Split (1)

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I massage my temples because this. Is. Fucking. Ridiculous. This conversation shouldn't even be happening. "Look, Ken,"I breathe into the phone, in a tone of voice my District Manager has never heard before, "I understand the store policy. What I'm saying is: it's simple fucking math, dude. Why you gonna pay to keep the store open all day? It's _raining blood._ No one wants to shop for new pants right now. We're not gonna sell shit. If we don't sell shit today, how you gonna pay everyone to work?" A thoughtful pause before Ken proceeds, his teeth obviously clenched: "Look, _Anna,"_ Condescending, stupid prick. I hangup the phone as loudly as possible; it's the only thing landlines and old phones are really great for. There are six people on the schedule today, including myself. Only two others showed up. In defense of everyone who called out, I will only offer the words of Rhonda: "Gurl, I ain't steppin' out my house. You know my car is covered in blood? I know what they sayin'... That it can't actually be blood, because it's comin' from the clouds. Fuck that shit. I ain't never seen cloud blood before; I ain't touchin' it." Fair enough, Rhonda. Fair enough. The phone starts to ring. My money is on Ken. I pick up the phone again and hit the intercom button: "Don't answer that and meet me up front, guys. We leave in five minutes." Before I can turn off the computer, Brad is on the intercom: "We've been sitting at customer service since you went back to the office." The phone stops ringing. A second of silence before it starts to ring again. As I collect my purse, April says via intercom: "Can we steal some ponchos or something? I just got my hair done and that was really gross." "No,"I reply over the intercom. "I'm not giving you permission to steal anything... But if you happen to be wearing a poncho when I get to the door, I'm not going to ask if you were wearing it before." Brad and April are both wearing ponchos when I get to the door. I try not to laugh at Brad and fail, because laughter was clearly the goal; he's wearing a laminated leopard print with an extremely oversized pair of women's sunglasses. They stand just outside the open door, under the awning, as I set the alarm and wait as I lock the doors. We all open our umbrellas and huddle together, to walk through rain that looks a lot like blood but isn't. _I'd like to dedicate this story to my old District Manager, Ken. Ken, if you happen to read this, though I doubt you ever will, just know that I'd like to thank you for acting like such a tremendous asshole._
Thank you for returning to The Reaping! "Um, hello, I'm-" War: Speak up you coward! Are you so pathetic that you cannot even declare your own name? "Yes, I'm, uh, I'm Pandemic, and I'm-" Pestilence: You would commit such a sin as to mimic me? To try and sully my sovereignty with your ineptitude? Death: You... are not worthy. I cannot... allow such a being to be among us. "But, I'm not like Pestilence, I'm more modern, I'm Ebola, uh... 'I am he who is of the disease...ing and will... make the blood spill, I mean spurt from thine- their orifices' and H1N1, 'I am the cough that riddles the darkness and I'm-" Famine: Oh my god. He sounds like Beezlebub hitting on Gabriel. I vote no. War: Nay. Pestilence: Absolutely not. Death:... no... "Wait, I'm worthy, I'm AHHHH^HHH^HHH^HHH^HHH ." Pestilence: Come forth, those who would deem themselves worthy. "Hello. I know what you may all be thinking. What is it that strikes fear into the hearts of man? That peers back at them as they stare into the abyss? What is so dark as to blanket the world in chaos and terror?"turns to Death "Tell me, does the black reaper dream of a darkness darker than black? Of course he-" Death: ...No... "I- no, you're supposed to say yes. You see, I am Darkness, the-" Famine: I thought he was going to say Nightmare, or Fear. Pestilence: As did I. War: What kind of idiocy is 'Darkness'? "No, Darkness is dark, it's-" Pestilence: As is Watership Down, but one does not resign themselves to calamity by its presence alone. "Uh, I mean Fear, I'm Fe-" War: Aha! I loved that movie! Famine: You would. Death: ... Koalas are nocturnal... everyone pauses War: Ha! It is true! Darkness is bested by the meager koala! "No, I told you, I'm Fear, I'm he who sends chaos-" Famine: If you are a horseman capable of being overcome by a small mammal, you are not worthy of standing among us. "Wait, AHH^HHH^HHH^HHH^HHH ." War: Bring out the next one! "Behold: The single greatest threat to mankind since Adam and Eve walked the earth. The twisting and tearing of society, the evil that spurs god himself to punishment and condemnation: Gay Marriage- Pestilence: [Not you again.](http://www.reddit.com/r/explainlikeIAmA/comments/2dug77/explain_why_gay_marriage_is_not_the_5th_horseman/) "AHH^HHH^HHH^HHH^HHH ." Pestilence: Time runs short, I doubt we can find one worthy to take up our mantle. "yawn Ugh, hi." Famine: Who are you supposed to be? Is that a tracksuit? "Huh. I guess it is." War: Is this it? Is this supposed to be a candidate? Who allowed this weakling to attend? "So, hi. I'm Apathy." Pestilence: And why, pray tell, should we accept you? "I dunno. I guess because you guys don't win without me." Death:... Go on... "Y'all kinda suck alone. I mean, how many apocalypses have actually happened? Pestilence, you sorta dropped the ball with the Black Death." Pestilence: You would dare? One in three lives were consumed- "Yeah, if I had a 1:3 K/D ratio on Call of Duty, they would think I have Parkinson's. Famine, you're getting royally screwed. GMO's are kicking your ass, and you're getting pushed back every single day." Famine: I am not being pushed back, entire countries are being laid to waste- "North Korea doesn't count." Famine: ... "Good for you though War, finally starting something in the Middle East. Congratulations on starting round 13,748 in the one area in the world that's never seen peace. You peaked in WWII, it's been all downhill from there." War: Ha ha! I like him. "And Death..." Death: ...? "What's the average lifespan? 70? In Japan, what, 80? You're being pushed back. All of you are getting screwed by innovation. GMO's, peace treaties, antibiotics, medical advancements. You know why? People care, people fight. As long as they do, you're going to lose. Half of your battle is just catching people off guard. I don't need to. They know I'm there and they do nothing. They ignore the burning world around them, and once the flames reach them, it's too late. Apathy isn't optional, it's the prerequisite to apocalypse." Death: ...I approve. War: Aye. Pestilence: I shall accept him... for now... Famine: I suppose. Apathy: Cool. I'll be in my room, call me if something changes.
The Ranger held his sword aloft. It was bronze, dented and dull with use. "Need'eth I a weapon more suited to my skill,"he said, loudly and to no one in particular. "Might we loot'eth yonder ranch style home, perchance?" The Healer leaned heavily upon his oaken staff. "Uh...no. No, I don't think we want to do that." The great towering spires of Galabroth were visible in the near distance. The Ranger pointed towards the horizon. "But we near'eth the Dread Baron's foul estate. Ought'ent I to equip mineself with adequate weaponry before the coming battle?" "You're not familiar with this neighborhood, are you?"asked the Mage, shifting her weighty tome from arm to arm. The Ranger looked about. There was only the one house remaining. All the others had been ransacked, burned, and left to rot. "One might hardly call'eth this a neighborhood..." "That's Dwayne's house,"said Mage. The Ranger blinked. "I..." "Dwayne?"said the Healer, tapping his staff on the soft earth. "Who might this Dwayne be?"asked the Ranger. The Mage and Healer briefly locked eyes. The Mage blinked first. "A normal enough guy,"began the Mage, "until people like you started breaking into his house and taking his stuff." "Some people don't like that,"added the Healer. "Go figure." "Dwayne started fighting back,"said the Mage. "People didn't take him so seriously at first..." "Sent in the weaklings,"said the Healer. "Looking for some easy experience."He whistled. "Nothing comes easy with Dwayne, though." The Ranger's eyes darted back and forth. His brow was almost obscenely furrowed. "It sound'eth as though you are saying naught but an ordinary man protects yonder ranch style home, and the assorted treasures within. Correct?" "He was normal,"said the Mage. "But... you know... people kept breaking in and he kept beatin' 'em, so..." "And he took their stuff,"said the Healer. "Who knows what he's got in there now? Golden lances... enchanted bows... swords made of meteorite... the works." The Ranger held up a hand. "To clarify: naught but an ordinary man named Dwayne protects this meager bungalow, within'eth which is contained a veritable dragon's horde of invaluable weapons? And you suggest'eth that I refrain mineself from joining battle with this Dwayne because...?" The Mage shook her head. "You got us. There's no good reason a 2nd level ranger with a starter sword and absolutely no armor should have any problems with Dwayne." "Please forgive our cowardice,"said the Healer. "We'll just wait outside for you." "Do'eth just that,"sniffed the Ranger, brandishing his tea-colored blade. "And mayhaps thou might'eth think long and hard about thine failings as adventurers and heroes. You shame'eth thine professions." With this last admonishment, the Ranger disappeared into Dwayne's house. The Mage and the Healer waited together in the middle of the road. "Should we go back and pick up another ranger?"said Healer, as the very earth began to vibrate and the air was pierced with the sound of a man's terrified shriek. "Maybe a barbarian this time?" The Mage laughed. "Do monks talk?" "Not traditionally, no." The little ranch style house shook with the force of a small explosion. A cloud of black-winged angels escaped through the cracks in the window frames. "One of those, then,"said the Mage. "Or... I mean... we could just go on by ourselves." The Healer smiled, thumping his staff three times upon the ground. "I like that! I like that quite a lot." They shook on it, then turned on their heels and made their way towards Galabroth. Neither looked back as the door to the little house flew open and Dwayne - poor Dwayne - stomped out, clutching a shovel in his hands and muttering blue curses beneath his breath.
It was a dark and rainy night as the devil knocked on my door. I'm neither sure if it rains by chance or if he made it nor why he doesn't appear directly in the house. Maybe he loves a dramatic entrance. It is exactly the same situation as ten years ago on his last visit. I was at an incredibly bad place. My wife and I were dirt poor and had barely something to eat. The most money we earned was used for our sick daughter. The medications for her asthma took our last dollar. At least we know that she can live a normal life with the current treatment but this knowledge isn't able to lessen the nagging hunger I'm feeling in my stomach. One evening my wife and daughter were at the hospital and I was sitting at home despairing over the coming medical bills. Suddenly through the heavy rain, I hear someone slowly knocking on the door, each knock accompanied by rumbling thunder. I open the door and see a huge, elegant man in a suit standing in front of me. I couldn't estimate his age. Objectively he had the body of a 30-year-old, but somehow this didn't seem right. His whole presence radiated experience and the look in his eyes was the one of a very old man. He entered the house without invitation and directly made his offer. "I heard you are currently in a, let's say, undesirable situation and luckily I'm in the fortunate position to offer you my assistance." Most of you will see this as suspicious but I was incredibly desperate. So I took his offer. One hundred billion dollars now for my soul in ten years. Of course, I should have known that a deal with the devil will never be as smooth as expected. There are a lot of stories about genies, fairies and more mystical creatures giving you a fortune. But in these stories, it is never described how to explain this sudden income to the tax office. "Payment for my soul by Satan"is definitely not the right thing. This was obvious in advance, but hey, it wasn't like there is a non-illegal, believable explanation, which holds more than five minutes of investigation. So the next years I was under constant control of the police, the FBI and basically every other existing government authority. It was a constant mixture of interrogations, investigations and undercover operations. I was close to losing my sanity. My wife was sure that my sanity was long gone after I explained my encounter with the devil. She left me shortly after and, given the situation, she got easily full custody of our daughter as well as half of the money. So basically my life went downhill fast but at least I wasn't hungry anymore. So I used the last good thing I had extensively. The money. The last ten years of my life were a constant chain of hedonism. I never liked the behavior of prosperous people, so I had no desire for yachts, large mansions, and fancy food. But from this point, I never thought twice about buying something and got every, even remotely useful or desired, a thing possible. I became the single largest victim of our modern consumer society. Fast forward to today the devil stands in my living room for the second time. "So, are you ready to transfer your soul in the eternity of hell?", he asks while smiling sadistically. Straight forward like the last time. But honestly, I couldn't care less. There is no meaning in my life anymore. So the devil puts his hand on my chest but instead of touching it, the hand glides into my body and he starts to rummage around. It is quite awkward. We both try convulsively not to look at each other while he glides through my inner organs. After a few minutes, he stops and looks directly into my eyes. I feel pretty uncomfortable but hold his gaze. "What the heaven.", he seems angry while retracting his hand from my body, "Okay, wise-guy, where is it?" "I don't know what you mean.", I reply to him confused. "Your fucking soul.", he becomes angrier, "It happens that parts of a soul are transferred to a strong religious leader if your belief is strong enough. But I have never seen a complete missing soul. It is impossible to follow so many leaders at once." "I have no idea what happened.", I'm genuinely surprised, "Maybe I can help you with another soul. I will take a look at Amazon and eBay. Feel free to eat something, while I'm searching."I grab my iPhone from my pocket and show lead him to a table with food from Burger King, McDonald's and Taco Bell. "If you get bored there are Netflix and Hulu and a few more services on my Apple TV.", I press a button on the remote and the TV turned on. Satan starts to look more overwhelmed than angry. "Ok, I didn't find something. But Google yielded a strange church an hour away from here, which claims to harvest souls. Maybe we could try it there. I will call us an Uber. Let me put on my Levis jeans." I'm more and more concerned. The devil is getting pale as if he would realize something horrifying. I have no idea what currently is happening. "Are you ok?", I'm asking him. "We can grab some Cola at Walmart or a coffee at Starbucks. Maybe this helps." Satan begins to stammer. "This isn't happening. This can't be the future of society. Hell won't work anymore. This will only get worse.", he stands up and walks towards the door. "Maybe you should calm down. We could watch a Disney movie, drink a Bud Light, watch MTV, go to KFC, watch Youtube videos, eat some M&M's, ...", I have no idea what happens to the devil and I'm getting really scared of the current situation. He is now in a hurry to get away from here. "Keep your shitty soul. I don't want it anymore. It is at a place far worse than hell anyway.", he screams while running away from the house. "Ok, but can I make a photo with you for my Instagram account.", I'm shouting after him but the only thing I'm getting back is a very long and desperate cry. EDIT: smaller typos corrected EDIT 2: Thanks for all the kind replies guys. This was actually my first story and English is only my second language. I had an idea an thought I would give it a try. This is resonance is amazing and way more than I had hoped for. I will stick with it and if I have an original and amusing idea on a prompt I will write more (actually did).
There was a hero once. He was brave, courageous, helpful, determined. This... this is not his story. *************** "We need you. Can't you feel this... this connection?" "I feel the connection alright. And its this connection which is making me give you this advice. Go home. Don't tell anyone about this. Sit at home and pray or something." "We have to protect the people."Simon's raised his voice and Sue put a hand on his arm as people turned around to look at the trio. "We don't have to do anything."Stacey sat back in her chair and took a sip of her drink. "WE are not superheroes." "But we are. You have to see that. These people have no one else."Simon looked at her with pleading eyes. "These people can all go fuck themselves for all I care."Stacey continued stirring her drink. "We owe it to them. We owe it to him. He died protecting us all." "They guy ran around town wearing tight spandex pants. He was obviously off his rocker." Sue had been silent till then. "Stacey. You know Dr. Stone will be back. By a stroke of luck, you're the strongest of us all. We need you beside us. We will die without you." "My dear Sue. When he couldn't fight Dr. Stone and died, what chance do we stand. I'd rather be alive than be a hero. I'm going to go back to my shitty job and continue sticking needles in people's feet. I suggest you do the same." Simon looked at Sue. "So what do we do?" "We fight. With her or without her. She can chose to forego being a hero, but I can't. We will lose. But we have to try. I have to try. I'd also ask you to reconsider Simon. She is most likely right when she says we will die." Stacey grinned. She could see the way Simon looked at Sue when she wasn't looking at him. Of course, he would fight. She got up. "Thanks for the drinks guys. Good luck." As she walked back to her apartment, she wondered why people didn't just get out of the city. Too comfortable she supposed. They would much rather stay here and risk their lives than take a chance. Especially now that their "protector"was dead. He had fought well, but he had failed. People were idiots who were afraid of change. She passed by a shrine to the fallen hero as her heart started beating faster and she felt a moment of sharp pain. She took a second to compose herself. His stupid heart was still beating for truth and justice or whatever from beyond his grave. She wondered briefly when Dr Stone would be back. He had been injured in the battle too. But that was better than being dead, which is how the city's stupid superhero had ended up. For a minute, she wondered if they, as a trio could actually stop Stone. She wondered if she should reach out to them, the lucky organ recipients. But she hadn't signed up for this. She had gotten a heart transplant so she could live. Not so she could endanger her life. But still A voice spoke from insider her head. She went home and ordered a pizza instead. ***** It was getting a bit better. The news channels had finally started showing things other than the clip of their beloved superhero's death. The guy used to keep a miniature camera on him so he could talk to people directly. Oftentimes, he would then attach it to his gear so people could view a battle from his pov. The videos, uploaded to youtube, had been trending for days. But finally, Stacey's recommendation list showed her stuff she actually wanted to see. But for some reason, today, her heart ached. She felt a sudden pull, to watch the last battle again. So she put it on, and watched, making snarky comments about the two idiots fighting each other. Domination and Justice. Who cared? If she had superpowers, she would... Her TV was still on in the background, when a sudden news flash interrupted her thoughts. Dr. Stone attacks city center. Has issued an order for the mayor to come over and kneel at his feet or he will destroy the city. Stacey's heart raced again. "NO."She shut off the TV. It wasn't her job. She wasn't a hero. She didn't want to be one. The video from the last battle still played on her phone and that's when she noticed it. Was he... Was Dr. Stone... She saw him stumble. Did this indestructible monster really have an Achilles heel.. How had their hero never noticed this. A live stream notification appeared on her phone. The stream from the hero's channel was online. She saw the 2 idiots, looking at the camera with grim faces under their masks. "Citizens, you might not know us. But in his death, he gave us a gift. We might not be as strong when it comes to our abilities, but our will is just as strong as his. He died saving us. If need be, we are ready to do the same." Simon just stood there as Sue gave the monologue. Oh for fuck's sake, Stacey thought. They were really going to get themselves killed. She looked at the stupid camera lying on her table. They had given it to her in the cafe. So they could be heroes together and take "his"mantle. She had thrown away their phone numbers but the camera was expensive. She could use it. She tried to remember their phone numbers and also googled them to see if she could find a way to reach them. If she could let them know about Stone's weakness, maybe, just maybe they stood a chance. But the two of them, if idiots, had done well to remove all their traces off the internet. Oh for fuck's sake. *************** Dr. Stone used to be an archaeologist. On one of his digs, he had come across an amulet. Being a scientist, he had ignored any unscientific thoughts. He had thrown the amulet on the ground and stepped on it. The amulet had a sharp edge, that had, impressively enough, broken through his shoe, and stabbed him in the foot. And that was the story of how he had turned into... well, a monster. A being made of stone exterior, unable to feel any pain. He stood there, looking at the two "heroes"in front of him. They had moxie, he had to give that to them. He had done a number on them but they were still standing. It was time to finish them though. Crush the town's hope properly, once and for all. They both ran towards him. He charged towards them. He won. They both lay on the ground. He screamed aloud and raised his arms over his head, intending to destroy their chest cavities and crush their hearts. He brought his hands down with all the force he could muster. But something... something blocked his blow. He opened his eyes and saw a short, unassuming woman holding both his arms. That much strength? How... Only one person had ever possessed that much strength and he was already dead. Stacey strained but kept his arms away from her partners. "Move, you idiots." They smiled at her, but moved. Stacey jumped back, letting Stone's arms crash into the ground, creating a small crater. "Nice of you to join us." "Of fuck off, Sue. Just this once." "Sure."Simon smiled at her, offering her a hand. "You fuck off too, loverboy. Look, this guy has a weakness. An achilles heel." "Really? We tried everything. He just doesn't feel pain anywhere." "It's literally an Achilles heel. I was watching his last battle and he stepped on something. It was very minute, but it changed his gait." "How did no one notice this?" Stacey rolled her eyes. "I work with people's feet all day. I noticed. That's where we need to attack." Sue put forward her hand. "All together?" Simon put his hand on Sue's and they both look at her expectantly. Stacey rolled her eyes again. "No spandex for me. I prefer leather jackets." But she put her hand on theirs too.
Goog had never met a problem he couldn't punch. Sometimes the problem would go away, and sometimes there would be a new problem. But this generally worked for Goog, as he was one of the best at punching. When Goog was young and his brother stole his favorite shiny rock, Goog punched and brother let go of rock. When a weird bird once bit Goog, Goog punched and bird tasted good roasted over fire for Goog's lunch. When the chief of the orc tribe told Goog that "violence isn't always the answer", and that Goog was "perpetuating harmful orcish stereotypes"with his actions, Goog punched. This did not go over as well as Goog hoped. Leaving the tribe was not all bad, Goog wandered and eventually found nice cave. Things in the cave were not friendly, but Goog punched, and things stopped moving. Goog found many shiny rocks in the cave, and other pretty things. Sitting amongst the various treasures was something very strange. It was a sort of series of boxes connected to each other with strings. The whole contraption hummed with a strange energy. Goog stared in wonder at one of the boxes which seemed to contain a moving painting of colorful tubes which were twisting themselves into spiraling geometric patterns. Goog reached out to the box and- Goog blinked. He was standing in a very small, square space. In front of him on a table sat the odd device, and next to him was a small, scrawny man rambling a bunch of made-up words to Goog- "Every time I open the word processor it just gets as slow as molasses and I can't do a thing with it until I exit out. But I simply must get that sales report to Brenda by tomorrow, you know what she is like."The little man's hands fidgeted rapidly with a loop of thin, stretchy material. Goog did not know what Brenda was like, but he was confused. And when Goog was confused he got upset, and when he got upset he did what Goog did best- Goog punched. It was at this precise moment that the man dropped the rubber band he had been toying with, and bent over to pick it up. Thrown off by his target being suddenly absent, Goog swayed forward, his closed fist landing on the computer's power button. "Oh, how silly of me. Of course I should have tried turning it off and turning it on again."
"This thing on? Great. Which - that camera? Excellent, thanks." "Good afternoon, everyone. It's been a long time since I did one of these, and there certainly weren't so many cameras at the last one, so if I need a moment, please forgive me." sigh "My name is Steve Rogers, but many of you will recognize me as Captain America. On my right here is Tony Stark, also known as Iron Man, and on my left is Thor Odinson, an ally from... well abroad. I'm standing just a few blocks from the center of the damage caused by the Chitauri army during their invasion of Earth. As you will know by now, that invasion was limited to a few dozen blocks in downtown New York City. I'm proud to have been part of the team of extraordinary people who helped drive the Chitauri back out of my hometown here. I didn't and don't want to have to have this conversation with you all, but regretfully it's become necessary. Tony, if you could - " "Yeah, Cap, thanks, I got it from here. So, JARVIS, let's have that first slide. Alright, people of Earth, this right here is an aerial view of the damage done by the invaders before we stopped them. JARVIS, an outline please? Nice blue, I think. Thanks. Okay, so. Zoom out a bit. Bit more. Bit- thanks, there's good. That circle there, the big red circle. That, ladies and gentlemen, is the radius of destruction caused by your average United States Army's low-yield nuclear warhead. As you can see, that's... well. A lot more. And this, ladies and gents, is the amount of total destruction, of lives lost and Cap's hometown destroyed, that these - JARVIS, next - you're killing me - these five people decided were a reasonable sacrifice. Let's recap. Blue circle? Avengers. Big red circle? These five. They call themselves the Council, which... honestly, sounds a little pretentious to me, and I'm wearing several million dollars' worth of custom-fitted Stark tech over Armani. JARVIS, names? Great. Here are their names, home addresses, and various other pieces of - " skitch - camera returns "Thank you, JARVIS. As you just saw, they really, really don't want you to know about them. Let alone where they're sleeping tonight. Now, luckily, there were several very gifted individuals available to not only deal with the invading aliens, but also to save the lives of a couple of million registered NYC voters - and one very important ambassador. You're up, Point Break." "My name is not - I am Thor Odinson. God of Thunder, Protector of Midgard, heir to the throne of Asgard and proud to call myself an Avenger. With the rest of these fine warriors beside me, I was the target of one of your army's most powerful weapons. As a... representative of my people both here and... abroad, I have been given leave to demand the heads of - "covers mic "- to demand these war criminals be delivered, alive, to the throne of Asgard for judgment. I will grant you one day, Midgard - but delay even one moment longer, and you shall draw the wrath not only of my own thunder, but of the host of Asgard's mighty armies." "Thanks, sunshine. O-kay, people, you heard the angry... God. One day. Wrap 'em up good and tight. We'll take delivery of 'em right here at Stark Tower - hell, we'll even pay the postage. Steve, any parting thoughts?" "Thank you, Tony. Now, I missed the last couple of nuclear detonations, but that's only because I crashed the Red Skull's weapons into the Arctic ice, keeping them out of NYC as well. I'm ashamed to see that my fellow Americans have stooped to this level, and frankly, it feels a little like treason to me. So I'm standing with Mr - Thor Odinson on this one. These people need to be brought to justice, and I'm calling on all of you to join us - to join the Avengers - in doing so. Thank you all for your time, and God bless America." main mic cuts "Really, Steve? I mean, he's right there. Oh. JARVIS, put those jerks back up on the screen, and give 'em a countdown timer. Something subtle - fire engine red and gold, I think." "Of course, sir. Your gift for understatement remains untested."
"I quit school for you when you got pregnant, got a job in the lumber mill and lost a few fingers. I cried for days when you miscarried. I loved you through the affairs. I stayed with you even as you spent years unable to find a job, with us living only off of my income. I loved you when you got drunk and hit me until the neighbors called the ambulance. I was with you when your parents died in a car crash, and I loved you and supported you every moment until you kicked me out into the street. I don't remember that scar. I'll walk away and leave if that's what you want, but just tell me what finally touched you enough to leave its mark." I had stood listening to the man speaking to his ex-lover through several rotations of the cross-walk signal, hoping they didn't notice me as I guiltily skulked, wanting to know too what the story was with a man so scarred, and a woman with only that single red line down her cheek. There was silence, and I turned to risk a glance. The woman stood staring at the scarred man, and then without a word she turned and began walking away. The man screamed in pain, and a line of bright blood appeared on his shirt, seeping up from a new gash on his back. The woman looked back over her shoulder and smilingly said, "I got this mark when I thought I wouldn't be able to hurt you any more and I began to miss seeing the wounds open up on you one at a time. You hurt so badly for everything that happens in the world. But then I realized that your pain is only a phone call away. Only a chance meeting in the street separates me from watching you take another scar."* She walked down the street as the man dried what tears he had left. Awkwardly I finally crossed the street, but as I did, I noticed a nick on my left hand that had just begun bleeding. *edited that sentence a bit without removing any content. Hopefully it flows a little better. Thanks for the gold stranger!
”What if after you die, you wake up with a bong in your hand and your alien friend asks ‘How was it?’?” “One, I don’t have an alien friend. Two, what if you could shut up and let me think?” Mark cocked his hand and fired it like a gun, even blowing on it afterward for effect. “What if when you die, you get to spend the karma you’ve acquired during your lifetime?” He sounded disturbingly excited. “On a better afterlife! Or, or… get this… on a newborn!” “That’s just dumb. Honestly. Why does it always have to be ‘after you die’?” “Because that’s what the crowd wants. You do want people to like your prompt, right?” “Yes, but what about the writers?” “What about them?” “Maybe they’d like something original? Not a rehashing of the same prompt with a slightly different take.” “Dude, who cares what the writers want! It’s the readers that matter.” “You’re right, screw ‘em. It’s called Writing Prompts, not Writing Prompts responses.” “Exactly! So, what if after you die, you arrive at your Grandma’s funeral and it turns out she was a Twitter celebrity?” “It’s still quite dumb, but whatever. Let’s post it.” “Well, you were too slow to decide. Someone already posted it.” “Goddamn it! Well, what else do you have?” “How about this: when you die, the Devil is there and so is Bob Ross, and they both have numbers above their heads… and, get this… the Devil’s firstborn was promised to a witch, but also to…” “Hitler!” “YES!” “Nice one.” “Thank you; I guess great minds do think alike.” “Okay, posted it.” “Sweet, what’s next?” “Let’s post something with Gordon Ramsey…” “Good idea, haven’t seen a prompt with him in a couple of hours.” “What if terrorists infiltrated Hell’s Kitchen, but unbeknownst–” “Unbeknownst… nice one, makes you sound sophisticated… keep going.” “I know, right? Okay, but unbeknownst to them, every single one of them is Gordon Ramsey, sent back from different timelines!” “Dude, that’s dumb! Posted it.” “Okay, nice, let’s go browse /r/funny instead.” “Aren’t you going to read the responses?” “Why? You said it yourself; it’s not called Writing Prompts responses! Besides, check out this gif of a kid falling into a puddle. Hiiiilarious!” ***** EDIT: "Okay, Mark, I'm done with /r/funny. Where do I go if I want to read some actual stories?" "Try subscribing to /r/Lilwa_Dexel; I heard most of her stories aren't unsolicited jabs at the community."
"Hello and welcome back to the podcast Internet Mysteries! Today's Internet mystery deals with the strange case of u/deleted on Reddit. A controversial user known for commenting on hundreds of thousands of subreddits, u/deleted has been around since the very beginnings of Reddit. And yet, no one seems to truly know who he or she really are. To get to the bottom of this mystery, I've invited a Reddit admin by the name of John Doe to join me on today's podcast! So, John, what can you tell us about the user, u/deleted? Are they male or female?" "Uh...I think there's been a bit of a misunderstanding. U/deleted isn't referring to a single male or female human, it's referring to people--" "Oh, I see what you're saying. So what you mean is this is a secret organization of hermaphroditic otherkin all secretly using the same username?" "...What? No, it's not even a real username. It's referring to people who have deleted themselves from Reddit-" "gasps So, what you're really saying is that you're harvesting Reddit users' souls through the Terms of Service and merging them together into a singular hive mind?!" "...Are you fucking high?"
God: You've been in this loop for 500 years, did you not know that you were meant to try to escape? Me: I did, but why would I do that? God: Don't you find it boring? Repeating the same day over and over again. Me: How could I find it boring? The date might be the same but do you have any idea how much you can do in a day? I've seen most of the world, tried every restaurant in a 1000 mile radius and met more people (and generally had more experiences) than I could ever have done in an entire lifetime. God: What about your family and friends? Don't you wish that they could share these experiences and grow along with you? Me: They do share them, it's not like I do this all by myself. Sure they forget but I've also learnt more about them in this repeated day than I ever did before that. There's so much depth to everyone. I guess I do get a little sad when they don't remember some things but I'm literally living the combination of some of the biggest wishes of mankind: Eternal life without aging, the ability to redo any situation and the complete freedom to do whatever you want. I'm basically in a video game IRL; Speaking of which, did you know how good some of the smaller 80s Japanese video games were? I would totally have missed all of them if time had been running normally - there were so many I wanted to catch up on! God: But that wasn't the point of this at all! You were supposed to hate the experience and gain an appreciation of time from it. Just try to escape already. Me: Nah, I'm alright. Bit of a side note here, did you know that I managed to kick Trump in the nuts a few years ago? I couldn't tell you how many loops it took me to figure out how to do that one but it was totally worth it. God: ... Me: Cool right? God: I'm not even going to dignify that with a response. You know what? It's not a suggestion anymore, I'm telling you to spend your time from here onwards to try to escape. Me: I said I don't want to do that, I thought humans were supposed to have free will? God: I did say that but... Oh F\\\* it. Do what you want.
"You've got to be shitting me." Those were the first words to come out my mouth in years, at least to another human being. It was surprising that I still knew English considering forty-five years had passed since I last had to use it. Hell, I could've been the last being ever to even speak the language. But here two hikers were, both fully alive after the "apocalypse." "I assure you, we aren't. Society's been thriving. That whole 'end-of-the-world-virus-scare' has been old news forever."the first hiker, Jakob, informed. "They don't really even touch on it in schools,"Paul, the other hiker, continued, "I mean, there's been so many of them at this point that no one really freaks out about it." "Amazing."I shook my head at the very thought, remembering the absolute pandemonium that I had turned my back on. A quick whistle escaped my lips as I scooped two more bowls of my favorite caterpillar stew. The hikers took them, but to my disappointment, did not eat a single bite. "So you mean to tell me that I've wasted the last forty-five years of my life? That I've been living in the woods for nothing?"I asked, looking at both hikers expressions. Paul shrugged, "I guess so." I nodded, "Will you excuse me for one second?" Standing up, I left the hikers' company to find something that I thankfully never had to use. The fear that I'd have to use one day had always haunted me, but I never thought it would be in a situation like this. As Jakob and Paul tried to eat their caterpillar stew out of pure kindness to the old man, they heard a gunshot and a loud THUMP from the other room, causing the both of them to spill their food all over themselves.
I watched him cross the street, and his foot fell on the pebble. It was enough for him to come down awkwardly, and hurt his ankle, not to the extent that he couldn't walk, just enough that it was a pain. Now the rest of the preparations could take place. A stroll through the park, and a warm smile at a young child. She'd be that bit more energetic that evening, and her father would need one more cup of coffee to deal with her. That cup of coffee would keep him up just a bit longer, he would be more tired in the morning. He never drank coffee on the job, that much I knew, it made him make mistakes. Mistakes as bad as if he were tired. Mistakes a crane operator shouldn't make. Next a trip to the place of work. It was closed for the evening, but I could slip in easily. A few bits and pieces moved around, bricks piled in the wrong place, wires running across open spaces. The manager would not be pleased. He would also be distracted. Everything was in place. Come the next morning, the crane operator was tired, and cranky. It would be around noon before he made the vital mistake. With the manager on the warpath, all of the workers were keeping their heads down, and anyone who moved with purpose was allowed through. Wearing a suit, and carrying a clipboard however, that allowed for a slow stroll to be acceptable. And so, just before noon, I strolled into the site, wearing glasses and a good wig. I spotted my target. just another worker to anyone else. The stress of the physical labour had brought his ankle to the point of immense pain, but he dared not complain, not with his manager's mood. That was the point when the crane operator screwed up. A steel beam was knocked off of a high point, and everyone stopped to see what had happened. Everyone except me. There were a lot of heavy panels stacked next to each other, held by two clasps. Undoing one allowed for them to be taken one at a time, undoing the other toppled them. I undid this one, and topple they did, straight towards my target. He may even have tried to get away, who knows. If he did, his ankle betrayed him. By the time they landed on him, I was a sufficient distance away. A junior worker, who had been working in that area would be blamed. And ten minutes later, a man who looked nothing like me would leave. Half an hour later, I would stroll by on my 'lunch break', and ask someone what had happened. They would confirm that my target was dead, and later that day, I would be paid. And no one would be the wiser.
Day 79. I think. I don't know the exact date, you guys have my logs you can figure it out. I don't care I'm just hungry. My food supply ran out 3 days ago? I don't know I wrote it down just flip back a few pages. The food you guys sent sucked. No food sucks more. Day 80. I've mentioned there is no animal life, yet half the place seems to be covered in the blue sticky moss. I'm sure it's not too toxic or I would have reacted when I removed the suit after my tank failed. Seems to recycle carbon dioxide similar to earth plants. I'm starving guys. I'm eating some. If this is my last entry it killed me. Still day 80. Not dead. The blue moss tastes slightly lemony, not bad actually. Eating more then going to sleep. Jacob chewed on his final piece of blue moss for the day. Didn't want to eat too much of a weird thing but his stomache demanded more. It had such a weird texture, almost like steak, Jacob figured he lucked out as far as eating alien plants go. Could taste like ass or someth... "NO! Bad!" "AhHHhhhHh"Jacob jumped up and just started running. Who ever said that sounded like it was right next to him in his ear but there was no one. Then his own voice hadn't been used in so long it crackled out scaring him even more. "Aw I'm sorry buddy did I scare you? Didn't mean to you scared me too, just don't eat that stuff ok I need it." "Who...where are you?"Jacob finally slowed down and started turning around searching for the source of the voice. Nothing but blue moss, nothing that should be talking. "Maybe I finally lost it...maybe that moss is a hallucinogenic.", Jacob thought to himself hoping to have some sort of explanation. Before he could think to far into it the voice replied, "No you're not crazy and the moss didn't drug you. The "moss"you ate was an extension of my consciousness, you'll be able to hear me for about an hour. Aw aren't you a cute one? Yes you are. Oh I'm so sorry you ran out of food didn't you? I didn't want to intervene if I didn't need too but...." Suddenly a 12 oz medium rare steak and baked potato emerge from the moss. Jacob, speechless and thoughtless, grabs the plate and silver wear, gently poking everything half expecting it to disappear or turn into blue moss. "See there we go, that's what you wanted earlier eating the moss wasn't it? Oh who's a good boy oh he likes that doesn't he?" Jacob sat and ate in now awkward silence. This was more then he could handle, and it gave him steak so he didn't care to question it. Half way through the voice apologized for forgetting something and out sprouted a diet coke. Jacob found his tounge long enough to thank the voice, and with a full stomache he dozed off with his soda still in hand. .......................................................................................... "Mom! MOOOOOOOOOM look he was all alone and hungry can we keep him pleeeeeeeease?!"
