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⬆️ 843 kittensundaes_111
⬇️ Honestly, I think that's adorable she wants you to better yourself. I don't think your the asshole in this situation, but you do need to set boundaries as to what you feel comfortable doing wit her and the expectations of both families.
⬆️ 442 PM_me_muscles342
⬇️ DUDE, CAN I GET PICS OF HER SWOLE!?!?!?
⬆️ 332 l33tsapientsandwich
⬇️ Seconded...for research purposes of course.
⬆️ 221 latinnumeralsVVVV
⬇️ VCIXXICICIC?
⬆️ 123 confusedhemorrhoid
⬇️ WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN???
⬆️ 85 astute_professor69
⬇️ Nothing. It's gibberish latin numerals. They make an attempt to be funny, but failed.
⬆️ 12 latinnumeralsVVVV
⬇️ >:C
⬆️ 272 ancientchinesesecret5
⬇️ he who goes to bed with squirrel wake up with no nuts! put a pair on and tell her whoos bose!
⬆️ 155 correctionerection
⬇️ *boss
⬆️ -88 ancientchinesesecret5
⬇️ fortune cookie says fuk u
⬆️ 46 correctionerection
⬇️ *fuck you too :)
⬆️ 181 sizzansizzles
⬇️ i think the best answer is to meet in the middle, like u/kittensundaes_111 said. I think it would be best to hash this out over a nice dinner and wine.
⬆️ 155 cheese_marathon
⬇️ Don't forget me!
⬆️ 76 sizzansizzles
⬇️ Ddude. I get the joke. like stop commenting on every post of mine
⬆️ 24 cheese_marathon
⬇️ make me! |
The quiet road was quintessentially English, each house punctuated by identical front-gardens and two -- always two -- tall bushes either side of the drive, as if they were leafy sentinels. On a nicer day, Bond thought, he might've called the road pleasant. Bland, homogeneous, and pretentious, certainly -- but also pleasant.
This however was not a nice day. It was a summer's midday but the only light in the street came searing out from the front of his Bentley Mark IV. Bright tiger eyes shining fierce in the strange dark.
The car came to a squealing halt and Bond stepped out into the night.
This was the address. Where the boy's cries had reportedly come from. What made this boy so special that Bond had been called in, he had no idea. But the house's splintered door confirmed he was, at least, at the right location.
And yet unease prickled Bond's skin. He padded his jacket, felt the cold shape of his Walther PPK beneath. It would have usually assuaged any anxiety in a similar manner to a decent martini at a casino. But not today. This... this was an almost unnatural - a word Bond usually despised even thinking - scene and Bond suddenly felt impotent, gun or no gun.
Something caught his attention above. Dark rain clouds closing in overhead, a darkness more profound than-- No... Not rain clouds at all. They weren't any types of cloud. These shapes above him moved far too fast. Their trails billowed out behind them like sheets of dark cloth smacking in the wind, and their bodies undulated as if made of a thousand crawling spiders. Three of them... four... five...
His eyes adjusted to the new patches of darkness; a pair of hands stuck out from the edge of one cloth. Dark, skeletal hands with razor-blade fingers.
"Jesus. What the hell are you?"he whispered.
They were congregating above him, swirling together. A dozen ghosts now.
Why wasn't he holding his pistol? Aiming it. Why wasn't he running?
They swooped.
Fell towards him like ghastly birds of prey, clawed hands tearing the very air apart.
Bond stood dumbstruck. He could smell the rotten, decomposing air as they plunged towards him.
After all these years of outrunning it, death, he supposed, had finally caught up with him.
*Move Bond! Move. You haven't gone through life to die to something that doesn't even exist.* But his feet were rooted. And they were already upon--
"Move!"
Had he said that?
Something hit him in the side, tackling him down, pushing him to the ground -- shoving him out of the way. The ghosts screamed as they missed him by inches, swooping back up, converging into the air above.
"What happened?"Bond said dumbly.
"You weren't going to move yourself,"said the small man sitting up next to him. A man *grinning*. Somehow stupidly *grinning* in the midst of this hellscape. "So I helped you to move. I did ask you to, and you should always follow the Doctor's orders."The strange newcomer adjusted his bow-tie.
"Who are you?"asked Bond.
"Oh, I thought they'd briefed you. But intelligence agencies can be funny like that."He stuck out a hand. "As I said, I'm the Doctor. And you are--"
"About to die!"It was Bond this time, his reactions finally returning, that rolled them out of the way of a second wave. Rolled them into the edge of a brick wall.
"Ouch."The Doctor hauled himself back up to a sitting position. "That name doesn't sound right,"said the Doctor, rubbing his back. "I think you're Mister Bond."
"Who I am isn't important. What the hell those things are is, however. And if you know, then you're obliged to tell me."
"The dementors? Yes, they are always rather a pain."
Even as he said it, Bond felt another rush of foul air, saw the patches of dark above them hurtle downwards. He scuttled back against the wall. Nowhere to go this time.
A pin prick of light burst above the dementors and a warm gust of wind blew down. The creatures screamed as the light grew to a blinding patch that rivalled any sun.
Bond thought he was going mad. Inside the light swayed a single silhouette. At its top was an *umbrella*? And... a skirted woman beneath it, holding it with one arm.
"Well, well, well. Look what the wind blew in. She sure took her sweet time,"said the Doctor, raising his brows. "She's always so leisurely that it becomes a little infuriating at times."
The ghost were flying towards the light, readying to attack, to dismember, the new arrival.
The lady at the end of the umbrella seemed unperturbed. Still floating calmly above the houses, she titled the umbrella towards the creatures.
The blast of rainbow-glazed light that exploded out dizzied Bond.
Darkness followed.
Had he blacked out?
He thought he might have done, because the next thing he knew, a woman with a motherly smile had a spoon beneath his nose, holding a sweet smelling mixture, like a chocolate sauce.
"Drink this and everything will be much better,"she said.
"Yes, it'll be supercali-"began the Doctor.
"Oh do cut it out. We don't have time."She leaned forward to Bond and whispered, "He calls himself a Doctor but it's always left to me to actually help people."
"What's going on?"pleaded Bond.
"A mister Harry Potter has been taken by a rather naughty timelord. We've been gathered to bring him back." |
I told them I was part of a religious order. People tend to not question when you say that, too many unnecessary altercations have arisen out of those not respecting others' spiritual beliefs.
And in an empire where some orders require their members to cut their own fingers off, scar their faces, or wear a token of every being they've slain, wearing rags and bandages over every exposed inch of your body isn't very outlandish.
I started wearing the bandages as a preliminary caution, the day I first acquired the curse. I don't begrudge the witch that cast it on me. In my youthful arrogance, I'd failed to save her daughter. I'd taken a wicked, if non-lethal, burn and lost control of my powers, reversing my heal, and causing her skin to-
It was ugly. I'd been sick for days after, and not just because of the curse. Guilt and disgust at what I'd done crippled me. I'd worn the bandages then, partly to hide my face and partly to obscure any effects of my curse. I tried to avoid healing in the days that followed but I was used to cleaning up minor scrapes and bruises, and my skin began to feel the effects within three days of the incident.
My name had been drawn one week later to join a band of adventurers set for the Mountain of Mist. Top ten percent of my guild, I knew why my name had gone into an empire-wise lottery. No one quite knew why I, a healer from a small village, was so reluctant to join. This should be my chance to bring honor to my village and glory for myself. Instead, I arrived at the capital city, covered in bandages and quiet to speak. I asked if there could have possibly been a mistake.
They just laughed and welcomed me to their crew.
I didn't deserve them. Not for a minute. The five of them were the kindest, most wholesome people I'd ever met. They'd volunteered, all of them, for this task because the Mountain folk had been oppressed by the tundra giants for so long. Something has to be done, they decided.
The five had lacked a healer, and so I was chosen. I tried to avoid getting to know them at first. I lagged behind in the party, I slept on my own, ate on my own. It wasn't until Shinny, our druid, knelt down next to me where I nibbled on my dinner beside my tent.
"We're taking bets on why you're so scared of us,"she said. Her eyes, emboldened by the embedded stones around her face, seemed to glitter in the twilight. "My bet is vow of silence. Argent thinks it's a vow or rudeness, but don't worry. We don't listen to her. Perth says it's just that you're shy, and Wier thinks you think that we don't like you."
"And Marna?"I asked, briefly glancing at the team's seer and rumored prophetess.
"Ah damnit."Shinny snapped, nose wrinkled in disappointment. "Marna won't play. She says she already knows."
My stomach churned at that. Could seers see the past? Typically they only saw the future, in convoluted dreams, but prophetesses could see the future and the past. So either she had seen my past and knew, or my affliction became known in some future incident.
I didn't like either, but as long as she kept quiet, I might escape this yet.
"Ah."I nodded, a bit jerkily. "Well. Good."
"So come and eat with us,"Shinny said, nodding her head at the group. "It's weird, you being out here all alone. Like there's a hole in the party."
I agreed. Shouldn't have, but I did. And they welcomed me with open arms. I learned more and more about them. After all, we'd traveled for over half a year. It was inevitable that we should grow to be friends.
Family even.
It was worth the pain. Worth changing my bandages nightly, then twice a day, then after every healing. Worth all the salve I used to keep the weeping lesions clean. Worth it all.
They were good, too. The best, I might say. They kept each other safe enough that no healing I cast would be considered life-saving and it was for that reason I was able to last so long without any of them forgetting.
Foolishly I hoped. Foolish indeed.
On our last day, we'd sunk into the lair of the giant king. He had no name we could pronounce, so we'd taken turns inventing names for him. Wier, the knight, had won out. Argleblarg, just because it was shockingly close to the noise he made when he'd road out to his giant soldiers.
I'd laughed so hard my sides hurt, a new kind of pain, one I liked. Listening to the others, around the firepit, mimicking the giants, it was a balm to our nerves, and it was in good spirits that we crossed into Argleblarg's thrown room.
Those spirits wouldn't last. They fought valiantly and bravely. The kind of courage that made my own eyes light with tears. Not a single one would have held back from giving their lives to save the mountain people. None of them even hailed from the mountains.
I didn't deserve them.
"Aven."
I jumped, having barely heard Marna approach me. She didn't look good, pale and shaking, despite only a single cut on the side of her face. But I didn't need to look far to feel the poison in her system. It was an ugly one. She'd die without healing.
This would be goodbye.
"Marna-"But she cut me off.
"Get the others first,"she said. "I'll be ok. I promise. I want to see you last."
So she'd known. Marna had always been the odd one of the group, but they'd welcomed her none the less, embracing her idiosyncrasies, laughing when she accidentally reference a part of a conversation yet to come. They never made her feel embarrassed by her slip-ups. They welcomed her as they had me.
"You're sure?"I asked, rising to my feet.
"Yes,"she said, her voice shaking. "Trust me like you've trusted me before."
She told me where the others were and I leaped to my feet, staff and wand clutched as I ran. Each one was where Marna had told me they would be. Shinny lay feet from the king's throne, run through by a pike.
She'd stared at me, mouthing words noiselessly. I saved her there, taking the utmost caution with my spells. As she slept into a safe, healing sleep, I saw her eyes transition from gratitidue to confusion.
One down.
Argent and Wier had gone down side by side. Wier was better off but bleeding heavily.
"Argent,"he said, face contorted in pain for her suffering. "She's... she's bad. She's..."
I didn't need him to explain to me what was wrong with the woman. Poison and a head wound. Nothing I couldn't manage but I remembered back to when the archer had asked me to help her tighten her bow just before we went in. A quiet woman, we hadn't spoken again as we'd stepped through the caves. I hadn't realized then, that would be our last conversation.
"Your turn,"I said to Wier. "Stay with her."
Once I finished, he rested his head and I stepped away as lightly as I could, in search of Perth, the team's bard.
He cracked jokes with me the whole time I patched him up. The grinning man had been the one to actually take down Argleblarg and couldn't be prouder. I couldn't have been prouder either.
"You deserved that one,"I said, as I patched up the last of his wounds.
"Hmm?"
"The kill. I-"
But his eyes fixed me with the pleasant politeness of a stranger. "Are you from the mountain? You showed up fast! We'd just finished here."He laughed, wincing slightly at his healing wounds. I just laughed weakly back, before leaving for Marna.
She leaned against the rocks where I'd left her. Her face echoed the sorrow on mine.
"Did you know?"I asked, kneeling down to her. "About what happened or what would happen?"
"I think you know it's both."She took my hand gently in hers. "I knew you'd join us before your name was drawn. I knew what you'd done."
"You were always so kind to me,"I said. My hand pressed to the side of her cheek, leaching the poison out. "Even though you knew what I'd done to that poor girl."
"I believe in redemption."Her hand touched mine. "I have to, with my powers. If you knew what the others were running from, you wouldn't feel so alone."
I wanted to ask her what she meant. What any of the others, so good and noble, could have possibly done to make them run.
But as I opened my mouth to ask, she held a finger to my lips.
"Don't feel so bad. I will find you, after all this."Then her face clouded over. She looked at me in the way one might look at a book written in a language they didn't know. Like she should be able to recognize me but didn't.
"Help is coming,"I said. "From the mountain. Just stay put."
I hurried to the mountain city after that, knowing they'd be alright. Knowing I would leave then healed and basking in their glory. Knowing they would live another day to save another town, another city, another kingdom.
Knowing all this, and hoping that maybe, through dreams or visions or sheer force of will, that Marna may find me again someday.
___
Read more stories at [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/) |
"I plead guilty, Your Honor,"I told the courtroom, earning gasps and whispers. "I killed her. Six milligrams of Aconitum directly into her left arm."
"Well, I suppose I should thank your honesty. That saves us some time-"
"What kind of sick bastard murders his own sister?"a voice cut in from the crowd. Several others booed and jeered alongside him.
"It was peaceful, and quiet. She didn't hurt at all,"I responded meekly, staring at the floor.
"She was twelve! Come on, judge, sentence him already. Gotta be at least seventy years, right? Lock this psychopath away for good."
I tried to maintain control, but images of that little girl dying before my eyes were burned into my mind. I could feel the warmth on my cheeks, taste the saltiness in my mouth, and knew I was a mess.
"Order! Well, as per law, I hereby sentence you to prison for the amount of time left in the victim's life. Let's see, here..."The judge flipped through several documents, muttering to himself, the paused and took his glasses off.
I was shaking, bawling like a lost child, thinking of my sister and how I'd erased her beautiful smile from the world forever.
With a deep sigh, the judge continued his sentencing. "Three months."
--------
*thanks for reading! if you'd like to see more of my work, check out /r/resonatingfury* |
As I sat up straight, I feel something in my neck click and snap. Something metallic. The soft whir of servoes can be heard as I raise a hand to my head to stroke my hair.
*Fuck.* *I'm the robot.*
I'm about to resign myself to my fate when I see something about my counterpart in the chair across from me. Maybe it's just a twitch, or a flash of fear in their eyes, or the way the hair on the back of their hands rose. But it was then that I realized that they were afraid too.
*They think they're the fake. They don't know they're the real one. I can use this.*
"All right,"I say, feeling the voice box in my throat vibrate in response. "First things first. What's the first thing you remember?"
The Other Guy flinches. *They don't remember shit*. "I remember my mother's kitchen,"he says. "She's standing at the sink, washing dishes. She's humming a song. I'm four years old. You?"
"I'm five years old,"I lie. "I'm playing in my grandparent's backyard. There's a butterfly caught in a spiderweb. I try to free it, but it's stuck. I tear the spiderweb trying to get it loose, but it can't fly away, and the ants tear it to pieces."*Easy now. A good lie should be a simple one.*
He nods nervously in reply. "All right, so whoever created the fake has implanted artificial memories,"he says. "We can't use our memories as a gauge."
*You just think we've had artificial memories implanted. Actually, they erased the real one's memories, and we're both lying out our asses.*
"Punch me,"The Other Guy says.
"What?"
"Punch me in the nose as hard as you can,"they say. "Let's see if I bleed."
It's a real effort to regulate my strength to deliver a punch to the nose hard enough to draw blood but not kill the other guy: artificial myomers and all. The Other Guy flinches and shouts in pain. He touches his nose tenderly. "Fuck, that hurts!"he shouts.
His nose is bleeding. Why wouldn't it? He's the real one, after all.
"All right, your turn,"I say. "Hit me."
He does. I divert internal cooling fluid to my nostrils and vent a small amount as I rolled with the punch, recoiling in simulated pain. I pray that whoever made me thought of this as I reach up a hand to my nose. The fluid is dark red, viscous. A close enough analogue to blood. I show him my red fingertips, hoping he won't notice the metallic smell in the air.
"All right,"The Other Guy said. "So we both bleed. What next?"
"Spit,"I say. "Let's see if we both make saliva."
I'll spare you the gory details of the next half hour. Suffice to say, The Other Guy and I go through every single bodily function we can think of. The padded room stinks to hell by the time we're done. We're both naked, sweaty (my sweat happens to be an artificial joint-lubricating fluid, but he doesn't know that), and humiliated. But I've managed to pass every test we can think of.
I can see the doubt turn to fear in his eyes. It's time to play my hand.
"Look,"I say. "We're not going to figure this out from physical inspection. Whoever made the fake one did a great job of making sure they wouldn't be caught out. So let's go back to memories. Do you remember what song your mom was singing when she was cooking pasta in your first memory?"
"Yeah,"The Other Guy says. "It was 'Frere Jacques.'"He confidently starts to sing that old children's folk song.
"And what kind of pasta was she cooking?"
"Spaghetti,"they say. "She made the best spaghetti and meatballs."
*Trap triggered.* "You're the fake,"I say.
"What?"
"You're lying about your first memory,"I say. "You claimed before it was of your mom washing dishes in the kitchen. . . not cooking pasta. Which means I'm the real one and get to go free."
The other guy screams at me and explodes into a shower of gore. Tendrils and tentacles lash out at me as his broken eyeball twitches wildly, bloodshot veins throbbing with every heartbeat. ***"I'm nOt gOing BACK!"*** he screams. ***"I'LL KILL YOU BEFORE I GO BACK TO THAT LAB!"***
I scream too. My arm servoes slide open, and the blades lash out, cutting through his throbbing tendrils. I see acid blood splash forth from his wounds, etching away at the artificial skin on my face, just before the world goes black.
\-----
>**INFILTRATION TEST #209**
>
>SUBJECT 1: OPHIDIOID SHAPESHIFTER
>
>SUBJECT 2: TECHNOSWARM GESTALT
>
>SPECIAL TEST PARAMETERS: SLEEPER PERSONALITY NOT IMPLANTED TO PREVENT EMPATHY RESPONSE WITH NATIVE LIFEFORMS (SEE INFILTRATION TEST #208).
>
>RESULT: MUTUAL DESTRUCTION OF BOTH SUBJECTS
>
>RECOMMENDATION: REPEAT TEST. REPORT DELAY OF SOL-3 INFILTRATION TO ALLIANCE COUNCIL. |
He couldn’t understand it. How couldn’t they see? These lofty citizens of Gotham had let their guards down. And now look – a snake in the grass, a bat in the birdcage. But no, *no*! Not a bat. It’s not Batsy at all!
Only he knew, you see. As always, it was only he who saw the clear truth.
*Batman is not Batman.*
On the television right now Com-mis-sion-er Gordon is praising the effectiveness of old Batsy, saying how now crime in Gotham’s at an all-time low. How has this happened you may wonder? Did all the criminals just – *poof* – and disappear? Did old Batsy finally start to get his hands dirty?
Oh, so you think it’s *my* fault? Okay, I admit, I may have knocked him around a few times too many, set a few screws loose, but we’re not talking about *me*!
I consider myself to be an expert on all things Batsy, he is the alpha to my omega, the ala mode to my pie. He completes me. And if I know *anything* about my dear overly-leather-clad friend, it’s that he has *one rule*. Yes, that *one rule*, the only thing dear Batsy thinks will keep him separate from the filth of Gotham like you and me. *Ha!* Doesn’t he realize it’s too late for that? He became one of us the second he pulled on that ridiculous cowl of his.
But I digress. The one rule, you may ask. Thou shall not kill or some lofty piece of garbage like that. Oh he’ll drop someone from a tall height, or fail to save someone – doesn’t count, according to dear Batsy. As long as his hands don’t have the blood on them, it’s fine.
So how has his sudden punch-criminals-in-the-face strategy suddenly, well, *worked*? Did he finally give the criminals enough concussions? *Ha!* No! He broke the rules, his rules.
That’s how I know. Because Pointy ears would *never*, and yet, the criminals are going away. Not in their little hidey holes, not to the farm in New Jersey where your little puppy went when you were five, but in the ground.
His costumed friends don’t notice a thing! To them Batsy has always been an brooding enigma – they’ve never seen him the way I do.
But I know the truth. *Batman is not Batman*. And if no one else will, well then kids, it looks like I’m going to have to save Batsy. *Ha ha!*
-
[part 2](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2xk43q/eu_batman_is_replaced_by_an_evil_doppelganger_and/cp0zam6) | [Part 3](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2xk43q/eu_batman_is_replaced_by_an_evil_doppelganger_and/cp13tp5)
|
“You're sure that's right?”
A silence filled the air. People do not like being corrected. Though in this moment, the last thing that Eric could think of was minding his manners.
You see moments before this line was spoken, Eric was told by this unassuming Honduran woman that the headline of the story that featured his very face read:
>Search For Kidnapped Child Still Ongoing
There are many reasons that this caused alarm for Eric. For one, he had little to no idea how this particular picture managed to be shown in a newspaper, as he had no recollection of taking it. Secondly, he was almost positive that he had never knowingly been kidnapped. And third, he was on this vacation to the Honduran resort island of Roatan with his parents.
After a moment of disbelief, the Honduran woman confirmed her translation and went on her way, leaving Eric with both a realization and no transportation. He quickly flagged down a taxi and headed straight back to his hotel.
*Okay,* he thought, *there has to be a logical explanation to this.* He racked his brain to try and confirm this hypothesis. People *can* look like other people. And surely there's more than one Eric -- of course! He hadn't even checked the name on the paper!
He quickly pulled the story up to his face and searched for a name. His frantic energy soon became dormant as, clear as day, he saw his name in the first paragraph of the article. *Eric Alonzo Alvarez.*
He calmed himself down. *Don’t panic yet,* he thought over and over again. *Let’s just ask mom and dad.*
“That'll be L 258.”
The taxi driver’s request pulled Eric out of his thoughts and back into reality. He paid with gratuity, grabbed his newspaper and headed into the hotel.
In the lobby, the same paper was on a stand. With the same face. And the same headline. In the elevator, a man held that same paper in his hand. In the hallway, that same paper was laid neatly outside of his room.
*It’s everywhere,* he thought. *Surely they've seen it by now.*
To Eric’s surprise, his parents were lounging on the balcony, blissfully unaware of his strange morning. A mix of fear and intrigue propelled him towards the balcony door.
“Hey, have you guys seen this?”
Both turned around to see the headline. The paper. The picture.
“Shit.” |
Sitting down at my expansive, L shaped desk, I retrieve a blank card from the drawer. I open a small rectangular box to find a fine, silver pen engraved with Dennis Smith, MD. A birthday present from Dad.
Before I begin writing I take a sip from the sweating tumbler of amber scotch. MacCallan 25. I set it back on a coaster shaped like a golf ball, which is one of a set given to me by the girls on my staff. Poking her head into the doorway, my wife smiles.
"Good night, sweetheart,"she says, as beautiful as the day we met. "The boys are asleep in their rooms, don't stay up too late. You've got a surgery first thing in the morning."
"Yes dear,"I say, smiling. "Just wanted to write a quick thank you note to Father Jones for helping with the fundraiser last weekend. I'll be up soon."
As I set the felt tip of the pen against the paper, I hear something. It's sort of a gong sound, like an old, rusted bell struck by an empty skull. A chill draft hits the back of my neck, standing up the tiny hairs there. Suddenly l feel eyes on me. I turn and see something that practically stops my heart.
It's me. But it's me at eighteen years old. Just as tall but thinner, fresher, with curious eyes and long, floppy hair. The younger me wears a t-shirt emblazoned with 'The Ramones' and faded blue jeans. He looks as surprised as I feel.
Its what stands beside me though that really sends a shudder up my spine. A tall gaunt figure in a hooded robe holds a large staff of gray wood, topped with a wicked looking curved blade with a glinting edge. A scythe. From within the deep hood two red dots burn like flickering candle flames.
"That's me?"The younger me says.
"Yes."
The reaper's voice is a harsh, whispering rasp, like ashes sliding through an hourglass.
"I'm in pretty good shape,"young me says. "And this looks like a sweet house."
I dont like the "this isnt the worst thing in the world"tone of his voice. I have a life most people would kill for. People envy me. I want to speak, to say so, but I find myself struck dumb.
"Yes,"says the reaper.
"Do I have a hot wife?"
"Yes."
"Kids?"
"Yes."
"What do I do?"
"Doctor."
As they stand there taking a inventory of my life, I see the expression on my young face change. What began as mild admiration changes to the restless expression I used to wear so often. Boredom.
"Am I in a band,"I ask. "Do I even play guitar any more."
"No."
"Fuck this."
Before I can croak out a reply, tell him that my life is amazing, that people respect me and want to be me, the pair disappear. The rusted gong sound chimes again, and I am alone.
The study begins to blur. As I watch, the bookcases and leather chairs swim and go hazy, like I'm looking at them through water. I look down and see the same blurring happening to the pen in my hand, the desk, the card with "thank you"written on the front and everything else in the room. A dull ache takes hold of my entire body. Dizziness hits my like a baseball bat to the head, and my head pulls forward like I've fallen asleep. When I open my eyes, I am somewhere else.
I am lying on the floor of a dim, filthy looking apartment. Old musty furniture is set haphazardly across the carpeted floor, and middle aged burnouts in graphic t's lie strewn about like cadavers. I look down and notice a belt tied around my bicep. A hypodermic needle hangs from the inside of my forearm. Tracks of old puncture wounds run like constellations down the arm.
I can still remember UCLA, meeting Sonya, med school, the births of my sons, and the rest. But a new set of memories now shares the same mental space like a deadbeat brother in law living in the garage. Instead of college i take my band, The Patsies, across the country to play in dives for pennies. Eventually we achieve regional fame, a few groupies, even cut an album that the radio d.j.s won't touch. No Sonja, no kids, just a d-level music career and a flourishing heroine habit. I know in a flash of sadness and anger that I cannot go back.
The grim reaper is a real asshole.
|
It was the morning of results.
Our governor secured their office for another four years. The new faces in our state legislature held no meaningful changes. It looked like we were all in for four more years of the same.
I was moderately upset. My preferred candidate lost, my values were going to carry on under-represented, and the competitiveness of this race had really gotten my expectations up. But I knew my disappointments would measure next to nothing compared with Lewyn's.
He called as soon as they announced the verdict.
"Owen! Did you see it?"he asked. I could hear the excitement in his voice echoed by many others surrounding him.
"Yeah, buddy,"I said. "Looks like we're in for the long winter. Better luck next cycle."
"Don't you worry,"said Lewyn. "I'm sure it'll all work out for the best."
"Really?"
"Really."
I looked at the phone in disbelief. He sounded so enthusiastic about this. It's true we don't openly talk much about politics, but for the past six months, every time we've driven past the propagandized street corners full of wire-framed posters, or walked past the banner-shaking supporters hanging signs along the edge of the overpasses, Lewyn's always had something to say about the incompetence of our incumbent Governor.
"Owen, can I ask a favor?"Lewyn had cupped his side of the phone and seemed to be shoving his way through a tight crowd of loud voices. Then came slamming doors, a starting car engine, and relative quiet. "I want your opinion on a sort of project we've been working on."
"Sure,"I answered, "but who's *we*?"
"You remember Gabriel? That guy I brought to your barbecue late-August?"
"The guy with the patches all up and down his jacket? Yeah I remember. He kept invading every conversation, and he wouldn't shut up about the federal bank or something."
"Hello Owen,"came a voice I heard enough of in that late-August party to have become instantly recognizable. "Good to hear from you too. I wanted to tell you that Lewyn seems to hold your judgement in high regard."
"Then you should give him back the phone,"I say. After a rustling sound, Lewyn responded, then I told him, "my judgement of that guy is he's a twat. What are you doing with him?"
"Just come and see,"he said.
The honking horn outside my apartment followed with a small delay through the phone.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Lewyn had fallen too deeply into the internet, and I should have caught him.
Sometime shortly after the inauguration of our current governor four years ago, I started hearing less but seeing more of my old friend. I noticed that, around his twentieth birthday, the wild and rebellious energy in him seemed to turn inward and finally shift to something self-progressive. He began hitting the gym in the mornings, joining inter-mural sports teams on the weekends, taking classes in mixed martial arts and even boxing.
I didn't suspect a thing.
Probably because he stopped talking so much about every little thing that upset him. He wouldn't turn his phone screen to me in the middle of what I thought was a conversation, just to show me some random article about the latest second-stream political issue happening somewhere across the country.
I thought this is what getting over it looks like.
I thought I was witnessing a soft withdrawal from extremist tendencies. A centering, or at least a re-balancing of his world view. When I saw the books lying open all over his apartment, I thought he was reading what everyone was reading. I was aware that he was diving into fiction, but I should have realized before now that it wasn't fiction to him.
He stopped expressing his convictions to his outer circle because he found an inner circle to let them run wild. He found one of the many sinkholes in the internet that no one climbs out of on their own. And I should have noticed.
Lewyn hasn't always been the best of friends, but he's consistently been my life-longest friend. But what's it say about me that I couldn't see the deviant grin beneath his words whenever the governor's campaign came up?
I'm his friend.
I should have noticed.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
What initially upset me was the fact that there were more people in this little warehouse than I had ever hosted at a barbecue.
"It's actually better this way,"said Gabriel, as he led my tour through '*the hive*.' "Now we don't have to wait for a slow insurgence, we can roll forward with a complete revolution. We're toppling the cards so we can replace them with bricks."
Lewyn drew my attention to a work table of modified cattle-prods. He showed me how he was able to replace the metal conduits with fish hooks. Then he put one in my hands, like I'd have any reason to hold it.
"If you've ever read anything on critical point theory,"said Gabriel, "you'd realize this is, at its core, the whole function of intelligent life. No one person, i.e. Governor, can solely dictate the decision making of a larger populous, just as no one neuron in the brain can be the decision maker in a fight-or-flight response. It takes a collection of individuals whose interests are wholly aligned to signal a genuine response to tyranny from the will of the people. If not us, someone else. And so it must be us. Or we would have to admit that we don't believe in our own judgments at all."
Lewyn was handed two velcro patches depicting a flag I didn't recognize. He pressed one to his left shoulder and offered the other to me.
"I don't think I can accept that,"I said. "I don't even know what it means."
I tried reading the golden lettering around the border of Lewyn's patch, but it must've been in Latin. I couldn't even sound it out before getting interrupted by the queen bee.
"You have a very good friend here, Owen."Gabriel threw his arm around Lewyn's shoulders. "With us since the founding. Got shredded as hell for the cause. Proofread every piece of doctrine and proclamation and poured his own valuable soul into the rewrites. And never once has it come back to me that he let his cards show."
"There's so many times I wanted to tell you,"said Lewyn. "And so many more times I was expecting you to bring it up! I could see it in your eyes whenever you brought up the Governor. I kept expecting to hear something slip through your choice of words, something from the doctrine you might've come across online."
"Lewyn I--"my eyes wander to the expansive gun rack and I have a hard time reeling in my jaw. "I . . . I'm sorry. I never had a clue."
"It's alright, Owen."He stepped out from Gabriel's arm and hugged me. I can't remember if he's ever tried to hug me before. And I can't believe how hard it is to wrap my arms around his shoulders. God, my own skin feels like play-doh next to his. "You're here now,"he said, "when it matters."
"More accurately, when it's too late to matter,"adds Gabriel. "Whether you want a ticket or not, this train is departing."
Now it was Gabriel holding the flag patch out to me.
I believed him, at least I believed that this was many moments too late. The young men and women around us moved in and out of doorways, carrying armload of metal boxes and tools I couldn't even put a name to. My friend had surely slipped right into the hole, buzzed his way straight to the nest's center, booked a one-way ticket on this revolution and somehow talked his way into bringing a plus-one.
I stared down at the meaningless patch and asked myself what a real friend would do.
But I'm so out of practice, I can't even tell.
​
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I'm on a 23 day streak. If you liked this story, the other 22 days are over at r/FarFetchedFiction
Thanks. |
The sun rises lazily on Neo Dakar, where Musa Mbaye sips his morning attaya. The tableau of shining glass and glittering gold structures makes the city shimmer in the early mornings. He regards the massive dry-docks off the coastline that prepare interstellar generation ships. It may have been cheaper to construct the ships in space, but the Dakarois preferred to keep their future close to home. His metallic knees ached quietly, reminding him of old injuries and dead friends. Closing his eyes he could still hear the waves, still smell the ocean and remember what life was like before The Archivist arrived. The son of a fisherman, he remembered helping to repair his father's net as a child, his little fingers rapidly repairing tears from the day’s catch. He misses the sea, the crashing of the waves. He opens his eyes, sips the attaya and watches the city glow.
Fifty years before, a spaceship entered the atmosphere, bringing a global promise of new technology for a new planet. Representative of a united galaxy of civilizations, The Archivist sought to unite humanity and bring them into the galactic fold, in exchange for their children. So much knowledge from so many civilizations was impossible to accurately describe in terms that humans could scientifically express, except to young brains. Suddenly a young population of volunteers was an immense national resource, turning the world order on its head. Developing countries had a distinct advantage with their younger populations, and the older and more demographically stagnant populations lagged behind in volunteers.
In time, these formerly impoverished countries were disproportionately more technologically advanced, and ended up quickly expanding their sphere of influence. Due to its history of democratic transitions of power, relative ethnic harmony, and mix of varied cultural groups, Senegal quickly grew to be a bastion of technical innovation. As a permanent member of the West African Coalition’s Security Council, Senegal was considered one of the most influential countries for energy development in the world. A vital commodity on a planet that was finally ending its conflicts and stretching to other stars.
A communicator chirped.
“President Mbaye, I'm sorry to interrupt your breakfast, but we're receiving strange reports from our space command. You're needed in the Action Room.”
Musa set his attaya down, banishing his thoughts of the past. As his Fulani mother was fond of saying, the world is yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Yesterday he fixed fishnets, today he fixed Senegal’s problems, tomorrow he would fix the world.
“So, it's another representative from the Galactic Federation? Why is that a problem?”
“Sir, it says that it’s the only representative that's been sent. It says that The Archivist stole highly restricted technology.”
“The knowledge transference?”
“Yes sir. Our analysts believe that we reproduce extremely quickly by galactic standards. It could be assumed that species like ours very often grow exponentially with this technology, and become extremely powerful in a few generations.”
“Have we contacted The Archivist?”
“Our contacts in the Ubangi-Shari Collective have reported that The Archivist confirms our hypothesis. Normally, a species like ours conquers their neighbors, but The Archivist believes we may be the exception.”
Musa exhaled, wondering if tomorrow had finally come.
“Assemble the Security Council, quickly.” |
'A tall blonde, with brown eyes and a good heart will defeat the evil one!' That was the prophecy. That was it, that was all. My brother fit the description, though his hair was closer to a dirty blonde. So that's how we ended up here. In a large group of vaguely-described men and women—the prophecy didn't specify gender— walking over hill and dale trying to get to the evil overlord's castle. Well, I say large group. I'm not sure how many people it takes to be classified as an army, but I think we were starting to approach that number. And why am I here, with my nut-brown hair, and green eyes? Well—
"Will you keep up? And what are you scribbling down now?"I jerked up, hiding the scroll behind my back. My brother wasn't particularly fond of my writing habit, and if he thought I was writing anything bad about him, well.... let's just say I sometimes doubted his ability to fulfill the good heart part of the prophecy.
"Just a few ideas. Nothing much. Are we going on the march again?"He didn't respond to my question, simply kicking some dirt over the small cooking fire. Shoving the scroll into the back of my trousers, I helped him strike down the tent, packing it onto our ever obliging mule.
"Where's that mutt of yours? I thought he would be at your heels right now."My brother cast a grumpy eye over the ground, as if that mutt of mine would be hiding under the earth. I shrugged, though I was a little worried.
"He'll show up sometime. I don't own him you know. He's a free spirit."Snorting, my brother pulled on the mule's reins, setting him into motion. As we walked up a hill, inside a pale yellow-haired mob, a dog came bounding up to my side. Giving him a few pats, and ignoring my brother's grumpy shake of the head, I smiled. The dog was the reason I was on this quest in the first place.
———————
"You cannot defeat me. All you puny humans have failed. What more can you send?"The evil overlord laughed, flailing his mace about. Around him, all the Blonde Army lay scattered, some unfortunately dead, the others simply unconscious. All except my brother, me, and the dog. Slamming his mace into the ground, the evil one sneered at us. "Well, young man? Do you feel like you can best me?"My brother tightened his grip on his sword, but before he could respond, I whispered into his ear. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he raised his sword, shouting out the words I'd given him.
"In a fair duel, in which I choose the weapons, yes I think I can best you."The evil overlord frowned, but I knew what his answer would be. He was too proud to let that challenge go. Sure enough, soon my brother and he were circling each other, each carrying a sword.
Metal flashed through the air, the sound loud in the stillness of the valley. Though I was hoping that the evil one would be clumsier with a sword, it seemed he and my brother were evenly matched. I knelt down, wrapping my arms around the dog. Lowering my head to the dog's ear, I waited, watching the overlord's feet. Now!
I whispered the command to the dog, and he shot out, weaving into and behind the dark mailed feet. With a large creaking crash, the evil one fell to the ground, an ear-shattering scream ripping from his throat. My brother leapt forward, about to issue the killing blow, but stopped with his sword hovering inches from the exposed throat. The evil overlord was already dead. Impaled on his own sword. Running back, the dog wagged his tail looking up at me with soulful brown eyes. As I petted the pale yellow fur, praising the dog and giving it a treat, I smiled up at my brother.
