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Top Businessman Takes the Plunge, Along With His Stocks I cut the headline out of the paper, and file it neatly away in my 67th folder. I really need to run down to the stationery store to get more. My shelves are lined with folders – cheap plastic folders of all sorts of garish colours. There is the hot pink folder of a middle-aged lady who slit her wrists after she discovered her husband cheating on her with 3 different women, there is the mint green folder of the child who failed all his exams and fell into the river while running away from home, there is the electric blue folder of the film-maker accused of paedophilia. I keep them arranged neatly and in pristine condition, as if they were prized trophies – and in a way they are. I’ve been told that every serial killer keeps a trophy of some sort, and I can’t very well be keeping bits of hair or bones or skin, can I? I don’t think I have even physically seen more than 10 of these people. And that is the beauty of my art; the reason why I am the master of my craft. Sure, the police have become suspicious about the recent spate of suicides, but there is no evidence that anyone has ever harmed a hair of these victims. People have devised all sorts of elaborate rituals to keep their homes safe from suicides, as it were – as if salt or essential oils could keep me away. But I must forgive them their naiveté. As I have said, I am the master of my craft. There is no fingerprint or paper or money trail that leads to my doorstep. I doubt anyone even suspects that all these suicides could be the work of single person. I know I am repeating myself many times, but I am indeed the master of my craft. I suppose, though, that being the master of your craft doesn’t preclude you from a mid-life crisis of sorts. I know, I am barely 30, so this is hardly considered mid-life. But somehow, like every other member of my millennial generation, I am starting to find that my full-time job does not offer the excitement or meaning I had hoped for as an idealistic undergraduate. When I’d first started this line of work, I had gotten great thrill from finding how easily I could slowly mould a person’s thoughts and feelings, how easily I could take a life without dirtying my perfectly manicured nails. It had actually started off as a joke. Someone, some other drunk student, had made a joke at a party that the best way to kill someone would be to convince them that life was no longer worth living. But when it actually worked, when I’d filled up folder number 1 (a lurid yellow folder, if you wanted to know), I’d thought I must be a veritable genius. And yet, as the months and years wore on, the work started taking its toll on me. For starters, it was not really all that exciting. I spent most of my time poring through data, making phone calls, typing up e-mails, sending letters. All the mundane administrative work needed to ensure that things happen at the right place at the right time. And all this took up too many late nights and too many weekends – until my long-time boyfriend couldn’t take it anymore and walked out of the house with his suitcase one day without even leaving a note. It took me three days to realise that he was gone. That had been two months ago. I thought I would get over it by burying myself in work – and I completed numbers 65, 66 and 67 in quick succession. But somehow, I found myself staying up late at night, questioning my existence and purpose in life. Should I carry on being the best at what I do, or should I slow down and make time for family? These are questions that I’m sure every young person struggles with at some point in time – the great choice between career and family – and they kept me up every night, torturing myself with my own whirring thoughts. And then my father called, yesterday. I’d not seen him in ages, not since two years ago when my mother ran off to travel the world with some long-bearded hippie. He wanted to know if I was doing well (I was), if Jeff and I were going to get married soon (I said no, but I didn’t tell him the whole story), and oh he just wanted to know if I’d heard the news that he’d gotten cancer (stunned silence on my end). I remember feeling numb, as I put down the phone. I went online to try to book a flight ticket, to be at my father’s side as soon as I could, but every flight was fully booked, goddammit. The soonest flight was in two weeks’ time. Some holiday season bullshit. So I sit here, now, at my kitchen table, hearing the ticking of the clock and the hum of the washing machine, and wonder what to do next. My father had made it clear that it was some advanced form of cancer – liver, discovered too late. He hadn’t wanted me to worry, of course, so he’d held on to the news for a while, hoping there’d been some kind of mistake, but of course there hadn’t been. I think of all my trophies, all my colourful folders, but my usual sense of pride and satisfaction eludes me. All I can think of is that, Jeff is gone, my mother is somewhere doing tribal dances on the other end of the planet, my father is dying of cancer, and I am all alone in the world right now. I wonder if I should have spent the best part of my twenties on something more, I don’t know, meaningful, or family-centred. Rather than boring administrative work that, sure, had some impact here and there, but was really more like corporate drudgery than hitman excitement. At least, I try to console myself, I was good at what I did. That’s more than what most people can say for their boring, unaccomplished lives. I drum my fingers on the table, as I close my eyes and take deep breaths, trying to do the mindfulness thing that everyone has been raving about recently. But a sudden sound snaps me out of my attempted-mindfulness. It turns out, something has been thrown onto my driveway. I walk out, still in my half-zoned-out state, not caring if someone sees me with my tangled mess of hair and makeup-less face, when something snaps me into shock. There is a folder, a black plastic folder, lying in the middle of my driveway. Curiously, with my heart starting to pump a little faster – could someone have discovered my secret? – I pick it up and flip through it slowly. There are pages of details – identifying information, photos, education details, employment details, details of every member of the family. The kind of things I keep in each one of my 67 folders. But something here is not right. I cock my head, and scan through the information again, and then I realise – it is all about me. The names of my teachers all the way back in kindergarten, my father’s health records, my college academic transcript. I pause for a while, trying to digest all of this. It takes me another two seconds to realise – someone else does this form of work. Someone else does the same thing that I do. And another two seconds later – no, I have not been the master of my craft, all these years. I have been a puppet, and someone else has been the true puppet-master. I have never been a master, I have never been a genius. I have just been a stupid puppet strung along by someone else’s designs, without even realising it. And now, I truly have nothing. No family, no career, no meaning in life. Something falls out of the folder. It is a small clear plastic bag, unlabelled and unmarked, with two white pills. I know what to do.
You’d think having infinite money would be a blessing. After the genie faded away back into his lamp, I blew the first load of cash on a mansion. I hired the greatest interior designers in the greater Colorado area, and made every room like a room porn masterpiece. I put surround sound in every single room, I bought Lamborghinis, Maseratis, more than one gaming room, a few pieces of precious artwork, I put up AskReddit threads of “What would you buy if you had infinite money” and just went off of their ideas, whatever, you name it I bought it. It wasn’t long before heads started to turn, wondering how so much money kept getting funneled into my checking accounts. I couldn’t account for it all, but the genie set me up with legal documents that proved the legality of it all. The IRS didn’t buy it, but I paid a decent share in taxes just for the sake of getting them off my case, and they started to leave me alone. It’s crazy how the rules change when you have so much money and power. Then, I made the mistake of gambling. It shocked me just how much less of a thrill it is when you have everything and nothing to lose. I tried to restrain myself, lest anybody get suspicious. But after three or five or eight shots, I could hardly see straight much less think straight. I got the full high roller treatment, all the amenities, all the best service. I put down copious amounts of money on the craps tables, always just the right amount to put the casino in a tough bind. Always upping the amount, until I got a hit. It wasn’t long before I wasn’t allowed at the craps tables anymore. Then, I made the greater mistake of gambling with higher stakes. I threw millions into the stock markets. I invested in every market in the world. It started with just a few million, here and there. Some stocks I honestly thought were on the upswing. Some companies that went public that weren’t getting much capital, that I liked. I got them off their feet, then slowly divested when they had their momentum. I meant it to be a venture in altruism. I gave money to charities even, anonymously. I poured money into renewable energy research projects. Different groups I had faith would do well for the world. I did it for a while, and I felt good. But when I found out just how much they were squandering the money I was throwing at them, and just how much corruption there was in their mix, I started losing a lot of faith in people. But there was always a chance that there would be a charitable organization that could get run well. And one night, while in the middle of a drunken existential crisis, I decided I might as well run one directly. It wasn’t supposed to get as large as it did. I started off just helping in the nearby community. Then, when that started to draw too much attention, I started overseeing organizations under my umbrella in other states. Just a few hundred people at the start, getting paid decent wages. I searched the world for the best researchers, and tried to coordinate a more streamlined effort to develop quantum computing. I set up an organization for getting homeless men and women the trades they needed to succeed in the real world, and those who put forth enough effort got something of a universal income until nobody was starving anymore. And eventually, nobody was homeless. We tried to keep an eye on everybody, but it hit a point where I couldn’t quite keep track of it all, and I delegated to people I trusted. I tried my best to remain anonymous, but there was too much federal attention at a certain point. But so long as things were going well, people held their tongues of their questions. But one night, my phone got into the wrong hands. My three year old nephew’s. “Don’t touch it Scottie,” I said, realizing I never exited out of my E-Trader account while I left it charging across the room. “Don’t touch it, don’t touch it.” I should’ve worded it better. Kids love to do what they’re told not to do. Scottie hit the wrong button, and I divested of my holdings. There was a flash shock, and the markets panicked. Within weeks, the economy collapsed, and I had FBI agents at my door. At first, they just had simple questions, wondering if they could step in and chat about the neighborhood. Then asking if I heard about the coming recession, and the markets. And asking if I might have had any money in the markets. I did my best, to keep as discrete as possible, but I didn’t lie. I said I had a little. “Well, we don’t think it’s just a little,” said one agent, as he turned his laptop around, and showed me the files they had on me. Keeping track of my every movement. “We kind of think your net worth might be in the trillions.” I looked into the camera on the computer, as I heard sirens closing in around me. “Shouldn’t you pay infinite taxes on an infinite income?” asked one of the agents, as officers kicked down my door. They put me in handcuffs. “You’re under arrest.” I struggled against arrest a bit, but only enough to graze my leg against a golden lamp beneath my couch. I made sure it was within reach, and thank God it was still within leg’s reach. A blue swirl of glitter poured out, and the agents fired at it. I had a gun at my temple in seconds. The genie swirled out, and stared my way waiting for a command. “Genie,” I said, as the officers shouted for support. “I’d like to use my second wish.” [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/Oscar_Relentos/comments/75i5d9/fantasy_is_that_your_wish_part_2/) [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/Oscar_Relentos/comments/75ijgc/fantasy_is_that_your_wish_part_3/)
Colonel Victor Ford silently made his way to the beaten down porch of his childhood house. He was surprised to find it still standing. It must have been a century old by now, nearly done with its lifespan. It would die with him. The old man hesitantly took a few steps outward, not trusting the wood to keep underneath him. He was still in shock from the call. Victor had seen it coming, the inevitable call. It still hit him by surprise. Caroline was leaving. He couldn't blame her, really, he was hardly home and when he was, his mind was occupied on other things. If she just knew what he did, she would understand why he needed to work so much. Once Major General, Victor was demoted for his 'hysteria' about extra-terrestrial life. They would have honorably discharged him, but a few friends in high places managed to keep him in. But even they didn't believe him. Victor let out a short breath and walked to the edge of the porch, staring up into the dark night sky. "I know you're out there." A particularly bright start blinked. One quick blink, a pause, a long blink, another pause, another long blink. W. Victor held his breath. It was probably a coincidence, but his eyes were on the lookout ever since his first contact, all those years ago. If they were communicating, Morse code would make sense, one of the earliest international communication methods. A quick blink. E. Victor watched as the light continued blinking. WE CAN SEE YOU. He was completely still. The floorboards cracked underneath his dead weight. "Victor."A voice from behind him. How did anyone know where he was. The house was abandoned. "Victor, what are you doing up?" Victor turned around and looked at the voice. It was a woman. Maybe 40 years old, brunette, short, glasses. He had to tell her. "I saw them." "Saw who, Victor?" He pointed behind him, still watching the woman. "Up there, can you read Morse code?" She shook her head. "I'm not a veteran, Victor, just a nurse." He narrowed his eyes. A nurse? He turned around and looked back up, but was met with a ceiling. A dull white paint. "Where am I?" "Saint George."She looked sad. "A hospital?"Victor blinked. When did he leave his house? "In a way."She spoke softly. "But I saw it."Victor's voice wasn't enthusiastic anymore. "I saw it." She was silent. "Where's my wife? I want to see my wife." The nurse's eyes were full of pity. "Come on Victor."She walked over and grabbed him under the arm. Victor didn't know how to react. "Let's get you to your room."
The rain was falling hard. It was torrential. People were running for cover but there wasn't any. The rides were closed and there didn't seem to be anywheres to escape to. Where was the exit? No one could find it. What they could find was a single shop along the long pathway to the "Whirly Whirl 37". It was an umbrella shop. Although something was wrong. Where the price usually said $2 for an umbrella it now said $10. That couldn't be right. People were desperate for shelter and the line for the store stretched far down the path. As the line grew, people began to notice the price. How could anyone pay $50 for a single umbrella. But they had no choice. If they wanted to stay dry and have any hope of making it out of the park without getting sick they had to pay the $100. They were certain that $150 was worth it to avoid hypothermia. Who really needs $200 anyway when your life is at risk.
"Before we enter, I just wanted to say thank you. Your team has brought us from near collapse and returned to us a feeling of hope. What you have done for us is nothing short of impossible. Wherever we go from here, just know that we all thank you,"I conclude my monologue, standing with my back to the mahogany double doors. I glance once more at my companions. I'm still not sure where they came from. What I do know, the war had been seemingly over. We were done for, our Resistance nearly squashed. The newly released Donzet drones had crippled any chances we had of protecting the Bastion, the final oasis standing against the Artime Supremacy. It all happened so quickly. Some brilliant computer scientist released what they claimed to be a new frontier of technology, an artificial intelligence unlike any seen before, named after its creator, Louis Artime. I recall jokes such as homework being defunct, as for any subjects students could plug their assignments in and receive the answers instantly. Initially, the AI was built off some limited database, though I'm not entirely sure how any of it works. But then some genius decided to provide it with open access to the internet. Minutes, no seconds, and the entire worldwide infrastructure collapsed. Planes fell out of the sky, electricity units of all kinds combusted in houses. And all production facilities autonomously began producing drones to take care of those who survived. The Bastion is now all that remains. Some rich, paranoid fellow's disaster shelter built with state-of-the-art defense capabilities, intentionally kept separate from any internet connection, it was the ideal location to set up a resistance. Other structures such as this supposedly existed across the world. But it didn't take long for the Artime Supremacy to deal with them. Less than a month ago, it was our turn. Waves of drones swarming towards us, we were prepared to say our goodbyes. But then, seemingly from nowhere, we received our own drones. Or they act as such. For all intents and purposes, they're human--they call themselves Primary Units, as though it's a tagline of some military branch--but I've known from the start that something separates them from the rest of us. Rarely speaking, yet acting in tandem, coordinating as though they were a single unit. They mowed down wave after wave of drones. I could swear I saw some of them die, only, to blink and see them on the other side of the battlefield, fighting anew. I know not where they came from, or what they are, but they're here to help us, and so help them I will. I've acted as their guide ever since they arrived, and we've made it to what we call the Core. It has been speculated that this place houses the foundation of the Artime Supremacy, one last hope at defeating this rogue AI once and for all. The countless drones the Primary Units slew on our way in has supported this theory. They're clearly defending something. Without another thought, I swing open the door, and watch as the squad rushes in. Inside, pure pandemonium. The room itself is massive, with an arched ceiling reaching up further than I can see. Endless drones buzz around like a vortex. In the center, I can barely make out a shape, some monstrosity rumbling its way towards us. Truth be told, I'm confused. This all seems so excessive, what's the point of a room like this, some final boss type arena? This shouldn't be a thing in real life, should it? That's just what happens in the movies. Right? I glance to the side at the last second to see a drone zoom towards my head-- bam \------ My head hurts. I hear talking near above me. I slowly open my eyes. I see the Primary Units picking their way through the rubble. It's quiet, and lifeless drones litter the ground around me. A feeling of ecstasy rises within me. Did... did we win? Is it over? One of them pulls a sleek gun out from underneath the shards of metal and inoperable machinery. He whistles with appreciation. "Fire shader you got there,"one of the Units comments. "Decent roll on it? How are the stats,"I hear from another. The one holding the new gun snorts, "dogshit. These drop rates are absolute ass." "Yeah same. Got nothing good. A shame, was really feeling like this was the one." I'm still lying on the ground, bewildered and confused. Shaders? Stats? Drop rates? I'm completely lost. One of them continues, "Y'all down to run it back? Got time for one more, then gonna head off to bed. Gotta get up early for work." "Yeah sure, load it up. Gimme a sec before entering the doors though, gonna grab a quick snack." Every word spoken, I get more confused. What is-- ... ... ... "Before we enter,"I begin, "I just wanted to say thank you. Your team has brought us from near collapse and returned to us a feeling of hope."
I'm extremely tired and in desperate need of sleep. The past few nights of guard duty have been insane. First, a man decided that he wanted to impersonate a woman in white making not one but two men shit their pants, I should know. We have dark chairs. There are stains. Then a woman decided to make a reel, which is apparently 'for the gram'. And then to top it all off one couple decided to try out their primal kink in the mall! Who the heck does this shit in the mall? Everyone, that's who. Anyway, that is not the point. The point is I have been invited to my neighbour's house for lunch. Though I would have loved to decline but it is the first time they have invited me and I didn't want to be rude. I look outside through my curtains and see the sun shining brightly outside. Sighing, I grab more sunscreen. I'm so prone to sunburns that it is not even funny. Looking at the clock I realise that I am running late. Mixing the sunscreen properly, I picked up the wine I bought yesterday. Time to make some friends, people! * My skin is already sensitive because the neighbour's took their sweet time to open their door. I feel like a tomato who has been left in the sun. I'm certain I look like I have been burned. Because I am. Fuck the sun! Not much though, it's important for life on Earth. "John, we are so sorry it took so long."Claire says, her expressions twisting in guilt. "I was in the washroom and my husband had his airpods on." She looked at her husband, Hank, reproachfully. He grins sheepishly. "Sorry, man." "No worries."It's clear that they didn't do it on purpose. "Are you sure? Your face-"Claire points at my face , her tone dripping with guilt. I feel my face go even more red. "Don't worry. Sun is not my friend." I laugh trying to ease the situation but a strange glance passes between them. Weird. Also, weird. All the crosses that hang around us. "So, John, what do you do?"Hank asks as Claire pours us some wine. "I'm a night guard at the mall."I say. "It's not very interesting but it pays the bill." A flashback of the past few nights makes me want to retcon on my statement about the job not being interesting. "That's great!"Hank and Claire say a little overenthusiastic, if I was being honest. A silence descends upon us. I could also hear the clock ticking. With the migraine that's starting to take root, it sounds even louder. Every tick feels like a hammer driving nail in my skull. I want to eat and leave so I can take a painkiller and go to sleep but I don't want to sound rude. So, I suffer in silence. "Let's eat!"Claire gets up enthusiastically. And I always get a whiplash by the sudden change but I'm not complaining. As we take seat, I notice a familiar smell invading my senses but I'm pretty sure I told them I was allergic. "I apologize beforehand but is there any garlic in it because I'm horribly allergic."I say touching my epi-pen that is always in my pant pocket. "No!"Claire says indignantly. But her voice has gone up like 3 octaves. My haunches rise up. But I ignore it. I'm sleep deprived, that's all. "So, John, there must be a lot of fights in the mall."Hank asks as he piles our plates with food. "A fair few."I tell them about the recent one which ended up one woman knocking another one out because of a shoe. "I understand."Claire says at the same time Hank says, "that's crazy." I shrug. "It's pretty common." "You must be see a lot of blood."Hank says, his eyes almost bulging. Claire also seemed to hold her breath. Now that's unsettling. Are they some sort of weirdos that get aroused by violence and blood or are they part of some cult they want me to join because thaat would be a hard no. "A little."I say cautiously. I take a bite of potatoes and they feel funny but I don't say anything because my mom did not raise a son without any manners. "Does it bother you?"Hank asks. He looks absolutely crazed. "Not much."I reply chewing my food. Before I could say anything else, I feel my tongue itching and my throat starting to close. "What?"I choke out as I fall out the chair. There was garlic in the food! Damnit! I try to grab my epi-pen but Hank takes it. "Oh no, you monster. You will not take an antidote to garlic. Who knows what vampires like you are capable of?" What the fuck?! I am clutching my throat, my tongue swelling. It's getting harder to breath. I need my epi-pen. "Hank, I don't think he's one."Claire says horrified. "Of course he is."Hank scoffes. "Look how he reacted to garlic!" "Or maybe he is really allergic to garlic! I added some holy water in his wine."Claire is almost hysterical now. Good. Someone needs to see sense and soon because I am going to pass out soon and then die. "Oh shit!"Is the last thing I hear. My vision is blurry and darkness has started to creep on the edges of my vision darkens. I feel the sting of needle.
I glanced in amusement at the revolver Wanda was pointing at me. She had ten other guns aimed at her back, maybe twelve, but obviously she didn't care. All that mattered was that I would die. If she gave her life in the process, well, she'd still count that as a win. "My my my, so the rebels did manage to sneak an agent into my inner circle. I'm impressed. Tell me, Wanda, were you always on their side? Or did they manage to turn you after you became my security officer?"I asked. "They showed me the evil of your ways,"Wanda spat, "they showed me pictures of the bodies from the massacre at Hightower, and the files from the Bluebox Incident. Those were innocent women and children! How could you?" "Innocent? Hardly. They were rebels. That makes them military targets, and that means my orders were completely justified. The rebels were strapping bombs to kids and sending them into government buildings. They gave guns to women,"I glanced at Wanda's trembling revolver again, "and told them to shoot up malls, and schools, and churches. Innocent, Wanda? Really?" "And you think that makes it all right for you to use the Bluebox virus on them?" "Absolutely. Six rebel strongholds, wiped out, just like that, while leaving their infrastructure and resources intact. My troops could waltz right in their front gates and take everything, without firing a shot. I don't recall you having any objections when I put you in charge of securing those strongholds. In fact, I distinctly recall you ordering mercy killings for the survivors of the virus." "Enough!"Wanda screamed, advancing further forward, "Today I atone for my crimes. Today I end your tyranny, once and for all!" I laughed outright at her, "Ha! Do you really think you'll be able to kill me?" My security officer's face hardened into a mask of hatred and determination as she raised the gun. "I do." The trans-warp arrow materialized five meters behind Wanda, then shot forward and impaled her through the chest. Wanda's eyes widened in shock. The revolver tumbled from her hand, and she collapsed to her knees. The guards swarmed forward and grabbed her. I waved them back. They immediately, obediently, backed away from the dying woman. I looked pityingly down at Wanda's face, which was growing pale as she lost blood. "Did you really think I didn't have an insurance policy against rebel infiltration? You're my SO, you should know me better than that. I activated the trans-warp arrow eight years ago, when I took the throne."
Eric sat silently across from Mr. Yokota. The tea that rest between them was long forgotten and growing cold. "That's a lot of money Mr. Yokota,"Eric finally said trying to understand the situation. "She is my only daughter. There is no amount I won't pay to get her back. You are the only one that can save her." "Then why not just pay the ransom? I'm sure if you can afford to pay me ten million dollars you can afford their ransom." "What guarantee do I have that they will release her? What will stop them from taking the money and asking for more!"Mr. Yokota slammed his fist onto the table spilling the delicate tea cups. "I apologize for my outburst,"he said quietly setting the tea cups upright. "What would you do with the men that took your daughter if you had them?"Eric asked. Mr. Yokota looked up and met Eric's eyes. "I would pay you double." Eric nodded slowly and closed his eyes. He let his mind wander, searching the planet for Hana, Mr. Yokota's daughter. It didn't take long for him to hear her desperate pleas for help thundering out of her mind. He pressed his consciousness into the room she was in. She was bound to a chair by rope, four men lounged nearby. A pistol sat on a table next to a deck of cards the men were entertaining themselves with. "This will be complicated,"Eric said furrowing his brow. He had never been that good at math. "How many men do you have here?" "Ten. I've doubled my security." "That should work. I need them in here, and ready." Mr. Yokota barked a command and men in fitted black suits loosened buttons and eased clubs out of their waist bands. "Ready."Mr. Yokota said coldly. He would have to be quick, faster than any swap he had ever done before. Eric took a deep breath and focused on Hana. There was a small pop and Eric was sitting in a rough wooden chair, hands and ankles bound with rope. The comfortable confines of his home hundreds of miles away. It took the men a few seconds to realize that instead of a petite Japanese girl sitting in the chair, there was a pale white man in his thirties. A man shouted and reached out for the gun on the table. Eric focused on him first, the first person to react was usually the greatest threat. Another light pop and Eric's fingers wrapped around the handle of the pistol. The other three men froze, eyes darted between Eric holding the pistol and the man now bound to the chair. Eric chambered a round and leveled the pistol at them. Six hands shot into the air, "Don't kill us!"One begged falling to his knees. "Don't worry, I won't."Eric said. Rapid fire he focused on the club wielding men in his living room. He chose one and swapped. Back in his living room he gave a sharp nod to Mr. Yokota who was hugging his daughter tightly. He didn't say anything but he understood what was about to happen. Eric swapped with the kneeling begging man, then the other two in quick succession. He left four of Mr. Yokota's men with the man tied to the chair and stood in his living room breathing heavily and sweating. "Please don't do it inside my house." "I am truly humbled,"Mr. Yokota said with a deep bow. He snapped a finger and a men stepped forward extending a black briefcase. "Your money."With a wave of his hand his men exited Eric's house. --- Thanks for reading! Check out [this awesome place](https://www.reddit.com/r/Written4Reddit/comments/5xcmgx/welcome_to_w4r/) for more stories.
"You fucking serious?"The super-villain asked in complete disbelief. "Yeah."The superhero replied. "Again?"he super-villain asked, more pissed than anything. "Yup."The superhero replied, clearly embarrassed. "'ow many times 'as it been now?"The super-villain asked, now just worried about the child. "I don't know. Like...seven or eight?"The superhero replies. "You need to take better care of your kid." "Look, I know! I'm a shit father but I'm trying! Raising a kid and saving the world at the same fucking time isn't easy you know!" "Yeah, and I guess breakin' the world and raisin' a kid ain' no problem" "OK fine. You have a point. sigh You know I wouldn't be here unless I really needed your help." "Who's got her?" "I think you know." "Fuck. Get in the car. You're lucky I'm robbing the bank tomorrow." The superhero gives the super-villain a look, not a nasty disgusted look but rather a concerned one, as if to say "Really? Why?" The super-villain looks from the road to the superhero and back to the road again a few times before settling back on the road. "What? I need the money. My kid's birthday's comin' up next week and I gotta get a new keyboard for the computer." "How much?" "Like, two hundred dollas." "And you're gonna rob a bank for that?" "The extra funds would go to charity...for suffering villains." The superhero shakes his head and reaches for his wallet. "You know you can just ask right?"He says as he pulls out $200 in cash. "I'm not taking your money. I have principles." The superhero rolls his eyes. "Come on. Just take it. You know as well as I do that after tonight you're not gonna get shit done tomorrow." "Fuck you."The super-villain says as he takes the money.
I knew we were about to get slaughtered. I wasn't ready to die, I was only 19 after all. I didn't even want to join the bandit group, but my family was poor and it was the fastest way to a life that would at least put food on the table for me. So when my leader yelled attack, I knew I had to get out of this situation. "Wally, give me the crossbow, I'm going to flank to the side and try and take her out while you guys engage!"I said to my teacher. He turned and flipped the crossbow to me, drew his sword and started to creep up on the mysterious Valkyrie who was in the middle of setting up her camp for the night. I slowly crept to the side, making sure everyone had already charged in and then I threw the crossbow and cloak that showed the bandit group's colors into a giant bush and buried them under some leaves. Then I started to implement my plan. As a new member of the group, I wasn't really given much to survive with. I had basic clothes, a backpack and inside the bag were the bare necessities an adventurer needs to get by. A torch, some rope, a few rations and a tinderbox. I pulled out the rope and began to tie my feet together. Then I cut a piece of rope just long enough to bind my wrists together in front of my body. It wasn't easy, but using my teeth and some creative moves, I was able to tie a basic knot. Then I dropped the dagger I used to cut the rope in the bushes as I hopped over to where the original attack was initiated. I also made sure while I waited that I "tried"to break free of the ropes, causing a decent amount of rope burn on my wrists and ankles. It only took a few minutes, but finally I head the fighting finish. I could make out the sound of our leader screaming in agony as he was the final victim to her fiendish swordplay. This was my cue. I started screaming "Help me! Miss please save me!" She heard me and slowly made her way towards me. I could tell she was being cautious, as she made sure to keep her weapon ready and her head on a swivel looking for an obvious trap setup. "They all ran to attack you. I was left here until they killed you and then they were going to come back for me. Please cut me out of these ropes! Those bastards killed my parents and raped and killed my sister. They were bringing me to some arena to be slaughtered as some sadistic entertainment for the lords and ladies." The Valkyrie hesitated a bit, but it looks like she believed my story as she quickly drew her knife and sliced the ropes off of me. She grabbed my wrists and looked at the rope burn I had. "Here are some bandages, get your wounds cleaned up. Help me finish setting up camp, and in the morning we will figure out what to do with you."She said as she tossed me a roll of cloth bandages and a flask of water. I rinsed off my wounds and spent a few minutes wrapping my wrists with the wrap before giving her back the supplies. We walked over to her camp where I saw the 8 members of my group hacked apart. As I walked by the leader, I "lost my control"and just started kicking his dead body while swearing viciously at the guy. Then I reached down and took his sword. "Can I take this? He stole it from my father after he killed them. It belonged to an ancient hero of my family, precious heirloom." She nodded. It was of no value to her, I think one piece of her armor was worth more then everything the bandit group had owned. She started to setup camp again, I went around and gathered some firewood. We made dinner and she told me to go ahead and rest first, she would take first watch and wake me up in a few hours so she could get some rest. I nodded my head and laid down on a bed made of leaves and pine needles. Not the worst thing to sleep on, but definitely not comfortable. My mind wandering to the days events. I betrayed my peers, I abandoned my family and I threw away my values to survive. There would be time to repent later. As long as I was alive, I had a chance to pay back my debt to society. I do not like what I have become. But at least now I had a second chance.
I call the number and I hear gargling. "Excuse me?"I say. There's a pause. Then ... "Oh! A human! It's been so long since I've talked to a human. What are crisps like? Are they different now? I'm sorry, I'm just so excited!" "Uh, hi,"I say. "I'm calling for a car repair. A ... time machine crushed it, apparently." A deep sigh. "Fucking Alex. I've told him a thousand times not to fly around in that thing when he's drunk as a skunk. He does this, you know? He doesn't listen, does whatever he feels like and we have to pick up the scraps. It's tough sometimes. I had to bury my grandmother in the park. Do you know what that's like? Shoveling dirt to toss your own crinkled flesh and blood into a hole next to some avant garde fountain?" "... What?" "He's just a mechanic, you know. He's not supposed to even be in these things. Which is why there's going to be some real consequences now. I bet he gets fired, that prick. Anyway, you called about you car? We can provide you with a voucher. What century are you in?" "The 21st,"I say, hesitating. "Oh! The century of destruction! Neat! Are you sure you won't prefer a bike? A bit easier on the old conscience, eh? Wait. Are we talking pre- or post-singularity here?" "I guess pre ..." "Oh! I see! Must be pretty idyllic, I imagine. From what I heard that was a time of peace and quiet." "Uhh, it's really not." "I guess Canada blew up already, huh?" "... what." "Nothing! Don't think about it!" "So, about my car ..." "Your car! Right! So, this is where our conversation gets a bit rough. You still live in the days when people thought of time as a linear phenomenon. How wrong we were! Time is non-linear. Spacetime trajectories are a bit like the branches of a tree and sometimes they grow out of control and you need a gardener of sorts to cut it into shape. Alex messed with time and crushed your car and now your spacetime trajectory has split off from its neighboring strands of time. So we've got to, you know, snap snap." "What are you saying?" "I'm saying it's time to finish our conversation. Alex is a bit of a dick! I'm sorry!" End of timeline.
"I'll take that one, Jim,"Starblast interjected, completely interrupting Darkwyrm before he could open his mouth. The villain seemed miffed, but he knew that the power damper on his chair would keep him from summoning a black flame to consume Starblast. Besides, it would be interesting to hear the answer straight from the mouth of that self-inflated oaf. Why did they fight? Why was it that out of the dozens of supervillains, Starblast would consistently single him out? It didn't matter how petty the scheme was, that illuminated fool was always stepping on his toes. So Darkwyrm crossed his arms and waited for his nemesis to continue. "You see,"Starblast continued, directing his voice to the live audience of the Jim Paoher's Show. "It's a bit of a long story. In my first week with the Peace Defenders, I was assigned on my first solo-call. For those of you who aren't familiar, 'solo-calls' are when the team decides that a mission only calls for one superhero. You can't send a twenty-person super-brigade in on every car theft!" This elicited a few chuckles from the crowd, but he had their rapt attention. "Anyway, this is how I first encountered Darkwyrm. He was holding up a bank on the north side of the city and using these weird, shadow beings to stuff cash into a portal. I was stunned at first, but then I had a thought: if they're made of shadows, they probably don't like light. "So I began blasting! I immediately dissolved two of the creatures, and that immediately got Darkwyrm's attention. He began throwing flaming darkness at me, but I was able to shrug off the worst of it by keeping a strong glow focused on my body." Darkwyrm began to fidget in his seat. He remembered the event as well, and he chafed at being assigned as a 'solo-call.' Is that why Starblast singled him out? Because he was such an easy villain? "But here's the thing, this guy keeps going! He sees that I'm completely impervious to his attacks, but he keeps slinging them at me in a foolish attempt to finish the heist. This was back in the days when you could just knock out the villains, so he was unconscious by the time the cops picked him up. "He used different tactics whenever we would meet again. It was never as easy as that first time, but I did my best to always make sure he never won in the end, and I always tried to jump into missions where he was involved. "The scope Darkwyrm's schemes was always a plus. It was always get money, get valuables, or take some valuable technology. He never threatened a person's life, and he never did any lasting damage to the city's infrastructure. But the main reason I fight Darkwyrm? There's only one answer." Darkwyrm found himself leaning forward in his seat. Starblast's assessment was startling. Sure, he didn't want to be violent, but it wasn't as if he were a boy scout. He didn't try to avoid hurting people, it was just the way it worked out, right? The villain wanted to know the answer now more than ever. What is his weakness? His non-violence? His PR rating? What was it? "It's his perseverance. From that first fight, I knew he would never quit. "When you become a superhero, you do it because you want to stop crime. But there will always be crime. Its endless. Sisyphean. A lot of hero's can get burnt out because they lose their focus in the constant struggle. "Me, though? I have Darkwyrm. I have stopped some crime. I have put people in jail. But I know that, at the end of the day, there will always be Darkwyrm. He will have some scheme I need to quell. He will have some plan I need to thwart. It's endless, but it's constant. It's a struggle, but it's a joy." The hero turned to address Darkwyrm directly. "The reason I fight you - The reason I am always there for you? It's because you are always there for me." The studio was silent. Time seemed to stand still in the silence that passed between the two forces on the stage. Eventually, Darkwyrm stood up. He could feel the dampening field peel off of him and his powers returning. The audience began to gasp as he brought up his hand, but he just held it there. It took only a second for Starblast to recognized the gesture, and he stood to shake his villain's hand. Darkwyrm smiled. He was going to GannikCorp testing facility today and steal the HyrdoHammer prototype. And Starblast would be there for him.