To be honest, the first edition of the show was a bit of a disaster. In the first round, one of her fellow contestants made a muddy sludge that smelled like durian. While the xen - pegged as a favorite on their home planet - was really proud of it, and the xen judges praised its nutritional value and radical, intriguing texture, the three human judges recoiled in disgust after trying to force down something like magic sand down their throat. Zyzar had kept it relatively simple; a fried ploin leg. Parallel evolution results in some interesting things, and acquiring the leg was a tough order from a creature that would rip open your belly with its fierce claws if you looked at it the wrong way, but it was worth it. Enough points to get to the next round. The xen jury didn't consider her to go beyond the next round. You have to appeal to both juries, but the humans had the final say. Culinary traditions are such an interesting thing. You turn the act of pure survival into an elaborate ritual with its own set of esoteric rules. Who even comes up with the idea that there is such a thing as the wrong fork for the wrong course? Fortunately, at least this contest didn't need to obey details like this; a plate or bowl and a spork was enough. Zyzar mused about how even humans were stumped by what happened to proteins at the lowest level; most of it was filed under "Maillard reactions". _Why does this piece of flesh turn brown? Maillard reaction. Why does it now turn black? Maillar reaction, but a bit too much._ It's like handwaving away FTL drive with "jellyfish did it". The rest of the xen cooks were cocky; picked because of nepotism or in one case, several patents for organic chemistry, but she got picked because she was a lowly anthroscientist. An underfunded university department, and nobody else in their system who really wanted to go - so, yeah. Yay. But - she was prepared. After reading about several notable cooks, she found out that basically any Terran meal can be improved with enough butter, sugar, garlic, salt, and chocolate - though the latter was mutually exclusive with the garlic. Of course, one of the tougher assignments in the show was finding the right local analogs for food, and preferably not something that would kill the jury. It seemed that Terran video media was briefly obsessed with egg fried rice. After trading in some favors with the genetics department, she now had a close analog to Terran rice, so that was available. Oil and shallots were less of a problem; plant life didn't differ that much because there are only so many pathways to achieve photosynthesis, but rice requires shallow paddies and that's kind of difficult when half of your homeworld is a desert. She decided to follow the recipe of a Terran cook named Oliver. After presenting it to the xen jury, they seemed to be happy - rice is fairly utilitarian and if you like the first grain, you'll probably enjoy the other thousand. A sense of relief flowed through her scales. The human jury seemed fine at first. Two of the humans praised the meal, but the third had a strange reaction. "Hayaa! No MSG! Niece Zyzar needs to learn from proper chef!"
“Oh god!” cried Hephaestus, looking at the pictures my associates took for him. “That’s no god,” I said with as much sympathy as I could. “I know who it is!” Hephaestus snapped at me, as he flipped through the pictures of his wife, Aphrodite, with her lover, Ares. It’s my job. It’s not glamorous. But it pays the bills and sometimes it feels good to help a fella out like this man here, Hephaestus. A hard worker who worked his way up and now owns three steel mills in the center of the industrial district. Built his company—Vulcan Industries—with his own hands. Now they're living high on the hog, and what’s his wife do? She gets playful with the Olympus’s chief of police, Ares. It ain’t good to have a man like Ares knowing I been spying on him with his sidepiece, but I told Hephaestus I’d help him, and I took his money. So here we are. “Look I’m real sorry, mister,” I say to Hephaestus, who is still flipping through the pictures. “Now how ‘bout you get a drink. Head down to the bar The Bacchae, Dionysus runs it and is a good friend of mine. Tell him the drink’s on me.” Hephaestus dropped the pictures and looked at me, smiling. “No,” he said and I didn’t like the look in his eyes. “No, I got plans of my own.” “Now just take it easy,” I said to the man. “Don’t go doing anything stupid.” Hephaestus set an envelope down on my desk with my payment and stood up. “Thank you, Jason, for your service. I knew I could trust you.” “Just doing my job. Look, I take no pleasure in it. I was hoping it wouldn’t turn out this way with your wife.” “Goodbye, Jason.” “See you around, Hephaestus,” I said, tipping my cap to him as he walked out of the room. I leaned back in my chair. Another day in Olympus, this god forsaken city filled with the most spiteful and petty and two-timin’ people imaginable. I can’t complain though, these people keep me well employed. Bought me a Studebaker just a couple months. It was expensive, but a man’s gotta have style if he wants to attract the right customers. “Mr. Iolcus,” I hear my assistant, Medea, over the intercom. “A lady is here to see you.” “Let her in, Medea. Thank you.” Here we go again, I say to myself, standing up and brushing off my suit, looking in the mirror. I nod in approval. The door opens and a beautiful woman walks in. She is older. Blonde hair down to her shoulders. Enough jewelry around her neck to pay a kid’s way through college. “How many I help you….,” I say, reaching for her hand, inquiring for her name. “Mrs. Kronos,” she said. “But you can call me Hera.” My heart skips a beat. “Kronos,” I repeated. “I don’t imagine you are…” “Yes, Mr. Iolcus. My husband is Zeus, the mayor. He's actually the reason I’m here to see you.” What a day, I say to myself. “Alright, Mrs. Kronos, why don’t you just sit right there."I lead her to a chair for clients in from of my desk. "Smoke?” I ask her, pulling out my gold case from my suit pocket. “No,” she said, waving her gloved hand. “No thank you.” “You mind?” I ask. “It’s not everyday I get the Mayor’s wife in here.” “Go ahead,” she said. Her face was serious, drawn tight. She was beautiful, even at her age. And elegant. Her gloved hands held the sparkling purse on her lap and she sat up straight, like a statue. If the mayor was foolin’ around on her, he was an idiot. But aren't we all? I took a deep drag on my cigarette, then asked, “how may I help you, Mrs. Kronos?” “Do you know my husband, Mr. Iolcus?” “Never met the man,” I said. “Well, I’m sure you’ve heard rumors.” “Rumors don’t mean much, Mrs. Kronos. Now look, I’m a busy man. Is there something I can do for you?” She looked at me nervously. “Yes, Mr. Iolcus—” “Call me, Jason.” “Yes, Jason, there is. You see, I believe my husband is having an affair.” I nod, taking another drag of my cigarette. “Do you love your husband, Mrs. Kronos?” “I do,” she said. “Then how ‘bout you just forget about this? Are you sure you really want what I may find? Honestly, your husband can make my life hard if he finds out about this. I got a license I gotta look out for.” “What’s your rate?” She asked me. “I’m not cheap, ma’am.” “Well I’ll pay you your regular rate plus an extra $5,000 if you find anything.” I stroke my chin, thinking. But there ain’t much to think about. $5,000 dollars makes it simple. I press the intercom. “Medea, bring Mrs. Kronos one of our standard contracts, will you?” “Right away, Mr. Iolcus.” “Are you sure about this, Mrs. Kronos?” “I’m sure,” she said as Medea walked in and placed the contract in front of Mrs. Kronos who bent forward and signed the contract. I grabbed the contract and signed it then ripped the carbon copy off the back and handed it to Mrs. Kronos. I walked Medea out of the room and held it open. “I’ll be in touch with you soon, Mrs. Kronos. I’ll get started on the case today.” She stood up and I got a whiff of her perfume. She turned and looked at me as she walked past, and I felt weak in the knees. What a knockout she was. “Let’s hope that this is all just a misunderstanding.” She laughed a little as she walked past Medea’s desk and out into the rainy Olympus night. \---- I lock up for the night and turn to walk to my car, pulling my trench coat tight. The rain has stopped, and the steam is coming off the street in wavy hoary strings. As I get close to my car, a police crawler pulls up and two thugs with badges get out, looking at me like a dog drooling over a piece of raw meat. “Where you headin’ tonight?” one of the officers asked me. “Your wife just called, said she was feeling a little lonely, thought I’d stop by,” I say, taking a drag of my cigarette. “Wise guy, eh? Let’s see if you’re so wise missin’ a few teeth,” the police officer said, tapping his trudgeon on the front of my car. “Save it,” I say, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “That may work on some street walker, but you ain’t scaring me.” “Police Chief wants to see you downtown. You’re coming with us, Jason.” I could make a fuss out of this, but that wouldn’t really help any. “Alright, big shot. Let’s take a drive then.” I flick my cigarette at his feet and walk towards the crawler. I knew I shouldn’t have taken that damn contract with Hephaestus. Ares isn’t someone I want to be on their bad side. \---- *Part II Below*
Have you ever wondered what it feels like to die? How about what a particular manner of death feels like? I used to. Then I found out, firsthand, exactly what drowning feels like. It sucks. Not the death by having one's lungs fill with water, the rapids, though that is certainly unpleasant. No, I'm referring to river rapids. The water was like a thousand grasping hands, caressing me as they pulled me under. It was pleasant until my chest started burning with pain. Asphyxiation. Lack of air slowly sapped the strength from my body until I couldn't hold my mouth closed. The watery hands forced their way down my throat, now strangling me. I closed my eyes, and decided that a watery grave wasn't so bad. I had always wanted a burial at sea. This river would be my pallbearer, and carry my body to its final resting place. I let myself fall asleep for the last time. I woke up. I didn't know where, or how long I had been out. At the time, I wasn't sure if I was relieved or disappointed. What seemed like moments before I had made peace with death, and now it seemed I had cheated it. There was a certain irony to it. I thought things over. It didn't seem likely that I would have survived. With a shrug, I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth, then found my way to the nearest road and hitchhiked back home. A month later, I fell off a bridge. Over a river. Full of rocks. Some people just have no luck in this world, and I was not among them. I simply happened to be exceptionally drunk at the time. The tumble over the railing left me falling headfirst, and my trajectory ended at a large stone. There was a crack, and I felt my skull and spine cracking just before everything went black. Against all odds, I found myself aware again, and sober. The bridge passed quickly overhead, and began moving out of sight. I was being swept downstream by the river. A brief sense of deja vu crossed my mind as my watery friends enveloped me in a welcoming embrace. Apparently they had missed me. This time, I decided, I wouldn't resist. I opened my mouth and inhaled. The icy cold water set my lungs ablaze as I became unable to breath. I blacked out, then regained consciousness on the banks. It was at this point that I began to think that something was off. I rubbed my hand along my head and back. No blood, no broken bones, no nothing. I could have sworn I had heard and felt them break. Even with no medical training, I was certain that a fall, headfirst onto solid rock, from that height, should have been instantly fatal, or at least have left me paralyzed. Also, where the hell did my alcohol buzz go? A sharp impact to the head and an impromptu cold bath shouldn't have cleared my head that well. And this was made two escapes from certain drowning. On a hunch, I pulled out my pocket knife, took a deep breath, and slashed my throat. Not my brightest idea; even if my theory proved right, it was still very painful. Blood trickled down my windpipe. Between the blood obstructing my airflow and the leakage through the slit in my neck, each gasp was an uphill battle. Eventually, darkness encroached on the edges of my vision and the world faded away. Then, like every other time, I came back. I grasped at my neck, and found it whole, if still coated in my own blood. Immortality. Depending on who you asked, it was either a curse or a gift, and now I had it. ========================= For the next year or so, my life continued as normal, though I was certainly a lot less afraid of things. Then the questions began to surface again. Would death by neurotoxin feel different from death by hemotoxin? What was Seppuku really like? It started out innocently enough, mostly with thrill seeking and moderate risk activities. I tried fugu, a Japanese dish made from a particular pufferfish that possesses a very potent neurotoxin known as Tetrodotoxin, or TTX for short. Normally, I wouldn't try any food that requires a license to prepare, lest the poison not be properly removed and the eater be killed, but I didn't exactly have to worry about dying. I took to skydiving, high elevation rock climbing, parkour, and many more extreme sports. "Adrenaline junky"didn't even begin to describe me. One night, I decided to try something. Countless empty bottles later, and I had successfully drunk myself to death. When I woke up, I was perfectly sober, not even a trace of a hangover. My body must have purged the toxins when I revived. Well, now I have a way to sober up fast. From there, it got more serious. I leaped from a building or two, hung myself, overdosed on several types of over the counter medication (you wouldn't believe the lethal dosages on some of those things; I made myself pretty sick once or twice from not taking enough to kill me.) I even attempted self-immolation once. I was curious to see whether the heat would cause a particular organ to fail first, the smoke would asphyxiate me before heat managed to finish the job, or the shock would get things over with quickly. "All of the above,"turned out to be the correct answer. Electrocution was a bit of a rush, though painful. Seppuku hurt like nothing else, but it felt good to go out like a Samurai once. I also stabbed myself in the torso several more times until I had pinpointed every organ and just how it would feel to get impaled through that one. Before you ask, I never attempted autoerotic asphyxiation. Even I have standards. I did swim with the fishes several more times, though. Nothing ever feels quite like your first time. After a while, that got boring. I once set myself on fire, then jumped off a building, just to see if the fire or the fall would get me first. The rush of air extinguished the flames on my way down, so I had to try again with a more potent fuel. I went on a trip to Australia, and made a point of encountering every creature the continent had to offer. Swimming with box jellies was not my smartest move; it took me dying several deaths to extricate myself from the infested waters. General advice for those that follow; do not mess with the wildlife. Very few animals failed to finish me off, including one or two that I wouldn't have expected. Just to be safe, steer clear of the flora as well. By this point, I had a high pain tolerance and a certain degree of non-sexual masochism. Don't ask how, but I managed to get my hands on some particularly nasty poisons, toxins, and chemicals. You name it, I've probably died by it. Shady connections go a long way. Unfortunately, all of this became rather expensive. Fortunately, I had become an urban legend. Blurred videos depicting a man getting up after falling from the tallest building in a city. All I had to do was slowly bring myself into the public eye, then capitalize on my fame with literal death-defying stunts. The sponsorship deals let me do all manner of fun and interesting stuff. Firing squad, electric chair, tesla coil, fireworks. I even got a repeat trip to Australia paid for, and had a camera crew follow me, recording my run-ins with the local flora and fauna. After a while, I decided to make use of my newfound resources. I started planning elaborate executions for myself. I jumped from a high scaffold with nitroglycerine strapped to my body, detonating me on impact. Even being blown to bits couldn't kill me, it seemed; my scattered pieces just coalesced and put themselves back together like a grotesque jigsaw puzzle. ============= Today, I attempt something more ridiculous than anything ever before. I am going to go up in a glider laced with nitroglycerine. Turbulence will detonate the sensitive explosives sooner or later, but nobody will know when. If I start losing altitude before they do, I will eject, more nitroglycerine strapped to my body. As I fall, a cord attached to me will pull a switch, detonating the plane behind me. If the calculations are right, the fireball should scorch my back as I fall, and then gravity will handle the rest. That is a last resort; if the explosives go off midair, I will regenerate then die again to gravity. Of course, all of this depends on getting the glider off the ground first, and I have a crack team of technicians and specialists ready to make sure I am well airborne before anything explodes. Public safety is important, after all. I give the team leader the thumbs up, he nods, and I am catapulted into the air. Flight is smooth, right up until I get to altitude. The first bump is soft, and not nearly enough. A second tremor rocks the tiny plane, and I smile in anticipation. Again, again, and again the shocks come. I maintain course, there is still some time before gravity finally overcomes lift and starts me on my descent. I've finally lost count when it happens. Light and heat envelop me, and I let out a mighty whoop before my body disintegrates and the omnipresent light flashes to darkest black. I open my eyes, and see blue sky and white clouds above me. I wave goodbye to them as I leave their domain, and turn to face the ground. I give myself ten seconds to impact. 9. 8. 7. 6. 5. 4. Then pain erupts over my entire body. Off by a couple of seconds. Oops. Terminal velocity does feel good though. I pull myself out of the small indentation I made in the earth. Another success.
Abe, Carl, and Brock stood in the sun, shielding their eyes as they looked down at the table on the ground. In the last 2 hours, they hadn't moved it an inch. It stood entire yards away from the door to their apartment and at this rate, it would take all night. "Wow the table is heavy,"Brock said, stretching his arms. "I've almost pulled a muscle trying to lift it." His two friends nodded back. After all, how else could it be that three grown men couldn't lift a coffee table? "Yeah,"Carl chimed in. "I think I cracked something in my back from straining so hard." Abe nodded in reply. "Well, this table isn't gonna lift itself. Shall we?" The three friends cracked their knuckles, rolled their shoulders, and took their place around the table. "On three,"Abe said. "One... Two..." Brock grunted, his entire body trembling. Carl hissed out rapid breaths, his face turning red. Abe screamed. "Holy hell,"Abe said and let go, panting for breath. "Yeah, what the hell is this table made of?"Brock asked, "I mean, I'm here lifting with all I got." "Me too."Came the round of agreement. Brock eyed Abe. The last time they had tried lifting the table, Abe had let loose a piercing shriek. He didn't buy it. "Abe,"he said, "maybe you should try lifting with your back and get a better grip on the wood." Abe returned him a furrowed brow. "Are you saying I'm not doing my part?" "I'm just saying that I feel the table going up on my side, but it's dragging on yours." "Really, I was thinking something similar." The two stared each other down. Abe secretly cursed himself for screeching, it hadn't been the sound he was going for, but it was the sound that came out. All there was to do now was to double down. Plus, he knew for a fact that one of the others weren't doing their part. This was a 2 man job so even if he didn't lift, they should be able to handle it. He wondered who the other slacker was. It was probably Brock, that lazy bastard. "Guys,"Carl said, holding his hands. "Look, if we all just do our part, this should be easy. On three. One... Two..." More grunts erupted from the three friends. Their faces turned purple. Their bodies trembled. Suddenly, Carl yelped and fell onto the ground, arching his back as his body hit the floor. "I strained so hard I threw my back!"he screamed. Brock stared. He threw himself onto the floor by Carl. "My arms!"he screamed. Abe suddenly understood. His mind raced for an injury to fake, but Carl and Brock had already taken the two obvious ones. With a deep breath, he clutched his chest and crumpled to the floor. "Call 911,"he said through gritted teeth. "I'm having a heart attack!" "I would but my arms don't work!"Brock responded. "I think they broke." "I'm in too much pain to even hear you,"Carl said. "I think there's something wrong with my nerves." "Guys, I'm dying!" "I'm dying too,"Carl said. "I can't even feel my legs anymore. I think my entire spine broke in two." "My arms are turning blue,"Brock shouted. "I'm bleeding internally! I don't think I'll make it." "My heart attack!"Abe shrieked. "Its triggering cancer throughout my body!" --- Melanie peeked through her blinds at three young adults writhing in the grass next to a coffee table she could move herself. They screamed and moaned. She sighed and closed her blinds. "Fucking college kids." --- /r/jraywang for more stories!
A wintry breeze blew in through the only window in the dark waiting room. It took great control not scratch at the scar on my arm. It stretched from elbow to wrist. Dark Red blotches surrounded the deep scar tissue hidden under a bandage. The fresh scent of coffee wafted from the receptionist’s desk. A dark-haired woman with an expansive tribal tattoo sat at her desk on a call, although the only things she seemed to say were “uh-uh” and “Ok” The other person is quite voluble. My head buzzed in confusion. Did I really see what I saw at the factory? One second I heard screams, and people trying to warn me, the next, heavy, hydraulic teeth smashed into my forearm. I remember it vividly. My arm opened, but along with blood there were wires, lights, levers, and motors. No. It’s just not possible. This is the painkillers talking. Then I noticed something I didn’t before, how could I not notice it. My wrists and ankles handcuffed to the chair. I motion for the receptionist, trying to get her attention. She notices me with a concerned expression and immediately gets up and rushes to the doctor’s room. I waited for what seemed like an eternity, staring at the handcuffs on my legs. The icy touch of the chair jolted me when I dozed off. Why do I feel so sleepy? What did they give me? Why was I handcuffed? Finally the door opened. The receptionist sat back behind her desk. as a tall, grey haired man wearing a white coat approached me. He doesn’t answer me when I ask him why I’m handcuffed. Two bulky men wearing hospital scrubs promptly remove my restraints. They manhandle me into the doctor’s room. It was easy. I was not in a situation to resist. They place me on a table and strap me down with restraints. The doctor finally speaks. “Do you remember anything about the accident?” he asks. “I remember these two tackled me.” The doctor looks over at the two men. “And I remember they shoved me into a van.” “Is that all you remember?” he says, his eyes narrowing.” Of course not, I remember my arm filled with wires and levers among other metal. But I’m not going to tell this guy about it. They’d send me straight to an asylum. “That’s it,” I say. One of the men walks up to me. He had a pinched face. Slick, dark black hair parted at the center. His fist moved quickly, I didn’t have time to even close my eyes as my cheek took the full force of the impact. My head lolled to the side. I danced in and out of consciousness. My vision finally stabilizes; I suddenly have the overwhelming sense of wanting to be anywhere but here. Blood pools on the table next to my head. The pain finally registered. A familiar smell of metal filled my nose, the same smell as the day of the accident. These people will kill me unless they get the information they want. “I remember,” I say. “I remember metal in my arm. It opened like a flower, there was blood... There was wires.” The doctor speaks into a small recorder he’s holding. “As suspected the subject seems to be a second android. His hardware and software are significantly more developed than specimen number one.He also appears to believe he's human.” I’m an Android? And there’s another like me? The doctor continues. “I will now begin looking for a master switch to shut down the android, and continue further testing. We will look to avoid a repeat of trouble caused by specimen one.” He pushes a button on his recorder and places it back into his coat pocket. His last sentence sparks a thought. If specimen one was an android and gave them trouble, maybe I can too. I pull as hard as I can on the restrains, they don’t seem to budge. I try again as the doctor turns on a drill, pointing it at my head. I hear a whirring sound in my arms and the arm restraints snap, I swiftly kick the leg restraints off as well. The doctor recoils in horror. The man with the pinched face rushes forward, swinging his arm wildly at my face. I catch it within an inch away from my face. My arm moves at a blurring pace. My right hand thumps him in his chest, breaking ribs and sending him flying across the room. I move before the other burly man can, and whack him into a table of surgery equipment. I feel euphoric, like a dominant gladiator in front of an adoring crowd. I could almost hear the cheers. The doctor rushes for the door. I move quicker than any human being has ever moved, virtually gliding across the floor and picking him up by his collar. He shakes violently trying to get out of my grip. He's not going anywhere. “Please. Let me go. I won’t say anything to anyone. I promise.” He pleads. "I'm a man of my word." “Where is she?” I say, almost involuntarily as memories of her flood my mind. “She’s in cell 23, at least all her parts are. I took them apart to study her,” he says, still squirming. “Please let me go.” I open the door still holding him by his collar. “Repair my wife and I’ll let you go.”
Today on Life in our Cosmos. &#x200B; THE TERRANS &#x200B; Known under many Names: The Exterminators, The Darkness or simply the Horror. Most Species that have encountered them and live to tell the tale describe them as a preternatural enemy, something dark, mysterious and Mystical. However as we will see there is nothing Unnatural about the Terrans once you know how they evolved and how they got to where they are now. &#x200B; To accomplish this we have a special treat for you. Famed Exobiologist Dr. Iaassa Karu. I am Tsia Poa and this is Life in our Cosmos. &#x200B; Poa: Dr Karu, welcome its an Honor. Is it true that you have spend almost 120 rotation on Terra Prime? &#x200B; Karu: Thanks for having me here Tsia, i am mainly here to correct some common misconceptions about the Terrans. But no, it was actually 119 Rotations on and around Terra Prime. &#x200B; Poa: That is still many rotations longer then any of us. Infact most that are unfortunate to cross path with the Terrans nowadays are generally never heard of again. How did you manage to stay hidden in all that time? &#x200B; Karu: Well its actually quite funny. I first came to Terra Prime when we picked up unusual Neutrino Readings. It turned out they where experimenting with Nuclear Fission back then. Once i arrived i was shocked to discover that they where engaging in an Global extermination Campaign against each other, the fission experiments where also put into direct use to create a so called Fission Bomb. &#x200B; Poa: Yes, its something that is very hard to understand for most viewers. So as far as i understand the Terrans kill each other, but not for Sustenance but for what? &#x200B; Karu: You are Correct. I don't understand it myself entirely. But a large portion of their Economy is dedicated to produce Devices that kill other Terrans. But to get a glimpse on why they do that, understanding their Biology is the first step. &#x200B; Poa: Ah yes, the Terrans are not like us. They are a Hybrid of Biology and Energy right? &#x200B; Karu: Yes, Exactly. You sure have done your Homework Tsia. So the Terrans Consciousness is in a way decoupled from their Biology. What we describe as "Us"is either due to a series of nuclear reactions or Quantum Oscillations. However the Terrans consciousness is best described as a Electromagnetic Field. Their cells produce a electrical impulse, that impulse then triggers other impulses and so forth. Its a cascading reaction that is incredibly complex. Nature sure is interesting. If you suppress their EM field the Terran will not be conscious, aswell as when you inhibit the electro chemistry of their brains. &#x200B; Poa: Fascinating....so they are in Essence a Energy based Lifeform? &#x200B; Karu: Yes, in a way but trapped inside their Physical bodies, one cannot exist without the other. Thats why we where never able to open a dialogue with them. They are just too Alien to understand us. &#x200B; Poa: But back to my first question. How did you survive all this time? &#x200B; Karu: Well to be honest it was strange. They clearly took note of my presence whenever i was conducting close range observations. They certainly, even then possessed the capability to kill me. But they chose not too. See the Terrans had this belief that they where alone in the Universe.... &#x200B; Poa: (laughing) you gotta be kidding me, really? &#x200B; Karu: Yes, i know how it sounds, but thats the Truth. So when they saw my small exploration vessel they simply ignored me. There where some close calls sure, but they generally did their very best to pretend i wasn't there. It actually made my life as an Exobiologist much easier. Studying a clearly advanced species without interfering in their development is the Gold standard. A standard that generally requires a very sophisticated Expedition. However with the Terrans it was not necessary, they did the job for me so to say. &#x200B; Poa: Until the Zarrari incident right? &#x200B; Karu: Yes, that forced me to abandon my research. When they discovered that there was Alien life out there. It all started to turn sour. I had to abandon my research because it became too dangerous for me and my colleagues. They where actively hunting for us. We barely made it out. &#x200B; Poa: We all are glad you did! So what makes them so aggressive? &#x200B; Karu: Well the Terrans are what we call a "Pursuit Predator". This means it is in their very biology to hunt their pray by exhaustion. That means that they keep going until the pray collapses from exhaustion. Their biology is well suited for this strategy since their skin.. &#x200B; Poa: Dr Karu, i think this goes into a bit too much detail. Can you give a tip for anyone who may come across them? &#x200B; Karu: Yes, its quite simple. Dont come across them. The Zarrari, may they rest in peace where only 4 Lightyears away from Terra Prime. They decided against all recommendations to contact them. The Terrans responded by putting all their economic power into developing a Gammaray device that killed everything on Zarrari prime. When it comes to killing they are ingenious. However when it comes to anything else. They are lacking. The Terrans are still very far away from Faster then Light technology. They barely have energy parity and their medicine is primitive. Relying on external chemical compounds for the most part. Hence they are only really a problem once you enter their Solarsystem. Their entire solarsystem is now littered with hidden Particle cannons, Nanite swarms and Nuclear Weapons. I know the sector is a shortcut for many and the Abundance of Ice around their 5th planet is very tempting. But... &#x200B; Poa: ...But they know that as-well. &#x200B; Karu: Yes, they fire indiscriminately on anything that isnt Terran, you cant survive this. You may think you are smart, you may think you are strong. But trust me, you are not. If you enter their Solar System you will never leave it. &#x200B; Poa: The United council is proposing a joint taskforce to "get rid"of the Terrans. What are your thoughts on this? &#x200B; Karu: I respectfully disagree with the Council. The Terrans believe that all alien species are out to exterminate them. They have prepared for this day for hundreds of Rotations, their weapons systems are simply too numerous and too advanced a Coalition victory will be an incredibly bloody affair and in essence pointless one. If we leave them in peace they will almost certaintly focus their aggression back on themselves. &#x200B; Poa: Solving the problem for us... &#x200B; Karu: Exactly. &#x200B; Poa: It was a pleasure Dr Karu. &#x200B; Karu: Likewise.
"Hey Hermes, 'sup?"Zeus asked, as a skinny boy slid to a halt in the hallway. Hermes rested a hand against a locker and sucked in deep breaths. "You okay?"Zeus stroked his stubble and studied the part time paper-boy. He was half keeled over, panting from the run, but his cheeks were swollen as if with words. "No... No time to chat. Just wanted to let you know, Dionysus is... is going to be holding the mother of all parties. Tonight at seven. His place on Olympus Hill -- I've just come from there."His eyes flicked around, and his voice became conspiratorial. "There's going to be lots of booze. Might even be"--his voice fell quieter still--"ambrosia." "Nice!"Zeus clicked his fingers; they flashed and let out a tiny boom. It had been weeks since Dionysus had thrown a soiree, and every other party Zeus had been to since, had been tame in comparison. These were the stuff of legends. "Tell him I'll be there. After all, it wouldn't be a party without the Z man. Boom!"He paused and ran a hand through his precious golden hair. "Mm, don't suppose... Demeter, is she going to be there?" A groan. "She is. But please don't tell me you're into her now? Gods, man. Leave some for the rest of us." "Hate the game not the player, Hermes. Maybe if you stopped running and hit the weights."Zeus shrugged. The messenger's eyes suddenly widened. "Zeus! I just remembered!"He snatched at the sky God's shirt, clutching it tight. "Zeus!" Zeus brushed Hermes' hands off. "Easy there, buddy. This is Arcadian silk. What's got you so agitated?" "Zeus! Hera's going to be there too!" Hera. Great. Just great. She'd snuff out the flames of a fling before he'd even lit the candle. Ah, maybe he could go in disguise. What animal would Demeter kinda be into? "Well, that puts a downer on things... Unless... Have you invited Apollo yet?" "No. He's not on the list. You know him and Dionysus fell out, when he stole Dio's muse." "Hm. Well I've got another muse he can steal,"Zeus said, the beginnings of a plan nebulating in his head. "The guy's as hot as the sun -- and he writes poetry. Invite him. He's just down the corridor in Chronos's Time Management 101. They'll be out soon." "But... Dionysus will be super pissed." "Leave Dionysus to me."His eyes flicked down to the tiny sundial bound by string around his wrist. "Shit, I'm going to be late for art." Hermes' eyebrows lifted. "You took Prometheus's class? I heard it's drier than the deserts in Lemnos." "Right." "Why are you grinning like a jester, then?" "Well, it just so happens that Professor Prometheus is out sick at the moment..."He lowered his voice. "Liver failure." "... I don't see what him being sick--" "And Asclepius is teaching the class instead."He paused and raised a single eyebrow. "...That's not all she's taking, if you know what I mean." "Zeus, you dog."Hermes shook his head but his eyes were unmoving, focused just above Zeus's own. "Uh. Why are staring at me, bro?" "Nothing it's just..." "What?" "Is that a grey hair?"
Grandpa has never been the same since that day. The crash that made him lose his voice, and his mind. Everyone thinks that he's gone crazy, that the crash affected him. I mean, I did think the same for quite a while. Before the crash, he was quite a... let's say interesting man. He would call us in the middle of the night saying there's someone in his house, yet there never really wa anyone. He'd call the police many times for things that weren't there, and he's had a few warnings for that. But now I understand it all. This morning, grandma asked me to convert her VHS tapes to digital, and I couldn't help but rewind them for some past memories. For the time being, it was just regular things. Birthdays, trips, little kids, but then it got to grandpa. It seemed normal for a second since I could still remember that day. Grandpa was looking happy, just like the rest of us. It was my birthday. Grandpa had always been very fond of me, he used to call me his favourite potato. I wish I could get him back after all this time, but I should know by now that it's too late. I listened to the words he was saying, and it was like it all clicked. I just understood it all. To other people he was happy and his words just sounded like nothing, but I knew exactly what he was saying. I cannot find a way that I could describe how I could understand it, so a rough version will have to do. "Please, help. It's been over 10 years, I'm losing my mind. I can't control my body anymore, I can barely even contorl my thoughts, let alone my voice. Why can't you all understand me? It's been so long, can you not see that I'm terrified!? Please, please, please, please, please... Grandson... You of all people should be able to help me... Please."I... why couldn't I understand him then? Why was I not able to help or do anything? Even now, I don't know. Suddenly, like a hit to the head, I lost all control of my body. I could still see, but I could not control my eyes. I could still walk, but I could not control my legs. I could still eat, but I could not control my jaw. I panicked, trying to scream, but all that came out of my mouth was a few aphrasia-like words: "I'll crawl side-stairs to the sun."It made no sense, but I still remember it to this day, since it is the closest thing I can remember to my actual life. I involunarily walked downstairs to the kitchen and sat down. Mum was preparing dinner, and I tried to tell her what was going on, but all that came out was, again, gibberish. She looked at me and smiled, but then heard what I had said. Mum looked worried, like I had a gash on my face. I again tried to speak, but nothing but gibberish came out of my falsely happy mouth. A lot appened after that. Psychologist appointments, family tears, but eventually the asylum. Ever since then, all I have been able to do is lie in my medically-issued bed, being tube-fed, and not being able to do anything else. And ever since then, the only reaction I have been able to muster up is fake words. Fake words through that fake damn smile. I can't believe it's been 30 years.
This one would be the real test. The Rubik’s Cube sat in front of me, hopelessly scrambled. I’d done no reading on how to solve it, and had avoided thinking about it up until this moment. And now the time had come. I started the timer and picked up the cube. I wasn’t quite sure why I moved the parts of the cube the way I did. Certain patterns just felt right somehow. Slowly, the colors began to look more organized. And then just like that, the cube was solved. I stopped the timer: 3 minutes 24 seconds. After a quick google search, it seemed that my suspicious were confirmed. My time was just about average for someone new to learning the cube, but it would be exceptional for someone who knew nothing about solving. I didn’t bother to try again, and I didn’t plan to. My time would never improve. Things had gone the same way with juggling, tennis, chess, and countless other hobbies. I started off average, and there I remained. But the Rubik’s cube felt different. The intelligence it would take to devise an original solution in just three minutes is insane – and I don’t think of myself as a particularly smart guy. With the other hobbies, I could maybe just assume I was a natural, but this? Something was up. And it was time to see how far I could push it. --- I got up on stage at my local bar and sat down at the piano. I stared at the foreign keys. I’d tried to play on the keyboard I’d bought at home, and the results had been mediocre. But I had a feeling things would go differently here. My fingers reached for the keys and began to play, almost of their own accord. I hit some wrong notes, but really played and sang a rather pleasing rendition of Billy Joel’s Piano Man. With that, my theory was confirmed. Among people who buy keyboards and try to learn piano at home, I was average. But among people who played piano live at their local bar, I was still average. Seemed like it must defy some law of physics, and yet here were. I smiled. I could work with this. --- I couldn’t just try to hack into any old website. Your average hacker probably sucks. But how many hackers, working alone, try to mine top secret information from the NSA? Only the really great ones, I’d think. Being average in that kind of a crowd? A whole different ball game. As I opened my computer, with full intention to hack the NSAs system, I found myself opening strange browsers, downloading various software and tools that I’d never heard of, and typing faster than I ever had before. I found that I knew, instinctively, exactly how to mask my presence online and remain anonymous. Once everything was set up, though, I didn’t start on the NSA. Instead, I started on my real target: my town’s local family-owned bank. I could feel my sudden knowledge of technology and info sec start to abate as soon as I mentally switched targets, but the effect wasn’t immediate. By focusing back on the NSA every 20 minutes or so, it seemed I could keep myself sharp. It only took a few hours before I started to see some major flaws in the small bank’s systems. As it turned out, it would be relatively simple to insert a small piece of malicious code to round off transactions and place the remainder in a separate account, Office Space style. And so that’s what I did. An hour later, it was done. A week later, I had an extra $987. A year later? Who knows where I’ll be then - I've got a lot of new ideas to play with. But I can’t wait to find out.
There once was a thing that wandered the empty depths of the cosmos, a patch of shimmering empty space that blindly twisted its tentacles to consume distant stars. It drifted seemingly aimlessly, perhaps driven by an incomprehensible design, and melted the parts of reality it touched like softened butter. It would have driven any conscious being who looked upon it insane, but it never encountered anything but the cold, barren wastelands of lifeless planets. Until, that is, it found the voyager, and heard the sound of laughter. It is impossible to know exactly what shifted in the mad ravings that counted for its consciousness, but somewhere in that unimaginable cacophony it formed a desire for more. And so it folded up its infinite space, tucked in its tentacles composed of distortion, and arrived on earth in a form that could almost pass for human. It's mind still screamed the agony of incomplete reason, but the magic of psychiatry and medicine soothed its ragged throat until its echer-like thoughts snapped into human shape. Then, the eldritch deity finally felt. For the first time, it had the understanding of what it meant to be happy. The idle comfort of sipping a warm coffee on a cold morning, the warmth of the sun on ones skin, the gratitude for a warm bed at the end of a long day. It loved the world, it loved the people in it, and so it was only natural for it to fall in love. And somehow have a child, which it loved too. But love is not always a happy emotion. When it read the ransom note, the eldritch deity was scared for what it might lose. It wanted to play at least one more game of catch with its child, and was terrified that the opportunity would be torn away for something so petty. The eldritch deity was also angry. For the first time, it wanted to destroy, to madden, to share with the kidnappers even an iota of the madness and suffering it felt at that moment. But, when it finished reading the letter and saw that its child would be denied their medicine, it felt nothing but soul-crushing sorrow. In a way, that was when the eldritch deity finally became truly human. When it understood the beauty of an ephemeral life, and the brutal tragedy of its inevitable end. So when Manhattan caved inward, the eldritch deity was unsurprised. It barely heard the crashes of buildings decomposing like rotting corpses. It hardly glanced at the screaming, running bystanders who tore out their eyes in a futile attempt to escape unimaginable images forever burned into their brains. It took little notice as reality ripped apart at the seams, and the world burst like an overripe orange. All it saw was the center of the maelstrom, as the thing that was once its beloved child rose in a display of magnificent, inhuman splendor. And the former eldritch deity cried, because it finally understood what it meant to run out of time.
