deathly quiet. Sarah flopped back into her seat, grabbing her wineglass and draining it. She poured herself another and pinched the bridge of her nose, screwing her eyes shut. “Honestly babe. Technology improves so quickly these days. There’s only so much hydrogen peroxide I can buy before it starts getting suspicious.” She gestured vaguely around the room. “I work so GOD damn hard keeping our ducks in a row. You need to meet me halfway and fucking help me.” “Sarah wha-“ Max was coming towards her, both hands out as if to pull her into a hug. Suddenly, Sarah sat bolt upright, wine sloshing about in her glass. Her anger turned murderous, and she sneered nastily in Max’s direction. “Did you accept contracts when you were pregnant with Vi?” Max stopped dead in her tracks in the middle of the room. “Sarah, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “It’s a simple question.” Sarah slowly drew herself up to her full height, towering over her wife. “Maxine Bauer. Did you, or did you not, accept contracts when you were pregnant with Vi.” Max’s own expression grew testy, and she tried to backtrack. “Don’t you use your mother voice on me.” “Answer my question, and depending on your response I’ll decide which murder scene I’ll be cleaning up tonight.” Sarah could practically hear the penny drop. Max deflated, striding over to her armchair and flopping into it. “No,” she said, grabbing her shot of whiskey and taking a small sip. “I was handler when I was pregnant. Mark’s wife-“ “Amy?” Max shot Sarah a dark look. “You should really stop interrupting, but yeah. Amy’s technically retired but she took on the smaller jobs while I was out. We hired outside the firm for the bigger ones.” Sarah felt her anger begin draining away. “The firm huh?” She sat back down and took another sip of wine, finally present enough to taste it. Only one boss then. That was sort of relieving, but it did confirm her suspicions. She looked Max over, noticing how tired she was. She opened her mouth to speak but Max beat her to it. “How long have you known?” “About an hour.” Silence. “Because I-“ “Killed that sherif?” Max shot her another dark look and Sarah winced. “Sorry, but yes. Our receptionist is sick so I fielded all the calls today.” She sighed. “I recognized Mark’s voice over the phone. The timing lined up, the shifty nature you’ve always had... you’re not a very good liar love.” “Not around you,” Max grumbled under her breath. “And it wasn’t that sloppy. He just wriggled around too much.” Sarah snorted despite herself. “If the cleaner on site gave me any indication, seems like you drained the poor fuck.” “He. Wriggled.” Max insisted, pouting. “My kills are not sloppy.” A pause, “Usually.” With a sigh, Sarah stood and crossed the room, taking Max’s free hand in both of hers. “I love you, more than anything else on earth-“ “Besides Violet?” Sarah gave her wife a playful swat. “Now who’s interrupting? But seriously. I can’t keep cleaning up after you at home and at work. You’ve got to throw me a line. I can’t keep up.” Max sighed, taking back her hand and scrubbing it through her hair roughly. “I know... I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to get suspicious so I rushed things.” “Well that’s not a concern anymore.” Sarah kissed the top of Max’s head, “You don’t have to worry so much. You’re doing fine. It would just be nice for you to take some of the load off me.” Before she could even blink Max had swept her off her feet, cradling Sarah in her arms as she had after they’d gotten married. The soft lighting of their sitting room made Max’s hair glow, the shadows made her smirk sultry. She leaned in to kiss Sarah rather soundly, and all her thoughts fizzled out. She let herself enjoy the kiss for a moment. “We’ll have to talk more about this.” “I know,” Max whispered. She moved to kiss her way down Sarah’s neck. “I’m still mad at you,” she said flatly. Max winced, but made no move to put her down. “I know...” “And you’re doing the dishes tonight.” Max groaned. “Can’t I do it in the morning?” Sarah gently wriggled herself out of Max’s arms and kissed her on the cheek. “Not if you want a chance at sleeping in the bed tonight.” She turned away to head up the stairs, snagging the sherry and her wineglass as she went. “I’ve got a chore chart to put together. Try not to be too loud, you know how hard it is to get Vi back to sleep.” With a very dramatic sigh Max made her way over to the kitchen sink, mumbling a very disheartened “yes dear” as she went.	I've spent the last 3 years lusting over my boss. And the last 10 loving my wife. I wish things could be easy, but like most things in this world, they are complicated. I adore my wife's gentle grace, the way she moves musically from one room to the other. I fantasize about my boss's...mistress's form stalking toward me with all the ambient prowess as a panther with its prey. I dote after them both all the same. But somehow I feel disconnected from them both regardless of how hard I try to please. It's just not enough. Or maybe, I'm not enough. I dont know, I'm so confused. I live in two worlds, but I dont feel like I'm part of either of them. I can't erase the guilt I feel loving them both. If only I could... I dont know. Perhaps be two different people? I'm being torn up from the inside out but I dont know how to stop it. Maybe I should leave them both now while I still have my sanity. If only I had known...
	[WP] You're a cleaner for a famous assassin. You just found out it is your spouse. This infuriates you not because of the secrets or killing, but because you've been cleaning up after your spouse at home and at their work all this time.	This. Absolute. Bitch. I love her, but she’s a massive slob. There’s always something new to clean up whenever she enters the house, and everytime she mysteriously disappears I find something I missed. Although, I was just hired to clean up after a legendary hitman. My first day on the job, and they take off their mask for a breather. Imagine my surprise when it’s Rebecca, my beautiful wife, standing there with the blood of a political opponent on her duster. She was all worried that my anger was towards the secretive nature, but I was angry about something much, much worse. I now have to clean up TWICE EVERY DAY for her. And what do I get? 50 dollars and hour, and no thanks at all. God.	You never minded being a stay at home dad. You were never really happy slaving away for the man so when the cost of quality childcare wound up being more than you could earn, it was an easy choice to make. You got to stay home and raise your kids while the missus went out to earn. And earn she did. Good money. Great money. The one time you asked what she did to for a living she said if she told you she'd have to kill you and laughed. After more friendly and increasingly worried questions from me she groaned, rolled her eyes and said it would take a team of lawyers a week to draft the Non Disclosure Agreement that I would then have to resign every week as her projects updated. I believed her, because she was always running all over the city, gone for days at a time to tech centers, skyscrapers downtown or office parks in the suburbs. She'd come back exhausted but happily to a clean house and excited children. I began working out of the home just to stay busy and kept it up once the kids went to school. I had been bumming at the loss of a role, I guess. I mean Mr. Mom was more rewarding than anything I had ever done but it was nice to earning again. You can make good money at cleaning services and getting into it is cheap. It was just the neighbors at first, I'd bring the kids and bullshit with moms while I worked and it was fun, you know? Kept me busy. You know what house cleaning leads to, huh? The technical term is Crime Scene Remediation and, turns out, it pays better if you Keep Your Mouth Shut. I clean up one drug lab, right? Just some LSD, Molly and 2Ci the local hippies needed to scrub so they could get a damage deposit back. I should have known the flower power gang had a wider market for their gallons and gallons of product but damn. I never expected The Syndicate. They just rolled up in next year's luxury sedan and asked how much I'd charge to clean up a murder no questions asked. I laughed and threw out a ridiculous highball number. They said they'd add 10,000 if I could get it done that night. Without thinking I nodded and the dude tossed me a roll of hundreds with an address and time wrapped around it. Well shit I was doing it now. I showed up early because I was so nervous. I heard a shot, two, three shots ring out. I was so freaked out I froze behind the wheel. Out from the building I had been tasked with cleaning a single room of for fifty-one hundred thousand dollars strode a bad ass bitch. That's what I'll always think of her as because that's exactly what crossed my mind. There's a Cake song. "I want a girl with a short skirt and a long jacket" and that was her. Knee high boots, motorcycle helmet and what I assume a dead guy wrapped in a rug and tied in duct tape dragging behind her. At the time, I thought damn, that is one bad ass bitch as she heaved the roll onto the back of her bike, adjusted the long gun she had secreted along the length of her coat and took off. Now, when I think of that scene I think Hi, honey! OK, for reference, before I knew she was a killer for hire who primarily worked for a shadowy organization I still knew she was tougher than me. She's the one who argues with staff when they fuck up an order or deals with customer service ass holes when a bill is messed up. I'm not emasculated, I'm fine with that. It's the Syndicate, really. I just have no idea who the hell they are. They're either a loose confederation of allied gangs or a just some guy manipulating them but they pay and pay well. I mean, I wasn't pulling down 500k per scrub everytime, not unless it was Really bad but it was still worth it. But then I began to put it together. I saw Bad Ass Bitch with blood, someone else's no doubt, down one leg and then Clair got back from her "business trip" with a crusty stain down the same side of her leggings. I do the laundry, remember. I notice these things. The next job BAB's left arm was red up to her elbow and the next week one of Clair's long sleeve shirts was gone. "Oh, I blew out the elbows." when I asked about it. But she narrowed her eyes and I knew she was suspicious. I shouldn't have asked, I never talk about what she wears. But that just confirmed my hunch! That bitch was my woman! It was bad enough she still had me cleaning house when I, too, was working full time! It was bad enough I had to fish her hairballs out of the drain and empty the pads and liners out of her trash but I was toothbrushing blood she'd splattered off of ceiling fans and mopping piss she'd kicked out of some asshole off floors! I had enough! The Syndicate wasn't too keen on letting me go. Oh no. I was good at my job and since I couldn't exactly tell them why I wanted out they just squeezed me, threw me a 10k roll and basically slapped my ass on the way out the door. I was in. For life or until they didn't need me any more. I wondered if Clair was stuck, too, or if she really enjoyed waxing dudes. Turns out, I'd find out sooner than later.
	[WP] You're a cleaner for a famous assassin. You just found out it is your spouse. This infuriates you not because of the secrets or killing, but because you've been cleaning up after your spouse at home and at their work all this time.	“So, how was work today, dear?” I asked with saccharine sweetness. Ryan looked up from his chicken with slightly widened eyes. He knew he was in trouble. “It was... fine. We had some trouble today at the office, but I think I handled it pretty well,” he finally answered. I knew he was lying because he looked me unflinchingly in the eyes when he said it. I stabbed my roasted tomato a little too hard with my fork, causing a few red splatters to fly onto the table. Well, didn’t that look all too familiar? A fresh wave of anger washed over me. “Oh? Trouble?” I asked through gritted teeth. “Did that trouble involve blood?” Ryan scraped his chair back from our small dinner table. “Excuse me?” “Did it involve blood? And bones, and teeth, and flesh?” His face was now stone cold and unreadable. “I have no clue what you’re talking about, Lina.” I shoved my own chair back, and marched over to stand face to face with him- except he was far taller than I, so I settled for standing on top of his discarded chair. Ryan was still poised as if he were going to run, but he cracked a smile at that for some reason. “You’re the assassin. Warbler. That’s a stupid code name by the way.” His smile vanished. “Lina...” He didn’t say anything after that, a devastated look on his face, because he knew there was no escaping the truth now. He hesitantly stepped closer to me and held out a hand, stopping before he touched me. He looked kind of... scared. In all my three years of being married to him, I’d never seen him look like that. “How did you know?” he asked, softly, like I was a puppy about to bolt. “How did I KNOW?!” I screeched. “I’ve been cleaning up after you for goddam YEARS!” He reeled back as I jumped off the chair, because I felt kind of ridiculous looking down at him. “Huh?” Poor Ryan. He had no idea what he’s done. “Did you have to smoosh the guy so hard? Jesus, Ry. The blood was all over the walls that were ten whole feet away! Couldn’t you just have stabbed him and come home? It took me fourteen hours to get rid of that mess!” “Lina? You’re-“ “My husband’s maid at home and at work? Yes. Unfortunately.” I dug my hand into my pocket and pulled out a small baggie, shoving it into Ryan’s hand. It only had a single long, dark strand of hair in it, sandwiched between two glass slides, and labeled ‘Dickhead’s Hair’ for good measure. “You left this at the crime scene by the way. Sloppy.” He gingerly held it, staring at me with his jaw slightly unhinged. He normally looked so dark and formidable, but with his mouth hanging open like that and his hair all wild, he was so friggin’ cute. Just like that, all my anger vanished as quick as it had come, and I breathed out a heavy sigh. “Oh sit down, Babe. You look like you’re about to keel over.” I guided him back to his chair and pushed it in for him, then went back to my own spot at the table. “Things are going to change ‘round here. You’re doing the dishes today. And tomorrow. Forever, actually. You can vacuum forever, too. And would it kill you to chop some vegetables for me? You’d do it far better than I can.” “Yes,” he said, finally. “Yes, I guess I do have better knife skills.” I couldn’t help the giggle that spilled out, and I guess he couldn’t help it either, because soon we both devolved into a fit of uncontrollable laughter that lasted until my cinnamon scented candle melted down to the dregs.	You never minded being a stay at home dad. You were never really happy slaving away for the man so when the cost of quality childcare wound up being more than you could earn, it was an easy choice to make. You got to stay home and raise your kids while the missus went out to earn. And earn she did. Good money. Great money. The one time you asked what she did to for a living she said if she told you she'd have to kill you and laughed. After more friendly and increasingly worried questions from me she groaned, rolled her eyes and said it would take a team of lawyers a week to draft the Non Disclosure Agreement that I would then have to resign every week as her projects updated. I believed her, because she was always running all over the city, gone for days at a time to tech centers, skyscrapers downtown or office parks in the suburbs. She'd come back exhausted but happily to a clean house and excited children. I began working out of the home just to stay busy and kept it up once the kids went to school. I had been bumming at the loss of a role, I guess. I mean Mr. Mom was more rewarding than anything I had ever done but it was nice to earning again. You can make good money at cleaning services and getting into it is cheap. It was just the neighbors at first, I'd bring the kids and bullshit with moms while I worked and it was fun, you know? Kept me busy. You know what house cleaning leads to, huh? The technical term is Crime Scene Remediation and, turns out, it pays better if you Keep Your Mouth Shut. I clean up one drug lab, right? Just some LSD, Molly and 2Ci the local hippies needed to scrub so they could get a damage deposit back. I should have known the flower power gang had a wider market for their gallons and gallons of product but damn. I never expected The Syndicate. They just rolled up in next year's luxury sedan and asked how much I'd charge to clean up a murder no questions asked. I laughed and threw out a ridiculous highball number. They said they'd add 10,000 if I could get it done that night. Without thinking I nodded and the dude tossed me a roll of hundreds with an address and time wrapped around it. Well shit I was doing it now. I showed up early because I was so nervous. I heard a shot, two, three shots ring out. I was so freaked out I froze behind the wheel. Out from the building I had been tasked with cleaning a single room of for fifty-one hundred thousand dollars strode a bad ass bitch. That's what I'll always think of her as because that's exactly what crossed my mind. There's a Cake song. "I want a girl with a short skirt and a long jacket" and that was her. Knee high boots, motorcycle helmet and what I assume a dead guy wrapped in a rug and tied in duct tape dragging behind her. At the time, I thought damn, that is one bad ass bitch as she heaved the roll onto the back of her bike, adjusted the long gun she had secreted along the length of her coat and took off. Now, when I think of that scene I think Hi, honey! OK, for reference, before I knew she was a killer for hire who primarily worked for a shadowy organization I still knew she was tougher than me. She's the one who argues with staff when they fuck up an order or deals with customer service ass holes when a bill is messed up. I'm not emasculated, I'm fine with that. It's the Syndicate, really. I just have no idea who the hell they are. They're either a loose confederation of allied gangs or a just some guy manipulating them but they pay and pay well. I mean, I wasn't pulling down 500k per scrub everytime, not unless it was Really bad but it was still worth it. But then I began to put it together. I saw Bad Ass Bitch with blood, someone else's no doubt, down one leg and then Clair got back from her "business trip" with a crusty stain down the same side of her leggings. I do the laundry, remember. I notice these things. The next job BAB's left arm was red up to her elbow and the next week one of Clair's long sleeve shirts was gone. "Oh, I blew out the elbows." when I asked about it. But she narrowed her eyes and I knew she was suspicious. I shouldn't have asked, I never talk about what she wears. But that just confirmed my hunch! That bitch was my woman! It was bad enough she still had me cleaning house when I, too, was working full time! It was bad enough I had to fish her hairballs out of the drain and empty the pads and liners out of her trash but I was toothbrushing blood she'd splattered off of ceiling fans and mopping piss she'd kicked out of some asshole off floors! I had enough! The Syndicate wasn't too keen on letting me go. Oh no. I was good at my job and since I couldn't exactly tell them why I wanted out they just squeezed me, threw me a 10k roll and basically slapped my ass on the way out the door. I was in. For life or until they didn't need me any more. I wondered if Clair was stuck, too, or if she really enjoyed waxing dudes. Turns out, I'd find out sooner than later.
	[WP] You're a cleaner for a famous assassin. You just found out it is your spouse. This infuriates you not because of the secrets or killing, but because you've been cleaning up after your spouse at home and at their work all this time.	“So, how was work today, dear?” I asked with saccharine sweetness. Ryan looked up from his chicken with slightly widened eyes. He knew he was in trouble. “It was... fine. We had some trouble today at the office, but I think I handled it pretty well,” he finally answered. I knew he was lying because he looked me unflinchingly in the eyes when he said it. I stabbed my roasted tomato a little too hard with my fork, causing a few red splatters to fly onto the table. Well, didn’t that look all too familiar? A fresh wave of anger washed over me. “Oh? Trouble?” I asked through gritted teeth. “Did that trouble involve blood?” Ryan scraped his chair back from our small dinner table. “Excuse me?” “Did it involve blood? And bones, and teeth, and flesh?” His face was now stone cold and unreadable. “I have no clue what you’re talking about, Lina.” I shoved my own chair back, and marched over to stand face to face with him- except he was far taller than I, so I settled for standing on top of his discarded chair. Ryan was still poised as if he were going to run, but he cracked a smile at that for some reason. “You’re the assassin. Warbler. That’s a stupid code name by the way.” His smile vanished. “Lina...” He didn’t say anything after that, a devastated look on his face, because he knew there was no escaping the truth now. He hesitantly stepped closer to me and held out a hand, stopping before he touched me. He looked kind of... scared. In all my three years of being married to him, I’d never seen him look like that. “How did you know?” he asked, softly, like I was a puppy about to bolt. “How did I KNOW?!” I screeched. “I’ve been cleaning up after you for goddam YEARS!” He reeled back as I jumped off the chair, because I felt kind of ridiculous looking down at him. “Huh?” Poor Ryan. He had no idea what he’s done. “Did you have to smoosh the guy so hard? Jesus, Ry. The blood was all over the walls that were ten whole feet away! Couldn’t you just have stabbed him and come home? It took me fourteen hours to get rid of that mess!” “Lina? You’re-“ “My husband’s maid at home and at work? Yes. Unfortunately.” I dug my hand into my pocket and pulled out a small baggie, shoving it into Ryan’s hand. It only had a single long, dark strand of hair in it, sandwiched between two glass slides, and labeled ‘Dickhead’s Hair’ for good measure. “You left this at the crime scene by the way. Sloppy.” He gingerly held it, staring at me with his jaw slightly unhinged. He normally looked so dark and formidable, but with his mouth hanging open like that and his hair all wild, he was so friggin’ cute. Just like that, all my anger vanished as quick as it had come, and I breathed out a heavy sigh. “Oh sit down, Babe. You look like you’re about to keel over.” I guided him back to his chair and pushed it in for him, then went back to my own spot at the table. “Things are going to change ‘round here. You’re doing the dishes today. And tomorrow. Forever, actually. You can vacuum forever, too. And would it kill you to chop some vegetables for me? You’d do it far better than I can.” “Yes,” he said, finally. “Yes, I guess I do have better knife skills.” I couldn’t help the giggle that spilled out, and I guess he couldn’t help it either, because soon we both devolved into a fit of uncontrollable laughter that lasted until my cinnamon scented candle melted down to the dregs.	This. Absolute. Bitch. I love her, but she’s a massive slob. There’s always something new to clean up whenever she enters the house, and everytime she mysteriously disappears I find something I missed. Although, I was just hired to clean up after a legendary hitman. My first day on the job, and they take off their mask for a breather. Imagine my surprise when it’s Rebecca, my beautiful wife, standing there with the blood of a political opponent on her duster. She was all worried that my anger was towards the secretive nature, but I was angry about something much, much worse. I now have to clean up TWICE EVERY DAY for her. And what do I get? 50 dollars and hour, and no thanks at all. God.
	[WP] You're a cleaner for a famous assassin. You just found out it is your spouse. This infuriates you not because of the secrets or killing, but because you've been cleaning up after your spouse at home and at their work all this time.	“So, how was work today, dear?” I asked with saccharine sweetness. Ryan looked up from his chicken with slightly widened eyes. He knew he was in trouble. “It was... fine. We had some trouble today at the office, but I think I handled it pretty well,” he finally answered. I knew he was lying because he looked me unflinchingly in the eyes when he said it. I stabbed my roasted tomato a little too hard with my fork, causing a few red splatters to fly onto the table. Well, didn’t that look all too familiar? A fresh wave of anger washed over me. “Oh? Trouble?” I asked through gritted teeth. “Did that trouble involve blood?” Ryan scraped his chair back from our small dinner table. “Excuse me?” “Did it involve blood? And bones, and teeth, and flesh?” His face was now stone cold and unreadable. “I have no clue what you’re talking about, Lina.” I shoved my own chair back, and marched over to stand face to face with him- except he was far taller than I, so I settled for standing on top of his discarded chair. Ryan was still poised as if he were going to run, but he cracked a smile at that for some reason. “You’re the assassin. Warbler. That’s a stupid code name by the way.” His smile vanished. “Lina...” He didn’t say anything after that, a devastated look on his face, because he knew there was no escaping the truth now. He hesitantly stepped closer to me and held out a hand, stopping before he touched me. He looked kind of... scared. In all my three years of being married to him, I’d never seen him look like that. “How did you know?” he asked, softly, like I was a puppy about to bolt. “How did I KNOW?!” I screeched. “I’ve been cleaning up after you for goddam YEARS!” He reeled back as I jumped off the chair, because I felt kind of ridiculous looking down at him. “Huh?” Poor Ryan. He had no idea what he’s done. “Did you have to smoosh the guy so hard? Jesus, Ry. The blood was all over the walls that were ten whole feet away! Couldn’t you just have stabbed him and come home? It took me fourteen hours to get rid of that mess!” “Lina? You’re-“ “My husband’s maid at home and at work? Yes. Unfortunately.” I dug my hand into my pocket and pulled out a small baggie, shoving it into Ryan’s hand. It only had a single long, dark strand of hair in it, sandwiched between two glass slides, and labeled ‘Dickhead’s Hair’ for good measure. “You left this at the crime scene by the way. Sloppy.” He gingerly held it, staring at me with his jaw slightly unhinged. He normally looked so dark and formidable, but with his mouth hanging open like that and his hair all wild, he was so friggin’ cute. Just like that, all my anger vanished as quick as it had come, and I breathed out a heavy sigh. “Oh sit down, Babe. You look like you’re about to keel over.” I guided him back to his chair and pushed it in for him, then went back to my own spot at the table. “Things are going to change ‘round here. You’re doing the dishes today. And tomorrow. Forever, actually. You can vacuum forever, too. And would it kill you to chop some vegetables for me? You’d do it far better than I can.” “Yes,” he said, finally. “Yes, I guess I do have better knife skills.” I couldn’t help the giggle that spilled out, and I guess he couldn’t help it either, because soon we both devolved into a fit of uncontrollable laughter that lasted until my cinnamon scented candle melted down to the dregs.	"And to think it was all this time!" I threw down the rag covered in blood, with bits of flesh. The scene was a mess this time, like any other day of the week. Weren't assassins supposed to be, I don't know, stealthy? Good at doing their job unnoticed? It was just like her. "Vish, you know the drill. Don't talk, just mop. Get the job done." "Fine." Minutes went buy, the squelching sounds of body parts swept along the tile of the restaurant, echoing in the empty kitchen. Bloody knives littered the countertops, some flung onto the floors, a few others in the various bodies on the ground. A stew on the stove, left unfinished, had an arm added inside. Probably left for taste, I bet. Or the irony. Kristen was always into weird shit. "But don't you think it's funny that\—\" "Vish! That's enough. Get. The. Job. Done." Mark had that look on his face, the kind that spoke aloud he didn't want to get home late tonight. His daughter was waiting for him and the babysitter charged by the hour. Nothing would stop him from getting home on time. "Well, how would you feel? Knowing all these years that your wife was some normal office worker at a business in the middle of Manhattan. And now she kills for a living! That I've been cleaning up her work all this time? Not to mention the hours of chores I do when she's gone. Then she has the gall to ask for a foot message when she gets home? Those were a murderer's feet!" "Boy." Mark stopped the mop, putting both his hands on the tip and leaning against it. "Rather than talk to some old timer, can't you just talk to her about it? Or maybe a friend? Please, anyone but me. Anyone." "Do you want me to get killed? Because that's how you get killed. You and I both know that not one word of this business leaves the venue, no excuses. Nothing. Nada." "I get it, I get it. So?" I blinked at him, tilting my head. "'So' what?" "So, what are you going to do? Bitch about it forever?" That was certainly an option, though it wouldn't get me anywhere. Why did everything have to get so complicated? I should be celebrating a raise right now, not worrying about if my throat would get slit at 3 a.m. by the love of my life. "What about taxes? Does the IRS know both of us have nonexistent, off-the-record employers? Do they think we are one of those couples on HETV where the husband's a wine sniffer and the wife's a stamp collector. That they have a 750k budget. Are we supposed to believe that? Really? Mark, don't tell me you would believe something like that? Mark?" I looked over, but Mark already had his pair of headphones over his bald head, rocking out to some single from the seventies. Was he ever going to get with the times? I hoped so. For him. Lots of great music out there nowadays. I gave up talking to Mark and started sweeping a discarded torso into a disposal bin. This had to be the worst scene by far. Even the posters touching the ceiling, written in mandarin, weren't spared. I know they called her 'The Ripper,' but most of the time they had the decency to keep it clean. Clean-ish, anyways. Something probably ticked them off, maybe they were having a bad day. Then, it clicked again. This was my wife. Looking back at the morning, it was a fine day. The alarm was a bit annoying, sure, but the sun was bright and early. I had toast ready before she even left the bed, and I made sure to not even turn on the TV in case I'd woken her up. But right before she left, there was one little hiccup. One thing I would have forgotten of, if I didn't find out what she went to do right after she left. I didn't kiss her goodbye. Every other morning, I'd made it a point to do so. I never missed it, not one day in the ten years of our marriage straight out of highschool. I looked back at the surroundings. The pure carnage unleashed on the kitchen made it look like a hellhole. It looked like something out of Calamity: Eternal, the bodies ripped and torn. Yet, I felt a little warmth in my heart. My phone buzzed, a notification ringing my phone to life. I wiped the mix of blood and internal fluid onto my scrubs and took out my phone. I smiled. "I'm picking up food, love. What were you feeling?" - Kristen, 7:03 "Chinese." - Vish, 7:04 "I love you." - Vish, 7:04 \\\* For More: [r/StoriesByCooper](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesByCooper/) Written on stream at [https://www.twitch.tv/boopycs](https://www.twitch.tv/boopycs) Direct VOD link: [https://www.twitch.tv/videos/910743090](https://www.twitch.tv/videos/910743090)
	[WP] You're a cleaner for a famous assassin. You just found out it is your spouse. This infuriates you not because of the secrets or killing, but because you've been cleaning up after your spouse at home and at their work all this time.	Sarah had scarcely finished putting Violet to bed when she heard the garage door open. She tried to temper her anger in case Vi woke up, schooling her expression into thinly veiled neutrality. Of course she couldn’t keep her foot from tapping harshly on their freshly mopped hardwood floor, or her fingers from drumming irregularly against her empty wine glass. A few seconds passed, and after taking a peak up the stairwell to make sure Violet wasn’t snooping, Sarah turned to the liquor cabinet. She reluctantly uncurled her fists to pour herself a shot of whiskey, knocking it back quickly before pouring another for... The door to the mud room slammed shut, and Sarah saw red. “Honey? I’m home!” Straightening her back, Sarah avoided eye contact. She turned to the sitting room, practically slammed the shot glass onto the side table next to the big armchair, and fell into her own seat. She poured herself another glass of wine. Awkward silence filled the room, and Max shifted from foot to foot, turning away to put the car keys in the key bowl. “Bad day?” Sarah barked out a bitter laugh. “You could say that.” She waived her hand towards the whiskey. “We need to talk.” She closed her eyes, breathing deeply and gathering her thoughts. She was so upset she couldn’t recall the opening statement she’d prepared. She drank deeply from her wine, listening to the sound of footsteps crossing the room. “Is that the Sherry my-“ “Boss gave you?!” Sarah kept her tone level, but her neutral mask had broken. Her eyes snapped open and she glared over the rim of her glass. “It is. Which boss remains a mystery to me.” Confusion now. “What do you mean? You’ve met Mark and his wife before.” Sarah sneered, her lips curling in disdain. “Don’t. Lie to me.” Crossing her legs, she took a deep breath and an even deeper drink. The room grew quiet once more while she gathered herself. “Do you know how hard it is to keep this house clean?” She said finally. Max was clearly taken aback by the sudden shift. “It’s-“ “Fucking. Hard.” She set her glass aside, drumming her fingers against her thigh. “Violet gets more inventive and rambunctious by the hour. The house looks like a murder scene by the time she’s in the bath.” The air grew tense. Sarah laughed, rolling her eyes. How had she never noticed that before? She decided subtlety wasn’t going to work here. With Max it never really did. “We need to discuss housekeeping.” Confusion again. “...Have I done something wrong?” “Yes. You have.” Sarah’s smile was thin. She folded her hands together in her lap and dug her fingers into her palms. “I look after our toddler, make you breakfast lunch and dinner, keep the house spotless, clean up after you and make myself emotionally available for you before I go to work, and how do you repay me?!” “I’m-“ Sarah pointed towards the garage, “By going out there into the world and risking our family with your sloppy kills!” The room grew deathly quiet. Sarah flopped back into her seat, grabbing her wineglass and draining it. She poured herself another and pinched the bridge of her nose, screwing her eyes shut. “Honestly babe. Technology improves so quickly these days. There’s only so much hydrogen peroxide I can buy before it starts getting suspicious.” She gestured vaguely around the room. “I work so GOD damn hard keeping our ducks in a row. You need to meet me halfway and fucking help me.” “Sarah wha-“ Max was coming towards her, both hands out as if to pull her into a hug. Suddenly, Sarah sat bolt upright, wine sloshing about in her glass. Her anger turned murderous, and she sneered nastily in Max’s direction. “Did you accept contracts when you were pregnant with Vi?” Max stopped dead in her tracks in the middle of the room. “Sarah, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “It’s a simple question.” Sarah slowly drew herself up to her full height, towering over her wife. “Maxine Bauer. Did you, or did you not, accept contracts when you were pregnant with Vi.” Max’s own expression grew testy, and she tried to backtrack. “Don’t you use your mother voice on me.” “Answer my question, and depending on your response I’ll decide which murder scene I’ll be cleaning up tonight.” Sarah could practically hear the penny drop. Max deflated, striding over to her armchair and flopping into it. “No,” she said, grabbing her shot of whiskey and taking a small sip. “I was handler when I was pregnant. Mark’s wife-“ “Amy?” Max shot Sarah a dark look. “You should really stop interrupting, but yeah. Amy’s technically retired but she took on the smaller jobs while I was out. We hired outside the firm for the bigger ones.” Sarah felt her anger begin draining away. “The firm huh?” She sat back down and took another sip of wine, finally present enough to taste it. Only one boss then. That was sort of relieving, but it did confirm her suspicions. She looked Max over, noticing how tired she was. She opened her mouth to speak but Max beat her to it. “How long have you known?” “About an hour.” Silence. “Because I-“ “Killed that sherif?” Max shot her another dark look and Sarah winced. “Sorry, but yes. Our receptionist is sick so I fielded all the calls today.” She sighed. “I recognized Mark’s voice over the phone. The timing lined up, the shifty nature you’ve always had... you’re not a very good liar love.” “Not around you,” Max grumbled under her breath. “And it wasn’t that sloppy. He just wriggled around too much.” Sarah snorted despite herself. “If the cleaner on site gave me any indication, seems like you drained the poor fuck.” “He. Wriggled.” Max insisted, pouting. “My kills are not sloppy.” A pause, “Usually.” With a sigh, Sarah stood and crossed the room, taking Max’s free hand in both of hers. “I love you, more than anything else on earth-“ “Besides Violet?” Sarah gave her wife a playful swat. “Now who’s interrupting? But seriously. I can’t keep cleaning up after you at home and at work. You’ve got to throw me a line. I can’t keep up.” Max sighed, taking back her hand and scrubbing it through her hair roughly. “I know... I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to get suspicious so I rushed things.” “Well that’s not a concern anymore.” Sarah kissed the top of Max’s head, “You don’t have to worry so much. You’re doing fine. It would just be nice for you to take some of the load off me.” Before she could even blink Max had swept her off her feet, cradling Sarah in her arms as she had after they’d gotten married. The soft lighting of their sitting room made Max’s hair glow, the shadows made her smirk sultry. She leaned in to kiss Sarah rather soundly, and all her thoughts fizzled out. She let herself enjoy the kiss for a moment. “We’ll have to talk more about this.” “I know,” Max whispered. She moved to kiss her way down Sarah’s neck. “I’m still mad at you,” she said flatly. Max winced, but made no move to put her down. “I know...” “And you’re doing the dishes tonight.” Max groaned. “Can’t I do it in the morning?” Sarah gently wriggled herself out of Max’s arms and kissed her on the cheek. “Not if you want a chance at sleeping in the bed tonight.” She turned away to head up the stairs, snagging the sherry and her wineglass as she went. “I’ve got a chore chart to put together. Try not to be too loud, you know how hard it is to get Vi back to sleep.” With a very dramatic sigh Max made her way over to the kitchen sink, mumbling a very disheartened “yes dear” as she went.	Michael looks across his wife at the dinner table, staring at her beauty, but the secret that he knows, he can’t hold for any longer. “Honey, I have to tell you something.” Michael says. Sheila looks up from her parmesan chicken, “What, is the chicken a little dry?” “No not that, the chicken does taste great though.” Michael says, “I know your secret.” She looks at him, confused. “What do you mean, I’ve told you everything I know.” Michael knows she’s trying to avoid the topic, but he presses on, “ Well, what did you do today?” Sheila says, “Well I went to work at 9, did a lot of paperwork, had a meeting at 2, went to a location to get some files, then dropped them off at the office, then came home.” Michael raises his voice “Well, did you kill anyone at that location?” Sheila sat there, bewildered at the accusation, “Why would I kill anyone Mike? You need to calm down.” Michael then plays his ace, The File. He slams it on the table, and slides it to his wife “Explain that then.” Sheila doesn't look at the file, but her grip tightens around the steak knife she is holding, ready to pounce when he is not focusing on her. Michael yells to her, “Seriously Sheila, you gotta get cleaner with your kills, it’s killing me!” Sheila's face goes from seriousness to pure confusion, “What?” “Seriously, I’ve had to clean up after 20 of your kills and the last five were your worst. Are you ok? Do you need a break?” Sheila starts putting the pieces together, she finally asks “How long have you known?” Michael calms down, “Your last ten jobs, look in the file.” Sheila finally looks at the file and opens it, inside is every hair, skin, bloodstained fabric she left at her kills. Michael tells her, “look if you ever go to jail they’ll trace that back to you. You have gotten lucky, but frankly, I’m tired of it, I just get reminded of home when I find your DNA at the scene.” Michael gets calm for a sec, then laughs “It’s funny I have to clean up after you, at home, and at work.” Sheila looks back at him, “Ok, I get it, but why didn’t you tell the police you knew it was me?” Michael gives her a look as if he was accused of kicking their dog, “Why would I do that? In my vows, I told you I would do anything for you, to make sure you stayed in my arms till the end of time, well I’m doing that for you.” Sheila’s face turns pink, from the realization of all the sacrifices her husband has done for her, to make sure she was never caught. “Oh honey, thank you, yes, I will get cleaner with my kills, sorry about that, now I’m kinda glad you decided to go into crime scene investigation. I just got one question.” As she says that Michael's phone starts buzzing, getting a text message. He looks down, and instantly gets mad. “Are you serious!?!” Michael screams “Hey, if you know the assassin with the code name Slasher, can you tell him to keep his slashing to a minimum? His crime scenes are the WORST to clean up. Dude cannot keep himself clean I swear. Oh, sorry, what were you gonna ask?” Sheila smiles, his reaction made her realize that he was the man on the inside her bosses use to clean up their mess. “You pretty much answered my question. Oh, by the way, Slasher is Keith, you know the barbeque we went to last month?” “Keith?!?! Man, I love Keith, I knew his scratch couldn’t have been from a DIY project, but please, can pass along the message.” Sheila giggles “Ok I will, love you.” Michael smiles, looking at Sheila, thinking he knew he was right to marry her. “I love you, too.”
