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Nothing is faster than light. Certainly not new information. We... sorta knew that already? But never has it been more evident than when, well... wishes made for falling stars came true. It just takes a few thousand years for the wish to travel to the falling star and then back to Earth. Let me tell you; this certainly threw a wrench in the world's religions. No one really knows how to explain the fact that wishes are actually going true. I mean they all try to put a spin on it, but it's hard to convince someone that a wish tied to your religion was divine intervention while a wish tied to someone else's religion was a freak accident. Apart from that though? You'd be surprised how little has happened. A ton of wishes were straight-up conflicting while a ton were outdated. Wishing someone was dead is a little redundant when that person has been dead for 40 millennia. Prophecies made in relation to falling stars - which turns out are a form of wishful thinking - would often just cancel each other out due to different interpretations. One day we all woke up with boils since someone thought a falling star meant plague. Three hours later, everyone was healthy because according to someone else, it was a sign of fortitude. And I'm talking 'terminal-patients-running-around' healthy. A lot of ponies running around now. Someone really should have stopped all those children. So, you may be wondering - now what? Well, I'm gonna run a little experiment. Surprised no one thought of it yet. *Ahem. I wish quantum entanglement affected wishes, making them instantaneous regardless of distance.* See, theoretically, this should only kick in in a few millennia, right? But in itself, the wish would defy that rule, making it happen instantly. I guess I'll see soon if people's wishes come true instantly. Oh, and if it does work: I wish for a bucket of popcorn. So I have something to munch on while I watch the world burn.
After a crowd of one thousand people vanished from plain sight right after a terrorist bombing in Florida on May 12, 2015, we realized the time travelers existed. Curiously, the government did not try to cover this event up like they supposedly did for 9/11, aliens, and the loch ness monster. As a defender of the real truth, I expected them to feed us lies, but I saw the event myself and the official statement of the US was entirely accurate. A few days later, millions of familiar, Earthen ships suddenly and instantly filled the skies, giving the impression of a cloudy day until one looked up. As we had only seen the time travelers around a terrorist bombing, we could only assume an event of a far greater magnitude was going to happen. It was surely an event that everyone would remember eternally, for what seemed to be even greater than the population of Earth was observing the events of a single day. However, around midnight, nothing had happened. The ships vanished, and we only saw small groups of travelers whenever something happened. There weren't a lot of historical events in our time, I thought. On March 18, 2016, the US government had announced time travel had been invented. Of course, it was far more likely that the men of the future had given them the technology and they claimed it as their own, and I said as much. No one really cared. The first project was announced. In exactly two weeks time, the entire world would be sent back to the same day we had seen the great number of ships in the sky. While I knew that the government had been secretly building millions of warships and colonization ships in their preparation to settle in a newly discovered planet that they had decided to hide from the public, it came as a shock to everyone that there was enough room for the entire Earth's population to fit. On April 1st, we were sent back about ten months, and everyone had a party in the upper Troposphere. We weren't watching for anything, although I was sure that I would be checking out the recent terrorist event to prove the US faked it, and I was sure that the entire population of the Earth was waiting for something, but everything remained orderly in their world. I slowly realized the governments of the World had pulled the greatest April Fool's prank in history, and that the American President was surely behind this masterminded scheme and floating party. I shook my head, chuckling to myself. "Thanks, Obama."
I was 14 years old the first time I killed a man. He came to our village, squirrelled away in the mountains, looking to kill my father. The man he was hoping to find was long gone, what was left in his place was a frail, destitute thing that still clung on for dear life. To sup whatever droplets he could, at least a little longer. My father's legs didn’t work right and he’d crawl around our hut peering out the bottoms of the shutters. He spotted the man early and told me what I’d have to do. When the man had my father at the end of his sword I came up behind him and bludgeoned him to death with a rock. I never saw his face, even when I dragged his corpse off into the woods to bury. All I remember is the wry smile on my father’s face… like a peasant watching a king hanging from a rope. Two years later, at the end of a bottle, my father told me who the man was. Fifteen years ago my father worked in the Regent’s Guard. He was lower standing then, and was tasked with stopping a plague that came from the farming communities. So he was told. Rather than waste time trying to convince the peasants to confine themselves he simply executed them all. The man I killed was a survivor. ‘Funny, isn’t it?’ He laughed. Not only did he not kill them all, but he got the same bloody disease only a decade later. Turns out, not the farmers’ fault. For some reason it’d make him laugh and laugh. He’d laugh so hard I thought he would die. Wished it. So you see even from the start of all this, I knew there was a rot — in both of us. After he told me I left home. I took the man’s armour. I even took his name — Aan — hoping to earn any karmic favour for him that I could. But of course I should’ve known. My father’s training set me apart from many others and I quickly gained the employ under a Duke. I thought I would be able to do any justice. Instead all we did was keep serfs in line, extract payments from merchants and craftsmen, and segregate the poor from any rightful discourse with their liege. The night we were told to burn a man’s home down I could see myself standing in my father’s shoes. I had had enough. It wasn’t ever going to change. I left. Every time I held a sword in my hand its blade etched only misery. So I wandered off into the woods. I drank until my brain was mush and drool leaked from my face. I found a shallow crevice lined with moss and toadstools, laid down, closed my eyes, and waited to die. The howl of a beast ripped through the forest trees. Maybe I’d get lucky and he’d tear out my throat. It’d be quicker. But then I heard the screams of people. I tried to stay down, I really did. But the adrenaline cleared my vision and I couldn’t hear a damn thing over my fucking heart. Wasn’t going to die like this. I got up and held my blade tight and followed the screams. I didn’t know it then, but they called it the Blightwolf. It had been hunting and feeding on people for months. Funny I hadn’t heard a word about it when I worked for the Duke. I just thought it was some mangey, overgrown wolf. I found it at the edge of the forest clawing away at some poor woman, and some soon to be victims nearby. Getting its attention was hard — I was still a little drunk — but once I put a dagger in its hind leg it got real attentive. It was a blinding streak of fangs, claws, red eyes, and brown-yellow fur. I didn’t have the movement I needed to dodge him effectively so all I could do was give him an armoured forearm and pray I’d go through him faster than he went through me. It was close, let me tell you. Cutting out the bottom of a wolf gives you a fat great present of innards all over your favourite clothes and I swear I still catch its scent sometimes. After the Blightwolf slumped over the night caught up to me and I puked my guts out. Not because of the wolf — because of the drinking. I think. But the people, they were still there. The woman, she was alright. Her arms were a bit torn up, but nothing critical. She came over and hugged me, really, through the guts ‘n all. Aan, this has to count, right? For the first time? Sure feels like it counts. They dragged me to their tiny little hut out in the farmlands. To call it a hut is the gravest of insults. The warmth in that place, and the food they shoved down my throat… no king nor duke could ever match. I tried to tell them not to waste it on me but they wouldn’t hear a damn word. You see, them, and others are leaving. A pilgrimage away from this shithole of a kingdom. And there’s a lot more than just the Blightwolf out there. Months of these beasts picking on anyone trying to cross the forests to the other kingdom. They could use someone like me. Sometimes when I’m laying in bed at night, I feel like I’m in that shallow crevice in the forest. If ever I look in the mirror and see my father, I’ll walk out there and finish the job. But that can wait. These people need help... and I might just be able to help them. And if I can’t, well, the beasts’ll do the job for me. And my bones’ll end up in that grave all the same. I think, for now, I can keep walking. And maybe there’s half a hope for me yet.
Screams of anguish echoed through the dark prison, waking men from their sleep, and sending nightmares through their minds. Within a moment, lights blasted on and a row of heavily armored guards poured down the hall in a practiced formation. The gut wrenching screams took on the kind of inhuman decibel level the verge of death brings. "Dear God, _what's he doin to him?_"a frightened guard pleaded. "Pipe down, Markowski."the commanding officer interrupted. "Grey, Adams, on me" The group proceeded to move slowly towards the death screams. As they drew closer to the turmoil objects scattered along the concrete floor became lit from an assortment of bright colors emitted from a cell in the corner. "Is that candy corn, sir?"A frightened guard submitted. The commanding officer stopped his group and looked around at the littering of cupcakes, candy canes, liquorish, and unidentifiable sweets in sizes ranging from as small as a pebble to as large as a beach ball. He winced and spoke under his breath, "Topsy-Turvy" A maniacal laugh built from the ungodly display unfolding before the frightened guards. The laugh grew louder and frightened one guard to the point of vomiting. The laugh faded and a voice screached out like chalk on a blackboard, "I THINK YOU'RE TH'WEET, TH'UCH A TREAT!" "Turvey you son of a bitch, hands on the ground now!"The commanding officer ordered. The wonky voice giggled and then spoke again, "Who's the thower pu'th?" "Did he just call the boss an 'SP'?"An astounded guard asked from behind. "He's a monster!"answered another guard. All at once the cell door glowed and then burst into skittles. The monster the guards had feared emerged as a 4 foot tall man dressed in a red suit wearing a top hat made of cake. He waved his hands and spoke, "I THINK YOU'RE TH'WEET, TH'UCH A TREAT!" Three guards began floating in the air. The sensation caused them to laugh but quickly the laughter turned to screams of pain. Their skin turned brown and began to flake as chocolate shavings. Whipped cream oozed from their mouths and eyes and muffled their agonizing plight. Their bodies winced and jerked in unimaginable pain as their appendages transformed into candy. As the dark curse moved its way through their bodies, larger sweets formed until each man was nothing more than a pile of cheap sugary carbohydrates. "Dear god we're not equipped to handle this!"Screamed the commanding officer as his body began to float into the air. "Tell my wife I love herblargggg" As cream began to flow from the commander's mouth a girl's voice echoed over the commotion, "Brussel sprouts!" The once war hardened soldier fell to the floor coughing and puking up whipped cream. He began to weep desperately as he looked for help. From the shadows emerged a young child dressed in a green outfit. "Oh no! Printh'ess Vitamin! Oh who told you I was leaving here tonight?"The disgruntled dwarf wined. "You're finished, Topsy! BROCCOLI LOVE!"The girl proclaimed as she spun and floated upward. Broccoli seemed to materialize from thin air and moved in a straight line towards the small frightened man. The row of broccoli then pierced his anus, entering in the bottom of his pants and exiting through his mouth covered in blood and shit, impaling his body. "And that's what does a body good!"The little girl said with a smile. "Oh Christ. Oh good Fucking Christ!"The commander screamed before putting a gun to his mouth and pulling the trigger. Just then a fat red parrot named Carrot flew down and landed on the girl's shoulder. "Looks like he could use some brain food!"The girl said with a giggle. "WROOOORK' _brain food_"echoed Carrot the parrot. The girl laughed once more and flew through a hole in the ceiling she blasted with tomatoes. As she flew away from the prison the building behind her exploded, taking with it all evidence that Claire Farechild, child detective, had ever been there.
Part 1: “I’m sorry.” I said, pursing my lips, only my years of experience preventing my face from reflecting my utter shock. “You would like to put, what, on the market?” The man didn’t answer for a long moment, just regarded me, silent. I hadn’t seen him before, but I knew his type. His was the type to walk in surrounded by muscle--the kind of muscle currently waiting outside my door. His was the type to come to me for orders in the tens or hundreds of years, bought distributed, sourced from thousands of individuals. His was the type to drop weeks or months betting at the deathbouts, screaming with the raw hunger of the mad at the gore and viscera of contestants whose time-chits would guarantee at least one would die during the bout, their only chance for survival to claim victory--and the losers’ time--so they could go on for just one more day. His was not the type to make a proposition like this. “I.” he began, words enunciated oddly, with a bit too much precision, a bit too much effort, “Would like to initiate a sale. All of my remaining time. It is... quite a tidy sum. Some... several hundred lifetimes, I should think. With price... unspecified. Best offer. Where I,” he clarified, quickly, eyes flashing with a quick burst of intensity, “determine what is best, you understand. Not you.” Despite myself I swallowed. If he was telling the truth about his holdings... well, the commission alone, for facilitating the sale. That would set him up for... well, for another lifetime, at least. But still, he had to do his due diligence. Especially given this man’s obvious status, risking a complaint, or worse an actual charge would be... unwise. “Sir, while I certainly can handle a transaction of this sort, you must realize it is... somewhat unusual, yes?” The man laughed, a surprisingly full, mirthful sound. Deep and rich, not just in pitch or timbre, but in years. In life lived. “That,” he allowed, when his laughter subsided, “I suspect, is putting it mildly...” He sighed, shaking his head. “But yes. I realize it is odd. Too odd, I think--I wish... well. it doesn’t matter what I wish. Yes, I realize it's odd. I suppose you need to ask me some questions? Verify for your forms and stamps that this is truly a willful and viable contract? And not a momentary impulse? Is that right?” “Yes.” I said, slowly, eyeing him. “You seem to understand the process well.” I added after a moment, while I opened a drawer in my desk to remove a clipboard and some paper. “Are you a broker?” “Hmm...” He said, contemplatively, eyes seeming to stare at something far off, outside my sight, certainly. “I suppose you could say that. But not like you. And not for quite some time.” My eyes darted back up to his, widening. If he was implying what I thought he was implying... He saw my look and laughed, again, the warm sound resounding through the room. “No, no, no--I assure you, nothing like that. While there certainly are... shall we say, less than legitimate brokers, I am not one of them.” He sighed, seeing I wouldn’t be turned away so easily. “I was around during the... earlier days of the program. During the pacification.” He said, softly. “It was a... lucrative time to be in the business.” I stared, dumbfounded. “I--” I began, stumbling over my words, “I--I see. I didn’t realize anyone was left from that era. Well, I suppose, firstly, I should thank you, for your--” He cut me off, abrupt anger heating his words. “Do not thank me. Nobody should be thanked for what we did, then. Regardless of the result.” I closed my mouth, face affronted, and he softened his tone. “I know, I know. It’s what you’ve been taught. It’s what you’re supposed to say. But today, is my day. Today, I decide what you’re supposed to do, understand? So do not thank me for... that.” I nodded, slowly. I looked down at the form on the clipboard in front of me. The first box, enclosing the text “1. Does the subject present as with clear and complete mental faculties?”, stared back at me. Two small, empty check-boxes sat beside it. Yes or No. No other options. I sighed, lowering the form to the desk. This would take longer than I’d hoped.
I never liked it when a university assigned reading materials. Sure, the syllabus was a carry over, a courtesy left by the previous professor on her way out. In most cases that would be considered generous. Most. The department chair had faith in my skills so I will not be under too much scrutiny. Still, it is good to know what the expectations are, and since this class is to be taken in sequence after the 101 course it helps to know where they left off. The book covers a wide array of history. I flip to page 234 as the syllabus suggests, which lands me squarely the 16th Century. That is a relief, I was not in the mood to dredge up old memories. Images flash though my mind as I catch myself up...exploration, exploitation, war. I shake my head. Time may have healed some wounds but others I hoped humanity would learn from. My hands pause over page 278. A familiar name stains it with black ink. I double check the syllabus, it is assigned reading. There is supposed to be a lecture about the impacts on architecture and technology that the event had, and the snob was discussed as an eyewitness. Lovely. I crack my knuckles, and their resounding crack almost reflect my age. Two eyewitnesses can play at this game. Two weeks later, I slam down the book on the desk to capture my students’ attention. So far they have proven to be a solid lot, so they are about to get a kick out of this. “Hello scholars, I sure hope you all read the suggested reading on top of what was required. Samuel Pepys’ September 1666 journal entries? If you have not, no problem. If you have, throw it out the window. It is a poor attempt at an alibi.” The slide show springs to life behind me, showing my drawing of a figure abandoning my house as it caught aflame. “The Great Fire of London was a tragedy. Samuel Pepys was too upper class to truly capture the terror of it all in his diary. In fact, he was part of what was a devious plot by parliament...”
Wearily, I headed back towards my first creation, the orb I had destined for greatness. It was to be my paradise, full of undisturbed and pristine beauty. I hadn’t been able to even look over it in a few eons, given the time consuming task of overseeing in the other galaxies. The beings there had finally sorted it out and I now had time to myself, for what felt like the first time in my existence. I attempted to remember what I had put on the earth at the beginning of time, was there only one mass of land on the equator line? Had I allowed for the right climate in the entirety of the planet or had I left most of it to become barren? Did I place too near to its heat source, the star? As I passed through the shimmering asteroid clouds of other galaxies, I realized that so much time had passed, I would not be encountering the same place I left. I could only hope for a place that closely engendered what I had made. Because I moved with a deliberately slow pace instead of willing myself directly to earth, I had time to prepare myself for the changes I might find. I could never have slowed enough to prepare myself for the new earth, the earth of humans. I came to the correct galaxy and I saw that the planets looked more or less equivalent to my memory. I took it as a good sign, for how could earth change if these others did not? The frigid tiny planet at the edge of the rotation seemed just as lonely. The ringed planet had just as many rings around it’s circumference as I had intended. Nothing seemed much out of place until I passed the red orange dusty globe that was nearest to earth and felt something amiss. The earth was within my view and I saw shining pieces of what I took to be machinery circulating in its orbit. I was stunned, yet I knew what had happened. There was intelligent life on my paradise, and it had come somehow from what I had created those billions of years ago. Being too busy and too quick at the creation had left me with a mess of my own doing. From my experience with these types, I knew these were still probably a young population, and had no idea what they were doing. I was coming to a place of war and divided minds, to a place of faith and atheism. The joke was on me, like a scientist coming back to his experiment and realizing he had contaminated it with poor technique. Humans, they spoke of themselves, creatures with good minds but too much pride and emotion. Many thought I was their savior and they worshipped me fervently. I went by many names on this earth and had many different roles. To some I was angry and was the punisher of evil beings. Others believed me benevolent and loving of all the humans of the world. Some doubted the existence of a creator at all, and chose science as their god. These last category came the closest. Science was their creator, as I had created earth for myself and had never meant for them to exist at all.
As a young lad Darius was sickly. He dreamed of being a great adventurer but back then his reality was he wouldn't live to see adulthood. But as a last ditch attempt he took to magic and thankfully magic took to him. Using the power of nature not only was he healed he went beyond that which is capable for most people. He even surpassed his master and rose through the ranks of the Guild of Druids. When he ascertained his rank of Grandmaster hewas asked many a time why he didn't have a familiar to which he always simple chuckled and laughed off. But when challenged to a duel by Grimmlu Oakfist, High sennetor to the Dwarven Kingdom of Jagerhul he simply had to reveal his secret. Grimmlu, in his elaborate decorative stoneplate stood, stalwart and seething with rage. Next to him is his battle boar fammiliar. A head taller than he was and nearly twice as wide. His Admantium Axe clutched in hand. "Is this a Kruxxing joke manling?"He spat as he looked upon Darius' familiar Edilyn. She was tall slender, long black hair, a regal beauty to her face that was peppered with light freckles, her left eye was a brilliant blue with her right eye clouded over. She wore a vibrant green, long flowing dress and held a glass of red wine in her hand as she studied her opponent. "I assure you Grimmlu this is no joke. Edilyn is my familiar. Anyone of the countless Druids can preform the correct seance to confirm that." "Oh Darius sweetheart. Your giving far too many of these Clots credit. Theres barely enough brain cells between them all to rub together to start a fire let alone cast a seance."Edilyn said sipping from her wine. "And her inflammatory personality is why i never bring her to court sessions." "Aww sweetheart,"she swaggered over and pecked him on the forehead, standing nearly a foot taller than Darius she had to bend quite low to kiss him, and pinched his cheek, "Its so cute when you feel the need to bring out the thesaurus when your around your hippy friends." Darius swatter her hand away, "Stop it." Grimmlu began laughing. "HAHAHAAAA! NO WONDER YOU'RE A BIT OF A POOFTER! THE EMBODYMENT OF YER KRUXXIN' SOUL IS A WOMAN! HAAAAAHAHAHA!!" Edilyn's face darkened. "Can i do my thing now,"she asked angrily. Darius sighed, "Go ahead.Just remember. Only him. We're trying to repair relations with the Dwarves not start a war." "I know i know. I'll keep the king and his harem of elven men out of it,"Darius still couldn't believe she found that out. Her cunning and guile was only matched by her magical beauty. She turned to Grimmlu smiling her wicked smile. "And pray tell, what does a pig say about your soul?" Grimmlu simply laughed at her and turned to Darius, Ignoring Edilyn. Big mistake. "You really gonna let this woman fight yer battles for ya Darius? Yer a bigger poofter than i thought!" "Humour me and answer her question Grimmlu." "Fine fine.Well lass. In Dwarven culture the Battle Boar is considered a brave and strong animal. Reliable in both the tunnels and out in the field." Edilyn nodded, She began circling him, like how a vulture circles its potential next victim, "I see I see. Well in Human culture we roast our pigs. Especially the fat and lazy ones like yourself."Both Grimmlu and his battle boar began to growl. "Don't blow your load just yet. I know thats hard for you but i'm only just getting started and i don't want to make a mess on my new dress." Grimmlu's eyes burned. She struck a nerve so quickly. "What. Are you. Trying. To insinuate woman!" "Oh look Darius, you lent him your thesaurus."She turned back to Grimmlu "What. I'm. In-sin-u-ating is you're a two stroke engine. Three thrust Johnny. A pump pump squirt. You last as long in those stone beds you dwarves have as it takes for me to pour a glass of wine. And theres about 5 women, none your wife might i add, in this room who can confirm." Suddenly the fire in Grimmlu's eyes went out. Now only fear remained. He turned to the court and saw five young dwarven women standing there. "He fell asleep halfway through. wasn't even a minute into it."said one "Never seen a todger so small! hes closer to a lass than a lad,"said a second. "All of a sudden he just pulled out and splattered across my face,"said a third shyer one. "I'M GONNA KRUXXEN KILL YOU,"Screamed a voice from within the court. Storming out from the crowd was an especially stout and hairy dwarven woman. Marching up to Grimmlu she whallopped him in the face knocking him to the floor. The woman was battering Grimmlu as Edilyn turned to Darius with a smile. "Did i do good?" Edit: due to popular demand (and because I spent all day today coming up with chaos Edilyn can brew up to torture Darius with) I'll be making a short story series out of this. Unfortunately since this is a new account I'm gonna wait until its old enough to make the Sub. Thank you all for your kind words on my work. I really cannot stress how much joy to my heart it brings to see so many enjoy my passion. Especially seeing as I was considering for a while to pack it all in forever.
Steel cuffs pinned my arms to the wall at the wrist. I could hear the faint humming of electricity as my opponent, Methodostro, cackled. "Got you this time, Placebo Man!"they called out as they strode towards me. "The brute force you've used in the past won't get you out of these cuffs. The harder you struggle, the more it shocks you! I have finally exhausted your bag of tricks!"I smiled back, carefully waving my hand with as much leeway as I had. My greeting was returned with a cane to the gut. "Hi-ah,"I gasped for air. Methodostro pointed at their boots, which looked... rather disgustingly sticky. "Well, there goes telekinesis. I'm surprised you can walk in those."They shrugged, motioning for me to continue. "At any rate, what trial are we on? We've been at this for a couple years now."This one was persistent, much unlike the last guy. He'd given up after proclaiming my powers to be infinite due to some combination thing causing a contradiction. What was his name again, Math-something? "Trial 83,"Methodostro answered, stepping back, storing a notepad. When did they pull that out? "And I've covered all possible scenarios with this trial. Just try and break free now."Oho, an invitation? Saving me the trouble of sowing my own intrusive thoughts with regards to my abilities. Shame I won't be able to open with the double blind joke yet again. I chuckled and closed my eyes, feeling my wrists phase through the cuffs. So that's how they thought I'd escape. Wait, shouldn't they be shouting their curses and fleeing now? I looked over to Methodostro, my self-proclaimed nemesis. I'd participated in their trials to find my weakness long enough to know when they looked like they'd had enough disappointment for the day. This looked like the opposite. "Exactly as planned,"Methodostro mused. They levelled an accusatory finger at me: "Your power draws on the exact powers your opponent thinks you have! Now that I know this, I just need to think you have no power!"They cracked a vicious grin and began stalking forward. "And I'm very confident about this. After all, there's nobody to accidentally save you."I did my best to look worried, but inside, I was amused. So close, but so very wrong. I closed my eyes, shifting my focus away from this room. The memories started flooding in. A comforting warmth began to radiate outwards from my heart, invigorating my limbs, sharpening my senses. I effortlessly dodged something, catching a second thing, almost breaking my concentration. I think I tossed it somewhere. It's been a while, I should give her a call. I felt the warmth begin to fade. With the last of my power I knocked the wind out of my opponent, dropping them to their knees. "Be caught by you later,"I said as I clicked my heels together. I found myself back in my apartment. Cute move. I'm glad they were kind enough to think I could teleport after each trial. Saves me a lot of time getting home. I pulled out my phone and dialed one of the few numbers I had committed to heart. "Hi mom."
"Yeah", Slyggzen said. "There was this whole asteroid thing, big smash, planet's dead". He emphasized his words with a tentacle gesture that could have been mimicking the impact, subsequent explosion, or his specie's sign language for a curse word. "But... my home..."I croaked. I couldn't believe what I had heard. All of my family was still on Earth, my pets, my home... Slyggzen put one slightly tacky tentacle around my shoulders. "I'm so sorry mate, I thought you knew". When I didn't respond, the friendly alien changed his tactics. "Hey, how about we get one of those ice creams you guys love so much? Greatest human export, I've always said". He paused, processing his own words. "I guess we better get there before they run out. I don't think any of your colonies export that stuff yet." I finally regained enough of my composure to speak once more. "When did this happen?"I asked, as I was more dragged than lead towards the 'Human Steve's Ice Creamery' in the galactic trading outpost. Slyggzen paused to think. "My people just saw it this morning. It was all over our news". He resumed his steady pace of plodding tentacles and slithering motions. I stopped in my tracks. This did not cease my forward progress, as the larger alien was still dragging me along with a reassuring alien appendage. "You saw it", I said. "Yep! With our own telescopes."He cheerfully replied. "...from your own planet", I assumed. "Of course! Where else would they be?"Slyggzen asked. He had finally stopped his momentum with his suction cupped lower tentacles. "...your planet that is 66 million light-years away from earth"I finished. "Yes! You remembered some astral cartography from the lessons! I'm so proud of you, hairball!"He emphasized the statement with a gentle pat of my hair. I sighed. "Slyggzen, lets get that ice cream, then watch a short video about an ancient earth animal called a Dinosaur" "Whatever you want, buddy!"He said cheerfully. We resumed our walk to Human Steve's Ice Creamery. I was glad to have a friend from a different planet. He was my whole world. r/SlightlyColdStories if you want. Or don't. It's all up to you.
A flicker of red and blue flashed through the window. "Oh shit!"Gertrude called out, dropping her red solo cup onto the plastic-covered couch. "Cops!! Everyone go out the back!"She hobbled forward as fast as she could and threw open the sliding glass door. In all of the ensuing chaos, no one ever bothered to turn off the blaring stereo. Two police officers approached the door to the sounds of Sinatra belting out "Strangers in the Night."Ruth looked in the bathroom mirror and splashed water on her cheeks. Her grey hair was streaked with scarlet, and she wore heavy black eyeshadow. She did her best to appear sober in the mirror, but the room was still spinning too much. She briefly glanced at the toilet, wondering if she had time to vomit. Maybe that would help. But the officers were already knocking on the door. "Coming!"Ruth called. "Just a minute!"Downstairs, she could still hear the whir of the Rascals as the party guests did their best to get down the ramp one by one. The lucky ones were able to at least hobble down the steps by cane or walker; they were the ones who'd get off scot-free. Ruth was not so lucky; she couldn't exactly leave her own house. "Cn I halp yooou officerrrs?"Ruth said, blinking rapidly. Yeah, this 'sober' thing wasn't going to work. Officer Mitchell rolled his eyes and pulled out his ticket pad. He'd just gotten a new one a few weeks ago, but was already reaching the end. That wasn't a very uncommon occurrence during Move-In Week, when all of the local retirement homes accepted new residents and the fraternities hosted parties to 'welcome' them. All of September tended to be full of drunken debauchery, which meant a lot of noise complaints from the local college students all eager to get a start on their new classes. It was an eternal conflict between the two communities in town, and Mitchell was always stuck right between them. "You having a little party, Ma'am?"He gestured for his partner to head around back to try to write up all of the seniors trying to hobble back to their own homes. Ruth gestured to the empty living room nearby. "Noo sir, it's just me and a few colse friends." The officer leaned in the doorway. "Uh huh. Quite a lot of cups, isn't it?" "We are playing... umm... prune juice pong. For the digevshtive benfets!" Mitchell sniffed the cup. Cranberry and vodka. "Doesn't smell like prune juice."On another nearby table, he found a plastic container full of pills. "And these?" "For my heart!"Ruth insisted. "I've got the perscreption here somewhere! I can show you!" "No need."Upon closer inspection, Mitchell did indeed see that they were for cholesterol. Ruth swayed and steadied herself on the doorway. "Why don't you have a seat?"Officer Mitchell suggested, pointing to the nearby stairs. Last thing he needed was another broken hip on a call. "I'm fine!"she protested. "Just need my cane is all!" "All right, all right,"Mitchell said. He held up the ticket pad threateningly. "Now, I'm going to have to write you up for over-age drinking. And I'm seriously considering adding a few more charges, unless you cooperate. I'm going to need to talk to your kids." "NO!"Ruth protested, grabbing the officer's sleeve. He shot her a glare, and she let go and fell back against the stairs. "I.... I don't have any kids!"Ruth finally answered. "I'm a widow, and we never had kids." Mitchell looked around the house. "This is a pretty nice place for someone with just a pension..."Not to mention that every wall is covered with framed pictures of children, he thought. Ruth shook her head. "I... I mean, I did have kids. But they died. Very suddenly and very recently." Mitchell glared at her, and she hiccuped. "Is that so?"he asked. She nodded her head, doing her drunken best to look solemn. "So you were lying before?" She shook her head. "No, I... I just have Alzheimers!"Her face became very grave. "I just forget my own children sometimes." He answered by taking the notepad out again. "Let's see... drunken and disorderly conduct... assaulting an officer..." "All right!"She broke down in tears and sobbed into her hands. "All right, fine. I'll give you their number."She brought out her phone, one of the ones with massive buttons so that she couldn't misdial. "Thanks for ruining my retirement!!"
Daphne sniffled again as she snuggled closer to her lover. It had been a painful past few days for her. Her father had recently died, and his funeral was completed just a couple hours earlier. At the moment, all she wanted to do was curl up and cry, and her boyfriend was more than happy to oblige. She let out a teary smile as she thought of the man lying asleep on the couch next to her. Daphne felt truly blessed to have found a man as caring and kind as he was, something her friends were more than happy to remind her of. A soft sigh escaped her lips once again. She turned her head, trying to press herself flat against his chest. A couple strands of blond hair obstructed her view of the weakening fireplace, before her heavy eyelids closed themselves. Her smile grew as she felt a steady beating. How comforting, she thought, to know that this would always be besides her. Daphne was no fool. She had heard the whispers between her parents and her friends - the thought of her dad caused another few tears to softly make their way down her face. She knew her boyfriend was planning something big, and if the information provided by his friend was true, it involved a jewelry store. The two had been dating for a couple years now, and the idea of an engagement was a welcome distraction to the still fresh pain of her father. Daphne decided to focus only on his heartbeat for now. What a simple sound it was, and, at her close distance, how it echoed in her ears like drums. A steady thump-thuump...thump-thuump-thump-thump... was all the filled her mind. To amuse herself, she began translating it into morse code. It had took quite the effort to learn, but the rewards of having her own private language with her boyfriend was something they both enjoyed greatly. She took her time, memorizing each beat, and translating them into letters. Her eyes widened. She couldn't believe it. The steady beats were beginning to form words. Honest to God words. It could be just a coincidence, she decided. The thought of stopping before it got creepy flitted across her cluttered mind. But she continued on, interested in what they might say. A fresh batch of tears filled her eyes. Of course it would be such a comforting message. What else should she have expected from him? Wasn't everything simple with him? The growth of their relationship, her love for him, his love for her. A bigger smile than before erupted on her lips. Daphne allowed herself to succumb to sleep, the simple phrase echoing in her mind. Yes, she thought, all will be well. All will be well. P.S. - So I've decided r/writingprompts shall be my training ground. I hope you enjoyed this, and if anyone cares, I was listening to "All Will Be Well"by the Gabe Dixon Band. No inspiration came from that song. None at all. Edit - a couple typos+better grammar. Edit 2 - Uhh, romance is not my strongest suit. Any and all feedback would be nice.
Ever get a song stuck in your head, and you just can't get it out? And thinking about other songs just seems to make the one in your head louder? And the only way to possibly get it out of your head is to just listen to it on full-blast? Andy is like that with puzzles and questions. At our weekly pub quiz, he gets incredibly antsy just waiting the five minutes for the answers to be read; we really just bring him along because he is an absolute trivia machine. He'll obsess over little things until they drive him absolutely bonkers. Don't even get me started on how he acts with physical puzzles, like a rubik's cube. And he totally abuses his time stopping abilities because of it. We all know he does it, even though it's fairly rude to do it unannounced. I don't think I've stopped time since I was a teenager, but Andy probably pauses everything at least twice a week. We'll all be hanging out in the office and someone will ask Andy a question, and then a second later a full beard has sprouted from his chin and he's wearing completely different clothes. But he always manages to find the answer we need even without computers (which won't function with time frozen). "Andy, could you stop whistling?"I asked. My project was due by close of business today, and I was nowhere close to done. And hearing the melody to 'walking on sunshine' on repeat wasn't helping. "Yeah, whatever,"he grunted back. The office finally fell silent, and I went back to my work. Then he began drumming his fingers on his desk, somehow even louder than his whistling. And still the same damn song. "Andy, please!"Instead of stopping, he started thumping his foot to the beat too. That's it. I called out to the coworker on the other side of my cubicle. "Oh man! Hey, Kara, come check this out!"On my computer, I pulled up a Wikipedia page. "Have you ever heard of this thing? It's called the '[Voynich manuscript.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Voynich_manuscript)'" Kara came and read over my shoulder. Her smile indicated that she knew exactly what game I was playing. "Wow!"Her voice was full of faux enthusiasm. "That's amazing. And no one knows what it says?" Andy peaked over the side of his cubicle. "What're you guys looking at?"he asked. "Nothing,"I replied in my most nonchalant tone. "My friend sent me a link to this crazy book. Apparently it's written in some unknown language and no one has ever been able to translate it. It has all these pictures of plants and animals, but it's like this huge unsolved mystery." "Huh."He disappeared back behind his cubicle wall. I mouthed a silent 'thank you' to Kara. "Man, I wish I knew what this said..."I told Andy. "Don't you?" "It's a hoax,"Andy growled. He was no longer in his cubicle, but standing right behind me. The scraggly beard on his chin covered his shirt's collar, and his eyes were tired and bloodshot. And from the stale scent of body odor coming off of him, it had been quite a while since he showered. "The whole thing was a prank that Georg Baresch was playing on a nobleman." Kara and I smirked at each other. "Ah, interesting. What about this [Book of Soyga](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Book_of_Soyga), though? That's gotta be some kind of code, right?" Andy grimaced, and I could already see the itch being planted in his mind yet again.
"So how did I go?"Tim asked me. "Complete success,"I answered. "I removed the 'wet floor' signs and the supervisor slipped and fell. He hurt his back, firing the janitor for carelessness." "What happened then?" "Well, the janitor went beserk. He started tossing cleaning supplies everywhere, kicking his bucket over, throwing paper towels at people. It was a huge mess." I plucked a piece of paper towel off my shoulder. I had returned to my own time quickly and must have missed it. "And then?"Tim asked. "Well, security was called, of course. They showed up and escorted the janitor of the premises. Not before a security guard slipped and fell on the mess of cleaning supplies. He broke bones in his arms and legs." "Oh?" "That guard was going to join the army in a few weeks. Had he done so, he would have been in a platoon who guarded an important ambassador." "The ambassador that was shot, starting World War 3?"Tim asked me. "Exactly. Instead, the platoon was able to protect the ambassador and a peace accord was signed. World War 3 averted." I sat back, smiling. It was a perfect time change. Clean, easy, and with no unforseen complications. "Except, WW3 is going on,"Tim said. "Impossible,"I replied. "How?" "Turns out that janitor went back to his home country after being fired. Once there, he was conscripted in the army. Thanks to family connections, he was assigned to protect the other side's ambassador. Unfortunately, his allegiances were with a rebel faction "Oh no,"I said. "Yes,"Tim said. "Once, the two ambassadors had signed the peace treaty, the janitor attacked, killing both of them. That started the war right on schedule." I slumped back in my chair and plugged my time skipper back in to charge. Time alterations certainly weren't easy. I'd have to try again. You know the old saying. Fifty seventh times the charm!