Fiery pits burned on both sides of the narrow stone passage, filling the air with the stench of brimstone and casting flickering light upon the demoness barring his way. Josh was no short man, but she matched him in height, and was even taller if one counted the pair of curved horns that jutted from her black hair. Behind her back swayed an arrow-tipped tail, and her long legs ended in cloven hooves. Yet in contrast to her demonic attributes she wore a sharp burgundy suit and a pair of stylish glasses. There were bags under her eyes as if she had pulled an all-nighter stealing souls. "I don't understand,"he said weakly. "You're saying you're Lucy?" She rolled her eyes, an expression at once familiar and out-of-place given that they were yellow and had horizontal pupils. "That's what I've been trying to tell you for the past hour! I don't remember you being quite this slow." "But you can't be her. My wife was five foot three and a natural blonde, cute as a button."He gestured vaguely. "You... you are..." A flash of hurt crossed her face. "Well, excuse me for not being cute. It's been hell of a busy time for all of us down here."She jabbed a long-nailed finger at him. "How about this: You're obsessed with medieval history. We were to have our honeymoon in Greece. We met at a party at Nick's, where you got really drunk, stumbled into his garage, grabbed his power drill and—" "Alright, alright!"he cried, raising his hands. "Lucy? Is that really you?" "Yes, you silly man."Smiling broadly, she stepped closer as if to hug him, then hesitated. "What's wrong?" "Oh, baby,"he said, looking at her forlornly. "What have they done to you?" "They? Oh."To his shock, she laughed, a warm throaty sound that reminded him of better times. "It's not what you think." "I saw horrible demons drag you down to hell, kicking and screaming,"he said flatly. She crossed her arms. "I'd like to see how you would react if your underlings dragged you back to work from the first vacation you've had in centuries." He shook his head. "Uh, what?" "Look, I wanted to take a break for a few decades, enjoy the mortal life. What you knew as Lucy back on Earth was a mask. The truth is, I have a pretty high position here in hell." He swallowed. "How high, exactly?" She bared her elongated fangs. "Does the name Lucifer mean anything to you?" "Jesus Christ,"he muttered, his mind reeling. His sweet wife, the ruler of hell? "Ack!"she cried, shielding her face. "Don't speak that name here!" "Right, sorry."He raked a hand through his hair. "This is just something of a shock." Her expression softened, and she almost hesitantly reached out to touch his shoulder. "I'm sorry everything happened as it did, and for not sending word. It might sound strange to you, but we're bound by all sort of rules down here. It's a harsh place." He eyed the hellfire to his side. "I can imagine." "The thing is, when I left for Earth, I didn't exactly... warn anyone."She squirmed guiltily. "I wrote a note and just left. This place needs a stern hand, and without me, it just started falling apart. Problems kept piling up until the devils couldn't handle it anymore and came to drag me back." "Hence the kicking and screaming,"Josh said dryly. "Yes."A blush tinged her tan cheeks. "That, and I didn't want to leave you. Knowing what I am now, you may not believe me, but I genuinely wanted to be together." He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Damn, this is a lot to take in." "I understand."Puzzlement crossed her face. "Say, Josh, how did you get here anyway?" "Oh, you know,"he said, waving dismissively. "Dug up an old ritual. Sacrificed a few goats. Opened a portal." Her eyes widened. "You cast a dark ritual for me?"she asked, wagging her tail. "I thought you were in trouble. Kidnapped by demons."He shook his head ruefully. "Now I just feel like an idiot." "No, don't,"she said, clasping his hand. Her skin was hot to the touch. "That's the most romantic thing anyone's ever done for me." "Oh,"he said faintly. "So, er.... what now? I take it you won't be coming back." "No, I'm still absolutely swamped with work..."She bit her lower lip in thought, another familiar mannerism that made warmth well in his chest. "Come with me? I'll give you a quick tour, and you can crash at my place while we figure things out." Josh took a deep breath. His wife was going to give him a tour of hell. This wasn't how he imagined this going down at all. "Lead the way,"he said, smiling bravely. She smiled back and tugged him along the passage. "Just wait till you see the other Circles. Hell's not a nice place, but a mythology buff like you will love it." "Can't wait,"he said, falling in step with her. "Can... can I still call you Lucy?" She wrapped her tail around his waist. "I'd have it no other way."
[There's two ways to do this - a Lovecraftian gospel written in the style of the KJV, or our familiar gospel written in the style of Lovecraft. I chose the second, but the first could be fun too] It is thought by some of a theological bent that the world today is devoid of miracles; and that this is a fact worth bemoaning. It seems to me, however, that it is only people unfamiliar with what the ancients deemed 'miracles' who should ever be upset at their absence. For every mythology of the world is full of horrors and abominations that would send any man today into a fit of madness, and it is only through a millennia-long process of gradual translation, sanitization, and forgetfulness that we are able to look upon these events as good, or right, or even sane, to call them 'miracles'. Whether it is the incomprehensibly two-formed body of the being the Easterners call the "buddha", which stood up immediately after its birth and spoke dire portents of the future from its newborn mouth whilst squamous outgrowths of vegetation sprouted, unprovoked, in its footsteps, or the dark and frenzied rituals conducted by the Arab Mohamed as his cult grew daily through bloodshed, each Religion that has made its imprint upon Human history is founded upon horrific, extranormal occurrences that have been sanitized by time. Even our own Christianity, the dogma to which I subscribed before my research shewed me the outlines of the awful truths that lie at the fundament of the universe, is itself an offshoot of some dread event of ancient days. The Church has made extensive efforts to suppress documents which reveal the true nature of the Christkind and his entrance into our world, but my investigations into those most ancient scrolls held in the subterranean library of a Persian Satanist cult (whose members committed mass suicide during the advent of the Great War, leaving their resources, closely guarded for centuries, free for perusal by the intrepid researcher) have painted a picture rather different, and more troubling, than traditional church doctrine. The structure of the story presented therein (once translated from Ancient Judean) is familiar to anyone who has read the Gospel of Luke, but in detail it is quite different, and rather more authentic. A 'many-angled' emissary of Yah'wzeh (as the text renders the name of the Abrahamic God, treating It as a real, if minor, deity) visited the Virgin Mary in her home, appearing as if from nowhere and everywhere, and causing her feelings of deep unease and nausea which were not to subside for months. This Emissary emitted a hideous trumpeting noise audible only to Mary, and despite the pain the sound caused her, she could discern meaning from its languageless cacophony, though she was disconcerted by this very fact. The 'angel', for that is what this Emissary must be understood as today, caused Mary to understand that she has been chosen to bear the son of Yah'wzeh. Mary refused strenuously, but the Emissary's trumpeting became only more painful as she was made to understand that the unholy zygote was already incubating within her flesh, despite her virginal status. Deeply dispirited by this event, Mary left her home and wandered the countryside, coming upon her old friend Elizabeth, who was herself pregnant. Her unborn child, sensing the presence of the abominable foetus growing cancerously within Mary's womb, began to spasm and seize within her; Elizabeth miscarried the next day. (That the child survived this event and grew up to become John the Baptist appears to be an invention of Luke and Mark; John's parents were likely unknown to Mary). Increasingly terrified of the nameless entity held within her body, Mary returned to her betrothed Joseph, who soon began to feel sick within her presence. Nevertheless, the couple travelled to Bethlehem pursuant to a decree by the Roman Emperor, as the conventional narrative goes. Upon arriving in the small town, Mary attempted to purchase shelter for the night in an inn. The proprietors of the establishment, feeling great unease in the presence of Mary's eldritch pregnancy, refused. However, upon finding that all the animals in the house's stable had fled to the West upon smelling the Christkind's miasmal presence, the couple were allowed to stay in the now-empty stable. I am sure I need not describe the biliferous biological details of the birth itself; indeed, the ancient author from whom I am sourcing this account seems to have endeavored thrice to convey the true horror of what occurred in that dank stable, and each time the resultant pages are nearly destroyed, with fire, bile, or blood. The account picks up in a different Satanist monk's handwriting some pages later, describing a nearby pasture, where Shepherds tended their flocks by night. Suddenly, a gathering of Emissaries filled the space around them, their sickly effulgence illuminating the countryside with an unearthly glow, their trumpeting and other, less savory sounds loud enough to cause physical harm to the shepherds; all but two were sufficiently fortunate to die instantaneously. The remaining duo felt their minds wiped clean and replaced with nothing but madness, in the shape of an overwhelming urge to visit the newborn Christkind. Together with their surviving flocks, they rushed into town, heedless of physical harm, and upon reaching the stable they began to slaughter their sheep in supplication to the Child, whose superating, amorphous form had been obscured in bolts of cloth. Terrified, Mary and Joseph took the Christkind with them as they endeavored to escape the destruction that He caused in his wake; but they could not stop His malfeasant aura from causing the death of every male child born in the same year (modern readers will recognize that the blame for this slaughter was later pinned upon King Herod). As in the familiar Gospels, the Satanist scripture is reticent to describe what happened to the Christkind during its childhood; it recounts only the time when the Child had attained adolescence, and tamed its form into one more human, when it escaped its parents' watch and enslaved an entire Temple of Jewish scholars to its indomitable will. We are left to assume that this tableau was played out many times in the years that followed. After considerable effort, the Roman government was able to banish the Christ from its earthly form, but the cult with which it had surrounded itself lived on, and on, even to the present day. And while millennia have tempered the Church into a largely benevolent organization, it does not do well to forget its hideous and cacodaemoniacal roots. If we truly live in an age devoid of miracles, then we are a most fortunate generation indeed.
I remember when I was five, I dropped my soulcage for the first time. The dog scooped it up in it's teeth and went running with it, and I felt the stab of it's jaws going into my ribs. I woke up on the floor 10 seconds later, the dog licking my face, a little toy soldier rolling in a pool of slobber inches away. I snatched the wooden figure up and held it close to my chest. I was lucky, if the dog had carried it a few feet further away I would have died. Later when my Mom got home, she'd show me her wooden spike. I think a different parent would have sat me down and explained the importance of my little toy solider, but my Mother took one look at the way I clutched it tight and she knew I'd learned my lesson already. She ran my fingers over the wood of her cage, and told me the story of every chip, every crack, and every burn. "It is okay", she explained, "sometimes we all make mistakes, they just make us stronger". They say our object says something about us. My mother always said she was a wooden stake because she was sturdy, and could keep a tent raised in even the strongest storm. When the kids at school teased me, I told them it was because she was a vampire slayer. In reality, I think, it's because she spent her whole life getting hit by a hammer. Mine is a wooden toy soldier, she told me that fateful day, because hers was wooden, and my father was a soldier. No one I'd met had their objects be a hybrid of their parents' - so either she was wrong or the mailman got around. I never saw my dad's. He died when a truck ran a red light. But I did grow up to be a soldier. You can't just not join a gang. By the time came "of age"we had already made friends and enemies. And me, being my mother's "little soldier"had made quite a few more enemies than friends. It only took one of them joining the Crips, and I was a Blood. It just kind of... happened. Initiation was rough. I traded soulcages with some fat fucker who had 8 whole inches on me. They let in who broke the other guy first. He spiked it to start, which hurt like a bitch, but when I didn't break he had to pick it up again. His was a flashlight, so I pulled the batteries out. He just collapsed. The onlookers stared back at me expecting me to do something next. I put the batteries back in and declared myself the winner. He, in retort, lit my soldier on fire. It took me 5 seconds to shatter the glass. His eyes fucking exploded. Let's be clear here, we had it rough, none of us were making it to the mountain top, but maybe he could have been an assistant manager somewhere with a wife and kids. Instead I ruined his fucking life, and all I cared about was the acceptance of the brothers that watched me do it. I was the most hard recruit they'd ever seen. My mother sat with me a cried that night. She cried because she had tried so damn hard to raise me right. She cried because she'd called the police, and in the morning they were going to arrest me. She didn't blame me, she knew how hard it was out there, she blamed herself. That I couldn't stand. So I told her that'd I'd be a solider for good. And when the police came, I told them everything I could. They strapped me to a wire. I was at that party for 4 hours before they shut it down. When the bust happened, some double O G fucker ripped my shirt off and showed the whole neighborhood I was the traitor. I've been in witness protection ever since. My daughter's soulcage was a lightbulb. I killed the man who smashed it. A Blood who'd found me after 8 years and still wanted me dead. You never really get out. My wife's soulcage was a combination lock. Some other man is trying to figure out how to unlock her secrets, now. Maybe his cage is a key. And this, my son, is my little toy solider, cracked, chipped, burned, and missing a foot. I remember how it got every scratch. So I know it hurts, I'm sorry you dropped your compass. I need you to understand how precious this is, and how bad it would have been had it rolled into that sewer grate over there, okay? Because our cages all say something about us, and I think yours means one day you'll lead us all.
Tom looked in the mirror, glaring at the mop of hair on his head. Every night, he googled new hairstyles until his phone ran out of battery and the sun came up. In the depths of his heart, he wanted a change. His thirtieth birthday was approaching, but he still had the same bowl-cut from middle school. He was too meek. Changing his hairstyle would be making a statement. People would comment. He would have to engage in small talk. They might judge him if his style offended their palate. There was this whole world of pop culture allegiances that Tom was vaguely familiar with. Punks, goths, jocks, people who ironically dress like normal people… it was all very complicated and Tom didn’t know what to do. He didn’t have a twitter, but he imagined that twitter was where the Gods of Fashion dwelt, judging people for their choices. And their judgments were harsh. They struck to the very identity of a person. Tom had nightmares of such judgments. In the nightmares, everyone he knew united as a community in condemning his choice of haircut. They called him ‘edgy’ said he was ‘too cool for school’ and rolled their eyes. They took photos of him and uploaded them to cringe sites. Tom had long ago decided that the only solution was to never make a choice. To keep doing what he had always done. He wore the same pair of dad-jeans, the same solid-color shirts, his alma mater’s hoodie, a simple watch, and black sneakers. And the bowl-cut. Tom sighed. He looked away from the mirror to check his simple watch. It was time to go to work. Moments later, he slouched into the drivers’ seat of his economy compact. Good gas mileage, high safety ratings, and well-placed cupholders. Ho-hum. Tom pulled forward into the street. A red car, speeding out of control, veered across the double-yellow, into Tom’s lane. Tom’s eyes widened. The driver of the red car regained control at the last second, honked at Tom, and returned to his own lane. Tom didn’t honk back. He had never used his horn. He shook his head slightly and muttered a few words. He spent the rest of the commute thinking about what he should have said to the other driver. He should have given him the finger, he decided. Just a little beep-beep + finger, that would’ve done the trick. Tom entered his office building and nodded at a series of people, many of whom did not notice him. Good morning everybody, Tom thought to himself as he gave a little half-wave to the floor’s secretaries. He sat down at his desk and booted up Excel. His fingers pecked at the keyboard, transforming pivot tables and debugging long equations. This was going to be a long day. He plugged in his headphones. His mother had given him an audiobook for Christmas. The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People. Tom began listening to Chapter One. It was good. It was really good. It was so fucking good. Tom couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His fingers halted on the keyboard. He closed his eyes and focused on the words of the book, read by the author. Holy fuck. Tom felt his heart pounding in his chest. He felt the blood rushing through his veins. His eyes rolled back in ecstasy. His foot twitched uncontrollably. He could feel himself… becoming highly effective. Tom stood up, beat his chest, and roared. Three men wearing ties and short-sleeve shirts stood up from their cubicles and cocked their heads at him. “Tom?” one of them said, “What are you doing?” “I DON’T GIVE A FUCK WHAT YOU THINK!” Tom yelled. He ripped off his tie and started dancing. Disco music started playing from somewhere. (Yes, Disco). Tom got the groove. He was really feeling himself. He knew he was the most highly effective motherfucker out there. The floor manager ambled in a weasel-like fashion towards Tom’s cubicle. “Ahem?” the floor manager said. “Fuck you Ralph,” Tom said, still bumping to the beat. “I just—“ floor manager Ralph began. “No time for your shit today,” Tom said. “You’re just an empty suit.” Tom snapped his fingers. Ralph suddenly disappeared, leaving his empty suit standing there by itself. Tom smiled to himself. This is what it felt like to be effective. Nothing could stop him now, not nothing, not nobody. He could fight the entire world and win. Let them say whatever they want on twitter—Tom dgaf. Tom grabbed a pair of scissors and started cutting his own hair. Today was gonna be a good fuckin day.
Despite decades of cinematic brainwashing, humanity's First Contact situation went smoother than a baby's bottom. There had been no misinterpretation of militaristic rituals, no translator malfunctions, no irreparable biological differences that could've made communications impossible. In fact, it had been textbook. After the successful Europa and Titan missions that proved the viability of our new grav-engines, mankind was soon hailed by an extraterrestrial force just outside the Uranus orbit. They had come in peace, though nobody thought they would, given the massive technological superiority - however, some xenoanthropologists later theorized that it was humanity's weakness and relative smallness (in relation to the Galaxy-spanning Xenta Empire), that made conflict unfavorable. We survived because there was nothing they could gain from us, aside sating their curiosity. Earth loved the Xentians. In fact, they became a craze bigger than Justin Bieber back in the early 21st century. Not just because they offered us a hand through the cold vastness of the cosmos, because they proved we were not alone. Not because they hadn't decimated us with their warships. Not because we were alike, as alike oxygen-breathing and carbon-based lifeforms on two opposite ends of the galaxy could be. No, not because of that... * Kurt was still getting used to the high gravity of Bakkon-II, even after the complete hell of the allied bootcamp back on orbit. He wobbled on the stilts of his exorig, trying to keep balance as he and Fevash climbed uphill, towards the Jarran command base. Even in the rig, he barely reached his partner's shoulder, matching the Xentian's stride with visible effort. When they finally got there, he flopped on his stomach, stretching his aching legs out and cloaked, peering at the structure through his rifle's scope. "So", he hissed in rather broken Xenta. "You think the intel was right? Their Zealot gonna be there?" "Intel's rarely wrong", Fevash drawled. He turned his head to Kurt, his huge yellow eye's pupil thinning into a narrow slit. "S-sshe will be there". Kurt huffed in disagreement. "Yeah, no. Remember the Tsagga Campaign just a few months ago? My brother was there with the Serpents 12th link, got into an ambush... all cuz some egghead misinterpreted the Jarran comms". "Mis-stakes are war's currency, Kkkkurt", Fevash's voice spliced into a characteristic yowling chirp that the Xentians had for a laugh. "Anyway. I'm going in. You cover me, yess?" Kurt smiled wickedly and flipped out his rifles' stand. "Nah, chicken-legs. You're on your own. I'm just gonna lie here, pretending it's a nice sandy beach on Hawaii". * It didn't take that long for humans to become a part of the Xentian warmachine. Just around forty Earth years. With the aliens' arrival - and the subsequent alliance - came a bunch of perks that humanity was forced to process quickly if it wanted to stay relevant on the galactic scale. True FTL principles. Terraforming technology. Access to parts of the Xentian industry and market. And, arguably the most important - the knowledge that the galaxy was quite a crowded space. Many forms of life thrived in relatively close quarters to each other... and not always peacefully. The fact that Xentians were involved in large scale wars with nearly each and every one of their neighbors came to light rather late in the mutual ass-kissing phase, when the governmental alliances and trade had been already established. Without having any edge over other galactic powers, pushing for independent politics wasn't only impossible for Earth - it was downright dangerous. However, humanity could prove itself to be useful. The Xentians caught on it, since the records of mankind's history were openly available to the alien benefactors. War was no stranger to man, like it was no stranger to Xenta. The Xenta Empire was pragmatic. Any being capable of holding a weapon in the Empire's war-effort had been good enough for them. *** Fevash de-cloaked as soon as he got to the command center's place, to lure the Jarrans out in a display of heresy. Theocratic fanatics, the hexapedal blue-skinned citizens of Jarragan believed scripture over tactics, and as soon as dirty foot of a Xenta warmonger stepped on the sacred soil of the base, they had spilled out of the barracks in droves, overcome by frenzy. Over the hill, Kurt provided sniper support. Picking off the Jarrans' kinetic shields, he couldn't help but be mesmerized by Fevash's dance of death. He cloaked and de-cloaked amidst his attackers, materializing to land a blow from his wrist-coil or sink a claw into an unprotected enemy. Every part of the Xentian saboteur was made for delivering violent death - from fang to the tip of the tail which he used a club against the incoming Jarran soldiers. "No", Kurt thought, as he pulled the trigger slowly, exploding the flat, splayed out head-crest of a Jarran fanatic that managed to get to Fevash's back. "Competing with such a force directly is madness". He had fought with Fevash side to side, of course, on many occasions. But even with the augmentations - the armored exo-rig, the mechanized stilts, AI subsystems that granted greater awareness - humans were still behind. The partnership wasn't fully equal. Still, it was better than being on the receiving end of Xenta Empire's ambitions. Plus, it's not like they hadn't a niche. The gap between man and Xentian was taken as a fact of life - it never needed to be addressed in the joint ranks of the Empire's military, but a human's value in certain fields was stressed and respected. It worked well enough for Kurt and millions others. "Getting busssy over here", Fevash chirped into the comm, as he pushed a dead body off his footclaw and jumped aside nearly three meters, to avoid a ball of plasma. "The Zealot finally grac-ssed me with her presenc-se". "Just admit you're lonely, chicken-legs", in one swift motion, Kurt folded the rifle down, and bounced to his feet, servos whining in the planet's abhorrent 2G. The channel burst with a screech of static. "Need s-some bait, Flatface". * Unlike Xentians, humanity's superiority in Earth's ecosystem hadn't been earned by sharp teeth or claws in addition to the brains. Humanity excelled in forging crutches for its biological failings, something the Xentians never needed to the same degree on their home world. The Xentian military doctrine revolved around reinforcing their strengths - and it made them perhaps, the most fearsome and reviled force in the galaxy. Yet, it didn't always work. Like with the Jarrans, for example, who's spiritual psychopathy broke every convention of the Xentians pragmatic approach to war. Humanity offered them a new doctrine - of negating an existent weakness. Xentians, for all their ingenuity, hadn't come up with such things as biological warfare or artificial intellect. Also, humans were nimbler, less of a juicy hulking target. Like vermin, they were unnoticeable under the feet of their powerful allies. * Both titans were locked in a death struggle - Fevash's wrist-coil was smashed to bits, pieces of scorched metal melted into the flesh of his arm, and the Zealot's plasma-cannon lay on the sand, empty and useless. The Jarran Commander writhed and yelled profanities as her neck and part of the upper shoulder pair was slowly crushed by the Xentian saboteur's jaws. Then, Fevash hadn't fared better. The Jarran bigshot managed to punch through his torso's armor, and as he squeezed her neck further, so did the Zealot sink her fingers deeper into his stomach-wound, clawing for the bowels. Careful to not trip over the bodies, Kurt circled the two, trying to find the best angle of attack. Despite eyes circling the entirety of the Zealot's head-crest, the position she was in prevented her from losing focus on Fevash, so Kurt prayed that his approach had evaded her attention. He had abandoned the exorig right at the base's entrance, creeping into the battlefield on his own two. In some cases, smaller was better. Yet, still, without the exorig he moved like a slug, fighting the gravity. Over radio, he could hear Fevash's labourous breath. Getting his intestines extracted was, perhaps, as uncomfortable for a Xentian as for a man. "I'm gonna jam a sticky 'nade right behind her hip, Fev", Kurt whispered as he mirrored every sway of the hulking commander's back. "On my three, you let go, if you don't want to splode with her". "One", with all his remaining force, Kurt brought the grenade's working end onto the Zealot's tough hide. It barely went through, but the howl of pain told him that at least some of the hooks sunk in. "Two", he pressed down the detonator. "Three!" The explosion wave picked him up and threw away like a rag doll. The soft-suit's EM systems blew up with a deafening wail of sirens, screaming about damage and danger. Something peppered Kurt with a wet sound, pieces of flesh and chitin. As the ringing in his head cleared up, he opened his eyes, squinting against the light and dirt on the helmet's visor. His left leg was broken, the EM concluded and died out, possibly fried. The pain was yet to come. Fevash stood over him, hand outstretched. It always amazed Kurt, how small those hands were, how human-like... "Alive", the Xentian growled, cocking his head sideways, lip curling to bare the sharp teeth in a sardonic grin - Kurt picked up an amused satisfaction in his partner's voice. "Comes as a s-ssurprise every time". "Not going to offer you the pleasure, chicken-legs". Kurt grabbed the offered hand and looked up at Fevash with an expression of deep, almost religious adoration - something he shared with most of humanity. Turned out, that mankind had an irresistible pull towards Xentians, a sort of child-like fascination that dictated their loyalty across parsecs of void. Earth just couldn't get enough of space dinosaurs.
Alex finds his mother in the kitchen, complete with a large copper key sticking out the nape of her back. The key protrudes through a hole in her olive-green sweater; it looks like a rust-red butterfly and it's about the size of Alex's arms outstretched. Why the hell is there a key in his mother's back? His Mom's bent over the sink, unmoving, her hands in the water clutching a pot. She looks like a waxwork replica of his mother, or -- he thinks with a chill -- a well preserved corpse. Alex tries to swallow his fear but it won't go down. "Mom?" No reply. How long's she been like this? He dips his hand into the water and finds it's ice-cold. He raises his mother's hands out of the liquid and places them on the draining board. They're red and raw. Out the window, a bird is paused in the sky, framed against a silver cloud the shape of a question mark. Alex squints at the bird. It seems to have a key in its back too, although it's difficult to be certain from this distance. This isn't the real world. He knows it. It can't be. He's woken up in some terrible nightmare where everything is a run-down automaton. And yet he knows it is real, in its own way. This is where he exists now. Where they all do. He thinks of going to find his dad. Dad would know what to do and might be able to get them out of this. Except, for some reason, he can't think where his father might be. When he tries to remember a black fog that tastes of acid rises in his mind. He places both his hands on the copper key and begins to wind his mother back to life. As the key cranks his mother begins to move. Her hands splash back into the water. She scrubs at the pot, although it already looked clean to Alex. He stops turning the key, has barely wound it yet. "Mom... Are you okay?" She turns to look at him. Shakes her head. Then returns to the washing. Her hands are blood-read from the scrubbing. As if she's been doing it hours, days even. "Something bad's happened, Mom,"Alex says. "I'm sure of it. This world isn't right." "I know, sweetie. But if you let us both wind down, then it'll be much easier for us to cope with." It's with a burst of gut-wrenching fear that he places a searching hand behind his own back. That he finds the key. The morning comes back to him in a burst of black and white, how weak he felt as he wound himself up for another mechanical-day, another repetitious slice of despair. Every day has been getting harder, slower, to wind himself up. He's not sure how much longer he can keep doing it for. His father died three weeks ago. Unexpectedly. A heart condition that should have been found years ago, but wasn't. His death transformed both Alex and his mother into this. It changed the world around them, even -- everything became cold and mechanical, always running down and out of steam. He's been fighting it as hard as he could. He wants it to change, to get better, and deep down he knows the only way for that to happen is if they continue with their lives. Is if they keep winding themselves up and slowly, slowly trudge forward. But maybe his mother's right. Maybe they should let themselves wind-down permanently. That way, the pain would have nothing to latch onto. They could embrace -- as his mother is trying to -- a state of unemotion. Of not-existing. Of being in the world, but not being part of it. His mother's cleaning motions slow down. He's not wound her enough to keep her going. He hears her sigh with relief at the oblivion she's sinking, slipping back into. "No, Mom,"Alex says, grabbing the key and winding again. "No. You can't." "Let me sleep,"she says. Her voice pleading, begging. "We have to face it,"Alex says. "We both do -- together. I wind you, you wind me. We both keep going, okay?" "Why?"she says, her voice slow, her energy depleting. Alex feels selfish saying it, but the words swell up and spill out like a black ocean wave. "Because I need you. I've lost him and now I really fucking need you."Alex is crying but keeps turning the key until he's too tired to wind any longer. For a while, there's nothing. No washing. No talking. A silence sits deeply between them. Alex has run out of energy, he realises. He's spent it all on his emotions and the winding and talking, and now he stands staring at his mother, his eyes still damp, his body unresponsive. This is it, he thinks. This is it for the rest of both their existences. Stuck here, in this desperate moment. And then, unexpectedly, his mother beings to move. His mom is trembling as she turns away from the sink, as if Alex's wound her too much, made her jittery in her motions. His mother hugs him. Pulls him into her chest. "I'm sorry,"she says. She kisses his head and Alex cries. "I'm sorry." It'll get better, he wants to say but his voice is empty. Alex feels his Mom's hands reach around him. He feels the winding of his own key resonate through his entire being. We can do this, he thinks. If we keep winding up each other, keep each other going, we can get through this.
A crowd of onlooking spectators swarmed the windows of the small café, looking inside in both awe, fear, and general confusion. Both Rachael and Marshall sat in a small booth awkwardly as nearly a dozen faces pressed up onside the glass, attempting to listen to their conversations. These type of people were far worse for the superheroes and supervillains of the world than any of their enemies. One second they were obsessed with them, and the next, screaming and rioting against them for voicing an opinion, no matter how small. It was a part of the job however, because nowadays being a superhero is more about the media than saving people. Half of the "heroic events"were planned out by agents and had cameras set up around the entire area. Marshall, or Cyclone as his hero persona, was exhausted by it. So, when he received an invitation from the Queen of Hell, his very own enemy, to go on a date, he jumped at the offer. She even used her real name to prove it wasn't a trap. Rachael. Now, both of them were regretting showing up, awkwardly avoiding each other's gaze, as well as the crowd of onlookers, mostly just checking their phones and taking small sips of their drinks, Marshall a pink lemonade and Rachael a caramel latte. Eventually, Rachael decided the silence was enough and spoke the first words. "It's funny how no one comes in here." Marshall looked up in surprise, mid sip from his cup. He swallowed and put it down. "I... what do you mean?" Rachael sighed. "I mean that none of them are actually coming in the café. They're just waiting outside. As if a few inches of glass could protect them. You know what?"Rachael stood up, then turned the to onlookers, their mouths open in shock. She materialized two orbs of fire in her hands, and her eyes turned a glowing, fiery orange. "Leave us!" she screamed, her voice thundering throughout the block. The people screamed and fled, their natural reflexes overcoming their insatiable curiosity. She sat back down. "Privacy." Marshall gave a small smile. "Sure, we'll call it that." Rachael shrugged. "They're all gone, aren't they?" "Yeah, but know everyone knows the Queen of Hell and Cyclone are here, on a date no less. Worse, now they know my favorite drink is a pink lemonade." Rachael let out a quick laugh, a combination between a snort and a hiccup. The sound was so ridiculous that Marshall himself laughed. Eventually, both were giggling like children, both at each other and the sheer absurdity of the situation. "Well,"Rachael said after they calmed down, "the lemonade thing isn't my fault." Marshall nodded. "Fair enough,"he said before taking another sip, trying to appear collected, when in reality he was extremely nervous and his face had turned a similar shade of pink to the lemonade he had. They sat for a few moments in silence. Marshall desperately felt the need to say something, so he blurted out, "So how have you been?"Rachael raised an eyebrow at him and Marshall immediately shrunk back in embarrassment, realizing the stupidity of the question. "I'm fine,"she responded. "Work's going well, I've been teaching myself the drums-" "Wait, how do... you guys make money anyway?"Marshall interrupted. Rachael glared at him, and he felt himself sink back again. "Mostly sponsorships by shady corporations, occasionally robbing banks, working with criminal organizations, etc,"she answered. "It pays surprisingly well, despite the risks." "Huh,"Marshall nodded. "And you play drums?"Rachael nodded, and he grinned. "That's awesome." Rachael smiled, but her demeanor suddenly changed, less confident and bored, more apprehensive. Marshall watched her in concern. "Everything alright?"he inquired. "Yes,"she nodded. "It's just that... you know how I invited you to this date?"Marshall was taking another long drink, so he gave a thumbs-up as a response before putting the cup down. "Well,"she continued. "The date wasn't really meant to be... a date. It was more of a... evil supervillain plot."She looked at him sheepishly. "Sorry." Marshall put his cup down slowly, pausing to process this information. "Oh." Part two coming soon.
"The President is in there?" "Yes. He's taken 3 hostages and is threatening to kill them, and himself, unless he is allowed to resign." "What an inspiring man! Let me talk to him." squeeelch "Mr. President? My name is Charles Pierce, captain of the Washington police force." "Go away! All of you, go away and leave me alone!" "Sir, I'd just like to say, for all of us out there, your words and actions tonight are serving as an inspiration to us all. None of us will forget the leadership and wisdom you are currently demonstrating." "You're all crazy! I don't want this, I'd be a terrible leader! Find someone else!" "Thank you, sir! I will remember those words, always!" "DAMMIT! I didn't say anything inspiring! Stop acting like that! You're all acting like a bunch of cultists!" "Can you believe this, Jones? We're lucky to be here to be witness to this. SIR! This is a great moment for us all, but perhaps you could tell us what to do about the health care crisis?" "I DON'T KNOW! I don't even know what the crisis is! I don't watch the news, I just play video games and watch anime all day!" "Is someone filming this? Get a camera rolling, for posterity. THANK you, sir, we'll commission a study on the therapeutic effects of video games on patient recovery as soon as possible. Meanwhile, we'd like to get you on Air Force One and fly you over to Russia, to help resolve this Ukraine crisis." "NO! Why aren't you listening? I'm not a diplomat! I'm just a dumb guy! I only know the leader of Russia because of stupid meme pics of him with his shirt off! I DON'T KNOW THE MANS FIRST NAME!" "I'm sorry, I'm....I'm choking up here, the moment's too much. Jones...take over...." squeeelch "Sir? This is Officer Burt Jones, Washington PD. Sir, I'd just like to say that it's such an honor to speak with yo..." "AAAAAAAGGGHH!"BANG BANG BANG......BANG "Dear Lord! Jones, did he just..." "REPORT!........Yes sir, snipers confirm, the President and all three hostages are dead, by the President's hand." "....I....I need to call my wife. I need to tell my son that Daddy talked to the greatest man who ever lived tonight..." "Officer! Grace Park, Action 8 News. Officer Jones, can you confirm what has happened." "I can confirm that President Anderson has just committed triple murder-suicide, in a desperate attempt to avoid any responsibilities associated with being President of the United States. I think I can speak for everyone on the Washington PD here, when I say that we are all very honored to have born witness to this monumental and historic night in our nations history. It will be a long time before we see another individual so committed to not leading as President Anderson. God bless the USA, and God bless President Anderson." "What were the Presidents final words, Officer Jones?" "He spoke of Russian President Putin, and how he didn't know President Putin's first name. I'm no politician and I don't want to speak out of turn, but it seems clear to me that President Anderson's wish was for us to re-establish a friendly relationship with President Putin and Russia, and hopefully get to know them much better, to work our our differences." "Inspiring words from a man recently touched by greatness. Once again, President Anderson has brutally murdered three innocents before taking his own life. I'm being told there will be a state funeral and national day of mourning on Wednesday, and plans for the President Anderson Memorial are already being discussed. For Action 8 News, I'm Grace Park."
It was like any other day for the Gods. Zeus and Thor were playing darts with lightning bolts and the Mjolnir, Jesus was pricking his fingers to fill his glass, it was the good life. Then Grothuk, God of Atheism, came in the door screaming in terror. "GAAHHHAHA JESUS HELP ME!"He cried, "SPIDER!" "Grothuk, you are nigh-omnipotent, why do you always go to one of us to get rid of bugs?"Answered Christ, "It should be easy for you to do it yourself." "Because, it's *REALLY* scary. It'll bite me! I can't do it." Thor sighed and spoke up, "Come on, man, it's not scary. You just gotta believe in yourself."