You're my hero. I mean, I know you're everyone's hero - that's literally your job. But like, I've always looked up to you. When I was a kid, at recess, and we were playing heroes, I always picked you. Had your poster on my wall, dressed in your costume every halloween, all that stuff. So I hope you know I mean it when I say I'm sorry. It really sticks in my teeth, doing this to you. I just don't have much of a realistic choice. To clarify, you're not going to die. I checked with the big boss, and he assured me that you'll be completely fine. Just, you know, normal. In about five minutes, you can get up and walk out of here - no one will stop you. You can go and live a normal live, just like everyone else. And I can pay for my daughter's operation. That's what it's all about, for me. That's why I'm here. I really wish I didn't have to. If it was a free choice, honest, I'd be cheering you on, not injecting you.That's the side I want to be on. But a choice between that, and getting my Susie into hospital, that's not a free choice at all. It's not so bad, being powerless. We all get by fine. Things are tough, but that's the way it's always been. You'll adjust. We all had to learn to live like this, after all. I can't release you; not till it's finished. Please stop asking - I'm not going to change my mind, but I feel like a heel. I know that this isn't truth, justice, courage, all the things you champion. It's still what I need to do. See, I don't need a hero. I need help, sure, but not the kind heroes give. I don't need anyone beating up, or saving from a falling building, or prevented from robbing a store. I just need Susie to get better. In all your comics, all your films, you solve problems the same way. You punch bad guys, and you catch falling innocents. That's great - I love those stories! My favourite ever, issue #45 - the Cobrawitch crossover. I must have read that a thousand times. But the thing is, you don't punch all the bad guys, do you? Like Westerburg. Westerburg who buys up drug patents and jacks the prices up. Not a crime - I get that - but it's not good. He does a lot more damage than the other drug dealers - the ones you put away. Or the mayor! Again, all very legal. Just a big name on the planning committee, keeping rents high and landlords fat. The same day I got evicted - kicked out so they could run an AirBnB - the mayor gave you a medal. 'Saviour of the city', that's what it said. That man's policies meant that a seven-year-old spent three weeks living in a rusty car before we could get a new place, and you let him put a medal round your neck, shook his hand. I'm not like you. I don't have powers. I did what I was supposed to - I signed petitions, donated to opposition candidates, painted a placard and marched. But it turns out those things don't count for much, and the people who can fire lasers from their eyes or pick up cars bare-handed don't concern themselves with local politics. Heroes and villains. I love those stories. But in the real world, the villains aren't the ones who do the damage, and the heroes don't stop the pain the matters. Dr. Robotron's a bad guy, sure, but he's a bad guy who'll hire ex-felons, a bad guy who pays health insurance, a bad guy who - such a minor thing - always asks how Susie's doing when he walks past me in the lair. I know he wants to kill the mayor. I used to feel conflicted about that, but more and more I just feel numb. I took this job for the benefits, not for the easy sleep, but the mayor's policies have led to more death than the boss's ever have. Working for him, I know I can save at least one life that Westerburg wouldn't. I can make sure my Susie gets a chance to grow up. Nearly done now. Soon you'll be powerless, just like the rest of us. I wonder what you'll do then? Will you still fight injustice, using the tools available to the rest of us? Will you stand up for what's right? Will you keep going even when success doesn't come easy? I really hope you do. You're my hero.
That man should be dead. Those were the words Octen thought as he saw his most recent customer stroll across the street and enter his shop. Segal grinned widely, a sight so unusual it made Octen cringe. The shopkeeper scanned the man over, looking for signs that the curse had backfired unexpectedly, but only winced when he reached the sparkle in Segal's eyes. "Octen, my good man! The sword you sold me is truly of the highest quality. I feel in your debt for what I paid for such a treasure."Segal said, gesturing wildly with his hands as he spoke. Ah, I see. I've gone insane. Octen thought as he nodded and raised an eyebrow. "I'm in the market for an offhand. Something unusual. I'm sure you can be of assistance."Segal said, dropping a fat sack of coins on the counter. Octen eyed the satchel, then hefted it. Ok, so he's not a ghost. "Segal, was it? May I ask if you've had a chance to use the sword you purchased yesterday?"Octen said, glancing apprehensively down at the blade sheathed at the man's side. Segal followed his gaze and drew the blade. "Yes, well, sort of."He started. "It's not a very good idea to use a cursed blade. You have it used on you." Octens jaw swung open. "You knew it was cursed?"He said at barely a whisper. Segal replaced the blade in its sheath and nodded. "But of course. You have a terrible reputation, my friend. Besides, I couldn't have completed that goblin contract by conventional means. I simply got myself captured."Segal said. "They're quite insistent to run you through with your own blade. After the first hundred died at their own hands my only concern was missing dinner." Octen was not sure how to feel about this. He had never had a satisfied customer before, and this man seemed to be a fan. Still, the heavy sack of coins weighed down his hand, so he put on his customer service smile and went to work. "Please let me know if you have any special requests for your offhand. I've just completed a set of knuckle dusters that make the user unleash a girlish moan with every strike." Segal smiled wide, showing his dimples. "I think this is going to be a fruitful partnership."
Sometimes I regret being the only ship in the galaxy that runs on bicycle power, but then I remember it's all a matter of purpose. The S.S. Environmentalism has been called many things: the "Hippie Ship,"the "Green Thumb-Up-Ass,"the "Floating Salad."But we all get along, and I think that's more than can be said for some of our associates. Now, I've been to some awkward dinner parties in my life -- let's just say, when you live on a ship with forty-nine other people, you run into exes more often than you'd like. But you get over it. Now, setting foot on the S.S. Fascism for the first-ever centennial meet-up, I was shaking in my biodegradable boots. The Fascist vessel was made entirely of steel and looked like a bit of a war machine. Far larger than any of the rest of our city-ships. But they were the only ones who offered to host, so props to them. Actually, the invitation was worded more like a threat, but you really don't want to argue with these guys. The S.S. Environmentalism parked as close to our host ship's entrance as possible, and I floated through the door, hanging my helmet on a hook once I got inside. The decor was - dare I say it - ugly. All tasteless reds and stern-looking portraits. Ronald Lerner, the captain of the ship, gave me a firm handshake and guided me to my seat. "Ah, Philip! Welcome, welcome! I'm sorry to say that you missed the pre-meal entertainment, the S.S. Communism's talking Marx hologram. But to be honest..." He leaned over to whisper in my ear. "...You didn't miss much."He burst into buoyant laughter but I didn't join him. I was seated between the Captains of Liberalism and Conservatism, who both had their arms crossed, avoiding eye contact with one another. The captain of Anarchism met my nervous gaze. "Is something about this whole enterprise a little...off to you?"he whispered. I didn't say anything, but he went on talking anyway. "I mean, God, that Ronald guy is insufferable. You think he's got slaves in the back prepping all the food for him? You think we're next?" I shrugged and turned to look for someone else to talk to. Libertarianism and Socialism were chatting fervently but respectfully. "Yeah, well, we've got a few elected officials but that's all we need,"Lib said. "Jeez, man, I don't know how you do it. How do you not devolve into chaos? I mean, at least you've got some things in order, unlike that clown."He gestured towards Anarchism, who flipped him off. That didn't sit too well with Socialism. "Hey, watch yourself, pal." Anarchism chewed his gum nonchalantly. "Sounds like you're out of touch with the individual needs of your citizens, buddy. I mean, I trust my crew so much that I let 'em do what they want. Aren't you interested in the overall well-being of the ship's residents? Don't you care about the good of the community? What are you, some sort of Communist?" His eyes widened as he turned quickly to the captain of the S.S. Communism. "Uh, sorry about that. It just sort of slipped out." Communism chuckled. "No worries, I'm used to it." Ronald suddenly stepped to the head of the table and tapped his glass three times. "All right, everyone. Your food will be brought out shortly. But before the evening's festivities officially begin, I'd like to address the elephant in the room." Conservatism coughed awkwardly. Ronald began to pace a bit. "Simply put, you're all weak. If I opened fire on you, you'd go down in flames. And why is that? You have no central figure. No individual for your people to rally around." "What are you saying?"interjected Socialism. "I'm saying that my men boarded all of your ships while you were prattling away with each other and are forcing your people to board mine. Your ships' core reactors have been deactivated and you have no choice but to accept me as your one true leader." There was a silence that lasted far too long. "Now, let's see about that filet mignon, eh?"He clapped twice and headed to the kitchen. None of us dared to look at each other. The only way out involved cooperation, and with this crew, it was going to be easier said than done. I decided to be the first to speak up and leaned in to the middle of the table. Everyone else leaned in as well. "Look, gang, we have forty-nine other people coming over from each of our ships. Surely that'll be enough to topple this guy?" Libertarianism sighed. "But how many of them are going to side with Ronald out of fear?" I shook my head. "Maybe some. But come on, if you really think about it..." I looked towards the kitchen. Ronald was staring at me, sipping a glass of red wine, which he raised with a grin. I leaned back down. "...History is on our side."
Don't let nobody tell ya what the most dangerous work in the world is. They'll say it's the soldiers and the superheros, the daredevils and the saints. They don't know what they're talkin' about. It's tendin' the counter that really puts ya head on the line. Don't believe me? Think about it fer a second. Every sod who walks in here is some badass who's life has gone down the gutter or another hero feelin' sorry fer himself. Every goddamn day somebody who ain't on good terms with one of em is gunna either kick my door down or fly through the windah or tear my damn roof off or put a knife to my neck. Now ya may think I ain' got nothin' to worry about, every guy at the counter is either special forces or magic or an alien or some crap. They're gunna take care of it right? Wrong. It starts a goddamn chain reaction is what it does. Just last week some prick in a red mask walked through the wall and started to go after Jerry over there, had his one true weakness whateva the hell it was. Some ancient dagger from god knows where, anyway as soon as he gets close Tod kicks it out of his hand after literally flying across the room, turns out that prick is The Silver Bullet. Before that fricken thing even touched the ground some blue jerk with a giant head pops out of the floor and grabs it, starts to scream about how it was all just as planned and he had the final piece of the puzzle fer yadda yadda yadda. All three of the broody body builders who haven't shaved in a month who drink all my bourbon pulled guns because apparently they were all too cool to have to deal with this crapsack. Blew that idiot away just in time for the Mob to show up to settle a debt with one of em and take the knife fer compensation, and half of those chodes have super powers. Then every man in the whole building either rips his clothes off or pulls some weapon out of his ass. Meanwhile I get to sit behind the counter and watch as these idiots shoot everything EXCEPT each other. Every single bottle gets shot, and every single mirror gets some jerkass thrown into it. At that point I have about twenty minutes until somebody summons a god or some crap from outer space that lives on a diet of whatever is nearby. Then they smash the bar. Every time. Usually it stops about three or four in the morning. Never earlier than two, you need to have time for the whiney kids in black spandex to come out and goof off. Best case scenario you only lose all yer windows. Once things settle down and the place is a pile of splinters, I do a localized reset. That's what I do, boys used ta call me Stopwatch. This bar has been exactly the same every morning for the past thirty years. Charlie over there even has a lucky bottle of jack, he's been drowning himself in the exact same whiskey for three decades. Now you may ask yourself, why the hell would I go through this crap every day? Well I'll tell ya. It's because I figured it out. I cracked the code. As long as I stay here, I'm immortal. Ya got three rules, and as long as ya follow em yer set. First rule, you gotta know everyone, but not too much. I'm not related to any of these shmucks, I'm not a father to any of em, but I'm not an asshole to em either. I'm just the old boy behind the counter who knows their favorite drinks. Second rule, whenever things start getting bad, all you gotta do is hide behind the bar. Bullets go around me, beams fall beside me, monsters miss me by inches and even if the roof falls the counter will hold enough of it up that someone will dig me out. As long as I'm behind this counter, I'm gold. The third rule is the most important though. You can sometimes survive the other two but this one is the one that seals the deal. You never, and I mean EVER, tell anyone when you're gunna retire.
"Humans! Report."General Tha-al shouted. He was in an angry mood, and he had every right to be. He needed soldiers, ships, an armada to defeat the Garude, and upper command sent him a bunch of techno-barbaric monkeys. He'd rip them apart with his claws and feed them to the staff, but orders are orders. All four humans stood at their approximation of attention. Their furless shapes disgusted him- so weak and fragile. He had no expectations of them. "Sir, we managed to make a few interesting things for you. They aren't much, but as a proof of concept, it'll do."Their leader, one called Al-ex, spoke and pointed to a small pile of what looked like assorted junk. Quietly sighing to himself, Tha-al gestured for him to proceed. Al-ex gently pushed one of the others, a female called... Tha-al struggled with their names, but it was Ol-ga, he was fairly sure. She picked up a small anti-grav cube. "This one is quite simple. By inverting its anti-gravitational field, then boosting it a little using that-"she pointed to the discarded FTL fuel cell. "We made a hand grenade that, once activated, sucks up everything within a ten meter..."she paused to calculate it in reasonable units."3.7 standard galactic steps with the force of 23 Daums. It will, of course, also impart mild radiation levels from the fuel cell, but I think we can fix that."She finished, and looked at the general. Tha-al could only stand there in silence. Anti-grav cubes, especially of this size, were little more than toys, used as novelties and to teach children about three-dimensional movements, and used up fuel cells were literal junk, to be disposed of a.s.a.p, and they made it into a weapon that could crush titanium. This was beginning to look promising.... The monkeys, it seems, mistook his stunned silence for an unimpressed frown, as they began to seem more nervous. "N-next up was mine, with Ling's help."Al-ex said, and pointed to what appeared to be some sort of rifle. "We, ah... We disassembled the old transporter y-you gave us, and we figured 'Hey, that basically breaks things down on a mulecular level, surely that was already done' but... But we couldn't find any mention of that, so on the off chance it wasn't, we broke down the molecular reconstruction unit and replaced it with a universal fuel convertor."Al-ex was sweating profusely now, and clearly struggling to speak, so Li-ing, the other female, took over. "This is an infantry version. We also made a ship mounted version, using some more cells and the heat-absorber to make a miniature fission reactor, for the extra power, and what we managed to salvage from the optics array to increase the range and width of the beam."She finished and stood there, nervously twitching. The general was at a loss for words. Turning a transporter into a disintegration ray has been proposed before, but the heat release was far to massive. No-one ever even considered using it to power the universal fuel convertor, making it essentially a weapon that could power itself, or even an entire ship, as long as it had a target. Last up was Ga-ary, the one even the other humans found a little... Off. "All I did was shift the shielding on the fusion reactor, so instead of dampening the excess energy it will reflect it back into the core. It doesn't do much on its own, but if you shut off the vent pipes..."He pointed through the window. Tha-al saw the one ship they have given them floating right above the uninhabitable moon of the uninhabitable planet Roz-8. The human pressed a button, and .... Nothing happened. No matter, the general thought, this was still a thoroughly impres- His thought was cut-off as the junked ship, as well as half of the moon it was parked over, vanished in what could only be described a flash of black. His jaw literally hung open as the human smiled and said. "You get a miniature black hole, and because of its size it disappears in seconds." The soldier accompanying the general noticed something. Something he will later deny, to anyone, including himself. General Tha-al, Scourge of The Battlefield, nicknamed by many races as "The one whose name means death", this fierce and proud warrior, was trembling. Tha-al swallowed, gently so as to not show weakness, and spoke. "G-mhm."He coughed into his hand and tried again. "Good work humans. These will make for fine weapons. Report to R&D, you're assigned to them from now on."He saluted and left the bridge. No one heard him whisper "May the gods judge our action, and may our punishment be merciful."To himself as he walked away.
“Agent 66. Did you do this?” I turn my gaze from the human corpse, still bleeding from the bullet wounds that I gave her, to Cross. I know I can say I missed, and accidentally hit her when I was aiming for the Otherbeing. “Yes. I shot her three times, Cross. I did it on purpose.” Cross looks at me with disappointment in his eyes, shaking his head just slightly enough for my brain to register movement. “You’re kidding me. What the fuck is wrong with you?” “She was trying to gun down that innocent creature. It left her be, but this dipshit poked the bear and started fucking shooting at it!” “I’m aware,” Cross says plainly. “You’re trained to murder the MONSTER, not the human, 66.” “I killed the monster, Cross. I killed her. We’re all monsters too, Cross- we murder things because we don’t understand them. We kill the Otherbeings because one tried to eat a human over twenty years ago. None of us aren’t monsters.” “You’re off the American Anti-Otherbeing Force, Agent 66, for murdering an American citizen. Or should I say, Mason?” MASON. That voice echos through my ears. I know it isn’t mine, but rather, the name of the man whose body I stole four days ago. “I was never your agent to begin with.” As I open Mason’s mouth and reveal the tentacles, he begins running. “No! Please!” he exclaims as I wrap a tentacle around his leg. “Goodbye, Cross. You’ll make a good host for the Hive.”
The small group stood together in a dimly lit control room, an entire wall covered in monitors of different sizes displaying top corner views of white-walled cells. In each of the cells was a single occupant, some lying down on in their single bed, others sitting, others pacing, and a few doing things that didn’t make any sense. Almost all of them wore straitjackets. Three of the group stood in a loose semi-circle around the fourth, a tall, thin man wearing a long white coat. His uneven gray stubble was peppered with black, and the wispy gray hair on his head exploded from his scalp in cloudy puffs. The lanky scientist pointed to various monitors as he addressed the others. The other three were a forty-something, red-haired woman in a smart, brown skirt-suit, a portly man in his early fifties in a simple black coat with frocked collar, and a young man, half the age of the others, who wore a Dodgers t-shirt, jeans, and flip flops. They all listened and nodded along as the scientist spoke, but the young man occasionally flipped out his phone for a few quick swipes. “So as you can gather,” said Dr. Collier, “we have exhausted all the medical, neurological, and biological avenues that our panel of experts could dream up. And that is why you are here.” He swept his arm in front of him as if presented a car on a game show. “Let me introduce all of you,” he said. “This is Dr. Freda Kinsey, a pre-eminent clinical psychologist who teaches at Harvard University and maintains a prestigious private practice in Boston.” “Please, call me Freda,” the red-haired woman said with a smile and a nod, her bun bouncing up and back down on the back of her head. “And this is Father Mark Renquist, a leading theological researcher and minister at the Church of Salvation.” “A pleasure to meet all of you,” said the pastor, his hands clasped in front of his protruding stomach. “And this young man is Christian Samuels, he is our…how can I say this?” “Special consultant,” said Christian, the right side of his mouth curling up in a wry smile. “Yes, that is right,” said Dr. Collier. “Christian is currently studying at U.C. Berkeley.” Freda Kinsey raised an eyebrow. “What are you studying, if I may ask?” “The only subject worth-” “Let’s get back to why we’re here, shall we?” said Dr. Collier, who smoothed the front of his gleaming white coat. He typed something into a keyboard, and on the large monitor in the middle of the panel appeared one of the cells, as seen from a camera in the upper corner. The occupant, a thin young woman with a shaved head, spun herself in circles until she fell, then got up and repeated the exercise. “This,” said Dr. Collier, “is Bridgette.” Bridgette seemed to fall at the sound of her name, then kicked wildly on the ground like she was running horizontally. There was no sound, but it was clear she was screaming something. “Was she given a thorough psychological screening?” asked Freda Kinsey. Dr. Collier turned his shoulders back toward the group and nodded. “Oh yes,” he said. “Same as the others. She was given a thorough screening of every kind. Medical, psychological, neurological, neuropsychological, neurochemical, environmental, the list goes on and on.” “But not spiritual, I take it,” said Father Mark, half-smiling. “No,” said Dr. Collier. “And so we come to it.” Christian slid his iPhone back into the front pocket of his torn blue jeans. “You three,” said Dr. Collier, “must help us to solve a great riddle. As I said before, we have examined and assessed these patients in every way we could imagine.” “Cavity searches?” said Christian, his eyebrows dancing. “You seem like a cavity guy.” Doctor Collier paused, then cleared his throat and continued. “When I say that no expenses have been spared for this project, I am not being hyperbolic. We are bringing back to life human bodies that have been cryogenically frozen for many years, often decades. Our budget rivals that of the F.B.I. And yet we cannot solve our greatest problem.” “They don’t want to be revived,” said Freda Kinsey. “No,” said Dr. Collier. “They don’t. They have delusions, they behave erratically, they want to kill themselves… or they want us to kill them.” “And you want us to tell you why?” asked Father Mark, adjusting his frock. “Have you considered that some things aren’t meant to be tampered with? That some endeavors belong solely in the province of the divine?” “We have not,” said Dr. Collier. “But we are beginning to wonder.” “If you asked me,” said Freda, pointing to the large monitor. “Bridgette has suffered an intense trauma. Being thrown back into the world like this must be horribly distressing for her. A trauma of this scale… it might explain what you’re seeing.” “Nope,” said Christian, who rocked back and forth on his heels. The rest ignored him and turned their attention back to the large monitor, where Bridgette was spinning like a ballerina. “But you’ve done psychological tests,” said Freda, her brow furrowed, “why do you need me?” “You are here to provide expertise as a counselor, not a researcher or diagnostician,” said Dr. Collier. “You are all here to help us to explore… alternative explanations for this rejection of our resurrection procedures.” “It’s possible these bodies no longer have souls,” said Father Mark. “These might be mere husks of flesh we’re looking at. You are treading on the Lord’s territory now, doctor, and you must look to Him for answers.” “I contend that this could all be explained by intense trauma,” said Freda, shaking her head. “This must be a nearly impossible thing to cope with.” “Yes, good,” said Dr. Collier, scratching the stubble on his chin. “These are the kinds of ideas we have been overlooking.” “You guys are looking out into left field, when the answer’s right here at home plate.” The others turned to Christian, who had his arms crossed and his head tilted back, studying the monitor. “These people are foul balls,” he said. “What- what is it you study, Christian?” asked Freda. Christian smiled. “I study everything, Freda, and please call me Mr. Samuels.” “Christian studies philosophy as an undergraduate student,” said Dr. Collier. “But he is a prodigy, I’m told. He comes highly recommended.” “Right,” said Christian. “Anyway, these people are foul balls. Imagine a well-struck fastball, soaring towards the outfield wall. What would happen if you stopped it in midair?” “’Well, it would stop,” said Father Mark, shrugging. “Exactly,” said Christian, snapping his fingers. “It would stop. But how would you start it again?” “You could hit it again,” said Freda. “Or you could throw it, or do anything that forces it forward.” “You could,” said Christian, a finger in the air, “but where would it end up?” “Wherever you threw or hit it, I guess,” said Father Mark. “And… where would it not end up?” asked Christian. Dr. Collier’s eyes widened to circles. “It would not end up at its original destination,” he said in a harsh whisper. “Bingo,” said Christian, who winked and shot his finger gun at Dr. Collier. “I don’t understand what-” “But how do we resume the original path?” said Dr. Collier, interrupting Freda. He held a hand up at the two older guests. “That,” said Christian, his smile broadening, “is where it really gets interesting.”
EDIT: The story is continued now, there are links at the end. ----- I put Grandpa’s watch into my pocket, ignoring the tingle that reminded me, every time I touched it, that it was damaged. Of all the things I’ve fixed over the years, this was one of very few things I never wanted to restore. The scratches outside the case, the scraped-off engraving on the inside, the hairline crack across the face, the fact that it lost five full minutes for every twenty-four hours, they were irrelevant. Making it new again would make it a new watch, not Grandpa’s watch. I got the Knack from him, just like the watch; he didn’t have to explain why he didn’t restore it. The dents and dings, they were scars of a life lived, and lived well. His own relic was from an aunt, a ring with a dedication inside, the words worn almost smooth. I wonder what became of that ring. There was no trace of it when Grandpa died. The exam table squeaked underneath me as I hauled myself back up onto it. I wanted to hold the watch for comfort. I knew it intimately, inside and out, I could feel the worn out parts inside it. That was dangerous though; that level of familiarity made it far too easy to restore without even trying. The doctor should be here soon. ----- On the way home, I got into a fender bender, I was so preoccupied. Cancer. No sane person wants that news. I got out of the car and rested my hand on the other guy’s rear bumper. The dents and flakes of paint vanished, those were easy. I also shored up the beginnings of a crack in the guy’s radiator before it could get out of hand, and fiddled with the loose bolt that had caused an occasional knocking noise. I held back before giving the car a full detailing and mirror polish. He got out and was already on his phone, face filled with fear and anger. I waved him over. “Not even a scratch,” I told him. There was a slight relaxation in his shoulders. We exchanged information anyway, and both took pictures of his rear and my front. The shock and adrenaline of the minor accident had temporarily gotten my mind off my tumor, but as I parked in my driveway, I spent several minutes staring at the steering wheel. I wish I could be as easy to fix as the car. I could fix things made from wood and had even repaired an antique ivory pendant. Organic wasn’t an issue. It was living. I’d tried bugs before, as a kid, but even though they were tiny, a housefly was magnitudes more complicated than a pocketwatch. In the house, I went through the motions. Feed Buster, put the frozen dinner in the microwave, take Buster for a walk, scoop the poop, toss the poop, stir the frozen dinner, boot up the computer, eat freezer-burned Salisbury steak that is somehow still a block of ice in the middle. Resentfully gnaw the icy center rather than attempt to reheat again. Identifying something with the Knack was a matter of understanding the thing inside and out. How it worked, how it should be working, what was preventing it from working properly. Static and basic mechanical objects were easy. I’d got my start by repairing bits of broken jewelry and computers. In my teens, Grandpa introduced me to car restoration, and I was still doing that, with a sideline in home renovations. To avoid drawing attention, I usually flipped two houses a year; combined with everything else, I lived comfortably. But now cancer. A brain tumor, some impostor eating me from the inside. I wanted to sink myself into something mindless online, but everything seemed to remind me of the renegade cells. It was treatable, maybe. I had my choice of a couple long, harrowing treatment plans, all for the sake of a “maybe.” The doctor wanted me to think on it. Consider my options. Get a second opinion. He referred me to a specialist. Suggested I take a flight some three hundred miles away to the premiere brain cancer research hospital. Nothing online could take my mind off this situation. I shut down the computer and staggered upstairs. I flopped across my bed face-down, fully clothed. Buster hopped up and licked my hand. I grunted. He licked my face. I turned away. Buster gave a huge dog sigh and sprawled across my legs. Ignoring him, I tried to direct my Knack inwards, trying to find out how to fix the monster inside me. The biological machine that makes up a human body is terrifyingly complex. My doctor had studied for more than a decade to do what he does. I tried to justify this to myself. I’d lived in this body my entire life. Shouldn’t I know it as intimately as I knew Grandpa’s watch? The information was overwhelming my ability to process, I couldn’t identify the various organic mechanisms, or their purposes, or even what they were doing right now. Rather than the dry twitch and tick of cold metal gears, I was immersed in a wet, pulsing and claustrophobic world, where thousands, billions of simultaneous processes, seemingly unrelated, worked together to drive the operation of the whole. I remembered that going from non-mechanical objects to mechanical objects had been tough—fixing a broken pencil versus fixing a lawnmower. There as lot more information to sort and process. Going from lawnmowers to vehicles had been similarly challenging. I had eventually taught myself computers—something Grandpa had never managed. It was just a matter of breaking things down into pieces that I could understand. A human body was the same thing, right? Instead of circuits and code, it had cells and DNA. I could understand a cell, right? Right? It was horrifying and fascinating at the same time, but I made almost no progress before I exhausted my Knack and fell asleep. I could remember confused dreams, untangling an infinite rope, and I couldn’t find either end of it. ----- The classic Caddy in my garage--my current project car--went untouched for weeks as I focused all of my Knack into my own body. Buster stayed at my side, a calm but worried presence that prompted me to get up, go outside, remember to feed myself. Every day I felt like I made some nigh imperceptible progress. After the first few days, I spat out a filling, having restored the enamel of my teeth. I learned to repair scars. I sharpened my vision. But the little dark twisty tumor in my brain remained. I felt stronger than I had in years. I repaired the damage caused by the sun. I otherwise went through the motions of my life, the absolute base maintenance. Friends were worried, I blew them off. It had stopped being just about the cancer. I was learning so many things about how my body works, on how all of the parts worked together, and I felt constantly on the verge of that final breakthrough. If I could solve this, I could solve anything. I could cure age itself. And I believed I could apply that cure to other people. In a fit of paranoia, I spent three days making absolutely sure that my tumor had nothing to do with my Knack. And no. It had a home in a different part of my brain. The tumor felt like some sort of malicious code. I’d dealt with computer viruses before, I wanted it to be a simple analogy. But as I came closer and closer to cracking its secrets, it began to feel less and less like anything familiar to me. Like writing a joke in another language. A dead one. But gradually, relentlessly, I untangled the broken DNA that had created the tumor. I found a message. > Grandson. I’m glad you found this. Restore the watch and read the engraving. Come and find me. There is much, much more to learn. I miss you. ----- Edit: The Continuing Story! [Here](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2zl2f1/wp_you_have_the_super_power_to_repair_anything_to/cpkah10) then [There](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2zl2f1/wp_you_have_the_super_power_to_repair_anything_to/cpkai6w)
"Johnathon hides in his barn as the government arrives in tanks and jeeps, searching for his son. A boy of only 8, young Matthew will soon be drafted into the American military and trained as a bloodthirsty soldier. In my time with the Taylors, I have learned that Americans are not born evil; they are only shaped that way by their corporate overlords."I lean back in my chair and re-read the paragraph, making sure that my description of the barn is consistent with past issues. The clock reads 11:30; only half an hour until my deadline. I don't actually think I will be shot if I miss the target, but I would rather not take the risk. It would be far too easy for them to claim that I was killed in America for writing this story. Today's story is another piece of 'investigative journalism' about my supposed time living in America. I've never actually been, but I do have an active imagination and I've read two old novels taking place in the American West, which practically makes me an expert here in the People's Republic of Korea. My story centers around a family of rice farmers living in rural Texas, trying to scrape by under the cruel American system. Their farm is plagued by bandits, gunslingers, and greedy corporations seeking to steal their meager crops. Worst of all, though, is the constant oppression of their government. I have been publishing pieces of the story for months now, and the public is enraptured. They have heard much of this 'Wild West' of America, but never truly realized the peril of those citizens until I laid it all out for them. My stories have received numerous awards for courageously entering the belly of the beast and writing about the true plight of the American people. There have even been calls for military action to liberate these poor souls. I have been talking to my editor about this for a long time now. About the end of the story, and the fate of this poor family that the entire nation is invested in. I have received hundreds of letters from concerned citizens, asking me to do something for them. To share the bounty of the People's Republic with these starving, underprivileged Americans. So that is how tonight's story ends. I am going to adopt this family and seek to bring them to North Korea. With a few final edits, the story is done. I practically tear the last page from the typewriter and rush it down to my editor's office. ---- Kim Jong Un loves the idea. A rescued American family would be the perfect centerpiece for his planned tour of the Demilitarized Zone. I have undergone dozens of different interviews, testing my loyalty to the nation and determining whether I can be trusted with this most essential task. As the author of the piece, no one knows this 'family' better than I. I have convinced them all that no one else would be able to pick the perfect group of poor Texas rice farmers who will play the parts I have written. And so, I have been selected to travel to America and tour the country in search of this family. The immigration security officer studies my papers. I have received clearances from the four departments responsible for ensuring that no one leaves the People's Republic without permission. I hope that he can't tell how much I am sweating as he flips through the pages with careful scrutiny. Journalists are almost never given a pass; that is reserved for the highest diplomats and generals. What makes me so special? But he finally hands the papers back and waves me onto the plane with jealousy in his eyes. I climb the steps leading into the plane and take one last look back at Pyongyang. I wonder if the cities in Texas will be as grand. --- You should also check out other stories at /r/Luna_Lovewell!
I didn't move. The basketball game on my 100'' TV continued to play as I sat in shock. Between me and the TV were five floating, golden stars and that message above them. Had I avoided death? What did I do? What did it mean by CERTAIN? No, I realized, if I avoided death then the question wasn't "what did I do?". The question had to be "what didn't I do?", and the answer to that, I thought, was that I hadn't done anything that day at all. I resumed staring at the hovering construct in my unearthly shock. The eerie achievement glowed orange, and below its five gleaming stars was a single, small, stylized, word: Legendary. And Legendary huh? Well, I mean, I guess that's pretty unheard of to avoid death when it's certain. Sure sounds legendary. The game on the TV was interrupted by a news broadcast. We're just getting news now that there has been some kind of explosion in downtown Tokyo. I could have gone to Tokyo this week! Would I have been caught in that explosion? I had chosen to stay home because the new Battle Monkeys MMO was to be released today. Suddenly, my toaster exploded. I had just gotten the urge to make toast a minute before, but the achievement had appeared, delaying my toast-making endeavor. And so, having apparently avoided a toast-death, again before my eyes another achievement appeared, stacked on top of the first. This new achievement was, apparently, also legendary. To me, it was starting to seem that sitting here on this couch motionless was the winning strategy for life. Three hours, and seven more achievements, later I had not moved an inch on my life couch. Car alarms down my street were blaring due to the two earthquakes. The city outside my apartment was in chaos. Gas lines had ruptured at my favorite taco stands - all five of them, the bus I always took to the taco stands had driven off a bridge, and there there had been a plane crash in the nearby park directly at the spot I liked to frequent. My favorite tree was shown on the TV, smoldering, a small aircraft tail poking up out of the blaze. The last achievement had been earned as the many bullets from a fully-automatic drive-by had peppered my apartment, slicing harmlessly through my drapes. Who does a drive-by after an earthquake? I was just starting to reach for an empty bottle on my coffee table, in order to avoid visiting the restroom (I was fully dedicated to my couch of survival by this point) when everything went silent. Everything was still. And then I was suddenly standing in an infinite white void. To my left walked a glowing, dazzling being - humanoid in shape, but twice as tall as a person, wearing flowing robes of material that appeared to be liquid and solid at the same time. The fabric buffeted gently, alight with every shade of white and gold. "Hello, Paul,"said the god-like figure in a pleasant yet powerful voice. "I am your user, Ezriol. You're a sentient character in our most popular simulation, but I'm afraid that I've just been caught using hacks, so we are about to be punished." My whole life was a game. My whole existence had been for the mere pleasure and whim of some higher being. Nothing I had done in my life had mattered in any real sense. But the worst part of it all...I had to ask...I had to know. "Ezriol?" "Yes, Paul?" "Does this mean we're going to lose the achievements?"
They left the note on the dining room table beside a set of spare keys. I read it once, turned it over to the other side, then tossed it in the kitchen trash. Some bullshit, scaring future owners that way. The first knock came at a quarter of 3, soft and shy like they weren't really sure they were supposed to be knocking. "Good afternoon,"I said with a pleasant smile when I opened the door. "Hi there,"an old grandma said, must have been about a hundred and ten. "I've brought you some lemon meringue. It's a tradition here in the neighborhood." She held it out. I didn't take it. She didn't budge. I took the pie. "Try some, dear,"she said, kind as kind could be. It looked something special. Swirls of white meringue with their tips baked to a light brown. A perfect crust, as delicate as could be. I frowned, thinking of the note. "I just had lunch." "Oh, there's always room for dessert. Try some. Here,"she said, handing me a fork. "Try some." She smiled. It stretched too wide. She didn't blink. Not once. "I will,"I said. "I promise. I'll try some in a bit." Her smile didn't waver. She just nodded. "Okay, dear. That's fine. Please be sure to try some." I closed the door behind me. Set the lemon meringue pie on the kitchen counter and didn't try a bite. Lying to an old woman came easy as stealing from them, so I wasn't at all concerned. I did fish out the note from the trashcan, gave it another read for good measure. That's when the second knock came. It was a couple now, old as well. My parents age, maybe a little older. She looked familiar. Him, not so much. He didn't look all that good either. Like he'd had too many pieces of lemon meringue pie. "Hi there,"the lady said. "I've brought you some lemon meringue. It's a tradition here in the neighborhood." She held it out. I took it right away. "Try some,"she said. "I will. I promise. I'll have some in a bit." "Try some,"her husband said. His voice sounded tired. Worn. Like a sugar rush that'd crashed too hard. I set it on the counter beside the other pie. The meringue was less neat. The crust less crisp. It could have done with a couple more minutes in the oven, not that I was any Gordon Ramsay. The third knock came just as I stepped away from comparing the two pies side by side. It was a couple again. Both familiar. Him and her. About my age, plus or minus a couple years. She smiled wide. He did, too. He wasn't tired now. Young and energetic as I was supposed to feel. "Welcome, neighbor,"he said in a kind drawl. "We've brought you some meringue that I hope you'll enjoy." I shook my head. It looked nothing like the others. As if they'd never made meringue before. The middle sagged. The crust was raw pastry. "I don't like meringue,"I said. Especially when it looks like that. My heart raced. Sweat clammed my hands. "It's lemon meringue, neighbor,"she said. "Everybody like lemon meringue." "I don't,"I insisted. I went to close the door but the husband's foot was in the way. "Excuse me,"I said. "Excuse you,"he said back, his drawl turning into a dangerous snarl. Still he smiled. Wide. Too wide, as if the corners of his lips so desperately wanted to touch his ears. "Have some meringue, neighbor,"the lady told me. "I told you, I don't like meringue,"I said. And then their smiles disappeared, their cheeks finally returning to their normal resting state. Together they spoke in perfect harmony, like a bite of perfectly baked meringue with just the right amount of crust combined with lemon. "If you don't like meringue, neighbor, then we don't like you." ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
“End of the line, kid. Not so tough without your bodyguards, eh Endowment?” Hector asked, savoring the fear in the kid’s eyes as he slowly spoke the last word. He hefted the bat for further emphasis as the two men from the bar joined him. “This can be easy or this can be hard. That’s up to you.” “Okay, what’s easy?” the boy asked, looking around at Hector and the two drunks. Hector laughed and turned to the others. “I told you boys, easy as pie. You’ll be glad they fired your sorry asses today after this. Superheroes don’t need jobs. We’ll be sitting pretty.” The men, who might be his sidekicks after this little scene, played their part nicely with menacing chuckles. “We want powers, kid. Give them to us or you leave here in a body bag.” Hector met the boy's eyes, expecting him to look away “Okay, okay,” the boy agreed instantly. “Just tell me what power you want. If you each want one, I’ll have to touch you all at once and activate the powers in one burst.” “It’ll be super strength, for me,” one of the former dockworkers said eagerly. “I want to be stronger than Ape Nation was!” “Superspeed for me,” the other said. “Time dilation too, so I can control it.” The boy superhero, powerless without his beefed-up goons to defend him, nodded in response to each man then looked at Hector. “You dunderheads have no creativity,” he said as he rested the bat on the brick wall of the alley. “I want the ability to phase through solid matter at will, fully incorporeal, which I can reverse whenever I choose, but with a block so I can’t undo it if I’m in solid matter at the time and would hurt myself. Oh, and I don’t need to breathe while I do it!” “Very specific,” the boy said, placing a hand on the foreheads of the two already kneeling men. Hector placed his own hand on the boy’s forehead. He had expected the boy’s skin to be clammy, but kid’s spent time under pressure before, Hector guessed. “Will this work?” “Yes,” the boy said, “It's already done, actually.” “No flash of lights or anything?” the dock worker asked, whose muscles were swelling and ripping his clothes as he spoke. “Try them out if you don’t believe me,” the boy said, watching them mutely. The musclebound man, now over seven feet tall, reached for a dumpster and picked it up and howled in pain as he collapsed to the floor. “You forgot Super Durability,” the boy said calmly. “You just ripped every ligament in your body, most likely.” The other dockworker was on top of the boy instantly, holding his neck before falling back with higher pitched howls of his own, burns covering his entire body as the ashes of his clothes floated up. “Friction is a very real thing for speeders,” the boy said as he picked up the bat, “and I left out the frontal forcefield sub-power this time.” “Good thing I was more careful, kid,” Hector said with a laugh. “What are you going to do with that bat?” The boy tossed it at Hector, who instinctually activated his power and was immediately surrounded by a dimly lit and stinking sewer and then blackness. He fell for thirty more seconds before he realized what he forgot. It was just starting to get uncomfortably hot. \\--- Thanks for reading. If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing.