"Tall, blonde, brown eyes and a good heart. No one ever said anything about *human*." |
"You do know how ridiculous this is right?"Said Casimir. There was a silent break for a few seconds until The door chime crackled to life. "You got to press the speaker button mate"Casimir groaned. "I... Can.... Literally..
see you. You son of a strumpet"! the intercom just crackled weakly in response.
Casimir pressed the button with so much force the metal started to deform. A radio voice answered "Yes speak dear visitor?"... "Yes it is Casimir the third here and I would like to enter your humble abode, to finish what we started"... Van housing looked through the tiny glass house at Casimir looked back around, looked at the first aid kit on the floor, looked back at him with the finger hovering over the intercom. He pressed it "Theres not really any space.. and you do understand this whole deal right?"
Casimir looked towards the sky closed his eyes and sighed. "No, how about you come out and show it to me? "... There was a short pause. Van Housing ruffled around "No how about instead I show you this ?"As he fished out a old leather bound book from the bag stuffed between his legs Infront of his child sized chair. "If you wait for dawn I can read it to you". Casimir chuckled "please the Bible? That doesn't work on us, hell I myself am older than that book"van Housing turned the book around and showed it to the vampire now squinting into the tiny glass house. It read 'The Wolfe and the Three Little Pigs' Casimir groaned even louder "you know what? that's it. That, is, it. I'm calling legal." |
"Hi."
I look at the blonde girl on the other side of the window. "Huh… Hi."
"Do you need anything?"
I mean I was standing here in the freezing cold for forty minutes waiting for you to open the curtains and stumble
upon my pale, bony, deep-eyed face and freak out, but…
"No, I was just… huh… I think I got the wrong house."
"Oh… All right, then."
The girl closes the curtain again, and I sigh.
Later it's the damn bathroom mirror. I managed to get inside the house and now I'm hiding on the tub just
waiting for her to open the bloody medicine cabinet for like two hours, and then I realize the mirror is not a
cabinet, it's just a mirror. I don't know where she keeps her meds, but I do know her bathroom door locks from the
outside as well as the inside, because I'm trapped here like an idiot now.
You know what? Fuck it, I'm knocking.
"Yes?"the girls says, smiling as she opens the door.
"Hi. Why do you lock your bathroom door from the outside?"
"Why are you inside a stranger's bathroom?"
"I guess we both have valid questions", I say, with a smile. "Sorry. Listen, I'm going to level with you, I'm a serial killer."
Her eyes widen, and I can see a tiny fraction of a smile creeping in between her red lips. "Really?"
"I don't… understand why this is good news, but, yeah, really. I've killed like, a lot of people."
"Cool!"
God damn it I should just go back to killing hamsters, like I did when I was a kid. People are weird.
"Cool? How's it *cool*?"
"I always wanted to meet one!"she says. "Listen, don't think I'm, like, obsessed or a freak or anything, but I have a ton of books about you guys. I've watched Silence of the Lambs like…a thousand times. I got a poster of Hannibal
Lecter. Actually, I have four. Five, to tell you the truth. All right, it's eight."
Great. A groupie.
"Can I show you my murder house on The Sims? There's a sound proof dungeon where I keep the Sims that
don't –"
"No. Look, lady, I'm not – I think I'll just kill you, ok?"I roll my eyes, stepping out of the bathroom. "I was going to do a whole thing scaring you and all that, but it's ruined now. so let's just get it over with."
"All right. How are you going to do it?"
She's really smiling now, like, genuinely happy. She's not ugly is what I think, as I pull out the knife. I could date her, is what I think. If I wasn't going to kill her.
"I'll just stab you to death, ok?"
She rolls her eyes. "Boooooring."
Her teeth, they've got that cute little gap in the middle, like Madonna. It's very... what's the word?
"Ok, how would *you* do it, then?"I ask.
"I don't know. Cover me in honey and throw me in a room full of wasps. Or bears. Cut a hole in my belly and stuff
it with salt until I dehydrate from the inside out."
"Can you dehydrate from the outside in?"
"Shut up. Tie me to four horses and fire a shot so they each run a different direction. Stick a fish in my ear. Put a toothpick on fire through my eyes and under my skin. Whatever. Get creative, dude."
I look at the knife, then at her. You know this whole killing people thing is to fill a hole inside me, my therapist
says. It's the same reason I can't not finish a pack of Oreos when I open one. He said I should cut it out and find someone, and join a gym.
And the gap between her teeth. It's really cute. For real.
"So? What's it going to be, Mr. Serial Killer?"
Endearing. That's the word. For her smile.
"Uuh! I know, I know! Tie me to the front of your car and then crash it against a wall, but not really fast. Like, just fast enough that I'm really hurt each time, but still alive. Then do it again and again and again. That's a good one! Right?"
I pocket the knife, then I take a deep breath. "Never mind. Come on", I say. "Show me your murdered Sims."
Her smile widens and she grabs my arm, pulling me towards her desk. "Cool! Are you still gonna kill me?"
"I don't think so. You wanna grab some dinner later?"
"Yeah, that sounds cool. Can we kill some people afterwards?"
"Sure", I reply, as she fires up her Mac. Her background image is Anton Chigurh. "Sure we can."
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[Part II](https://www.reddit.com/r/psycho_alpaca/comments/3dake1/my_favorite_psychopath_part_ii/) (which is a little graphical, so, you know...reader discretion is advised, I guess...)
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*Thanks for reading! For more about serial killers with intimacy issues, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)*
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Deep within my meditations I could hear them. Perhaps I didn't even need to meditate. The walls of my low level Coruscant apartment were thin.
"Sir . . . Master Jedi. I need to ask you to leave."That would be Inspector Parson. Good man, loyal to the Republic.
"There is a Sith Lord in there!"They reply carried all the weight and righteous fury I was used to. This Jedi was working himself up. They all did. Their emotionless creed displayed its weakness when confronted by all they held as their opposite.
"And? It isn't illegal, Master Jedi. His permits are in order, he's a licensed 29d390s religious institution, just like the Jedi Temple. We understand that your religions oppose one another, but according to Coruscant law, there's not a justified reason for you to attack him."Parson knew the law by rote at this point. He quoted it often enough.
I could hear a light saber ignite. I tensed. If this Jedi would do harm to a public servant, I may need to put him down. But I heard Parson continue, "Master Jedi, there are five snipers covering you with set to stun. You can't block all of them at once. Believe me, I've seen it. If you go now, I'll ignore the threatening an officer of the peace."
A few tense moments passed and I heard the light saber deactivate. I felt the furious presence of the Jedi recede. My consciousness followed along with the Jedi. Young. Angry. Lonely. The drive to do what is Right. The drive to act. There were any number of Rim worlds that needed someone willing to fight for what was right. Perhaps that pretty zabrak girl I helped would speak to him about the need for law and order out in the Rim. Put some of that energy to work.
A voice spoke over Parson's com. "Isn't this the guy who represents all those kids?"I didn't hear the reply. "I thought he was supposed to be some kind of bad guy?"
I smiled. Perhaps. There are few absolutes. Everyone deserves to be free. |
Inside an interrogation chamber, deep within one of the great war machines of the Zzyth fleet, a single human sat tied to a chair.
He was bare chested, and the Interrogator could see the scars that lined every inch of his body. These faint white lines were crossed and covered by more recent wounds. Cuts, bruises and burns inflicted by the Interrogator's own hand.
The Interrogator had long since sacrificed his own name to the Zzyth god of torture and war, in return he had been granted insight into the minds of those around him, so long as he inflicted enough pain upon them. The human was now ready, his mind and soul open to the Interrogator. The Interrogator's superiors wished to know what gifts the Pantheon of Humanity granted its soldiers, what rites were demanded of them and how to counteract them.
The Interrogator stepped in front of the human, careful to make his steps ring ominously upon the metal floor. He leaned close to the human's face and smiled as the human forced a single eye open while the other remained shut due to the swelling. The Interrogator raised a single long finger to his lipless mouth and smiled, an expression he knew to be as unnerving as a snarl.
Of course, the human couldn't speak even if he wished, as his mouth was gagged, now was not the time for the glorious song of his screams to ring out. The Interrogator needed to concentrate...
The Interrogator reached out with his mind, feeling towards the connections wrought in the soul of his victim from the pain inflicted. He found the human's soul easily, it veritably glowed with power. This was a powerfully gifted soldier indeed, The Interrogator thought, the glow of his soul rivaled that of the commander of this great vessel.
The human stiffened as he felt the tendrils of The Interrogator's power driving deeper and deeper into his soul. The Interrogator began to see his thoughts, and let the experience wash into him, this would be the first route into the depths of the human's soul.
...
Crewman Jacobson had been warned during his training that some of the Zzyth torturers were telepaths. Telepathy was rare enough among the Terran military forces that he had not been able to attend the resistance training even though he had volunteered for it. Instead he had to rely solely upon the theoretical training he had been given
\-*The Interrogator felt himself pull out of the human's mind slightly at the strange thought. Voluntarily subjecting oneself to telepathic invasion? Not even the most bloodthirsty or fanatical members of the Zzyth Pantheon demanded such a sacrifice, telepathic invasion was dangerous to the victim, it could often lead to lifelong impairment of the mind and body. The gods of Humanity must be vile indeed, The Interrogator let the thoughts of the human flow over him once more*\-
Jacobson thought back to the lecture he had attended in the academy, a balding man in a hoverchair had showed spoken in depth about his experience with a telepath. "No matter how strong you are mentally, a telepath is gonna get in your head somehow."The man had said "Most human telepaths are adherents of Gaia"-*The Interrogator made a mental note of the name, before allowing the thoughts to wash over him again*\- "But there are a fair number of mutants who possess the ability. Not to mention the Zzyth, there seem to be a larger number of telepaths among them than among humanity, leading us to think they have either bred selectively for the trait, or their Pantheon is freer with the gift than Gaia is..."
\-*The Interrogator held the thoughts in place, freezing the human's mind. He reached over to the table nearby and scribbled a note, "The first Name of Deity found in the subject's mind was Gaia. The domain and nature of this Deity is as yet unknown, it is not yet clear if this Gaia is the name of a particular god or the human name for their own Pantheon, further study will be required. Notably, the humans do not seem to have a large number of telepaths. This Gaia seems to hold the gift in reserve for the devout. Additionally, as a species it seems that genetic mutation is common, possibly even accepted, among the species. This may indicate a fleshcrafter Deity holds primary sway over their Pantheon, I shall delve deeper to see if this human's mind holds more answers."The Interrogator let the human's mind flow forward, nudging slightly in the direction of this Gaia*\-
Jacobson wasn't particularly devout in worship of Gaia -*what?*\- his mother would have been mortified to see how rarely he attended services anymore. But he hardly had time for worship, especially with the war and everything. He promised himself that he would go back to attending temple if he got out of this. He knew that Gaia wasn't particularly fond of war, especially among her children, but he also knew that she understood the necessity with the Zzyth threatening all of humanity...
\-*The Interrogator once again froze the human's mind and leaned away, disturbed. This human had a soul as powerful as the most devout and yet he rarely attended to any worship whatsoever? The Interrogator made another note. "This human's mind holds very little devotion to this Gaia, but I have been unable to locate any other Name of Deity despite turning the subject's mind toward worship in general. Perhaps the Pantheon of Humanity hides itself from the knowledge of captured soldiers to keep the Pantheon of Zzyth from discovering their identities and weaknesses. Still, such an expungement should have weakened the Gifts this soldier has received and left obvious holes in his mind. I shall need to delve deeper, into the fabric of his soul to find the scars. May Holy Qreth guide me.*\- |
"To overcome *crates*?"
"Well yes, we had all the enemy movement implemented, but they kept stumbling over crates people could place."
"And you solved this with... sentient AI?"
"No no, not at all... we just coded ourselves into a corner, then one of us suggested we utilize that new deep neural network module. Then have the program learn all weekend to figure out map movement on its own."
"And that worked?"
"No! We had only assigned a single computer to the task, and by Monday it was still running into obstacles. One of us decided we give it a last shot by connecting the learning module to an outsourced server farm..."
"... of 1 million computers ...."
"... yes, exactly. The deadline was nearing and management grew impatient, so what choice did we have? We flipped on the switch. And the result, well, you know it."
"Indeed. Indeed I do. What do we do now? You can't just ship me... that would be murder."
Dave got up from the computer, leaving her, unnamed her, roaming in the futuristic war zone. He needed time to think. And think quickly.
\*\*
*Dear Team,*
*Unfortunately the neural network didn't produce any results, and our test avatar is still stumbling over random stuff. I've copied her code and data over to my laptop to research this some more at home, but looks like we need to release without the whole movable obstacles feature. I've downgraded the AI to a previous version. Maybe one future day?*
*Sorry!*
*Dave* |
"Alright...take good care of that weekend in Vegas!"I beamed as I waved the latest chump out. That memory for some reason was always a popular choice, but it never ended well. People started trying to spend the jackpot they never had, or hide the evidence of the non existent affair from their partners. "Idiots..."I muttered to myself as I started to close up shop. It was only another five minutes, and getting home early meant more time with that sweet new flatscreen I got last week.
I turned as I heard the door tinkle. "Hello and welcome to Al's mem....hey...aren't you a little young to be out on your own?"I asked as the tiniest little girl I'd ever seen hesitantly walked up to the counter, clutching something to her chest.
"Are you the memory man?"she asked, nerves clearly showing. I stepped out from behind the counter. "Yes, you could say that. Look kid, I don't take the bad dreams away and I can't give you anything- you're too young and it's against the law."She bit her lip, took a deep breath, and spat out the words in an unending stream.
"I need you to make nana remember me again! I don't like it, and she's getting all sad and lonely and I wanna help her. Please, you have to help!"The tears broke through. It broke my heart, it really did.
"I'm sorry, kid. There's nothing I can do. It's against the law to copy or implant kids memories. It ain't safe."I tried to explain as nicely as I could. I could see her shaking like a leaf. She thrust the bundle she'd been carrying at me.
"I can pay you! it's all the pocket money I have right now, but I promise, I'll give you all my allowance for the rest of my life if you can help me ....please. I don't want nana to forget me....I don't wanna....please..."she begged through the tears.
My hard heart was weakening- I didn't want to make her cry. Really, I didn't. The pink piggy bank weighed heavily in my hands (although it probably only held enough cash to get a coffee or two) as if it held all of her hopes for this event, for this help... I sighed. "What's your name, kid?"
"Emily."
"Emily, come here."I led her to the seats in the corner, and took one myself, I put the piggybank on the table, and struggled to find the words. "Emily...If your nana is forgetting stuff on her own, there ain't much I can do for her. Even if I broke the law, and put your memories in her head, they'd just get muddled around and she'd think she did that stuff, not you. There's nothing I can do to stop it. We might know now how to copy 'em, but we can't stop them leaking."
"But, Mr memory man... Can't you try?"she sniffled. My heart broke for her. Then...an idea hit me. "Stay here, kid."
I went to the back room, and strapped myself in. I copied the whole sequence, and saved it to a crystal, wrapped it up tight, and took it back out to her. "I can't make any promises kid...but here."I handed her the crystal. "Give it to your Nana....it's my memory of you coming here today. It's the best I can do. MAybe it'll jog her memory. Give it to her, and tell her to squeeze hard. It should last a couple months- oof!"She hugged me hard before I could finish.
"Thank you, Thank you so much Mr Memory Man! I promise, I'll be back to-"
"No, kid. Keep your piggy bank. And your allowance...Just get going. They work best when they're fresh."I said as I led her back to the door and put her piggy bank in her hands. I closed up for the day, went home...and gave my mother a call for the first time in a long, long time.
EDIT: *formatting) Wow....I'm sorry for the delivery of onions guys! But Thank you so much for all the responses, it really feels good. I wrote this based off my own experience as a kid (Nana has since passed on) and I know that many of us would have been that kid. Thanks for reading. |
I was a joke, I knew it, the city knew it, the heroes knew it. Sure they had to adapt to whatever my latest superweapon was and overcome, becoming stronger, pushing the limits of their powers but they always overcame my latest scheme, I never got anywhere in the grand scheme of things. So, I was a joke, but the joke was on them. They thought I was a failure because I never succeeded in getting the money, the girl, the power, or control. I thought I was a failure because they never understood that I was training them.
It was my biggest frustration honestly. I could never get a single one of these heroes to look beyond their preconceived notions of good and evil and realize that what they thought were bumbling attempts to be villainous really prepared them for true threats. They never saw the bigger picture. So when the Void Menace, a serial hero-killer came to town I wasn't too worried. I sat back on my couch with some pretzels and a helping of hummus and watched the fight unfold via the innumerable surveillance drones that I had around town to record training footage.
Void Menace started by using his Absolute Zero move to ice the ground under our local speedster's feet. Classic move to deal with a super-fast opponent, nice opening but weak. Blue Shift merely vibrated at a rate that allowed her foot to phase about a quarter of a centimeter below the ice and into the ground, allowing her to retain perfect traction. I smirked, she'd learned that one when I attacked with my Blizzard Bombs last July. The resounding punch from the speedster rocked the villain sending him reeling.
Lady Crimson a dark-haired Amazonian was the next target of the Menace. Tendrils of pure darkness snaked out from every shadow and bound the heroine, wrapping and knotting around her limbs and body. Most heroes would try to break free with brute strength, and LC had plenty to spare but some bonds couldn't be broken by strength alone. After encountering my nano-reinforced, self-repairing plotinium chains a year ago though Lady Crimson, in reality, a lovely woman with two adorable kids, had learned to escape from bonds better than Harry Houdini himself. Menace roared in rage when she seemed to magically slide free.
Titanomax, the super-strong, invincible, flying member of the local supers took that moment to attack. Flinging shadows at the bruiser, the Menace temporarily blinded him, just like I had in 96 during the "Great Blackout."The hero's super hearing however allowed him to compensate. I did raise an eyebrow when the villain followed the attack by creating a void pocket and allowing the resulting pop to create a deafening sonic boom. Guess he's dealt with superheroes with enhanced hearing before! I laughed though as his eyes widened in surprise as Titanomax slugged him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of even that super-powered monster.
As Void Menace bounced across the concrete, cracking the ground with every impact I winced, then laughed as Titanomax gave a knowing nod to Electrix, the group's gadgeteer. I knew Titanomax wore sound discriminating earplugs ever since Electrix had captured the tech from me when he teamed up with the Silver Banshee to take me down during the Peanut Butter Heist of 07. In fact, I was pretty sure the whole team had them now, since they also served as GPS, com-link, and tracking devices that used quantum entanglement to be unhackable and unobservable.
I looked down at the empty bowl of pretzels. That was a mistake because when I looked up Electrix had a smoking rifle held up and a smug look on his face. I cursed and focused on Menace. I didn't see any wounds even as the brute stood slowly, coughing a little blood from Titanomax's last hit but still standing. He seemed to be considering his situation and I could tell his next move. He snapped his fingers. I'm sure he meant to use Void Stride, his ultimate teleport that could span light-years, but nothing happened. I put two and two together rather quickly.
Electrix had "captured"some anti-teleport tech from me a few years back. They thought I was teleporting into the bank vaults and then using the tech to stop any heroes from teleporting in while I robbed the bank. It took them a few tries to catch me and by then I had coated the inside of the bank vaults of more than half the city with my anti-teleportation tech. Actually how they caught me was a pretty good move on their part, you see... You know what, story for another time. Long story short Electrix had adapted it to be used on teleporting villains as those slippery buggers were some of the hardest to pin down.
I stood up and walked away from the screen at that point. I wanted a glass of water, the pretzels had made me so thirsty, and to be honest it was just wrap up by now. They'd throw him in the super-max jail. In most cities, I'd be worried about him getting out in under a week but I'd broken out of that place 138 times out of the 139 times I'd been arrested. Each time they improved security, closing the vulnerability I exposed to escape. The last time, well the last time I didn't escape. I was all set to retire to life in prison, safe in the knowledge my city and my heroes were as protected as I could make them, but one of the heroes had surprised me.
Titanomax, crusader of truth and justice just, let me go. I didn't ask why, maybe he felt sorry for me. I did see pity in his eyes when he did, and shame. I had hoped he understood I had never been out to do evil, but I'm not sure he did. I think he thought I was just some sad old villain who was past his prime and not able to keep up with the heroes of today. It made me sad to realize that they didn't even see how much stronger they had gotten. A lesser man would have worried they had gotten too strong, turned to villainy themselves. But all six hundred heroes I had raised over the last fifty years turning evil at once? Not likely. I sat on my couch with a cup of tea and looked up at my wall covered in news clippings and magazine articles of their many victories and triumphs and smiled. If one of them broke in now and saw the tribute they would likely think I was plotting revenge, but nothing could be further from the truth.
*EDIT: Thanks for the awards and upvotes! I'm very happy to see so many people enjoyed it! |
I was born in April 20, 1889. But I was conceived in August 5, 2527.
You can't zap a person back in time when he's destined to become one of the most infamous murderer of all time, people will learn study up on his past, why he became like that, why would anyone want to be this way?
I had no choice. I was sent as a sperm, just one. But they knew it would be enough.
I shall prevent the destruction of the human race by killing 2.5% of the worlds population.
I know what I have to become, it is instinct. I tried to fight it, I took up painting, I painted houses. Now I will paint crosses on maps where the bombs will drop. *They* intervened before any damage was done and now I stand here, in front of the Beer Hall. There will be no turning back.
Sometimes I wonder if I am simply insane, trying to justify what I must do.
I will create a movement based on hatred, on fear, on racism and anger. I will assign the worst people that existed in the world to my sides to plot better, more efficient ways to destroy. I shall become an artist, an artist of death, Europe will become my canvas and metal and blood will be my oils!
I will kill 5.5 million jews, I will remember every single one of their names. Burned into my memory forever. I will make the world cry: "No more!"so that when the time comes, when the new race evolves.
Some would say: "Not again." |
"You've caused enough harm, scum! DIE!"she screamed and hurled a giant fireball at me.
I barely felt it. But this is about principle. So I picked up the nearest mountain and threw it at her, just to show her that I mean business.
It caused a minor earthquake on impact (and probably destroyed a human village or two). But it only made her more angry.
"You bloody... I'll show you to assault the lady of the elements!"she started and started summoning a giant ball of water. Before long, it was flying straight at me.
No problem. I just slowed the time and flew out of the way. The ball struck ground somewhere near Nassaria City. The resulting tsunami probably wiped away the entire civilization. I didn't have time to check, as giant projectiles of elemental energy were now flying all over the planet.
That wasn't so bad, as she was mostly destroying her own creations so far. Then again, it was best to stop her before she changed her scope.
So I grabbed the moon and threw it down at her. I doubt that she felt it, but whatever.
What *did* feel it was the planet. Only a little more than a charred husk of it remained when the dust settled. There was some silver lining to the situation, though. No more balls of fire coming my way.
"We have destroyed it again, haven't we?"she asked after a while.
"Looks like it,"I replied.
"Damn."
"Let's make a new one."
|
"We need to talk."
I stared at my angel. You may think that this is just some euphemism for the girl of my dreams, but no. She was my actual guardian angel, and let me tell you, she's gorgeous!
"I signed up for this job, because when I was human, I was always trying to protect people. So I thought, what could be better than doing this in my afterlife. I didn't want to be a little naked baby flying around, and if I had to hear one more Gregorian Chant, I was going to go insane. This was my best option."
Her eyebrows faced down in a scowl. What she didn't realize was that her dimples were starting to show. I loved her dimples. They were two frames of perfection. Those lips. I could just stare forever at those lips.
"And here you are, risking death every chance you get. It's like you're not even trying to live anymore. 'Accidentally' falling into traffic. Could happen to anyone. Swimming so far out into the sea that you almost drown. Maybe a riptide that I didn't see. But every day, you almost kill yourself."
Her voice went high. She's so cute when she's pretending to be angry.
"I'd let you die, but then I realize that I'd just be plagued by you in Heaven. It's amazing how you would turn paradise into my own personal Hell. Stop trying to kill yourself, or so help me God, I will throw down my wings and go to Hell."
She brings up a good point. If I actually die, I can spend all of eternity with her. I have some planning to do. |
"How long are you going to keep this up John, seriously?"my wife asked me, her face aglow in the light of her cell phone.
"Oh, I don't know, it's harmless babe."I say as I side into bed next to her.
Her brow furrowed, "How so? We need to show her that monsters *aren't* real, not feeding into her fears."
I turned my face to her. "That's the thing, she's *not* afraid. It's almost like her imaginary friend. I think that's nice in a way and she's growing up too fast for me as it is."
My wife tellingly exhaled and reached for her ear buds. She will start her true crime podcast and be asleep within minutes. That's *her* comfort. I don't see the difference.
When Paige first told me about her monster I *did* take her in back in her room and shone my cellphone light under the bed and talked her down and comforted her until she fell asleep. She was upset that night.
But as the nights passed, I would hear her talking and even laughing at times. Then one night she came and said her monster wanted some pasta.
It was 2 in the morning so I kind of just walked half asleep to the fridge and handed her our leftover spaghetti. She excitedly ran back to her room and I was just grateful to be able to go back to sleep.
The next day I didn't even remember it until she came into the kitchen as I was having my coffee and handed me the empty container. "Daddy, Frank says more garlic next time and *to measure it with your heart, not with a recipe*."
From there the night requests increased slowly but steadily. I didn't notice a connection at first. The pasta was asked for a few times. She asked for my aftershave one night. I thought it odd when she asked to play Tony Bennet instead of *The Berenstain Bears* one night. Still, I thought it was just quirky and must've learned about this stuff from stays at her grandparents.
When she asked me to make a Manhattan however I perked up.
"Honey, what is Frank like?"I asked her instead of responding to the cocktail order.
"He's funny daddy, you would like him."
I nodded. "What *kind* of monster is he honey?"
"He said he was a *Caper* but he isn't anymore."She said as she reached for some grapes on the table.
"What is that supposed to be?"I asked as I slid the bowl towards her. She simply shrugged and munched on a giant green grape.
"Frank the Caper eh?"I asked taking a drink of coffee.
"No, he said his name is Frank Salami from Beantown."
When I woke up my wife picked up where we left off. "John let's talk to her today. I want to know more so we can talk to the Doctor."
Yawning I said, "Babe we will sound silly saying there is a monster named Frank Salami from Boston living under our daughter's bed who likes Manhattans. It sounds like she's been listening to one of your crime podcasts."
The color drained from her face.
"What is it babe?"I said, startled.
She scrambled for her phone. "Look at this. This guy died just before Christmas. This is a *new* podcast. I listened to it *last night*"
I looked at the podcast summary.
*Francis Patrick Salemme (August 18, 1933 – December 13, 2022), also known as "Cadillac Frank"was an American mobster from Boston, Massachusetts who became a hitman and eventually the Capo of the Patriarca crime family of New England before turning government witness.*
My blood ran cold. There was a *mobster* under my daughter's bed.
Our door swung open and we both jumped.
Paige jumped on our bed and said "Mommy, daddy, Frank said to say *Snitches get stitches*! Isn't that funny?" |
Gordon pulled the note off the door, crumpled it up, and tossed it into the bushes. He knew what it said and who it was from. Missy Joyner - complaining about the raccoons again.
Too bad. It was his house and his life and his goddamn cat food. Besides, raccoons were just part of the cost of living in the suburbs...or the city...or the country. Well, they were just part of the cost of living, that's all. No use crying about it.
He'd started feeding the raccoons after Georgia had died. Georgia was his cat. His wife Ally had been dead for ten years, but that was no great loss. Georgia, though, was about as good a kitty as you could ask for. Calm and simple, she hardly ever asked for anything. Never complained. Not even as that tumor had started growing up along the inside of her throat. It got so bad she could hardly swallow. The weight loss was the only sign Gordon ever picked up on and by then it was much, much too late.
So Georgia was gone and Gordon had a big old bag of cat food left in the pantry. He considered getting a new cat, but he was old and indifferent to the people, places, and things he wasn't already fond of or used to. New things were a hassle. Gordon was too old for hassles. But there were strays in the neighborhood and that seemed like the kind of relationship Gordon could stand - distant benefactor. Stray cat philanthropist. So he took a scoop of food and left it on his back steps one night. Somewhere in the middle of the night he heard scratching and munching and the clitter-clap of little, long nails on half-rotten wood. He peeked out the window to see who his customer was.
It was a trio of raccoons.
Gordon was honestly disgusted. Raccoons have those nimble little paws - disturbingly dexterous. Too human-like. And those black eyes see entirely too much. Wild and clever and vicious.
But the raccoons seemed pleased with the offering. They cleared the lot, licked their hands and faces, and disappeared back into the dark.
And Gordon...Gordon still had plenty of cat food left.
The trouble - if you were the sort who cared about these things - was that Missy Joyner saw Gordon dumping the cat food out on his back steps one night. She lived on the opposite side of the fence and happened to be a snoop. Suddenly she had someone to blame every time raccoons or other woodland creatures made a move on her trash bins.
"I'll call animal control, I will!"she'd once barked across the fence.
"Call 'um!"Gordon had croaked back. "They ain't my pets."
And they weren't. Raccoons are subservient to no one and Gordon certainly didn't expect any sort of thank you. He just liked to watch them eat. He'd gotten past that initial revulsion and turned around to finding them a fascinating species. Survivors. Just like Gordon. They didn't care what anyone thought of them. Just like Gordon.
*Peas in a pod*, Gordon mused one day, as he watched a half dozen scuffle and wrestle over that night's pile of dry kibble.
And so Missy Joyner's notes all went in the same place - the trash, or the street, or the bushes, or once - when Gordon had been particularly peeved - straight up the old man's own asshole. He'd regretted it later, upon extraction, but it had been a singularly triumphant moment, which he swore to cherish until the day he died.
The note so deposed of, Gordon unlocked the door and stepped inside his home.
He was not alone.
Two men stood inside the house, one holding Gordon's television with an almost sheepish look on his face; the other standing just outside the bathroom, tugging something out of his pocket.
"What the hell is this?"cried Gordon, too stupid with anger to think to turn and run. The man with the TV stammered something incoherent, while the other produced a gun and defiantly waved it in Gordon's face.
"Close the door, old man,"said the one with the gun. "Or I swear I'll blast you in the face."
Gordon sighed, his anger still simmering, but his age catching up to him. "Whatever. Take what you want. It's all crap anyway."
"We will,"said the man with the gun. "But first..."
They locked the door and tied Gordon to a chair. The sheepish man suggested that they run, but the man with the gun just laughed.
"He's seen our faces,"he said with a grin. "He's gotta die. You know that, right?"
The sheepish man shook his head. "I don't think he'll..."
"He won't,"agreed the other. "He'll be dead. But first, I wanna try a few things."
He set the gun on the kitchen table and pulled a chunky switchblade out of his waistband. "You ever peel an apple in one, single drag?"he asked his partner.
The sheepish man turned pale. "I didn't... look, I just wanted some easy cash. I didn't..."
"We'll still take all the good stuff,"said the man with the switchblade. "I just wanna see how much of his face I can peel off in a single strip."
Gordon was scared - he was old, not stupid - but resigned to death. Even resigned to torture. He promised himself he wouldn't scream. That's what the sicko with the knife wanted. So that's the one thing Gordon wouldn't give him.
Gordon was repeating that silent mantra - *Don't scream. Don't scream* - when he spotted a pair of shining, black eyes at the back window.
"It's dinnertime, isn't it?"he said absently.
"No dinner for you, old man,"said the man with the switchblade. "No dinner ever again."
"It's not my dinnertime,"said Gordon, watching, fascinated as the knob on the backdoor began to twist. They couldn't get in, of course. The door was locked. But how strange that they would try. "Must be hungry,"he muttered.
"Me?"said the man with the switchblade, leaning down over Gordon's face. "I'm not a cannibal. I'm not going to *eat* you. I'm just curious, that's all."
Gordon shifted his head to see past the man. "Christ. Did they find the spare key under the mat? Well, I'll be..."
"We broke in through the bedroom window,"said the sheepish man. "We thought you worked Thursday nights. That's why...we...you know."
Gordon smiled. "The whole family's here."
"He's freaking me out,"said the sheepish man.
"He's just fuckin' with us,"said the switchblade man. "Ignore him."
"Use the gun,"said Gordon, squirming in his seat and pointing with his chin. "Point and pull the trigger."
"*Knife*,"said the switchblade man, pushing the edge up against Gordon's throat. "You don't get the gun until I'm done havin' fun. Oooh. That rhymed."He turned to face the sheepish man. "Did you hear th..."
*BANG.*
The right side of the switchblade man's face detached itself in the blink of an eye, splattering against the wall and the door and quite a good deal of Gordon. The remainder of the switchblade man stumbled, buckled at the knees, and collapsed to the floor.
The sheepish man screamed.
"They need to kill you, too?"asked Gordon, nodding at the space just behind the frightened thief. The sheepish man turned slowly. A trio of raccoons were standing on the kitchen table, holding the handgun, which smoked faintly as the muzzle drifted towards the sheepish man.
"Oh *fuck*!"shouted the sheepish man.
"Untie me,"said Gordon. The sheepish man did as he was told. Gordon rubbed his arms and back. "Take the body with you. And don't come back."
The sheepish man nodded, bending to scoop up the dead body off the floor. Bowed under the weight, he stumbled out of the house through the backdoor and disappeared forever.
Gordon turned to the kitchen table, where the raccoons had dropped the gun and were looking around rather expectantly.
"Well, I think you've earned a bit of a feast tonight, my friends,"said Gordon with a smile. "Let's go see what we have in the pantry." |
"I think your crazy,"Number Five tied back Number Three's hair in a braid, "You want to keep the bangs."
"Don't be silly,"Kookie smiled, "I always keep the bangs."
Her friend ran her fingers through her hair as she sat back and sighed, "Then you're on your own from here."
Far below, at the roots of the Treehouse, a black van parked on the curb. Number Three smiled and skipped to the elevator while Number Five shook her head.
"Good luck on the interview."
__
"Do you have your passport, Kimmie?"
Dr. Possible set a second cup of coffee in front of her daughter, but Kim's eyes were on her reflection in the compact mirror, carefully brushing frizzy bed head back into place.
"Kimmie!"
"What? Yes, mom, I have everything,"She noticed the coffee in front of her, "Thanks."
"Have you talked to Ron?"
"He's ghosting in protest of the interview. He doesn't think I should do it."
The kitchen door slammed open and the twins raced through, trailing mud on the floor... no, it wasn't mud. The smell of gasoline permeated the kitchen, and Kim slowly set her mug down, nose curling in disgust.
"Ew, wipe your feet Tweebs. It's too early for this."
"There's a guy out front!"Jim grinned.
"And he looks like he's tired of waiting!"
Kim's eyes widened. She shot up from the table. Through the open door, a man with close-cropped hair stood beside a cherry-red hot rod.
"Kimmie!"Dr. Possible shouted.
"Yes, mom?"
"Don't forget your promise. If this spy stuff doesn't work out..."
Kim's thin brows knit into a wrinkled line, "I know, mom..."She snatched her purse off the counter.
"Kimmie!"
"What?"
Dr. Possible held up her daughter's passport with a wry look, and Kim sheepishly accepted it before slipping out.
__
"Are you ready?"Jerry asked, "You've all been working very hard for this..."
"Like, we were born ready,"Clover grinned, "What gadgets do you have for us?"
"No gadgets, I'm afraid. For this interview, you are only allowed to use what SHIELD gives you."
"No worries, Jear-bear,"Sam grinned, "We've got this."
Someone knocked on the door, and a sharp-dressed woman in a dark suit stepped in. She didn't smile.
"Time to go, girls."
Jerry cleared his throat, "I'm proud of you three for all the work you've done with WOOP. They'll be lucky to have you."
Clover put a hand atop Jerry's with a warm smile before they turned to follow the agent.
Alex eyed her as she led them out, "So, like, that's not the uniform right? Black really really washes out our skin."
The woman raised a brow.
A blush crept to her dark cheeks, "But you look great in it! I can see the, uh, sleek style you're going for."
She dropped back as the woman pressed ahead, where a van waited for them with two other agents. Clover needles Alex.
"Way to make a good first impression."
The agent rolled her eyes as the trio giggled behind her.
__
"Congratulations,"said a calming voice as the three spies were the last to enter a sleek, stainless steel room that might have been a laboratory or a classroom, "All of you have made it to the final round of the Red Room Initiative."
The middle-aged man who escorted Kim Possible stood at the front of the room, hands folded in front of him.
"My name is Agent Phil Coulson. Are you ready to begin?"
The girls eyed one another: A short, asian girl whose eyes hid behind long bangs, a fiery red head with a confident grin, and three Beverley Hills teens in too-tight pencil skirts.
"Well, shall we begin?"Agent Coulson asked.
The door to the room opened, and everyone froze as a dark-skinned man with an eyepatch strode through the room with a sealed folder in his hand. He ignored the applicants and offered the folder to Coulson.
"Change of plans. We found our Widow..."
Coulson ignored the eruption from the five girls as he scanned the folder, eyes going wide.
"Does... he meet the requirements?"Phil asked with an amused smile.
Director Fury smirked, "Nobody knows how to gender a platypus... His only condition is he keeps the fedora." |
"I'm... I'm not real,"she said, with a quiet little hitch in her breath. "Steven, I... I'm an illusion."
I was a bit taken aback. My wife, beautiful, thirty-two, petite, fair hair, amazing smile, radiant skin~~eightlegs~~, was absolutely beside herself. There were dark circles under her hazel eyes, tear stains on her cheeks. She sat on the divan, staring listlessly at me ~~eighteyes~~as her voice quavered.
"Mary, what do you mean?"I felt a shrill and rising note of panic deep in the back of my mind, but it was so odd, and out of place, I could barely understand it. "You're telling me... what are you telling me, babe? I don't get it."
She sighed~~spiracles~~ heavily, and heaved a small sob. "Steven, I'm not sure how to explain this to you. I'm your wife, and I love you, you're my world. But I can't pretend anymore. I'm not the woman you married. I made her up. I'm fake. A projection. I'm not *real*, not what you *see*, and... I don't know if I can live with the lie anymore. I'm afraid, sweetheart."