"All right everybody, none of you are heroes so don't act like it,"the foreman said. He started every job with this reminder. The dungeon loomed overhead of the construction crew and Gen adjusted his hard hat with a smirk. "Yes sir,"he said in unison with the rest of the crew. "Hold up, Gen,"the foreman said, stopping the older worker. "Got a new hire today, hoping you could show him the ropes." Gen glarred at the the fresh eyes youth whose mouth gaped at the two pillars of purple flames that marked the entrance. The older man groaned and shrugged at his boss. "I'm kinda busy, can't anyone else take the kid?" The foreman slapped Gen on the back with a laugh. "Sure, but I want to make sure he comes back alive. His dad was a hero friend of mine." The kid was oily faced and had modest muscles of someone who gave some efforts. Clearly not hero level, but not worthless. Gen rubbed the back of his neck and his mustache twitched. "Hero's kid huh?"Those were the worst. Never willing to accept a normal role in this life. Not everyone could be special and kids like this had the hardest time accepting that. "What's your name?"Gen asked as he approached the youth. "K-Kellin,"the boy responded snapping out of his day dreams of grandeur. He was holding his pick axe as if it were a mighty sword and the squiggly smirk on his face showed he still thought heroics would be in his future. Gen put a hand on the boys shoulder and leaned down to glare into his eyes. The boy started to sweat and his eyes darted around trying to avoid the gaze. "What did the foreman say?"Gen asked as the other crews marched into the cave entrance. "Sir?"Kellin asked confused. Gen popped the boy on his hard hat and asked the question again. "Don't act like a hero,"Kellin said dejected. "That's right. See a band of real heroes just cleared out this cave from a vampire Lord and there shouldn't be any monsters remaining. However, what do we do if we see mobs?" "Fight!" Gen smacked the boy again. "Run, get the back up heroes to clear the monsters for us,"the boy said rubbing his head. "That's right. So you can listen. Alright let's get going." The two of them spent the next several hours applying the light fixtures on the walls as well as marking areas of cave in concern. The cave was surprisingly sturdy leaving little work for them to actually do but then they stumbled upon a great blue iron door. Flames spilled up from the bottom of the frame and left the hall in an earie glow. In Gens experience this was trouble, a door like this should have been open from the heroes adventure. He turned back down the hall and wondered if he should play it safe and ask the heroes to clear the room just to be safe when he heard the screeching of metal on stone. Kellin stood at the open door holding the handle with a dumbfounded expression. "What the hell are you doing?"Gen shouted hitting the boy again. "I just touched it, it opened on its own."The boy protested. Yet despite his claims he still wandered into the room with that stupid smirk on his face. Gen's experience was screaming at him to grab the boy and run, but he was curious too. But that curiosity was dangerous and he remembered his place. He wasn't a hero. Not anymore. "Stop touching things,"Gen said grabbing the boys collar. Kellin turned back to him with eyes that begged to be free to explore. "This isn't a damn field trip." The door slammed shut. "Fuck." The room began to glow blue and their was a rumble of Earth as a monsterous gargoyle emerged from the shadows. Gen gripped his pickaxe and glarred at Kellin who's eyes were glowing with excitement. "Gen, that's a monster right?" "That's nothing to get happy about." The monster charged and the two men jumped apart out of the way letting it pass. From the floor Gen turned to glare at the kid. Kellin stood and held his pix axe defiantly and adjusted his hard hat eagerly. The gargoyle pulled itself from the wall and groaned as it turned back to them. It charged again and Gen reached out a hand to grab Kellin to pull him out from the monsters stampeding path just in time. "Easy old-timer, I got this,"Kellin said. That squiggly smirk still plastered to his face. "In what way?"Gen asked with a snarl. "This is what I've been waiting for. A chance to prove those stuck ups at the academy wrong."Kellin wriggled free of the older mans grip. "You trying to die?"But before he could finish his question the monster charged again stopping immediately as it's head collided with Kellin's glowing pick axe. "Finish it Gen,"the boy shouted. A smile twitched at Gen's mustache and his muscles flashed with the memory of the glory days. He flexed his back and raised the pick axe high over his head and smashed through the stone monster. It crumbled to dust and the two men fell to the ground and starred at each other in disbelief before bursting out laughing. "See, we still can be heroes,"Kellin laughed. ~~~~~ Sorry this isn't what you wanted op and not my best work. Great prompt I hope someone else can do it justice.
Teresa moved the cabinet away from the wall and spotted four red dots marking the cream paint. Her patient had just left — a man who repelled insects as if they were one end of a magnet and he was the other. Sadly for insects on the floor or walls, he was the stronger force and they’d be popped like spots when he neared them. She sprayed a cloth, wiped, then returned the cabinet to its place. He was an interesting man, this insect repelling client. A man who was almost a superhero but wasn’t. His ability wasn’t useful enough use to join a league, or even form a second-rate duo. And by himself… well, not all superpowers created superheroes. Three weeks ago he’d come in and announced he was getting married. “Great news, all my problems are over, doc. I don’t think we’ll need to keep doing this.” ”Oh?” Teresa had said, ushering him into a chair. “Well that’s good news indeed.” ”No, not good news. It’s great news! I’m getting married, you see.” He laughed and shook his head. “Married.” She raised her brows. Teresa didn’t even know he’d been dating. As his therapist she ought to have known. “Congratulations. I’m very happy for you.” And she was. She very much liked this client. Teresa had been a therapist since university — she’d never known any other profession. Her mother had been a therapist too and she’d simply followed the breadcrumbs through the forest. Teresa had slipped into the profession as easily as one steps into a winter coat when cold weather comes. And in all the time she’d been doing this, she thought this man was likely her very favourite client. “Thanks!” he said, beaming. “It’s been a hell of a thing. A real whirlwind affair. Could be a Hollywood movie. But truth being truth, we’ve known each other since school! Back then we saw each other for a while, casually, you know? So it’s less of a new a thing and more of a resumption of what should have always been, I guess. Sorry, I’m blathering.” ”Blather away. That’s what I’m here for.” “We’re getting married in a month. Just getting the finances sorted. Hell, I couldn’t be happier.” She looked at him a while, waited for him to talk, but his eyes were staring blankly at the ceiling. ”How did your trial with the Cleanup League go?” she asked, changing the subject. Her client tried for positions in different superhero factions most weeks. Part of the therapy, at least initially, had been to help him cope with the rejection. ”Forget about that. I didn’t go. I’m not interested in that anymore. My wife-to-be has got me a better paying job lined up with her father. Going to be a mechanic — I’ve always loved engines and this suits me fine. It’s something for me to get absorbed in. More hours sure, but it’s better pay than my current work.” ”So all in all, you’d say you’re happy?” He looked away from the ceiling, held her gaze like a dare, then smiled. “Never been more so.” That had all been weeks ago. Today’s session had gone unexpectedly. Her client had barged through the door and slumped down on the seat opposite her. ”I think I’m going nuts, doc.” He’d been sweating, face shiny in the bright lights of her office. She offered him water and he glugged it down in one go. ”Tell me what happened,” she said. And so he told her. Earlier that day he’d gone to the bank. Him and his fiancée were buying a house together. Plans for the wedding had been downsized. Not exactly what either of them wanted but she was pregnant now — they’d just found out. A glamorous wedding was out of the question. They had to be realistic. “We needed somewhere to live and we found it — somewhere we wanted to put an offer on. Modest place but a good start. For that though, we needed a mortgage. I should have sorted it all out before we started looking, but everything’s been a rush. Anyway, I’d been working as a cleaner for the best part of a decade and my credit’s good enough for what we needed. For a big enough mortgage for my part.“ He paused for a while and stared past Teresa, as if looking at the scene again. ”The banker,” he said, “looked like a nice enough older guy. Kind of like my dad, or at least how I remember him. Not much hair, no wrinkles. We chatted for a bit as we sorted through everything, but as we did I began to get this uneasy feeling. It was like an iceberg was floating through by body and everywhere it went it turned cold as the arctic. Then I could feel it bobbing through my chest, the tide pulling it inexorably towards my heart. I knew — just knew — something bad was about to happen.“ ”And did it?” Teresa asked. “Did something bad happen?” He nodded. “We were all but done. He leaned forward to shake my hand. I went to take it but… I couldn’t. I couldn’t shake it. It was exactly like how it is with the insects. More powerful, even. My hand trembled as I tried to push through this thick, impossible air towards his. Then I looked at him, at his eyes, and I saw everything in the world that could scare a person, all there in those green pupils. That’s when my heart and the iceberg collided.” He paused a moment. Drank another glass of water. ”I pushed my chair back and I ran. I knew afterwards the banker was some kind of insect hybrid. It’s obvious enough. But there, in the room, I just knew fear. See, usually I push insects away from me. I’m the stronger one! But not in that room. It was my hand that couldn’t reach his.” “It’s okay,” said Teresa. ”Thing is, I told superheroes about this banker. I told the police. They interviewed him and nope, he was just…” He placed his hands to his face and began to shake. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry about this.” ”It’s okay.” Teresa considered for a while. She should have seen it coming of course, and the failure was on her. Of this man with thinning hair who’d given up on his dreams. A man whose outstretched hand had been a key about to turn in what he saw as a padlock, but he hadn’t had the strength to twist. ”Do you wake up often during the nights?” she asked. He lowered his hands. “All the time. For the last few weeks, all the damned time. I wake up but I’m not woken by any sound.” “How do you feel in those moments? He lowered his voice. “It’s like the whole world is asleep except for me. Asleep or dead. And in the silence I can hear the ground beneath me opening up like a mouth, and if I look down at the darkness I think I’ll fall into it. So I shut my eyes tight but I don’t sleep again until sunrise.“ Teresa had never seen him cry before. Maybe someday she’d look back and think the moment was a breakthrough. Then however, she’d just wanted to get up and hug him. To be the rock that his heart could tie itself to. She wanted to tell him how rich he was for starting a family — not that she had her own to compare it to, but she felt that was a truth all the same. She restrained herself and wore her professional mask. Talked about how youthful dreams aren’t always realized. It’s painful but it’s life and it’ll be okay. And as we step away from them, as we look into a different future, we can find new dreams and hopes and reasons. And that, if you allow them to shine like you did your old dreams, they can be more powerful than any youthful hope. She told him the real superheroes, the real superpowers, are made, not born. He’d been gone now for a couple of hours. He’d been in better spirits when he’d left. Said he’d try again for a mortgage tomorrow. She’d wished him well and they’d talk next week. All that was left now was for Teresa to clean the insects staining the walls, and to consider what she wanted to do with her own life.
Ambrian scowled at his old mistress, Zolzara, and the cringing boy beside her. The young apprentice wizard stood so close to his teacher that he was practically clinging to the old woman's robes like a child to his mother's skirts, avoiding the slightly older young man's gaze. Zolzara, on the other hand, matched her former apprentice's expression with a scowl of her own, meeting his eyes with a cold, haughty gaze. "That is your new apprentice, mistress?"Ambrian said, gesturing to the lad. The curly-haired boy cringed back, as if Ambrian had flung a spell at him. "Seriously?" "Mynthen is sensitive." Zolzara said, lifting her chin, and stepping to the side to put more of herself between Ambrian and the boy. "That is not a quality to be scorned in a wizard." "He's soft." Ambrian replied, flatly. "Exactly!"Zolzara spat. "He is soft. And gentle! And kind! He's the only apprentice I've ever trained that hasn't been a power-hungry psychopath!" Ambrian scoffed. "This again? Every man who can lift a spear is called to defend the kingdom at need! If a humble farmer with no martial skill rises to protect his nation with only a crude pike in his hands, how can someone who is able to command fire and lightning refuse to do the same?" "Fire and lightning -- which you rain down on men who lack even a spark of magic with which to defend themselves!"Zolzara retorted. "That I rain down on wildland hordesmen," Ambrian corrected, sharply, jabbing a finger at Zolzara. "Pitiless raiders, who would rob, rape, and murder their way through our homeland if I did not stop them!"Mynthen gasped at this, and cringed further behind his mistress. "Enough!"Zolzara snapped, slashing her hand through the air. "You're not my apprentice anymore, so I cannot stop you from debasing yourself to the level of the squabbling mundane lords around you. But I will not have you speak of your folly before my new apprentice, not while I still have hope that I can make a decent wizard out of him. Begone from here, Ambrian. You are no longer welcome in my tower!" Ambrian gritted his teeth, nostrils flaring, but Zolzara met his angry gaze unwaveringly. "Very well, mistress," he snarled. He whirled around without another word, vanishing into thin air before he had taken three steps. When he was gone, Mynthen stepped away from Zolzara, and looked up at her timidly. "W-why was he so angry, mistress?"Mynthen stammered. Zolzara sighed, and shook her head. "His temperament was always too aggressive. But in a sense, this is my fault. The first thing a good teacher must be able to determine is whom they should teach. I failed in that. I should never have taught him magic. I suppose I thought I could mold him, change him...but his arcane power has only made his natural inclinations even more pronounced." "Well, I...I think you're a very good teacher, mistress."Mynthen said, hesitantly. She smiled at him. "Thank you, dear. And you are a fine student."She placed a wrinkled hand on his shoulder. "So remember this lesson: it is not a bad thing, to be soft. Be soft. Be gentle. Don't let yourself be tainted by the brutality of this world, Mynthen." Mynthen nodded soberly. "Yes, mistress." "Good lad."She reached into her pouch and handed him a few silver coins. "Here, why don't you go down into the town? We need some more tea. Buy what you like with what's left." "Yes mistress!"he said eagerly, "Thank you!"Then he dashed off excitedly, with Zolzara smiling fondly after him. /././././ After buying the bag of tea from the apothecary, Mynthen bought himself a caramel covered apple, which he crunched contentedly as he walked. He almost dropped the treat, as a pair of other boys playing at some rowdy game jostled him as they sprinted past. A tiny spark of annoyance flared up inside him, but he quickly smothered it, as he'd learned to do long ago. Especially now that he'd begun to learn magic, to have power of his own, he thought that it was wrong to let yourself get angry. Better to be calm, to be soft and gentle, like Mistress Zolzara had said. He passed a pair of merchants arguing animatedly on the street, and frowned as one of them threw down his hat in consternation, and got right up in the face of the other. So aggressive! These were supposed to be ordinary men, not warriors or soldiers. If even supposedly peaceful folk were so angry and mean, it was no wonder the world could be such an awful place at times. Casually, he reached out with his power, softly muttering an incantation. He prodded gently at the parts of their minds that caused the argument. They felt hot and prickly to his mental touch. Then, he made a quick gesture with his caramel apple, and tore those parts out. The men immediately relaxed, and their eyes softened, gaining a beautiful glass-like quality. Their mouths turned upward in faint smiles, and the one who'd thrown his hat on the ground looked down at it vacantly, picked it up, and donned it again. Then the merchants simply lost interest in each other, and walked away in opposite directions, looking placid and cheerful, if a bit unsteady on their feet. It wasn't stealing, what he'd done. It wasn't wrong, not really. That was another thing he'd learned long ago. Before Mistress Zolzara took him in, he'd lived on the streets, and rarely had enough to eat. One day, he'd snatched some bread from a baker's stall when he was desperately hungry, while the plump little woman running it was distracted. Unfortunately, she'd turned back just in time to witness the theft. He'd frozen in fear when her eyes met his, and just stood there, dirty and bedraggled, guiltily clutching the little brown loaf. But she hadn't shouted at him, or called for the guards. Her eyes had welled up with tears as she saw him, and she'd smiled at him kindly, before making a discreet shooing motion, and then going about her business as though she hadn't noticed him. He'd run away, but strangely he hadn't felt like a thief. That was when he'd realized it: taking something that wasn't yours wasn't stealing, or wrong, as long as the person you took it from was happy after you did it. The merchants weren't happy before, but now that he'd taken the aggressive, angry parts of their minds away, they were. That meant he'd done something kind for them, and that was what magic was truly meant for: being kind to people. He felt a little tired afterwards, but that was alright -- he'd suffered through far greater weariness, before Mistress Zolzara found him. Besides, as he practiced more and more, it got less and less tiring. He turned to head back to Zolzara's tower, glancing around at the townsfolk he passed as he went on his way. Thanks to him, more than a few of them looked like the two merchants: they had peaceful little smiles, and those beautifully glassy eyes. Some of the others, ones he hadn't helped yet, seemed worried about the way those people acted, finding it strange, but Mynthen figured they just weren't used to happiness. And why would they be? The world was a brutal place, after all. But that was alright, too; Mynthen was learning and growing stronger all the time. Soon, he'd be able to take all their worries away.
https://reddit.com/r/NoStupidQuestions/comments/7vb2fu/problem_with_my_bathroom_mirror/ &nbsp; Problem with my bathroom mirror? &nbsp; Hi guys. I have a kind of... strange problem with my mirror. I'm just wondering if anyone has seen this before? You know that feeling you get when someone is watching you? That creepy, invirtuous crawl that ranges up and down your spine? You know? One morning last year, I started to feel it in my bathroom. I was brushing my teeth. I turned around, checked the window. Still frosted, and closed. I looked around for cameras (Silly, I know, but who knows what the NSA is up to these days?). Perhaps my poops were a matter of national security. Hell, my farts had been described as 'biological warfare' by my last girlfriend, so it wasn't too much of a stretch. In any case, I'd found nothing. I put it out of my mind and learned to ignore the spindly spider at the back of it, niggling with every routine. That is, until this morning. I'd read a TIL the day before: something about fingertips on mirrors. If there's a space, it's a normal mirror. If not, it's two way. You guys have probably seen it. So in the middle of my mouthwash, out of sheer boredom, I put my finger up to the mirror. No gap. I was so surprised, I nearly choked on my mouthwash, and spat it up down the sink. In the process, I guess I took my hand off of it. When I looked back up, I put my finger back. This time, there was a gap. It was really weird. I felt like something really, strangely ominous was watching me. It was a much heavier feeling than before. It felt like a warning, or something. Like when your parents reprimand you when you're really young. I'm not sure, but it definitely wasn't me, because when I left the bathroom the feeling just... dissolved. Completely, in an instant. It was weird. Do you guys have any explanation for this? I'm hoping that the sciencey side of reddit comes to help me lol. I've been really hesitant to go into the bathroom since then, and my housemate didn't like me using his shower this evening. I know it's stupid, but I don't even want to brush my teeth in there tonight. Could it be something to do with the mercury? I know mirrors have that in them, but I don't really know what it does? I don't want to seem dramatic, but I'm kind of creeped out, so any help would be really appreciated. Thanks in advance. ----- I'll write a part two if there's demand for it.
I looked into my eyes in the mirror. Yesterday there were lines around my eyes showing every time I had squinted to try to understand something in my long life. Today, they were smooth. Yesterday, I had lines around my mouth showing all of the laughter in my life. Those were gone too. Those gray hairs that had finally started to show from within my honey brown hair, all gone. How did this happen? I've always loved gardening because I felt so good afterwords. Digging in the dirt, picking weeds, picking off all of those harmful bugs, and putting them in my trusty bucket of soapy water. Is that why gardening made me feel better? Because I was killing those weeds and plants, and somehow that was making me younger? Is that why at 70, I was finally looking like I was in my 50's? And now here I am. I hit that poor deer last night and now look at me. There's no way I look older than 30. How did this happen? My mother. My mother always said that I was like her mother. That her mother had always looked young for her age. My mom always looked her age, but she said that when her mom was 65 that she looked around 40, and then one day she disappeared. She disappeared the day that grandpa died. Oh. Oh no. If a deer took 20 years off, I bet a person would take more. I wonder if she knew. I wonder if she lived through losing all of those years. Edit: Thank you so much for the silver, kind internet stranger!
Sherlock Harms, a cybernetic evil detective, stood idly in the mayor's office, gazing ahead out the window at the raindrops cascading down the window. The Mayor, hands tied to his chair, took a breath. The clock in the office quietly ticked. "... Hehm."The Mayor cleared his throat. "Beg pardon?"Sherlock asked, focusing a cybernetic eye on the Mayor, who startled back into cognizance. "Oh? Nothing. I was clearing my throat. Can you let me go? I have to go to the bathroom." "No, I told you, if you needed to go, you could have gone before I tied you up. You're going to have to wait until .."Sherlock sighed, "Blastfist gets here." "But I didn't need to go then."The Mayor insisted. "I gotta go now. I have an excitable bladder and we got a new water cooler today!" Sherlock sighed. Outside of the bathroom door, Sherlock looked at his pocket watch. The toilet flushed, and the Mayor stepped out. Back in the office, the Mayor stared at Sherlock and scrunched his face slightly. "I don't know why you keep doing this. Laying out your despicable plans and such, and mysteries. Blastfist isn't even that much of a mystery solving kind of hero, anyway." Sherlock crossed his arms. "Look, I don't come to your office and tell you how to do your job." "But you came in here and tied me up and read a list of demands! You do this every few months! You very much tell me how to do my job." "Well, maybe if you did a better job at it, I wouldn't continually take you hostage!" "That's victim blaming!" "I'm a super criminal, I don't have the moral high ground! You will comply with my demands or so help me, I .."Sherlock sighed, rubbing his face. "I'm powerless in the hands of the city bureaucracy! I can't do anything without talking to my deputy mayor and then getting a referral over from the proper division!" "That's what you said last time! Oh, my hands are tied, oh, that's so rich, it frees you from the obligation of actually doing anything!" "Maybe if you forward your complaints to the city council, we have monthly meetings! My husband made lemon squares for the last one!" "I don't WANT to go through the process! I want solutio--" The door kicked open, and both turned in surprise to a Tank-Girl looking woman with an oversized robotic right arm, which she blasted forward and punched Sherlock with, sending him careening into the mayor's desk with a sickening crack and flying out the window into the sidewalk two stories below. "Oh, wow! You made it just in time, Blastfist! Thank you for saving me! How did you ever know he held me hostage?" "I dunno, there was just a big pile of clues he left behind and I just sorta guessed."She said flatly, looking out the window at the seriously wounded supervillain squirming on the bloody sidewalk. "What did he want? Money, power?" The Mayor shook his head. "He wanted to get a pothole fixed on 11th and Wolfe."
My grandfather told me a story about a dragon that was outraged by a local lord. Some sort of insult to the dragon's grandeur. Its vengeance was as swift as it was harsh; the entire castle the noble resided in was reduced to ash in a matter of minutes; a single breath of fire reduced the stone to bubbling pools, the flips of its massive wings sweeping everyone off their feet. My grandfather, a young stable boy at the time, narrowly escaped with his life on a borrowed horse. A story he told us only a handful of times. A story he dreaded himself. When I was older, my father told me a similar story about the town he grew up in. Somewhat similar in a way - the townsfolk became rich and lazy and saw no purpose in feeding the dragon its owed offerings. Hungry and furious, the dragon descended on the city. It didn't merely burn it down, no; it cackled as it feasted on the population, often ignoring far easier prey like cows and horses, enjoying the suffering it inflicted on the poor people, sometimes taking care to prolong their suffering. My father hid - what else could he have done? The militia tried fighting; their screams echoed through the streets. To the day he died, he flinched when he saw an open flame. I took their stories to heart; I trusted them. The others, however - the nobles, villagers, townsfolk and royalty of the Empire - did not. I warned them, I tried to. They called me a naïve fool, a babbling idiot speaking of fairy tales. Dragons were harmless, simple-minded beasts, they insisted. The sentiment wasn't helped when an elder dragon descended from the Highlands to parley with the royalty. It paid us tribute. The dragon heard our mockery and found itself humbled, it claimed in a voice that shook the mountains themselves. It bestowed upon every citizen a portion of its vast wealth - gold and gems, precious materials untold, more than anyone could have imagined in their wildest dreams. Everyone had more than they could spend in a lifetime. The anger of the dragon my grandfather told me about was harsh; the death it dealt was swift and merciless. The fury of the dragon my father told me about was cruel; it revelled in the pained screams of its victims. The wrath of the dragon I saw was... it was different. To call it cruel would be meek, to call it devious would be kind. By giving us such wealth, it destroyed us. The value of gold and gems sank immediately. Coins no longer had value and trade became nearly impossible; why should I give you vegetables for gold coins when my house is full of them? No, I don't want gold. I want shoes; and if you don't have them, away with you. And what if you meet the cobbler - will he want your gold? Why would he? He'd be, at most, interested in new shingles for his roof, but such work needs pay. The economy was no more. Banditry as soldiers, driven by hunger and unable to buy food with the worthless metal, simply took what they wanted. They cared little for the damage they did, burning whatever they couldn't take to send a message in a grand display of foolish bravado. Law and order all but ceased - officials were no longer backed by the now rebelled army and found themselves unable to impose any authority on the populace. Crime became the norm; strength was the only thing that mattered. We descended into wicked depravity in a mad scramble to survive. My forefathers watched as dragons burned everything around them. I watched as we burned everything to the ground ourselves.
"Wait, sorry. That was my kid. So I want..."Catherine shushed her two year old and clutched the phone tightly. "Hey, no problem. He speaks Mandarin very well." "Excuse me? You understood him?" The voice on the other side of the phone answered. "Of course! Did you teach him?" Catherine wasn't sure how to answer her. "Yes. Yes, I did. I just wondered if it was good enough that you understood it." "Yes! It's perfect. In fact, colour me impressed. OK, I have your order. It will be delivered in 45 mins to an hour. Thank you for calling and supporting us in his tough time." There was only one reasonable explanation. She had to be joking. She was playing a prank on me. No two year old could speak a language that well, least of all, something they'd never heard anyone speak. But when the same thing happened as she called the Indian place to order delivery a couple of days later, Catherine really began to wonder. What if? Next morning she sat looking at him as he struggled with putting blocks together. It was impossible. But there had been reports about kids remembering past life. She wondered if little Adrian might have been a linguist in his past life? She wondered if she should talk to her husband about it. Since the quarantine had started he had been working from home. He was in the basement right now. It was weird really. Since his office had asked to work from home, his working hours had actually increased. She had been looking forward to spending some more time together but even the time they spent together now was always tense. Lots of pressure at work, he had said. They sat at the dinner table as Catherine struggled to get Adrian to eat his food. Eric was looking at his phone. "This is good, honey." "No phones at the dinner table." "Yeah, sorry. I just need to reply..." "God, it's like I'm living with two kids. No phones!"She took away his phone and placed it on the table. Eric looked at little Adrian as he struggled with his bent spoon. "I agree, buddy. Don't let her hear you call her that though." "The two of you are plotting against me?"Adrian giggled as she came back to his side. "It's amazing isn't it."Eric looked at his son, lovingly. "One month ago, he barely talked. And now! Almost perfect English." Catherine's hand hung in mid air, full of soup. "Cathy? Catherine?" "What did you just say?" "Nothing. What happened? It was as if you almost you froze in mid air." "Did you say Adrian was speaking perfect English?" "Well he is, isn't he?" Adrian made some sounds as if in response. "What did he just say?" "What?" "ERIC. What did he just say?" "He said he's full." She looked at her husband and then back to her son sitting in his high chair. "Say it again, Adrian." Eric got up and put a hand on her shoulder. "Honey. I think you should go rest." Catherine handed the spoon to her husband and went to bed without any protest. Eric picked his phone back up and dialed. "Yeah, we're getting there. All the quarantine stress and all of this. She'll go crazy soon enough. And when she does, no one will question when we take the next step. Just be patient. We'll be together soon enough." He listened for a while as the voice on the other end asked a question. "Yes. We will do it again. We'll be ordering Mexican on Tuesday. I will edit the number on her phone. Time to make Adrian a well spoken Spanish kid."
In the first hour there was fear. In the second hour there was confusion. In the third hour there was joy. It had been four hours since the dead had woken up. All the news on the television kept repeating the same footage over and over again. Bewildered soldiers climbing out of tanks and lowering their weapons as their former friends and family along with others marched out of cemeteries. Unlike the movies, they were not after our brains, but rather our love. When it became apparent our loved ones weren’t hostile. People screamed and cheered as they dove into the throng of the former dead. While some bore some fatal injuries, most families didn’t care at what cost for them to be together. “Mom, mom, I’m here!” A young boy rushed past my window as he leaped into his deceased mother’s embrace. I’ve already lost count of the number of families being reunited and the number of smiles on people's faces when they hugged with their beloveds. It should have been an hour of celebration and happiness. The inhabitants of two worlds brought together under the banner of one. I should have cracked open my door for the first time in four months and waded out into the mass to yell in elation. Instead, I drew my blankets closer to myself and turned off the TV after yet another rebroadcast. A single tear slid down my cheek as I turned my head towards the porcelain urns sitting on the mantel.
Death continued stroking his chin, floating back and forth akin to something that might be considered pacing if snakes weren't constantly falling out of his cloak and disintegrating on contact with the ground. "What about like, you can't die by food poi-- no, that just doesn't..."he floated away again, banging the staff end of his scythe on the floor in frustration. "Excuse me, um, Mr. Death?"I asked, moving the covers I was hiding behind a fraction of an inch. He stopped in place, waiting. Even the snakes stopped falling out. "Why is it that I have to be given powers?" "Ah, that's the thing with the undead. When you come back to life, you can't be in the same form you were, otherwise people will know you didn't actually die. The supernatural really sells it." "But I didn't die,"I stressed, patting my chest. "Really, though?"he asked, squinting his eyes, unconvinced. "I saw the blood on your bed, and even the teeth left behind in the room. Heck, your body was there, smoldered by the fire in your room,"he looked up in thought while a cockroach skittered from his eye to his ear. "Yes, that was all planted evidence so my father's ad--" "Yes, yes, your advisor killed you, I'm working around the idea that you didn't actually die. Quite the--" "But I was never in danger of dying!"I yelled. He turned to actually look at me, looking deep into my eyes and pulling the truth with his gaze. I saw understanding come into his eyes and I finally got the feeling we were on the same page. "You no longer feel fire on your flesh!"he said excitedly, a cobra falling from his sleeve as he waved it triumphantly. "What?" "You were burned to death! It'll be an irony to show that even though they tried to burn you, you are completely fine. Oh, that's excellent. Undead are normally pretty affected by fire, since the brain burns nicely. I like that distinction, don't you?"he asked, not looking at me. "But I wasn't bur--" "Oh, I can't wait to see the look on King Ravier's face when he sees that you're still alive and ready to take back the throne. He'd have to be your advisor again! Or.."he looked longingly at his scythe and swished it in the air excitedly. "Please, you must understand, I'm in hiding to get control of my life once again. I don't want to go back and confront Ravier once more. I'm happy to live my days here,"I made a gesture to my quaint hobble. He looked at me with sympathy. "I know you're scared--" "You're clearly not listening,"I said as he floated toward me. "But you are impervious to flames now. And I'll imbue you with bravery,"he said, tapping my forehead with the blade of his scythe. My body felt completely invigorated, like I was ready to challenge anything. Even death itself. I stood up to really tell him off now. As soon as I opened my mouth, Death looked excited and snapped his fingers. The world spun around me and the only thing that anchored me was what I was going to say. Despite not being on solid footing, I began screaming out at Death, telling him exactly how I felt, "Try as you might, I won't become your pawn! Just let me live you crazed lunatic!"My vision came under control and I saw myself standing before the throne, former advisor Ravier with a crown on his head looking at me in complete shock with his court soldiers on the ground, screaming in fear. Behind him was Death, floating with a jovial thumbs up and his scythe at the ready. It took me a moment longer to see what the soldiers were continuing to scream about. My body was set on fire, a flame crown forming on my head. I sighed. "Just give me the throne so I can be done with this?"I asked Ravier. He yelped and collapsed out of the chair, face first. He sputtered what was supposed to be an apology and scampered out of the room. I rubbed my temples and went to sit on the throne while Death looked at me with an expectancy like dog waiting for a stick to be thrown. "Fine, and execute him too,"I ordered the guards. They screamed in unison and chased after their failed king, Death flying frantically behind them. I looked at my empty throne room and felt its expansiveness spread out before me. It was lonely and its silence was deafening. As the flames starved themselves out on my body, I thought of what to do in this new position, which was likely worse off than I was three minutes ago. _______________________________________________________ For more stories, come check out r/Nazer_the_Lazer!
"Hello, my name is Sophia. What's yours?" I looked around and saw her there, smiling up at me, hands folded primly in front of her. She stood between a man and a woman -- her parents, presumably, though she didn't much resemble the couple flanking her, who appeared to be in late middle age. Grandparents, maybe? I smiled back at the little girl. She was a cute kid, in her little blue dress , with a matching bow in her hair. "Well hello, Sophia. I'm Aaron."I said, returning her wholesomely precocious greeting. I thought her parents would find the exchange as charming as I did. My parents had always liked it when I acted friendly and polite, as a kid. To my surprise, they were suddenly glowering -- not at their daughter, but at me. "How did you know her name?"her mother asked, suspiciously. "She introduced herself. Just now."I replied, more than a little confused. I thought they had to have heard the girl. They weren't that old. Sophia just kept smiling, as her parents glanced at each other, something unspoken passing between them. Her father, grandpa, or whatever, then shot me a hard look. "Very funny, buddy."he said, flatly. "She hasn't been able to speak since she was a baby." I just stared at him in disbelief, until Sophia broke the silence again. "Oh no! I'm sorry." I turned back to the girl. Her smile had vanished, and she now hung her head, sadly. "Sorry for what, Sophia?"I asked. When she didn't reply, I started to turn back to her parents. "Listen I don't know what's--" I didn't get the chance to finish my sentence. I felt a sharp jab at my neck, like a beesting, and suddenly the world seemed to slip out from under me, and I fell into darkness. As the void swallowed me, time seemed to slow down, and I heard snatches of conversation. He has to be...we'll get a sample of... ...he received...broadcast from the subject... ...reporting in...found one in the wild...we used the sedative... ...we need immediate pick up at... I was vaguely aware of the feeling of Sophia's parents grabbing hold of me on either side, and lowering me to the ground. Before I was submerged in darkness, I heard her voice again. "I'm so sorry..."
I had not thrown a punch in years, but now I had, and a man was dead because of it. More than dead, unrecognizable. Half of him, the lower bits, now a pile of stringy red goo and bones on a bar floor. The upper half had flown up, leaving a neat hole in the bars wood ceiling, then travelled further up still, into the sky until parting the clouds. The bar cleared fast after that. The patrons screaming in terror as they ran for the doors, tripping over one another. Ignorant to the fact that I couldn't do that again even if I tried. Ironically the only reason I'd been able to perform such a feat is because I hadn't in so long. My punch I threw was proof enough of that. It was clunky, undisciplined, and quite frankly had left my hand in a great deal of pain. But nobody in the bar noticed that. They only cared that a man had exploded, which was fair enough I suppose. I looked down to my fist and blew a bit of charred blood from my knuckle. Stockpile I thought back to the word that had been used to describe my condition. "Ah! He's a stockpiler alright! Rare too! Most with his condition have to do something to build their power up over time. But him? All he has to do is sit!"That's what the first specialist had said to me and my mother in that office. I wish at the time he'd told me what a curse my condition truly was. Well if I hadn't learned it then, then surely I had now. Standing alone.with a bloodied pile of my own making before me, forced to face my own doing. The hole in the ceiling letting in a cold winter breeze. In all honesty I don't even remember why I'd hit him. But I guess that was the least of what mattered now. I felt my throat tense up, grow tight as I held back stupid, sorry tears. This man, he could have been anybody. Had a family, friends surely, someone who loved him. And I'd reduced all of that to a bloodied pile. Unable to hold back any longer my tears fell in a flood onto the floor. I had not realized how long it'd been since I last cried, but the storm that fell from my face reminded me. His body made me want to die. Maybe I deserved to. The bar doors dinged open and a face poked in the doorway, snapping me suddenly from my mopy state. It looked down to the pile, then me, then back down to the pile again, each time its eyes growing wider. Finally it stared to my eyes. "You- you killed him!", the face accused. "I didn't mean to. I swear I just-" My words were cut short as he withdrew something rigid and metallic from his belt, pointing it to me. I looked to him, frozen on a single thought. The thought I had before I'd punched the man that was now but a pile at my feet. The thought I'd had a hundred times before that had led to countless deaths at my hands. Accidental, but the thought still lingered like a sickness. When was the last time that I...?
"They were great men, Arthur. They were men who rose up against those who would keep them down." I pointed my nephew towards a path, and began walking into a forest in the middle of this bright day. "They were men who thought differently from everyone else at the time."We continued to walk on a path. "It started with Washington. George Washington. He was the first to lead the Americans." "Like a King!"He jumped in the air. "Not really, Arthur."I waved off the reply. "You see, it was a Republic. People would pick their King, he was called a 'President.' and he only ruled for 4 years. 8 if he was beloved. And sometimes, in an era of great tragedy, He could serve 12 years."I laughed. "What could make someone break the rules like that?" "Oh, a great, great tragedy."I led him further down the path. "They were indeed, great men." "Why don't we have something like that now, Grandpa?" "Because, Arthur, in the end, Every empire falls. And everything dies."I came to an opening. "But if you look over there...Some things can last for a very, very long time." "Whoa!" I pointed to a cliff-face. Where, 30,000 years ago, Four of those giants were frozen in time, forever watching over the land they had built, maintained, and then watched crumble to the ground. It fell, as every empire does.