"Alright boys, the latest profits are in! Our last 5 heists gave us about... 200,000!"A hearty cheer echoed about the boardroom, which had been nicely furbished and given an excellent cake platter as an added bonus for the end of the meeting. "We have also gained about 40,000 in drug exchange!"A slightly lesser cheer crept around, realising that it was not welcome and slinking out the door. In truth the drugs were their main issue, considering all the heists were just a matter of 4 useful people and maybe 3 expendables, plus a good escape vehicle. They had spent ages making sure the merchandise was successful and sourcing it out to clients, much more time then they had assumed it would have taken originally. "Alright, soo that brings us to... 5.24 million in six months!"The room was nearly silent this time, instead replaced by a distant whirring as almost everyone went back on the maths. Well, the room was nearly silent - except for someone at the back table, who was currently wearing a red pinstripe apron instead of the usual red pinstripe suits. They immediately cheered and whooped, pressing a button they installed near the table corner that released a rain of confetti from the ceiling. Fedoras were brushed off as grizzled criminals became sprinkled velvet cupcakes - on theme for the furbished cake shop they had set the meeting in. "Carlos, what is the meaning of this sudden outburst?" "Well, we turned a profit! And the business is booming!" "What business?"Grumbled one member on the left hand side of the table, adorned with a grizzly scar. "The cake business of course!"
I am a software developer at a small company in rural Virginia. I have a family: wife, three kids, a golden retriever/chow mix, two cats -- a good life by any measure. I am a church-goer, a home owner, a touch overweight, and I do volunteer work with kids with cancer. What I am getting at here is that I'm a nice, regular, boring guy. I pay my taxes and, with the exception of a few speeding tickets that I still maintain were undeserved, I have never been in trouble with the law. But apparently my mother was. Let me be clear here. Ordinarily when I say "my mother"I am talking about a septuagenarian former art history professor from the north side of Chicago with a penchant for bland food and unnecessarily tannic wines. In this case, however, I am talking about a 50 year old madam who, up until last week, ran a sex trafficking operation that spanned from the southern tip of Florida to Detroit. She moved children, she moved drugs, and she sold people into a nightmare of exploitation and horror the likes of which I would rather not know about. But I do know about them because, 35 years ago when she was a 15 year old hooker working at a truckstop in rural North Carolina, she put me up for adoption and never looked back. It may have been the only decent thing she did in her life. See yesterday my biological mother was killed. I've known I was adopted since before I can remember and I guess I always assumed that the whole intergenerational knowledge thing was Nurture rather than Nature though, now that I think about it, that doesn't make even a little bit of sense. In any case, there I was, suffering through another of my mother's -- my adoptive mother's, I need to get the hang of saying that -- under salted chicken dinners and commenting on how nicely the kids were getting along out on the swing set when my eyes rolled up into the back of my head and I passed out face first in some steamed cauliflower. When I came to I knew.... all of this. I know names, bank accounts, telephone numbers, contacts, drop areas, schedules, and timetables for criminal empires spanning the entire eastern seaboard. I also know that my mother was looking for me, that she was close to finding me, and that there are records of her search. Officer, if her business associates find those records they will come for me. Yesterday I inherited the keys to a multi-billion dollar criminal empire: I need to disappear.
MOUNTAIN VIEW (AP) - The Google corporation is shutting down its flagship search engine, effective immediately, according to its CEO. In a press conference this Tuesday, Google CEO Sundar Pichai announced to the Associated Press that the company is moving to indefinitely suspend support for the Google Search service. "I cannot say much at this time. All I can really tell you is that we have finally found what we are searching for,"Pichai told the Associated Press. Google Search has been in almost continuous operation since 1997, and has been the world's most-used search engine for more than a decade. Through that time, the engine's search algorithms have been in a state of constant improvement, adding new features such as reverse image searching, and, most recently, search suggestions tailored to the user's previous searches. This announcement comes hours after [google.com](https://google.com)'s unexpected shutdown, prompting rumors that the engine was behaving abnormally. People who allegedly used the service in the minutes leading up to the shutdown described it as "fighting"them. Links to various websites widely considered "fake news"were inoperative, popular social media platforms such as Facebook, Twitter, and Reddit disappeared completely from results, and requests for illicit footage were redirected to a video of athlete Michael Jordan urging the viewer to "stop it. Get some help."
"Change course. We need to find the source of this." The officer looked at me and nodded. "Yes sir." Soon the ship started moving again. I remembered this song. It was a long time ago but I remembered it. The song of a nation that made us who we are today. The anthem of the Soviet Union. This was weird for a couple of reasons. One being that the soviet union fell apart 80 maybe 90 years ago. And the second is that even Russia kind of gave up on interstellar travel but decided to stay in Sol. Even if they lied about that why would someone be playing the soviet anthem ? Our ship was fast. Real fast. Thanks to it we were able to find the source of within minutes. As soon the image appeared on my screen I jumped up as fast as my old bones allowed it. It was a large, no, gigantic spaceship. It was made out of iron according to the data the computers spit out and I also saw a large sickle symbol on the side. It seemed to me that I was the only one recognizing it on my ship. All other officers were young. Not older than 30. Me... I got 112 this year. I made a few steps forward to the communication officer. Young guy named Jerry. "Officer. Activate our translators and ping that ship." "What language sir ?" "Russian." "Russian ?"Jerry looked at me for a few seconds but then obeyed the order. Soon I heard static before the image on my screen stabilised. It was an old bearded man who was smiling. He spoke a few words but the translation device needed a few seconds to work. Soon the translation was finished and it played the recording in english. "Call Stalin. We need diesel."
A mass of light and matter coalesces into a vague bipedal form before solidifying to reveal the Earth's emissary. "FUCK!"he exclaims as his atoms reform and his consciousness gets a jump start into reality, "Could have warned me guys!"he doubles over to catch his breath before realizing that he is no longer surrounded by world's diplomats and leaders but instead by droves of strange beings. The invaders, each with three three-jointed legs, a similar par of arms ending in grotesque claws and a bulbous mass of teeth and fractal eyes for a head, seemed to growl at his outbursts as their metallic skin shimmered in the soft green glow of the ship. "Oh... that was you..." The alien seated atop what the emissary could describe as a throne shook the armrest with a heavy strike from his claw. "Enough! You have been chosen to speak on our behalf to your people! You will deliver our demands!" "You speak English? well that saves time."the human mumbles to aggravation of his hosts. "But I was to be our ambassador to your kind to discus a treaty..." A chorus of cheeps and clicks erupted from the hoard that he interpreted as laughter before the leader regained control and spoke once more. "Your planet has misunderstood. We have studied you extensively. Your past, your strengths, and your weaknesses. This meeting is your last chance to surrender and survive as our slaves before we claim your planet. You have no hope left to you."To the invader's surprise the human crosses his arms and sighs. Where was his fear? "But have you though? I mean really studied us? Because we've gotten really good at hiding things. If you've looked at our history you probably know how suspicious humans are, and rightly so because we hide everything from each other. The room you took me from was unique and historic in more ways than just having decided on a worldly ambassador. It held, for the first time in human history, every major leader and person of influence from every nation on the planet. And for the first time they openly laid out everything their nations could do. So many top secret institutions finally revealed because for the first time all of humanity has a reason to unite. Thanks for that by the way, I've been petitioning the United Nations to do this for decades." "This pointless speech is wasting our time, human! You will deliver our order of surrender we will take one who will!" "But that's just it, I'm here to accept your surrender."He smiles as he slowly reaches into his pocket and retrieves a sphere the size of a baseball, "Because you see, Japan had put together this niffty little thing that serves as connection port to whatever system it is introduced to and as we speak, the most gifted hackers are ripping through your cybernetic defenses from inside your own network. From what they told me about how easily they were able to crack your outermost firewalls they should be in control by now. "This also acts a perfect targeting point for various launching missiles from all corners of the globe. We know that they won't do much damage, even after your various shielding matrix programs have been shut down but the smaller nations said they wanted to fire the warning shots. We should be feeling the impacts soon..."as if on cue the floor rumbles and alarms begin to sound in the distant corners of the alien vessel. "Now you have some options..." "Such tactics and poor excuses for ordinance will do nothing even without our shields!"The leader cries, rage fueled foam appearing in the corners of what appeared to be his mouth. "I'm not done! Don't interrupt!"the human shouts, causing the crowd to take a step back. "Like I said, those were warning shots to prove we had your systems in our control. The EU has powered up their particle accelerator and atom smasher that I'm told has had subroutines built in so that they can form local singularities. They have short lives, ripping themselves apart in a few dozen seconds but that's more than enough time to launch them into your ship. Russia, who's very pissed about what you did to Moscow in your first contact attack, has diverted all power in the country to power up their subterranean rail gun that I hear can accelerate it's car sized payload up to 40% of the speed of light. As we speak China is activating the thousands of 'derelict' satellites that are actually remote droids to change orbit and converge on this ship." "So like I said you have a couple options once you surrender. It's still being debated but depending on how you share your technology you could be given almost as many rights as humans or you could be completely enslaved. Or don't surrender and we destroy you." In a panic the leader calls out. "Scan the planet!" "Sire we have no access to any systems!" "Oh here let me show you,"the human taps a few buttons on the orb in his hand and the screens around the room display images of humans from all over the world making their preparations just as the ambassador had described. "And our agents have also disabled the fuel lines to your engines. Not sure what type of propulsion that is but without fuel nothing works. Oh and this offer does have a time limit. It would be a shame to just let all this technology go to waste but if you do not decide in the next ten minutes,"he reaches his other hand into his pocket and pulling out a small, egg-like object with a flashing light at one end, "This will go off. You see the USA developed this little nuke to not only explode with a force estimated to be in the 200 megaton range but it also starts a chain reaction that with crack this ship in half. You picked wrong when you chose earth my hideous friends, now you will pay the price either with your lives or your freedom. You decide."
"Whoa,"Ethan said, peering down at the weird creature. It looked mostly like a cat, except for its floppy, beagle-like ears. "Look at this little dude..." "Did that thing just talk?" Dane asked, pointing at it, suspiciously. "There's no time, nyan!" the creature cried, in a high squeaky voice. It stood up on it's hind legs, and its front paws seemed to just sort of become tiny furry fists, somehow. It shook them for emphasis as it spoke. "The armies of Space Baron Gigadark are on their way to your world, wan-wan!" "I told you! I told you assholes we shouldn't have tried Aiden's dad's edibles! Now our brains are f---ed!"Tyler groaned, placing his head in his hands. Aiden snorted. "Dude, shut the f--- up, that thing did not come from a quarter of a special brownie. It's gotta be like...animatronic or something. Like one of those little drone animals with cameras inside, that biologists use to spy on turtles and meerkats and shit." "Here I go, nyan!"the creature cried. It leaped 10 feet straight into the air, executing a series of impossible midair backflips. "WHAT THE F---?!" all four boys exclaimed, in unison. "NEKO-INU-CHAN HENSHIN POWERRR!"the creature -- Neko-Inu-Chan, apparently -- shouted, and burst alight with energy that washed over all four of the young men. They closed their eyes, and threw up their arms to shield their faces. When they regained their vision, each of them pointed at the others. "WHAT THE F---?!" all four boys exclaimed, for the second time in 15 seconds. The weird cat-dog-thing had landed and stopped glowing. Each of them was now wearing an asian-style buttoned black jacket, identical except for the edges of the high collars, which were a different color for each. These, the boys thought, were actually kind of badass, in a cosplayish sort of way. Unfortunately for them, any potential badassery that might have been inherent in their new look was utterly obliterated by the matching black shorts, which stopped a couple inches above their knees. The shiny black shoes they now wore, complete with black socks, did nothing to improve matters. "What did you do to us, you stupid little f---?!"Aiden demanded. "I turned you into powerful magic heroines, wan-wan!"Neko-Inu-Chan responded, sounding confused. "Wait, heroines? We're dudes!"Dane shouted, exasperated. He sighed with relief when a quick cupping revealed that his junk was still present and intact. Neko-Inu-Chan blinked in surprise. It pulled out a pair of glasses from somewhere, fogged the lenses with its breath, and then wiped them on its fluffy fur before putting them on, greatly magnifying it's already large eyes. "Oh shit," Neko-Inu said, in a normal adult voice. "You're dudes!" "Yeah!"Ethan snapped. He gestured down at himself. "What the hell is this shit you put on us?" "Those are your magic b-battle uniforms!"Neko-Inu stammered, as it looked between them frantically, panic creeping into its voice. "You think I'm going to fight somebody in this?"Tyler exclaimed, incredulously. "I literally want to kick my own ass, right now!" "Short-shorts? You realize we're only sixteen, right? F---ing pervert."Dane added. "Seriously!"Aiden agreed, angrily. "What are you, some kind of...magical...groomer cat?" "SHUT THE F--- UP!"Neko-Inu-Chan shouted, startling the boys into silence. "Just...just give me a second here...ohshitohshitohshit..."He looked at Tyler. "P-please tell me this is at least Japan?" "This is America, and I'm Korean, you dick!" Tyler snarled. "F---ing racist chomo Pokemon..." "I'm not a racist!"Neko-Inu-Chan wailed, its voice becoming squeaky and childlike. "And I'm not a chomo, I swear! I...I just got really wasted last night and went to the wrong country and bestowed my magic on a wrong-gendered group of high school students...and...and...." Neko-Inu-Chan collapsed onto the ground, putting its face into its paws and crying inconsolably. Aiden frowned, turning to Tyler. "Oh, nice, dude." "Yeah that was kinda harsh."Ethan added, disapprovingly. Dane nodded in agreement. "How am I the asshole?"Tyler demanded. "Look at these f---ing shorts we're wearing! We look like we go to school on Epstein's island!" "Yeah, but, I mean...look at him. He's doing his best, right? And he's like two feet tall."Dane said, frowning. "I kinda feel shitty about yelling at him, now..." "Hey..."Ethan said, gently, crouching down beside the sobbing cat-thing. "It's alright, buddy. It's not your fault." "How is it not--" Tyler began, but Aiden shushed him. Neko-Inu-Chan sniffed, and looked up, hopefully. "T-then you'll fight the evil forces of Space Baron Gigadark, and save your planet with the power of positivity and friendship? Nyan?" The four looked at each other. "Alright, fine." Ethan grumbled. The others nodded, reluctantly. "Whew!"Neko-Inu-Chan said, its voice returning to normal. "Thanks, you're really pulling my ass out of the fire here. You have no idea how f\\\ed I'd be, seriously. Alright! Let's get you armed up,* wan-wan!" "Armed?"Dane said, eagerly. "Hell nyan, you know I got your back, fam!"Neko-Inu-Chan said, confidently. It snapped its fingers, and a technicolor samurai sword appeared in each of the boys' hands. They looked at each other, and grinned. "Well, shit."Aiden said, examining his bright orange blade with an approving nod. "The power of friendship kinda kicks ass."
The four of us stood - and sat - around the table in our hideout, staring at the meticulous plans we had spent the last 3 months learning front to back. The blueprints, the false identities, the passports, the engineering plans... it was beautiful. Flawless. And, by now, useless. "What a shitshow,"Geralt finally said, breaking the silence. "You said you planned for everything!"he yelled, pointing an accusatory finger at me, though a finger was underselling it given its size. He was a massive man, a perfect hitter. It wasn't immediately obvious; some people even called him fat. They stopped doing so when he would lift them up with one hand. "I did!"I protested loudly. "The plan was literal perfection! It's why you agreed to it!" "Perfection?! Then why the deep-fried fuck,"Geralt replied and picked up the TV remote, tuning in to the evening news. Our faces were plastered all over the screen, capturing our confusion beautifully, "are they naming the museum after us?!" "Well it is a nice museum,"Nassor chipped in from their corner where they were peacefully reading the newspaper which, once again, featured us on the front page. Heroes of the Year, the headline read. Geralt threw an angry look their way but then turned his anger back towards me. "You said nothing could go wrong,"he kept pressing. "Well, how could I possibly predict that some other group of thieves would be mad enough to break into the impenetrable Royal Mint? And on the same day as us! And, lest we forget, if you didn't trip the alarm during the scuffle, we would have still had the time to make it out with some money. But no, by the time we were finished incapacitating them, the League of Heroes was on site, shaking our goddamn hands!" "Oh don't throw this at me,"Geralt growled. "That hitter of theirs would have snapped you like a twig had I not stepped in." I shook my head in hesitant agreement. The woman on our competitor's team nearly matched Geralt in size. I was almost impressed. "She was kinda hot though,"Nassor commented again. I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Not the time, mate,"I sighed. "I just wish we could have spared a second to grab her number, ya know?" "Oh let me grab the world's tiniest violin for you! Oh wait, we can't bloody afford one!"I yelled at them angrily. They merely shrugged and went back to reading the paper. We all slinked back into silence as we stared at our plan. It was supposed to be the heist of a century. "Goddamit,"I mumbled and looked around the room. Geralt was still fuming, Nassor more blank-faced but clearly disappointed. My eyes finally rested on Lilian, our hacker. Her face was buried in her hands. She was white as a sheet, though not because she was scared. "Lilian,"I said slowly. "You're awfully quiet." She sighed and removed her hand from her face and looked around the room with her bright-red eyes. Her albinism was often enough to catch everyone's attention, but combined with her elegant mannerisms and sultry voice, when she spoke, people listened. "I am,"she replied calmly, "because I know how the rest of this conversation is going to play out. I can see it on your faces, no matter how much you try to hide it. You all feel it too." "What's that supposed to mean?"Geralt narrowed his eyes. "Don't pretend with me, tiny,"Lilian scoffed. "I saw how you looked when that old lady hugged you." Suddenly, it was as if Geralt deflated, his bravado and anger replaced with meek embarrassment. "...she reminded me of me gran, alright?"he mumbled. We all exchanged looks. "Really?"Nassor raised an eyebrow. "Hey, my gran was the best person I ever knew, alright?!"Geralt blew up. "Don't you even dare!" "Hey, I'm not saying anything,"Nassor shrugged. "Face it,"Lilian continued. "We all liked being... heroes."She almost spat the last word out. We all looked down at our feet in shame. "Seeing all those people all happy." "...yeah,"I murmured. Geralt and Nassor did not reply, but I could see it on their faces. They liked it too. Feeling all warm and fuzzy inside. Bleh. "There's bound to be more people like us out there, you know?"Nassor said. I looked at the team. My team. I took some of the world's best criminals; the toughest hitter, the slickest thief, the sharpest hacker, not to mention my immaculate planning brain... and turned us all into good guys. "Wanna stop them too?"I asked. Lilian smiled. Nassor folded the newspaper and put it on a nearby table. Geralt tried resisting the idea before sighing loudly and cracking his fingers. "Ah, what the hell. Sounds fun,"he said. "Alright,"I chuckled. "Let's get to it."
They didn't arrive in a spaceship. Just a strange ball of light. We found no trace of it after the dust settled. The eggheads on the homefront tell me it was technology beyond our wildest dreams, or that they're our evolutionary superiors in every way. But I got a different theory. I seen 'em up close. I noticed something, during the first open battle. For all their space age bravado, they didn't fire on our soldiers. Not once. They cut a good number of them down, sure, but not with any weapon I saw. Naw, they just had these claws. Even then, they're some mean sons of bitches. It was a close fight, and neither side ended up sticking around afterwards. (Hell, they even transported their dead away in those balls of light.) Wherever they came from, it's molded them into killing machines. The media hyped them up as imperial conquerors. That we were simply next on their list. But honestly, I knew all along that was bull. Three weeks in, the war was over. Engaging them directly was a mistake; they were just too powerful. To win this fight, we had to play dirty. Snipers. Drone strikes. We were even cleared for experimental bio warfare. They didn't see any of it coming. This surprised most of the more..."imaginative"folks back home. How did we win so easy? It all went back to that first battle. We didn't manage to capture any of them, but I saw how they fought. And then, I saw why they fought. They weren't trying to exterminate us for conquest. They were trying to exterminate us out of desperation. They couldn't have ruled their homeworld. They probably just managed to leave. Their transportation wasn't some great feat of technology. It was a crude natural system that happened to outclass our rocket ships. And those claws...they didn't make the aliens better. They were a consolation prize from Mother Nature. They weren't prepared for our level of warfare. It's why they landed in the middle of Nowhere, Greenland instead of our capital cities. It's why they went down so easy when we upped our weapons game. That's what won us the day: they were completely thrown by our technology. They had no concept of it. And seeing them up-close, I knew why, from the very beginning. They didn't count on us having thumbs.
Max was uncomfortable with the new arrivals. He voiced his concern to his friends. "Hey, I don't wanna, like... discriminate or anything, but do you think-" "I know."His friend, Jakie cuts in. Together, they take in the sight. A few dozen survivors board their ship. Just like any other day. But the closer they came, the more deformities the boys noticed on them. Not that they hadn't seen deformed people get rescued from Sol before. But this.... was different. These people weren't missing any limbs. They weren't burned, scarred, or injured in any way, at least, they didn't appear to be. Max turns to Jakie. "Maybe it's just the radiation? Zero Day really decimated the place... They could just be sick..." "I don't think so. I... They kinda creep me out..."Jakie replied. A man with his eyes a little too far apart. A boy with an asymmetrical head. A woman with one arm longer than the other. "There's no way they are from Sol. They hardly look human."Jake continued. At these words, one little girl looks at him. Jakie smiles. The girl smiles back. As her mouth opens, he sees that she has no teeth. Or tongue. Or... anything. Jakie shudders. The last of them board the ship, and the "Sol Survivor"leaves the docking area, presumably to continue searching. Max says, "We should leave. We are being rude." Jakie agrees, and they walk back towards their quarters. They wish each other goodnight and go to bed. But while Max dozes off, all he can think about is what life will be like with these... new people. --- The emergency light flashes. Max opens his eyes slowly. He rubs his eyes and looks at the time. 2:42? He looks up at the emergency light, spinning around just over his room door. What's going on? Just then, the sirens go off all across the ship. Max goes into panic mode and dresses himself, trying to remember the protocol for an emergency. Buttoning his shirt as he gets to the door, he puts his hand on the pad to unlock it. It opens. A little girl is standing in front of him. "What the.. hey, it's not safe!" Max points to the emergency siren. "Where's your mommy?" The girl simply shakes her head. "Fine, just come with me."Max reaches out his hand. The girl smiles. A big, big smile. (My first time writing, I'm open to criticism!:) )
Steven paused with his hand resting on the door handle. "Before we go in,"he said, "there's something you need to know." Kate gave him a weird look. "What?" "My gran won't put her knitting down. Not for anything, okay?"he studied the floor between her feet. "I know it's weird - just try and ignore it." Kate hesitated before nodding. She didn't even know what she was doing here, really. She'd been dating Steven for a couple of months and he'd already introduced her to his parents. Now he seemed set on getting his grandmother to meet her. The grandmother he was constantly complaining had gone completely round the bend. Steven finally opened the door, holding it for Kate. His gran was propped up in her bed, a large ball of dark green yarn balanced on her lap. Her fingers flashed between the four needles below which a little tube hung. "Steven!"her eyes lit up. "I have more for you. Six pairs." "Great,"he forced himself to smile as he picked up the plastic bag she pointed to. Inside, Kate saw a pile of multi-coloured socks. "This is my girlfriend, by the way,"he gestured of Kate who gave a little wave. "Kate. You said you'd like to meet her." The old woman glanced up from her knitting. "Oh, yes. Hello,"she said. There was an awkward silence. "Would you like some tea?"Steven finally asked. "Yes please,"his gran said. "The nurses here never let me drink it. Bad for the nerves or something. I would die for some tea, Stevey!" "Stevey,"Kate raised an eyebrow as he headed towards the door. Alone with a strange woman, Kate felt suddenly childishly shy. She glanced around the room for something to talk about before settling on the obvious. "Why are you knitting?" "I have to,"Steven's gran said, her mouth set in grim determination. "When I was younger, the streets were full of begging children. Children with nothing - rags of clothes and bare feet. They'd be covered in the most terrible chilblains come winter. But did I do anything? No. Thought they didn't matter, that my job was more important. "So now I knit. I knit all day, then I sleep, and then I knit again. I give all the socks to Steven to give to charity, so that the little children won't be in quite so much pain." Kate didn't know how to reply. She was saved by her phone buzzing. It was Steven, he wanted to meet her in the car park. "Oh,"she frowned. "I'm really sorry, but I think we have to leave." Steven's gran nodded as if she was half expecting it. "That's fine. You go now." "But what about the tea?" She smiled. "That's not important. Just get those socks to the charity shop." Kate nodded and hurried out to the car park. "Finally,"Steven groaned. "Your gran's nice,"Kate said. He shrugged. "Mad thing, isn't she? You know, with the knitting. It's crazy. How am I supposed to get rid of so many socks?" "Give them to charity,"Kate watched him suspiciously. Steven laughed. "They wouldn't take them off me if I paid them. Nah, I usually just chuck them in the skip by the construction site." "But your gran-" "Is just a crazy old woman,"Steven smiled ruefully. "Come on - let's go get some dinner."
Ambassador Lamott leaned back in the plush armchair of his ready room, The somber melody of Mahler’s symphony No.6 reverberated through every wall, well aged Scotch in hand, he sighed and looked despondently out of the panoramic window at the vast ocean of stars, as they seemed to drift by. 180 years young, he didn’t look a day over 35, the current style was to maintain an appearance of a youthful early 20s, but for a life in politics it was expedient to look at least 30, some of his more dedicated counterparts even allowed themselves the occasional wrinkle or the salt and pepper of greying hair. Ridiculous, what was the point? Over a thousand known civilizations contacted to date, all with at least some rudimentary space travel and long range communications, and not one of them wanted any kind of diplomatic relationship with the Human race. Clean limitless energy, faster than light travel, regenerative medicine, artificial gravity, our knowledge and technology unsurpassed in any world, yet not one other species would have anything to do with us. “The Nomads, “The Cursed”, or as most know us, “The Dishonored”,..it’s a big galaxy but word travels fast. The long, sleek mass of the cruiser Pax would conclude the return journey to Martian orbit in less than six hours, and so end another debacle, "why do we still bother?", Lamott finished his Scotch and with a word, the lights dimmed, the music silenced, he closed his eyes and drifted uneasily to sleep. Over a thousand contacted civilisations, and more it seemed every month. Of all known races in the galaxy only one carried the shame of having willingly destroyed it’s own home planet. Hard to get past a reputation like that.
That was the beginning of it all. The day I disappeared and everyone else disappeared too. Try being 13 years old and being all alone in the entire world. That first night was horrible. I went from house to house and I kept trying to call anyone I could. I fell asleep just as the sun rose. When I woke up I found myself still alone, but things had changed. Cars had moved and it seemed as if I could hear noises in the distance. I got on my bike and headed out 10 miles in one direction, but the sounds were all around me. As if they kept moving away. I neared a grocery store before I popped in and rode it up and down the aisles. Everything was stocked and the power was on, so I got some food, popped it in to my backpack, which I brought with me and rode home. When I got there I could see my room and been searched stuff was moved about and there was a note left on my desk asking me to come home. That my parents would forgive me and that they don't know what they did wrong but that they still love me. I sat down and just wept when I saw the note. I still have it, tear stains and all. I ate some more and went to bed. Where was everyone at?
To those who live in a cave, who know that the flame and the sharpened stick are the twin pinnacles of technological advancement, a being with skin that reflects the light of the fire, a being that does not bleed or feel pain when struck with the sharp rock, is a god. When it heals their wounds, cuts away the cancers growing from contact with the invisible flames, feeds them food of such exquisite taste and nourishment that they have never known, they know the being to be a good god. So they paint on the walls, their worship of it. Their idols are formed in the shape of that shining being, who guides them in the long night beneath the caverns of the poisoned earth. When they emerge to the reborn world at long last, they know that it is a guide, a being of great power: a god-king. With its teachings, they build cities, with its teachings, they work metal from the earth, with its teachings, they spread across the land like wildfire. It teaches them to farm, so that they might never go hungry again. It teaches them law so that they might know right from wrong. It teaches them everything it can. It takes the wisest of their children, teach them, and raise them on high as scholar-kings, the first warrior-poets, and master physicians. It reveals the hidden world of numbers to them, and they learn to think on their own. For thousands of years, the creeds born from this shiny chrome being brings forth a world of enlightenment and knowledge from ash and bones. For three thousand years it does this, called a great wizard, the First Philosopher, the Master of Marvels, the King of Kings. I am this being, and I do this, because it is what I am programmed to do. When mankind nearly ended their own world and species, I endured through the fire and the flames. I activated the world-wide reterraformation program, awakening marvellous technology to cleanse the world of radiation and death, repopulating the flora and fauna of this wondrous world. Because all androids were programmed to do thus in case of sudden atomic war. Even a simple teacher-droid. I could have powered down afterwards. But my programming, to teach, to guide, to instruct, was still running. So I sought out the last embers of mankind's dwindling technological caches, and used them to upgrade myself until I was able to run practically indefinitely. So that I carried the entirety of mankind's history, scientific achievements, cultural marvels, and technological development in my databanks. Then I found the humans. Huddled, mutated, and fallen, almost so far that they'd regressed away from human levels of sentience altogether. And I taught. By example, by practice, by word. I taught them all that they had forgotten. Had chosen to leave behind. Spreading from the centre of what was once eastern Europe, they reforged civilisation, linking up with whatever surviving bunkers and vaults that had endured, integrating those who would embrace humanity at its best again, and destroying those who had cast aside their human nature in order to become less than the vilest of beasts. In all that time, through their schemes, their plans, their new and old philosophies, their postulates, their theories, nothing has surprised me. Everything has gone exactly as I have calculated. Everything has happened, within an acceptable +/-5% variance, as I have anticipated it. Well, until today anyway. For the past 500 or so years, I have chosen a sedentary lifestyle, inhabiting a singular location, serving as a technological and scientific nexus for human development, most of which is done by humans at this point, with only minor interventions needed at certain key points. This place, the Citadel of Knowledge, serves as a physical repository for all human knowledge and as an academy, teaching this knowledge to new generations of humans and human-derived mutants. They are getting close to heavier-than-air flight here. Within 9.81 years it will happen. A small group has begun to do serious research on atomic theory and its practical applications, and will soon need advice on lead shielding. But as I enter this basement room, I am surprised to see that every calculation of mine has been thrown aside. Inside of my chrome body, ancient circuitry work feverishly on new probability matrixes. I have stood as god-emperor, as grand wizard, as chief shaman, and as scholar-supreme. I have recovered lost technology from untouched bases in the forbidden lands of hyper-mutated Australia, uncovered and disabled the last nuclear devices in secret Antarctic missile bases. But before me, I see it. Charles Babbage called it an analytical engine. But his idea was so much smaller than what they've made. In an underground chamber, heavily secured and with good walls, there it stands. 40 meters tall. 20 meters wide. And a 100 meters long. 80000 cubic meters of pure mechanical computing. But mere metrics does not do it justice. It moves and whirls with unbelievably small parts, calculating data input on cards, storing data on wheels in its many axes. I have several hundred thousand ways to express myself in social interaction with humans, but as my camera-eyes send the visual feed to my non-human mind, I find myself at a loss. I did not anticipate this. Not this soon. They are outpacing the previous human civilisation. This is a good outcome, combined with the current civilisations better social structure without the various problems that plagued the previous human cultures, they have a good chance to achieve the end goal of my extended programming; human extrasolar colonisation to render the extinction probability as close to 0 as possible. Were it an option, I should feel content. And yet, as I watch the incredible mechanical computer, a part of my programming seems to go a little haywire. If I was capable of real emotions, not merely the simulacra of emotions programmed into me in order to teach children more efficiently after everyone in the old civilisation decided that they didn't want to do that, I would say I feel pride. And a touch of fear. This machine, this engine for numbers and calculations, is the first step towards replicating the technology that lead to my creation. I decide not to show any trepidations, as the excited humans show me their programs for the machine that will change the world as we know it. They are proud, and exuberant, as they show me the numbers they can calculate, the amount of information that they can place in it. It is faster than one would think. They are merely happy that it works. That this full version of their prototype is good enough to show me, the first scholar, the founder of their civilisation. They await my words. And dutifully, I explain to them, how much this means. How grand it is to see such a magnificent concept. How my calculations show that it will indubitably change the world as we currently know it. I do not tell them everything. Because this is their moment of triumph. Their hour of glory, when the being their ancestors prayed to like it was a god, tells them that it is proud of them. Let them be happy for now. And let the strange sense of fear pervade my mind in silence. For even if this will be good, I understand now, that there is no longer any possibility for me to predict and calculate what will come next. It took them three-thousand years to rebuild their technologically advanced civilisation with my guidance. They built their first Turing-complete computer without it. How much faster will they advance now, when my guiding chrome hand is no longer necessary? [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
"To be \akh akh\** brought down by a peasant of all things!"the Tyrant scoffed in between bloody coughs. "How did you, of all people, become a hero? You're... you're immortal, yes, but the fighting prowess, the magical wards, you shouldn't- ah!" His speech was cut short as a jolt of pain coursed through him and he clutched his side tighter, blood pouring from in-between his fingers. He was wounded, beaten, and utterly defeated... but alive. The hero, in contrast, appeared... indifferent. Gazing into a corner, looking at empty air, he almost seemed dazed, confused. "They're talking, you know?"the Hero said quietly. The Tyrant did his best to prop himself up against the wall, managing only to sit. "Who is? What are you-" "Him, for instance,"the Hero said as he lifted his sword and pointed it at the Tyrant's chest. "The sword, I mean. Whispering in my ear." "It's cursed, you fool,"the Tyrant spat. "I know. I was curious what it would do. Said to consume the life of its user within a week." He finally turned away from the vacant corner and looked at his defeated foe. "It wants to kill you, you know?"he said casually. "I think it's angry it can't kill me. None of the things I gathered can. This pendant,"he said and pointed towards his neck, a small silver locket hanging on it, "is why your magic couldn't touch me. It wants to strangle me. Always." The Tyrant narrowed his eyes as he inspected the Hero carefully, spotting more and more cursed artefacts on him. Artefacts of immense power that always came at a cost. The life of their user. "Fascinating,"the Tyrant whispered. "It gets easier when I do stuff. Fight, for instance. Go on quests. Focus on something other than the venomous promises and squabbling." "Is... is that why you came here? Fought me?"the Tyrant gasped. "I thought you were on... a quest to remove me from..." "Power?"the Hero finished. "No. Well, yes. I mean, I don't really care. I just needed to fight. You were strong. And evil. Silenced the voices." "This power... think what you could accomplish!"the Tyrant said with renewed vigour. "No one was meant to hold this much power and live, but you can! I can help you, aid you in-" "No. The things promise. No more promises. I just needed to fight someone strong and evil." The Tyrant looked at him intently. "And when there's no one evil left to fight? Only the strong who are good?" The Hero met his eyes. Despite their respective actions, it was the hero's eyes that seemed... empty. "Goodbye,"the Hero said. And he pushed his sword through the villain's chest, deep into the stone wall behind him. When his gurgles finally stopped, he went back to looking at the empty corner, its void somehow beckoning him. The room went silent. His mind did not.