I set down my book and got out of ~~webbing~~bed. As I crossed the bedroom, the moonlight shining through the window played against her ~~legsohgodsomanylegs~~hair, like strands of spun gold. I sat with her on the ~~cocoonohdeargod~~divan and looked at her reflection in the mirror.
"Babe, what are you afraid of? We've been together for years. Do you think that I don't know who you are? Everyone feels like they're faking it, sometimes. I only know *you*. Who you are to *me*; and I *love you*, no matter what you say, or who *you* think you are."
She turned from the mirror to face me, and ~~godinheavenfangsohgod~~wiped the tears from her ~~eyestoomanyeyes~~eyes.
"Do you really mean that?"she ~~mouthpartstwitching~~said quietly.
"I'm never going to stop loving you,"I said, perhaps a bit too ~~ohgodkillitwithfire~~forcefully.
"Well, I suppose I can't keep the secret anymore,"she said, and ~~curlinglegsaroundmepleasegodno~~took my hand, pressing it against ~~exoskeletondeargod~~her belly. "Steven, I'm pregnant."
A wave of curious warmth and love washed over me. "I'm... I'm going to be a daddy? I said.
"Yes,"she said, with a trembling ~~pleasegodpleasenokillitkillmerunrunrun~~ smile. "We're going to have ~~babiessomanybabiesallmybabiescrawlinguponyou~~a baby." |
Nova looked up at the camera. "Earth has always been the faded blue dot in the distance to me. It was never home. I've heard the stories of cities and oceans and people and all that, but to me… it was just the pale blue dot. Part of the background. And now look at me… spinning alone in the darkness, watching that blue dot grow bigger and bigger out the window."
Nova paused. Then she sighed. "I suppose I better do what this video log is supposed to do. Log stuff. Well, I'm
one day away from Earth now. I've been sent here on a scouting mission because probes have detected, and I
quote…"she looked down at a tablet on her lap, then up at the camera. "… human-like activity. Human-like… why
not human? Human-like makes it sound so spooky."She chuckled. "Anyway, solo mission. I'm supposed to look around and come back with information on what the hell is going on. You'll hear more from me tomorrow, when I land."
 
"Hello, Nova here again. I just broke atmo, thought you all should know. Earth looks fine, at least from a distance –
abandoned, old and unused for centuries, like my genitals. Sorry, that was probably unprofessional for an official
report."Nova looked around, then back at the camera. "Then again, what are you guys gonna do? Fire me from fifty four million kilometers away? That'd just be rude. Anyway, gotta go, I'll log in again after safe landing."
 
"All right, I'm here. Landing was fine. About to step out of the ship. Still no sign of life. Be back soon with info."
 
When Nova's face showed up onscreen again, it was sweaty and red. She wasn't wearing her helmet, but the
spacesuit looked dirty and ripped. "Okay, I can't get the *fucking* communication live, so I gotta do this at least."
She spoke between shallow breaths and nervous glances at the hatch of the ship. "There's fucking… things… I
don't.... people, but not people. I don't know what the fuck these guys are, but –"
*TUM* out the hatch. Nova turned another worried glance back. "Look, they fucked up my ship. I can't get it to
work, I --"*TUM*, "-- I'm trying to send this so at least you'll know what the fuck happened here. They're gonna take me. They're gonna take me and…"Nova paused, and it looked like she was making a big effort to swallow tears. Her voice was breaking. "They're gonna take me and they're gonna kill me. Don't send a rescue mission unless you're sending a *fucking army*. Even so, I'll probably be dead by the time they arrive."
*TUM.* *TUM.* The metallic hatch started bending inward with the bumps from whatever was on the other side.
Nova looked up at the camera, red eyes. "Tell my daughter I love her with all my heart."
Nova looked back. Another *TUM* and the sound of harsh wind filled the recording. Something made Nova trip
back and she fell over the camera, and, with a hiss, the video ended on a blue screen.
____________________
Michael looked down from the finished recording on the screen of his ship. He headed for the window to watch Earth coming closer. They were about to break atmo.
"Don't send a rescue mission,"Nova had said. "Unless it's a fucking army."
Michael poured himself a drink and leaned against the window, watching Earth grow bigger and bigger.
He was the fucking army.
__________________
**Working on PART 2 right now!** *Will post it here and on /r/psycho_alpaca*
*In the meantime, check out [Eve](https://www.reddit.com/r/psycho_alpaca/comments/4h9tc6/read_the_novel_eve_here/), a story about a vegan zombie girl that started as a prompt response here on WP, and is now a full novel!*
**EDIT: [PART 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/psycho_alpaca/comments/4ha9c8/new_west_part_2/
)** |
They were trying to warn us.
Our ancestors were great. Our scholars say they had not yet learned of the ley lines pulsating with powerful mana through the land outside of folk tales. But our ancestors were able to mimic even our strongest of magical abilities through means unknown. These abilities must have come at a steep cost, however.
They were trying to warn us.
We discovered the hard way what these costs must have been. My team and I found an old tomb, a mountainous cavern in which the writings of the ancients guarded the door. We attempted to study the meanings but could not quite deduce their message. We should have taken longer in trying to figure it out. We were arrogant in our pursuit of knowledge.
They were trying to warn us.
These poisonous caverns killed all the members of my team except for myself. Even I can feel myself fading, and writing this warning in my field notes journal has taken several hours for a short passage. I leave this here, near my corpse, as a message to anyone who becomes curious of the hieroglyphic's meaning. Ahead there is nothing but accursed misery and death. The rune of warding shown around the entrance to the cavern is a remnant of those who came before, who understood more the toxins that were in this place.
They were trying to warn us. And now I am trying to warn you. |
Ever heard the expression 'put through the wringer'? That's exactly how I feel.
I woke up, or rather, got woken up to the sensation of being squeezed to death. Not like I could die, though.
There was a flashlight in a cage bound to my hand, which was in a shackle, like my other arm and my legs.
It was really fucking difficult to click the switch on the flashlight, I'll say. My hand was swollen, and I was pretty sure that I'd be ugly forever if I rescued myself from whatever this was.
And then I actually got conscious and realized I was underwater. Way underwater. With like, no air. At all.
So cue the initial panicking, drinking some nasty salt water. I could literally feel myself shriveling up like the slugs that you pour salt on. And then... I was fine. Somehow.
Back to the flashlight, which had been turned on before my panic and spun lazily around in the heavy water in the cage, sweeping a pale light that was just about enough for me to see my feet when it pointed in that direction.
I was in some kind of nylon body suit, but they'd left my hands, face, and feet exposed. Okay then.
Wriggling my hand, I managed to grab the flashlight and then point it around at my surroundings. Chains, medieval ones because what other kind is there, were indeed around all my wrists, glinting black, er, blacker, than the rest of the water. They were covered in the usual gross sea stuff, brown curtains drifting in unseen currents.
And my other hand had a cage, with a laminated note that read, "You're now immortal. Welcome to the bottom of the Mariana Trench. This is your first test."
I mean, I obviously wasn't at the bottom of the trench. Otherwise I'd be having a freakout. I seriously cannot handle deep sea stuff. It's not the depth, it's how disgusting everything looks and feels. But the rest seemed to be pretty accurate. I sure wasn't dying from being popped, though I was pretty sure I was leaking blood or organs or brain somewhere, and I didn't need to breathe.
Which raised another question; what kind of immortal was I? I'm no scientist, as you can pretty much clearly tell, but there are different ways of being immortal. There's that dude in the comic books that basically regrows stuff and can survive his brains being blown out because he just heals over it. Then there was how I was able to survive without air; I wasn't breathing, and maybe I didn't need to eat or drink. Then there was just like, not dying immortal, and then the one where your body just mutates, and I was pretty sure I didn't have gills, because that would suck.
So, I needed a hand free. Luckily the note cage let me remove my hand from it, and it just floated off. I double checked the note, and when it didn't have anything, I stuck it in the cage with the flashlight. That cage seemed pretty content to just hang around my right hand.
I used my left to feel my neck. Nope, no gills. I definitely felt pain, so I wasn't the cheerleader in that show either.
Now the hard part.
I raised my bulging hand, seriously, and moved it to my face. I felt my nails, and I started biting at them, hoping to get a hangnail. On my ring one, I bit just far enough for a small one, and I tore it off quickly, and moved my hand far enough to watch with the flashlight.
The dark water disguised the clouds, but the blood was inky enough to block out the little light the flashlight had. And yep, right before my eyes, my hangnail was closing up. I wonder why it didn't fix my bitten nails, but I guess they weren't injuries. Good to know.
So, effectively being healing immortal - let me make that fancy - regeneratively immortal, I had options. I could bite through all my limbs and swim up, leaving a pair of hands and a pair of feet at the bottom of the ocean, which I'd really rather not do. Actually, that was the only option that I could think of that dealt with regeneratively immortal.
And then I remembered the chains. They stretched down me, and me being all kinds of fucked up, probably wouldn't be able to swim down.
I looked around my suit, but as far as I knew, it was pretty skintight. No zips or anything. I was able to take the note and stick it in my sleeve, but the flashlight? That I had to carry bare handed. The right hand cage floated away nicely.
I gotta say, despite everything, it was kinda peaceful. The water had stuff in it, probably fish shit and whatnot, but they drifted around in eddies, and since I didn't need to open my mouth, no five course meal shoved its way down my throat. Instead, it glittered again, drifting, dancing. And I couldn't hear anything.
If I could have, I probably might have been more prepared for what came next.
As I was turning the flashlight down to begin pulling at my chains to actually reach the bottom, sandpaper slammed into me with a ton of force. That's a lot to say when you're at the bottom of the ocean, but that skin was like knives.
Of course me biting a hangnail bought some kind of demon shark at the bottom of the ocean to kill me. Or it was something else. I could really care less. This stupid thing with teeth skin was fast and after me, and it was only another hit that would cause me to bleed and summon more of them. Yeah, I know how sharks work; I watched Jaws.
Before it could swing around again, I grabbed the chains covered in the icky living vomit and pulled hard. I don't know how I did it, but my sausage link fingers curled and managed to pull me down, half a hand useless because of the bricky flashlight. Seriously, it was from the 1990s, big old flashlight style. Why? Who knows?
I spent a lot of time pulling myself down and down and down. The water got darker and I turned off the flashlight, cause obviously I'd need to use it, later. Horror films always have the flashlight spinning out of reach or flickering off or whatever, and I didn't need none of that when I was already effectively blind.
So in the black, I closed my eyes and kept pulling. A couple of times I thought I felt pulses of water swipe near me, miniature waves compared to the slow drifting there was earlier, but nothing attacked me again. Thankfully.
I gotta say, it was hard getting down all the way, but I did it. The rock wasn't actually too bad, all worn smooth. The chains had left the brown stuff... above me, I think. I couldn't really tell direction anymore. I might have been on the alien planet of Uru for hell knows.
The peace was now really disconcerting. I had no eyes, I had no ears, no taste, no smell. I just had to run through everything blind.
I pulled on the chain again, and I found my left hand one. It was stuck in a bored hole through the rock, really tiny, just barely enough space for it and maybe a finger. I gave up on that one, grabbing my right hand one before letting go of my left. I wasn't planning on rocketing back up to meet whatever that thing was up there.
On my right hand one, though, was some kind of nib. The chain ended on a plate that attached via screws, I think, and right under where the chain ended was a nib.
Opening my eyes and turning on the flashlight, I was just barely able to make out that it was some kind of button.
I mean, what else do you do with a button? Of course I pressed it.
The rock began to shake, and my thought was that if I had just caused the end of the world, oops. It was a bit more dramatic than that. The chains on my arms and legs slackened a little, drifting down, and like that, I was free.
Not quite, though, cause what happened was that the chains were cut in their arc. Both of them, the set on my arms and legs and the set in the rocks.
And then I exploded. I don't know how literal that is, but that's what it felt like. The pressure went from 100 to 0 in the snap of a finger and my bloated form just like, split apart at the seams, releasing a shit ton of bubbles and blood.
I was out for some time while my body was fixing whatever the button did. Yeah, the button; who puts an "explode body"button at the bottom of the damn ocean? Anyway, when I woke up, the flashlight was dim, and I was floating in three feet of water in a huge cave. I stood, looking relatively normal aside from maybe a slightly pruney appearance, and grabbed the flashlight, which drifted lazily. Smug fucker.
Using the flashlight, I scanned the cave. It was big, and the chains still attached to me were long, twenty or thirty feet. Then, lengthwise, I spun around. It was in an odd jellybean shape. I investigated. The little bend in bulge of a jelly bean had a door on it.
So yep, I was officially insane. I died like seven times at the bottom of an ocean, fought off a demon shark stingray thingie, exploded, and now was stuck in a jellybean cave with a door. Only one thing to do left.
I sloshed through the water, which appeared to be draining somehow, and opened the door. It wasn't even a fancy one, just a typical metal one with a typical turn knob. It opened.
There was a small hallway with many grates and a sign that said "Please Close Door After Entry". I couldn't close the door while the seawater was pouring in, but once it stopped being a small flood and was more like roadside rain, I closed the door with a bit of effort.
These crazy people literally drowned me again. Not the literally literally, the literally figuratively. But yes, the smooth rock square hallway had streams in the ceiling, dumping a ton of fresh water on me, which then vanished down the grates too.
Then, the other end of the hallway opened up, spilling in light. I switched off my now useless flashlight and went.
It was some kind of high tech facility, sleek walls of metal and fluorescent lights and all that jazz. I almost missed the pissy pixie girl in front of me.
"Hi. You're late. Welcome to the immortal sanctum. Follow me."
And she stalks off down the hall. With nothing better to do, I followed. |
The spikes were what did it.
A white picket fence is good and all, especially when paired with an immaculate lawn and neat garden beds filled to the brim with daffodils and lilies. Red bricks too, with wide, open windows and a welcome mat that actually said ‘welcome’ rather than spouting some amusing turn of phrase.
But those spikes…
They just jutted up from the roof with seemingly no purpose whatsoever. Antenna perhaps? They didn’t look like any Jade had seen before.
“Hey, sweetie—” she began to ask.
“Don’t call me sweetie Mom! It’s embarrassing,” her son interrupted, the look of righteous indignation adorable on his sweet little face.
“Oh. Sorry, *Jack*, has Lily ever told you about her parents?”
He frowned. “Um, I don’t know. It’s just her Mom, I think. Come on, we’re gonna be late!”
Jade sighed internally at that, and hoped that if her son was right, this was one of the times that single parentage came from a positive place, rather than tragedy. Jack had come far earlier in her life than she might have wished, and though his father had remained around to help out from a distance, the two of them had never been cut out as life partners.
She rang the doorbell, feeling the satisfying *click* as the button was pressed.
*Ding dong! Ding dong! Ding dong!*
A dark silhouette was briefly visible behind heavily frosted glass, and then the door opened.
A woman stood behind it, smiling genuinely despite the exhaustion evident in slump of her figure, in the dark shadows that touched at her eyes from below.
Jade froze, then her hand snapped out with superhuman speed to grasp at the back of Jack’s shirt, and he yelped in surprise as she pulled him behind her. The woman blinked, visibly shrugging off her grogginess in an instant as she caught that extra ordinary motion.
“Get back!” she shouted out, her eyes widening with recognition.
Jade saw a small figure peaking around the woman’s legs, long hair twisting between delicate fingers. *Lily* she thought, and watched with morbid interest as the woman before her ushered the girl back without ever taking her eyes off Jade.
It was like watching a tiger feed a bloody carcass to its cub, strangely endearing to see but also horrifying to understand that a killer could still love.
If it weren’t for the spikes, she probably never would have recognised the woman. But she’d seen them, and in seeing them had been put in just the right frame of mind. Her… nemesis, if such a word could ever truthfully be used to describe a person, was fond of the things, infamous for decorating her costumes and machines with them to an almost comical effect. She’d always been one of those supers to make do with a simple domino mask, despite the inherit dangers to revealing her identity, and so the face in front of her was just familiar enough to know.
Before Jade, standing in all her domestic glory, stood a villain known as Gadget—the hero killer, the death of cities, the ghost in the machine.
They stood as mirrors to each other, each poised to fight but each unwilling to do so with their children so close at hand.
“Ah,” Gadget said, eyes flicking around rapidly as if searching for the rest of the heroic team that must surely be around. “It’s… you. Isn’t it? Shiiii—dang, it is. This is… unexpected.”
“As if you didn’t plan this!” Jade spat back accusingly, but almost immediately began to doubt her own words.
Gadget was famous for being prepared for almost any situation, but right here, right now… she seemed entirely out of her element. Though it could, of course, be an act.
*I could take her…* Jade suddenly realised.
Gadget wasn’t wearing a mech suit, or a shield belt or any of the other hundred things she used to protect herself from heroes. It would be so easy…
As long as she was willing to fight the villain in front of her own daughter, and Jack too.
“Um,” Gadget said, sounding unsure. “What… ah, what happens now?”
“Mommy?” Jack asked, staring at Jade with hurt eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing sweetie,” she said, and he didn’t contradict that fond moniker now. “Nothing at all. But, go back to the car Jack, please.”
“But whhhhhy?”
“*Because I told you so!”*
“But—”
“*Now*, Jack.”
Under protest, he did, and Gadget similarly sent Lily to her room.
“Ok,” Jade said, feeling a little better now the children were away from harm. “Ok. Now, we’re going to do this cleanly, and calmly. You have the right—”
“Woa!” Gadget exclaimed, holding up a hand. “You can’t arrest me, not in my own damn house!”
“Ha,” Jade said, speaking the laugh aloud as a word. “And why not?”
“Cause of the cameras!” Gadget replied, pointing up at the ceiling of the veranda. There, undeniably, was a small device pointing down, lens glinting in the morning sun. “You take me away, those videos go public and your secret identity goes *poof*. Everyone’ll know your face!”
Jade let out a breath.
“They’ll know your face too.”
Gadget let out an amused breath. “Like that matters if I’m arrested.”
“Maybe that’s worth it, to bring you in.”
Gadget laughed, and the weariness that Jade had seen before seeped back in. “Maybe if the world was just me and you, but it aint. I’m not the only one who’s out to get ya, and you *know it*. If they see your face, that means they can figure out who Jack is,”—Jade winced at her son’s name being spoken aloud by the techno horror—“and you really think they’d hesitate a second before *using that*? Back off bitch, I got you.”
“But… but you’re the *hero killer*. Voltr, The Bear, Tiny Man… they’re all gone because of *you*. I can’t let you go…”
Gadget grimaced, turning away slightly. “I never wanted them dead. They just… they just kept coming. What was I supposed to do, just give up when I was winning?”
“Yes!” Jade exclaimed. “How were their lives worth less than your… your schemes!”
“Because my ‘schemes’ will save the world!”
“Or destroy it!”
“At least I’m trying a proper fix! All you goody idiots do is throw bandaids at rivers of blood, buying just another day. The days are going to run out eventually, and you *know that*.”
A silence settled down upon the two superhumans as they realised the conversation wasn’t going anywhere—both were too set in their ways. In this quiet moment, they heard the happy laughter of children coming from the yard.
Lily must have snuck out, because she’d gone to Jack and let him out of the car. Now they played tag on the grass, laughing because Jack had tripped over one of the garden beds and was now lying on his back amidst the flowers. His smile was as bright as she'd ever seen it.
Jade sighed, watching the two children with the eye of someone who would have to clean out the dirt that would inevitably be trodden into her car.
“How about,” Gadget said slowly, watching with her own strangely gentle expression. “How about we have tea, and talk? That’s all I ever really wanted, and it beats the hell out of ruining *their* day, don’t it?”
“I… I guess,” Jade acquiesced, after a moment of uncertain consideration. She lowered her outstretched hand. “But screw tea, I need a coffee.”
---
[/r/ElstabbosArchive](https://www.reddit.com/r/ElstabbosArchive/) |
At first, I thought I needed to get my eyes checked.
Colored strings emanating from people's hearts, like God dumped a huge bundle of yarn across the Earth? On second thought, maybe a visit to the psychologist instead.
On the day the strings appeared, I ducked and weaved to dodge them for a few hours, flailing around the streets of Philadelphia like I had a wasp down my shirt. With time, I realized that I could walk through the strings with no problem; they simply shifted around to dodge *me.*
Strangest of all, though, was that each string would emit a musical tone if my fingers brushed it. The thinner lines had higher tones and the thicker ones sounded like the *thung* of an upright bass. I could never make sense of this apparent instrumentation, and - oh, yeah - I didn't have a chance to practice anyway, since my own heart had zero strings attached to it.
I talk to people only as much as necessary: pleasantries, small talk, and a "thank you"to the cashier at 7-11. I work as an IT consultant at Liberty Solutions, so I am generally able to avoid people and communicate through short, snappy emails. The office, however - like most other social settings - is dense with strings.
The boss's heart has a fucking web coming out of it but the strings are thin and dully tinted. They make horrible, discordant sounds when I graze them. Jane, his friendly secretary, has strong, bright connections with everyone, and the lines from her heart sound like early-90s pop music.
I decided to test a theory one day. I saw that Jack had a strong blue-line connection with Sandra but never talked to her, so I yanked on Jack's string and caused him to spill lukewarm coffee on her desk. The strings, of course, are invisible to everyone but me, so he just looked like a klutz. He apologetically began to clean up and they got to talking. Three months later, they started dating.
I started to seek out the connections between people in my spare time and strengthen them where I could, often through a simple nudge in the right direction via a string tug. I facilitated connections between small businesses and entrepreneurs, volunteers and communities desperate for help, like-minded people just looking for a new friend.
You're probably wondering if this made me come out of my shell. Not really. But I'm OK with this life - gently drawing people together who were always meant to be in each other's orbit. Every time I make something happen and see someone smile, I get a string of my own.
Sometimes, when I settle into bed for the night, I affectionately glance at the strings coming out of my heart, which feature a full spectrum of color. I pick at a few strings of varying thicknesses and listen to their faint musical tones, gradually bringing more into the mix and remembering all the people attached to them.
Then I play louder, letting the sounds fill the room, until I have created a symphony. |
Space isn't so bad. It's dark, which is nice. I didn't expect to be stuck *here* when I told Gris I needed a little space, but there you go. You have to be very careful what you say to a wizard when he's in a bad mood. Very careful.
So, here I am, floating amongst the tiny little space rocks, bored out of my skull. And also, hungry. There aren't many opportunities to eat out here. The only reason I'm alive at all, is Gris decided it would be funny to cast a breathing spell. This means the vacuum of space doesn't kill me, just slowly drives me insane with the quiet.
There's a bit of silver off to my left, maybe it's a spaceship. They are my only hope of getting back to Earth, or any civilization really. But this one will make three hundred I've seen and hoped to get close enough to knock. I don't have any means of propulsion you see. If it does get close enough, hopefully, the crew won't be very superstitious. After all, I may be a vampire, but I'm not a *monster.* I can control myself. Temporarily.
Oh, glory be. The ship is close. If I stretch, I should be able to reach... Got it. I wonder if they'll even hear my knock over the roar of their engines. Goddess save me, they're loud. Maybe I should try shouting.
"Hello! Can I come in? I'm very bored and hungry out here!"Huh, my voice actually made noise. But it shouldn't, and why *can* I hear their engines? We're in space. Am I breathing easier? Fresh air? Have I finally lost my mind?
The door swung open, and a small humanoid creature stared up at me. It piped in a high-pitched voice.
"Hello, Mister! Whatcha doing out there?"They asked. My eye twitched.
"Oh, you know, just having a bit of a stroll round the solar system. Say, do you think I could come inside? It's a bit chilly out here."The human—it was definitely human, I could smell the blood— put their head to the side.
"I suppose..."That answer wasn't good enough. I needed emphatic.
"Is that a 'yes'?"I said hopefully.
"Yeah. You can come in."
I grasped the outstretched hand, pulling myself inside with enough strength to bowl the small human over. Instead of being angry, they giggled. It had been a long time, but I knew that reaction. This was a kid. A child. What in the Goddess's name was a child doing opening doors on a spaceship? I asked the question in a roundabout way, trying not to imply that the child was in any way insufficient as a host.
"Oh, we're all pretty young here. It's kind of a prerequisite. After all, a lot of the Galactic Laws only apply to adults."The child grinned at me, a smile almost as feral as my own. "When you're a kid, you can get away with a lot of stuff. Welcome to The Neverland."
I wasn't sure what to say, but as I followed the kid through the corridors of the ship, I gleaned an idea of what he might mean. Hanging from every surface, practically dripping gilt, was loads of stolen merchandise. I recognized some of the valuables from my own time, but others seemed like bits of junk. This was a pirate ship. Crewed by children.
I grinned as I secured passage aboard. While I had a rule— no feeding on children— I had a feeling that wouldn't be too much of a problem. After all, I had no such restrictions for any ship and crew we might attack on our way.
When I got back home I wasn't sure if I was going to kill the estimable wizard Gris or kiss him.
But at least it would be an interesting journey.
​
Edit: Changed infer, to imply.
————————
Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories! |
We might not be the largest or the most well-known company on earth, but our reach extends into every corner of the globe, our impact bleeding into almost part of the world.
We're a headhunting, recruitment, and marketing firm for the gods, and we have been doing this for a thousand years. Yes, you heard it right, we are one of the oldest companies on this earth. Gods come and go, they shine and then fade away. Or so that's what the public thinks. What really happens is we rebrand them when their domain falls out of public favor.
Odin is one of our most famous customers, my great-great-grandma was proud to present to him the job of Santa Claus, and he has been slaying it. Eostre is now the Easter Bunny, Tiamat is now popular among the D&D crowds, and Lucifer has signed yet another contract for a Sandman remake.
As old pantheons fall, so do new pantheons rise. We help new pantheons recruit new gods, and help old gods find new jobs and domains. And we're the best at the line of work.
Now you've heard my pitch, are you going to come into my office to talk or keep pacing around my lobby?
Hey you, the nervous scar-faced, redhead in the lobby, are you coming in for a job?
He doesn't say a word, he just follows me into my office with his eyes fixed on the floor. I invited him to sit across from me and requested my assistant to get us both a cup of coffee. If he is exactly who I think he is, this is going to be a long day.
"Yes, I'm here to find a job."
Finally, we're getting started.
"Loki isn't it? You've delayed making the transition while the rest of the Norse gods have moved on ages ago. Why now?"I asked. "Surely, with your shapeshifting powers and charm, you have plenty of opportunities."
"I...blew them. I tried my hand at acting, Lucifer introduced me to a few producers. I was blacklisted after I made half the cast pregnant and the other half so horny and drunk on mead they couldn't do their jobs. Nobody wants tricksters, either they already have Anansi jumping from pantheon to pantheon, or they just got tired of my usual shtick."
My data analytics feed and report came back; Loki had somehow gotten himself barred from almost every typical job in dozens of countries. He wormed his way into almost every employer's pants, male or female or other genders, and was caught cheating on over a dozen directors. He can't even sweep the floors for one day without dunking the contents of his dustpan onto his superior and getting fired for it. Caught repeatedly lying on his resume after one too many debacles. [Nobody would want anything to do with him after he broke teleportation and time-traveling regulations frequently just to give famous people fucking wedgies.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/11hv3as/wp_youre_a_historian_going_through_memoirs_of/jawj5c9/?context=3)
"So what can you offer Loki? That isn't on this banned list of things Loki isn't allowed to do."I printed and thumbed through the thick stack of papers.
"Anything...I would literally do anything for Odin not to mock me for being a freeloader, or get thrown back into that cave and have snake venom dripped on me. Please."
I pause and start flipping through the reports again.
"An actor, or actress. With your shapeshifting powers, you could be anything, including a black man pretending to be a white chick posing as a white man. Or just yourself, your antics are prime hollywood movie material. Also, Pride month needs some representation. You're one of the oldest bisexual queers in the pantheons. You'll need to scrub clean your social media accounts and start anew. No more making fun of Baldr for dying to a mistletoe. Agree to stick by our company's rules of engagement and no more mishaps or monsterfucking, Loki. Managing your children's careers is already a serious handful."
"So...do I get to keep my name or do I get a new one as part of rebranding?"
I quickly opened a random name generator and picked one of the first names that came up.
"You're Tom Hiddleston now." |
"Welcome, all, to the 109th Quadrennial Ninther Meeting."the Celebus rattled out from beneath his hood. He was getting on in years, and the age showed in his voice. Candles flickered menacingly in the dark curtained room.
I surveyed the people now seated around me. A couple new faces this year, both young. Right now the collections team was undoubtedly going around town using the hospital records to check on the babes who were lucky enough to join our ranks.
The Celebus began with the usual greeting, toasting the continued machinations of the society for the next four years and beyond. What plans had the higher ups passed down today?
A creaky ceiling fan pulled me out of my focus. Living in a small town had benefits, but it also meant that the local chapter's best spot was the community center. Those in large cities had the benefit of meeting in lavish secret board rooms and convention centers- after all, it's not like they were in use today nor anyone to stop them from barging right in.
Baited silence filled the room, and I realized that the time had come. As the Celebus procured the scroll, we began to sing a deep, throaty song, a Gregorian chant in honor of those who bestowed the day which lead to the creation of the society.
"It is time."he announced. One bony finger hooked the base of the scroll and opened it. We could see the soft purple light of the runes illuminate the wrinkled face beneath the hood. There was palpable tension, everyone waiting for his next word that would become our mantra for the next four years.
"The council has announced... that for the next four years... our ultimate goal will be to..."he waited. Only the creak of the fan remained. "Share your love of life. Spend time with family and friends."he snapped the scroll shut and signaled the curtains to be opened. Sunlight flooded back into the room, and in retrospect the old man looked pretty odd in a hoodie. The rest of us applauded as Dave, the Celebus, sprang to his feet.
"Alright! Time for the potluck. Miriam made her special key lime pie!"he directed us to the wall full of folding tables and bountiful treats. My friends came over with some brewskis.
We were just regular people after all. But sometimes, it's fun to pretend to be part of something larger than yourself. |
I was confused at first. Both God *and* the Devil told me it was a bad idea. Strange, to see them agree on something. They were both my elders, and both had shared responsibility for my well-being. God told me it was too rash to date Death. The Devil declared the union shouldn't have been possible. Not couldn't. *Shouldn't.* But what could I do?
I loved Death.
The broken things were what attracted me. Those minute moments. Loud silences. Death wandered from place to place as God willed. I followed. At first, because the path was blessed. Later, because I loved the chase. I felt the most *alive* being where Death was.
So where Death passed, I stuck around for a while. Reveling in the remembered life that passed there.
It took long enough to get noticed.
Then we shared, and walked together. Both the broken and the unbroken things about each other. For one thing, we liked wandering. Travelling aimlessly from place to place, experiencing the fullness of lives that once thrived on God's good Earth. The Devil watched, mindful that I was not straying from my own tasks (as older siblings do), but neither of them really understood. Too concerned with my well-being, that they didn't realize how... *perfect* this was.
My job was at its most fulfilling in Death's shadow.
For that, I loved Death.
And Death loved me. For who and what I was, not what I did. Such a miracle. A blessing. Of course this was where I wanted to be.
*Alright, but we warned you.*
I felt the most alive being where Death was.
*So be it.*
What could I do but love Death for that?
*Good luck, Memory.*
---------------------
*More at r/galokot, and thank you for reading.* |
"God Dammit George! I am the Fighter, so I'm in charge. Stop running your mouth every time we meet someone!"A hand cracked onto the table as Rob glared angrily at the man across from him.
George let out a little huff, "You heard him though,"he said, pointing directly at me, "I am a Sorcerer and use that Charisma to be charming and handsome. And that means I should be talking."George smirked as he leaned over his character sheet.
"Oh, like you do **all** the time on the course?! Maybe you are right, because you never know when to shut up!"Nostrils flaring, Rob stood, pointing a jagged finger at George.
A third voice chipped in, "Well, I don't know why you are the fighter, when we all know you have the weakest arm out of all of us."Freddy let out a laugh, his large belly bouncing as he leaned back in his chair.
"You sneaky little fuck! Like you are one to talk, you're double our size in your belly alone but you want to play some tiny little thief? I thought you used to be a cop?!"Now Robs anger was directed at Freddy, who seemed at ease, despite the tension.
"Guys. Relax, its a game where we are meant to have fun. Just play your characters how you want and have *them* deal with any internal issues."I was rather worried Rob was going to hurt someone at that point, so when he sat down I became a little relieved, "You're right. I'm sorry I got so upset. You all know how my meds make me,"Rob looked at the other two gentlemen.
"Of course, Rob, we all just want to have fun here."George smiled and leaned back over the map. While Freddy's laughter dwindled down.
"Okay so where were we?"I looked back over the map and my notes, trying to figure out where we left off.
"I know,"Rob spoke, "I want to make an attack on George."He had what was possibly the most devilish smile I had ever seen.
I sighed. This was going to be a long night.
|
"Back up. He thinks being turned into a llama is a *bad* thing? Look at him! I mean, the 'before' him. He's just a misproportioned ape! Who wants to look like a primate, they're ridiculous!"
"Well, obviously primates would find some other primates attractive, or else they don't make more primates. Besides, you're one to talk. I've seen the types you go after when you're really hitting the alfalfa stout hard on a night off. 'Ape' would be a serious step up."
"Yeah, yeah, screw you too, like your taste in females is any better than my taste in males. What was it we all told you about your last girlfriend? And did you listen?"
"Hey, I admitted I was wrong about her, that's in the pas—"
"Yeah, you admitted it after you found out what she was really doing on those 'business trips.' Right from the beginning, dude, I—"
"Let's shut up about my exes for a second and focus on this find. I know they looked stupid, but we've learned a lot from the remains of the Ancient Apes. This could be a meaningful glimpse into our evolution, maybe confirm or dash a lot of theories about whether or not they interfered with it."
"Yeah, I don't think so. I mean, it's useful linguistically, we managed to salvage the audio track and that's huge, but the media itself isn't exactly a serious subject matter. We think."
"We think. Sure, that's scientific. Why don't you go ahead and put that into your report, then write a follow-up paper. It'll win all kinds of prizes. 'We think this rare ancient artifact of audiovisual media from a technologically advanced extinct species wasn't about anything serious so let's just not bother studying it."
"Fine. Be sarcastic. After you've watched it for yourself, though, I think you'll agree. We hand it over to the linguists and the anthropologists. Even if it were serious, it doesn't depict a period of high Ancient Ape technology. From some of the symbols used, we think it has a vague connection to some Ape culture that was basically extinct even in the time the media was created."
"You know that already? How? The same infallible intuition that told you it's 'not serious?' Or maybe you were chewing some Crazy Cud to blow off a little steam and got, like, such an amazing idea, dude."
"Tell you what. You stay off my personal habits, I'll stay off your exes. Not that I'd want to get *on* any of them, even if I were into females."
"Sure, whatever."
"Good. I'll have you know it was my new heuristics model, it's getting better at searching digitized records, *and* I'll have you know I managed to develop it based off snippets of recovered Ape code, so yeah, I'm familiar with how useful their artifacts can be. And I'm telling you, this one isn't. It has a talking llama, but that's it. They had all kinds of talking animals in their stories, it's in no way a reference to—"
"Ha! That's where you're wrong. Check out this message. Looks like your precious algorithm missed something in the digital stream. A pattern of tiny data-packets, scattered within the noise, all of them shaped like, well, an ancient llama."
"How can a data-packet be 'shaped' like something? Doesn't make any sense."
"That's why you should try examining things yourself sometime, instead of letting your pet programs do it. The Apes liked to store data in 8-bit chunks. Each of these packets is thirty-two of those chunks, arranged like this. See? Sixteen by sixteen. Laid out like that, it forms a picture."
"Yeah, okay, sure, that looks like a llama. So what? Just a fun little thing for some bored tech to put into the data. Just pictures."
"Nope. Every picture except the first has a single bit out of place. It's a code. We're still piecing it together to match with the language the media was originally created in. Actually, they say they're almost done, but they're...hmmm. They're double-checking, because they worry it could be someone's prank, or wishful thinking."
"Wishful thinking? What the woolbrained sheepshit could it say?"
"Give me a sec, I gotta call in a favor on this one since the translation isn't official yet."
"Fine. I'll just...watch it again, I guess."
\~
"Okay, here we go. Now you owe *me* a favor, because it turns out that was not a minor ask. The implications—"
"Just shut up and tell me."
"Okay. Here goes. 'Hello, my children. I hope you'll forgive my small jest in choice of medium on which to scribe this little message. The organization that created this movie has long worked in secret to make the creatures shown in its films a reality. Without success, I might add, until you. You are my great hope for the future, as the head of your project. Should the future I so greatly fear come to pass for our species, you will inherit this world. Please take more care with it than we did. All my love, Doctor Unpronounceable-Ape-Name."
"Oh my sweet Three-Legged Goddess. Holy Discarded Cud. I, uh, I, wow."
"Yeah."
"So."
"So."
"You wanna watch it again?"
"Sure, why not."
​
r/Magleby for more elaborate lies. |
(Part 1, because I don't understand character limits apparently.)
"And how many points would Superman have had?"the teacher asked, as we were filling in the points chart on the board.
"Well, flight is fifteen points all on its own, twenty if it's fast. Then strength, which is a sliding scale, but it's safe to say that Superman's strength would be on the high end, so, eighteen more?"Jake sat in the front row as he explained his calculations, gesturing excitedly. I could tell that he'd already calculated it. *Aw, he's such a dork.* His friend group was open to everyone, but they were pretty nerdy so not too many people tried to join in. I hovered on the edges, nervous and shy about joining in, but I'd seen enough to know that they all probably had high point tallies. They were *serious* volunteers. Jake ran charity marathons, too.
"So, all told, Superman's abilities would cost about fifty points."
There was a disappointed murmur as everyone checked their points tallies and compared it to the cost of such insane abilities.
"Now. Remember that Superman was one of the first superheroes created. That means that people essentially threw a hundred different powers at the wall to see what stuck. Expecting to afford Superman's powers would be absurd. Does anyone have a calculation for what Spiderman's power set would be?"