	[WP] You're a cleaner for a famous assassin. You just found out it is your spouse. This infuriates you not because of the secrets or killing, but because you've been cleaning up after your spouse at home and at their work all this time.	Sarah had scarcely finished putting Violet to bed when she heard the garage door open. She tried to temper her anger in case Vi woke up, schooling her expression into thinly veiled neutrality. Of course she couldn’t keep her foot from tapping harshly on their freshly mopped hardwood floor, or her fingers from drumming irregularly against her empty wine glass. A few seconds passed, and after taking a peak up the stairwell to make sure Violet wasn’t snooping, Sarah turned to the liquor cabinet. She reluctantly uncurled her fists to pour herself a shot of whiskey, knocking it back quickly before pouring another for... The door to the mud room slammed shut, and Sarah saw red. “Honey? I’m home!” Straightening her back, Sarah avoided eye contact. She turned to the sitting room, practically slammed the shot glass onto the side table next to the big armchair, and fell into her own seat. She poured herself another glass of wine. Awkward silence filled the room, and Max shifted from foot to foot, turning away to put the car keys in the key bowl. “Bad day?” Sarah barked out a bitter laugh. “You could say that.” She waived her hand towards the whiskey. “We need to talk.” She closed her eyes, breathing deeply and gathering her thoughts. She was so upset she couldn’t recall the opening statement she’d prepared. She drank deeply from her wine, listening to the sound of footsteps crossing the room. “Is that the Sherry my-“ “Boss gave you?!” Sarah kept her tone level, but her neutral mask had broken. Her eyes snapped open and she glared over the rim of her glass. “It is. Which boss remains a mystery to me.” Confusion now. “What do you mean? You’ve met Mark and his wife before.” Sarah sneered, her lips curling in disdain. “Don’t. Lie to me.” Crossing her legs, she took a deep breath and an even deeper drink. The room grew quiet once more while she gathered herself. “Do you know how hard it is to keep this house clean?” She said finally. Max was clearly taken aback by the sudden shift. “It’s-“ “Fucking. Hard.” She set her glass aside, drumming her fingers against her thigh. “Violet gets more inventive and rambunctious by the hour. The house looks like a murder scene by the time she’s in the bath.” The air grew tense. Sarah laughed, rolling her eyes. How had she never noticed that before? She decided subtlety wasn’t going to work here. With Max it never really did. “We need to discuss housekeeping.” Confusion again. “...Have I done something wrong?” “Yes. You have.” Sarah’s smile was thin. She folded her hands together in her lap and dug her fingers into her palms. “I look after our toddler, make you breakfast lunch and dinner, keep the house spotless, clean up after you and make myself emotionally available for you before I go to work, and how do you repay me?!” “I’m-“ Sarah pointed towards the garage, “By going out there into the world and risking our family with your sloppy kills!” The room grew deathly quiet. Sarah flopped back into her seat, grabbing her wineglass and draining it. She poured herself another and pinched the bridge of her nose, screwing her eyes shut. “Honestly babe. Technology improves so quickly these days. There’s only so much hydrogen peroxide I can buy before it starts getting suspicious.” She gestured vaguely around the room. “I work so GOD damn hard keeping our ducks in a row. You need to meet me halfway and fucking help me.” “Sarah wha-“ Max was coming towards her, both hands out as if to pull her into a hug. Suddenly, Sarah sat bolt upright, wine sloshing about in her glass. Her anger turned murderous, and she sneered nastily in Max’s direction. “Did you accept contracts when you were pregnant with Vi?” Max stopped dead in her tracks in the middle of the room. “Sarah, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “It’s a simple question.” Sarah slowly drew herself up to her full height, towering over her wife. “Maxine Bauer. Did you, or did you not, accept contracts when you were pregnant with Vi.” Max’s own expression grew testy, and she tried to backtrack. “Don’t you use your mother voice on me.” “Answer my question, and depending on your response I’ll decide which murder scene I’ll be cleaning up tonight.” Sarah could practically hear the penny drop. Max deflated, striding over to her armchair and flopping into it. “No,” she said, grabbing her shot of whiskey and taking a small sip. “I was handler when I was pregnant. Mark’s wife-“ “Amy?” Max shot Sarah a dark look. “You should really stop interrupting, but yeah. Amy’s technically retired but she took on the smaller jobs while I was out. We hired outside the firm for the bigger ones.” Sarah felt her anger begin draining away. “The firm huh?” She sat back down and took another sip of wine, finally present enough to taste it. Only one boss then. That was sort of relieving, but it did confirm her suspicions. She looked Max over, noticing how tired she was. She opened her mouth to speak but Max beat her to it. “How long have you known?” “About an hour.” Silence. “Because I-“ “Killed that sherif?” Max shot her another dark look and Sarah winced. “Sorry, but yes. Our receptionist is sick so I fielded all the calls today.” She sighed. “I recognized Mark’s voice over the phone. The timing lined up, the shifty nature you’ve always had... you’re not a very good liar love.” “Not around you,” Max grumbled under her breath. “And it wasn’t that sloppy. He just wriggled around too much.” Sarah snorted despite herself. “If the cleaner on site gave me any indication, seems like you drained the poor fuck.” “He. Wriggled.” Max insisted, pouting. “My kills are not sloppy.” A pause, “Usually.” With a sigh, Sarah stood and crossed the room, taking Max’s free hand in both of hers. “I love you, more than anything else on earth-“ “Besides Violet?” Sarah gave her wife a playful swat. “Now who’s interrupting? But seriously. I can’t keep cleaning up after you at home and at work. You’ve got to throw me a line. I can’t keep up.” Max sighed, taking back her hand and scrubbing it through her hair roughly. “I know... I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to get suspicious so I rushed things.” “Well that’s not a concern anymore.” Sarah kissed the top of Max’s head, “You don’t have to worry so much. You’re doing fine. It would just be nice for you to take some of the load off me.” Before she could even blink Max had swept her off her feet, cradling Sarah in her arms as she had after they’d gotten married. The soft lighting of their sitting room made Max’s hair glow, the shadows made her smirk sultry. She leaned in to kiss Sarah rather soundly, and all her thoughts fizzled out. She let herself enjoy the kiss for a moment. “We’ll have to talk more about this.” “I know,” Max whispered. She moved to kiss her way down Sarah’s neck. “I’m still mad at you,” she said flatly. Max winced, but made no move to put her down. “I know...” “And you’re doing the dishes tonight.” Max groaned. “Can’t I do it in the morning?” Sarah gently wriggled herself out of Max’s arms and kissed her on the cheek. “Not if you want a chance at sleeping in the bed tonight.” She turned away to head up the stairs, snagging the sherry and her wineglass as she went. “I’ve got a chore chart to put together. Try not to be too loud, you know how hard it is to get Vi back to sleep.” With a very dramatic sigh Max made her way over to the kitchen sink, mumbling a very disheartened “yes dear” as she went.	As I make my way through Strickman's office, I can't help myself from first emptying out his dustbin. I'm not proud to admit it - I'm not proud of much anymore - but this is the highlight of my day. I've never met the man. A contact of a friend of a friend got me this job and well, when you're my age with no education, no money and a jail-shaped eight year gap in your resume, you don't say no to any jobs. Especially one that pays this well. It's not just the guilty pleasure of getting to know a man without him knowing you - let's be honest, it's the fact that he's a hitman. A bounty hunter, an assassin, a gun for hire a "professional" whatever you want to call it, this man did what I never could. He made crime into his job and he succeeded at it. The hints that he's successful come in varied an interesting shapes. I've found professional-grade hyperreal face masks tossed away like yesterday's socks. I've found broken contraptions made of coiled rope and smelling of gunpowder. My favourite was a single high heeled shoe, plated in gold and in what must have been a man's 12. It had been neatly place upright in the dustbin. Today, I only find a few wrappers for spearmint Shreddies' gum and a single napkin with a lipstick stain on it. I guess his job comes with perks. I drift off, thinking of my own perks. This last weekend was pretty wild, even my Merissa's standards. Four years into our marriage, I still don't understand the woman. Why would someone this smart and this well... outrageously hot end up with a chump like me? Sometimes I think it's because I'm simple, straightforward. She's anything but, and last weekend she was quite keen to show me. Mind you, I wasn't complaining. I start cleaning the top two desk drawers, the ones Strickman leaves unlocked. The thing is, Merissa also knows how to drive me crazy. It's the little things. The things that take no effort, no consideration but that she doesn't bother doing. Come to think of it, Sunday evening wasn't so good. I brought up her of spiting her gum - she chews Shreddies too - into the wrapper, then dropping it on the carpet. We shouted, I cried and then I lost the argument. She can talk circles around me, every time. This time it was because I'd supposedly forgotten to close the front door. One time. I barely blink when I open the second drawer and I see four pudgy fingers roll around the bottom, leaving broken streaks of blood. Mild annoyance washes over me - the man is a slob, he could have used a handkerchief - but at least the blood is fresh. It'll come out easily. Maybe I'm being hard on her. I think the fact that she can't talk about her job at the "Military Institute for Research" (very descriptive, I know) weighs on her more than she lets on. And sure, it sometimes feels like I'm working when I'm home too, cleaning up after her but marriage is about helping each other. Accepting each other's shortcomings and growing past them. I 'm almost done now, just picking up trash from the floor. Gum wrappers... And now I feel like an asshole. I have been too hard on her. It's not a big deal, you just sweep them up and... The wrapper refuses to budge as I prod it with my broom. Slowly, very slowly, I squat down and examine its bottom. Gum. Stuck to the carpet. Realisation washes over me like a cold bath I didn't want to take. A tower of assumptions crumbles as fear makes itself known in my gut. \Click\, the door closes. " I thought I told you to stop leaving the door open."
	[WP] You're a cleaner for a famous assassin. You just found out it is your spouse. This infuriates you not because of the secrets or killing, but because you've been cleaning up after your spouse at home and at their work all this time.	She screeched and stalked towards him, disregard for the dead body at her feet in every indignant line of her body. "Are you fucking KIDDING ME??" Allie yelled. Chris winced, rubbing an ear, then stopped. He looked at her, head tilted in confusion. "You don't look as scared as I thought you might be if you found out about my, uh, less than conventional job" he started hesitantly. "Are.. are you mad at me?" "Mad at you? Am I MAD at you?? Yes, I am furious! This is beyond not fair". Allie stepped over the body in her boss's waiting area, advancing on him menacingly. "We have been married for seven years. SEVEN. I have been cleaning this office for FIVE. I do all the chores at home, and you come home and prattle on about how taxing your day has been! How much do you even DO all day?". Allie stopped in front of him, breathing heavily, sodden cleaning rag forgotten in her fist as she glared at her husband. "Well, I sit around a lot as I wait for my target, and uh. Why aren't you scared?" "Scared? I know where you sleep, I know you still cuddle a stuffed animal every night, and I know you wouldn't function without me. You should be asking the real question." Chris quirked an eyebrow. "What's the real question?" Allie slapped the washrag into his chest, then wiped her hands dry on his shirt. "The real question is how much cleaning you now have to do at home."	As I make my way through Strickman's office, I can't help myself from first emptying out his dustbin. I'm not proud to admit it - I'm not proud of much anymore - but this is the highlight of my day. I've never met the man. A contact of a friend of a friend got me this job and well, when you're my age with no education, no money and a jail-shaped eight year gap in your resume, you don't say no to any jobs. Especially one that pays this well. It's not just the guilty pleasure of getting to know a man without him knowing you - let's be honest, it's the fact that he's a hitman. A bounty hunter, an assassin, a gun for hire a "professional" whatever you want to call it, this man did what I never could. He made crime into his job and he succeeded at it. The hints that he's successful come in varied an interesting shapes. I've found professional-grade hyperreal face masks tossed away like yesterday's socks. I've found broken contraptions made of coiled rope and smelling of gunpowder. My favourite was a single high heeled shoe, plated in gold and in what must have been a man's 12. It had been neatly place upright in the dustbin. Today, I only find a few wrappers for spearmint Shreddies' gum and a single napkin with a lipstick stain on it. I guess his job comes with perks. I drift off, thinking of my own perks. This last weekend was pretty wild, even my Merissa's standards. Four years into our marriage, I still don't understand the woman. Why would someone this smart and this well... outrageously hot end up with a chump like me? Sometimes I think it's because I'm simple, straightforward. She's anything but, and last weekend she was quite keen to show me. Mind you, I wasn't complaining. I start cleaning the top two desk drawers, the ones Strickman leaves unlocked. The thing is, Merissa also knows how to drive me crazy. It's the little things. The things that take no effort, no consideration but that she doesn't bother doing. Come to think of it, Sunday evening wasn't so good. I brought up her of spiting her gum - she chews Shreddies too - into the wrapper, then dropping it on the carpet. We shouted, I cried and then I lost the argument. She can talk circles around me, every time. This time it was because I'd supposedly forgotten to close the front door. One time. I barely blink when I open the second drawer and I see four pudgy fingers roll around the bottom, leaving broken streaks of blood. Mild annoyance washes over me - the man is a slob, he could have used a handkerchief - but at least the blood is fresh. It'll come out easily. Maybe I'm being hard on her. I think the fact that she can't talk about her job at the "Military Institute for Research" (very descriptive, I know) weighs on her more than she lets on. And sure, it sometimes feels like I'm working when I'm home too, cleaning up after her but marriage is about helping each other. Accepting each other's shortcomings and growing past them. I 'm almost done now, just picking up trash from the floor. Gum wrappers... And now I feel like an asshole. I have been too hard on her. It's not a big deal, you just sweep them up and... The wrapper refuses to budge as I prod it with my broom. Slowly, very slowly, I squat down and examine its bottom. Gum. Stuck to the carpet. Realisation washes over me like a cold bath I didn't want to take. A tower of assumptions crumbles as fear makes itself known in my gut. \Click\, the door closes. " I thought I told you to stop leaving the door open."
	[WP] You're a cleaner for a famous assassin. You just found out it is your spouse. This infuriates you not because of the secrets or killing, but because you've been cleaning up after your spouse at home and at their work all this time.	"And then, he said," 'But why would I clean it? You're obviously better at it!' The severe looking woman at the desk stared at the cleaning lady. Great euphemism, if a bit on the nose. She stared for a solid eight seconds before taking a breath and issuing her reply. "And so then, you killed your spouse, our top Asset in the field. Over the lint trap." You could feel each letter in lint trap. "...Yes, ma'am", The cleaning lady sheepishly replied. Several more seconds of silence. "Very well," The woman at the desk said, suddenly shattering the quiet. "You're promoted. You're now an Asset. Normally, we field test, but there have been budget cuts. However, since you...removed our top Asset, you should be able to handle yourself. Unfortunately, due to the hiring freeze, we can't issue you a cleaner, so you'll need to clean up after yourself. And due to budget cuts, we won't be able to reimburse you for cleaning supplies. We're hoping we can fill the cleaner position at some point, but don't get your hopes up. Doing more with less and all that." "Errr.....um....?" was the ~~cleaning lady's~~ Asset's puzzled reply. "Congratulations," said the lady at the desk. "And good luck out there."	"I have enough. It has to stop" That sentence was painfull to hear... I decided to use it. My F bomb that I promised I would never use when she told it to me 4 years ago. Now was my payback! Of course, she froze and was visibly confused. I have spent the week wondering how to tell her I have discovered her secret. She works too much... I would even say she is a workalcholic on rampage all the time. At first I was thinking to pretend to be scared of her. Each day, being more and more cold and take distance... Until she would beg me to be back to normal and do what I want... BUT... I am too lazzy. It would take too much effort and some acting skillsI don't have. Yesterday was a shitty day. So much cleaning! So much stains and not enough vespene gas to fix it. I couldn't handle it anymore and had to spend extra hours instead of spending my time with the kids... So, back to the story, I was mad, tired anddid use my F bomb. "I have enough. It has to stop" "I have bought a knife sharpener. Can you stop using dull blades. You do a huge mess and I have to clean all the time after it" It wasn't what I wanted to say... But I am a stupid man. I still can't admit to my wife that my job is cleaning...
	[WP] You're a cleaner for a famous assassin. You just found out it is your spouse. This infuriates you not because of the secrets or killing, but because you've been cleaning up after your spouse at home and at their work all this time.	Sarah had scarcely finished putting Violet to bed when she heard the garage door open. She tried to temper her anger in case Vi woke up, schooling her expression into thinly veiled neutrality. Of course she couldn’t keep her foot from tapping harshly on their freshly mopped hardwood floor, or her fingers from drumming irregularly against her empty wine glass. A few seconds passed, and after taking a peak up the stairwell to make sure Violet wasn’t snooping, Sarah turned to the liquor cabinet. She reluctantly uncurled her fists to pour herself a shot of whiskey, knocking it back quickly before pouring another for... The door to the mud room slammed shut, and Sarah saw red. “Honey? I’m home!” Straightening her back, Sarah avoided eye contact. She turned to the sitting room, practically slammed the shot glass onto the side table next to the big armchair, and fell into her own seat. She poured herself another glass of wine. Awkward silence filled the room, and Max shifted from foot to foot, turning away to put the car keys in the key bowl. “Bad day?” Sarah barked out a bitter laugh. “You could say that.” She waived her hand towards the whiskey. “We need to talk.” She closed her eyes, breathing deeply and gathering her thoughts. She was so upset she couldn’t recall the opening statement she’d prepared. She drank deeply from her wine, listening to the sound of footsteps crossing the room. “Is that the Sherry my-“ “Boss gave you?!” Sarah kept her tone level, but her neutral mask had broken. Her eyes snapped open and she glared over the rim of her glass. “It is. Which boss remains a mystery to me.” Confusion now. “What do you mean? You’ve met Mark and his wife before.” Sarah sneered, her lips curling in disdain. “Don’t. Lie to me.” Crossing her legs, she took a deep breath and an even deeper drink. The room grew quiet once more while she gathered herself. “Do you know how hard it is to keep this house clean?” She said finally. Max was clearly taken aback by the sudden shift. “It’s-“ “Fucking. Hard.” She set her glass aside, drumming her fingers against her thigh. “Violet gets more inventive and rambunctious by the hour. The house looks like a murder scene by the time she’s in the bath.” The air grew tense. Sarah laughed, rolling her eyes. How had she never noticed that before? She decided subtlety wasn’t going to work here. With Max it never really did. “We need to discuss housekeeping.” Confusion again. “...Have I done something wrong?” “Yes. You have.” Sarah’s smile was thin. She folded her hands together in her lap and dug her fingers into her palms. “I look after our toddler, make you breakfast lunch and dinner, keep the house spotless, clean up after you and make myself emotionally available for you before I go to work, and how do you repay me?!” “I’m-“ Sarah pointed towards the garage, “By going out there into the world and risking our family with your sloppy kills!” The room grew deathly quiet. Sarah flopped back into her seat, grabbing her wineglass and draining it. She poured herself another and pinched the bridge of her nose, screwing her eyes shut. “Honestly babe. Technology improves so quickly these days. There’s only so much hydrogen peroxide I can buy before it starts getting suspicious.” She gestured vaguely around the room. “I work so GOD damn hard keeping our ducks in a row. You need to meet me halfway and fucking help me.” “Sarah wha-“ Max was coming towards her, both hands out as if to pull her into a hug. Suddenly, Sarah sat bolt upright, wine sloshing about in her glass. Her anger turned murderous, and she sneered nastily in Max’s direction. “Did you accept contracts when you were pregnant with Vi?” Max stopped dead in her tracks in the middle of the room. “Sarah, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “It’s a simple question.” Sarah slowly drew herself up to her full height, towering over her wife. “Maxine Bauer. Did you, or did you not, accept contracts when you were pregnant with Vi.” Max’s own expression grew testy, and she tried to backtrack. “Don’t you use your mother voice on me.” “Answer my question, and depending on your response I’ll decide which murder scene I’ll be cleaning up tonight.” Sarah could practically hear the penny drop. Max deflated, striding over to her armchair and flopping into it. “No,” she said, grabbing her shot of whiskey and taking a small sip. “I was handler when I was pregnant. Mark’s wife-“ “Amy?” Max shot Sarah a dark look. “You should really stop interrupting, but yeah. Amy’s technically retired but she took on the smaller jobs while I was out. We hired outside the firm for the bigger ones.” Sarah felt her anger begin draining away. “The firm huh?” She sat back down and took another sip of wine, finally present enough to taste it. Only one boss then. That was sort of relieving, but it did confirm her suspicions. She looked Max over, noticing how tired she was. She opened her mouth to speak but Max beat her to it. “How long have you known?” “About an hour.” Silence. “Because I-“ “Killed that sherif?” Max shot her another dark look and Sarah winced. “Sorry, but yes. Our receptionist is sick so I fielded all the calls today.” She sighed. “I recognized Mark’s voice over the phone. The timing lined up, the shifty nature you’ve always had... you’re not a very good liar love.” “Not around you,” Max grumbled under her breath. “And it wasn’t that sloppy. He just wriggled around too much.” Sarah snorted despite herself. “If the cleaner on site gave me any indication, seems like you drained the poor fuck.” “He. Wriggled.” Max insisted, pouting. “My kills are not sloppy.” A pause, “Usually.” With a sigh, Sarah stood and crossed the room, taking Max’s free hand in both of hers. “I love you, more than anything else on earth-“ “Besides Violet?” Sarah gave her wife a playful swat. “Now who’s interrupting? But seriously. I can’t keep cleaning up after you at home and at work. You’ve got to throw me a line. I can’t keep up.” Max sighed, taking back her hand and scrubbing it through her hair roughly. “I know... I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to get suspicious so I rushed things.” “Well that’s not a concern anymore.” Sarah kissed the top of Max’s head, “You don’t have to worry so much. You’re doing fine. It would just be nice for you to take some of the load off me.” Before she could even blink Max had swept her off her feet, cradling Sarah in her arms as she had after they’d gotten married. The soft lighting of their sitting room made Max’s hair glow, the shadows made her smirk sultry. She leaned in to kiss Sarah rather soundly, and all her thoughts fizzled out. She let herself enjoy the kiss for a moment. “We’ll have to talk more about this.” “I know,” Max whispered. She moved to kiss her way down Sarah’s neck. “I’m still mad at you,” she said flatly. Max winced, but made no move to put her down. “I know...” “And you’re doing the dishes tonight.” Max groaned. “Can’t I do it in the morning?” Sarah gently wriggled herself out of Max’s arms and kissed her on the cheek. “Not if you want a chance at sleeping in the bed tonight.” She turned away to head up the stairs, snagging the sherry and her wineglass as she went. “I’ve got a chore chart to put together. Try not to be too loud, you know how hard it is to get Vi back to sleep.” With a very dramatic sigh Max made her way over to the kitchen sink, mumbling a very disheartened “yes dear” as she went.	"I have enough. It has to stop" That sentence was painfull to hear... I decided to use it. My F bomb that I promised I would never use when she told it to me 4 years ago. Now was my payback! Of course, she froze and was visibly confused. I have spent the week wondering how to tell her I have discovered her secret. She works too much... I would even say she is a workalcholic on rampage all the time. At first I was thinking to pretend to be scared of her. Each day, being more and more cold and take distance... Until she would beg me to be back to normal and do what I want... BUT... I am too lazzy. It would take too much effort and some acting skillsI don't have. Yesterday was a shitty day. So much cleaning! So much stains and not enough vespene gas to fix it. I couldn't handle it anymore and had to spend extra hours instead of spending my time with the kids... So, back to the story, I was mad, tired anddid use my F bomb. "I have enough. It has to stop" "I have bought a knife sharpener. Can you stop using dull blades. You do a huge mess and I have to clean all the time after it" It wasn't what I wanted to say... But I am a stupid man. I still can't admit to my wife that my job is cleaning...