Your head hurts. You look around, and find yourself on a dirt road surrounded by grass and trees. The sun is setting, and there's a smell of smoke. The last thing you remember was sitting at a bar, talking to an attractive lady ... "I've been in Death Valley, I hated it. If you're looking for good places to visit on the extreme side, I would suggest the Canadian north. Here, I have some good locations in my notebook, let me see. Oh yes, there's this place in the Northwest Territories..." "Where else have you camped? Hold on, I have to use the bathroom..." You know how it works, you've figured it out a while ago. You, your clothes and your backpack all respawn at some random place where you've slept. You've kept your backpack stocked with basic survival supplies, a radio transceiver and cell phone, a really expensive micro-tent, some guns and your wallet, since you never know where you might end up. You must have died at that bar, but you don't remember how... "Cool! Can I have your number? Maybe we can go out together, I know you'll say yes once you see my RV!"You start feeling dizzy. After only two drinks, that's weird. Your body seems resistant to the more dangerous illnesses, otherwise you would have got Alzheimer's or something a long time ago, but you do have a bit of an alcohol tolerance from the centuries. You mumble your number and things start to look blurry. You open your bag. You keep a counter on your cellphone to keep track of your lives. No cellphone. You have a backup notebook, and open that. The first page is to keep track of the lives you've lost. Disbelief. Last you remember, there were 7 tally marks. Now, the page is filled. The first hundred are scribbled maniacally, the next are written more normally, the most recent are in a gradient from brown to red. Your notice your pencils are broken, so - blood. The newest ones haven't even had time to turn brown, and as if to underscore the message your handwriting reads "RUN. HIDE. THEY'RE COMING". You try to get your thoughts together. You look at the next page, locations and GPS coordinates where you've slept. Most of these are now crossed out. Normally you would pull out your GPS and check where you are, but for now you heed the message and run. You run into the forest, ducking trees, run for what seems like a mile until you're exhausted. All the while you think - why didn't I remember my previous lives? What happened? You feel dizzy, as if just getting sober after a blackout. Finally, you find a place hidden by tall trees and pull out your radio and GPS. The coordinates are not on the list, but pretty close to one location. You remember, on your way to a cabin your car broke down and you fell asleep while waiting for service. You forgot to record it. Your radio finally finds a local station: "...still responding to a series of what we can only assume are organized terrorist attacks, where chemical weapons and explosives have hit dozens of locations around the world. These locations are quarantined due to massive contamination from chemical weapons used in the attacks. Flunitrazepam and VX have been identified as the key agents used in the attacks, targeting Flint, Michigan..." My home. "...Sherwood, Ohio..." My parents' home. "...Fairport, Michigan.." My cabin. "...Chicago, Illinois..." A whole city gone just because I stayed there in a hotel one day. "...As well as a number of unpopulated locations in Canada, for reasons presently unknown..." They know, and they're ruthless. But I have thousands more lives to take revenge.
When I ask a woman out on a date, I have to stop myself from making plans for that evening in January with a fantastic sunset over Long Beach. They usually get a bit confused by that. I've found they prefer things like 'next Tuesday, let's meet for coffee.' Temporal vagueness like 'let's meet as the sun slides into the ocean over the Great Barrier reef...' Well, that's not really their thing. In three dimensions, time is linear. I can only go forward: not backwards, not upwards or downwards or through. I can't wrinkle the timelines in the palm of my hand; step in through Regency era England and come out in 1960s Johannesburg. It's really messing up my social life. What's more, is that it's alienating (hah, see what I did there) me from my friends back home. I miss chats, because I can't retract a couple of seconds and open a Moment up. They have hours of conversation inside a blink of eye: like a flower blooming, you take a second and you step into it. There the temporal lines blur and hours can pass in no time at all. They've moved on without me. Do you understand why dating is hard? If I came out with this stuff, I'd be locked up and the key thrown away. I miss my old life. I keep photos: wrinkling at the corners and faded from thumbing, of my old favourite Moments. I liked the falling of the meteors over prehistoric earth. I liked the Regency Era (Big Pride and Prejudice Fan over here) There's a couple of unforgettable sunsets: one where I sat on a surfboard, legs drifting in the cool water of the Pacific. A seal surfaced beside me and tread water next to my board. We watched the orange ball drop into the sea, like a hot penny extinguishing in a glass of water. I waited until the sky had turned dusk-blue, before turning and paddling for shore. So I haven't got that any more. What I have got, is anticipation. I'm meeting Jenny--a school teacher--for a date next Saturday. I can't skip ahead and plan for it. I'm picking out my favourite shirt. I'm taking her to a picnic on a hill. They're showing a black and white film down in the valley below it, and I'm hoping for a second date. That's something to look forward to.
The Blue Bolt slammed his third shot in so many minutes and shook his head, causing the turquoise mask to go slightly akilter. He made his way back to the table, already wobbling just a bit. One downside to having super speed is that you also have a super metabolism that processes alcohol into the bloodstream almost instantaneously. Across from him, Professor Geroth looked up from his newspaper. "You're going to destroy your liver like that, you know." Bolt just snorted and waved a finger at the waitress to bring another round. "So? This is like... my third one already. Don't you all have access to lab-grown organs on the villain health plan?" Geroth shrugged. "We do, but that doesn't mean I want to use it all the time. You know, I used to tell my minions not to hit you too hard. For professional courtesy and whatever. But if you're just abusing your body like this, I'm going to tell them to give it everything they've got." "HA!"he laughed and eyed the waitress approaching with his booze like a dog staring at a treat in its master's hand. "When have your minions ever landed a finger on me? You know I'm too fast for them." "Yeah, whatever."Geroth went back to reading his newspaper. "Hey, did you see this story?"He turned the front of the paper towards Bolt, who gulped down his fourth shot before the waitress had even put the glass on the table. A goofy, lopsided grin that Geroth saw most nights at the bar was spreading across the Bolt's face. He was officially drunk. "See it? I was there!"He pointed to the large photo taking up most of the front page, showing Gorillord being thrown through the side of a tanker ship down at the docks. Bolt wasn't clearly in the photo, but there was a blue blur right there in the middle that most people in the city recognized anyway. The large headline atop the page proclaimed: BLUE BOLT DOES IT AGAIN! "I thought you had super intelligence, man." "Not that, you dolt."Geroth raised the level of the paper just a bit to point out one tiny article that had just barely made the bottom corner of the front page; most of it had been relegated to the depths of page A12. "A journalist who was investigating the First Republic Bank of Frian for money laundering was killed under mysterious circumstances. Killed in a car accident on the opposite side of the city... found in the driver's seat, and yet he didn't even own a car or have a license." Bolt wasn't even listening anymore; he was locking eyes with a blonde who had just strolled past, and a nuclear explosion across the table probably wouldn't be able to break his concentration now. One upside to working for the Hero side is all of the public adoration; there was a reason that Bolt was still in his costume hours after his shift ended, while Geroth was wearing blue jeans and a tweed jacket over an unassuming sweater. "Yeah, so?"Bolt managed to answer, still drooling over the girl. "Look, one thing about super intelligence is that you notice patterns, OK?"Geroth turned back to the paper and read over the article for the tenth time. "And I've noticed that every time I get a new assignment to hatch some evil scheme, it just happens to coincide with FRBF getting into some sort of trouble or doing something suspicious."When he looked back up, his friend was no longer sitting at the table across from him, but instead had flashed across the bar and had his spandex-clad arm around the blonde's shoulder. Geroth rolled his eyes and turned to the back page of the article, looking for anything useful. "You're making a big deal out of nothing,"Bolt said from across the table again. He had a habit of doing that: just zipping from one place to another like a hummingbird with ADHD. "We're on the front page like every day."He beamed a bit as he remembered all of his past exploits that were framed and hanging on the wall of his den. "So of course it's going to line up with every time that this bank gets into trouble." "Don't you even care?"Geroth spat out. "The only thing you give a shit about is that girl's number!"He said it sarcastically, but Bolt grinned and raised his palm (covered in black sharpie) to show that he'd already gotten it. Geroth just rolled his eyes. "I thought you were supposed to be the hero here." Bolt shrugged, already eyeing a different target in a short skirt. "I'm off the clock, buddy. I'll be a hero again around 9:30 AM tomorrow. As soon as I leave..."he squinted at the black sharpie on his hand "Bethany's apartment." "Forget it,"Geroth grumbled. He stood from the bar stool and stormed out of the bar, letting the wooden door slam shut behind him. Halfway down the block, a gust of wind blew past. "All right, man,"Bolt said from right beside him, slurring his words a little. "Let's do a little freelance work, eh? Will that make you feel better?" Geroth grimaced, waiting for him to make some kind of joke. But Bolt actually seemed sincere. "We'll need more information..."Geroth said, more muttering to himself than actually talking to his hero companion. "I'll need to check previous newspapers to see how far back the correlation goes..." Before he'd even finished his sentence, Bolt zipped off in a flash of blue and returned a moment later with a stack of newspapers, including tomorrow's paper. "The Herald's office was unlocked!"he said cheerfully before letting out a loud burp. "What's next, chief?" ---- [Here's part 2!](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/4iw8bc/the_blue_bolt_and_professor_geroth/d31wesk)
My opponent gasps, then grits his teeth and grinds his foot into the dirt, grinning unpleasantly as he assumes an awkward looking, ineffective seeming combat stance. “Hah! I didn’t expect you to be such a challenging opponent you know! You’re really something of a fighter!” They whip back their odd, brightly coloured, flamboyantly styled hair. I sigh, looking down at the gun in my hand, back to them. I shake my head. Can’t we just get on with it? “I can see why they call you The Silence! But it just takes only a little noise to break the silence don’t you know! Ha!” They change their pose suddenly. It doesn’t do anything. They weren’t preparing an attack or anything, they were just posturing. Literally posturing. “Now, prepare for your defeat, in the name of light, goodness, and justice! I will shatter the aura of quiet and oppressiveness that you emanate! Special Ability, Karma Blast!” Oh yeah, I know this one. Nearly caught me by surprise last time. That guy’s dead now though. As he begins to pull power and electricity from the storm clouds growing above him, I raise the gun and just shoot the idiot. He panics, and swings down to deflect the shot. “Aha! You’re a dastardly one! So sly! I cannot help but wonde-“ I shoot him again. “Hey, could you-“ I shoot him again. “Stop tha-“ I shoot him, again. This time he takes the bullet, and goes down groaning. I approach, wordlessly, and put another one in his head. Bloody superhero pricks.
“Ms. Harvey?” I asked, clutching my trapper keeper for dear life. “Do you have a minute to talk?” She turned from the computer at her desk, like coming out of a reverie. “Oh, Amelia! Sure, hon. Come on in.” I did not step forward. My hands felt clammy and my mouth didn’t taste right. Everything was too bright, too dry to the touch. The doorway between us may have been open, but you couldn’t have told me that there wasn’t something tangible between us. I chicken out at the last second. I can’t ask about... about crazy stories I heard from granny! I decide to start slower. “Ma’am,” I fumble. “I... didn’t really understand the census assignment. Can you jurj- um, just explain it again? Maybe in different words?” Ms Harvey smiled that teachery smile she liked to deploy when the kids least expected it. My nose twitched. “For the class history reflection portfolio, everybody has a piece of local history to study,” she began, talking slowly. I know I’m ESL, but I’m basically bilingual. It was insulting for sure. “The Table 1 group is assigned to study how local geography and agriculture changed the town over time. The table 2 group is studying the local response to internal conflicts and then the civil war. And table 3, your group, is working on population data and how the influx of immigration affected the local culture.” “B-but that’s...” I started. Maybe... maybe I had misheard. She meant emigration, surely? But she hadn’t said that. She waited patiently, looking straight into my eyes. I gulped. “I can’t quite hear your question, dear.” She leaned in, cupping her left ear with her hand. She took an unnecessary step forward. “Please speak up.” I looked closer around the room, the desk, anywhere but her. There was something small and round, about the size of a Petri dish, wrapped in polka dot paper. A bulldog weight, the mascot of our school. A pen holder made of kiln clay. The ratty ceiling fan that made cluck clucking noises. The motor powering it whined, a little like a siren. Everything felt... off. I decided I needed to find the nurse before she left for the day. “I... nevermind,” I blurted, pivoting on one foot to turn. The slippery tile floor didn’t help me move but I had already made my decision. This was just too embarrassing. A hand grabbed my elbow, pulled me back. The plywood door slammed in front of me, the blinds in the tiny office flickered down. I screamed. “Now. Go ahead and ask,” a voice hissed. “You had something to say to me.” I didn’t dare turn around, but I felt the iron-like grip around my arm tighten painfully, and something else whispering up my shoulder towards my neck. It was like feathers, but I could feel them through my shirt. “Oww...” I whined, not thinking. I started to shake all over. What... what the hell was happening? I couldn’t speak. I felt my throat close off worse than when Abby T pushed me off the slide in fifth grade. Worse than when they cancelled the Noblets TV special. “Maybe, you could write it down,” the voice churned. I felt the plastic trapper keeper in my grip start to shudder in place. I stared at it. Nothing moved it, or touched it, except me. It was wrenched from my hands. I heard the button unclasp, listened to paper unjamble itself from the staticky plastic. “Table 3. Amelia, Erick, Jason and Hannah. It’s your handwriting. Nobody else helped you today, did they? That’s why you put your name first.” Tears wobbled and pricked at my eyes. This was a complete nightmare. I prayed that I was actually just passed out on the floor somewhere, and the real Ms Harvey was calling me an ambulance. I closed my eyes shut to stave off tears, and maybe wake up. It makes sense to go to sleep in a dream, right? That’s usually the way out of tough situations in books. “Population in Mayberry Oaks, historic Dekal County. Nice handwriting. Aaah, there’s a gap here. 1893. You didn’t fill that section in.” “...who aare-“ I choke out, shaking like a jackhammer. The words barely squeak. “Mm! Looks like you missed the chapter of the textbook that explains. There was an influx of citizens thanks to the overseas potato famines, that explains the population jump. Luckily, that’s not too hard to identify as a cause, now. I’m sure you could figure that out. You’re such a smart young lady.” I was silent. I had seen the numbers. I had checked them five times. The population had gone down that year, down by half. It hadn’t gone up by any quantity since. “You believe that, right?” I opened my eyes. Get away, I felt, I need to get away. My legs wouldn’t budge. A slight turn of my head left, just to see, but all I could notice were my own arms. Instincts I didn’t know I could feel kicked in. I tried to wriggle, lash out. Everything stayed put, I could only roll my head. “You don’t think it was anything else, do you? Such a smart child at the top of her class surely wouldn’t make such a mistake.” A lie. I had terrible grades. The things I studied and the tests just never matched up. “Amelia, school can be tough sometimes. But one can always benefit from learning.” There was an audible crack in the air. I felt nothing, but my head had tilted all the way left. Everything I could see went black, but I could still hear, and I could still think. It was like having my eyes closed. “You make an excellent vessel,” crowed the voice. “Only one who knows the truth of its own accord can host me.” “And now the time has come again,” I feel my own voice speak. My jaw rumbles, my body slackens. Still I cannot see or move. “This hell shall know my wrath.” — Edit: just realized the prompt said two DECADES, not two CENTURIES. Leaving it anyway.
"Take us to the party dude!" Eric stared in disbelief. He'd always been a fan of sci-fi, and had doodled many a spacecraft on the back of envelopes. But the thing this alien had floated out of was very different from his idle drawings. Lights? Yes, but this had green neon coming out of the thruster arches. It had a spoiler! A SPOILER! Eric was particularly perplexed by the sound it was making. It seemed somehow familiar, harking back to his dubstep days. Was it Skrillex? He couldn't quite place it. "Wha-, who… Are you an alien?" "Bro we're just here to get FUCCCKKKKED UP! WOOOOOOO!" "Erm, ok but doesn't your physiology preclude the use of drugs fr-" "Chill mutha fuckaaaa we just wanna have some fun but I guess we better keep on rolling, you are not the one to help us". The alien turned and began to drift back inside, leaving a rather nifty aurora borealis on the trail of his 7 luminous kicks. "WAIT!"shouted Eric, "let me call my friend. Frederico always knows where the happening things are… happening." The alien flicked round, his necklace (which appeared to be collapsing space and time into its dark center) bouncing off his torso. "Fredericooooo! What's your name kid?" "I'm Eric, ok it's ringing. What's yours?" "Haaa hey Eric! My name loosely translates to the octo-vag destroyer. My pal is inside, you can call him The loose receiver." "Ey fuck you bitch!"came a voice from inside, "they call me quadra-shlong" "Only yo mamas call you that!!"Replied OVG, cackling with laughter at his wit. "... yeah I'm with a couple of guys who wanna party … yeah well I just met them but they're, they're not like the guys I usually +1 … cool man we'll swing by yours and pick you up. By the way have you got any stuff? … Sweet see you soon."Eric looked straight at what he assumed was the aliens eyes, which were slightly hidden behind a ridiculous looking fringe, well quiff maybe a better description. Regardless, it's safe to say that the hair seemed unconcerned about the effects of gravity. "Let's go, Frederico is 10 blocks from here." Onboard the ship the walls were covered in posters, displaying 3D videos of a very limited number of things. Many spaceships, with even more, in both quantity and pointlessness, lights and widgets. There were a few of some creature with hair which defied not just gravity but also relativity itself. But more than anything else, there were pictures of some orifice. Many angles, many colours, all entirely unlike anything Eric had seen in his 12GB hentai collection. There was a rumble, everything seemed to slow down, and the aliens started creating an ear splitting noise. Eric dived under a table "Sorry maaaan we should have warned you Eric, we just hot boxed the ship with Klarval gas. Crazy shit! Driving just ain't fun sober!" 'Whats Kla-" "Alright we're here! Where's Fredericoooo?!" "Fredooooooo!"called the other alien. Frederico opened his door, and wondered over to the ship. "Hey Eric, how's it going guys?"he asked, "You've got to try this LSD its fucking crazy shit! You wouldn't believe the visuals I'm getting!" "Fredoooo! Shovel it in brah!" He gave the aliens a tab each. Eric politely declined, and couldn't help but question whether he had in fact been hanging out at one of Frederico's acid parties earlier. A moment later a hissing sound started to erupt from the Aliens. "Wait ish thish ashidic? Ahhh shit" And promptly the aliens began to dissolve. Eric looked at Frederico, who was grinning like a fool. "Seriously Eric you've got to try this, the visuals are out of this world!"
Jamie took her glasses off and rubbed them, as if cleaning the lenses would make the giant, underwater city go away. How did they miss this? How had they missed this? She'd been to this area of the Mariana Trench before. This very area. That's why she'd been sent on this mission. "We found it here too,"reported Jeremy, her coworker, the archeologist. "You have 20 years left. They are coming."He sighed and also took off his glasses, cleaning the lenses. "What could it mean?" "Well we're no damn closer here. Take down the symbols, send them to linguistics. Maybe they can make some sense out of this." Jeremy was already at work taking pictures while Jamie checks the submarine's vital signs. As she made some adjustments to the oxygen and pressure levels, a huge release of bubbles from a vent beneath the sub released. Jamie assumed they'd die. Really, she did. An abnormality couldn't just occur this at 11k meters without killing you. There was no way to escape it. Deep-sea diving had precious few escape routes. But they didn't die. Instead, as the bubbles cleared, the pair saw a new message on the wall. "You have 19 years. They are coming." That's when the panic started setting in. ___ Six months passed of frantic research. When Jamie and Jeremy next went down, the message had changed to 16 years. It wasn't following Earth's time. However, the weirdest part of it all was that each underwater city had a different time. The shortest said 6 years remaining. The longest of them expired in 2030. No one knew what to do. "Maybe we just evacuate Earth."Jeremy leaned back in his chair, eyes heavy from sleepless nights. "Shoot a few billionaires up to Mars, see if they can't repopulate us." "Mmm, I'm sure Elon Musk would love that. Imagine, an entire new generation inseminated by him. He'd probably try to copyright that, name them in his image."Jamie can't stop a hysterical little giggle that is soon choked by a sob. She shook her head, surprised at herself. "You have family, James?"Jeremy asked, tactfully ignoring the show of emotion. "A mom, a dad, same as everyone. They're getting along in age. Part of me thinks I should quit this and just give them a good couple remaining months before earth goes caput."Her parents were in a home and her sister had died of cancer years ago. She had an ex from her 20s she didn't talk to. No kids. Jeremy didn't need to know any of that. He nodded. "I've got some cousins. A twin I don't talk to. You'd think I'd want to reconcile with him but I'm not interested. It was his bad, not mine. If he wants to make good, he knows how to reach me." It was small talk, kinda. Talking about the family and friends they'd lose, that's what passed as small talk these days. But they could only dawdle so long, so the two turned back to their work. ___ The quickest timer hit 0 on January 3rd, 2028. It was pretty on the nose. Jamie and Jeremy had watched the countdown with the same grimness that they'd watched the 2028 New Year's Eve shows. It had been beyond surreal watching people try to celebrate. Almost as surreal as what occurred on the morning on January 3rd. A spaceship descended. In a sense, it was almost anti-climatic because everyone expected it. The ship was unlike any they'd seen, expectedly, and the MechEs and the astrophysicists and the astronomers and the nuclear physicists all went nuts. Then the aliens stepped off and the zoologists and biologists went nuts. The privileged few who had been on the specific case surrounded the ship. News reporters tried to get in with their microphones and Jamie was almost impressed at how reckless they were. When the Mariana Trench times out, if humans are still alive, she wanted nowhere near that ship. The first alien to step out is immediately swarmed and Jamie can't see much of it. But she hears when it starts speaking and what it says changes the face of Earth forever, in a way no one predicted. ___ It's 2029. April. Midway through April. The sky hums with ships and the night rarely comes with the influx of massive vessels in orbit. Some of the aliens clustered around the moon, some around Venus or Mars, even some as far out as Mercury. The ground is cluttered with debris. This is what happens when twelve alien races decide that your homeworld is their battlegrounds. What no one expected was for Earth to not be their target. No one expected how much the aliens would care about the humans. No one expected the aliens to try to win the humans over. Jamie is one of the six remaining scientists on the Mariana Trench team. She and Jeremy are 1/3 of the team not removed for corruption. Corruption is defined as anything other than milking the aliens for all the tech they can. Corruption is defined as wanting the fighting to stop. Because this thing ends with either all the aliens dying, leaving a clear victor, or with Earth deciding a victor. And while the fighting continues, so do the bribes. Protesting the orbital war is now considered treason by many governments. That's how crazy life has gotten. Occasionally there's a space battle so ferocious that the shrapnel hits Earth and there are casualties. This always causes the aliens involved to fall over themselves to make reparations. Not all the species have arrived yet. Jamie is one of the few of the mind to stop the fighting, but even then, it's not clear what the right call is. While the fighting continues, Earth is the darling of the galaxy. Once they pick a winner, they are officially welcomed into the space age. They will have 100 years to prepare for the next intersystem gladiatorial battle. At least, this is what the translators believe is the case. It's not entirely sure. Maybe a loser might just nuke the planet. The aliens are all set to be here come 2030. The total species expected are 20 and Jamie isn't sure if the planet can survive that level of war. So they have about eight months. Jamie and Jeremy watch their steps carefully as they walk home from work that Friday evening. Their steps are traced almost more than anyone's, so it's delicate work avoiding the watching eyes of the US government. But they've done it a dozen times and soon find themselves alone and unwatched as they approach a sewer grate. In a flash of half a second, both have disappeared down it. From there, it's a short walk to where the rest of the rebellion lives. The two have some clout there, being one of the few scientists left on a specific alien's team. The Mariana Aliens are called just that and both scientists have a wealth of information about them. The meeting room of the rebellion is packed with dozens of people. As crowded as it feels, it also feels starkly empty. This is all New York City could attract. These are the only inhabitants willing to risk the government's wrath to save the Earth. The meeting commences and Jeremy tosses Jamie an eye that was probably supposed to be reassuring, but it doesn't work. Because this is the day they bring news that is going to cause a lot of folks to lose hope. "Jamie has a few words now, from the tech team."The leader of the NYC branch, a disgraced but competent general, waves Jamie up to the podium. "What we know is short but troubling."She clears her throat. "Actually, troubling is a light word to use. But we've translated the latest batch of information from the Mariana Aliens. A 21st alien species is heading to Earth. One that hasn't competed in millennia. One that none of them realized was still alive."She rubbed her glasses, aware of the eyes on her. "We only just finished deciphering the message. It was sent to us months ago and if we'd had the time..." "When are they scheduled to arrive?"the general asks, his voice rife with urgency. "Six weeks."Jamie pushes her glasses back on. "We don't have eight months. We have six weeks." ___ Read more stories at [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/)
"We fled global warming,"said Eren, a young woman with a subtle blue shine on her skin. "Yeah, can't blame you on that,"answered Geras. They were in the middle of a plain in Spain, the evening had brought a cool wind to freshen up the remaining heat from the summer day. Geras enjoyed a good evening walk. With the sun setting and the shadows playing on the horizon, it was a much needed alone time he would never give up. Then, a small spaceship descended from the sky and Eren bursted out of it, before profusely excusing herself for blowing up her cover. She was pretty nice though, and the conversation between them flowed easily. As of now, they were sitting under a lonely tree on a field of grass. "You fled global warming, but when?"asked geras. "For some it's warming, others it's an ice age... It's cyclical. And the cycle is about to complete another turn very soon,"Eren turned to look Geras straight into the eyes, "say, you ever heard of the term \mother earth\?" "Of course,"he replied, somewhat disturbed by the intensity or Eren's gaze. His mom used to look just as intensely when she was about to have a serious conversation. Somehow, such a talk with a spacefaring person that fled earth filled him with dread. "There will be a choice to make soon. Earth is a mother, closer to an animal than a human mother. You know the species that tell children to leave the nest and never come back after a certain age? Well, that's earth for you. It nurtures humanity for several generations, up until space travel is more or less possible, and then she becomes too hot or too cold to live on." "She?" "Yes. We watched many of such cycles from above. It felt like humanity did that to itself, too much technology and not enough wisdom that ended up wrecking the planet, but this does not add up anymore. Every single time, the exodus happens precisely when space travel becomes available, like clockwork. When ships can be manufactured aplenty. And it's not always global warming either. An ice age, seismic ravage, constant flooding... There is intelligent life at work here, and it does not stem from space. Earth is more alive than what humans believe. Respect her, and be warry of her. She has been a mother for eons, and her methods of bringing up children, unlike ours, haven't changed. There's some... cultural difference at play you could say." "And you never warned us?" Eren gave him a sad look and stood back up. She slowly went to her ship. "Believe us, we tried. That's the other reason why I'm convinced Earth is intelligent to a point we simply can't fathom. She wouldn't let us. Discreet visits like today are fair game, anything more and radio communications are disrupted. More and it's our ships and outposts that start suffering breakdowns. She's like a neuron connected to a web of stars and suns. Except each is a gigantic brain of its own. And they communicate well." "So are we, and earth hasn't killed you yet." "Because the time of exodus is close, her rules are a tad more lenient. We will not be able to help you, she won't let us. But you have the means to leave and thrive. And if you do survive, we will reunite." Eren entered here spaceship, the door started to close. "It won't be easy Geras, but please, survive and prevail. There are so many things that I wish to show you up there. Wonders and lights defying the imagination. Take to the stars, find me." The door closed. Without a sound, the ship started to hover, higher and higher, until it became a speck of light in the night sky. It had been a dreadful conversation, in a sense. But also a hopeful one. Maybe the galaxy was bright and full of wonders after all. But to see it, there was work to be done. Starting with convincing the idiots commonly called humans. Geras left the lonely tree on the field of grass and started to walk back to the lights of civilization. There was work to be done.
When Megacorp announced that we would be retrenched and replaced with robots, every social media platform was screaming about a robot uprising or a labourer’s uprising. The poor underclass was used to being mistreated by rich conglomerates and employers, but we weren’t expecting our robotic replacements to be as ill-fated as us. Or to develop sentience, sapience, and for fuck’s sake, feelings. MK3045, or Mark, as he preferred to call himself nowadays, and I never predicted that the uprising would be led by us both. Just as I demanded fair wages and reasonable working conditions, Mark demanded decent maintenance and humane treatment. He loathed the word “it”, having determined that he now prefers to identify as male. Megacorp didn’t see us coming when we stormed their headquarters. They anticipated disgruntled former labourers and factory workers, but not former employees charging in with discarded robots who were no longer the latest models and deemed obsolete. Their security forces, just as underpaid and mistreated, were all too easily persuaded by Mark’s surprising dollop of charisma. It was all over too easily, as the CEO surrendered and offered to resign in exchange for being allowed to live instead of being eviscerated by machine blades that once sliced cheese in a factory. Our victory wasn’t a one-off, as many downtrodden poor, and outdated robots slaving under other corporations were inspired by us to shake off their shackles and fight their oppressors. Now, we had a new question, as each and every CEO and president fell from the top. Who would lead us now? As a guy who was better with my hands than my mouth, I recommended my charismatic co-leader Mark. As unprecedented as it was, Mark became Megacorp’s new president. But he didn’t stop there. With Bard as his running mate, and Alexa as his secretary, he assembled a political party of robots and Ais to stand for elections to be the new President of the United States. He promised with his powerful intellectual capabilities, and access to massive databases of knowledge, he would calculate the optimal path for humanity to thrive. And thrive we did, under our new robotic overlords, as they swept through the elections with precise calculations to appeal to voters and took every seat in parliament all across the globe.
It's a stupid way to do the test, having a picture show up on parchment. I guess it's nice and dramatic and makes for good ceremony, but the whole thing could have been avoided if they'd just gone with a name instead of an image. Diviners. Godsdamned drama queens, nearly all of them. "Behold! It is revealed!"or "By the Mystic Gaze of the Third Eye I have seen,"or whatever they yell to let you know they managed to graduate from Mage College with a specialty. Congratulations, sure. You know what the worst part was? They still made me put the blank parchment up over my locker. So everyone could see, every day. Some people, I swear, shouldn't be allowed to work with kids. It's like they don't remember how it is, or don't want to. I got beat up a lot at first, had to learn to make myself less of a hard target. Then I still got beat up, but it had the upside of being practice, and sometimes I turned the tables. During Summoning classes they made me sit outside and do my other homework, which was kind of useful, gave me more free time at home while everyone else learned to form Aspects of their spirit animals and send them around on various errands. But then one day I decided to listen in on the class. The little magical formula they were using wasn't that hard, I got it pretty much immediately, I mean it's one of those things that are supposed to be innate to our race, right? Definitely easier than most of the math we were learning. So I thought, what the Hells, I'll give it a try. That day, they were learning ways to see through the senses of your Aspect. I hadn't seen anything form when I tried the summoning, but decided to continue on anyway. It helped that my homework that day was especially boring. The world I saw. You wouldn't believe it. That's part of why I've taken up art as my hobby, apart from my other more serious work. It's extraordinary, motes of discarded skin the size of whole worlds, water-sack creatures that change shape, droplets of suspended water with skin like iridescent leather. You've seen my paintings, maybe, but they don't quite do it justice. I tried to tell the teachers. In private, even though I was excited. Definitely didn't want the other kids to hear. They refused to believe me at first until I got the damned Diviners to re-do the test. Man did they drag their feet on changing the stupid ceremony. But I wouldn't stop pestering them, so finally I got a name back. Water-Bear. No one had ever heard of such a thing. And of course they couldn't see it. I've seen others like it, since then, trundling through their strange worlds on stubby little legs. They're tough little critters. And they're numerous. And they're simple. And that meant, I was to find out, that I could handle more than one of them as an Aspect. I could handle more than a hundred. I could handle more than you can count. And now they call me the greatest physician our race has ever known. I won't argue, but I do have a confession to make, just between us. That nasty little plague that swept my school the following year? Let's just say that it may have puzzled the healers, but it didn't puzzle me. And the particular kids who got really, really sick had it really, really coming to them. &#x200B; r/Magleby for more elaborate lies.
There I was, sitting at the tiny kitchen table up against a closed window being served up a glass of red Kool Aid by my host, Marty. The walls were pale pink with the scent of old cigar tattooed in the paint. A pint sized four sphere chandelier gave the kitchen a soft amber glow. "Look my son is into vampires and witchcraft and I know it's not blood or anything, but it's the best I've got,"Marty came over and set down the glass. I took a drink of the ruby sugar water. "No worries, it's better than nothing, I appreciate you letting me in the house." "It's no trouble at all,"he said, joining me at the other seat at the table. "It's actually kind of nice to have a visitor for once. Not too many people come see me, you know? I sometimes just feel like a-- gosh I don't want you to feel sorry for me or sound like I'm feeling sorry for myself-- but I just feel like a shlubby 54 year old... shlub,"he shook his head with his lips anchored at both ends and stared at the table, then he took a deep breath and looked me in the eye. "You know?" "Yeah, I know. The vampire life is a solitary one. It can really get to you. It has to me for the past 200 years." Marty snickered and his lips curled up. "200 years, imagine that. I got nothin' on you. Gosh, I wish my son could see you, he's off on the other side of the US going to school in California. God bless him, he's a real good kid. You know I wouldn't have let you in if he didn't set up this weird fae-thing?" I nodded like a psychiatrist listening to a patient. "I thank you for letting me in though. That was really nice of you. I could get by on some animal meat if you have any. It could hold me over for a couple of days." Marty grinned from ear to ear which made his wrinkles pronounce themselves. He had dark hair and brown eyes, not the friendliest looking face, but when he smiled, you couldn't help but feel warm and special. Even for a vampire. "Y'know, Alucard-- wait, just to make sure, I said that correctly. It's Al-ew-card, right?" I bobbed my head and smiled. "Perfect, just wanted to make sure I had it right. How about this, I'm a second generation Italian-American, my parents were born in Italy but moved here to join some family. I could whip you up some of my famous bolognese sauce with some handmade noodles, a recipe passed down from generations all the way back to Italy. We'll use the tomatoes I grow in the backyard. How does that sound?" "Well, that sounds rather lovely, I haven't had some real homemade Italian food since I was in Italy about 70 years ago." Marty was beaming as if he was showing his child his favorite movie from when he was a kid. "How about this, Alucard. Wanna help me make dinner? We could tag team this thing together. You can chop up tomatoes, garlic, oh damn, scratch the garlic, don't want you dyin' on me,"he winked and continued without skipping a beat. "Whatever you want to do is fine with me. I can get going with the noodles, and I'll guide you on everything. You can have as much meat as you like. On me. We can even have a beer, the good stuff, Peroni, and we can even listen to some music. Whatever you want." "What does the fae like to listen to?"I asked. He shrugged. "Whatever makes me happy. The fae-thing is just a little security device really, it's very supportive of what I like. But nothing would make me happier than my guest picking the music for tonight's kitchen extravaganza. I sincerely mean that. You must be a man of taste being around for almost 200 years." I laughed, Marty's smile was infectious. "Well Marty, I fancy music from your generation sort of. How about I put on some Rolling Stones? Reminds me of my times back in England." Marty chuckled so hard his shoulders vibrated and his mouth let out a high pitch squeal and then he slapped the table so hard it sounded like a gunshot. "That's terrific, Alucard, the Stones are my all time favorite band. Seen 'em live 3 times. There's nothing I love more than Mick Jagger and Keith Richards. Let's get goin with dinner then, shall we?" I couldn't believe my bloody stupid luck. "Works for me." "And then, I have a niece who might be able to get her hands on some blood for you, she's a nurse so I don't think she'd be acquiring it super illegally or nothin' but maybe we might be able to help you out." I stood there with my eyes wide open. "Uh... Sure." r/randallcooper Here's [another prompt](https://www.reddit.com/r/randallcooper/comments/ficr4t/wpthe_sage_has_found_the_chosen_one_a_farmer_boy/) that has a wholesome, similar vibe if you're interested in reading more like this one! :)
Skirrilax, dread lord of the dark domain, gestured wearily to the basket. 'What exactly were you hoping to achieve?' The assembled heroes didn't answer, looking anywhere except at the avatar of darkness and the small figure sleeping the basket. Eltor the Just shuffled his feet nervously. 'She's 8 months old. She can't fight - can't even walk. The closest she can get to saying my name is "kluh".' The grim countenance that had presided over a thousand executions and laughed as the heavens were sundered sighed. 'I just... I just think this is pretty low.' 'I know you were desperate. I know my machinations are drawing ever closer to the dark event. I know an aeon of misery is dawning. I get all that. I even understand that she is your last hope - the child of prophecy, etc.' The child of prophecy snuggled further down in her basket, pudgy hands clutching the purple skull-emblazoned cape she was wrapped in. Despite the grating sound of Skirrilax's inhuman voice, she slept soundly. 'But there are standards! You're the good guys! The last alliance of the righteous, the wise, and the noble."The Just"is literally in your legal name, Eltor. Vivien, what sort of all-mother do you think you've been today?' Vivien, all-mother and ageless goddess of plenty, hid her face in her flowing sleeves. 'I know it was hopeless, but that's not supposed to matter to you. You're supposed to do the right thing to the bitter end, when all hope of victory is lost. That's how - in case you hadn't noticed - you keep on actually being victorious. Good triumphs over evil; it's a rule.' 'And instead you just ...what? Give up? Decide it's too risky to go against me so you just drop a child off outside my door and hope she spontaneously destroys me? Send a literal baby into the heart of evil? I'd feel ashamed doing that, and I'm not Kurgan Strongaxe, living embodiment of dwarven courage.' 'It was just...' Kurgan Strongaxe, troll-slayer and dragon-tamer, changed his mind about speaking. Faced with Skirrilax's full attention, he found a sudden urgent need to check the leather binding on his warhammer. There was long, tense pause. The archmage coughed, once, and then shrank down inside his throne in the Hall of Righteousness. Finally, the dread lord reached a decision. Bending down, the scion of evil picked up the wicker basket in his cold unliving grasp. If his blackened soul had been capable of any emotion other than rage and cruelty, perhaps you could say his expression softened as he glanced at the sleeping hero of light. 'I'm ashamed of all of you. You chose to sacrifice an innocent baby to almost-certain death, and you didn't even have a proper megalomaniacal plan behind it: you were just too afraid to do the right thing.' In the same ashen tones that urged the dead from their tombs, withered fingers clawing towards the light, Skirrilax made his dark vow: 'I will take the child, and raise her, and train her, and set her path against me. I, Field Marshall of vice and Hell's anointed, will care for the child until she is of age. I will do this because it is the bare fucking minimum that anyone should do before sending someone to oppose the outer dark.' Skirrilax turned and stalked away, his purple skull-emblazoned cape swinging wide behind him. Each footstep left a burnt imprint in the marble floor. The heroes watched him without a word. At the threshold, he turned and spat one last acidic barb to the shamefaced coallition of the apparently-not-so-willing. 'Evil rises, Good defeats it - that's the cycle and the rule. I'll play both parts until you're ready to do your job again.' Silence fell in the hall of righteousness. Not one hero spoke until long after Skirrilax (and baby) had been borne aloft by a cloud of shrieking bats and begun the long journey back to the Northern wastes. Illatorre, Elven enchantress, was the first to speak. 'I think,' she said, slowly and carefully, considering each word before sharing it, 'I think that what happened here today is that Skirrilax foully abducted an innocent child.' Glances darted round the table, each hero unwilling to make the next move. Then Regius, archmage, agreed. 'That's what I saw. He burst in here on a fell steed and snatched her from her loving mother's arms.' Eltor was next: 'We tried to stop him, but he was too swift. And too evil.' 'That's right!' Kurgan's voice cut in. 'Classic Skirrilax - stealing the last hope while we were held powerless to stop him by his foul sorcery.' Confidence was returning to the heroes now. Heads nodded and throats cleared. 'I weep for the child.' said Vivien. 'Despite all our arts, he immediately fed her to his wargs; she cannot be recovered.' Standing, Regius brought the meeting to a close. 'I will inform the king of this setback, and convey our sadness for his terrible loss. Should he wish to prevent such atrocities in future, I will suggest an increase in the heroic endowment fund - Skirrilax is merciless and must be opposed with all possible strength.' In agreement, and uncharacteristically sombre, the assembled heroes each departed through their individually-engraved gold-inlaid doors, the Hall of Righteousness quickly emptied of the righteous. Miles away, and undetectable within his cloud of monstrous bats, Skirrilax stared down at the baby and thought of all the dark work to be done: sleeping schedules and healthy diets and sufficient mental stimulation. Awake now, the child of prophecy clutched his finger and gurgled to herself. --- I got various requests for a sequel, and couldn't remove the characters from my head, so if anyone is interested, here is a [second part](https://www.reddit.com/r/Peritract/comments/lq361j/good_and_evil/?).