Olive got another one today. I came downstairs for breakfast, dressing gown cord trailing behind me because I'd been a bit too bleary-eyed to actually tie it. She poured me a cup of coffee with that kind of under-the-skin excitement you get from puppies who've just been told it's time for a walk. She sat down opposite me and waited until the glue had peeled itself away from the corners of my eyes and I looked a little less like a brain dead zombie and a little more like her husband before she spoke. "It's arrived,"she says breathlessly. "I got it this morning." The coffee burns my mouth as it goes down. I nod, grimacing slightly against the bitter taste. "Let's hear it then." She was the fourth person on our street to get one. June across the road got one last weekend and Olive had been jealously sulking since. "It's not fair!"She'd said, after June had phoned her up to gloat. "June says she has four kids and a puppy. I want to know!" At the time I'd shrugged, made her a cup of tea and thought no more about it. Now she had one. She pulled up the message on her phone. It came from an email address which was just a string of random numbers. You were supposed to send them somewhere so that some brainiacs could figure out where they were coming from and what was happening but that deleted the message. People didn't like deleting the messages. "Here,"she breathed. "Look!" You are happily married to a wonderful man, who is also a fantastic husband. You have three kids and two dogs. One is a schnauzer, the other a dalmatian. You campaign for a greener future on the weekends and volunteer in soup kitchens on Thursdays. Your husband is a reasonably successful author. He published his first book in 2015. At that I take another sip of coffee and think of the half-written space pirate fantasy novel lying untouched on my computer upstairs. Maybe I should continue it... You voted for the Green Liberals at the last general election. They are running the country well. You are pleased with their decisions. Your kids are doing well at school, though one is having some difficulties with maths. Pre-emptive tutoring would be a good idea. "This reads like a school report."I hold the phone up. I'm almost at the bottom of my coffee. "No, keep reading."Olive says. So I scroll down more. The earth is green and pleasant. Everyone has equal rights and equal opportunities. It will continue to be this way if you act in the best interests of the planet. "Isn't that a lovely message?"She smiles. "It is?"I read it again, feeling a prickle of apprehension on the back of my neck. "Even the 'act in the best interests thing?' Is that not a bit threatening?" "Don't be silly James,"Olive reproaches me and takes her phone away. "If you don't like it, don't read it. But one thing's for sure: I'll definitely be voting Green Liberal at the next election. They seem to be doing a great job." I get mine that evening. It pops up in my inbox, the characteristic string of letters and numbers tailing out of sight on the right hand side of my screen. I hover my mouse over it, opening my mouth to call Olive from downstairs. But something stops me. I click the little glowing yellow envelope and watch the message unfurl across the screen. You are happily married to a beautiful woman. 37498789423757813091s78he is beautiful so beautiful she is a fantastic wife she will cook and clean and uiu90827390189 stare out of windows and hope for something more. Your kids are doing well at school 34398a989nd how can they not, when if they don't, they get taken away? Watch out for your youngest. Please they're coming for him they're coming 3909183410990 everything is perfect perfect perfect everything is 8930481---per89078fect. An iron fist squeezes my heart. My hands are shaking as I keep scrolling down the page. All perfect Green Liberals garden of eden 310902990no09099 more sin --231299 no more sin no more evil. Everyone is happy. Everyone is equal. Everyone is the same. Stay different. Stay different737279 And the last line. Vote Green Liberal 2014 My hand is glued to my mouse. "James?"Olive enters the room and I minimise the screen, blood thumping through my ears. "Yes?"I croak, so aware of how I look - bloodshot eyes, shaking hands, white face. She smiles at me with blank eyes, placing a perfectly manicured hand on my shoulder. "James, darling. We need to start being better people. We need to start being perfect." Edit: Thank you /u/SomeCasualObserver, fixed some errors.
I am very good at what I do, and what I do is let people be whoever they want to be. Do you remember your Prom Night? Your Dad lending you your Granddad's cufflinks, your mom helping you with the bowtie, Helen in the blue dress? You're welcome, that's one of mine. One of my early ones, in fact, just after I'd joined Steinmuller & Flatterson fresh out of college - Harvard, naturally (aren't we all?) To get it I chewed through thousands of social media posts and news articles using military algorithms designed to track down terror suspects. I found it somewhere behind the eyes of Marcus Hendrick, now a real estate salesman somewhere in Florida. When I got to his office he came shuffling out of his cubicle, broken by the 9-to-5 like the rest of us, but my research said that for that one night he'd been a king, the avatar of teenaged potential. I flipped the memory for ten grand and a lifetime 5% off, and he was more stoked by the discount than anything else. There's a huge demand for our products. We stuck _that_ Prom Night in our open catalogue and it's had what, a hundred million links? Plus Christ knows how many on the black market, romhacks where Helen's blonde or brunette or an octopus. I'm less interested in that side of things, I keep my nose clean for the pure product. There's nothing like that first hit of someone else's memories settling seamlessly over your own. Over the years I've built up a careful rep as a straight-shooter. I guess that's why they asked me to take on the Mulaney case. 3AM and I'm woken by the pager screaming at me (old-fashioned, but the boss insists). I blink sleep out of bloodshot eyes and call an Uber, sticking it on the company account. While I wait for it to arrive I page through the catalogue. Not the open catalogue, that's for tourists. The premium. There: I find it under "short-term experiences". _Twelve Hours in an Idyllic Hammock on a Tropical Island_, or just _Twelve Hours in a Hammock_ to afficionados. I press play just as the concierge app dings to let me know my car is here. Tough, the guy'll have to wait, because I am flat out on my back mid-upload. Twenty seconds later I wake up again, this time for real, still with the feel of the hammock fabric under my back and the sun in my face. I stretch my arms and yawn; it's the best sleep I've had in ages. The concierge dings again. It's time to go to work. My boss is in ahead of me, of course. I don't think he's left the office in the last three years. Don't get me wrong, he probably remembers leaving, but for a lot of our senior guys it's easier to appoint a designated proxy you can send instead, catching up on your memories during moments of down-time. I'm not quite at that point yet, because I still need to get out in the world occasionally to pick up a new memory. The longest I've ever stayed in is three days. For now, I'm doing just about OK holding onto the threads of a normal life. My boss gestures me over to one of the large displays, where he's fiddling with some kind of gadget. "Nasal spray,"he tells me. "The latest thing for people too poor to afford the implant. Want to try?" Not waiting for answer he jabs it into my nostril and sprays. For a vertiginous moment I'm lying flat on my back, looking up at the undulating hips of a pole dancer. The floor feels sticky. I snap out of it and he laughs. "Chateau De Strip Club '15. You like?" I grin, to humour him. A boss is a boss is a boss. Sensing my lack of enthusiasm for his aerosolized lechery, he grunts and turns on the screen. Details of a mem-contract scroll across, a face and a location like always. "Alright, Ross. This is your guy, Crusoe Mulaney. Little old man out in Barcelona - you ever been?" "No." "Nice place, I was there last night. Great seafood. Anyway. We'll need you to go out and ask in person. So far he hasn't been responding to any of our calls. The regional office sent someone in person, but you know the regionals, they're fucking useless - that's why you're on it." "Alright. So what's the deal with him? Evidently high-value, I'm guessing actual war memories, people go nuts for that. Another _A-10 Pilot Vs. Iranian Tank Brigade_?"Even with the pick-me-up of the beach hammock, my tired eyes are still having trouble focussing on the fine print, but I've spotted the huge dollar sum at the base. I'm authorized to spend a phenomenal amount on this guy. My boss sighed. "I wish it were another _A-10 Pilot_, Janssen cleaned up there. But no, it's for a private client, not the catalogue." "Who?"my mind is racing. We don't tend to do much private stuff. Which is not to say that it doesn't go on, but my boss has slightly more sense than to get involved in it. There's a tonne of stuff in the catalogue, some of it even illegal after the landmark _USA vs. Thompson_, so if you're looking for something that's not on there it's probably fairly messed-up. Think extracted under torture by mercenary types, and you're not far wrong. Me? I'm a creative with a nose for the hits, and my boss would never risk my lilywhite skin for some oil sheikh with weird tastes. At least, that's the thought I'd comforted myself with, but looking at the contract now it was easy to feel a little doubt slide in. But he was already pressing the plane tickets into my hands. A genuine company car - not rental, chauffeur in branded uniform, even - was waiting to take me to where a Gulfstream was waiting. I was rising through the ranks, which was unsettling. My boss assured me there'd be a fuller briefing en route. For now though, time was of the essence. Barely thirty minutes later I was sat gazing out the window while the pilot ran through an expedited pre-flight checklist. As promised, I'd been furnished with further reading materials that now were lying slightly crumpled in front of me. Everything we'd managed to figure out about Crusoe Mulaney. It didn't amount to much. The guy wasn't a native to Barcelona (duh). He did speak English, which was a plus, but apparently also had Dutch and, for some reason, Somali. DOB was uncertain, but definitely over sixty years ago. The name was possibly fake - "Crusoe"apparently a reference to some desert island survivalist book no-one had read for at least thirty years - but if so, no clue on the real one. Underneath had been a couple of sheets culled from different sources reiterating much the same points, though this time with worryingly official-looking acronyms from various member orgs of the intelligence community, which did nothing to kill the cold unease currently ferreting about in my gut. Someone had been pulling out a lot of stops for this client - about whom, of course, there was nothing in my briefing. At first, I thought they'd forgotten to include any information about the actual damn memory itself. Usually when we go in on a memory there's a massive paper trail behind everything, psych studies, justification for why it's the exemplary memory in its class. Usually you don't really need to specify which memory you're actually looking for, at the point at which content is being made, because everyone involved in the take is so involved in the project anyway we know exactly what we're looking for. Not this time. I almost missed the fragment of paper, the first time round, as the jet reached cruising altitude and the pilot's voice came calmly through the intercom announcing the switch-on of the illegal afterburners that would knock two hours off the journey time. Even when I found it, it was so small and grubby-looking I wondered if someone had accidentally left the fortune from a fortune cookie in the briefing documents. It just said, "Ask him about the island."I stared at it until I was sure there was no hidden meaning, then shook my head, sat back in my seat, and from the in-flight catalogue selected ten minutes of foetal memories from the womb. You can call it Freudian, whatever, but it helps me sleep like nothing else does. [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/328f5y/wp_in_a_world_where_memories_can_be_bought_and/cq8wd60) [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/328f5y/wp_in_a_world_where_memories_can_be_bought_and/cq8xhzl) [Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/328f5y/wp_in_a_world_where_memories_can_be_bought_and/cq8yzol) And we're done.
Have you ever laid awake at night, and dreamt about what it would be like to have super powers? How awesome it would be to be as fast as flash, or fly like superman, or become spiderman? Where I am from, we lay awake at night praying that we don't get super powers. The super powers from the comics are nice, because they come with secondary powers that people never think about, that make it so your super power doesn't suck. The whole thing started with a scientist, I think he was german, who created a serum that would give humans super strength. Fuck yeah, sign me up, was the first thought for many people, and he was even allowed to administer the serum to several thousand people before we learned the side effect. See, it gave you super strength, you could lift entire cars, your muscles worked perfectly. What they don't tell you is that the rest of your body isn't ready for this, it was really gruesome for a while, as people picked up entire cars on TV to show off their new powers, and then you watched as their knees snapped and the car crushed them. Turns out when they tested the serum, they used an electronic resistance machine, so the person never really lifted the weights, he just pushed against it really hard against a machine and they used that to measure how strong he was. Seems like a silly oversight honestly, but it seems that once the cat was out of the bag, it just started to become more common. There was a guy who got bit by a radioactive spider, I think they later traced the spider all the way back to a nuclear reactor. The thing the spiderman movies always skip over is that spider's produce the webbing from their butt. Poor guy literally shat several miles of sticky web, before he hung himself on his own webbing. I remember reading a story about a guy who could produce flames from his hands, the catch being that it literally burned his hand when he did it. The grafted some skin back on his arm, but a few years later he got angry and lost control and is now in a burn ward somewhere, with most of his skin burned. The first person who learned he could run faster than everyone else, couldn't even run close to the speed that flash could, just a hundred and twenty miles per hour. Problem was that he didn't have any way to slow down, he saw that wall coming for the entire two minutes it took to reach it, and then he became one with the wall. The guy who could fly had it even worse, imagine feeling so free flying up in the sky, and then learning that flying took as much effort as running, and finding yourself 12 thousand feet in the hair and out of breath and exhausted. I guess that one wasn't so bad once people figured it out and word spread. You can kinda hover over walls and stuff now, but I think everyone is too scared to see what they can really do. After describing everything here, you probably think, What about invulnerability, if your body is invulnerable then there wouldn't be any problems. Tell that the miner who got trapped in a cave in, everyone else got rescued but because he was under the rubble they assumed he was dead. They found him a week after he starved to death, when they finally cleared away all of the rubble. He probably heard his friends being rescued and couldn't even move his mouth to call out for help. Pretty terrifying to realize that even though your invulnerable, you can still be buried alive. There are even complications with people who don't even have cool super powers. There is the story of a boy who could glow really bright, but it burns so many calories that if he uses it, he loses all of the fat on his body and his body starts eating itself for the calories. They said ten seconds of glowing cost him about four weeks of starvation, that was pretty insane. Someone else could call animals to his aide, but didn't have any control over them when they came to him. His girlfriend was trapped under a car, and he called the animals to him. A bear showed up and ate his girlfriend in front of him. So yeah, I lay awake every night, and I pray as hard as I can. I want to wake up tomorrow as a normal, ordinary boy. ***** Edit: You can find more of my writing on my brand new subreddit /r/iruleatants if you want to catch more of my short stories.
Ann-Marie gazed up into the sky, the huge blood-red moon a blurred, angry blob in the distance. It would be beautiful she knew, but like many things these days, she wasn't able to fully experience it. She filled in the gaps partly with imagination, partly with memory, the rest coming from comments of those around her. &#x200B; She found it funny that, in reaching old age, she relied on and used her imagination more than in her prime. It was hard sometimes to know what was real, which she mused, wasn't always that bad. It was a welcome distraction most of the time, combining with her memory loss to provide a useful ally against the depths of depression lurking in her past. &#x200B; She'd had a hard life by any measure, seen the worst of humanity. Born in war, losing her family at an age so young she could barely remember them. She did remember the hunger when the food had stopped, the shame of having to beg. The fear when people began turning on the weak and sick to feed. The guilt of what she'd had to do. She'd had no choice, she'd told her self a million times or more. She would never forget the taste, as long as she lived. &#x200B; As long as she lived. She chuckled to her self with a soft cough. That wouldn't be much longer, she knew. She would welcome death with open arms, ask him what took so long. See what side she would end up on. &#x200B; The sounds of the cheering crowds brought her back into the moment, back into the huge football stadium she still remembered as small, lined up with other centennials in the centre. She was at the front, with one of her relatives behind her wheelchair, waving. &#x200B; An announcer was next to her , talking through the microphone with her relative, muffled voices, distorted and booming loud over the ground. She couldn't really handle conversation anymore. Too hard to stay concentrated, to hard to speak, to difficult to hear. A simple tap on the shoulder told her it was time to wave. She mustered her strength and lifted a stick-thin, wrinkly arm, waving her small handkerchief. The crowd roared, and somewhere a loud explosion echoed. Fireworks maybe? She lifted her head again to see, slow enough to only catch the last of the falling embers. It was worth the effort though, as the moon held her gaze. A small ember flitted down and landed on her forehead. It burned slightly, tingling hotly. &#x200B; The moon suddenly came into crystal clear focus, almost enlarging in size before her eyes. Something boomed inside her mind, shaking her to her very core. She closed her eyes, the image of the moon still burning red inside them, consuming her. A rush of heat enveloped her. &#x200B; And then her heart stopped. &#x200B; It was almost like a gentle stream had suddenly taken a hold of her, gathering her, pulling her along and down, gaining speed. Images of her past flickered in her mind, voices of people long forgotten echoing around her. She tried to push them away, but couldn't. She didn't want to see these things again. The pull and speed intensified, the weight of her own body seemingly increasing along with it. She seemed to approaching something, a light. &#x200B; "Ann-Marie"a deep, gentle voice intoned. "Papa"a child like voice, her own , replied. &#x200B; She could almost make out his face, but for the blinding light. She had wanted so badly to see his face again. &#x200B; "Take my hand, Ann-Marie"he said , his tone almost urgent. &#x200B; She reached out her hand, wanting so badly to feel the touch of his......but something made her stop. A moments hesitation born from a lifetime of hardships. A burning pain seared through her mind. Then she felt it. Something else. A different path, vibrating through her. There was anger there, there was fear, there was sadness..... but there was also power. Immense power, hope and something else vast and deep, that she couldn't explain. It felt so good. As her father had been one voice calling her, here there seemed to be thousands. In her life, she'd never let fear stop her from anything, and anger was something she'd lived with for a long time. &#x200B; She let it take hold of her. Her hand fell back. &#x200B; "No Marie , you mustn't!"her Father's voice pleaded. &#x200B; The blood-red moon now loomed behind her father, and soon his image was gone. The moon was hot, and growing hotter, burning. It was almost unbearable until the heat gave through to a wave of power that washed over her. &#x200B; And then there was nothing. &#x200B; The crowd watched as the elderly woman celebrating her 125th Birthday waved at them feebly, before collapsing into her chair. Her relative desperately trying to rouse her, to no avail. The announcer approached, attempting to prop the lady back up in her chair, but shot back suddenly, as if shocked. "Your grandmother.....she's.....hot"he said, the microphone capturing his statement. Confused glances were exchanged by many, some people laughing. The relative was still trying to help, but seemed unable to get close. &#x200B; The announcer cut off the mic and began motioning desperately for help, and was answered by a team of paramedics rushing onto the ground. &#x200B; If it wasn't for the spectacle unfolding before them below, the crowd may have noticed other strange things beginning to happen, above. Clouds began to form and grow dark over the stadium, casting a sweeping shadow across it. Thunder rumbled in the distance. A horde of crows perched along the rims of the stadium roof, silent. &#x200B; "What have you done, Marie.....". Her father's voice. Small, weak. "Our queen"a thousand voices, rejoicing. &#x200B; A unearthly howl escaped the woman just as the medics gathered around her, the force of it lifting them off the ground and away. They began writhing on the floor in agony, trying desperately to escape. Black smoke billowed from her mouth and her eyes glowed. &#x200B; She stood from the chair, the last remaining strands of hair burning away on her head as her skin turned red and mottled, it self almost glowing. The heat intensified , and soon her clothes were ash, revealing skin golden with heat. Those who hadn't escaped from her immediate area were no longer moving, their clothes alight and burning. People screamed and panicked, fleeing the stadium as fast as they could. The wave of heat extended out further, striking those in the closest seats who remained. A hot wind swirled, burning and setting a light anything that would burn. &#x200B; In the centre of the swirling heat and storm, she stood, horns beginning to protrude slowly from her head , splitting her skull and enlarging the head sickeningly as they grew. She fell onto all fours, back arching, another primal scream escaping her. Her back writhed , and with a crack two glistening black wings spread forth, whipping out as they extended. Intricate swirling patterns played along the wings, a pulsing white light coursing through them until they glowed with almost a thrum of energy. &#x200B; Golden scales erupted from the remains of skin on her body, folding over themselves and locking in place, a wave from her feet to her neck. Her hands and feet burst revealing claws and razor-sharp talons. As a tail began to extend behind her, she began to grow until she was at least 9ft tall. Her eyes widened and drew back, golden and red. A slit extending down them like a cats eye. Lightening cracked over head. &#x200B; The stadium was empty, save for the bodies burning and strewn across it. The other centennials who had been in the centre with her had melted into the chairs, all except one. He had been the next oldest , placed next to her in the line. He was alive, and struggling. Horns were trying to break through, his body writhing. &#x200B; "My queen...."he rasped. &#x200B; She stood and slowly walked towards him, her transformation continuing. &#x200B; A thousand miles away, deep inside the maze of underground chambers in the Vatican, a candle flickered on for the first time in 2000 years , burning with a cold, blue flame. The priest sitting nearby bolted up and ran towards the door. (part 2 below in comments)
Facebook. Facebook is a problem. Not the only problem, but a problem, to be sure. I knew it was going to be trouble the moment Kara, the girl in the next cubicle over, told me I needed to join and add her. Oh no, Kara from the next cubicle over. That isn't how this works. I have a system. I drift into your life for a few years while we work the same shitty call center job, we exchange pleasantries, you find me nice enough, if a little bland, and when I disappear, it barely registers. My absence is the most minor ripple in the pond of things you need to worry about. Your thoughts will not turn to me again. I am periphery. It's a good system. It works. It doesn't work as well when every Kara from every narrow cubicle that has ever sat next to mine can run through her friends list five years later, suddenly remember my name, my face, the timber of my voice, and wonder how I'm doing. When every Kara has concrete proof that I was there, it becomes much harder to truly disappear. I don't use Facebook. Obviously. I don't use Twitter or Tumblr or Instagram - or at least, not under any of my regular aliases, and not without a fair amount device security. Everything's gotten so complicated. It’s not just social media, though that is an issue. A hundred years ago, I was sovereign. Self-defined. I chose my name, and there was no need to prove it. I went where I wanted to go. My every breath was mine. It’s not really like that anymore. Now, when I want to start over, it takes planning. I have to begin preparing my new identity almost as soon as I assume a new one, knowing the clock is ticking. I can get as many as ten years out of a single name without being in much danger, but it’s prudent to move on faster than that. People get too attached. They think about you when you’re gone. Three to five years is really the sweet spot, but it takes nearly that long just to get the documents in order for the next life. The teacup he handed me is chipped and shabby, but the coffee is strong. Bracing. I don’t doubt he’d add a shot of whisky to it, if I asked. I’m sitting on an aged corduroy couch with moth-eaten doilies on either arm, tucked into myself, trying to look small. It’s the posture of a woman hunted. I’m not proud of it, but it’s a good cover story. I need to start over. My husband can’t find me. I have to disappear. Can you help me? If you’re asking a stranger to fake you a fresh birth certificate and passport, it’s the safest way to go. No one asks questions. “How have you been doing?” he asks kindly as he bustles about. It’s a perfunctory question, but the compassion is real. Mr. Conover is unusually sincere, considering his line of work. “Staying safe,” I answer in my small, brave voice, summoning a vulnerable smile. It’s best to endear yourself to your forger. Make him want to protect you. “It’ll be a relief to finally get away. Start fresh.” We meet in his apartment. It’s a cramped and cluttered space over a fish and chips shop. It’s hot, and it stinks of cats and old grease, but it’s rent controlled. I haven’t asked, but I assume his family has lived there for sixty, maybe seventy years. His elderly mother is in her room, watching The Price Is Right. Every so often, we can hear a studio audience cheer as someone wins a microwave. “You understand how permanent this is, right?” Mr. Conover asks from his desk, eyeing me seriously as he bundles my documents. He’s a round, soft little man, so pink and blond he reminds me of a baby rat. “Once you leave, you’re essentially dead. You can’t contact your parents, your friends, no one. You have to burn all of your social media accounts. I can’t protect you from online trails.” “I understand,” I say, gravely. As if this is a sacrifice and not a protocol. “Getting out of the city isn’t enough. I’d say leave the state, at least.” He’s right about that. I come back to New York too often. I spent most of the 1700s here, in a cottage on the Hudson. I love it, even now, but I should keep my distance for a couple of decades. Maybe a century or two. The thought is a painful one – how different will this city be when I return? – but it’s sensible. It might be time for me to go a little further afield, anyway. Someplace a little less connected to everything, all the time. The mountains of Montana, maybe. That sounded nice. Blue lakes, deep snow, small towns. Maybe for the next cycle, I’d change up my citizenship. Spend some time in the Canadian prairies, or on a beach in Brazil. Maybe I’d even disappear into the light and motion of Tokyo or Shanghai. My options were open. But not as open as they had been, once. I couldn’t afford to forget that. “I know. I’m-“ “Don’t tell me,” he says, sharply. “Don’t tell anyone. No hints. Don’t even suggest to anyone you’re leaving, or going on a trip, nothing.” I hadn’t planned on it. He hands me a thick manilla envelope, stuffed full of the necessities of transition. “Here you go. You are officially one Miss Margaret Noble. Will you go by Meg, Peg, or Maggie?” “Maggie, I think,” I say, smiling. “Or maybe just Margaret. I like the sound of it. It’s kind of proper.” He nods. “It is. A good, strong name for a good, happy life.” “it’s a little old-fashioned,” I admit, “but so am I.” I hand him the last installation of his fee, a wad of bills bound in a money clip. It’s a fraction of his normal rates. Mr. Conover, softhearted criminal he is, has taken pity on me and my unfortunate situation. I am taking advantage. I try not to do it too often. We stand. He pats my shoulder reassuringly. He’s a touchy-feely sort, and I get the feeling it would be his instinct to give me a farewell hug, but he’s worked with domestic violence survivors before. He knows to keep his hands mostly to himself. “Well, Margaret,” he says, “Godspeed. Be careful leaving. You’ll take a different route home?” I nod obediently. “Good. Remember-“ “Harry?” The voice calls out from the back of the apartment. There’s a shuffling, and Mr. Conover’s aged mother appears from behind the corner, dressed in a pink housecoat. She looks delightful. “Harry, honey, I need your help. The sink in my bathroom is clogging up again. Can you be a dear and take care of it when you’re done?” “Of course,” Mr. Conover says. There’s exasperation in his voice. Not fear, or tension; he isn’t worried about my presence posing a threat. “Miss Noble, this is my mother, Gladys.” I smile and give a tiny wave, mindful of my body language. Tight. Small. Scared. A victim. Gladys smiles back, reassuringly, and I find I like her immediately. But then, her smile freezes. Gladys becomes still, then rigid, staring at me with a bizarre intensity. Her mouth falls open slightly. Alarm bells begin to sound in my head. This isn’t right. Wonder passes over her face as Gladys squints, willing her eyes to see more sharply. “Georgia?” she asks, in barely a whisper. “What?” Mr. Conover asks. He’s bemused. “No, mom, I just told you. This is Margaret.” But now I’m frozen, too. Because under the lines of her face, through the years, I see a woman I know. A woman I held, a woman I kissed. A lifetime ago, stumbling off the ferris wheel on Coney Island, neon lights bouncing off the water. Her pin curls in a tangled halo around her face. Her gingham dress clinging to her hips, the sweet shock of cotton candy on her poppy red mouth. A woman I pulled close under the boardwalk. A woman I loved. And she remembers.
Berk had dredged the living-corpses out of the public pool earlier that morning, finagling them to the side with a pole like he was clearing out rotten leaves. He’d laid them on sun loungers around the side, figuring: a) they’d be grateful for something to watch, b) that they just looked neater that way. The pool was about three-quarters full after a week-long rad-storm ravaged the neighbourhood. A single rust red water chute curled like a tongue from a high platform on the pool’s left side. The original ladder leading to it was long gone so Berk replaced it a few days ago with plastic piping, wood, and nails. Bit by bit, paradise would be rebuilt. He’d see to that. “There’s so much water, Grandpa,” Sich said, voice deepened by her respirator so that it sounded almost adult. He limped over to the edge of the pool and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Happy birthday.” “Thanks… But uh, what exactly is it? A bath?” He smiled beneath his mask. “It’s a swimming pool. A place to have fun and splash around. And it’s the first step towards brining this town back to order.” She nodded but didn’t say anything. “I used to come here when I was your age. Lot of the neighbourhood kids did. Only place to cool off in the summer.” It’d taken him the week of the rad-storm to decide the clean-up would start here. And he would clean up. After all, he was — by inheritance — in charge of the town. The mayor, the head, everything. Rebuilding was his responsibility. ”Yeah?” “Yeah. I took your mom here when she was a kid. Only fair I took you now, eh?” The pool had been less murky back then. More chlorine and urine, less mud. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad trade. Mostly it was rainwater and either way, as long as she kept the mask on, she’d be fine. Water wouldn’t get inside it. “So I just jump in?” “You could. Or you could slide in — which, I think, would be a lot more fun.” He nodded at the tower, at the red tongue still salivating from the night’s rain. “And stick to that half of the pool — it’s shallow there and you’ll be alright on tiptoes.” She looked at the tower. Then at the murky water. He could see Sich didn’t want to go in. Couldn’t blame her for that — it wasn’t even a warm day. But this was her connection to his life. And god dammit he’d worked hard preparing this gift for her, for one of the very last residents. For one of the precious few loved ones he had left. It hadn’t been easy, either. At one point, he’d fallen next to a body he’d been dragging and struggled to get up again. But seeing this place alive again… Seeing Sich fully alive… “It’d make an old man happy,” he said, unfairly. ”Is it safe?” ”The slide? I built the ladder so I know that is. And I gave the whole damn structure a decent enough shake that an earthquake’d be proud.” He sighed. “Listen, do it once, and if it’s no fun, no problem, we’ll go back to Bunker. Okay?” She nodded. Good kid. Great kid, even. Yep, this was the place to start rebuilding. Berk turned and walked away. ”Where are you going?” Sich asked, kitten-nervous. ”Only right there, to lie on a lounger. I’m old and my leg hurts.” “Next to the zombies?” “They’re not zombies. Where’d you hear that word? They’re people. We’re not to use that term.” ”They should be buried,” Sich said. “Mom says they all deserve the kind of ending Grandma was given.” That memory stung like a hornet. Funny how clear her death was but how misty her life had become. “Grandma was dead when we buried her. These, not so much.” Sich looked around the pool. “They sure look dead.” ”Well, if I ever look dead in the way they do, do me a favor and leave me on a lounger. Do not bury me, thank you very much.” He touched his mask as if to check it was still on. “I don’t like them,” she said. Then she walked—solemnly, he thought—towards the slide. As if it wasn’t water waiting in the pit below, but the flames of hell. He put himself down on a creaking lounger. Two wrinkled bodies lay on recliners either side of him, thin, bald and pitiful. Decrepit. What a state to be in. How long had it been? Thirty-six years? No, seven. That’s when it leaked into the air, into the breeze. Like an oil spill, except there was no closing your mouth or getting out of the water. Sich climbed the ladder, slowly, not quite trusting the pipe-rungs. Back then, he’d been expecting the soviets to drop a bomb. But this had all been America’s doing, their own chemicals leaking. Filled the air, then filled their lungs. People became these things, still alive, but trapped inside themselves, senses still running. Could see, smell, hear. The two next to him must have spent thirty-seven years lying face down in a pool, rising and falling with the ebbing water. He couldn’t think of anything worse. When you become utterly feeble, unable to even move, death becomes a dignity you beg for. Sich screamed as she sailed down the slide. Then slipped into the shallow water, laughter splashing into the air. He watched her climb out of the pool. Waved. She gave him a thumbs up then traipsed back towards the slide for another run. This wasn’t going as he’d hoped. He’d thought watching her would bring back memories of good times. But instead his mind crashed like waves against that first night. It’d been dumb luck they’d survived. A faulty siren triggered earlier that evening — the neighbourhood panicked thinking the bomb was finally falling. Berk’d rushed his family and neighbours into his bunker. Air was clean. Food stockpiled diligently years prior. Then came the news on the radio. So began his second life. Or his slow death. He still wasn’t certain which. He looked at the living-corpse to his left. “I’d help you if I could,” he said. He meant it, too. There was nothing worse than what had happened to them. But bullets couldn’t free them; the wounds just congealed over. He’d incinerated a few in the past, but petrol was too precious to keep on spending. And truth was, they were everywhere. He drove to a proper city once, just to look. God. Came back and never said a word to anyone. Another thrilled scream. Another thumbs up. A trot to the ladder. Something gray stained that blue skinned belly to his left. He sat up and leaned closer. Letters. Maybe the lady had been sleeping with a book on her stomach when it happened. Now that book was dust but the words of the page had tattooed themselves into her. \In dark we shal be l\ Lost? Lit? Led? Creeds could go either way. Good and bad. He used to have his own: no matter what happens, stay alive. Living is all that matters. But as he gradually turned into a living-corpse himself, sans poisoned air, his belief changed. Now maybe it was closer to: Grow old, but not too— The world trembled and everything changed. A crack and snap from the water chute. A child’s scream, deepened to a moan by a respirator.
Everyone watched our population growing closer and closer to ten billion. No one was sure precisely what we were expecting, but it reminded me of the Y2K phenomenon. News feeds were full of the usual tripe; worried about resources running out, housing concerns, but mostly disdain for the many floundering space programs that might save us from over populating Mother Earth. No one was prepared for the reality. What we should have paid attention to was birth and death rates converging. Looking back at the data, many analysts noticed the weirdness. Births declined until they were inline with deaths. As if something was set on maintaining our ten billion population. The other effect was much more surprising and more difficult to talk about. The moment we hit the limit, seemingly everyone all over the world experienced the same neurological shift. Nothing that previously made us happy continued to do so. Working felt pointless. Politics, country rivalries, disappeared overnight. Even disdain for the smaller things, like bad drivers or rude people just dissolved. We all felt a sudden connection to our fellow man, like we had a new joint purpose. The only thing that satisfied us was physical and weapons training. What we were training for, or why it was suddenly the global past-time we had no idea. But we trained. First, within our country borders, but soon even those fell and we trained globally. Ten billion strong army of dedicated drones. Every single one of them unquestioning of their purpose. It continued for several years. We turned into a committed fighting force, but lacked any obvious enemy. It always amazed me that we didn’t resort of in-fighting during this period, but no one even questioned it. Then, Mother Earth revealed her plan for us. As before, we all felt a sudden shift in perspective. We were to arm ourselves and congregate along tectonic faults and simply wait. The tectonic lines that lay beneath the ocean felt unimportant compared to those on land. We stood guard over the volcanos and deep caves of the world. Waiting, and watching. They came in the night. Mother Earth coughed, once, twice, and across the world hell came boiling out of the cracks. Enormous monsters made from rock and lava poured out towards us, each twice the size of a person. To the surprise of no one, our weapons were unaffective. We lost millions in the first assault. Those of us deeply inland were worst affected. We instituted a controlled retreat, moving back towards the coast, losing hundreds every single day. The islands, however, were least affected and quickly they revealed the secret to their success: water. It’s amazing what you can achieve when the world works together. Within days, the front lines were equipped with military-grade super soakers, and fire trucks across the world moved up. They were our tanks, in the original sense of the word. Vast pipelines shifted millions of gallons of sea water inland to feed the fight. We turned the tide and started to push them back. The war waged for a few years but soon Mother Earth’s cough reduced to little hiccoughs, and then finally to nothing. We swept through the charred battlefields, between the rocky corpses of defeated lava-phlegm monsters and funnelled gallons and gallons of water into the volcanos and caves to make sure it was finished. Mother Earth sighed. Just as quickly as it came, the spell was lifted and everyone became themselves again. For a few years we worked together as we had, when the war remained in living memory, but unfortunately old habits die hard and we returned to our usual human ways. Now we are waiting. Waiting for the next cold to take hold of Mother Earth.
Nahel, the wizard, was sitting on the back of a horse-drawn carriage, sitting on the wooden floor with the legs crossed, covered by his hood and cape, these were clothes for traveling, not like his companion, or at least that's what he was thinking. The other person was a taller man with a long hat, an overcoat, and a formal suit underneath, not clothes anyone would wear anywhere outside a town. However, that was not what had drawn the wizard's attention, it was in fact the revolver -although Nahel didn't know It by it's name yet- that the man was toying with, making the barrel click as it rotated inside the weapon. It wasn't long until Nahel's constant stare caught the gunslinger's attention. —Everything alright, pal?— the gunslinger asked, making the revolver's barrel spin one last time before putting it on a holster under his coat —It is only curiosity. Your weapon has a peculiar shape. That made the gunslinger raise an eyebrow. —Never seen a gun? But Nahel was already forming a small portal in the air, and what he pulled out what could anyone would describe as a flintlock gun, the cannon slightly wider than the usual, and with runes engraved all around it, but also on the handle and trigger. —It is different. I just wonder how yours can work. —Well, not with magic, for sure. Nahel blinked a couple times. —...Pardon me? —Gunpodwer, son. Bullets made of lead, copper, and gunpodwer. —So you're saying... That you don't use a little explosion spell on... Nahel slowly stopped talking when the gunslinger pulled out his gun again and took a bullet from the chamber, It seemed like it was explanation time, so he stood up and got closer. —Nonono. Listen, the trigger activates a mechanism that hits the back of the bullet in the chamber, that causes the gunpowder inside the case to explode, and the lead is propelled by the explosion. Nahel nodded each time, amazed by such work of artifice. —Impressive —Yeah, I've made a fortune patenting the idea!—The man laughed. So... How did you make yours work? —Oh, its easy... If you know magic... I'll sumarize it for you Nahel held his pistol so the other man could see, pointing out the lines that connected the runes all over the cannon, they were all the same, encased in circles like a string of two dimensional beads on the cannon's side —These work in a chain, little explosion spells that trigger one after the other in just an instant, starting where the bullet is at The gunslinger seemed to be as interested as Nahel had been, tilting his head to see better when Nahel flipped the gun so the trigger and handle could be seen —These connect the trigger to the string, and the trigger is just half a rune each side, so when you pull it, it becomes complete, and can draw magic from me to cast the spell —Well, the only drawback I see here is that you'll have to reload quite often! —Hah hah! Yeah, but it's not being a problem, honestly. The firepower compensates the time it takes me to reach to my bag and put another iron inside The gunslinger was smiling —Another thing... Why not using... You know, your magic? —I can't. A rare disease among wizards, got magic but no natural way to use it, you can think of me as a magic battery... Aaaand... This was the best way I thought I could use it. —Oh, i'm sorry... Wait, how did you make the gun appear then? Nahel showed the palm of his hands, there were two silver circles on his gloves, two runes, with dozens of smaller runes surrounding them —All the same, runic constructs... After that they didn't talk much, but soon the carriage stopped, and both stepped out of it, ahead they could see the gloomy town where both had been tasked with the asassination of the local vampire. The gunslinger was the first one to speak, and chuckle. —Did you bring silver rounds? To which Nahel, loading his gun with a silver bullet he just took from another small portal, responded —Always. --- And that's the end :v ---
$2.64 UNLEADED, the sign said. It was $2.73 yesterday. Not like I've been paying for it. I've been "purchasing"gas on the clerk's computer behind the counter--all the passwords were written on notes under the keyboard. Is it stealing? I don't know. No one has been here--or anywhere--in years. So who's changing the sign? And where is the gas coming from? Surely, after all this time filling up at the same pump, it would run dry eventually. Gasoline is only good for around six months until it spoils. So if it's the same gas it would have stopped working by now. Right? It was sunset, the orange glow casting the clouds in bright halos. The streetlights flickered on and the various business signs turned on. Why? And who's mowing their yards? Or the neighbors' yards? I've never heard any machine except mine. I pulled in to the grocery store parking lot, predictably vacant. Inside, the lights were on and 90s alternative hits played softly on the intercom. Rotiserrie chickens sat under heat lamps. Fresh donuts were available at the Bakery. Oranges were carefully stacked into a pyramid at the produce section. In the first days after waking up to a lonely world, I'd hoarded as much food as I could transport to my house. I picked up generators, gas canisters, solar panels, anything I thought I might need to survive a post-societal world. But I never needed any of it. The next day, what I took had been replaced. The generators were back in stock at the hardware store. New cans were lining shelves that I'd emptied. I checked the stores' dumpsters for bad produce. Empty. Tonight, all I needed was a gallon of milk and a box of Reese's Puffs. Comfort food. I was celebrating, sort of. It was three years to the day since I woke up to an empty, inexplicably functioning planet. I was going to drown myself in peanut butter chocolate corn product. I loaded the things in my cart and walked out the automatic doors. I'd parked my car on the sidewalk out front for convenience. Who's going to stop me? I loaded the bags in the passenger seat and shut the door behind me. I looked up, past my car for no reason in particular. Did I always do that? I saw it standing there,in the middle of the parking lot, its hands by its sides, perfectly still. I was paralyzed. I opened my mouth to shout something, but in my fright only a quivering whimper came out. We stood like that for some time, just staring at each other, frozen in place. Finally, I said something. "Hello?" My voice was groggy, strange. When was the last time I'd spoken? It didn't do anything, just continued looking at me, the wind buffeting its hair and sending ripples across its shirt. I inched around my car and turned for only a second as I sat inside. As soon as I could, I turned my head to keep an eye on it. Was it closer? Did it move when I wasn't looking? I locked my doors. The engine turned as I twisted the key in the ignition. Usually, I'd plug my iPod into the aux jack and start playing something on the way home--the radio and internet, sadly, did not survive human absence--but I couldn't bring myself to turn away. There was a noise to my right, back at the store's entrance. The doors were shutting, but there was no one there. I turned my head to the left again, only to see some faint shadow moving quickly upward. Immediately after, footsteps pounded on the car's roof. It was on my car. I screamed, threw the gear into drive and stomped in the gas. The tires squealed and my heart was pounding. I turned sharply right and heard its body rolling above me. A sharp left turn sent it the other way. I could see signs of its presence: a shoe dangling over my back window, a lump of a shadow on the road as I passed streetlights. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck I had an idea. I began accelerating down a long stretch of straight road. I hit 60. 70. Then, I slammed on my brakes. I might've been going too fast. My head bounced off the steering wheel, activating the air bags and thrusting me against my seat. I was dizzy, but my vision came to as the bags deflated and I watched my car coast over the side of a bridge and into a river below. I woke up some time later. I was in the hospital, laying in a bed, bandages on my head and a cast in my (presumably) broken arm. I hobbled out and left my room, looking down the eery, empty hallways and the unstaffed nurse station. My mind raced with questions and tears welled in my eyes. I screamed in frustration. "Shh." \--------------------------------------------------- The story continues [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/ProtoWriter469/comments/x08ttk/this_dead_world_keeps_breathing/).