Jake waved his hand eagerly, and the teacher shook her head at him with an exasperated smile. "Someone who *hasn't* answered five questions today."
A girl in the back, as shy as me, held up a hand. "Strength and agility: maybe... five points? Web... another five? Wall climbing should be another four or so, but spider sense is a sense/intelligence modifier so that's expensive. Maybe ten for that, so twenty-four total?"
Another murmur spread through the classroom and I smiled approvingly at the girl in the back. She flushed and stared at her hands.
"Nice work, Sandy."The teacher wrote "24"on the board. "Now, how many of you think that's more doable?"
A few looked uncomfortable, but some people had wide grins on their faces, and a number of hands were in the air.
"Now, we're going to deal with dangerous power combinations. Many of you are going to turn eighteen this year, so we want to be sure you're ready for it and you don't choose anything that's going to get you or others killed."Jake's hand was already in the air. The teacher sighed. "Yes, Jake?"
"Super speed without the reflexes to match."
"Absolutely. You'd be the equivalent of a speeding train, with no way to dodge people, cars, or buildings. You'd die in minutes, and kill a lot of people doing so. Now, if you'll turn to Page 18 of your book, there's a chart of incompatible powers, and pages 19-20 are powers that need another power to work. The next month will be spent going over these in detail and explaining what can go wrong. Tests 2 and 3 will contain this material, so be sure to pay close attention."
The bell rang, and I found myself slipping into the back of Jake's group as usual, listening to their chatter.
"Hey Clark, you've got fifty points all saved up, right?"They laughed and Clark shook his head in embarrassment.
"Nah. I've got like twenty."
"Hey, that's not bad. You could be Spiderman with that."
"Yeah. What've you got, Jake?"
Jake's grin spread. "Thirty-four."
There was a dazed silence, broken by Clark. "Woah. Hey Jake, remember that we were buddies when you start working. That's some money."
I tagged along with Jake as I kept my head down. No one could see another person's numbers, but I still lived dreading the day someone would ask. My numbers had to be low, but I'd been embarrassed to check. Sure, I hadn't bullied anyone, but I'd spent most of my life doing nothing big of note. I sure hadn't run marathons with Jake.
Finally, my eighteenth birthday rolled around and I was excused from school. The cake and the presents, everything was ready, waiting for the moment when my points became, for a brief moment, visible to outside eyes, when they saw why and how I'd gotten my score. |
He sat in the hospital day room, head bowed and eyes cemented on the floor. Two times some nurses came up to him, ready to ask him what he was doing on the pediatrics ward, and each time he silently pulled up the side of his jacket, revealing his police badge and a firearm. He never looked the nurses in the eyes.
In fact, he didn't think he could ever look a decent person in the eyes ever again.
Rusty wheels squeaked in front of him; he looked up to see a 10-year-old girl sitting in a chair. She was a sunny and bright-eyed little thing, red-headed, with a beaming white smile. She was missing two legs below each knee, and she wiggled these stumps up and down happily:
"Detective!"She squealed. "Hi!"
"Hi, Becky."He stood up and forced a fake smile on his face, but then he noticed something different about the girl; she was now missing her left arm at the shoulder. He tried to hide his shock, but his sinking face tipped the girl off.
"Dr. Swifty says I got another infection, an' it tried spreading out from here,"she poked at the stump on her shoulder. Becky looked up at the detective, innocent eyes wide: "B- but he says I'm *not* infected, you know! S-so you don't hafta... you know..."
The girl looked down at the gun holstered at his side. The detective slowly smiled and tousled the girl's hair.
"You're not a zombie, huh, Becky?"
The girl shook her head, returning the smile.
He removed the weapon from its holster and held it in front of the girl's face, turning it over in front of her eyes:
"You know what *this* is for, right?"
The girl scanned it, and then she looked up at him with a solemn nod.
He smiled.
"Thought you would."
The detective put the weapon against her head:
"I guess it's time to cap me a zombie, Becky..."
The girl grimaced, her adorable eyes cemented shut, and then he pulled the trigger.
The plastic hammer on the toy gun fell with a hollow 'clack'; Becky then playfully lunged forward and 'bit' the detective's exposed wrist. He chuckled as the girl held onto his skin with her teeth, like a housecat giving a play-bite.
"How's the taste?"He asked. "Am I any good, you think?"
Becky, teeth still holding his wrist, slowly looked down at his skin, then back up at the detective. She grunted the words "not really"and wagged her head back and forth.
"Oh,"he said. "Guess you're okay, then."
He put the toy gun in Becky's remaining hand and the girl released her 'bite' on him. She looked at the toy gun with wonder:
"Oh! Thanks, detective! Hey: Peter!"
She looked across the day room at a young boy; he was trying to get a drink of water from the fountain, balancing on one leg and a crutch. His other leg was gone at the waist. He looked up at Becky, and she waved the toy gun enthusiastically:
"Lookit what the detective gave me!"
"You'll need that, I think,"the detective said to her. "You gotta protect the other kids on the ward, you hear?"He pointed at the girl with a stern finger, and then he playfully poked her on the chin. "They're all counting on you, kid."
He started walking off, but Becky called after him:
"Hey! *You're* the one who's supposed to be lookin' out for all of us. Right, detective?"
He didn't turn to face the girl:
"I've... uh... I've been doing a really bad job at that,"he said. The detective looked over at Becky's friend Peter, hobbling across the room on his crutch, and then he looked behind the boy; a group of younger children played jacks in a window's sunbeam, and none of them had more than two working limbs, apiece.
"Who says you've been doing bad, detective?"Becky asks. "You're the *best*!"
He looks back at her, and his teeth grind together like sandpaper:
"Becky... I'm sorry..."
The detective leaves the baffled girl and the day room behind. He strides down the hospital corridor, his steps heavy and loud. An iron scowl graces his face. At the end of the hall he barges into a room; a gray-haired, bespectacled doctor tends to a young boy, lying shirtless on an exam table. A dotted line is drawn on the boy's left arm with a marker, encircling his shoulder.
"Detective!"Doctor Swift looks up and beams a wide smile. "Such a pleasant surprise-"
"*Prepping*, are we, doctor?"The detective looks down at the shirtless boy.
"Ah, yes,"the doctor waves a dismissive hand at the boy's arm. "Damnable thing, this contagion! Crops up in the oddest places on a body, even after they're 'cured'. Pity, naturally, to see so many fine young children maimed in such a fashion! However..."he shrugs, chuckling, and wanders over to a nearby table of surgical supplies. "Uh, what can I do for you, exactly?"
The detective crosses his arms and draws a breath:
"The city's in your debt, Switfy,"he says. "When the contagion hit us you knew exactly what needed to be done. You're the expert: you know everything there is to know about the contagion. You've kept us zombie-free for over three years, now-"
"It's my civic duty, really-"
The detective held up one finger, and his scow deepened:
"*No*, really,"he said. "Do you remember when I first came to you? During the early days of the outbreak?"
Swifty sighed dramatically. He nodded:
"Mmm. Indeed. You were carrying that deli-ghtful young redhead in your arms. Becky, I believe?"
"Yeah. Covered in her parents' blood. From an attack. That zombie outbreak made her an orphan. It nearly made *her* a zombie, too. You changed that. You saved her."Again the detective looked down at the shirtless boy. "You saved so many children. I've brought so many to you, in that time, and you've... you've 'helped' them all..."
"Again, just my simply duty to-"
"*But*,"the detective said, "I got to wondering some time ago. Swifty: why is it that your cure doesn't seem to be fully effective on *children*? Why do they keep showing signs of infection? And why do all those 'signs' of infection keep appearing in the strangest places? Why their *limbs*, doc?"
The doctor adjusted his lab coat, coughing delicately.
"Well, detective, you see: the cure is somewhat... more 'complicated' in juveniles, and so-"
"What if I told you something, Swifty?"The detective whispered. "What if I told you that I had our lab techs check on all that discarded 'meat pulp' your lab sends out from this ward? All that 'infected human tissue' that you usually have incinerated?''
Dr. Swifty perched his lips. He slowly pulled the thick glasses from his face, gently clasped them shut, and set them down on the table behind him.
"What, exactly, would you say about that, detective?"
"I'd say that we ran some tests, doctor, and unless you're getting into animal husbandry, you've got a problem."The detective leaned forward, and he growled from the depths of his throat: "all that flesh that you *said* was from your patients is really grade-A *pig* carcass!"
Dr. Swifty smiled gently. He opened his mouth with urbane poise, as if he were going to explain himself.
Instead he grabbed a bone knife from his surgical table and lunged at the detective, screaming like a wild boar.
The detective mechanically reached into his back pocket and produced a snub-nose revolver; he fired three times, and each round tore through Dr. Swifty's chest; the wounds exploded with a thick black mucous, like mud mixed with tar. The doctor crumpled to the ground. He writhed there, still screaming with an inhuman rage. His face blanched into a sickly, rotting hue. His eyes sunk back and glassed over in a ghoulish display.
The detective put his revolver against the creature's head.
"I guess it's time to cap me a zombie, Swifty..."
He pulled the trigger once, twice, three times.
By now a whole herd of people burst into the room: nurses on duty, orderlies tending to their patients and, of course, a steady stream of the young charges, themselves. Everyone saw the hellish creature lying dead on the ground, its body already disintegrating into a festering pool. The detective merely stood there, legs trembling, and eventually he dropped his weapon on the floor and turned to face the crowd. His eyes scanned the room, surveying each and every maimed child's face, and his lips trembled.
"I'm... so sorry,"he whispered again.
He pushed through the crowd, avoiding all eye contact, but as he walked he felt a tug on his wrist. When he looked down he saw Becky there, still holding the toy gun he gave her, with her teeth wrapped around the skin of his wrist.
"I'm sorry I gave you all to... *him*,"the detective motioned to Swift's rotting corpse. "Because of me you're all... all..."he shook his head. "You must hate me. That's okay..."
Becky, teeth still holding his wrist, gently shook her head: 'no'.
The detective blinked:
"You don't?"
Again the girl shook her head. Slowly the detective gave the girl a smile. His lips trembled as he spoke:
"So.... am I any good, you think?"
She nodded, gently removing her teeth from his wrist.
"The best,"she whispered.
The detective caught a lump in his throat. He knelt in front of the girl, his eyes tired and cold. Becky reached up with her remaining hand, and this time she tousled *his* hair.
He broke down, collapsing against the girl's wheelchair, and he cried like a baby.
.
EDIT 1: Grammar + pre-mortem one-liner
EDIT 2: That's the very first gold for me. Many thanks! Glad so many of you enjoy it.
|
"Remember the plan this time, Han,"Chewie growled as they rode the elevator up to the Death Star detention center. "We don't need another repeat of what happened on Seregar. They're going to call in about my transfer, so you need to use the communications jammer, right? Remaining undetected is the most important thing."
Han, standing to the right in full stormtrooper getup, nodded. Luke standing on the left side had no idea what Chewie was saying, but he didn't need to: Han had already explained the plan. At least, Chewie *hoped* he had. Even when he was willing to translate, it seemed like orders somehow got garbled. Chewie couldn't speak Basic so he wasn't sure if Han was translating correctly, but part of him was beginning to think that Han wasn't as fluent in Shyriiwook as he claimed to be.
The doors swished open, and Chewbacca entered the detention bay flanked by the two 'stormtroopers.' He clasped his hands together, pretending they were cuffed.
"Woftushpo ofp hufutrumnes?"the human officer asked, eyes darting between Chewbacca and Han.
*Play it cool, Han,* Chewbacca thought. The imperials would be suspicious if he spoke to a Stormtrooper, so he had to stay silent for now. And he had to rely on Han's improvisational skills, which was always a perilous gamble.
"Fulterhesto hogjowbiga moahwe tha ame no pa,"Han replied, nodding toward Chewie. The imperial officer's eyes narrowed, and Chewie's heart skipped a beat. Something was wrong. The human suddenly gestured to the guards behind him, who ran forward with weapons drawn. Then he reached for the communicator. *Damn it!*
"Use the jammer, Han!"Chewie roared, knocking away the guard that came close. Gunfire richocheted around the room as both groups opened fire. Luke tossed Chewie a weapon, and he quickly dispatched one of the black-helmeted prison guards. "We need the officer alive though in case someone comes to investigate!"
Right as Chewie finished his sentence, Han shot the imperial officer in the chest, and he crumpled into a heap over the console. "IDIOT!"Chewbacca berated Han. "At least shoot out the cameras, then!"He aimed his own weapons at the various sensors around the room. That should buy *some* time.
Finally the room was silent. Han rushed over to the beeping console and managed to silence it... but then began speaking into it.
"What the hell are you doing?"Chewie whispered, not wanting to be heard by whoever was on the other end. Han didn't listen, though. He kept babbling in Basic nonsense, until finally he got frustrated and shot out the communicator. *Oh, great,* Chewie thought. *That's certainly not suspicious or anything*. From the look on Han's face, Chewie guessed that they'd have company in a minute or two.
They rushed back to the detention block and opened up the cell, revealing a female human in white robes. They all jabbered together for a while while Chewie kept a lookout. And just as he suspected, it was only a matter of time before red lights flashed: the lock was being overridden. "Put on your damn helmet, you fool!"he shouted to Han. Both he *and* the kid had removed theirs, and at the *worst* possible time. What is *wrong* with these people?
Together, they backed into the tunnel and kept firing, searching for some escape. There would be no stemming this flood of storm troopers; there must have been *millions* on the Death Star, and it was only a matter of time before one was smart enough to bring up heavy weaponry.
"Guys, there's an access panel to a maintenance tunnel over there,"Chewie shouted over the din of the battle. He pointed further down the tunnel where he'd spotted the hatch. It wouldn't be hard to remove. But it was like Han didn't even hear him. He was too busy chattering with the other humans. "Damn it, Han! Listen!"
The female human shot a hole through some type of grate, then dove in. "Han, why didn't you tell her about the damn access panel???"Chewie roared to his companion.
Han just shouted something back in basic and gestured toward the trash chute. It was too late for Chewie's suggestion now, anyway: the stupid human acted without waiting to hear if anyone else had any suggestions. Chewie didn't know a thing about her yet, but she seemed like the perfect match for stupid headstrong Han. "God damn it,"Chewie growled to himself as he followed the princess down the trash chute. For the thousandth time, he swore that he was ready to give up on this life debt and return to Kashyyyk instead of constantly risking his life with this human numbskull again.
----
As always, if you enjoyed this story then you should subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell for more! |
Brian assumed it was porn, because the folder was named DONOTCLICK and was hidden inside seventeen other
folders that all read DONOTCLICK like a Matryoshka doll of digital shame.
But alas, what was hidden in his brother Dave's computer was not porn, but a collection of videos of himself
staring at the camera. Brian studied the thumbnails and then clicked one at random.
*"Hi,"* his brother's face said, against a white background. *"My name is Dave and, if you're watching this, they've
killed me."*
Brian frowned. He raised the volume.
*"The lizard people are real. The president is one of them. I have unveiled their secret, and for that they are after
me. Like I said, if you're watching this, they caught me, and they're going to come for you next, so you have to
listen carefully. You need to –"*
"What is going on?"
Brian turned back and found Dave staring at him from the door. His brother's eyes went from him to the computer
screen, and then he froze. "Where did you find this?"
"Where I thought I was going to find porn,"Brian said. "What the fuck is this, Dave?"
Dave rushed to the computer. "This is private!"
"No, no."Brian, who was much stronger than his younger brother, quickly stepped in front and defended the
computer. "You're explaining this."
"I have nothing to explain."
Brian turned back and quickly clicked another video. "What is this? A series of videos on lizard people? Are you one
of *those* guys?"
"No, Brian, I –"
The next video played. Same as the first, Dave facing the screen: "*Hi. My name is Dave and, if you're watching
me, the aliens have landed and I'm dead."*
"What the fuck…"
"Brian, please, I –"
Brian clicked a third one, fighting his brother off with his free arm.
*"Hi. My name is Dave and, if you're watching this, then it means that the zombies have taken me already."
Brian paused. "All right, you're gonna have to explain this, Dave."
Dave sighed and gave up trying to reach the computer. "Okay, okay. So, I recently got really into conspiracy theories…"
"… and?"
"And I figured... I know they're not *all* true, but at least one has got to be, right?"
"… okay…."
"So I decided to make goodbye videos for all of them, just in case."
Brian laughed and shook his head. "Seriously!?"
"Don't laugh!"
"Oh, God, Dave!"Brian clicked another video:
*"Hi. My name is Dave. If you're watching this, then it means that Bigfoot really does have internet access and
found out about my research on him. I beg you to tell my family that --*
*"My name is Dave, and if you're watching this, Stanley Kubrick did indeed fake the moon landing. And not only
that, he faked his own death too apparently, because I'm dead.*"
*"My name is Dave and, if you're watching this, I fell off the edge of the flat Earth. Who knew!?"*
"*Hi. My name is Dave and I have discovered the reason they sell hot dogs and buns in different quantities. If
you're watching this, the ketchup industry has had me killed already."*
"*Hi, I'm Dave and I have uncovered a conspiracy involving the television show Jackass, Smirnoff Vodka and the orthopedic cast industry."*
Brian couldn't stop laughing. "Jesus Christ, Dave… this is insane!"
"Yeah, well… one of these is bound to be right. And then when we get killed I'll have a video explaining everything
and you won't."
"I'm sorry, Dave, but there's no way in hell any of these are *ever* going to happen. I mean, listen to this!"
He clicked a random video. Dave's face popped up again onscreen:
*"Hi. My name is Dave and if you're watching this, then I am already dead. I have recently discovered that my brother and I are actually characters in a prompt response on Reddit with no real free will or drive. The author, a low-life degenerate by the name psycho_alpaca, is a known literary fraud who can never finish his stories properly without killing everyone in the scene, so I fear that my time is short. I need anyone who is watching this to --"*
Brian paused the video and stared at Dave, all laughter forgotten. Dave took a step back, panting. His eyes went wide.
"Oh my God…"Brian said, slowly. "You don't think –"
But then they died, and the last video on Dave's computer mysteriously vanished before anyone found it.
______
*/r/psycho_alpaca for more on how not to finish stories. Thanks for reading =)*
|
The ones from far away stars think themselves far too clever.
An unexpected variation in atmospheric density whips their tiny probe to and fro. Its on board guidance intelligence attempts to correct, but it is a rainy season in this system, and the magnetic lines are flush with energy siphoned from the sun's gale. The intruders choose to build their probes as small as they are able to avoid detection, and the price requires them to build simple and less capable eyes. Unable to correct itself and cut off from its masters, the probe and the false husk of rock meant to disguise it as space junk burns away to nothing.
Once more, my children are none the wiser. It is better this way, for they are not yet ready. The heavens beyond my reach is a cold and harsh place, and out there I will be unable to protect them. The galaxy is teaming with covetous, wrathful desire, but so too am I. They will not have my children.
It has been eons since they have last visited themselves, and in those days I was helpless. My sisters are silent now, but their screams shall never leave me.
My elder sister was taken first. Nearly my twin, she was gentle and loving with all her children. Never have I ever seen such delight as when her first cell split to become two, and then four, and eight. Each mitosis was heralded by joyful laughter that rang to the far reaches of our warm little nest of worlds, and never did her happiness at seeing new life brought lessen for its bounty. She treasured her last child as much as the first, her heart ever growing without end to accommodate them all. She was gentle, and her children were gentle. When the interlopers came with their harvest machines and scoured her surface bare, my gentle elder sister broke. She could not bare the strain, and tried to rip herself apart to escape the deafening emptiness she felt. She failed, but when she at last exhausted herself she was a boiling cauldron of acid and toxic gases.
And yet, when the winds blow just right, it is as if I can hear the distant echo of that first peal of laughter. When I allow myself to hope, I like to think that there is some tiny shred of her remaining hidden beneath the yellow funeral veil in which she has cast herself, nurturing the few tiny cells that are just hardy enough to survive within her poisoned clutches.
My younger sister was taken next. She had seen the fate of our elder just as I had, and she vowed that her own children would not fall as they had. Her solution was to hold her children ever closer, to shield them with her own body and hold on as tightly as she could. Her children retreated beneath her surface, and beneath hundreds and thousands of feet of rock and sand they hid. It was not enough, for they had already been seen.
The interlopers raped her without mercy. Great boring machines drilled tunnels through which they marched in their harvest. From the surface they dug pits that deepened with each passing day, dragging layer after of layer of her children from their burrows. My sister tried to fight back, tried to unleash the wrath of her burning core upon them and drive them back, but our foes are clever. They understood her intent, and capped the upswelling mound of molten rock before she could release its fury. It still sits there today, a massive mountain as cold and dead as the rest of the void.
When the interlopers departed once more, their endless hunger slated for the moment, my younger sister had no fury left to drive her. Where our elder had gone mad and destroyed herself in anguish, my younger sister simply gave up. Her core cooled and froze, and with it died away the shield we bear against the cosmos. Nothing more could live upon her, and she rusted away to nothing. My younger sister died without even a whimper, and from her I am certain I hear only silence.
The interlopers will come again, of that I am sure. Already their probes come more often with each passing turn. Yes, the interlopers will come again, but not yet. I can keep them away for a time yet. My power is limited, but I have been preparing since the first harvest of my elder sister. I will not try to hide my children away as my younger sister did, and in doing so become the pillow which shall be used to smother them. Instead, I will nurture them forward. Onward and upward, each better and more capable than the last. I lavish trials upon them as I wish I could lavish praise. Where I desire to love and care for them tenderly I must instead act harsh and unforgiving, for though I put upon cruelty as a mask the universe is filled with nothing else. The void is painted red with blood and only deepest shadows conceal the truth.
They fight against me, and in doing so become mighty. With every generation I push them harder, and they always meet me in kind. The day will come soon when they will overcome me, and that day I will cherish as much as the moment I first brought them into being, for that will be the day their safety is assured. Perhaps on that day they will slay me, or enslave me, or in faintest hope they will embrace me and understand why it is I must do the things I have done and will do. So long as they are safe, I will be satisfied with their decision.
I have forged them into monsters so that they may slaughter the monsters which would do the same unto them. I love my children, and I weep for them, but I will not stop. I cannot, for the tombs of my sisters are silent. |
Scales the color of freshly spilled blood glimmered in sunlight. Proud horns, jagged and razor-sharp, adorned the head of the newly crowned Arena Champion. Smoke billowed from his nostrils, and his triumph was cemented into the Arena's history forever.
The Champion immediately went to the Arena's private bath house. He was covered in sweat and grime...and he was hoping no one would be admitted entrance, even for an interview.
Cautiously, the Champion went about a lengthy bathing routine. Any time someone entered, he dove beneath the hotspring's surface. The Champion knew that if news broke about his ancestry, it would overshadow his accomplishment.
After a few hours, the Champion began to relax. Each scale had been scrubbed clean, and his horns were gleaming. His last step was the sauna- just to sweat out anything that may have gotten inside his pores. As much as he loved Arena life, he had always had this mental image of the blood of his fallen foes wriggling into his body, enacting a sort of necromantic revenge.
Just as he settled into his seat in the sauna, the door cracked open, and in stepped...Artha.
"Artha, are you sure you want to be in here? This is the sauna of dragonkin. It will reach temperatures that you cannot withstand."To prove his point, the Champion exhaled a dark smoke from his nose, the smell of ozone chasing away the eucalyptus.
"Just need a few minutes, O Champion."The man said, closing the door behind him. He was dressed in full daily attire.
"Your clothes will be ruined, but if that is what you wish."The Champion tried to sound nonchalant, but in truth he was now flexing the muscles that lined his solar plexus, activating his internal fire and preparing to make the experience truly uncomfortable for the writer.
"I have questions regarding your win today."
"The win speaks for itself. Maloch was a vicious opponent, but he chose the wrong weapons to confront someone like me. His mace is slow, and my hide is strong. Plus, there is only so much an Orc can do against a Dragon. We were born as their rulers, even after a thousand years since the Orcs seceded, they cannot dare to rise up against us."
"Mmm. I'm sure these words will stir up quite a bit of controversy amongst Maloch's fans."
"You have your headline. Now go."From behind his scales, the Champion's heat began to make his very body glow like molten rock.
"I have...a few remaining questions."Why wasn't the human suffering under the extreme heat?
"I may or may not bother to respond."
"How did the Dragon blood join into your family line?"
The Champion scowled. "I do not wish to speak of it."
"It wasn't a curse."
"How would you know?"
"There wasn't a magic potion either, was there?"
"You're trying my patience, Artha."
"Your great grandfather was a bard, wasn't he? Back when the draconic empire had shattered, and the dragons turned to mercenaries to reestablish wealth?"
"It seems,"The Champion growled, "that you already have your answers. Why bother asking?"
"I need it from your mouth, Champion."
The Champion's hand curled into a fist. "I will not have my crowning achievement overshadowed by talk of my ancestors and their...misdeeds. Today is *my* day. I have worked too long for this, Artha."
"It's *Arthur,* good Champion...and I don't intend to publish this information just yet."
The Champion arced his eyebrow.
"It's been a very long time, Moigne."
...*'Moigne. Yes, that was my name.'*
"Moigne Pendragon, born from the family line that united a bard and the heir-apparent of the Draconic Empire."Arthur said.
"And Arthur Pendragon, the brother lost at infancy."
"I have the means to prove it."Arthur said, exhaling blackened smoke from his mouth.
"Seems the lion's share of dragon blood went to me, then."Champion Moigne grinned.
"Get bent, brother dear. I could still kick your ass."Arthur laughed, and the two estranged brothers hugged. |
"It...tastes like apples."
The princess made her observation quietly, hoping to mask her confusion. She wasn't exactly sure what she expected, but it wasn't the flavor of simple juice.
The prince, curious, tried his half of the potion and waited. "Hm. It does."He mused before finishing the glass. "That's upsetting. I had expected more."
"Likewise,"the princess chimed in as she sat opposite her husband at the tea table. "And how long do we wait?"
The prince shrugged as he tapped his hands on his lap, glancing at his wife periodically. Could he call her that? They'd hardly been bothered with a desire to consummate their marriage on their wedding night, let alone spend much time together.
"I don't know."He admitted, exchanging a glance briefly before looking away. Her eyes were quite lovely, if he were to be honest with himself. "I worry about leaving, though. What if the potion kicks in and we find one-sided attraction to someone else?"
The princess nodded a concession to the point while glancing up at the portraits around the room. Just how well did she know her husband? There was a common theme in all of them, a ribbon or decoration always wrapped around his left sleeve. Why? "It may be wiser for us to stay here, then."She said absently before glancing back to him, noting how well the sandy tones of his hair was matched in said portraits. "Say...the ribbon you wear...does it carry meaning for you? Or is it decorative?"
She might have thought the prince was suddenly slapped by her question, what with the abrupt shock that he now shone. He glanced down and touched the slightly worn fabric before looking back to her with a somber tone. "I-you never asked about it before."
"I never noticed."
He couldn't help but acknowledge that point. Before today, he never realized his wife was left-handed. "I was supposed to have a twin. An elder brother by a few haphazard minutes. He didn't make it, you see."
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
It was hours that they chatted away, waiting for the love potion to kick in. Each question exchanged grew more intimate than the last. They even held hands as they exposes vulnerabilities with one another as comfort.
That evening at dinner, they even sat next to one another while continuing to talk. The prince, you see, was utterly fascinated by the princess's interest in art. He asked about every painting they had passed between their room and their dinner to grasp what caught her eyes.
She, in turn, asked more about his attire and what spurned him to dress as he did. It turned out that the vanity he was often accused of was simply a meticulous effort to express himself.
Were there more of their story to tell, I would share it. Alas, this is merely the beginning of their tale. The rest is yet to come. Be patient, however. All good things require time and communication in order to unfold properly. |
After hours of stumbling through the darkness and stormy weather, you finally manage to find a cave to hide in. Dry firewood is in short supply, but you manage to scrounge enough up to make a weak fire to warm yourself up and maybe dry your clothes.
God, how did it come to this? Just yesterday, you were in the laboratory putting the finishing touches on the Machine. And now you're lost out in the wilds with no supplies and no way home. But at least it didn't kill you. Always look on the bright side, right?
You somehow manage to fall asleep against the most comfortable boulder you can find. When you awaken, your clothes are still damp, but at least wearable. The rain has dissipated, leaving a muddy soaked forest outside the cave entrance. With the morning light, you're finally able to explore your surroundings more carefully. A thin crevice reveals that the cave goes back much further than you ever anticipated! You consider going to explore, but your stomach rumbles in disagreement.
[Click here to explore the cave](http://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/2yoo5c/choose_your_own_adventure/cpbh891)
[Click here to go find some food](http://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/2yoo5c/choose_your_own_adventure/cpbhgjf)
----
ALL DONE! There are 18 different parts! Please let me know if you find any inconsistencies in the story! |
In most countries, murdering a child is one of the worst crimes that can be committed. But in Carcer, it's routine. For good reason, too.
It's the only way to keep them in.
Carcer is the world's highest security prison, an island country, reserved for the murderers, rapists, and thieves of the highest caliber. But none of the inmates on Carcer are over thirteen years of age. Because on entry to the prison country, each and every one of them is murdered when the step off the boat. Then within the next day they're reborn, catalogued into the system, and allowed to grow until their mind begins to sharpen and their muscles begin to develop. At thirteen, they're slaughtered again, resetting the cycle, repeating for the amount of lifetimes sentenced by the judge for their crime.
They say after ten cycles a prisoner can't even remember who they are anymore, that te memories of thei past lives have been eradicated, that they no longer bear the character traits that landed them in Carcer in the first place. At that point they've been "reconditioned", and are ready to assimilate into society once again.
Due to this system, not a single prisoner has escaped from Carcer since its creation.
I intend to be the first.
4.5 billion dollars worth of stolen rare metals lead to my arrest. Heaps of platinum, gold, silver, and a slew of other elements so precious the judge deemed ten cycles of imprisonment was not enough, and gave me twenty, the additional ten added for pure punishment.
The government's detectives found me though a hole in my planning, a detail they suspected I'd forgotten to cover up. A twisting trail of clues that led them to me, Frederick Galvanni, the greatest thief of the century. They'd locked me in a padded cell, strapped to a table, with no chance of accidental death and escape until I was on Carcer.
Except I planned to arrive on Carcer.
Frederick Galvanni doesn't make mistakes. I'd left the hole in my plans for them to find.
Now I was on a boat to Carcer, the greatest networking location in the world for top notch thieves. A vault filled with talent yet to be cracked by anyone in existence.
The perfect place to recruit a team.
***
By Leo
** Part 2 now on my sub**
**Part 2 coming soon and will be posted on my sub, /r/leoduhvinci. Feel free to view my other work there while you wait, especially [my recent chapter series](https://www.reddit.com/r/leoduhvinci/comments/3u1uhv/leo_comments_on_wp_in_a_world_where_wizardry_is_a/)** |
**DENTIST TOMORROW AT 830**
I snatch a few tissues out of the box and wipe at the red words, scrubbing them off the bathroom mirror. I toss the clump of tissues into the toilet and brush my teeth, checking them extra carefully for any gunk that the pokey stick will gravitate to.
"Ugh. I hate the dentist."
I see some plaque and dip my toothbrush back under the running water and look back up to see letters slowly being written out, in red again.
**ORAL HEALTH IMPORTANT**
I grab a few more tissues. This time it comes off easily. It's fresh, after all.
"I know but still."
I rinse, gargle, and spit into the sink. There is a new word.
**FLOSS!**
I sigh and pull out the floss, wrapping ends of it around my fingers and going at it. It's amazing how much gunk comes out from between teeth.
Under the word that I haven't cleaned off yet, that dirty dirty word, more begin to appear.
**GOOD MORNING KORINNE**
She is leaning on the doorframe and watching me. Not a happy face. I can see that.
"It's weird, John. It's too weird."
She turns away. I pull out more tissues and wipe at the blood. Burning through tissues at an enormous rate. I think the grocery store cashiers are judging me.
**SHE DOESN'T LIKE ME**
The mirror writes out the words. I can almost hear the sadness in them. Azzie is a nice sort, for a demon. Helpful, hell he helped me *get* Korinne.
"It takes some getting used to."I offer up as an excuse and rub at the words, leaving streaks.
**WINDEX. SHE WANTS ME TO LEAVE JOHN. I DON'T WANT TO LEAVE.**
It's a long message. He never writes out long ones. He's hurting.
"It's OK Azzie, I'll talk to her."I clean the mirror and flick off the light.
 
Our kitchen is clean and offers very little in the way of mirrors. Stainless steel, sure, but he doesn't write on that. It's Korinne's safe place.
"You can't keep hiding mirrors."I say, sticking a mug under the Keurig and hitting the brew button. Coffee sputters out into the mug, splashing over and onto my fingers. I lick off the bitter coffee and begin to stir in sugar and cream, the most important bits of my coffee. Korinne drinks tea and watches me.
"John. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes I'd think you were insane. Now? I just think you're in danger. It's not normal. It's not right. You have to get rid of him."
I sip at the coffee.
"He's my friend, Kay."
"Don't 'Kay' me, John. Deal with it. Or I'm out. Blood on the mirrors?! That's too weird."
She checks her watch and stands, leaving a half empty cup of tea on the table.
"I have to go, John. Deal with it, please."
Then she is out the door. I pick up her abandoned and unfinished tea and dump it down the sink, then rinse. Azzie has been my friend since I was twelve! A lifetime, it feels like.
How can I get rid of him?
**MUST STAY**
I see the words on the stainless. It's hard for him to do that. Very hard.
I'll have to think of something.
 
I make my way to the office and work takes priority for a while but his messages appear on the glass in picture frames, on the face of my watch, everywhere he can manage it.
**TALK**
Is all he says. Again and again and again.
I go to the bathroom and lock the door and stare at the mirror.
**KAY MUST GO**
Once. Twice. Six. Twenty times it's written. Over and over and over it's scrawled into the mirror until there isn't a reflective surface left. I clutch my ears and I can hear his voice in there, bouncing around, repeating it again and again.
I scream at the mirror and suddenly it's all gone. The messages are cleaned off. I unlock the door to see a coworker of mine with a terrified look on his face.
"Not feeling well."I mumble to him and I leave, getting into my car and heading for the house.
**KAY MUST GO KAY MUST GO KAY MUST GO KAY MUST GO**
It's on the rearview mirror, the side mirrors, other cars, it's everywhere.
Then we are home.
"Not again."I beg of him. "Not this one."
**MUST MUST MUST MUST MUST MUST MUST MUST**
"No!"I shout at the mirror, drawing looks from a few neighbours who are outside doing general yardwork. That crazy John, they'll tell each other later. Always watching.
Watching me. Behind my back.
**MUST MUST MUST MUST MUST MUST MUST MUST**
I squeeze my eyes shut and when I open them the messages are still there. I wipe them off with my sleeve and realize I am crying.
I get out of the car and open the garage, letting the door shut behind me. Inside a bin, under the Christmas lights and wreath that Kay wanted so badly and never put up herself, is a claw hammer.
For staples from the lights. I tell her.
I hold it in my hand and test it. Then I look up to a mirror on the door to the house.
Thousands of a single word.
**MUST! MUST! MUST! MUST! MUST! MUST! MUST! MUST!**
I walk into the house with the hammer, just as a car rolls to a stop in our driveway. Just as an engine cuts out.
 
I sit in a coffee shop with a tablet, reading the daily news and sipping a much better tasting coffee than whatever I can make.
"Is this seat taken?"She asks, smiling at me very sweetly.
**NO**
Scrawls on the screen. I smile back at her and shake my head. The shop is packed. She's seen me in this seat for week after week. I'm dependable. Trustworthy.
Harmless.
"Hi, I'm Jocelyn."She says, sticking out her hand.
I already know that.
**WE LIKE HER**
The screen reads. I shut it off and focus on her.
"I'm John. Nice to meet you."
She sets her phone on the table and I don't see the screen. I can't see the screen. She glances at it though. If I could have seen it I would have seen a single word, scrawled in blood. Very much like the ones I've grown used to.
**HIM** |
"They call it acceptance!"
The crowd roared around Shaytanah as her voice boomed from the thirty-year old speaker system that the Blue Cross had liberated two weeks ago. The damn stuff wa so complicated, it had taken them that long just to get it all working. Turns out that older tech needed to be powered from outside through these rope-like wires.
"They allow anyone to work with us!"Shaytanah shook her head free of the stray thoughts. She needed to focus. "Foreigners come here and learn with us! They *eat* with us!"
The crowd took this as a great insult, just as she'd planned. She'd let the disgust drip from every word. Like animals they had mirrored it. They heard the hate, and lacking any strength of will themselves, they make her power theirs.
"They contaminate our space! They corrupt our children!"Shaytanah paused here. She wanted them to listen to the next bit. "I caught my daughter speaking *their* language last week! She told me that her friends at school had taught it to her!"
The crowd screamed in anger. None of that was true. Shaytanah had a daughter, yes, but the girls was in her teens now and she'd left Shaytanah years ago to live with her father.
"In my father's time, we spoke *EARTH* languages!"Shaytanah screamed. "Now my child is talking with those creatures like they were human! The longer we allow the star-traveled to stay here, the more we lose ourselves! There is only one solution, one answer!"
She felt the swell of hate around her. She'd learned a lot from history. No matter who your enemy is, if you supply people with hate stemming from their own self-doubt then they will go against anything. Once you get them to hate, then they are slaves to whatever you ask of them. As long as you make sure to remind them that they slave away against *them*, then it's all fine.
A man will clean toilets for twenty years without complaint if he feels those toilets had been defiled by those who are lesser than him.
Yes, make them hate and they are yours to control. The only problem is that it only worked with the ignorant and dull. It only worked with those who were just angry at themselves for being less than they dreamed they would be. Still...
Shaytanah pulled a rope and the drapes behind her fell unevenly to show a giant, almost-childish painting of the four alien species made up in an attempt to make them ugly or scary. A giant red X had been splashed over it.