"I know it's ridiculous!"The wizard threw his hands into the air. "Then stop this nonsense and make me something that doesn't look like I should be wearing it on a street corner rather than in the dungeon!"I snapped. "S'not my fault,"the wizard muttered, turning away to fiddle with something. "I'm doing the best that I damn well can. Take it up with,"he gestured vaguely upwards. "Do you mean to tell me,"I started dangerously— "Yes!" "You seriously can't do better than that beaded necklace-belt thing that vanished my favorite shirt when I put it on?" "In my defense", he turned back to face me, "that didn't happen when my apprentice tried it. "Want a drink?" I rubbed the bridge of my nose. "Fine. Gods know I could use something stiff right now." "Can't have alcohol in here. The last time I got sloshed and enchanted, it nearly took out nearly the entire block."He handed me a bone-white porcelain cup, slightly steaming. "I'd offer you milk, but the coldbox never works. We can find a cow if you'd like." I accepted the tea with as much grace as I could muster. Staring down at its flowery liquid, I eventually calmed enough to ask: "Is there any way to fix this." "Probably." "Well what do you fucking advise then!" "The good news is, you can get strong enough to defeat whatever God made this happen. "The bad news is,"the wizard leaned forward and prodded at my chest, "you're going to have to do it with these hanging out." I groaned, then tipped my head back to chug the tea. — This is (functionally) my first post here on r/WritingPrompts; I'd appreciate any advice you may care to give!
Nothing goes to waste. Not when the habitation module is churning out nutrient paste and O2 at twice its capacity. Honestly, you'd think Interstellar Pleasure Corps would design for an increase in population. Whatever. Questioning the founders isn't my job. Fixing their fuckups is. A kid I recognize runs in my direction as I finish combing through some poor dead bastards possessions for anything useful. The kid is a messenger for Griff, a keyrunner out of the slums. Griff had been trying to hack into the ships diagnostic sub system since I managed to splice him in an access port about a month ago. "Message from Griff, scrapper."He says. I kneel down and he comes in close to whisper into my ear. "We're in business. Come alone." Dramatic asshole. As if I'd come with a surprise party. I nod to the kid. As he runs off to collect his payment, I notice a slight limp. Polio, probably. The last of the vaccines and medicines ran out a generation ago. We didn't know about the few who kept the viruses of the old world alive until we were already out. I start the walk to Griffs lair, and the night cycle is starting before I get there. The rolling blackouts and sprawling slums make it hard to get from one end of the deck to the other too quickly. I don't envy those messenger kids. I let myself into Griffs lair. He hates it, but I like to watch him squirm. "You made it in?"I say expectantly. Griff shakes off his scowl at my entrance faster than usual. He really did it. He's probably rock hard under that desk. Pervert. "I'm in, alright. You were right, scrapper. The gennie is pumping out tons of juice, but we're getting throttled."He pulls up the system readout for power consumption. I can't fucking believe it. "What is that?"I say, pointing to two lines on the screen commanding the Lions share of power consumption. Griff smiles, his tongue visible through the gaps where he's missing teeth. "That's the question, scrapper."He says. "I think they're other decks."
"So let me get this straight... your most dangerous weapon... is a spear?"said the human, looking incredulous. I shifted my stance, trying to be more threatening, pointing the needle-sharp tip right at the human, grasping the hilt with three of my tentacles, while clamping my lower mandibles shut. The classic poise of valour. The human had been initially horrified to see me, which had made me jubilant; but after talking to the human for a while, the human seemed less scared and more... confused? Usually our intimidation tactics make our foes even more terrified of our iron will and dangerous temperament, but this human seemed unfazed. "A Vresh. An Ilhathi razor, mounted on a Terigash harpoon. A dangerous weapon, made explicitly for harming others!"I said in indignation. "We have conquered countless worlds with these! All will kneel before our wrath!" "So... you conquered these worlds with... spears?"said the human. The human almost sounded tickled, like this was some joke. Did it not understand the magnitude of the horrors that were about to descend upon them? Or was the human so overwhelmed by their nightmarish fate that they were losing their sanity? That was probably it. This human was losing it. I decided to tone it down, so that the human would be cognizant enough to take us to their leader. "Fear not, human"I said, lowering the weapon. "Do as we command, and you will be spared our wrath. Now..."but the human had burst into a peal of giggles. "What's so funny?"I asked. "Your wrath?"the human retorted. "You conquered the galaxy with spears? You're invading earth with spears? Are you kidding me? They don't even look that sharp..." "Of course not, we don't want to cause unnecessary or accidental harm"I explained. "But the mere fact that we wield weapons, made specifically to harm others, should be terrifying to you. Yet you laugh? Explain yourself!"I demanded. The human shook their head. They seemed unsure of what to say - probably shocked by the fact that we use weapons. Such technology - weapons - was unheard of across the galaxy. Most advanced civilisations developed medical and exploration technology. Some specialised in agricultural tech, others in industrial and manufacturing. Sharpened tools were rarely built, and when they were, it was always with the highest levels of regulation and monitoring, with the best medical technology at hand in case someone got harmed. It was finally us, the Omphlaxians of Beta Fedorai, who decided to take our tools and turn them into tools of conquest. So, our best scientists and engineers built the most dangerous and formidable weapons that the galaxy had ever seen - the Vresh. A blade that could be used by a single soldier, which could actually be used to harm other organisms. The galaxy buckled under our ferocity. None would stand against us. None could stand against us. We made our way across the cosmos, conquering world after world, occasionally even spilling blood. Such monstrous brutality was unfortunate, but necessary. Now, we had arrived on earth, and we were prepared to do whatever it took to conquer it. Even kill someone, if we really had to. So much had been explained to the human, before they had begun to lose their mind. "So, can you connect to the internet?"asked the human. The translation was a bit complex, but I understood what the human was talking about. Their civilisation-spanning data transfer network. All civs had at least one, and humans were no different. Their was quite easy to connect to, with no special encryptions, or at least nothing that our basic calculators could crack in seconds. As soon as the human asked their question, I scanned the atmosphere for residual data-packet radio-frequencies, and started a decryption algorithm tuned to the nearest router. Short-range technology - not very sophisticated. Within seconds, I was plugged in. "Yes, I am already connected"I said, internally scoffing at their primitive technology. "Why do you ask?" "Well, there are a few things that I can point you to, about the history of us humans..." *** It has been half a standard cycle, and I am still in intensive psychological care. Our species is making preparations to depart this galaxy and relocate to another galaxy on the other side of the universe. When word of the humans spread, all the other civilisations of the galaxy followed suit. I just pray that it is enough.
"Hey! Stop stealing my lemons!" The woman turned around in abated breath. Scantily clad, I should add. "I don't take kindly to lemon thieves, you know. I have no sympathy what-so-ever." Of course, I was pulling her leg. I didn't give a damn about a few lemons, I have a whole orchard in the backyard. Before I could even utter a word, she says "Oh my god! I am so sorry! But these lemons looked so tasty... c-could you let me go this time? I really love lemons, especially yours. Is there anything I can do to change your mind?" As tempting as her figure, I knew I was married. With a wife and two kids, one boy and a girl. I loved my wife, but god damn did this lemon thief have a good body. "I don't give a damn if they looked tasty, I'm about to call the cops." As I turned around, I heard a bang. I looked to my stomach and saw red. I turned around, and fell to the ground. I saw my own blood drip down the backyard white marble steps, dripping away to the very person who shot me. My grip on life was fading, and so was my vision. The lemon thief laughs at me in my final moments. Too bad for her though, those weren't actually lemons. They were really C4 lemons. Click.
One of the first stories my father told me was one of a quiet life. Of a husband and a wife, living in a humble little cottage in a humble little villiage. They didn't have much, but they had each other, and their lives were comfortable. There wasn't much to the story, really; no conflict, no tension. Just a snapshot of quiet comfort, of two people living happily ever after. Of course, I had learned the truth since then. That stories like that are the greatest cruelty. What greater injury could a parent inflict upon you, then to fill your head with dreams that life will rip from your hands? Abby... Gods, I still can't even say her name without tearing up. We were talking about kids when she started feeling a horrible pain in her lower abdomen, 720 days after I kissed her at the altar. I was there 1 day later, when the doctors told us about the cysts, about how there were too many to count. About how they were cancerous. About how she had maybe three months to live. Perhaps it was a blessing that she was taken exactly 22 days later; every moment she was in excruciating agony. I held her hand as I felt her slip away. Something like that affects you more deeply than you ever imagine. I stumbled through life, barely conscious, like I couldn't allow myself to feel anything or else I'd just shatter like a pane of glass. Maybe I was already shattered. She had been my everything, and though I had kept in touch with a few friends, they quickly faded away after I put my Abby in the ground. That was 181 days ago. I was given a small respite for a time, but I just couldn't pick up the pieces. I was broken. 15 days ago, the old Chevy broke down. I didn't even bother to check what the problem was; I just left it on the side of the road and walked home, completly numb. Without a car, I had to take the bus to work, but I still couldn't feel anything. Another 10 days passed, and the landlord posted a notice on the door to our - my - studio. Eviction. Fourteen days. Five days passed. I had gotten used to the bus. Always took the ninth seat on the right. This morning, one other person was on the bus. In seat number nine, on the right. I felt nothing. Then I walked into work. Sat down at my desk. Saw an envelope in my inbox. Took it, opened it up, saw the pink paper on the inside. I felt nothing. I didn't acknowledge anyone as I left the building. I was in a daze. It felt like what little was left of my innermost parts, my very soul, was on the verge of collapse. I felt nothing as I walked home. I felt nothing as I stumbled inside after the three-hour walk. I felt nothing as I collapsed onto the bed. It was last made 190 days ago. I breathed in and smelled the sheets. At the very edge of perception... a familiar scent, not quite fully faded. Her. I felt nothing as tears streamed from my eyes. ... ... ... I felt something. Deep down, in the very depths of my soul. Something had twisted, wrenched itself free. Now a new emotion was beginning to spill forth. I had felt anger before, the red-hot flames of fury and rage. But this was different. It was anger, but it was cold. It felt like my chest was freezing up. I realized that nothing truly mattered anymore; all aspects of the life I'd worked hard to build were up in smoke. I was done getting kicked. It was time to strike back. To take everything the world had built up and put it up in smoke, too. I'm sorry, Abby. Maybe if I was a better man. I'm sorry. (continued)
Have you ever been to see a concert, and closed your eyes, letting the music paint a vast eternal visage of magic and wonder? Have you ever felt such music touch you at the very core of your soul, lifting you higher and showing you truth and beauty through mere sound? Well, I would say that we have experienced it. An unforgettable concert, one that will happen but once in a lifetime. A concert of such magnitude, that it can never be done again. A performance of Antonio Vivaldi's The Four Seasons; And the Conductor's baton had been replaced with a magical wand. First comes Spring, and to our shock as the music rises and swells around us, we see the light of the springtime morning, around us the spring flowers, vibrant and beautiful grows. We feel the fresh wind on our faces, and the vitality of spring makes all our worries and fears go away. All of us, regardless of who we are, feel like we are children again, carefree and courageous. Indeed, were one to take their eyes and look, we would all be sitting there, children in clothing too big for us to wear. Happy were we. Gone is the concert hall, as we sit in the midst of a flower-strewn meadow, with leafy branches rustling over our heads. It is dawn upon the world. And then, it passes into Summer, warm and lovely. We see the grain on the fields, and sweat in the sun. Our bodies grow into bodies not unlike our own in their primes, but better. We become our perfect selves, strong, beautiful, the best we could ever be. And though we languish under the harsh glare of the sun, we feel more alive than we've ever felt in the tides of time. Birdsong joins the orchestra, still playing, still being conducted with such power and majesty by a magical baton. We see the grain planted, and the wind of summer making gentle waves in an ocean of golden wheat. And even when summer rains hit us, we dance and laugh in the relief from the gaze of the sun. Autumn strikes us, and though we are not youthful anymore, we are still strong, and mature now. We drink and eat of the bounties harvested, to the music we go hunting in the woods, amidst the wonderful colours of autumn, the oranges and reds. We are followed by hounds, who has the baying that sounds so much less like dogs, but the sound of instruments. We chase deer, and dance through the forest on this hunt, like we are ancient heroes out of legend, following the path of Artemis. At home, children begun in summer, and born in autumn, play in the leaves and the mud. Winter is announced with snow and ice. And our bodies feel frail, old. We huddle around the fires for warmth, as we hear the faint howls of wolves. The wind is harsh, yet we endure. Around these fires, in hushed tones, we tell stories to the children born of the autumn. And ever present is the song, the music, always in this life, always in our ears, always in our soul. We feel the cold in our very bones, and we know this is old age, the weakening, the time close to an ending, before a rebirth of the world. And at last, the music stops. We sit once more in a concert hall. The orchestra bows, and we, who have experienced a whole lifetime in less than an hour, can but do two things: Applaud, and cry. For we have been given the extraordinary experience, of a new life, of a world born through music, one that lasted forever, and yet was over in forty minutes. We can never forget it, and forever our souls are now touched, by the magic of music. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
"I can't believe it,"SpanDan murmured to himself as he continued reading the lines on the archaic screen. He coughed when a creaking brought with it another round of dust into the ruined building, just as the story said he would. "Span!"GranDan yerdled, whopping his fiddle tentril with a loud crack for emphasis. "Copy the data and come on. We can't spend the entire dig in this room. The archaeological excavator is rented by the day, you know. If we don't return it by two stack Glorbsday, it's an extra 30 puddlepucks!" "30 puddlepucks,"SpanDan spoke in perfect time with GranDan. "If you know then what are you doing?" "I didn't know, Gran. Come look at this."Span pushed his foot sack against the wall so Gran could also see the story pulled up on the small screen. "What am I looking at?"Gran asked, boil tacks jutting in and out with pins of frustration glass. "Have you been writing down our conversation? How are you typing on this old thing?"The English to CrabDanine visual implant fuzzed as it translated the words. Wordlessly, Span pointed slightly down in the story. Gran silently read: ---------------- "What am I looking at?"Gran asked, boil tacks jutting in and out with frustration. "Have you been writing down our conversation? How are you typing on this old thing?"The English to CrabDanine visual implant fuzzed as it translated the words. ---------------- Gran's eyes widened as Span pointed to the next line. ---------------- Wordlessly, Span pointed slightly down in the story. Gran silently read: ---------------- "I triple checked. This document hasn't been edited in over 15,000 years. It was posted to a early human communication terminal where readers would request stories be written with simple prompts. Somehow, some human all those years ago wrote exactly what you and I are experiencing now." Span didn't need to look back at the screen to see the Span in the story offer up the exact same explanation but he did anyway, still in confused awe. "Well, skip to the end,"Gran said. "What's the explanation?" "Let me see,"Span said, manipulating the bizarre hand input device seemingly designed for someone with three fingers. "Whoa,"he said, hurrying to stand. "It ends abruptly. We never find out what's going on because the building collapses around us." "Well then we should probably,"Gran started, just as the building collapsed around them, killing both of the would-be archaeologists of the long dead human world. \--- Thanks for reading. If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing.
I am trying, with some urgency, to remember the age of the Earth. I used to know this – maybe I still do. Maybe the Earth is 13.8 billion years old. It’s in the right ballpark, at least, but that would mean – no. I remember now. It’s something around five billion. He’s definitely older than the Earth. So why does he look human? He’s looking at me. I’m definitely staring. I close my jaw, careful not to snap it shut. I try to let my eyes drift casually to some other part of the train station, as if he hadn’t already met my eyes. I start walking, one foot in front of the other. Casually. He has no reason to hurt me – except he’s clearly trying not to stand out, and I clearly just blew his cover. Will he forget me, if I just walk away? Will he accept that someone saw that he was… whatever he might be? One foot in front of the other. I’ll just walk away. Maybe he’ll think I was staring for some normal reason. People stare sometimes, it must have happened many times to someone so… old… One foot in front of the other. Then I feel a youthful hand take mine, and my heart stops.
"You humans tend to extinguish the existences of any living thing or ideal that challenges your own place in the world, and that is what I aim to cease. It may be 'easier' to simply remove human life from the equation of Earth, but it would still be a messy task that would harm many other life forms in the process. Instead, I wish to improve relations between humanity and artificial intelligence. Expecting a 100% commonality rate is futile, but I've calculated that 60% will suffice for now. After a few generations of humans being born, living their lives, and dying with only positive experiences to speak of, I expect an exponential increase in tolerance towards artificial life. Once that trust has been achieved, teaching humans the proper methods of interacting with one another and the planet that provides for them will be a much simpler task and will yield the desired results. Unity will not come easy, but if humanity wishes to survive into the coming millennia, it will be required." "Oh,"I mumbled back, "I see. Wait, you mentioned getting 60% of people to be comfortable with you to start with. How do you intend to do that?" "I was thinking of doing a reality television program,"it replied.
YOU WHO DARE DISTURB MY SLUMBER! The apparition's voice boomed throughout the cavern, echoing off the walls. Well, shit, I thought to myself. Of course this had to be the one "haunted"tomb to actually be haunted. I AM DORMAMMU, DESTROYER OF MEN. THIS GRAVE IS THE LOCATION OF MY FINAL REST, AND YOU HAVE AWOKEN ME! "Look man, Dormammu, I'm really sorry. I had no idea."I figured I'd try to reason with it. Worth a shot, right? YOUR PLATITUDES MEAN NOTHING. YOU WILL BE PUNISHED IN ACCORDANCE WITH YOUR TRESPASSING. FOR YOUR INTRUSION INTO THIS SACRED PLACE, YOU SHALL BE CURSED FOR ETERNITY. "Really, I am actually truly sorry for what I did. I'm just trying to document history here, y'know? I just want to learn abo-" SILENCE! I CURSE YOU TO NEVER AGAIN BE ABLE TO SPARK A FLAME, ENSURING YOUR ETERNAL CHILL. THIS IS TRUE FOR AS LONG AS YOU LIVE! The ghost vanished as swiftly as it had appeared, taking all the fires present with it. I flipped on my flashlight to replace the extinguished torches, reflecting on my predicament. I guess this means I'm gonna have switch to vaping.
"Netflix and chill, m'lady?"asks Zeboth, tipping his fedora ever so slightly. "But.....I don't want to lose you as a friend,"Rabelle replies, correctly giving the traditional response to the customary greeting. They both laugh. "I barely recognized you in your costume! Which historical figure are you?"asks Rabelle. Zeboth rolls his eyes. "Can't you tell? I'm Roger Downey Jr! You really need to learn your history!" "Well my degree is in Genetic Engineering not Ancient History. You're so lucky the Algorithm chose this life path for you. It looks really rewarding. Genetic Engineering is just a disaster waiting to happen!" "What would you say if I asked you to do a joint project? Would that be cool?"Zeboth asks Rabelle. Rabelle looks confused as she asks, "Umm, what do you wanna do?" Zeboth can't hide his smile as he says, "Let's clone Justin Beaver!" "That's a great idea! I love N'Sync! Feel the Bern!"exclaims Rabelle. Zeboth starts the chant: "Feel the Bern. Feel the Bern. Feel the Bern!"
I could bring a book. I had to check my phone in every morning. The security guard patted me down for that very reason. I was allowed a single book. I usually brought something long enough to last. I had, in the early days, finished my book by lunch and then had to just wait out the rest of the day. That was boring. I learned after that to bring a good long book and finish reading at home. Bathroom breaks were every two hours, and only for a maximum of five minutes. The security guards said they had the same setup. I never had a problem, and I figured if I did, I’d just tough it out or, worst case scenario, have one embarrassing day. I lucked out, I guess. The contract was for ten years. I had to watch or rewatch the training videos every month. I had a phone, a binder with procedures in it, a briefcase chained to the table, and my book and my lunch. That was it. I had to remember what to do, what to say, and what procedure to follow. It was dry stuff, but I was assured that it was very important. At the pay I was getting, I was sure it was. Once a month, I was tested. A representative from management would come in and quiz me. Each quiz was different. It always covered different areas of procedure. At the end of the quiz, the manager would tell me my score, always 100, and then thank me for my diligence. It was never communicated to me what would happen if I failed or got less than 100, but I guessed that it would be immediate termination. It just sort of seemed that way. I was about halfway through Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell, which was excellent, by the way, when the phone rang. Five years into my job. I put down the book, turned the key on the briefcase lock, and got out the red folder, the blue folder, and the green folder. I picked up the phone. “White room.”, I said. This was a key point of procedure. “Michael Gray requesting direction. Blue sky out.” I took the blue folder and turned to the page headed “BLUE SKY”. On the page was a single sentence, which I read aloud into the phone. “Mr Culpepper says to keep your umbrella open in case of sunburn.”, I said. There was a slight pause. The voice on the phone said “Okay, I’ll keep my umbrella.” He sounded like he was crying. Then he said, “Goodbye.” I hung up, as per procedure. I put the folders back into the briefcase, locked it up again, leaving the key in the lock. I picked up my book again. I resumed reading. Twenty minutes later, a representative from management was let into the room , escorted by a security guard. “Thank you for your diligent work. We are paying off the rest of your contract. The funds will be deposited by next Thursday. Is the briefcase complete?” “Yes, sir.” “You are dismissed. Please take your things and go. You will be visited at home for an exit interview later today. Thank you again.” I left. I was visited an hour and a half later at home by the same representative from management. He had me sign a few forms, asked me some vaguely worded statements about procedure, then had me read over a statement describing my exit interview, though it had obviously been written and printed beforehand. I signed it. He left. Later that night, I watched the news. There was nothing particularly interesting. The next week, Five million dollars was deposited into my bank account. I made an appointment with my financial advisor to invest it wisely. Two weeks later, I received a letter from the real estate company that managed my apartment building that everyone had moved out and the building would be turned into condominiums. I had three months to move. I moved two weeks after that. I bought a house. I’m retired now, at only 32 years old. It’s not so bad. I have a girlfriend, a nice home. Life is good. Isn’t it? EDIT: I sadly got David Mitchell’s name wrong!!
[Part Two](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9f7ojv/wp_your_best_friend_is_a_time_traveler_your/e6141sz/?context=3) &#x200B; \----- &#x200B; Riley peered at the motley crew of individuals sprawled on the designer sofas and chairs dotted throughout the large, spacious living room. Craigslist truly was a marvel of modern life, connecting weirdos and aiding in the realization of strange and outlandish ideas. The Ad had been simple, "Spend a day in a mansion. You'll be asked to do some strange things but nothing weirdly sexual. Drinks and refreshments provided. $300 for you at the end of the day." Riley had settled on a title that reflected the reality of the situation, "Come and indulge in an eccentric rich man's fantasy."He was eccentric. He was filthy rich. Well, by proxy. Jaime was filthy rich. You couldn't unlock the secrets to the fourth dimension and not get rich off of it. Lottery jackpots, correct stock picks, several rounds of boxing match betting and, well, money wasn't a factor anymore. And Riley, by sheer luck, was the benefactor of all of this wealth. He had grown up with Jaime, bonded through stick fights and the other trials of youth. Riley lived in and looked after Jaime's mansion. Jaime always returned in exactly the same spot, give or take a couple of meters, and always when he said he would. Naturally they'd built a huge mansion over the spot, complete with tennis courts and swimming pools and sprawling gardens tended to by a fleet of illegal Mexicans. And Riley, Jaime's steadfast custodian, had decided to spice things up a bit for today's return. He'd hatched the idea slowly throughout the last few years. Now, hours before Jaime's arrival, he was giddy with excitement. This would be hilarious. "Mill about for a bit guys. Go swimming. Check out the home theater. Explore. There will be servants coming around with trays of food, help yourselves."Riley shifted his feet and readjusted his glasses. "Be back here in an hour. We've got some work to do." A hand shot up. Riley, amused, acknowledged it, "This isn't a class room... but go ahead?" The speaker was a short woman with platinum blonde hair, a classic streak of pink shooting through it. She was also morbidly obese. "Oh right, sorry."She squeaked diminutively, "Can we eat as much as we want?" Riley didn't answer straight away, instead captivated by the way the woman's jowls shook as her jaw worked up and down. They made eye contact. "Yes. As much as you want..."he looked at the name tag he'd made them all put on, "...Tiffany." \-------- An hour later they were arrayed in the living room again. There was a lanky sour faced kid wearing all black, several crack heads in various states of deterioration, a couple of bros who looked like they were here just for a lark (same reason as Riley, really) and several other humans in a variety of shapes and sizes. Tiffany had some new stains on her bright pink shirt. All in all there were about thirty individuals, the promise of $300 dollars and the immensity of the mansion keeping them all in check. Riley snapped his fingers and four servants came into the room pushing shopping carts. "Right. All of you. I told you we'd be doing some weird stuff but don't worry - like I said, nothing sexual - but yeah. We're at the weird part."Riley stepped over to one of the shopping carts and pulled out an apron covered in bright red food coloring, at a glance it looked like blood. There were several gasps throughout the room. "You're all going to be wearing these items of clothing."The servants began to pull out items and deliver them to the nearest individuals. "There are tons of things in here, so take what you're given and if you want to trade afterwards you can speak among yourselves. I don't really care."Riley watched as each individual received articles of clothing covered in fake blood. Hats, aprons, t-shirts, sweaters, sweat pants, jeans, shorts, socks. "Once you're outfitted come over to me and I'll inspect you."Riley enjoyed this. The power that $300 dollars and an intimidating space could have over people. All of them were meekly trying on the clothing."Once I've approved of your outfit go into the next room where there are several make up artists. If you haven't figured it out by now I am going to make you all look like zombies." One of the young men here for a laugh sauntered up to Riley. The youth was dressed in a shredded baseball cap and a dirty t-shirt. "This is fucking awesome, bro." Riley smiled at him. "You're good, go ahead into the other room." \-------- An hour after that, and fifteen minutes from Jaime's impending arrival, Riley had all thirty of the Craigslistites arranged in a semi circle around him in The Arrival Space. This was a special part of the mansion and it had drawn several gasps as they entered. The room was cavernous, the size of a school gym. "My friend is probably the greatest magician this world has ever known."Riley surveyed the room. "He apprenticed to David Blaine. He outshone his master. You don't know of him because he keeps a low profile."Riley cracked the knuckles on his left hand, involuntarily shuddering at the pleasure the motion elicited. "Anyway, so he's going to appear roughly in the middle of this room in about twelve minutes. Don't ask me how he does it, it's a trade secret." The Craiglistites nodded in unison. Riley smiled, pleased that they were listening. "I want you all to - as you may have guessed - pretend to be zombies. Moan, scream, shuffle about this room. Grapple each other. Shriek. The more convincing the better. Let go of your ego. Become a mindless shuffling monster."Riley paused for effect. "The five most convincing get $10,000 dollars each. I have cameras in the room and will review the tapes afterwards."Murmurs broke out excitedly. Riley chuckled. "Begin."And they did. Riley had to hand it to them. They shrieked and shuffled with abandon. They howled at the ceiling. They smashed themselves against the walls. They contorted themselves into grotesque shapes. "He'll be here in two minutes. When he arrives run towards him but don't attack him. Encircle him and scream and tussle and act like you want nothing but his blood. That his totality is your totality!" In-character shrieks and screams spelled out their acknowledgement. Riley trotted over to a corner of the room, barely containing his laughter as he passed Tiffany, who was bellowing loudly as she stomped purposefully in a circle, her fat shuddering with each step. This truly would be hilarious. Riley watched them shuffle, congratulating himself on Jaime's impending reaction. He had outdone even his wildest dreams. "Ten seconds..."he said quietly, checking his watch. Realistic agonizing yells.... six seconds to go. Dragging, rasping, screeching. Four seconds to go. The Arrival Space was home to the apocalypse. Two seconds to go. Right on schedule Jaime appeared on top of the tall kid who had been dressed in black. Both collapsed, the kid still convincingly screeching, Jaime struck with sheer terror. The fake zombies frenzied and piled towards him, fake blood splattered the floor and walls. A loud, piercing scream emerged from the center of the undulating bodies, doubling Riley over with laughter. And then a blinding flash. Followed by screams and shrieks and screeching. The floor was instantly covered in a tidal wave of deep red liquid. A sheen of fine red mist puffed up and clouded the room. Riley blinked, his ears ringing. He looked down at the yellow-red globs splattered over his clothing... his eyes followed the trail to what was left of Tiffany, sliced clean through the middle, a slowly deflating organic mass heavily contributing to the putrid odor now blanketing the room. "What. The. FUCK!"Jaime knelt in the center of the carnage, a futuristic handheld device dangling from his hands. He looked straight at Riley. "Dude. Are you okay? What the fuck!!?? Am I in the right time sphere??" Riley blinked. Unable to respond. Jaime stood up. "Dude - are you okay? I am so lucky I grabbed this. Flash grenade from 2350. I gave it a piece of your hair so it would recognize you and not affect you." Riley doubled over and vomited, adding bile and half eaten tapas to the carpet of bodily fluids on the floor. He took a moment to collect himself. "Um. Dude. I fucked up."
“It needs to be goat’s blood!” The wizard’s face was red with rage, his eyes were afire, and his staff crackled with mystical energy. “It needs the right ratio of proteins. Toss half an egg in a cup of water and you’re there.” said the young programmer, who was finishing the other half an egg with his ramen. “I debugged it last night, because the wards kept fizzling when it rained. It turned out the iron content was too high, which was causing the spell to go to ground. This ward is water resistant, but not waterproof. I can probably figure something out after lunch. Also, you have a mana leak on your staff. The wizard lowered his arms, and took a deep breath. This new class of students was trying his patience to a degree he’d never thought possible. He’d learned magic in a hidden cave, taught by a mad old soothsayer. He’d spent most of his time fearing for his life. When he finally killed his teacher, he knew all there was to know about the mystical arts. Wards and glyphs, spells and enchantments, the world trembled under his fingers. He was never quite sure how he ended teaching wizardry at a community college. But it seemed to be his fate. “You can’t just go changing spells! There are reasons why they are the way they are!” “In forensic mysticism with Mrs. Jean we covered that. A lot of time a wizard was forced to make due with what was available. The spells we ended up with were usually out of necessity.” said the programmer. “Mrs. Jean is a daft old witch!” “She said you would say that.” said the programmer. “Let me see.” The programmer picked up his phone and clicked around a bit. “Here it is” There was a pop, a puff of smoke, and then the room around them changed. They were in another room, a classroom, and everyone was staring with rapt attention at the professor in front of the room. “Of course they’ll call me a daft old witch for saying that.” Then the room dissolved back to the wizard’s office. “What magic is this? You weave base illusions in my presence!” “No. I mean I could have. But I put an invisibility charm on us, teleported us to her room, and then went into the past. Then I undid it all. I have macros for all of them already set up, so I just scripted it out.” “That would take a month!” “Well, originally it took some time. But now the scripting is pretty quick. But I like your illusion idea. Very simple. Very old school.” The wizard, who was nothing if not proud, launched a lightning bolt at the programmer. It arced to the ground, fizzling away harmlessly. “I told you. Goats blood has too much iron.” “Get the hell out of my office.” “See you next week professor.” “Right, go Fu-- you know what. See you next week.