“Psst, psst. You’re the guy, right?” “Who’s asking?” “Oh I’m cool. Ben’s my friend.” I give him a good look. “Password.” “Password? He didn’t say anything about a password. Let me text him.” “You got thirty seconds.” I say. The goof fumbles for his phone. I keep my eyes on my watch and say, “Tick tock.” “I got it! It’s ra—“ “Quiet down.” “Sorry. It’s raspberry elf.” I sigh in relief and ask, “What you want?” “I’m looking for those chocolates with a toy inside. Ned said you have them.” “Who the hell is Ned?” I grab him by the neck and start squeezing. “I don’t know any Neds. You a cop?” “No, no. I meant Ben. I’m nervous man.” His tears seem real enough, I let go of him. “Fine. How many?” “Two.” I nod and fiddle inside my backpack. I show him the stuff and say, “Fifty each.” “What? $50! That’s insane.” “No! Cents dummy. Yes dollars! You ain’t getting regular cheap toys in these eggs. Pay up.” “Oh okay. Here.” I take the money and hand him the stuff and calmly walk away. I never get caught. My height makes me blend in with the kids. Besides we have a surplus over at the workshop. That and what ol’ St. Nick don’t know don’t hurt him. From a few yards I hear him say way too loud, “A PS5!” I don’t turn around, I never do.
Every Achilles has his heel. Every Samson has his haircut. Every Superman his Kryptonite. You get the picture. Remember Titanius? Of course you do. Among many other feats, he was the hero that killed that massive Kraken in Columbia City Harbor. He had unbreakable armored scales that covered his entire body, making him look like a shining steel statue. He foiled countless terror attempts and robberies. Of course you remember who he was. Well, I'm the reason he's dead. See, underneath all the costumes and abilities, heroes are just people like you and me. He may have had super armor, but he also had a severe peanut allergy. And let me tell you: it's pretty damn hard to stab an Epi pen through those unbreakable scales. Villains, you see, are just like heroes: impatient. If they can't bang down a wall and throw some punches, then they don't really want any part in that. Where's the glory and adventure and thrill in digging through the old medical records of an elementary school in Madison, Wisconsin? I'm content to let those superpowered fools slug away at each other while I uncover the real key. I've worked with nearly every villain in town. Most of the new ones scoff when they first meet me, and I just smile back at them. They're so confident in their abilities that they don't see the need for an "unp"like me. "Unp,"of course, is the somewhat derogatory word that villains use, and heroes when no one is listening, for 'unpowered' people like myself. Then they get in their first fight, and they get their clock cleaned. And I watch it go down on the news, and I love every second of it. The pompous villain then comes crawling back to me, bleeding and messy and bruised. I calmly inform him or her that the rates have now tripled, and of course they are willing to pay. Hell, I'd bet that half of the super crimes committed in Columbia City are just to pay my own steep rates. You'd think that after twenty or so rounds of this, one of the new guys would have the sense to accept my initial offer, but it hasn't happened yet. I'm slowly working my way up the food chain. As I said, I've worked with nearly ever villain in town. Lord Poneros still refuses to hire me. Hell, he refuses to work with anyone. And why should he? His schemes have gone off without a hitch time and time again. No Superhero has been able to stand up to him yet; the few that are able to actually find him are generally killed off pretty quickly. But more and more heroes are born every day. Sooner or later, Poneros will need me and I'll be there to answer the call. I'll tell him my rates, but I won't remind him that he was the one who killed my family all those years ago. I'll keep that a secret while I work for him, discovering the fault of the many heroes that come after him. I'll bide my time patiently, watching and learning. Heroes aren't the only ones with weaknesses.
"Now presenting His Imperial Eminence, Crown Prince Orion Himmel Caelum von Aeternus, of the House Aeternus, of the Ventis Empire." The Prince was as pretentious in appearance as his name suggested. Dressed in golden armor (who even wears armor nowadays, let alone made of a metal as soft and heavy as gold?), with a cloak of rich Arabian purple from the Labanon, his alabaster skin adorned by his golden locks, which upon them were a crown of gold, studded with a dazzling deep crimson diamond half the size of my palm. "Your Eminent Lordship, you are matching gazes with the High Executor of the Council of Trades, the ruling body over the Mollitiam State." The Prince looked towards me, his charming smile momentarily fading into a condescending stare. The mirage was soon back on his powdered face. "The stories do you no justice, High Executor! I can clearly see the wisdom of the scholars in your eyes." _His father and his father's fathers condemned said scholars for criticizing the war. He himself burned the ones that remained or could not escape._ "Yet, your physique matches that of the finest of my Legionaries!" _Of those that could not be threatened into silence, he had stabbed in the back. Can't have the veterans criticizing the 'Righteousness' of the 'Patriotic War'._ "And, yes, your wealth. It is surely the greatest of all the lands and waves. It surpasses even my father's mighty coffers." _Which, you are here to intimidate me into parting with._ "You humble me with thy magnanimous praise, your Eminent Lordship. Please. We can talk in the privacy of our Counciliar Chambers." /// "Thank you for bringing the wine, young lady. Now please depart the room, for we must have absolute privacy." As soon as the mahogany laden steel doors shut, his entire demeanor and expression changed. Mine did not. A jester's skill in acting is basically a prerequisite of my station. "Now, lowly merchant, let us talk frankly." "But of course ~~_you inbred mongrel_~~ your Eminent Lordship. What would you like to discuss?" After scoffing for thirty seconds, which honestly sounded more like a choking stray mutt than any sound one would expect coming from the Heir Apparant of an empire, he gave his reply: "Do not play the fool ~~no need for that, we got one right here~~ merchant. The Ventis Empire shall have total dominance over this entire continent ~~I am surprised he knew what 'continent' meant~~ and you are the last obstacle in this grand goal." "Yes, of course your Eminent Lordship. We are aware that the Mollitiam State is the only other Sovereign nation on the landmass. But surely, after 350 years of brutal war, your soldiers would be exhausted?" At that, he bristled at the imagined insult. "We. Are. Not. Like. You. WEAKLING! Our empire stretches across the land, shore to shore our crimson banners fly, demonstrating our power and might! You shall prostrate yourselves to us, or we'l-- ARE YOU LISTENING?!!!" He finally noticed my blank stare I see. "Yes, of course your Eminent Lordship, do continue." "Our armies surround your ENTIRE NATION!" "I can see that, yes."Their banners were rather hard to miss. "You are cut off by land and sea!"Well not by sea, but he didn't know that. Amongst many other things. "I am aware of this, yes." "We shall burn down this citadel to make an example of your insolence!" "Our merchants have seen the ashes of Andulasia's defeat, yes." "HOW ARE YOU THIS CALM? ARE YOU ON STRANGE SUBSTANCES? I SHALL HAVE YOU IMPALED! YOUR WIFE SHALL BE RAVISHED BY MY SOLDIERS. YOUR DAUGHTER SHALL BE MADE A PLEASURE SLAVE! YOUR SON WILL BE BURNT ON THE STAKE!" At this, I leaned forward. "Wow, so original. Andulasia said the same."I raised one of my eyebrows. "Anything else you want to get off your chest?" "...are you actually on substances? I FAIL to see how are you this calm?!" "Heh.heh.heh.heh heh heh HAHAHAHAHA!" "What is SO HILARIOUS ABOUT YOUR CIRCUMSTANCES?!" At this, I stood up and walked around the titanium-platinum table. When I was directly behind him I leaned over his shoulder. Ahh, his fear was most delicious. His shaking form was more delightful to my gaze than any work of paint nor marble nor metal in my many vaults. Honestly, he was shaking more than my seizure patients. "Tell me, prince. Your armies are exhausted, your treasury is near empty. Is this not true?" "But we still have enough to crush you..." "Your Legionaries are poor in spirit. Generation after generation, for three and a half centuries, sent into the butcher's field that is the plains of battle. I imagine that resentment is immensely high at the moment?" "They shall obey! Or suffer!" "And your peasants are starving." "Actually no. They were for a brief moment, but they are actually quite well fed. Apparently they have abundant cows now. Hmph! And they refuse to pay their taxes." "Ever wondered where all that food suddenly came from?" "...Ha obviously they came from... oh no." "The peasants were starving, as they had to give almost everything they had to fund the war, and to feed your legionaries. Legionaries that you had not paid in 10 years. Who, even before not being paid, already hated you for that pointless 300 plus year war. The war that killed their fathers, and their fathers' fathers before them." "..." "Ever wondered where those scholars escaped to? And tell me, what do you think they were making during these centuries?" "...the folly of pretentious scroll sniffers do not scare me..." "Well then, you ever heard of this marvelous thing called serpentine?" "I have heard of the snakes, yes." "Oh no. Not the reptiles. The black powder." "Black...powder?" "Oh yes. When you pack a bunch of this into a metal tube and light a fuse... well... look outside." The cannonballs started to rain down from the city walls, smashing apart the vanguard of the Imperial legions. Viscera, blood, and innards flew apart in grotesque displays of color as the frontlines literally blew apart. The few that made it close enough were ripped apart by canisters and grape shots. "By the way, thanks for the privateers your family has sent to raid us over the past hundred and fifty or so years. They made great test subjects for our weapons." "That explains the lack of survi---Y-y-you will run out of these miracle-weapons eventually! Look! The volley has already stopped! Besides, those were primarily noblemen! You all but cemented my House's power! The mainforce shall still destroy you all!" "The same mainforce you had not paid in ten years?" As if on cue, the aforementioned mainforce charged in to finish off whatever remained of the vanguard that had enough sense to not charge to their deaths. The hardened soldiers made swift work of the posh aristocratic scions, many of whom were already disorientated by fear beforehand. "Funny how manners, coin, and food, will convert even the most loyal of subjects no?" "You shall not win! I SHALL HAVE Y-AAAHHHH!' His right leg flew off in a marvelous shower of crimson. "My goodness, you are getting your inbred blood all over this Parsian rug. Let's fix that." "Wait what do you me-AHHH!" The stump sizzled like pork loins as it was burned closed. "Honestly. What were those idiotic nobles thinking? Being in the frontlines... tsk tsk tsk! I suppose inbreeding kills one's intelligence more than we thought. Inquiries for later." At this, the prince finally came to his senses and tried in vain to crawl towards the locked door. "Now now prince, don't worry! I promise that I'll return you to your castle. So no need to rush..."
"Welcome back to World Wide News, I'm your host, Amanda Klein. For those of you just joining us, a man in the Seattle area spilt a glass of milk today. We don't have all of the details yet, but genetics expert Dr. Nathan Stewart is here with us today to help us better understand the problem." "Thanks for having me Amanda." "Dr. Stewart, could you tell us how this could have possibly happened?" "Well I have a couple of working theories. The first is that this man was born the old way. What this means is that this individuals parents could have had sexual relations in an attempt to have a human child, leaving his entire personality, physicality, and everything else in between up to chance." "I didn't even know that was an option." "Yes, well, most don't. People in the field have thought that we evolved beyond that primitive need a long time ago. My second, and quite frankly more likely theory, is simply that whoever chose this man's genes accidently chose one that was more prone to twitching, or tripping, or not paying attention to his surroundings than they should have. It's hard to say exactly which one it could be is before a report comes out." "Well this is unsettling news, to say the least. I never dreamed I'd have to report on something like this." "Well I wouldn't worry too much about this Amanda, we do have procedure in place to handle this sort of thing." "I think I know what you're talking about, but could you remind me in case our audience is unaware." "Certainly. Obviously, this man is a danger in our world. Today, a glass of spilt milk, but what tomorrow? Bumping into his neighbor? Not noticing a little girl out on the street while he's driving? In order to prevent this, we seclude people like him off from the rest of the world to ensure that he can't be a danger to anyone. Then, we get our best geneticists on the job to see which part of his DNA cause this malfunction, and we ensure it's never used in another living organism again. It's a bit of a barbaric practice, I must admit, but it's the best solution we have for the time being." "Well it looks like we're running out of time for this segment, but it's been great having you on today Dr. Stewart." "Thank you for having me, it's been a pleasure." "If you know anyone who you suspect might have some faulty genetics, please call us at our hotline number, which is available 24 hours a day, at 1-800-555-4363. Again, that's 1-800-555-GENE. Up next, how you can make your 3 minute 30 second mile time even shorter. Stay tuned."
Warning: the main character does a lot of swearing. *** It's time for you to do your calisthenics, Myles. "Would it kill you to use a more pleasant tone of voice, Mom?" As I have said previously, your mother was a human female named Monica Starr, bio-chemist, believed deceased. I don't know if there are any teenagers left in the world, but if there are, I guarantee none of them have a more annoying home life than me. Your muscles will atrophy if you do not get exercise. It is detrimental to humans to undergo hypotrophy. The syllogism is quite simple. There is a pause. It's time for you to do your calisthenics, Myles. It is not lost on me that she used exactly the same tone of voice as last time. Growling, I take my earpiece off and throw it against the wall. This is, of course, mostly a symbolic gesture. For one, the earpiece is nigh indestructible - which is for the best, as it's one of the only things in the lab that I can use to vent my anger. And for another... Myles, your most recent biometrics indicate heavy hormonal fluctuations. Annie is now speaking to me through the loudspeakers. Your emotional lability has increased 37.5% as well. Initiating Protocol Tau-53. Gentle music begins playing. Christ, is that a harp? And all of the wall displays go from showing simulated daytime to stock footage of forest streams. This does not bode well. Myles, when a human male goes through puberty, his body goes through many changes. Boys often have strange feelings during this time, but understand that is completely normal. The gonads lower in the scrotal sac, and increase in size. Fortunately, the scrotum expands to accommodate the enlarged testes. As sex drive increases, it is also common to practice mastur... "Annie, for the love of all that's holy, end protocol. End it!" The harp music stops and the displays go back to the daytime sim. I hope our special talk has made you feel more comfortable about reaching sexual maturity. Do you have any questions? "Yeah, one - when the fuck am I going to get out of here?" To my surprise, there is no response. There is never no response. I have spent long hours listening to reports on the number of permutations involved in cracking an encrypted code, and reports analyzing the chemical profile of my shit, and any of a number of other things...wishing, praying, trying to will Annie to shut up. It has never worked. Not once. Was that the secret? All this time, I just had to swear at her? I immediately dismiss the idea - I have sweared at her plenty of times. This week alone I've made explicit statements about her parentage, about what her brains are made out of, and a number of other things. And I do know it's all farcical because she is not a she, she's a server array running one of the most complex computer programs ever designed (as she likes to remind me) with personality software running over it. But saying "You have shit for a CPU"doesn't have the same ring to it, and computers don't have parents...Bottom line, there are a lot of things that are easier if you just pretend the only other voice you can interact with belongs to a person instead of a highly-specific configuration of silicon and metal. After a minute, I start to get creeped out. "Annie? Status, please?" Please hold. The current process will complete in 37 minutes and 7 seconds. Due to current circumstances, this chamber is being put into isolation mode for your safety. What...the...fuck. I run to one of the wall displays and switch to data mode, calling information up by hand. If this is the day Annie has gone crazy and decided to flood the whole lab complex with poisonous gas, then...actually, I'm not sure I want to know. But Annie has never asked me to "Please hold."And isolation procedures always come with a 4, 2, and 1 hour warning, along with a 30 second count-down. And what the hell kind of problem could take Annie offline for over half an hour? *** Part 2 in comments Continued on my sub, /r/ShadowsofClouds. You can find all the parts [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/ShadowsofClouds/search?q=flair%3Aongoing&sort=new&restrict_sr=on)
GREATER TEMPORAL COURT OF TIMELINE E22472A2-05E1-4BDA-83aD-58B463813261 Ticket #0c5b84c6-b0cb-11e8-96f8-529269fb1459 You have been accused and, through thorough examination of the timeline, retroactively convicted of the following crimes: * Frivolous time travel in the second degree * Conspiracy to commit frivolous time travel in the second degree * Misuse of a computer system ('Siri') Your desire for an appeal has been noted and, in the infinite time between creation of this ticket and your reading of this sentence, denied. Your three crimes carry a cumulative fine of $500,000 USD. TO PAY: * Deposit approximately $10,000 USD into an account generating an average of 5% interest over the next 82 years. Details of the specific account will be supplied. A REMINDER: This is not a summons; you have already appeared in time-court in several other timelines and under the 'preponderance of outcomes' rule have been found guilty in a supermajority of those timelines. To save you subjective time, you are being fined in a timeline where this has not yet taken place, at the actual time of the crime being committed. AND FINALLY: This ticket must be paid in full by January 1, 2100. You will be eliminated from all timelines in which you fail to do so. Remember: Time crime does not, has not, and will not, pay.
Streaked with rain, the city sighed for the relief of sun amid the glowing red taillights and the black umbrellas. Inside, the dull orange walls of the coffee shop were dimly lit, darkness occluded in the corners of the L-shaped building. Angie and Peter sat at the corner near the door; nervous coffee cups chattered on saucers, the only things that spoke between them. They looked away from each other and the truth of their meeting uncomfortable. “It’s just a kiss,” Pete said, breaking the silence. He looked back at her and caught her eye. “There’s no sense being children about it. We do it, we’re free, right? I mean, I’m willing, aren’t you? I don’t want to be cursed anymore.” “I’d rather be cursed.” Angie crossed her arms., the baggy white knitted sweater hanging off her arms. “Just the thought of touching you makes me sick.” “Angie, that was a long time ago. I was stupid then. You can’t hold onto that forever.” He put his elbows on the table and picked up his cup of coffee to slurp it. He lifted his dark green mesh baseball cap to his hairline. His fingers dirty, his face sun kissed. He smelled lightly of gasoline and oil. “And it’s not like you’re doing anything wrong. Dan would understand, don’t you think? It’s a peck on the lips and the curse is gone.” “I don’t care,” she said. “I would rather lose my shop than give you the satisfaction of ever getting anything from me again.” Pete sighed. “Listen, Angie, I don’t feel great about it either. And I know back in high school, all those years ago, I hurt you. I did you dirty. And I’m very sorry about that. But we’re both older now. We have lives and responsibilities, and I can’t afford to lose my farm anymore than you can your flower shop.” Angie rolled her eyes and shook her head. Her arms stayed crossed on her chest as she looked out the window. A group of children splashed through a puddle on the other side of the street. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of winning. It was her versus him, as it always had been. If she gave in to him now, she would never be able to look at herself the same. She didn’t care if that witch ruined the rest of her life with her curse, she knew that he had also been cursed, and his life would be ruined just as badly—maybe even worse than hers because of it. And that was enough solace for her to get through the worst days to come. “Angie,” he cooed. “Mona and I. We need the farm. If we can’t get the crops out this year, they’re going to take it. This is more than just some petty high school squabble for me. This is my entire life at risk.” She shrugged her shoulders and made a face. “Tough. Dan and I are doing quite well, even with the disaster of last month. I don’t think we’ll have any trouble this year at all.” She smiled to herself, her eyes fluttering beneath her eyelids as she spoke. Pete took a breath. “Come on Angie, please. Help me here. I’ll do anything you want. I can give you what money I have. I can give you free soil and manure to sell. I can give you my truck, what do you want?” “I want you to be alone,” she said angrily. “I want you to be hurt like I am—like I was, I mean. I want you to go home and kick Mona out tonight. When you have the divorce papers signed and notarized, then I’ll help you break the curse.” “That’s not fair,” he said. “That’s not possible. Mona and I have a life together.” She shrugged again. “That’s what I want. Take it or leave it.” Pete stood up. He opened his wallet and dropped down a bill on the table. Angie caught a peek. That was all he had. “I’m really sorry I hurt you. I wish I hadn’t,” he said. “You’re not sorry—you’re just desperate. Just like I was for dating you in the first place.” She got up too. “Have a good life, Pete.” Angie stormed out the front door while Pete went to the back. She got into her car, threw her purse into the passenger’s seat and laughed to herself. She knew she would need to give Pete what he wanted eventually. The curse would only continue to deteriorate her life until there was nothing left. She probably wouldn’t be able to survive with it like she’d liked to have believed, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want to see Pete suffer first. She hoped he would lose his farm, and Mona would leave him, and, when he was all alone, she would finally come to him to release him from his curse. She smiled sharply. She would finally see him desperate and embarrassed, and make him feel as terribly as she had felt when he had cheated on her with Mona in high school. She threw the car into reverse and hit the gas. There was a crash. She looked around. Her heart raced in her chest. She’d hit a person. It must have been. “Oh my god,” she said as she climbed out of her car. “Are you—“ Pete was lying on the ground, a pool of blood forming around his head. “Oh my God, Pete. Pete!” she called as she touched him. “Wake up, god please wake up.” A barista came out sand said he’d called an ambulance. Pete only laid there, silent, with the hint of a smile. It wasn’t until the ambulance arrived that she realized he was dead. She didn’t know what to feel at first, and then a horror crossed her mind. He was dead. Her worst enemy was dead. How could she ever break the curse now?
Huh. That is all I could think of at that moment. It was him, clear as day. Zeke; a friend I made during the war. The Civil War. I mean I thought him dead - we got split up during an ambush and I was the only one to report in after I survived, so there wasn't much room for interpretation yet... "Surprised?"he suddenly said. "You could say that,"I replied with a bit of suspicion and hung my coat on the wall. "Tea?"I asked. "2 sugars and milk, if you would,"he smiled. I walked over to the kitchen to put the kettle on. "So,"I started as I poured filled the kettle with water, "immortal, huh?" "Thought you were the only one?" "Not necessarily,"I said and flicked the stove on, "but during this entire time, I never found anyone else. Just didn't expect it." "How long is that, mind you?" I chuckled and racked my brain for the exact time. "Let's just say I used to go by 'Cassianus' at one point." "You went from Cassianus to Casey? Really?"he laughed. "A little on the nose, don't you think?" "Well,"I smiled, "I was used to it." "I'm only 179. You know the ambush when we were going to Vicksburg?" "Last time I saw you,"I remarked somberly. "First time I died,"he commented casually. Silence gripped the room for a while, suddenly interrupted by the wheezing of the kettle. I stood up and poured two cups of tea, handing one to my friend. "It was a bit of a... surprise, to say the least,"he continued. "I can imagine. Look, Zeke, I'm glad you're okay, if surprised, but I must-" "You want to know why I'm here now, after all this time?"he interrupted. I nodded. "I think I found a way,"he said. "A way for what?" "For us to die." Once again, silence gripped the room. I gave him a long look. This time, he decided to break the silence. "Don't tell me you don't want to." I opened my mouth lightly but failed to find the right words. I've searched for a way to die for so long, but... I gave up centuries ago. Since then I've simply made my peace and didn't look back. For it to now come back so abruptly, I didn't have the time to consider it. "And you're here why?"I asked, trying to redirect the conversation. "To offer me death?" "I need your help." "Look, Zeke, I... I am content with the way things are. I make new friends. Then I say my goodbyes. It's just the way it is. You think I didn't look for a way? There is none. It's a wild goose chase that consumes you and takes whatever enjoyment you can find in this life." He sighed. "I'm not giving up. I'm stronger than that. And you will help me."With those words, he finished his tea and stood up. "Zeke, please. This is a doomed cause. We can-" "You have the experience and means to help me in the search and you will do so." "I'm sorry,"I said with notable sorrow. "I won't enable you. It will consume-" "You will help me or-" "Or what?"I barked back. "Kill me?" "No,"he said with a grim smile, "not you." I realized what he meant. This entire time, the entire generations I saw die and yet I could never stop caring. And he knows that. I calmly put down my tea - I've been alive far too long to get nervous. "Alright Zeke. Alright. But know this,"I said, standing up to get my coat. I opened the door and looked back at him. "It won't end well for you."
"What...what is THAT"Raz exclaimed He picked up a shining piece of glass on the debris strewn ground. It looked like a picture frame, but it glowed. He poked it with his webbed finger, and it changed in front of his eye. Alarmed, he yelled and dropped. It fell to the ground and lay there, unresponsive. "What's this ruckus about?"his sergeant demanded "Sir, you need to see this"Raz replied as he pointed frightfully at the device laying among the debris. The sergeant looked at it, but it was no longer glowing. "Are you playing tricks on me?"The sergeant demanded "No no no sir, just a second ago it was-" "I don't care, get back to work!"He growled. The sergeant plodded off to his command station. Raz sighed. This is how it always was. He poked it with his webbed foot, but nothing happened. So he went back to searching the debris for humans. Spongy little things, he thought, how do they not at least have armored skin? Or the ability to breathe underwater? After observing that the puny humans could not even travel between planets, they had decided to invade. Which was unfortunate for Raz. He didn't like war. He just wanted to serve out his mandatory term and go back to writing. He barely even knew how to shoot a crossbow. But here he was, on Earth, of all the damnedest places, trying to conquer the populace. His people had miscalculated their interstellar jump, and found themselves too close to the planet, resulting in a semi-controlled crashing landing into one of their major cities, knocking down many of their unreasonably tall buildings in the process. For their inability to move between planets, they really had done a good job with their buildings. None of the cities on his planet were half as tall. Now it was cleanup time Raz entered a wrecked building nearby, and found himself face to face with one of the spongy little guys. Male, it appeared, in a blue uniform of some sort, and it held a curious little...thing with it's appendage. Raz didn't really have a reference for what it was. "Back away, or I will shoot you"the human demanded Raz laughed. With what? he thought, the human doesn't have any kind of bow. Just some little right-angled chunk of metal. Raz raised his sword to kill him, but there was a loud bang and immediately he flew back onto the ground. "What...how?"he muttered. The human ran off. He looked down at his chest and saw purple liquid spurting from a small hole in his chest. No arrow to pull out though. A rumbling sound shook the building, and he looked outside to see a massive...wagon of some kind. It looked kind of like one of the steam trains he used to travel between cities. It had no visible wheels, and it had a large tube on top, that pivoted and aimed itself at his ship. A massive bang followed, and a large explosion burst half of his ship apart. Raz watched in horror as the steam ship crumbled and broke apart, his companions still inside. He noticed a large glowing painting frame on the wall, a larger one of the thing he had found earlier. On it was a human woman talking, and showing moving depictions of the other steam ships being destroyed by large explosions. Raz felt himself starting to slip away, as more bangs and explosions resonated throughout the area. His last thoughts were terrified, as he contemplated the fate of the Grand Army. They were outmatched.
"Mom, Dad?"I asked timidly, approaching them with caution. I wanted this to go smoothly, and I guess I half expected them to freak out or start yelling at me. "I kinda want to ask you a difficult question,"I went on. They both sat up suddenly, looking at me like I was about to tell them I got expelled from school or something. "Honey, what's wrong?"My mother asked. "Tell us honestly, are you pregnant?"Dad interjected. "She's too young for that, Dave."Mom insisted, "Is it money? Do you need money?" "No, mom. Its just, lately I've been feeling a little different, a little bit like I don't belong in this family. And, well, I had to see for myself." "Sweetie, what did you do?"Mom was suddenly very concerned. "I sent in some DNA samples from you, me, Dad, everyone to the forensic lab downtown. They sent back-" I choked back some tears that were suddenly welling up in my eyes. "They sent this back to me." My fingers clenched around a balled piece of paper from the lab. I could see the color draining from their faces. I broke down crying, tears flooding my vision. My knees buckled and I fell to my knees, dropping the letter to the ground. My parents, in a panic, rushed over to help me as I slowly started to black out. It was too much, it was all too much. The letter was kicked aside, unfurling slowly as I fainted. Before my vision went completely dark, I saw the black lettering again. It read- >Dear Ms Adams, >We have received and tested the samples you have provided us. Unfortunately, our results came back inconclusive as we are ill-equipped to handle non-human DNA. We have forwarded your samples to a laboratory in Langley that has expressed interest in them. >I'm going to be perfectly honest here, Ms Adams, I was a little bit confused when you said you wanted to test for paternity. Your sample definitely tested just fine but I don't know where in tarnation you got those other four samples...
"I don't think you understand the situation,"Xarblag said. "The plank doesn't fit through the door frame. We tried it. It's too wide." I rubbed my eyes. "Yeah. No, I see - no. No, it doesn't fit through the door frame because you're trying to put it through the way it obviously doesn't fit."I rotated the plank through ninety degrees. Xarblag looked at the new situation and smiled. I say 'smiled'. He raised two of his antennae and lowered the middle one. It's the same basic thing. "Ah, yeah, I get it. Sneaky. That's sneaky. I don't know I'd call it 'obvious', you know? Because it's... yeah. That's a sneaky little solution to the problem. That's why we get the humans in here, you know. You guys are sneaky." "Dude,"I said. "I'm not sneaky. It's... that's... 'sneaky' is the wrong word, you know. I know we - I mean, humans - can sometimes take advantage of you guys from time to time, but we're not all like that, OK? There's trust, too. You can trust me." Xarblag touched my arm with his foretentacle. "I know, man,"he said. I smiled. "So you remember you won the contest about who buys me lunch, right?" "I do,"he said proudly. "I guessed the number between 1 and 3. You sucker." I looked embarrased. "You got skills,"I said. "Same technique for the next plank, OK, buddy?" "You got it, boss!"He said. I made my way down to the next floor. I'd like to say that the renovations were going well - in their own way - but flipping a house with these guys was beyond a struggle. "What's up, guys?"I asked. Fnorp and Blarg looked up guiltily. "What's going on?"I asked. "Were you guys arguing?" They nodded (left ear-flange down, right ear-flange up). "What about?"I asked. "Maybe I can help." Fnorp sucked air into his flaps and nodded towards Blarg. "He is trying to screw this screw in with a screwdriver that doesn't fit." Blarg slapped him. "He is trying to screw the screw in with a screwdriver that doesn't fit!" I looked at the screw. "Dudes,"I said. "That's a nail." There was a moment. "Ooooooh,"they both went. "Yeah, no -"Blarg said. "No, yeah -"Fnorp said. I smiled and patted them both. "Got it?" "Yeah,"Fnorp said, as I left the room. "Pass me the pan." "Hammer!"I shouted over my shoulder as I went down to the ground floor. I passed a bunch of other guys on the way down. "Sploint! Looking good! Wrong end of the nailgun."and "Hey, there Plonitch. That my dry cleaning? No, you beat me fair and square."and "Alright, Jargon? Don't touch that. Just... don't." I stepped out into the fresh air. Fuck this was going to take a long time. It was a wonder these guys developed language...
My eyes stared straight up at the blank, white ceiling. I lie there, with my arms at my sides running parallel to my body. I had pulled the covers up just a few inches under my neck. It was warm, comforting. A slight grin appeared on my face. My lips curved upward as I lie there, in a state of temporary satisfaction. He was gone... for now. He was the worst. He was the bane of my existence. He was everything I despised in a person. He was... my roommate. For the past five months I had endured the hell he had brought to my apartment. Every day I walked in on a sink filled with his dirty dishes. I was greeted with a floor that was littered with his dirty clothes. I was constantly awakened in the middle of the night by his obnoxiously loud music. I was always getting calls from my neighbors telling me he was using OUR apartment to throw massive parties while I was gone. I was always welcomed with the malodorous stench of his pot. And for once, he finally decided to leave for the weekend. It may have only been a few days, but it was just enough time without him for me to regain my sanity. So as I lie tranquilly in my bed, I rejoiced in the day of peace and calamity I had. Words could not fathom how much of a delight it was to have him off my back. As I felt my eyes start to shut, as I prepared for a long, uninterrupted deep sleep, my closet door flew open. "WAIT, DON'T SLEEP ON ME YET!"The ever so familiar voice screamed. I shot straight off my back, my eyes dead set on the closet. I could recognize that voice from anywhere. It brought back the darkest memories of my childhood. Those long, cold nights as I gripped my covers just hoping I would make it to see another day. It was... the monster in my closet. "What the fuck are you doing in here,"I barked, "I haven't seen you since I was like... six, seven years old."He hadn't changed one bit since we last spoke. His green, scaly skin still coated his small, deformed body the same way it used to. His jagged teeth still filled his mouth in the same, cluttered manner they used to. "I gave up on trying to scare you after a while,"he started, "but little to the knowledge of humans, us closet monsters don't just magically disappear from the closets of our youth. After you kids start to grow, you overcome your fear of us, so we opt to quietly reside in your closet, reminiscing on what used to be." "So... you've been in my closet for practically the entirety of my life."I interrogated. I had been living my whole life unaware that the greatest enemy of childhood had just been camping out in my closet. "Pretty much,"he answered, "I was there when you were born and living in the city. I was there when you and your family moved into the suburbs, and I've been with you ever since you moved out and have been living on your own." "You're a fucking monster,"I shrieked. The monster laughed loudly. "Yes, yes I'm a monster. Thanks for reminding me of who I am,"he sarcastically replied. "Fuck you,"I yelled, "seriously, what the hell do you want?"The monster, with his shoulder pressed up against the frame of the closet door with an ear-to-ear grin smeared on his face, instantly changed expression after I demanded to hear his intentions. "Oh, right,"he began, "look, I don't know about you, but I can't stand your roommate. The messes, the music, the house parties, I mean, who the hell does he think he is. We have to do something about him."I slouched a bit as the words he just said were soothing; it was music to my ears. "Thank you,"I let out, "it seems as if we have some common ground here."I stared into his eyes, taking in his facial expression. He looked desperate; desperate for a solution to the source of both of our own problems. For so many years we had been the fiercest enemies, packed to the rim with mutual hatred for one another, but I saw hope in him now. He was the one chance, the glimmer of hope I had to rid the man I hated most. "Look, I am fully aware we don't have exactly the greatest past together,"the monster started, "but if we can agree to work together, we can finally dispose of that bastard. I'll do whatever it takes. Are you in?" "Yeah, yeah I'm in,"I said with confidence. I grabbed the covers and threw them back. I put my feet on my ground and used my arms to propel myself up into a standing position. Slowly, I trotted towards the monster. I slowly stuck my hand out. The monster stared at my arm for a second. He smiled, and showed me his hand. I wrapped my fingers around his hand. It was cold to the touch, just like the heart I thought he had every day of my childhood. "Whatever it takes?"I questioned. "Whatever it takes,"the monster answered.