	[WP] You're a cleaner for a famous assassin. You just found out it is your spouse. This infuriates you not because of the secrets or killing, but because you've been cleaning up after your spouse at home and at their work all this time.	She screeched and stalked towards him, disregard for the dead body at her feet in every indignant line of her body. "Are you fucking KIDDING ME??" Allie yelled. Chris winced, rubbing an ear, then stopped. He looked at her, head tilted in confusion. "You don't look as scared as I thought you might be if you found out about my, uh, less than conventional job" he started hesitantly. "Are.. are you mad at me?" "Mad at you? Am I MAD at you?? Yes, I am furious! This is beyond not fair". Allie stepped over the body in her boss's waiting area, advancing on him menacingly. "We have been married for seven years. SEVEN. I have been cleaning this office for FIVE. I do all the chores at home, and you come home and prattle on about how taxing your day has been! How much do you even DO all day?". Allie stopped in front of him, breathing heavily, sodden cleaning rag forgotten in her fist as she glared at her husband. "Well, I sit around a lot as I wait for my target, and uh. Why aren't you scared?" "Scared? I know where you sleep, I know you still cuddle a stuffed animal every night, and I know you wouldn't function without me. You should be asking the real question." Chris quirked an eyebrow. "What's the real question?" Allie slapped the washrag into his chest, then wiped her hands dry on his shirt. "The real question is how much cleaning you now have to do at home."	"I have enough. It has to stop" That sentence was painfull to hear... I decided to use it. My F bomb that I promised I would never use when she told it to me 4 years ago. Now was my payback! Of course, she froze and was visibly confused. I have spent the week wondering how to tell her I have discovered her secret. She works too much... I would even say she is a workalcholic on rampage all the time. At first I was thinking to pretend to be scared of her. Each day, being more and more cold and take distance... Until she would beg me to be back to normal and do what I want... BUT... I am too lazzy. It would take too much effort and some acting skillsI don't have. Yesterday was a shitty day. So much cleaning! So much stains and not enough vespene gas to fix it. I couldn't handle it anymore and had to spend extra hours instead of spending my time with the kids... So, back to the story, I was mad, tired anddid use my F bomb. "I have enough. It has to stop" "I have bought a knife sharpener. Can you stop using dull blades. You do a huge mess and I have to clean all the time after it" It wasn't what I wanted to say... But I am a stupid man. I still can't admit to my wife that my job is cleaning...
	[WP] You're a cleaner for a famous assassin. You just found out it is your spouse. This infuriates you not because of the secrets or killing, but because you've been cleaning up after your spouse at home and at their work all this time.	Sarah had scarcely finished putting Violet to bed when she heard the garage door open. She tried to temper her anger in case Vi woke up, schooling her expression into thinly veiled neutrality. Of course she couldn’t keep her foot from tapping harshly on their freshly mopped hardwood floor, or her fingers from drumming irregularly against her empty wine glass. A few seconds passed, and after taking a peak up the stairwell to make sure Violet wasn’t snooping, Sarah turned to the liquor cabinet. She reluctantly uncurled her fists to pour herself a shot of whiskey, knocking it back quickly before pouring another for... The door to the mud room slammed shut, and Sarah saw red. “Honey? I’m home!” Straightening her back, Sarah avoided eye contact. She turned to the sitting room, practically slammed the shot glass onto the side table next to the big armchair, and fell into her own seat. She poured herself another glass of wine. Awkward silence filled the room, and Max shifted from foot to foot, turning away to put the car keys in the key bowl. “Bad day?” Sarah barked out a bitter laugh. “You could say that.” She waived her hand towards the whiskey. “We need to talk.” She closed her eyes, breathing deeply and gathering her thoughts. She was so upset she couldn’t recall the opening statement she’d prepared. She drank deeply from her wine, listening to the sound of footsteps crossing the room. “Is that the Sherry my-“ “Boss gave you?!” Sarah kept her tone level, but her neutral mask had broken. Her eyes snapped open and she glared over the rim of her glass. “It is. Which boss remains a mystery to me.” Confusion now. “What do you mean? You’ve met Mark and his wife before.” Sarah sneered, her lips curling in disdain. “Don’t. Lie to me.” Crossing her legs, she took a deep breath and an even deeper drink. The room grew quiet once more while she gathered herself. “Do you know how hard it is to keep this house clean?” She said finally. Max was clearly taken aback by the sudden shift. “It’s-“ “Fucking. Hard.” She set her glass aside, drumming her fingers against her thigh. “Violet gets more inventive and rambunctious by the hour. The house looks like a murder scene by the time she’s in the bath.” The air grew tense. Sarah laughed, rolling her eyes. How had she never noticed that before? She decided subtlety wasn’t going to work here. With Max it never really did. “We need to discuss housekeeping.” Confusion again. “...Have I done something wrong?” “Yes. You have.” Sarah’s smile was thin. She folded her hands together in her lap and dug her fingers into her palms. “I look after our toddler, make you breakfast lunch and dinner, keep the house spotless, clean up after you and make myself emotionally available for you before I go to work, and how do you repay me?!” “I’m-“ Sarah pointed towards the garage, “By going out there into the world and risking our family with your sloppy kills!” The room grew deathly quiet. Sarah flopped back into her seat, grabbing her wineglass and draining it. She poured herself another and pinched the bridge of her nose, screwing her eyes shut. “Honestly babe. Technology improves so quickly these days. There’s only so much hydrogen peroxide I can buy before it starts getting suspicious.” She gestured vaguely around the room. “I work so GOD damn hard keeping our ducks in a row. You need to meet me halfway and fucking help me.” “Sarah wha-“ Max was coming towards her, both hands out as if to pull her into a hug. Suddenly, Sarah sat bolt upright, wine sloshing about in her glass. Her anger turned murderous, and she sneered nastily in Max’s direction. “Did you accept contracts when you were pregnant with Vi?” Max stopped dead in her tracks in the middle of the room. “Sarah, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “It’s a simple question.” Sarah slowly drew herself up to her full height, towering over her wife. “Maxine Bauer. Did you, or did you not, accept contracts when you were pregnant with Vi.” Max’s own expression grew testy, and she tried to backtrack. “Don’t you use your mother voice on me.” “Answer my question, and depending on your response I’ll decide which murder scene I’ll be cleaning up tonight.” Sarah could practically hear the penny drop. Max deflated, striding over to her armchair and flopping into it. “No,” she said, grabbing her shot of whiskey and taking a small sip. “I was handler when I was pregnant. Mark’s wife-“ “Amy?” Max shot Sarah a dark look. “You should really stop interrupting, but yeah. Amy’s technically retired but she took on the smaller jobs while I was out. We hired outside the firm for the bigger ones.” Sarah felt her anger begin draining away. “The firm huh?” She sat back down and took another sip of wine, finally present enough to taste it. Only one boss then. That was sort of relieving, but it did confirm her suspicions. She looked Max over, noticing how tired she was. She opened her mouth to speak but Max beat her to it. “How long have you known?” “About an hour.” Silence. “Because I-“ “Killed that sherif?” Max shot her another dark look and Sarah winced. “Sorry, but yes. Our receptionist is sick so I fielded all the calls today.” She sighed. “I recognized Mark’s voice over the phone. The timing lined up, the shifty nature you’ve always had... you’re not a very good liar love.” “Not around you,” Max grumbled under her breath. “And it wasn’t that sloppy. He just wriggled around too much.” Sarah snorted despite herself. “If the cleaner on site gave me any indication, seems like you drained the poor fuck.” “He. Wriggled.” Max insisted, pouting. “My kills are not sloppy.” A pause, “Usually.” With a sigh, Sarah stood and crossed the room, taking Max’s free hand in both of hers. “I love you, more than anything else on earth-“ “Besides Violet?” Sarah gave her wife a playful swat. “Now who’s interrupting? But seriously. I can’t keep cleaning up after you at home and at work. You’ve got to throw me a line. I can’t keep up.” Max sighed, taking back her hand and scrubbing it through her hair roughly. “I know... I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to get suspicious so I rushed things.” “Well that’s not a concern anymore.” Sarah kissed the top of Max’s head, “You don’t have to worry so much. You’re doing fine. It would just be nice for you to take some of the load off me.” Before she could even blink Max had swept her off her feet, cradling Sarah in her arms as she had after they’d gotten married. The soft lighting of their sitting room made Max’s hair glow, the shadows made her smirk sultry. She leaned in to kiss Sarah rather soundly, and all her thoughts fizzled out. She let herself enjoy the kiss for a moment. “We’ll have to talk more about this.” “I know,” Max whispered. She moved to kiss her way down Sarah’s neck. “I’m still mad at you,” she said flatly. Max winced, but made no move to put her down. “I know...” “And you’re doing the dishes tonight.” Max groaned. “Can’t I do it in the morning?” Sarah gently wriggled herself out of Max’s arms and kissed her on the cheek. “Not if you want a chance at sleeping in the bed tonight.” She turned away to head up the stairs, snagging the sherry and her wineglass as she went. “I’ve got a chore chart to put together. Try not to be too loud, you know how hard it is to get Vi back to sleep.” With a very dramatic sigh Max made her way over to the kitchen sink, mumbling a very disheartened “yes dear” as she went.	"And then, he said," 'But why would I clean it? You're obviously better at it!' The severe looking woman at the desk stared at the cleaning lady. Great euphemism, if a bit on the nose. She stared for a solid eight seconds before taking a breath and issuing her reply. "And so then, you killed your spouse, our top Asset in the field. Over the lint trap." You could feel each letter in lint trap. "...Yes, ma'am", The cleaning lady sheepishly replied. Several more seconds of silence. "Very well," The woman at the desk said, suddenly shattering the quiet. "You're promoted. You're now an Asset. Normally, we field test, but there have been budget cuts. However, since you...removed our top Asset, you should be able to handle yourself. Unfortunately, due to the hiring freeze, we can't issue you a cleaner, so you'll need to clean up after yourself. And due to budget cuts, we won't be able to reimburse you for cleaning supplies. We're hoping we can fill the cleaner position at some point, but don't get your hopes up. Doing more with less and all that." "Errr.....um....?" was the ~~cleaning lady's~~ Asset's puzzled reply. "Congratulations," said the lady at the desk. "And good luck out there."
	[WP] You're a cleaner for a famous assassin. You just found out it is your spouse. This infuriates you not because of the secrets or killing, but because you've been cleaning up after your spouse at home and at their work all this time.	She screeched and stalked towards him, disregard for the dead body at her feet in every indignant line of her body. "Are you fucking KIDDING ME??" Allie yelled. Chris winced, rubbing an ear, then stopped. He looked at her, head tilted in confusion. "You don't look as scared as I thought you might be if you found out about my, uh, less than conventional job" he started hesitantly. "Are.. are you mad at me?" "Mad at you? Am I MAD at you?? Yes, I am furious! This is beyond not fair". Allie stepped over the body in her boss's waiting area, advancing on him menacingly. "We have been married for seven years. SEVEN. I have been cleaning this office for FIVE. I do all the chores at home, and you come home and prattle on about how taxing your day has been! How much do you even DO all day?". Allie stopped in front of him, breathing heavily, sodden cleaning rag forgotten in her fist as she glared at her husband. "Well, I sit around a lot as I wait for my target, and uh. Why aren't you scared?" "Scared? I know where you sleep, I know you still cuddle a stuffed animal every night, and I know you wouldn't function without me. You should be asking the real question." Chris quirked an eyebrow. "What's the real question?" Allie slapped the washrag into his chest, then wiped her hands dry on his shirt. "The real question is how much cleaning you now have to do at home."	"And then, he said," 'But why would I clean it? You're obviously better at it!' The severe looking woman at the desk stared at the cleaning lady. Great euphemism, if a bit on the nose. She stared for a solid eight seconds before taking a breath and issuing her reply. "And so then, you killed your spouse, our top Asset in the field. Over the lint trap." You could feel each letter in lint trap. "...Yes, ma'am", The cleaning lady sheepishly replied. Several more seconds of silence. "Very well," The woman at the desk said, suddenly shattering the quiet. "You're promoted. You're now an Asset. Normally, we field test, but there have been budget cuts. However, since you...removed our top Asset, you should be able to handle yourself. Unfortunately, due to the hiring freeze, we can't issue you a cleaner, so you'll need to clean up after yourself. And due to budget cuts, we won't be able to reimburse you for cleaning supplies. We're hoping we can fill the cleaner position at some point, but don't get your hopes up. Doing more with less and all that." "Errr.....um....?" was the ~~cleaning lady's~~ Asset's puzzled reply. "Congratulations," said the lady at the desk. "And good luck out there."
	[WP] In your world, magic comes from elemental pearls that are found within the ocean. More powerful pearls are found deeper, but the depths are also home to more dangerous predators. You are a pearl diver, a necessary profession where many die young but those that survive find fortune quickly.	Beware the old man in a profession where men die young, they say. Standing on the edge of the platform, staring down into the blue waters, my collapsible spear strapped to my thigh, I had to laugh at the thought. I was twenty-eight years old, and nobody in my crew had yet seen their twentieth birthday. That made me the dangerous old man. The dive. We’re streamlined, genetically modified that way, not a hair on our bodies, and though I knew the water was warm it felt deep cold, bone cold. There were four in our crew plus me—pearl divers on our tax forms, rock junkies to the merchantmen who liked to watch us jump in the water from the decks of their passing ships. We flew down as fast as we could, trying to get past the first trial before we were noticed. Our newest member wasn’t fast enough, the poor kid. He liked to talk up his ability, but this was his third dive and I had already figured out he wasn’t going to make it—I had told him as much, suggested he take an easier job, patching boats at the dock or something like that. He laughed me off. Well, he wasn’t laughing now. A swarm of tiny red fish materialized suddenly in the water, their perfectly transparent bodies suddenly pumping blood from the chromatophore-coated sacks around their hearts. Too small to fight off with the spear or, for that matter, anything, his only hope was to get below their shallow crush depth. He didn’t. It wasn’t a pleasant sight. I don’t care about the mods, she said. Just come work with me before you die out there. My dad wasn’t happy about it but he’ll pay you good enough, and we’ll live together out back, in the shed. Please, there’s no shame in it. There’s no shame in living. We approached the mouth of the cave that had broken through the sands on the bottom of the sea, the one our foreman had spotted before anyone else and laid a claim to in a hurry. Now came the tricky part—the others drew their spears pre-emptively but I knew to just keep flying, flying, flying down. The best way to avoid getting bit was to not be there. Already I could see the carpeteers squirming beneath the sand—this was a bad spot, there were a lot of them. Two decided to stay back, sacrificing this dive’s pay so the rest of us could get into the cave. No. No, listen, I’ll just make a few more dives, all right? I’ve already paid off the foreman—if I get, let’s say twenty pearls, I can buy us a house. A real house, not your dad’s old shack. And I can get my own platform, be my own foreman. We’ll be set for life, baby, I swear it. You’ve just got to hold out a little longer. The cave swallowed me, and straight away I could see the ethereal blue light flickering from further beyond, in the pearl chamber. This, the journey’s end for so many people born in the archipelago, so many colonist’s sons whose great, great grandfathers had come to this planet looking for glory only to find death and economic opportunities for their descendants. Now I drew my spear, extended it. In my other hand I slipped my hand into the flap of my burlap sack, so that I could quickly scoop them up without having to fiddle with it. Oh, thank God for the mods—a normal human being would be dead at this depth. No. I’m not going to wait for you. Because if I do, then when you die, it’ll be on me. I’ll never live with myself. Do what you want, I wash my hands of you. This chamber had more pearls than I had ever seen at one time in my twelve years of diving. Thousands of the little things arranged around a wide ovaloid chamber with that curious hint of a cathedral in its atmosphere. At the center, the mockery of the humanoid form some cheeky bastard had called a mermaid a century ago sat, her tail curled in a great heap on the floor. She was awake, eyes glowing blue with tranquil fury, skin scintillating, tendrils like wavy hair illuminating the room. She struck, and I rolled right—she was the others’ problem now. If I could get a full sack it would be enough for all of us to quit for the day. I got to work, paying attention only to the mermaid’s tail and the blood in the chamber. If they won, they won. If they lost, I’d know soon enough. Four, five, six white little jewels in my bag, each worth a fortune to ship back to old mother earth, that place none of us would ever know. Ten. Twelve. Blood in the water now, thick like fog. All right, all right. I’ll wait. Three more dives. If you can’t do it by then, you either give up or we’re done. I love you too. The sack clasped shut, I turned around. The mermaid was just finishing off my right hand, the second-eldest of us all at nineteen, leaving him to gasp in saltwater rather than spend any more time swimming in his own viscera. She wheeled to face me, and I could see in her face now why they called them mermaids. In a way, they truly were beautiful, when seen in the right state of terror and rage. Angels, the fallen kind, the sort you had to kill during the Apocalypse. I readied my spear as she closed in. I’ll be back. This is the last dive, baby. After this, I’m done. The foreman says it’s a good cave that just opened up, we’ll make it big. I love you. I love you.	Kami ran big. Eight minutes three seconds. Was it the village best? Maybe. Nine perfect orbs. Each of the pearls sat like sparkling jewels in their oysters. Kami had nearly collapsed from exhaustion upon reaching the surface. I reached out and helped pull him from Mother Ocean. As his weight rested on the deck, Kami dropped his catch net with a dozen heavy oysters next to his side and melted away into heavy slumber near the bow. The shells clattered on the bench as I emptied the net. I unsheathed my knife and laid each of the oysters out in a circle. This had been the family tradition for a century. I bowed my head in thanks to Mother Ocean. Then I set upon the first. Dividing the shell halves, I opened it. Nothing but fine grit and a lump of malformed flash lay inside. The second was a small pebble. Dull and misshapen. The third was a small pocket of grit. Frustrated, I shook my head. I gazed down at Kami. Still asleep. I rinsed the blade of my knife the cold water and took the fourth oyster. Cracking open the tough shell, I laid it open on the bench to see a shiny grey pearl. Peering closer, I inspected the surface and picked it up. For it's size, it was light but perfect. I returned the pearl to it's bed. I bowed my head again in silent thanks and the remaining unopened oysters started to rock gently on the bench. Each stopped movement and a warm luminescent glow surrounded the eight. Again I closed my eyes and offered silent words to Mother Ocean. Each of the eight again to vibrate gently and their glowing aura peaked in warm radiance as each of their shells opened slowly to reveal a perfect opalescent orb. As the warm glow faded, a cool fresh wind swept across the ocean. Kami opened his eyes and looked at me and then at the bounty Mother Ocean had yielded. He sat up and nodded. It was then I knew that my early departure from diving had paid off. My apprentice Kami had found The Nine. With them, our village would reign the deep seas. The underwater dangers would no longer be a risk on future dives. It was the culmination of decades of dives. In those years, we had lost dozens of pearl divers. Never again would we lose another. With The Nine came the powers. Kami had gathered The Nine. Nevermore would Cthulhu own the depths. Never again would we have to console a sobbing wife when her man failed to return from the depths. These were the powers of promise. This was The Nine.
	[WP] You're the all-so-feared Monster of the Grimlands. It's absurd to you, really. Every decade, the human town gives you a sacrifice, a young, virgin human bride. You just wish you could tell the town that you're running out of guest rooms for these poor ladies.	I stood awaiting in the 'ritual spot' designed the 'hold back the beast'. God I hated this season, every decade the town south of my forest home had after not getting of my god damn property one to many times had their 'shamans' create a 'ritual' by which what actually happened is one of them came and had an actual conversation with me for once and explained just how god damn STUPID those villagers are. Fortunately for me I happen to know a very good builder. An earth elemental by the name of Steve who was kind enough to help me expand my manor. It's not the prettiest work but it functions well and unnaturally sturdy. "GRIMLAND'S GUARDIAN BEAST, STILL YOUR RAGING SOUL!" oh god here we go again, and one of the newer shamans too oh for fuck's sake this day cannot get worse. Of course once all the Shaman's that were in on it died out it went from a ploy to get the abused and neglected women out if the village. I tried to reason with the shamans beforehand that we should include the men in their two but I just got laughed at. Fucking pricks... I reared up and let out bellowing howl, my wolf like visage lending to that 'werewolf' vibe I have going on. "Another 40 season's another offering is it?" My disdain for this whole situation was as clear as my crimson eyes. The shaman before me looked especially young. Couldn't be more then 15. God they even sent their children to do this? "INDEED" The kid shouted, clearly male, right in the throws of puberty. Poor thing. "WITH 40 SEASONS PAST WE BRING YOU ANOTHER OFFERING SO THAT OUR TOWN MAY PROSPER UNDER YOUR PROTECTION AND THAT YOUR WRATH WILL NOT BE VISITED UPON US!" Direct from the script. As expected. I'd feel bad for them if they weren't lugging an unwilling sacrifice with them. Those robes and ceremonial face mask don't hide that malicious grin. Probably some relationship drama like it was last time... "NO! HOW DARE YOU! WHEN MY FATHER HEARS ABOUT THIS YOU'LL BE SORRY!" Great. A daddy's girl. Thankfully the Sisterhood is a much better parent then me. I'll let them deal with this. Light danced around the 'barrier' as the screaming woman was presented and locked into place. I go about my usual shtick inspecting the sacrifice. A small spell cast to ease her mind and explain the general jist of the actual situation which also quite handily shuts her up and makes her look like she's in a trance. "Your offering is accepted... leave this place now unless you wish to offer up yourselves too..." I half snarl half grin making sure to show my teeth. The pieces of strawberry lodged in their from breakfast handily making it look like I'd just eaten something bloody The scrawny little shit high tailed it out of here like a rabbit being chased. Weak and pathetic like the rest of that shitty town. If only it wasn't on a leyline I'd be able to just rip and tear... With the ceremony passed I carried the new sister home. She showed signs of coming too just as we reached the clearing. The rest of the sisters had gathered, expecting a new arrival. "W-where am I" She croaked awake. Confusion and terror in her voice. "Almost home... and before you ask, no I'm not going to eat you, or anything else you don't want me to do to you." I say in a knowing tone, I can feel the question she'll ask next and I know I'll hate it. "But aren't you the beast?" Her all to familiar words stung like poison daggers into my back. "My name is Kenning Away!" I snap back at her causing her to recoil in fear. 'Dammit Kenny you did it again! They're scared teens on a good cycle! Of course they're gonna ask those kinds of questions' I think to myself. "I-...I'm sorry. Sister Rosemary will explain all. Here they are now." As I approach my opulent gates the Sisters all assist in opening it. Sister Ophelia gives me a knowing nod as Sister Rosemary approaches and helps the new girl dismount my back. I simply start walking to my chambers as Sister Ophelia takes my clawed paw in hand. She was the first one. *"I take it she said the thing again?"* Those eyes of ember pierce my own, her gentle, warm and knowing approach helps raise my spirit a little bit. The colour returning to my blue eyes somewhat. "I get that in their folklore I'm this evil baby eating ungodly evil malice incarnate would burn down an orphanage and say 'what are they gonna do? tell their parents?" monster but still it hurts..." I bear my soul to her, she understands the most. I wouldn't say it's a romantic relationship. More... family. When this whole situation started up the Shaman's made sure to pick those who were suffering at the hands of those who couldn't fight back. 'The bearers of strife' they called it. She practically jumped at the chance to die. Seemed almost mad that wasn't about to eat her after she was brought to me. We talked and talked eventually we found ourselves confiding in each other. I taught her how to hunt, she taught me how to cook what I'd hunted. I taught her where to find hidden herbs and mushrooms for alchemical brews and she taught me how to brew such things. Eventually we even figured out how use the old smithy in this manor together. I had no real reason to ever use it thanks to my claws and hide being tough as it is. Though with Ophelia's guidance it functioned and functioned well too! Soon we were gathering precious metals and making some weapons for her to defend herself if I'm ever out while bandits or something comes. As our house's guests grew so did those who wanted weapons. Fortunately the 5th Sacrifice, Ann Thena (or just Sister Ann) had been a combat expert, I knew that from the moment she tried to stick a knife in me while being carried back. My shoulder still hurts from that one. She after seeing I wasn't fighting back after the 3rd time she gut punched and floored me she came somewhat to her senses and calmed down. We explained to her the situation and she offered to help train people as they came. Once we reached our 15th guest we realised we should probably look into trading with other locals and expansion. So while I was out making first contact with Steve, The ladies formed a Merc group called "the Amazonians". They also tried to get to wear this strange human cloth thing they had made. They call it a 'suit and tie'. It's composed of 4 pieces, one covers the crotch area and goes underneath another piece that fits on the legs, and the last two do the same thing but for the upper body, it also has this weird collar like thing on it. I wear it on special occasions when some of their mercenary friends come over. Apparently I'm 'cute' when I wear it. Fuck knows what that means. Anyways I'm getting side-tracked. Sister Ophelia helped comfort me as our new arrival had the situation explained to her. We gathered for our evening meal and our latest guest was introduced to the group at large. Quite the loud one she is. No real upper body strength but powerful legs. Might be a good skirmisher some day. Seems to be mainly hung up on her father as predicted. I suspect some form of gaslighting. After the meal is finished I head to my chambers. More comfortable thanks for the Amazonian's work. I'd feel guilty about it but it is MY manor and they like to take every opportunity to show me off too other merc groups like some prized possession. I guess that's just how humans are... I close my eyes for the night. It's been a long day.	Finally, one comes and I’ve had enough. I walk the sacrificial alter-thing and yell: ”I’M RUNNING OUT OF GUEST ROOMS FOR THESE DAMN LADIES! I DON’T WANT THEM! It’s so odd to me, why do you keep giving me brides?” A townsperson stepped forward. ”S-so you won-won’t attack and k-k-kill us.” I blink. ”I have no reason to kill you. Look, I still have the ladies, do you want them back?” ”OH PLEASE! I want my daughter back!” A woman wailed from the back of the crowd. ”Hmm... Is your daughter the one with red, curly hair? Her name was Amber... right?” The woman nods. ”Alright, I’ll have all the lovely ladies back my sundown.” I go back to my woodland mansion and explain to all the women about what happened. They’re all eager to get back to their family and friends. I lead them out of the woods and into the town. If there was any movement in the town, it had stopped. All the ladies ran forth to the town. Hugs and such were exchanged. Amber‘s mother thanked me for getting her daughter back to her. Then, the mayor of the town came forward. ”As a reward for your good deed, we will allow you to visit the city whenever you please. But, don’t kill anyone.” He said the last sentence chuckling, so I knew he was kidding. ”Alright.” I say, heading back into the woods, happy I did something good that day.