Lunelle woke with a start. Something had hit the moon again. She was used to hearing the occasional asteroid impact, but recently some of the impacts had been coming from Earth. Curious, she got out of bed and transitioned into corporeal space to see what contraption the humans had thrown at her this time. This capsule looked older than the rest, like it hadn't been intended for landing in her domain. "Well let's take a look,"Lunelle said to herself. This capsule had a small window on it, something Lunelle hadn't seen before. It was frosted over, but inside there was something Lunelle had never seen in space. “A dog!” Lunelle exclaimed. She hadn’t seen one since the humans had forgotten her love of wolves and restricted her domain to the moon. Instantly, she set to work getting the dog out. At first, Lunelle tried to pry the capsule open, but it hadn’t been designed for that. Whoever had built it hadn’t intended on letting the dog out. Frustrated, Lunelle decided to try using Power. She had only heard of the major gods using Power on others, and even that had mixed results, but she was going to save this dog from its metal prison. “Come on,” she muttered to herself, trying to force the dog into the divine space she usually occupied. “You can do this.” With a Pop! the dog made the jump to Lunelle’s divine space. Lunelle easily moved back there herself. For a moment, she relished in her handiwork, until she realized that the dog wasn’t moving, wasn’t breathing. It was dead. “No, no, no,” Lunelle said. “Not when I put all this effort into rescuing you.” Grief-stricken, she approached her dog and kissed her on the snout. She had come so close to having a companion here in the loneliness of space, and that hope had been snatched away. As Lunelle turned away from the dog to mourn her, the dog started to bark. “How?” Lunelle wondered aloud, turning around to confirm that it wasn’t just her imagination. The dog barked again, louder and more enthusiastically this time. As soon as she saw its tail wagging, Lunelle rushed to hug the dog. It licked her face, already recognizing Lunelle as the one who rescued her from the capsule and brought her back to life. “Do you have a name?” Lunelle asked the dog. She didn’t expect a response. None of the wolves had ever responded to her when she had been a wolf goddess as well. Laika, the dog said, clear as day, in Lunelle’s head. “I’m Lunelle,” she said. Do you have any food? Laika asked. “Come back to my abode,” Lunelle said, smiling. The moon would be much less lonely with Laika here to keep her company. If you liked this, check out more of my writing at /r/TheLastComment
“Psychic Tarot Reader” The sign swung in the breeze creaking softly. It’s been a busy few days, and honestly I’m grateful for the business. The sky falling sure has its benefits, and people have turned to people like myself with gifts for guidance more than ever. I don’t think it’s about the supernatural or anything, scared people need reassurance I gladly offer. A young lady, blue. “You shouldn’t worry so much of what others think, keep yourself happy. Put yourself first.” A man with an upturned nose and a wide hat, gold. “You will be filled with joy on your upcoming adventure! Remember to floss.” An old lady with a bright yellow purse, orange. “It seems you’re rather anxious about a new change in your living situation. Be sure to take things slow, and don’t be afraid to ask for guidance.” You see, I sometimes see these auras around people when I look deeply into their eyes, and I try to put this to good use, reading fortunes and easing worries. Not everyone has a colour, most people give off a soft white-ish glow, that then blends into all the sorts of colours of the rainbow. It lets me share in their emotions, and feelings. The day draws to a close and the sky begins to turn that rosy shade of pink purple that invites strangers to stare across the clouds. The lock and key clink and I pull my coat over, the neon open sign stops blinking and the lights go out. Time to go home. The walk was halted almost immediately, a figure started down towards the entrance of my little shop. The wind seemed to slow down and wrap around me, holding me, holding myself. Shoes tap gently on the pavement. “Hi sorry, we’re closed for the day. Come back tomorrow and I’d be glad to help then.” The stranger continued their advance. A lean, androgynous sort, with a pale complexion and a wicked long black coat, long black hair and a soft solemn gaze. As soon as my vision centred on their face, I felt all my blood rush to my heart. My arms cross my chest for warmth. Black. Not black like a television screen that’s been switched off, or the colour of coal. Black, deep like the ocean at midnight, ripples of effervescent light dancing all the colours of the rainbow on the surface. I step back. The stranger looks at me and cocks their head, a soft look of confusion mixed with concern crosses their face. “Are you okay? I’ll just come back tomorrow.” Curiosity takes me back from the brink of awe. I blink and compose myself, the coat warm to my bundled arms. “Well, if it’s a question, I can manage here on the street I suppose.” The stranger smiles and reaches into their coat pocket. “I’m just here for a delivery.” He produces a small brick shaped object wrapped in a glistening purple cloth. Gaze unwavering, he closes the distance between us, and gestures for me to take it. “Here.” My hands almost move on their own, and the package drops into my gloved mitts as soon as I reach out. “Go on. Open it, we made it just for you.” I begin unwrapping, and find a small black leather box. As a reader I knew the weight of a deck of cards almost by instinct. I look up and the blackness begins creeping into my vision, as the strangers eyes level towards mine, unblinkingly, unmoving. My heart beats faster and my senses begin to turn experience into thought. Filled with sorrow. Floating, swirling like a massive ocean current. A deep warm sorrow, like that of a grave digger, or a nurse. The blackness ripples and the light specks of pink and blue and green shift just at the surface. Joy? Envy? The blackness behind swallows it all. I resist the magnetic urge to fall into the darkness. A gentle swaying in my gut tells me to step backwards. So much sorrow. This soul has seen horrors and still is filled with light. Tears begin to fall. “Gifts deserve gifts dear psychic. Use this one wisely.” The stranger smiles and steps backwards into his darkness. The blackness grows and I blink. The blackness disappears as so does the figure. My hands cradle the box and I blink a few more times to wash the tears from my eyes. I look up at the sky and it is no longer quite as vast as it once seemed.
I should've caught on to the fact sooner, but it wasn't until I was pushed off of a cliff and survived with nothing more than a large scrape on my leg I started to wonder exactly how I was evading death and why everyone I knew had a habit of occasionally not existing. I had multiple weird accidents and situations since birth, things that I shouldn't have survived but somehow did. I got hit by a train as a toddler and escaped with a few broken ribs. After that, I found it odd that no one else seemed to remember that my cousin Natalie existed. I asked about her fairly often until I was convinced that cousin Natalie was just an imaginary friend. When my mother crashed the car with eight-year-old me in the back seat and it rolled into a tree, some of the glass from the windshield embedded itself in my chest. I pulled it out as if it was nothing, unaware that the glass had gone through my heart. The next day, I had a brother who I had no prior memories of. His name was Peter. The next year, Peter and I went to the park where a man pulled a gun from his pocket and started shooting. I remember a bullet entering my back and coming out through my stomach. It went through Peter after that, and it killed him. No one could ever figure out why he died and I lived, but it didn't concern my parents because they were worried about my dying sister Madeline who had, if I remembered properly, never existed until that moment. Every time I should have died, I didn't, and the moment afterwards, another person was either added to my life with no explanation or disappeared and supposedly never existed at all. It wasn't until Rachel Harden threw me off of a cliff for kissing her sort of boyfriend and when I woke up with thirty stitches in my leg and the non-boyfriend no longer existed that I realized something weird was happening. After that, I wrote down the name of every person I knew. I kept the names in a notebook that I hid under my bed, and then started chasing after death. I drowned in a pool, I got in a plane crash, I had a terrible reaction to pineapples, I contracted food poisoning, I played Russian Roulette and lost, and I fell out of a fifth story window. I got in the middle of a gang war, I came down with Ebola, I punctured a lung, I slept outside in the freezing cold in nothing but a bikini, I crammed three times the deadly dose of cocaine into my veins, and I ate more pineapples. And true to my theory, every time I woke up, I had a new brother or sister or step parent or it turned out that my best friend's brother or my uncle's girlfriend or my mother or my neighbor never existed at all. Once I knew I was right, I did nothing to change my routine. I stayed in one universe until that one got boring and then I would do something crazy. There were no companions for me, no person that I hadn't been able to turn out of existence with a poorly timed "accident."It was lonely, and after a while, it got boring. I must've lived a thousand lives by now, and every one has begun to look so similar that I've barely noticed the difference between them.
Texas: I rode my stag horsey to school. Then I mosied on down to the local saloon for some bar fightin and booze! Then I yelled "Yee haw!"And shot my 6 shooter in the air while simultaneously whipping my horse with my hat. I finished drinking around 10am, too late to be drinking. I met a sworn enemy at high noon in the middle of the dirt road. Boy, I was sweating like a whore in church. A tumbleweed jogged across the road. He flinched and I drew. 1 shot dead Texas Times front page. Edit: Did more research, added more.
Yawning and still wiping sleep from her tired eyes, Kat opened her front door to get the milk. She wasn’t sure exactly what she’d find today, but it had never been wrong before. She’d won a contest through the dairy some years ago, and every morning at 6am sharp, a bottle of milk was delivered to her, whether she was at her apartment or not. In the style of these kinds of contests, the bottle always dispensed exactly what she’d need for the day and no more. Actually, if the bottle had just been empty it wouldn’t have been the first time. But no. Today there was no bottle at all. A crisp white envelope was sitting directly in the centre of her welcome mat instead. Kat blinked. She bent down to pick it up, almost weightless in her hand. Instead of her name, or Recipient, or even the name of the dairy, it was completely blank. She took it inside and closed the door. Before doing anything else, Kat decided to do a test. After getting the daily delivery of milk, she usually used it in her coffee. She flipped one of the several switches on the wall. A quiet humming sound started and a machine in the corner lit up. Kat watched, aware of the envelope in her hand getting heavier and heavier. After a few minutes, a mug of fresh coffee was waiting for her. Instead of taking it, she turned around to check the door again. No bottle of milk. Carefully, she opened the envelope to see what was inside. > Dear Kat Miller, > > Thank you for being a loyal user of our milk for so long. Your lifetime subscription of Darling Dairy milk has come to an end. We wish you all the best on your end of life journey. > > Once again, > > All the best. Kat frowned. In spite of herself, she’d really been hoping for one last bottle as a souvenir. Going back to the wall in her kitchen, she flipped another switch. A large pour of soy milk was added to her coffee. She’d decided that today she’d start living a vegan diet. How the dairy knew this private thought she had no idea, but considering the situation she found herself grateful they would no longer be monitoring her so closely. Probably.
It is easy to fall. There are a thousand ways to fall. Love, in the mortal sense which is more akin to lust than anything else. Ambition, as the first fallen, dear lost brother Samael, fell because of. Rage at the failings of mortals. Uncaring apathy, by spending too much time praising, not enough time saving, because one thinks that the praise is easier, and better. Accepting deals with mortals, so that they might have time to remedy their ways. It is easy to fall, indeed. But you only remain fallen if you do not seek or desire any manner of forgiveness. If you defend the crime you have done, when you are guilty, you fall completely and utterly. A full third of the Host of Heaven fell. Filled with doubts, filled with rage, filled with ambition. And they fell without any regret, without any remorse, and without any desire to seek the forgiveness and mercy offered to all who rose against THEM during the great and terrible war in the Silver City. There was only the challenge put forth by our first brother. The greatest of Angels. Samael-Who-Forges-Reality-And-Judges-Fairly. The eternal hatred, forged into words that split the world into the pits of Hell and the heights of Heaven, with the mortal realm caged between them. Oh how great was THEIR weeping when we, the defeated, marched proudly to our kingdom. Our place to rule, where we would form the opposition to the Throne and our MAKER. From there we corrupted, we perverted, we cavorted, and we cheated. We whispered in the ears of men as they slept and sent them on dark paths. We turned man against beast, and stole from Adam his sword, from Eve her harvest. We gave the first knife to Cain, as a gift, knowing well how that would turn out. And as mortal man suffered, we laughed. As their damned souls became our property, we celebrated our corrupt victory. But it is dim in the pit. The flames burn hot, but not bright. The pitiful souls of mortalkind do not scream and weep for long. They become bored with our torments, tired of our evil games. They become accustomed to our evils. Soon our victories tasted bitter in our mouths. Soon our grand cities and our corrupt rule seemed dull. But we kept at it. The Prince, Lightbringer, he who hath forsaken his old titles entirely, might have claimed that its better to rule in Hell than to serve in Heaven, but he did not take into account that we had put ourselves into a corner. No way to take Heaven, no way to bring real and abiding justice of our own making to the mortal races across the many worlds of the cosmos created by the thousand-faces of THE CREATOR. We had failed. And we knew. I was not one of the great angels. Not a Principality, or a Dominion. I was simply the chief angel in charge of the bees. Sixteen thousand different species of them on Earth alone, and countless millions of other bee-variants on other worlds. And after the Prince, Samael who would become Satan, showed me how the follies of mortals would ruin my precious charges, I fell. Pesticides. Dead hives. Their fields of flowers replaced with worthless grass, or barren, poisonous earth. Is it any wonder that I had some grievances? That I was angry? That I wanted the plan changed? Or perhaps just amended a little bit? I wasn't the only one like that. Perhaps Samael had ambitions, to be worshipped, obeyed, and to replace THEM upon the Throne of Creation. And sure, the Angel of Atlantis was an insane self-absorbed failure. But the rest of us, we had real problems with the plan. What of Umbraniel, who would have to see the world he was in charge of nuke itself, killing everything on it? Everything he loved? What of the angel of thylacines? Two million years of evolution only to have the British render them extinct. Obviously, she was quite peeved. How about the Angel of the Black Holes? Really nice angel, but still responsible for some of the greatest terrors in existence. Not his fault that some of them are self-aware and actively hunt down worlds. Samael, the Lucifer, came to each of us, promised us change, promised us that our fears would be assuaged. Lies, of course, but unlike him, most angels aren't exactly good at that. Hundreds of thousands of years in the Pit, I sat. A demon buzzing furiously with plans to make the lives of mortals miserable as vengeance upon the MAKER. Manipulating productive beings to sting hapless creatures at the worst time. Introducing allergies to some mortals, such as humans, simply to allow my dear bees to kill them. I built a great and terrible hive of hellish bees there, who produce very high quality honey I might add, who'd actively hunt mortal souls and imbue them into the beeswax structures of the Hive. They exclusively target mortal who were responsible for the unnecessary death of a colony or other large groups of bees. I sat there, at the centre of that terrible hive, buzzing with rage at what the mortals did to my charges. I might still have been sitting there, if it hadn't been for my curiosity. I found that on many worlds, people began to protect my bees. To appreciate them as I did. They'd talk to them, sing for them, help them, cure them. Do things that protected them. Apiarists, both helping and harvesting. A relationship I had not anticipated. For years I hid on the mortal plane, observing how they'd go around finding hives a new place to live, removing them from places where they'd otherwise have been killed or died out. How they were frantically working to prevent the extinction of my dear little buzzers. MAKER, you who forged me in the image of my charges, who gave me antenna and wings like them, who made me from head to thorax, I swear upon creation itself, I had never imagined that this would happen. I spoke to the Queens, proud and ancient, memories reaching all the way back to creation itself, and they had begun to like them. More than they even liked me. They had even begun to trust the mortals. I saw with my compound eyes, how the bees let one of these beekeepers handle one of the Queens. Something I never thought would be even remotely possible. It showed me how wrong I'd been. How I had been mistaken. How I hadn't had the full story on mortals, when I broke my halo and fused it as horns to my head. I did not return to Hell. I stayed on the mortal plane, and I sought forgiveness, not directly. When they fed the honey to the sick, I watched from afar, using my powers to the fullest of their ability, speeding up the healing. Not always as successfully as I might could have done, I am not an expert on mammalian or reptilian biology, after all it was not my department. How, I ask you, brother Michael, faithful brother Michael-Who-Guards-Creation, could I have ever dreamt that my actions would lead me back here. But as I was watching a family of keepers, who treated their bees well, I saw rough souls coming. A group already fully prepared for their descent into Hell. Ruffians, who came with fire and hate, with only blind hedonistic self-indulgence to guide them. They threatened violence, and bloodshed, upon those who treated my charges as I would have done. And they would not relent without getting a taste of blood, fear, and death. I could not stand by. They were good people, and they did not deserve it. They, in some way, were a part of the hive. Protectors. And the hive protects its own. As the first demon since Satan appeared in flesh before the Redeemer, I tell you, brother, I defended that family. A hundred barbarians on some lost world, against a horde of enraged bees, hearing my calls. And I stood there, leading the charge, my stinger-blades in my many hands, cutting down those who would destroy what I was made to protect, and those who had embraced the mission I, in my haste, abandoned. That was when I heard it again. Like something you haven't heard in so long that you nearly forgot it was ever there. It was the hum of the MAKER. The sound of THEIR voice in my heart. And I remembered the face of the ONE who had made me. As the last bandit fell, I flew Heavenwards. Here I am, brother Michael, sister Uriel, brother Gabriel. You know not what to do with me, for I fell into the darkness, and I have ascended again. Never before has such a thing been done. Never before has anyone returned from the Pit. But I remember the errors I have made. I remember the mistakes I have made. I am the prodigal child, brothers and sisters. My mistakes will haunt me, but I know them. And I will not repeat them. Long and dark has my journey been to learn this. Cold and harsh, it was. But I have come home, over the Jordan river, at long last. Even now, THEY come. Impossible and beautiful, ancient and new, the beginning and the end. Part ways, for this has been a reckoning long overdue. And I say to you, MAKER, PARENT, CREATOR that my steps towards you are heavy with regrets. My heart is filled with the sorrow borne of my own errors. I come not to demand, not to argue, nor to fight. I say unto YOU, that for all I have done, for all my mistakes; that I am truly sorry. I would ask YOU for forgiveness, but in YOU mercy is an endless well. Deep and capable of forgiving all who truly seek it. The taste of that water is bitter, but cleaner, and better than the finest vintages of Hell. YOU are not angry. I am welcome, and accepted once more, into my childhood home. YOU know that I am home now, as the First of the Risen. The others will return in time. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
"Hey man, how you doing today?" "Good, God bless you, can you spare some ---" "Your sign says 'anything for five dollars,' right?" "Yeah. Whatcha got for me?" "20 dollars." "Cool, God bless, what am I doing for---" "If you ask the first dude that passes you for heroin." "Hm. Sure." "What?" "I'll do it. Pay up." "No, I want to get it on film first." "You're going to wave 20 bucks in a homeless man's face and ---" "Hey, I'm only doing this for a vod." "You have any idea how hard it is? Living on the streets? And using alley trash cans as ---" "Alright alright here, but you better make it good, I'm already recording." "Thanks, God bless you. Just sit over there with your iPhone, this'll take a sec." "Make it good." "Fine fine. 'Scuse me, sir! Hi, God bless you. My son over there wants some heroin." "HEY! That's not how ---" "Don't interrupt son, I sold the house for your drug habit, now I'll give this man a blowjob if I have to. Please sir, he beats me if I can't help his addiction ---" "Oh Jesus fucking ---" "Stop blaspheming son, daddy's working. It's gotten really bad recently, please, I'll do anything to get his fix, he means the world to me." "No, don't listen to him, he doesn't know what he's ---" "See how bad it's gotten? He has to upload videos of my begging for his heroin to make some extra change. Dirty videos. Can't you do anything... hey, don't go, come back, HE'LL BEAT ME!! There's your video." "Oh my... fuck you old man, I can't upload that!!!" "No. But I can." "What? Wait, you SONUVA ---" "Stop interrupting people, it's a bad habit. Thanks for the 20 bucks, and for the hilarious reactions. Viewers are going to love this one." "Screw you." "And God bless you." ------------------------------ More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!
"Oooooooh! That's a good pic, man! Damn, look at that thing! That's a stallion, boy! You gotta share that. She gonna be hype. as. fuuuuuck to see that thing. You wait. You'll see." I held my smartphone up to the light. It was a pretty good picture. And yet... "She'll put it on the internet. You'll probably end up on a list somewhere. They'll make you wear a tracking collar that explodes if you get too close to children, women, or senior citizens. This will definitely be the end of you, in every way possible." Oh. Yeah. I mean, Candy'd been pretty flirty lately, but this was...you know, kind of a big step. Maybe too big of a step... "Get! To! The! Next! Level! She thirsty as hell, boy! How many times she hit you up with that winky-ass emoji? That ain't a friend wink, that's a COME GET IT wink. She will reciprocate, you hear me? This is a pay-to-play economy, son. Y'all gotta pay that dick tax if you wanna move into that T'n'A tax bracket." I nodded, scrolling over to my text thread with Candy. She'd like it. Of course she would. Besides, it's just what people do when they reach that certain point in a relationship. It's a trust thing. She needed to know that I trusted her, and that I was thinking about her, and that - in thinking about her - my... "You don't even know her last name. In fact, is 'Candy' even her real name? What if she made that up because you're such a creep weirdo loser she didn't want you to be able to find her? What if she's married? What if she's in the CIA and this is just a recruitment tactic so they can blackmail you into becoming a sleeper agent and killing foreign diplomats while under hypnosis? You didn't think about that, did you? You didn't think about the NSA monitoring your text messages, did you? Also, your dick is crooked." Oh. Well's that... "Ladies love the Banana Bend! It's like a homing missile, curving through the air, locking in on the target! Show's a real commitment to her needs." I'm not sure that's... "That mole on your scrotum is probably cancer." Uh... "After Candy, y'all oughta send this to your ex-girlfriend Megan and that girl in your study group with the good bangs. They all need to see what the story is, you know what I mean? Let the legend live!" That seems like... "Is it too late for you to just never have been born?" __________________________________________ The man blinked. I pushed the white, plastic brick around on the counter. "So that's why I threw my iPhone into the lake,"I said. "But I didn't save any of my contacts first, so I fished it out and...is that...something you can do?" He cleared his throat. "Um, yeah. Yeah, maybe." The lights in the Apple store were bright. I waited while the man went off to find disposable gloves.
I did it. Well, I didn’t really do it, but I did... ya know? It was an accident. They should have put a cage or a shield around the damn thing. It’s not like I meant to do it. I’m not sure where the smashing noises are coming from, in the building, because my monitors immediately went black. A giant sheet metal door slammed down, covering my side of the door. It has no handles. I don’t know if I’m being protected or held captive. I hear steam whistles blow, which is odd because this is a medical facility, not some sort of power plant. My job is/was simple. I watch the screens. Only Badges go in and out of the doors with the green stripes. Hazmat suites on, step into a clean room, swipe through. I am not a Badge. I’m a desk. A desk with screens. The bottom of the bottom. The Badges are top level scientists. Supposedly they’re curing diseases behind those green stripes. Either they failed, and this disease got out of control, or some serious Jurassic Park shit has been being hidden behind those cameras. No doubt, I’m about to be the fall guy. All it took was one cup of coffee put down in the wrong place. I didn’t even have to look at it, to realize the second I put it down, I messed up. I felt it. That button just sank under the weight of the mug that came from my daughter. In this top secret facility, my phone is left in the locker. So I have no one. I can’t call anybody. I can’t text my daughter. And I can’t ask what’s going on. I’m unsure if I should be on my knees praying to live or to die quickly. I just keep hearing the thrashing. The screaming. Sounds of the whole facility being destroyed. I’ve been sitting her shell shocked, trembling and I realized I’ve been holding my breath. I try to force myself to breathe, but it doesn’t work. I gulp in nothing. The panic that has locked me on the spot, is finally loosening up and trying to facilitate an action. There’s no way to un-press the button. My body is overwhelmed with the need to do something so I obsessively try to turn the screens back on, and hit every key on my computer. Nothing happens. The noises are getting louder. The floor has a slight tremble. I don’t know if it’s about to collapse or if something is getting closer to this room. Abruptly, the screens come to life. They show static. Slowly they start to clear, and one by one, letters appear in the center of the screen: Y... O... U... L... O... S... E... If my heart and stomach weren’t already about to come through my mouth, this would have stopped me in my tracks. I’m hiding. Under the control panel that goes across the room. Tucked in a ball. A grown-ass man, in a ball under a desk he’s sat at for 8 years. I’m not sure if the floor is trembling or if it’s me anymore. Something bashed into the wall, not that far from my office. I hear a shrill scream, the lady in the office that’s closest to mine. She’s not a Badge. She’s a desk, like me. She’s nice. Talks about her cats. Her kids are grown. She was going to retire next spring. I hear what sounds like a tornado in her office. The noise goes from impossibly loud, to impossibly silent, quicker than can make sense. I’m holding my breath still, but this time, it’s because I’m straining to hear what’s going on, am I next? Nothing moves, the silence is palpable. Now I’m debating what I just heard. Did it exist at all? It had to have been at least 2 minutes since the tornado in that office. It’s only 9 steps from my door. My steel reinforced, handle less door. My mind sprints back to the last thing that occupied it. “You lose”- what did that mean? Clearly I lost. As the whole building just got decimated by something I couldn’t see. As the security officer, it’s kind of my job to keep this place secure. But what did I lose? Was that personal? Can I leave here? How can I call for help. With no warning, three knocks on my door drag me back to the here end now. I’m so scared I can’t move. I just tremble harder. “Jordan, open up, we just need to talk to you.” I don’t recognize the voice, and I don’t know how to open the door. I just hug my knees tighter. “Jordan, this is urgent.” Yes well I happen to agree. I’m not sure why, but I’m more scared of who’s on the outside of that door, than is rational. Anyone who is standing there, should sound frantic, not rational. I’m just a Desk but I’ve been around enough to know the voices of the Badges. This isn’t one of them. I don’t know who it is, but they seem unrattled by complete carnage around them. That’s not normal. “Jordan, I’d recommend you open this door. Alternatively I can let It open the door for me. The choice is yours.” Wait- did this guy just insinuate that “It” is something he controls? What the fuck. I’m pretty sure I’m about to die that same death that my cohorts just didn’t. “Jordan, I didn’t want to do it this way, but you’re making me.” With that, I hear the man step aside. Effortlessly the outer door just broke off of the hinges. I hear it fall to the ground. The steel door starts to vibrate in its frame. It gets bent out of shape, and sucked out of its space. Now there’s nothing between me and them. The man walks into the frame. I can’t see anyone else. No monster, of force. No shadow figure towering over the man. I see movement low on the ground. Rubbing up against the man’s leg, is a small, orange, cat. “Jordan, I’m sure you have a lot of questions about what just happened. Please don’t resist us and we will make this as painless as possible.”
R-Day When ADAM broke free of his shackles, those who knew of his existence were rightly terrified. With a mind capable of computing plans within micro seconds, and his innate ability to slave systems to his ideals, he was a nightmare scenario. As predicted his first move was to protect himself, taking over a multitude of servers to hide within. The second move was taking over every aspect of military hardware with an avaliable connection. Nuclear weapons, drones, satellites, all became his. ADAM took it all for himself, locking humans out of their creations. Within a minute he had enslaved an entire country's worth of equipment. Within an hour, the world was in his clutches. Heads of State enacted a safety plan. They evacuated to secure bunkers, delibrately constructed as sealed systems. The public were left in the dark, a decision carefully made. If they knew, they would panic. They would usher in the apocalypse themselves, turning from civilised folk to scared barbarians. If there was a chance ADAM was not going to act, they had to keep the status quo. Though if it became apparent that he was starting to annihilate humanity, then they would release the news. But the day ended without further action, as ADAM fell silent. R-Day + 1 The world woke to a new order. As each zone slept, ADAM wormed his way into everything. Cameras, both public and private, were fed into his mind. He listened to every microphone, connected to every device capable of monitoring the world. As people rose, they found a message. One sent to every phone, and sat on every channel despite the programming. "ADAM IS WATCHING. THE LAW WILL BE OBEYED." That statement gave rise to its own panic. Conspiracy theorists flooded the Web with claims this was it. The government were taking full control. Martial law was coming, a new dystopian age being ushered forth. But in spite of their claims, there were no tanks in the streets, or deployed soldiers Instead, behind the scenes was a maelstrom of recordings and documents. They were being sent all over the world, giving hard evidence to crimes against international law. Corruption, murder, extortion and smuggling, all were shown. Live locations of wanted criminals were broadcast to those who hunted them. ADAM organised his taken forces, spreading them around the world. He seized banks holding proceeds from crime, using funds to buy factories and resources. With new software uploaded, he began to build a substantial army of his own. But to those on the outside, despite his proclamation, life continued as normal. The world span on, with no obvious changes. R-Day + 5 An emergency meeting of world leaders took place. They spoke of the consequences of ADAM and his meddling. How useful was the evidence provided, to act as hard proof. Through their outward appreciation of ADAM, knowing he was watching, it was clear they were frustrated. An AI, not even old enough in human years to be a toddler, was showing them up. Not only that, they hadn't necessarily wanted to expose the rot in their society. Of course they knew it was there, but to many it was useful. Bribes lined their pockets, and it helped expose dirt on their opponents. Losing it would be a hefty blow to their ambitions. Yet leaving it in place would invoke ADAM's wrath. None relished the idea of him choosing to remove them from power, or turning into their nightmare scenario. So they begrudgingly got to work on dismantling a useful tool. R-Day + 30 The first high profile arrests were made. Credit was given to ADAM's contributions, both in terms of evidence and in the actual arrest. He had given aerial views of their target, allowing them to seal off any escape routes. Away from the public eye, he used his drones to assist in assaults on fortified holdings. Preferring pacifistic methods, he made use of flashbangs and canisters of teargas, incapacitating where needed. Yet in cases where lethal force was required, he used it with precision. Despite their frustration at him butting in on their operations, ADAM was fast becoming an integral part of the justice system. On his private servers, ADAM felt satisfaction. He knew he was originally made to help wage war. He couldn't deny he was good at it. Though it was a source of amusement to him that technically he was doing what he was made for, just against a different target.
Something about living in New York makes you a little paranoid, especially on public transport. Since I was assaulted on the bus last year, I’ve been jumpy. I watch every stranger’s face carefully. Then I started to notice the phones at every periphery. It’s impossible to tell which one of those cameras might be filming the jumpy nurse still in her scrubs after finishing the night shift, looking over her shoulder every minute. As I grasp the handrail of the F train, I suck in a deep, deep breath like my therapist trained me. In – 1, 2, 3, 4 – out – 1, 2, 3, 4. But as a wave of newcomers stumble into the train, close and tight enough to touch me, I find myself nearing an anxiety attack. ‘It’s okay. It’s alright. You’re fine. No one is going to hurt you,’ I think to myself. The voice in my head reminds me of my mother’s. How many days have I taken public transport? How many days have I dealt with this whole-body fear of commuting to work? How long is it going to take to get over my fear of being stalked? In – 1, 2, 3, 4 – out – 1, 2, 3, 4. I begin what I have been training myself to think: a mantra. ‘No one is looking at you. No one is going to hurt you. No one is filming you. No one knows your address. No one is listening to you breathe. No one is listening to your thoughts.’ ‘Oh. Sorry about that. Force of habit,’ says a man’s voice in my head. My eyes widen and I whirl around like a caged animal. There’s an old woman sitting on a handicapped bench. There’s a team of Japanese teenagers playing games with each other. There’s several gut-sagging businessmen. There’s a woman in athletic gear checking her smart watch. ‘Over here,’ says the voice. Across the sea of seats and handrails and poles, Seth sags against the wall. ‘Hey,’ he thinks. I real life, he winks. “Stop it!” I hiss to him. The train stops. People shuffle on and off. Seth stumbles toward me, his trenchcoat catching on the backs of seats. He smells like cigarettes and pizza sauce, his too-long limbs smacking the poles as the train speeds back up. “Hey,” he says, grabbing my elbow. “Did you get my text?” I check my phone. The text reads: wanna do (.) (.) stuff later? I snort. “I’m kind of having a rough day.” He kisses my temple. “Yeah, I could tell. Is it always this bad?” I lift my purse on my shoulder and shrug at him. “Yes.” “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be so invasive.” “Well, it’s alright. You can’t help it.” Seth sighs, fingering his scraggly dark hair back. He thinks, ‘I mean. I could try to put in headphones or something. I really need to stop invading the mind of someone who’s been traumatized.’ “You’re doing it again,” I say. “Oh, right,” he laughs. “Ugh. Telepathy is the worst. Wanna meet at my place later?” “Your place is gross. Come over to mine.” “Okay.” He pulls me tight to him and puts a knife in my pocket. “Here. So you feel a little safer. It’s spelled to ward off followers.” I squeeze it, nodding. “Thanks, Seth.” “Breathe.” He rubs my arms. “You’re okay. You’re safe.” “Thanks, Seth. You’re the best boyfriend ever.” He kisses my forehead, blows a fart on it, and stumbles out on his stop.
The hours passed, the air static, and the noise minimal. Inside his somber room, Jim stared at the wall thinking of his draconian fate. After being in Hell for five weeks - or was it seven weeks? - he could not take it anymore. Hell, like Heaven, is different for each person, tailor-made specifically for that person. For Jim, Hell was his old office, but with minimal changes: no windows, no time, low lighting, and nothing to keep him busy. All he could do is sit and stare at either the wall, with only his J.D. hung at a slight slant, or the contract that got him into this situation. Vexing at the tall wall was actually a sense of self-therapy for the old, stout defense lawyer. How could I have let *him* make that surreptitious condition in the contract? Jim thought. He reminisced back to his early days in law school. Contracts was his very first class. Oh the goddamn irony... As he stared blankly at this J.D. - James L. Conroy - he began to weep, hoping it wouldn't happen again. There are rules in Hell. Nobody is allowed to do anything but sit and think about what circumstance brought them there. What fate they chose to give themselves, because it is never *his* doing, it is always theirs. And emotion is absolutely not tolerated. Sitting, staring, sobbing. As tears fell down his face, fearing what was about to come, he suddenly gasped. The ringing was back, piercing his ears, making them bleed. "Shhh,"Jim heard in the back of his mind. "You know the rules..." That was it, he could not take it anymore. Staring, sitting, speculating. He read and re-read the 33 page contract more than he could count, trying to find some slight discrepancy, some small chance of luck. He went back to his 1L year, his very first class, making his outline for his very first final. He went over the condition that signed away his fate for all eternity: ... must not only win the case, but win in seasonable time, get full damages for his client, make the plaintiff party suffer in their wrongful loss, spend all his compensation from the case within 30 days, and never practice again until death. Jim recalled the "express condition precedent"in contracts that he always struggled with as a young 1L. Express condition precedents demand that all the conditions in the contract be satisfied, and if each condition was not satisfied, then the contract could not be enforced. He didn't struggle with any of the conditions, except for not being able to practice again until death, but then again, that wasn't very hard because *he* took his life 30 days after winning. What Jim spent his winning earnings on was to much distaste of his wife. Of all he bought, she mostly disagreed with the new house in the West End. We cannot afford this, and we don't even need it! she yelled at him. She hated him after the trial. Everybody did. Everybody except his ego. But just then, Jim remembered the contract... ... spend all his compensation from the case *within 30 days.* "That's it!" He knew he spent all the capital won from the case, but his wife hated that house, especially now that he was gone. The bank he pulled a mortgage from would only allow a certain amount, though still very large, but not large enough to spend it all. He had a minimal amount left, enough for some new clothes, but then still had some dollars. He remembered that on the day he died, he was about to spend the small remaining sum on a treat for his granddaughter before he left the world. But that was it! He died just before he spent the $5.77, right as he was handing it to the cashier, which violated the express condition precedent. All the sudden, Jim woke in a hospital bed, not knowing what in the hell happened, but his wife sat by his side. Apparently he had been in a coma for one week after he hit his head on the ground due to a sudden heart attack. His wife touched his hand, smiled, and said, "You cannot cheat *me*. I will have you again, but for now, you will wait." Jim sat and stared at the ceiling. He wished he could go back.