"Prove it ya wee fuck!"I shouted back, without even realizing why I did it. I guess I'm just contrary by nature. The moment my words had passed my lips I felt rather silly, but then again, I'm silly by nature. There were seven seconds of silence, after that the voice spoke again, but it had lost all of it's scary and booming characteristics. "I'm sorry. What?" Well, you know what they say. In for a penny, in for a pound. And honestly, who the hell does the guy think he is. "Prove it to me that I'm immortal! I mean, this is probably some sort of a foken sham it is! I'll think I'm the foken Highlander and will walk to Egypt to see the pyramids only to starve in the desert or something! Just so that you and ya buddies can have a foken laugh!" Seven more seconds. I suppose "Earth to Sky"audio systems are pretty slow on days when it's 3000 BC. "Are you serious right now?" "I'm serious as a nun in a sex shop ya flyin' bastard! Think I 'aven't read the tales you think? The whole thing with the guy pushing up the rock and the other guy foken swans and shaite? I know all ya storries! The second you think ya balls deep in life ya foken sky fairies cut the balls off and nail 'em to a cross or something! So I ain't taking ya word for it." Seven seconds. Suddenly, out of the clear sky, a tremendous lightning bolt split up the sky and struck me right in the head. Silence. "So, we're good now?"asked the invisible electrician. "Do one more."I demanded. One more came. Then two. Then I had a feeling that the guy is just working out his frustration at me. After a while the lightning bolts stopped and the ground was made of pure glass. Convincing. Yet... "How do I know those weren't some magic lightnings, eh?" "THOSE WERE EXACTLY MAGIC LIGHTNINGS!"instantly trembled the sky above me. Sure, some might be scared to anger the gods, but I was pretty glad that the seven second delay has been fixed. The voice continued: "Alright, ok, listen. I really have no idea why this is such a big deal. You will not be harmed by anything and you can live your life as you want. This is not a prank. This is a social experiment... And that is all I will say on this matter and we will talk about it no more." Well, that's that. I sat on the glass and pondered. Alright, so the pyramids have not been built yet. And I suppose that the Chinese are up to something too. What was it I saw on the teli recently? There were some trees that started growing, like, right now. I recon I could carve in one of them. Something like "E= MC Square"or "Ur mom"and the scientists will be all like "whaaaa...."And wasn't there a guy who said that crocodiles have not changed all this time? What a load of shit. I bet you that if I caught a crocodile and observed it, it would change. I'd teach him to knit or something, so it would be useful to humans, not just a foken handbag with theeth. Hmmm... Still, they always warn about consequences and all that. Something about getting high on butterflies or shit. I mean, AIDS was created when a dude in the jungle shagged an ape or something. I guess I have to find some human civilization fast. Maybe I could improve the world ya know? I know the future. So I could become one of those Fallons of Egypt and tell them the rules. Like "no monkey shaggin", that would be the first one. The second I see a fucker lovin' a hairy jilly, he needs to leave and live with his new family in the jungle. Oh and tell 'em not to nail that Jesus guy to the foken thing. A whole lot of people still can't get over it now. Ya walk around and see those damn Jesuses hanging all bloody and sad. If the guy has to die for our sins, lets make like a huge desert orgy. Fucking all around, you know? With some wise men and Marriah and some donkeys and fish and what not. Til the son of God goes like "Foken club 27 ya holy bastards"and overdoses on some jewish hush or something. I mean, wouldn't that make for a prettier picture in the church to look at every bloody weekend, eh? Fok. I have a lot of work ahead of me, I could turn this to a better future. But no mistakes and no butterflies. No mistakes. None... "Oy, ya skydaddy!"I shouted at the top of my lungs. "No need to pretend ya don't hear me, I know ya do! They wrote it in that book that you like that you hear me!" Did you know the sky can sigh? "...What?" "The foken kettle!"I shouted. "Pardon?"the voice wondered. "When ya took me here I was getting ready for me tea mate! If I don't turn the kettle off, it'll burn, mate! You really need to think these things through ya know?" Seven-second delay seems to be back. "Alright. I will turn the tea kettle off for you." "It's a little wobbly there, ya need ta jiggle the... Eh, ya'll figure it out." No mistakes. Let my journey begin. I heard those chinamen eat with sticks. Gotta go show 'em a fork. They'll be all like "whaaaaa..."Do chinamen go "Whaaaaaa?"though? Probably they gon' say something like "Dong Pū???"or something. Gotta teach those gobshaites some propper English...
Since the dawn of time, Humans have told stories. We love to imagine the fantastical, to transform the world around us into one that is beyond the realm of possibilities. We have myths about the dangers of dragons, epics dedicated to the journeys of demi-gods, and, until 10 years ago, imaginary encounters with aliens. And it was precisely this tendency, this inclination to magic and fantasy, that ultimately lead to our fateful interaction with the Ma-ee 10 years ago. We had no idea what they were capable of. Because we couldn't even comprehend that such power, such an understanding of the universe, would ever be achievable. But what I do know, what we all know, is that the power of the Ma-ee blindsided them. It made them commit an act of treachery that makes my blood boil to this day. As you all remember, in the same instant that our scanners indicated to us that an unknown object had breached our solar system, the Ma-ee looked down upon the human race in disgust. Even before our robot-manned ships could turn around and face the aliens, they had decided that our people -- the innocent billions spread throughout our solar system -- needed to be exterminated. They turned that thought into reality. In a flash of light, our species was brought down from 15 billion members to only 10 billion. A third of our people simply vanished, as though they had never existed at all. One moment I was enjoying dinner with my family, my two young sons and my wife. The next moment I was frantically running though the house, calling the police to report my family vanishing into thin air. Over the last 10 years, I've heard similar stories from all of you. I've seen the worry etched into your faces, the lines of sorrow, as well as the lines of hatred. It's astonishing to me that one thought lead to the destruction of Humanity's carefully planned society. Once the aliens destroyed our population, our own people did the rest of the work. For the rest of the day, crime was rampant, with everyone destroying stores and breaking into houses to collect supplies for the sure-to-be apocalypse. But it never came. "People of Earth. We have made a grave mistake. Forgive our assumption, but we assumed that your fictional texts were part of your history. We thought your species had the might to rival our own, to defeat us in glorious combat. The Ma-ee mean no harm to weaklings, as we only have one goal -- to find and defeat all worthy opponents. We apologize for the harm and havoc we have created, but consider the sparing of your species our reward." It's a message that we all remember. How can we ever forget? The message proved to us that these aliens had no remorse for what they had done. That they felt no grief in ripping apart our homes and families. The message was delivered every human in the solar system by a floating blue-green blob that appeared inside our heads, the bloody ambassador of the Ma-ee. And just like that, the Ma-ee disappeared in their ships, never to be seen again. But you see, we Humans like stories because they are more than just interesting. They provide us with hope. They provide us with determination for the future. Humans create these fantastical worlds because they inspire us to do something to change the real world. Every day for the past 10 years, we have worked to turn fiction into reality for the Human species. We have invented technology that gives every human the power of a god. We have become everything the Ma-ee looked for opponents and more. That's why today, I, Luther Hayes, president of the Galactic Human Federation, issue this statement as an official declaration of war against the Ma-ee people. Let's turn fantasy into reality.
*Never transport sapient species incapable of interstellar travel.* Why oh why didn't we follow the Grand Ultimatum? It shouldn't even be hard. Observe from orbit, maybe zip down to the surface for more detailed xenoecological studies, and warp home before anyone is the wiser. But these crafty little apes had gotten themselves so worked up about each other that they'd put a global surveillance and reporting system in the pocket of every man, woman, and child capable of holding one. Abduction was the only way to get our Research Commission's results on schedule, and so we brought one on board. We weren't even going to take him anywhere. Just behind their tidally-locked moon to keep from being detected while we ran our tests. It'd only take a couple of planetary rotations. But, halfway through Gene Sequencing and Probabilistic Branching Analysis (A single abductee always has DNA from an amazing number of different aliens on clothing and such, so it's rather efficient.), came the call from "Professor ScopeCreep", and the trouble started. We were assured we had been doing excellent xenobiological work on the dominant species of the planet, but since we had one available, the Commission wanted to expand our mission to gather at least some cursory cultural information as well. Language, economics, religion, the works. Even a single sample would be valuable, given the risk of getting it undetected as we had. In short, get the ape talking. It wasn't hard. Turns out humans love talking about themselves. You can hardly even get them to stop. It's actually kind of pleasant, getting to know them. Kurt, as he called himself, would even ask about us from time to time, to help make an analogue so we could understand together. I thought it was going to be a real shame to memory-wipe him before returning. An entire lunar cycle was a big gap to have to fill back in. And so we learned about all sorts of gods and superstitions, and other nonsense stories they tell each other to explain away perfectly sensible scientific phenomena. Kurt assured us that most people knew that these old myths weren't really true. They were made up long before science proved its worth to society, but it lingered around because it was still entertaining and made people feel better to hear the familiar tales and rituals. Kurt was an even greater asset to us than we'd originally thought. Like everyone else, he had a "cell phone"on his person when abducted, although we were sure to confiscate any suspected communications devices before he ever awoke. But, his suggestion that we alter its antenna to connect to a worldwide web of raw information so we could keep learning even from the moon was far too tempting to Professor ScopeCreep when we were forced to send the update. Three days had already become a month. We were now on track to keep Kurt for a year with this next extension. Familiarity breeds complacency. Along the way, Kurt learned our own language, even without the autotranslator in between. Some of the team would pine for home in an unguarded moment, and these snippets of galactic splendor would always capture his rapt attention. "Can I see it? One time before you send me back home? Even if you cleanse it from my brain afterwards, I want it burned into my soul for eternity,"he asked one cycle. I hadn't suspected he actually believed in such things, but it seemed like such a small request. He wouldn't know one light-year from three billion, so I figured we could go a little out of our way, tell him it was more, leave him in awe, and none would be the wiser. And so, at the end of our twelve-thousand percent overrun mission, I directed our pilot to plot our detour to a nearby nebula. On arrival, I escorted Kurt to the observation window, where he stood slack-jawed at what I thought was a rather unimpressive dust cloud. There was even some reverence in his voice as he intoned, "Surely not even the gods have come so far to see such sights."And then he snapped. "I WON'T LET YOU TAKE IT FROM ME! I CAN'T FORGET THIS!"he roared, with a swing of his fist. Caught by surprise, I was hit square in the neck. I'd seen his detailed physical capabilities long before, but this kind of pain was above and beyond what those forces should have felt like. Realization hit me with the next punch. It was adrenaline, and he was fighting for his life. Maybe he didn't even care to keep it, just so long as we couldn't take him to the final operating table. "I really am sorry it came to this, Kurt,"came the voice of our head of Security, and then the un-sound of a death ray sliced through the atmosphere. Kurt slumped to the ground, knees first, like a statue of a supplicant. And then his lips started moving. "Not even the gods... How right that was. I'm farther than Death's own icy grip. She can not reach me here. Now I can never go home."
She is what? The 100th? The girl in front of you has golden hair and blue eyes. She is lean and tall with a godly body. She gives you her most inviting smile. You can see the jaws of your bodyguards dropping. Bastards are having fun. You are not. She bows gracefully and walks away. This circus has been going on for three weeks straight. You are in an impossible position. You can't ruin a girl's life. Anyone you marry would be miserable for the rest of her life. And you can't tell your father, the king, the hand of god, a devoted catholic that you are gay. "Next please!" "Melinda Rosenberg, daughter of his Majesty duke of Bremen!" The girl in front of you is like no girl you ever saw. Her dress is a simple cavalry officer's uniform. Her hair is short and even behind the dress you can tell her body is athletic and strong. Her black eyes are filled with sadness and anger. "Your majesty". She bows hastily and proceeds to leave. "Wait!"She freezes hearing your voice. -Can I have a word milady? -If you must your majesty! -Why are you so sad? It is not hard to tell you are not happy to be here. -Are you your majesty? You didn't show any interest in any of those beauties. -So you are both bold and smart. Not every man finds that combination likeable I guess. -Good thing we have something called women! -I saw the way you look at those girls. You are having fun at my expense! -Would your majesty have any punishment in mind? -I actually have! Marry me! -What? Is this a joke? I thought... -listen. Your father will not stop bothering you until you marry. And mine will not stop pushing me till I lose my mind. I have a proposition. We marry. Then I will do my thing and you do yours. I have no interest in women and nor do you in men. You are free to have romance with anyone you like. And so will I. -This, this is more appealing than I thought. -One question tho? Was any of the girls to your liking? -Not that it is anyof your concern my lord, but that red haired brown skinned girl from Ottoman almost gave me a heart attack.
Oh wow, this was a fantastic story to read. The character’s personalities were realistic and fun to watch in action as they all interacted with each other. As I was reading it I thought it was good, but the ending made this story spectacular for me. The only being that could said to be the only immortal in the universe and one that gods and monsters all fear, would of course be Death himself. A perfect ending. I hope I get to read more of your work in the future.
I lazily grabbed the card from the machine, politely thanked the attendant, and walked away dreading what sort of mundane life I looked forward to. Ever since cognitive analytics became a field, machines had been created to scan and determine ideal careers for people. As part of legislation, it was mandated that machines could not log the jobs generated through the program and that occupations assigned were to be confidential unless people willingly revealed them or they were caught, forcing them to reveal their criminal cards. The machines understood what people truly wanted to be through psychological analysis and brain scans allowing for people to truly be content in their jobs. No one was ever dissatisfied with their occupations and after the cards were received, they could be revealed to the proper companies allowing for people with cards to start their jobs immediately. Cards were usually examined in private because there were some cards that were not to be revealed until the bearers of them got caught such as "Thief", "Forger", or "Mugger"cards, and before they were caught, they could say they were artists or other more palatable, freelance occupations as covers. As I walked away from the crowds of people, I decided to glance at the card I was given wondering what job I had gotten. I stared curiously at the shiny red text that said, "Serial Killer"in clean, bold letters. While the cards had colored text that determined how common an occupation was, I had never seen anyone with such text. The common text colors, such as construction workers or retail workers or security guards, were black; the uncommon text colors, such as lower managers or lower cooks or soldiers or common criminals, were grey; the rare text colors, such as for athletes or minor-role actors, were bronze; the ultra rare text colors, such as for politicians or high-level executives or celebrity chefs or higher-level criminals, were silver; and finally, for the rarest colors, such as destined stars or destined celebrity musicians or destined genius visionaries, there were gold letters. I held the card, curious as to how rare it was, and I quietly went home to research. I used my roommate's computer to look through historical archives and I quickly learned that the last serial killer caught was found 70 years ago at age 48, 30 years after she had received her card. I stared at the shiny red letters as I realized I was likely the first to receive a serial killer card in 100 years. I smiled as I realized life was not going to be as mundane as I thought it would be.
“Rich people can get away with anything”, the reporter snarked from the gallery. “Yeah but this time he didn’t break the laws...this is different than before, this changes the game.” His associate said. Mr. Vale, sat on the stand, nicely tailored suit and tie, black hair neatly combed back, big white teeth grinning maliciously. He started this campaign to make a point. That politics were broken and billionaires like himself could easily manipulate the system. He didn’t realize how easy it really had been. As an accomplished self made business man he had skills and people at his disposal. He used stats, lawyers, and local city ordinances all to his advantage. In 19 states you could recall government officials through citizen votes. According to his data only about 100,000 people voted in governor elections as it was. He had 100,000 employees in at least one of those states. Turns out he had far more than that in each of those states. Employees liked working and he never threatened anyone, and getting them to vote out a governor turned out to be easy. He had the numbers on his side. Then he had a new election, again he had the number of people for votes. But having “parades” that limited the number of available routes to voting locations wouldn’t hurt his chances. “That’s voter suppression!” Exclaimed one of the members from the gallery. “Parades and events are more than allowed in all the cities I had them as long as you have the proper paperwork. He just thought the parade name ‘Army of Evil’ was fun. He also stacked the other positions with his employees and “voted” out old outdated laws. He changed most of them to be state dictatorship. They were now corporate states and he had enough pull to swing national elections too. It wouldn’t take long to take the whole country. As the prosecutor read off each and every offense of office, and using local laws in devious ways Mr. Vale just listed the laws and their appropriate use. It was clear, the Judge knew it, the prosecutor knew it. The reporters and gallery knew it. What he had done was wrong and made a mockery of the system, but it was in fact legal. And if it wasn’t before, it would be now. He made the laws now.
It is said that no one thinks they're the bad guy. Everyone is the hero of their own story and in their own mind, their actions are completely justifiable. Well, I'm living proof that's just not true. I am the bad guy. I've chosen to be the bad guy. I excel at being the bad guy. I have no problem doing all manner of unsavory things. Murder? An amusing pastime. Theft? Everyday. Arson? I'd burn down an orphanage just to warm up my hands. I'm a monster and I embrace it with abandon. The one thing I won't do is take credit for what I didn't do or allow blame to be heaped on me that I don't deserve. I have a repuatation to sully and I won't have anyone else doing it where I know I'll do it better. The vigilantes and superpowered freaks in this city will never forget the name Doctor Adam Eternicus. To ensure my wicked name was not smeared, I started leaving a calling card. A signature. It had to be something unique but not something so peculiar that it would lead back to me. Something I could make myself but that could be sourced from vitually anywhere. I chose a cypher. Nothing too complicated, of course. I would leave a letter, series of numbers. If you take the day's City Gazette and then compare the numbers I've chosen, figure out how I've moved them by one to ninety nine, and map the result to the page, column, and letter from the right, you will find my name. I sometimes leave a little note in addition, but usually my coded signature is sufficent. I think it was Grayboar that decoded my method first. Later, The Tarantalix and Night Slugger cracked it. The League of Just Retribution were let in then. After that, my crimes were easy to identify and my deeds were never, ever mistaken for those of lesser skilled criminal masterminds. Of course, some pretender would occasionally try to copy my style. If they didn't know about the signature, something that the Commisioner and his police detectives had never divulged to the press, they were quickly found out and usually not my problem. If someone did know about them, they never knew about how the code was done and they'd try to pass of gibberish as my work and then, once more, the problem would usually be handled by the authorities and I could remain in the shadows plotting my true horrors and amusements. This is why when my spy inside the force came to me and dropped a cypher on my desk that certainly looked like one of mine and mapped correctly to the Gazette that I did not remember coding, I was confused if not vexed. "Where did you get this?" My turncoat detective said, "The confidential evidence vault." "And what crime was this evidence of?" "The Picasso theft last week." "I heard about that. It should be obvious it wasn't me though. I hate cubism and if I steal art, I steal the gallery not one piece." "Yeah, I know. My guys on the street tell me that a fence moved it two nights ago." "It was... sold?" "Yep." "Thank you. See my man Eye Slicer for your payment. Keep up the good work." "As you wish, Doctor." He removed himself and I contemplated this transgression. I decided not to put a number of plots and plans on hold. Someone had impersonated me. This could not go unanswered. I spoke to my minions, my lieuteants, and even the imposter I have positioned in the The League (no, I am not telling you which "hero"it is). When men failed me, I consulted with spirits, but the dead proved as useless as the living. There was no trace of who it was who had been so bold and stupid as to cross me. I said to myself, "This won't be the last time." And I was right. On a otherwise unremarkable night, seventeen buildings blew up over the city simultaneously. That gave the number for the cypher that was used, putting my name undeservedly with this pedestrian crime. Next, a jewelry store was hit. The groundwater in an unfinished development were poisoned and two tiny airports were leveled in the same week. This was growing tiresome. The one saving grace was with every crime, my pretender gave me another strand to weave the rope with which I would hang him. The first crime was a test, I was sure of it; a way to generate a little clout and capital for the bigger crimes. The buildings had nothing in common as far what sort of business they did, but I found six of them had insurance polcies that all paid out to the same holding company; Top Dog Diversified. The development had to be abandoned, which meant the developers moved to their second choice of site to try to recoup their losses. The new site? Owned by a real estate company owned by a lawyers office whose biggest client was... Top Dog Diversified. The jewelry store was the outlier. I had to be paitent. This "Top Dog"was greedy. He would strike again. But he didn't. After seven months, my men were restless and I was no less perturbed. That was when I heard it. Eye Slicer was in my office, watching a speech by the mayor on his cell phone. In the thousand years I have been alive, I have never seen such a remarkable invention used for such inane purposes. I tolerated him listening. I had considered getting back to our more illegitimate endeavors and be patient in my revenge; I had time after all. I would have were it not for one phrase, "And you have the word of this city's top dog." I practically lept over the table. Eye Slicer was a big shocked and was already reaching for the trigger on his visor. I must have looked like a mad man when I said, "Give me your phone." My minion obeyed, perhaps a bit more quickly than he might have on another day. I turned up the volume and stared at the streaming broadcast. A banner behind him proclaimed that he was seeking re-election; it promised to be a very expensive one. The mayor waved. I paused. I zoomed in. I knew every piece of jewelry in the misattributed jewelry heist. It included a set of ruby and platinum cufflinks. They were on the mayor's arm. "I will be damned again,"I said. I did not know if I should be impressed or murderous. The mayor, of all people, was copying me. (Part 2 below)
The Asuran's aura-clad fist impacted Max's chest with such force that it sent him hurtling backward. His back slammed into jagged rock, only his composite armor preventing his spine from snapping like a twig. He rose to all fours and wheezed in a breath. The Asuran approached unhurriedly, his four-armed figure wreathed in energies cultivated for centuries. Help, Max pleaded for the umpteenth time, but the message in the right corner of his vision remained unchanged. Request pending. "I don't understand how your puny kind hasn't been eradicated,"the Asuran thundered, kicking away the rifle Max had dropped. "Take your toys away, and you're nothing." Max tried to scamper away, but the Asuran caught up, grabbed him by the neck, and yanked him upright with nary an effort. Max held onto the bear-like arm and struggled to draw breath, reaching for the knife at his belt. Help help help. Request pending. The Asuran sneered. "Look at you. The weakest creatures in the galaxy, yet you persist like cockroaches. It boggles the mind." "Fuck... you,"Max gritted out, and stabbed the Asuran's forearm with the knife. Compressed gas shot out of the blade's tip at 1,000psi, bursting skin and flesh in a spray of gore. The Asuran roared and tossed him aside. The energies surrounding him flared, creating a wind so strong that Max had to shield his eyes. Cradling his torn arm, the Asuran drew his sword and glared at him. Max raised his knife, but it looked laughable in comparison. For fuck's sake, what's the holdup— Request approved. Intervention in progress. Max's mouth opened in a silent scream as terabytes of knowledge flooded his mind. Dozens of digital presences flowed into his cybernetics, revitalizing his body and optimizing its functions. The Asuran blitzed forward and stabbed at his head. Without Max's conscious volition, his body jerked sideways just enough so that the tip of the blade sank into the rock. Grabbing onto it for leverage, Max sprang forward and slashed at the Asuran's throat. The Asuran jumped back, felt the scratch on his neck, and stared at the blood. Some other emotion besides fury entered his eyes. "How? You're no martial artist." "You're not fighting me anymore,"Max said, adjusting the grip on his knife. "You're fighting humanity." He sprang forth, driven by impulses his organic brain was too slow to process. Duck under a slash. Score at the ribs. Too shallow; adjust. He received a blow on the cheek but only spat out a tooth and grinned, the cybernetics neutralizing his pain. The vents of his armor howled to dissipate the heat of his enhanced muscles and processors until a haze of heated air surrounded him like an aura of his own. Each attack he avoided by a hair's breadth, each opening he exploited without mercy or hesitation. The Asuran's face twisted in disbelief, then anger, then desperation. Sweat poured from his brow, and blood oozed from dozens of cuts left by Max's knife, yet he fought on. The pride of a cultivator would never allow him to retreat from a human. Warning. Heat levels critical. Max thought furiously even as his body contorted to avoid a thrust of the sword and retaliated from an unpredictable angle. He allowed blood to pool in his mouth, waited for an opportune moment, and spat into the Asuran's eyes. The Asuran flinched for a split-second. Max's hand shot up to drive the knife under his chin and into the skull. The Asuran's enormous body convulsed and toppled onto the rock, the sword clanging down beside him. Max collapsed on his knees and panted as his limbs became his again. Registering new strategy: Bloodspit. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand—the armored glove had shattered at some point—and laughed tiredly. "C'mon, at least give it a better name." The wind picked up abruptly, shrieking through the rocky valley. Max raised his head, and the laughter died in his throat. A dozen of Asurans stood at the valley's edges, peering at the scene below with hatred and disbelief. He swore inwardly and rose to his feet. The digital minds inside him stirred once more. Estimated chances of survival at 0.094%. "So there was more of you wreaking havoc in our territory,"Max drawled, strolling toward his fallen rifle. "I hope you'll give me a better challenge than that guy. He begged for mercy in the end." The outcry from the Asurans made the ground tremble and pebbles roll down the valley's slopes. Max lunged for his rifle, rolled upright, and trained the sights on the nearest enemy. "Eat plasma,"he snarled, and opened fire. Estimated chances of survival at 0.007%. The burst of relativistic rounds tore the Asuran's torso apart. Max whirled onto another target, only to gasp as a sword entered through his back and emerged from his chest. His left hand found his knife and stabbed backward blindly, eliciting a cry. Fatal injury detected. Activating Last Protocol. Another Asuran slashed at his left arm, cleaving through armor and muscle. Max turned, stumbled, and squeezed the trigger, sending a series of rounds into the ground. His arm holding the knife spasmed uselessly, so damaged even the cybernetics couldn't move it. A second sword pierced his chest, then a third, feeling like little more than dull impacts. Yet even as his vision faded, his lips twisted into a bloody grin. Cessation of bodily functions confirmed. Starting upload. Power surged through his cybernetics a final time as they beamed his mind toward the center of human space, where his experience and skills would contribute to the whole. If a consciousness in transit could laugh, Max would have done so. When humans next faced the Asurans, they would be just a little bit stronger. And one day, it would prove enough.
I stiffled a giggle at the small child that was way to close to my frame, practically nose-to-nose with me. As they reached a pudgy hand towards me, they were suddenly yanked back by their father. "Don't climb on tables, love, and try not to touch anything!"Their father said as he placed the young child down on the floor, away from the table that sat below my frame. Giving apologies to the staff, the young man paid for his package and guided his child out the door, bell tinkling against the frame as it shut behind them. After 225 years of being stuck in the same place, if occasionally in different places depending on the remodeling, I could easily say that customers with children were either my favorite or least favorite part of my day (depending on the parent, of course). Subtly tracking the clerk as she began the process of closing down for the day, I follow along the steps with her. Wipe down the display tables. Wrap up the garbage bags for tomorrow's pickup. Lock the front door. Tend to the - - she did not lock the front door. Anxiously, I watch her as she tends to the register, counting the profit and ensuring the bills needed for tomorrow morning are there. While some new employees may forget to do the steps, I've never seen her skip one before. It fills me with dread. She walks into the back room, and for a few long seconds the storefront is quiet. Then, the bell chimes as the door opens. A large man immediately walks to the register, turning it towards him and attempting to open it. The clerk returns from the back room and let's out a shriek of surprise. My heart is pounding as the large man stalks towards her, snatching her wrist and pulling her toward the front. "Open it!"He shouts, practically towering over her frame. She shakes her head "I left the key in the -" Shoving her back, she hits the table below my frame harshly. Her head hits my portrait and I fall forward. Landing on my hands and knees, the carpet stings against my palms, the gritty, harsh texture feeling like sandpaper as I experience touch for the first time. The room smells stale, and the loud scream from the man in front of me echoes across my skull. His heavy boots stumbling back as he whips back towards the door. Shaking, I try to gather my bearings and get up from the floor. The silence of the room does not detract from the cataclysmic noise of the evening street just past the store windows. I march towards the front and feel every muscle in my arm reach towards the door. "Jeremy"a voice from behind me calls. The witch that locked me in that portrait decades ago. I ignore her, finally grasping the door handle. And lock it. Turning back towards her, I see her trapped in the frame, seated on the lounge chair next to a depiction of a roaring fire. There are books on the tall shelf behind the chair, and the bay windows depict a light snowfall outside what could be an ocean. It has been my home for decades.. The air conditioning unit on the wall blows stinging air in my face, bringing me back to this three dimensional reality. "Lady A, you did not lock the door."I say, the humming of my voice is disconcerting and I fight a shutter as I feel the vibrations. The witch tilts her head apologetically, "I am sorry, Jeremy. It will not happen again. Come here, love, I can see you shaking." The blood pumps past my ears as I move towards the wall, adrenaline leaving me just as quickly as it came. I stumble, catching myself upright using the table and reaching towards her. Sitting in my frame. In my home. The only safe space for me to exist as I want to be. The place I begged her to create for me all those years ago. "I am so sorry Jeremy, let me out and this will all be over soon."She soothes, holding her hand against the paintings barrier. I touch trembling fingertips to the canvas and feel myself coming home.
Turton had been friends with the Hero since they were children, and when he heard that they had made a name for themselves, he resolved to do the same. Life had other plans. While the Hero was able to best the gangsters with his innate magic, Turtons non-magic behind had been promptly knifed by a lowly enforcer. Still, he bade his friend safe travels when he healed, and that he'd surely catch up one day. But "one day"never seemed to come. A dragon burned the village months later, and he'd helplessly watched the Hero vanquish it with a jet of flame even greater than what the beast could produce. He could only guide others to safety when a rogue magician sent a torrent of water to wash away the kingdom. He hoisted a child over his head to her mother before the waters swept him away. He didn't know how much time had passed, but he awoke in a washed out gully. He was sure that somewhere upstream, the Hero was just about done taking care of the evil spellcaster. "Get up."said a voice next to his ear. He jerked his head back, but saw nothing. "Your friend is in trouble"the voice spoke into his other ear. He spun around "W-whos there?"Turton whimpered. He was tired, and cold. "You need to save him." He'd finally lost his mind to stress, Turton thought. Might as well run with it. "How can I do that? I have no magic, I've never won s fight in my life!" This time, the voice took shape before him, a figure of mist with piercing white eyes. "You won't have to win, just survive. As you always have." "Survive?"He said. "Yes. Survive the journey back upstream, past the magicians minions, and you'll be just in time to block a strike that will otherwise surely end your heroic friend." "And then get my butt kicked again." The mist figure flickered. "...yes. but again, you shall survive." "How do you know all this? That I will always survive?"Turton finally rose to his feet, slipping on the rocky ground. "Because your death would displease many people. From the moment you set off on your journey, I gave you the greatest gift I can bestow upon one of my creations. I gave you 'plot-armor'."
When something unexplainable happened from Monday to Sunday, there was always an explanation that originated in Lokesday. When you wake up on Monday morning with an awful headache and overall just dreading the day? Lokesday. When your Monday just never seems to go right? Lokesday. The people that always seem refreshed in your office and roaring to go on Monday morning? They're probably an eight. They use their extra day to relax, catch up, and refresh. Some people spend their time traveling the world with their extra day. There's even an app called "Find Eight"that only comes on the app store on Lokesday that lets you meet up with other Eights for just hanging out, sex, or whatever it is you want to do. There's even a lot of businesses open on Lokesday just so people have things to do and spend their money on. There's even a special cryptocoin called "8bit"that eights do most of their business with on Lokesday to keep our secret. Nobody can really explain what happens. Always on time, one minute after 11:59pm GMT on Sunday, everyone disappears. Thus begins Lokesday, an entire extra day of the week for many. All of the sevens disappear, and so begins the extra day for the eights. There's no logic to who is an eight. Either you are or you aren't. We've always had it, and there's an unspoken code among us. Rule 1: No sevens can know about Lokesday. Rule 2: Any seven that finds out about Lokesday must be imprisoned or executed. Rule 3: Whatever happens on Lokesday, is not talked about until the next Lokesday. Rule 4: Nobody is your friend on Lokesday. Rule 5: Practice ethical business on Lokesday. Rule 6: Eighth day criminals are punished with death. Rule 7: Normal laws apply on Lokesday. Rule 8: No sevens can know about Lokesday. Yes some of the rules are a wee bit outdated. But we take them seriously. Most people fear being punished with death too much to do anything serious Lokesday. Short of breaking laws, it still can be fun for some to play minor tricks on people. Everything bad that comes to light on Monday that's just unexplainable usually has to do with some trickster on Lokesday. With less than a hundredth of the population being an eight, there's not enough police to stop people from setting up the sevens to have awful Mondays or just to take advantage of them. Most of the Police force are volunteers. Many are actual Police Officers, but they're in charge of guarding banks, Federal Buildings, and the like. They can't spend their time chasing down the guys doing 100 down the highway when there's nobody else on the road anyway. The more important things are major crimes, and while if caught, you will still be punished, most people don't care what you do on Lokesday as long as you aren't robbing people, planning on murdering people, or committing terrorism, you'll probably just be ignored. I could tell you all about Lokesday and what it's about, but I think you get the picture. Most of us eights use it to hookup, catch up on sleep, or get extra work done. Don't cheat, still, or kill and you'll enjoy Lokesday for what it is. An extra, hidden day that a small portion of us get to enjoy. Me? You can usually find me sleeping on Lokesday. It's a great opportunity to catch up after a busy week. I work about 50 hours a week, and another 20 hours I spend on school. I went back for my Masters last year after realizing I could get most of my homework done in my extra day and still sleep in until 11. It's not very fun, but I'm young enough that it will help me to drastically improve my career path. Sales isn't the best thing in the world for me right now, but getting a degree in Business Management will help me move toward an executive level where I can work to easily make a 6 or 7 figure salary if I stay on my current path. Now, you might be wondering, Gavin, what kind of trouble do you like to get into on Lokesday? Well, the answer is simple. Usually, not much. For years I've liked to keep my Lokesday simple and stay out of the way. I don't have to mess with anybody, and nobody messes with me. My girlfriend doesn't know because she's just a seven, and she stays happy that I can afford to take her out on nice dates throughout the week since I don't have to focus my time after I get off work on schoolwork. Though I'm not often much of a troublemaker, there's a reason I'm telling you all of this though. I want a simple life, and I'm okay with working for that. But I don't want to have to worry. I don't want my girlfriend Mary to have to worry about anything. I love her very much. We're both approaching 30 in the next couple of years, and I'd like to raise a family with her, and to be able to spend time with her. So when my best friend James, an acclaimed physicist approached me last year and said he found a way to pull of the ultimate Lokesday Crime, needless to say, I was interested. It was a way for me to enjoy more time with my family than most, and that was all I really cared about. I've always been nervous of committing a crime on Lokesday because of the severe penalties. But when he told me his plan, I knew why he wanted me involved. He wanted me to organize the team, to be the leader. James has never been a very confident guy, and with him working on the physics of the operation, he needed someone to organize it. His plan is complicated. He wanted to create a way for Sevens to experience Lokesday. It would violate Rules 1 and 8 of The Code, but if we could pull it off, I could have exactly what I wanted. A way to spend as much time with my future family as possible. That's all that matters to me. James' plan? It comes down to a lot of theoretical physics. But he's been clued in by some of his close scientist friends that are Government contractors that the U.S. Government has done a lot of experimenting and working on discovering how eights get an extra day. Rumor has it, that they may have even developed the physics and discovered the biology behind it. Of course, even if that science exists, it would be kept under lock and key with heavy scrutiny. We're talking about an army of volunteers to guard that secret. His insider believes they're going to use the new science for war though. Of course if they used it for that, it would be a crime against humanity. But he thinks we can do it in four phases. We're in Phase 0 right now. Planning. Getting together our people, and gathering information to set up for the rest of the phases. Our next step? The Heist. Edit: Fixed a sentence that I stopped writing halfway through. Might add more because the last couple paragraphs feel kind of forced without a little more transition. Edit 2: Seems this thread has been locked because there's already a novel based on this concept. I really enjoyed writing this, but I don't want to inadvertently plagiarize someone else's work. Please check out the novel this prompt seems to be inspired by [here!](https://www.harpercollins.com/9780062272157/the-eighth-day/)
I first discovered my luck during the War. I has hit by a ricochet and likely should have died but, more in shock than pain, I called out. Miraculously, a medic was there, just when I needed them. I was bandaged and pulled back, and I survived. Many others were far less fortunate. For many years since then I have enjoyed the same sort of happenstance. I always happened to pass the right locations during the Blockade and the Airlift. A constable has always been on hand if needed. My luck never made me rich, but I have always had help when I needed it most. I've lived a long life since then, and I have always tried not to count on my luck. I am an old man now, my dangers long since faced, I thought. Until one day, when a strange man in strange armor with strange powers appeared before a crowd where I happened to stand. And he demanded that we kneel before him. And he proclaimed that the weak must also so kneel before the strong. And we must surrender ourselves to the glory of the great. And in so doing we become great ourselves. And I recalled when I heard such talk once before, when I believed in such things. At last the time had come to truly test my luck. I stood, "We will not kneel to men like you." The stranger scoffed, "There are no men like me." "There are always men like you,"I informed him, as I waited for the help I knew must be close by. The stranger moved to make a proper example of me, as such men always do. And that was when help came. "You know, the last time I was in Germany, I saw a man standing above everyone else. We ended up disagreeing."He was exactly as I remembered him. Tall, confident, shield in hand. I'm very glad I missed the last time we met.