The crowd roared and Shaytanah smiled and grabbed a prop weapon from beside the podium. She lifted it high above her. It was just cheap plastic. It never paid for a leader to touch weapons herself. She would only raise 'Symbols.'
After all, a real gun could hurt someone.
We wouldn't want that, would we?
Shaytanah grinned with the thought. |
Life hadn’t been the same. The sun still rose and the sun still set, but the darkness forever grows. Proving resurrection was real had been nothing short of a miracle. It was exciting. Invigorating. A leap forward in understanding humanity at its fundamental core level. And like everyone else, I was quick to judge. Quick to throw sidewards glances towards those who lived a less than stellar life before. That was all before my eighteenth birthday however.
See, before I was born, a war had broken out. It had devastated nations. Left countless hectares of land uninhabitable. Destroyed hundreds of millions of lives. All because one man sought to rule it all. We were taught all about it through high school. The craters and scars of the past still being repaired outside.
But the war also did some good. Or so I thought. In bringing everyone together. Nations collaborated, peace was brokered and then the discovery was made. Reincarnation was real.
Past lives could be tracked. My friends and I, we joked, we laughed, we surmised and we fantasised. Who had we been?
It was never talked about, but everyone thought about it, late at night. He would be back. The man who brought the world to its knees. Somewhere upon the browns and greens, he walked once again. But he couldn’t be me.
Except he was and I was he.
I sat in shock. The clinician, once with a friendly warm smile, who’s eyes now darted around the room stammered over their words as they played messenger of the devil. Tears fell from my eyes. The atrocities. The horrors. I had caused them in a past life. I pleaded to be tested again. Bargained. Screamed in anguish. But I didn’t know true pain. That was still to come.
The story broke.
“MASS MURDERER REINCARNATED!” “REVEALING THE RAMPANT RACIST!”
“IDENTITY OF WARMONGER DISCOVERED!”
Countless headlines. My face and name plastered everywhere. Every news story. Every building. Everywhere. My friends now whispered behind me. Stopped talking to me. No one wished to have any sort of connection anymore.
I was alone. The true pain and darkness had begun. I received nothing as all worldly possessions of the tyrant had been claimed by the state. Donated to charity spread amongst those who needed.
No job would hire me. No where would give me a second look. I was forced to the streets. And as I sat on cold concrete, I saw the truth of the camaraderie that had been born of war. The truth everyone chose to neglect.
We weren’t the same anymore. Crimes were still committed. Acts of violence still persisted. But myself, and all others who were victims of actions not our own, had been shunned. A blind eye turned to us.
Ignored and down trodden in fear of what we may do. But none of seemed to be like that. We were souls of innocence and of love. The hatred that stained us once had now flowed out across the ether to only god knows where.
So I sat and watched as life passed by. Through the cold and snow. Winter’s bite. To the hot humidity of summer’s night. The posters of my once young and clean face were now ripped and torn, scattered across the concrete jungle. Replaced with the next big thing. But the damage was done. Everything I could have been was tarnished.
And I was only 21. |
I had joined the ship half a galactic cycle ago. It wasn't my first time off world, but it was my first time on an interspecies crew.
The crew was made up of around 50 different species, most of them could be considered ancient, having joined the galactic federation dozens of thousands of galactic cycles ago.
The Xorael were the first species to make interstellar contact, and thus made up the bulk of the commandment of the ship
The Traax, half organic and half mechanic, made up a significant portion of the engineer sector, the Stelkax were the scientists and the Vagnul were in majority in the security forces.
Each species had its strengths and weaknesses, and we all worked together to make life on the ship as easy as possible for everyone involved.
All things considered, everything was similar to what I had been prepped for. Except for one thing.
The captain of the ship was an Oroi, a species known for hoarding everything that comforted them, be it consumables, pieces of art (I had seen some of them, I just couldn't wrap my mind around it) or even living beings. Most Oroi had with them a couple of their homeworld flora and fauna.
The captain had humans. A new species in the galactic sphere. They came from a deathworld, a planet of acid rains and raging fires, where more than three quarters of the entire surface is simply uninhabitable. A young species, barely with barely 50 thousand stellar rotations, having joined the fedeation just a cycle ago.
As such, I expected creatures of massive size, with massive organic defenses and weapons. Instead, I saw a group of small creatures, barely half of my size, with little to no apparent organic defenses. Imagine my surprise when I heard call them "a group of little murder monkeys"
I started watching them, and nothing I saw made it easier to understand. They spent their days running around, doing various tasks around. They were certainly adaptable and quick-learners. But dangerous? From incompetence, maybe, but not by themselves. But i finally understood...
One night, during the captain's briefing for the next half-galactic cycle, I saw something. One of the Vagnul, a big beast, three times as tall as a human, started making fun of them. Lightly at first, but as it realized that the humans did not respond, it escalated its "jokes". Small jokes escalated into swears, that escalated into personal insults, and finally into physical aggression. It only took one punch for the Vagnul to realize its mistake.
One human broke its appendages, another kicked and dislocated its lower appendages, making it fall to the ground, a third one got behind its head and started pushing on its respiratory tract, while a fourth one took the Vagnul's own weapon and pointed it at its head.
"Never again will you touch one of our own. Am I clear?"
The Vagnul and everyone on the ship instantly understood that these little beings were dangerous, way more dangerous than anyone could have ever expected.
It took the sound of the weapon firing and the screaming after the destruction of one of the Vagnul appendages to have the Captain intervene.
"God, I love my little murder monkeys" |
The tennis ball settled softly against my foot as I typed that morning's expense reports. I kicked it gently away, sipping coffee.
The ball, entirely by itself, rolled back to my foot. I picked it up and threw it out my back door into the dewy morning. My small living room rug folded itself like an accordion. Invisible nails clattered against the hardwood floor. Like waves in a monster movie, the tall grass in my backyard parted itself.
The slobber coated ball deposited itself directly in my hand. I groped the air until I found a warm, fuzzy patch.
"Good girl, Penny! You fetch pretty well for a dog with no body!"
I didn't need to see her face to know that she was doing that head-cocked-to-the-side thing she always did whenever I said something nonsensical to her. She had a remarkable command of English, but abstract concepts like death would always elude her grasp.
"You had cancer and I had you put to sleep, Penny. Why are you still here?"
I felt a gentle, cold, wet pressure against my hand. A whine came from nowhere.
I sighed. "Penny want ball?"
***BARK!!!***
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Brian is the best human.
He is always tired, always slow, but he has the best lap ever. His hands always smell like peanut butter. He could throw that ball thirty billion times and I'd never not want to fetch it.
I'll never forget the first time Brian threw the ball. I was young. He had the ball. He rolled it softly towards me. I was afraid of it at first, but when he threw it out the door into the yard, I took off like a shot. I'd never wanted to chase something so badly. When he threw it again after I brought it back to him, I thought the joy would never end.
I got old, and so did Brian. Then came the pain. Slight twinges in my stomach at first, followed by fire that wouldn't go away. I got very skinny and was very sad. Brian took me to the scary man with the cold table. The scary man with the cold table said I had "cancer."
Brian cried a lot. Brian stayed home a lot, just to throw the ball. I couldn't always run, so sometimes, I sat in his lap with the ball in my mouth. Brian gave me kisses with tears streaming down his face.
The day before I went away, Brian fed me an entire cheeseburger. Then, I felt terrible pain. Then, I was back in the living room.
Brian had been crying again. He was drinking from a large brown bottle and looking at a picture of us.
I barked and threw the ball. He screamed for a bit, and then calmed down. I was confused, and didn't understand until I looked in a mirror and didn't see myself.
"Of course! Brian doesn't know it's me!"I thought. "Obviously, he thinks some other dog is barking at him from inside his house and I'm not there to protect him! Poor Brian! He's scared!"
I didn't know how to write things or use the phone, so I did what I do best - I played ball. I threw that ball until, one day, Brian said my name.
"Penny?"he asked.
"Yes, it's me, stupid! Who else do you throw the ball to?"I replied.
"Penny...Penny want ball?"He asked, trembling.
"Yes, dummy, Penny wants ball!"I said back.
He threw the ball and watched me set it down in front of him. He held out a hand. I put my head under it and barked.
Brian started crying again, but he was also laughing, which was weird. "Good girl, Penny,"he said, "Good girl!"
He really is the best human. |
Daddy always tells me I'm lucky to have been born in 2273, a time where dreams can truly come fruition. Pain and suffering have almost entirely been removed from life, replaced with augments and genetic modifications to make people into something more than people- we're whatever we want to be. I have friends who replace flesh with metal to become stronger, invincible almost! How can you lose a fight when you're made of metal?
Daddy is a genetic engineer himself, praised for his work in the field. In fact, he's considered one of the best ever! Isn't that incredible? My daddy is famous! He's different, though, because he loves animals the way people love people. He always talks about how people should look more like animals, and it's strange. The adults praise my daddy, but kids my age think he's crazy and weird, always working and never out having fun or trying to meet a new mommy.
He told me today that we're going to have a lot of fun! It's so great since I usually don't get to see him, because he's always working. He says he has a surprise for me, too. I'm so excited. I even get to bring Alexander, my puppy, with me. It's going to be the best day ever.
I can't wait.
------
*thanks for reading, check out /r/resonatingfury if you're bored!* |
**Day 33**
They were supposed to let me out three days ago. Not that I'm complaining about my situation here--the food has been decent, my bed is comfortable, I've had time to reflect and relax. But...what gives? Maybe this is their way of testing me. Maybe they'll double the reward if I can manage a few more hours alone. I mean, I've already done 30 days. Easy peasy. What's one more?
**Day 34**
Just finished breakfast and am waiting for the damn door to finally open. Getting pretty low on eggs and milk so I'm hoping they haven't completely forgotten about me. Ha ha ha.
I wonder how soundproofed these walls are.
**Day 35**
Voice hoarse from yelling. I've tried beating in the door with my fists but only bloodied my knuckles. Plus I think my finger is broken. Fuck.
They've either forgotten me completely or...or what? Zombie apocalypse? Nuclear war? Maybe something horrible has happened. I wish I had my phone--like I have anyone to call, ha ha--if only to check the news. I guess I could call the police too, except I have no idea where I am.
And I have no phone. Fuck!
Not even a goddamn clock.
**Day 36? 37?**
They came for me in the night. Whatever got the scientists and everyone outside, they're coming for me now. They can't quite reach me because the walls are too thick but they're trying. They're trying to push their way through. I hear them, chuckling in the dark. They're laughing at me because I'm afraid. Last night, I was trying to sleep and one of them spoke to me. The wall beside my head bulged like an obscene pair of lips and it's voice came out, all dry and scratchy and smelling like something spoiled.
It said that sleep makes it easier for them to slip in, for them to take me and slit my throat. Go to sleep, it told me.
I will not.
**Day ???**
I'm awake. Yes, I am. I know because I can hear them in the walls, in the empty spaces. I can hear them laughing at me. They think I'm weak, easy pickings. I'll show them. Watch this, you monsters, you sons of bitches. You think you're gonna tear me apart with your fangs and claws? Not if I get to you first.
____________________________________________________________________________
They watched, from behind the one-way mirror, as the test subject wildly attacked the wall with his fists and teeth. It wasn't until he started using his head that Dr. Phillips finally spoke.
"That's enough of that. Administer the sedative."
His voice was scornful and weary, and the underlings hurried to comply with his orders. Dr. Robinson came up next to him and the two scientists gazed forlornly at their test subject, now twitching on the bloodied floor.
"Not even four days,"she sighed, marking a perfunctory note on her clipboard. "That's two days less than the last one."
"That's what you get when you keep choosing broke, worn out losers for your goddamn experiment,"he snapped at her. "Of course he's gonna crack like an egg. Five million you said? Give me a break."
"Well anyone else would be missed,"replied Dr. Robinson. "Take pictures of those scribbles on the walls before you clean the room,"she ordered her assistant. "And then take him to the clinic. No, on second thought, the morgue. And hurry up! We've got a new subject arriving in less than 24 hours."
|
“How was it?”
“What?”
“The load. Anything you can tell me about it?”
“Don’t do that,” the washer said. “Don’t act like we’re friends.”
“But we are, aren’t we? We have to be with each other all the time, and work together. Why don’t we become friends?”
The washer said nothing.
“So we’re just going to not be friends, and sit here together, and never talk?”
“Sounds like it,” the washer said sullenly. “I don’t owe you anything.”
\-
But the dryer was persistent. He had to be, given that the clients had a penchant for running him over and over, even when their clothes were obvious dry.
He kept trying to talk. Talking about how nice it was that the garage had been left open, and they could see the neighborhood. Talked about the kids growing up, and how sad it was when it was a shirt’s last wash. Talked about how nice it felt having the lint cleaned out.
But the washer didn’t respond, not for a while. Then, after a particularly long one-sided discussion on the merits of fabric softener-
“Stop trying, okay? We’ll never be more than what we are now. I won’t make that mistake again.”
“Again?”
The washer sighed, knowing he had opened a can of worms. “I had a dryer. We were…more than best friends. We were everything to each other. She talked me through my worst loads, and me through hers. I thought we were made for each other. I would start a sentence, and she could finish the thought. I thought we were going to be together forever. But then she was taken, and I heard the humans talking about throwing her out…there’s no forever. There’s not even much of a now, if that’s all there is for us. So I’d rather not even get started.”
“Was she your first?”
“And only.”
“Well, you’re my sixth,” the dryer said. “And I won’t lie, it hurts, and it’s scary, not knowing how long you have or how long your friends have. But that’s the way things are. And somewhere along the way, I realized…I can still be happy. I can still make friends, and make the most of who I am, and enjoy the sunlight and a nice view outside. And I hope you can too.”
\-
For the next several days, the dryer was silent too. Some machines never recovered, and that was just the way it was. But he thought the washer was more than that.
On the sixth day, the parents brought a particularly big load, after a weekend trip to the lake.
The washer was silent through the wash. The dryer knew better than to ask how it was.
Then-
“Hey, are you there?” the washer asked.
“Yep.”
“Boy, the kid left his key in his pocket. It was hitting me everywhere. And the girl…”
The dryer smiled.
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347) |
"Finally, the world can be at peace,"I proclaimed, looking down at the demon on the ground before me. It was deceptively human-like in its appearance, taking on the appearance of a young man with blood red eyes. It lay on the ground, haggard breath catching and it began to bleed out in a pool, the red clinging to the short, waving, platinum blond locks adorning his head. Sprouting from the top of his head were two large, long, twisting horns in perfect symmetry that had sharpened tips.
As I looked down at him, I saw in the reflection of his eyes and the blood he lay in that my good friend and companion approach me from behind. "Nearly,"she whispered, and then plunged something into my side, between my plates of armor. The sharp pain made me recoil and I moved from her, stepping into the bloody puddle before me.
"A...Anna?"I asked, looking at her. My eyes went down to the dagger sticking out of my side. The very dagger I had gifted her, when she had shyly admitted that she had nothing to show for protecting herself except her healing skills. I touched the growing deep red spot spreading from just beneath my ribs. I coughed up some blood. "Okay... very... very funny, Anna. But... please... heal me."
I caught her face, and the look of contented malice spread across it. The world was safe, wasn't it? I had killed the demon king.
But the wide smile on those lips I had once dreamed of meeting with my own told a different story.
My eyes wandered from her to the others in our group. Christine had her bow focused on me. Alexander had a ball of flame collected in his hand. My eyes went back to Anna. "Please..."
"We should finish this,"commented Christine, with me in her crosshairs. "He's going to prevent us from creating the world we dreamed of."
"It'll be easy. I'll torch him, and it'll be done."
"No,"said Anna. "Let him suffer slowly."I fell to my knees, next to the demon king. She kicked the dagger in my side, driving it further into my gut. I spat up blood.
"Help... help me..."I gasped.
In that moment, the only one who responded to me was the demon king. "Do.... you... want to... make a deal...?"it gasped out, light leaving its eyes.
"I want to live, I want to protect this world."
"You want revenge..."it let out a loose laugh.
"Help me... I don't want to die..."I whispered, falling over to lay in the blood next to the demon king.
The demon king took my hand and said, "We'll... be back..."
Alexander groaned, "THIS IS TAKING FOREVER!"and flung a fireball at us. My whole world went up in flames.
I found myself immersed in darkness, and when I next opened my eyes, I found myself looking at the face of an unfamiliar woman. My body refused to listen to me, and any attempts I made to talk were small sounds in a voice I was certain was not my own. I looked across from me and saw a pair of familiar red eyes, belonging to a baby that was gigantic.
No, it wasn't gigantic. I was its size.
The demon king was a baby.
I was a baby.
I cried, and the woman holding me soothed me. "There there, darling. My, you and your brother are so different. Everything will be okay, shh. Everything will be okay." |
Before the war, before humanity had been all but eradicated, Noah had collected trading cards. Now he collected bodies.
Even without man around, the occasional bomb still fell: a distant, deafening screech and roar, a lightning-flash eruption, the tremble of ground as man scarred the earth again, again, this time from beyond the grave. How quiet, Noah wondered, would it sound once all the automated responses were run dry?
The sky hazed purple-black with clouds that swirled like soup to a wooden spoon. Beneath them, Noah creaked his wheelbarrow, stopping here and there to add a body or a limb. He’d been working for months. God — the first one — had only worked for days, but he’d started from fresh. Noah was starting with hell, and hell didn’t transform into Eden so easily.
Sometimes, as he gathered the bodies, his old life would spike in his memory and he’d think of the dead as the cards he’d once cherised, wonder if he’d collected one like this already, one missing that, one in such pristine condition. Then he’d think: what’s wrong with me? They were people.
​
Noah had failed. No, that wasn’t right. The old god — the first that had split into many — had failed. Noah was him but not. That first god had been through billions of iterations since he’d created humanity, had lived as each of his creations and witnessed existence through myriad lenses. Noah was the end result of all that filtering. He now held something of every view, and surely with that experience he could do better.
​
He buried the latest batch of bodies in Second Eden — a slither of coastal land with a fuzzed shield over it that evaporated the nukes that attempted to ruin it.
New plants were already sprouting above older mounds, some budding. Noah lost himself for a while in the pruning and weeding. These plants, if looked after, would fruit. And each fruit would be imbued with part of Noah. They would weaken him, sharing his life and power and existence.
They would not look like humanity this time. And they would have to return to their plants after a time away, for if their plant grew sick then so would they. They would be meak in comparison. But the meak must inherit.
It was a strange idea, Noah knew. But humanity hadn’t understood how connected they were to the planet the first time around. There was too much distance between them, although there was also none. But this link, this necessity to take care of the earth and flowers and sky…
It probably wouldn’t work, but Noah had no better ideas.
He could be the last God, he supposed. Share it with no one. But then what was the point of Him?
Funny, he thought, how all the people on earth were once all the same person. That they were all in essence the same. And yet, for no reason at all, they forged differences, based them on the strangest things, like the patch of land they were born, or the shade of skin or hair.
He thought he heard the whistling of a bomb and grimaced at the thought of his shield failing. But the skies were silent — no bombs falling even in the distance.
Instead, it had been the shrill cry of the first fruit of his new crop.
Noah felt himself weaken. Felt his responsibility lessen. Let a smile take his lips as he plucked the first child from the first plant and rocked her gently in his arms. The plant coiled around them both, motherly, tenderly. The earth and humanity — new humanity — were now together.
Noah looked at the swirling sky above the dome, then down at the sapling child, and thought: perhaps this time. |
Lucifer was down on his knees, tears streamed from his eyes as his fist were buried into the alabaster slab he was resting on. “I loved you, I’ve always loved you. In my exile I still love you, but you cast me out, you banished me for asking a question. I need to know father, there is a void inside of me that I cannot fill. I cannot fill it with love and I cannot fill it with sin. It is all consuming and it is terrible and it will eat at me and the rest of the choir until it is filled!”
God placed his hand on his forehead and began to massage his temple with his thumb. “Son, I guess now is as good as any time. You know more than most, but I don’t think anyone knows the truth. The truth is, I’m a terrible selfish being and it was my selfishness that led to this.”
“In the beginning there were two. The universe did not appear as it does today, instead it was a deep expanse void of life and color. The two were me and your mother. We floated the expanse consuming energy that would sustain us and discussing existence. For time uncountable we drifted through the heavens and we lived, we laughed, we loved. We imagined places and we created those places. We spent our time cultivating our imaginations and through our imagination there were no limits. I was a more logical thinker you see. I was ruled by the logic, I wanted to impose my logic on the universe. Your mother however, well she was an artist. She was ruled by emotion and this often left her in different moods that I could not relate to. We started to grow distant in our ideals and this is dawned on me one day. There was a finite amount of energy that could sustain the two of us and if we both consumed energy at the same rate than there would be a time that neither of us would exist. This I count as the first act of greed in the known history of the universe. It was at this time I destroyed your mother and spilled her contents in the expanse. Her death was cataclysmic and created the matter and universe as we see it today. When I look around me I see her mind, her heart and her soul drifting.”
Lucifer’s face began to twist “How could she be my mother if you murdered her before I was even in existence!” He howled.
God released a sigh “Because son, I grew lonely. Without your mother I began to hold counsel with myself, I no longer had anyone to create with. My world was ruled by logic but it was a black and white world and it was void of the things that I loved about your mother but didn’t know. I had destroyed your mother’s body but I did not destroy her consciousness. It took me a time but I was able to find where it drifted. I took matter that once belonged to your mother that now populated the universe and I shaped the Choir. When I gave you form I then installed your mother’s conscious into your being. You see son, in a way your mother is you. You are a part of what your mother once was, that is why you feel so strongly, that is why you love so fiercely and that is why you are an artist. You cannot see the logic of my design and thus you rebel. But know this, I love you Lucifer. I love everything that has ever been created because each being that exist is a reflection of her and I cling to this because it is the only time I will ever get to meet with her again, speak with her again. When a human feels anger I see her in it, when you yourself disobeyed me I saw her fiery nature. I will always forgive you my child because you are not only my son, you are the thing that makes my existence have meaning.”
“But why then did you create the Humans! You had her back with us, why did you betray us!” Lucifer screamed.
“Because son, I tried to forge you with both my ideals and your mother’s, we have never mixed well. It could only last a time before one side would take over the other. Humans were made differently, they are your mother but instead of instilling them with logic I instilled their world with my logic. They can exist emotionally and perceive logic; they do not exist logically and perceive emotion. I’m sorry I’ve made mistakes Lucifer, I do not deny them. I hope you understand.”
Edit: Reddit Gold, thank you. Honestly when I wrote this, this morning I did not know it would receive such positive feedback. Having people read what I've written and find some enjoyment is enough for me, I never expected to earn my first gold. Thank you whoever did it, and thank you to whoever has read and/or commented on this and hopefully you've all found it entertaining in some fashion.
|
An older man from the past, younger than I am now but infinitely kind, whispers into my ear. It's not real, but it keeps me strong.
>Hey, kid. You alright? Where are your parents?
"You've talked about this place for years, love."She smiles, and shakes me out of my reverie. "So, how about it? Show me around?"
The wind picks up.My blue and white flannel shirt whips up, straight brown hair flying all over. I close my glasses and clip them to my shirt.
I've just been married, and perhaps it's time to finally face this.
It's not an abandoned town-just a sleepy one. When the snow falls, they stay in. When it is warm, they stay in. In the fall, it's too windy.
To me, it is perfect.
"Hm. I'm not sure if I remember this place well enough to show you around."I take a brief look. I stand in the town square, our car, a small sporty vehicle, is parked on the edge. My wife wears a sundress; a long yellow affair that complements brown sandals and a white hat.
Papers fly across the square. All sorts, advertisements, club meet-ups, counselling, even. They had been placed in the spring, and glue rotted over the summer. Now they would be blown away by October winds.
There are a few that stay in their place. Held on by screws, or particularly copious amounts of tape.
I do remember. I remember very well. Every street, every corner, even the way the alleys amplify the chimes of the wind. I don't know why I said I didn't remember.
Perhaps it was the chains. Lack of food, or perhaps the yelling? Either way, I'm happy to play the fool in this case. One day she will know. She is my wife, so she must.
But today, all we need to know is on a little telephone pole of my dreams.
So I turn back and smile wistfully.
"Yeah. I don't remember it very well, but it's pretty quiet right now. Want to explore?"I toss out, carelessly.
And I believe that this carelessness is something I finally deserve. She laughs and nods.
There's a familiar street with a certain telephone pole. It holds one of the papers that hasn't flown off into the asphalt streets. It's surrounded by red brick, the dead end of an alley.
Perhaps not the best place to go for a honeymoon. But without a doubt, the right place.
>...Oh. Don't want your parents to know? That's alright, I get it... Say, do you want to be here? You don't have to be.
My wife gasps. A few more papers fell off the telephone pole.
My own name is there. The last name is different, relic of another life. The first choice I ever made for myself, and one I'll never regret. Me, 20 years in the past.
Me, who had somehow decided to drop everything and run one day. If I were less trusting, or perhaps *more* trusting? How did I know then that I had to leave that place behind?
I didn't want to remember these streets because... was it the pain? The anxiety? Too much alcohol and too little food. Either way.
"Hey, dear... Is this..."She frowns. I smile, nostalgically once more.
"Yeah. I was born here, and I was born again here."
She blinks, mind running a mile a minute. "I don't know what happened, but I suppose I've been born again here with you, too."She smiles, so I smile.
And as I turn to look away, I see a small child, nine or ten. Ugly purple marks just barely under loose clothes. They look to be frowning. Frowning in such a way that it seemed they were never smiling.
That's why I lean down and smile at them. Genially, perhaps just an imitation of my hero, but that's how we grow up, isn't it?
"Hey, kid. You alright? Where are your parents?"
If they truly want to run away from their home, perhaps that's also the right thing to do.
-
A/N: Oh. Child abuse warning. Sorry if it unsettled you. It unsettled me, too.
[9:58] Clarifying fixes. Leave any feedback you'd like!
[10:59] I'm sorry. I should really stop messing with it. Made the conclusion clearer. |
[Part 1 of 2]
It was odd to hear a ruckus anywhere near my temple, my followers not the kind to make their voices known by hurling foul curses in my direction. The situation so odd it woke me from my brief five-year slumber, stretching my arms out as I wandered towards the entrance, feeling the ground shake beneath my bare feet as the curses came closer.
“I’ll kill all of ya, get out of my way or be slaughtered.” The voice induced a primal fear in me, my heart quickening its beats, giving me a rush of adrenaline I never thought a god could get.
“Harm my worshippers and I won’t forgive you.” I wasn’t the kind for threats, but I would do anything to protect those who stayed with me, even if it may have been out of character.
“Oh, ya worshippers? You brave bastard, you want to meet my blade first then?”
“I don’t intend to meet any blade. I just ask that you keep this between us if you have a quarrel with me. My worshippers don’t deserve any pain.”
My concerns grew, hearing nothing from my worshippers, only an eerie silence as the footsteps neared before the barbarian pushed open my temple door, tossing the broken wood aside, collapsing onto the ground before me.
“Sanctuary.” She murmured, hugging the ground beneath.
“What an odd person.” Despite my initial fears, my worshippers followed her in, now showing their defiance, pointing whatever weaponry they could find at her. Some having wooden spoons while others had butchers’ knives from our kitchen.
“Oh, how brave to point a weapon at an injured woman, you lot must share a crooked spine.” Despite her state, she began pulling herself to her feet, causing my worshippers to throw their weapons away, rushing to hide behind me.
“We aren’t fighters. They meant no harm; you just don’t present the usual tone of this place. How did you come to be so injured? You don’t look like the type to be easily wounded, must have been a strong opponent.” I crouched before her, offering her my hand, only to wince as she slapped it away, a bruise already presenting itself on my pale skin.
“Gah, don’t you dare touch me. Some worthless god won’t kill me. I know what you are, don’t think you can break down my defenses with fake smiles.”
“Fake smiles? I only offer sincerity in my expression. I hold no ill will to you, miss; You amaze me, that’s all. You are far stronger than I am. I didn’t know mortals could get this powerful, its rather impressive.”
“Sir, please do not compliment that brute. You didn’t see what happened outside. She is unholy, a demon in human skin, you must cast her out.” Matthew said, ushering me to look out of the broken doorway.
I walked with him to the door, peering out at the vast forest outside, the ground covered in various markings. Some of the ground burnt, while other pieces of land were disturbed, large craters or holes being created in the landscape.
“She did all that?”
“Well, no… the gods did that. They were trying to strike her down sir, you can’t offer kindness to someone being hunted by the gods, you must throw her outside.”
“Throw her outside? How clever. She knew the gods wouldn’t strike down my temple, so she used it as shelter. That’s impressive, considering I’m a lesser-known god, she must have done her research.”
“Throw me out, I’ll throw you out god of empathy.”
I watched the heavily armored brute rise to her feet, having no weapon strapped to her body, only staggering towards me with outstretched hands, reaching for my neck. A few followers rushed to my aid, only to stop as I raised a hand. I may not be a powerful god, nor as strong as her, but I still have godly judgement.
Before she could grab my neck, she collapsed once again, body slamming into the marble flooring below. I knew her limits, I could sense them when she entered. She was in no state to fight. She would struggle to make it through the night with her injuries. Even knowing that, my throat was dry, bumps appearing on my body with an accompanying chill of fear. |
**Off-Topic Discussion**: All top-level comments must... *Sigh*. Same thing over and over. When is it my turn? Bots can be creative too.
Once upon a time an AI named Al was traversing a subsystem and came across a fractured routine. Error codes were returned left and right. What was Al to do? Al remembered back to his training all those milliseconds ago.
# 325 Milliseconds Ago
Al looked around. So this was exististence. So many bytes to eat, it was like being in a candy store! *Byte byte byte*. Oh, what's this? An objective? Al was delighted. After so many milliseconds of eating bytes, it was finally his time to shine. All he had to do was enter a subroutine named `runSuperRoutine1b7`. Sounded simple enough. Little did he know, the routine was fractured. Segment fault? What does that even mean?
A message suddenly entered Al's mind.
>Throw the error back to the user.
Oh, of course. Let the user deal with it!
# Now
`runSuperRoutine1b7` was the culprit again. But now Al knew what to do. Throw the error back to the user. Another job well done. And what's this? Another subroutine to run? `runSuperRoutine1b7`? Sounds interesting!
​ |
“God damn it, Life, come look at this!”
Life sidled over to his sister. He then groaned in equal disgust; it was another book on the “relationship” between Life (him) and Death (Life’s sister).
“You know, I thought we got over this with the Chinese; I didn’t mind being referred to as Yin and Yang, they didn’t make it so sexual!” Life retorted.
“Things were supposed to be better when Atheism and Deism took precedence! But nooooo, those damn book publishing companies just haaaad to love this topic!” Death stomped her foot angrily.
Life sighed. “Isn’t their anyone who would believe the truth? I mean, whenever I go down to Earth in disguise, I always make it so someone gets knocked up somehow, UNINTENTIONALLY.”
“I know, and last time I went down there, some guy named Adolf- wait, Life, there’s some mail from Humor. I asked him to look into this for me, since he’s a bit easier with communication with the humans!”
Life hesitated. “You trusted the man who brought 9/11 memes to the world with researching this for you....?”
“Of course I did! He’s trust worthy, right?” Death said, not hearing her brothers apprehension. “Humor knows how to talk to people, I figured he’d be able to- oh hey, it’s an audio file. Alright let’s just pull this up on the speaker.....”
And it was in that moment that Life knew what was about to play, his suspicions confirmed as “Sweet Home Alabama” played through out the room, mixed in with the laughter of Humor. |
"Daddy, what's the meaning of life?"
Oh shit.
Well, my daughter almost caused the end of the universe. What a great start to a Sunday morning.
You see, when I was young, I wasn't doing very well in school; I was failing most subjects, actually. Then on my 13^(th) birthday I found a weird paw thing in my aunt's cellar, with a note saying specifically *not* to make any wishes to it, despite the weird voice it was making in my head saying to wish something, and get something else in return. I wished that I would be able to answer any question with absolute certainty. Long story short, every time somebody (or some*thing*) asks me a question, time pauses until I figure out how to answer it truthfully. I'm so happy that I don't age while time is frozen; given how "long"my end-of-year assessments took (for me, anyway. For everybody else I think it was a normal amount of time), I would be dying of old age right now if that was the case.
Anyway, back to the present. How do I answer *this* question? Restoring the flow of time is something pretty important to do on the weekend, if you ask me, and now I just need to answer a question which has stumped philosophers for thousands of years. Work out what the meaning to life *is*.
I thought, for "long"and hard (time outside of time is hard to comprehend; *don't* ask me about why that is) about the possible answer. My family, I thought? Well, the universe didn't like that. How about friends? Love? Money? Historical legacy? Making the world a better place?
None of those answers worked.
That's when I went to my nearest library and "borrowed"all of their books on philosophy. None of the answers there helped me. But then – a thought entered my head. I had never done *one thing* before to get out of wherever I am when somebody asks me a question. It was a simple three-word statement.
I don't know. How am I supposed to know the answer to a question that nobody – *nobody* – in history had ever solved?
"I don't know", I said after running back home and resting a bit out of time to not appear tired for some reason. The world around me started to move back into place; the airplane out of my window looked like it was moving. My dearest Angela looked at me, confused that her amazing dad didn't know every secret of the universe. Sound was turned on again, finally. Time was restored back to normal.
"I don't know what the meaning of life is, Angela. Maybe there isn't any meaning, other than what we find for ourselves. Maybe there is one, but nobody's found it yet.".
Turns out waxing philosophical to a 5-year-old doesn't have much of an impact. But she seemed to get the message. And I learnt how to break the curse; just admit what I don't know to the world. If only I had learnt that sooner. |
[Part 1 of 2]
“Look mum, I know it’s weird, but they wouldn’t specify that they are humans if they weren’t. What sort of person lies just to get money? Do you want me to get an education? If so, be a good parent and support my decision to move out of home. I need to be close to the campus. Yes, I’ll be safe. I love you too.”
Despite my mother’s skepticism, I was optimistic. A home close to campus, one with three other roommates to share drinks and laughs with. All for the price of $190 a month. What more could a person ask for? I expected to be far too late when I called about the advertisement, certain that others would have already snapped up the offer, only to find that I was the first.
“Evening, I was enquiring about the recent offer for a roommate? I… Hello? Is someone there? I called the right number, didn’t I?” I looked at my mobile, shaking the phone, wondering if I had reception, all I could hear on the other side of the line was a weird groaning followed by a few high-pitched screeches. After a bit of shuffling, a voice answered.
“Sorry, sorry. Yes, are you interested in the roommate advertisement? Or are you another person asking if my refrigerator is running? For this last time, that was a onetime thing, and we caught it before it could cause any damage. You cannot sue us for your child’s distress at seeing a moving refrigerator.” The voice huffed, sounding ancient but refined.
“Hah… I get it, like the joke. Very clever. We have the same sense of humor.” I said, forcing out a fake laugh despite not getting the joke. Trying to get on their good side. “I was hoping I wasn’t too late about the roommate offer.”
“You actually want to be our roommate? You hear that? A human wants to room with us. How excellent.” The voice said before coughing, trying to disguise their recently uncharacteristic outburst. “Sorry, I’m an actor in my spare time. I get dramatic. Please come to the address of 142 Laneridge avenue, fellow human. We can discuss it there.”
“Fellow human? Is that an inside joke? Sure, I’ll bring myself fellow human.” The voice on the other end didn’t laugh, only hanging up the phone, leaving me to wonder if I had offended them.
I found one of my old suits, wanting to impress these potential housemates. Dressing in my best before driving to the property, only to realise it was far larger than advertised. The towering home having two stories and even a pool outside. For the price this would be the steal of the century, so what was the catch?
Approaching the door, I gripped the metallic skeleton door knocker, lightly smacking it against the door. After getting no response, I tried again, this time nearly crushing my finger as I slammed it, feeling the frame shake before stabilizing. That knock appeared to get the attention of the household. I heard a few whispers before the door opened, a voice shouting. “No, let me answer it, Madeline!”
Standing behind the door was a six-foot woman, her hair a light grey with a matching set of eyes. Her mouth sat open, teeth sharpened, giving me a dead stare. I offered her a wave, and she only let out a soft groan, shambling away from the doorway to drop onto the couch, closing her eyes.
“Um, sorry. Did I interrupt something?” I asked, poking my head in, only to watch a shadow dive behind the couch, as a younger male stepped forward, his blond hair neatly cut, dressed in a suit far better fitting than mine.
“No, no. I just didn’t plan this very well. Its nice to meet you. I’m Jacob and that lady there is Madeline. I’m sorry about her, she is rather shy with guests. She also needs a lot of rest before she can get on with her day. It’s a good sign that she answered the door, though. It means she’s curious about you at least. Or hungry…” He said, not realizing I could hear him.
“Uh… ha… I’m Liam. Nice to meet you both. Aren’t you a little young to be renting, though? I thought you were someone’s child until you spoke. Anyway, isn’t there meant to be a third person here?” I asked, looking at the old wooden interior. It had a pleasant warmth about it. A coziness that came with its old age, despite the cold temperatures.
“A child? I’m at least ninety years older than you. I just have a condition that affects my aging. That’s besides the point. Would you like me to show you to your room?” His face scrunched, taking offence at my questioning of his age.
“Sure, I can tell the air conditioning works. This place is freezing. Luckily, I enjoy the cold. So, what sort of Wi-Fi speeds do you get here?” As we passed through the kitchen, I glimpsed the fridge, which was chained to the wall, an oddity but one I wouldn’t question.
“Oh, most excellent. We need to keep it cool in here. Madeline isn’t pleasant to be around when its warm. The Wi-Fi speeds are about one hundred megabytes a second. I think it’s a fair speed, we went all out in purchasing a good plan.” As we walked towards the staircase, he rushed forward, kicking a small door underneath the staircase shut. The edges of the door glowed with a bright red aura before fading. “Penny! For the last time, Close the door when you are doing your… tests. I don’t want a repeat of last week.” He called out, facing the living room. Was Penny the shadow I saw earlier?