	[WP] You're the all-so-feared Monster of the Grimlands. It's absurd to you, really. Every decade, the human town gives you a sacrifice, a young, virgin human bride. You just wish you could tell the town that you're running out of guest rooms for these poor ladies.	Eliza cried when her name was drawn. Now, standing at the edge of the forest which surrounds her village, she is resigned. This is how things must be. It is the only way to protect her family, her friends, everyone she's ever known, from the monster that lives in these woods. Her sacrifice will maintain peace. Yet she cannot stop herself from trembling, can't halt the tears running down her face. Her knees shake with every step that brings her closer to her doom. She's alone now, far enough into the forest that she can no longer see the other villagers, and she is grateful, for her family will not see what becomes of her. As she nears the base of a hill, she spots a symbol carved into the stone. A few triangles arranged in a pattern which she had always thought to be abstract, yet now she sees in the pattern a snarling face. This is it, the places the stories speak of. She is about to enter the monster's domain. She gathers every drop of strength she possesses, and steps forward. The symbol glows eerily, a faded purple like the last rays of a sunset. There is a grinding sound, and the boulder rolls aside. In the darkened space behind it, there is a man. Fiona is so startled, so filled with adrenaline, that she has to bite her tongue to keep from screaming. Screaming might anger the monster. She can't help but think he looks so... Human. Normal.... And yet there's something off about him, something slightly to the left, something that makes her instincts scream at her to run. And then he speaks. "Come in, please, you must be tired." Fiona's throat has closed up entirely. That might be for the best, for she is certain her voice would break. How can he say something so normal at a time like this?! If he's going to eat her, why doesn't he just do it?! She now understands what mice feel like, the ones her cats bring home to play with. But she does as he says, moving forward stiffly, shakily. When she gets close, the monster takes her gently by the elbow. She flinches. He pulls away, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "I'm sorry, that was foolish. I'm not going to hurt you. I know what you've been told, but please, let me explain. I'm not going to harm you. Let me prove it to you. Let me introduce you to the others." Fiona is taken aback. "Oth-others?" She squeaks. "Of course. Your people have been sending maidens like yourself into my domain for generations now. I wanted to send them back, at first, but when they asked to stay, I could hardly say no. It used to get ever so lonely out here..."	Finally, one comes and I’ve had enough. I walk the sacrificial alter-thing and yell: ”I’M RUNNING OUT OF GUEST ROOMS FOR THESE DAMN LADIES! I DON’T WANT THEM! It’s so odd to me, why do you keep giving me brides?” A townsperson stepped forward. ”S-so you won-won’t attack and k-k-kill us.” I blink. ”I have no reason to kill you. Look, I still have the ladies, do you want them back?” ”OH PLEASE! I want my daughter back!” A woman wailed from the back of the crowd. ”Hmm... Is your daughter the one with red, curly hair? Her name was Amber... right?” The woman nods. ”Alright, I’ll have all the lovely ladies back my sundown.” I go back to my woodland mansion and explain to all the women about what happened. They’re all eager to get back to their family and friends. I lead them out of the woods and into the town. If there was any movement in the town, it had stopped. All the ladies ran forth to the town. Hugs and such were exchanged. Amber‘s mother thanked me for getting her daughter back to her. Then, the mayor of the town came forward. ”As a reward for your good deed, we will allow you to visit the city whenever you please. But, don’t kill anyone.” He said the last sentence chuckling, so I knew he was kidding. ”Alright.” I say, heading back into the woods, happy I did something good that day.
	[WP] You're the all-so-feared Monster of the Grimlands. It's absurd to you, really. Every decade, the human town gives you a sacrifice, a young, virgin human bride. You just wish you could tell the town that you're running out of guest rooms for these poor ladies.	I was a failure. From the moment my inchoate mass oozed out of its pot, I had one duty, one instinct in my being: Protect the corpurgist who had created me. Alas, I did not have anything I needed to truly do so. Time, mass, experience-none of it. I was barely five moments out of the sanguine mixture that birthed me before she laid lifeless, a series of bolts through her body. Had I a mind, I might have grieved and perished with her. But, at the time, I had not developed a mind. Free of the requirement to be her guardian, my form fell on to the most basic reflex of life-self preservation. I fled. And then, I grow, as my kind did. Absorbing flesh of animals and plants, my potential increased. Bigger, stronger, faster, smart. With intelligence, came control over my roiling form. Glutting myself, I became able to steady myself enough for disguises. From skin, fabric formed. Features amalgamated from those eye occasionally spied on trails-I had a human guise, if not particularly good. My gait wasn't quiet right-I didn't have a proper skeleton, small normal motor actions would go forgotten. But it was enough. Following the trails back to the city they came from, I walked among people, either unseen, or just ignored. Plenty of street rats everyone else treated as invisible, and I'd fit right in with that crowd. My stumbles and contortion, dismissed as alcohol-ridden clumsiness. What I saw disgusted me. My first knowledge of humans was seeing them murder their own kind-and they way I could see them treat each other from the gutters didn't do much to improve my view. The vetiges of my guardian instinct rose me to look with cold dislike for seeing their cruelty. So, shedding the guise of people I had grown to dis, I fled once again. Onlookers would see only a tidal waves of flesh flowing through the streets, barely even jostling anything as it flowed out. I guess you could say, I feel into depressive spell after that. No longer even interested in hunting, I settled into a cave, arteries digging into the stone to sate my hunger in a perversion of plant life. At least, until I was awakened by an intense warmth at my uppermost parts of by writhing mass after what must have been moths of peace and quiete. Growing eyes so long unused as I barely even thought in my hibernation, I saw a torch, and a women tied to a stake. And in her, so long forgotten stirred in me. She seemed...familiar in a way i couldn't racognize. My curiosity lead me to finally move, pulling up my roots as I condensed myself into a form more comfortable for her to deal with. Well, as much comfort as you can have looking at your own doppleganger.. Her with a might to be expected from my true mass, the rope snapped easily, and I grabbed the torch and lead her deeper into the network. Two words, two questions rang from me: "Who, Why?" Pleasantly surprised to not be eaten, she talked. My exit had apparently made quiete a social impact-despite lack of physical one. They correctly assumed who my creator was, and incorrectly assumed my purpose. They said i was a curse that ate people in the night. That those disappearances were entirely the kind of atrocities they did to each other, was an irony lost on neither of me. So, they thought they could save themselves by sating my hunger. The odd familiarity was explained with their choice of first to go-the daughter of my creator. I pondered what this meant for several days as she set up shelter within the labyrinth of tunnels that had become my home. Then, I decided: even if I had failed to protect my creator, i could succeed in protecting these sacrifices. I brimmed with purpose now as my morphic body made itself into all manner of forms, moving through the woods to gather needed things. Focusing acids outwards, I could even expand the tunnel networks-an underground river became a good find, which irrigated a mushroom farm, and she could live nigh-indefinitely. Things got harder over thee years. More 'sacrifices' meant more space had to be dug out, more 'grave robbers' had to be turned aside, and more resources had to be either found, or arranged to be created. And yet, I did not mind all this extra work in my formerly-sedentary life. To contrast, I felt...fulfilled. Yes, that's the term. I Finally had something more than just meager survival to work towards. Even if I was a mass of undifferentiated flesh, and my 'daughters' were a series of women thought eaten by me, I had a family to care, watch grow, develop, and mature. Some would occasionally leave the nest, some would return back to it, but we were always family. What more could one truly want in life?	You don't remember your own birth too clearly. It was nonexistence, and suddenly, you took your first breath, and cried. I remember my own birth, crystal clear, as if it happened yesterday. I was of the soil. I could feel every plant. I could hear through every root. And suddenly, I couldn't. I opened my eyes. A man, dressed in a pointed hat and raven black robe, faced me, pointing his wand. "Earth-Golem!" My master's voice shouted behind me "Kill Him!" I looked again at the man in the pointed hat and raven black robe. Kill him? I should, kill him? Why? He seemed scared. His wand glowed a range of colors, A ball of light floated gently out of it. It seemed so peaceful. I reached out to touch it, to cradle it, and my arm vanished. A cloud of brown dust and chunks of soil surrounded the area. A bright glow from behind shot past me. There was a yelp of pain, the thud of a body hitting the ground, and a gasp of someone dying. As the dust cloud cleared, I could see that the man in the pointed hat and raven black robe was laying on the ground, his skin a sickly pale color, and blood flowing from his eyes. My master pranced over to the body with a satisfied "hmmph" and started to rifle through the bag that he had been carrying. "Maaa-Star?" My mouth sounded out. "Maaaastar?" "You Useless Beast. I Told You To Kill Him. But All You Did Was Stand There And Try To Touch His Magic Missile!" My master shouted angrily, shoving a handful of unbroken viles into his own satchel. "It Seems This Patch Of Earth Had Too Many Rocks, Because They All Seem To Be Inside Your Head! Vanish From My Sight, Before I Regenerate Enough Mana To Blast You To Smithereens!" With that, he turned around and marched off, muttering to himself about how hard it was to make a good golem. (Continued in part two)
	[WP] You're the all-so-feared Monster of the Grimlands. It's absurd to you, really. Every decade, the human town gives you a sacrifice, a young, virgin human bride. You just wish you could tell the town that you're running out of guest rooms for these poor ladies.	Good evening. Thank you for having me here tonight. May this moment bring the rain of peace that coaxes the blossoms of prosperity from dark soil and tangled roots. I start with a necessary acknowledgment. This meeting was made possible because of the persistence and bravery of one woman, Agnes Scanlon, High Sheriff of Grimlands, Master Scout of Thymria, Just And Fair Proxy of His Holiness King Pellucir the Third. And, I hope I can say, my friend. As you all well know, Agnes was not the first to cross the Darkwater, dare the Witch Road, and seek me out at my keep on Howling Rock. Far from it. Many are the brave Grimlanders who’ve made that perilous trek, including Agnes’s predecessor, the late Peter Wels. But Agnes stood before me on that same blood-blackened rock on which Peter Wels and so many others had stood and instead of offering me a sacrifice, Agnes Scanlon asked me a question. “Great Beast,” she shouted over the roar of the surf breaking against the rocks below, “Great Beast, why do you take them?” Good people of Grimland, I thought she was trying to trick me. “I take them because you bring them to me. Have you brought yourself? Shall I now take you?” Agnes laughed at me. She actually sat there on her mule, swatting flies with her hat, and laughed at me. “The Great Beast hungers for virgins,” Agnes shouted. “But I satisfy my appetites, so I can’t satisfy yours.” At that, all the keep’s population erupted in giggles. I shushed them. “Are you here to die, then?” I roared at her. Agnes didn’t blink. “No. I’m here to talk. I think the late Sheriff Peter Wels was a cruel, lying, scheming man who fed me a load of horseshit, and it involves you and a bunch of missing women.” So I opened the gates of the keep. Agnes Scanlon and I talked. She’d brought a list of the women Peter Wels and his predecessors were known to have brought to me over the years. So I introduced her to my family. Alisa is a healer and herbalist. She sings the true bone-mending songs taught to her by Old Li. Amaka is an alchemist. She stirs quicklime and seashells with seawater and fire mountain ash to make roads of surpassing smoothness and durability. Ha Fan is a smith, a weapons master, and an artificer of great ingenuity. Molly is a dancer, a storyteller, a keeper of lore and a cultivator of culture. And Therese many of you know: she was brought to me only last summer. She has embarked on a study of the animals of the Grimlands, as part of a larger effort to understand how best to husband the resources the king allows to us. These people were your sacrifices. They were brought to me by bad men. I killed many of those bad men. For I am indeed the Great Beast, and my rage is great and my power terrible. And I will continue to kill bad men for as long as there are bad men. And there will always be bad men. So know this, people of Grimland: I have returned your sacrifices. You were wrong to make them. You were lied to, but you went along with the lie because it was easy and because these girls meant nothing to you. You threw them away. So I taught them. And now I return them. And now they will teach others. And the Grimlands will prosper, because they have been lifted from the superstitious muck by the strength of love and reason. And you will bring me no more sacrifices. So says the Great Beast. Now, let’s have a drink. Agnes, didn’t you say something about brandy?	You don't remember your own birth too clearly. It was nonexistence, and suddenly, you took your first breath, and cried. I remember my own birth, crystal clear, as if it happened yesterday. I was of the soil. I could feel every plant. I could hear through every root. And suddenly, I couldn't. I opened my eyes. A man, dressed in a pointed hat and raven black robe, faced me, pointing his wand. "Earth-Golem!" My master's voice shouted behind me "Kill Him!" I looked again at the man in the pointed hat and raven black robe. Kill him? I should, kill him? Why? He seemed scared. His wand glowed a range of colors, A ball of light floated gently out of it. It seemed so peaceful. I reached out to touch it, to cradle it, and my arm vanished. A cloud of brown dust and chunks of soil surrounded the area. A bright glow from behind shot past me. There was a yelp of pain, the thud of a body hitting the ground, and a gasp of someone dying. As the dust cloud cleared, I could see that the man in the pointed hat and raven black robe was laying on the ground, his skin a sickly pale color, and blood flowing from his eyes. My master pranced over to the body with a satisfied "hmmph" and started to rifle through the bag that he had been carrying. "Maaa-Star?" My mouth sounded out. "Maaaastar?" "You Useless Beast. I Told You To Kill Him. But All You Did Was Stand There And Try To Touch His Magic Missile!" My master shouted angrily, shoving a handful of unbroken viles into his own satchel. "It Seems This Patch Of Earth Had Too Many Rocks, Because They All Seem To Be Inside Your Head! Vanish From My Sight, Before I Regenerate Enough Mana To Blast You To Smithereens!" With that, he turned around and marched off, muttering to himself about how hard it was to make a good golem. (Continued in part two)
	[WP] The world watched with bated breath as the first human to walk on the surface of Mars descended the ladder. Upon placing their feet upon the ground, the astronaut turned to face the camera and declared "You lost the game.".	"That miserable mother..." Jack began. "I've got the excursion module telemetry pulled up," Glenn as always maintained his sense of professionalism, "Econ check." "Econ is green," Germaine manned the environmental control console. He was audibly choking back laughter as he performed the mandatory check in to ensure the door was still secure following the astronaut's exit and descent to the Martian surface. Germaine averted his eyes and adjusted his glasses when he caught Jack's glare. "Secure the hatch Econ," Jack said with grim resolve, "Telemetry set thrusters for a 3 second burn at oh, say thirty degrees gimbal pitch, on my mark." Jack checked the master console feeds, the landing area survey, and quickly calculated the fuel reserves at prepositioning base. "Say again your last control?" Neal, the jackass on the surface of Mars finally clued in that something was happening back on Earth. This was echoed from Econ a few moments later. Glenn, Jack's longtime friend and always a quick study knew what Jack was planning. "Telemetry ready on your mark control." "Mark!" This next part would take careful calculation due to the time delay. Onscreen after the needed time had passed, Neal was distracted from his work setting up the 'big brother' cameras that would allow mission control to monitor its astronauts activities around the landing site by the Mars Excursion Module for Exploration or MEME launch it's hefty bulk into the Martian atmosphere and begin drifting away from the landing site above the rust colored surface before descending a good five hundred yards away. Neal, his discomfiture obvious despite the intervening bulk of the space suit and his face being obscured by the glazed visor of his helmet began waddling towards the now distant Meme. Jack began a mental countdown. He would have to time this right. When Neal had closed half the distance to the MEME Jack spoke again, "Mark." It took close to a minute for the signal to cross the intervening space, and for the camera signal to cross back, but onscreen by the time that Neal had closed the gap and had reached his hand towards the ladder leading up to the MEME the thruster preburn sequence had begun forcing him to release his grip and beat a hasty retreat. When the lander descended the whole process began once more. Citizens of the Earth watching at home were bemused by the site of a billion dollar piece of hardware repeatedly touching down, only to lift off again as soon as the first man on Mars laid a finger on its lowest rung.	John descended the ladder, as the world watched, turned to face the camera on the ship, and then said, “you lost the game, get rekt!!!“. And then down came Richard, who then handed John some cash, and then said over the coms “fucking hell, you actually did it”, and then people across the world were shocked, as a bleep was heard across it, for someone had sworn on Mars. Richard followed up “git gud, we on mars.” Then a bunch of meme dances followed from the surface of Mars, in the weirdest moment in history, the entire music video of Never Gonna Give You Up was recreated from the surface of Mars, as the astronauts threw out the script and goofed off, untill the cameras shut off, when the got down to doing some actual research.
	[WP] the zombie apocalypse was SUPPOSED to collapse the government and let you fight for survival. But since the zombies are slow and stupid society hardly noticed. Now you’re trying to enjoy the apocalypse between your day to day life	“Howdy, Jim!” My neighbor called to me, waving from his front yard. I pulled the pitchfork out of our former Mayor’s chest, waving to him. The smell of decay wafted strongly from the body. “Heya, Scott, are you and Barb still going to make it to the party tomorrow?” I hefted the body and threw it over my shoulder, the black blood oozing from the chest wound onto my designated zombie-hunting shirt. It was one of those t-shirts you get from running in a charity 5k. I had at least three, and all of them were turning black from the bodies I had to keep moving to the burn pile in the back. “Oh yeah! we’re looking forward to it. We can bring the kids, right?” I nodded, “’Course! You know Clarence fancies my daughter, I wouldn’t let him miss an opportunity to tell her she smells like strawberries, as he always does.” Scott grinned, “That’s my boy.” I waved to him again, turning to head through the gate, “We’ll see you then! Bring some chips, if you can.” “Alrighty, Jim, good luck with Harry there, he’s always been a hassle.” I laughed and pushed trudged to the backyard, readjusting the body on my shoulder. The former mayor had always been a hefty guy, but he’d gotten a lot bigger in recent years due to the nature of the office. Apparently being mayor doesn’t involve a lot of physical activity. In the back, I threw him onto the coals from the prior day’s burning—three bodies in total. My wife, Catherine, poked her head out of the sliding door in the back and waved to me, “Hun,” she called, “Are you coming in for lunch?” “Yeah, I’ll be right there, I just need to get Harry situated so I the buzzards don’t get to him. We’ve had enough undead animals sniffing around. I don’t wanna have to prep the rifle again.” “’Course, hun. I’ll toast your sandwich for you. Do you want tomatoes?” I stopped, tarp in hand, thinking, “Put ‘em on the side, will ya?” I pulled the tarp over the body and headed to greet her, kissing her on the cheek, making sure not to touch her with my blood stained body. “Oh, you are gross today,” she giggled, kissing my cheek back. “Just tryin’ to do my civic duty.” “What a good man,” she said, patting my butt as I passed by her, heading upstairs. I stopped at the stairs and called up, “Sammy, come on down, your mom’s made sandwiches!” The tiny voice of my ten year old came back, “Be right down!” With a smile, thinking of the two wonderful women in my life, I headed to shower and change. With the water running over me, I let out a contented sigh. It had been a pleasant few weeks, all things considered. When I finished drying off and pulling on a new 5k t-shirt—I knew I’d probably need it—I headed back to the kitchen where my gorgeous wife was putting out the sandwiches, my little girl in the chair, kicking her legs with the energy only ten year olds have. I kissed her on the head, her wispy blond hair tickling my mustache. “How was school today, honey?” I sat down, Charlotte placing my sandwich in front of me. It was cut down the middle, the contents threatening to spill out. “Did y’all do anything fun?” She was picking at her pickles, her eyes wide with excitement as she recounted her day, “We went to the park and Mr. Anderson wrestled with a zombie and then Mr. Young had to wrestle with both of them. And then we went back to school and Mr. Young took over the class and we all got to watch a movie.” “Which movie?” I asked, the first bite of the sandwich still rich in my mouth. “Finding Nemo.” She popped a single pickle slice between her tiny pink lips and chewed it as if it could bite her back. “These are sour, mom.” Charlotte sat down with her own sandwich, “That’s the point, dear.” “Did you like the movie?” She shrugged, “I guess so. I didn’t really get it.” “What’s there to get?” She shrugged again, trying another pickle slice. Much to her disappointment, it tasted the same as the first. “I think it’s a cute movie,” Charlotte said, wiping bits of mayonnaise from the sides of her mouth. I sucked lemonade through a straw. “Are you excited for the party tomorrow?” “Yes. Is Clarence going to be there?” I nodded, “I just asked his dad about it. He said he’d be coming.” “Why does he always say I smell like strawberries?” “Because you do.” I said. “But I don’t smell it.” “That’s because you’ve gone nose blind.” Another bite. “But my nose doesn’t have eyes!” She said, almost appalled at the accusation. I chuckled, trying not to choke on the bread. “Well,” another chuckle, a cough, “that just means you can’t smell the strawberries anymore.” “We can switch your soap, if you want to smell like something else,” her mother told her. She motioned for her to try the sandwich, “You need to eat something.” “I like my soap fine. Are there pickles in the sandwich?” “Lift up the bread and see,” I said, watching the front yard out of the living room window. I’d left the pitchfork out there, the black blood on it glistening in the dying afternoon sun. She did so and then placed the bread back, taking the sandwich into her hands and biting it. “I dun wike pi’les,” she tried to say, her mouth full. Charlotte tutted at her, “Chew first, then speak.” “I don’t like pickles,” she said again. “That’s fine honey, I’m just happy you—” A crashing sound in the backyard interrupted her mother. I turned back to see a man—specifically a grocery store clerk named Cale—climbing over the fence. His pale gray skin beckoned to me. I stood up with a sigh, my hands on the table, my chair scraping on the floor as I pushed it back with my legs. “I’ll be right back. Don’t want him causing any property damage.” “I’ll draw the curtains. Do you want the gun?” “No,” I said to my wife, kissing her cheek, “I’ve got the shovel.” I turned to Sammy and winked, “Dad’s gotta go wrestle real quick, why don’t you and mom finish up your lunch, yeah?” She giggled at the idea of me wrestling. “And don’t eat my pickles,” I said, my tone mock-serious, “I’ll know if you do.” She giggled again as I turned and went out the sliding door to the backyard. Cale shambled towards me, moaning slightly. I sauntered to the shed and retrieved the shovel. My wife closed the door behind me and drew the blinds, the image of my family fading behind a sheet of gray. I sighed and hefted the tool onto my shoulder. “Sorry ‘bout this Cale, but I can’t have you messing up my hedges before the party tomorrow.” \_ \_ \_ r/AinsleyAdams	The bad news? The zombie virus was airborne and spread like crazy, unstoppable and infecting everyone it came in contact with. The good news? Symptoms didn’t start until you died. Those first few days were chaotic, to say the least. Morgue technicians definitely had the worst of it. I heard of one guy who barricaded himself in the bathroom for two days. But for all the chaos, what we didn’t expect was for them to be so freakishly slow and stupid. Sure, they bit you if you gave them the chance, and that would zombify you without the need for a precursor of death, but who was stupid enough to do that? You walked around them. The stench was unbelievable though, and I just stayed home until things got taken care of by those in charge, my windows and front door shut and sealed with duct tape. I had panic-bought snacks down the street on my way home from the corner store, so I made my way through a family-sized bag of Cheetos that first morning as I watched the news. It was like a roller coaster. Up and down, round and round, lots of excitement, but then…over. The only issue now is when someone dies. The need for security guards went up in hospice and hospitals, and everyone was aware that if a loved one died in their sleep from something like an aneurysm, you called 911 to come get the shambling corpse. As long as they hadn’t managed to bite you while you were sleeping, in which case a ‘wellness check’ happened, with some well-trained officers on site for potential zombies. But it’s so surreal, how much hasn’t changed. I still go to work at Target, still play video games when I get home, still do some contract gigs on my phone for extra cash like the rest of the minimum wage workers. And now it’s against the law to go after a zombie. I mean, come on. These guys are practically comatose. We can’t take a baseball bat to their head if they’re between us and our car? They’re someone’s loved one, sure, but I feel like we’re being deprived of some well-deserved cathartic lashing out if I’m being honest. Then it finally happened: I saw one just in my day-to-day life. Stopping at the corner store for a couple candy bars, there was a thumping sound coming from the bathroom. It was only me and the cashier, a guy named Randy, and he looked confused. “Think they need help?” he asked. “Isn’t there a string in there to call? Like they have for disabled people?” “Oh yeah.” Randy’s face went slack. “Zombie?” My eyes widened and I raced over to the bathroom door. “Dude, let me call the cops if you think it’s a zombie! Someone gets bit in my store, my reputation could take a dive.” “I’ve never seen one up close!” I told him. “And seriously, what if it’s someone…deaf? Or mute? What if they’re stuck in there? You gonna call the cops on some poor disabled guy?” Randy looked skeptical but reluctantly nodded. He grabbed a bathroom key from his drawer, a spare, I assume, and walked over, unlocking the door. “All right, we peek in, get a look at their face, and if the lights are on but nobody’s home, we lock the door and call the cops.” “Got it.” After taking a deep breath, Randy turned the handle and slowly opened the door inward, inch by inch. “Hello?” he asked quietly. “Anyone there?” The woman that was no longer a woman came around the corner and stuck her head through the door. “Shit!” I exclaimed. Randy yanked at the door, trying to close it but having no success, the zombie’s head cluelessly blocking the way. “I told you! I freaking told you!” he shouted at me. Taking a step back, I snapped, “Open the door!” “Are you stupid?” “Just do it!” Randy pushed the door open another couple feet, and I took a quick start before snapping out a kick at the woman’s stomach, throwing her back into the bathroom. Slamming the door shut, Randy turned to glare at me. “I told you. I’m calling the cops.” “I know, I’m sorry. But seriously, dude. That was the coolest thing to happen to me since this whole thing started!” He huffed in exasperation and took his cell from his pocket as I stood in front of the door, once again starting to hear the scuffling of dragged feet thumping from the other side. “Ugh. I shoulda got a picture,” I grumbled. &#x200B; /r/storiesbykaren
	[WP] the zombie apocalypse was SUPPOSED to collapse the government and let you fight for survival. But since the zombies are slow and stupid society hardly noticed. Now you’re trying to enjoy the apocalypse between your day to day life	This is stupid! I’m late for my meeting all because of the stupid hoard. And I left my bat at home. I dialed 711 and waited patiently as the zombies began to claw my car. Ugh, it’s bad enough I got bird shit on it. “Zombie Cleanup in Hill City, how may I help you?” “Hi, I’m at 4326 Mabel Street in Hill City, and there’s a hoard of I think twenty zombies outside my car, and I stupidly left my weapon behind,” I said. “Where are you right now ma’am?” A zombie bumped into my car, making it shake. “I’m my car,” I groaned in frustration, glaring at the zombie. “All right, just sit tight and the closest ZC is just ten minutes away. Is there anything else?” “No, that’s all. Thank you,” I said. “All right, have a nice day ma’am,” the dispatcher said and hung up. Might take a while until they finish them off, maybe a few minute nap will suffice. I just hope my coworkers aren’t watching from the top floor.	The bad news? The zombie virus was airborne and spread like crazy, unstoppable and infecting everyone it came in contact with. The good news? Symptoms didn’t start until you died. Those first few days were chaotic, to say the least. Morgue technicians definitely had the worst of it. I heard of one guy who barricaded himself in the bathroom for two days. But for all the chaos, what we didn’t expect was for them to be so freakishly slow and stupid. Sure, they bit you if you gave them the chance, and that would zombify you without the need for a precursor of death, but who was stupid enough to do that? You walked around them. The stench was unbelievable though, and I just stayed home until things got taken care of by those in charge, my windows and front door shut and sealed with duct tape. I had panic-bought snacks down the street on my way home from the corner store, so I made my way through a family-sized bag of Cheetos that first morning as I watched the news. It was like a roller coaster. Up and down, round and round, lots of excitement, but then…over. The only issue now is when someone dies. The need for security guards went up in hospice and hospitals, and everyone was aware that if a loved one died in their sleep from something like an aneurysm, you called 911 to come get the shambling corpse. As long as they hadn’t managed to bite you while you were sleeping, in which case a ‘wellness check’ happened, with some well-trained officers on site for potential zombies. But it’s so surreal, how much hasn’t changed. I still go to work at Target, still play video games when I get home, still do some contract gigs on my phone for extra cash like the rest of the minimum wage workers. And now it’s against the law to go after a zombie. I mean, come on. These guys are practically comatose. We can’t take a baseball bat to their head if they’re between us and our car? They’re someone’s loved one, sure, but I feel like we’re being deprived of some well-deserved cathartic lashing out if I’m being honest. Then it finally happened: I saw one just in my day-to-day life. Stopping at the corner store for a couple candy bars, there was a thumping sound coming from the bathroom. It was only me and the cashier, a guy named Randy, and he looked confused. “Think they need help?” he asked. “Isn’t there a string in there to call? Like they have for disabled people?” “Oh yeah.” Randy’s face went slack. “Zombie?” My eyes widened and I raced over to the bathroom door. “Dude, let me call the cops if you think it’s a zombie! Someone gets bit in my store, my reputation could take a dive.” “I’ve never seen one up close!” I told him. “And seriously, what if it’s someone…deaf? Or mute? What if they’re stuck in there? You gonna call the cops on some poor disabled guy?” Randy looked skeptical but reluctantly nodded. He grabbed a bathroom key from his drawer, a spare, I assume, and walked over, unlocking the door. “All right, we peek in, get a look at their face, and if the lights are on but nobody’s home, we lock the door and call the cops.” “Got it.” After taking a deep breath, Randy turned the handle and slowly opened the door inward, inch by inch. “Hello?” he asked quietly. “Anyone there?” The woman that was no longer a woman came around the corner and stuck her head through the door. “Shit!” I exclaimed. Randy yanked at the door, trying to close it but having no success, the zombie’s head cluelessly blocking the way. “I told you! I freaking told you!” he shouted at me. Taking a step back, I snapped, “Open the door!” “Are you stupid?” “Just do it!” Randy pushed the door open another couple feet, and I took a quick start before snapping out a kick at the woman’s stomach, throwing her back into the bathroom. Slamming the door shut, Randy turned to glare at me. “I told you. I’m calling the cops.” “I know, I’m sorry. But seriously, dude. That was the coolest thing to happen to me since this whole thing started!” He huffed in exasperation and took his cell from his pocket as I stood in front of the door, once again starting to hear the scuffling of dragged feet thumping from the other side. “Ugh. I shoulda got a picture,” I grumbled. &#x200B; /r/storiesbykaren