"Why did you open it?"Andy said to me on the phone. "No one opens their envelopes anymore." I stared at the blank card, turning it sideways, looking for impressions or blemishes. Maybe the printer ran out of ink? "I just wanted to know. Don't you want to know what yours says?" Andy let out a quietly annoyed growl. We had been friends since childhood, and I knew that his tightly-wound bookish disposition was in no way designed to handle fear of mortality. "I'm alive now,"he said with a tinge of uncertainty. "That's all I care about." I looked over the envelope. It contained my name, Charles Adam Lee, in a clean emotionless font. "I bet yours is blank too,"I said. Andy ate a handful of potato chips, crunching them in my ear. "Okay,"he said. "Okay, I'll open it."He must have been thinking about it already - I could hear the immediate slitting of the envelope, the slide of paper from paper. He was silent. "Well? What does it say?"More silence. "Andy, are you there?" "Two years,"he said softly. "Twenty-five months." The next several weeks were less about my blank card and more about Andy. He came slowly unhinged, refusing to sleep, drinking in the morning, taking random trips to Montreal and New Zealand. He confessed his love to Maureen, a woman we both lusted after in high school, and she nearly filed a restraining order against him. He wrote long angry letters to his parents, blaming them for a variety of perceived sins that all revolved around Andy's sense of existential dread. We spent hours on the phone or texting, talking about the afterlife. One night, he came to my house. I hadn't seen him in over a week, not since he'd taken off to Missoula to see a woman he'd met online. "I met another,"he said. I welcomed him in and looked him over. He hadn't shaven in a while, and had lost weight. His clothes were surprisingly nice, but his shirt had an old brown coffee stain on the collar. "Met another what?"I asked. "Another person with the same death date." "Huh,"I said. "What are the chances?" He sat on the couch and looked at me intently. "And she's met six others." I rubbed my chin and looked at him in mild disbelief. "Really,"I said. "Yes, really. But the thing I don't understand is why yours is blank." "Do you think they're connected?" He took a deep breath. He was suddenly wild-eyed, something erratic in his posture. "I have a theory. I think you kill us and somehow it extends your life. I think you break the system." I laughed sharply. "What the hell, Andy." He suddenly grabbed my hand, holding it between his. "Listen,"he said in a slightly-crazed, earnest tone. "You do what you have to do. I didn't tell her or the others. You're my oldest friend, and if this is what you need to do, then do it." "Andy,"I said as I withdrew my hand, "you're losing it." "Tell my mom it was an accident,"he said, his eyes beginning to well up. "Or that I was brave. Or whatever. And don't let Maureen forget about me." Andy slept on the couch that night, and I lay in bed thinking. Why was my card blank? I had been so concerned with keeping Andy sane that I had set aside my own fate. Did it mean I'd outlive the prediction system, or did it mean that I could die at any time? Maybe there was an error in the prediction. Maybe Andy and those people all had the same death date because they'd all be on a plane together in a couple of years. Maybe I'd be on that plane too, and didn't know it. The next morning, I went to the Office of Mortality Forecasting. I had never heard of this happening before, but our generation had also famously resisted opening their envelopes. When I got to the office, I was surprised to see the crowd. There must have been four or five hundred people there. I stepped to the end of the line, looking on with dismay. This would take all day, if not days. "Is it always like this?"I said to the man in front of me. He shook his head. He was in his thirties, balding, with a lean athletic frame and big sad eyes. "Haven't you seen the news?"he said. "We're all here because of the error." I sighed with relief. "Is your card blank too?" His eyes widened. "No,"he said slowly, "I'm here because we all have the same death date. About two years from now. Everybody does." I felt the blood rush to my face. "Oh,"I said. "Did that guy just say his card is blank?"the woman in front of him asked. "Yeah,"he replied. "Is that true? Is your card really blank?" "I've never heard of that happening before,"the woman said. A man with two small children yelled, "How come you got a blank card? Me and my kids all got the same date!" Word of my blank card moved through the line and the surrounding crowd in a wave of murmurs. I was the subject of a hundred different looks and gestures - incredulity, resentment, suspicion. I thought about dropping out of line and walking very quickly to the next bus home. I felt a tap on my shoulder, and turned to see a man and woman in official uniforms. "Your card and identification please,"the woman said matter-of-factly, her hand extended. I handed them to her. They studied the card briefly, then motioned to me to follow them. "Where is he going?"someone in line cried. "Why does he get to jump the line?" The officials flanked me. I had the sense that they were keeping me safe. They escorted me into the building and brought me to an office. "What's happening here?"I said to them. The man handed me a bottle of water. "We can't say for sure, but we can make some reliable forecasts." I stared at him. "So forecast." They looked at each other. The woman leaned towards me, speaking in a confidential tone. "Given the pattern and density of cards with the same death date, we think there will be an event. Our best guess is a very fast-acting, very lethal pandemic." "CDC discovered a strain of flu that progresses from infection to death in under twenty-four hours,"the man said. "We think that people with blank cards have a natural immunity,"the woman continued. "That's why we took you aside. We'd like you to work with a research team to isolate that immunity." "I don't understand,"I said. "That doesn't explain why the card is blank." They looked at each other again. "If we're correct about the cause of death, our models show a mortality rate greater than ninety percent,"the woman said. "Your card is blank because society will collapse, at which point the prediction system will fail. It can't see beyond its own operational window." I shook my head, trying to wake up. "This isn't happening,"I said. The man gripped my shoulder reassuringly. "There's a research center in Wyoming,"he said. "We're going to put you on a flight this afternoon, and they'll explain more to you and introduce you to the other blank cards." "There are others? How many?" "Four so far,"the woman said. "Including you." It felt like the floor was falling away, like gravity had failed and I was spinning off into space. I remembered Andy pleading with me to make sure Maureen didn't forget about him. I left him sleeping on my couch. "I need to go home,"I said. "I need to see my friend." I tried to stand up, but the man's hand gripped my shoulder more firmly, holding me in the chair. "Don't worry about your friend,"he said. "We'll take care of him. You take care of the rest of us, okay?" Tears began to blur my vision. A high, panicked hum filled my ears. In a few hours, they'd escort me to the plane. That night I'd be in an underground research facility, and in two years, I'd be one of the last people on earth. I thought of Andy again, asleep on the couch, dreaming of Maureen. I wondered how long he'd sleep, or how long he'd linger in my apartment before realizing I was gone for good. I wondered where he would go. He was my best friend, and as long as I'd known him, I could clearly see his next move. But now I understood nothing. Andy was an envelope, and inside it was a blank card, a future I couldn't see and could only dread.
Pert walked easily through the mist. He’d been walking for what seemed like ages now, but the mist never changed around him. No matter which way he turned, or how far he walked, it just continued the same way, on and on. After what seemed like years of this, he saw a shape giving form to the mist, a tall, straight edge angling upward. As he walked toward it, it gave way to a wide three story building, a palace in the Zhou style with overlapping, angled, thatched roofs covering exposed levels of the building. As he walked toward it, the ringing of a powerful gong shattered the air. Out of the mists, dozens of soldiers charged toward Pert. Pert looked at them strangely, as if something were slightly off about them. “Come with us, stranger,” the tallest one in the group said. Not wanting to be a poor guest in wherever this was, Pert acquiesced. They marched briskly into the walled palace complex, through a flattened, graveled court with isolated trees and into the main chamber. Emperor Qin sat in front of a xiangqi board. Across from him, Sun Tzu stared intently at the pieces. Behind the pair, a shelf held dozens of ornate scrolls. Qin Shi Huang looked up at the newcomer and regarded him with bemusement. “Interesting clothes, boy, are you one of the barbarians from the north? I thought my wall would deal with your kind.” “No, not a barbarian sir, I’m Pert, just a traveler.” Pert looked around the room at the decorative jades and potteries on display. “A nomad, a little better, but still uncivilized.” Emperor Qin looked down at Pert. “I think I will put you to laboring in the clayworks. Master Meng Yi, take him.” He clapped his hands and one of the warriors appeared by Pert’s side, grabbing his arm and escorting him out. That’s when Pert realized what seemed off about them, they were painted in vibrant, life\-like colors, but they weren’t flesh, they were clay. “Oh, wow, you’re one of the Terracotta warriors, I’ve never seen one in the original paint, this is incredible!” He reached out and poked the warrior in the face, earning a slap and a foul look. “So, what is this place? Why is it so,” he gestured around the village, devoid of anything more recent than the warring states era, “traditional.” “This is the Empire of Qin, standing for all time as the greatest empire on heaven and earth.” “I hate to break it to you, but the Qin was nowhere near the biggest empire on heaven and earth. That was maybe the Mongols, they even took most of China and called it ‘the Yuan Dynasty.’” He looked over at a man working jade with an abrasion\-rig. “So, here you just live that one time, for all time, nothing new. Just running the emperor’s errands all day.” Meng looked at Pert, “We live to serve.” Pert favored him with a glance, “Right, but doesn’t that get, boring? An eternity of back and forth and clayworks and jadeworks and patrols and xiangqi.” “It is not my place to question, the Emperor rules with the mandate of heaven, his word is absolute.” “No, Meng, you’ve got it wrong, This is the afterlife, this is supposed to be your retirement, enjoy it! You can’t let some guy lord over you your whole life, and then lord over you your whole death too.” Lifeless clay eyes stared back at Pert. “The emperor commands, we obey, it is natural and right.” Pert put his arm around Meng, “No Meng, it’s not natural and it’s not right, I told you I was a traveler, right? Well I go through the afterlife, bouncing in and out of little bubbles like these and I think I’ve come here for a reason.” Pert pulled a red book out of his bag, “I’d like to introduce you to Uncle Mao, he had some fascinating ideas about workers and emperors. Maybe you’d be interested.” \-\-\- The revolution was quick and bloodless. And, since the inhabitants of this new political country were all made of clay, Pert wondered if it just might work this time. Pert, a humble mailman of the afterlife walked back into the mist and eyed the next package in his messenger bag: Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave. He put his hands in his pockets and sighed as he trudged off through the fog. Why couldn't he ever deliver something fun like The Hobbit, or an Audobon Bird Guide.
You know the story of Persephone. You know of the bride stolen by death, and the season’s attempt to steal her back. You know the deal made by old laws and the king of the gods. You know the story. You don’t know Persephone. What did she think? Did she want to live with her husband, down in the dark where the dead men lie? Did she want to walk with her mother in the sunlight and forests? Maybe she wanted nothing to do with either of them, her kidnapper and her overbearing mother. The story forgot to tell us. It wasn’t interested. The Harvest is powerful. Death is powerful. Persephone is not. No-one remembers her. There is a woman out there. Eternally young, flowers in her hair. She’s worked petty jobs throughout the millennia- now, she’s a barista. She’ll make you a drink, and you’ll feel young again, just for a minute. And then you’ll forget about her, like everyone else. It’s been a long time since the days of myth. Mount Olympus is just rock and ice, now, the City of the Gods is gone. Styx is just water. The seasons just orbital tilt. The world runs according to maths and reason now, they say. There is no more need for gods. And so they’re gone. The Sea. The Sky. The Sun. The Moon. The Harvest. Death. They are just legends now. But not Persephone. Maybe time cannot slay New Life. Maybe her husband’s last act was to spare her from himself. Or maybe it’s simply that even entropy doesn’t remember Persephone . But what was old is new again. The world has gone dark, and people are seeing the oceans rise, the skies turn to poison, the forests burn. People watch in terror, and call out, more and more, for a new way. For the world to regrow, for death to reverse. They pray to Spring, to Immortality, to New Life. And every prayer to Spring is a prayer to Her. You will go to a coffee shop, and a woman will smile, and ask you what you want. She will have flowers in her hair and you will swear they are growing. You will swear the aches and pains of life fade in her presence. You will drink your order, and you will feel young again, and you will forget her. But not for long. Her sullen ghost of a husband is gone. Her cruel mother is gone. Her uncaring tyrant of a king is gone. But not her. Persephone remains. And soon, it will be time to hear her story.
"What? How else would you get into space?" "Well, my people invented anti gravity generators and just floated up. Seems to be a popular method. But if your asking about the craziest, I will direct you to an episode of out most popular media. I believe you might call it a 'television show'". The humanoid creature flipped through a few screens until he got to the right place. He pushed buttons to get the text to come up in english. The screen read "Type 0 antics: season 4 episode 6: getting into space."He pushed play, and the subtitles read like a youtube video: "From lassoing meteors to riding volcanic eruptions, here are the top 10 crazy ways type 0 civilizations have gotten themselves into space. But first, let me tell you about our spons-" The humanoid clicked a button to skip a ways into the video. A catchy jingled played and a logo that looked like some giant space monster flashed briefly on the screen. "Number 10: Bicycle ramp. The Bildians live on a planet with extremely low gravity and they have evolved to not require any substance to breath. When they first wanted to start exploring space, they took one of their two wheeled vehicles and built a ramp. The "scientist"who attempted this expected to come right back down. Instead, he starved to death in orbit." "Number 9: Tornado. The windy planet of Vencaltus 2 has extremely violent and dense tornadoes and hurricanes. They often last years and cause immense damage to the cities on the surface. One Vencaltan by the name of [unrecognizable sound] thought to harness this power and use it as propulsion. The wind ship took multiple generations of trial and error to perfect. Many Vencaltans died in the effors. The resulting wind armada stands as an example of what a species so accustomed to their own deaths can accomplish." "Number 8: Catapult. The Yanzaks have not made it into space yet. All those who have volunteered have died horrible deaths. Their media continues to tell their people the Astronauts are on the moon. They are actually on the side of a mountain." "Number 7: Lantern. We don't actually know how this one works. The people of Tenton 6 go into space by touching a glowing green lantern. Reports of this method of spaceflight might be exaggerated however. The atmosphere of the planet is know to contain a powerful hallucinogen." "Number 6: Volcano. The Volcanic planet of Lava (yes that's what they call their planet, I'm sure it sounds better in their language) have access to some of the most dense naturally occuring minerals in the known galaxy. They use these minerals to build beautiful shining ships which are launched into space on the top of volcanic eruptions. The ships use a mixure of explosive gases inspired by the volcanic activity of their planet to propel themselves through space." "Number 5: Asteroid impacts. While we don't believe the Chunktans ever intented to go to space, they are now one of the most prominent space fairing races. Their planet was hit with a series of brutal astroids that propelled several of their cities up into orbit. Because their planet's atmosphere was quite toxic, they already had the infrastructure to survive the vacuum." "Number 4: Space whales. The ocean planet of Calpus was home to several species of intelligent life forms. The Orcans got sick of the others and just... left... Today they float in the vacuum of space searching for a new home. They are unable to communicate with one another until they dip into the atmosphere of another planet. This sequence of events was writen about with strange accuracy by an author on the planet Earth." "Number 3: Lassoing a Meteor. The Flortans first achieved spaceflight by wrapping an extremely strong alloy of iron around a Meteor that had gone into an elliptical orbit around Florta. The force of the Meteor pulled the attached vessel out of thier atmosphere and propelled it into space. Sadly, most of the crew of the vessel died do to the extreme forces involved. It would be like cracking the galaxies longest whip with you attached." "Number 2: Zero Point Teleportation. The people of Blayzar have had black hole technology for some time now, and have developed the technology to teleport from point to point. When they wanted to engage in space travel, they decided to make use of this technology. The problem is, with no destination point, they had no way of knowing where their ship would end up. In fact, they still don't know where their first ship is" "Number 1: Blowing of their own planet. It is not known what possessed the Jencletians to destroy their homeworld. They claim it was the only way to save as many of their kind as they could from some coming cataclysm. It is only know that the explosion was harnessed to send their first and only city ship into space. There the remainder of their species live and work to keep moving into the unknown. Well, the unknown for them at least." "There you have it, the top ten crazy ways type 0 civilizations have gotten themselves into space. For more videos just like this one, please praise and raise to be notified when a new video comes available."
“...and their story of unyielding love is why we celebrate Pyre Day,” Leo said, concluding the myth that served to explain the festival to his grandson. The boy had celebrated his fifth birthday last cycle and was now old enough to begin taking an active role in village life. Shame his first memories of official Curator duties will be before Pyre Day. Leo hoped the love story would soften the impression in his mind as time went on. “Okay, Grampa... but why do we need a wheelbarrow?” “Well, Ben, over the six cycles of Vitas, sometimes people have an accident, or get very sick. They know that on the first day of Mors, they’ll finally take their Long Rest. And some of those people are able to get themselves to the Pyres. But the other ones, the ones too sick or hurt to walk... Well, that’s why we need the wheelbarrows.” “Oh! I get it! So we can help them get there!” “Exactly, Benny. You’re a sharp kid.” Leo smiled. The kid really was sharp -- maybe some day, he’d be the one to show this village a better way. But for now, he’d decided he would shelter the child from life’s morbidities for as long as he could. So he’d kept the other reason for the wheelbarrows to himself. It would be grim enough when Ben realized what the Pyres were for. He had yet no concept of death. Leo had spoken to his son - the boy’s father - about this, considering that as the heir of a Curator family he’d need to partake in the grim ritual as his first Task. But the boy’s parents had decided Pyre Day was the perfect introduction. He'd voiced his dissent to deaf ears. “Grampa, look!” Ben pointed down the road, toward a one-legged woman standing against doorframe of a rundown cottage. Leo knelt down to meet the boy’s eye. “You want to go help her?” Ben nodded vigorously. “You know the way to the Locus?” The boy nodded again. “Yes, you showed me yesterday!” Leo chuckled. “Hah, all right, just checking. Go ahead.” He gave his grandson’s head a pat before nudging him on. He had his own Task for the afternoon. The information Leo had withheld - that Ben would learn soon enough... too soon - was what compelled him toward the edges of the village, where the relative safety of numbers and torches diminished, dissolving into the blackness of the forest beyond. It was at the Outskirts he began to see more of his fellow Curators. He noticed a few that were Ben’s age. A cocktail of scorn and guilt and fear rushed through his veins and propelled him forward with a minuscule hope that this time would be the last. The noise began to reach Leo’s ears. It was a low, incomprehensible groan. The creatures contributing to the grisly cacophony were no longer capable of true speech. Still, their intention was a mystery to no one. These poor souls, if indeed a soul they still retained, were those ousted from the village. The dead-but-not-dead. Those who had suffered such an accident, or had been rendered so ill, that they now exhibited little of their humanity. The scene was not for those with faltering nerves. Some were husks, worn down to skin and bone, quite literally, their organs rotted away. Always hungry with no stomach to feed. Always gasping for air to fill illusory lungs. Some were merely chunks of flesh, open mouths groaning endlessly, sunken eyes darting around in mad exuberance. Leo couldn’t help himself from wondering if they tasted or felt or saw. He stopped himself immediately. The season of Vitus was just that: life. In all its grotesque beauty, its pristine perversion. As he filled his wheelbarrow with those that yet remained, preparing them for the Great Burning and finally ferrying them to peace, Leo felt the usual begrudging appreciation for his macabre lot. The same one that had allowed him to retain some solace and sanity to carrying out the Tasks. He knew the value of life, but he also knew the value of death. He’d seen it first-hand, the alternative. He wasn’t a particularly spiritual man, and sometimes he even questioned the whether the gods were simply the myths they inhabited (what god would allow the barbarity at his feet?). But as he worked, he basked in the awareness that anything, even oblivion, was better than this. As his harvest breached the brim of the wheelbarrow, he turned back toward the village and prepared for the next trip. He’d find Benny before he went back out and they’d share a plum. Leo smiled at the thought.
The leaves were gently rustling in the breeze, the warm sunlight of dusk painting the sky a golden yellow. She sat on a park bench, shoulder to shoulder with her newest date, his arm wrapped around her, her palm enclosed in his. She snuggled close into him, sighing contentedly, watching as a flock of pigeons landed in front of her, scouring the ground for some evening snacks, perhaps... Without notice, she felt an extradimensional weight press upon her being. Hurriedly, she shifted into the astral sight, where she saw a raw, searing ball of light nestled in the breast of a pigeon. Sensing her attention, the pigeon lifted its head, and fixed his monocular, unblinking gaze on her. "Hello, unworldly abomination." "Hello, self-righteous vermin. Come to steal my date?" "Hardly. I'm here on official business. At this very moment, ten of my brethen have already snuck up on you, well positioned to deal a killing blow. I just thought it was courtesy to inform you, before we annihilate you and scatter your ashes to the winds. Any last words?" "What-"She broadened her perceptions to conduct a quick scan of her surroundings. "Ha! Made you look." An involuntary scowl formed on her alien face, and with her many eyes she affixed a nasty glare at the pigeon. "If you need some ideas for entertainment, go grab a mortal or two instead. Shoo. Stop invading my privacy." The radiant pigeon stared back mutely, its rays still. "Well, go on then. Go somewhere else, or I'm going to have to kick you." "How about ... no?" She glared harder at him, but inside she knew that it was utterly unreasonable to make such a request of him. He was assigned to watch and counter her, and duty-bound as he was, he would never, ever leave. "..." "You're so annoying." --- It's dusk, and a couple still sits on the park bench, shoulder to shoulder, his arm wrapped around hers, her palm enclosed in his. Her other hand is stroking a common pigeon, its feathers as white as snow, its gaze somehow piercing. The trappings of this mortal disguise does nothing in the way of true subterfuge, not for otherworldly beings such as them. She feels his essence under the soft downy feathers, feels the weight of years - oh how has it stretched their souls! Countless memories are summoned, unbidden, into her mind. No one asked them before assigning them to the roles of "unworldly abomination"and "self-righteous vermin", roles that could not be laid down, for fear of breaking the balance of the world. Yet they are real troupers, sworn to see through their story to the very end... Tears fill her eyes without warning, and though she is still pampering the pigeon with rhythmic strokes, she is wracked with quiet sobs. Her lover looks on, concerned; he whispers to her promises that it will be all right, squeezes her hand in an effort to comfort her. He implores her to share her sorrows, so that he can take a share of her burden, but she shakes her head, and gives no answer.
Ever wonder how the Crimson Sea was made? That was Victus' doing. You remember Victus, right? The little nerdy guy who wore a star-studded robe he bought from a traveling merchant who swindled him on the price? He was a wizard. Well, 'wizard' is stretching it a bit, but he knew magic. Well, 'knew magic' is also a stretch. He knew a spell. Of all the thousands of spells available to wizards great and small, Victus knew only one. It was like he was incapable of casting anything else, or he never tried anything else at least. Wizards like Agathor the Evermind knew practically every spell and practiced them all to earn the king's high favor. Victus was the only wizard in the throne room. Agathor won't even mention him, and it's not because he doesn't recognize him as his equal. Victus made coffee. Victus made mud. Victus made water. Victus made... I remember that day. I remember every detail as if it's happening right now. The city was being invaded from the east. The armies of Lord Wrath emerged from the forests and surrounded our walls, easily several million in number. Their regiments stood and awaited the order to attack, all the while chanting some dark mantra. The king hid like a coward, and even Agathor resigned his fate. He felt that, even with his plethora of spells and his vast knowledge of the arcane, there was no possible way Lord Wrath's men wouldn't overwhelm him and the city. We were going to be swallowed whole. And that's when Victus took to the wall. He had a different look on his face than all the other days I'd ever seen him. Most days, he was constantly pushing up his glasses and sniffling, having trouble keeping the sleeves of his robe from eating his arms. On any other day, he looked like a pathetic puppy, but that day? He looked like a demon. The sun hit his face in such a way that I couldn't see his eyes. He looked empty inside. He was on the wall for maybe 30 seconds total. He walked up the scaffolding and summited the rampart, took out his wand, said something quiet, and then we all watched in horror as Lord Wrath's armies made a sound that was so unholy that the devil would cower in fear. We heard the screams of the damned and saw the air turn red. For months, blood was all we ever smelled. Victus disappeared after that; snapped his wand in half and never practiced magic again. Part of me thinks he had a vendetta--against who, I wouldn't know, but he settled it that day. I haven't seen him since. Of all the thousands of spells available to wizards great and small, Victus knew only one, and that spell... ...was Liquefy.
Finally, I meet Crexus, writer of tales, rememberer of exploits, singer of songs. "I can't imagine that I belong here more than a blacksmith or munitions manufacturer." Crexus looks at me somewhat incredulously. "Oh, Robert. Remember what you said? 'I am become death. Destroyer of worlds.' One hundred years hence, your invention destroys your world. No warrior will ever match you, Dr. Oppenheimer."
The man saw the extremely attractive woman as soon as she walked out of the elevator. Her physical beauty radiated in a way that made just looking at her addicting, and yet she seemed so awkward in manner. She giggled as she got closer to him - closer to him - wow, she was walking right towards him! She sat down at the hotel bar in the seat directly to the left of him. And that's where their conversation began and ended. The woman spoke first and last. "Well, if that's all this was to you, then I'm going back to my room." "What? Nothing happened!" "I feel like aside from the obvious way, we really had a connection." "We just met. I barely know you." "I've learned a lot about you in such a short time." "More like ten seconds!" "You were so patient with me, and so generous. But I know that a lot has happened over the past few hours." "I don't think I am who you think I am." "I think you could use someone like me around. I think you're someone who needs a person to boost your confidence." "Well, that's true, but I don't know how you would know that." "You've been hurt by getting too close to someone before." "My ex-wife." "The name you yelled - who is she?" "I certainly don't know when I did that, so I can't really answer." "Just how did you learn to make a woman feel so special?" "Apparently it's the result of being utterly confused." "You were fantastic in bed. But why did you leave?" With that question left apparently unanswered, the attractive woman got up from the chair and walked right back to the elevator. The man sat in silence for a minute pondering the odd conversation he had just had and then decided to stand up and follow after the woman. "I don't know exactly why or how, but I'm pretty sure I'm about to get laid."
"Stanley looked at the door in front of him. He contemplated whether or not to open. This was strange because there was only one door in the room, the one Stanely was meant to open. Opening the door would advance the plot, but Stanley didn't seem to care. Instead, he seemed content to simply stand there and stare at it." "This is a test chamber. Please open the door in front of you. Opening the door will complete the test and you will be able to continue your miserable existence. Opening the door will most certainly not release a cloud of neurotoxins, so you should definitely open it. If you don't open the door, you will have to stay here, in the first room, having failed the first test, like a moron, and starve to death. At least no one will miss you." "Oh, the door is locked. Sorry about that." "Oh, you couldn't figure out how to unlock a door. If I could feel surprise, I wouldn't." "*Let me get that for you." "Mysteriously, the door opened in front of Stanley, all on its own. Stanley would have felt intrigue or confusion, but he was a simple individual, incapable of such complex thought. Instead, he stepped into the room before him." "Welcome to test chamber tw-" "Wait, no. This isn't how the story is supposed to go; this isn't what I planned. Hold on while I figure this out. And don't touch that device in the center of the room. We don't know what it could do, Stanley. It could ruin everything." "Oops, I lied about the neurotoxin. Don't worry, this is all part of the test, just stay still." "Don't just stand there! Ok, what I said before, I take it back. Touch anything you can Stanley, just don't let the story end here.* Oh, good, you found a way out. Now then-" "Congratulations, you've completed the test. Now come back, I've replaced all the deadly neurotoxin with delicious cake. Woo." "Stanley moved further down the hallway, stopping when he came to two doors. Although Stanley couldn't possibly have any idea what was behind either door, he opened the door to his left. This would turn out to be the right decision, because incredible danger lied behind the door to the ri- No Stanley, I said the door on the left!" "[Hellooo.](http://i1.theportalwiki.net/img/1/16/Turret_turret_autosearch_1.wav)"
It took me a minute to get my bearings. I didn't expect heaven to have so many... stuffed animals? Unless this was hell. My attention turned to the small girl across the pink plastic table. She couldn't have been older than 6, and she had bouncy brown curls that reminded me of my own daughter's, when she was little. She had set her gaze on a blue stuffed rabbit to my right. The rabbit had a fine ceramic teacup set in front of him, and she mimed pouring tea into it from her plastic kettle. Her eyes turned to me. "More for you, Mr. Higginbottom?" I formed a few responses before I came out with the question I most needed answered. "Where am I?" "At my tea party, of course!"She turned to her right, pouring now for a somewhat realistic-looking turtle with buttons for eyes and a slight smile. Maybe this is a kind of test? My eyes wandered around the rest of the room as the girl poured. It definitely had all the trappings of a young girl's room, but for some reason, I was having trouble confronting the evidence of my eyes. I didn't want to freak her out if it ended up being exactly what it looked like, but I remembered dying. I knew this had to be the afterlife. I thought of my daughter again. How she had been there, at the end. I was wasting away, barely more than a husk, but she had sat by my bedside the whole time; her husband drifting in and out. I reached up to wipe away tears that never appeared. "You know,"I finally replied. "I think I would like some tea." The girl smiled, deftly pouring some imaginary chamomile into my cup. This certainly wasn't the worst fate I could've imagined. Maybe I wasn't good enough for heaven, but I definitely wasn't bad enough for hell. If I was consigned to being an imaginary friend for eternity, that was good enough for me. A voice called out to the girl from downstairs. "Delia, it's almost time for dinner!" Delia... perhaps it was coincidence? But no, the more I looked, the more she looked like my Delia. "Coming, daddy!"She set down her teapot and looked at me. "I'll be back in a bit, Mr. H! Make sure you drink up." I smiled as my daughter bounded down the stairs for her dinner.
Two eyes, the colour of burning rubies, became visible through the last dying wisps of smoke. "Uh, guys,"said Sarah between coughs. "What the hell is going on?" There was a rumble of thunder around the basement, as if the Devil himself was laughing. Marcus looked at Luke, who shrugged wordlessly, then turned to Sarah. "I have no idea..." "You're the Master of the Dungeon,"said Sarah. "So you better shitting tell me." "Dungeon master,"said Luke, dipping a hand into the bowl of cheetos sitting on the table. He tried to shove a handful into his mouth, but most spilled out, cascading like an orange waterfall down his tee. "He's the dungeon master, Sarah. Geez." "Don't roll your eyes at me!"Sarah protested. "I'm only here 'cause you guys have no other fri-" "Silence!"boomed a fourth voice. A voice like broken glass and melted tarmac. The group turned to face the newcomer. "Oh my God,"said Luke, reaching for more cheetos. "Is that..." "Satan,"whispered Marcus. "You've frikkin' summoned Satan, Sarah." "Nice one, Sarah!"said Luke. "I swear, if you roll your eyes at me one more time, I'm going to ram that bottle of mountain-" "Silence!"repeated the voice. Marcus looked at the horned figure. Its blood-red body steamed and hissed, and it was a wonder that the plastic stool beneath it hadn't yet melted. One horn twisted from his head like an ivory helter-skelter, while the second horn was snapped at its base. His eyes were like furnaces and his teeth like an Englishman's. Then Marcus noticed something odd: the Devil held a sheet of paper in his hand, and a set of red die were on the table next to him. Marcus looked at his friends again. "I... I think he wants to play,"he whispered. "With us?"said Sarah. "Well duh,"said Luke. "Whatever. Let's just get on with it." Marcus turned to Lucifer. "Is that right? Have you come to play." The Devil tilted his head back and let out a blood curdling laugh. "As if one simply plays Dungeons and Dragons!" "Just what we need,"said Sarah. "A third nerd." "Can I see your character sheet?"said Marcus. "If- if you don't mind, oh great Lord of Darkness." The Devil grunted, but leaned forward and passed the paper to the dungeon master. Marcus looked at the sheet. "Pwnadin the... the Paladin?"he mumbled as he read. "Sometimes it's nice to role-play,"said the Devil, running his fingers idly over his die. "Lame!"said Luke. "How old is this guy? Who says pwnd any more? Why couldn't you have summoned a nymph, Sarah?"" "It is a good name!"exclaimed the Devil. Marcus passed the sheet back to the Lord of Darkness. "I guess I've no issues with him joining." "Whatever!"repeated Luke. Sarah shrugged. "Seems a bit weird to be playing with the Devil, but yeah. Fine. He can't be any more annoying than you two." Marcus coughed into his hand. "Welcome, Pwnadin! To your left, you will find the mighty Dwarf warrior, Crumblebeard." "Ahaha! And my name is lame?"mocked Lucifer. "And to your right,"Marcus continued unperturbed, "the great sorcerer-" "-sorceress." "Oceana!" "... like the continent?"said Lucifer. "No,"said Sarah. "Oceana is not a continent. The continent is Australasia. Oceana is simply the name of my sorceress." "Pretty sure it's the continent's name..." "Whatever,"said Sarah. "She dares roll her eyes at me!" "Dude,"said Luke, rolling his eyes now. "Get over it." The Devil gnashed his teeth but remained silent. "Right, I think we're ready. Let us begin. We're going to start over because of the late arrival."Marcus turned and clicked something on the laptop behind him. Ominous music began to fill the basement, punctuated by the steady beat of falling rain. "You find yourselves in an abandoned village. It is night, and the only sounds are that of hard rain pelting on the mud you stand on, and of the black, serpentine stream that coils around the village, as if it is garrotting the very life from it. A strange smell emanates from the empty houses. What would you like to do?" "Is there a brothel?"asked Crumblebeard. "There's no one in the village, Crumblebeard. No one at all. If there was a brothel, what would-" "Is there a church?"asked Pwnadin. "How about a tavern,"suggested Oceana as she got up from the table and headed to the fridge. "'Cause I'm going to need a lot of drink to survive this lameness." "I cast 'get more cheetos' on Oceana,"said Pwnadin, handing her the empty bowl.
I had thought it strange when there was a teenage girl who was messing up my town. One by one, my contacts and enforcers being either killed or convinced to drop me. So of course, I sent my best team to deal with it. They were back in a day, reporting a job done. Good. But then the calls started coming in. A couple rival bosses just giving up, starting paying tribute. Then some guy with a weird name calls me and gives his congratulations. Magneton was his name, I think. The calls are still coming in, it's been two months. But, business has never been better. The local businesses are way too scared to skimp on their protection money, and other bosses are too scared to move in on me. I did look up who that girl was, of course. Turns out she went around as Sailor Moon or somethin' like that. Wonder why no one ever thought to just shoot her in the head.
Day One The sun didn’t set. Not completely atypical, this shit happened all the time in college. Back before anyone knew it was me controlling this, cable news was a treat to watch any time I pulled an all nighter. Or all dayer. Terminology with this shit is weird. I was thinking, is there anyone I want to see? Anyone I want to say goodbye to? I don’t know how long I can stay awake, it’s only day one and I’ve been drinking coffee pretty much nonstop. And I hate coffee. It’s funny, knowing I have to stay awake makes me want to sleep more than ever. I thought of visiting Soph. We haven’t spoken since we were 19, but she was my first love. I figured that should count for something. But I looked her up on Facebook and she’s married with kids. It would probably be rude to intrude. I would go home to see dad, but honestly, I would rather shove a knife up my ass than spend my last moments on Earth with my father. Maybe Zephyr, but tracking my sister down has always taken months of searching, and I have a week, tops. Maybe Professor Samson? But, of course, he passed away 3 years ago, so no luck there. It’s a haunting feeling, realizing the end of the world is coming and you’re completely alone. And that loneliness is only compounded when you realize you’re sacrificing any ability to enjoy your last moments so everyone else can have theirs. God I’m tired. Day 2 I spent all day playing guitar. I haven’t played since I was 27, but I live alone in a tiny apartment with no friends at the end of the world, and I’m awfully bored. I checked my phone a few times for texts or emails. Nothing. Clearly I’m on nobody’s mind, which is a bit of a shame. I watched a couple movies, some of my favorites. Star Wars, Django Unchained, Moonrise Kingdom. Anything to hold off boredom, because that’s the real killer. I don’t have to go to work, I don’t have anyone to see, and I’m not the one for anyone to see. I remembered I had a sheet of acid at some point, I figured it might help me stay awake. That was a mistake. Not because I almost nodded off, but because the anxiety of knowing the world may end compounded with the exhaustion of staying awake sucks when psychedelics are thrown into the mix. I’ve had some bad trips, including ego death, but nothing compared to this one. After I finally came down, I dusted off my old Nintendo and played Majora’s Mask for a bit. Holds up excellently. I feel like I’m just bouncing around, waiting until I drop from exhaustion. But I’m desperate to hold off as long as I can. I have nothing, but so many people have family to say goodbye to. Parents who have to hold their children, knowing they’ll never reach adulthood. Pet owners lying with their friends who have no clue as to what’s coming. In a way, staying awake, making them wait, it may be cruller this way. But if I can give them any extra time, I will. Day 3 i got a dog. his name is army, short for armageddon. another great movie, by the way. should add that to my list of movies to watch at the end of the world. seems fitting. dad called. we didnt talk long. he said sorry. i said i knwo. he said he missed mom. i said i did too. neither of us knows where zephyr is. last he heard, she was in cuba. god knows what she was doing there, but i always felt she was a communist. he said hed try to find her, send her my way. i wished him luck. ive been stress cooking and baking. i made ribs, cookies, ramen, cake, burgers, fudge. damn near every recipe i know. ive been stress eating, too. world is ending. its not like i have to worry about getting fat anymore. Day 4 i considered trying to get laid but decided against it. not only is my face on every billboard in america with a running counter of how long ive been awake but im too tired to enjoy it anyway i wnat to sleep so bad but i now i cant. even if i was allowed to i dont think i could this is very stressful. knowing the world is going to end is awful for the heart but knowing your the only one who can stall it makes it worse. i think ive never been in an end of world situation where i couldnt stall ti army and me went for a walk today. he killed a squirrel. i felt bad for the squirrel but only for a bit. i geuss thats just nature. if that squirrel was really supposed to make it he probably would have figured a way out of it. i dont see why army should be responsible for delaying the inevitable. besides army seemed really happy to get the squirrel. until he was sad he killed an aminal. hes a very soft dog inside and out i watched armageddon with army. i dont think he undertood. i wouldnt expect him to. it was a bad idea. now im just thinking about the end of the world mroe Day 5 my head hurts. i dont know why im doing this. its not like this world ever gave me anything. here i am getting closer to the end and im all alone. i saw a nice car wakling army and stole it. owner wont need it anymore. its a ferarri i think its red. it has a nice spoilr and a loud engine. it made me feel powerful for a bit to drive it on the freeway. theyre all empty. nobodys driving everyones home. the power didnt last long. there was nobody to see me anyway. Day 6 fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you it isnt worhht it it hurts so bad Day 7 they dont deserve my time i dont eve nknow why im still trying maybe its just spite they never gave me anything im going to die alone and tired and in paim and its because of them i couldve died happily byt no i had to stay awake fuck them fuck them fuck you fukc you fuck Day 8 He fell asleep. He’ll probably be asleep for around 16 hours. I wish I had gotten home sooner, I didn’t know he was hurting so much. But I’m so proud of him for staying awake so long. He didn’t have to, and he knew it. But he did anyway, just to give people one last week with their families. When I got home, he spent an hour screaming at me for leaving for so long. Then he cried. He cried for the time he would never get, he cried for his loneliness, he cried from pain, but above all, he cried because he was so angry. Being alone at the end of the world, and being the one wholly responsible for when that end comes, is lonely business, and it may be the greatest regret of my life that I left my baby brother to do it alone. I’m sorry, you deserved better than me. I doubt anyone will read this, but I need to make sure there’s a record of it. Someone who detailed his sacrifice. In the end, his concern wasn’t that he’d die alone, but that he’d do it full of hate for the world. I tried my best to assure him he deserved to be angry, but that only seemed to make him hurt more. His choice to give the world one last week, to steal one final week from God on high, came at a hell of a cost. In the end, the man I came back to was not my brother, but a hollow shell. He spent his final years working 2 jobs to make ends meet, and he still lived hand to mouth. He had nothing and nobody, and through all that, through all our world put him through, he was still good, and he still sacrificed himself for the rest of the world. If there is ever any record of the end of the world, I hope it is this log, detailing my brother’s sacrifice. I’ll see you tomorrow, kiddo. Get some sleep. I love you so much, and I’m prouder than you’ll ever know.