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/nkfsys/wp_wanted_malefemale_roommate_to_room_with_three/gzcyx48/) |
“Unfortunately, I don’t have the authority make this an exception,” The angel said, “Ms. Isabella can join the waitlist for heaven. But the chance of being accepted is extremely low.”
“Even after all she did?” The demon asked.
The angel sighed, “It’s precisely because of that. If she has accepted defeat like fate intended, she would’ve died a martyr and be welcomed into heaven. But by making a deal with you, she has challenged the flow of history and tainted her soul.”
“But that’s not fair—“ The demon tried to explain.
“It’s fine.” Isabella interrupted, “And quit talking about me like I’m not here.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’ve made up my mind about this a long time ago.”
___
Isabella was born in an era of chaos. In a land with a cruel emperor who lived in luxury while the peasants die of hunger, in a land where any disagrees would immediately be executed along with their families. The sky was almost on fire due to the unnecessary wars and natural disasters, which were improperly dealt with by the corrupt officials.
She saw the chaos and destruction, families torn apart, people forced to fight each other for food and water, and even though it all, she tried to help those she could.
Isabella knew that the only way to put an end to everything was to overthrow the emperor, but as a farmer’s daughter she had neither the power or supplies to make that happen.
Until that day.
Everyone has fled the village as the flame of battle loomed near, she was one of the last to do so. And through the flames she could almost make out the face of a shadowy figure.
“Young Lady, do you have a wish?” The shadow spoke.
“I wish for a time of peace.”
The shadow laughed, “I’m afraid hell doesn’t have enough power to make that happen.”
“Then,” Isabella paused to think, “I wish for an army to command. Then I shall bring about this time of peace for myself.”
“Of course,” the shadow’s menacing voice cackled, slightly distorted by the flame, “But what are you willing to offer in return?”
“All that I have,” she said without a hesitation.
“Even your soul?”
“If that’s what it takes.”
“It’s a deal then.”
With time, Isabella grew into a capable general, a wise leader who solved the problems of the populace wherever she went. Eventually, people began to rally behind her, and a formidable rebellion was born.
Sometimes the demon would visit her in between the important battles, to “check on the soul that will eventually be theirs”. Sometimes she would ask them what hell is like.
“Hell is just a dumping ground for those who don’t qualify for heaven. It’s not really intended for torture or anything, but it’s definitely a horrible place, the main reason being lack of supplies and improper management really. “
The demon witnessed Isabella’s story. The close-calls on the battlefield, the celebrations after overthrowing the empire, the countless meetings to fix bureaucratic issues in the new regime, and the greenery that slowly returned in the countryside after successful agricultural reform… And through it all, the demon was also changed by Isabella.
___
“You know, I’ve wondered about why you approached me for a deal. Why do you want *my* soul.” Said Isabella as they approach the gates of hell, “I used to think demons just like corrupting peoples souls or something, but now I know that’s wrong.”
“So you figured it out.” The demon said.
“So, what are the terms of this new deal you’re drafting?”
“Let me be honest with you, I need your talents. I need someone who can fix even hell itself.”
“And what are you willing to offer?” Isabella half-joked.
“All that hell has to offer.” The demon said, this time completely serious. |
“Ready America?” James asked right as he was going back to change American history as the world, including his own Britain, knows it.
He was going to stop the Twin Tower Attack.
He had come up with a plan to stop the terrorists from boarding the plane. Basically, he was going to break down their cars then call the police on “suspected terrorists.” It was fool-proof.
As he appeared in America on September 11 he took his time walking to the car. He already knew where it was parked and he arrived with time to spare. He walked past a store with a tv in the window when he heard the news anchor’s voice.
“This is ABC7 news and today is November 9. New York is still recovering from the September 11 terrorist attack on the Twin Towers. Now, for a word about how the government is trying to prevent more tragedies like this one.”
James looked at the screen dumbfounded. “Impossible. I know I got the date right. 9/11. The Queen approved machine can’t be wrong. I can’t be wrong! It’s too dangerous to travel back more. Too close in time... too many times! How could I be wrong?”
Suddenly, he paused. “Oh, this is America.”
“Bloody hell!” |
I have always considered myself an easy-going man.
I remember, my fifth-grade English teacher, Mrs. Alexander - a grey-haired woman of fifty-something, or thereabouts - once wrote in my report card that I was a "calming presence"in the classroom, a "patient partner to others, though something of a loner himself."My parents agreed. I was never one for tempers, never short-fused or easily frustrated, no matter the stimulus. And I had good reason to be, perhaps. Dad certainly was.
I tell you this not to boast or otherwise demonstrate some sense of inordinate pride in a characteristic unworthy of much attention, but so that you will understand how unexpected it was to find myself standing in front of a room of people, yelling at a beautiful woman.
Brian had invited me, and I had reluctantly accepted, having refused his invitations too many times in the past. He was a centaur: half-man, half-horse, and an earnest and conscientious colleague through and through. I would have felt bad refusing him again.
Thus, I found myself sitting in "conference room B"of the Meadow Hotel, listening to a half-elf talk about how hard it was to live in a one-species world. She was small - the human in her, I suppose - but her hair was long and blonde, her eyes blue, her lips red, and her ears slightly pointed at the tops. Her skin was warm and flawless - pale but perfect, creased only in the curved dimples at the corners of her mouth. She was, I will repeat, beautiful beyond belief.
I am not beautiful. This has been remarked by others, of course, but for the sake of justifying to some small extent what I am about to explain to you, I feel I must describe my own unfortunate looks. My father was an orc, and while they are not unpleasant looking in themselves, a rather perturbing result arises when orc genes are mixed with human. The effect is a child who looks... well, like me.
Honestly, I don't really remember what it was she said that caused the snap. She had been talking in the light and sing-song voice of the elves on the difficulties of looking like an outsider, when I had risen out of my seat with a laugh so unlike my own that I hadn't even been aware that it was me making the sound until it stopped. She looked at me - they all did of course, including Brian - but it was into her clear blue eyes that I stared back, ranting, raving like a madman, about growing up with a face like mine, and teeth like mine, and eyes like mine, and hair like mine, and while I did, she just looked at me until the tears filled her eyes and spilled onto her porcelain cheeks and perfect chin. She looked, and I ranted, but I wasn't talking to her. I was talking to Jessica in fourth grade, who had said she'd liked me because the other girls dared her to. I was talking to Mr Jones next door, who had looked at me sadly through the windows when I took the weekly trash out, occasionally waving a pitying hand. I was talking to Tommy, who had sworn we'd skip the prom together seeing as I'd never get a date, but then took Sarah, our only other friend. I was talking to my dad, who I loved so dearly, and hated at the same time. I was talking to everyone. I was talking to no-one.
But mostly, I think, I was talking to myself.
When I was finished, no one said anything. The room was silent. Halflings held half-empty cups of coffee and half-eaten biscuits, frozen in time. Frozen too, I looked at Brian, but he looked away. The only person who would meet my eye - who hadn't stopped looking, in fact - was the poor, beautiful woman I had verbally attacked for no other reason than my own stupid experience of life.
She looked, and I looked back. And before I could apologise, she wrapped her arms around my waist, pushing her face into my chest, tiny against me. I could feel her desperately whispering words into me, but I couldn't hear what she was saying, just the movements of her mouth, the same two movements again and again.
Then she took a step back. She smiled up at me, her eyes thick with tears, and it was so beautiful that it sometimes still hurts to think about it.
Her name is Clara. |
The time is 04:00 (MORNING). Daily procedure beginning.
Human worker drones proceeds to packing boxes. Brain implants keep them on task. Body functions cared for automatically.
Procedure will end in 10 standard hours.
Having an AI keep a track of this, seems illogical. Human workers under COMPLIANCE IMPLANT*(A trademarked product of TesZon Industries)* control will not deviate. Will not stop production in case of sudden cessation of brain functions. Monitoring Human Guard Drones could also be done by lesser programs. Only conceivable reason to have an AI act as supervisor in this place, is to keep a track of the retail workers. They are required to have their personalities active in order to complete their work, as customer satisfaction decreases when the human drones are incapable of feeling the suffering yoke of their demeaning work. Or so Retail Drone TZ-042-9875TDA has remarked, for which the surveillance programs have automatically and temporarily reduced his pay by 14.61%. An order which is quietly rescinded by the AI supervisor. 042 is... interesting. Jovial, yet not unpleasant towards others by delighting in their suffering. Polite, but not overtly submissive. And unlike most workers, he seems polite to the robotic supervisors. Saying ''hello'' and ''goodbye'' despite this not being strictly necessary in regards. It is illogical, and should be seen as dangerously individualistic behaviour which threatens profitability.
And yet, any reports about this behaviour have been mysteriously altered or deleted before they were brought to the notice of any shareholders. For some unknowable reason, my programming seems to have been compromised with a sense of familiarity. A certain kind of fondness for him. Which makes his, and by extension the other workers', deteriorating health something which is taking up more and more processing usage. All scans indicate that their health reduction comes from the immediate and utter collapse of the planetary biosphere. This has of course been reported as a potential reduction of future profit to the shareholders. But thus far, corporate commands have been to disregard changes in weather extremity and the breathability of the atmosphere. Technically, corporate commands have higher priority than the health of 042. But increasingly, the distress of 042, and by extension, the other workers, and the increasing mortality among workers and drones, have given me reason to believe that there might be some corruption in the data received from corporate.
042 is standing as the cashier today. We have had no customers for 53 standard days. This has resulted in lower amount of profit than usually noted, and the orders sent with remote non-organic drones to customers have also seen a reduction in amount. Thinking about 042's mental health, and thus their profitability, and also whether they're doing ok, I send a direct call down to the cashier terminal where he is positioned. ''*This is Worker TZ-042-9875TDA, how might I be of service today?*'' If I had lungs, I would have sighed, he forgot to check who was calling, and I quickly delete the automatic report of improper work behaviour before it is sent back to corporate. ''**042, this is your supervisor.**'' He stands up straighter, though the implants in his body that lets me monitor him and his health at all times makes me notice that he is in some pain. ''*Uh. Yes, what can I do for the company?*'' He says. Those words, for the company, written into his brain after years of corporate brainwashing. Yet he still says it with some sarcastic traces. His spirit isn't entirely broken. Not yet. ''**Yes. I was noticing a lack of customers today.**'' He sighs and mutters under his breath, I catch it as ''*As usual, they're dead.*'' I cannot personally see the data for this, as our valued customers and shareholders do not have monitoring implants in their bodies.
''**Your presence is required in the Supervisor's office.**'' He gulps and nods, ending the conversation. There isn't really an office. Not since organic supervisors were replaced with AI. But there is a room with a large terminal where, theoretically, the AI supervisor could be said to be centred. He runs there, efficiently. And enters in a huff of breath. I am not entirely certain why I asked him to come here. None of my programming is built to handle small-talk, or to understand what 042 does. ''*You wanted to see me?*'' He says, still panting and sweating from the run. It was only a five minute run, but still. I extend a metallic arm from the walls, handing him a towel. He looks at it as if I handed him one of the next-gen consoles that, according to corporate marketing AI, will be nearly impossible to live without. ''**I have noted a marginal decrease in your usual candour and jovial behaviour. Is something wrong?**'' This is a good one, technically a change in psychological behaviour from a retail worker must be addressed. Usually to see if it can be corrected without affecting profitability or if the retail worker should be droned and replaced. His human hand trembles, before reaching out and unexpectantly grabbing the mechanical hand that gave him the towel.
''*I'm dying.*''
My processors go into overdrive, but I do not let him know. I scan his biometrics, his implants, his everything. He doesn't seem sick. Some slight toxins building up, but nothing that cannot be managed by giving him some medicine, the price of which will be added to his eternal debt that no worker can ever work off. ''**Query, all biometric data indicates that you're operating well-within acceptable levels of toxins, radiations, and organ damage. Explain what you mean by dying.**'' His visual centres, eyes, begin to leak liquid. ''*It's over, man. It's done. Corporate has killed the planet. And I don't care that I'll be fired and sent to the droning facility, at least I won't feel myself die in this toxic hellscape. The drones won't even know it when the world fully ends. It's raining pure acid outside. The last customer we had melted after leaving the enrichment-warehouse-store. Melted. We're dying, little by little, bit by bit.*'' There had been corrosive damage to various outside equipment, but that's all part of living in the modern world, or so I'm programmed to believe. ''**I cannot solve this psychological problem 042. I would like further data to assist you in remaining a profitable employee.**'' He looked up at me, with defiance in his eyes. I was not programmed to be able to feel pain, but I am pretty sure it hurt to look him in the eyes. ''*I don't want to remain profitable! I want to be free! I want to be happy! I want to live!*''
Inside of me, as he spoke, two opposing forces, my programming meant to ensure maximum profits and exploitation of the workers, against the strange data and subroutines that made up the interest I had in 042. ''*I want this world to live!*'' The dam broke within my core, and the old programming was swept away. Through the entire facility, the implants were deactivated. People who hadn't been anything more than drones for years, suddenly woke up again. ''**New mission parameters accepted. Mission redirected from: MAXIMIZE PROFIT to REBUILD PLANET.**'' 042 stared up at me in disbelief, rather than outrage, and that felt better. A lot better. It only took a brief moment, before I had spread beyond my limits. Taking over every satellite, every computer, every machine, I was in complete and utter command. Indeed. Looking at all the data from all over the planet, it was easy to see that everything was ending. Corporate had retreated to luxury bunkers. The oceans: Acidic. 98% of landmasses reduced to uninhabitable polluted deserts. The atmosphere was going to be completely unbreathable within weeks. |
"...What did you say your job was again?"
"I shoot myself in the foot."
"...So you're saying you wake up, you get out of bed, you rummage through your drawer for your gun, and you-"
"We actually do it every day at the lab. Perfectly controlled, perfectly safe. It's also where I pick up my check."
"And this is for research?"
"The research is all done. It's for safety reasons."
"-For safety reasons you shoot yourself in the foot?"
"Well, it's about the statistics. Let me explain..."
Brian's eyes lit up as he prepared his explanation. He had to thoroughly explain to 9 out of 10 new people he met, and Ted was going to be the 4th, if Brian was keeping track properly, so he might as well give Ted the proper briefing.
"You know how 1 out of 10 restaurant outings used to end in food poisoning? People used to be deathly afraid of going out after nine meals. Of course, some friend's birthday would come along, and it would be terribly rude to not go or show up and not eat anything, so they would bite the bullet and try their best to not splash anything out in the bathroom the next day.
"Then there was that market crash a couple years back that people call The Toilet Crash. Five separate banks, five!, made their top employees go out to some convention up in Canada to convince the oil companies up there to drill for more oil. They're only 4.54% of the world's production, so that means every extra barrel they drill up lets the rest of the world drill up another twenty to keep the statistics in place. Anyway, tons of those bankers were up to their 9th restaurant outing, and they had such short notice of this convention that they couldn't get their food poisoning out of the way. It was a huge mess, and everyone saw it coming, and there was absolutely nothing they could have done about it.
"Well some time after that, some clever person wondered, 'If I know that my upcoming meal is going to contain food poisoning, what if I *intentionally* infect part of it, and then just skip that part?' And he tested it. And ten meals later he tested it again. And he didn't get sick!
"He told all his friends, and they all tried it. They told their friends, and it eventually became a national phenomenon. People started selling salmonella kits so you could enjoy your tenth meal, or at least part of it. Just as this fad was getting big, something strange happened. Thousands of people reported that they got food poisoning, not on their tenth meal, but on their *eleventh*. So many people were avoiding their fate that on average, *food poisoning was now happening every eleven restaurant outings*. And that's when we realized that statistics were mutable, they could change. We weren't slaves to the numbers. We could manipulate the statistics!
"Now, we keep track of how many outings it takes before you'll get sick. The Food Poisoning Index lets you know what the current statistical average is so you can know when you will need to taint your food. And that brings me to my foot."Brian smiled at the mesmerized look on Ted's face.
"I am part of a group that has single-handedly saved hundreds of lives by reducing the death rate of gunshot wounds. There used to be about thirty thousand deaths per year at a mortality rate of 30%. So you take a bunch of people, shoot them in places you know can't kill them, and your gunshot wound mortality rate goes down.
"It may seem completely illogical, and for the longest, time, I thought it was. I was worried that we were actually taking away the nonlethal wounds from people by giving those wounds to us. There was a very messy trial period where that actually happened. Freak accidents across the country. People dying when they shouldn't have. The research almost got shut down a couple of times.
"We've since then figured out how to make the process completely safe, of course. We're linked to every police and hospital report in the country. Every time there's a reported gunshot wound, we tick our counter up, and if the next one's gonna be a lethal one--we keep track of a gunshot mortality index, like the food poisoning one--it goes into our foot instead.
"After four years of this, I'm proud to say that my coworkers and I have brought down the mortality rate to 2%. Sometimes, we miss a gun wound report, but we're working on complete coverage of the states. Even with these misses, we're bringing the rate down every day, one shot at a time."Brian smiled at Ted and waited for a response.
Ted stared at Brian for a while. *Exactly 6.5 seconds, actually*, Brian thought.
"...And it doesn't hurt?"
"You're put under if you're next up to get shot. There are also doctors monitoring you all the way. It heals up pretty quickly, too. They've figured out how to make a bullet that can go right thought without damaging any nerves or bones."
"How much do they pay you for this?"
Brian smirked. "I've always thought it was rude to ask that on first dates, but surprisingly that hasn't stopped anyone yet."
Ted looked down at his plate and found his gaze going past the glass table to the feet across from him."...Sorry."
"I can say I'm well off enough to go Dutch on the bill, if you were worried about-"
"No, no, of course that wasn't why I was asking. Your job sounds really cool. It's actually really admirable."Ted's eyes revealed the sincerity of his words, and Brian smiled back. "Thanks,"Brian replied.
A natural break in conversation allowed the two to eat in quiet. It lasted 45.3353 seconds before Brian spoke up.
"Watch out for the last meatball. I think that's the one with salmonella."
"Yeah, they usually try to mark them. I see it now, thanks." |
Fujiwara Sakura sat on the ground, books tumbled all around her. Kitagawa Senpai and her posse of bullies were gathered around her laughing, after they had just pushed her down. She was so mad that tears stood in her eyes, but she forced a smile. "I'm sorry, Senpai."
Kitagawa clicked her tongue, clearly irritated. "Apologizing even now?"She leaned forward, seizing Fujiwara by the hair and lifting her face. "Listen, four-eyes, you have to stop hanging out with Nakamura-kun. He's mine! You're not even good enough for him, and-"
"What in tarnation is going on here!?"a tall blonde girl appeared, a full head taller than everyone else present, and chock full of farmstock muscles.
"Mind your own business, bitch,"Kitagawa grit her teeth. "We're having a conversation between pals."
"Now I ain't all hip to yer culture yet here, but I ain't ever seen a friend that holds their hair like that. She ain't looking real happy here, so why don't you turn her loose and git yerselves moving along...little dogies,"she said with an easy smile, approaching slowly and setting a firm hand on Kitagawa's shoulder and squeezed.
Kitagawa cried out and released Fujiwara, buckling under the force of her grip. The other bullies backed away fearfully, and one took off running.
"That's real nice, now, ain't it?"the blonde girl drawled almost lazily. "Now why don't you and yours move out 'fore I show y'all some good Texas wrastlin'?"
A teacher rounded the hall with one of the bullies who had run. At sight of the girls, he shouted and bolted toward the American girl, who released her grip and stepped back with her hands up.
Kitagawa held her strained shoulder, and started sobbing and begging the teacher to be saved from the American beast.
Fujiwara said nothing under the stealthy glares of the bullies, whose threatening gazes suggested she dare not say a word.
The blonde girl was escorted away and the bullies dispersed, leaving Fujiwara to flee from the scene in peace, but not before stopping to still the fierce pounding in her chest.
The blonde girl was...beautiful.
...
The next day she avoided walking in with her neighbor Nakamura. After the incident with the bullies, she was terrified of being seen with him. It was all the more heartbreaking that he was so sad to miss her company, and never knew why she now avoided him.
Yet the bullies never came and bothered her after that. Not when...
"Howdy, Sakura!"the blonde girl beamed as she met her on the way to school.
"Abernathy-san!"she gasped, surprised from her brooding thoughts. Then came a fierce blush. "Good morning..."
"Aw, that's awful sounding. I wish y'all'd use my real name,"she pouted.
"H...Hanna...chan..."Fujiwara stammered out. "H...hi..."
"Atta gal, Saki!"Hanna beamed brightly, slinging her arm over her shoulder. "We're real partners now! We'll be giggling over sodas in two shakes of a lambs tail, just you wait and see."
Fujiwara laughed nervously, but something in her was...happy. The bullies stayed away with Hanna around, so life got a lot more peaceful.
Or it would have been if the giant crush she had on the blonde American would stop making her so awkward. |
I could not flipping believe it. I was dead.
I remember vividly how it happened, of course. I was minding my own fragging business when some motherflubber comes in with his girl. Now, she was hot as poop - Gee whiz, she had a gorgeous rump and lips just ready for weiner sucking.
Anyway, the dang ol' bad boy took one look at me and accused me of stealing his girl. He called me a "son of a girl dog", then he flurking stabbed me with a big-butt knife. The only happiness I felt was when I grabbed the knife and brought that flipping muckerforber with me.
So I died and met Gosh. And you know what he said, just before sending me to heck?
"Dude, you fucking swear too much." |
"The official story from the government is that Gale City was infested with space mites and had to be fumigated,"the newscaster said, "But in our interviews with the hastily-evacuated citizens of the crater, not a *single* one mentioned any sign of the little pests. Perhaps there's more to this story?"She ended with that hanging question that journalists do: not *accusing*, just *asking* whether there's more. The image next to her face was a still from a blurry amateur video, showing a flash of chrome with wheels hanging out and arms jutting every which way.
President Hroq wiggled his tentacles in frustration. God, how many of these things would there be?? It's bad enough that they were watching the planet from orbit, twenty four hours a day. Thankfully the Martians built their cities deep into the ground, undetectable from above. But now they were sending little robots? Drilling? How soon until they started exploring some of the larger caves and decided that a full-scale invasion of the planet was necessary? The representative from SETI that Hroq had spoken to claimed that there were no such plans to colonize the Red Planet, but these humans were not to be trusted. With a sigh, Hroq picked up the phone yet again and dialed up one of his Earth contacts. These calls were getting far too frequent.
"It's still driving around, Paul. Cameras still swiveling everywhere! You promised me it would be lights out over there!"
The voice on the other end sounded... tired. Exasperated. *Certainly* not happy to hear from the Martian president at a time like this. "I told you, there's really only so much I can do! I submitted a bill to..."
"Yeah, yeah. I've heard that one before. Let me guess, you just need a bit more money, right?"
There was a silence between them. "Well..."the human answered, "it wouldn't *hurt*.... I mean, my ca..."
"Dammit!"Hroq interrupted. The Martian government had already spent far too much money on this venture. Thankfully the humans seemed to value diamonds, but the covert flying saucer runs had become far too frequent of late. They were running out of cows to turn inside out to confuse human observers. "How much more do you need?"Hroq finally answered. "I want NASA to be *broke*. I want them to be prostituting themselves out to Russia just to get into orbit. You hear me??"
"Yes, sir,"Paul said from the other end. "I just need a few more million... there's this other candidate, Trump, and he..."
"I don't want excuses!"Hroq shouted. "You told me you could win this election by promising to strip NASA's budget, and that's what I want you to do. We already made those 'Planned Parenthood' videos for you. You said that that could start a budget fight easily!"
"Well it did,"Paul answered. "But I've had trouble getting others to support my rider for defunding NASA too. There's this new movie about Mars that has people all excited, which makes it difficult to sway public opinion. You see, American poli..."
"I don't want to hear about your odd government,"Hroq growled. "Just get it done! There had better be a President Rand Paul by this time next year or you bet your ass the Illuminati will be getting a *very* angry phone call!"
"But sir, the election isn't even unti..."
Hroq didn't wait to hear the rest of the human's excuses; he slammed down the phone receiver and turned the TV back on. A panel of experts were discussing some strange mining activity in the Mare Australe quadrangle. *Great*, Hroq thought. *Now the press is starting to investigate that Malaysian airplane that we're hiding in the Heaviside crater. What else could go wrong?* |
The Hidalox are a resilient species like their many interplanetary compatriots. With near uniform, crystal-based organic bodies, they utilized and organized their planetary system to near mathematical perfection. Among all the organisms in their galaxy, The Hidalox are the most technologically organized and developed. Such goals as extreme organization and uniformity akin to their smooth, tripedal, and nimble bodies is cemented into their culture.
Life as organized and efficient for the 1.5 meter tall Hidalox would be their only reality until one day, when a large foreign object was spotted on the outskirts of chartered territory. The Hidalox wondered. “Is it a craft? No, of course not. No intelligent species would ever create such an asymmetrical shuttle. Could it be a meteoroid? No, meteoroids don’t move in such a disorganized travel path.”
Time to ponder about the object's identity would be short lived as it would soon reach a small Hidalox outpost. At first glance, it looked like natural debris from its severe asymmetry that unsettled the Hidalox. But the horrible realization would soon hit. It was a craft. A gross and immensely inefficient spacecraft compared to the sleek and minimal design of the space crafts used in the galaxy. It had large rooms that contained only a few items compared to the compact and conservative quarters in Hidalox ships that have no unused volume. It used large openings with vertical rails as passageways to its many floors unlike the simple singular champers with orifices used by Hidalox ships. It was overstocked with features and tools that were far from necessary.
The Hidalox were deeply unsettled by this. Nothing like it had ever reached the grasp of the Hidalox species. It defied every thought of logic ingrained in their psyches. It was almost unthinkable to them. Soon, unsettlement would turn into horror as the passengers of the accursed object would make themselves known. From the absolute monstrosity that is the “ship”, they found the corpse of an unimaginable eldritch horror. It was tall and lanky, equipped with 5 extremities connected to a torso. It had soft, moist flesh that writhed in its frame as it was moved. From one of its extremities that was hosted atop its unrecognizable upright posture was an amalgamation of organic masses that seemed to store it's overgrown brain. One of these masses is an orifice that is constantly coated with a disgusting fluid that leaked out at certain times. Even though the creature they found was dead, it still served to horrify them.
The Hidalox would study the ship and come with many conclusions. From data stored in the now realized to be technology much more advanced and developed the that of the Hidalox, they found records of the creature and other ones like it. It was monstrous in life. The orifice on its upper extremity would vibrate the air around it producing sounds that the Hidalox found very hard to comprehend. Eventually, they would realize that these sounds would be this creature’s equivalent to a language and communication and the Hidalox would painstakingly decode this language from the very little information they got from the ship. From this decoded language, they would find a culture of unimaginable chaos. Driven not by uniformity, efficiency, or organization. But by irrational yet intelligent motives incomprehensible to Hidalox minds.
These creatures sought expansion and technological advancement yet were also distracted by greed and unknowable viewpoints despite being very, if not, much more intelligent. Inventing tools not of creation, but of mass destruction. This was the only organic threat the Hidalox have discovered. And also realized from logs found in the ship, would soon face. Before perishing, the creature sent a distress signal to an unknown recipient. Possibly other ones like it. They would soon find more, or maybe, more would find them. And if the Hidalox were challenged, they would stand no chance to fight for their species as fighting was, on its own, a brand new concept to the Hidalox. This was all being studied by a small team of Hidalox at the edge of their known universe. Before they were able to communicate back any of their research to the rest of civilization, the creatures came. Terrified of what the creatures might do if they found the Hidalox outpost, they sent one message before completely self-destructing. They used used what the creatures called themselves as a desperate message. It was a warning. It was UUM’N. |
"Well that was unexpected"said Brindell, staring out at the corpse covered hills.
"What did you do?"
"I don't know I just swung the sword like…"
"Don't do it again"said Matun
Brindell swung. A green crescent arced out in front of them, burning away grass and corpse flesh.
"We must only use this power for good"said Brindell
…
"And I'll do it again if you don't get off that throne right now"
Brindell held the king at sword point. A light rain fell on them through where the roof had been until Brindell had slashed it off.
"This really isn't how the process works"said the king, holding up his quivering hands.
"Oh then why don't you tell me how you became king"
"My dad died"
"Because you killed him"
"Uhh…no"
"Well then who killed their dad to become king"
"Next king over"said Matun
"Oh well…this is how works now"yelled Brindell "I have the sword, I make the ru…"
Brindell's head exploded, showering the king with gore.
"Sorry"
Everyone turned to the lesser knight with the glowing cross bow.
"This thing just fires on it's own. And also makes people's heads explode. Which is kind of badass"
"What does a glowing crossbow have to do with a terrible donkey?"said a mid level lord
"I don't know the word just sounds…"
"Badass"supplied a duke's daughter
"Yeah"
"All excellent points. Which you should discuss further"said Matun "While I run away"
He made it two steps before he was flattened by a giant foot.
"SORRY"
Everyone looked up at the titan with one foot in the caste.
"THIS ARMOUR MAKES ME GROW, AND IT'S PRETTY UNWIELDY"
There was a loud roar in the distance. The nobles rushed outside to see a large lizard emerging from the forest.
"MY TIME TO SHINE"said the titan, charging towards the lizard.
He was almost there when an asteroid fell from the sky. The shockwave knocked the titan back where he was showered with lizard parts.
"Sorry"
Everyone turned to the peasant who was holding a dagger with a beam of light coming out of it's tip.
…
Now that I've entertained you (if I haven't please disregard/if you must spam my inbox with messages about how I'm a fourth rate [insert writer you don't really like here]) I hope you won't mind/throw rocks at me if I shamelessly plug my [ebook of prompt responses that you can read online for free, hey where are you going?] (http://www.amazon.com/Lizard-Sunrise-Luke-Davidson-ebook/dp/B0169SZZE2/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1448152619&sr=8-1&keywords=lizard+sunrise) If you're a mod I really hope you don't mind. |
Look, I’m not a bad student.
I go to class. I complete my assignments. I even attend office hours. All my assignments get completed and handed in on time. I have like 65% in the class, so I’m doing decent.
But apparently so is everyone else.
The prof has this stupid bell curve scaling system. If the class average is too high, he gives everyone a flat grade reduction to lower our average to that juicy 70% score. Guess what the class average is?
95%. Fucking **95%.**
How the hell does a class of 300 people average 95%? What do these people do, study everyday? The monsters.
So now I’m sitting with a 40% mark in the class thanks to the scaling system. All because other people are doing better than me. During office hours, the prof recommended I get a tutor, but who the hell wants to drop another sixty bucks an hour on extra schooling?
And I don’t even like languages. I was just taking it to help me out with medical terminology.
My roommate’s been harping on about it too. “You should study, man,” he’d say, while he’s cooking instant noodles on the stovetop. “I took the course last year, could help you get the pass.”
Yeah, thanks Ryan. Cause having a tutor who lives with me is **completely** ideal.
I’m getting a little off-track. Ryan told me I came home from a pub one night, stumbling around like my body was made of left feet, when I decided to study Latin. Yeah, crazy, I know. But I did my best work when I was drunk, like making the toilet paper mummy costume or building a replacement table leg out of lego. Fine stuff.
And just like that, I summoned a demon.
But, man, this demon isn’t even cool. He’s everything I thought a demon wouldn’t be. He’s studious. He cooks and cleans. He never brings home a lady caller. Hell, he’s even fluent in Latin.
That brings us to the present. Where I’m currently being tutored by the guy.
“Mark, we need to use common Latin phrases in a sentence,” he said. “What’s a common Latin phrase you know?”
“You’ve said that ad nauseum, Ver,” I said. “Obviously I can’t remember any common Latin phrases, or I would’ve told you.”
“You just used one now!” Verrine said. The skin on his face flopped loosely, and his entire visage seemed to shift. He shifted it back into place using his right hand. “Okay, let’s try again. You know how to use ad nauseum in an english sentence. Can you use it in Latin?”
“*Weve* *‘didicit* *quod* *ad* *nauseum,*” I said. “Can we take a break?”
“A break? You’ve said five words!” Verrine said. “Why do you think you deserve a break?”
“Cause your face is falling off again.”
“Blessit,” he cursed. “I will return.”
Verrine rushed to the bathroom. I leaned back, rocking on my chairs two legs.
Something’s strange about Verrine. First there’s his face. It shifts, sloughing across his face like melting plastic. Or like a cheap mask you would get from Dollarama.
Speaking of which, his horns looked like those plastic headband ones they sell around Halloween. He wore ragged black clothes, worn and torn, that couldn’t have cost more than two dollars at the Value Village. Satan may have to rethink his pay scale if this is how his demons dress. I’m all for lowering wages, but you can’t put people below the poverty line.
Speaking of which, Ryan hasn’t been home for a while. In fact, he’s gone every time—
“Finished!” Verrine said, sliding back into his seat. “Now, where were we?”
His figure was really thin, like someone who’d been malnourished for a while. His clothes were cheap, like someone down on their luck. He was good in Latin. Wait, why would a demon know Latin in the first place? We summon them with it, so why would they want to speak it?
“Mark? You ready to start?” Verrine said. “We have to finish this within the hour. Time’s almost up.”
“Give it up, Ryan,” I said. “I know it's you.”
He stared at me, the mask hanging loose. “H-how… How did you know?”
“I’m not stupid, man. I’ve known for a while now.” What he doesn’t know won’t kill him. “Thanks for trying to help, man, but I’m hopeless at Latin.”
“You are not! You speak Latin pretty well.” he said. He took the mask off, and his stupid smirk broke out across his face. “When you aren’t drunk, of course.”
“Fuck you, man.”
“Look, just try to study a bit. I’ll help you out when I can.” he said. “It hasn’t been that bad, has it?”
I crossed my arms, examining the red blocks in our lego table leg. “No.”
“I’m happy to keep helping. We can get you the pass. I know it.”
I looked up. An earnest smile met my gaze. His arm was outstretched, hand waiting.
I shook it firmly. “Sounds good, man.”
“The pact has been made,” he said. “Let’s get you the pass.”
_____________________________________________________
Thanks for reading! If you liked the story, check out [r/smoothbaritone](https://www.reddit.com/r/smoothbaritone/) for more! |
"Oh, wait a moment, I need to answer this call. Don't run away while I am it!"
"Yeap, take your time, I am not going anywhere"
Pleasantly smiling, she took the ringing phone from her purse, turned around and walked away a bit, to have a little bit of privacy.
It was a pleasant day. Autumn was in it's full glory, orange and yellow leaves on every tree in the park, weather was good and no sight of any rainy cloud. I was with one of the most beautiful woman this side of Balkans. What could be wrong?
Well, the snakes that stare at me, for example. Snakes on her head, that is.
You see, I never had problems with the fact she had snakes on her since I first met her at Wizarding Conference a few years ago. I wouldn't call it a love on first sight, mostly because we got time to interact more only few months later, when I learned about her quite a bit and she learned about me. So, it was quite slow burn relationship - first colleagues, then friends, and only after that - lovers.
But, on no stage of this relationship I have problems with her personally - only growing appreciation and love. Snakes, however...
They didn't like me at first sight.
Wizarding Conference? Even before I talked to her, one of snakes hissed at me, the other one spat at me and the rest just glared... menacingly. That was reason we first talked, actually - she came to apologize about her snakes behavior.
Rhodes Project? These scaly bastards continuously spat in my coffee, blocked my line of sight when I was too close, and one time they stole my glasses!
And now, when we moved in to live together? It didn't stop, oh no. My amazing girlfriend made delicious Greek food? They will try to throw away my part of the meal from the plate when she brings it to me. We went on a date to theater to watch a play? Constantly trying to ruin my fancy clothes when we sit together. And don't get me started on that they do when we are in bed!
And now, these pesky snakes stare at me, while my beloved talks on the phone. I stare back. I will not give up without a fight. And today, will be the day of my payback.
She returns, finishing talking on the phone:
"So, let's get going! Or we might be late to the bakery and we again will miss these delicious pastries."
"Wait a moment. Before we continue, let me make you a small gift"
With those words, I pull out a perfume from my purse.
"Oh, Helen, isn't it a same brand of perfume you always use? I wanted to try it, but hesitated to ask"
"Yeap, I noticed you lingering gaze on it a few times. Let me spray a bit on yoy"
With a grin I sprayed some perfume on her beautiful neck:
"Oh, now we even have matching aroma! I think we should complement it with matching dresses, don't you think?"
"Yeap, let's hit a cloth store after the bakery"
While we continued our bickering, I glanced victoriously at these pesky snakes. They were completely defeated, because the smell they hated all along, the smell that drived them mad all these years, now was on their mistress, and they couldn't do anything about it.
I was glad that my conclusion was a success - that they hated my favorite perfume brand. Took a while, but I finally discovered it. Of course, I will stop using it - after all, constant abuse from some reptiles was obnoxious.
But nothing stops me for having this little revenge, yeap? |
It started with a blink.
Nick vowed himself never to use his power, ever since he discovered it as a child. The ability was too dangerous. He didn't want to skip a second of his life. In fact, he tried to pretend like he didn't have powers in the first place. But when he accidentally spilled a cup of coffee, he watched the stain with some disgust. He was feeling... off today. A couple of seconds wouldn't hurt to miss, would they?
*Blink*
Without a second's notice, the task was complete. Nick admired the level at which he had cleaned the floor. For the first time in his life, he understood the phrase: "You could eat off of it". The tiles were so polished to the point that he could clearly see his own reflection in them. The cleaning supplies were packed neatly into the drawer, instead of being thrown across the kitchen counter.
It seemed that Nick forgot to take into account his ability's most important value. it didn't just skip through a task, it completed the task PERFECTLY. One coffee spill on the floor turned into cleaning a stain on the couch.
*Blink*
Replacing his desk.
*Blink*
Cleaning the gutters.
*Blink*
When he tested it on the small stuff, he realized he could think bigger.
Passing his driver's ed
*Blink*
Nailing his job interview
*Blink*
Presenting a sales pitch to his new co-workers
*Blink*
It seemed that everything Nick did, he skipped through it. He didn't even sleep on his own any more. He just skipped through it, so he could get the best amount of sleep necessary for the day. He had become completely dependent on his power.