	[WP] As a rookie cop you took a bribe that resulted in a murderer walking free. The man went on to become one of the greatest political leaders of his generation. He was everything a leader should be, loved be millions, and only you know he was absolutely guilty.	“May I sit here, president?” The president, sitting alone in this bar that was only serving me and him, glanced at me and gestured at the seat next to him. “It’s been a busy few days, hasn’t it, president.” The president absently nodded his head. He probably felt like I was disturbing him from a quiet, thought-filled night. “Let’s talk.” I reached into my pocket and held an old, bloodstained $100 bill in front of his face. This time, I got his attention in the form of a frown. “You know that bribing a politician is –“ He took a good look at the bill. Color drained from his face. “Is this...” That moment, the person sitting next to me stopped being the president. He was a boy. A scared, vulnerable boy. “It’s been a while, Jake.” “…Yes.” Jake faced downwards, his eyes unfocused. The champagne in his glass trembled, like it was being shaken by his heartbeat. “…How are you doing?” “Does this mean you’re here to take me in?” “I’m just here to chat. How do you do?” “You really want to know?” “That’s what I’m here for.” “Every day I spend in office, I think about that day I met you. My past will come back and bite me in the ass. Every day. I’m in politics. My image is everything.” I looked at him intently, so that he’d keep going. “No one knows. It’s unbearable, every time I hear a child tell me ‘thank you, Mr. President’. What would they be saying if they knew the truth? They’re not saying what I –” The words were momentarily caught in his throat. “– they’re not saying what a murderer deserves to hear.” He spat the words with vehement contempt, like he was lashing his words against the person he hated the most in this entire world. “And the only person who really knows is a cop.” “…Is that all?” “Is it okay? Do I deserve this life that I live?” He was almost talking to himself. For a moment, I decided what to say in response. “If you stayed miserable after I spared you, that would’ve been a waste. I’ll tell you why I let you off.” “Not because I gave you a hundred dollars?” “Pfft. No. I could have taken it, THEN arrested you.” Jake’s mouth was agape with surprise at how stupidly obvious that should have been. Even a world class politician misses some things. “But I thought you still had some good in you, Jake. I knew you killed to survive.” “But why did you take the bribe?” I stared at Jake intensely, and said: “A hundred bucks is a hundred bucks.” I kept staring at him. He stared back for a second. Then he started cackling, and I cracked up too. “That’s stupid but it makes sense.” After calming down, he added, “But it doesn’t change what I did.” “You’re right. What you did is something nothing can undo.” I grabbed his shoulder to make sure he would listen to what I had to say after that. “But I was right, Jake. And I don’t care whether you should deserve to be president or whatever. Nothing I or anyone can do now will change the fact that you brought happiness to this country. So, look at me, for real.” This time, he really raised his head, and looked at me, red-eyed as he was. “I’ll say it once more. I’m not here to take you in.” He nodded. “If I put you behind bars, you can’t keep making me proud of you.” One more time, he nodded. Again, I offered him the old, bloodstained $100 bill. He took it. “Thank you.” He bowed before me. “I’d keep doing my best whether you gave me back this bill. But, really, thank you.” “Well then why’d you take it?” “A hundred bucks is a hundred bucks.” “Attaboy.”	The saying goes that a friend will help you move. A good friend will help you move a body. What happens when it’s not a friend, though? What if it’s a stranger, and your partner is the one telling you to trust them, that this is going to ruin this man, this good man. A good man doesn’t murder, you tell yourself, but that thought is brushed away when you’re handed the cash. The thick wad of hundreds that could change your life. And you take it. People who hand out wads of cash to cover up crimes are the sort to find themselves in positions of power, everyone knows that. From political power to wealthy power to philanthropic power that comes with the trust of an entire country, those potholes the rest of us hit can easy be paved over with dollar bills. He was no different. I watched him at first warily, my mind in a battle with itself, despite my loyalty to my partner and my trust, however much I forced it upon myself, that I’d done the right thing. But I couldn’t impose these thoughts upon my brain any more than you can nail Jell-O to a wall. The man was extroverted and charismatic, empathetic and sympathetic, strong and capable, determined and honest. That’s who he was, despite my knowledge. Truth didn’t feel like something I could solidify into reality at that point. It was almost as if, as the years passed, everything he showed to the world of who he was just paved over what I knew. He built his own truth. There was always something there behind his eyes, though. A few saw it, some sliver of darkness, something to be wary of. For some powerful people, it developed when they rose in society, formed when that feeling of power became part of them, part of their everyday life, at the ready to draw from whenever they needed it. But I think I saw it more clearly than most, because I’d first seen it on that night he’d handed me that wad of cash. A darkness that hung heavy in his gaze. He ended up a governor, then a state representative in the House, a politician that was considered to be climbing a staircase as he walked, smooth and steady and confident. It wasn’t his confidence that bothered me, not really. What made an itch slide up my spine was when I used my access to the police databases to find more truths. These truths crawled over my skin, settling in a pit in my stomach, reminded me that the powerful and the wealthy climbed through our society on the backs of others. Not all innocent, not all harmless, but this man crushed them under his expensive shoes regardless. I voiced my concerns, my tone subdued, to my superiors, quick to backpedal when it was clear they would have nothing to do with what I knew. So many of them knew too, I could tell. Maybe not all of it, maybe not the way it promised a dangerous future as he walked his path through life, but they knew little bits. And instead of trying to look for more, they were all too happy to brush those bits under the rug. They were convinced this was the way the world worked, always had and always would, and who were they to stop the turn of the machine in which they were mere cogs? It’s one of the striking things about that blue uniform I put on that it can cause such a wide spectrum of reaction across the people in this country, much less those through the rest of the world. At a political meet and greet, that shifted, though, as you would expect. The word ‘security’ was the first to come to mind. Men like me were the ones who looked out for the dangers. Not the ones that posed a danger. So, when I walked up to the man, held my gun up to his chest, and pulled the trigger as many times as I could before I was gunned down myself, I wondered how it looked from the outside. As the civilians fled in all directions, did they think me a lone wolf? Did they think me insane? Did they think me an imposter among the other officers, wearing a stolen uniform and badge? These were the thoughts that floated through my mind as my gaze stared at the cloudy sky. I lay on my back, blood gushing from my wound and eventually soaking through to my lungs, choking me as my vision went blurry and dark. What would they think? When they found the letter I’d sent to news stations, when they saw what I’d seen? Would the man lose his political career? Would he lose the trust of his wife, his children? If he did, would those others among me that wore the blue uniform think me insane to sacrifice my life just to take down one man? One man that, despite a past and future of damaging thoughts and actions, was still one that they admired and trusted? In the grand scheme of things, after all, what was one corrupt man like me sacrificing my life to take down another, when my colleagues all looked away? And what was one dead dangerous man in a world full of them, ready to rise and take his place? &#x200B; /r/storiesbykaren
	[WP] Satan has done a favor for you in exchange for your first-born. Little does Satan know that you're childfree & got sterilized years ago.	"Swear to me, and all shall be as you desire." Satan hissed. His forked tongue flickered with the words. I looked down at the parchment in his twisted crimson hand. It looked evil, but since the last time Satan updated his paperwork was 1100 A.D.-ish I had trouble with the middle English. "Could you read that aloud, please?" Satan turned his snake's eyes to the document. "Oh yes. The standard soul for a favor bargain. It's very simple. You will live out your natural span in the highest luxury, and upon the end of your mortal life, I get your soul." "I don't know." I held the parchment up sideways to see if I could read it that way. "I quite like my soul." "A useless bit of vapor," said Satan airily. "You'll never miss it." "I still don't know. Eternity in Hell might not be worth a finite span of prosperity." "Prosperity?" mocked Satan. "You have no imagination if you stop with prosperity. No one sells their soul to become prosperous. Why, think a little, you could be a Queen. Rich beyond your wildest dreams. Famous. You could be the world's most beautiful woman, or the world's most amazing musician. You could become a chess Grandmaster or have a thousand lovers. Pleasure shall be the medium in which you dwell rather than the rarity it is in this spare, hard life." "Your silver tongue betrays you," I told him. "Why would you give me all of that in exchange for a bit of 'useless vapor,' I believe you called it?" Satan grinned. His teeth were extraordinarily sharp. "Make no mistake," he admitted pleasantly. "I value your soul." His grin was vulpine and unfriendly. "Make of that what you wish." "Isn't there anything else you'd take?" I asked, internally whether I'd messed up by summoning Satan. Probably. Satan's ears pricked. "There are...other options." "Such as?" "I also trade in talent, time, and firstborn," Satan informed me. I was intrigued. "How tf does that even work?" "It's quite simple. You may give me your greatest gift, or the rest of your mortal life minus a year or two, or promise me your firstborn. All are a valid exchange for your wildest dreams coming true." I mused for a moment. I was an artist and I wanted success, so the greatest gift thing would be a mistake. I needed my talent. And time: I could live a year or two, make a splash, and proceed to my fate unmolested. But the idea of dying in my thirties was not appealing either. That left one option. "My firstborn," I said slowly. "I'll give you that." "Go big or go home," Satan said in the tone of a proud uncle. He shuffled papers in his red crocodile briefcase and came up with a different and equally indecipherable parchment. He handed it to me. I waited for a pen. A pen was not forthcoming. "Only liars sign in ink," Satan said silkily. "Blood is what you need." "Ew. Hello hepatitis," I grumbled as Satan handed me a needle. A quick stab to the index finger brought a large bright bead to the surface. I signed the parchment in my own blood and Satan exploded into bats and flew out the open window. I eventually went to bed, wondering what the morrow would bring. Sixty years later I was partying in the pool with a load of younger men to celebrate my painting, The Exchange, selling at auction for a record breaking price. The butler whispered to me and I smiled. "Excuse me," I said to my Chippendales. I arose gracefully from the pool, still slim as a girl in my old age, my face barely wrinkled. I sported my bikini proudly as I went to meet the visitor. I didn't bother with a wrap. If this was who I thought it was, then attire was beside the point. My butler ushered me, bikini-clad and sraight-backed, into the parlor. In a wing chair by the fireplace sat my old acquaintance, smoking slightly at the ears. "You tricked me," he said menacingly. "Sixty years of fame and fortune, since the very first art dealer saw your work at a restaurant. And what have you given me in return?".He spread his empty hands "I don't care for children," I told Satan breezily. "You never asked what my plans were." "Very clever, mortal," Satan said. "Now, how are we to settle your debt?" "You weren't supposed to bother me," I said rather sourly. "I am not 'bothering.' You are eighty nine years of age and it is your destiny to die of a stroke today, at this hour." "Well. That alters my afternoon plans somewhat," I commented. "I'll have to beg off dinner with the Queen." "You will settle your debt!" Satan cried. "Swear your soul to me and I will give you immortality. Youth everlasting, beauty unmarred by Time--" "Shove it," I said gleefully, "and shove off. I've tricked the devil and lived a full life." "Swear!" Satan yelled, losing his temper. "Swear your soul to me or I will plague your descendents with--wait, that won't--I'll--I'll--" "Now, now, Lucifer," said another, hollower voice. The Reaper stepped into view from behind a curtain. "Cease and desist. Her time has come." I looked at the Reaper, skeletal and welcome in his ragged robe. The scythe he held was bright as a crescent moon. "Are you ready?" said the hollow voice to me. "No time like the present," I said with satisfaction, and capered out of the world on the arm of the Reaper, leaving Satan sitting like used car salesman who had failed to close the deal. "Damn it," Satan grumbled before he disappeared.	(Note: I know nothing about the law or the legal procedure. This is pure fiction) "The court is now in session," announces the judge as she smacks her gavel, dressed in her comically large wig. She would usually announce it in a more business-like tone, but she can't help but be slightly intrigued by the involved parties this time, and it shows on both her and the amount of press and public attention this has garnered; the gallery is entirely packed. "Will the prosecution make their opening statement, please?" "Yes, Your Honour," a rather handsome, sleek figure rises from their seat. He is dressed in a smart business suit, with an expensive-looking pair of golden glasses. Yet there is something off about his face. More specifically, it is the two large horns protruding out of his head. The man does not seem to mind all the curious stares, and continues, "today, I am here to show that this man, party to an agreement we made in good faith, has committed fraud; the evidence will show that he agreed to provide me an object for which he does not possess nor has the ability to acquire in the foreseeable future. The evidence will show that this man did this, having full knowledge of the aforementioned condition. The evidence will show that despite this condition, the man withheld this information from me when we signed the agreement, and has therefore committed fraud, amounting to over 25 million US dollars, which he has since spent. I, therefore, ask the court and jury to order this man to pay me back the ill-gotten wealth, in its original form." "Right. Thank you. And the defendant's opening statement, please?" "Your Honour, I admit that I did it; all his evidence will show that I have done exactly that." There are now murmurs from the gallery. "Order." The judge says, raising her brow. Where is the man going with this? "However, the Defence would like to file a motion to dismiss." The murmurs erupt into slightly heated chatter and what could faintly be heard to be laughter. "Order, order now," the judge says. The man turns towards the horned figure, raising one brow and his chin in a provocative gesture. The figure raises a brow in return, but does not seem the least bit surprised or shaken. The man can't help but then look slightly uneasy. After the bailiffs have helped calmed the more excited members of the public down, the judge sighs and says, "you should have filed this in the hearings. Otherwise it'll be wasting the court's time," she then refrains from commenting further, given the amount of attention there currently is in the court and asks, "you said a motion to dismiss? On what grounds?" "Can't you see that the 'prosecution' is a demon with horns? Obviously, the court cannot rule on the supernatural, and the case must naturally be dismissed." "Objection, Your Honour," the figure speaks again. "Go ahead." "The Defense has alleged this fact without foundation. In the absence of voir dire, their reasoning does not hold." "Sustained." "W-, wait, voir\- what? He's clearly a demon!" "Oh, a pity, Mr. Brucks," the figure says, smiling, "I allege that I am a human; you see, voir dire is the process by which claims are verified. You must produce an expert witness, complete with credentials, to conclude whether I am a human or demon," the figure then pushes his glasses, and continues, "next time, think twice before trying to trick a demon. Or, at least have a Law Degree first, not that that would have helped." The judge turns to the man, now sweating profusely, and shakes her head, saying "I'm afraid the Prosecution is right. The case will proceed for now. You should probably find a public defender to speak on your behalf. You'll need one." End
	[WP] Satan has done a favor for you in exchange for your first-born. Little does Satan know that you're childfree & got sterilized years ago.	He was, without a doubt, the ugliest cat Satan had ever seen. A snaggletooth jutted out from his bottom jaw. A cloudy film had long since settled over his eyes. His fur hung in grey tufts, patchy with age and well worn by grooming habits that didn’t quite reach far enough. Satan eyed him critically. At his best guess, the fur might have once been orange, though he wasn’t entirely convinced the beast hadn’t been brought into the the world as the same misshapen lump that sat before him. The cat eyed him back, tail lashing back and forth. “This is the firstborn?” He asked, dubious. A small, bird like women tapped her way with a well worn wooden cane across the kitchen towards him, her back curved dangerously low. She appeared to live constantly on the precipice, held up only by the piece of wood in her hand. She stopped next to him, shoulder to bent-shoulder, and stared alongside at the cat on the window sill. “Closest thing you’ll get.” She says, mildly. He’s perturbed at her apparent fearlessness, uncomfortable at her comfort with her proximity. He clears his throat, hoping she’ll continue with an explanation, and sneaks a furtive glance at her from the corner of his eye. He probably wouldn’t have to wait very long for her own soul to be up for grabs. A quick push at the right moment, and her own crooked spine would send her off balance and into the void. Satan sighs. Her soul wasn’t the deal he was coming to collect on. Her soul had not been a part of the bargain. Let them say what they would about him, he was a devil of his word. In hindsight, he should have known better. When she’d called out his name, bold as brass, offering her firstborn without hesitation in exchange for a long life, he simply couldn’t help himself. It had been the easiest deal he’d ever struck. He had waited, ever so patiently. Yet decades passed, and no child appeared. Countless late nights, male suitors, and yet she remained childless. He might have forgiven this transgression had it been a natural one, but he had a sneaking suspicion that he’d been fooled. And so here he is. Come to ensure her debt is paid before her life runs out. Standing abreast with a woman who should be cowering at his feet, staring at a cat. He scowls. He came to collect, though what exactly he did not know. This is not how he imagined their interaction. He weighs his options, musing. He COULD kill her, take her soul, and be done with it. He’d feel quite justified in it, now that he’s thinking about it. But, a grudging respect for a fellow trickster stays his hand. He could demand alternate payment, something worthy of his title. He glances around the house. Neat, bright and filled with all manner of oddities, it was nonetheless small, and belayed its owners lack of wealth. No photos of family or friends adorned the walls. What else did she have to take? He feels a headache brewing at his temples. Any deviation from the set plan might reveal that she has successfully duped him. The cat’s tail is lashing violently now under the gaze of the two pairs of eyes. “He’s friendly.” She offers. Satan takes a step forward, confident only in his need to make a decision, any decision, before she realizes she’s set him off kilter. The cat hisses, tail a bottle brush. He starts, before reaching into himself to bring the flames of Hell to his shoulders, his eyes and horns suddenly burning brightly. Fire licks his hooves, dances in his palms as he roars his discontent. It’s an impressive display, he knows. He’s practiced it often enough. Admittedly, he did not anticipate needing to demonstrate it for a cat. The woman behind him leans her forearm on the cane, a delicate tripod balancing act, so she can clap politely. He ignores her. The flames are released back Down, and the cat has disappeared. He grins triumphantly, turning back towards the woman, and almost trips over the decrepit animal now winding his way between his ankles. He feels the rumbling purr vibrating against his hooves as the cat twines in figure eights around them. He stands, frozen, suddenly unwilling to disturb the act. “I think he likes you.” Satan is oddly proud of this. He’s not sure he’s ever been liked before. He pauses, considering. The woman looks at him expectantly. Finally, he bends down slowly, gently scoops the cat up into the crook of his arm. The rumbling intensifies.He draws himself up once again, imperious, and turns to face her. He deepens in voice, puts on his most intimidating frown. “Consider your debt paid.”	“What’d you do?” Satan asked me, rhetorically. He knew what I’d done. It was the first time he hadn’t asked when my wife would be pregnant. “Okay, I know what you’re gonna sa—“ “No! You don’t know what I’m gonna say because you would have killed yourself by now,” Satan said, half still pissed at me for screwing him on the billion dollars for my firstborn deal after finding out I’d be shooting blanks ‘til judgment day and half very excited for what was about to be payback my greedy self should have expected. He pulled out a book which instantly made the room darker and the walls bleed a viscous crimson ooze. “Pursuant to Chapter 12, Subsection G of the...” Satan read. I didn’t hear what he said next because I found myself in a place that made me think of what Dante’s Inferno would have looked like to me, had I taken the time in my life to read it. Lots of fire. Lots of mechanisms with sharp objects swinging very quickly and arrhythmically. Lots of screaming. Lots of me wishing I’d spent at least seven figures of that billion dollars before the nine gates of hell stood before me.
	[WP] Satan has done a favor for you in exchange for your first-born. Little does Satan know that you're childfree & got sterilized years ago.	The figure disappeared in a grandiose display of smoke, no doubt to stroke the ego of the father of pride. The headlights of an old, beat-up VW bug shone brightly through the cloud. You finally allowed yourself to smile, your plan had worked. By tomorrow morning, all of your problems would be gone - and a new life could begin. All it cost was your first-born's soul. Which, since you made the decision years ago to self-sterilize, was something you could never provide. Apparently, the old arch angel was savvy on high-risk investments, and signed off on sub-prime soul mortgages. You slide into the seat of your bug, parked on the berm of the crossroads, and crank the lazy engine over. The sluggish starter gives its best, but despite almost catching a spark, it falls flat on its face. "Damn it!" You say, smacking the dash. Your phone showed no service, as you might expect at the intersection of the damned. Maybe you should have added an immediate vehicle upgrade to your request. You knew your luck would begin to turn around at midnight, so you could wait it out and maybe it would magically start - but then you'd have to sit here alone in the desert for hours. Walking alone in the dark didn't seem appealing either. "Guess we're stuck here for the moment." You say to no one in particular. You turn the headlights off and release the seat back a little ways, enough to relax but still see the surroundings. You doze for some time, awoken by the alarm you set on your phone for midnight. You startle when you see a new figure standing at the crossroads, a dark blotch against the soft dim glow of the starlight. You flick on your headlights and a young woman recoils from the sudden beam of light. "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry I didn't mean to startle you!" you say, exiting the bug. "Wow, that was fast." she says. "Huh?" your brow furrows. "I'm Amelie, I'm guessing you know who I was here to see." "Yeah, same." In the glow of the headlights, her eyes appeared red, as if she had been crying. "Can I sit with you in the car? I walked here from a few miles away, and frankly I'm finding myself a little afraid of a dark desert now that... well now that this is over." She says, gesturing around in a circle. "Oh, uh yeah, of course." You stumble over your words. Is she into you? It was quite random, and very sudden, but your luck was supposed to turn around and a partner was just one thing you had hoped for. She crosses the intersection and plops into the passenger seat of the bug. "What were you here for?" She asks, breaking a short but uncomfortable silence. "Me? Oh uuhhh..." "Sorry I'm not trying to pry, and you don't have to say what you gave up." "Everything has just been going wrong. I didn't ask to be a king or anything like that." you say. She nods, a softness in her eyes. "No work, no money, I've been spiraling. I guess I asked for a little more than a boost, but really just for my luck to turn around, you know?" you say, not the whole truth but not a blatant lie either. "Yeah, I see" she says, her voice soft. "Do you have anyone?" "Me? No, at least not like that. I have friends, of course. My parents are still alive, but on the other side of the country." You both go quiet, she looks around outside - what little can be seen from the ambient light of the stars. "I asked to meet someone, and have kids with them." She says, finally. "Really?" You ask. "What?" She turns to you, her eyes filled with sudden anger. "No please, I didn't mean it like that. I just, you're beautiful, I find it hard to believe you need... help... in that regard." She stares at you a moment longer, and then breaks out in laughter. After a few moments, you join her. "Ahh, yes. Sorry, no I get what you mean. I... I meant more that I asked for the person perfect for me. I really want to have kids, but I want to make sure it all happens.. just right, you know? There are some genetic complications in my family I was hoping to bring to an end." "I see." You say, staring at the horn button on your steering wheel. "Thanks." She says. You look at her. "For calling me beautiful." "Oh, of course, you are. Thanks for, you know, not calling me a creep for saying it." You both laugh again, and she takes your hand in hers. You give in entirely to what comes next, knowing you could not provide her the child she wanted. But it felt so right, and she didn't have to know - yet. ===== The figure cloaked in the veil of night watches the VW Bug from a distance as its windows fog. I always collect my dues A whisper of a voice floats on the wind. ===== "Positive!?" You ask, a little louder than you meant. "Yes?" She asked, her hand holding the pregnancy test dropped to her lap. Her usually soft face was creased with worry now, your response not what she expected. "I'm so sorry, I'm just surprised." You take her hands in yours. It had been four months since the night at the crossroads, and you almost immediately moved in together. You hadn't understood what people meant by soul mate before. A new job, a new life - it had all come to fruition. The VW Bug had even been replaced by a Jaguar, a car you had lusted after as a teen. Although the worry about your impotence had nagged in the back of your head, today shook everything up. When should you tell her, what you gave up. "This is great! Lets... lets get married!" You say, masking your fear. Her eyes were wet with tears now, but the softness in her face returned. You embraced one another and the feeling of her body against yours brought some comfort, but your mind raced. ===== "Come on, love. You can do this" You say, her hand crushing your own. Staff buzzed around the bed in a frenzy, you couldn't even keep track of everything being done. Labor had gone on far longer than expected, and induction steps had to be taken due to the baby's dropping heartrate. "I can do this." She echoed. "Ok, contraction is starting. I need you to push, push!" The doctor said. Her face turned purple as she pushed, twisted from the usually beautiful complexion into something else - still her but something else. "One more time, push with everything you have" The doctor orders firmly. She pushes again, this time letting out a quiet yell. A new voice joins her own, the baby's first breaths expended on the squeal of new life. Everything stopped, save for you and your wife. A laugh came from behind you, disjointed and broken. "I always collect my dues." It says, a whisper that seemed to resonate with everything in the room. You turn slowly to face your detractor. Your wife grabs your wrist. "I'm so sorry, my love" She says. "What?" You whip around to face her again. "I offered myself in return for... for all of this." "WHAT?" You repeated, this time a shrill bark. "You don't understand! They will live! You will have our child, a part of me, and our time together was the most amazing time of my life." She said between sobs, her voice cracking. The pit of your stomach plummeted into the void. "That's right, she is to come with me. But first, since I do business in the order it comes, I will be collecting from you my good sir." The murky shadow that filled the room now spoke it's sugared words. "No!" You yell. Her hand on your wrist tightens. "What did you give up?" She says, looking to you. "No! I can't! You can't!" You scream, the weight of what was happening was unbearable - your vision beginning to blur from the tears in your eyes. The tendrils of smoke and shadow surround the baby, and then disappears with it in a puff. "What? NO!" your wife screams now. "NO! NOOOO! YOU FUCKING-" her voice is muted by the cloud that engulfs her. You feel her grip on your wrist disappear. You collapse to the floor. The demon's laughter fills the room, fills your mind. "I don't understand." You say. "You wished for a better life, and she wished for a perfect genetic match and to bring life into the world - it was a simple matter to fix you." "How did you know?" "How could I not know? I know everything." You held your head in your hands. "Good doing business with you, do come again" the silky voice spoke as the darkness retreated from the delivery room. Time moved once more, and the doctor's and nurse's shouts of disbelief were just background noise to the numbness you now felt.	Whatever they tell you in the movies, demons and Lucifer don’t smell like brimstone, so you can’t use that to your advantage to try and tell when the lord of Hell enters your home. Fortunately, subtlety isn’t Lucifer’s strong suit, so a small explosion at your front door serves as his herald. I sighed as I heard his expensive looking shoes stomp toward me. No, he doesn’t have fucking goat hooves. What would the point of that be? In his own words, “What kind of dipshit can choose the features of any animal to have, and then picks fucking goat feet? Not this dipshit, that’s for sure.” Speaking of his quotes, he’s about to give me some more. “WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOUR DAMN KIDS!” he yells. “You and that vegetable chick have been married 3 years and still no kids? What the fuck are you waiting for? Jesus to build the damn baby cradle for you? I’ll him right fucking now if that’s the case!” Ah, that’s what he was here for. Also, it was vegetarian, not vegetable, but close enough I guess. I promised him my first born child in order to become rich overnight and have no one question it a couple years ago. That conversation went something like this: “Oh great Lord of the Underworld, I offer unto you my soul for you to grant me a wish of mine.” “Why the fuck do I want your soul, idiot? What am I gonna do with it? Hang it up on my wall?” “Well, the book sa-” “What fucking book? It’ll tell you how to summon me, but not what I fucking want? Let me see it, Duck Face.” “Duck Face?” “Yes, you look like a fucking duck. Deal with it. Also, I would much rather have your firstborn. That work?” Considering I was sterile, it did indeed work. I married my girlfriend a year after that, and I’ve been living the high life ever since. “Well, there’s something I have to tell you, Lucifer.” “DID I SAY YOU COULD CALL ME THAT? I AM LITERALLY THE LORD OF HELL, WHY THE IN THE EVERLOVING FUCK WOULD WE BE ON A FIRST NAME BASIS, DIPSHIT?” he kept screaming. “Now where the fuck is the kid, Lebowski?” He chuckled at his own little joke. “Well, that’s the thing I wanted to tell you.” I said. “It just so happens that I got a vasectomy about 2 - 3 years before we made that deal, so… There’s kinda not gonna be a firstborn.” He stands there, a little shell shocked. Then attempted to fucking smite me. Some sort of invisible shield stopped him, and a voice rumbled from the sky. “Easy there, brother. There are rules.” “Well I got fucking scammed by this little dipshit. What the fuck else am I supposed to do?” “You literally invented sin. What was that one saying about pots and kettles?” Was that God? My mind was reeling. After meeting the devil, it’s kind of a given that God exists, but meeting him (does it count as meeting if he’s still up wherever the fuck he sits? Does he even have legs?). “Shut the fuck up about your sayings, you senile old man. Shove that wisdom up your ass.” Lucifer screams at the sky. “I demand justice!” “That sounds a little ironic, doesn’t it? Also, there are barely any priests up anyway. How long do you think it’ll take to find a fucking lawyer up here?”