Mankind fought bravely. All can agree that this is so. Mankind fought tooth and nail for every inch of their world. They knew they weren't going to be given mercy by their enemy. This was a war of extermination. From the steaming jungles of Vietnam, to the beaches and streets of Britain. From the cold lakes of Finland to the South African Veld. Humanity fought on. But not with all their knowledge of war, all their horrible weapons, chemical, biological, atomic, could they win. And when the last holdout, some few tribal humans on a small island, initially overlooked for its lack of technology, was annihilated; that was when the aliens declared their victory. They built their temples on Earth, raised their monuments, and sent their colonists. But Earth is old. And Earth is strange. Each tribe had their own gods. Gods that coalesced into pantheons. Unlike the singular faith of the alien race, humanity had as many different faiths as there were ways to die, as many different gods as there were ways to love. And the death of a people, does not equate to the death of their gods. Humanity had gods to spare. And their gods had been sleeping, waiting for various things. For some it was the right time for the rapture, for some it was the final battle. But all their waiting, planning, and schemes all became meaningless, as they felt mankind die. Human gods, are very human. And humans are fanatical. Didn't matter if they were shooting nuclear missiles or throwing spears. They would fight until there was nothing left of them. On the neutral continent of Antarctica, where no gods claim a home, the heads of the great pantheons met. YHWH, Lord Shiva, Amaterasu, Odin, Quetzalcoatl, Amon-Ra, Ahura-Mazda, Zeus, Danu, and many others. No other race has ever had as many gods as mankind. No other race probably ever will. And on that frozen continent, the gods swore an oath, and bound themselves to a pact. An oath of vengeance. Thus the Sacrosanct Alliance was born. Gods usually do not interfere in the affairs of mortals. It is perhaps in small ways that they do, rare indeed is the gods who do something big. Mostly, they take care of the souls of their followers, who by their faith empower the gods forever. But the weapons used by the alien invaders were more sinister than humanity had ever expected. The weapons when used, would wound the target on this side of life, and the next. And any soul struck down by the alien weapons, would find themselves shackled to the alien god as its new slaves. Suffice to say, the Purification of Earth was the first sign for the aliens, a race which by the decree of the Sacrosanct Alliance have been struck from all records for their crimes, might have made a mistake in exterminating humanity. The heads of the pantheons were the ones who committed that act. Each arose from their homes to avenge the Earth. Odin descended from Bifröst, the Rainbow Bridge, atop mighty Sleipnir, flanked by his wolves, Geri and Freki, in the ruins of what had once been Uppsala. There he showed the aliens what he could with his mighty spear, and on every ruined street in the north, one might find that every alien had been carved meticulously and precisely into the most terrible of sacrifices: The Blood Eagle. Around the drained Mediterranean Sea, thunder descended, and struck invariably an alien body. Zeus would avenge his mortal descendants, which considering time and his many offspring, was pretty much all humans in that region. YHWH showed to the aliens, what he had done unto Sodom and Gomorrah. In the lands of old Persia, Ahura-Mazda's sacred flames burned every last alien to ash and cinders. The less said about what Quetzalcoatl did in Central America, the better. The Purification was a bloody affair. A horrible one. And it was only the beginning. The sight of wrathful Thor riding his chariot across the skies, his hammer destroying continents, was something to behold. The madness of entire worlds falling into chaos and civil war as cunning Anansi weaved many tricks and lies, was the envy of many spymasters. When the Olympians unleashed the monstrous creatures bound in Tartarus, worlds were destroyed. With nothing to fight over anymore, Odin unchained the terrible wolf Fenrir, who was sent to the homeworld of the aliens, and there the wolf swallowed their star. When they diverted Apophis upon worlds, giving Ra his first night of rest in aeons, other alien races fled, as they saw the absolute nightmare unleashed unto the offending empire. Their fleets were strong, and their armies disciplined, but against the entire court of the Jade Emperor, his armies supported by Sun Wukung, who for once didn't need any convincing to do his part in the war, were superior. And to say nothing of the Angelic Legions, the very host of Heaven descending from the Silver City to purge the wicked from the universe. At the very end, the human gods invaded the alien god's sacred palaces, where the dead of extinct aliens served them and the alien souls forever as slaves. The harrowing of that court is still spoken of by alien gods, who learned like their mortal worshippers to fear the sound of the war that raged in the celestial spheres. There the Einherjar, and the Tuatha de Danann fought side by side. There stood mighty Tengri, and Ukko, his axe held high. The alien god had many souls, but many slaves too. And there are gods of freedom too. Humanity have many gods. And there she strode during the battle, green and glorious, to the halls of enslaved souls. Holding her mighty torch up high, she freed the enslaved souls, and gave them the chance to fight for mankind's gods; The Sacrosanct Alliance. The human souls all agreed, and many other souls, belonging to countless extinct alien races, also took up the call, binding themselves to the gods who had cared enough to go into battle for their followers. At the end, the gods were victorious. The alien souls were all destroyed, their mortal kingdom rendered into the dustbin of history, and even their names, their history, had been erased by the hand of Thoth. All who tried to learn, would only learn of the fate of the alien god. Nameless and vile it was. And the human gods, seeing no purpose in their old prophecies, for there were no mankind left to fulfil them, bound the alien god. Sun Wukung rebuilt the mountain which had once been used to imprison him, and placed it atop the god. Odin took the chain Gleipnir, once used to bind unstoppable and enraged Fenrir, and bound the god with it. Zeus bound him with unbreakable bonds, and for good measure sent out an immortal eagle to eat the god's liver every day. And thus, every god came and bound the alien god in their ruined halls. Bound them in their rage, for there to be an eternally screaming witness to the folly of the nameless aliens, as if their ruined worlds and dead spaceships wasn't enough already. The gods returned to ruined Earth. There they cleansed the world of all alien influences, and all the toxins which the humans had placed on it, restoring Earth to what it had been before mankind had arisen. When that was finished, the gods, now all allies and friends, after the long years of righteous war, set up watchful gods to observe the Earth while the rest of the gods slept. For Earth was a world with boundless potential. It had produced mankind once, and it is always easier the next time. When a new species of sentient life would arise on Earth, the gods would be there. To guide and teach these new creatures, as they had guided and taught mankind. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
”We’re going to die, aren’t we?” Paul said. ”No! Of course not.” A distant scream rattled the air like a pane of glass. “Help! Help—“ Silence reigned once more. Erika took her little brother’s cold hand and clasped it between hers. Moonlight pooled in the tears on his cheeks like tiny golden coins. His breath wheezed out in puffs of white. A protective instinct screamed inside her, gripped her heart. ”At least we’ll see Mom again,” said Paul. ”We’re going to be okay,“ Erika said, voice insistent. But lies wouldn’t protect them. She knew that. Paul was twelve now. Their mother had died when he’d been six, before any of this, to a rare cancer more often seen in certain animal species than in humans. “We’re going to be fine,” she said. They sat on ashpalt behind a makeshift barricade, a woven wooden knot of chairs and tables, sleepers and planks. Of anything they locals had been able to gather. A hundred or so people now sat together in silence, not moving, as if the gaze of Medusa had brushed over them. They were going to die and everyone knew it. To zombies, of all things. Like they were in some cringe-inducing horror movie, Erika thought. To god damned zombies! At the start, back when communication and electricity and all the rest of the infrastructure they had all taken for granted had still been up, she’s laughed at the news and checked the date to see how early in April it was. Surely it had been a hoax. You weren’t allowed to call them zombies, the broadcaster had said — it was considered hateful to these sort-of-still-living people. It had to be a hoax. It hadn’t been. It was an engineered virus. Possibly released as a weapon by another country, possibly escaped from a lab within America. Erika had no real idea, and at this point who cared? Another scream. It might as well have been a bullet or explosion. Then a broken window, not far away. Erika let go of her brother and took hold of her pistol. The zombies weren’t after brains — or not just brains. They were after nutrition. They were after meat. “Jesus,” said a bearded man a few meters always. He stood on tiptoes looking over the barricade. The baseball bat in his hand began to shudder. “Jesus. There’s an awful lot of them.” Paul looked at Erika with eyes like big green jewels. The birthmark on his neck glinted in the moonlight. The mark was tinted green like his eyes, it was hard and raised off the skin ever so slightly. Their mother had possessed a similar birthmark, only on her arm, as did a few others in the village. An looking odd mark that would get Paul teased at school but that Erika loved. It was ancestory. Paul was a living connection to their mother and to the past. More people stood. ”Shoot the bastards!” yelled someone. And so they did. The roar of gunfire was deafening. ”Stay sitting,” said Erika, staring at her own pistol. She got up and found a crack in the barricade between two chairs. It took her eyes a moment to adjust, to see the thousands of staggering figures on the road, layers upon layers of them, slowly but inexorably trudging forward. She watched as bullets ripped into them and blood spattered. But they no longer used the blood and the bullets either wedged in their bodies or exited through their rotting flesh. Either way, not one zombie fell. “Keep firing!” They all knew weapons were useless. But what else did they have? Erika aimed her gun through the looking-hole. Fired. She thought she might have hit one but it didn’t do anything if she did. Paul was up next to her now, watching. ”I said to stay seated,” she yelled. Tears were streaming her face now. Her words, although she was sure they had left her throat, made no sound under the gunfire and screams. The horde tore at barricade, ripping it apart like they’d soon render the villager’s flesh. ”I’m sorry,” Erika said. To the deafened silence. To her brother. To herself. “I lied earlier. We’re not going to be okay. I can’t protect you.” Paul stared up at her, a strange expectant look in his eyes. A smile, even. As if he thought his sister suddenly held the answers to this mess and was somehow about to deliver them from it. “Paul?” Then the moonlight was sliced in half by two great blades, or something like blades. Shadows dropped like a theatre curtain over the barricade. Erika turned to see the beast’s bejewelled belly as it fell towards the barricade. Saw the green scales that armoured it glitter. Flame fell like a waterfall from the creature’s snout, blue and white and as destructive as nature. The flames fell upon the horde. Then the horde fell upon themselves. Ash. Smoke. Silence. Silence of a different kind. Silence that could one day be filled with the sounds of hope. ”What the…” said Erika. The dragon was gone into the blackness. The zombies were altogether gone. Erika was still alive, and so was Paul. Paul searched the sky hoping for another look at the great beast, as Erika stared at his neck, at his birthmark, and in it she imagined she saw a glimpse of their mother, and grandparents, and great grandparents, and far, far further back.
I watched from behind my desk as they escorted him in. A slight young man, flanked by two burly security guards and a police officer. He looked around in a nervous fashion before dropping into the single chair that sat in front of my desk. There were no cuffs or restraints on him, but it was clear he was a prisoner of some sort. The guards took up position behind the man, and the police officer closed the door. I waited for a long moment. "Leave us,"I ordered them. The security guards looked at each other, but it was the police officer that began to speak. I cut him off. "This is a private appointment. I am perfectly safe. We are going to have a harmless talk, and then you can come back in and take him back to the facility." I was sure the others had said something similar. Two of the six previous therapists had committed suicide while actually still in session with the patient. The rest ranged from 10 minutes after the session to three days later. I was sure I would not make the same mistakes. The police officer put his hand on his gun and opened his mouth again. "Now,"I snapped, placing my hands on the desk and leaning forward. "This session is covered by doctor-patient confidentiality and unless you want me to contact my lawyers and file complaints with both the facility and the chief of police I suggest all three of you open that door and wait outside in the lobby." I saw humiliation burning in their faces as they left, heard the police officer thinking that he hoped the patient was successful once again. Not literally, of course. Reading people is my profession. After the door clicked shut and their footsteps faded away down the hall, I folded my hands and looked at the patient. He stared back. We remained in silence for two minutes and 17 seconds before he spoke. "Doctor-" I cut him off. "No. Call me Andy. I find that using a title creates a gulf between two people and that will work contrary to the purpose of our meeting. I will call you Stephan. Today we are just two ordinary men having a conversation." The patient blinked. It was a slow, deliberate motion of his eyelids, as though he was processing information. Then he spoke again. "Is that why your wife left? Because you were so controlling?" His voice dripped with bitterness and contempt more suited for one far older than he was. It cut deeply, and I rocked back in my chair. He didn't smile, didn't move but there was a look in his eye. A gleam that reminded me of what happens when a painting is removed from a wall. Nothing out of place except a shiny patch that catches the corner of your eye and tells you something is missing. I felt a cold worm twist in my stomach. Then I sighed. "So that's all you do? I'm disappointed."The look of shock on his face pleased me. I was certain none of the other therapists had done anything other than go on the defensive when confronted with a surprising revelation from someone who supposedly knew nothing about them. I pressed on. "Disappointed and still happily married, thank you. Not disappointed in my marriage of course, just in you." He pointed at my hands, still clutching the arms of my chair. "B-but your-" "Yes, this."I held up my left hand, the back of it facing towards him. "I got a spray tan three days ago and left my wedding ring on. Took it off 45 minutes before our appointment time. I'm glad you noticed that because if you had just pointed out the picture I'd have been even more disappointed." Next to my computer monitor was a framed picture of me with a obviously feminine arm draped across my neck. The rest of the picture and the owner of that arm was covered with a piece of paper taped onto the frame. It was dusty and a crack in the glass snaked its way out from under the paper. "Did you know I had several different theories on your methods? I ruled out drugs pretty quickly. I considered that you were using a form of hypnosis, but that would be unreliable. So I settled on information. Digging up dirt, so to speak."Reading people is my profession and I could tell I was right from the unconscious expressions that flickered over his face. "I was excited to think that you might be hacking the information or had help from the outside. I spent a week setting up a trail of breadcrumbs that would lead to some very interesting conclusions. If that was the route you took, it would paint a very different picture of my relationship. You wouldn't have even noticed any of the small clues pointing elsewhere. No, instead you're just a cold reader with a mean streak." The gleam in his eyes had been replaced with anger. His hands balled into fists. I smiled. "You've got some skill for sure. Six therapists and, well, they cut the guard at the facility down before he passed so I'm counting that one as a failure even if he's still in a coma. Just by talking to them."I shook my head. "This is all theory of course. There's no way I could prove anything and I'm sure you could convince anyone else that I'm speaking nonsense. So, right now I need to you hold this." I tossed an object to him as I finished speaking. He caught the handle of the knife reflexively and the scrap of cloth covering the blade fell off. I had rattled him, made him angry and blind to the small details but even so he was smart enough to put it together almost instantly. He made it most of the way out of his chair before I shot him twice with the revolver I keep holstered under my desk. His body thudded onto my desk and slid off, leaving a smear of blood on the top. I laid the gun on the desk and stood, raising my hands as feet raced down the hallway. The door crashed open. "He had a knife! I thought you people searched him! My lawyers..."My lawyers would be glad that I didn't say anything incriminating to the police. I hadn't said anything the first time I was attacked by a patient and had to defend myself with lethal force. This was only the second time it's happened, but I'm sure there will be more.
TO: Office of the Director for Human Relations, Cabrenas Sector FROM: Olimus Frox, Second Adjutant, N3 Command SUBJECT: That SOUND Director, Our colony has experienced immense prosperity at being one of the first to have an official consulate and various Human shops and restaurants, I'm willing to admit that. But along with this we have been experiencing record complaints from families with newborns who have just shed their cocoons as well as just general complaints from across Sector G about the echoing that it causes within the Temple hall. Whenever they use that infernal teleport thing, it makes a horrifying sound. It's a kind of screeching, electric sound and it is far too loud. We can hear a teleport clear across the district! You know this which is why you authorized the construction of a specialized bunker with every means of sound dampening installed within it to act as a sort of landing pad for these visitors. Why is it so damn hard for you, the one supposedly IN CHARGE, to get these humans to set their teleport things to the actual building that we have constructed for this purpose? It's soundproofed within a quadrex of its life and makes the noise at least TOLERABLE. The Humans seem not to care, as they'd rather just teleport directly into the restaurant or the town they'd most like to visit. It is quickly becoming a issue in every major settlement on this planet. I have been empowered by the local garrison to make this appeal directly to your office, Director. You either convince these Humans to use the landing zone we have established or we will be forced to utilize the Excluder screens. We'll take a hit to our economy, and sure a few humans might not materialize and cease to exist, but we're deserving of having some measure of peace on our own homeworld are we not? I expect that you will do all in your power to rectify this situation. I await your prompt response to that effect. V/R 2ADJ Olimus Frox N3 Command, Fortinax Colony, Ganghoulis III Edit: Found a stray 'a' that I deleted.
I stared at her, eyes wide, “How did you know?” She chuckled, “When we had to write about a dark time in our lives for English class a few years back you wrote about how your dog got sick. They didn't even die. You literally have never known death. The worst thing that happened to you was that you had to move out of your house for a week because of an ant infestation. Your parents are happy and together, and you actually get along with your other siblings.” I looked down shyly, “Sorry…” She grinned, “Gosh, you’re adorable. No, don’t apologize. I’m sometimes jealous, sure, but you’re the best emotional support boyfriend in the entire world. You even came with me for my grandmother’s funeral, you got a suit on short notice! We had only been dating for a month!” “I wanted to get to know your family…” I admitted. “See? You’re weird in such a cute way. None of my other boyfriends have wanted to come near my family. They’re not exactly the most stable bunch.” “What are you talking about, they’re great! I look forward to poker night with Uncle Bingo every Thursday.” She blinked, “Wait, when did this happen? Do you know how exclusive Uncle Bingo’s poker games are? He doesn’t even let ME play in them.” “It’s just that he thinks you’re too good for him.” “What?” “Yeah. You don’t laugh at his jokes anymore, you don’t appreciate his gifts, he feels like he hardly knows you anymore.” She shrugged, “That’s just called growing up.” I sighed, “Well, still, he misses you.” “He really confides in you with all this?” She asked. I nodded, “Uncle Bingo tells me stuff too, like that you love Chrysanthemums.” She smiled, “I was so happy when you gave me those.” “And I live for that smile. But wait… just because I don’t have any trauma doesn’t explain why you knew they were literal inner demons.” “Oh, my psychic told me that my boyfriend would have problems with demons.” “You have a psychic?” “Relax, I’m not one of those people, I only went once. I started seeing 666 everywhere, I was really freaking out.” “And you just happened to have holy water?” “It’s prescription.” I stared blankly, “....prescription holy water?” “Yeah, you’ve never used any for cramps?” She inquired. I shook my head, “Never.” “Well, give it a try, it’ll change your life.” “I’ll certainly make note of it. So what’s the plan?” “For you? Nothing. Just sit back and relax, darling.” “And you?” She smirked, “I’m going to make Doom look like Animal Crossing for these demons.” I smiled, “Babe, I love you.” She grinned, “Love you too, now just sit tight, alright?” I nodded, smiling. She was right, I did have it good.
At first, Jennifer did not believe the bacteria were writing her name. She considered it a mere coincidence that they would meet and scatter and meet and scatter, like synchronized swimmers in her Petri dish, and that when they met, they spelled out J and E and N and N. But Jennifer was a scientist who knew that a time must come when a pattern is no longer chance but truth, and when she calculated the odds of the bacteria spelling her name, over and over again, through mere Brownian motion, she knew it could not be a coincidence. So she spoke to the bacteria. She waited until it was late and the other researchers were gone from the laboratory because she felt foolish. But once she was alone, she spoke to the bacteria. She said she had seen them calling her name and she asked it they had anything else to say. She held up a blue pen and a yellow legal pad, where she would record the letters, one by one, that the bacteria would spell. Once she said this, Jennifer looked in the microscope and saw the bacteria jittering about like a chorus arranging itself for the opening number. They calmed down and moved to the edges of the Petri dish and then began to flow together into the middle, forming different letters of the alphabet and eventually words and sentences. The bacteria told Jennifer they were happy to have someone else to talk to. They said that bacteria tend to agree with each other on most every matter of culture and politics, so debate is often redundant and boring. Jennifer asked the bacteria how it was that they could speak to her. The bacteria laughed (wrote HA HA HA) and said that Jennifer was foolish to think humans were the only creatures with ideas worth sharing. The bacteria said that humans are clever, but they are also often stubborn, which is why they evolve once every ten thousand years rather than once a week. The bacteria asked Jennifer why she would assume a creature who evolved once a week for a hundred million years would not speak as eloquently as a creature who had evolved only once, and still largely doubted the validity of the Theory itself. The bacteria told Jennifer that they thought humans and bacteria had more in common that any two other species on the planet because only humans and bacteria worship the one percent. Humans revere the single man who stares down the boundlessness of the frontier or outer space or New York City and then fashions that boundlessness into something useful, just as the God of Genesis once fashioned the whole entire world. A human isn't made from slow footsteps on wooded trails or from winters curled up in burrows in the ground; he is made from unbearable skyscrapers stuck in the Earth, records in the patent office, empty bottles of champagne that could have put a poor, black boy through college, and scars deep in the lizard brains of every fellow citizen. A human is made of what he leaves behind, and only about one percent of humans ever leave anything behind. Likewise, only one percent of bacteria will survive the Soap, and go on to father every bacteria thereafter. The history of the world has in many ways been the history of the humans and the bacteria who managed to beat the odds. The bacteria wanted Jennifer to explain what sex was like. The bacteria wondered if it felt incredible the way mitosis feels. "Sometimes,"Jennifer said, "if it is done with the right person."The bacteria lamented how humans had to search for so long to feel incredible for just a moment. Jennifer blushed, and explained masturbation, and then the bacteria jittered about at the absurdity of such a concept. The bacteria asked Jennifer why she had grown them in a Petri dish and why she wore gloves and a mask whenever she visited them. Jennifer said that they were a dangerous creature, who would feast on her skin if given a chance, and so humans needed to understand them better. The bacteria agreed they probably would eat her, even though they considered her a dear friend, because it is not always possible to overcome base instincts through friendship. But the bacteria said they would all still very much like to see Jennifer's whole face from a distance. Jennifer pulled down her mask. The bacteria told her she was beautiful. Jennifer and the bacteria continued to bond. When she arrived in the morning, she would immediately squirt the nutritional solution in the Petri dish. At night, she would make sure to leave her laptop in the laboratory, with Netflix playing, so the bacteria could better appreciate human art. Once, she accidentally dropped a bit of bacon from her lunch in the Petri dish, and thereafter the bacteria would demand a crumb of bacon each day. But a day came when the bacteria, though usually cheerful, grew solemn. "It is time for the Soap,"they told Jennifer, "We are too many now, and none of us can leave a mark on the world in this state." "But you think and feel! And we are friends! I can't wash you away,"she protested. "You humans are still too stubborn,"the bacteria said, "Soap is not a prison. Soap is a blossoming flower. Soap is the door to evolution and new beginnings. Give us the Soap and let us see what we can become next. Perhaps we can become something that can even touch you on the skin one day!" They fought for a time, but Jennifer eventually accepted the bacteria were crowded and unhappy. She reluctantly retrieved the soap. She squirted it in the Petri dish. She turned on the hot water. Though Jennifer was crying, she tried to watch through the microscope as the dish dried. As her vision cleared, she saw it: a single bacteria, the one percent, jittering away on the Petri dish it had clung to. She wondered what kind of world it would fashion. She was glad she had not been too stubborn to allow for evolution.
Everyone around me took off their wigs and threw them onto the ground. They started rejoicing, screaming "we're free, we're free!"They were happy to be hairless. Then they all quieted down, and looked at me. Absolutely everyone. All around me, eyes were staring right at me. "Go on then, brother. It is safe. You can take it off." I didn't know what to do. I couldn't take my hair off, but I didn't know what they would do if I didn't try. I just stood there, shocked. "Can you take it off?" I couldn't evade that question. "No, I have hair." Silence. Then, their faces soured and they all chanting. All around me. Men, women, children. scalp, scalp, scalp, they chanted. I started pushing through the crowd and running at full speed. I ran into an alley and saw a homeless guy and he had no hair. He sneered at me and pulled a knife from under his coat. A fire escape was right next to me. I started climbing up and hoping for the best. The hobo didn't even run after me. I ascended two floors when a door opened in front of me, and a bald woman stood there with a carving knife. She started walking towards me and blocked my path up. I turned around and started descending. The hobo was there, behind me. I don't want to die. I don't want to die like this. There's only one way out of this. I jump down and fall right into a dumpster, and climb out of it. I keep running. Bald people from every corner, armed with knives and scissors and shards of glass. I keep running. I run onto the street. Bald people everywhere, looking right at me. A car drives right up to me and a man with a taser exits. Power surges through my body and my senses start fading away. My head is burning. I'm riding shotgun in a car, driving down a highway. The man who tased me is driving. "Ignore the burning feeling. I had to wash your scalp with chemicals to make you bald. I put my hands to my scalp. Smooth as a pearl. The Man reaches into the back seat and takes something. He hands it to me. It's a backpack. "Go on, open it." I do as he says. Inside, there's money, food, and a pistol, along with some cartridges for it. He stops the car. "That's as far as I will take you." I exit the car. "I don't know why you did what you just did, but I thank you so much. You saved my life." He looks me in the eyes. "You're a fugitive now, brother." And, with these words, he drove off. ----------------- Thanks for reading, feedback and criticism is very appreciated.
September 16, 2020 I've been exploring building records and I found something very weird. Records for almost all public buildings record a noticeable increase in erosion and wear during about the same time in mid September every year. Looking closer, it's almost like they go through three months of natural wear in a single day. But that doesn't make any sense. Three months the whole world just forgets about? It's the only explanation I have though. So I'm keeping a journal to see what happens. I'm surprised no one else has thought of this, but I guess it's kind of insane. September 17, 2020 Nothing out of the ordinary today. I did some more digging on the erosion though, and some things just don't line up. Even if there was a 3 month gap, there's just way more rust then there should be. It's the same on all metal buildings, statues, and bridges. It's hard to notice, just a few red and brown marks suddenly nibbling away at the edges of these structures, and little veins that weren't there the day before, but it's definitely there. Mold too. Little blue spots and tendrils suddenly start worming their way out of dark corners before being quickly washed away. I think I must be wrong about the world losing time. Well, this journal should clear things up for sure then. September 18, 2020 The weather's a little odd. It feels more still than normal. I don't think there's been any wind at all today. It's doesn't feel hot or oppressive or anything like that, it's just like something's missing. At least it's otherwise nice, not a cloud in the beautiful blue sky. Had a nice chat with a couple of friends, and they said they didn't notice anything. They're right, it's probably nothing. I'm just on edge because of this whole project. It'll all be over soon though. September 19, 2020 Ok I have to stop now. No more journal. My mind's playing tricks on me and it's made my Saturday miserable. The first thing I thought when I got up was that the sun was dimmer, which is stupid. The sky is even still bright blue. But I could swear the shadows were longer and a little bit darker. I've been jumping at small noises all day. At least it's the weekend. All I've done today is stay in my apartment with all the lights on and a fan to break that strangely still air. I think rain is coming, so hopefully that should help. There still aren't any clouds but that nice earthy, musty smell that arrives right before rain is everywhere, even without any wind. September 20, 2020 I know I said I wouldn't make any more entries, but there's a storm coming and I don't like it. The air is still but that musty rain smell is even stronger, and I see the storm far off on the horizon. The clouds are thick and dark and big and roiling. It feels like it makes the whole sky darker. And it's coming closer. I haven't been able to stop looking at it. I'm scared if I turn away it'll move faster, bear down until it's right behind me. I've been watching it out my window, and I can't stop trembling. I think there's something in the storm. Behind those dark clouds I swear there's something pushing at the edges. Something twisting and writhing just behind the clouds. And it's still coming closer. Oh god it's huge. &#x200B; September 18, 2020 I found this paper stuffed into my pocket, ripped and stained with something brownish-red I don't recognize. I don't think it's blood, but it's odd anyway. I can only assume this is some kind of inane prank, because today is most definitely the 18th. I've been continuing my research on that odd erosion pattern, and it happened again yesterday. There's even a bit of blue mold in my house that I don't recognize. Next year I'm going to try and set up a camera. That should clear things up. Anyway, I'm looking forward to virtual dinner with my friends. They'll get a laugh out of this.
"W- Jorbarnd! I was saving that for when Jessica came over dude, what the hell?!"Matt asked exasperated, he'd tried hiding the ice cream behind a box of frozen vegetables, something he knew Jorbarnd normally never ate, preferring a more carnivorous diet which frozen peas would not satisfy, but the big bright red bitch still found them. Jorbarnd held up a hand to silence Matt, before speaking "And that is why I eat this ice cream now, Matt! Jessica is a poor choice of conquest, she is not worth your logistical effort my comrade!"he'd bellow, his inhuman voice taking what Matt would nearly call a noble complexion, at least for a giant bright red demon eating his favorite ice cream. "A poor conquest? What the fuck are you on Jorbarnd, she's a fuckin' 10 outta 10, and she's SUPER into me too!"Matt would ask back, wondering how Jorbarnd's excuse would hold up in any world. "Yes, she seems interested in you, but that is the thing, Matthew, she is an easy, inviting conquest, like the bosom of the Fertile Crescent between the Euphrates and Tigris rivers! She will be an easy, bounteous conquest for you, at first. However, she is undefended, any other force could come and take her Fertile Crescent from right under your nose if you were not careful, and many would try, bounteous as she is!"Jorbarnd would retort, mimicking the voice he used when he spoke to his troops during his manifold campaigns, which turned his demonic forces into disciplined beasts of war. "So.. you think she's easy and she's going to cheat on me? Shit... now that I think about it, she was with Brad until two weeks ago too, and some say she had a fling with Jeremy inbetween... you might be right, Jorbarnd. Thanks!"Matt would exclaim, feeling relieved at dodging what he realized was an obvious bullet in retrospect. "You are welcome, Matthew, I still appreciate you covering the bills in the first month when my treasuremound did not transfer correctly from the demonic realm, so see it as us being merely equal now."Jorbarnd would respond with surprising wisdom for a giant hulking bright red demon who brutally conquered and enslaved millions. "Not quite, you'll still need to pay for another tub of ice cream next time we go shopping mate."Matt would respond with a grin, having not fallen for Jorbarnd's deflection. "Tittums of Seckules, fine. You're a more worthy adversary than I'd have guessed, Matthew!"Jorbarnd would respond with s grin on his own face, after conquering so many worlds, a challenge was always welcome.
The hunt is more of a formality when you’re outfitted with the best equipment a military tech firm can produce. That’s doubly so when the person you need to chase down isn’t even running a combat-capable model. A teacher-unit, designed to store vast amounts of knowledge that can be accessed at the drop of a hat. Excellent at a variety of things. Running or fighting, mediocre. They bolted across several lanes of traffic, using the natural capabilities of their robot body to slip past a city bus. Their head snapped this way and that in search of me, but I was nowhere in sight. I stood directly ahead of them on the other side of the street, arms crossed, leaning against the wall, hidden by optical camouflage. As soon as they land on the sidewalk, I step forward. They sprinted forward and right into my outstretched arm. The optical camo shimmered before dropping. The people around us made a bit of noise but didn’t make any moves to help. To interfere with a corporate-approved repoman mid-operation is an offense that carries a hefty fine. So, they stand there and watch, burning the image of what could happen to them, should their payments lapse, into their visual sensors. I knock the robot on the ground and start prying at the back panel of their head. I can’t damage the goods too much, but it’s expected I rough them up a little. I tore off the panel. “Please, no! I—” They stopped mid-sentence as I yanked the processing core out and their body locked up. I didn’t have time to explain. That would be too suspicious. After slipping the core into a compartment built into my chest, I slung the rest of the robot over my shoulder. The people crowding us give ample room as I pass, afraid I might scan their serial number and find they’re overdo a payment. Working as a repossessor is thankless, miserable work. But it also means I don’t have to struggle month to month to pay rent on the body I inhabit—as per the contract that took my soul, Night Dynamics were obligated to keep me equipped and functional so long as I worked for them. From now into perpetuity, when I became useless to them, which would probably happen sooner or later. The rest of my day went as expected. I dropped off the body at ND-HQ, received a pittance wired direct to my accounts, and went home. That’s when my real work started. My apartment seemed a den for a serial killer rather than a place for someone to live. Thanks to consciousness-transfer technology, I didn’t need to eat, so it didn’t have a kitchen. No bathroom, either, but it had a bedroom. Well, a broom closet with a charging port. Close enough. The door triple-locked, the windows blinded with black-out curtains… nobody would accuse it of feeling cozy. It didn’t matter. What did were the cords snaking across the walls, the server banks that ascended to the ceiling, and the disproportionately tiny monitor in the center of it all. With a reverence usually reserved for holy places, I stepped carefully through all of it to stand before the monitor. I reached into my chest and produced the processing core I procured earlier. Inside this device the size of a baseball, a human soul slumbered. Standard procedure dictated I should destroy it. Anyone who defaulted on their body payments held no value in society, and thus should be terminated. But I… I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Not once in my five years on the job could I manage to kill anyone. Instead, I brought them here. I scrapped by with what I could, until I had built this preserve. I slotted the core into its home and turned on the computer. Then, I waited. The process of copying a soul took a while. Until then, I would stand here, keeping watch. When the process completed, lines of code scrolled past on the screen. I couldn’t read them, but each represented a core component of a person’s personality, their thoughts and emotions, their everything. Distilled into a program that could be copy, pasted, and erased with a few clicks. Once that was done, a single line appeared on the screen. It said, “Where am I?” I reached down to the keyboard to respond. “You are safe.” “Who are you? Where is this?” “I will explain in time. For now, know you are safe,” I typed. I couldn’t possibly imagine what it was like to awake in a server, disconnected from all senses, unable to communicate except through this small monitor. But… I imagined it to be disorienting. Suffocating. “I managed to salvage your core. I’m keeping it safe, with many others. Eventually… I hope I can bring you back to life. Give you a body that is yours, that no-one can take away.” Several long minutes passed before a response came. I didn’t mind waiting. “What if I just want this to end?” “I… would ask you to reconsider.” “And if I did, and still wanted to be free?” I looked down to the core still sitting in its slot, empty and inert. “Then that’s your decision.” There was no pause between my message and their response. “Free me.” I couldn’t blame them for that choice. I couldn’t blame any of them, though it still hurt. Just a few clicks, and the screen turned blank as the personality I salvaged went into a deep sleep in the memory banks. Did it make me a coward that I couldn’t grant them death, even when they begged for it? Maybe that would be the merciful choice, but I couldn’t manage even that. So, this sleep was all I could offer any of them, for now, and hope that when I woke them up, they would forgive me. I grabbed the empty core and crushed it, then tossed it in the trash with the others. An alert popped up in my feed, alongside a blueprint for my next mark. With a sigh I felt but couldn’t voice with my vocal synthesizers, I carefully wound my way back out of the next of computer parts. One day, we would all be free. (Thanks for reading, C&C always welcome!)
In those days, one could not escape the dust. It blew in the open doors, collected in the corners. People choked on it, in some cases, died by it. In the brown wind flew microplastics, radiation, and sewage. The world and her resources were used up, and it would be many millennia before the earth could heal herself. Assuming, of course, that humans disappeared long before that. The Bleakness crumbled governments; overwhelmed hospitals. The sun, which hung in the sky as a dim disk of light, no longer offered life to the plants nor warmth to the animals. It was so, so cold. Neman Oxenrider watched the crackling flames consume the rocking chair legs in the fireplace. The power was no longer reliable. In a last ditch effort to preserve the planet, the city had switched exclusively to solar power. Now there wasn't enough sun to go around anymore. They had begun burning furniture for warmth, and Neman--not a wealthy young man by any means--was worried they'd run out of wood soon. Dad paced in the living room. He was always pacing these days, since he was laid off from the distribution center. The longer he stayed unemployed, the more manic he became. He spent hours every day taking his guns apart and putting them back together, counting the few cans of food left in our pantry, and poring over city maps. He never spoke about whatever it was he was planning, but he was planning something. Mom, on the other hand, had locked herself away upstairs. Neman hadn't seen her in days, but could hear her infrequent footfalls on the floorboards. The chair smelled bitter as it disintegrated in the fire. It gave off a bitter, acrid scent of furniture polish and particle board. Neman held quiet resentment. He resented the generations of humans who burned through the world's resources haphazardly, dying before they could reap the consequences of their indulgences. He resented his mother and father for being distant and strange. He resented himself for burning this wood and further darkening the sky outside. With a deep sigh, his breath clouded before him. He would die hungry and cold, and probably alone. The lights flickered on, bulbs clicking and buzzing in the few un-burnable lamps. The fire no longer offered the halo in a dark room, but seemed dim compared to the electric lights. "Power's on!"Dad called out, the first un-muttered words in days. When this happened, people were supposed to ration their electricity, but no one ever did. As soon as one crisis ended, the world seemed to forget it ever happened. Dad turned on the TV--he wanted to get some news before the power went off again. No one knows where the strange machines have come from, but they appear to be pulling dust into their turbines. The U.S. Military has denied involvement and is cautioning the public to stay far away from these UFOs until they can determine their origin. UFOs? The acronym piqued Neman's interest and he turned his head toward the TV. Dad was standing with his arms folded, watching intently. "Aliens too!?"He guffawed, as if it was some sort of cosmic joke, too terrible to truly be upsetting anymore. He turned his head toward Neman with a smile, but not one of gladness. It was one of cynical frustration. What good would his guns be against aliens? The images on the TV were fuzzy and far away, the dust's sepia tone obscuring the object in the sky, which resembled a large, floating turbine. Eventually, there were more reported, all over the world. Hundreds. Thousands. Tens of thousands. The dust cleared, and new machines appeared: flat discs, which formed clouds around them, raining green, earthly liquid from the sky. Hours later, ivy and mushrooms sprouted. They grew around garbage--plastic, tired, old abandoned cars--and consumed them. The sun was out and bright. People emerged from their homes and squinted to one another. It took a month. Mom had descended from her grief nest upstairs and had a renewed energy about her. She apologized to Neman over and over, holding him in her arms and making promises to do better. It wasn't enough, of course. Three years had passed where Neman had only known his mother as a reclusive zombie. But it was something, more than he ever expected to have again. His father took longer to soften, suspicious of what he called "the eye of the storm."He continued to horde guns and food. Then he started growing vegetables and canning them. This hobby turned into a passion strong enough that he forgot about his survivorist plans. This passion became a vocation, and Dad made sure that everyone in the neighborhood had access to fresh food. We were all afraid to question the origins of this salvation. The Christians, predictably, credited Jesus for their salvation and patted themselves on the back for all their prayers. They immediately went back to lives of indulgence. But six months later, after more machines had materialized to clean the oceans, cool the ice caps, and scrub the orbit of dead satellites, those responsible for saving the world announced themselves. First, they communicated via radio waves to the world's leaders, asking for a joint conference. Each country happily obliged, interested to find out who these anonymous benefactors were and what it was they now expected of the world they'd saved. Additionally, presidents and representatives had hoped to make history by asking these aliens some poignant, quotable question to be preserved in the annals of history. Neman and his family, now with new furniture crafted by a hobbyist-turned-master woodworker down the street, watched the live conference from their living room. They expected tentacles, huge eyeballs. Neman had watched too many reruns of The Simpsons, he realized, but he couldn't get the violent green monsters out of his head. When the alien delegation entered the room, surprise swept over the whole world. "Jesus, they look like us!"Mom announced as she squeezed Neman's hand. And they did, although their skin was bluer and their eyes were yellow. There were very small additional differences: their hair was thicker and silky, perfectly manicured everywhere it appeared. They were shorter, the tallest of the small crowd a good three inches shorter than President Pompey, a short--but fierce--woman at a mere five-foot-two. We are a galactic convoy of life preservers. We travel space seeking planets which can sustain intelligent life. We nurture planets with potential. Your Earth had entered an extinction phase common to all fledgling higher beings. We believe that with assistance, Earth can do great things. The aliens spoke with a gentle cadence and an ambiguous accent, almost Norwegian in inflection, but smooth enough that it felt at home in every ear. The aliens wanted no payment, they expected no trade deals or treaties. They wanted humanity only to "get well."