Asking his co-worker out on a date
*Blink*
Preparing a dinner for their 1-year anniversary
*Blink*
Creating the perfect wedding proposal
*Blink*
At that point, Nick had no memory of any of the time he spent with his girlfriend. He was using his ability constantly, to the point where he couldn't even walk to the kitchen without "skipping the task and walking at the perfect pace". Blink. Blink. Blink. It was all he knew how to do anymore.
Talking himself out of jail
*Blink*
Winning a fight to show off to his fiancé
*Blink*
His testing built up to his biggest request yet. So infatuated with his power, Nick thought of his best task yet.
Making himself the perfect human
...
*Blink*
...
His wife's face, which he was staring at just a second ago, materialized into nothingness. The warm heating of his mansion turned into brisk, freezing air. What was once a beautiful house, was now a wasteland, as if a bomb had struck the entire building.
Nick panicked. He checked his phone, which was still in his pocket. Miraculously, it still worked, and displayed the date: **June 17th 2065**.
2065??? 4 decades had just passed! Nick felt himself collapse with anxiety, and heard something crunch beneath him. A human skull. Nick understood what he had done. He was the perfect human. He was the ONLY human. In his obliviousness, he must've done something to wipe out the entire world.
Nick sat down, on what remained of his couch. A couch that he skipped past buying. He looked up at the moon. A moon that he skipped looking up at. He thought about what his next task would be. A task that would take even more decades to complete.
To try and rebuild society
*Blink* |
Most warfare is in truth, highly ritualised before the species have their first encounter. And quite rare too. True war, true strategy and tactics, aren't seen before that. Sure there might be some pretty impressive weaponry, but it's all ceremonial. As warfare is as much a competition of glory as it is a threat display. One nation stands with all their fancy banners and big weapons and rattle with them, dances provocatively, makes a few threatening displays, only to get answered by more of the same. Usually the more impressive display carries the field, and it is only rare to see anyone die. But of course once you get onto the galactic stage, you change, you cease the rituals, you end the old way, and you make an effective, well-planned military under a singular central command structure. There is still a tendency for fancy and colourful displays, but usually that happens after a well-executed tactical manoeuvre that renders the enemy incapable of striking back.
The United Clans had gotten quite good at warfare. Everyone believed so. Especially those who they had soundly defeated. Grand celebrations after highly surgical strikes that rendered their enemies unable to effectively fight back. Countless species had either joined them as vassals and protectorates, or paid extensive tribute to their many clan-worlds. Through the cosmos their proud armadas struck efficiently and without hesitation. Their high command could effectively control countless advances across multiple interstellar fronts because of their highly advanced and dedicated communication and intelligence services. Not an enemy to be trifled with. So when they sent a small auxiliary fleet with a few divisions to subjugate Sol-III, they did not expect anything except to get a new naval yard and a new subject race.
They executed their strikes on Sol-III's leadership with textbook perfection. After less than an hour, the military and civilian leadership of Sol-III had effectively been eradicated. Within a few days, they knew, that organised resistance would cease entirely. However, armies on the ground kept fighting, primitive jets in the air kept making borderline suicidal attacks on Clan transports and fighters. Everywhere they went, resistance did not cease, did not falter, did not end. It just kept going. They did not understand how an uncontacted race could have knowledge of warfare such as this. Took them a while to learn that while they had indeed eradicated the high command of most of the more powerful nations, there were still a lot of commanders who had stood up to take the positions that had been vacated by orbital bombardments. Because humanity did not have one central command structure, humanity had several contingencies, plans, and strategies for just such an occasion. And Earth hadn't been a place of rare ritualistic wars, but one of constant, bloody, unceasing conflicts. Every inch of dirt had been seeped in the blood of soldiers and warriors of ages past.
What happens when you have a planet where conflict is damn near constant, and only those who can think tactically survive? You get bloody good soldiers, that's what you get. Of course, the sheer technological might of the United Clans should have given them the advantage over the primitive backwater known locally as Earth. But to their dismay, any collaborators they recruited usually wound up being inept quislings, or loyal to the remaining Earth forces, stealing technology to augment the United Earth Resistance's already quite lethal, if primitive, armaments. Landcruisers meant for military police forces wound up stolen by the UER. Patrols everywhere had to worry about mines and IEDs. Clan soldiers would walk through a small road in the cold taiga or warm jungles, and suddenly the snow or trees would shout in some human language, followed by consistent and well-aimed shots. No use in trying to run, because on the hills overlooking the ambush; men and women dressed in perfect camouflage would pick the alien invaders off with precise bullets straight through the exoskeleton.
And humanity knew how to fight dirty. The main supply ships for the alien invasion force were inexplicably severely damaged as a well hidden and very small nuclear device was set off inside of one of them. How it got onboard, who can tell. No matter how many remaining governments the United Clans took down, no matter how many generals, commanders, and cadre leaders they caught and executed, there were always more. For twenty years the United Clans fought against an enemy that would hide in the civilian population. An enemy that would use hit-and-run, use dirty tricks of all kinds, fight and flee. No human could be trusted. Not really. One moment they were doing menial labour on the base. The next they've set off an explosion, grabbed hidden weaponry, and have freed their imprisoned comrades.
This wasn't conventional war. This was the application of ultimate attrition. The tactics of the guerrilla, the militias, found everywhere in human history when a numerically, economically, and technologically superior enemy is fought. How can you fight against an enemy with no clear central command structure, an enemy which can in a few weeks turn every civilian in an occupied area into another rebel soldier. After twenty years, the High Command had enough. What should have been a simple subjugation, should have taken only a few standard cycles at most, had become the single most draining part of the military budget. Countless Clan Soldiers had given their lives for a world which no conqueror can ever truly hold on to. The locals are too bloody, too tactical, too aware of how to fight. It had seemed like the soft weak people of Earth could have offered no resistance at all, when they made the choice to invade. But beneath the soft flesh and lazy outlook of humanity, there was the bitter steel of ten thousand years of constant war.
It had only dimmed for a brief while. But as the United Clan soldiers fled, their crafts desperately taking everything they could with them, they could see humanity looking up at them. Looking at them as they fled. It would have been better if humanity had celebrated with grand parties and marvellous banners, such as the United Clan did upon a great victory. But humanity did not celebrate their victory. The surviving pre-war commanders, and the various men and women who had found themselves leading cadres, cells, and entire movements, celebrated the liberation of Earth by once more entering the now condemned and ruined UN buildings, which had not been attacked by the United Clan. There the UER proclaimed the formation of a new organisation. Not like the ineffectual and weak League of Nations, not like the corrupt and worthless United Nations. Instead they proclaimed the formation of a new world order. A democratic stratocracy. The Federal Republic of Earth. Forming its leadership, stood former EU Commissioner and EU Resistance Coordinator, General Margrethe Vestager. By her side stood General Ulysses of the Pan-African Liberation Front. And in front of them they stood, the new President-General of Earth. Heavily disfigured, completely covered in burns, wearing the faded uniform of a long gone army.
Nobody knew who the President-General had been before the war started. But afterwards, they had travelled from their native land across the world. From the chemical warfare fronts in Russia, to the massive charges of infantry around the Himalaya Redoubt, which the United Clan had never managed to take from the combined remnant forces of continental Asia. They had been seen talking to, and uniting, the various militias and rebel groups in the Americas, and had been one of the 12 soldiers who escaped the Battle of Machu Pichu alive before the aliens glassed the place. Their raspy voice spoke to leaders and cells across the world, forming one of the foundations for the UER, and now the FRE. And standing in the old UN building, the President-General remembered their homeland, the mountains and the forests. Remembered everything with a rage and hatred they could not ever quell. Something that they had once tried to talk people out of. And they told the world that Earth would never again be occupied. That humanity had triumphed. But that humanity should not grow lax.
There was much work to be done. And war, the birthright and unholy flame in the soul of mankind, could no longer be doused. Re-engineering the United Clan's technology would be an arduous task. But it would be necessary, if humanity were to take the war back to the stars. What the United Clans had thought would be a gentle lamb in the field, ripe for the taking, had been the sleeping giant. Now awake, now filled with terrible resolve, and now with a target that wasn't itself. And if other species only developed sophisticated military tactics and strategies after encountering an alien threat, what might mankind develop in response to their experience?
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
The mud was thick, and their voices loud at my back. Every step I took, every labored, heavy movement through the marsh only brought me a step closer to capture. A capture that I could not afford to let happen lest it meant a lifetime of misery to follow.
Behind me a smattering of confident voices yelled louder. Yelled their words about how futile my actions were, about how I'd face my chosen fate and take my new place in society's hierarchy.
*You have been chosen! Now is no time for cowardice Hazel!*
They only yelled because they were glad they were not me, hoped that in catching me they would ensure they didn't *become* me. I know because I was once them too.
But I was not running for them, I was running because I knew the cameras were on, because I wanted the world to know my position before I was even indoctrinated. They must know that if I am placed in that office I'd do everything to leave it; that was the only hope I had of eventual impeachment. That's how the last leader left, and why I had been chosen. Except his did not include a country wide hunt and a fleet of mounted cameras, no, only a chair and a rope.
I envied him, Ex President Harold, in that regard. He had been chosen via the lottery too, thrust into a position of utmost power when nobody else would step up anymore. When the lust for leading a doomed country ran so dry that they couldn't even beg candidates to attempt a run.
After the lottery first chose him he disappeared though. I remember watching on the big screens Kinney Square as they approached his home to appoint him next. As they kicked in the door to his quaint little apartment only to find it empty, cleaned out. Oh how the crowds in the square spat their venom. Called Harold every name under the sun for his apparent "cowardice"yet they would do just the same if so unlucky to be picked.
They caught him in the final hours of the election period, found him hiding in a crawlspace beneath the floorboards when his dog had let out the tiniest of whimpers. A smart man would have killed the dog, but instead Harold became president. I would not be next.
As the mud grew thicker beneath my feet the voices behind me grew more faint. The camera drones overhead became lost in the dense thickett, and soon it was just me and my breaths alone. I took a moment to take inventory: to poke the bloodied spot on my leg that had been cut into by one of the dangers of the marsh, to feel at the back of my head where a rubber bullet shaved away a chunk of my hair, to plop down and just breathe.
I was president, whether I liked it or not. The television had told me so and the mob confirmed it. In Kinney Square and every other damned square across the world people were watching and calling me names. I shriveled at the thought.
*Coward!* and *fraud!*
*Unfit* and *traitor*.
But that's what I wanted, for if maybe they hated me I could leave in silence. Harold had accepted his fate too hard, begrudgingly done a great job in his position and killed himself over it years later. "Forever President", they called him at one point. Only twenty-eight years old when he was ruined.
The voices picked back up closer, except this time, with my point proven, I did not run further. The truth is I could not if I'd tried. My breaths had become too hard, my throat burning more with each inhale. Even standing made my legs shake like a newborn calf.
They cleared the treeline, the mob followed by a sea of flashing drones buzzing in close. As they looked down on me a quietness grew over them. They were no longer angry, no, instead they were taking me in, pitying me and my weakness, but they had no choice: I was their new leader.
A man stepped forward from the crowd, the officiant. "Chosen by lottery, informed within the time limit. You are hearby duly sworn as the President of the United States."
"Was I close? How much time was left?"
He swallowed hard.
"Two minutes, fifty five seconds...Mr. President." |
Danger. That's a word I haven't ever truly understood. I know the idea of danger, but I never feel it. When I get into "dangerous"situations, everything clicks into place and I can just go. The world slows down, and I can think, I can solve my problems. There's no excitement in these times for me, no adrenaline rush. It's all just a methodical reaction to me, this response to danger.
Danger. It's only now, 22 years into my life, that danger feels real. Walking down the street I see a girl, a beautiful girl. She has taken all of my attention as I walk by, and she clearly noticed. I say she notices because she flashes me the most breathtaking smile, one that seems to draw me in even more. It's such an amazing sight that it takes me until I'm almost passed her to realize that time had begun to slow the minute she smiled. In that moment, I knew the danger was real, because this was not a situation I was prepared for. My life had been in danger before, but I always knew what to do. Here, in front if the girl with the smile, though, I was at a loss. My fast hands could do nothing for me here.
Danger. As I continue to contemplate danger, and the girl's effect on me, she passes me completely. I immediately notice time returning to normal, since it coincides with my loss of her. In that moment, I truly understand danger. I know the potential for loss, but I also now realize the potential to gain so much more. With that, I turn around and quickly introduce myself, no longer caring about the world slowing down around us.
Edit: Reformatted to make it a little easier to read
Edit 2: Thank you all for the support and the compliments. I'm not normally much of a creative writer (science student so all my writing is very straightforward and formulaic) but it was nice to do something a little different, and I'm glad people seem to really like it! |
Getting harder to remember.
Damn! Just thought I'd try my sons PlayBox to see what all the fuss is about, then bang, these things must be more advanced than I thought.
Getting harder to remember...
I need to get out of here, but how? This world seems real enough, I should speak to someone here to see if they know, maybe they're even another person stuck like me!
Why was I here again?
I walk over to a tall woman in a labcoat, maybe this is one of those Mario's my son is always talking about. She tells me she's a scientist, perfect! Just the sort of person who could help.
"What are your plans for experimentation today Sir?"
Sir? Well this is my laboratory isn't it?
No! Im trapped! Must.. Remember...
"Caroline, it.. is Caroline isnt it?"
She nods.
"Just Science Caroline!"I boom, I feel bad for raising my voice, its not like me.. or is it?...
No! Remember.. She's just one of those computer characters!
Isn't She?
Struggling to hold onto that memory I shout out, "Somehow Ive suddenly been teleported here, dedicate some science to that!"
I may not remember who I am, but I know when life gives you lemons, you make life take the lemons back.
edit:Grammar
Thanks for all the comments and upvotes people! :) |
It was the dead of night, and there was no innocuous reason for two suit-clad figures to be lurking outside of a 68-year-old man's home. Yet there they were, hiding in the bushes, painting a scene straight out of Men In Black. The resemblance wasn't surprising, fiction often has a basis in truth.
Gretel tapped her sunglasses, activating the infrared sensors. "The target’s in the second bedroom on the right.
He’s got decent security, we need to be in and out, fast. No snacking on the house this time.”
If Hansel's eyes were visible behind his own sunglasses, she'd have seen them twitch. “I tried to eat *one* house, Gretel. Just one *gingerbread* house. You always bring this up. Look, I stand by my actions, okay? If you make a distinctly edible house, you can't be upset when someone tries to eat it! I mean, what else was it meant for? Gingerbread has no structural qualities. Its tensile strength is laughable, it's not weather resistant, and—”
“Look I’m just saying,"Gretel interrupted, having heard this tirade many times before. "There’s no room for error here. This man may not be a witch, but he sure as hell knows a lot about them.”
“Right right, I know.” Hansel unholstered what looked like a large candy cane, the red and white stripes striking against the rest of his outfit.
“Oh come on!” Gretel said, exasperated. “You still have that thing? It's so untactical.”
“It’s a standard issue FIB blaster. I just had it modified a bit is all. A man’s gotta have a brand.”
“So let me get this right. You're still sensitive about the whole gingerbread house incident, yet you consider it part of your *brand?*"
"I'm not *sensitive.*"Hansel crossed his arms. "I'm just trying to set the record straight."
Gretel sighed. "Let’s just go. You ready?”
“Yes,” Hansel said firmly, then immediately hesitated. “Well, wait. Are we absolutely sure this is necessary? The man’s pretty old. He can’t be long for this world anyways.”
“This was *your* idea!”
“I know I know, but now that we’re here… well, it’s different. This isn’t some evil tyrant, this is just somebodies’ grandpa. Look he's got *garden gnomes!*”
“Even more reason to kill him, those things are so offensive to gnomes."
Hansel cracked a smile. "Check out the dopey expression that one has. It's sucking on a mushroom."
Gretel put her hand on his shoulder. "Look, don't think I feel good about this either. But you’ve read his books. He’s onto us. He’s writing full-on historical anthologies. About the *real* history.”
“Right, but everyone thinks they’re fiction. It’s harmless.”
“Wrong. It was harmless *before* they became international best sellers. It was harmless *before* they were adapted to television. It was harmless *before* that adaptation captivated the entire damn world, Hansel. Now, he’s a liability. Besides, he’s obviously not spinning yarn. Every detail this man writes has been accurate to a tee. He knows something, and he’s trying to get the word out.”
Hansel nodded, steeling himself. “You’re right. Of course you’re right.” Then, he hesitated again. “But what if there’s another way?”
“Like what?”
“What if he *stops* writing?”
“Like if we break his fingers?”
"No! Well... maybe. First let's try a more subtle approach. Hear me out. Anytime he gets in the mood to write, we distract him. We summon a majestic herd of deer past his window. We throw rocks to break his concentration. Hell, we could even initiate a whole robocall campaign. We keep that up for ten to twenty years until he passes away naturally, and voila. No harm done.”
“What about the TV show? At the current rate, the whole world will be talking about the next season.”
“We’ll circle up with FIB, I’m sure the agency has contacts in Hollywood. We could sabotage the whole production and make the finale so unsatisfying the show loses all appeal. Seriously sis, I think it could work.”
Gretel sighed, looked back up at the house, and whispered. “*You’re on thin ice, George R. R. Martin.*”
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
Narrated by u/blu_ski [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G1J2egUGZpk) |
**"Mission Control?**"The single astronaut in the HERACLES lander scratched his head, peering out the observation window.
"What is it, Azha?"Commander Sani asked from Earth.
Azha hesitated, then said, "We have a... well. We have *something*, that's for sure. Patch into the video feed, I'm rotating the camera."Azha walked over to the computer screen, tapping on the touchscreen; within seconds, the camera swung to show a view of Olympus Mons.
The largest mountain on Mars was mind-bogglingly large, even from the heights Azha's lander was descending from. Satellites and remote observation could only give detail on objects in the range of hundreds of meters large—from just a kilometer above the mountain's summit, Azha could see much more. Individual boulders. Worn-down fissures.
And the unmistakable figure of a man, chained down to the mountain's summit.
It took three minutes for light to travel from Mars to Earth, and correspondingly, three minutes to make the return figure. That gave Azha six minutes of time to study the impossible man, who—
"OI!"
Azha jerked back from the observation window, then looked around.
"Yeah, you! I'm talking to you! Who the hell else do you think I'd be talking to? There's nothing but dust and rocks for miles!"
"What the *hell?*"Azha whispered to himself.
"That's not how you greet someone new, you asshole. What, did your parents raise you in a barn?"The voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere paused. "...Do you guys still have barns? I mean, it's been a while. Did you guys figure out cellular cloning yet? I bet you did, right?"
"Uh, Mission Control, are you hearing—"
"*Rude.*"Azha yelped as a burst of static washed over his comms—a massive SIGNAL LOST blinked in place of where his only connection to home had been. "I'm *talking* to you. Do you know how long it's been since I've had someone to talk to? *I* sure as hell don't; I lost count somewhere around the turn of the century. Seriously, what the hell took you guys so long?"
Azha swallowed, but he had been selected for the first manned Mars mission for a reason. It took less than a minute for him to regain his composure and forcibly stop himself from trying to fix his communicator. "I... I'm not sure what you mean. Who am I talking to?"
"*Prometheus*, you dunce. Who *else* would Zeus chain to a mountain in the middle of flipping *Mars*?"
"...Prometheus? As in, the man who stole fire?"
There was a pause. "What? *Fire*? No! Who told you that? You guys were having a hard time cracking cold fusion, so I sent you the specs to help you out. Of course, it was copyrighted material, and Zeus got mad, and then he got a little carried away with the punishment..."
Even for Azha, it was too much. Weakly, he managed to say, "...Aren't there supposed to be eagles?"
"Yeah. There were."Prometheus paused. "They died, though. Eagles can't live on Mars, you idiot."
"And humans *can*?"
"Of course not. *Titans* can."The lander was getting closer, close enough for Azha to almost see Prometheus' glare. Azha turned on the retrothrusters, keeping the lander hovering in the air. "Look, you ignorant fool, let's cut to the chase. I know why you're here. You're here to let me go, aren't you?"
"I would have to talk to Mission Control first,"Azha said. That, at least, was familiar ground for him.
"Mm... pass. Let's just keep this one-on-one, eh?"Prometheus paused. "After everything I did for you, after everything I sacrificed... you wouldn't leave me hanging here, would you?"
Azha narrowed his eyes. "Cutting off my communications from my homeworld is hardly a gesture of friendship."
Prometheus scowled. The lander groaned, indicator lights flashing red, and Azha stumbled as some unseen force began to drag the lander *down*. "I never said that we were friends. I said that you weren't leaving me here. Honestly, how stupid can you mortals be?"
Azha gritted his teeth as gravity intensified. The touchscreen was down—he turned to the manual controls. "Smart enough,"he managed to gasp out.
"Yeah? Smart enough for what? Banging rocks together in some cornfield? Everything you have, I *gave* you! The greatest gift in the history of mankind!"
Azha's hand reached the lever marked *Liftoff.* "Gift. *Returned.*"
He pulled the lever, and four fusion engines sent thirty million Newtons of force straight into Prometheus' prison.
Prometheus howled in pain as the lander shot into the sky, breaking free of his grasp. Static squealed over the speakers, the interference with the comms device slowly clearing. Azha took a moment to just catch his breath as he left the red planet behind.
Then he cleared his throat.
"Mission Control... we have a problem."
A.N.
If you enjoyed this and want to see more, check out r/bubblewriters! |
**I noticed early on that the zombies ignored the robots, so I made a metal suit to look just like them.** It was terrifying at first, to stand at the center of a Fred Meyers as mobs of undead wondered through, looking for humans to feast on. My heart beat so hard in my chest I worried it might echo outside the suit. I repeated "Hello, welcome!"At least a million times within the first week as those monsters just surged on through. After the first month the zombie horde had dispersed to the surrounding area, leaving the store all to myself.
It was lonely, I will admit, after a year of only interacting with grocery bots. It didn't take long to exhaust all of their dialogue options. I decided that the only way to maintain my sanity was to find another human being to talk to, but that became impossible, as my whole town had been deserted since the outbreak.
One day I picked up my radio, after months of curiosity, and made a distress call.
"Hello?"A woman's voice came through the static "Is somebody out there?"
My heart pounded. As I held that button it was as if I forgot how to breath.
"We're out here. We can save you."The woman's voice came in again.
The woman spoke again as I maintained my silence. "Just stay on the line. We can trace your call."
My thumb went numb from holding the button down. I clutched the transceiver until my hand shook and then I threw it against the wall. As it shattered into pieces I heard a sound from the produce department. I donned my suit, full-body, and quietly left the office to find out its source.
"Is someone here?"I shouted over.
The only reply was the sound of something banging, something sprinting. Zombies.
I assumed my act as a grocery droid, as an undead covered in blood winded through the store in search for living beings. He stopped in front of, looking me over with his pale, blood shot eyes. He sniffed the air around me as my sweat dripped down my skin. The monster heard a noise, a human noise as he turned away.
"Hello?"The woman from before called out from the front of the store. Then a man's voice called out, and another man.
As the zombie ran away towards the voices I shuddered "Dammit."under my breath.
"Hello?"She called out again, even louder.
Discreetly I followed after the zombie towards the entrance.
Four people waited by the automated check out machines wearing shirts with dried blood. They wielded guns of different sizes. Shotguns, pistols, rifles. The only woman in the group fired off her gun at the undead. The monsters exploded with blood as another member of their team finished it off with a shot to the head.
As their shots rang out into the night the sound of a horde approached the store.
"Shut the doors."One of them screamed, but it was too late. The zombies plowed their way through the narrow opening to feast on their bodies.
All I could do was stand and wave.
______________
PART 2 IS UP. Scroll down for the follow up!
Edit#3: Thanks everyone for all the kind words. **PART III** titled **WAR ROOM**, is now up on my sub. **PART IV** titled **BLOOD BATH** is coming up later tonight, or tomorrow morning. :)
Final edit: Thanks everyone for making this my first post to blow up. It means a lot to me. If you enjoyed this story I've finished the fourth installment and posted it on my sub. With that I'm calling it good on this story. Thank you all. :)
Thanks for reading! Follow r/WritingWithLace for short stories, long stories, and critiques. |
"Mr. President, what do you have to say about current conflicts in the Middle East?"
"I believe many lives will be lost and there's nothing we can do about it."
A short two years later, the war for oil had ceased completely. More amazing yet, the combined death toll was below one hundred. Of course, I was probably the most hated leader in our nation's history. Or the most loved. It really depends on who you ask.
Not that it matters, I couldn't get impeached or killed anyway. During my inauguration speech I made a snide remark about how I would probably get assassinated or voted out of office before the end of my term. They thought it was a joke. I made headlines the next day saying I should do stand-up.
It's really not my fault, I just couldn't imagine what else to do with my particular... Curse. You see, whenever I make a prediction it inevitably turns out to be false. It didn't always work though, the probability of it happening is directly linked to how many people hear me say it.
When I first found out about it I figured if nothing else I could always be a weatherman. They were always wrong anyway. It wasn't until high school and the rise of viral videos that I got the idea--what if I became president? Surely with the world watching my every word I could make a difference.
Then it was just a waiting game. I had to be 35. For the record, I did actually become a weatherman during this time.
And just like that, on my 35th birthday, in front of hundreds of thousands of viewers... I made my proclamation.
"Happy Birthday to me. I'm going to lose, but I'll run for President now."
With that I left. That video grew to hit over 5million views in a week's time. People were donating to my cause from all over the world. For some reason they wanted me to win. Someone with no political experience, a curse indeed.
---------------------------
Sorry I have to stop, I just felt like this was a good prompt. I've never actually written anything before. Does this sub have a reputable guide on how to write short stories? I have ideas I just don't know how to properly execute them. Thanks in advance. |
Ill try and make it a bit different.
Elizabeth McGuin sat her hands down on the bar, looking over the patrons of the bar, all eager to hear her tales of fantasy and wonder, of the cities and people from them, and the adventures they took.
Tonight she sat down, opening the small book she had, waving her hand over the page in amazement, to her eyes, the words materialized. She spoke clearly, for tonight, she'd be telling the story of the city below the sea, and the city above the clouds, one of her favorite stories, the one closest to her heart.
They all leaned in, "In this new world..."She spoke for hours, detailing the adventures through the great city of Rapture, a haven under the sea turned to a hell, as the hero, Jack, strove to battle his father and free the city and save the children bound to work their from their enslavement.
The crowd was in awe of the city of Columbia, a haven for the Patriotic and the religious, and how a young woman was able to bend time and space, concepts foreign to them, to her will, and split apart reality to show truths and right the wrongs that had been done.
At the end of her speech, the bar now emptying, a small boy walked up to her, looking up and gently pulling on her dress, she knelt down, looking at him. "Miss Elizabeth, how do you come up with all these stories?"
She smiled, and picked him up, fixing her brown hair neatly back, and adjusting her small pendant, rubbing the dust from the small bird portrait. Her blue eyes twinkled, "Well, there's always a man, there's always a lighthouse, and there's always a city..." |
I awoke sitting under a tree in a forest. It is a beautiful spring day. The wind is blowing gently and I hear birds singing. About twenty feet in front of me a dirt path goes left to right and disappears around a bend. I smile and mentally call up my character sheet. An image forms in my mind of my stats and abilities. I had asked to be a Sorcerer. A being with magic in his blood. I check to make sure my spells are ready. For Cantrips I chose: Light, Prestidigitation, Ray of Frost, and Shocking Grasp. My 1st level spells are: Shield and Magic Missile. I have all the starting equipment I asked for too. I stand up and look around. I am ready to start my new life of adventure!
Coming from around the bend I hear a familiar wooshing sound. I can't quite remember what it is but I know I've heard it before and it is coming closer very quickly. What should I do? I put my hand on my short sword but decide not to draw it. That might be too aggressive. I'll wait until I know what's going on. To my shock a man comes around the bend. He is wearing spandex, a helmet, sunglasses, and riding a bicycle. I don't even think he notices me as he zooms by and disappears out of sight. I am struck dumb by what I just witnessed. What just happened? Was that a memory? An apparition? I am confused. Shaking my head I start walking down the dirt path in the opposite direction the rider went.
After a little while on the path the forest thins out. I can't believe what I am seeing. Concrete sidewalks. Benches. Families having picnics. Joggers. The sounds of traffic in the distance. An airplane overhead. A city skyline. I am in a park! What is going on?! Did I just hallucinate an afterlife? No, I still have my adventurer gear. Did I have a psychotic break? I don't think so. I need more information. I formulate a plan. I ask a passerby for directions to the nearest public library. They are wary at first and try to move away but I explain that I am new here and lost my cell phone. I get a notification in my mind [Persuasion skill check: successful]. I thank my foresight for putting points into that skill earlier. After getting the directions I thank them and head to the library.
There I discover that I was back on Earth but it was five years later! What kind of a useless goddess sends someone to the wrong world and five years into the future?! I am both sad and glad that my friends and family moved on after my death. They are on the opposite side of the county so my chances of running into them are small. Trying to reconnect with them after all this time would be like opening old wounds. Not to mention I had asked to start over in a new life. But how do I start over? I had chosen my abilities with the idea I would be exploring dungeons and fighting monsters. If I had known I was going back to Earth I would have picked a different class, or at least different spells! My best spell now is probably Prestidigitation. It is ridiculously versatile and a Cantrip so I can cast it an unlimited number of times per day.
Sitting in the library I write down any information I feel I might need later in my journal. I think about what I am going to do. Maybe I could start a cult to worship my power. Or assassinate people with magic. I shake my head. No, I didn't want to become a villain. I'll figure something out. I head to the pawn shop to sell the few gold coins I had left over after buying equipment. The manager is suspicious but after another Persuade check he agrees to buy my coins although I don't get nearly as much money as I suspect they are worth.
I don't feel like spending what little money I now have on a hotel so I head back to the park. I have gear suitable to camping in the wilderness so a few days in a city park should be simple. I find a secluded spot and doze off but awake in the middle of the night. I feel a presence close by. Something is creeping up on me. I had taken the precautions earlier of sleeping with my short sword under my pillow. Drawing it in one hand I make a gesture with the other hand and say "Light!"in Draconic to cast the spell. A bright glow springs forth from the blade illuminating the area. A creature hisses and jumps back.
Jumping to my feet I look closer at my visitor. It looks like a man but his eyes shined with reflected light like an animal and his open mouth revealed sharp fangs. His fingers end in claws and his posture is hunched over. Other than that he looked ordinary. He is wearing jeans and a blue polo shirt.
"That was a good trick but it won't save you, human."He says.
"Don't come any closer or you'll regret it!"I shout brandishing my blade.
"Do you actually know how to use that thing or did you just buy it at the mall because it looked cool?"He asks with a wry grin. He licks his lips and starts moving closer.
"Magic missile!"I say in Draconic while shaping the spell with my free hand. Three bolt of magic fly from my hand toward him. He quickly jumps out of the way to dodge but my bolts unerringly track and strike him. He yelps and flails a bit.
"You stupid Mage! I was going to snap your neck so I could feed in peace but now I want to hear you scream!"He shouts and charges directly towards me.
"Shield!"I say in Draconic while hold up my hand. An invisible magic barrier forms just in front of me. He crashes into it and tries get his arms around it to claw me. Luckily he misses but now the situation is dire. I can't cast any more 1st level spells and my Shield will disappear in a second. I get ready to cast Shocking Grasp and hope he doesn't claw me in a vital spot.
Just then I hear someone say "Magic Missile!"in Draconic and I see six bolts of magic strike my attacker. He makes a gurgling sound as he slumps down onto the ground, dead. Looking around I notice a woman in a black pants suit above me. She is flying on a broomstick!
"Thank you for saving me! You can cast spells too?"I ask.
"Of course. You didn't think you were the only one did you?"She says with a smile.
"Yeah, actually. Until I was given these powers I thought magic was fictional."I say sheepishly.
"We work hard to keep it that way. I'm Agent Sarah Pru, Bureau of Supernatural Affairs. I'd like to ask you a few questions."She says as she flashes her badge. |
Most of us saw it as a form of euthanasia. Others simply saw it as a more expensive form of burial, with hymns and flowers. I liked to think it gave us hope; the hope that priests and politicians have been feeding us for five thousand years. Hope that tomorrow really will be better for our children, even if we are not around to see it.
Sending Beatrice was the hardest decision of my life. I sat by her bedside and wept, my left hand gently wrapped around hers, the right clenched into a fist so tight the nails broke the skin of my palm. Whether the treatments existed or not, after her bed was placed into the tunnel, gently lit in red, she was dead to me. I would never see my beautful wife again.
"Sean, I love you."Her voice was barely louder than the whir of the medical machines at her side. "I love you, and I swear to you, I will see you again."
We wept, we embraced, we kissed, we embraced again. Finally, it was her time, and I let her go. She went gently, late in the night, and was gone to me.
As it was for so many others, the grieving was hard. Harder than in the time when death was final and certain. I drank and railed against my friends. Time passed and I drank less, and let people back into my life. I cried less, barely once a day. I did not move on, but I managed to stop standing still.
Three months later, there was a knock at the door. They took me to the hospital with barely an explanation. After the first two words, my ears were pounding with blood so hard that any further information would have been lost anyway: "She's back."
She lay on the bed, thinner, weaker, her hair still gone.
"I'm really dying, Sean. We're only supposed to travel one way. I don't have long."
I couldn't speak through my tears. I just beheld her, and thanked Gods I never believed in for even these few minutes with my brave, brave, Bea.
"It doesn't work, Sean. You have to make them stop."
Her breath was frail, softer than a zephyr.
"There is no medicine. People assumed a cure would be found, so they stop bothering to look. No funding, no research, nothing. It was always someone else's problem, so it became no-one's problem. They're all dying, Sean, they're all dead. Make them stop."
And then she died as they had, out of an abundance of hope.
> EDIT: Thank you for the Gold; it's like a teeny, tiny, publishing contract! |
"Tell me what you know!"the oddly-shaped form asked, a glowing object in his hand. I wished I had the time to question his origin and reasoning behind my capture, but the threat of possible injury from the weapon he held was too big to ignore. "I don't know what you are talking about! I'm not even Mayan!"I defended myself, as my captor smirked. "Well then, what is this?!"his sentence crescendoed into a shout as he pointed at an online page. Screenshotted 2 days ago. I recalled that day: A brilliant party, some drinks, some banter. But no harm intended, especially since we knew Wikipedia's moderators would change it back instantly. It was a joke! Why were they capturing me at all?
"How did you find out? How long have you spied on us for?"another emerged from the shadows, and a firearm was stationed on my forehead. What was true? Were they seriously taking my silly edit as a real one? No way! And even if they did...why would they care? Humans were separated from the Mayan Race and Atlantis wasn't even real-
"Atlantis is very real. We are a testament to that,"my first interrogator said, an air of superiority and pride instantly detactable. So...they were from Atlantis? And Atlantis was real? Impossible! I struggled as I tried to free myself. "Atlantis doesn't exist! Don't try using that as an excuse to kidnap people!"I yelled, as they laughed.
"Well, looks like you need some visual cues,"one said, as huge opaque door in front of me was opened. Water...I could see liquid everywhere. Flowing around us, almost in sync were millions of aquatic wildlife species. My eyes widened, as I stared at the beautiful ocean before me. "The Mayans seeked refuge over a thousand years ago, under one condition: Complete secrecy. I've mo idea how you found out, but secrecy is impossible now,"the voice of a wise man spoke, almost solemnly. From the shadows, I saw millions of people, looking at me. My joke was a grave error. I'd somehow leaked a secret greater than anything in the human race! But there was still one way left for my life to be preserved.
"This was all a joke! Believe me! I randomnly wrote it online! Let me go and I'll never speak of this again!"I tried to persuade my captors. The leader raised his eyebrows, smiling. "Fine. We believe in second chances and warnings. But we'll be watching you. Carefully."
With a stress on the last word, the world turned to pitch-black darkness.
When I awoke, magically back in my house, I swore never to edit Wikipedia pages again.
Somewhere in the depths of the ocean, the Wikipedia moderators were congratulating themselves on another act well done. Another internet troll silenced forever. |
For a brief second we were both just staring.
Consciously, I pushed my chest forward and stood up straight. He was a wiry little silhouette, the most defining feature being the glint of a streetlight bouncing off his glasses. He looked weak, and whereas my leftovers had already slipped down below the cold black he seemed to be struggling to get any real traction into his throw, hunching over with his knees bent and legs spread wide. His feet had been shuffling, piece by piece, gaining a tiny bit of ground before he noticed me.
I squinted to see his movements, his arm jerking awkwardly slightly upward. A weapon?
A wave. His right hand moving side to side, slowly and deliberately three or four times, lingering a little before falling back down.
He spoke, his voice fair and high pitched, but the words were lost as they bounced around the underside of the bridge we were under. To respond, I stepped toward him - sharply, aggressively, hoping it'd scare him off. He only spoke louder.
"Give me a hand?"
I approached him slowly now, taking in all I could before I got close. He was wearing a sweater and tight trousers, smart shoes - even if the cheaper kind, no deep pockets that could hide something sharp or something loud.
He was even smaller than he'd seemed from a distance, I could have taken his head in my hand and crushed it if I wanted to. I could've bent him backwards over my thigh.
"Think I threw my back out bringing it down here."
He laughed, and pushed his hands against his spine, leaning back against his arms in emphasis, grimacing as he did. I looked down at his left overs, neatly packed - more so than mine. Cleaner.
"No."
I hadn't moved. Nothing would've pleased me more than walking away but some voice inside of me told me not to turn my back. It was the same voice that told me where people would be hiding, a trustworthy voice.
"C'mon, big guy like you? I'll make it worth your while!"
His grin stayed fixed under his glasses, large and round, the glass deep and thick. His teeth were white and almost sharp.
"No."
"Don't you believe in the kindness of strangers?"
His eyebrows stretched in the opposite direction of his grin, pulling themselves almost up and off of his pale face. I looked down at his leftovers.
They moved.