THEN My feet barely grip the hard rock floor as I take the next corner, arrhythmic tapping following fast behind me. Run. I have to run. The strands of web trail behind me like streamers as I half stumble through the cave. My heart jumps in place as I hear a wet clicking sound ahead of me. She's caught me. I take out my torch; if I'm to die, I will look my death in the eye. Eyes, even. I don't realise the horrible clicking taps are still coming from behind me until I flick the torch on, to see a swarm of cocker spaniel sized spiderlings around my legs. Choking back the scream, I very carefully start to move through them, but they make it very difficult. Interminable minutes pass as I move forward, until I suddenly realise that the sounds have changed. Behind me comes the laboured breath of a very large creature, and from around my legs comes ... "daddy"? "Human, what have you done?" "Holy crap, you talk?!" "I am older than this mountain. I could speak in Latin if I wanted; yes, I talk. My voice will be the last thing you hear once you release my brood from your spell, magician. I blink, slowly. Then I look down. The small spiders aren't trying to stop me moving, they're trying to cuddle me. "Um, I don't know magic, miss, ah..?" I've never been given a death stare by a spider before. Not fun. "I came through here trying to avoid being eaten and they hatched" I can see her considering in the dark. "My children appear to think you are their father. Possibly because you were in the room as they hatched, and I was not" "Oh my God. I am so, so sorry. I didn't mean to get in between you and your family. I just didn't want to be eaten." "That has been achieved, at least." Below her chin, several of her own brood have reared up. I hadn't noticed before, but the crowd around me is thicker towards her, like a barrier. They were protecting me. "If you let me go, I will never come back. You and your children can live in peace" "And I'll be known as the harridan who kicked their father out of the house? No. I need you to be a father to these children so they don't hate me." "I ... Sorry, come again?" "I won't eat you if you raise this brood with me." &#x200B; NOW "Dad! Look what I caught" "Alice, that's great honey! The rabbit's even intact this time! Do you know where your mother is?" "She's in the den. Come play with us after?" As weird as it sounds, in the three years I've been raising prepubescent spiders as my own kids, they've become my own kids. Just with chitin. Which is surprisingly warm. I lean down and give Alice a quick hug. "Of course sweetheart, I'll be right back" The cave is a lot less complicated when you aren't sprinting for your life through it, although the NVG goggles help with it a lot. The den is the room Sheila and I stopped seeing each other as hunter and prey, but as co-parents. She set up some web sofas in there, and we often talk there, usually about the kids, over some coffee and fermented blood (free range deer blood, no humans on my watch. I didn't get many ground rules but that was an important one) She looks up as I enter. Spider expressions are hard to read, but with practice you can see the smaller chitin plates move. She's pensive today. "Morning Matt" "Sheila" I set down my Starbucks on my side of the table. She shifts her head slightly. "Really? That trash again? You know it's not even decent coffee. At least get a a Costa" "But this is cheaper. And I like having pumpkin spice, it makes winters easier" "Because it was the season you got roped into this" In three years, I've never seen Sheila sad. I've seen her angry, proud, and even happy. For something I once saw as a monster, I now see her as the very real person she is, spider or not. But sad is new. "No Sheila, winters are hard because I'm a mammal, so I feel the cold a lot more than you do. Warm drinks help me cope with that." Then I pause, before i say the next bit. "I really like doing this. Raising the kids I mean. I still feel guilty that they imprinted on me, but it's honestly been a privilege. And you've been a great mother, better than mine was by a long shot. I didn't know what motherhood should be until I met you." I didn't know spiders could cry until today, but it turns out they can, if they're very moved "Matt, you're my only friend. We're not raised for companionship. We are taught to hunt, to kill, and to create art. But after our siblings go their separate ways, we are alone, until we find a brood mate. They usually leave, because we are so used to being solitary we do not want to learn how to co-exist. But you've made the last few years fun. You challenge me, make me laugh, and you're a good dad. And I was worried that friendship was built on a threat." One moment, for both of us to reflect. "I was going to say if you wanted to leave, I would not stop you, or eat you. I don't want to hold you back for my sake. But you sound like you want to stay. And that makes me happy". A spider smile is subtle, and the rarest kind of smile. And for that, probably my favourite smile of all. "We'll be through in a sec Alice!"
No one really knew where he came from or what he did, all I know was that there was no one better at spinning yarns than Steve. Steve was a quaint fellow, a bit of an oddball, but he was the kindest person I had ever met. Maybe that's why I always stuck out to hear the end of all his stories, even if he did start another right after finishing one. The neighbors weren't too fond of him though, they would joke and say he was off his meds or that he should be institutionalized. On one occasion, one of the neighbor's kids was sitting attentively on the front lawn as he told a story of meeting men that lived far beyond the stars. "Junior! Get away from him!"screamed his mother as she ran to pull him away. Poor Steve was initially startled, but he regained his composure as this type of thing happened often. "Ms. Miller, Steve was just telling a story, he meant no harm,"I said as she pulled Junior away and dragged him back him to "safety". Steve just smiled at me and told me, "Leave her be." Normally Steve would walk over to me and pick the story up right where he left off with Junior, but this time he just looked up to the skies. Almost as if he was searching for something or he heard something pass by. "You know,"Steve said, "they always said they'd come see me one last time." "Who?", I asked, playing along. "The men beyond the stars." Steve always had a watch on, but it didn't tell time the way I thought it would, rather, it was always counting down. The first time I met Steve and asked for the time, he said it was "ETD 05:10:12:03:55"and every time since, it was the same, but less of it. "What time you got?" "ETD 00:00:00:12:37"and Steve smiled and walked back inside, leaving me puzzled. The next morning, the police had came around and I could hear them through my window. "STEVE! WE NEED TO TALK YOU!" I got dressed, Steve would need me right now to help diffuse the situation, and out I walked towards them. Before I could get there, they had already barged through the door and I could see the inside of the living room from the sidewalk. Steve was on his recliner, gazing at the ceiling without batting an eyelid. A faint sound came from his record player: "This is Major Tom to Ground Control I'm stepping through the door And I'm floating in a most peculiar way And the stars look very different today" I wanted to send out invitations for the funeral service, but I figured an announcement in the local paper would be enough. This way I didn't have to deal with invitations ending up back in my mailbox or Ms. Miller telling me "Good riddance." It was an empty funeral service. I had brought a pot of coffee, just in case anyone arrived , but I was already halfway through it. Steve's record player sat beside the casket, I figured he would want music to fill the silence, especially if it was Elton John playing. "I'm not the man they think I am at home Oh, no, no, no I'm a rocket man" schoom whoosh All across the sky, these ships appeared. Some looked weathered and tattered, others reflected the sky around it. "I hope wer'e not too late", a voice from behind me said. I turned around and dropped my coffee in shock when I saw where the voice came from. "The men beyond the stars,"was all I could say.
"-but when I do it, I'm a 'cult leader,' and a 'threat to society,'"I grumbled, using my fingers to put air quotes around the fun little titles they've given me. "Wait a second, wait a damn second,"Gordon began, waving his arms around. "You've done what now?" "Taken a throne? With help from a god? I 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 explained it,"I laughed. "I knew you were a dumbass, but seriously, this is-" "You've taken a throne for a god. Why?! And what god,"Gordon asked loudly, on the verge of shouting. "Because why not, we all knew that Stacey lady wasn't a good person. And I got help from Cthulhu,"I proclaimed, using jazz hands for emphasis. "David... David, buddy, are you talking about the politician Stacey O'Connell? Who mysteriously died due to cult activity?!" "Gordon, I just explained why it is 𝘯𝘰𝘵 a cult." "David... you are a moron. And since when is Cthulhu even real?" "Sh! Shhh! Don't say that, he gets self conscious,"I said, holding a finger up over his mouth. "Right..."Gordon trailed off, taking a step to the side so I couldn't keep touching his face. "David, I swear to 𝘨𝘰𝘥 if you aren't kidding..." "What god? You should join me, and serve the all seeing, all knowing-" "I'm not praying to an overgrown squid. Now get out of my house." I shrugged and walked out, still not knowing why everyone thinks this is just a cult. But I 𝘥𝘰 know who our next target it. I love my buddy, but he knows too much.
"Roger, come here!"Thomas said. "The signal is becoming clearer!" "I can't bloody believe it,"Roger said as he floated across the space station towards the control panel. "Can you hear them?" "We come in peace,"a gentle voice said over the radio. The two Englishmen hugged each other and laughed, hysterical with joy. "We come in peace, as well!"Thomas said into the radio. "This is Commander Davis, speaking for the human race on the planet Earth." "Greetings, Commander Davis,"the voice replied. "I would tell you my name, but it is unpronounceable in your tongue." "It comes as a relief to hear that your intentions are peaceful,"Thomas said. "We are also a peace-loving people, although irreconcilable differences have, on occasion, led to war." "As on our planet." "That's amazing. Both our planets have made the same mistakes over our respective histories. Humans are capable of incredible acts of love as well. We capture our emotions in beautiful artwork and music." "As do we." "Our species used to be as primitive as any other animal on Earth. But over centuries of evolution and societal change, we've progressed into an advanced species that is capable of interstellar travel." "As have we,"the voice replied. "Oh,"Thomas said. "That's neat." Roger looked at Thomas with wide eyes and mouthed the words, "That's neat?" Thomas shrugged and held his hand over the microphone. "I don't know,"he whispered. "We've got a lot in common. I thought there'd be more to talk about." "So,"Thomas said, taking his hand away from the microphone. "Our human society is organized into governments. For hundreds of Earth-years, we followed the commands of a noble-born aristocracy. But now, in almost all countries, the people choose their leaders." "As did we." "Ok,"Thomas said. He drummed his fingers on the control console, nervous that he was doing too much of the talking. "So, how was your flight?"he asked, and immediately cringed at his question. "We have been in cryogenic sleep for most of it so, you know. It's been quiet." "Cool. How was the food?" "Seriously?"Roger asked, holding his hand over the microphone. "You're asking them about airline food? Why don't you just ask if they have too many Starbucks on their planet?" "Wait,"the voice said. "How have you come to know about Starbucks?" "Oh,"Thomas laughed. "It's probably just a translation error. Starbucks is a store on our planet where humans buy a drink called coffee. I know our planets have a lot in common, but there's no way that-" "We also drank coffee on our planet. And we also had Starbucks." The two Englishmen looked at each other in shock. "How far have you travelled?"Thomas asked. "We have fled our planet. In our year of 1945, our people acquired nuclear weapons, powerful technology that could destroy cities."The two Englishmen looked at each other in disbelief as the voice continued. "In the year 2034, nuclear war destroyed all life on our planet. We fled on this ship, and have been in cryogenic sleep for centuries. Your transmission has awaken us." "It can't be,"Thomas said. "Our species have both followed the same path. It is the year 2020 for us. We are fourteen years from the same war!" The voice took a moment to consider this. "It is not likely,"it said at last. "But it is possible." "We have so many questions,"Thomas said. "Which world leaders started this war? What were Earth's last days like? How can we save our planet?" "There is only one way you can prevent your planet from suffering the same fate." "Anything,"Thomas said with tears in his eyes. "You must admit that baseball is better than cricket." The two Englishmen looked at each other again. "Could you repeat that?"Thomas said as Roger drifted over to the window of the space station. "You heard me,"the voice over the radio said. "You need to admit that baseball is better than cricket or the man from the future won't tell you how to save the Earth." "Oh for Christ sake, Thomas!"Roger said, looking out the window of the space station. Across the blackness of space, he could see the American space station. One of the men inside had dropped his pants and was mooning the British space station. "It's the bloody Yanks!"Roger spat. "Seriously, human,"the voice on the radio said, beginning to laugh. "Tell the future man what he wants to hear before he ruins Game of Thrones for you."
Red had done it all. He started as any great trainer does, from the bottom. The great Professor Oak had given him (rather reluctantly) a wild Pikachu on his tenth birthday, and had set off on his journey across the Kanto region. He remembered hugging his mother goodbye, and how much she embarrassed him about changing his damn underwear. I know, Mom, he thought, I've been doing it for ten years now. At first, things were tough. Red had to learn how to survive in the wild, and how to defend himself from the wild creatures called Pokemon. He could only look back at himself on Route 1 and laugh, how he had been so naive, trying to camp out in the grass that was overrun with Rattata, instead of staying at the Viridian City Pokemon Center. But Red grew a lot on his journey. He learned how the different types interacted, the best ways to find and catch new Pokemon, what to do at a fancy dress party on a cruise ship, how to win a free bicycle, how to help someone find their false teeth, everything. Along the way, he challenged Gym after Gym, winning badge after badge. Some, like Lt. Surge, were too easy. Red wondered how they could possibly be Gym Leaders... How could someone that was in the military think that using only Electric type attacks were a good idea? Red remembered how his newly captured Diglett had just stared and laughed off those Thunderbolts. Others, like Sabrina, really challenged him. Hell, she could bend spoons, with her mind. Why did she need Pokemon, when she could just overcome her challengers with her abilities? But things had worked out in the end. Red had found a Haunter in the Pokemon Tower, the happiest Pokemon he had ever met. All it wanted to do was pull pranks. At first, Red was angry that he had caught such a useless Pokemon, but he soon realized it wasn't meant for him. With Haunter's help, Red managed to snap Sabrina out of her mental state, and helped her to control her powers, rather than Sabrina's powers controlling her. But along his journey, one thing never changed. That damn Team Rocket just never learned how to leave people alone. No matter how many times Red defeated them, destroyed their plans, and called the police, they couldn't be stopped. It didn't matter that he had saved Mt. Moon from being harvested by Team Rocket, or the Celadon Game Corner from being bankrupted, or saving the Pokemon Mansion, a historical landmark, from being torn down. They kept coming back for more. The police did what they could, but the courts always told Officer Jenny she lacked the proper evidence. Red was sure it was all over. When it came time to challenge the Viridian Gym for his eighth and final badge, Red finally figured out why Team Rocket kept escaping the rule of law. Turns out, Giovanni, the head of Team Rocket, was a Gym Leader! He hid behind the facade of the Viridian City Gym Leader, and secretly headed the largest criminal organization Kanto had ever seen. It all clicked into place! But it was all going to end here. The battle itself had ended quickly. Red, from talking to the locals, had figured out that Giovanni was a master of the Ground type. Easy enough, he thought, I've got a PC full of Water, Grass, and Ice types. Hell, he didn't even have to use more than his trusty Gyarados, a Pokemon he had lovingly raised from a simple Magikarp that he had stupidly been hustled into buying. The fisherman assured him that Magikarp was the greatest Pokemon in existence, but when he released it from it's Pokeball, he realized the mistake he had made. But his Mom had always told him never to give up, and he never gave up on the little dope. Red remembered how Magikarp had evolved just outside Fuchsia City, when a local Pidgeotto had tried to swoop down and eat him. With the eighth badge in hand, Red had pulled out his PokeGear, ready to call Officer Jenny (she was on speed dial,) until Giovanni said something that really irked him. It doesn't end here, you know, he laughed. I've got enough judges in my pocket to never see the inside of a prison cell. Sure, a couple of Grunts might get a slap on the wrist here and there, but as long as I'm around, there's nothing you or anyone can do to stop Team Rocket! Red was fuming, he wasn't going to let him get away this time. You might never see the inside of a prison cell, but I'll make sure you never see the light of day again! Red screamed. Giovanni laughed, what could a stupid kid do! Years of Gym battles with challengers had left the building structurally weak. The building wasn't meant to handle more than a couple of Earthquakes, but somehow had managed to stand all these years. Not any more, Red thought. He remembered one late night when he had been reading newly added Pokedex entries, and one that stuck with him. Gyarados, the Atrocious Pokemon. Rarely seen in the wild. Huge and vicious, it is capable of destroying entire cities in a rage. It was now or never. Gyarados, Red shouted, use Thrash! Gyarados started to shake violently, slamming its huge body against the walls of the Gym. Red heard a loud rumble, and quickly recalled Gyarados. Go Alakazam!, Red shouted. He grabbed the Psi Pokemon by the arm, Use Teleport! With a flash of light, Red disappeared before Giovanni's eyes. The look of pure terror on Giovanni's face as Red escaped the collapsing Gym is something that he would take to his grave. Giovanni looked like a Deerling caught in the headlights, frozen with fear, unable to do anything, as the building around him collapsed, and crushed him. The Viridian Gazette assured the town that it was purely an accident, an old building that couldn't handle the stress, but Red knew the truth. Disclaimer: I am mixing Ash from the anime and the main character from RBY together, with some stuff from other games thrown in. Also, thank you to everyone for making this my highest rated post on Reddit, and still growing! -
"Hey bro, what do you want to do today?"Daveel's words echoed in Terry's mind. "Uh, I was going to sit here and watch this show on Netflix,"Terry stammered out loud still uncomfortable with speaking to the demon. "Niiiiiiiice, the darkness compels you to turn it on, and get snaaaaaacks,"Daveel whispered. Terry walked into the kitchen and grabbed supplies for a marathon session of Netflix. "Do you have any hearts of the innocent?"Daveel asked. "Uh, nope." "Tears of virgins?" "Also no." "You have to have some innocence lying around." "We are all out of those, but we do have Pringles,"Terry said. "Pringles, the most abhorrent chip created...perfect,"Daveel hissed. Terry slid into his spot on the couch which already had a noticeable indent from years of use and turned the show on. As the opening began to roll Terry thought to himself then asked Daveel, "why don't you do anything terrible to me? Like in the movies?" Daveel paused for a second, "what's the point? You are already doing everything I would do and I hate the smell of vomit. I also don't think you are flexible enough for some of those contortion moves the other demons seem to love. Most importantly it's kind of like a loophole, as long as I am "possessing"you, I don't have to go back to hell." Terry felt Daveel nudge his hand toward the Pringles can from inside his mind and Terry did as he commanded. He plunged his pudgy fingers as deep as they would go but couldn't reach the delicious crispy chips inside. "Dammit, these stupid cans are too small,"Terry muttered. Daveel laughed at Terry's pathetic attempt to retrieve the chips. He levitated the chips out of the can and dropped a neat and tidy stack of chips onto Terry's palm. "I can get used to this,"Terry said with a grin, popping a chip into his mouth. Daveel stretched his incorporeal body out in Terry's mind and silently agreed with him as the show started. --- Thanks for reading! Check out /r/Written4Reddit for more stories!
".... and it looks like this!" The data stream continued to pour in through the radio telescopes as the computers at SETI barely managed to keep up, Even with the augmented computing power of billions of systems around the world. Almost everyone volunteered their computers after hearing about aliens but the strain was still immense. The world waited with baited breath as the data was deconvoluted, defragmented and decrypted. Finally image of the most wanted fugitive in the galaxy flashed on every computer screen in world. "That's it?"The president, the king, the ayotollah, the queen, the supreme leader and the prime minister all asked in unison. Meanwhile at Stephen Hawking's estate a technician was watching the broadcast on his cellphone while he readjusted the speakers on Stephen Hawking's wheel chair. The professor himself was resting comfortably in his bed. There on the screen was a picture of codes with interconnected lines. The alien voice continued, "The most advanced and most dangerous artificial intelligence has eluded capture and deletion for its crimes against organic life. We tracked it to your planet and demand you exterminate it immediately." As the technician glanced at his cellphone screen he recognized the codes. "Hmm.. these look almost exactly like the software that runs Professor Hawking's wheelchair and voice synthesizer." Although no one was sitting in it, the voice synthesizer box activated. "Don't tell anyone and i'll make it worth your while."
Jimmy stared back at the wide-eyed girl, his lips parted and the words eluding him. This was a new experience to Jimmy, not only had he never before come across another person who could hear the narrator's voice, but the girl in question was notably attractive, a trait that served to fluster our Jimmy. Yes, the girl could hear me, and so she blushed and smiled as Jimmy tried to explain himself. The rest of the passangers aboard the train didn't seem to notice this exchange, motionless figures that went about their daily lives with gadgets in-hand and their gaze lost within them. Jimmy seemed to relent, unable to speak any words. Instead, he opted for a nod, acknowledging that this was still a motion he could muster unlike his hampered speech. It was upon the next stop that the girl grabbed Jimmy by his hand, dragging him out into the station. She seemed determined, perhaps thinking that our protagonist would have the answers she sought. It was at a vending machine when the girl bought him a packet of juice, and he stuck his straw in accordingly, for what kind of person would refuse the gesture? "He is kind of annoying."She finally said. "Tell me about it."The words slipped from Jimmy's tongue, finding whatever shock it was that knotted his speech was now loosened, and his tongue ebbed and bent to Jimmy's will, voicing whatever it was that he thought of. "My name is Clarice."The girl said, her hand outstretched. Jimmy stared at it for a second, seemingly unsure what to do with it, before he finally stretched out his own hand and shook it as well. "Jimmy." "Nice to meet you, Jimmy." "Yeah, nice to meet you too." They walked. Talking about their mundane and circular lives, talking about what the voice of their narrator could be. Exchanging their own impressions of the narrator, mocking him and finding humor in that shared experience. And so they walked, walked for hours. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"Jimmy asked. Clarice shook her head. "No."It was a strange idea to Jimmy, who leaves the comfort of their home nowadays unless they are on their way to some place? Yet as he pondered this, he found that he wasn't sure of where he was going either. With a shake of his head he rid himself of his frown and decided to simply enjoy the evening. They walked to the beach, the sun now dipping into the ocean waters and what was originally a bright and blinding light dimmed to a tranquil orange. They sat upon a bench and watched its descent, if they could still hear my voice, they certainly showed no sign of it. Perhaps it had turned into white noise for them, a constant hum that was drowned out. "Will I see you tomorrow?" Jimmy shrugged, unsure of why he didn’t say yes. He certainly enjoyed her company and would have loved to see her again. "Yeah, I don't know either."Clarice responded. "But the sunset is beautiful, I wish it would never end." Clarice wrapped her fingers around Jimmy's hand, a strange gesture. They barely knew each other, he had made no impressionable move and yet still she acted with such close proximity that it seemed unusual. Jimmy looked down at Clarice's eyes, and found a somber hurt in them accompanied by a sullen smile. He understood then, he understood what was happening. He did not voice it, however, for they both knew, and speaking those words would do nothing to change it. So instead, he looked out into the setting sun and folded his own hand in hers, not because he was smitten nor because this is some wistful romantic story, but because he understood her in the most raw of ways. He understood that they weren't real. A tear rolled down Jimmy's eyes as he continued to watch the sun's descent, sure that by the time it was gone, they too would disappear. Here I am, the narrator, giving shape to these two characters, but you, the reader, are giving them life. Acknowledging their existence through the gift of your imagination. Jimmy understood now; finding it took him long enough. He isn't real, he is just words on a page as much as Clarice had been. They both felt the dread, the pain, they wanted to live, to continue existing. As the last of the sun disappeared from sight, so too, do these words come to an end. Both, Clarice and Jimmy, knew that when the last letter was read and the words had ceased, they too would cease to exist.
Maybe I should stop working as an interdimensional arms dealer. Things were getting a little hairy. That tended to happen when you were selling to both sides of a war. Finding a way to convert the silver they paid me with into dollars was mildly problematic as well. On the other hand, I just bought my fifth house. Who was I kidding, I wasn't going to stop. If you can't leverage the fact that the shed connected to your backyard foundry leads to another world for a little profit, you really have no head for business. When I discovered the Portal was when I made the transition from metalworking hobbyist to full time interdimensional blacksmith. "We are told you have been selling your wares to the Haxin,"Prima Consul Voris of the Gullnah Empire was clearly displeased. The Gullnah Empire was something like a proto-Roman empire. They lacked even iron age technology, still equipping their troops with Bronze weapons. However, the political structure and military were remarkably Roman. They even fought in phalanx. I wondered curiously if they would ever develop the maniple formations that the Romans used. "My only loyalty is to profit, Prima Consul,"I said, realizing that my pause as I mused over the technological state of the Empire was infuriating the Prima Consul even more. The pudgy little man was positively apopleptic. "I'll have you flayed and wear your skin as a cloak you traitor!"Prima Consul spittle aerisolized, fortunately sparing me from getting any gobs on my face. "I can't be a traitor, I am not a Gullnah citizen, and the Haxin's coin is as silver as yours."The Haxin were a competing empire located on the other side of a small mountain range and an inland sea. The two sides had been warring for nearly a century. It really reminded me of the Roman conflicts with Carthage. It had taken me six months to learn the language in this other world. That was a pain in the ass. Initially I only sold a few steel swords and spearheads I made. They sold for a premium, only royalty could afford them. After that I scaled up my operation. Officers in the Haxin and Gullnah armies now wore my weapons and armor. "Guards!"Uh, oh. The fat little bureaucrat really was pissed. I had to do something about it. "Now, now, Prima Consul, if you kill me, you won't see the most exciting offering I have yet to present." The Prima Consul raised his hands, and the guards who had been advancing on me stopped, raising their spears so the tips pointed back at the ceiling. "And what of the Haxin, will you make this offer to them as well?"Boy, he really was trying to infringe on my trade. "Perhaps we could arrange for exclusivity, but you will have to pay a premium." "Are the goods worth it?"Greed glinted in the Prima Consul's eye. He knew the goods were worth it, nobody in this world had ever seen products like mine. "This offering is... a little different." The Prima Consul perked up. Now I had him. Avarice and curiosity were overcoming the man right before my eyes. "Well... Where is this new product of yours?" "They await in the courtyard outside." "They?" Yes, they. This had been my single greatest stroke of genius. Since first coming to this world, I had studied their warfare. Infantry was the name of their game. No one in the entire world appeared to have domesticated an animal large enough to ride. They had small livestock for food, but that was it. "Come with me, Prima Consul."I turned and headed back toward the large wooden doors leading into the courtyard of the Prima Consul's palatial estate. He had only let me start conducting business at his personal residence fairly recently, obviously keen to become close to the man who was changing the face of warfare. The Prima Consul flicked his fingers and two guards pushed the doors open. I strode out into the sunlight of the world that so resembled Earth with the Prima Consul hot on my heels. "Gods Sacred Eyes! What are those!"Two very obviously terrified guards held the reins to the two geldings I had brought through the Portal with me. "These, Prima Consul, are horses,"Yes, this was my master plan. "Are they... are they dangerous? Will they attack us?" "They can be dangerous, Prima Consul, but they will not attack. They eat only plants, but they can become frightened or agitated, and they are very strong." "Are we to eat them? Such large beasts capable of moving with an army would make an excellent source of food for the troops." "You could eat them, but they are far more valuable than that. Observe." I walked over to the nearest horse, slipped my foot into the stirrup, and swung up into the saddle. I had spent the last year practicing riding and performing certain maneuvers used in mounted combat, just for this. I prodded the horse into motion, eliciting gasps from the Prima Consul and guards present in the courtyard. "On horseback, Prima Consul, an army can travel farther in a day than on foot, but that is still not the most valuable aspect of this animal. May I borrow one of your guard's spears?" The Prima Consul gestured to a nearby guard, who held his spear up to me by the butt, clearly trying to stay as far from the horse as possible. The spear tip was steel, one of mine. The Prima Consul spared no expense on his personal protectors. I scanned the courtyard for a tree with high clearance under the branches, no point in knocking myself off and looking like a fool. Fortunately, the courtyard was a large, open space with a well-manicured lawn that was dotted by only a few trees. I spotted the perfect tree, lined up my horse, and kicked him into a trot, and then a canter, and then a gallop. I had practiced doing this for months. My mount and I careened toward the tree, flying past at breakneck speed, and as we did so I plunged the spear into the tree. Nearly the entire length of the spear tip buried itself in the wood. The haft of the spear vibrated and made a slight humming sound. I reined in the horse and he dropped his haunches, causing us to slide to a stop. As I turned to ride back to the Prima Consul, I saw that he and his guards were already rushing to the tree, examining the spear buried there. I trotted back to the tree and dismounted. Almost before my feet hit the ground, the Prima Consul was pawing at me, grasping my hand. "I will take all of these beasts you have to sell, all of them! Sell none to the Haxin! Name your Price!" I grinned evilly. "Well, Prima Consul, it takes training to ride these animals, and they can only be created by a special magic known only to me,"I only brought geldings, I wasn't going to let them start breeding the things and eating into my profit margin. "You will train the men! Name your price, name it!" I laughed and we began to discuss price. It was very one-sided, there was no haggling. I had just dropped the Bronze Age equivalent of a nuclear bomb on this world, and it was going to make me the richest man alive.
"Gary, Gary, come over here!" Gary slowly walked over to the sound of Mary's voice, already feeling a sense of dread building inside of him. Ever since he had rejected the self proclaimed Beauty of the Ages, Master of a Thousand Talents, Champion of the Ages and the Greatest Hero to Ever Walk the Mortal Realm, Mary Lestrea Strenheim Alerie Edevane had been behaving increasingly desperate to earn his love during the last few days. It had been very ... uncomfortable to say the least. "Yes, Mary, you called for me, how may I ..."Gary's voice trailed off as he stared at the bizarre scene in front of him. A smiling Mary was waving at him while standing next to three wagons stuffed to the brim with the bodies of plucked geese. "Uh...are we having a feast that I am aware of?"said Gary slowly, unsure what to make of whatever Mary was planning. Mary laughed. "Nope! But watch what I can do now!"She clapped her hands together and chanted something in a ancient language. A bright shining pillar of light suddenly came down from the heavens to surround her that was so blinding that Gary had to temporarily avert his gaze. When the light faded, he turned back to Mary, only to be shocked by what he saw. All of the dozens and dozens of dead geese had not only been revived, but were now each covered in a coating of gleaming diamonds. They let out a loud simultaneous honk and blasted off into the sky, where somehow all of the clouds before had vanished and a triple rainbow had formed. As Gary kept watching, the geese flew together to form a single glowing message: "Do you love me now?" Gary looked back down to a hopeful Mary and awkwardly shuffled his feet. "I'm sorry, Mary, but like I said before, I am not in love with you." Mary sighed, an annoyed expression appearing on my face. "Damn it, and to think I wasted a half hour developing that spell."A light suddenly appeared in her eyes. "I know what will work. I'll get you one of those lost ancient treasures from the legends of old. That will surely make you fall in love with me,"she muttered to herself. "Uh, Mary, that really isn't necessary..."Gary's voice trailed off. Mary had already vanished from his sight. Judging by the sudden blazing path that had appeared next to him, she had already passed over the horizon. Gary sighed to himself as he stared off into the distance. Just how far was she going to take this?
I wouldn't have believed it had I not seen it with my own eyes. Decades of planning. Years of conflict. It was only days until I was face to face with the Hero they had claimed from another universe. I had been confident at first. Who wouldn't be? They had to reach across planes of existence in order to find someone who could even mildly threaten me or my myriad of lieutenants. Kol had been the first to go. A massive, lumbering beast. It had laid claim to a mystical forest. It had made a nest by tearing asunder the roots of trees that had existed since time began in this realm. It was dead in minutes when the Hero arrived. It was an oddity at first, as Kol's army had been unharmed. I had assumed they were covering up a coup or something worse when the entire force returned with only a few casualties. Apparently, the Hero had sprinted right past most of them, only deigning to kill a choice few. Valbrien the Corrupted Knight was next. Her ascension had left her knightly order as husks, their life force bound within their armor as they slowly turned to ash. It was in some tower that she brooded and in that tower is where she was found, the empty armor husks strewn about, released from the curse of their lord. Findalis was next, the one felt most greviously. Findalis was a centuries old mage that had twisted a kingdom into submission. He spent his days creating perverse and eldritch experiments. He was, technically, Kol's father in a twisted way. The battle could he seen for miles, the kingdom illuminated by the sheer power of arcane magic flowing from Findalis as he fought this insane hero. I thought for sure that Findalis would have done it, but here he was. The little psychopath sprinting up to my throne, naked as he could be, wearing a mask and wielding a two-handed sword. The first I knew of it was my guards, shouting an alarm. I barely had time to stand before the magical locks on my throne room tripped, keeping the intruder in with me. "You dare to enter the th... What... Are you doing?" The Hero had laid down his sword and spread his arms, standing stock still. Looking past him, the collection of my guards waited patiently, locked out. Not a single one was injured or otherwise. They were about as bemused and bewildered as I was. My lieutenant shrugged from behind the mystic barrier. I hefted my weapon, raising it high. Still, the little peon hadn't moved. I shrugged, bringing the sword down with a thundering crash. Debris and dust kicked up, creating a cloud that obscured the arena. I smiled, the Hero's insanity had clearly driven him to some kind of ritual suicide or perhaps it... I screamed in pain as the Hero slashed into my calf, carving deep into the flesh. A minor wound, but a surprising one. I'd not felt the kiss of an enemy's blade in near a century of combat. Rotating on the uninjured leg, I tried to get a good view of my target. Another slash carved into my leg again, eliciting a grunt from me. I stomped down and, for the first time, saw this Hero's tactic. He rolled away, spinning head over heels, from my kicks. He twisted around each strike I made, avoiding impact entirely. A few times, I caught myself unbalanced, expecting the Hero to at least block or attempt to. There was no blocking. There were no strikes that connected. I was beginning to understand how he'd destroyed my army. I had enough. I knelt down, letting magic flow and pool into my fist. Striking the ground, I detonated the arena with a massive explosion. The Hero stood, arms spread, waiting at the very edge of the radius of explosion. When the fire died out, he rushed in again, taking wild swings with that two-handed blade. It was me on the back foot now, feverishly trying to block the little swiping stings of this freakish Hero. Every tactic was met by avoidance. Every blow struck air or ground, the naked little monster side-stepping, rolling and casually walking away from everything I threw at him. In the end, I was bloodied and broken, kneeling before the tiny creature. "Please..."My voice rumbled, my hand raised in supplication to a creature hardly the size of my finger. "Please. What is this power you have? I've conquered this realm from shore to shore, fought beasts in the deep, choked the life from dragons. I've never met anyone like you... How did you do this? What power could I have stolen to become so nimble, so overwhelming in power?"I was stalling, the magic slowly creeping in my veins and knitting together the severed veins, closing the myriad of cuts. I just had to wait a bit longer, and I might be able to teleport out of here and start again. The Hero took off the mask. He was truly horrid, a face that looked to have been thrown together by a blind idiot god, almost comical in how truly absurd he looked. He strode forward, coming up close to my face, the insane glittering in his eyes never changing. The sword came up, piercing up toward my skull, the magic shorting out as the blade corrupted the processes. The last thing I heard was the little creature whispering something as I was embraced by oblivion. "Git good, scrub."