[deleted]	[WP] you are sent to Hell. you are informed you aren't here to be punished--you ARE the punishment. you sigh in relief and grin. who will it be? one of your exes? that bully from high school ? your stomach goes cold when you see you are the eternal torment for the person you loved most in life.	The demon looked at her sadly. "I don't want to do this to you. But I have no choice." "Then don't," Llana pleaded. "You don't have to do this!" The demon tightened the screws and winced as Llana screamed in agony. "If I don't do it they'll send someone worse," he muttered. "NO ONE COULD BE WORSE THAN YOU!" Llana screamed. "NO ONE!" "If only you knew who I was," the Demon said. Llana looked up through teary eyes. "I'm supposed to know you?" The demon shook his head furiously. "They'll send someone worse if I tell you. I'm sorry, E- prisoner." Llana's eyes widened. Had this demon just tried to call her Ell? Only her husband had called her by that name. But he was dead. Died in that fire, when they tried to commit insurance fraud. Oh God, surely... The demon looked panicked, shaking his head. But beneath the horns, the hair, the scars... didn't he look like...? A Greater Demon appeared from a cloud of smoke. "Is there a problem?" LLana closed her eyes, thought, and then swallowed. "Please, get me another guardian," she pleaded. "This one really hates me. He plays games with me. Please, anyone else than this m-monster." Her Guardian demon looked at her, shocked, but the other Demon just cackled. "Where do you think you are, slave?" He prodded the Guardian. "Tighten the screws some more." The Guardian stared at her, then suddenly widened his eyes and nodded. Llana screamed again, and the other Demon grinned and disappeared in a cloud of smoke. "You always were the smarter one," the Guardian Demon whispered. Llana stopped screaming and gave him a desperate, yet triumphant look. At least they were together. The Guardian tightened the screws some more. But Llana screamed a little less loudly, this time. r/Writeful_heir	\[Infernal Efficiency\] (poem) "Well, how would you feel?" The demon asked. Jim shrugged. "If you knew your tormentor well, maybe, someone you loved and hugged." &#x200B; "You're here to punish her, but you misunderstand the reason. It's not because she hates you some." &#x200B; "This gets both of you for the price of one. Your love was as true as they come." &#x200B; "This way you torment yourself and her." \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1157 in a row. (Story #061 in year four.) You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog.
[deleted]	[WP] you are sent to Hell. you are informed you aren't here to be punished--you ARE the punishment. you sigh in relief and grin. who will it be? one of your exes? that bully from high school ? your stomach goes cold when you see you are the eternal torment for the person you loved most in life.	I didn’t immediately know it was Hell because it looked like a Target. The self checkout lanes were closed. One express lane and two regular lanes were open. All I wanted was milk. I grudgingly stepped in line at the express lane and got hostile wondering why these idiots don’t staff better. I’m almost there. Close enough to put the milk on the conveyer belt. The person in front of me has 30 items. Of course she does. Why don’t the cashiers ever enforce their own rules? The woman pays in change. Of course she does. Then the cashier closes the register. Of course he does. I move to lane one, which appears to be moving along nicely. As soon as I’m there everything stops for a price check. Lane two is moving faster, so I switch. That’s how it was for an entire day. Switching lanes, so many stupid people, morons I wish were dead... Dead. There’s something about death, something really vague. Like a dream I can’t quite remember. It’s strange I didn’t just leave. Normally I’d abandon the milk in the makeup section, but today I just couldn’t. I guess I really needed that milk. The next day? The DMV. I don’t remember going back to my place, I don’t remember driving to the DMV, but here I am. Babies are crying, toddlers are spreading their snot and germs everywhere. There should be a whole separate DMV for these breeders. It’s almost as annoying as going to a restaurant where a kid in another booth looks over the top at you. Fuck off with that, I’m trying to enjoy my cheese sticks without some grubby kid smiling and waving and ruining it for me. I sit there watching people who came in after me get called. Over and over and over. Again, I want to leave. I’m stuck. Something in me has made the DMV my singular goal. Even though I have no idea what I need there. The next day I wake up in a waiting room. There’s a welcome letter in my hand. From Hell. What? My name was called immediately. Obviously this was an elaborate joke. I went through a door and the smiling woman seated at the desk in front of me was wearing a “Hello, My Name is HR” sticker. Wow. HR. Okay. HR was going for a warm and friendly vibe, but her smile never reached her eyes. “Have a seat.” She presented me with an employee handbook. It smelled like cat piss and the pages were all dog eared and riddled with dick drawings. “You are dead and per your welcome letter you’re in Hell. We try to ease people into it with the whole Target and DMV thing, but acceptance isn’t always easy. Know that here in Hell, teamwork makes the dream work! We have an open door policy. We will assign you a mentor...” I stopped listening. Jesus Christ. For the first time I realized the walls of the room were plastered with motivational posters. This really was Hell. “Any questions or concerns you have you can bring to me. As to why you’re here today: We have an opening in management and think you’d be a perfect fit.” Management? Nice. All that time spent burning popcorn and cooking fish in the office microwave really paid off. I think I’d be an awesome supervisor at Comcast. I could train people to put customers into a longer hold loop. Reward every call Customer Service disconnected. Triple the pages of the bills and pad them with charges for things like “core competencies.” “I want to manage at Comcast.” HR stared at me. “You don’t choose. Where do you think you are? 7th Grade Career Day?” Okay. I thought maybe procedures were different here, but I guess not. “Remember Matt?” Matt. Love of my life. My love for him was so deep I started picking up after my dog on long walks. Because Matt wanted me to. “Matt was devastated when I died.” I was really fuzzy about how I died. But I do remember the anguish in his voice was so much worse than the physical pain from... I don’t know what. “Your new career will be managing the pain and torture of Matt.” I stared at her, shocked. “Why? Why is he even here? He always makes eye contact with the Salvation Army Santas and drops cash in their kettles.” “I can’t disclose that information for privacy reasons, but I can tell you the reason you’ve been selected for this job is because you know him best.” “So... you expect me to whip him or peel off his fingernails? I won’t do it.” HR smiled again. This time it wasn’t as friendly. “You know what he fears. You know exactly what causes him pain, you know his angst, making you the most qualified for the job. This isn’t necessarily about physical torture. You can emotionally torment him. As you did when you were both alive.” “I didn’t do that.” HR shuffled through some paperwork and started reading. “Matt would ask where you’d like to go out to eat. You’d say anywhere is fine. Then get mad about what he picked and stop talking to him for the rest of the night.” Sometimes true, but what else should he expect when he picks Red Lobster? “You knew he wasn’t ready for marriage or children so you poked holes in his condoms, trying to get pregnant. Even though you hate children.” HR looked up at me, disgusted. “What kind of person does that?” You’d think an admin in Hell would praise that, but I had to get the judgmental bitch. “You put a GPS device in his car to make sure he wasn’t cheating...” I stopped her there. The idea of him cheating on me was intolerable. “Okay, maybe I was occasionally an asshole. But it was only out of love. Keeping our relationship strong. This is a whole eternity. I don’t have enough tricks in the bag to last that long.” “It’s alright. Think of this as a Groundhog Day situation. Every day will be new to him and as you go along, new ideas will occur to you. You are the woman who let yourself get evicted just so he’d ask you to move in with him. You got this! Remember: mindset is what separates the best from the rest!” Fuck. The door behind me opened. Matt walked in. My heart pounded with excitement. He really was here! I could go light on the torture. Maybe turn it into more of a sex thing. What mattered was we would still be together. I stood up to give him a hug and he whispered in my ear, “I’m sorry I murdered you. After you killed your sister I just snapped. Why couldn’t you just let us be happy?” HR picked exactly the right job for me.	\[Infernal Efficiency\] (poem) "Well, how would you feel?" The demon asked. Jim shrugged. "If you knew your tormentor well, maybe, someone you loved and hugged." &#x200B; "You're here to punish her, but you misunderstand the reason. It's not because she hates you some." &#x200B; "This gets both of you for the price of one. Your love was as true as they come." &#x200B; "This way you torment yourself and her." \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1157 in a row. (Story #061 in year four.) You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog.
[deleted]	[WP] you are sent to Hell. you are informed you aren't here to be punished--you ARE the punishment. you sigh in relief and grin. who will it be? one of your exes? that bully from high school ? your stomach goes cold when you see you are the eternal torment for the person you loved most in life.	I wait and wait, and the day comes. My daughter walks through the gates of hell. She's older now, her dark eyes watery and ringed with blue. Her silver hair is tied in a tight bun. As she walks closer, her hair darkens and her wrinkles fade away. The cardigan and tailored trousers she's wearing transform into a school uniform. I know that inside her pocket there is a report card full of marks that don't reach my expectation. My daughter slows her pace, and I see her gulp as she sees me. I've changed as well, growing younger. We are playing out her worst memories. I move forward to embrace her, to tell her that one report card will not decide her future, and that I love her. My feet do not cooperate. Nor does any other part of my body. I feel the frown in my eyebrows, the grimace in my jaw. Free will is God's doing. There's no such thing in hell. I can only repeat what I did the first time. My daughter hands me her report card, hands shaking, tears already pooled in her eyes. I snatch it away and unfold the piece of paper that I now hate with all my heart. "What is this?" I yell. She flinches. I love you, I think. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. "Mom, I'm sorry," she whispers. "Sorry isn't good enough, Hyeyoung!" I yell. "Sorries won't get you into a good college." I rub my hand across my forehead, the cruel words coming out of me faster than I remember. At the time, it had seemed like nothing. Now, I feel their full force. "Your father and I expected better from you. What don't you have?" I ask. "Look at the other children your age. You expect me to believe that you're even trying? Do you think we will take care of you all your life?" When she falls to her knees, I don't stop. "Maybe you're just not good enough. Maybe your brother should get the private tutors, it seems they're not helping you anyway." "I'll do better, mom," she says. "And I got the fourth highest in classes." "They don't even give medals for fourth place, Hyeyoung," I say with a sardonic, cruel smile on my face. "That's not something to brag about." My daughter fades away into her adult self and is taken away by two minions of hell, monsters that look like much like humans and coordinate the punishments here. "Did it feel good?" my own monitoring hell minion asks. "You felt so good then, taking out all your frustrations from your life onto her when she was a kid. It must feel nice now, to relive it." He smiles at me. "Don't worry," he says. "We've got a ton of this stuff to go through." "And then?" I ask. He looks up from his clipboard. "Then we start all over again." \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ r/xeuthis	\[Infernal Efficiency\] (poem) "Well, how would you feel?" The demon asked. Jim shrugged. "If you knew your tormentor well, maybe, someone you loved and hugged." &#x200B; "You're here to punish her, but you misunderstand the reason. It's not because she hates you some." &#x200B; "This gets both of you for the price of one. Your love was as true as they come." &#x200B; "This way you torment yourself and her." \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1157 in a row. (Story #061 in year four.) You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog.
	[WP] You're the maiden of the goddess of Death, sacrificed to her long ago when the god of Life didn't answer the town's prayers. People think you're suffering. In reality, you became the poor goddess' therapist. Who knew gods couldn't handle rejection like that.	The goddess Mania and I stood, side by side, at the bedside of a dying woman in a hospital, friends and family by her side. I had long ago given up coaxing her back to the underworld. She felt her place was surrounded by death, despite the fact that it depressed her so deeply. Mania didn’t even need to be here. Her sister Libitina was the one that was the goddess of burials, and spent most of her time funeral-hopping, and Dea Tacita could often be found in the morgue, watching over the dead, their corpses being her domain. But Mania insisted on surrounding herself with death, and even after thousands of years of it bringing her sadness, she persisted in it. Once the woman had passed on, we wandered out into the hallway and Mania sat in a chair a waiting room we passed, prompting me to take the seat next to her. “Did that family seem at peace?” she asked, leaning back tiredly in the chair. That was one of her more common questions to me. At first, I found them strange, but now I found them par for the course. “That woman’s death was a long time coming, so I feel they were,” I answered. “How are you feeling today?” “Mm. Same as usual.” That meant mildly depressed. ‘All right’ meant just that, an average mood, somewhat thoughtful and pensive. ‘Horrible’ meant she was feeling burdened by the misery of those who had attended the funerals we’d gone to or those who’d witnessed their loved ones die before their time. Or worse, those who had witnessed the results of a violent, brutal death, or even the death itself. The worst was when I got no response at all. That meant Mania was lost in a churning whirlpool of her despondent thoughts, and I would need to put more effort into drawing her out. She would sometimes return to the underworld, though never at my urging, only to curl up in bed in a state of depression that she couldn’t be pulled from, that she just needed to make her way through mentally on her own. But I had a new plan today. It was the culmination of research I’d been doing in my off hours (even Mania had to report back to Pluto, and that could take a while) for a few weeks now. It was difficult to say how it would go, but I’d tried various strategies over the years for helping my goddess through her difficult existence, and I wasn’t about to give up now. “We have a funeral next,” I told her. “I’d like to go now, if that’s all right by you. So we’re not late.” “Sure. Is it a well-known figure?” she asked, pushing herself to her feet with me. “Not quite. But I wanted to arrive with plenty of time to spend there.” I opened a portal in front of us, allowing her through first, and I followed, closing it behind us. We’d arrived in a large room, similar to so many others we’d visited over the years, used for funeral wakes. And I looked over to Mania, whose gaze slid over the people in the room, our presence, as always, invisible to them. “I…don’t understand,” she said, glancing to me with confused, narrowed eyes. “They seem…happy.” And they were. Nenia Dea, the goddess of funerals, had tipped me off to this one. As experiments go for cheering up Mania, this was definitely a new one. “An increasing number of humans are starting to take death in stride, or go even further, and partake in what they’re calling a ‘celebration of life’,” I said, a subdued smile on my face. Mania shook her head suddenly at that. “Then we shouldn’t be here. This is the domain of Thesan or Artume-” “No, this is a wake,” I said firmly. “They are here because of a death. That is your domain, is it not?” The goddess didn’t reply, continuing to look around the room curiously and eventually started to mingle, and I followed. There was a slideshow of photos of the deceased playing on two flatscreen televisions up in the corners of the room for everyone to see, but that was common. Less common was the fact that Monty Python’s Always Look on the Bright Side of Life played from the speakers as people happily chatted about the life of the deceased, a man named Bailey Hammond. We overheard a story nearby of the man’s son recounting something his father had said about shutting his eyes while on a bicycle, unsurprisingly landing him in the hospital in a leg cast. Another had been a student of the deceased and was talking excitedly with classmates about the field of research they were pursuing, explaining how Hammond always made class interesting. The coffin was most surprising, to us. It seemed Hammond was a big fan of a certain sports team, as instead of the typical black suit, his burial clothes were something he would have worn to a football game. Not only that, but his casket was the colors of the team, a cheerful red and white rather than the typical somber dark brown wood. “Death is an end,” I spoke up, as we took a respite in the corner of the room, away from the chattering friends and family, “but it is a necessary end. You don’t mourn the end of a party; you reflect on how much enjoyment it brought you. Similarly, humans have started to take on this attitude with their lives. Of course, the more religious think it disrespectful, as the upcoming afterlife is what a funeral should be about to them, but so many humans have become secular that this was an inevitable outcome.” “It is…pleasing,” Mania said softly, her gaze going from one human to the next. “They are all sad, of course, I can sense it, and yet there’s an undeniable joy they’re expressing of the appreciation of having this person in their lives.” “And they couldn’t have had this day together without Bailey Hammond’s death,” I said. “He’s left them, yes, but they still have countless wonderful memories, and it seems the man’s wishes were that they came together in a celebration and appreciation of the time they’d had with him. In laughter rather than in tears. There are so many who aren’t fortunate enough to experience nearly as many years, and while making his wishes known before his time came, he must have known that and understood how lucky he was.” As I stood there, friend and therapist to a goddess, I felt the satisfaction of a job well done as I always did, but more than that, I felt something new. There was a small smile on Mania’s face, and as someone who spent their days constantly among death, there was an emotion in me that I rarely experienced. Hope. And I looked forward to helping my goddess through this next change in the way humans experienced death. &#x200B; /r/storiesbykaren	Death was a young woman with raven black hair and a beauty that had never quite had time to blossom. She was a girl whose motions refused to be defined, alternating between a perfect flowing gracefulness and shocking suddenness seemingly at random. She was also heartbroken as she walked through the forest that day. In moods like these everything seemed to shrink away from her; flowers shivered at her approach, trees strained at their roots as if they could run. She only had the handmaiden at her side and even that had started off wrong. “Elle,” she said, turning to the girl. “Why don’t they understand?” It was a difficult question, too broad to have any real answer and she knew it. In the distance they could both hear the villager’s chants. It was a holy day, a harvest festival dedicated to the God of Life and his gifts. “Because they can’t,” Elle said simply. “I was like them when we met, remember? I was terrified of you for nearly a year after my sacrifice, I blamed you for taking every good thing in my life away. It’s natural for mortals, we have so little time that we want to make the most of it, measured like that your brother the God of Life was always going to be more popular.” “I know that!” Death hissed, resuming her walk and wishing she could get far enough away from the village not to hear. That was impossible on a day like today though, there was still work ahead. “But still, not one of them sees! Not one! They all believe they have souls, believe that there’s a world beyond their mortal plane, but yet they still can’t see my gift for what it is!” Elle caught up to her, grabbing Death’s arm to stop her. “Maybe that’s an important part of it. I know we’ve been through this before but humor me, what do you think your gift is? What is death to its goddess?” Death paused, lowering her head. Her hair fell in a great cascade across her face, every muscle in her body tensing. This was the very core of her being, even saying the words made her feel exposed. “Death is the validation of life,” she said. “Its what gives a life meaning and hope and joy, it makes every experience in it matter. Without death life would become a curse and my brother would be feared as I am. And beyond that, it’s…it’s…” she struggled for the words now, the goddess had been alone a very long time before she met Elle. “It’s the beginning of a second life. And then a third, and a fourth. The spirits live on and return back into the cycle, binding the world together, making us all whole. Except for you, I’m sorry for that.” “I’m not,” Elle said, and Death didn’t have to see her handmaid’s face to know she was smiling. Elle stroked arm gently and then moved away, her bare feet almost silent on the grass. Glancing up through the curtain of her hair Death saw her crouch down and pick something. Elle came back slowly and as she approached Death heard a small wailing sound, catching a familiar, almost cloyingly sweet scent. She’d picked a deathbell. “I saw this in the bushes, I always thought they were beautiful, even when I was alive.” “That’s rare for mortals, most people are too afraid of my symbols.” Elle laughed, standing in front of her goddess again. “When I was six I once braided them into my hair. I’d found a whole stand of them near the village graveyard and thought they made me the prettiest girl in all the land.” Reaching up she began to comb her fingers through the goddess’s long dark hair. She gently weaved the flower in, its purple and black petals barely showing in that ocean of night. “I’m sure you were,” Death said softly, enjoying the feeling. “They may be my flowers but they suit your colors better.” “Oh I don’t know, I love them on you.” Finishing her work Elle cupped a hand under the goddess’s chin, drawing her gaze up and brushing her hair back behind her ear. Death smiled. It was a strange and rare thing, like the rise of the full moon, and she cherished every opportunity she got to do it. There had been precious few before her handmaiden, her friend, had arrived. Elle’s right hand moved to her cheek, the left to her waist, and when the taller woman leaned down Death closed her eyes and gave herself over to the moment. In the distance the villagers still sang, but as Death’s mood changed the trees seemed to lean back in and the flower in her hair stopped wailing. \---------- If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I've love to have you!
	[WP]You are a student 400 years in the future, you are assigned a project to student "Trends of the early 2000s" In your deep research you learn a horrible secret: The Gods you worship were originally portrayed on trading cards known as "Pokemon"	My report on the origins of them They came on earth out of nowhere and changed us. I would apologize for calling them by name, but I must do it for this report.We have no digital tracks of them after the 'great hack', since then, it's been passed over by people in form of speeches, records, animations, and movies. After trying to find and digging a lot of places, we were not able to find concerted effort akin to the bible, instead, we found a paper tablets with their picture on them. Pikachu, Bulbasaur, Squirtle, Charmander the depicted as animals with special types of power concentration, in this advanced age, it would not be appropriate to take that literally, but as a metaphor, Pikachu being the lord of thunder, Bulbasaur being lord of fertility, Squirtle lord of seas and Charmander lord of fire and fury, while Ash as an agency to depict the coordinated effort of these four early angels. This is a known knowledge, our findings were way beyond that and compiled below &#x200B; * They believed in Evolution \- Biblical Saints of Pokemon Centers had been arguing for a long time that evolution was not something they ever considered and humanity was built as a whole, this study buries that claim once and for all. After going over the deck of paper tablets, we found that Pikachu, Raichu (Red Pikachu), and Squirtle, Wartotrle, Blastoise (Squirtle Essense), and Charmander, Charmeloeon (Horn of fury), Charizard(the dragon), and Bulbasaur, Ivysaur, Venusaur(Moon good), share very similar imagery, as if, they are different stages of life, not different entities as we all seem to believe, the New, the Connect and the Old, were not different Gods but different stages of evolution of Old ones. This can be concluded that late 20th and early 21st-century people stood by the concept of evolution. For detail read Pokendix 1.1 * Old Gods were not the Oldest \- Agency and the four angels were not the first link of God to earth as we believe, remnants of Gods which we will now call as Ancient ones were found on the paper tablets. So, indeed if we consider the stages as life stages, Squirtle as the kid, Wartorle as the Adult, and Blastoise as the old and wise, we believe that Articuno was the soul, a higher dimension life form, the soul itself had two stages, For Articno, Suicune was the baby soul, although no evidence was found that Articuno and Suicune were evolutions, we can understand them as metamorphosis. We believe that it completes the circle of life for which pokelogists were working for so long, we are showing the example of the cycle here (--> Articuno --> Squirtle --> Wartortle --> Blastoise --> Suicune --> Articuno -->)This is verified and we found a similar structure for the heritage of all other angels. For more, go to Pokendix 2.1 * The Rocket was not just a lousy devil \- In all scriptures, Rocket is portrayed as a resilient persistent devil, who even being relatively weaker, never stopped the pursuit of the first Angel Pikachu. Now we can confidently say that Rocket was not one entity but a team, a whole parallel organization to the Angels, with different ideology on life, a group of divergent, which was made more than clear when their representative entity of Meowth was said to talk like Humans, unlike other entities. In process of breaking the mold of conservatives that each entity should work within its boundaries, Meowth was a manifestation of divergence and an ideology that anyone could be anything if they put their mind to it. This is an ongoing effort, please come back here for more information.	"By Venonat's beard, what is this blasphemy?" I exclaimed, slamming the tome shut and tucking it into my backpack. I skulked from the library, head cast downwards as if Zapdos himself was poised to smite me. I recalled the holy texts with a shiver: ...and Lo, did the Great Thunderbird use Zap Cannon upon the thieves, and it was Super Effective. I headed straight home as fast as I could. Throwing caution to the wind, I took the shortcut through the long grass, though doing so defied every sacrament. Blast! No! In my hurry, I had stepped down over the ledge. I realised I needed to go right. But the path right was back up upon the ledge I had just traversed. I couldn't very well step back up. That was forbidden - the priest would take a vine whip to me for such behaviour! I would have to go around and back. But no: as I edged closer, I saw a menacing child, sitting on his bicycle, to the side of the path. If I went that way he'd surely waylay me and I'd never get back home. There was nothing for it. I raised my leg and, glancing around furtively, stepped back up over the ledge...
	[WP]You are a student 400 years in the future, you are assigned a project to student "Trends of the early 2000s" In your deep research you learn a horrible secret: The Gods you worship were originally portrayed on trading cards known as "Pokemon"	My report on the origins of them They came on earth out of nowhere and changed us. I would apologize for calling them by name, but I must do it for this report.We have no digital tracks of them after the 'great hack', since then, it's been passed over by people in form of speeches, records, animations, and movies. After trying to find and digging a lot of places, we were not able to find concerted effort akin to the bible, instead, we found a paper tablets with their picture on them. Pikachu, Bulbasaur, Squirtle, Charmander the depicted as animals with special types of power concentration, in this advanced age, it would not be appropriate to take that literally, but as a metaphor, Pikachu being the lord of thunder, Bulbasaur being lord of fertility, Squirtle lord of seas and Charmander lord of fire and fury, while Ash as an agency to depict the coordinated effort of these four early angels. This is a known knowledge, our findings were way beyond that and compiled below &#x200B; * They believed in Evolution \- Biblical Saints of Pokemon Centers had been arguing for a long time that evolution was not something they ever considered and humanity was built as a whole, this study buries that claim once and for all. After going over the deck of paper tablets, we found that Pikachu, Raichu (Red Pikachu), and Squirtle, Wartotrle, Blastoise (Squirtle Essense), and Charmander, Charmeloeon (Horn of fury), Charizard(the dragon), and Bulbasaur, Ivysaur, Venusaur(Moon good), share very similar imagery, as if, they are different stages of life, not different entities as we all seem to believe, the New, the Connect and the Old, were not different Gods but different stages of evolution of Old ones. This can be concluded that late 20th and early 21st-century people stood by the concept of evolution. For detail read Pokendix 1.1 * Old Gods were not the Oldest \- Agency and the four angels were not the first link of God to earth as we believe, remnants of Gods which we will now call as Ancient ones were found on the paper tablets. So, indeed if we consider the stages as life stages, Squirtle as the kid, Wartorle as the Adult, and Blastoise as the old and wise, we believe that Articuno was the soul, a higher dimension life form, the soul itself had two stages, For Articno, Suicune was the baby soul, although no evidence was found that Articuno and Suicune were evolutions, we can understand them as metamorphosis. We believe that it completes the circle of life for which pokelogists were working for so long, we are showing the example of the cycle here (--> Articuno --> Squirtle --> Wartortle --> Blastoise --> Suicune --> Articuno -->)This is verified and we found a similar structure for the heritage of all other angels. For more, go to Pokendix 2.1 * The Rocket was not just a lousy devil \- In all scriptures, Rocket is portrayed as a resilient persistent devil, who even being relatively weaker, never stopped the pursuit of the first Angel Pikachu. Now we can confidently say that Rocket was not one entity but a team, a whole parallel organization to the Angels, with different ideology on life, a group of divergent, which was made more than clear when their representative entity of Meowth was said to talk like Humans, unlike other entities. In process of breaking the mold of conservatives that each entity should work within its boundaries, Meowth was a manifestation of divergence and an ideology that anyone could be anything if they put their mind to it. This is an ongoing effort, please come back here for more information.	I slip into the back of the temple, just in time. Right at the front of the crowded room, my little brother—11 today—is just making his way towards the altar. Beside the altar, wearing his ceremonial white robe, stands Professor Redwood. As my brother stares transfixed at the three sacred orbs atop the altar, the Professor intones the hallowed words, warning him of the significance of this choice. Inside each orb supposedly resides one of the gods. We devote ourselves to one and carry it with us always. We’re told that they will protect us from the dangers of The Long Grass and inspire us to be our very best. My dad looks at me angrily as I fail to suppress a snort. If only they all knew the truth; knew the origins of this holiest of rituals. Silence falls as my brother spins his baseball cap back-to-front with a flourish - a movement I’d caught him practising in the mirror only this morning. He grabs the leftmost orb firmly and turns to the crowd, holding it high above his head. His voice rings out across the congregation: “Bulbasaur, I choose you!”
	[WP]You are a student 400 years in the future, you are assigned a project to student "Trends of the early 2000s" In your deep research you learn a horrible secret: The Gods you worship were originally portrayed on trading cards known as "Pokemon"	My report on the origins of them They came on earth out of nowhere and changed us. I would apologize for calling them by name, but I must do it for this report.We have no digital tracks of them after the 'great hack', since then, it's been passed over by people in form of speeches, records, animations, and movies. After trying to find and digging a lot of places, we were not able to find concerted effort akin to the bible, instead, we found a paper tablets with their picture on them. Pikachu, Bulbasaur, Squirtle, Charmander the depicted as animals with special types of power concentration, in this advanced age, it would not be appropriate to take that literally, but as a metaphor, Pikachu being the lord of thunder, Bulbasaur being lord of fertility, Squirtle lord of seas and Charmander lord of fire and fury, while Ash as an agency to depict the coordinated effort of these four early angels. This is a known knowledge, our findings were way beyond that and compiled below &#x200B; * They believed in Evolution \- Biblical Saints of Pokemon Centers had been arguing for a long time that evolution was not something they ever considered and humanity was built as a whole, this study buries that claim once and for all. After going over the deck of paper tablets, we found that Pikachu, Raichu (Red Pikachu), and Squirtle, Wartotrle, Blastoise (Squirtle Essense), and Charmander, Charmeloeon (Horn of fury), Charizard(the dragon), and Bulbasaur, Ivysaur, Venusaur(Moon good), share very similar imagery, as if, they are different stages of life, not different entities as we all seem to believe, the New, the Connect and the Old, were not different Gods but different stages of evolution of Old ones. This can be concluded that late 20th and early 21st-century people stood by the concept of evolution. For detail read Pokendix 1.1 * Old Gods were not the Oldest \- Agency and the four angels were not the first link of God to earth as we believe, remnants of Gods which we will now call as Ancient ones were found on the paper tablets. So, indeed if we consider the stages as life stages, Squirtle as the kid, Wartorle as the Adult, and Blastoise as the old and wise, we believe that Articuno was the soul, a higher dimension life form, the soul itself had two stages, For Articno, Suicune was the baby soul, although no evidence was found that Articuno and Suicune were evolutions, we can understand them as metamorphosis. We believe that it completes the circle of life for which pokelogists were working for so long, we are showing the example of the cycle here (--> Articuno --> Squirtle --> Wartortle --> Blastoise --> Suicune --> Articuno -->)This is verified and we found a similar structure for the heritage of all other angels. For more, go to Pokendix 2.1 * The Rocket was not just a lousy devil \- In all scriptures, Rocket is portrayed as a resilient persistent devil, who even being relatively weaker, never stopped the pursuit of the first Angel Pikachu. Now we can confidently say that Rocket was not one entity but a team, a whole parallel organization to the Angels, with different ideology on life, a group of divergent, which was made more than clear when their representative entity of Meowth was said to talk like Humans, unlike other entities. In process of breaking the mold of conservatives that each entity should work within its boundaries, Meowth was a manifestation of divergence and an ideology that anyone could be anything if they put their mind to it. This is an ongoing effort, please come back here for more information.	Mordan kept on glancing over the paper, forehead crinkled, confusion in his eyes. Anyone else would have thrown it in the trash already, but Mordan knows me, I'm one of the best students in his class, and I'm always serious in my work. "So you're telling me, our entire religion is based on some cartoon show?' I nod. Hearing my own words coming out of someone else's mouth sounds kinda' stupid. But I know they are true. "Sharazah, the lord of light, Myloticus, the queen of seas, Arceum, the supreme being, they are all just some fictional beings created to entertain kids?" I don't answer, it was not a question either. Mordan doesn't exactly come off as a religious person. But hearing your religion is a lie can frustrate anybody. "Tell me, how do we usually portray Sharazah?" "A tall guy, with large, orange wings. And flames on his head" I pull out another paper from my file and hand it over to him. Mordan glances on its contents, then set the paper on the desk, almost with disgust. "Surely you see the resemblance. Have you heard the legend of Jiggly? A mysterious voice soothing people into sleep? That too is based on a character from the cartoon. Also...' "I get it Kaz. But why would anyone do this? What's the gain?" "Honestly, I don't know either. You know there aren't many documents about what it was like before The Catastrophe, and not many either about the first 10-15 years of The Rebuild." Mordan stared out of the window for a long time, then finally turned towards me, "Kaz, this is an important discovery. I need you to act careful. This information could cause massive unrest. What about other religions? Mahr-io and Luagin? Thomas and Jeremiah?" "I believe it's the same" Three days later- I just turned the corner near college, when I noticed a large gathering near the gate. It was around a wrecked car. I could just make out Mordans mangled body. Suddenly I felt uncomfortable, before I could address the feeling properly, two guys appeared on my side, and a third injecting something in my neck. I went numb, and the men dragged me, talking loudly. To anybody watching, it would appear as 3 friends are just goofing around I woke up in a well-lit room, decorated nicely, but looking at the emblem on the door left me dumbfounded. The door opened up. "How in the..." The pope moved closer, "Mr. Kaz, so you've learned about the secret."