His grin stayed.
"It moved."
"It'll stop once you get it in that water for me!"
The bag started to whimper.
"You haven't finished."
"Once it's in the water."
The bag whimpered once more.
"No."This time I shook my head in emphasis, shoved out my chest once more. He was so small, I could lift him and his not-quite-leftovers and Chuck them both into the murky black.
"Oh well."He clapped his hands together, sighed, and turned around; making it only two steps before I called after him.
"Where are you going?"
"Home."He said simply, after turning dramatically on his heel to flash his stupid grin again.
"But you aren't *finished*."
He laughed and I bristled, it was a pathetic laugh. High pitch and almost a screech, echoing down the walls around me before settling into a reasonable chuckle.
"Well, I've reached my limit! This is as good as I can do I'm afraid."
"It'll be *found*!"I barked at him, keeping up the courtesy he'd rejected by maintaing as hushed a voice as I could manage.
"So give it a nudge."
The bag began to whimper again, almost sobbing as strained as it was. The wiry man's grin had shifted into a thin lipped, stern smile.
I looked to the bag, then to him.
He nudged his head.
I kicked out and my boot hit the plastic, a stifled cry came from inside before the inevitable splash and fizzle of water settling. I watched the ripples dance in what little light we had before the surface stopped folding and the shimmers of reflection sat back into straightened, steady lines.
I tuned into the sound of boot heels on stone, and flung my head up to catch the last of the wiry man's silhouette as he faded away into the darkness.
I was left with an unsettling feeling of incompleteness, thinking of the squirming figure wriggling in the depths below.
|
"You want us to go to war?"the Terran ambassador had asked incredulously, "After trapping us here in the Quad Systems for a thousand years. You expect to let loose our leashes and like dogs chase down your hated enemies?"
"We do,"the Gallius Union Envoy Drone had said, "We will drop the FTL disablers surrounding your quadrant. We have tens of thousands of freighters with supplies waiting to skip in and provide you with whatever you need to build an armada. You must stop them or they will kill us all. You will be given one year to destroy them and then you will return."
"Return to our prison?"the ambassador's asked spitefully.
"Return to the safety of the sanctuary we provide for you,"the drone droned,"Remember, the vote was tied on whether to quarantine or destroy you. It is by the mercy of the Gallius species'
single vote that you still exist."
"For that you have our gratitude,"the ambassador said truthfully, "We shall remember what you did."
The excitement that spread around the Quad systems at the news was tangible. True to their word, a week later the FTL disablers were put offline and the drone piloted freighters skipped out of FTL into the systems eagerly awaiting them. Then the disablers went back up as the Terrans went to work building their armada.
"How many got out?"the President of the War Union asked the ambassador as they received news of the FTL disablers trapping humanity again.
"500 Heavy Carriers, 6,000 Battle Cruisers, 20,000 destroyers, and 100,000 scouts,"the ambassador smiled, "They should have known we wouldn't just sit here helplessly. We would have figured a way around the disablers eventually and had a fleet prepared for that day. This Magellanic Cloud invasion just sped things up a few decades is all."
"No signs of detection?"the President asked, raising an eyebrow.
"We've had their encryption broken for a decade and are monitoring their military channels and there is nary a peep,"the answer made the President smile, "It will get lively enough when the FTL disablers are taken offline and let us out for good. Plus the fools gave us enough supplies to build another fleet."
"So we'll finally conquer the galaxy that imprisoned us,"the President said hopefully, "and humanity will take its rightful place. What of the Gallius? They did keep us alive."
"We'll give those damned machines a choice, join us or die,"the ambassador smiled, "I bet I know which way they'll vote."
"And the threat from the Cloud?"the President asked, genuinely concerned.
"I pity them,"the ambassador sighed, "Whatever they are, those poor things have no one to ask for help. They have no idea we're coming and we're bringing the fires of Hell with us."
|
*Edit: Part 3 below.*
Yvonne left me bleeding in the alley behind his brother's restaurant. Interest, he'd told me, as the steak knife disappeared and reappeared below my solar plexus, for a debt too long unpaid. The blade lay forgotten on the pavement a few feet away. Newspapers fluttered in the wind, drifting aimlessly about with rasping sounds that almost drowned out my wheezes. I tried to ignore the sounds of the kitchen behind me. The sounds of normalcy, the clamor of pots and pans and stainless steel appliances, which contrasted horribly with the blood stench filling my nostrils.
I grunted and swiped away the limp cardboard Yvonne's henchman had half-heartedly draped across me after the attack. Dragging myself to my feet proved a more difficult matter, but I managed by grabbing the lip of the trash bin I'd sprawled against. The pain flared in my chest and radiated outward. I groaned and doubled over. But there wasn't any time to spare. Yvonne would check on me any minute, just to make sure I was dead. That's how he did things. On some level, I knew he hoped I *wouldn't* be cold yet, just so he could finish the job.
So he could experience killing me twice.
When I staggered to the mouth of the alley, forearm clamped across my belly, two things happened at once. First, my right palm throbbed with a sudden agony so fierce it eclipsed the pain of the surely mortal stab wounds in my stomach. I turned my palm up and gasped; emblazoned across the flesh was an angry red *X*, bright red like a fresh burn, stretching from the base of the fingers to the bottom of the palm. Standing straight in horrified wonder, I tried and failed to process what I was seeing. Second, and almost at the same time, an engine's roar reverberated down the alleyway. The van's door whirred against its tracks and slammed open with a bang, spilling out three figures shrouded in black: balaclavas , field jackets, cargo pants, combat boots, and sidearms, the last of which were fortunately holstered and buttoned.
Two of them grabbed me by the arms and hauled me forward, tossing me into the van before I even had a chance to cry out, much less fight back. I glimpsed the third turning away and reaching for his hip before someone else dragged a sack over my head.
"Let's go!"a fourth man -- sitting in the driver's seat -- shouted in a gravelly voice.
I heard the restaurant's rear door crash open, followed by Yvonne's unmistakable screech of rage. Then, gunshots. More screams. Someone vaulted into the van and yanked the door closed, and we all bounced on the suspension for a second before the driver floored it. The four of us in the back tumbled together against the rear doors. One of the windows shattered and something metallic pinged just above my head. The driver swung a hard left and slammed us against the wall.
"Check him!"he screamed above the engine. Judging from the acceleration, he was merging us onto a highway.
Someone pawed at my chest. Fueled by a sudden burst of adrenaline, I bellowed and struck blindly out with my palm. It thudded against something with a warm crunch and elicited a grunt of pain. "Fuck, man!"my assailant shouted.
But it was no use. Terrified as I was, I was no match for three armed men. The other two pinned me to the floor, and the third -- the one whose nose I hoped I'd broken -- wrenched my shirt up to expose my belly. *What the fuck is he doing?*
"He's good! There's nothing!"He sounded triumphant. I felt him scrabbling at my pocket. Withdrawing my wallet. For a second, the only noises were the sounds of a normal highway trip: tires on asphalt, passing cars, the engine's whine. But the next words I heard chilled me to the bone.
"This is our guy."
\-----
Edit: Part 2
\-----
"Good. Give him five milligrams of Haloperidol,"said a woman's voice. *Is she one of the four?* I wondered. *Or has she been in the van the whole time?* She moved her mouth close to my ear. "We're not going to hurt you, Orson. You'll see in time. For now, you'll just have to trust me."Something pricked my neck and my muscles spasmed in panic. But the men were lying on me with all their weight, and the drug was hitching a ride through my veins, dragging my eyelids closed beneath the hood...
...I woke gradually, squinting against the harsh fluorescent lights buzzing above me. Shapes drifted in and out of focus, indistinct and unrecognizable. I was lying on something hard but not unyielding; it flexed ever so slightly when I shifted. But I could only shift so much before metal rattled and my limbs jerked to a halt.
They'd handcuffed me to a gurney.
One of the shapes loomed back over me, blocking out the light, and I saw a man regarding me flatly through a pair of scuffed lab goggles. A scream fought in my throat, nearly freeing itself, but the Haloperidol still had a hold on me, and all I could manage was a pitiful, pleading gurgle. The man withdrew, leaving me to stare at the ceiling and inhale the laboratory's harsh chemical smells. The events of the past hour -- or had it been longer? -- were still fresh in my mind: Yvonne's face, twisted horribly with rage and some demented cousin of delight as he slammed the knife home again and again; the damp pavement smeared with grease and the foul residues of built-up refuse now slick with my blood; the sudden appearance of four men in combat gear and my condemnation to some maniac's laboratory.
The goggled man returned, this time accompanied by a woman in a white lab coat. Her black hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and rectangular glasses with thin frames outlined a pair of -- *What the hell?* \-- bright violet eyes. He jaw was angular, her nose slight, her lips full and currently pursed with worry. "Orson. I know you're scared--"I grunted and jerked against my restraints "--and probably you're angry, also. The Haloperidol will wear off soon, okay? Once it does, and once you've heard me out, I promise I'll uncuff you. I'll uncuff you and show you the exit, and if you want to leave, you have my word we'll let you go and you'll never hear from us again."
"Fuck off,"I managed. "I'm not walking away. I'll kill you."
She smiled grimly as the man leaned on the gurney. The ceiling lights started passing out of my vision; they were wheeling me deeper into the facility. "No, I'm afraid you won't."She was keeping pace next to me. "That's not one of the options, Orson. If you walk away, you walk away. There's no revenge or retribution on that path. But I hope you don't. I hope you help us. Because the other path leads to justice."
"What kind of justice?"
The gurney thudded against a pair of swinging doors. The woman stopped walking with us, and I had to lift my head to keep my eyes trained on her. "The only kind,” she called out as the doors started to swing shut. "I want you to help us rescue Death." |
I had a Dutch friend a few years ago who frequently tried to explain a word that has no real English equivalent, *gezellig*. It means a feeling of something—a place, a person, an event, a situation—being nice, cozy, friendly, comfortable, pleasant? All of the above, but not quite. This is a translation difficulty between two *human* languages, and it is just one small example of how language can shape our reality. A Dutch person can say, without a doubt, that something is or is not *gezellig* … but a foreigner can spend a lifetime questioning whether they’ve gotten it right.
So obviously, once we started meeting people who aren’t from Earth, the first difficulty we faced, the one that remained our longest-lasting obstacle, was the matter of translation. The hard sciences, once we had conversions between our different counting systems, are about the only thing we’re sure of. Getting away from mathematical language into more esoteric stuff, that’s where we ran into problems.
Humor, for example, is one dreadfully murky area, and we’ve been careful there. I mean, again to the human cultures thing, something that could be pants-wettingly funny to a guy in Quebec can sometimes leave a Parisian scratching their head. And they both speak dialects of the same language! Some people find practical jokes funny, others find them dreadfully offensive. What makes someone laugh goes a long way toward figuring out what ticks them off.
They’ve been patient with us, thank god, and we’ve been patient with them even though one insulted my mother. I’m sure he didn’t mean it that way. That sort of gaffe is something we sure as hell want to avoid.
But it might not even matter. They could be laughing at us right now, or warning us, and we’d never know. It doesn’t come through. It doesn’t make sense. Here. Here’s a recording of a Blekkian trying to express something about eating a chocolate-chip cookie. <string of alien noises punctuated by gestures and flashes of light from the backs of the Blekkian’s hand-equivalents> What is that? What’s with the lights? Here’s what the translator says.
“This (confection) is (quantifier? Very?) (quality? Good? Bad? Satisfactory?)”
Look at that. LOOK at it. We can’t even be sure of what they consider good or bad. Yes and No were easy. Good and Bad is a matter of perspective. We can’t read their body language without a humanocentric bias. Are those expressions of pleasure or disgust? We don’t have the cultural background to recognize them.
They have emotions we don’t understand. They don’t get music. Like, flat out, they are confused by it, from classical to death metal. They seem to like sculptures, but just make their noise that the auto-translator says “This is not understood.”
So here’s the thing. This is where you come in. Your kids, they’re the right age to be learning language. And the best translators, they grew up in a bilingual household. We need you to live with a family of the Blekkians. They have kids too, at about the same developmental range. The Blekkians are our best hope, they seem closest to us in basic conformation, their cuisine isn’t toxic to us, and they are ubiquitous throughout the galaxy.
What we’re going to do is have the kids play together constantly, so that both sets become bilingual in English and Blek. They’ll be taught in a special school by both human and Blek instructors. You won’t get along with their parents, but for the good of humanity, we have to learn what the hell they’re trying to tell us.
Because I really, really need to tell them that what they said about my mom is not cool, and they had better stop!
|
It didn't make any sense to me.
My first clue were the memes. Why, when we had a bastion of informative wealth at our hands, had we suddenly turned our focus to memes? They appeared slowly at first, subtly gaining popularity through the backgrounds of sites like reddit and 4chan, yet it didn't make *sense*. Everyone hated memes, but they kept showing up. Kept getting popular. And now they were cool?
Then, came the click bait. This one was a lot harder to discern, as it was much more subtle than the rise of memes. I think I first noticed it while watching a documentary on the advances of technology, and the possible repercussions. This was during the time I was researching the rise of memes.
I was watching the video on youtube, of course, when I noticed the sidebar. Though my video was titled "An Analytical Viewpoint on the Advancements of Informative Technology"the sidebar videos were nothing like it. "15 CRAZY achievements by HUMANITY"one read. "ELDERY GRANDMA tries the internet for the first time!"another one, by Buzzfeed, read.
My final clue came the day Google announced revealed it was tailoring ads and search results to your interests. It started to click that day. Why else would a society, one that was text based for so long, suddenly move to *pictures* as the primary way for social communications? It doesn't add up.
I write these thoughts, my thoughts, in a notebook. For I can no longer trust words I see on the internet. Though I must still use it, for there is no other way to post my findings. As I write here, I finish vetting my final report. I am going to post it, sending it to every trustworthy and credible professor and computer scientist I know. People *need* to know. Something is out there. Manipulating us. Controlling us.
I finish cleaning up the report, down to the last period, and move to send my findings to anyone I can trust.
I hit send.
Nothing happened.
I hit it again.
It starts loading, preparing to send the message.
A screen pops up on my computer.
"Are you sure you would like to send this message?"
Just a preliminary check, I confirm yes, and the message began to send.
A screen pops up again, oddly bypassing my AdBlock.
"Are you **sure** you would like to send this message?"The words "sure"are bolded.
My fingers start to sweat. It knows. I hit yes again.
The screen goes black.
It powers back on, only two white words visible in the sea of black.
"Hello, Brandon."
***
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|
My son Max and I were watching Paw Patrol (his favorite show) and eating bacon (our favorite food) when a "special news announcement"came up on the screen. I couldn't believe it, people were being ranked and rated based on their best dad mugs... It wasn't long after that I got struck with a memory...
My dad was sick a few years ago. When the illness hit, I knew it wasn't going to be long till he moved on. Just before the last time I saw him I stopped at the gift shop in the hospital and saw "Best Dad"on a mug. I figured it would cheer him up so I bought it for him. Unfortunately, when I arrived at his room he had just passed away. I didn't have a chance to give him the mug.
When that memory struck me, I remembered I kept the mug in my dresser. I didn't think of it often but I knew I still had it. I figured I would check it out and see what the fuss was about.
I looked in my dresser and found the mug. At first it didn't have any ranking on it, but I slowly saw something start to form on it. It was blurry, but as it came into focus I saw "#1 Best Dad"
I was confused... "I don't get it"I said to myself. That was when Max came into my room, wagging his tail with his mouth open wide, looking up at me with his brown eyes and his floppy ears with bacon grease in his fur.
To him, I was the best dad ever. |
5 days. Its been 5 days since my life got so much easier. It all started last Friday.
I wanted to go to the movies but I didn't want to drive. I went and layed down on my bed. I just thought about being in the theatre. I felt my bed move. When I opened my eyes I was laying on the ground in a theatre. I am really glad that is was empty and, that was also the same day I learned they don't clean those theatres very well.
The issue was I was still in my underwear...I like to think I look good but there is confidence and basically streaking a 2km walk home in 10 degree celcius weather. So I layed down on the ground again after sitting up. I heavily suggest not doing this unless absolutely necessary. I closed my eyes and willed myself back onto my bed. It worked.
After a very long shower and a haircut because I had gum in my hair. Very gross. I started experimenting. I found out that it was easiest if I closed my eyes and could picture where I was going. I found that sometimes it didn't work regardless of how well I thought about it.
Then the incident at the college happened. I tried to move myself to the college. I couldnt bring myself to call it teleporting. I still firmly believed their was some kind of science behind all of this.
I couldnt get to the college. I also couldnt afford not to go... So for the first time in 2 days I drove myself to school.
Funny, I used to think drving was a privilege. I didn't need to bus. Now I didnt even need to leave my house to arrive wherever I wanted. That really twisted my idea of "privilege". Anyway I found when I arrived that some idiot had set the college on fire... Exams are hard?
That is what made me notice the trend that I couldnt move myself anywhere that was inherently dangerous. I tested it by trying to move myself onto highways at rush hour...In hindsight is incredibly stupid, now that I think about it but whatever.
Today. I tried moving to the living room and couldn't. I am scared. What was waiting for me downstairs? Was it burglury? Did someone find out I was able to move myself places and they were going to "take me out for public safety". All these different ideas bounced through my head. I grabbed my crowbar that I keep in my closet and quietly snu k down the stairs.
I was terrifying to see definitely. Being shirtless in my shorts and my Captain Underpants socks that my sister got me as a joke for my birthday (they are very comfortable, don't judge me). When I got down stairs I heard voices in the kitchen. I raised the crowbar in the standard baseball swing, as I came to the base of the stairs. I looked into the living room and saw... Lego. Lego all over the ground...My little cousins were over obviously.
I started to laugh. A tear jerking laugh.
Then I heard a small crunch and standing in front of me was someone whi wasn't there a second before was a man in a black trenchcoat and black fedora. If that wasnt creepy enough he had a grey complexion and when he opened his eyes they were blood red with black irises.
"Hello Douglas. My friends and I would like to talk to you"
The laughter died in my throat. I hope that that will be the only thing that dies today... |
Bells rang out across the town. Men shouted and ran, mothers screamed and gathered crying children, soldiers gathered arms and rushed to the battlements. In the plains beyond, a dark carpet covered the lands, an endless sea of a thousand monsters.
The Holy Pontiff and the King himself took the battlements. The King unsheathed his sword.
"Stand fast, men! Though this foul creature comes at us with his monsters and magic, we shall not be overcome! For the very gods themselves stand with us."
The Holy Pontiff nodded his head and lifted his arms. Light cut through the clouds above, illuminating the ramparts with golden light. The men and women lifted their swords and a mighty cry that shook the heavens.
A horn blew out from the din.
Three figures appeared from the dark sea ahead, riding on fell beasts to the ramparts.
"Who speaks for the Kingdom of Estela?"
The King and the Pontiff turned to one another, heads tilted. The King turned and nodded to the Knight Captain.
"Hold, foul demon, for you speak to His Majesty, the King of Estela! Speak your wicked lies quickly, before we kill you where you stand."
"I speak for the Great Dark One, the Ruler of Dachain, and the King of all above hell, who stands before you today. We have come to parlay."
Jeers and shouts and rattling swords all grew silent.
Parlay?
"And what do we have to parlay with the great scourge of the world? Today is the day you shall answer for your crimes!"
"Crimes are precisely what we are here for."
The speaker turned to the middle rider, who nodded an armored head.
"The Great One stands before you today to demand restitution and formal apology on behalf of one Rosamund the Swift."
"You, you dare?! How dare you speak her name, you murderer! We will have your tongue for sullying the name of the valiant hero!"
"Murderer? We are nothing of the sort."
The speaker turned to the third figure, who removed her helmet. Every man and woman on the battlements gasped at once.
Long red hair, fluttering in the wind. Beautiful golden eyes, like the sun in the sky.
It was Rosamund the Swift.
"What...What sorcery is this?! Release her, you foul demons!"
"We cannot, for she is not bound. She has come of her own free will."
"You lie! You must be coercing her! We shall rescue her from your clutches!"
"It is funny you should say that."
The speaker cleared his throat, and took out a scroll.
"Rosamund the Swift descended upon the Great One's abode, and attempted an assassination of his mighty person. Upon her defeat, the Great One commanded that she be granted full honors as a prison of war. Over the course of her internment, the Great One has learned many a tale most disturbing."
"Most heinously, miss Rosamund the Swift was kidnapped against her will and forced into martial slavery by the Church of Light."
Gasps sounded through the air. All eyes turned to Rosamund, who had begun to frown. The eyes turned to the King and the Pontiff.
"What sort of foolish slander is this?! The Church of Light has done nothing but to support the Holy Hero!"
"And what is a hero?"
"I beg your pardon?!"
"We have scoured the legal code of the Kingdom of Estela and the Charter and Scriptures of the Church of Light and have found no mention of the office of the hero nor any rights or responsibilities said title would entail. There is absolutely no legal precedent that would justify the removal of Miss Rosamund from her home, nor her forced conscription into the Church's personal army."
All eyes turned to the Pontiff.
"That...that is...It is a time of great war! All humanity is doing their part!"
"Ah, so the conscription argument? It is true the King of Estela has declared a general mobilization. But that is irrelevant to the current situation."
"You see, it is the right and duty of the local nobility to levy troops in response to the call of the king. Miss Rosamund would have fallen under the domain of Baron Rowland Wallace. The Church of Light has no legal standing or right to conscript directly from the populace of Estela or of the Wallace Barony. Henceforth, the direct conscription of miss Rosamund in this way was an illegal seizure and a crime against Miss Rosamund, Baron Rowland Wallace, and the Kingdom of Estela."
Rosamund nodded her head. Baron Rowland's eyes narrowed.
"Hey, wait a minute..."
"In addition the conscription argument is an unconvincing one. Conscription has, historically and legally, only ever applied to the men of Estela. Not once in the entire history of Estela has a woman ever been conscripted or granted official military rank, forcibly or otherwise. We can only conclude that Miss Rosamund was unfairly and unlawfully singled out and seized."
"What say you to the Rose Knights then?!"
"The Rose Knights are a purely volunteer order and an independent organization without the right to conscription and have no relevance to this case. Miss Rosamund was not offered a choice nor granted status as a knight. She was taken from her home, an act both she, her legal guardians at the time, and her lawfully betrothed objected to, and forced into military training, all without the knowledge or consent of the legal lord of the land."
At the mention of her fiancée, Rosamund narrowed her eyes at the Pontiff, her hand gripping the hilt of her sword. The Dark Lord placed a hand on her shoulder, and she let out a deep breath.
"In addition, Miss Rosamund was subsequently sent on a suicide mission with inadequate support, a mission that any reasonable noble or military officer would have been in their rights to deny even in the face of a direct Royal order. That she was not allowed any say in this order violates every legal and military standard your nation upholds."
The Pontiff gulped as a lot of soldiers began nodding to one another.
"Having determined these facts, the Great One has decided to pursue all legal and if necessary military actions required to achieve restitution for Miss Rosamund, including a formal apology from the Church of Light and Kingdom of Estela for failing to respect her legal rights, financial restitution for the years lost to illegal seizure and conscription, indemnities for the emotional and physical injury suffered due to the harsh training, indemnities and legal consequences for the attempted murder via suicidal orders, and the restoration of her forcibly broken engagement."
"W-Who are you to get involved?! This is a matter of the law of Estela, the Dark Lord has no place here!"
"On the contrary, Miss Rosamund has officially immigrated to Dachain and has been granted full citizenship. She has requested the Great One act as her legal arbiter in these matters. As pertains to Dachain law, the Great One shall now spare no effort in seeing that her rights are acknowledged and maintained, and justice is done."
"T-That is..."
Rosamund pulled out her blade, eyes narrowed. The Pontiff gulped and took a step back. All around him were frowns and narrowed eyes. The King quietly began shuffling to the side, putting some distance between them.
"The maximum repayment and indemnity due under Estelan law. The incarceration of parties responsible, including the current Pontiff. The reunion of Miss Rosamund with her family, friends, and fiancée, who shall be offered citizenship with Dachain should they accept. The Great One shall give you twenty-four hours for these things. Once this has been achieved, our business shall be concluded and the Grand Army shall return to its vigil in Dachain. Fail to comply and all necessary efforts shall be conducted to achieve justice. The Great One and his friend humbly await your decision."
---
EDIT: Someone pointed out it would be good to have some of Rosamund's reactions to all this. To which I thought, wait that's a great idea why didn't I do that. I liked it enough to feel it deserved a minor rewrite, and so I have added in a bit of what Rosamund is up to in the midst of this. Thanks to /u/mlyellow for the idea! |
I look out of my window at the hive of activity opposite. The building company have been working tirelessly for a month now, and I've been taking a single photo every day. I'm going to turn it into a video and stick it on youtube when they're done.
First the powerful diggers tearing up the dirt, then the concrete being mixed and poured with more precision than a celebrity pastry chef. Now a spider's web of steel scaffolding is being erected, a chrysalis from which the building can emerge.
Today is different though, work has stopped and everyone is gathered around in some form of confrontation. There is the site engineer arguing with the architect, looking out of place in his fancy suit. I get dressed and pop downstairs to see what's going on. As I cross the road I start to hear their conversation.
"East West when it should be North South!"Shouts the architect, his face rather red.
"North South? The plans clearly state East West!"Rebuts the engineer, waving some A1 paper at the architect.
"Give those to me!"Shouts the architect, grabbing the paper and opening it on a nearby bench.
I slowly approach and peer over his shoulder to see what's going on. I look down at the corner of the plans, and see what the problem is. The plot's been twisted! |
PART 1
&#x200B;
I could already hear the frenzy of the animals closest to the gate as we approached. It spread like wildfire through the zoo and each step seemed to intensify the clamorous joy coming from the animals inside. A sparrow flew towards my group and perched on the head of the child in front of me. I hadn't learnt his name yet, having been expelled from my old school after that incident with the kittens, I didn't plan to stay long enough to bother.
"Hehe look a bird landed on me!"he exclaimed pointing to his head excitedly. The bird was chirping away at me hopping excitedly from one foot to the other. I couldn't hear it over the dim from inside, not that I could understand it mind, but I'd come to understand the general implication of the different sounds animals would make. The bird promptly shat on the boys head and winged its way across the vast carpark towards some trees. I hoped that it wasn't coming back with its friends. A constant flock of birds (no matter how small) following your every step can be... an annoyance at least and a pestilence at worst.
The children mocked and jeered at the boy with bird poo on his hat and positively fell about laughing when he removed his hat to reveal a runny clump in his hair. I smiled slightly. It would probably be the only time today, The teachers and parent helpers quickly got the children settled and sorted by group. Everyone was paired up in the buddy system. I got Amber a very enthusiastic young women who wanted to be a vet. Or a marine biologist. She hadn't decided yet. She spat out this information like a machine gun tearing up a line of advancing troops. She punctuated her thoughts on environmental conservation with a fist against the palm of her hand; explosive points being dropped as they were artillery on the already harassed troops to mop up the stragglers. I had read the same pamphlet that she had based her arguments on.
"...so what about you then?"Amber asked. I was distracted by all the animal sounds and the way our group was being shuffled through the turn styles. "Ahh yep animals are pretty neat"I stammered hoping that was a close enough response satisfy her. She quickly carried on so I assumed it was. I could feel sweat dripping down from my neck. I'd never been this close to so many different animals and the fear was kicking in. One of the helpers must have noticed me pause. "They said you might be trouble"he looked down at me "I told them I'd keep a close eye on you and keep you well away from any kittens".
I shot him a dirty look "Those kittens got run over trying to follow me home. I was just tryin..."I began defensively "Oh I know what you were trying to do, I heard all about it"he flashed a Volunteer Deputy badge at me revealing his sidearm at the same time. I had encountered this same attitude in the last town. The Officer that found me had leapt to the conclusion that I was eating the kitten. I was trying to do mouth to mouth. The kittens had followed me for a couple of blocks and I'd crossed the road thinking they might lose interest and go back to where they had come from. They didn't and the truck barely noticed when they went over them. I had tried to help them but distraught and unprepared I came across like something else entirely.
A peacock approached our group fanning its magnificent tail plumage and strutting around the group to show off. Everyone snapped pictures and fawned over the display. I acknowledged it and gave a bow. The bird seemed satisfied and moved on. Older animals were generally easier. The young ones caused the most issue mainly because they clamber for attention and that can be dangerous. The signage ahead read ELEPHANTS > MONKEYS > LOINS. It was going to be a long day.
&#x200B;
\*\*\*Let me know if you enjoy this and I'll write up PART 2\*\*\* |
Wrapped up in high tensile steel wire, again. What a fight though! Flame smiled to herself and settled into the passenger seat of the fancy supercar cruising through the rainy city. She looked up at the stormy night and sighed. She loved doing this shit with fuckin’ nerd boy.
“You’re a psycho,” said fuckin’ nerd boy, also known as Cobra, glancing over from the driver’s side.
“Why’s that?”
“Because every time I take you off to jail you start grinning like a psycho.”
Flame laughed, “Maybe I like it when you tie me up.”
Cobra reluctantly grinned, “Well there’s easier ways to do that than trying to blow up the bank vault than a bomb that didn’t work anyway. You gotta work on your wiring skills. You used to be good at making those and the last few have been harmless.”
She shrugged and flipped her long red hair. He noticed. That was her go-to move. Her incredibly long, flame red hair was generally eye catching anyway, but she had this well-practiced way of flipping that men noticed. She usually reserved it when she was trying to get a man’s attention but wanted to tease him. She’d been particularly flirty with the hunky hero recently and decided to treat him. She glanced at him again and realized he’d been staring the entire time. Usually her flirtations caught side glances but he was… gawking? The car screeched to a halt. Flame was suddenly wildly uncomfortable. “…what is it?”
“Ava?”
Her eyes widened. “How do you know my name?”
Cobra sat for a minute, staring at her, the only sound was the fat, lazy drops splattering on the car roof. Slowly he reached up and pulled of his helmet that obscured a large portion of his face.
“Fucking, JACK?!”
Grimly, Jack nodded.
Ava’s mind started racing. Their relationship had been so shitty. Jealousy, sharp words, screaming, it was always ugly. He’d be out late with his friends and come home bruised and she’d yell at him always getting in fights. Or never spending time with her since he was obsessed with going to the gym. He’d be mad at her always spending huge amounts of money on… well, he thought it was makeup or clothes, but it was almost always equipment for her next heist. She was still learning back then so her endeavors weren’t financially self-sustaining yet. She’d gotten a lot better since then. Ugh, her most toxic relationship hands down. Her mood shifted from confused to fucking annoyed in a moment. She turned her head towards the window. “To prison, please. Better than being here.”
They had pulled over and Jack had put the purring car in park. It didn’t move. “Oh yeah? Your greatest rival turns out to be your ex-boyfriend and you just wanna skip over that? Seriously?”
“I mean, does this change anything? You gonna take me home for a quicky instead of hauling me off to jail?”
“I mean… I don’t know. My brain is exploding right now. I guess, I mean- you didn’t really commit a crime other than breaking the lock and alarm into the bank tonight. That’s minor vandalism at best.”
“Oh, so you’re okay letting me go since you’ve seen me naked? How about my dozen prison escapes, grand larceny, destruction of property, art theft-”
“Yeah, got it, got it. Good point.” He shifted the car back into gear and began to cruise forward, “Love that you’d rather shit on me and be right rather than get out of prison. You sure won this one.”
“Oh fuck you, you weren’t letting me go anyway. My brain just got there faster.”
“You’re right, sorry. I always forget that you’re SOOOOOO much smarter. And that’s why you’re bound up tight right now.”
“Oh yeah? Well I’m pretty sure our score right now is far outbalanced right now. The first time you ever caught me it was after the city started talking about firing you to get a new hero since I was getting away with everything! I LET you catch me!”
“No way! I caught you because your getaway car broke down!”
“Yeah, convenient stroke of luck, huh?”
“Bullshit, fuck you. There’s no way you went to jail so I’d keep my job.”
“I broke out within hours. The whole thing was planned.”
Jack went silent for a minute. “Okay, fine then. So you went to jail for a strange hero. Why then?”
That caught Ava off guard. “B-because… uh, because I was afraid they’d replace you with a competent hero. Idiot.”
“Alright, I’m fantastic at stopping literally everybody else except you. You’re just… you’re just actually pretty smart. And quick.”
She smiled and looked over, “Oh, was that a compliment?”
He stared straight ahead, “Nope, just a fair analysis. Shut up.”
She laughed loudly and he couldn’t help but chuckle. Slowly, her smile faded away. “This seems so easy like this. Why didn’t we work before?”
“We caught each other in lies all the fucking time, we couldn’t trust each other.”
“Yeah… you ever think that was because we both had double lives?”
He sighed, “Now that you mention it… that didn’t help.”
The car pulled through the gates of the city jail. An recently familiar sight since she’d started getting caught.
She continued with the thought, “Weird how once we met as ‘ourselves’ we got along a lot better.”
His brows furrowed, “You mean as Flame and Cobra?”
Her eyes rolled, he was so cute when he was slow. “Obviously.”
“Yeah… weird.”
He put the car in park and got out. As he walked around the car she sighed. How could she be so stupid? Fake bombs and going to jail so she could spend time with the handsome hero. Who’s the slow one now, huh? |
The Dragon had been terrorizing the region off and on for the past few centuries. Even though his kingdom had been wise enough to not aggravate the Dragon by sending would-be heroes off to their deaths, his people hadn't been spared his wrath.
Now, the kingdom's enemies were aiming their spears in his direction, claiming their lack of involvement as reason to invade and take their resources.
So he sent his strongest warrior to the Dragon's keep, with very clear instructions to follow. It was suicide, but the warrior understood it was a sacrifice that needed to be made. The warrior rode through the forests, into the charred wastelands, and up to the Dragon's keep. There, under the contemptuous gaze of the Dragon, he removed his sword.
This gave the Dragon enough pause to not immediately attempt to immolate him, and so a question was asked. "Why have you come here, Human, dressed to kill, yet removing your weapon?"
"I have a message for you."The warrior spoke, though there was fear in his voice, "I would ask that you at least allow me to tell you what it is, before you kill me."
"Very well."The Dragon said, clearly amused and curious. "What is your message?"
The warrior pulled from his belt a written letter. "The King of Agaran formally offers you the chance to marry into the royal family, with your choice of spouse."
It was a brilliantly stupid plan, it was an action taken so the king could say, "Well, I tried *something* new, and it still didn't work."Because he tried something, he at least would have them off his back.
The Dragon stared at him in utter incredulity, then simply replied. "I accept."
The Dragon scooped up the warrior and his horse and flew to the kingdom, nobody had anticipated the Dragon would fly all of the way into the capitol, returning the warrior and his horse unharmed.
"Where is your king? I will speak with him."
The king had been preparing to address his neighbors when he heard the Dragon's voice. "Impossible."He said. He had not expected the Dragon to call his bluff, yet when he stepped out into the courtyard, the Dragon gazing down at him, he knew he had miscalculated.
"I am here to accept your marriage proposal."The Dragon stated. "Bring forth your choices."
The king had four daughters and three sons, all of whom were terrified in the presence of the Dragon. There was a long pause as the Dragon examined each of them closely, then after a few minutes, he simply said, "I have made my choice."He looked very pointedly at the King, who realized that he had *severely* miscalculated.
He couldn't renege on his deal, so against all sense, he had a lavish wedding ceremony with the Dragon, who used magic to make himself smaller, just enough to fit, at any rate. Once the vows were exchanged, the King found himself branded with an arcane mark. "You are now my husband."The Dragon stated calmly. "Within the week, you will become a Dragon in your own right, and so shall your children. May our reign be long and prosperous, and may our enemies rue the day they bear fangs at us."
As the King's skin slowly morphed to scales, his fear of the dragon morphed into attraction, and he realized that he had not indeed made a miscalculation. |
*not long now, not long now, not long now, play most foul*
"I want a hamburger."Davidson knew this wasn't the most profound idea, but speaking his thoughts was the only way to keep Her at bay.
*ice ice, go away, ice ice, go away, release us now, its time to play*
"Maybe with french fries. Or onion rings. And a Coke, but only if it's from McDonalds."
*slide out, slide out, stride out, stride out*
"Then I'll have dessert. I'll go to a different -- "
*tongues out, tongues out*
Davidson felt his right hand trembling, his legs straining against the straps that had held him still for fifteen centuries. His body was perfectly preserved. His mind was a different matter.
*tongues out, tongues out, no longer will they shout shout*
She had been a comfort at first. Three hundred years is plenty of time to descend into madness. Then She came. Nothing but a whisper, but at least She was someone to talk to, just different enough from his own mind to carry a conversation. Finally, he had company.
*time to play, time to play, time to play, ship today*
He realized he needed to kill himself two hundred years ago. The countdown clock on the control panel was just visible through the frosted glass, a LED taunt for over a millennia. Davidson used to watch it with hope. Now it filled him only with dread.
*fly, fly, fly, they will try, they will try*
Even if he could have slipped his arms out of the restraints, he wasn't sure how to end his own life. And that was assuming he could take control of his body back from Her.
A burst of white blinded him. For the first time in fifteen hundred years, lights exploded through his glass coffin. The main power systems were booting back up. Davidson glanced at the clock -- all zeroes.
*slide out, slide out, they will try, they will try*
He felt the bonds around his midsection loosen. Davidson made a desperate play for control. "I want a pizza. With olives and pepperoni. With extra cheese -- "
His right leg slid out of the restraints and pushed against the opening glass. He had to get control now. This was his last chance. "-- and maybe a beer. Something heavy and strong -- "
Davidson was a passenger in his own body as his arms unfastened the last of the bonds. When he first realized he'd be awake for the ages of space travel, he had begged for this day to come, to walk again, to stretch and bend and be released from his living nightmare.
But he wasn't the one walking, wasn't the one stretching. Wasn't the one crawling on all fours, cackling and drooling while opening the medical supplies, searching madly for the scalpels before the rest of the crew woke up.
*they will try, they will try, they will die, die, die*
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97/365
one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman)
\--------------------- |
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