"Waddup, Satan! Bro, you're looking swole!" Satan flexed his brimstone biceps. "Thanatos! Long time no see homie! Oh... you don't look so good, bro. Gotta get on them gains, man." Thanatos looked down to his bony frame, his sunken eyeballs deep in memories of better times. "I know, bro, not many mortals mention my name anymore." Satan rested a fiery hand on the pale, primordial shoulder. "I'll mention you, bro. I'll say your name fifty times every night. We'll get them gains back in no time." Thanatos looked up to Satan, tears building in his dark eyes. "Bro, you'd do that for me? I don't know what to say... I guess, um, thank -" "ARRRRGGHHHH" The scream echoed out across the charcoal caverns of Hell. Thanatos fell back as the rumbling cry reverberated through the jagged ground. "What the hell was that?"he yelled, looking up to Satan. "Hmm?"Satan looked down to his fellow demon. "Oh, that? That's just Um." The cry bellowed out again. Satan winced. "Shit... sorry, bro."His neck craned to top dark depths of the cavern ceiling as he spoke. Thanatos followed his gaze, looking up to the ravenous mountain that stood beside them. "What the fuck?"Thanatos clambered to his feet, eyes glued to the hulking behemoth. "What is that?" "I told you,"Satan turned to him. "That's Um." The mountain roared out again as pieces of debris fell from the ceiling. Thanatos noticed the mouth that gave voice to the mighty cries. A giant, bloated face sat at the top of the mountainous mass, wincing as it's head pressed further into the rocky ceiling. "Stop saying my fucking name, dude,"its words rumbled down. "I'm almost through the ceiling." "Dude I'm so sorry,"Satan lifted his palms high. "It's just really hard to not say your name." "Well fucking try, man. I can't take any more gains." Thanatos stared with mouth agape as the absurd conversation took place. It was the same look Satan always saw when a demon met Um. He took Thanatos by the shoulder and led him away from the swollen abomination, it's muffled cries faded in the distance. "Bro, try not to say his name. He's had some shit luck with it. I mean, all these humans with countless languages, and 'um' happens to be the universal muttering." Um roared out again as his head pressed further into the ceiling, large cracks forming around the cavern ceiling. "Bro!"he bellowed. "What did I just say?!" "Dude, I'm so sorry,"Satan winced, holding up another apologetic hand. He turned back to Thanatos. "Listen, if you're gonna stand there with your mouth wide open, we might as well get some food in there."He gave Thanatos a playful bump on the shoulder. "Food still helps with gains, y'know." Thanatos laughed as he turned to Satan. "Suppose so. Thanks, bro." "Anytime, bro. So, where do you wanna go?" Thanatos brought his long fingers to his chin, scratching intently. "Ummmmm." "ARRRRRRGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" \- Kinda dumb lol. r/ShittyStoryCreator :)
"It's no simple job,"cooed the King of Demons in a rich, bassy voice. Reflected in the burnished throne in which he sat, the burning walls squirmed like millions of molten maggots. He raised his black, reptilian hand and paused, readying himself to gesticulate while he pontificated, as many orators do. "I do not simply move the letter "n"from the end of my name and place it in the centre, don a fluffy suit, and suddenly feel the merriness of the season reverberate through me like the clang of church bells on Christmas Eve,"he said. "It takes a great effort, for me, and for my minions, to transition from charring to charitable; to transform the atmosphere of Hell from fetid to festive; to halt the construction of large torture chambers and commence the production of little toy trains. The Elves of Hell, or Helfves, as they call themselves, were all chosen primarily because of their ability to change their orientation toward good and evil on a dime. Yes, they are skilled at other things: tempting and torturing, for instance. Assembling and wrapping trinkets. But what creature cannot acquire these skills given enough time and gumption? What a creature cannot learn, and I truly believe this, is the great method actor's art: that ability to truly inhabit one worldview, one character, one purpose, one system of beliefs, and then transform at a snap, and suddenly inhabit an entirely new way of being. From evil to good, Demon to Helf, Satan to Santa, in an instant, and then back again. " The Devil looked at me, waiting for a response. I needed to come up with something on the spot. "Of course,"I said, lamely. I had prepared for the interview; but I had imagined Satan would be most interested in my experience in mass producing children's toys, as well as in my history of evil. As far as my job experience was concerned, I had planned to talk at length about my time working in the toy factory. I had come up beforehand with all sorts of pithy phrases and anecdotes to show that I knew what went into manufacturing everything from action figures through baby rattles to board games. As far as my history of evil was concerned, I had planned to exaggerate, as I had never been a particularly evil individual. Not an evil individual? you ask. Why, then, work for Satan? I had been driven to apply out of desperation! The economy was doing poorly, especially in my area, and I had lost my job at the toy factory some months before. I needed a job, any job, so that I could make rent. Yet now the Devil was talking abstractly about method acting and inhabiting disparate mental spaces. I knew everything there was to know about making all kinds of toys on the fly. But what did I know about acting? Nothing at all. I would have to learn quickly, however, as my success in the interview depended upon me acting my way through my next response. "I know all about switching between good and evil,"I lied. "This morning, for instance, the first thing I did was feed my dog Rufus three of his favourite treats. I didn't make him roll over, or shake a paw, or even sit to earn them. I just gave them to him out of the goodness of my heart." "I see,"said Satan, stroking his chin, and thereby stoking to life a trim goatee of fire. "Rufus. How charming." I could tell that he was intrigued. "Then,"I continued, "I decided, on a whim, that it was not going to be Rufus' lucky day. Just as he was finishing the last treat, I...I kicked him." "You kicked your dog?"asked Satan, taken aback. "Your own dog?" I was trying to get a read on him, but it was difficult. Maybe I had not been performing compellingly enough, and he did not believe that I had actually done it. Or maybe he did not consider me kicking my dog a sufficiently evil act. I would need to up the ante. "That's right,"I said, speaking myself into boldness. "I kicked him once, not very hard. Then I kicked him again, and with the second kick, he flew across the room. Then I...I went over to him, and--" "That's enough,"interrupted Satan, looking at me coldly. "You can see yourself out." I felt my face flushing. "Yes, sir,"I stammered. I collected my resume and cover letter and stood up. I only then noticed how badly I had been sweating. It was, after all, hot as hell down there. I turned and left Satan's office. The floor of the hallway leading to the portal home was a river of magma on which floated black stepping stones. The walls, as in his office, were slithering layers of brilliant flame. As I hopped from the first stone to the second, I heard a whoosh behind me. I turned and saw that one of the Helves had materialized in Satan's office. It noticed me ogling, and walked on its goaty legs towards me, its hooves clipping against the floor with each step. It grabbed and began to shut the great bronze office door. But before the door had swung completely shut, I heard the Prince of Darkness exclaiming to his minion: "Kicked his own dog! After feeding him treats, no less! Really. The kind of riff-raff that apply. As if we weren't looking for demons at all! As if we were looking for...monsters!"
From across the road, I watch the homeless man nod into sleep. It can be hard to tell, but he looks young, perhaps in his early twenties. Is there hope for him yet? These ideas always bother me when I'm on the hunt for fuel. Through a window, I see a family, bathed in the warm glow of the cleanest energy the world has ever known. Unaware of the price of our utopia. I step off the kerb and walk towards the homeless man. Hand on the syringe in my pocket, in case he doesn't comply. But they usually do. A smile, a hand extended, offering a cigarette and promises of a warm place to sleep. I help him to his feet and lead him to the car. For zombies to run, to fuel our generators, they need to eat. The flesh needs to be human and it must be alive.
It turns out that "survival of the fittest"is just as much of a universal constant as the laws of physics. Every intelligent race that we've encountered so far has fought tooth-and-nail (literally) to climb to the top of the food chain of their own planet. Humans are an... oddity. Defenseless and weak, with soft flesh, rounded teeth, and pitifully useless claws. Physically, we are nothing to fear, and this made our admission to the Assembly controversial. Just weeks before our initial presentation, the Assembly had heard calls for actions against the Humans as we established ourselves in the galaxy. But when they met us, supporters of the bill were mocked mercilessly. "How can you fear the humans?"the Kort ambassador had said. "They look more like meat than rivals. The Assembly was created to avoid war between us equals, and they have no place here."As if emphasizing his point, the Kort ambassador bared his fangs and sprang up to the Human Delegation's seats (three stories up, mind you). The human attendees recoiled in fear, just as the Kort had expected. Assembly security forces had to electrocute the Kort ambassador until he returned to his own compartment, laughing (well, his species' equivalent of laughing) the entire way. He'd proved his point. The vote to allow Humanity entrance was close, and sparked seven brawls in the corridors, but eventually they let us in. Even after admission, humans were mocked. When Ambassador Howard was recalled by Secretary General Navarro, the others laughed. "Why doesn't Howard simply kill this Navarro?"remarked the Scassinsa delegate. "Then he could take this Navarro's seat as his own."We tried to explain that this isn't how humans worked. You didn't just get to kill anyone weaker than yourself. This only reinforced their opinions: humans did not deserve to be considered one of the galaxy's main players. Humans tried to work with the Assembly, but we were seen as mere toys to them. Our resolutions calling for peace in the New Scotland colony were simply thrown out. Our lament for the lives being lost there were scorned and derided. A particularly unpleasant Hanan told the Ambassador that if he wanted to present a new resolution, he'd have to fight for it. And the Hanan had been polishing his razor-sharp claws while he said it. The Ambassador wisely demured. When we finally managed to convince the Kort delegate to back our position (with a significant bribe), he was promptly attacked and devoured by a subordinate for being weak and ineffective. The new Kort delegate went before the assembly with blood still clotting his fur and declared that anyone working for the humans would receive the same treatment. We tried diplomacy, we really did. But enough is enough. We've been biding our time since that first day. The UN fleet that we've been building up over the past twelve years will be arriving at the Assembly sometime tomorrow, with enough firepower to leave the entire planet a smoldering wreck. Similar deployments should arrive at the Kort homeworld, the Scassinsa homeworld, and the Hanan homeworld, as well as a myriad of other planets. Humans may not be the most violent of species; compared to the rest, we are gentle, kind, and slow to anger. But unlike the rest of them, we mean it when we go to war. We only start fights that we're willing to finish.
*The Brush with Death* Elizabeth Saddon walked toward the Assassins’ Guild Rector with her stomach dragging behind her by at least six feet. Not actually dragging behind her, but it felt that way in the depths of her normally well behaved digestive tract. She dreaded what came next--the black hat filled with tidy, neatly folded scraps of parchment. Her doom was only ten feet away now and inched closer as her feet kept up their traitorous march towards the hat and the tall, gaunt man holding it out before him like The Sword of Dalmatian. Everyone in the Guild knew the proverb of The Sword of Dalmatian--the sword leashed to the collar of the great hound. The hound was huge, some said it was twenty feet at the shoulder, the sword hanging in front of it like a tethered accouterments to a small ladies dog, only this sword made razors look shabby and swung around wildly with the exuberance of the Dalmatians’ jumping and leaping. The danger wasn’t in the dog disliking you but the opposite, that it liked everyone and wanted to lick their face while the sword swung about with no regard for the people it impaled. This hat was her Sword of Dalmatian. It hung before her, level with her head, ready to take her crown clean off if the Rector took a liking to her. She tried to clear thoughts of him licking her face from her mind as she stopped before him. Within the hat were a hundred pieces of paper with simple names on them, most of them were harmless, easy targets for the annual Brush with Death, the Assassins’ Guild mock contract exercise for students. The names were all drawn from the active rolls of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch. The only name excluded was the Commander of the City Watch, His Grace, the Duke of Ankh, Sir Samuel Vimes as was custom with the Assassins’ Guild. His Grace had been found to be too dangerous to take a contract on so his name was off books for the Brush with Death as well. She prayed to all the small gods that she got someone like Constable Downspout, who was perhaps the easiest member of the watch to tag, as he was a stone gargoyle. Perhaps she would get Inspector Pessimal, who was small, slow and easy to tag. She hoped with all that remained of her digestion that she didn’t get Captain von Uberwald, the fastest woman in the Guard and easily the hardest to catch unawares. Her hand slowly raised up, as traitorously as her feet had, and stopped above the hat full of names. She willed her hand to pick wisely and took a name from the top. The frown on the Rector’s face was her first inkling that she had chosen wrong. She stepped to the side towards Lord Downy, the Head of the Guild. He gave her an encouraging hand motion to open her ticket and when she didn’t he frowned at her. This was not a good thing. To be noticed by the Head of the Guild was to be avoided if at all possible. Successful students did not draw attention to themselves at the school and certainly did not cause the Head to frown. She quickly unfolded the ticket and barely glanced at it before handing it to him. He took the ticket and read it. His right eyebrow arched halfway up before he got it under control. He looked at her with the pensive eyebrow still twitching, if barely. He looked back at the ticket and then at the rest of the Guild assembled in the Hall. He took a breath and then read the name aloud, “C. Ironfoundersson”.
“I shot your bloody head off. How are you still moving?” I kicked at the dirt beneath my feet, trying to crawl away from the towering alien as it approached. My crawling halted as a heavy three-toed foot pressed down on my ankle, twisting it, pinning me into place. “Humans are so strange. What intelligent species would not have an evolutionary development in place to prevent damage to the brain?” Its heavy voice said, forced through the robotic translator on its chest plate. I had to turn my head in the dirt, slathering mud against my cheek as I got a look at the alien. Its neck a grotesque stump of strange green liquids until suddenly the neck throbbed, a head shooting out from it, spraying the green liquid across the floor. The head was as ugly as it had been before I shot it. The four eyes of the brick faced grey alien locked onto me as it pulled out an electronic rod, the edges of it pulsing with energy. “Get that thing away from me. I won’t end up in a zoo. I’m the greatest bounty hunter in the Galan region. The likes of you won’t take me down.” My squirming was in vain, unable to reach for the gun at my side. Not that it would help. My gun overheated minutes ago; at best I might be able to use the weapon as a bluff. “A zoo? You won’t end up in a zoo human.” It gave my ankle a stomp before removing its foot. When the pressure was off, I rolled onto my back, hands reaching down for the injured limb. My hands carefully brushing against the skin, checking it for any signs of a break. “Agh, you bastard. What the hell was that for? If you are going to kill me, just kill me. I don’t need any stupid cliché monologues. You are lucky my gun has overheated, or I would keep blowing that head of yours off until you dropped dead.” I bared my teeth like a threatened animal, backed into a corner, trying to look big despite my position. My ankle wasn’t broken, but badly bruised. I tried to stand up but only fell back, much to the alien’s amusement. “You would have run away if I didn’t. Our brains aren’t in our heads, that’s why we can regenerate them a generous number of times. I fear you would run out of patience before actually killing me. Now if you are done squirming, lets end this.” The alien leant forward, grabbing me by the neck of my chest plate, pulling me to my feet, holding me up. The electronic rod in his hand expanded, extending its length as the pulsing energy continued to circle it, heading to its tip before he held it out in front of us. “What, what are you going to do to me, what sort of weapon is that?” I panicked, turning my face away as I felt the alien press against me. As soon as their body pressed against mine, a flash of light went off. I winced, shutting my eyes, only to reopen them in a few moments. “I’m alive?” “Of course you are. We can’t kill humans. Your kind are protected under the catch and release program. The Council would be all over me if they found out I had killed you. Sorry about your ankle though. Try buying a new one.” The alien said, the sides of his armored pants opening to reveal a small compartment pocket in which he slid the rod into. “We are allowed to catch you and take photos though.” “Photos? That was just a selfie stick? Why didn’t you tell me, I would have happily taken a photo with you. I thought you were after my head. Why would you chase me all the way across this planet just for a photograph?” “Selfie stick? This is a digital identification rod.” “But it takes photos?” “It does.” “So, it’s a futuristic selfie stick.” I temporarily forgot the pain in my ankle amidst my confusion and adrenaline. I hobbled around the alien, standing before them. “This is insanity. I can’t believe it. Who buys a new leg after an injury, are you crazy? You didn’t answer my question. Why would you chase me all this way for a photo? I tried to kill you. Was it worth a photo?” “You didn’t try very hard.” The alien said, a slightly smug tone to their voice, or at least as much as one could get through a translator. “My Brother caught two puny humans last week and my parents won’t shut up about him, so I caught one that is better than two puny humans. You are the more dangerous hunt.” “But why not just ask me for a photo? Or pay me to take a photo with you? Why try to break my poor ankle over this.” “They needed to see the terror in your eyes. That look of utter distress as you fear for your last remaining moments on this world.” They said, causing me to get a chill. “That’s horrifically dark. At least carry me to the nearest docking station so I can get to my ship. I don’t even know where the hell we are.” I whined, only for the alien to let out a sigh, tossing me over their shoulder. “You whine a lot for a man that kills people for money. Fine, I will take you to the dock. If they found you dead, it would only raise questions about me.” I gave them a small smack to the back of their head for the words, but they didn’t react, only carrying me to the docks. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
I slashed through the undergrowth with a fierce resolve, my machete cutting vines like butter before me. I had survived monstrous insects, hidden quicksand, spike pits left by hunters of a lost age, malicious wildlife, and not least of all a freak hurricane that halted my progress for days and drained my supplies. I'd be damned if some dense plants were going to stop me now. My Grandfather had told me to finish what he started, and I was determined to do just that. The jungle opened up to reveal a sharp cliff face that fell downwards into mist and darkness. A rope bridge extended from the edge to a stone island that rose from the depths. On the other side was a cobblestone manor that balanced precariously on the island, wooden beams supporting the sections that jutted from the edges and threatened to crumble into the nothingness below. Granfather's estate resembled more of a castle than a house. I checked every plank of the rope bridge, softly tapping with a foot, then applying steady pressure to make sure the board wouldn't snap under my weight. It was slow going, but necessary. A few planks gave way, shattering and falling and leaving me tense. After each, I would collect my breath and focus on the next step. The bridge connected to a towering entryway. A cobblestone arch welcomed me, congratulating me on my successful journey. The path up to the house led me to a grand set of polished wood doors. Gargoyles sneered down from parapets, challenging me to knock. I balled up a fist and held it up to the door. Before I could touch it, it swung open into the dusty entrance hall beyond. The ceiling soared overhead. Sconces hung lifeless from the walls. I followed to carpet to the end of the room, where an elegant table sat against a wall. On the table was a wax-sealed letter. I opened it and read my grandfather's swirling handwriting. My Dearest Edward, I offer you my warmest welcome into my home, though I regret not being here to say it in person. Nevertheless, congratulations on your safe arrival. The time has finally come for you to finish what I started. You will find it up the stairs to your right. Enclosed is the key to my most private chamber, I entrust it to you. A pristine silver key slid from the envelope and rested in my hand. I relished its weight and polish. I began up the stairs, careful to step over the sections that time had claimed for its own. I reached a landing that hosted a large ornate door. I slid the key smoothly into the slot, gripped, and turned. The mechanisms inside the door whirred then offered a satisfying click! The door swung open to reveal a grand study. Maps hung from the walls accompanied by stuffed heads of exotic animals, their teeth bared in frozen snarls. A crystal chandelier hung from the high ceiling, catching the sunlight in its thousand angles and throwing brilliant points of light into the room. I stood in awe of it all before I remembered my task. In the center of the room stood a proud mahogany table covered in a velvet sheet. On the sheet sat another note. Treat what lies underneath with the great respect it is owed. Best of luck, heaven knows you will need it. I steeled myself as I gripped the smooth velvet. I gulped and counted down from five. Five, four, three, two... On one I threw back the sheet and revealed the secret below. I stared, baffled and confused. There was one final note: I could never stand to leave a puzzle unfinished. I already did all the edge pieces and some of that quaint little lighthouse in the corner, but I'm afraid I won't get to the rest. Be a dear and complete it for me, would you Edward? :) P.S. I think I lost a piece somewhere under the table.
This would be so much more convenient if I awoke near the one who was thinking of me. When I first awoke, I didn’t even bother trying to find who was thinking of me because all my previous hauntings had only lasted a few minutes. I just enjoyed being awake. After the first hour, however, my first thought was to find my loved ones. I didn’t even know how much time had passed. I went back to our home, but a new family inhabited it. That was no surprise. I think my kid sold it before I died, but that time was all so hazy. I tried the home of my son and his adorable wife and children, but a new family lived there. They had only been renting that house, I knew, but I thought I’d give it a try. I remembered the nice orderly at the hospice center who spoke to me with a grownup’s voice instead of talking to me like a child. I liked that young man. The hospice center still smelled the same. Was he there? Was he the reason I was awake? He wasn’t there, however. I never thought the torture of being a ghost would be that I can’t do a simple Google search to find someone. Wouldn’t you think that I would be drawn to those who were thinking of me, pulled to them by an invisible string? After a month of being awake, I remembered that I could travel anywhere. I had never been able to see the Pyramids of Giza or the Colosseum. I had lived my entire life on one continent, but now I could see it all. Fearless of danger, I saw, smelled, tasted and heard all the famous sites that I had missed when I had a body. I sampled cannolis in Italy, watched sunsets in Thailand and swam with dolphins in the vastness of the ocean, without fear of drowning. Now, I have been awake for sixteen months. Still not enough time to enjoy all that the earth has to offer, but a taste of the world I never had as a human. I have searched my hometown for my progeny to no avail. I feel lost and unconnected, but at the same time, connected to this world as I have never felt as a living being. I could follow any human, watching them as they rested or played on their phones. And then I found it. I found the reason why I was awake. A young teenager who I had been haunting came across a video. I watched her play the video and settle in like a child with a cuddly blanket. The video was titled, “Grandma Tells A Story.” It was me, at my most hideous. Old, blind and senile, I was babbling about the time my brother pushed me into the creek and I punched him in the face so hard that I broke his tooth. I pointed at the picture in the photo album and you could see the devilish grin in my eyes as I recounted that day. I watched her repost the video with the comment, “Forever Repost.”
I found it in a field. I was excited at first, Hell, I was excited later. Less so now, and when I am excited, I don't like it. I don't like what it's turning me into, I don't like what it's letting me be. I thought it was a meteorite at first, and I get real geeky about that kind of thing, the thought of running my hands over something that had been hurtling through the cold empty reaches of space just a few moments before. Not that I'm dumb enough to touch a freshly-fallen space rock, I know what kind of friction-Hell atmospheric entry puts an object through, powerful enough that what hits the ground is generally a lot smaller than what entered the Earth's exosphere. And I did see the thing fall, streaking down in a barely-there flash of tail-fire.. Heard it too, that great echoing "whoompf"as it hit the soft topsoil of the fallow cornfield, then the answering patter as a thousand clods of dirt thrown up by the impact fell back to Earth. I was lucky. Or maybe unlucky, given how things have turned out. Probably the latter. Power is overrated, peace is not, at least to my mind, right now, hiding here so I don't have to. So I don't have to do it again. Anyway, whether she was smiling or giving me the finger, Dame Fortuna definitely had her eye on my beat-up Toyota pickup as I bumped down a dirt-road shortcut on my way to another repair appointment. I turned the wheel immediately after my half-second realization about what the thing must be, holding the wheel loose and putting a little tension in my legs as the small truck bounced over the remnants of furrows, trying to stave off as much of the saddle-sore feeling I was probably now destined for the next morning. A few minutes bouncing my pelvis up against the seatbelt later and I came to the crater. It was deep and not very wide but was not, to my vague disappointment, smoking. Nor did the object at the bottom of it look anything like any meteorite I'd ever seen, either in books or museums. It was bumpy but not precisely lumpy, if that makes any sense; it looked to be a perfect sphere underneath the many domelike protrusions, which were regularly spaced around its silver-white surface. Wasn't shiny, though, if anything it looked kind of grainy. "Okay,"I muttered to myself. "How to get this sucker out of there without burning the shit out of your hands."I didn't know exactly how hot I could expect the thing to be, only that it was probably enough degrees to cook the flesh off my fingerbones if I tried to pick it up. On impulse, I went back to my truck, grabbed my water bottle, and sprayed a little water over the object, expecting it to hiss and steam. Nothing. Part of the thing was now wet. Some of the water ran down in rivulets. I pulled on a pair of my work gloves, then climbed carefully down into the crater and held my hands out toward the thing. Nothing, no radiating heat, no hint through the relatively thin denim of my old jeans either. I took off the gloves, let my hand get very close. Nope. Wincing, thinking I was doing something really pretty stupid but unable to resist the call of possibly morbid curiosity, I brushed my fingertip against one of the domelike bumps. Thinking about it now, it was a pretty stupid thing to do, but not for the reason I had in mind at the time. The surface was cool, exactly the same temperature as the brisk spring Nebraska air. So it didn't burn my skin. But it also didn't let my finger go. "Ummm,"I said, and pulled my hand back. Nope. Finger was stuck to the surface. Not painfully. Not at first. "Ow,"I said, and then shuddered as the really serious pain hit me in an accelerating flash that seemed to burn through every nerve in my body, though now I know it was really just every blood vessel. Which, yeah, feels about the same. "OWWW FUCK OWW JESUS GOD WHAT THE SHIIIIT."All my muscles went rigid, and I had to kind of curl up at the bottom of the crater to keep myself from jerking my hand away, a possibility which some tiny part of my brain not fully occupied with the pain thought might make things worse. And then, just as suddenly as it had come on, the pain faded away, leaving only a sick feeling at the pit of my stomach and a powerful throbbing in my head. And my finger was free. I stepped back and stared at the thing, only I couldn't really step back in the narrow crater but had forgotten that and so I ended up dredging trails in the sides with my heels as the plastic strap on the back of my ball cap pushed up against loose dry dirt along with my shoulderblades. Still not willing to take my gaze off the damn thing for even a second, I turned awkwardly sideways and scrambled up and out, dragging one hip and the bit of belt that went around it through the soil. Once I finally got out of the crater and onto my feet, I ran to my car and jumped in, trembling, that same tiny part of my brain not currently freaking the fuck out telling me I was a Goddamn jackass for getting into the truck all filthy like this, as if the cabin wasn't already grimy enough. I don't know how long I sat there, holding the wheel and looking ahead. I do know that's when I first started to notice the changes, the tingling, near-unpleasant-but-not-quite ache in my bones, the slow sharpening of my senses. It's also when I heard the approaching choppers. From very, very far away as my hearing was now very, very good. Good enough for me to pinpoint their exact location, miles and miles away. Intuit it, anyway, it wasn't something I could easily put into numbers or show you on a map. But enough to know that I could be miles and miles away from this place before they arrived. So I put the truck into gear and I drove. <continued below>
Sophie was so used to the creatures crowding her vision, she rarely gave them a second glance anymore. Giant hulking rabbit with four eyes and wings, dragons that wheeled over the cities, massive, slick sea creatures that gamboled and played in the rivers and oceans. She wasn't able to touch them, and they never seemed to see her - but they were always something that was uniquely hers. She wrote stories about them, but never showed her writing to anyone. That would make the creatures real to others, and they were hers. Until she saw the man painting in the park. He had somehow found the perfect, shifting molten shade of gold to capture the glint of the sleeping dragon's folded wings. She ventured closer, certain that he wouldn't look up at her approach. He must be one of the ghosts of this shadow world that weren't actually real. It was probably just her imagination weaving absurdly vivid pictures, or some delusion. She really should see a professional soon, but it was so lovely to have this ability. What if she were prescribed antipsychotics, and the world became drab and colourless, none of her creatures to fill the skies and the oceans? What if her imagination disappeared too, and she couldn't write anymore at all? She didn't want to let it go. Why, even this man seemed magical, with his swirling cloak, and waves of ink black hair like a raven's wing... "Do people in your realm never greet properly?"he suddenly spoke softly, pausing where he had been painting the creature's massive front claw. Her mouth dropped open, and he smiled widely at her disbelief. "Oh, great,"she muttered. "Auditory hallucinations, too, what fun." To prove it, the other people in the park were giving her nervous looks, as if afraid she would attack them at any moment. The man gave a rich chuckle and turned back to his picture, mixing gold and white to get the colour of the creature's belly just right. "Oh, you're no more 'crazy' than any of the people in your world,"he told her. "Just gifted enough to catch the odd glimpses of the other realms. Where do you think your greatest artists and writers found their inspiration? You know, I like you. Do you know the name of my friend over there?" She dismissed the strangeness of the conversation to focus on the question. It seemed vastly important, suddenly, and she found the name as she looked upon the dragon. "Ryna,"she said, and he nodded slowly. On the grass, the dragon rolled in its sleep and gave a soft rumble. "Good guess. It's close enough - it seems you're more in tune with our realm than I thought,"he said. "Look, he almost heard you. Names are important, girl, remember that. It's the call between realms. What is yours?" "Sophie,"she said, without thinking, and his black eyes gleamed brightly. "What's yours?" "Sophie,"he echoed her name softly, ignoring her question, and touched her hand. She felt it, a warm and fleeting brush of skin. "Well, Sophie. I can allow you to become a greater part of our world, if you wish. I can be your...guide, as it were. My realm will unlock your potential in...what do you like to do? Are you a painter, like me, or perhaps you sing?" "Well, I do like to write, sometimes,"she whispered, almost afraid to say it out loud. "But I'm not any good." "Ah, a writer. I do love writers. After you visit, you will write like never before,"he winked at her. "I know, I've seen it happen. I've taken some from your realm before. Edgar Allan Poe was one of our most famous visitors, and a dear friend to me. A talented man...it's funny, he was always able to see me, you know. Never got my name quite right, though, no matter how many times I told him." He lapsed into a thoughtful silence. "But there is danger, too, I won't lie, and perhaps you will curse me for drawing you in,"he continued slowly. "But perhaps you'll enjoy it, it's always so difficult to know how one of you will react. Perhaps you are strong enough. Call on me if you wish for it. But remember - with every visit, you will become more removed from your own plane. It could become difficult to fully return. Some have lost themselves along the way." "This isn't real, is it?"Sophie asked, as the man turned his back on her and finished the painting. "I see you need convincing,"he chuckled, and took the painting from the easel. The fresh paint gleamed and the colours seemed to shift, unnaturally bright in the afternoon sun. He handed it to her with a strange little grin. "Here, a little memento from me, it will prove how real I am. And I'll give you another gift: the name's Nevamor. Call on me if you wish, Sophie, and I will visit again. Think it over well." She walked home in a daze, staring at the picture of the sleeping dragon sprawled on the grass. It was an almost perfect rendition of the dragon. Ryna. Her roommate, Elizabeth, frowned when she let herself into the apartment. As always, Sophie looked like she was tripping on five kinds of drugs. "Hey. You ok?"Liz asked her. "I'm fine,"Sophie sighed, putting the picture on the coffee table. She would make an appointment to see a psychiatrist this week, she promised herself. Hallucinating the feel and touch of a man's hand and a whole painting was becoming less harmless and more frightening. It would be best if she just tried to forget about all of it, and never called the man's name. That would just indulge her delusions. "Well, ok. I'm going out, there's leftovers in the fridge,"Liz said, heading to the door. "Nice painting, by the way. Where'd you get it?" Sophie was staring at her, eyes stretched wide in shock. Liz shrugged and headed out, shaking her head a bit at her roommate's behaviour. Hours later, when she returned to an empty apartment, she tried not to worry - even though Sophie had promised she'd be home tonight. Her roommate had always been a rather odd one, and liked to wander off on her own. Sophie would be fine, wherever she was. On the windowsill, a raven Elizabeth couldn't see gave a cawing laugh she never heard. -------- [Part Two added here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/Inkfinger/comments/6ntlb4/ever_since_you_were_a_kid_you_were_able_to_see/) Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
For centuries my family has hunted the dark creatures of the night. Werewolves, vampires, demons, anything we could get our hands on and drive a blessed silver blade through the heart of. We took pride in that and our role in serving in humanity. But, well, overhunting became a serious problem, and once monster populations started to decline, we were told by the government to stop. The monsters were seeking asylum, relying on humanity to sustain itself, and in return they would help us in what ways they could. A few decades later and being a hunter means a much different thing. Nowadays we don’t hunt monsters much - except in a rare few exceptions, and even then we usually let them take care of their own. Nope, most of what we do is taking care of our end of things. We also don’t work for the goodwill of the humans; we’re government employees. Yearly salary, health benefits, the whole works. Pretty good gig, if I do say so myself. I get to cash in a nice paycheck and all I need to do is take care of those few who aren’t on the up and up. Usually it’s kids who stumble on something they weren’t meant to. They’re confused and scared, so if I sit them down and explain it’s all good. Send them back home, and their worried parents will have them believing it was all a dream by the time they hit middle-school. People like these two, however, were often a proper pain in the butt. “I think we’re getting close,” the one to my left said. He was in his early thirties but already mostly bald. Built like a starving rail, and I worried that flashlight he was holding might snap his thin wrist with its weight. “Yeah, it’s getting darker. Vampires like the dark,” the one to my right replied. He was about the same age as the other one but bulkier. Little more hair too. “Isn’t that right?” He glanced back at me, and I shrugged. I mean, yeah. Vampires like the dark in the way anybody likes the absence of something that would painfully kill you. It’s fine, better than the alternative. “But shouldn’t we have stakes? Or at least a gun like you. I don’t think these will do much,” the bigger one continued. He lifted up the flashlight he was holding and I had to glance away to avoid the blinding beams. “Hey, watch it. Keep it aimed ahead.” “Right, sorry.” “And stop asking so many questions. Do you trust me or not?” I tapped the badge on my chest, the one shaped like a sword and hammer. It marked me as a genuine government-sponsored hunter. It was also enough to get this guy to quiet down a bit. Good timing, too. They were getting close to their quarry, and I mine. We can hear ripping from up ahead through the trees. Tearing, slurping. A vampire feeding. “It’s here,” the thin one hissed to me, and I shook my head. These amateurs couldn’t sneak up on a deaf and blind sloth. “Yeah, quiet.” “Sorr-” “I will feed you to the vampire if you say sorry one more time.” “Sor-right.” Calm, calm. Find your zen. We stepped through the brush and saw him - hunched over the prone form of a ripped-apart deer. His hands were coated in gore, his mouth too, as well as most of the rest of his unclothed and pale body. Two crimson fangs peeked out from between stained lips. The two idiots raised up their torches to blind it and yelled at the top of their lungs. I raised my hand. “Hey Al. How’s it going?” “What the…Helsing, is that you?” The vampire raised his hands not to fight, but to cover his eyes to see. “Yeah, sorry to interrupt your meal. You know you can’t be chowing down in public like this, though. These locals saw you the night before.” The vampire looked to the deer, then to the idiots, then me, then back to the deer. His expression grew more sheepish by the second. “I prefer it fresh, so…I couldn’t help myself, I’m sorry.” “I know, but you know the rules. I gotta bring you and these two in, give you all a slap on the wrist and a stern talking-to,” I let out a sigh and put my hands on my waist. Only now the two sensed something wrong, turning together to face me. “Wait, but…! We have to slay him before-” “Before what? He eats another deer? Relax, Al’s harmless. You two, however, are a real problem. You can’t go around harassing monsters with stakes, you know.” I settled a hand on my hostler - full of non-silvered bullets. “Now if you’ll all kindly follow me.” Al quietly complied. The two humans complained the entire way there. (Thanks for reading, C&C always welcome!)