	[WP]You are a student 400 years in the future, you are assigned a project to student "Trends of the early 2000s" In your deep research you learn a horrible secret: The Gods you worship were originally portrayed on trading cards known as "Pokemon"	The Onix Guild of Ancient Treasure had a new member… me! Soon enough, anyway. Maybe I waited a few tests during the certification process, but that was all in the past. One good discovery at an archaeological dig could net me a good word from the Church of the Red Dragon. Then my archaeology license would be a breeze and I could search for treasure. But first I had to pick up the church’s liaison. Father Michael looked like he had been ready for weeks, despite the impromptu nature of the trip. As my buggy screeched to a halt, he flipped an iridescent circle end over end into the air - an ancient gesture to ward off bad luck. He fervently mumbled prayers under his breath to Charizard the Almighty in His Many Forms as he stalked over, slipping silently into the vehicle. “Brother David, have you been informed of the nature of your quest?” He was someone with forethought. I was sorely lacking in that department, myself. “Erm, not really. All I know is I need to look for religious prints to get my license.” After the license came the real money. Officially, religious prints of deities or elements were donated to the churches. Everyone knew that collecting them would bolster a church’s influence, so beautiful artwork often went for high prices. Father Michael chuckled silently and shook his head. The Church of the Red Dragon - “Flamers” if you were derisive - considered materialistic pursuits to be most unholy. They preferred ritualistic contemplation of the Old Gods to better understand their glory. The Onix Guild on the other hand, was very much interested in the soil’s bounty. This made religious archaeology the basis of a tenuous alliance. Father Michael grinned for the first time, his pinched face relaxing into reverential bliss. “Well, you might be in luck. The surveyors report the dig is truly massive. Endless books of ritual, religious prints, and musty skeletons everywhere. They can’t get enough archaeologists to clean out the ancient cathedral. I’ll be rather busy too. The mysterious ‘Marriott’ has been referenced obliquely in several of our recent excavations, but it doesn’t appear in any of our religious texts.” “If I find anything, I’ll bring it to you first, don’t worry.” I put my head back in the clouds. Interference was unlikely but possible. Only the churches of the Blue Turtle, the Green Frog, and the Thunder Mouse held similar sway in an uneasy truce. Depending on the perspective, the rest of the drive was spent in blissful meditation or a dangerously hyper mania. Fortunately for the buggy and its passengers, the excavation site was only a few hours out of town in a hill. The glowstones lit up the excavation from an hour away, distinct even with the light of SolRock burning in the sky. As we pulled closer, the hill turned out to be an earthen blanket covering the base of a massive boxy cathedral partially buried in the ground. The buggy skidded to a halt again next to the cluster of tents at the base, almost slamming into a boulder. What my insurance didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. Father Michael glared at me, his trance broken, rubbing chafed marks on his arm and neck. I’d make it up to him later. When in doubt, find the biggest tent you can, and loudly inquire for the supervisor. I landed a quick date with security and then administration, who begrudgingly gave me a copy of the map and some old tools. As I burst out of the tent, a hand gently grabbed my shoulder, keeping me from sprinting to the hill in my excitement. Father Michael had lost his earlier excitement and was back to his business face. “Remember, I’ll need to verify all the religious artifacts. Can’t have any heretical scripture corrupting our devout society.” Something about his expression was vaguely unsettling. Perhaps he was worried about the reach of the other churches. Regardless, I had a certification to earn. “You got it.” The glowstones illuminated the dig as if it were daytime inside. My wheelbarrow rattled through the hallway as dreams of grandeur filled my mind. Conference Room 503 turned out to be a massive ritual site. I was lucky - soil had broken through the windows on this floor but the room wasn’t utterly filled like some of the lower layers. It was an obvious choice to take the low hanging fruit to fill my first wheelbarrow. The hardest part was painstakingly cataloging and mapping an endless pile of bones, old clothing, devices, and religious materials. The only artifacts that held any real importance were the little rectangular prints of gods, with strange messages on them. Society could no longer replicate the ancient devices found in our ancestors clothing, and few bones had famous owners. At first archaeologists would get excited about the thicker texts. These always depicted rules for some sort of ritual in which mighty warrior “Trainers” channeled the power of the gods in battles determining the fate of the universe. Unfortunately, these were always duplicates with different deities emblazoned on the exterior. The biggest churches could proudly display a handful of shiny rectangular prints, yet most skeletons in the room had huge bundles of 60 or more. Enough to supply all the churches in the city, by my reckoning. I stumbled my way back to the camp so the artifacts could be cleaned. The wheelbarrow felt light despite the weight, lighter still when the boring stuff was taken away to be stored. Father Michael was off in a separate tent, verifying the holiness of artifacts. Now to deliver the payload. “Most of these are fake.” Father Michael was barely glanced at most of the cards, putting a few to the side and skimming the rest. I sputtered in my indignation. “How can this be? I brought these from the skeletons in 503 straight to your door.” “I know. But most of these must be destroyed.” Father Michael took most of the religious prints and threw them into an incinerator. My dreams of grandeur were fading rapidly as my voice rose. “But Father Michael, those pictures come from the same people. They all had ritual pamphlets, so they must all be ritualists, right?” My voice trailed off as I realized most of the images left unscathed depicted red dragons. Father Michael cut me off before I could speak. “Brother David. Do you wish to become a licensed archaeologist?” The question hung in the air for a few plodding moments before I nodded. “Then play along. Why do you think there are so few religious prints displayed in the city?” I started to stammer a response but was cut off when Father Michael pointed at the incinerator. “It’s all about power. These shiny religious prints validate your deities, so it only makes sense to destroy or trade these little pictures for political gain. Lots of archaeologists have brought in hundreds if not thousands of these pictures, just today.” My ears burned hot, my vision starting to distort. “You’re a heretic to destroy all these artifacts. How much religious history have y-” He cut me off again. “Think, man! Any ritualist body has dozens or hundreds of these prints. There are tons of these ritualists all over the place. How special can they be? It’s simple. They’re not. Commoners did battle with these little rectangular pictures. I don’t know why, but they weren’t special by any means. We need our congregations though, so here we are.” I had no response as I was led back to the door. Father Michael’s face softened a bit. “Look here. I know you’re a good lad, you’ll get your recommendation with a few more days work. Faster still if you find me any icons of this white dragon with blue eyes….”	The divine Pokétrimurta represent the fundamental forces of the universe - growth, fluidity and destruction. These are the building blocks of our entire universe, the most profound and significant spiritual concepts in our culture. The interactions of these basic forces have been the subject of entire alchemical treatises, the focal points of philosophical and ideological conflicts that have spilled over into wars that soaked the routes and regions of the world in blood. The darkest, most blasphemous crimes of our time have involved ritual invocations of these dread powers; cowled figures gathered in macabre temples, clasping ornate daggers and sacrificing human lives chosen to be sacrificed in ritual combat and win the favour of these deities. The faith and dogma of the Pokéchurch has shaped the destiny of our people for centuries, and here I stand holding a scrap of ancient parchment, bearing the lost secrets of the Old World, when the powers of divinity were so tangible, so commonplace, that they say even children would know the secret name of Missingno. Peering over my finding - an iconic representation of the seventh Archon, one of the principle spirits of the trinity that made the world and wrote the destiny of mankind - my mind burns with one question. Why is the turtle so cute?
	[WP]You are a student 400 years in the future, you are assigned a project to student "Trends of the early 2000s" In your deep research you learn a horrible secret: The Gods you worship were originally portrayed on trading cards known as "Pokemon"	“What does catch ‘em all mean? We say it everyday to our loved ones as they leave the house. ‘Have a good day at work hun, catch em all!’ Our friends when we greet them ‘hey bill, catch em all?’ ‘Doing may vary best, you?’ Even strangers. But what does it mean? How is it that a phrase do common place could have such a mundane origin? Why was nobody talking about it? What does it all mean!” You shout as you are carted off by the acolytes of archeus “it’s a trading card game! Holographic Charizard didn’t heat the sun! It’s just a children’s card game!”	The divine Pokétrimurta represent the fundamental forces of the universe - growth, fluidity and destruction. These are the building blocks of our entire universe, the most profound and significant spiritual concepts in our culture. The interactions of these basic forces have been the subject of entire alchemical treatises, the focal points of philosophical and ideological conflicts that have spilled over into wars that soaked the routes and regions of the world in blood. The darkest, most blasphemous crimes of our time have involved ritual invocations of these dread powers; cowled figures gathered in macabre temples, clasping ornate daggers and sacrificing human lives chosen to be sacrificed in ritual combat and win the favour of these deities. The faith and dogma of the Pokéchurch has shaped the destiny of our people for centuries, and here I stand holding a scrap of ancient parchment, bearing the lost secrets of the Old World, when the powers of divinity were so tangible, so commonplace, that they say even children would know the secret name of Missingno. Peering over my finding - an iconic representation of the seventh Archon, one of the principle spirits of the trinity that made the world and wrote the destiny of mankind - my mind burns with one question. Why is the turtle so cute?
	[WP]You are a student 400 years in the future, you are assigned a project to student "Trends of the early 2000s" In your deep research you learn a horrible secret: The Gods you worship were originally portrayed on trading cards known as "Pokemon"	"The Truth". Two tiny words and Erdugar's world had toppled. " ... of Mongolia's preservation of knowledge and its second renaissance". Master Bagtur had droned on about the Mongolian federation's founding and its prehistory in the 800s(2000s) during the Atom collapse then set him on the path of the horrid thing. Yet Brother Tinitus had given to him. To him. No sooner had he been trusted with the access to the dark forbidden lore than he had rushed to decipher the dark tome. The ancients built aqueducts of sealed metal to attract water pokemon. They begged lightning Pokemon for fuel for their engines and swift communication. Their license to harvest coal-stone(graphene) for their quills given by the Pokemon. They lived with them, worshipped them, sacrifices, and idolized them. Their patron deities, spirits, kami whatever the language called them they lived and at once represented and were the land and all things. From rock, plants, the dead and even living things like lightning, fire or sunlight. They were not some ... some game! "It is believed the Pokemon were beings made from the mixing of cultures leading to rapid evolution of their folk creatures." What nonsense could be dribbled on the pages. They didn't make these for money ... well no more than a gym leader usually did from the local faithful. Card games could be meant to teach mythology by making imagined contests between their gods and heroes. Was that fact now forgotten for this piece of Arbok oil. Everyone knew that play was important for education. Erdugar's father a famous academic had spent ten years deciphering the rules of chess and its lesson of cosmic duality and he had spent five more years proving that hiashatar was a variant made to teach the Mongol society's value on self-sacrifice and loyalty. He wished to learn how the ancients had used pollution and steel pokemon to enslave the others types. He wished to know the lore of the dark, khost, and psycic pokemon and how great warriors bested them. He needed to know why boys of ten were marked with ash ketchup paste. And this book, this thing that called itself a scholar tried to spread itself like a cancer. He wished he could journey to Khana and rest from it its rotten heart. In fact, he WOULD and offer it up to gods, so the access he had bled for was left for the commited. Men and woman who had given up their eyes and coin by candlelight could have their just rewards for their quill work.	The divine Pokétrimurta represent the fundamental forces of the universe - growth, fluidity and destruction. These are the building blocks of our entire universe, the most profound and significant spiritual concepts in our culture. The interactions of these basic forces have been the subject of entire alchemical treatises, the focal points of philosophical and ideological conflicts that have spilled over into wars that soaked the routes and regions of the world in blood. The darkest, most blasphemous crimes of our time have involved ritual invocations of these dread powers; cowled figures gathered in macabre temples, clasping ornate daggers and sacrificing human lives chosen to be sacrificed in ritual combat and win the favour of these deities. The faith and dogma of the Pokéchurch has shaped the destiny of our people for centuries, and here I stand holding a scrap of ancient parchment, bearing the lost secrets of the Old World, when the powers of divinity were so tangible, so commonplace, that they say even children would know the secret name of Missingno. Peering over my finding - an iconic representation of the seventh Archon, one of the principle spirits of the trinity that made the world and wrote the destiny of mankind - my mind burns with one question. Why is the turtle so cute?
	[WP]You are a student 400 years in the future, you are assigned a project to student "Trends of the early 2000s" In your deep research you learn a horrible secret: The Gods you worship were originally portrayed on trading cards known as "Pokemon"	"The Truth". Two tiny words and Erdugar's world had toppled. " ... of Mongolia's preservation of knowledge and its second renaissance". Master Bagtur had droned on about the Mongolian federation's founding and its prehistory in the 800s(2000s) during the Atom collapse then set him on the path of the horrid thing. Yet Brother Tinitus had given to him. To him. No sooner had he been trusted with the access to the dark forbidden lore than he had rushed to decipher the dark tome. The ancients built aqueducts of sealed metal to attract water pokemon. They begged lightning Pokemon for fuel for their engines and swift communication. Their license to harvest coal-stone(graphene) for their quills given by the Pokemon. They lived with them, worshipped them, sacrifices, and idolized them. Their patron deities, spirits, kami whatever the language called them they lived and at once represented and were the land and all things. From rock, plants, the dead and even living things like lightning, fire or sunlight. They were not some ... some game! "It is believed the Pokemon were beings made from the mixing of cultures leading to rapid evolution of their folk creatures." What nonsense could be dribbled on the pages. They didn't make these for money ... well no more than a gym leader usually did from the local faithful. Card games could be meant to teach mythology by making imagined contests between their gods and heroes. Was that fact now forgotten for this piece of Arbok oil. Everyone knew that play was important for education. Erdugar's father a famous academic had spent ten years deciphering the rules of chess and its lesson of cosmic duality and he had spent five more years proving that hiashatar was a variant made to teach the Mongol society's value on self-sacrifice and loyalty. He wished to learn how the ancients had used pollution and steel pokemon to enslave the others types. He wished to know the lore of the dark, khost, and psycic pokemon and how great warriors bested them. He needed to know why boys of ten were marked with ash ketchup paste. And this book, this thing that called itself a scholar tried to spread itself like a cancer. He wished he could journey to Khana and rest from it its rotten heart. In fact, he WOULD and offer it up to gods, so the access he had bled for was left for the commited. Men and woman who had given up their eyes and coin by candlelight could have their just rewards for their quill work.	The Onix Guild of Ancient Treasure had a new member… me! Soon enough, anyway. Maybe I waited a few tests during the certification process, but that was all in the past. One good discovery at an archaeological dig could net me a good word from the Church of the Red Dragon. Then my archaeology license would be a breeze and I could search for treasure. But first I had to pick up the church’s liaison. Father Michael looked like he had been ready for weeks, despite the impromptu nature of the trip. As my buggy screeched to a halt, he flipped an iridescent circle end over end into the air - an ancient gesture to ward off bad luck. He fervently mumbled prayers under his breath to Charizard the Almighty in His Many Forms as he stalked over, slipping silently into the vehicle. “Brother David, have you been informed of the nature of your quest?” He was someone with forethought. I was sorely lacking in that department, myself. “Erm, not really. All I know is I need to look for religious prints to get my license.” After the license came the real money. Officially, religious prints of deities or elements were donated to the churches. Everyone knew that collecting them would bolster a church’s influence, so beautiful artwork often went for high prices. Father Michael chuckled silently and shook his head. The Church of the Red Dragon - “Flamers” if you were derisive - considered materialistic pursuits to be most unholy. They preferred ritualistic contemplation of the Old Gods to better understand their glory. The Onix Guild on the other hand, was very much interested in the soil’s bounty. This made religious archaeology the basis of a tenuous alliance. Father Michael grinned for the first time, his pinched face relaxing into reverential bliss. “Well, you might be in luck. The surveyors report the dig is truly massive. Endless books of ritual, religious prints, and musty skeletons everywhere. They can’t get enough archaeologists to clean out the ancient cathedral. I’ll be rather busy too. The mysterious ‘Marriott’ has been referenced obliquely in several of our recent excavations, but it doesn’t appear in any of our religious texts.” “If I find anything, I’ll bring it to you first, don’t worry.” I put my head back in the clouds. Interference was unlikely but possible. Only the churches of the Blue Turtle, the Green Frog, and the Thunder Mouse held similar sway in an uneasy truce. Depending on the perspective, the rest of the drive was spent in blissful meditation or a dangerously hyper mania. Fortunately for the buggy and its passengers, the excavation site was only a few hours out of town in a hill. The glowstones lit up the excavation from an hour away, distinct even with the light of SolRock burning in the sky. As we pulled closer, the hill turned out to be an earthen blanket covering the base of a massive boxy cathedral partially buried in the ground. The buggy skidded to a halt again next to the cluster of tents at the base, almost slamming into a boulder. What my insurance didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. Father Michael glared at me, his trance broken, rubbing chafed marks on his arm and neck. I’d make it up to him later. When in doubt, find the biggest tent you can, and loudly inquire for the supervisor. I landed a quick date with security and then administration, who begrudgingly gave me a copy of the map and some old tools. As I burst out of the tent, a hand gently grabbed my shoulder, keeping me from sprinting to the hill in my excitement. Father Michael had lost his earlier excitement and was back to his business face. “Remember, I’ll need to verify all the religious artifacts. Can’t have any heretical scripture corrupting our devout society.” Something about his expression was vaguely unsettling. Perhaps he was worried about the reach of the other churches. Regardless, I had a certification to earn. “You got it.” The glowstones illuminated the dig as if it were daytime inside. My wheelbarrow rattled through the hallway as dreams of grandeur filled my mind. Conference Room 503 turned out to be a massive ritual site. I was lucky - soil had broken through the windows on this floor but the room wasn’t utterly filled like some of the lower layers. It was an obvious choice to take the low hanging fruit to fill my first wheelbarrow. The hardest part was painstakingly cataloging and mapping an endless pile of bones, old clothing, devices, and religious materials. The only artifacts that held any real importance were the little rectangular prints of gods, with strange messages on them. Society could no longer replicate the ancient devices found in our ancestors clothing, and few bones had famous owners. At first archaeologists would get excited about the thicker texts. These always depicted rules for some sort of ritual in which mighty warrior “Trainers” channeled the power of the gods in battles determining the fate of the universe. Unfortunately, these were always duplicates with different deities emblazoned on the exterior. The biggest churches could proudly display a handful of shiny rectangular prints, yet most skeletons in the room had huge bundles of 60 or more. Enough to supply all the churches in the city, by my reckoning. I stumbled my way back to the camp so the artifacts could be cleaned. The wheelbarrow felt light despite the weight, lighter still when the boring stuff was taken away to be stored. Father Michael was off in a separate tent, verifying the holiness of artifacts. Now to deliver the payload. “Most of these are fake.” Father Michael was barely glanced at most of the cards, putting a few to the side and skimming the rest. I sputtered in my indignation. “How can this be? I brought these from the skeletons in 503 straight to your door.” “I know. But most of these must be destroyed.” Father Michael took most of the religious prints and threw them into an incinerator. My dreams of grandeur were fading rapidly as my voice rose. “But Father Michael, those pictures come from the same people. They all had ritual pamphlets, so they must all be ritualists, right?” My voice trailed off as I realized most of the images left unscathed depicted red dragons. Father Michael cut me off before I could speak. “Brother David. Do you wish to become a licensed archaeologist?” The question hung in the air for a few plodding moments before I nodded. “Then play along. Why do you think there are so few religious prints displayed in the city?” I started to stammer a response but was cut off when Father Michael pointed at the incinerator. “It’s all about power. These shiny religious prints validate your deities, so it only makes sense to destroy or trade these little pictures for political gain. Lots of archaeologists have brought in hundreds if not thousands of these pictures, just today.” My ears burned hot, my vision starting to distort. “You’re a heretic to destroy all these artifacts. How much religious history have y-” He cut me off again. “Think, man! Any ritualist body has dozens or hundreds of these prints. There are tons of these ritualists all over the place. How special can they be? It’s simple. They’re not. Commoners did battle with these little rectangular pictures. I don’t know why, but they weren’t special by any means. We need our congregations though, so here we are.” I had no response as I was led back to the door. Father Michael’s face softened a bit. “Look here. I know you’re a good lad, you’ll get your recommendation with a few more days work. Faster still if you find me any icons of this white dragon with blue eyes….”
	[WP]You are a student 400 years in the future, you are assigned a project to student "Trends of the early 2000s" In your deep research you learn a horrible secret: The Gods you worship were originally portrayed on trading cards known as "Pokemon"	"The Truth". Two tiny words and Erdugar's world had toppled. " ... of Mongolia's preservation of knowledge and its second renaissance". Master Bagtur had droned on about the Mongolian federation's founding and its prehistory in the 800s(2000s) during the Atom collapse then set him on the path of the horrid thing. Yet Brother Tinitus had given to him. To him. No sooner had he been trusted with the access to the dark forbidden lore than he had rushed to decipher the dark tome. The ancients built aqueducts of sealed metal to attract water pokemon. They begged lightning Pokemon for fuel for their engines and swift communication. Their license to harvest coal-stone(graphene) for their quills given by the Pokemon. They lived with them, worshipped them, sacrifices, and idolized them. Their patron deities, spirits, kami whatever the language called them they lived and at once represented and were the land and all things. From rock, plants, the dead and even living things like lightning, fire or sunlight. They were not some ... some game! "It is believed the Pokemon were beings made from the mixing of cultures leading to rapid evolution of their folk creatures." What nonsense could be dribbled on the pages. They didn't make these for money ... well no more than a gym leader usually did from the local faithful. Card games could be meant to teach mythology by making imagined contests between their gods and heroes. Was that fact now forgotten for this piece of Arbok oil. Everyone knew that play was important for education. Erdugar's father a famous academic had spent ten years deciphering the rules of chess and its lesson of cosmic duality and he had spent five more years proving that hiashatar was a variant made to teach the Mongol society's value on self-sacrifice and loyalty. He wished to learn how the ancients had used pollution and steel pokemon to enslave the others types. He wished to know the lore of the dark, khost, and psycic pokemon and how great warriors bested them. He needed to know why boys of ten were marked with ash ketchup paste. And this book, this thing that called itself a scholar tried to spread itself like a cancer. He wished he could journey to Khana and rest from it its rotten heart. In fact, he WOULD and offer it up to gods, so the access he had bled for was left for the commited. Men and woman who had given up their eyes and coin by candlelight could have their just rewards for their quill work.	“What does catch ‘em all mean? We say it everyday to our loved ones as they leave the house. ‘Have a good day at work hun, catch em all!’ Our friends when we greet them ‘hey bill, catch em all?’ ‘Doing may vary best, you?’ Even strangers. But what does it mean? How is it that a phrase do common place could have such a mundane origin? Why was nobody talking about it? What does it all mean!” You shout as you are carted off by the acolytes of archeus “it’s a trading card game! Holographic Charizard didn’t heat the sun! It’s just a children’s card game!”
	[WP]You are a student 400 years in the future, you are assigned a project to student "Trends of the early 2000s" In your deep research you learn a horrible secret: The Gods you worship were originally portrayed on trading cards known as "Pokemon"	Class had just dismissed for the day. Like any other day, our teacher finished class off with communal prayer. I enjoy prayer time; It’s the only time I get to take a nap in class without anyone noticing. You see prayer lasts for about 30 minutes. No looking around, no interruptions, pure bliss. Nap time. Mr. Fredricks finished his chanting and prayers with the classic line: “In Arceus name we pray, Amon.” I leave class and get a call from my buddy Zak. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. “Yo, what are you doing your trends project on??” blurts Zak. Zak is always doing his homework early. His family is super religious. He doesn’t really have much time in between confession, service, and prayer to fit his schoolwork into. Somehow this guy is always getting straight A’s though. I’m not jealous. “You think I’ve even thought about that yet? I’ll do it over the weekend. It’s not even due until next week” “True...anyways, I found a topic for you already cause I know you never get around to actually getting things done without my help” He was right about that. Zak is always saving my lazy ass when it comes to homework assignments. Always nagging, it gets so annoying that I eventually just do my homework. It’s a nice dynamic; keeps my grades up. We have some dumb history homework about stuff that happened 400 years ago due over the weekend. “What’d you find? Tell me” “So I thought you might be interested in some 2000s gaming trends since you’re always playing those Hologram game things. I guess they had something called “card games” back then? It was like paper cards you’d hold in your hands with pictures on them and you played a game with them. What do you think of that idea? I haven’t looked into much but sounds interesting right?” “Wait, paper cards? Like you play a game using paper?” “Yeah, I guess it was really popular during the 2000’s period. I’m doing my project on Classical music trends; specifically a composer named Nickel Bach” “I guess I could do card games; first time I’ve heard of them” “Great! I knew it would be perfect for you! I have to go, My Dad is getting mad about me using the phone too much; talk to you later!” I decide to take a walk in Zak’s shoes for once and start my homework early. The schools AR library has all kinds of archived books, online articles, and pictures stored from over 500 years back. “Hmmm, 2000’s, paper card games, search” I speak into the AR display port window and notice a zero results shown. “2000’s, games, cards, paper, kids game, search” Second search comes up blank. This is getting old. I don’t want to have to try this hard on a dumb assignment. “Load Virtual Librarian” I say A small digitized AI character appears on the glass panel AR holo image in front of me. “Hey do you know anything about something called card games? It’s for history class, 2000’s period kids games? Paper cards?” “Oh yes of course! Searching Card Games 2000’s. Loading results. Top results: Yu-Gi-Oh Pokemon Magic” Why couldn’t I search these myself? I thought I clicked on each card game filling the window with images of rectangular cards with text and art on them. Art ranging from magicians, to cute fuzzy animals. As I scrolled through the “Legendary Pokemon”section of cards I felt a strange chill down my spine. These creatures all looked familiar. Especially the card named Arceus. I knew what I was looking at; these were religious idolatrous images. These were graven images of our Gods. Blasphemous images. Arceus was the creation deity, the one who made all of us, the original divine one, the one we pray to after school. Why did children play games with graven images of Gods upon them? These children would all be sacrificed if they were seen with these in public now. I can’t let Zak know about these. What the hell was I looking at? What the hell was Pokemon?	Seeing the topic of my assigned project, I felt the blood in my face drain as I stumbled backwards in disbelief. You've got to be kidding me! How can I research something that barely anyone knows about? "...Just coz it's trending right now, doesn't me you should assign a near impossible task." I grumbled beneath my breath. Some dare devils have recently uncovered a library from the ruins of the Great Earthquake of 2099. Although over 300 years have elapsed since, I heard that the library was surprisingly well preserved. It was rather impressive, considering that their world leader was once an orange. Well, they had an abundance of resources, so I suppose they could afford to make things nice. I looked at the assignment sheet once more and my eyes caught onto a detail I had overlooked earlier. Students assigned this task would be able to join the explorers excavating the library. Oh, I figured that since it was a relic of the past, they'd be more careful about it. I was once again reminded of how prestigious of a university Weebia was. The fact that people don't really care about libraries for some reason may have also been a major factor though. After travelling for a few days, I finally made it to the site of the library. The team there quickly led me to the entrance. "Char...Please bless me, Lord Charmander." Yes, I belong to the church of Charmander. Ever since I made my decision at the age of 10, I knew there was no going back. I swore that I wasn't going to be like the Rockets, switching back and forth between gods like they were choosing vegetables at a market, and I certainly wasn't going to be a, urgh, Pikachu cultist. Vile creatures, those cultists are. Always dressed in yellow and speaking in Pika code to each other. How disgusting. Oops, I got a little distracted there. The library was not very big but it was still well organised. There were many signs on the walls that told of the genre of the books in English. Fortunately, despite it being an obsolete language, I learned English for extra credit back in the day so I had no problems reading it. Looking around, I saw something that caught my eye. Over in the 'manga' section of the library were multiple books that read 'Pokemon'. Yes, the same title as the sacred texts of the three churches (four if you count the Pikachu cult). Was I about to discover the origins of our gods? I briskly walked over and grabbed the one the read 'Pokemon vol 1'. Strangely, a blurb was printed on the front and the front cover was on the back instead. I read the blurb. Join Ash and his Pokemon companion, Pikachu, as they go on a journey to catch 'em all. Urgh, these weren't sacred texts but blasphemous cult material instead. Hidenori Kosaka expertly expands the world of the popular Nintendo^(TM) video game and trading cards, Pokemon. Through Ash, we learn of the hardships and joys of being a Pokemon trainer, and how the residents of this well thought out world interact with Pokemon on a day to day basis. Game? Pokemon is a game? No, this can't be true. This must be lies being spread by Pikachu cultists. I looked around for other students and researchers and found no one around. Quickly, I hid the twenty some books in a seat that functioned as a storage unit that I found earlier. Over the next few weeks, I remained in the library, scouring for any other books that may disprove or affirm what the 'manga' had written on it...I found many, many sources. Some were research papers documenting the phenomenon of the success of Pokemon as popular trading cards. There were even some that lamented the addiction that led to some pouring their life savings into buying packs of cards. Many, many autobiographies spoke of the author's fond memories of playing Pokemon with their friends in the childhood. Oh, Lord Charmander...My God is a game character. I clenched my fist tightly. I must do what was be done. The other students and researchers screeched as the library suddenly burst into flames...