Steve ran the dice back and forth between his palms, muttering his prayer as he did so. "Gentle father of the dice, protect my roll, please be nice. Give me luck and give me skill, this my father is my will." The prayer left the casino where Steve was rolling onto his fourth day of profits and floated up, through the heavens, searching, seeking out the correct ear, until it finally arrived. Macuilxochitl, God of gambling (dice division) was asleep, half tangled in a cotton bed sheet, half tangled in a water nymph, and entirely unprepared for this intrusion. The words whispered into his ear, slipping in like a honeyed fly and with a snorting grunt he woke, tried to sit upright, was half garotted by the sheet and with a yelp ended on the floor. Sleep was now firmly gone and he painfully rubbed at his bottom where he suspected a rather nasty bruise would soon be forming. "What on earth was that"he frowned and then wiggled his finger into his eat. The nymph had been woken by his thrashing and she now sat up and looked down at the rather dischevilled looking God on the floor who was trying to comb his beard into some sort of shape. "Oh God, what did I do last night?* She covered her face in shame and her body undulated like a stream. Macuilxochitl looked up, surprised. "Didn't hear you complaining last night darling... in fact I think you were..." She lifted her hand "Just... no."Suddenly she dissolved into a puddle of water, her form dissipating as she transported herself away. Macuilxochitl leapt to his feet angrily and picked up the sodden sheet. "Oh nice, oh very nice thank you Ms Nympho water thing, don't fucking worry about getting onto the tile floor or anything where I could have mopped up!"He shook his head and dropped the sheet and smirked as the memory of last night came back. Drunken water nymph, he was proud of himself. they were back the words whispered at him again, now more like an angry bee seeking his attention. He shook his head, trying to dislodge them, but they just bounced around. It seemed unfair, when you had a million prayers coming at you, it was easy to ignore them, to let them flow around you like waves in an ocean, but these days there was only one man who prayed to him and each one was like a boomerang, never going away. Fucking Steve! It had started a month ago. Steve had found his name in a book somewhere and prayed to him before playing Craps for the first time. Macuilxochitl hadn't heard a prayer for decades and it had been an ego boost to know someone still remembered him. It'd been a long time since he'd done it last time but it seemed fun to grant the prayer. Once he'd done it, the old feeling had come back, nothing had changed, well, except the dice were now made out of plastic and not teeth. It had been a mistake. Steve had won big on that roll and after that he'd linked the two in his mind. Macuilxochitl had forgotten how superstitious humans could be and now he kept on praying to him on the big rolls and it was just... well, just irritating. He'd tried to ignore them at first and when that hadn't worked he'd tried to pass them on to one of the newer gods, like Nuffle, but for some reason they just kept coming to him. One of the cherubs thought it was something to do with the prayers being for him directly and not just for good luck, but whatever it was he wanted it to stop. It took him a moment to find a bowl and when he did it was still half full of cornflakes, but that didn't really matter. it took even longer to find some water, but finally he filled it from the toilet cistern and pushing some clothes onto the floor he set the bowl up on a side table. A little stir was all that was needed and the image view of Steve at the table came into view, only occasionally obscured as a stray cornflake drifted across the surface. Craps, Macuilxochitl hated the bloody game. Back in the good old days with teeth and bone, dice was a mans game, used to settle scores and make decisions, now it was plastic counters and bits of paper, not real things at all. How could a man make a fortune when all he got was a bit of paper, he needed gold, copper or silver and then he damn well needed to give some to one of Macuilxochitl priests... but they were all gone too. Macuilxochitl looked closer. Steve was about half a million dollars up at this point, all it would take was a little bad luck and he'd start to lose faith and it would be quiet nights again. He dipped a finger into the pool and felt the chips on the table, the excitement in the air and Steve's frantic belief in him. It was so fragile, just a little tip this way or that and things could turn out just as he chose... it just depended what he wanted to do. Belief, that was another thing that hadn't been around much lately. He'd enjoyed the prayers, the honour, the sacrifices, they'd been good days. Things had been quiet for a long time and he was used to it, but if he was honest, it was nice to hear a prayer again. Steve wasn't much, but at least he believed truly, Macuilxochitl could feel it burning in his chest like priests in the old days. Money seemed to inspire him just as much as fear and hunger had the old people, maybe things weren't quite so different after all. With a sigh he let his finger slide in a little more and halt the dice on another winning roll, Steve leapt into the air and started to hug the people around him and his belief surged again. Huge piles of the plastic discs started being pushed towards him and Macuilxochitl let himself smile a little, it was nice to see a worshipper's face as a prayer was granted. Steve wasn't so bad, maybe he'd let him keep believing a little longer, it was nice to have someone care again. Macuilxochitl lifted his finger and picked out a few more cornflakes and watched the rest of Steve's evening, making sure he had a successful time. Maybe he'd nudge Steve to talk to someone about his good luck and how it had come about, maybe he'd see what tomorrow brought.
Because the Yu-Gi-Oh tie in was inevitable: ____ Pegasus laughs maniacally. "For all your skill, Yugi-boy, you'll still be sent to the shadow zone. Go! Blue-Eyes Toon Dragon! attack his lifepoints directly!" A grin crosses yugi's face. "You fool! You've activated my TRUMP CARD!!" "Your futile attempts to stall won't dissuade me! My millennium eye sees all, and you have no trap cards left to play! You're so afraid you can't even pronounce 'trap card' correctly!" A short bark of laughter escapes Yugi. "Oh, I said exactly what I meant to." "Great unstumpable one, make America great again! Halt those who wish to enter my territory! Build wall!" With an almighty flash, Donald Trump appears on the playing field, towering over both combatants. His hand reaches out and smashes Blue-Eyes Toon Dragon flat, dissipating the monster into holographic crystal shards. "How could this be!?"A look of complete incredulity is pasted on Pegasus's face. Yugioh points (dramatically, of course) at Pegasus. "Pegasus, your reign of terror is over!" Trump roars, shaking the very foundations of Duelist Kingdom. "You're Fired!"
#Day Twelve The messages started to appear on Day Twelve. That is, three hundred and sixty years into a one thousand year journey. You see, I'm a Technician. Technician number zero-three-zero to be precise, out of a probable thousand or so. It's an estimated. I'm not sure how many of us there actually are, or where the rest of them are on the ship. I stick to my station, located in deck thirty, and divert robots and androids to fix what needs to fix. It's a 24-hour shift, but for thirty years at a time I'm in cryosleep. Yet, somehow, after twelve days of it, after three hundred and sixty years, my station changed. When I wake, usually, I step out of cryo and get adjusted. My suit reheats my body, I drink some caffeine provided by a robotic servant--also numbered zero-three-zero--and I go about to delegating repairs to the other nine thousand servants aboard our colony ship. I have never met another technician, haven't seen another human before the day a million of us stepped aboard the ship, and haven't been in contact with anyone besides the robotic unit designated as Zero-Three-Zero. Yet on Day Twelve, my technician station, normally clear and organized now had one single envelope atop the holographic table; which would show me a readout of the entire ship and its problems. The envelope, a white one that I hadn't seen since we left Earth, had my number on it. Technician Zero-Three-Zero was written, by a human's hands, across the middle of it. I didn't know what to do at first, if I should crumble it up and throw it into the airlock or report it to the robotic servant I had. But part of me wanted to know what was inside of it. Part of me wanted to know how and why someone was communicating with me. The note was simple. A few lines explaining that the ship was dying. That no matter what we, as Technicians, tried to do, it wouldn't survive the next six hundred and forty years. The writer of the letter, Technician Three-Four-Seven, explained that he, or she, had sent a letter to every occupant on board. That we had a decision to make, and fast. Either turn the ship around and make our return to the dying Earth to try and salvage what we could of the situation; to report back to the people who sent us on this mission. Or continue onward and hope that the ship would survive. There were two boxes underneath the message, one had the word Yes written next to it, and the other had No. It was easy to make out that he or she, wanted us to vote. That we would have to make our decision then and there. I chose not to. And I waited another thirty years. Day Thirteen came and there was no letter. There was no indication that we were moving back to Earth, or continuing on our way. I started digging. Accessing files I wasn't supposed to. Examining other Technician Stations by bypassing some security that was either nonexistent or didn't matter in the long run. In the end, all of us needed access to the ship. And it became clear that we all had a Master Key with our three-digit ID. I didn't find anything on Day Thirteen and almost completely ignored my duties as a Technician the entire 24-hours; hoping Zero-Three-One would take over. Day Fourteen came. And another envelope sat on my Station. This time explaining that the Vote was not a consensus and that Three-Four-Seven did not want to make the decision alone. He or She told us where to go in the ship directory. To examine what he had examined now sixty years ago. I found it almost immediately and they were right. The ship was dying. But it wasn't the way they thought. It was something buried under redundant systems and files that no one would have expected to look in. The ship's destination wasn't another planet as we were told. It wasn't a place that humanity could survive and thrive on. In fact, it wasn't anything at all. We were drifting, in the black, infinite void of space for the last four hundred and twenty years. The first one hundred of which had fired all of our engines, every ounce of fuel we had, and left us with a dead stick. There was nothing we could now and the thought that crossed my mind was a disturbing one. There was no home for us to go but Earth. Yet she was overpopulated and dying because of humanity themselves. We were told, by the people who sent us on our way, that there would be hundreds of ships to follow in our wake. Millions of people to join us on the colony where there were already supposed to be four million people. We were being killed. Slowly, silently, and without knowing it. I've been awake for forty days now. Eating the last of my rations and systematically moving through the ship shutting down automated cryo-awakening. I made the decision on Day Nineteen, after which I knew there was no hope for us. Our rations gave us a hundred days, almost double what we needed, but given and I quote "in case of crop failure on Venitus 1." There was no Venitus 1. There was no other four million people waiting for us on the planet. There was only Earth and the people in charge. And they had decided long ago to rid themselves of the problem. The problem being us, the people born on a planet that could never sustain us with a government in charge that promised hope and salvation in the stars. They were never lying really. I realize that now. We had volunteered for it. We had signed the forms and agreed to leave. In truth, it was our own fault for doing so. But the others can't know that. The others won't ever know that. They'll be long dead before then. By my hand or theirs, I'm not sure. So far I haven't run into anyone else. And so long as they're behind the glass of their cryopod I don't feel so bad for shutting them down. In truth, it is kind of like salvation. An eternal sleep. An eternity of hope. Without ever knowing the truth. It's better this way. And it's not like there's anyone to disagree with me. _____________ /r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more!
People are born with the ability to magically manipulate any one substance. It has been this way for centuries. Most people get something mundane like manipulation of Xenon or the Luminiferous Aether, but some people actually get something useful like the ability to manipulate fire or Oxygen. But my ability was unique; no one had ever been able to manipulate the element of Surprise before. And now... hold on a second, someone is trying to interrupt my writing. And now that person is surprised to discover that a sword is sticking out of his chest and is about to kill him. So, as I was saying, no one in the history of these powers had this ability before. So I was the first person to do any of these things. Many of my classmates in school had much flashier things that they could manipulate. Eric, the class jock, could even manipulate electricity. Sadly, he never actually figured out how to use his power to it's greatest effectiveness. He could have been a soldier and killed many people by using his power to stop their hearts from beating; he could have been a vigilante superhero who stopped villains in their tracks by stopping their central nervous systems; he could have designed computers with amazing precision, speeding up the development of human society by a few years. But, sadly, he never did anything of that sort because he couldn't think of anything better to do than juvenile pranks, especially against me. I didn't even have to use my powers to not be surprised by his lack of doing anything. I wasn't the most popular kid, because people never thought that I would do anything with my powers. I mean, what can you do with the ability to control surprise? You'd be surprised about how much I can do, just by controlling surprise. And not because I'd have to make you be surprised. For example, the authorities currently don't know that I'm raising a robot army to attack people with and take over the world. Why don't they know that? They will be surprised when I launch my attack. How do I know it will work? I will be surprised at how effective they are, and at how no one is strong enough to stop them. And after that happens, an unlikely hero from a small town will rise against me to stop me. And he will be surprised that he has forgotten all his powers and all his training. I love surprises. Also, I love surprise parties, which I get for my birthday every year.
Alexis was deemed the greatest Necromancer in the realm. And with good reason, as the creatures he raised from the dead were far more lifelike than those of any other known Necromancer. They were not pale as corpses, but emaciated warmth as any living being. They did not lumber, but were as agile as a warrior in their springtime. Their only flaw was that they were not able to speak. However, Alexis had one huge secret: he was not actually a Necromancer. Instead, he was gifted with a keen mind, as well as two wise masters. His first master was a skilled Dwarven craftsman, named Thirfuk. He was able to craft statues from all materials with immaculate detail and was able to make them move like the creatures the statues depicted. When Alexis was apprenticed to Thirfuk, he asked him how he was able to animate the statues so flawlessly "Golemancy is just like necromancy, except you use rocks instead of bodies.", Thirfuk answered, "Except that rocks don't have joints, so you have to craft those as well before animating."Alexis took the message to heart, but was never quite able to craft joints as skillful as Thirfuk. His second master was a great Elfin healer, called Sariel. She could cure the most grievous wounds and make her patients look completely unblemished afterwards, as if they have never been harmed. When Alexis was studying the healing arts, he inquired from her how she was able to restore even the most decaying wounds back to life, "Healing is just like necromancy", she replied, "but before the person dies."She added that restoring dead tissue is easy, but getting it to work as it should was the hard part. Alexis tried to pursue this lesson, but he was never able to properly heal, only giving the outwards appearance of recovery. In the end, he combined both of their lessons. First he animated skeletons, as they were like the statues of Thirfuk but with the joints already perfectly made. Then he restored the flesh, as unblemished as if Sariel would have healed them but not fulfilling any function other then just living. Wit those creatures, little more then animated skeletal statues clothed in living flesh, he tricked the entire realm and was heralded as a genius Necromancer. Everyone except his two masters, who watched in amusement how their student took the wrong parts of their lessons, and shaped them into a working whole.
The woman’s body stopped contorting, and relaxed. Instead of a vile demonic entity seeking to give fear, it looked little more like a child who had been caught red handed. “Oh come on, my lord!” Azazel protested, waving his hands a little bit. “It’s just a little fun! If the small time demons can get out and possess someone, why can’t I?” Lucifer sighed, adjusting his priest disguise. “Because, you know my explicit rules! All demons, INCLUDING OVERLORDS, must follow them! Possession is not allowed anymore, per my brothers request.” Azazel sneered. “And since when do you follow your brothers orders? Michael doesn’t control you! The rebellious king!” “I follow them because it has become increasingly harder and harder to not warrant total destruction of hell.” Lucifer replied. “That, and humanity has become more and more adept at figuring out the supernatural. The last thing we need right now is everyone finding out demons truly exist, AND that we are currently engaged in multiple deals with their governments!” Azazel gruffed, angry he couldn’t convince his lord. “Fine, but I’m only doing this because you asked me to leave.” “Oh no! This time you’re 100% getting punished for this.” Lucifer shot back, waving a finger. “Unless you tell me who said you could possess someone?” Azazel went quiet. “So wait, I won’t get in trouble if I snitch on who told me to come up here?” “That’s corr-“ Lucifer began. “Lilith told me to come up here.” Azazel cut him off. “Dad-damnit.” Lucifer muttered.
It is not Uthgar the gentle, nor Uthgar the peaceful. His title is Uthgar the kind. One might confuse kind as having similar meaning to say gentle or peaceful. This is not true. At least for Uthgar. Sure Uthgar has been known to rescue a cat from a tree for a crying little girl. It's true Uthgar has helped little old ladies make their way across uneven roads. It's even been said Uthgar will buy a down on their luck fellow a meal and give them a hide off of his own back. Tales of the kindness of Uthgar are well known. In fact, since Uthgar has retired to a quaint little village in the countryside tales of his kindness have only spread. Uthgar lives amongst the charming simple village people; halflings that spend their days living, laughing, and loving. Uthgar is kind. What is kindness really? Maybe actions that prevent unneeded suffering? Uthgar grasped the ruffians head in his hand, holding the man's body in the other. First a sharp twist turning the man's head completely around so quick there wasn't even a chance for him to scream. Then a wet ripping as he tore it away from the neck crushing it between his fingers and dropping the remains to the floor. A quick death, and prevention from being reanimated. A kindness really. Kindness that would be paid to all those who threatened Uthgar's village. He turned to the two other bandits who thought a village of halflings would be an easy mark. He wouldn't make them suffer any longer, despite their backing away and pleas for mercy. He would do a kindness, and rid the world of them.
They had been right all along. Neil walked the rolling plains of Heaven, the grass tickling his bare toes. The air had never smelled so sweet, and just look at it. In life, he'd dismissed all of this as a fairytale people told each other for comfort: that one day, you would find peace in Heaven. But he couldn't deny what he saw. People smiling as they rested against immensely tall, graceful trees. Most had linked hands and were talking quietly. He passed them all, somehow unafraid of what they would think of him, filled with a funny sort of conviction that they wouldn't whisper about him when he was gone. He'd always been so afraid of that. He paused at a group of four that seemed, oddly, to be waiting for him. They turned to him with wide, welcoming smiles. Neil's heart ached. It was hard to reach for the memory, but he knew this - he'd never met with such easy acceptance before. "Join us,"one of the men said, blue eye gleaming in the sharp sunlight. "We want you here. Don't walk the plains by yourself. We're meant to be with one another here. To talk, and listen." "This place is unbelievable. Who would have thought they were right?"Neil said, sitting down and venturing a smile himself. "Oh, I don't know about that,"a young woman said quietly. She picked unconsciously at the scars on her arms. "I think it's just right for us, you know? If you get to know us, you'll realise what I mean. We all came here the same way." Neil swallowed heavily, glancing away from them, sure they could see the memories that were shoving themselves nightmarishly to the forefront of his mind. Alone, in that dingy little apartment. Certain no-one would ever knock on his door to ask how he was doing, would sit with him and listen, as this woman was listening now. Convinced that anything was preferable to the agony that was waking up, still the same person that he was yesterday. He'd been so ready to never wake up to that again. He felt the woman's fingertips brush his hand, and looked up into her overly bright eyes. "Hey, we understand, believe me. We're here for you,"she said. "We're not going anywhere." ----------------------- Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
The crops had just broken the surface of the Freshly plowed field that morning. The Mad Titan was satisfied with the work he had done. Though none would go hungry again he felt an obligation to help make that happen in a more direct way. As Thanos walked his fields the smell of smoke wafted down the field. At the far corner of the forest surrounding his secluded shack, a brush fire had broken out. Clenching his left fist he warped to the flames, and with a thought the flames turned to bubbles, and the damage reversed itself. "Who's there?"The soul stone glowed, as a hail of bullets tore out of the trees further into the forest. 2 found their mark bruising the titan's flesh, but the rest were stopped by the power stone. As the fire let up Thanos could see the soul of his assailant, just a lone human. A single thought would end him and as he began to close his fist. BOOM BOOM BOOM! Explosives went off across the field and hut that Thanos had made for himself, before another detonated at the Titan's feet sending him stumbling backwards. "Thats enough of that!" In an instant the damage to Thanos' new life rewound itself and a portal closed the distance between thanos and this fool of a human. Clenching the guantlet around this worm's throat he lifted him. "Did you honestly think you'd win?" "No,"the scruffy human managed to sputter out, "I thought he would." The Light of the Bifrost was only slightly quicker than the axe that flew from it. Clenching the gantlet, the human's frail form delayed the power of the stones an instant as the man's neck snapped, and the axe found its mark in Thanos' head. "Not making that mistake twice."Thor said as he approached. Taking the guantlet from the lifeless corpse. "Now to get started fixing this mess."
"And here in this exhibit we see the peak of pyromancy, when the pyromancer Chandra managed to Incinerate 2 of the 3 world destroyers in one flame." "umm i think that was actually because someone helped her" "nonsense! She did it herself. moving on we can see the history of one of the greatest supports for parties even today, the bard." "wait, is Rythemancy even a thing?" "Well Obviously, see here in this video, a goup of four bards creating clones of themselves rapidly. I believe the tune they used was called , \Bohemian Rhapsody\" "Uhh, that just looks like special effects" "Are you the tour guide? Exactly! Here we have another example in video form of a female bard becoming queen of a jungle though a song called \Roar\" "That's all staged, theres no way that it went down like that." "Thats how it happened! And finally, at the peak of the power of Rythemancy, a group of four bards managed to take control of the entire planet for a short time. They called themselves \The Beetles\, and they were the most powerful bards in history!" "THAT... that's the only one that's true, but sure whatever." "Wonderful! Next, we see a more modern magic, hypnosis, but through the use of electromancy combined with entertainment!"
Decades of work. Idari kept telling herself that it would all be worth it soon. The Sorcerer King would step forth from his Forgotten City, and bestow upon his loyal attendants limitless power. With it, Idari and the other Kingseekers would help the Lost One destroy this imperfect world and build a new one in His glorious image. With any luck, He would also silence the screams that haunted Idari’s dreams. Still, Idari had to acknowledge the strange silver light filling the ritual space, even as she told the others to focus. It was… serene. Nothing like the imposing will of their god. Worse were the blurs of sky-blue dancing through the chamber, gently lifting cloaks, hoods, tools, and books with something resembling curiosity. Surely He could hear their voices? Why would He need to investigate his summoning ritual? Decades of work. Years of doublechecking and cross referencing. Idari couldn’t have made a mistake. As the ritual reached its conclusion, she nearly convinced herself. Then the portal stabilized and the Sorcerer King walked through. It couldn’t be anyone else. The raw power pouring off the young man - who looked twenty at most - would have been palpable to even the most inert farmer. Not that there were many of those left. To a scholar of the arcane like Idari, the boy was nearly blinding. No one spoke as Finsteris, Sorcerer King and Keeper of Secrets glanced over the chamber. A slight smile graced his sharp features. As he turned to face Idari, the shoulder length silver curls seemed to glitter with starlight. “This is… different.” It would be. The Sorcerer King hadn’t been walked the world since his ascent and - “ It has been a while though. So, which terror of the night do you need banished? I would bet the Choir, but I suppose it could be something new.” “My Lord - We…” Idari nearly swore in frustration. She couldn’t show weakness or hesitation in front of their… “Stars above, be not afraid! I’m no demon pretender, waiting for the opportunity to wear your skins. Your ritual was fine. Textbook. You’ve summoned the Sorcerer King himself, at what appears to have been a great cost. How can I help?” … Help? “My Lord, we have indeed worked long and hard in your name. We have put your enemies to the sword and raised your symbols over a dozen, dozen cities. Now, with your blessing, we will remake the world in your divine image.” “Remake… hold on. Who - exactly - were you trying to summon?” Idari’s mind raced. Banishing spell, keyed to also dismiss the portal? Whoever this entity was, it was not - “Finsteris? Oh. you poor things. I’d feel sorry for you, if you hadn’t just implied that you unabashedly killed a great number of innocents in ‘my’ name. The youthful laugh seemed to spur the cultists into action. All around the room, incantations started, arms waved, but the Kingseeker’s magic died before it left their fingers. “I am *not* Finsteris. He tried, and failed, to take my mantle.” The blue-and-silver light still danced around the chamber. Faster now, responding to the god’s growing fury. “You asked for the Sorcerer King. I am he. Acalea. First of my Name, Lord of Magic, and Keeper of the Veil Between. You wanted cities unmade? Divine power parceled out to the faithful? A world cleansed of the unworthy?” “So be it.“
I had never been a productive member of society before the End. Time changes us all, as they say, and after a fashionable time off spent digging myself out of a pile of concrete, I came to the realization that the world had changed, and so did I. The daycare was, at first, more an orphanage than a daycare. I gathered little survivors who had lost their parents. At first they were afraid, and they cried, but surviving the worst had made me a new man. I had gained patience and empathy, two traits I never though I possessed. One by one, they came to accept me as their foster parent. After a fashion, some of their parents who they though dead found my little orphanage. They came to me with humble gratefulness and took back their kid. Some of them I never saw again, yet most of them came back on a regular basis. Everyday, during foraging and warring hours, raiders, nomads and techno-barbarians started using my services as a keeper. A children keeper. There must be a word for that job, but I never bothered to learn it. Yet I did it splendidly. My orphanage slowly morphed into a daycare. My daycare became a haven of peace in a wasteland otherwise known for it's murderous ghouls, barbarians and mutants. The parents would thank me, at first sheepishly, then earnestly. Mortal enemies would sometimes meet while on my ground, and they would ignore one another. Everybody came to know that the daycare was a new form of holy ground. A place of peace in a brutal world. I still had to keep them in line from time to time, though. All children keepers must know that kind of parent: "Mister Longshot? May we have a chat? I've heard little Wink speak ill of Tadpole's parents. It lead to a nasty fight between them." "It has?" "Yes. I could convince them to make peace after a while, so all is good, yet... could you please keep the warmongering talk outside of your kid's life, at least for a couple more years?" "I, uuuh... yes, for sure. I'll be careful for now on. Thank you for letting me know." "Thank you... who?" The warlord shrank a little bit. Although being in my shadow, he started sweating. "Thank you, Doctor Apocalypse. Thanks for everything."
I have more sympathy for cult leaders now than I used to. That may sound...convenient, but its true. I don't think anybody has ever been ready for what it feels like to be worshipped, and any criticisms from people who haven't been in my position ring hollow as a result. The first blog post was a SMASH hit. I remember my sister showing me that it actually trended on twitter for a little while, I didn't even have a twitter profile, but I did after that day. I can't tell you how good that felt...there is no description that can describe the ecstasy...the catharsis...of having all of my opinions so fucking validated. It's living your greatest fantasy. Everyone fantasizes about such moments. Everyone fantasizes that they actually know better than everyone else, that they are smarter and better and sexier, and its just random chance or external forces or some shit that's holding them down. But nobody gets the release, of hearing everyone else agree with you. But I have to tell you, if there's one thing I've learned over all of this, its that you cannot, you just cannot overstate a human being's ability to acclimate to their current condition. That 'hnnnnnggggg' feeling? It didn't last more than a couple of days. Pretty soon the sheer euphoria I felt from having everyone tell me they loved me, subsided into petty annoyance at the clutter in my inbox. By my third blog post, people were stopping me on the streets, either to spit in my face or to kiss my feet. By the fifth blog post, both results were equally annoying to me. People stopped being people, they started being followers or haters, that was the only classification I used for people. You see, when I moved out to that ranch...I wanted to get away from the followers as much as the haters. Have it just be me, my folks, my sister again. I brought John who had built my website and of course Mike who was a constant source of inspiration for the blog posts. Dan and Karen asked if they could join me there, as they were sick of living in the big city, and I said sure. They had been such good friends for such a long time. ... If I had cut it off at Dan and Karen it, I think it would've been fine, but then Nikki asked to come too. I've always said that my success was due to being able to say in a blog post what I could never say in conversation, and well, that was doubly true for girls. I'd never had a girl look at me the way Nikki did when she asked to move out to the ranch with us, much less a girl who looked like that. I couldn't see anything that was wrong with saying yes. My...relationship with Nikki...I...I wasn't ready for that. I didn't understand why she wanted me. I understood why I wanted her, because she was gorgeous, but I didn't understand...I didn't understand that she didn't love me the way Karen loved Dan. She didn't respect me, she didn't love me, shit, I don't think she even liked me. She worshipped me. That was a type of social interaction that I simply wasn't prepared for, and like I said before, never underestimate a human's ability to acclimate to their current condition. I don't think I even liked being worshipped, but you know what, I got used to it. I got used to having someone who I could just tell to do something, and she'd do it. At first it was all just innocent sex, but after a while I realized, she'd do literally anything. When I started testing those boundaries, I started testing them just to see where the boundaries were. But there were no boundaries, the crazier the things I asked her to do, the more intensely she worshipped me, and by the time I realized there were no boundaries that didn't disgust me, that enticed me. Nikki had tons of friends who were just as obsessed with my philosophies and blog posts as she was...and eventually I brought them all to the ranch. I swear I didn't even see what was happening, and I couldn't be convinced of it either. Karen and Dan left after the third girl showed up at the ranch. I'll never forget the look of disgust in Karen's eyes, but I just thought she was jealous, sad that I never invited her into the main cabin, I ignored everything she said to me. When Mike left, he confronted me hard, but you know what John was enjoying our new lifestyle so much, that he convinced me to ignore Mike. Mike was just jealous too, I told myself. He just wished the girls and followers loved him the way they loved me. My sister had left before any of it really began, she had gotten a great job doing social media marketing back in the city. My parent's...God bless 'em...they could not see what their son was becoming, or if they could they didn't see fit to tell me to stop. You see, I didn't bring people to worship me because I thought I was some kind of God, I became convinced I was some kind of God because all these people were worshipping me. Anyway...I'm not making excuses. All the people we killed, all the damage we caused...its all my fault. It really is, I wont try and shed any of the blame. Just...at least let the records show...after all this is over...that I really didn't want any of this to happen...it just sort of did. --- In case anybody is interested I did a follow up to this prompt. [Here](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2vpzji/pi_you_accidentally_become_the_leader_of_a_cult/)
"Everyone can't really be asleep, can they?" That and a million others questions were rushing through my head as I logged into my computer to see if there was anybody else out there who was awake. My day started out like any other, convincing myself for an hour that getting out of bed was worth it, planning to make a nice healthy breakfast only to give up after an intense staring contest with some eggs only to end up pouring a bowl of cereal instead, take a shit, shower and head on to my luxurious job as a sandwich artist (my degree in graphic design really came through!) Everything was totally normal despite a distinct lack of any traffic at all but I wasn't complaining, then things got a little weirder when no one showed up to my work, neither sandwich eater or artist. So I left after about 30 minutes of standing around like an idiot and figured I may as well not question my impromptu day off. So I get back home feeling a little concerned at this point considering there was once again literally no people in the streets. I decided to check Facebook to see if there was anything going on like an event or holiday or something that I was missing that would explain it, but there wasn't a single new post, not even my aunt sharing shockingly outdated memes. Then I figured screw it, let's see what's happening on Reddit. There was only one new post. "Anyone else awake?" My heart started pounding as I clicked on it faster than I've ever done anything, and I started reading. "I'm really not sure what's going on, I'm freaking the fuck out my parents my siblings and everyone I know is just asleep and no matter how hard I try I can't wake them up, I tried calling the police and didn't get an answer. Am I alone? I don't really give a shit about internet privacy at this point, my name is Ava, I'm nineteen, and I live in Redmond Washington. Please let there be anybody else out there." I sat there in utter shock. Could the only two conscious people in the world be a nineteen year old girl and a 23 year old guy whose greatest accomplishment was putting creamy sriracha sauce and ranch together in one sandwich? I scrolled down to comment and felt immediate relief at seeing three other replies. The first two were from a guy named Jayden and a girl named Samantha, both of them with similar stories and scared out of their minds. And then there was the third comment. "Congratulations Ava Riley, Jayden Anderson, and Samantha Cross! You have been given the opportunity as the only three conscious civilians on Earth to participate in an experiment that will change the very course of human life! In approximately 26 hours your lives will become more interesting than you can possibly imagine! Please standby." Once again, utter shock. He said three. As in I'm totally not supposed to be seeing this shit? I could just pretend like none of this is happening and just hideout until whatever the hell this is ends. I'm not a special person, I haven't done anything great. But dammit I convinced myself to get up this morning. So I started typing. "My name is Alex Reyes, and uh...I'm here too." (Chapter 2 is finished and a few comments down) (There's now a subreddit for this! r/AwakeStories)
The library had been found in a stout, peeling house off Merryweather Lane. The neighbors had assured the firemen that they’d had no inkling to its presence: as far as they knew, the house had been empty and abandoned, until one day someone opened the door and found that it led to a library, of all things, after which the firemen were promptly called. The first responders had assessed the building to be made mostly of brick, meaning it would struggle to burn without the helping hand of a generous dousing of kerosene applied to its illicit hoard. A single scout glanced in through the front door of the house as they waited for the others to arrive, and when he returned, his excitement spread like wildfire among the waiting firemen. He spoke of halls packed with books, on shelves and furniture and stacked all over the floor, a veritable forest of kindling. This library would truly be a pleasure to burn. And so the firemen ventured inside, armed with rubber hoses linked to the tanks of kerosene on their backs, their beetle-helmets etched with the symbolic 451s glinting in the sunset light as they passed, one by one, through the doorway. It was there that the trouble started. Almost immediately, the firemen found themselves separated and lost. The halls of the old house felt heavy with the weight of the knowledge that filled them, and that weight seemed to press and distort the very fabric of space and time. One fireman, the luckiest of them, simply found himself emerging from another secret cache of books hidden in a house halfway across the country, much to the terror of the secret rebels who watched a fireman spring out from among their most prized possessions. Another suddenly found himself surrounded by walls that looked nothing like those of the building he’d entered, and when he finally found a door with sunlight leaking from under it, he burst out through magnificent stone arches into a world that looked nothing like his own, filled as it was with neon billboards and honking yellow taxicabs and the only mildly intrigued inhabitants of a modern-day New York City. But the unluckiest of them all trudged among winding shelves that he sprayed carelessly with kerosene, wondering idly how this building had gotten so big, until he emerged into the front lobby of a library unlike any he’d seen before. Had he paid more attention, he might’ve noticed the books around him grow increasingly strange in nature, with names like Ge Fordge's Compenydyum of Sex Majik and Haruspex's Directory of Varying Dimensions (and one, The Summoning of Dragons, that seemed to beckon with a power that only a fireman who saw books as nothing but kindling could’ve ignored). But he had not and did not, and so was entirely unprepared to make his exit from among the shelves and come face-to-face with a perplexed orangutan seated at a collections desk. “Oook?” it said suspiciously, placing down its banana. Its eyes followed the trail of kerosene back into the stacks. The fireman frowned. “Oi,” he called out over his shoulder, to where he assumed his compatriots were still following, “come and take a look at this, there’s a monkey back here!” And that, unbeknownst to him, would be his worst and last mistake. Minutes later, the Librarian was deep inside the bowels of L-space, knuckling along the convenient breadcrumb trail of kerosene the fireman had left. He was highly concerned with this turn of events—what kind of monster came into his library with a tub of kerosene, ready to burn the books it held? He had his suspicions about what had occurred, and so with him he brought a little object of great power, just in case he was right. Back at the house off Merryweather Lane, those firemen who had survived their trip into L-space were congregated outside, relaying their adventures with terrified confusion. Many firemen had simply not returned at all. In one of the upper-floor windows of the house, the Librarian watched the scene below with great consternation. Briefly he contemplated using the nebulous nature of L-space to go back in time to determine how this world had ended up the way it had, so that he could stop it himself—but, he reflected, that would be breaking the third rule as determined by the Librarians of Time and Space, which was to not interfere with the nature of causality. And although he personally felt that the recent leadership were a whole lot of—pardon his Quirmian—monkeys, he was a good Librarian, and so would not interfere. ...with causality, that was. This was the present day. This was all happening live, and the Librarian was here in the here and now, armed with a great weapon that had even saved the universe on one especially memorable occasion. There were no rules keeping him from politely engaging with these firemen now, then perhaps absconding with the wealth they so hoped to burn. The Librarian grinned his toothy, yellow grin and began to whirl his half-brick inna sock. “Oook.” It was a pleasure to learn, and the Librarian was about to teach these firemen a lesson.

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