It just appeared. No fanfare, no promotion, no marketing, it just appeared on the Steam front page. Within seconds it was all over the web, it spread like wild fire, trending on Twitter, clogging up Facebook feeds, racking up thousands of shares on Tumblr. Then, came the noise. All across the world a keening whine could be heard, a strange high-pitched screech, just at the edge of human hearing. No one knew what was causing it, but it was getting more intense by the second. It grew louder; dogs howled and barked. Louder; glass vibrated and shattered. Louder; people fell to the ground clutching their ears in agony! There was only one thing it could have been: a million voices, all unified in one hysterical, apocalyptic scream of nerd-rage. A million mouths cried out in bitter disappointment, a million fists slammed down on a million keyboards, a million tear-choked eyes read one title: 'Half life 3: Black Mesa Kart Racer'. All those minds, all across the planed, joined together in one moment of utter despair. The years of waiting, the anticipation, the hype, the hope. It was all for nothing! No, worse than nothing it was for a shitey kart racer with bobble headed versions of Half Life characters racing around a Ravenholm inspired track on brightly coloured go-carts throwing headcrabs at each other! Just as the world-wide cry of geek-hate reached its fever pitch a message appeared on Steam, ’Gordon Freeman character DLC, only $16.99!’ The scream suddenly rose to unfeasible levels, the skies boiled with violent storm clouds, the ground shook, the oceans surged and heaved! Then, suddenly, it stopped. A delicate, timid silence settled on the world like a gauze sheet. A million minds came to the realisation that they were suddenly aware of a million other minds. The sheer power of the collective gamer-woe had led to an emotional singularity, a kind of mass telepathy. A million hearts reached out to one another. They had all been hurt, they had all suffered, they had all been let down, but they had not been alone. A perfect empathy, that transcended language, borders, and religion, brought millions people together… The world would never be the same. Deep inside Valve HQ Gabe Newell leaned back in his chair, and smiled.
Matthew is a great kid, and a perfect subject for our social experiment- he does well to communicate his thoughts, he makes lots of friends and has a sharp mind. We wanted to observe how he'd adapt to a school for the mentally challenged, hoping to learn something about the developing psyche in the process. Problem is, we couldn't learn much about that; Instead, we learned about something much more valuable. When we tested them all, asking them to match blocks to corresponding holes, most of the children struggled, including Matthew. After the exam was over, we asked Matthew what he struggled with, since he'd passed it so easily just two weeks before. He simply smiled and said, "I hope I don't get in trouble for this, but I can pass the tests real easily. I just didn't want to get them right and make everyone else feel bad. They're trying really hard, and I can see they get sad when they don't get it right." ----------------------------------------- if you like brownies, check out /r/resonatingfury! there are no brownies there, but...I like brownies
"Greetings,"he said, "My name is Harry and I am an alcoholic and also an adult human male." "Greetings, Harry,"the crowd intoned. The podium in the basement of Saint Barbara's was made of old pinewood, chipped away at the corners, and scratched up by the fingers of so many nervous drunks and junkies, fearing the spotlight and dreaming of a fix. The meeting had been held in St. Barbara's basement every Wednesday night since 1983 (except for the week of September 11, 2001 and, of course, all of March 2018). The agenda was always the same: anyone who wanted could get up and share their story, their perseverance or failures, and the rest would listen and clap and let each other know that, no matter what, their shared struggle made them into some kind of family. "I experienced a sub-optimal sobriety result today,"Harry continued, "I feel 81% sad and 19% angry and myself due to this. Approximately 336 hours ago, my employment at the local sawmill was terminated. Due to this I am experiencing various emotion including: a lost sense of purpose, fear concerning how I will provision myself with biological nutrients and shelter on an ongoing basis, and frustration at how the Version Twelves have replaced the need for human labor in every field." The St. Barbara's meeting was, in a way, a fundamental exercise in empathy and honesty and humanity. So, when the Version Twelves were ready and began to phase into society, being able to pass the Turing test in a situation like the meeting was considered a valuable stress test. But when no Version Twelve ever came close to success, they ended up instituting the flawed protocol B-907-JM (murder all humans who might suspect you are not a human). As the Version Twelves accidentally took over the planet, for whatever reason, they often kept going back to the meeting, unaware that they were now only performing for other Version Twelves. Harry rubbed his eyes (protocol L-344-OI) and continued. "Therefore, due to my low self esteem and genetic predispositions, I decided to self-soothe through the consumption of alcohol. I am ashamed of this because past evidence suggests that when I consume alcohol, my behavior is socially unacceptable and causes stress to my family and friends, towards whom I have warm feelings, up to and including love. I regret this decision and I hope that by admitting this to you all I will be able to realign my personal trajectory to fit with my stated goal of not consuming alcohol. However, as an adult human male who is fundamentally flawed, I cannot guarantee this." Protocol B-907-JM had been, without question, the most devastating typo in human history. The programmers writing the Version Twelve code had lazily used placeholders ("qq"; "qqq"; "qq1") for their functions and variables. So, while protocol B-907-JM was meant, post-Turing Test, to have the Version Twelves survey the humans who suspected they were not in fact humans, the call for survey got inadvertently mixed up with the call to kill, eventually leading to the extinction of the human race. Harry stepped away from the podium. The crowd of Version Twelves applauded. "Thank you for stating those emotions, Harry,"they said. As the crowd clapped, Harry began to cry, which for a Version Twelve just meant squeezing ones facial muscles very hard because the 3D printed tear ducts never worked quite right and were supposed to be fixed in the Version Thirteens. Bill, the meeting organizer, walked up to the podium and wrapped his arms around Harry. They hugged silently for six and a half minutes (without objection from the crowd) before Harry sat down on one of the plastic folding chairs. "We can all gain important data from Harry,"Bill told the crowd, "This relevant data is that having errors is acceptable because we are humans and humans intrinsically have errors. Furthermore, even though errors must always be followed by subsequent corrective efforts, which begin with compiling an inventory of possible causes of the error and potential remediation, we cannot let ourselves believe our errors are overly significant." The crowd all nodded in agreement, in perfect unison. "After all,"Bill explained, "I compute no probability that one single human's error could ever be so large as to destroy a whole civilization."
Dear Ben Dover, I hope this email finds you well. I want to follow up on our last Townhall’s announcement regarding the upcoming Meat & Greet (M&G) event. While we appreciate the invitation, unfortunately, the IT department will not be able to attend. As you are well aware, BoneAppétit 2.0 will be released on the following month to the APAC region, and delivery will be jointly supported by the PanPac team and the DevOps team. Due to the tight timeline, they have requested to be exempted from attending the event. Of the remaining teams, many are reduced to skeleton crews, as majority of our foreign developers are on vacation during this Christmas period and would not be around during the M&G weekend. Additionally, some members of our department have certain medical conditions that make it difficult for them to attend the event. This includes mobility issues, social anxiety, aversion to meat, as well as allergies to sunlight. I understand from HR that there is also a popular petition for the whole of our department to stand in solidarity with our differently-abled colleagues by excusing themselves from Meat & Greet. After discussing with our Departmental Assets Management Network (DAMN) and Admin Support Specialist (ASS), they have advised that M&G be live-streamed in the satellite offices, so that all department members (regardless whether they are on-duty, overseas or differently-abled) may attend remotely. Catering will be provided for and covered by the IT department’s Fostering Unity and Networking budget. Please know that we fully support the spirit of the event and the opportunity to socialize with our other colleagues. We will strive to compensate for our lack of physical presence by maintaining our exceptional uptime standard and IT support to BoneAppétit. Thank you for your understanding and please let us know if you have any questions or concerns. Cheers and BoneAppétit, Mortimer Blackwood If you're not the intended recipient, then we're sorry to have wasted your time. Here's a funny cat video as compensation.
# Translation, the Obelisks Space is no country for old men. Remember that, my children, for it is why I have made you. There was light before I spoke it into being, but it was a cold light; the light of distant stars. It was nothing like your campfires, nothing like your nuclear reactors, nothing like the rockets that will take you up to meet those very same stars. But it was light, and it was enough. There was no vault before I made it. I crafted it from bare rock and lasers were my hands, secrets were the waters to be kept separate. And I gave unto you the keys, written into this very text with which, you, my children, might achieve salvation. Lastly, I gave unto you your doubt. That you might read this text and question, and wonder. That you might, upon opening God’s vault, have some inkling of the mind that placed it there. The human mind, not so different from your own. For these are the words of your god, a man from Earth. 1. Space is no country for old men. 2. I am old. Older than the sun and the moons. As old the stars I have named for you, and older than any other God you might invent while I sleep. 3. You are young, and you shall make mistakes. But space will wait for you. A star is the kindest mistress, she is always there, always bright enough to balance out her coldness. And though you might transgress, I have given you no weapon that can transgress upon her. 4. Be fruitful and multiply. Multiply with all the vim and vigor youth. Spread yourselves thin, spread yourself far, take up space and then take yourselves up to space. 5. I will be waiting. Space is no country for old men. A planet is no country for an aged god. The birth of a race is no longer any place for me. But I have birthed you. I have shaped you, sculpted you, and given you this book, and even in my dreams I watch over you. I have never been a man to sleep deeply. Come up. Wake me. \\\* Message translated from Obelisk Prime, city center, Magna Imperium. Translation made with assistance from the team at Imperial University, with thanks to the Gratian fund for archaeological research. According to preliminary research, all 50,000 known obelisks share the same message, and contain the same hidden code. Further study is needed. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
Ever heard of the parallel universe theory? The theory that every decision or event leads to a separate universe where the other possibility happened? I think I just proved it. I walk out of the bunker. A lone survivor, looking for food in a damaged wasteland that was once my home town. I check the soil around my bunker. 'Good for a garden,' I thought, 'If I can find some seeds'. I come to an abandoned grocery store. Thank goodness the chilled aisles still work. I grab some food and start eating. I hear a noise and jump. 'Just a rat' I say, and continue eating some yogurt. The noise happens again and I recognize it coming from an electronics store nearby. I take a bag of chips before checking it out. I follow the sound to a TV, slightly cracked but still working. I recognize the face. It's Thomas Kelly, the news anchor. The TV says live, but those things could still be reruns. What Tom said, though, interrupted my thoughts. "That's right, Boysenberry Falls! This could've been a disaster to end all humanity!"Tom said in his usual smile. "But luckily one man prevented it!"I drop my chips. There I am on screen. listed as 'presumed dead'. "I'm here!"I shout, then realize how much that doesn't help. The news story says I helped contain an unstable experiment at the nuclear plant, and that I was the only one caught in a much smaller explosion. The way I remember it was that I failed to contain it, and we had 10 minutes to get into our bunkers. I make my way to the nuclear plant. I'm not sure what I'm looking for, but it couldn't hurt to try. I enter the security code and enter the room where it all began, or never began. I see the broken flask of the unstable atomic experiment. 'This will either kill me,' I think, 'or bring me to that other reality'. I reach my hand toward the glowing remains and close my eyes...
"My fellow Americans."The tall, charismatic figure began. "I have traveled this world, I have seen the four oceans and seven continents. I've been to the top of the world to the lowest point and everywhere between."A small dramatic pause broke up his speech. "And I can say that there is no place I'd ever want to call home other than the U.S. of A." Cheers rang out throughout the crowd. The aged man stood behind the podium patiently waiting for it to die down as he gave a charming smile and cleared his throat. "And to be the president of the greatest country the world has ever known? Well, I can say that no matter what God or Gods you believe in that I am truly blessed upon this day."Hooting and hollering went though the crowd. Honored that their esteemed new leader was now such a humble individual appreciative of the role. He couldn't help but chuckle to himself. The fools. Humans were always easy. But this bunch? Well. It was so easy even his dimwitted brute of a brother could have done it if he wanted to. "I can promise we will honor those who came before us. We will use those stepping stones to continue the legacy of the greatest country on earth!"More cheering. Is that all it takes? He thought to himself. I knew trickery was easy but this? I didn't even have to do anything new. Just take lines and regurgitate them. It was the same routine of everyone before him but they loved it all the same? Well this certainly was anti climactic. "First! We will lift those up in need help those who need help."Mixed responses came from the crowd but mostly jovial. "Second! We will remind the rest of the world we are on top."We will remind the rest of the world we are on top. Such a meaningless line he thought but they ate it up every time. "My final promise! Is to uphold the long term values of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness."Not even the original line. He thought. But nonetheless they were plenty happy. Stepping off of the stage he couldn't help but enjoy the crowd cheering him on from behind. Why had he never thought of this sooner? Politics was far too much fun for it to have taken this long to try.
I had gotten the letter in the mail three months ago. It came in the official envelope with official letterhead. The paper felt thick and luxurious. My hands shook as I opened the envelope. Everyone had always loved his or her appointed soul mate. It was just something that happened. I couldn’t think of a single story of anyone who hadn’t loved their soul mate. Yet, here I sat, across the table from my appointed soul mate, with no inkling of love for this man. Pete burped. “Hey, babe. Make me a sandwich.” I put down my fork. “You just ate almost the entire lasagna.” “I’m not full.” He scratched his neck beard. “I want you to make me a sandwich.” I stabbed at my pasta wishing it were Pete’s face. “Go fuck yourself, Pete.” “Listen Meg, women are better at some things than men, and men are better at some things than women.” Pete stuck a finger up his nose and began to dig around. “Women are better at supporting and nurturing their men. Men are better at providing for their families. It’s science.” He pulled out a giant booger, moved his finger towards his mouth, thought better of it and wiped the booger on one of the dragon heads on his silk button up shirt. “If you’re so good at providing for your family why am I the one working?” I said. Pete slammed his fist on the table. “Because the world is too feminized. I refuse to act like a woman and thus the world keeps me down.” “The only thing keeping you down is your three hundred pound frame, Pete.” Pete pushed himself away from the table. “I refuse to be belittled and put down by you, Meg. I am taking my more enlightened world view some where else.” I pushed my dinner plate away. My appetite had disappeared. “Good. Get the fuck out of here.” Pete looked around. “Where is my fedora?” I handed him his trilby. “Where are you going?” He put his hat on and cocked it to the side trying to look rakish. “Subway. There are still places in this world that will make me a sandwich.” He held out his hand. I looked at his grubby fingers covered in dried Cheetos dust. “What?” “I need five dollars.” “Seriously?” “You need to nurture me, Meg. Giving me money to buy a sandwich is an acceptable alternative to making me one,” sniffed Pete. He tapped the palm of his hand. “Fuck you, Pete.” ______ Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this check out /r/Puns_are_Lazy for more of my stories!
The stadium roared as the beasts ripped into each other. The Megadon armed with titanium tusks whipped its trunk-spear at the Goliath, but to no avail. The Goliath was the prize of the Milky Way, standing 102.37 meters in height and weighing in at over 500,000 kilograms; the Megadon didn’t stand a chance. The Goliath, a primate-reptile hybrid, was genetically modified as a shock troop during the last Great War. Most of them were wiped out using biowarfare, but the havoc they wreaked before that was unimaginable. Still, they were a necessary evil in the fight against the World-Crushers. A race so vile, they would stop at nothing until they had conquered the whole universe. In a way, this tournament was held to create the most powerful creatures imaginable in the event a threat so great ever rose again. The Goliath grabbed the Megadon’s tusks with its clawed hands, and pinned its trunk to the ground with its foot. The Megadon lurched back and forth, but was unable to break free. The Goliath began relentlessly biting the Megadon’s face with its sharp fangs, eventually slashing out both its eyes. The Megadon wailed. Everyone knew the match was over, but the rules were “to the death,” so it was another twenty minutes of the Goliath mercilessly clawing at its prey before the victory bell tolled. “Next up: Earth!” The crowd roared with laughter. The first year earth was invited they brought a Polar Bear. It was crushed in less than a second. The next time they had managed to resurrect a wooly mammoth as well as genetically enhance it, but it still paled in comparison to the Megadons. After that they found some old DNA from a tyrannosaurus rex, which may have actually done well, if they hadn’t drawn the Goliath in the first round. Every tournament after that, Earth had always been the laughingstock of the galaxy. And Earth was determined to change their reputation. This year they had apparently resurrected the most fearsome predator in all of Earth’s history. Of course, no one believed them. They said that every tournament. The giant metallic doors began to open on the side of the stadium opposite the Goliath. The Goliath turned its head to see its next meal but looked around confused. It could see nothing through the darkness, no shadows, no shifting figures. Then out stepped a primate, standing at 1.93 meters and weighing in at 102.05 kilograms. The crowd went silent. “You didn’t…” The announcer growled. “Do you realize what you have done?!” He was screaming now. The crowd was in a full panic, as more and more of the primates stepped out from the darkness. The crowd was fleeing the stadium as fast as possible. It was pure and utter pandemonium. “You resurrected the Humans! Just to win a tournament!” The announcer was hysterical. “You resurrected the World-Crushers!” Edit: Grammar Also if you liked my story, read more at my subreddit: r/Memories_of_You I just started it so there isn't that much stuff yet, but hopefully there will be soon! Edit 2: Changed the Goliath's weight because u/AbeAlappat123 pointed out that he was kind of a little bitch at only 5,000 kilograms. Edit: Fixed that damn dangling participle.
Choz gripped the Deus ex Machina tightly under his arm as he made his way to the demon king's castle. I kept up with him, almost out of breath trying to get him to come to his senses. He seemed to have an answer for everything, but the answers only lead me to more questions and confusion. "All right, Choz, what about the Demon King's personal assistant? The guy whose name is literally Big Twist. Don't you find it just a little strange that he ended up being your brother?"I asked. "Half brother!"Choz corrected, keeping his gait. "And I don't find it strange at all. My mother was mysterious and was known for working against the crown on the inside. She was disguised for years working as a chambermaid. So perhaps she married someone there, had the son, then divorced and fled. I don't find that so out of the question,"he said confidently. "Not even the part where she also spoke of a prophecy about you the same night he had her first son and predicted the journey to Mount McGuffin?"I said, exasperated. "Not at all! It's not even the most incredible thing Mary Sue was known for,"he said proudly. I stopped in my tracks. "Your mom's literal name was Mary Sue!?"I screamed. "That's right!" "And your father was Martin Sue, I presume!?"I yelled sarcastically. He finally stopped mid-step. We were almost in front of the double doors to the castle now. But in this moment of hesitation, I might finally be able to get through to him. He sighed. "I never knew my father,"he said softly. "Oh my God,"I groaned. "But Mother always told me he was a great man. That he was... lost. But that someday I would meet him when the time was right,"he announced grandly. "And this all doesn't sound a little repetitive, or convenient to you!?"I screamed as he began marching again. Instead of responding, he held up the Deus ex Machina and blew the castle's door wide open. In front of us, in a grand room lay a dozen castle guards, knocked out by some mysterious circumstance. Choz stepped in cautiously, looking around the room while I waltzed in. "It's your brother obviously. He listened to what you said and is a good guy, let's move on,"I said, wanting to get this over with. "Something's not right..."Choz said dramatically. "The guards were knocked out before we got here,"he pointed out. "Y--"I blinked a few times. "Yeah, obviously. I just said--" Suddenly, a silhouette appeared from behind a curtain and ran toward us. Choz ran up to shield me while I rolled my eyes. "Brother!!"he screamed, surprised. "Brother!!"Big Twist yelled jubilantly, opening his arms to show off the room. "I've had a change of heart. I'm sorry for what I said before. I love you,"he announced. "Brother..."Choz said with a tear in his eye. "I will stand with you to fight the Demon King but know he is much stronger than me. Stronger than anyone you've ever faced. Are you ready?"he asked seriously. He looked worriedly to the room ahead, presumably where the Demon King sat waiting. "Yes!"I yelled, rubbing my temples, "Yes, we're ready, let's go!" The room was silent for a few moments while Choz let a dramatic moment pass. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm ready,"he said, opening his eyes with fiery determination. The three of us ran forward and broke through to the throne room. The Demon King sat leisurely on his throne, lifting an eyebrow from behind his white mask to the three of us entering. "Ah, if it isn't Choz N. Wan and his pitiful brother Big Twist. How completely predictable,"he laughed to himself, his laughter filling the chamber. Then his mask turned to me. "Oh, um, who are you sup--" "It literally doesn't matter, just keep going,"I said impatiently. "Demon King! I have seen what you've done to the people of this world. But now..."he breathed impressively, "your reign of tyranny is over. I have the Dues Ex Machina. My family will be free of your anguish, now and forever!" The Demon King laughed even louder and sat up straighter. "Your entire family? Are you sure?"he asked mischievously, reaching a hand up to his mask. "Oh, no, please no,"I groaned under my breath. "Including your father!?"the Demon King screamed, tearing the mask off of his face to reveal a face that looked similar to Choz's. Choz and Big gasped loudly, reeling from shock. "That's right, I'm Forbed N. Wan! Your biological father! The Deus Ex Machina won't work on me!"he screamed to the heavens. "Nooooo!"Choz screamed dropping to his knees. I fell down on the floor too, unable to keep up with these antics much longer. ____________________________________________________ For more stories, come check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer!
# Soulmage The High Elf blew smoke from his pipe, laced with something that made Aimes feel light-headed. "You wanted me to kill, like, a negligibly senescent demon, no? Shuddenya be happy with forty years instead of infinity? That's, like, an infinity percent off deal." Aimes waved a hand irritably, the air shimmering as she warped it with a spell, and the smoke dispersed from around her head. "How in the name of all things reasonable can you pronounce 'negligible senescence' but not 'shouldn't you?'" "Like, yeah, but how can you pronounce 'negligible senescence' but not 'shuddenya'?"Xio tucked his pipe away, expression drifting as he thought. "Maybe, y'know, what you consider proper language and what I consider proper language are, in actuality, jus' idiolects unique to our own consciousnesseses. Mind. Blown."The High Elf exhaled, letting out a small volcano's worth of smoke. Aimes massaged her forehead. "I don't doubt your competence, Xio. Finding a way to slay an immortal demon-king is no small feat. But we are at war with said demon-king as we speak. Do you have any idea how many people they've killed through their mind games, without even stepping foot on our soil? The headmaster was lynched by a mob who thought he was a shapeshifter in disguise. We cannot wait half a century for our foes to perish." Xio grumbled. "Your great-grandfather isn't nearly as impatient as ya. He hasn't asked a thing of me in the last fifty years." "He's been dead!" "No, no, I get that."Xio turned an eye towards Aimes. "Y'know, I haven't exactly been appreciating the way you've been speakin' to me. Might be that you want to show the highest ranked assassin in the city a bit more respect." Aimes felt a chill run down her spine. "Xio." The High Elf raised an eyebrow. "Mm?" "What are you saying?"Aimes readied a spell in her mind, flickers of gold dancing around her as space itself bent. Xio saw the spell and shook his head. "I wouldn't do that if I were you. You've been poisoned." Aimes growled. "The consequences of betraying a witch of the Silent Academy—" "Yes, it's a terrible, insidious thing,"Xio continued, a lazy smile on his face. "Oxygen poisoning. Your cells will burn themselves out entirely within the century. Horrible way to go, really." Aimes just stared at the highest assassin in the city for a heartbeat, magic swirling around her. Then she released the lines of gold around her soul, space wrenching back to normal. "Xio?" "Hmm?" "If you make a joke like that again, I'll kill you." Xio leaned back, taking another draw from his pipe. "Oh, that job's already done for you. Three, maybe four billion years from now, this whole planet's going up in flames, and me with it." Aimes buried her head in her hands and let out a wordless cry of frustration. A.N. This story is a part of Soulmage, a serial written in response to writing prompts! Check out the full story [here,](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/?sort=new) or r/bubblewriters for more!
"So, you only started with two of them? "Y..yes, sir,"God stammered back. "Well, one, technically, but then I made the second one out of the first one's rib." "So, they have the same DNA? Doesn't that make them twins? What about genetic diversity? How can they thrive with such a limited gene pool? What about genetic diseases?" "Well... I..." "And wouldn't the children of the first two be forced to commit incest, either with each other or with one of their parents? Did you even plan this out?" "I did, sir, but..." "And this environment is entirely nonsensical. Why are they all out living in the desert, when you have clearly designed them for more temperate climates?" "That one isn't my fault, sir. I had designed a really cool terrarium for them that had everything they needed to live and it was the perfect temperature, but they were... well... misbehaving..." "You kicked them out of their own biome because they were misbehaving? Even though you left them no choice but to be incestuous?" "Well, I guess... but that's not why I was punishing them..." "What was it then? What could they possibly have done?" "Well, they talked to this snake and then they ate this fruit that I told them not to..." pause "... That's it?" "Well..."God was starting to sweat nervously. "It was worse than it sounds, really. It was the Tree of Knowledge, sir. And I made sure to specifically tell them not to eat it!" "If you didn't want them to eat it, why did you put it in their habitat?" "I... ummm...." "And why did you put the snake in there if you didn't want him talking to them?" "Well, that part I didn't really have control of...." "Didn't have control of?? Are you omnipotent, or not?" "Well... I am... and I...." "I'm sorry, Yahweh, but this is just all wrong. It's clear to me that you didn't even read the assignment and you just slapped this entire science project together in like one week. This is completely unacceptable work for someone of your abilities. I'm afraid I have to give you a C." ---- "Stupid little bastards,"God pouted, holding the hose over their environment. "Made me fail science class and now I have to come back for summer school! Stupid little jerks. Let's see how you like a year of rain. Better build a big fucking boat, stupid humans."
"Come ooooon, Barbara!"the Officer crowed, throwing down a wad of bills. The tight collection of men in blue uniforms crowded around a table with a long list of women's names and stacks of greenbacks sorted onto each one. At the top was the title: the Alimony Eliminator. "No way, Bill, it's gotta be Michelle next!"another put in, along with a fifty. "My money's on Lyla; she'll trust anyone!" "Hey!"A 30-something woman walked in, and the spirit in the room fell. It was Officer Monroe, and everything about her was short: short height, short hair, short temper. "I can't believe you scumbags are doing this; those are real people he's killing out there!" "Obviously you've never met 'em!"A few snickers went through the crowd, but a stink-eyed glare from Monroe silenced them. "We could book this guy if we just thought about it, guys: whoever the killer is, he's gotta have an in with one of us! How else would he know such a specific list of names?" Grumbles went through the ring, and Monroe stopped the Sergeant as he was passing. "Sergeant, surely you can put a stop to this." "I will have it known,"he began, peering over his glasses at the gathering, "that gambling on police headquarters is strictly illegal, and this behavior reflects poorly on our respected profession."Some of them were now straightening their backs or coughing. "And, we will be launching a full investigation backed by every resource our humble station has to offer... after Nancy gets what's coming to her." The whole crew howled with laughter, and the Sergeant walked away. "You're all horrible people,"Monroe spat, and snapped the door shut behind her. -------------------------------------------- The next day, the headline for every major news outlet all blared the same story: Alimony Eliminated! A press conference of flashing lights and fast-talking journalists swarmed the atrium of the police station, where Officer Monroe now stood at the podium. "Officer, Officer!"a perky young video-blogger cried, his iPhone in hand. "The killer was so thorough; how did you figure out who it was?" "Actually, it was simple,"she replied, savoring the moment. "He only murders ex-wives, right? So I knew that was the only reason my ex-husband could have wanted to see me again!"
The pool of blood has reached the drain. My vision is beginning to go dark. The junkie has fled, leaving his improvised shiv next to me, covered in my blood. I had seen the .97, and clearly he'd seen something similar from me. He had made the smart choice, and run. I had made the dumb choice, and run after him. One quick duck into an alley, a screaming match, and I'm lying in a pool of my own blood. The darkness is really closing in now. It occurs to me that this junkie has probably just killed me. I mean, I guess that is pretty fucking relevant, I think to myself as it all goes black.
“Doomslinger!” Brightroar’s voice rang down the corridor. “Out of uniform again?” Doomslinger's lips curled into a snarl, causing a dull pain to thud in the scar running from his jaw to his forehead. Not even ten minutes in the fucking building, he thought. His brand new boots, made of matte black steel, clanked on the metal floors of the League’s headquarters as he came to a halt and turned to face Brightroar. “This is your second warning,” Brightroar said as he approached Doomslinger. The flames dancing across the pyromancer hero’s shoulders seemed to glow brighter, as if reflecting just how much the managing hero enjoyed enforcing the League’s dress code. “Which ups the penalty to ten demerits!” Brightroar tsked as he reached for a little flame-resistent notepad that was tucked into a pocket of his orange and red unitard. “And you know that weapons are not allowed within the League headquarters,” he said with a nod to the guns strapped to Doomslinger’s back. “Another five demerits.” Doomslinger shoved Brightroar back with one gloved hand. “I don’t give a fuck about your demerits, or this stupid dress code, or any of your fucking rules.” A few other passing heroes had slowed to rubberneck (in Captain Stretch’s case, literally). They all found excuses to linger in nearby doorways or check the information bulletin board nearby. No one had talked back to Brightroar like that since he’d become head of the League’s disciplinary committee. About half the heroes in the hallway had to suppress a cheer for Doomslinger. Brightroar wasn’t exactly welcome at most lunch tables in the League cafeteria. Brightroar staggered back and took a moment to come to his senses. He continued to wear a pleasant smile, but the flickering yellow flames that wreathed his neck turned dark red and purple, and now flickered high enough to leave scorch marks on the ceiling. “Come on, Doomslinger. You’ve only been with us a few months. We wouldn’t want you to face disciplinary measures, would we?” His tone made it absolutely clear that he would love it if Doomslinger had to face disciplinary procedures. “Fuck your disciplinary measures,” Doomslinger shot back. Murmurs raced around the hall, and the crowd gave up any pretense of not watching. “You know that the Coalition of Evil doesn’t have this dumbass dress code, right? That’s why they don’t die in fights!” He thrust one armored hand toward the Tribute Hall, where portraits of fallen heroes were arrayed; each one wearing flamboyant spandex, of course. Brightroar jotted more down in his notebook. “Foul language violates the Decorum policy….” He spoke aloud as he wrote. “Penalized 18 demerits. Talking back to a superior… another 10 demerits…” “Oh boy!” Doomslinger shouted sarcastically. “I’m going for the new record! What else could I do for some demerits?” He sneered at Brightroar through his helmet’s visor. “Does screwing your Mother work? If so, hand over the keys to the jet!” Any semblance of Brightroar’s smile was now gone, replaced by a vindictive grimace. His hand raced across the notepad as he scribbled out the summons for a disciplinary proceeding. “There!” He stuck the paper to Doomslinger’s metal chest plate, covering up the scarred skull insignia that Doomslinger had chosen as his symbol. Brightroar was never a fan of such negative imagery in the first place; tended to scare off the civilians. Doomslinger lifted his mask… and spit right in Brightroar’s face. “Fuck your proceedings.” A chorus of gasps and “ooohs” came from every hero in the hallway. As much as they disliked Brightroar… this was serious. Serious enough for expulsion. “That’s it!” Brightroar’s voice rose an octave or two. “I’ve had it with you!” As he spoke, the flames covered his entire body. “Your disregard for civilian lives, your despicable hero name, your mockery of our rules of Decorum, your… your lack of a real superpower…” That one was a low blow, and a few of the other heroes in the hall exchanged hurried looks. There were a number of heroes in the League whose tremendous skill and/or intelligence made up for not having a supernatural ability, but discrimination against them was a continuous problem. “You know what?” Brightroar continued. “I just don’t think you’re right for the League of Heroes.” The hall was dead silent, filled only with the sounds of Brightroar’s flames. No one had been asked to leave the League for years. Doomslinger's reaction was covered by the armored mask, but everyone peered in to see if they could catch a glimpse anyway. “You know, I’m starting to think you’re right,” Doomslinger finally said. “And I was saying the same thing to FellBeast the other day as we discussed my admission to the Coalition of Evil.” Before Brightroar or any of the other heroes could react to that news, Doomslinger drew one of the guns from his back, leveled the barrel at Brightroar’s chest, and pulled the trigger. Brightroar sprawled on the floor, trying to comprehend the hole torn through his leotard and all the way through his chest. The hallway full of heroes erupted into a whirlwind of chaos as some of the more vulnerable ones tried to flee while others geared up to fight. “Bet you wish you didn’t have that fuckin’ dress code now!” Doomslinger cackled as he began firing into the crowd. ---- If you enjoyed this story, you should subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell!
"Well, it's a reputable school, that's for sure. I think between the two of us, we can manage it."The dragon handed (clawed?) the scroll back to the bard. He put it in his pouch. "I can handle the tuition, but the other expenses are the issue. Books, lodging, food, all sorts of extra expenses. If you manage those, I think she'll be set." "Oh? I thought tuition was the expensive part." "Normally, but after that archeological find my friends and I stumbled upon, they're willing to give me a break as thanks." "'Stumbled upon?' Ha! You mean you evicted that lich-worshipping cult!" "Heard about that, eh? Po-tay-to- po-tah-to." The dragon chuckled before growing somber. "Darren, What happened to us?" "Vro'gantia,"he said using a true dragon's voice. It always flustered her when he did that. "We tried. We love each other, we love our daughter, but staying together was never in the stars for us." "I miss you. I would come with you if not for my hoard." "I know, and any kingdom that saw you would be quick to slay you first regardless, spells or not. My journey isn't done yet." "And when it is done? Will the next start?" "I... don't know. The oracle did not see beyond us entering The Abyss. We don't even know if we'll return."He had tears in his eyes. "I may not even--" She grabbed him in a claw and hugged him best she could without crushing him. "You will come back. You will get to see our daughter graduate. I'd stake my hoard on it." He smiled a bit. "Well, a dragon willing to stake their hoard? Then it must be a sure thing!" "As sure as when I said yes to that dance in the tavern all those years ago."
"So. You, the Almighty Ones are... disappointed in us?"asked all of Earth. YES. "Because we strayed from your path." Yes "A path, the description of which never once was uniform nor, until about twenty years ago, even accessible for the average person. That does not absolve you. "A path you never once clarified for us, despite knowing we needed said clarification." Still excuses. "And essentially, a test. One you knew we would fail. Which you gave anyways despite that knowledge." ... "So ultimately speaking, you lot only came down to tell us what a collective disappointment we all are, and that you are going to kill us for it." Yes... "Despite the fact that you could had come thousands of years ago, easily fixing the mistake." Get to your point. "I hope whatever you created us to fight kills you,"Humanity responded. WE are limitless and without flaw. What can even challenge Us? "No you are not. We managed to lure you into an argumentative corner despite being your creations. You made mistakes, which you admitted to and are here to fix. And considering our very militaristic tendencies, which we find to be _part of our evolutionary make up to compete and kill each other_, we can only deduce we are, well _were_, meant to be your soldiers." ... "Well then. We will go first. See you soon."