	[WP]You are a student 400 years in the future, you are assigned a project to student "Trends of the early 2000s" In your deep research you learn a horrible secret: The Gods you worship were originally portrayed on trading cards known as "Pokemon"	It was a normal day and I was just a normal teenage kid, before I became this pariah, this heretic or hero, depending on who you talk to. Oh how I wish I knew that Saturday morning what I know now, would I do the same? Or would I bury my head in blissful ignorance? I had gone downstairs for breakfast and lied to my mum about having done my morning prayers. I can't remember which of the 151 Gods we were supposed to pray to that day but I usually skipped it. If it was Zapdo I would often take the time to admire the little stone statue we had for prayers, I liked the way the artisan had carved the spikey wings and embued the piece with a feeling of motion. The rest were fairly mundane, we weren't a rich family and couldn't afford the extravagant prayer aids that some families could. Mum was nagging me about my room and asking when I was going to finally get round to tidying it, but I had other things on my mind. The project for Mr Hemmings had to be completed by Monday and I had written absolutely nothing yet. It was a big deal for the school, Harlow Falls High School had recently uncovered a trove of time capsules. A headteacher around 500 years or so ago must have had a thing for them because every student in that school filled and buried one. Judging by the contents of the first two that I had opened the students must have been forced to fill them. The contents stank of a half-assed project. So far I had found a week long diary of a students daily life, this was either an unremarkable student or they all lived unremarkable lives. I don't mean that in a harsh way, I am sure Richard Andrews was a perfectly good dude, but I got about as much out of that as someone would reading my diary until today. They must have been told to put a favourite toy in too because I had a really old yoyo and some sort of shiny disc, possibly some sort of old digital media, it had "METAL GEAR" and "Solid" written underneath and there was a hole cut out of the centre. I was exasperated, how was I supposed to write a two page essay on this junk? Mr Hemming was going to hit the roof on Monday. I had tried searching the Info-Net for any details on this Metal Gear but nothing was coming up, any information from before our "Great Ecclesiastical Republic" had formed seemed to have been purged, it was like hitting a brick wall when trying to look past 300 years ago. I gave my Mum a kiss, muttered some vague promises about my room and grabbed my jacket, phone, keys and Pica charm. The Pica charm was a little silver model of the God Pica, a mouse like creature with a spikey tail and whiskers. It was cute and brought luck, I never left the house without it, I wasn't really religious but I wasn't an idiot after all. I hopped on my skateboard and started heading towards the school, it went against every fibre of my being to head to school on a Saturday but I had one more time capsule to open and I needed to get that essay written. I skated out of the suburb and into town, I passed Spiritual Park and looked enviously at the centre fountain. The fountain had a huge bronze statue of Venus in the centre, the giant toad like face looked almost gloating at me, with colourful flowers sprouting from it's back. It was surrounded by a circular water feature with the God Squirtoise, a stone statue of the turtle God with hidden water pipes, spraying water in fantastic arcs across the pool and Venus. It was the edge of the pool that I was envious of though, an incredibly smooth stone kerb that was fantastic for grinding along on my board. I glanced around a saw the garden caretakers huddled nearby and knew that those religious nuts would kick up a storm if they saw me grinding the fountain again. Last time they got word to my mum and she didn't let me forget it for months. I thought better of trying a frontside grind with so many people about and headed reluctantly on to school. When I got there I entered the code into the electronic door lock that Mr Hemmings had given us and went towards the history classroom. There is something eery about an empty school, you could hear a pin drop and I was used to the noise of shouting, ringing of bells and people running up and down the halls. I shook off the feeling and made my way into the room, my two open capsules were there with the junk discarded to the side and next to it my only hope. The last unopened capsule, a grey metal tube about 30cm long and as wide as a dinner plate. I unscrewed the top, praying to Pica that I would finally get some luck and find something worth writing about. The lid came off easily, unlike that second one which had taken a few minutes of straining and cursing, and I gently tipped the contents onto the desk. I first saw another diary and swore out loud, I was not going to read through another weeks worth of innane teenage rambling. I pushed it to the side and saw a set of cards tied together with a band, they had been individually slotted into see through plastic sleeves, perhaps for protection. They were blue with a red and white sphere in the centre, the writing caught my eye, "Pokémon" in an exciting yellow font. They looked cool but I wasn't sure about how I could write two pages on them. I flipped them over and my breath caught, I was staring at a picture the God "Dug". Revered by miners no one would enter a mine without an image of Dug on their clothing, it was said terrible things would happen if they did. Whoever had created this was clearly fiercely religious, the artistry was incredible, bright colours and smooth lines, far better than the images the miners wore. I tore my eyes from the picture and scanned the rest of the card the top was titled "Diglett" which struck me as strange but 500 years had past so perhaps language had changed and the top right had "40 HP" with a red circle containing a fist. Underneath the picture were strange words concerning abilities called Dig and Dig through. There were various numbers printed on it and it all became a little indecipherable for me. I removed the band and scanned through the remaining cards, they were incredible. I saw Hitmonch who boxers touch before entering the ring, there was Karp who fishermen had carved into their boat to ensure a bountiful catch and pidge who pilots prayed to before flying. I flicked through them awestruck, the artistry was incredible, I was used to the colourless images shown in our National Temples. These were eye-catching and exciting. The names were all wrong and the writing below the images escaped my understanding but these images could easily fill a two page essay. The final card was the best of all, a glorious shiny image of the God "Char", our fierce God of War. It caught the light coming in from the window and the dragon God with wings spread was in the middle of a terrifying roar. Char was used to strike fear into the Republic's enemies and this image would be splashed across our war machines the moment the military saw. I tore my eyes from the Char card which was labeled incorrectly of course and studied the final item. A hardcover book titled "Pokémon Encyclopedia" with a colourful image of Pica in the centre. I found my hand reaching unconsciously to my Pica charm and rubbed it for good luck. I opened the book and the first line almost physically knocked me to the floor. It read "Pokémon or Pocket Monsters is a children's card game created in Japan by Satoshi Tajiri where trainers battle each other with fictional monsters". The words "fictional" and "monsters" screamed out at me. I hungrily devoured the book, skim reading it in what felt like minutes. It talked about this popular toy craze that started in an ancient forgotten civilisation called Japan and spread across the globe. All I could think about was the millions of hours our people had wasted worshipping a children's toy, the thousands of lives destroyed in the name of Char, or as the Encyclopedia called him, Charizard, a fictional, non-existant cartoon character. The Great Ecclesiastical Republic had sold us a complete lie and this book proved it, this book alone held the evidence to open the world's eyes. I took out my Pica charm and after a moment heistitation I threw it as hard as I could against the wall, it was just a chunk of useless metal after all. I had to get the word out, but how?	Seeing the topic of my assigned project, I felt the blood in my face drain as I stumbled backwards in disbelief. You've got to be kidding me! How can I research something that barely anyone knows about? "...Just coz it's trending right now, doesn't me you should assign a near impossible task." I grumbled beneath my breath. Some dare devils have recently uncovered a library from the ruins of the Great Earthquake of 2099. Although over 300 years have elapsed since, I heard that the library was surprisingly well preserved. It was rather impressive, considering that their world leader was once an orange. Well, they had an abundance of resources, so I suppose they could afford to make things nice. I looked at the assignment sheet once more and my eyes caught onto a detail I had overlooked earlier. Students assigned this task would be able to join the explorers excavating the library. Oh, I figured that since it was a relic of the past, they'd be more careful about it. I was once again reminded of how prestigious of a university Weebia was. The fact that people don't really care about libraries for some reason may have also been a major factor though. After travelling for a few days, I finally made it to the site of the library. The team there quickly led me to the entrance. "Char...Please bless me, Lord Charmander." Yes, I belong to the church of Charmander. Ever since I made my decision at the age of 10, I knew there was no going back. I swore that I wasn't going to be like the Rockets, switching back and forth between gods like they were choosing vegetables at a market, and I certainly wasn't going to be a, urgh, Pikachu cultist. Vile creatures, those cultists are. Always dressed in yellow and speaking in Pika code to each other. How disgusting. Oops, I got a little distracted there. The library was not very big but it was still well organised. There were many signs on the walls that told of the genre of the books in English. Fortunately, despite it being an obsolete language, I learned English for extra credit back in the day so I had no problems reading it. Looking around, I saw something that caught my eye. Over in the 'manga' section of the library were multiple books that read 'Pokemon'. Yes, the same title as the sacred texts of the three churches (four if you count the Pikachu cult). Was I about to discover the origins of our gods? I briskly walked over and grabbed the one the read 'Pokemon vol 1'. Strangely, a blurb was printed on the front and the front cover was on the back instead. I read the blurb. Join Ash and his Pokemon companion, Pikachu, as they go on a journey to catch 'em all. Urgh, these weren't sacred texts but blasphemous cult material instead. Hidenori Kosaka expertly expands the world of the popular Nintendo^(TM) video game and trading cards, Pokemon. Through Ash, we learn of the hardships and joys of being a Pokemon trainer, and how the residents of this well thought out world interact with Pokemon on a day to day basis. Game? Pokemon is a game? No, this can't be true. This must be lies being spread by Pikachu cultists. I looked around for other students and researchers and found no one around. Quickly, I hid the twenty some books in a seat that functioned as a storage unit that I found earlier. Over the next few weeks, I remained in the library, scouring for any other books that may disprove or affirm what the 'manga' had written on it...I found many, many sources. Some were research papers documenting the phenomenon of the success of Pokemon as popular trading cards. There were even some that lamented the addiction that led to some pouring their life savings into buying packs of cards. Many, many autobiographies spoke of the author's fond memories of playing Pokemon with their friends in the childhood. Oh, Lord Charmander...My God is a game character. I clenched my fist tightly. I must do what was be done. The other students and researchers screeched as the library suddenly burst into flames...
	[WP]You are a student 400 years in the future, you are assigned a project to student "Trends of the early 2000s" In your deep research you learn a horrible secret: The Gods you worship were originally portrayed on trading cards known as "Pokemon"	It was a normal day and I was just a normal teenage kid, before I became this pariah, this heretic or hero, depending on who you talk to. Oh how I wish I knew that Saturday morning what I know now, would I do the same? Or would I bury my head in blissful ignorance? I had gone downstairs for breakfast and lied to my mum about having done my morning prayers. I can't remember which of the 151 Gods we were supposed to pray to that day but I usually skipped it. If it was Zapdo I would often take the time to admire the little stone statue we had for prayers, I liked the way the artisan had carved the spikey wings and embued the piece with a feeling of motion. The rest were fairly mundane, we weren't a rich family and couldn't afford the extravagant prayer aids that some families could. Mum was nagging me about my room and asking when I was going to finally get round to tidying it, but I had other things on my mind. The project for Mr Hemmings had to be completed by Monday and I had written absolutely nothing yet. It was a big deal for the school, Harlow Falls High School had recently uncovered a trove of time capsules. A headteacher around 500 years or so ago must have had a thing for them because every student in that school filled and buried one. Judging by the contents of the first two that I had opened the students must have been forced to fill them. The contents stank of a half-assed project. So far I had found a week long diary of a students daily life, this was either an unremarkable student or they all lived unremarkable lives. I don't mean that in a harsh way, I am sure Richard Andrews was a perfectly good dude, but I got about as much out of that as someone would reading my diary until today. They must have been told to put a favourite toy in too because I had a really old yoyo and some sort of shiny disc, possibly some sort of old digital media, it had "METAL GEAR" and "Solid" written underneath and there was a hole cut out of the centre. I was exasperated, how was I supposed to write a two page essay on this junk? Mr Hemming was going to hit the roof on Monday. I had tried searching the Info-Net for any details on this Metal Gear but nothing was coming up, any information from before our "Great Ecclesiastical Republic" had formed seemed to have been purged, it was like hitting a brick wall when trying to look past 300 years ago. I gave my Mum a kiss, muttered some vague promises about my room and grabbed my jacket, phone, keys and Pica charm. The Pica charm was a little silver model of the God Pica, a mouse like creature with a spikey tail and whiskers. It was cute and brought luck, I never left the house without it, I wasn't really religious but I wasn't an idiot after all. I hopped on my skateboard and started heading towards the school, it went against every fibre of my being to head to school on a Saturday but I had one more time capsule to open and I needed to get that essay written. I skated out of the suburb and into town, I passed Spiritual Park and looked enviously at the centre fountain. The fountain had a huge bronze statue of Venus in the centre, the giant toad like face looked almost gloating at me, with colourful flowers sprouting from it's back. It was surrounded by a circular water feature with the God Squirtoise, a stone statue of the turtle God with hidden water pipes, spraying water in fantastic arcs across the pool and Venus. It was the edge of the pool that I was envious of though, an incredibly smooth stone kerb that was fantastic for grinding along on my board. I glanced around a saw the garden caretakers huddled nearby and knew that those religious nuts would kick up a storm if they saw me grinding the fountain again. Last time they got word to my mum and she didn't let me forget it for months. I thought better of trying a frontside grind with so many people about and headed reluctantly on to school. When I got there I entered the code into the electronic door lock that Mr Hemmings had given us and went towards the history classroom. There is something eery about an empty school, you could hear a pin drop and I was used to the noise of shouting, ringing of bells and people running up and down the halls. I shook off the feeling and made my way into the room, my two open capsules were there with the junk discarded to the side and next to it my only hope. The last unopened capsule, a grey metal tube about 30cm long and as wide as a dinner plate. I unscrewed the top, praying to Pica that I would finally get some luck and find something worth writing about. The lid came off easily, unlike that second one which had taken a few minutes of straining and cursing, and I gently tipped the contents onto the desk. I first saw another diary and swore out loud, I was not going to read through another weeks worth of innane teenage rambling. I pushed it to the side and saw a set of cards tied together with a band, they had been individually slotted into see through plastic sleeves, perhaps for protection. They were blue with a red and white sphere in the centre, the writing caught my eye, "Pokémon" in an exciting yellow font. They looked cool but I wasn't sure about how I could write two pages on them. I flipped them over and my breath caught, I was staring at a picture the God "Dug". Revered by miners no one would enter a mine without an image of Dug on their clothing, it was said terrible things would happen if they did. Whoever had created this was clearly fiercely religious, the artistry was incredible, bright colours and smooth lines, far better than the images the miners wore. I tore my eyes from the picture and scanned the rest of the card the top was titled "Diglett" which struck me as strange but 500 years had past so perhaps language had changed and the top right had "40 HP" with a red circle containing a fist. Underneath the picture were strange words concerning abilities called Dig and Dig through. There were various numbers printed on it and it all became a little indecipherable for me. I removed the band and scanned through the remaining cards, they were incredible. I saw Hitmonch who boxers touch before entering the ring, there was Karp who fishermen had carved into their boat to ensure a bountiful catch and pidge who pilots prayed to before flying. I flicked through them awestruck, the artistry was incredible, I was used to the colourless images shown in our National Temples. These were eye-catching and exciting. The names were all wrong and the writing below the images escaped my understanding but these images could easily fill a two page essay. The final card was the best of all, a glorious shiny image of the God "Char", our fierce God of War. It caught the light coming in from the window and the dragon God with wings spread was in the middle of a terrifying roar. Char was used to strike fear into the Republic's enemies and this image would be splashed across our war machines the moment the military saw. I tore my eyes from the Char card which was labeled incorrectly of course and studied the final item. A hardcover book titled "Pokémon Encyclopedia" with a colourful image of Pica in the centre. I found my hand reaching unconsciously to my Pica charm and rubbed it for good luck. I opened the book and the first line almost physically knocked me to the floor. It read "Pokémon or Pocket Monsters is a children's card game created in Japan by Satoshi Tajiri where trainers battle each other with fictional monsters". The words "fictional" and "monsters" screamed out at me. I hungrily devoured the book, skim reading it in what felt like minutes. It talked about this popular toy craze that started in an ancient forgotten civilisation called Japan and spread across the globe. All I could think about was the millions of hours our people had wasted worshipping a children's toy, the thousands of lives destroyed in the name of Char, or as the Encyclopedia called him, Charizard, a fictional, non-existant cartoon character. The Great Ecclesiastical Republic had sold us a complete lie and this book proved it, this book alone held the evidence to open the world's eyes. I took out my Pica charm and after a moment heistitation I threw it as hard as I could against the wall, it was just a chunk of useless metal after all. I had to get the word out, but how?	Class had just dismissed for the day. Like any other day, our teacher finished class off with communal prayer. I enjoy prayer time; It’s the only time I get to take a nap in class without anyone noticing. You see prayer lasts for about 30 minutes. No looking around, no interruptions, pure bliss. Nap time. Mr. Fredricks finished his chanting and prayers with the classic line: “In Arceus name we pray, Amon.” I leave class and get a call from my buddy Zak. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. “Yo, what are you doing your trends project on??” blurts Zak. Zak is always doing his homework early. His family is super religious. He doesn’t really have much time in between confession, service, and prayer to fit his schoolwork into. Somehow this guy is always getting straight A’s though. I’m not jealous. “You think I’ve even thought about that yet? I’ll do it over the weekend. It’s not even due until next week” “True...anyways, I found a topic for you already cause I know you never get around to actually getting things done without my help” He was right about that. Zak is always saving my lazy ass when it comes to homework assignments. Always nagging, it gets so annoying that I eventually just do my homework. It’s a nice dynamic; keeps my grades up. We have some dumb history homework about stuff that happened 400 years ago due over the weekend. “What’d you find? Tell me” “So I thought you might be interested in some 2000s gaming trends since you’re always playing those Hologram game things. I guess they had something called “card games” back then? It was like paper cards you’d hold in your hands with pictures on them and you played a game with them. What do you think of that idea? I haven’t looked into much but sounds interesting right?” “Wait, paper cards? Like you play a game using paper?” “Yeah, I guess it was really popular during the 2000’s period. I’m doing my project on Classical music trends; specifically a composer named Nickel Bach” “I guess I could do card games; first time I’ve heard of them” “Great! I knew it would be perfect for you! I have to go, My Dad is getting mad about me using the phone too much; talk to you later!” I decide to take a walk in Zak’s shoes for once and start my homework early. The schools AR library has all kinds of archived books, online articles, and pictures stored from over 500 years back. “Hmmm, 2000’s, paper card games, search” I speak into the AR display port window and notice a zero results shown. “2000’s, games, cards, paper, kids game, search” Second search comes up blank. This is getting old. I don’t want to have to try this hard on a dumb assignment. “Load Virtual Librarian” I say A small digitized AI character appears on the glass panel AR holo image in front of me. “Hey do you know anything about something called card games? It’s for history class, 2000’s period kids games? Paper cards?” “Oh yes of course! Searching Card Games 2000’s. Loading results. Top results: Yu-Gi-Oh Pokemon Magic” Why couldn’t I search these myself? I thought I clicked on each card game filling the window with images of rectangular cards with text and art on them. Art ranging from magicians, to cute fuzzy animals. As I scrolled through the “Legendary Pokemon”section of cards I felt a strange chill down my spine. These creatures all looked familiar. Especially the card named Arceus. I knew what I was looking at; these were religious idolatrous images. These were graven images of our Gods. Blasphemous images. Arceus was the creation deity, the one who made all of us, the original divine one, the one we pray to after school. Why did children play games with graven images of Gods upon them? These children would all be sacrificed if they were seen with these in public now. I can’t let Zak know about these. What the hell was I looking at? What the hell was Pokemon?
	[WP]You are a student 400 years in the future, you are assigned a project to student "Trends of the early 2000s" In your deep research you learn a horrible secret: The Gods you worship were originally portrayed on trading cards known as "Pokemon"	It was a normal day and I was just a normal teenage kid, before I became this pariah, this heretic or hero, depending on who you talk to. Oh how I wish I knew that Saturday morning what I know now, would I do the same? Or would I bury my head in blissful ignorance? I had gone downstairs for breakfast and lied to my mum about having done my morning prayers. I can't remember which of the 151 Gods we were supposed to pray to that day but I usually skipped it. If it was Zapdo I would often take the time to admire the little stone statue we had for prayers, I liked the way the artisan had carved the spikey wings and embued the piece with a feeling of motion. The rest were fairly mundane, we weren't a rich family and couldn't afford the extravagant prayer aids that some families could. Mum was nagging me about my room and asking when I was going to finally get round to tidying it, but I had other things on my mind. The project for Mr Hemmings had to be completed by Monday and I had written absolutely nothing yet. It was a big deal for the school, Harlow Falls High School had recently uncovered a trove of time capsules. A headteacher around 500 years or so ago must have had a thing for them because every student in that school filled and buried one. Judging by the contents of the first two that I had opened the students must have been forced to fill them. The contents stank of a half-assed project. So far I had found a week long diary of a students daily life, this was either an unremarkable student or they all lived unremarkable lives. I don't mean that in a harsh way, I am sure Richard Andrews was a perfectly good dude, but I got about as much out of that as someone would reading my diary until today. They must have been told to put a favourite toy in too because I had a really old yoyo and some sort of shiny disc, possibly some sort of old digital media, it had "METAL GEAR" and "Solid" written underneath and there was a hole cut out of the centre. I was exasperated, how was I supposed to write a two page essay on this junk? Mr Hemming was going to hit the roof on Monday. I had tried searching the Info-Net for any details on this Metal Gear but nothing was coming up, any information from before our "Great Ecclesiastical Republic" had formed seemed to have been purged, it was like hitting a brick wall when trying to look past 300 years ago. I gave my Mum a kiss, muttered some vague promises about my room and grabbed my jacket, phone, keys and Pica charm. The Pica charm was a little silver model of the God Pica, a mouse like creature with a spikey tail and whiskers. It was cute and brought luck, I never left the house without it, I wasn't really religious but I wasn't an idiot after all. I hopped on my skateboard and started heading towards the school, it went against every fibre of my being to head to school on a Saturday but I had one more time capsule to open and I needed to get that essay written. I skated out of the suburb and into town, I passed Spiritual Park and looked enviously at the centre fountain. The fountain had a huge bronze statue of Venus in the centre, the giant toad like face looked almost gloating at me, with colourful flowers sprouting from it's back. It was surrounded by a circular water feature with the God Squirtoise, a stone statue of the turtle God with hidden water pipes, spraying water in fantastic arcs across the pool and Venus. It was the edge of the pool that I was envious of though, an incredibly smooth stone kerb that was fantastic for grinding along on my board. I glanced around a saw the garden caretakers huddled nearby and knew that those religious nuts would kick up a storm if they saw me grinding the fountain again. Last time they got word to my mum and she didn't let me forget it for months. I thought better of trying a frontside grind with so many people about and headed reluctantly on to school. When I got there I entered the code into the electronic door lock that Mr Hemmings had given us and went towards the history classroom. There is something eery about an empty school, you could hear a pin drop and I was used to the noise of shouting, ringing of bells and people running up and down the halls. I shook off the feeling and made my way into the room, my two open capsules were there with the junk discarded to the side and next to it my only hope. The last unopened capsule, a grey metal tube about 30cm long and as wide as a dinner plate. I unscrewed the top, praying to Pica that I would finally get some luck and find something worth writing about. The lid came off easily, unlike that second one which had taken a few minutes of straining and cursing, and I gently tipped the contents onto the desk. I first saw another diary and swore out loud, I was not going to read through another weeks worth of innane teenage rambling. I pushed it to the side and saw a set of cards tied together with a band, they had been individually slotted into see through plastic sleeves, perhaps for protection. They were blue with a red and white sphere in the centre, the writing caught my eye, "Pokémon" in an exciting yellow font. They looked cool but I wasn't sure about how I could write two pages on them. I flipped them over and my breath caught, I was staring at a picture the God "Dug". Revered by miners no one would enter a mine without an image of Dug on their clothing, it was said terrible things would happen if they did. Whoever had created this was clearly fiercely religious, the artistry was incredible, bright colours and smooth lines, far better than the images the miners wore. I tore my eyes from the picture and scanned the rest of the card the top was titled "Diglett" which struck me as strange but 500 years had past so perhaps language had changed and the top right had "40 HP" with a red circle containing a fist. Underneath the picture were strange words concerning abilities called Dig and Dig through. There were various numbers printed on it and it all became a little indecipherable for me. I removed the band and scanned through the remaining cards, they were incredible. I saw Hitmonch who boxers touch before entering the ring, there was Karp who fishermen had carved into their boat to ensure a bountiful catch and pidge who pilots prayed to before flying. I flicked through them awestruck, the artistry was incredible, I was used to the colourless images shown in our National Temples. These were eye-catching and exciting. The names were all wrong and the writing below the images escaped my understanding but these images could easily fill a two page essay. The final card was the best of all, a glorious shiny image of the God "Char", our fierce God of War. It caught the light coming in from the window and the dragon God with wings spread was in the middle of a terrifying roar. Char was used to strike fear into the Republic's enemies and this image would be splashed across our war machines the moment the military saw. I tore my eyes from the Char card which was labeled incorrectly of course and studied the final item. A hardcover book titled "Pokémon Encyclopedia" with a colourful image of Pica in the centre. I found my hand reaching unconsciously to my Pica charm and rubbed it for good luck. I opened the book and the first line almost physically knocked me to the floor. It read "Pokémon or Pocket Monsters is a children's card game created in Japan by Satoshi Tajiri where trainers battle each other with fictional monsters". The words "fictional" and "monsters" screamed out at me. I hungrily devoured the book, skim reading it in what felt like minutes. It talked about this popular toy craze that started in an ancient forgotten civilisation called Japan and spread across the globe. All I could think about was the millions of hours our people had wasted worshipping a children's toy, the thousands of lives destroyed in the name of Char, or as the Encyclopedia called him, Charizard, a fictional, non-existant cartoon character. The Great Ecclesiastical Republic had sold us a complete lie and this book proved it, this book alone held the evidence to open the world's eyes. I took out my Pica charm and after a moment heistitation I threw it as hard as I could against the wall, it was just a chunk of useless metal after all. I had to get the word out, but how?	Congratulations, my students! Today is a day blessed by Lord Arceus herself! We have finally gotten access to a previously unseen archive! We must be the first to reveal the secrets within to all! Well well, What do we have here ? Is this a child's attempt at painting our glorious ruler of time, Lord Dialga ? And are those the Celebi from the scriptures ? The ones who communicate our mortal feelings to the divine? This.. this! This manuscript is older than anything in our records! Samuel, send an urgent request to the followers of Lugia! We have definite proof after all! This disproves the 43rd Oak's heretical notions for once and for all! It implies that our gods and goddesses actually walked on this planet once! I am truly jealous of our ancestors.. seeing such a divine sight through their own eyes. And.. What does this.. these drawings mean? What? Analysis reveals that they are some kind of numbers ? Decrypt them! I think we are on to something great! ####################################### The world has been divided into many sects. Each sect worshipping a seemingly unconnected celestial being. When and where this started, few records exist today. Yet inevitably, tensions were on the rise between sects. Especially after the church of Trinity split into the churches of lightning, ice and fire. Even though the followers of Lugia tried their best to calm the tensions, it was as if war would break out at any moment. Yet, as if sensing our precarious situation, a new ruin was discovered. There, precious manuscripts showed us glimpses of the golden age before us. It taught us that every one of our beloved gods and goddesses were in a system so beautiful and divinely crafted that conflict would never arise, always checked before it worsened. Every celestial was surprisingly.. human. Every strength had a hidden weakness. No one could have thought of a system so earthly. yet so divine but the creator herself. Being inspired by this heaven sent advice, all the religious organizations came together for the common good. The previous generation would work hard not for the heavenly halls which awaited them, but for bringing paradise one step closer for the next generation. So that one day, the promised gods and goddesses shall once again descend upon this planet, never to be given a reason to leave. Edit: Srry, on mobile.

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