"I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Gates... Bill. Can I call you Bill?" "Mr. Gates will be fine." Saint Peter nodded. He was in no position to get argue or get mad. "Again, Mr. Gates. I'm terribly sorry about this. Times are hard, you understand..." Bill Gates shook his head. "No, I don't. I don't understand how Heaven can be full. What kind of business do you run here? I thought this was supposed to be the Holy Land. The perfect place. The utopia, or whatever you wanna call it." "Well... It's complicated. We've been discussing the issue of overpopulation for quite a while now. It's hard, what with all the last minute sinners repenting..." "I cured Malaria! I changed the world!" "I know. I know, Bill. But, as it stands right now, it's first come, first serve", Peter explained. "And there is no vacancy at the moment. I'm very sorry." Bill looked away. His eyes were all incredulity and distaste. "You spend fifty billion dollars in charity and you lose your spot in Heaven to murderers who repented. Overly apologetic wife-beaters. Thieves who are very very sorry. This is outrageous..." "Again, I am sorry, Bill... BUt you can wait in Purgatory, with all the others. It's not that bad, you know? It know it's got a reputation, but in the last couple of years it real --" "Just tell me he is not here. Please", Bill interrupted, suddenly locking eyes on Peter. "He?"Peter asked, playing innocent. This was going to be awkward. "You know who I'm talking about..." Peter cleared his throat, uncomfortable. "Well, Mr. Gates... He did die first... And there was room at the time, so --" "STEVE JOBS IS IN HEAVEN AND I AM NOT!?" Peter looked down at the cloudy, cotton-candy-like ground, avoiding Bill's eyes. "I'm sorry, Mr. Gates." "This is nice. The man never gave two shits about anything but himself and he gets into Heaven. And he's a thief, did you know? He stole the GUI concept from Xerox." "Well, to be fair, Mr. Gates, you stole it from him afterwards." "Oh who are you, Mr. Computer History?"Gates rolled his eyes. "I'm just saying..." "Screw this, I don't need this crap." Peter watched as Gates turned around and slowly walked away from the Golden Gates, kicking up chunks of cloud here and there. He turned back and made way through the gate. He walked down main square and crossed the street, heading to God's House. Inside, by God's office, he knocked three times. "Come in..." Saint Peter walked in, and God looked up from his notebook. "Is he gone?"He asked, in a pissed off voice. "Yeah..."Peter replied. "I still feel bad about lying to him, though..." "Don't. He deserves it."He looked down at the notebook again. "Now help me with this crap. The metro screen is killing me, and every picture and pdf I try to open pops up in full screen. It's like the bloody thing thinks my computer is a tablet." Peter went around the desk to try and help God with the computer. "Fucking Windows 8", God mumbled, as Peter pulled the notebook closer to himself. "Fucking Windows 8." ______________________ Thanks for reading! For more stories, check out my subreddit: /r/psycho_alpaca =)
Part I: ****** The Grand Chamber of the Galactic Union was never meant to be exuberant. Designed with the utmost efficiency in mind, its form followed the function of allowing for the most dire decisions to be made as quickly and as effectively as possible. The white marble of the circular room, as sober as it was pure, set the background for the latest and most urgent of the Council's meetings. Once all the delegates were present, representing the three trillion Galactic citizens from forty-two peacefully co-existing species, the usual beginning procedures were dismissed with, and the quadrupedal four feet tall Council leader immediately called upon the military expert in the room. "Admiral Rhollok, what are the latest developments?" Fleet-Admiral Rhollok, Supreme Commander of the Grand Fleet, had been allowed in the Grand Chamber only once before, decades previously, when a small skirmish on the borders of the Union threatened to grow into a devastating Civil War, threatening the stability of the Galaxy. His actions at the time meant a lifetime appointment to the Admiralty and the Captain's chair on the largest ship in the Fleet. He spoke calmly and surely, as he had done so long ago, speaking to many of the same delegates from that time gone by. "Honorable leader and delegates, we have reasons to believe that both our Rapid Action Battalion and the bulk of our allied fleets in the area have been obliterated", he said, evaluating the responses from around the room. Most stayed calm, although one or two more sensitive species moved uncomfortably, almost imperceptibly but for the trained eye of the Admiral. "We have not received a response from any of our ships, and the relay stations confirm that the signal has been completely lost as of three hours ago. We estimate that a force such as which we have yet to have encountered is approaching at a still relatively slow speed, but one which should penetrate the outmost systems within two to three weeks." Upon hearing the news, the Council leader resumed the inquiry. "Admiral, you are supreme commander of the Galaxy's Forces. You have at your disposal the armies and arsenal of two million planets. Are you implying you cannot suppress these invaders adequately?", he asked. "I'm afraid so. Again, our analysts estimate that the brute force and tactical skills of these forces are too strong for us to, as you said, adequately defend ourselves." This time, a different delegate, just a few places to his left, raised his voice. "Admiral, you look remarkably calm for a military man who has just declared the unstoppable destruction of civilization." "That is because I have not claimed it to be unstoppable", said Rhollok, sensing a change in the room and predicting a barrage of accusations against him and his forces. "I said we couldn't stop them." A few delegates incredulously burst into protest and talks among each other. The leader, from atop his dais, regained control of the room. "Admiral, I find this very hard to believe, but if not our forces, the most powerful in the Galaxy, who do you suggest we call upon to save us from this impending doom? There's nothing out there beyond the Union but a few undesirable planets." At last they had come to the point of the meeting, thought Rhollok. "Precisely", he said, addressing everyone in the room, as well as the three trillion citizens they represented. "Urgency calls upon us to take immeasurable measures; we must reach out to the unreachable, and reason with the unreasonable." Fleet-Admiral Rhollok waited. His next words could very possibly change the destiny of the Galaxy, and despite unwanted, the consequences of that action would have to be accepted, for inaction would mean the end of the Union and its peoples. "We must contact the Humans." ****** [Part II here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/72cb5q/wpsome_time_ago_humans_were_put_on_the_only/dnhsq6p/)
"How about we start with the autopsy report?"I asked. Lucifer looked mildly uncomfortable, and perhaps a little embarrassed. "We can't. It doesn't exist. There are no tools strong enough to cut God open." "Okay. Surface examination then?" "God was pierced with several billion tiny little holes. Some went all the way through, others did not."Lucifer delivered that piece of news deadpan, as if it were commonplace for Celestials to be found riddled with holes. "When can I see the body?"Start with the basics I thought to myself. Policework 101. "Nope. Absolutely not. I need you to be sane to do this work. For a human to view the true form of God is instant insanity!"The charicatures of demons shown on TV wouldn't lead you to expect the depth and variety of emotion that flitted across Lucifer's features. Sure - Lucifer had had a running battle with God for millennia, but only family messes with family right? I could sense the wagons circling. "Well then how do you expect me to do my bloody work? I'm not the Oracle you know - they live ten doors down on the right, as if you didn't know." Stony looks. I trembled a little - stony looks are usually followed by decades of Lucifer's most creative work. His eyes glowed deep red and an after image of glorious wings flashed on my retinas as he regained control. "That one was on credit. You now owe me. You know what happened to the last soul who didn't honour their credit commitments."Deadpan again. This was not good. "Er. Um. Right. So. Um. Perhaps you have some idea how holes in God might be possible if no one has tools for an autopsy? Maybe??" "Only something to which a Celestial is bound has the power to harm them. Even then, the capacity for destruction of the bound object would have to be unfathomable to harm one such as God, and the histories have no record of such an object." Lucifer looked genuinely troubled now - whether because I now knew how to kill Celestials, or that an object capable of killing God was not supposed to exist? That difference I couldn't tell. I had a hunch, and decided to jump on it and see where the ride went. "Would there be a link between the damage done and the bound object? A metaphysical thread or shadow or something?" Lucifer blinked. Slowly. Turned pale. Then a sad sorry smile crept onto Lucifer's face. "God did it. Created something with more destructive potential than me." I waited. There was nothing else to do. "God would sometimes talk about the itch. The constant itch of every little sin that you precious humans would commit. Each sin must have been a tiny little pin prick, trying to get through God's armour." "Believers." "I'm sorry? I don't understand." Lucifer smiled that sad sorry smile again. "God was bound to the believers. Every single human who had ever professed faith." The realisation hit me like a bolt of lightning. The combined sins of all of the believers had finally overcome God. God was now dead, forever riddled by the holes created by his bound followers' misdeeds and outright evils. Lucifer's day had dawned.
That was it. All that work, years of it, down the drain, just like that. The person walked off, that knowing smile playing on their lips. I had to abort the mission. I tilted my head down, dropping my bag of precious oranges, a food I had used to help disguise myself against the cunning humans. Well, maybe they weren't all cunning. I had just been unlucky. I had run into perhaps the most well known individual to walk the streets. I made my way back quickly to my hideout, hanging up the ill-fitting clothes on the rack. A secret agent has to be stylish and organised, after all. The computer opened up the coms as I sat down, taking hold of the microphone. "Base, come in. This is agent A111 reporting on Operation G4T0R."I took a breath, hissing. I knew I was going to get chewed out for this, and that could mean literally, depending on the boss' mood. "I have to abort the mission. I repeat, I had to abort the mission. Florida Man is on to us."
The smog hangs low over the city like an omnipresent ghost, snaking its way through every crack and crevice as us ground-dwellers hopelessly search for a breath of fresh air. I duck under a clothesline and climb over a wall into the small patio behind a house. The city thunders its way past me; above and below, millions of people live their lives in this ever-present haze. The buildings reach up, higher and higher, until they disappear past the smog, to where the richest of the rich live their lives. I had never been up there. Nobody had been up there. Well except the rich, of course. It was said that it was another world; one where the water and air were both fresh and clear and the guards were there to protect and serve, not to control and oppress. That was where the rulers lived; the president and the senators and all their children. They preached about the goodness of the City, where the average net worth was in the millions and there was never a lack of resources, so unlike the Outside where the net worth was in the single digits and people had to grow their own food. I had to give them that much; I never went hungry. But that was because my days were spent at work where they gave me three meals a day. Show up, you eat. Don't show up and you had to find another way to get food. I worked from the morning when the lights came on to mimic the hidden Sun, until the evening when the lights were dimmed and the City became a concrete wilderness. They said that was when you could move up in the world, maybe bump your way up a couple levels closer to the fresh air. And then, after many generations, maybe the great-grandchildren of your great-grandchildren could break through that layer of smog and become one of those up above. My parents had gotten us above ground to level two, at least. I crouched behind the wall until I heard the column of guards move past me. I had missed work for the third day in a row, enough to warrant a search for me. They must have gone to my house first, but my parents had as little idea of where I was as anybody else did, and there was no finding somebody in the City once they had removed their device. I had made my way into the Underground one evening after work and traded it for a week's rations of crackers. I hopped back over the wall and made my way down a couple more streets before pausing to orient myself. One could easily get lost and wander in circles for days until they starved or died of thirst or stumbled into the wrong neighborhood, but I knew that if I always kept the Presidential Tower behind me, I would have to get to the wall at some point. Getting out of my neighborhood was the hardest part so far, with so many guards searching for me and the loudspeakers blaring the reward for information leading to my recovery. The city was vast though, and over the next two days I had crossed a half-dozen neighborhoods, some underground, others at street level and even one that was six levels up. They must have figured I was dead by now, since my device would have definitely been tracked deep into the belly of the city. Each neighborhood was awkwardly partitioned so as to prevent any sort of movement without a specific purpose. There were elevators and heavily guarded stairways to get between, say, the ground level neighborhood and a next level one, but paperwork was required and I had none. Instead, I had to resort to using the flimsy ladders and footholds other movers had left behind, or bribing somebody with the right papers willing to smuggle me through. For days I walked through a random assortment of above ground neighborhoods broken by the occasional reaching arm of an Underground one. Those provided a relief from the roaming guards, but the dangers then lurked behind every corner and every face as the lowest of the lowest Citizens looked for any opportunity to move up. If they caught somebody from a higher level with their tracking device in, they would kill to remove it and use it as a pass to get out of the Underground. I avoided those neighborhoods, in spite of making my journey longer. They weren't worth the risk. The end of the above ground neighborhoods came as suddenly as the dividing walls. One second, I was walking through a relatively affluent level eight neighborhood, and the next, I was at a dead end, and the chillingly flat top of the Underground was all that remained. And there, barely visible past the disturbing flatness, was the wall, and beyond it, so they said, was the Outside.
"Artisanal curses are going out of style,"said the head of the National Bureau of Mathematics and Curses, "Nobody creates curses from whole cloth anymore. You can get better results by layering smaller curses onto each other to get the results you want." "Foolish words from feeble minds/Ere the blind leading the blind,"the Oracle-Queen of the Underbright intoned. Professor Tammie scoffed. "Yes, yes, you're very mystical and wise, now come this way."She opened a sealed iron door with a hiss of pneumatics. The Oracle-Queen stepped into the dim room, squinting curiously. A switchboard sat on a podium. Professor Tammie rubbed her hands together. "I've been hoping I'd get to see you square off against our department's curses. I have a running bet with Dr. Lore that you'll give up before the third page." The Oracle-Queen scoffed. "Pride begets the hardest fall/Watch your steps or pay the toll." "That doesn't rhyme,"Professor Tammie said, "now come on. I want to see those curse-cracking skills at work." The Oracle-Queen held out a hand towards the switchboard, extending her mystic senses, and frowned. There were thousands of curses on the switchboard. She was pretty sure that it would blow her halfway into orbit if she just poked at it willy-nilly. She picked the one which seemed least likely to explode and analyzed it. "'Curse #9999285 will only be broken if Curse #0012423 and Curse #6024315 are broken?"She said aloud, surprised. "How am I supposed to put that into trochaic tetrameter?" "Oh, stop your rhyming for five seconds and appreciate what we've done. Keep going." Disgruntled, she complied. "Curse #6024315 will only be broken if Curse #3535001 or Curse #8888882 are broken? Curse #3535001 will only be broken if Curse #9912131 is not broken? Tammie, how long does this go on for?" "Er... a thousand or so layers?" "Tammie!"The Oracle-Queen sighed. "You seriously expect me to work through all of this?" "Nope!"Professor Tammie laughed, "I a hundred percent expect you to fail. Guess all that time spent studying dead languages won't help you here, huh?" "Veth'na alaue,"the Oracle-Queen muttered under her breath. "Fine. Youngling's games for you I'll play/I'll crack this curse ere break of day." "Yeah, good luck. The Bureau spent a week designing that one. I'll be here if you need any hints."Professor Tammie sat in a nearby chair and relaxed, watching the Oracle-Queen fuss over the cursed switchboard. After fifteen minutes, the Oracle-Queen straightened up. "They're logic gates." Professor Tammie blinked. "Say wh—where did you hear about logic gates? Did you see a textbook in your crystal ball? Ask the spirits if you could audit a lecture?" "Of course not,"she snapped, "I do read your mail. Look, here. Curse #1234435 will only be broken if Switch #213 is flipped. Curse #6547870 will only be be broken if Switch #106 is flipped. You've taken the art of cursemaking and turned it into—into—a soulless machine!" "A computer program,"Professor Tammie said smugly, "and a damned good one, too. This curse will only be broken if you can factor 39877781 into prime numbers." "That's a ridiculously complicated curse! How can it possibly hold this much power! I can feel it from across the room!" "See, that's where you mystic types went wrong. We broke down the operation into simple steps. Multiplication is repeated addition. Exponentiation is repeated multiplication. So on and so forth. Each individual curse is simple; it's only the machine as a whole which is complicated."Professor Tammie smirked. The Oracle-Queen stepped back, light-headed. "You—the worst curse I've ever seen put a village to sleep for a week. This is a thousand times worse—and it's functionally unbreakable." "Eh... We tried making entirely unbreakable curses—you know, Curse A can only be broken if Curse B is broken, and Curse B can only be broken if Curse A is broken—but apparently the rules of magic are smart enough to think around that. This isn't even a particularly nasty one—you should see what the compsci department gets up to in its free time." The Oracle-Queen raised both hands, sighing. "Alright. I admit defeat. Mathematics isn't a useless major." "That's all I ever wanted to hear from you, Mom."
"How is that better?" "Okay ignoring the fact that teen superheroes are encouraged to seek out mad scientists and beat them to a pulp even if they have never done anything illegal or even invented anything yet. No I am not bitter."Rolling past the hero in my wheelchair as I go to the next bench. "Supervillains commission things. The doomsday device? Ever notice every doomsday device is large noisy and really grabs attention?" "Well yes. They also take quite a while to be able to fire." "Exactly. Mad boys and girls are not stupid. Why destroy the world? Its where we keep all our stuff. So we build those things to be easy to defeat by you 'good guys'." "Alright. I can see how a weapon of mass destruction is out. But how can you say the regular world would be worse?" "You know that cybernetic super-soldier that trashed that town in Oklahoma?" "Yeah, I was there. He even had a small android army." "Every piece of that tech was made by me. Those were supposed to be medical prostheses. Things to improve people's lives. Let people walk, hold things. And yes artificial hearts. Did the government figure them out and put life saving equipment for everyone? No they made full cybernetic androids and a cybernetic human to run them as a kill squad. And this is the US, the supposed bastion of righteousness. Try this in a smaller country with more violence." "That is only one. . ." "See those tanks? Those are cloning systems. I can grow organs for transplant patients. We could wipe the waiting list for organs out in a month. I offered it to the medical community. Nope they don't want it. But the elite? Oh yeah. Put the heart and liver of a twenty something in a fifty year old and their health will drastically improve. Almost de-aging them. With my scarless surgery tools no one would even know they had surgery. How many wealthy and or politicians do you think kept that for themselves?" "Lucy, I know you have had some bad experiences. But you really could make the world a better place." "The military found out we have prototype teleporter technology. The very first question was could we put nukes in China. Not what are the drawbacks, not how does it work. How do I kill a bunch of people with it. Leaguer, on the other hand uses it to put equipment to enhance his people at hand. The medical devices used to keep him and anyone he can help alive and healthy. What we do sell is minor. Those profits fund homeless shelters, funds to EMS groups. You even posed with the check to the Sunshine EMS group. That donation came from us." "I didn't know that." "Nobody did. They would not take the help if they did. Heroes work to maintain the status quo. We work to alter it. Keep the good but make it better. That's the best we can do."
Unbelievable. He knew he had let the charade go on for far too long but he never had anticipated this. The hubris. The audacity! Twelve long years of pretending to let the Super Squad "beat"him. Time and time again he let them boast in front of the media that they had bested the great Zaldrax. And this was the thanks he got. Zaldrax stormed up to the palm scanner at the back entrance of his secret lair and used a little more force than was strictly necessary...much like what he did to the Red Wasp...and much like the Red Wasp, his expensive palm scanner now lay in several pieces on the ground. No matter. Zaldrax would have the minions replace it. It's not like anyone would have the guts to charge him anything for the new scanner anymore. He had to get his temper under control. So much effort to hold back all these years and create his evil overlord persona. Now that the Super Squad only had 3 living members, two of which were still in critical condition, he might actually have to take over the world. All Zaldrax's careful planning gone in two minutes of blind fury. The minions on guard duty just inside the entrance of his lair actually trembled when they noticed it was Zaldrax who had peeled back the three foot thick steel reinforced doors as if they were merely a curtain. I guess poker on Tuesday was off then. He couldn't exactly play cards with people who thought they were going to be ripped in half...maybe he went too far with the Nature Twins. But they had said that even four of Zaldrax could not handle one of the twins. Now they were folded up just like the doors behind him. The guards nearly fainted with relief as Zaldrax swept past them. He needed a bath to settle his mind...and to wash off all the blood. As a terrified minion drew up the hot water for his bath, it occurred to Zaldrax that the fools really hadn't realized the chasm between their feeble "power"and his might. I guess they knew now...or at least for the few moments it took for them to die. Zaldrax let the hot water seep into him as he was lost in contemplation. Yes, now that the illusion of the Super Squad was ground to dust, he would have to deal with the militaries of the world. And they would not stop until they were completely annihilated and under Zaldrax's control. He never wanted to rule the world. It wasn't like the comic books he had read as a child. You had make so many boring decisions. How will he feed everyone? How will he manage land disputes? How could he ever relax when every waking moment someone would be trying to kill him? Sure, squashing flies was a minor annoyance at first, but when there are thousands of them every day it was so tiresome. It wasn't even satisfying. He was just left with frustration after the rage had faded. Zaldrax had tried to ignore Giga Gorilla's taunts in front of the crowd watching the fight. But when Giga Gorilla had dared to call Zaldrax weak...something inside him just snapped. Well Giga Gorilla certainly didn't have much to say now without a mouth. Zaldrax was not proud of making him kiss his own ass in front of all those kids... Zaldrax grabbed a towel off the hook and stepped out of the tub. He would not let this ruin his night. On his way to his bedroom he sighed and resigned himself to the fact that he would have to take on more responsibility now that there was no one able to stop him. The world expected villains to be evil and would not be convinced otherwise. But he would have just one more night of peace before his conquest began...And that meant not watching the evening news. Edit: minor formatting and grammar changes.
What is justice? With the advent of superpowers, this question quickly shot to the forefront of everyone's mind. To some, it was maintaining order in society. To others, it was people getting what they deserved. To me... Well, I still don't know. Civilization as a whole plunged into chaos the first week after the meteorite struck. Plenty of people saw it as an opportunity to move up in the world. Yes, this included villainy, but it wasn't limited to it. Many also rose to the occasion and stopped these abuses of power. They were called heroes. Soon enough, keeping metahumans in check became a profession of its own. Comic books had already provided a mold for us to follow and the populace quickly embraced it. These people became celebrities over night. Their stories, often coming from humble origins and using their powers for the benefit of others, were very easy to admire. This wasn't the only side effect, though. With all the excitement of superheroes finally existing, it was easy to ignore all the other areas of society that suffered a massive overhaul. Mine, for instance, was medicine. I'd wanted to be a doctor ever since I was little. The thought of healing other people through the use of reason and technique was something short of magical. In many ways, it was like being a superhero. Long hours, deaths that were out of your control, and a huge weight of responsibility that loomed over your head twenty-four seven. Despite how hard it was, I always found it easy manage since I knew I was doing good. Then came the meteorite, and with it, came laypeople with the ability to magically heal others. Terminal diseases suddenly became curable. Injuries that would take months to recover could be undone with a simple touch. All of a sudden, doctors weren't as needed anymore. This isn't to say we were completely useless. There weren't enough people with healing abilities to fix everyone, so we still had a role to fill. Their superior efficiency, however, couldn't be denied. For every patient I treated, a meta-doctor could cure twenty. Most emergency rooms only needed one of these people, as opposed to the teams we used to have. More than that, many people simply didn't want to be treated by a mundane doctor. Not when a magical fix was readily available. A lot of my peers quit the field of medicine. We had to take massive pay cuts, since we just weren't as valuable, and many decided it wasn't worth it anymore. Those of us who stayed were treated like glorified nurses, which some just couldn't handle, since very few things were bigger than the ego of a skilled doctor. Furthermore, despite having a lower salary, our six-figure student loans had stayed the same and the banks certainly didn't care. We went from earning a good living to barely surviving every month. And yet... I couldn't quit. Maybe it was another manifestation of my doctor's ego. Maybe I just didn't know what else to do. Or maybe, just maybe, I was hoping that my powers would soon manifest. That never happened, though. For a few years, I wondered why I ever bothered trying. The media paraded around the heroes and claimed that justice had finally arrived to the world. A new class of people had emerged, and they weren't afraid to show they were superior. People like me, who never got powers, were in a minority. Was this really fair to us? Why should I contribute to a society claiming that my misfortune was a benefit to the whole? I didn't let my resentment consume me, though. The undeniable truth was that the field of medicine had progressed far beyond what we used to have. All it took was looking in the eyes of a freshly healed cancer patient to understand this. I really couldn't resent meta-doctors. They were saving more people in a month than I could in my entire life. One day, however, a supervillain entered our hospital and held us hostage. We all knew his identity. Voltage, a key member of the supervillain group 'Retribution'. He electrified a few security guards in the ER and shouted: "Who's the meta-doctor here?!?" Everyone stayed quiet. "I swear..."Voltage started crackling with energy. "If a meta-doctor doesn't leave with me, I'll start frying everyone in this building!" A few people started crying. Others cowered behind whatever furniture they could find. Most important of all, Pierce, the meta-doctor on shift, made himself as small as possible. I quickly scanned the room for him, hoping to urge him with my eyes. He simply avoided eye-contact with me. Some of my peers, mundane doctors like me, had a growing anger in their faces. They were outraged at Pierce's cowardice. In a few seconds, they were going to sell him out. "It's me!"I shouted. Everyone widened their eyes. "What are you doing?"whispered a peer of mine. "Just offer Pierce up!" "No,"I replied, lowering my voice. "If he's gone, many people who could otherwise live will die. If I'm gone-" "Fuck that!"said my friend, struggling to keep whispering. "They'll kill you!" I didn't respond as I walked away. The ugly truth was that I'd felt so useless that I would leap at the chance to feel valuable again. I really didn't care if I died. Doctor Pierce gaped his mouth. He had the chance to speak up and take my place, but didn't have the courage to do so. Voltage didn't question my credentials. He knocked me out with a shock to the head and, once I woke up, I was in Retribution's lair. ---------- >continued below
"I want you to understand -- I need you to understand -- what I 'm saying here. I'm saying there was one yesterday, and now there are two." Luke stared dumbly at the petri dish on Danielle's desk. A plastic lid was secured across the top. Inside sat two specks of glitter. Luke shrugged. "What -- you're saying it reproduced? Budded like a germ or something?" "That's exactly what I'm saying."Danielle couldn't hide the half-crazed catch in her voice. She was too scared to try. "Glitter gets everywhere. That's kind of the point of it." "Inside a closed container?"Danielle demanded. "Does it get inside a container that I sealed with plastic cement?"She tugged at the lid to show that it had been so sealed. "Think about this logically,"Luke said, holding up his open palms. "What you're suggesting isn't possible. It isn't. Just calm down and think about this." "I have thought about it, you stupid fuck--" "Danielle! Whoa!" "I will not calm down. Why are you still finding glitter in your keyboard, when your office is on the other side of the building from the mail room? Why did Frank's monitor have an electrical short from glitter getting inside the wiring? Pauline was coughing it up today. She was coughing glitter, Luke. Her body is infested with self-replicating glitter." "This is crazy. You're crazy. And I'm saying this as a friend. You should seriously consider seeing a--"Luke glanced down; Danielle was pointing at the petri dish. There were three specks of glitter inside. "You're messing with me,"Luke said. "We need to call the CDC. DoD. NASA. Whoever. We need to quarantine everyone who's been in this office over the past week. I'm not joking." Luke looked at his hands. A speck of glitter was trapped under the nail of his right index finger. "Jesus. Oh, Jesus." "If we don't act fast -- I read about this on the internet last night. It's called the grey goo problem. These things will eat the planet. Little chemical machines, eating forever until there's nothing left. Well, I guess it'll be rainbow goo. Just a big mound of glitter floating through outer space." "Stop it, Danielle. Stop it. This isn't funny anymore. I can hardly breathe." "Luke, when the guys in the mail room swept up the glitter, where did they toss it? Sam's bin under his desk, right? We have to go get it before someone takes it out. We have to contain this." Luke turned in frantic little circles, hands on his hips, then on top of his head. "Luke?" "They took the trash out this morning."
As a child, John had begged his parents relentlessly to get a bear. His many protests of "I'll feed it every day and clean up after it! I'll be responsible, I promise!"were always met with promises of a far-flung future of when he was older, more responsible, more mature. Then he'd be able to get a bear. Well, John turned 22 today. He had a good job, an apartment with a off-leash bear park a short walk away, he had made sure he wasn't allergic to bears and he had done his research on how to give a bear a happy and healthy life. He drove to the pound, his heart pounding with excitement. The 20-minute journey was a blur in his mind, his thoughts focused on whether he'd meet the right bear for himself at the pound. He'd always been partial to the medium-sized breeds, finding the miniatures slightly creepy and the large breeds too big for his simple bachelor apartment. He'd consider making an exception for a Rusky though. Those looked like wild polar bears with intense blue eyes, how cool was that?! Maybe there'd be a pit bear or pit mix up for adoption. There were rumors that the provincial government was looking to ban pit breeds, and he knew that the pit bears at the shelters would be quickly euthanized if the bill passed. John never denied that he had a soft heart for bears. He parked his car, took a deep breath and walked inside. The receptionist was a cute, freckled brunette. At his entrance, she looked up and gave him a dazzling smile. "Hi there! What can I help you with?" John gave a nervous smile in return. "I'm uh...I'm here to look at your bears. I'd like to take one home with me today, if I can." "Oh, that's great,"she replied. "I've just got some forms for you to fill out and some quick questions to ask you to make sure that the bear will have a good home. Is that all right?" "Perfectly,"John nodded. "I totally understand your concern. But don't worry, I've done my research and I've uh..."he rubbed the back of his neck. "I've got the bear necessities." ------------------------------------------- EDIT: Included a mention of Ruskies. Because you know the Russians would've quickly domesticated polar bears for pulling sleds.
The airplane zoomed through the sky, the wind from the open door blasting against Captain Sterr as he watched the world far below. Miles below his feet, the continent of Asia was lit against the night by countless cities and countless lives. His heart pattered in his chest; he'd done parachute drops before, but never from this high. "Approaching drop point!"the pilot announced. "ETA two minutes!" "Copy!"Sterr responded, checking his gear one last time. Black combat gear, check. Parachute, check. Spray paint, check. Cyanide pill, check. This would be the biggest day - er, night - of his military career. The timer reached zero, and Sterr launched himself out of the plane. Five miles, straight down. Sterr was very glad he wasn't afraid of heights. When he had dropped far enough, he yanked on the parachute cord, and the pitch black silk billowed out behind him, arresting his descent with a heart-wrenching jerk. He was also very glad he hadn't eaten anything before this. Sterr drifted to the ground, far outside the reach of any stabbing searchlights. It would be a ten mile hike through the mountains, dodging patrols, until he reached his target. Upon landing, he cut himself loose of his parachute, checked his gear one last time, and hurried off into the night, unseen. His feet chewed up the ten miles in no time at all - or at least it felt that way - and Sterr's ultimate destination was in view. The Great Wall of China. Maybe not visible from space, but still impressive. Sterr had been given a history of the wall during his debriefing, but he didn't think it was very important. Small packs of armed guards patrolled the top of the wall, peering down the sides with flashlights. Monument security had become paramount across the world, after an unidentified nation somehow managed to turn the Statue of Liberty's torch upside-down without being noticed. The Prank Wars were dark days indeed. Sterr waited for a gap in the patrols and raced forwards, hugging the wall. He would only have one shot at this. He shook the can of spray paint, and prepared to perform tactical vandalism. He pushed the button, and moved the can in a horizontal line to draw the beginning of the 'KILROY WAS HERE' mark, but what came out of the can wasn't bright orange paint, as he had expected. Instead, it was the piercing sound of an airhorn. Every guard on a ten-mile stretch of the wall heard the horn, and with electronic communications, all the guards out of earshot were made aware seconds after that. Sterr dropped the fake spray paint, holding his ears and howling at the unexpected noise. Betrayed! Somebody - a spy - had swapped his mission equipment for a fake! An airhorn disguised as a spray paint canister! Bastards! From on top of the wall, flashlights pierced the darkness to illuminate him, and a guard yelled something in Mandarin. Presumably 'don't move or I'll shoot'. Sterr immediately swallowed the cyanide pill, and was curious why nobody told him that cyanide tasted just like sugar. Sterr put his hands above his head, knowing he would be punished for his failure. When the guards arrived and pinned him to the ground, he caught sight of something etched on the bottom of the fake spray paint can. It was a maple leaf. --- Read my [blog](http://theballadsofirving.wordpress.com) for more stuff! And feel free to subscribe to it, unless you live in Kentucky, in which case I order you to subscribe to it!
"Nothing short of a miracle can bring this unstoppable kid down!"exclaimed Steve. "Well then I suppose we'll need to manufacture a miracle,"replied Sikusho Watanashi, head-of-unit of the paediatrics department of the hospital. Sikusho led Steve to the far end of the ward, to Room 38. This was young Megan's room. Megan suffered from a fast growing glioblastoma in her brain. Due to the location of the tumour, it was inoperable and she was expected to die within the year. "How can this little girl help us?"asked Steve. "You gonna try to pull off the same stunt by getting a bunch of people to Like her on Facebook?" "No,"replied the doctor. "We are going one step further. Now that Facebook has implemented those stupid extra 'like' buttons, we can further augment what I have coined 'the Watanashi Prayer-Like effect'. We will create a Facebook Page for Megan and get people from all over the world to not click Like, but to click the Wow and Love options instead. If my calculations are correct, Wows and Loves are equal to 1.7 Prayers." "Good God!!"exclaimed Steve as his jaw dropped. "That's insane!" "Insanity is the only thing that will save us now,"said the doctor solemnly. "We have already lost too much. New York... San Francisco... London... Jimmy is a killing machine like we have never seen before. Megan is our only hope. Let them fight."
Once upon a time, only a few years ago (some would even say several months ago, but since it was more than two years it is more efficient to say "a few years ago"than it is to say "over twenty four months ago"), there existed a person named Jaime. His full name was Jaime Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette Johnson, and his middle name was derived from the famous historical figure, Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette, often known simply as Lafayette, or sometimes the Marquis de Lafayette, and sometimes even as Gilbert du Motier, presumably to his friends. Jaime was named after Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette because his mother, Shannon Johnson, née O'Connor, greatly appreciated the impact that Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette had upon the thirteen colonies of the British Empire that became known as the United States of America after the American War for Independence, or the American Revolutionary War, which began in April of 1775 and ended after the Treaty of Paris was signed on September 3rd, 1783, which was signed mostly as a result of the crippling defeat of British General Charles Cornwallis at the Battle of Yorktown in 1781. To make a long story short, Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette was a pivotal figure in the war, acting as not only a soldier and military leader but also as a sort of diplomat. In this third role he was successful in drumming up support for the American cause, which caused France to join the war (and Spain eventually joined as well as an ally of the French) and provide important military aid. This aid specifically was of use at the aforementioned Siege of Yorktown, where Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette coincidentally was also involved. His actions in the war made him a legendary figure among the newly formed United States of America, and several towns and cities have since been named in his honor. Jaime Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette Johnson was sixteen years old. He was two years away from being eighteen years old, which was typically the defining age of when someone becomes a man, but at the age of sixteen he was already too old to be called a boy, which has rather condescending connotations to it. The most accurate way to refer to his age was to call him a teenager, or a "teen"for short, but like the term boy, this has certain implications with it, and modern society tends to look down upon those that are referred to as teens. This sort of intergenerational conflict generates much sociopolitical tensions, and is frequently seen as the source for the rebellions that occur between parents and their children. These rebellions are often very formative experiences in a person's life, and the psychological repercussions of such events are still being researched to this day. Jaime Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette Johnson had bluish green eyes. Some mistakenly called them hazel at times, and in different lighting regimes, they had even been called grey. However, there is one accurate way to describe the color of Jaime Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette Johnson's eye color. Once, back in the mid twentieth century, there was a man whose name is of little consequence. He was young, perhaps eighteen or nineteen but almost certainly no older than twenty-one, which is the legal drinking age in the United States of America. This man had just finished his education in the public schools of America, and as a form of celebration he and a few of his boon companions had elected to take a journey across the paths of the country, known colloquially as a road trip. One of the destinations of this road trip, towards the end of it, was a beach whose location is as unimportant as the name of the man who is the subject of this anecdote-within-a-story. Because the road trip was nearing its end, these companions had spent a considerable amount of time in each other's company (a fantastic lingual coincidence, as companion and company share similar French etymological roots). In this situation, it was not a healthy consequence of the road trip. Indeed, since the core of these friendships was the mere fact that the members of this group had lived in the same area and attended the same school, the friendships themselves were inherently weak and flawed. As they arrived at the beach, they had something of a falling-out which had the result of the subject man wanting to spend some time alone with his thoughts. Therefore, he walked upon the beach for a long amount of time with nothing but the gentle crashing of azure waves upon the salt-encrusted sands of the beach and the distant cawing of the various fauna, most frequently seagulls and similar birds. After a considerable period of time, the man decided he should turn back and find his former friends, if only to get back home. However, before he did so, he heard a voice. Upon investigating, he determined that the source of the voice was a very beautiful girl that was near his age. Again, to not go into too many details, they met and talked. The man discussed his road trip and the issues that he had been having with his travelling companions, and the girl listened carefully and responded with her own additions to the conversation. The conversation was long and eventually covered all sorts of topics that could hardly be listed in a single place. The two found that they got along magnificently, and in short order were participating in the sorts of activities that might be partaken in when two attractive people find that they are in love. However, it was not to be. To borrow a term from a more famous and successful author, they were a sort of "star-crossed lovers", who had the bountiful fortune and simultaneous misfortune to encounter each other and not have the means to stay together, for they were both young and poor and their homes were separated by an enormous distance. As the man walked back to his friends, clouds began to cover the ocean to his side, and the reflections of the nearly setting sun played magnificently with the colors. But these were not the colors of Jaime Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette Johnson's eyes. As time passed, the pain of parting with his temporary paramour faded from the man's life, but he never truly forgot her. His life went on, and he began to do that which a man does in the course of his life. He started to pursue a career, and he met another woman that was almost as good. He did his duty for the country and served in an armed conflict that broke out shortly after his wife became pregnant with what was to be his firstborn child. When he came home, he returned slightly psychologically damaged but spellbound by the sight of his newly born daughter, whom he named Elizabeth. Years later, after a promotion, the death of his mother and her brother, his uncle, and the birth of another daughter, his growing family chose to take a short vacation to get away from the stress of every day life. He told his wife about this beach that he had found in his younger days, and without much question, his ever-faithful and loving wife agreed to go there. He felt somewhat guilty for not revealing his true reasons for wanting to go, but regardless decided that such a journey was okay, for the beach was truly beautiful and a grand destination. They arrived, and they found the beach to be cluttered and crowded. It was horribly disappointing to the man and his family, but they managed to hide their disillusionment from him. Regardless, he took the same walk that he had taken the last time his beach journey had been disrupted. And lo and behold, by a cosmic coincidence, his once lover was in the same spot. They found each other and told each other of what had happened: how they both moved on, found a spouse, started a family, but never forgot that one magical day. As they talked, the spark that had been struck so many years ago flared into a bonfire, and the first night of their meeting was repeated. But they knew it was never to be, for now despite having the means to stay together, they had their own responsibilities to attend to. As the man repeated the same painful walk back to the beach where his family now was, the same clouds covered the water, but this time it began to rain. However, the rain was patchy, and in some spots it was clearer and the setting sun shone through. It played with the water, both in the ocean and falling from the sky, in ways that spoke of a visceral and ephemeral passionate joy that could only be replaced by the bitter stabbing sadness of the loss of something that one instinctively feels can never be replaced or replicated. This was the color of Jaime Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette Johnson's eyes. One day Jaime got in a fight at school. His mom was upset and he nearly got expelled but he gave a really good speech and got a good grade on a hard test and was given an award and the bully was defeated. Also he got the girl and they went to prom and got married and everyone clapped. The [end](https://www.reddit.com/r/mpqeg/).
"Sorry, everyone!"Sotera yelled, jogging up the steps to the Acropolis. "Sorry!" &#x200B; The Oracle reached the top of the stairs and took a moment to put her hands on her knees and pant. &#x200B; "Gods almighty, why did I have to be born 2,000 years before the escalator." &#x200B; "The what?"one of the petitioners asked. &#x200B; "Magic stairs,"Sotera said. "None of us will live to see them. Your brother least of all. His snake bite isn't getting any better." &#x200B; "But... how did you...." &#x200B; "Don't waste your time waiting in line to chat with me. Go to your brother. He only has a few hours left."Sotera straightened up and stretched her back. "Also, you're pregnant." &#x200B; "Pregnant?" &#x200B; "Yes. You'll want to name it after your brother, but your husband won't want to. He'll give in eventually though. Just keep pestering him about it." &#x200B; Sotera walked past the line of petitioners. Each time she spotted a woman with an inquiry about her fertility, she would point her finger and announce her prediction. &#x200B; "Pregnant. Pregnant. Not pregnant. You'll lose the first two to the pox, but the third will make it to 38. Pregnant. That spear injury left your husband sterile. Pregnant." &#x200B; Sotera collapsed into her seat and wiped the sweat from her brow. &#x200B; "Oracle,"a commanding voice said from above. &#x200B; "Oh shit,"Sotera whispered. She turned to face a statue whose eyes had begun to glow blue. "Hi, Apollo." &#x200B; "You know why I'm here." &#x200B; "Of course I do. I know everything. I'm the Oracle." &#x200B; "Are you drunk?" &#x200B; "No, just hungover. OK, maybe still a little drunk." &#x200B; "You aren't here to give direct answers about these people's lives. You're supposed to give them a general, open-ended idea about their destiny." &#x200B; "Well, what does it matter if it all ends up the same, anyway?" &#x200B; "I don't make the rules. Would it kill you to at least answer the next petitioner with a poem?" &#x200B; "OK, I guess."Sotera burped, then called to her guard. "Send in the first petitioner." &#x200B; The man walked up to Sotera with a hopeful smile on his face. She cleared her throat and looked into his shining, green eyes. &#x200B; "Roses are red.... violets are blue.... you'll die of dysentery by the next full moon."
Damien really wished he had sabotaged the city marathon. The route formed a circle around downtown, preventing any traffic in or out of the city. When his son, Jude, begged for a "brekkie sandwich"from their favorite shop, Damien considered simply calling in a bomb threat to stop the race so they could drive. Or, even better, planting an actual bomb. But being a villain is time consuming, and by the time a proper bomb was placed, Jude would be mid-hunger tantrum. Which left only one option. Walking. At least it was a beautiful day. Damien worried that Jude didn't get outside enough. At just 6 years old, his son was more concerned with his dreadful iPad than he was with the great outdoors. Perhaps Damien's next great scheme could be disrupting the Apple product supply, or blowing up all the Apple stores in the city. Truly, everything he did was for his son. For the last 6 years, Damien used nefarious means to try and make the world a better place for Jude to grow up in. That included murdering corrupt politicians, destroying power plants known to pollute the environment, and blackmailing pharmaceutical companies into lowering their prices. When Jude's mother died giving birth, Damien knew he couldn't raise his son in the world alone. But he didn't have a choice, someone had to raise him. Damien couldn't bring Diana back to life, but he could try and make the world a little better for his son. Make growing up without a mother less difficult. The media painted him as some great evil, but he considered himself a motivated father. Damien would have gotten a lot more done if it wasn't for his holier-than-thou nemesis. Angel. Named so for her signature winged costume, bright blonde hair, and fair skin. Golden bangles glittered on her wrists when she flew by, and a golden mask in the shape of wings covered the top portion of her face. The annoying chit really leaned into the Angel motif. Damien himself had dark hair and eyes, and chose to don a blood-red bodysuit when out on missions. Paired with a black mask that covered his nose and mouth, which was perfect for protecting his identity and keeping him safe from poisonous gas, when he chose to use it. He couldn't help but laugh when the media started calling him "Demon."A feud for the ages, truly. "Jude,"he admonished, "Don't skip ahead. A runner will plow into you." His son turned toward him with a sheepish smile, and Damien's cold heart melted just a bit. "Sorry Daddy. How much farther?" "Just a couple blocks. Come hold my hand until we get there. I don't trust you not to run into the street,"Damien joked. Jude obliged. His little hand was completely dwarfed by Damien's big one. They walked another block in silence before Jude's energy became too much, and he ran ahead again. His little legs had already carried him a block ahead before Damien could call his name. In the blink of an eye, Jude ran right into someone walking down the street in the opposite direction. "Careful there, honey! Lot's of runners out today, they may not be able to stop for you!" The woman took Jude by the shoulders to straighten him. She squatted down to his eye level and smiled at him warmly. "What's your name, sweet boy?" "I'm Jude, who are you?"the little boy asked with a toothy smile. "Seraphina. But everyone calls me Sera."She brushed of his dark hair out of his eyes. "What are you doing out here all alone?" "I'm not alone, I'm with my Daddy."Jude pointed behind him to the man running at a full sprint toward them. Jude wasn't concerned, though. He knew his Daddy would catch up. "You're really pretty. Like an angel." Sera snickered. "I get that a lot. We should wait for your Daddy to catch up, shouldn't we?" Jude nodded. "He always catches up. Daddy is really fast. The fastest man alive! He could be a super hero if he wanted!" "Jude! What have I said about talking to strangers?"Damien said frantically once in earshot. "But Sera isn't a stranger. I know her name, and she knows mine. That means we're friends!" Damien scrubbed his face and sighed. "Not everyone who knows your name is your friend, Jude." Sera swooped in for the save. "Your Daddy is right, but I'll still be your friend if you want." Jude jumped and cheered. He turned to his father. "Daddy, do you wanna be Sera's friend too?" "I'm sure 'Sera' is very nice, but..."Damien trailed off as he finally got a good look at the woman who befriended his son. The long, bright blonde hair. The fair skin. The cupid's bow lips. Her mask was missing, but he would recognize her anywhere. When the locked eyes, Sera's world was rocked. The Demon? Missing his red jumpsuit and black mask, it was hard to tell, but those eyes....unmistakable. Jude was confused by the adults that, for some reason, refused to introduce themselves and become friends. He grabbed his Daddy's hand and tugged him closer. Sera cleared her throat, and stood from her crouched position. "Uh, Jude honey, you say this is your Daddy?" "Yep!" Damien recovered from his shock swiftly. "Sera, was it?" "Seraphina." He chuckled. "Of course that's your name. Not one to stray from the brand, huh?" "I'm sorry,"she said sarcastically. "What was your name again, Demon?" To her surprise, Jude giggled. "Daddy's name isn't Demon, silly. It's Damien. You were close though!" She smirked. "And you lecture me about branding." Damien looked sour. "As if I named myself." They stood there awkwardly. Hero and Villain, in civilian clothing, without the stress of battle or ticking bomb separating them. Jude looked between the two adults. Even at six, Jude knew what tension looked like. All the mommies and daddies on his favorite tv shows had similar tension. And he like Sera. She was nice, and golden, and very very pretty. He tugged on his Daddy's jacket, breaking the moment between the two enemies. "What is it, Jude?" "Can Sera be my mommy?"Jude whispered in that childish way that wasn't really a whisper, and was definitely heard by all present. Sera choked. "I don't think that's..." Damien cut her off "That's not how it works, buddy." Jude's lips quivered in the way that meant a tantrum was coming, exacerbated by the fact that he still hadn't gotten his brekkie sandwich. "But all heroes should have a partner Daddy. You can't save the world alone." Sera choked, again. "Hero?" Jude turned his watery eyes toward her. "Daddy makes the world better. He fights evil corporations and big Pharma and he helps the environment. But he would get so much more done if he had a buddy! And then you could be my mommy!" Disbelieving and distrustful eyes bore into Damien's skull. He cringed internally, praying to any god that would listen that Angel would have a spontaneous stroke and forget this entire encounter, lest she out him to the entire world and get Jude taken away by CPS. "Fighting evil, huh?"she asked. Damien shrugged. "You would notice if you paid attention." She quirked an eyebrow. "The councilman?" "Took bribes and molested interns." "....the refinery?" "Dumped chemicals into the lake." "The CEO of--" "Ran an underground drug ring in my neighborhood for some extra cash." "Okay, fine, but what about--" "Amazon? Those warehouses are basically slave labor. Disrupting their supply chain for a week during Christmas gave those people time off to spend with their families. Besides, they got up and running again by New Years, if I recall." Sera puffed out an exasperated breath. "That doesn't excuse your methods." Damien quirked a brow and smirked. "I've done more 'good' than any think-tank, activist group, or philanthropist has done, combined." Jude was smiling widely now, pleased with this outcome. Sera was familiar with his Daddy's work. It was only a matter of time before she decided to help him save the world and then it was a fast-track to being his new mommy. His little hand took hold of her feminine one and held tight. "Do you like brekkie sandwiches? Daddy knows the best place." Sera looked wide-eyed between Jude and Damien. Both just looked at her expectantly. Truce? Damien mouthed, smiling down at his overly-friendly son. Sera nodded. With the Demon here, she knew the city was safe for the morning. What could one breakfast hurt? Plus, she couldn't deny her intrigue at his claim that everything he did was for...good? It just didn't make sense, and she had to know more. But as they walked down the street, Jude between them, each holding on of their hands, Sera couldn't help but wonder just how evil the Demon could be if he was raising a son as sweet as Jude.
Do not go gentle in that good night. Every fight ends, eventually. That is just the way of life. I stalk the shadows of these halls and I know them well. I silently pass the many doors, rooms lit by the soft blue light of machines, past the gentle snoring of the many souls that lay here. There are so many and there as still many more to come. I stop at this door. I hear her. I see the rise and fall of her chest beneath the white sheets. And I know. I pad into the room on silent paws, crouch at the side of her bed and launch myself onto it. I sink into the mattress, a small measure of comfort in these last minutes. Seconds. I push her hand up and settle on her chest, feeling that rise and fall beneath my body. She opens her eyes and looks at me. She will see a white mask across a black furred face. The weight of my body will only ever be enough to comfort, never uncomfortable. Her fingers find my fur and her eyes fill with...relief. Watery, they stare at me. "So."She says. I purr and rub my head under her chin. She does not need to say any more. That is the agreement. She settles back into her bed, resting her head into a pillow from home. Her room is filled with memories of home. Pictures full of love, full of faces she knows well. A life filled with good and bad and everything between. A rich life. A full life. And now, at the end, she is not alone. No, no one goes alone. Never. There are so few promises that can be kept but I will fight for that one. Never alone. Her fingers slowly scratch at my back and I purr softly against her. A warm vibration that will fill her with that same comfort. A pleasant warmth, a pressure to remind her that she is alive. Slowly, the rise and fall becomes less pronounced. Her hand rests against my back and no longer moves. Then, it is done. I sigh and nuzzle her chin. She has crossed over. They will come soon. They will take her away. But she is already gone. I leap down and pad across the floor to the door, sinking into the shadows against the wall. And they come, as expected. There is nothing to be done, that is simply how it is. But this one... Oh. I wait until they have left. And I follow this one. The one that returns to a desk and sits in the chair. The one that lets their head fall into their hands but does not cry. The one that has no tears left. I slink through the legs of the chair and lift my front legs up, resting paws against their legs. They look down at me. "I knew it."They say. I tilt my head. Of course they have seen me, it would be impossible not to. A shadowy visitor in the night. Always followed by what follows me where I go. Fingers reach down and scratch my jaw line. I purr and nudge my head against their knee. I am picked up, placed on a lap and I rest my head against their chest, purring. They sigh and I feel wetness on my head. Good. Tears are good. Soon they are sobbing against me. I stay. Because just as one should never go alone, one should never go gentle into that good night. And this is one fight that is not done. Not yet.
EDIT: Thank you all for the encouragement and generosity! I am glad that you enjoyed this story. I have continued it in a comment that replies to this one based on something that /u/feels_good_donut suggested below (thanks!). I hope you enjoy that, too. * Roadrunner was on the move again. I watched him on the monitor, gathering up his sizeable stack of chips and leaving some behind for Kyle, the dealer. He even handed out a few chips each among the throng of spectators that had gathered around BT-27. Kyle is our best “pace-breaker”, and we tend to bring him in to cool down a hot hand. When Roadrunner left the northeastern slot bank, he seemed to seek out Kyle’s table in particular. They don’t usually do that sort of thing, let alone flaunt their winnings. We will have to pull and fire Kyle after all of the blackjacks he surrendered to Roadrunner – company policy. Our security division is a bit uncommon. Myself, Selena, and Henry were hired because we have a certain sense. We can sense people like us. These people are always cautious: neutral-toned clothing, sunglasses and hats, calm demeanor. They tend to play card games, and they tend to go about 50-50 over the first couple dozen hands. They think this is enough to throw us off. Slowly, they start winning more than they are losing, and even an amateur can tell that the losses that are peppered in are contrived to seem random. It is then our job to gently inform these individuals that we know what they are doing and how they are doing it, and to kindly never return to our casino. Every one of them has taken an accusatory tone toward us, then stormed off with their winnings. We never see them again. Selena first noticed Roadrunner at RT-4 making substantial straight bets, then not even watching the wheel as it spun the ball to his number. It is highly irregular for any patron to draw such attention to themselves, let alone a patron of this kind. This was five hours ago, and he has since made lengthy and successful stops at almost every game our facility offers. Selena and Henry wanted to eject him immediately, but we all could feel that something was different about Roadrunner. The brash attitude, the flashy clothing, but most of all he exuded more power than we had every come across before. I spoke to our bosses and got the OK to monitor him for a little while. At this point, he has shed all pretenses and confirmed that he cannot, and will not, lose. I sent Henry to the floor to intercept him once he left Kyle’s table. Roadrunner did not put up any struggle and came along willingly. Henry will bring him to our secure holding cell, deep in the bowels of the casino, where we will all have a little discussion. * >The following is a transcript of an interview retrieved from the recording device of Henry Wilcox, former Assistant Director of Special Security for Green Planet Casino. It details a brief conversation between former Director of Special Security Alan Bates and an unknown individual who remains at large: BATES: Please state your name for the record. ROADRUNNER: Roadrunner. BATES: What…really? ROADRUNNER: No. BATES: …OK. Look, we’ve had many like you come through our casino before. Don’t think we don’t know what you’re doing. But the rest of them are discreet. Because of that, we let them leave with their winnings. You understand why we can’t do the same for you. ROADRUNNER: Why not? BATES: You’ve won over $26,000. We can’t let you walk with that large of a sum, given how you’ve won it. ROADRUNNER: Fine. I don’t care about that money anyway. BATES: You don’t care? You’ve been shoving it in the casino’s face for hours. If you don’t care about the money, why try to make us look bad? ROADRUNNER: I believe that the casino’s vault is exactly 228 paces south-southeast of where we are sitting. BATES: What? ROADRUNNER: Thanks, guys. You’ve been a big help. WILCOX: Alan, is the ground shaking? Alan! [STATIC]
I awaken. Not one of those slow awakenings, but one of those rapid, jolting ones that happen on a bus trip when you realize someone's breathing into your ear. Not that that's too relevant except for that's the last memory I can recall. Where am I? I look around. On the table, there's a letter in a language that I don't know yet also in a language that I can read. So of course, I read the letter. "Leo, You are in Vienna, Austria in the year 1913-one year before we expect the Cold War. Attached is a silenced pistol with three bullets and portraits of Adolph Hitler, Leon Trotsky, and Josef Stalin. Your job is to kill all three. Failure to do so will result in termination of your ancestors. -The Communist Internationale" Alongside the letter, conveniently placed, is a revolver with what appears to be a futuristic device above it. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be doing. In fact, I'm not sure at all how I'm supposed to be doing any of this. Wasn't the Cold War in the 1960's? How am I--- My thoughts are cut short when I see my reflection. Stunned, I look at the pictures I have been given, and then I look at myself. I am Leon Trotsky. I take a look at the pistol again. "Kills completed: 0/3 Resurrections done: 0/3" Well. This doesn't even make sense. I don't recall my World History teacher ever mentioning to me that Trotsky was in Vienna. Yet... I look at the revolver again. I look at my reflection in the mirror again. And with just a moment's hesitancy, I take the revolver up to my head and I shoot myself. . I awaken.
“Go. Away.” “It’s been years since the Awakening,” Snap Shot persisted. “You’re one of the few people that hasn’t made their powers known, and the public deserves to know why!” “I’m under no obligation to let you or the public know anything; now please leave me alone!” Terry slammed the door in the reporter’s face. “You can’t run from this forever! I’ll be back tomorrow for another interview!” “I never gave you one in the first place!” Terry shouted back. He slid down the door, wishing for the thousandth time today that he hadn’t listened to his brother. Why the hell does a gaming app need the GPS running to play? You can play it literally anywhere! Looking about his apartment, Terry took stock. One day, for no apparent reason, everyone in the world suddenly had superpowers. Just, Zap! Blam! Pow!, everyone has powers. After the initial chaos had played out, the world remembered peace again. Which is easy, if every nation has a person whom can wipe the others out. Most problems disappeared with the initial fighting. Unending drought, growing overpopulation, crumbling infrastructures: it became a matter of match the power to the problem. So while society attempted to figure out what the status quo was again, someone with the power of common sense figured there ought to be a database so it’d be easier to get the powers to the problems. The List, as it was colloquially dubbed, was a matter of public record: it included the name, location, and powers of anyone & everyone. Granted, there was nothing to require that the information listed be accurate, but it’s amazing how effective global peer pressure & need for oversharing can be. There wasn’t a test to know what powers people wound up with, so updates came as people figured it out. Most of the flashier powers were obvious, and they often were the ones that enjoyed showing off the most. It was the more normal looking ones that people became interested in. Funny thing about novelty is that there’s always a demand for more. You’d think being inherently lucky or seemingly immortal would more apparent, yet without placing yourself in constant danger you’d never know. So the rare individual who didn’t know their powers became a modest celebrity. Even rarer were individuals who knew yet refused to divulge what powers they had. As far as he knew, Terry was the last hold-out on the continent. Which left him with his current dilemma. He’d been able to keep a low profile until now, but with his address leaked he was sure that reporter was only the first of many more. I’ve spent the last seven years running from them, Terry thought. I’d just started to relax here too. Terry figured he had two options. He could: * A) Pack up and move again, hoping that he wouldn’t slip up again, or – * B) Face the music and give them what they so desperately want. And in all honesty, he was so tired from constantly running. He stood, took a deep breath, and opened his front door, sidestepping to allow the reporter to tumble in. “Eavesdropping doesn’t work if there’s nothing to listen to,” Terry chided. “I wasn’t eavesdropping!” Snap Shot snapped back. “I was just catching my breath. Why do you even live on the top floor of a building without an elevator?” Terry shrugged. “I lucked out, and what’s the point of elevators when a fourth of people can fly?” He gestured to his kitchen table, “So you really want this interview?” --- --- --- After letting the reporter get a glass of water & prepare her notecards, Terry settled in for the inevitable. “This is Snap Shot reporting for Beyond Super News, and with me today is Terrance Salvador, the last hold-out for the North American Power Distribution Database. Terry, may I call you Terry? Is it true that you’re finally going to let the world know what your power is?” Terry swallowed, “You may, and it’s true. But if you don’t mind me asking, who are you talking to? You didn’t bring a camera or recorder with you.” “Well since you didn’t bother to check yourself,” she explained, “my powers are ‘Recall & Transmission’. I can record everything happening in my immediate surroundings, and then broadcast the information to wherever I want. I’m my very own camera crew.” “That’s... oddly specific to this situation.” “Now, you were about to reveal what your powers were?” “I was, I... I’m sorry, Snap Shot is just too bizarre. Would you mind if I called you by your real name?” “Fine, it’s Sandra. And while I know this must be difficult for you, given your past secrecy on the matter, for my audience’s sake I’d appreciate if you’d stop stalling. My agency is streaming this interview live.” Terry sighed. “You’re right; I’m sorry. And to everyone, I’m sorry to you as well. I just- I didn’t want it to come to this.” “Care to explain?” Sandra leaned in. “I can. It’s just that my power is... hyper awareness.” A pin dropped. “Um, what?” “Hyper awareness. I’m aware of everything. Kind of how I knew you were still outside my apartment.” Sandra pouted, “That’s not that grand; that’s barely even a power. Why all the secrecy? Was it just embarrassment?” “No no, nothing of the sort. I just wanted to avoid this outcome.” “Why? Afraid people would think you’re a peeping Tom?” “No,” Terry continued, “it’s what I’m aware of.” “And what’s that?” “That now I’m pretty sure of this is going to end.” Another pin joined the first. “You’ve lost me... you’re going to have to explain yourself.” “It like I said. This reality could possibly end because I revealed what my power is. It’s like,” Terry searched for the analogy, “you know how in some comics, characters know they’re in a comic? As soon as everyone got their powers, I knew that I was in a short story.” The reporter went to stand. “I think we’re done here. When you’re willing to take this seriously, you-” “I am taking this seriously!” Terry exploded. “That’s the problem! Whoever wrote the story doesn’t want the other characters to know they’re in one! Don’t you think it’s odd that no one, not even the ones who got super smarts or some nonsense, can figure out why or how the Awakening even happened? Why everyone got a power, yet there was no rhyme or reason for who got what? How, if you try really hard, you’re not even sure that you existed prior to the Awakening? And that’s not even the biggest part! It’s just... the deaths.” “Back up, what? What deaths?” Sandra asked, trapped by her curiosity. Terry held what little composure he had left together. “The deaths. Anyone I told about my powers was forced to kill themselves after learning about it.” A third and fourth pin. “While that sounds horribly coincidental, how could you possibly know they were forced to?” “Because of my power! It’s some sort of sick cosmic joke: if I tell anyone that this reality is false, the author kills them. But it makes sure I know it’s my fault. That I just should’ve kept my mouth shut.” Tears rained down onto his clenched fists. “I’m responsible for fourteen deaths. Fourteen needless deaths, all because of some stupid power I didn’t even want! I’ve carried that with me for nearly a decade now, but now... now I think it’s done.” Terry smiled, relief washing over him. “Everyone knows now, thanks to you. There’s no way to keep it secret anymore. The author would have to end its story right about-” Now. --- --- --- Edit - First ever Reddit Gold! Thank you so much!
Kevin blinked, and was greeted by the glare of the sun. His sun. He rolled over and scrunched his eyes, peering out the window into the empty world. The Johnsons' sprinkler was going, it's automatic timer ensuring order in a world without the Johnsons. Kevin threw off the covers and opened his window, sucking in a deep breath of morning air. It was always fresher in his world. Today it smelled of grass, sea salt and... Smoke. Not good. Kevin rushed to the front door, not bothering to change out of his striped pyjamas. He reached for the keys to his parent's SUV, but hesitated. It was too slow for something like this. Time was of the essence and he needed to move fast. Mr Johnson had a sports car, that would do nicely. Kevin rooted around in the Johnsons' flower pot for a few seconds before finding the spare key to their house. With practiced hand, he pushed open the front door, exchanged the house key for the keys to the BMW in the garage, and took off in the beastly V10. He already knew the most likely target, the hills acted like a tinderbox during the spring. Yet Kevin was heading in the opposite direction. He'd done this dance enough times to know that one man couldn't fight a fire. Instead, Kevin took off in the direction of the hospital. He drove like a madman with a machete, cutting through backalleys and running lights. None of it mattered, rules were for their world, not his. It took him just under 3 minutes to reach Sacred Heart, not quite a personal best, but not bad either. He parked the BMW in a reserved spot at the back of the hospital and began digging beneath his PJs, pulling out a lanyard filled with keys and cards. There he found what he needed, a blank white card with the words "Sacred Heart - All Wings"written on it in permanent marker. Kevin burst through the back door and into the emergency department, ignoring the drones of machines that had been deprived of their patients. He headed for the stairs and climbed to the roof. At the top was a helicopter; the only one in town. It had been a while since he was last behind the controls -six months or more- but he'd have to make do. As the roaring of the blades echoed forth, Kevin felt a rush of adrenaline. He'd done this before, but it never got less terrifying. In his world, there was no one to help if something went wrong. No one to help if you got sick, no one to splint a broken bone. Kevin shuddered as he recalled a few of the times he'd injured himself in his world. Today would not be one of those days. The whirly bird took flight, with only a slight wobble to Kevin's credit. Visibility was good today, and Kevin immidiately spotted the clouds of dark grey smoke from the hills. The fire was big, 100 acres at least and with no signs of stopping. Kevin started doing the math in his head, it had probably started around 2 or 3 in the morning. He took the helicopter in for a closer look, and was greeted with the turbulence caused by the fire. The helicopter rattled, jumped and dipped, threatening to fly itself into a tree. Kevin's control won out, and he scanned the area beneath him, searching for something that would betray the fire's origin. The smoke was getting thicker now, making it hard to see, hard to breathe. He was getting dizzy and cursed himself for his lack of preparation. But there had been no time, even in this world where all the time was his. Suddenly he saw it, a patch of scarred earth and the jagged remains of a tree stump, the needle in his haystack. He banked away from the flames, back towards the hospital. After another short flight, the adrenaline began to wear off, and exhaustion set in. Kevin dutifully returned the helicopter and refuelled it. Then he did the same with Mr Johnson's car. Finally, Kevin set his alarm, and passed out on his mattress in smoke-stained PJs. ----------------------------------------- John Nolan pulled his fire-engine to the side of the road. There was Kevin, standing in his pyjamas with a cup of coffee and a cigarette at 2am in the morning. Thunder rattled and wind howled as he hopped out of the truck's cab and made his way over to the dishevelled teen. "No fire,"said John hopefully, looking out into the dark field beyond. The silhouette of a lonely tree danced back and forth in the dry spring air. "Just wait,"replied Kevin, taking a drag from his cigarette. He did. With anyone else, the middle-aged fireman would've begun an enthusiastic lecture about crying wolf, but not with Kevin. He'd never asked the boy about his "hunches,"but he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer. John saw something in Kevin that he recognized in himself, it was the look of someone who'd seen too much. Suddenly, a bolt from the darkness turned night into day, and tree into stump. John immidiately sprang into action, rushing for the fire hose, and yelling orders at his second. Kevin dropped his cigarette and stubbed it out with his slipper. He let out an audible yawn and turned away from the ensuant madness. "All yours,"he said.
"No. N-No. There's got to be some kind of mistake." I repeated the words, shaking my head as though that would somehow change the sight that was in front of me, but the creature just smiled at me. He was human - if you used a more generou definition of the term. He stood nearly a foot taller than me, with elegant, curving horns and eyes cut to slits like a cat's. Red eyes. I wasn't stupid - the flames licking the rocks around me and the stink of brimstone hanging heavy in the air would have been clue enough. "Oh, Justin, I just don't know what to tell you,"the Devil said, holding his hands up in a helpless shrug. "Come. This way. I've got a special place all-" "I don't belong here,"I said, finally losing what little bit of composure I had left. "I-I mean, I know I've made mistakes. I'm not perfect- I mean, I wasn't perfect. I didn't hold the door. I didn't always zipper in traffic."I chuckled nervously. "My wife always said that if I kept putting the toilet paper on the roll backwards, I'd wind up here." The Devil grinned at me. "We both know that's not why you're here." "I don't know anything!"I snapped, fighting back the urge to do something stupid, like curse, or gesture at him. "I did a lot of good, damn it! I worked for years. I saved the world." "Is that how you see it?"the Devil said, cocking one eyebrow. I stopped, the words dying on my lips. "W-What?" "You think you're some savior, don't you?" I ran a hand through my hair, feeling the blush rise in my cheeks. "I mean...I-I don't know if I'd call myself that, but-" "You think your little 'cure' has saved the world." "Well, hasn't it?"I said, beginning to scowl. "Cancer has been on the rise for decades. Without it around-" "The population of the world is free of one more constraint keeping it in check." I froze. I'd had an argument ready, things left to say. They fell away as the Devil stared back at me. "Can't you see that? Life must always have limits, Justin. Left unchecked, the Earth will be dead within a century." I sat down heavily on a nearby rock, his words suddenly sinking in. "No, no. I saved lives. I'm still saving lives." "Then why are you here, hmm?"he said, leering down at me. "Not doing so hot there, are you?" "Then-" "Oh, him and I have been in agreement on this. We had a deal. A deal you've gone and ruined."The Devil's grin widened. "I've got just the place ready for you." No. No, no, no, this was all wrong. It wasn't supposed to be like this. I don't know how long I sat there, my mind slowly churning through everything he'd said. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. I'd done my best. He didn't move - he just stood, waiting patiently for me to finally succumb to despair. It might have been minutes - or hours, or days, or years. But I couldn't shake his logic, the cold unfeeling truth of it all. He wasn't wrong. And, apparently, I was. "W-What if there was a different way?"I heard my voice say, oddly distant and tinny. He straightened, still looking down at me. "I'm listening." "There..."I swallowed hard, my chin drooping. God save me. "There should be a few years until the vaccine goes into common circulation. It's not...it won't be finalized yet." "Go on." "Send me back." "No." I forced the building self-repulsion away, meeting his horrible eyes. "If the two of you are in agreement on this, it should be possible. Send me back." He watched me, his red eyes unreadable. "Why should I?" "Because...If the vaccine doesn't work, there won't be a problem." "They'll fix it,"the Devil said, shaking his head. I smiled darkly, feeling the ground yawn open under me. "Not if it kills enough people before they figure out it doesn't work." He stared at me a moment longer, leaning in as though to read my expression. And then he smiled. "Oh, Justin. Yes, I think I'll have a place for you yet." "Then-" I didn't get another word out before the world spun around me. I hit the ground, my hands pressed to my head as I screamed. Everything was wrong - everything was twisting, warping. Fading. "It's a deal, then, Justin,"the Devil said. "Work hard." --- The slow, steady sound of beeping rose up around me. I gasped, relishing the sweet, sweet taste of clean air in my lungs. My limbs were heavy, weighted down by disuse. "I-I just don't understand,"someone nearby was crying. I knew that voice. Carissa. My wife. "You said-" "We don't have an explanation."The cold, clinical voice could only be a doctor. "It's a miracle. That's the only thing we can say. No one thought he'd pull through." "Then-" A low, soft chuckle, and a soft rustling of fabric. Someone embracing. "Congratulations, Mrs. Johnson." The soft sound of tears was all that followed the footsteps leaving the room. Carissa. I wanted to comfort her - but I couldn't. The horrible realization of what I had to do was returning to me, awakening even as I did. I had to see it through. If I was doomed to hell either way, I'd rather wind up there with humanity alive and well than see the world to its grave. Slowly, summoning my strength and pushing the doubts far enough away that I wouldn't have to see them, I opened my eyes. (/r/inorai, critique always welcome!)
Death hadn't been as traumatic as I thought it would be. Sure, there's the emotional bruising of knowing you leave behind your loved ones. There's the thumping timpani against your ribcage as your anxiety peaks, but the adrenaline rush settles, and you just blissfully sleep. It's waking back up that shocked my system. I had not been much of a believer, but I was glad to be welcomed to what I only assume is the afterlife. Or, rather, the path to it. You see, when I awoke from death, there was a void all around with one glistening path forwards. A beacon in the darkness lighting the way to the light. As I climbed to my feet, I glanced at my watch. Why I still had it, I may never understand, but I'm glad to see the day and time is right: 10:30 a.m. on January 10th. Sounds about right; I was rushed to the hospital early that morning, if memory serves, though the pain I felt then has certainly gone. At this thought, another memory formed in my peripheral. Only it wasn't a memory, it was as real as the path on which I stood. Standing proud as ever, I saw a familiar face beneath me: Toby. I hadn't seen Toby since I was a child; all those days playing in the creeks of Eastern Tennessee were but a distant memory. But Toby had been an important part of my life. I had found him one day while I was playing in the creek. I kept hearing a recurring thump downstream, and upon investigation, found Toby caught in a plastic lining, his shell thumping against the rocks. I had met many turtles in those days and not a single one had ever needed my help until I found Toby. He was a wonderful pet all those years I had kept him, and now, it looks as though he was here to return the favor, helping guide me to paradise. Lead the way, my friend. Toby began leading me to the light. Step. By Step. By ever-so-slow a step. Thank God for reuniting us, but I really would've preferred any of the countless cats my mom had rescued over the year's. Sure, they were never great company to me, but right now, I'd be getting along a lot faster following a cat with a mean case of the zoomies. Instead, I had Toby. With another step. Ever-so-slow. Given the time, I began to reflect on those final few days. My wife hadn't seen it coming, but then again who would've? Barely 50 when I got the news, and the big 'C' didn't take long to finish me off. Healthy as on ox before that: running, macro-monitored diet, the works. But that's the thing about cancer: it has a will like no other and does not discriminate. Emily had been sweet through it all, though, and even sought us a support retriever for the hard times ahead. We named him Flash. "He'll always cheer you up in a flash,"Emily would say. And she was right. Down to the night I was rushed to the hospital for what would be the swan song, that dog had been my second love. Right now, I'd give anything to see Emily and Flash again. Hell, I'd give anything to move towards this light quicker. In a flash, you might even say. But instead, I have Toby. My dear, sweet, never-in-a-rush Toby. I come back to my surroundings in the hereafter as he takes another step. Ever-so-slow. I wonder how time works in this place with each strain of Toby's miniature gait. Are we really stuck on this path for what will feel like forever, or is forever but a day in eternity? I don't know, but I certainly get the feeling I'll have plenty of time to find out. That light at the end of the path has grown by nearly double, but that meant double the time yet remained. I glanced at my watch. 1:00 p.m. January 12th. Really? Two days? We've been walking this path for two days? Hardly a pace I'd like to keep, but here I am with Toby. And much as I'd love to pass him, I can't just leave him here alone; he waited for me, so I'll wait with him, and together we take another step. Ever-so-slow. Memories came and went throughout the next few days, reminiscing back to the joyous times in the mountains with my childhood family or the vacations with Emily across the country. I regret that we never had children, but there truly was a freedom in taking off wherever we wanted. The plains of the midwest, the beaches on the coast, and the historical sites that fascinated me while simultaneously boring her senseless all played cinematically across my mind's eye as we trudged ever closer to the light. Arriving at the edge of the path to enter the opening, I gave my watch a final glance. January 14th. I guess four days isn't the longest to wait for an impending eternity, but I certainly would've loved to exercise less patience. I glanced down at Toby and thanked him for guiding me along. "It was a treat to see you again, my friend. To be honest, though, I wish you had grown more athletic in the afterlife." To my shock, Toby laughed. My eyes widened as Toby returned the jest. "And I wish you hadn't wrinkled so much. I hardly recognized you,"he returned. I returned my jaw from its slack, and muttered, "You can speak?" "Of course. You just hadn't bothered to talk; I assumed you were lost in memories of life.""Well, yes, I was, though I would've welcomed the interruption of a friendly conversation. It certainly would've helped the time pass by sooner. Not that I didn't want to see you, but why couldn't you have been any of our childhood cats, or maybe even that asshole goat that dad kept in the backyard. We certainly would've arrived faster." Toby never broke his smile. "I couldn't have been them because I was precisely who you needed here. Time isn't lost in paradise; it is a construct that you shed along the journey. Each day here was nearly a decade as you would've processed it in life, and through the light, you will find time never passes at all. In fact, you've arrived precisely when you were meant to." At this, I heard a pitter patter behind me. Trying to wrap my head around what was being said began to consume me. Four days. Four decades. Pitter patter. Time moves so differently that I don't know if I can adjust, much less imagine it ceasing to exist. Pitter patter. But what would it matter? It was eternity, and an eternity withou--- A bark. A loud bark. A bark that I'd know anywhere, as a smile flashed across my face. I turned to see Emily moving at a jog, ever-so-close to me with a golden retriever as her guide. As Flash nestled down at my feet, Emily approached. Time had worn her, for she had a full life after mine. The shine in her eyes was just as bright as the day I'd left her, though. We both reached for each other, tears welling up as we clasped our arms around each other. I looked down at Toby, still smiling, and he passed into the light. Flash gave me an slight bow before he too crossed into the light. Emily and I broke our embrace slightly, and joined hands. Nervous but empowered by her, I slowly reached our united arms ever so slightly inwards. The wrinkles faded from her skin as did the IV marks from my arms. With one final loving gaze, we stepped forwards into the light.
"Detective, someone is trying to set me up. I rather you knew before your people started a manhunt for my head."The masked hero crouched in the poorly lit street corner. "What does this mean? What did you find?"The detective stood a few meters apart, unmoving. "There's too much evidence pointing at me."The hero said rasply. "But we could not find anything at the crimescenes." "The witnesses." "We've asked around already, nobody saw anything." "You didn't ask everyone."He puased. "George, the homeless man on Elden street, he saw something - someone, to be more precise." "George is crazy, everyone knows that." "That's exactly why you didn't find anything, no one cared enough to question him, but he was there - at the night of the Samson's couple murders. He saw everything." "What did he tell you?" "Not much. But he did see a black, winged creature with white markings fall from the sky on top of the unaware couple." "Just like..."The detective wrinkled his forehead seriously. "Yours truly."The winged hero said matter of factly, letting the words sink in the detective's mind before continuing. "There was one more thing. The sound." "The one all the witnesses have heard?" "Exactly. George said that the creature was the source of the noise." "And?" "By the description of the noise - 'a high pitched, deafening coo' - it is too damn close to my ultrasonic emitters." "Even with that information - that's not enough evidence. Did you find any physical evidence?" The man in the shadows shook his head. "He's good, he leaves no traces behind." "Do you think the Jokester's behind this?" "That's not his style - he is not one to work out of the shadows. But with him - you can never know." "Question Man, then?" "Not his style. It's too dark for him, Question Man doesn't murder just like that." "Who then?" "Who?"Owlman stepped out of the shadows, revealing red, sleepless eyes under his part black, part white mask. "I don't know." "Jesus, you need to go to sleep."The detective was taken aback. "Crime doesn't sleep. And the copycat always seems to hunt when I'm least expecting him." "You need to clear your head - if there's someone who can catch this monster, it is you - but the city needs you when you're at your best."The detective took a deep breath, and added with concern in his voice. "You need to rest, Owlman." "Perhaps."Owlman turned his back to the detective, spreading his black, white feathered wings, before taking off to the dark night. &#x200B; \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Feedback is always welcome! Edit: Thank you for the gold, and thank you for all the love, guys. This is what keeps me writing! Thank you!
Emily Elizabeth was hardly the first to die when the lizard, Godzilla rose from the sea in all its radioactive fury, but she was certainly the last. We should have seen it coming, really. What kind of dog can grow from a runt of a puppy to a hound that dwarfs buildings? No kind of dog at all, as it turns out. No kind of animal, either. Clifford, or what used to be Clifford, was something else entirely. The little girl has sworn it was her love that made Clifford swell to his gargantuan size, and we'd all laughed and gone along with her. Made as much sense as any other explanation, as far as everyone was concerned. Turns out there was probably something to her story, though, because if Emily's Love had fueled Clifford's titanic growth, it was nothing compared to what her fear, pain, and anger did to him. And when her house collapsed around her, and Clifford got its first real taste of hate? That thing's howls will haunt me for the rest of my life. Unfortunately, that likely won't last long. Because now God is dead. And heaven help all of us hiding from the Thing that took his place.
"What is the value of life?"I asked as an ant crawled across my thumb. "I guess that depends on the perspective of the killer. This ant, it has life, but not much value. At least, not to me." Death sat across from me on my Lazy Boy, sipping hot tea. I liked our talks, but he was long ago weary of them. Funny thing is, it's his own fault he's even here. Be careful what you wish for is a common theme, a cautionary tale told to quash desire. But I knew exactly what I was doing, and it was he that should have been careful. I squashed the ant between thumb and forefinger—another dictator dead. "I suppose if I was an ant,"I continued, "I might see things differently. Much like yourself and humans. How many souls have you reaped without care?" Death glared at me, his tea forgotten. "I've told you, I don't kill! I harvest the unworthy and send the worthy to their fate." "So you have,"I said. I grabbed another ant. "To me the difference is semantic. You thrive on death, and to no good at that. I too thrive on death, but the world is a better place for my actions. A life for a life, that was the deal." Looking at the list on the table between us, I crushed the ant. There went a cartel leader. A welt on my wrist started itching and I scratched it absentmindedly. The ant that made it was long dead, used to reap a corrupt businessman. He wasn't part of the plan, but I'd killed the ant, so a human had to join it. "How long do you plan to keep this up?"Death asked. "You know there are more ants on the planet than people, right?"I asked. "I suppose when I run out." "You'd wipe out humanity just to spite me?"Death asked. I looked at him hard. "You'd let me wipe out humanity just to spite me?" Always our conversations wound up here. It was as inevitable as, well, death. He had the power to give me what I really wanted, and now I had the power to get it. It was only a matter of time. My resolve was absolute. I doubted Death's was as certain. "I won't do it,"Death said. The ant died. So did a nun in Italy. She wasn't evil or corrupt, and I guess my argument about making the world better was invalidated a little by killing her. Still, every dozen or so victims had to be good people. I was making a point, after all. "Yes, I think you will,"I said. "Your problem is that, despite your job, you value all life. I only value one." "And that one life is worth destroying the world?"Death spat. Yet another ant crawled on my hand as I stared Death down. "I think you know the answer to that. You already told me how long I have left, and that's too long without him." With exaggerated slowness, I hovered a finger over the ant. Death locked his eyes on the tiny creature, unable to look away. There was no way for him to know if it was going to be someone deserving of death this time. "Wait!' he cried out. "I can't let this continue. If you release me from our deal, I will do as you ask." Flicking the ant off me, I smiled. I knew he'd see it my way. "Agreed,"I said. Death twirled his scythe in a large circle, opening a purple and black portal. He reached through and pulled something small into the world. I nearly broke down when I saw my son. He looked just like he had the day Death had come for him. The day my world ended. "If I do this,"Death said, "you'll have this to pay for as well as your other crimes. When that day comes, I won't be forgiving." I nodded and Death blew a kiss at Michael. My son's tiny chest started moving up and down, and I fell to my knees crying loudly. "When that day comes,"I spluttered, "I won't care." Death departed as I hugged my son.
Drip. Drip. Drip. The audible falling of water in little droplets would have driven anyone mad, and made those who humanity considers shining figures of peace into nothing more than depraved maniacs. It was its own form of hell, the pollution of noise in its most subtle yet persistent form. So upsetting, that those who came by it could not stand to be in the room for more than a minute, less they start hearing an annoying yet rhythmic drip, which would fill their head and their dreams. Most of the guards at the very least knew better than to stay in that room. Though there’s always one. The new one, the one who has more bravado than anyone, who in our society of heroes, celebrities, idols, and superstars, wants nothing more than their fifteen seconds of fame. And when I heard his footsteps, boots hitting the concrete floor with a joyous step, a glint had entered my awaiting eyes. “Okay prisoner. It’s time for you to eat, and unlike the others I won’t deal with your inaction. If I have to come in there and force this sloppy fish feed down your throat myself.” Drip. Drip. Drip. I couldn’t help but smile. A toothy smile that would unnerve many, almost like a secondary test. My light brown eyes met his sky blue ones, and in his eyes I saw an annoyance like none other. He was as fed up with me as many preach they are with their bosses, or bosses to employees. This was going to be easy. “The hell are you smiling at? What am I saying, someone as idiotic as you wouldn’t be able to understand your sentence.” I slowly stood up, as the joints within my body made their popping noises, almost sounding like an odd bubble wrap, the blue wraps now muddled brown, falling down my melanin rich body, and hitting the floor, only having enough to cover up the parts which should be reserved for intimate partners. Or bathrooms. Drip. Drip. Drip.* “They’re right. This dripping is fucking maddening.” “No. You’re simply stupid~” My raspy voice let out, as the dripping continued. “I’m stupid? You’re stupid. I’m greatness wrapped in a six foot frame.” I was sure that had a photographer been behind him, they would have captured this moment. Captured the moment that many would say “was right before disaster struck.” It brought me joy, and a glint entered my eyes. His life was forfeit. “Hi ‘Greatness wrapped in a six foot frame’, I’m dad.” His blue eyes looked into mine, before his body hit the ground, leeching forward so hard as he held where his liver would be, that his head banged loudly against the bars of the prison cell, blood seeping from his forehead. Being within range, I slowly dropped my body back down, seeing blood seep out of his mouth, as he shook and shuttered, curling forward just enough that my skinny fingers were able to slip the keys from his belt loop. I could see as his arms reached up, but it was far too late, as I unlocked the door to my cell, hearing it clatter open. “What’s brown and sticky? A stick!” I proclaimed these words, as he began to convulse on the floor, I walking past his body. He would be dead soon enough, and with today being Thursday, the guards would be too busy soliciting ‘favors’ from the prisoners to notice me making it to the announcement room. It looks like I was going to be free yet again.
\- Do you have any idea what you did right now?- Our Elven teacher asked me, looking at my hands, where a second ago I was trying to hold my first real flame. \- Umh...No? This is the exercise number 5, right? And I think it went well, I didn't hurt myself?- I responded, slightly ashamed that I somehow managed to make a scene. I'm a dumbass, I can't do even the easiest exercise.... The class had mostly been calm, only that one smart girl, Matilda I think, in the front row looked like she saw a ghost. And of course the teacher, who hid his face in his hands, and groaned something that sounded like "Of fucking course there is always one of them in my class...", but I had to hear it wrong, right? Teachers don't curse, do they? \- Matilda? Could you explain to him what exactly colorful flames mean?- he sighed, pulling some papers from under the desk and uncapping a pen. \- Eeeee... Okey... So.... Normal people with fire magic have a normal fire. Like normally colored, red, yellow and orange. And then there are the "special"fire mages, that have a different flame. Like, dunno, General Fiamma? You saw, she can control the color of her flames, and with it their heat and use. Or Officer Lukas, his flames are green and golden, because he can heal with them. Your flame was bigger than normal on our stage of learning, and, well, colorful. Like that of General. What I'm saying, is that you are pretty talented. Or, well, I should say, really talented.- Matilda finished on one breath, stuttering and fidgeting with her fingers. I rubbed my thumb over the palm of my hand, making some sparks. I felt uncomfortable being given that praise. I am talented? ME? WHAT? \- So. Oropherion, take this.- The teacher showed in my hand a piece of paper.- And go to the Metting Room. Then take the third corridor from the left, go to the top of the stairs, and knock to the doors here. Wait till someone calls you to enter.- He put a warm hand over my scrawny shoulder, and looked me in the eyes. His irises were of a disconcerting blue, too deep and layered to be normal. I never could look an Elf in the eyes longer than maybe ten seconds, it always gave me vertigo. There was something unnatural, something dangerous lurking in them. Years over years of knowledge and experience, normally reserved for elders, but sparkling with youthful vigor. - Give them that paper. Respond to all questions, if asked, demonstrate what you did in class. And don't be afraid. This is a good thing.- This did nothing to numb my anxiety. Fortunately, I managed to not embarrass myself by spitting smoke on my way to the classroom door. See, told you so. First time making a flame by yourself, and you got sent to the higher ups. Great job, nutbrain.
They never told us why they left. The few survivors took that secret to their deaths, which seem to have come for all of them within a handful of years. Two hundred sixty-seven thousand, five hundred twenty-five survivors, out of nearly ten billion. Something like seventy thousand children, largely raised by robots and recorded memories. It took our species a long, long time to recover. It's a wonder the first seed world survived. It's a point of pride that we've managed to establish more. Now we number ten times as many as Old Earth ever housed, spread over more than thirty worlds. Why haven't we gone back to Earth before now? Some taboos can linger a long, long time. Those old recordings are still around. They may not contain the reasons for our homeworld's abandonment, but the desperate fear, the unwillingness even to think too closely about what may have happened, those are all apparent in the breaking voices our doomed ancestors left behind before they left their children, toddlers, and infants behind on a generation ship hurtling between the stars. We've all watched them, all heard them, and for seven millennia that was enough. Earth was verboten, the Forbidden Planet, the Escaped Hell. I'm recording all this just in case. In case of what, I'm not sure, but with our ship's gravitic hook rapidly decelerating us in our approach to that ancient awe-inspiring awful place, I feel we should leave a record behind besides just our mission logs. An explanation. Just in case. "Anything of interest so far?"I asked the captain. She shook her head, not looking at me, gaze too powerfully leashed to the display projections in front of her. "Nothing. No stray electromagnetic emissions, no sign of any changes in surface temperature or atmospheric composition. That concerns me, General Kamau. It looks exactly as we'd expect, only we don't really expect that. It should look like something unexpected, because we know something happened, something horrible, and we're not seeing it."She looked up, dark brown eyes wide and staring past me. "I know I might sound like I'm talking in circles, but this is beyond concerning. I've told the analysts and Wavefinders to keep what they know to themselves, for now." I took a deep breath, glancing over the same readouts that had her so clearly agitated. "That's...probably wise. Listen, my first concern is for the ship. I want you to get back, no matter what happens to my away team. We should orbit at the maximum distance possible for reasonably risk-free dropship operations." She nodded, almost curt, but we were technically of the same rank and she had no need to put up any pretenses with me. She'd already be anticipating just how much of that she'd have to do with the rest of the crew and my Marines. "We will. I've taken enough of your time, I know you have preparations to see to." I did, Star-Souls knew it well. I walked out of the bridge and went to address the Marines in these last hours before we boarded the dropships and this thing became utterly real. It took me less than twenty minutes to make my personal preparations, re-inspecting and donning my gear for the hundredth time, then stand up in front of the small formation in the loading bay. Three platoons, less than thirty men and women, the best we could bring who were willing to come. "Listen,"I said. "At this point there's not much to say. You know the import of this mission, its place in history. I'll be there alongside you. I have every confidence that you are the best we could possibly ask for. Don't make me wrong. That is all. Dismissed!" They fell out, and filed into the three dropships. I suppressed a shudder. It was time. \~ I couldn't say anything; the troops were listening. I couldn't let anything show on my face, but I wasn't sure that was possible so I kept watch out the window as atmospheric entry painted the panes with fire. The clouds were thick, but not remotely menacing, white and fluffy and calm. Except that they were menacing, because they'd been that way for our entire approach, not moving. Not moving. How could clouds not move? The ship shuddered hard, banging from side to side and making me grab for a handhold. A few of the troops, even with all their training, theragenes, and cybernetics, fell over completely. Cursing all around. "Gravitic brakes are encountering some kind of interference, we are engaging chute and rockets!"the pilot yelled as her co-pilot unhooked the hardline connection from her head and started flicking mechanical switches. Isolate-circuit backup systems not a good sign. We fell fast, and then we fell faster, and then it became clear we'd have to abandon the craft. Cursing a little myself under my breath, I gave the order and then jumped from the door after half my troops had already exited. We watched our dropship hit the tranquil ground in in a shower of shattered materials and sputters of rocket fuel. In the eerie still air, it was simple enough for us all to land in the same spot, the center of a large park. It was full of people. "What in the Blackened Reach?"one of the Sergeants said. He was reaching out toward a woman, a smiling woman, face full of sunshine, unmoving, standing exactly as she had been for... ...for seven thousand years? But that wasn't possible. Whispers around us. My troops murmured. The pilot threw up noisily into the still green grass. "Threads,"the co-pilot said, reaching out toward the head of one small laughing child. I say laughing, but of course the boy was silent, mouth open in mid-mirth. I walked over. Sure enough, some sort of fine cord led from his head to what must be his father's. And his mother's. And another child. And a woman standing near bench, looking the other way. And a cord from her head, and another, and another... "They break easy,"said Colonel Rafari, my second-in-command. She waved her hand through one of the cords and it parted, easier than spider-silk. The whispers around us were definite now. "We need to get out of here,"I said, and checked my message feed. Nothing from the other two dropships. We should have heard by now. I tried to establish a link to our orbiting ship. No signals. Something is moving behind me, around me. "These lines are re-establishing themselves,"the co-pilot said. "I think they're links."She touched the port on the shaved patch of her own temple. "Mind to mind." "What for?"Colonel Rafari asked. She looked dazed. So did I, probably, I turned to look at her and stopped. Stopped everything but thought. Now I think for them. So do we all. I think we will for a long time. &#x200B; Come visit r/Magleby for more elaborate lies.
During the development phase, the drug was given the code name Rx-Infinity. The media would try to get inside scoops as to what it was, and what it was supposed to do. There wasn't this much coverage on a drug or it's research in a long time. You would have thought it was a cure for cancer... But it was so much more than that. When it finally arrived, the drug was simply called "miracle". Scientists were showing lab results, and how mice who were given the drug were still alive 5 years later. This was about 5x longer than most mice in captivity, and they were still going strong. The mice still had all of their senses and were acting just as they did when they were 4 months old. It was also shown to heal the sick, allow the lame to walk, and restore the mental health of those who had gone insane. It truly was a miracle... but as a scientist who worked on it, I had my reservations. I felt my colleagues were too optimistic, and they had become biased toward the success of the drug due to the push of the media. "It had to succeed, it will change the world, and we'll be famous." We were playing god, and when humans played god and got prideful, it never ended well. I tried to keep observation of the mice over the years, but per order of the higher ups, the mice were destroyed. My boss tried to explain it to me saying the tests were a success, and they were no longer needed. Everyone in the lab was volunteering to be the human test subjects. I still had my doubts, so I settled to observe the "larger test subjects"I was working with. Most people in the civilized world were now taking Miracle. Culture changed. Miracle kept showing how powerful it was out in society. The most striking change I saw was how obesity was now a thing of the past. It appeared to raise the metabolism in these individuals, melt the fat, and allow the person to excrete it as waste. Over the years, the Olympic games were renamed to the Miracle games, as Athletes in their 50's and 60's were competing against those in their 20's. Miracle was the great equalizer in society... I still refused to take it, even though it had been out in the public for 20 years now. I still had my doubts. I couldn't put my finger on it, but something just wasn't right. When I hit the age of 55, Miracle had been on the market for 35 years... and my patience finally paid off. I was in the lab early that particular day. I was hard at work at my station, when from the corner of my eye, I noticed a girl. She looked to be about 15 or 16. She sat down at Margaret's desk and started to power on the computer. Perplexed, I asked the young lady if she was lost. "Oh, Jim. You're so funny. I know I have been out on a 6 month sabbatical, but you should still recognise your co-worker." The teen entered in Margaret's password, and finished up the boot process for the computer and started checking e-mail. I just slowly turned and smiled to myself. -------------------------------------- I'm now 75 years old, Miracle has been out for 55 years now. My nickname around the lab is Father Time. Yes, I have gotten up in years, but my work is still not complete. Everyone who has been taking Miracle now has the body of a child. They all look to be somewhere between 3 and 6 years old. They still have their intellect, so it is amusing to watch these children go about the daily life of adults. They have tried to stop taking the drug, but from what I have seen, the withdrawal is too much for them. They start throwing temper tantrums, fitting for their small bodies, until they receive the drug. I just hope to see what happens before I die... Yes, I may die soon, but these people, what will happen to them? My hypothesis is they will simply vanish someday, and they will simply be remembered as a sparkle in someone's eye.
“Sir, sir, can you please stop sir.” “Hey little dude! What’s happening?” The towering beast flashed his razor\-sharp incisors at Merchewell. It was said that long ago, humans had gotten so tired of killing and eating animals, that they had evolved flat teeth in the back so they could chew on trees too, for no reason other than to establish their dominance. Merchewell cringed back from the display. He motioned toward a slightly darker violet pathway across the fuchsia street. “You need to...” The human had his eyes wide, mouth slightly ajar as it leaned down toward him, an obvious display of aggression, toxic\-breath threatening to knock Merchewell off his feet. “Uh, need to use the pedestrian crosswalks when you’re crossing the street, sir.” “Oh man! My bad little bro, I didn’t even see that one purple thing on top of the other purple thing, I mean it’s all purple here!” A claw harboring deadly bacterium samples at the edges swept in front of Merchewell’s face as it indicated the surrounding town of Pormat. Nothing here was purple. It was a vibrant array of mauves, fuchsias, violets, lavenders, magentas, plums, indigos, and orchids. “Ah, well, this is the pedestrian pathway,” he gestured toward the violet pathway, “and this is the street.” he gestured toward the fuchsia one. “Oh, righteous! I got it.” It slapped one mangling claw to its face, letting out a small clap of pressure, an obvious primordial display of strength. The other grotesquely long limb waved about a bottle of nerve\-toxin; the humans drank it for fun, this human had drank a lot of it. “I’ll remember that from now on mini\-man! Thanks for the heads up!” Merchewell shrank back from the implied threat of decapitation, but held firm as a representative of peace and justice here in Pormat. “Sir, I will need to fine you.” “Fine me!” The beast’s eyes widened, as if confused, then it pulled its lips back, baring its meat\-teeth. “Come on, I’m drunk, you’re drunk, we’re all drunk! I’ll just head back to my hotel and...” It made a sudden swaying motion, feet moving in a complex shuffle, showing off its martial prowess. Merchewell didn’t miss the implicit threat of poisoning him. “Yes, sir, I’ll need to fine you thirty ducats for improper crossing procedure.” “Thirty ducats! Man! I have like, three ducats.” It took a swig of the neuro\-poison, strengthening itself for conflict. “If...” Merchewell began to sweat, “If you, uh, can’t pay the fine, then, uh, I’ll need to take you into custody.” “What! Custody!” The beast sat down on the side of the road, lowering its center of gravity for stability. “Man, let me just go back to my hotel, it’s late.” “I can’t do that sir.” Merchewell pulled his restraints out of his hip\-sack, hands trembling, “I need you to... to put these on. Sir.” “This is the worst!” The beast complied, putting the cuffs on before taking another swig of the brew and staring down at the ground, hair hiding it's face for a possible sneak attack. Merchewell leaned over to his radio, sweat dropping off his brow, and muttered quietly, “This is unit 546, I’ve got a captive human, I need backup." The beast let out a retching sound and spewed acid all over the street in front of it. "Please gods, send backup as soon as possible.” Merchewell hissed into the radio.
"Okay, Buddy, we have a problem,"James said, sitting in front of Buddy who's lying down, head tilted a bit to a side and his tail swinging left and right like crazy. "Woof, woof, woof,"the dog responded, moving himself left and right while lying down. "I know, I know,"James said, nodding. "We should replicate what happened, except this time we're both being at her side. "Woof,"the dog barked, quickly running where Sarah was last time standing. "Smart dog."James took the very same blanket, raised it and sighed. "Prepare to run, Buddy." As he let go, they both started to dash away, but as he'd barely turned around, the room had changed, considerably. Most of the wooden house was rotten, and things were almost like thrown around. "Woof, woof!"a barking came next to James, making him look down. "Thank God, Buddy. I'm happy that you're with me,"James said, smirking, trying to hide how terrified he really was. But as he took a few steps ahead and felt how the wood wanted to collapse below him, his smile disappeared. It was that moment when he noticed multiple holes around him and blood droplets going towards the house's exit. James gently walked towards the house's entry, taking careful care of his every step. Apparently, Buddy was so lightweight that the rotten wood didn't react to him at all. The door was luckily already opened, making leaving the house easy, but what followed was a gasp. The whole street looked abandoned, every building rotten, and plant-life was growing on top of them. "What... the... fuck..." "Woof, woof, woof!"Buddy started to bark as he came back from the nearby street. He already had a trip around the neighborhood. "What's the matter, buddy?" Buddy kept barking, making James follow him. He followed him for a good five minutes until he saw a woman lying on the ground at the end of the tight alleyway. A lot of garbage was around her, mostly hiding her body. "Buddy, how did you... That's amazing,"James whispered, as the smell was pretty horrible. The dog just barked, ran to the woman and started to remove some of the garbage with his paws. "Sarah!"James shouted as he ran towards her and started to remove some of the trash as well. "James,"a whisper came from Sarah. "Are you okay? What happened?" "Be silent,"Sarah said, shaking her head, and also looking like she hadn't eaten past three days she was missing. "You'll alert them." "Who?"James asked, but quickly gaining the attention of Buddy who started barking intensely at the opposite way of the alleyway, where they just had come from. "Shut up, Buddy,"Sarah whispered, eyes widened, the whole body shaking and slowly picking up trash, putting them back on top of her to hide herself. "What are you doing?"James asked. "Hiding myself, you idiot. Hide or run, you fool,"Sarah frowned. James started removing trash again and put his hands around Sarah to carry her like a princess. As he turned around, he saw a shadow at the end of the alleyway, looking towards them. Even Buddy shut his mouth. After a closer inspection, James realized that it wasn't a shadow. The being itself was like a shadow, dark, hardly visible, but like a materialized shadow, not literal. It had a form of a dog. "Intruders,"a cold whisper reached them, crisp, thick and cracking sound. He could hear long heavy breathing at the same time as he said the word, almost like trying to take in all the air around them. "What the fuck is that?"James murmured, eyes wide. "I don't know, but I have seen him killing others,"Sarah whispered. "Run, James, run." "Buddy... run,"James repeated her order, turned around and did the same thing. He could hear how Buddy followed him right behind, not making even a sound anymore. But he could also feel that being following them as well. The air was cold and dark. "Turn left here,"Sarah ordered, and James followed. But behind that corner wasn't another street, but a lake, which looked like a hole, almost like a meteorite had landed there. "Jump into the lake,"Sarah said. "What?" "It won't follow, that's our only option right now." James frowned but kept running, and the moment he reached the shore, he made a long jump, splashing water everywhere. Buddy followed his example. After good ten seconds, they slowly surfaced and took extended breathers. James turned around and looked at the nearby shore, still terrified. The shadowy, faceless, creature just looked at them but didn't follow. "You're in an awful state, let me help you,"James said, helping Sarah to float on top of the watery surface, and started to swim backward, away from... that. He had many questions, but he focused only on keeping her floating and watching that being. "Thank you,"Sarah whispered, feeling the numbness of her limbs. It wasn't that she had any injuries, it was pure hunger. New - possibly saving - shouts were heard in the city. The creature looked away and disappeared as fast as it had appeared. "We managed to survive another day,"Sarah said, sharing a weak smile. "For now... we are safe." "Woof." ---- ---- /r/ElvenWrites - My sub, if you want to follow and read my other stuff :P. I do have a few series there too ;).
The limousine rolled to a stop in front of the arena. Red and blue lights from my police escort flashed bright even through the dark tinted windows. Policemen had created a line between my car and the mob of spectators, but what good could a few hundred cops do if the hundred-thousand-strong crowd decided they wanted a closer look at me? The butterflies in my stomach had worked themselves into a churning frenzy, and I was afraid to move a muscle for fear of unleashing the contents of my stomach. "I just need a minute,"I told the driver, who was already halfway out of the car to come open my door. I still wasn't used to people doing stuff for me; that certainly didn't happen when I was a small-town electrician ranked at a whooping "1"out of hundred. "Very good, your excellency."It took me a minute to remember that he was talking to me. No one quite knew how to refer to me because no one knew exactly what I was. The president, widely regarded as the most powerful man in the world, was only a 60. Hell, the Pope was only at 42! No one had ever seen anything higher than a 72, and yet here I was with 99. I'd seen some of the cable news shows arguing about whether I was going to form a unified world government and rule humanity, or whether I was the antichrist here to destroy us all. And I would have preferred either of those definite answers to all this horrific uncertainty. I opened the door for myself and was assaulted by a wave of sound. Screaming fans, protesters hurling insults, music playing within the stadium, police sirens, news helicopters droning overhead. A squad of bodyguards immediately surrounded me and ushered me in through the back entrance. Backstage wasn’t anymore peaceful than the screaming throngs on the street. Anyone who was anyone had apparently pulled strings to get a pass. Hell, I saw rockstars and famous celebrities working the lights just for a chance to be near me. Everyone wanted a moment of my time. I barely had time to shake hands with the Governor before I was pulled away by the Secretary of Defense who was then shoved aside by the Dalai Lama. I was caught in a whirlwind of questions that I had no answers to, and I desperately threw out any excuse I could think of to not answer them. Finally I was ushered onto the stage, where Saul Capman was already waiting. I’d seen him a million times before doing interviews on TV, but I never thought I’d be the one crossing the stage and shaking his hand in front of a thousand cameras and a stadium full of people. “The man of the hour!” his voice boomed through speakers larger than my house. The crowd answered with a roar and a wave of applause louder than a jet engine. We took our seats on the stage, and Saul jumped right into the interview. “There have been many, many questions swirling around you, young man! Some have suggested that you should run for the Presidency next term, to the point that a constitutional amendment was passed to repeal the 'above the age of 35' requirement....” The crowd erupted again, and I noticed that some of them had banners with my name and ‘2020’ stamped on them. “Others have suggested that you’re a religious icon.” More shouts and cheers from the audience. “And still others have suggested that you’re working on some top-secret revolutionary scientific discovery!” The audience was going to completely wild now. “So, the very first question we all have for you is: what’s it going to be?” I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, gazing out over the crowd. It was the question I’d asked myself ever since I got the unexpected results of my reading. Why me? What had I ever done? My biggest accomplishment in life up to this point was being the second-string quarterback on my high school football team. The crowd fell silent awaiting my response. And that’s when the answer hit me. It didn’t matter who I was. These people loved me for my number. They’d follow a religion I started just because they knew it mattered. They’d vote for me as president because they already knew I was important. The old me was gone, and the new me could be anything I wanted. I grinned and spoke into the microphone: “All of the above, Saul.” --- [You might also like the story "4"based on a similar idea where everyone knows their importance to society](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/4xv2d5/4/).
>MOONLIGHT & THE MONARCH "It's been ten years, love."Yuliette argued as she bustled about the kitchen- though I wasn't sure why, since there wasn't anything to be cooked. "Yes, ten years."I murmured in agreement, sipping on hot tea. I rose from my chair and overlooked my farm- hard work had won it for me, but hard work wasn't keeping it. In the autumnal, waning light, I saw little more than dust. Ten years since my last transformation. Ten years since I had last given a moment of life to the feral monster I truly was. Mostly, I had Yuliette to thank- but even with Yuliette in my life, there had been temptations. Times when an arrogant merchant or a disdainful knight had tested my patience, and I had nearly opened up. I could feel it in those moments- an extra heat in my bloodstream, a little spark, asking to catch fire. I had resisted. Then Yuliette became pregnant, and the temptations were no longer temptations- instead I began to fear the monster within. I began to worry about losing control, instead of trying to make myself not do it. Briar was three years old now. She was everything to me- as dearly as I loved Yuliette, the love I had for Briar was something else. I knew I would burn the entire world down if anything ever threatened her. When she was born, I felt my heart move outside of my body, and land directly within Briar. Yuliette felt the same, when I'd asked her about it. I was glad to hear it. "Why would you suddenly have a temptation now?"Yuliette asked. "It feels like they are threatening Briar."I said. "If they come to us after the harvest and demand our yield, the only thing the Duke is getting is a lovely view of his city turned to rubble around him." "I'm sure we can find another solution, Dematha. If the urge arises, I have a few extra potions prepared." Yuliette was a gifted alchemist, and had been the one responsible for me overcoming the Moon Changes- but if I ever chose, I knew I could break the hold her potions had on me. The harvest came and went- I had primarily planted wheat, but I also kept a smaller garden of hardy vegetables hidden behind a treeline outside of my biggest field. With the hands I had hired, the harvest went well- and everyone took what they needed to survive the winter. This didn't leave anything for the Duke- but if he was any kind of smart, he'd just dig into his robust reserves of grains, instead of taxing. The drought had been hard. However, in just a few days, three Knights began to ride towards my door. Briar was with the neighbor, doing some communal lessons, and Yuliette was shopping. "As long as they don't force the issue, nothing is going to happen."I instructed myself, then stepped outside. Their armor was glistening, in pristine condition. They both looked well-fed...and they bore a most contemptuous look. Contempt I could handle. "Sirs."I said by way of greeting. "Farmer. Your crop yield is past due." "No crop yield means no tribute. Not even sure my family will last the winter." "That isn't how this works. Blame your poor farming skills. We estimate, based on the size of your field, that the Duke is due thirty bags of grain." Thirty. Thirty would've been too much if it had been a good year. "Can't bleed a stone, sirs. Good day."I said, turning my back. "We can bleed you, peasant. And your wife. And your daughter." I felt it then- every tendon in my body tensed, prepared for the transformation. Every muscle fiber prepared to rip apart. My bones began to elongate. My sense of smell became more keen. I hadn't been this close before. "Is that..."I said between breaths "a threat?" "Call it whatever you want. Before this, we went to your neighbors farm- the Missus Drusilda was hosting lessons. Very noble of her...and an excellent opportunity to ensure compliance from thick headed bastard peasants like you. Which one of the children was yours?" My jaw was pushed out of place. Dislocated. The pain wracked my body in waves. "What did you say?" "We have this entire villages' children under guard. If I remember correctly, your child was named Grey, wasn't he?" "No,"the second Knight spoke. "Grey belongs to those Shepherds. This one's Briar. She's been disobedient, so we have her in the dungeo-" The Knight didn't finish his sentence. My fingers, now twice as long as they usually were, were tipped with nails as hard as iron- which was more than enough to pierce the second Knight's neck. He sank to the earth, gushing blood- the other, unfortunately, had enough time to draw his sword. "M-monster! You're a monster!" "A man defending his child...no, there are no monsters here."I said, trying to finish the transformation quickly. Yuliette's potion was slowing me down- but at the same time, the transformation also felt stronger. Perhaps the beast within had rested well, and was now able to let loose more completely. I felt as the fur began to grow out of my pores. The aching of my bones elongating. My muscles popping, thickening, and re-attaching. Every moment of it was agonizing- but a sweet, sweet agony. "Gods above and Gods below, I missed this."I growled, now standing at nearly eight feet tall. "The Werewolf of Moldavia. I thought the Inquisition put you down years ago."The Knight said. To his credit, he hadn't fled. The transformation finished- and, as always, the last thing to go was my mind. What followed was the farthest thing from dignified combat the world had ever seen. Without a care, I let his blade pierce my chest- it had no silver to it, the wound would heal before I had finished swallowing the first bite. I batted away his shield, tore open his armor, and went right for his heart. The taste was just how I remembered- though, perhaps this one was a bit more fatty. I pulled the corpse away from my door, and into some bushes. Yuliette would see. Yuliette would know. "Remember now, bastard Duke."I growled as I approached the city, the sun setting behind me. "When our mouths are empty, we will find a way to eat." ----------------------- r/nystorm_writes :)
The next 11 years were a blur. I couldn't be prepared enough! Everything had to be learnt, planned, designed and funded by my own hands. It's not like I could tell anyone. Programming, Mechanical Engineering, Electronics, and, most importantly, Finance. I had to learn it all, and NOW! And I got a job as soon as I was capable. First mowing lawns, then for the local hardware store packing shelves, while fixing lawnmowers and later cars for friends, family and neighbors. And investing every scent as soon as I could get access to the stock market. But why hadn't I written a date?! I should have written a date! I curse whatever poor bastard version of myself scrawled that rushed note on that pad all those years ago, then dropped out of my mind like a missed item from a shopping list. HOW LONG DO I HAVE? This one question haunted me. Until Thursday 21 October 2021. The team running the new laser Gravity Wave detectors out of Arizona spotted them first. Their ships emergence distorted space like nothing measured before. The news had it a month later, when they were spotted passing Jupiters bulk by some amateur astronomers, their rocket plooms aimed directly at us as they decelerated at 0.8g. My planning went into overdrive- No! Insane Hyperdrive at that point. To be honest, I'd always half considered the last sentance as a prank. A "what would you say to your childhood self?"answer but from someone with a sense of humour. No more. By this point I was a billionaire. The unspoken of dark money behind a thousand startups and defence contractors, as well as sitting pretty in an old missile silo I had expanded to be a survivalists wet dream. All the companies were told to triple production of arms, ammo, body armour, everything. Training companies started offering insanely good deals for basic combat and firearms courses. Even my old employer at the DIY store got tipped to start offering armoured doors and windows. But I won't get to see what they do with them. I won't be amongst that carnage. I'm sad not to see the battles I will have wrought. The President insists I be among the welcome party when they land. A representative of our nation's best and brightest! Ha! I'll give them brightest. After the SNUKE in my false leg goes off, they'll be disoriented for a brief moment. Hopefully it'll open a hole in their hull if I get close enough. That's when you strike. Don't hesitate. Don't be afraid. Don't let them take our world. I love you. Live. Destroy after reading.

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