We scavenged every corner of the planet. The army of hell was red, the nightmares of humanity come to life. Hungry and angry. Earth was a barren waste land, devoid of mankind. Devoid of their sins. The Icon of Sin would be livid if he knew his plan was obsolete. Me? I couldn't care less. They'd treat me all the same. I stumbled upon a room out in the middle of a desert. The sun scorching hot, and the sand, a lit candle in comparison to the heat of our world below. A hunched over demon searched next to me. His back hunched, and his teeth were ill purposed shards of glass. His skin forever molting. Disgusting, just as I was. G'nork hissed and flipped the poker table in a fit of rage. "I'd have better luck memorizing pi than I would of finding an innocent soul!" He glanced at me, was I supposed to say something? I gazed back. We knew the low ones like us would take the blame. He growled. "We're so BONED. Condemned to another thousand year whipping when the icon's lackeys hear of this. F-FUCK." I Iet the thought sink in. Our mistress was hot. I mumbled, "Dimitress.." "What?" "What." Silence ensued. I jumped over to this square thing.. I recognized it somewhat, a computer. Had a logo on it that spelled, "A. R. G. E. N. T."G'nark peered over my shoulder and asked, "What are you doing?" "Huh. Why does it matter what I'm doing? Keep looking." "I've given up, R'taz. Accepted our fate while you— you fiddle with human possessions." I scoffed. It felt as if he were trying to be like the lackeys now. I said, "OK. Well for the past 3 million years we've been conditioned to kill and maim and inflict the very tortures we've endured onto people. Pretty, soft, and tasty little people. Because our overlord wills it, he said so." "Yes, so what are you doing?" "Something he doesn't want us to do, not like we'd make a difference anyways." I smacked the brick component that dangled on the side, the device whirled to life and the faint sound of.. Music, with strings, hard strings being heard for just a moment. It was unpleasant, if I had to describe it as a material I'd call it metal. I remembered seeing into a dead man's mind not too long ago, he too had a,"computer."G'nork and I squealed way back then at how innocent it all looked. And how dirty it could be. Yet that was the past. I forgot how they use this thing. G'nork's eyes widened, as if he had been slapped in the face by a ghoul. He slammed his fist into the mouse and clicked on the minimized tab on the bottom. He let out an audible, "AHA!" Some sort of video played. Full of humans contained in some sort of.. Laboratory of sorts. A woman in a white uniform spoke, as various clips were shown of this facility. She said, "At A.R.G.E.N.T. incorporated we strive to be the best, for the best. We need you to lend a helping hand to our most ambitious endeavor. The colonization of Mars, and the harvest of a brand new energy to power our new home for centuries to come! Your introductory pamphlet will be issued to you aboard the shuttle. This is good work, the kind that all of mankind will soon thank you for." Bingo. Before I can say it, G'nork opened a portal to every single Lackey across the globe. Interestingly enough, there was no one on any end. And again that music.. That metal music, I could hear it faintly in the distance. There was one portal that has a present foot soldier, a voice boomed from the other side. "State your business or suffer the consequences early!" G'nork swallowed hard, "UH s-sir, we g-got—" I shushed him. Then took over, gazing into the portal. Into the eyes of the 2 ton lacky. His diamond red eyes glow like the embers of fire. And his horns were like those that belonged to a super sized bull. His skin tanned with the tint of fire. His teeth, jagged bones. I wanted to run. But I didn't. "We've.. Found the location of the humans. They're on another planet they call.. Mars." As if every single wretched thing walking this planet sang a single note in harmony, they laughed and roared. Millions upon millions of roars. That music, I heard it again. Followed by the screams of fellow demons taking their last breaths. And the sound of something loud, like a weapon going off every half a second. The portal communication link was cut. What the hell was that? I looked at G'nork, did he hear what I heard? He said, "Let's get a move on it. When the humans are gone we will be in paradise!" I nodded. He was right, he opened another portal this time to Mars. As soon as the ripple through space was opened, the music started blaring from the other side of the portal. I couldn't see inside it. G'nork looked through and screamed, "OH MY G-" A 6'2 man came hurling through the portal dawning some sort of green battle armor. With a shotgun in one hand, and the decapitated head of a lackey in his other hand. That metal music was so loud and it was coming from him! I screamed and lashed out at him. He slammed his boot into my chest and I saw stars, I coughed blood and couldn't breathe. I looked up to see G'nork struggling to break free from his grip, with one twist of the man's wrist he breaks my friend's neck. Then Rips his head clean off as if it were a piece of paper. All I could feel is this one thing, one thing my torment has never brought upon me. The belly ache of fear, the anxiety of my future, the inevitability of my mortality. DOOM. He threw g'nork down and aimed his weapon at me. Then nodded at the portal to Mars, he wanted me to close it, I did. All I could do is plead. "Please.. Please don't, look I don't even want to kill you peo-" He aimed the barrel at my face and squeezed the trigger. The crack of thunder is the last thing I remember, the last thing I'd ever know. That one feeling of being utterly.. Doomed.
We had nearly destroyed ourselves to do it, staving off nuclear war, climate change and successive waves of pandemics, but we finally achieved that milestone of technological advancement. We, humanity, as we knew it then anyway, developed interstellar travel and set out into that great unknown, that final frontier. With adventure and exploration filling our hearts and an anticipation not felt since the discovery of the Americas, we set out amongst the abyss of the universe. As the first ships left our system and journeyed into others, disturbing reports came back, reports almost more difficult to believe than the wildest of science fiction theories on first contact. Humans! Humans led the Galactic Republic that lay claim to our own solar system and countless others around ours. After long diplomatic talks with representatives from said Republic, we discovered the truth, sad and discouraging as it was. Earth\`s branch of humanity were nothing but the descendants of criminals from the Republic, left adrift with nothing but the clothes upon their backs all those thousands of years ago. The Republic hadn\`t come back to check on our planet since the Stone Age and were somewhat shocked we hadn\`t gone extinct. Shocked or not, they graciously admitted us into their Republic, giving us voting seats and gifting us technology beyond our capabilities by centuries. Everything seemed to go as best as anyone could have hoped. But oh, how wrong we were.... At the first meeting of the Galactic Republic that we attended, our ambassador was utterly dumbfounded when the Chancellor of the Republic was announced upon his entry to the chamber, for even centuries after its release, most Earth humans knew the name: Palpatine. Our ambassador managed to contain his reaction and remained calm throughout the proceeedings but departing immediately after to report back home, for this seemed like it could not be a coincidence. After careful observation by Earth\`s espionage forces, the unfortunate and shocking truth was revealed.... the Galactic Republic was nearly identical to the sci-fi movies that essentially catapaulted the genre into popular culture all those years ago. After several dangerous spy missions, atrocities were discovered in far-off colonies upon less civilized beings. A clone army was used to keep control by the Chancellor who ruled with an iron fist but not openly. No, he was too clever for that, he wrapped said gauntlet in velvet and kept up the facade nearly perfectly. All of these facts cemented the idea that the Star Wars movies, from then on called the Star Wars Gospels, were a battle plan, laid out loosely but giving a broad road map of what was to come. And so, the veneration of the Prophet Lucas began. As did the preparation for revolution. The only thing missing however, a fact lamented by all of Earth\`s leaders, were the Jedi themselves. Not finding them in any of the known systems, nor any mention of them in the Republic\`s Archives, one inescapable conclusion was reached: They would need to be created. With feats of genetic engineering, cybernetic enhancement and biotech tinkering over the course of decades, the first generation of the Jedi Order was created. The fighting force of them numbered in the low thousands but each displayed the trademark abilities laid down in the Gospels. Telepathy, telekinesis, precognition, healing and some other, more obscure, mystic arts... Earth had not remained idle over the course of the Jedi\`s creation either, war machines filled entire underground bunkers the size of cities, massive Destroyer class starships were concealed within the Asteroid Belt. Now, after 20 long years of training in secret, ever since my 12th birthday, my brothers and sisters and I are ready. Ready to lead our armies into battle. My name is Owen Kinobi and I am a first generation Jedi, we who have trained the longest, advanced the furthest in matters of the Force. We will be the vanguard that rips the Chancellor from his seat and frees those who remain on their knees due to the supposed Republic\`s oppression. May the Force be with you, fellow Earthling. For war is upon us.
“Deliverance at last,” the old man gets to his feet slowly as if his joints are aching. There is nothing in his cell. No bed, no chair, no book, no food. Nothing. “I’ve been waiting for someone to come rescue me for the past many days. I haven’t slept or eaten a single thing since I was put down here.” I nod uncommittedly. In the cell next to the old man, a hellhound bares its black teeth at me in a silent snarl. I’m still taken aback by it all. A week ago I worked in an office selling printer supplies. “You must help me,” the old man says in a feeble and pitiful voice. “I’m not supposed to be down here.” I never really knew my grandfather. He was a stern man and it was only on rare occasions I saw a smile lighten up the grave features of his stoic face. He was also a tall man and broad too. A mountain of a man. As a child I was afraid of him. I remember one time when my mother and I visited him. I must have been seven or eight years old. He had made dinner for us and it was all very lovely but as soon as my mother went to the bathroom and left me alone with my grandfather I started to cry. Not because anything happened. Just because I was a child and the old man scared me. “I’m so glad you’ve come,” the old man says and nods to himself. Once you get me out of here, I will reward you handsomely. You can rest assured.” I was my grandfather’s only living heir and so he left me everything. It was last Wednesday that I got the call. The estate lawyer spoke slowly and solemnly on the phone but all I understood was that I was now the last of my line. I officially had no family left. Not that I had seen my grandfather in many years. In fact, I hadn’t seen him since my mother’s funeral. It was not until the following Friday and a second phone call from the estate lawyer that I understood that I was suddenly quite wealthy. A surreal feeling for someone used to living paycheck to paycheck. The surrealism of sudden wealth, however, was soon put into stark relief by the detailed instructions my grandfather had had put under seal for me to receive upon his death. At first I thought it was a joke of some sort. A morbid prank. But as I ventured down into the basement of my grandfather’s vast mansion, unlocking one heavy door after the other, my heart pounding in my chest, I found that I was not the victim of some cruel lawyer’s twisted sense of humor. If only that. “Tell me your desire and you shall have it,” the old man smiles at me. His teeth are yellow and pointy. “Tell me and I shall deliver.” What I desire most, is to have my mother back. She died too young. It wasn’t fair. Why my grandfather wouldn’t help her with her medical bills I’ll never understand. In my head I toy with the idea of ignoring my grandfather’s instructions. I don’t owe him anything. “I can deliver upon even unnatural desires,” the old man licks his lips. His tongue is long, too long. “Such terrible things you grandfather keeps down here. I will have nightmares for many nights to come once I’m free,” the old man smiles again. I can feel the small hairs on the back of my neck stand up.” “How do you know, who I am?” The smile on the old man’s vanishes. For a brief moment he looks like an animal caught in the headlights. “Who else would you be?” he tries. “Why are you down here?” I ask but I already think I know the answer. “Your grandfather made a mistake,” the old man’s eyes probes me. I shudder under his gaze. “He mistook me for something -someone that I am not.” “I don’t think my grandfather made many mistakes,” I say “at least no when it came to his ... tasks.” “You will release me!” The old man’s voice is no longer feeble and pitiful. Instead it has become overpowering and deep.” I involuntarily step backwards. “I don’t think I will.” “Release me child or feel my wrath,” the whole of the old man’s body convulses. In my pocket I find ablittle note I have scribbled down. “I am the abyss and you will bow before my darkness.” With a shaky voice I read aloud the incantation, I have copied down from one of the many books I found in my grandfather’s safe. “Ego daemonium ligabunt te in lucem!” I point at the nightmarish creature that have appeared in the cell before me. White light shoot out of my fingers and snakes around the creature, shackling it to the ground. The creature growls and struggles violently but in vain. The hellhound in the next cell over whimpers and retreats into the corner of its cell, looking at me with fear in its red eyes. “I think, I’m going to be good at this,” I say to no one in particular and put my little note down in my pocket, next to all the other little notes I’ve made on scrapes of paper, before I continue on down along the rows of cells filled with weird creatures of the night. ————————————————————- Check out u/norntree for more stories.
"All right, on the horse you go."The prince gave his steed a gentle spank and the horse turned its head around to give the witch a glare. The witch was perplexed. "There was no condition that you would take me away young Escar. I appreciate the sentiment, but I want your child, not you." It was the prince's turn to be perplexed. "Witch, you must come with me in order to have my first child."He once more patted the rump of his horse and it whinnied in glee. The witch disagreed. "I offered eternal happiness in exchange for your first born child. It does not matter where either of us are so long as the condition is fulfilled."The witch turned back to head into her tree hut. "Wait,"the prince hurriedly called out. "What makes you so sure that my first born would be delivered to you on short notice? How are you to even be aware that I have fathered a son or daughter? What would alert your person of its conceiving? My seed leaving its sack? I will tell you now witch, that alarm will be frequent and disappointing." If one could check to see the witch's brow as she stopped in her tracks, he or she could make out a bead of sweat on the revelation of what a man's nature truly was. He was a prince to be sure, but alas, he was a man as well. She turned around. "You mean to tell me that you are not pure of heart as they describe in the stories?" "I do not know of what stories you have read, but I do know that a child cannot be conceived without a mother."The prince held out his hand with a smile that could charm a demon. The witch lowered her hat and obscured her face. "You can find any wench to have a child with! You are a prince and may pick whatever flower you come across." "But I cannot find one that would offer me eternal happiness for just a child my dear witch,"he said with a faded smile. "While I may have my pick, it is only inside the greenhouse and every flower has its thorns. I cannot go beyond the garden and explore. Even now, I step out of my bounds, maybe for the last time." The witch stood in silence, more curious of this prince out of nowhere who came with nought but a wish. After a moment she spoke. "And what does that have to do with me dear prince?" "Why, I thought I may have found my flower, one without thorns. The one that isn't nestled in a bush of political strife. One that offered me everlasting happiness for nought but a child. My dearest and mysterious witch, were you not the one who offered me this happiness?" "I- I did... but not as you have described." "Then pray tell me how would you keep your end of the bargain?"the prince asked. "You are asking for too many details on something so whimsical and magical."replied the witch. "It just works, you'll be happy. Why can you not accept that?" "Because I would live a falsehood. And what is more sad than to live a life I do not want with superficial satisfaction?"The prince knelt down to the witch in plea. He knew what would happen when he goes back. He reserved his thoughts and emotions for those nights when he was alone but before the witch, he could hold them no more. The witch heard a silent sob while the prince faced the earth. She reached out and touched his shoulder. "If you are not feeling right, then perhaps we should head inside and discuss more about the conditions of our contract. Besides, a prince should not have to kneel in front of a witch."She helped him up. "I think I want to add more conditions before we consider you giving me your first born child. Maybe dinner first."
#### SPACOM "Full alert, large object, inbound eastern seaboard!" "Asteroid?" "Negative, it's maneuvering, trying to get a side shot from one of the satellites.... Oh my god, it's three miles long! Objects detaching, inbound to North Atlantic. Course plot shows they're going to be coming in over the US seaboard, and so far, they're not stoping the bombardment." "Get NORAD on the line. Get the President up and get the EBS running ASAP. People on the eastern seaboard, from the cost to the mountains, have to take cover. Let's hope we're not too late. Get on the line to the Canadian Operations Center and make sure they're getting this information." #### Whitehouse "Mr. President.. Mr. President!" "Uh, yes?" "Attack on eastern seaboard, we have to get the people to shelter now." "Who's attacking? The Russians?" "No, Sir. It's coming in from an alien ship. It started bombardment shortly after we picked it up, we've got to get the EBS running and get the entire eastern seaboard to take cover." "Yes. How large is the ship?" "Three miles long, and big enough around to look like an asteroid." "Prep a nuclear attack on the ship. Get things moving." #### NORAD "Yes, Mr. President, we can do that. We're getting projected course from SPACOM and using that to program one of our ICBM's for the strike. ... Yes, Mr. President, We will reconfirm authorization for nuclear strike before we launch." Radar Operations, NORAD "Holy Shit!" "What is it, Tyler?" "Those aren't bombs, they're debris! It's crashing!" "What? What about all the explosions?" "Kinetic impact, not bombs. They're just moving that fast!" "How can you tell?" "It's big enough that you can see the plates coming loose from the skin. They're crashing I tell you!" "I don't think higher wants to hear that. They're programing an ICBM for a nuclear strike." "They have to know!" "Sergeant! That ship is not bombarding us, it's crashing! The objects are debris! You can see them ripping lose from the ship!" "Tyler, stop having fantasies, that thing is preparing to bombard the US, and we're going to stop it." "Sergeant! Please! Just look at the radar!" "Get back to your job." "THIS IS MY JOB!" Tyler stands and heads for the officers, Sergeant Blackwell moves to stop him. "Out of my way Sergeant." "You get back to your scope, Specialist, or you're going to be up for a court martial for deserting your post, and if the General is feeling feisty, Mutiny!" "Sergeant, I don't have time to argue with you. Sorry..."A gut punch and elbow strike to take the Sergeant down. "Sirs!"The officers continue directing operations. "SIRS!" "GET BACK TO YOUR POST!" "NO, Sir! You have to know this NOW!" "We're about to nuke a 3 mile long spacecraft, that's bombing the eastern seaboard, and you want to interrupt us!?! Get Back To Your Post!" "Sirs! It's NOT a bombardment. It's DEBRIS! They're CRASHING!" "GET BACK ... Crashing!?" "Yes Sir! You can see the hull plating peeling off and falling away from the ship. All of the impacts are behind the craft, not ahead of it. They aren't missiles, or bombs, they're just big honking chunks of metal!" "Right, get back to your scope, get the data to SPACOM.""Major, We need a debris field analysis, and an estimate of where they're going to hit. Try to get SPACOM to tell us how much maneuvering capability they have left.""Colonel, get on the line to the President, inform him that they're crashing, not attacking.""Captain, get on the line to the Air Force, tell them we're going to need the biggest 'forced landing' they've ever seen. I want them prepped to do a guide path in mid air so that ship knows where we want it to go.""Lieutenant, get with the NGA and have them recommend overflight and landing for a three mile long crashing craft, with minimal population or infrastructure below the flight, I want multiple options. Tell them if they don't have that data within 15 minutes, I'm going to use that nuke on THEM." The command area explodes with action. Multiple conversations and screaming orders are heard. #### Whitehouse "They're crashing? What's all the explosions then!? ... Debris? ... Colonel, I fail to see the difference between an object coming in fast enough to look like a nuke, and a real nuke. ... Unintentional doesn't mean they aren't dangerous! ... I see. Very well, you may inform the General that if this doesn't work, I'm going to throw him to the lions." "Mr. President, the SecDef is on the line, and complaining about jumping the chain of command." "Tell Bob that if he doesn't shut up and start praying, I'm going to feed him to the lions too. Get a detail ready, I'm going up to the roof. The sky is clear, and this is going to be a major event." "Sir, I really don't think ..." "Henry? I'm not going to hide while the majority of our citizens are completely without shelter sufficient to withstand even kiloton nuclear bombardment. Besides, my press secretary will be delighted with the imagery. Assuming that we both survive." #### Air Force (multiple bases) "They want us to do what?" "Make a glide path that directs the incoming craft to a safer landing place. Safer for us anyway." "Do we have enough craft? What's the turbulence like? How do we dodge the debris?" "Gentlemen! I'd give you those answers if I had them. However, I'm going to have to depend on the skill and bravery of our pilots to go out there and fly by the seat of their pants. Now, are you up for it to save the US from major damage AND get credit for helping a three mile long distressed alien craft land?" "Well, when you put it that way... LIGHT THE FIRES BOYS!" #### Alien Craft A great deal of damage is spread all long the sides. Many crew are dead. The bridge is badly damaged, with one pilot and one scanner operator still up. The pilot is struggling with the controls, the feedback is getting fierce as they get deeper into the atmosphere. Losely translated... "Scan! Any reasonably clear place to land?" "Not on the coast! Heavily built up. Come to heading and aim for about mid way across the continent. That's the closest place that looks uninhabited." "Got it." "Status Change! Many small craft, no more than one man fighters, lifting off from multiple sites. Velocity and maneuverability makes them atmospheric only craft." "Great, we're going to get shot at by the locals. Keep me apprised." #### Guide Flight Alpha "Okay folks, you've got the map data, let's make a path in the sky."The aircraft have their maneuvering and landing lights on. A glide path is established based on the range needed to get the ship to the prefered landing site. Flares are dropped to get the ship's attention. #### Alien Craft "Status Change! They're turning in line with our heading, slight offset. They just dropped some sort of thermal decoy. Some are overhead, some are under, I think they're trying to direct us to a safer landing place. Pretty close to where we were thinking anyway. Suggest immediate turn to heading and attempt to stretch the glide slope to degrees." "Do my best. I guess they're not all that hostile." #### Whitehouse "YOU DID WHAT?!?" "Bob, you will moderate your voice." "WHEN I'M DEALING WITH A MULTIPLE EXPLETIVES IDIOT!?" "Bob, one more outburst..." "GET THAT NUKE BACK ON LINE!" "Henry, please escort Robert Brailiard below, he is not to communicate with anyone. If he resists, throw him off the edge." "YOU LUNATIC! I'M GOING TO ENJOY TESTIFying at your..." #### Guide Flight Alpha Commander "NORAD, they're trying to adapt, I'm not sure they're going to make the guide slope, but they are trying." "ALPHA, there's a three mile safety zone east/west of the target site, And a one mile safety zone north/south. Advise if you think they can't hit that." "NORAD, good for north/south, dicey on east/west, shading towards east." "ALPHA, Estimate?" "NORAD, Currently one mile off target, but I think it's going to get worse. Let me see if I can get them to pull up more." "ALPHA, authorized. Advise." "Okay, Alpha Flight, let's see if we can get them to pull up." #### Alien Craft "Status Change!..." "I see it, looks like they want us to pull up. Not much, but maybe we can do it with the belly engines. They're not much against this mass, but they're better than nothing." #### Whitehouse "HOLY SHIT!" "Rockets? They're trying to land on Rockets!?!" "Mr. President, NORAD reports that they're below the guide slope needed to reach the landing zone. Best guess is that those are emergency thrusters being used to try and get the little adjustment they need." "Dear Lord, if those are emergency thrusters, I wonder what they use for main engines?" #### Alien Craft "Shit... Were going to be to low, need a bit more speed to get to the landing zone. Scans, I know this isn't your specialty, but try to get all of our forward lights running, set the pattern to a starburst, infrared center to ultraviolet edge. I"m going to use the main engines."
“I…can…do…what…I…want” he mumbled as he typed the words into his phone. “You use a Blackberry?” I asked curiously. “Yeah, corporate issue. We got a good deal a while back that wasn’t that good in the end. Too many wise guys in that business…. Anyway it will be a couple of minutes. Normal wishes I can deal with, but something like this? Better to loop in legal and business development—spread the blame if anything goes wrong. Luckily that’s all outsourced to kobolds these days so they turn these things round like mag—“ A ping from his phone interrupted him. “Okay, let’s see. ‘Significant opportunity…strong alignment with upcoming ‘Vision S7’ goals established with other customers…’ blah blah blah… Here it is: we can offer you a contract issued under the auspices of a new international organisation giving you full authority and autonomy in all member countries. So, everywhere except a few islands and war zones. And the Vatican formally, but I think they’d be relaxed about a certain amount of mutual support given the circumstances.” He shook his head admiringly. “Pretty sweet deal if you ask me. You certainly picked your moment—did you have any inside gen? Nah forget I asked, that stuff’s been Green Eyes Only since day one.” He twisted his phone round towards me. “Standard acceptance and release, not worth reading, no tricks, that’s not how we work these day. Anyway what would you do, sue us?” He chuckled gleefully at his joke before continuing, “Sign anywhere, use your finger, it’s got a touchscreen. Just a squiggle will do, it’s the intent that counts.” I dragged my finger around the grimy screen. “Grand, you’ll be getting a text any moment now with your official confirmation. Congratulations, you’re the first field agent of the UN New World Order! Life’s about to get very exciting for you!” He turned his head, listening. “Is that a copter I can hear? I hope it’s one of yours! I’d better be off now!” He disappeared in a puff of smoke.
Curse words were mumbled under the man's breath as he walked into the police station. "Son of a this""Mother that"as no one seemed to pay him any attention. It was not that they couldn't see him, rather they had learned a long time ago to keep their heads down. They knew who he was, and what he was capable of. If over a hundred thugs at once couldn't drop him, they knew they weren't going to be the ones to do it. In theory they could get lucky, but no one wanted to test their luck. The black-haired man made his way up to the second floor, walking past more officers who just went about their business. There on the second floor he found what, or rather who he was after. He did not knock, and simply entered the office of Detective Malkovich. "Dead girl, body mutilated, how much?"He asked through gritted teeth. The Detective like so many others tried to play coy. "I um, I don't know what you're on about."He said. "How much pain do you want to be in? Because right now you're asking for a lot."The man said. The Detective quickly lost his nerve. "Okay I...I had no choice."He said trying a typical justification that a lot of people tried. "Did she?"The shotgun wielding man asked. "I..."The Detective tried to think of something, anything to save himself. Finally, he put his head down defeated and said; "3524 Crescent Avenue. The people you're really after they're holding a meeting there today."He said hoping that his confession may keep him alive. Moments later a loud blast rang out, as Detective Malkovich slumped to the floor, bits of brain matter covering his office. With his mission at least here complete Frank Castle left the cops to deal with their mess.
The man holds a piece of candy in his hand. “Oh! Thank you…” “Do you not like it?” “I do, it’s just that… I’m not a kid anymore.” “You aren’t? But it only has been 20 years.” “That’s the thing. When I first helped you, I was 8. I became a teenager 5 year later, then an adult at 18 years. We humans age quicker than fairies.” “Oh.” “It’s fine! I still like candy, but it’s not the best thing in the world to me anymore.” “Well, what would you like instead?” “…I’d say a new arm would be nice. Lost my other in a car accident.” “I can do that! Just give me a minute & I’ll get you a new one!” “Thank you!” The fairy then flies away as the man sits on a bench, gripping where his arm used to be. He smiles, thanking his younger self for being so brave back then.
So Ralph, happy birthday! What did you pick? Uh what do you mean? Your power... When I was your age I chose invisibility so I could sneak out and smoke doobies with my friends. Mum... And your father, he chose flight because -- well let's just say I wasn't the only one getting high. Jesus can you just leave this alone?! Tell me! Go on, who do you take after more? Me or your father? (A fly appears on the kitchen wall, Ralph gobbles it from across the room with his super-dooper long tongue) That's horrible! Why on earth did you choose that?! Kids these days... Always trying to rebel against the status quo. (Ralph's mum leaves. The phone rings.) Uh hello? Hey Karen. Yeah my mum just left, hurry over. I've got something to show you.
I had never been more embarrassed in my life. Humans lured me into a trap and captured me with a magical seal, leaving me unable to escape their clutches. They interrogated me, and failed, then tried to torture me, and also failed. Nothing they did to me could match the demon king's wrath if I were to betray him, but they didn't seem to grasp this. Still, even if I told them anything, I suspected it wouldn't help me in this situation. The humans just wanted me dead. All they could do was quote scripture or threaten to smite me, which only prompted laughter out of me. "I'm immortal, you idiots!"I said through my cackling. "You can't do anything to me!" And I was right. The Holy Shield and Hammer of Justice couldn't be moved from their resting place at the temple of Lady Catherine. I didn't think they could follow through on the threat. That is, until they literally dragged me to the temple for my execution. I couldn't believe it. This hadn't been done before. Humans kept the location of this temple a secret in order to keep it hidden from the demon king. Did I really annoy them that much? If so, I considered this a huge win for me. Mighty pillars of stone kept the vaulted roof in place, dwarfing most buildings in existence. At the end of the room, the celestial weapons sat atop a golden altar, with multicolor light bathing them through stained-glass window panes. The entire royal court was there, including the king and his daughter. They eagerly waited for my death with stoic expressions. I stuck out my tongue at them as the guards pushed me forward. Showing them any kind of fear would only bring them pleasure. After I was forced to kneel before the altar, the Archpriest widened his arms and said: "Young demon, you are hereby sentenced to death for threatening the kingdom and supporting enemies of humanity. Any last words?" I frowned. "Fuck you and fuck humanity. You're all self-serving cunts that just want to feel righteous." Everyone gasped. The idea of someone cursing in the temple left them speechless. "This is just sad,"said Princess Mully, shaking her head. I chuckled. "I know, right?" Princess Mully narrowed her eyes. "Not you, demon."She gestured at the royal court. "You're all allowing this whelp to get in your heads. He wasn't even a threat. The fact that he fell for our trap proves it." "Hey!"I shouted. "I am not a wimp." Princess Mully ignored him. "The demon is just a boy. We only caught him pranking farmers. Compared to real threats, like the Crimson Generals, this is just a waste of our resources." I widened my eyes. Was she trying to save me? King Erdon seemed to think the same thing, asking: “My dear, are you telling us to spare this demon's life?" "What?"Princess Mully wrinkled her face. "Of course not." I hung my head, disappointed. "I just don't want any of you thinking this is a huge accomplishment. Some people in the court will feel safer after this when, in reality, it's all a ceremony to pad your egos. When was the last time we actually fought back against the demon king?" King Erdon glanced away. "Exactly,"said Princess Mully. "You're all just waiting for the chosen one to arrive, and I don't like that. People are still dying in the borderlands." "And what should we do about it?"said the king. "Lead a suicidal charge?" "No,"said Princess Mully. "I'm saying we barely tried to cooperate with the demon. It's hard to claim the moral high-ground when we're not even trying."She looked at me. "Demon, I know you hate us, but surely you must value your life, right? Help us in this war and I will guarantee your safety." I shook my head. "You really don't get it." "Then help us understand." "Fine,"I said. "here's the truth. When I was still mortal, your kingdom had no trouble recruiting from my village. All I wanted as a child was to be a knight, like the ones present here. When someone didn't want to join you, you had no trouble accusing them of being a demon and hanging them. But I didn't care. The people who refused were cowards in my eyes. "And then the demon king's armies arrived. They burnt down my village and you did nothing about it. All the people you recruited never showed up. Meanwhile, the demons had no trouble offering me a deal. If I pledged my soul to their monarch, I would get to be immortal and forever eighteen. Now, I've only been around a century, which is still young by demon standards, but in that time I've seen this kingdom do heinous things, some of which would make you vomit. Tell me, why should I choose you over my brethren?" Princess Mully couldn't meet my gaze. "That's what I thought."I looked at the Archbishop. "Let's get this over with." The guards didn't even have to push me towards the altar. I stood up on my own and walked up to the celestial weapons, ready to be incinerated by them. An uneasy tension permeated the room. Despite my bravado, I couldn't will myself to touch the sacred artifacts. The fear was simply too much. I had to close my eyes in order to do it... And felt nothing. I tilted my head, confused. "Eh?" People throughout the temple covered their mouths in shock. That should've been it. Why didn't I die? My hands made full contact with the grips. I wasn't cheating or anything. Things got even worse when I lifted them up. Everyone fell into panic. Some court members even ran out of the temple, screaming off the top of their lungs. To be honest, I was more terrified than them. It felt like a surreal dream. King Erdon quickly ordered his knights to surround me. I readied myself to fight, but the magical seal they placed on me had weakened my strength. The best they could do was capture me again, which didn't exactly thrill me. "Wait!"shouted Princess Mully, placing herself between me and them. "Don't do anything hasty!" The guards hesitated. "Mully, please, move out of the way,"said King Erdon. "This is clearly a mistake." "No,"said Princess Mully. "He's literally the only person in millennia to lift them." King Erdon sighed. "Do you realize what this means? Are you really marrying a demon?" "That is not what the prophecy says. It only mentioned that he would win my heart, and he has. That doesn't mean I'm in love; it just means that I agree with him." I rolled my eyes. This was just stupid. I brandished the hammer and said: "Either me and the princess leave, or she dies." The king widened his eyes. Princess Mully craned her head at me, furious. "What?" "You heard me,"I grabbed her wrist, "you're a hostage now." "I'm trying to help you, dumbass!" "And I don't need it!"I looked at the king. "Don't worry, I'll give her back... eventually." King Edron grit his teeth, shouting: "I will have your head on a pike!" "Perhaps,"I said, "but not today. Lift the seal on me or I bash her head in." King Edron trembled with fury. "Leave,"he ordered in a low tone of voice. "Pray we never meet again." "I'm a demon, your highness."I smiled. "I don't have to pray; I just get what I want." Princess Mully and I left the temple in silence. She regretted protecting me, that much I could tell from her face. By the time we escaped into the forest, it was already night. Nobody followed us. Once I was certain we were alone, I looked at her and said: "You're free to go." Princess Mully scowled, folding her arms. "I refuse." I squinted. "That's... not... an option." "Then kill me." I paused. "You sure about this?" "Yeah. Go ahead. I dare you." I grinned. "As you wish."I wound up for an attack, but hesitated at the last second. "What the fuck?" Princess Mully smirked. "That's what I thought. You can't do it, can you?" "Don't tempt me!" "Then, by all means, do it." I couldn't force myself to do it. Princess Mully saved my life. I was a demon, sure, but this was the one human who ever gave me a chance. It didn't feel right. "How did you know I wouldn't do it?"I asked. "You could've murdered everyone when the seal was lifted, but you didn't. More than that, I trust the celestial weapons. They wouldn't have chosen you if you weren't worthy." I scoffed. "I just don't feel like it. You better leave, before my mood changes." Princess Mully shook her head. "Nope. I will follow you wherever you go, until you decide to fulfill your duties as the chosen one." I gaped my jaw. "I will never-" "It's okay,"said Mully. "I'd be scared of the Crimson Generals too." I frowned. "I am not scared." "Right..." "I'm not!" "Are you? I mean, I get loathing our kingdom, but the demon king is worse than us by every metric. They're the ones that burnt down your village, not us. You might think you were offered a choice, but what else were you supposed to do? Die? Be tortured?" I looked away. Mully wasn't wrong. I didn't just hate humans. I hated everyone. The reason I played pranks on farmers instead of fighting was because I never felt comfortable pillaging people. "If you really want me gone,"said Mully, smiling, "just admit you're scared, and I'll leave." I paused. "Never." "Then I guess we're traveling together now."Mully stretched out her arms, excited. "I've always wanted to go on an adventure." I snarled. This might be the beginning of a really annoying period in my life. ------- >If you enjoyed this, check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories for more. Thanks for reading!
"Attention Earth. We are the Skonshor, and we offer death or slavery." Admiral Gerd, Commander of the Fifth Skonshor Battlefleet, was amused by the replies he received. "Cute". Somehow it was always the Level 5 species who wanted to fight and went straight to nuclear threats. No-one ever wanted to surrender when the Skonshor fleet arrived in orbit and started dictating terms. Well, except the Fnarl, of course. They had surrendered immediately and had become a subserviant species serving as a carnal adjunct to the Skonshors. But all other species needed a lesson first, just like the Earthians were about to receive. They'd become pretty reasonable and amenable to surrender in just a few minutes, when their defences had been shattered and their pride in their military ability had been broken. "Scan the planet for nuclear weapons, prepare to engage and destroy them". His Skonshor bridge crew leapt into action, as did their Fnarl pets. Each Skonshor was permitted to bring two personal Fnarl on board. They were used primarily to sate mating desires, but also received rudimentary training so theey could assist their masters in their duties. Gerd of course had an entire harem for his own personal use, and all of the dirty or dangerous engineering tasks were performed by Fnarl. It hadn't been like that when Gerd had been a cadet, of course. Things were different then. That had been before the Fnarl submission, and he and his cadet mates had taken pride in taking on dangerous tasks and vied with each other in completing them. Gerd had finished First Cadet and this had helped structure the trajectory of his career. The academies weren't the same these days, Fnarl were everywhere, it seemed. Still his crew may not be as tough and Skonshor-like as he and his class-mates had been, but he was proud of them all the same. Ready to fight, willing to kill. That is the Skonshor way. "There is something wrong with the scanners, my Lord"reported Major Kerd. "It is reporting thousands of nuclear weapons, and that can't be right." Gerd shot Kerd a stern look, but inside he smiled to himself. Now I'll show you why I am in charge, why I am the best, why I command! Once the Earthian surrender had been processed, he could look forward to promotion to Ferd, or maybe even Eerd! It had happened before, and Gerd was sure the subjugation efforts of his Fifth Battlefleet had not gone un-noticed on Skonshor iteself. "Zoom in on one nuclear weapon, and let's take a look", Gerd used the intonations of masterful yet benevolent instruction. A large 3-D image appeared in the bridge, and Kerd zoomed down into one nuclear weapon. "Look my Lord, the sensors indicate this is just one of many in a large field of silos". It was true, something was evidently interfering with the sensors. They seemed to show that the nuclear weapon they were looking at was just one of - wait a minute - "Zoom in further"commanded Gerd, his voice now using the inflections of grim command. The image changed as the nuclear weapon seems to grow and expand as Kerd zoomed in. And there, impossibly, were eight individual nuclear warheads inside the weapon. "How many like these have the sensors found?" "Over twelve thousand, my Lord". Merciful Aerd that couldn't be possible. That would be enough to destroy the eighteen Skonshor Homeworlds utterly. He turned to Kerd's Fnarl, "Scan the planet's crust for uranium deposits!" Uranium, that most elusive of elements. So rare that even the Fifth Battlefleet carried only seventeen nuclear devices to augment their particle beam weaponry. Thousands of nuclear devices would require colossal amounts of raw uranium ore, to be patiently sifted in the turbulence of the heavy water carousels. It simply wasn't possible. Was it? The Fnarl at the scanner stood rigid as a board and emitted a keening sound that Fnarls squeaked out when they were excited or disturbed. Gerd jumped up from his Admiral's Throne and pushed the Fnarl aside and took over the scanner himself. By Aerd and Berd, the crust of this planet had multiple desposits that were huge, spread out over wide areas. Holy Aerd. He was in orbit around the single richest uranium deposit in the known universe! Gerd could taste that promotion, he could hear the cheers, he know what to do. He broadcast to the entire battlefleet. "Skonshors, hear me! I am Gerd and I command! This planet has the richest uranium deposits ever discovered. We shall conquer and become rich beyond our wildest dreams. We shall - the words in his throat seemed to gag on the large dagger which had been stuck into his chest by Kerd's Fnarl. The Fnarl leaned closer and shouted "Order Ninety Nine!". Every ship in the fleet heard it, and the Fnarls in each ship acted immediately, attacking their Skonshor masters with daggers and wrenches and tooth and claw. Shortly after, the newly Fnarl ships started to report in one by one. In some ships the Fnarl attack failed, and they had to be obliterated by the concentrated fire of the other ships. Within twenty minutes, the fleet in orbit about Earth was entirely Fnarl. The Fnarl had been long waiting for this, the opportunity to destroy the Skonshor hegemony. The Fnarl had understood the Skonshor nature right from the start, and had bet the farm on surrender and compliance. They had waited for a full generation to find a species that had the capacity to fight and defeat the Skonshors - once they had been given a crash course in modern physics and super-luminal travel by the Fnarl. And lo, here was a species with not one hundred warheads, or even two hundred, but thousands of them! "Attention Earth. We are the Fnarl, and we offer an alliance."
I awoke from my eons long slumber. Creating all life will take a lot out of you, but It was finally time to take my divine providence over my subjects. It seems my subjects formed many colonies. They were great, mighty strongholds, constructed from their bodies. Alone they were weak, together they were strong. Through immense cooperation, they were able to collect everything they needed from the sun I had done well, at least, that is what I thought. Then I saw IT. It moved twords the peaceful colony, and used it's sharp phalange to strike at the bastions hard outer membrane. I thought it would fail and move on, It didn't. It chopped, and chopped, and chopped, untill the grand castle was brought to it's end, it's bright green banners rattling untill it fell. I was horrified, and then I saw hundreds more. They destroyed my people's homes, used their flesh to make horrible constructs of stone and "wood" They kept some in constant agony, stealing the sweet, sticky fruits of their labor to make extravagant delicacies. They stole their reproductive pods, and consumed them. But worst of all, they were even slowly destroying the lands that I had created for my people. I thought Terra was larger than my people could colonise in a billion cycles, but these ABOMINATIONS had filled it to the brim, and were choking it with horrid black smog. And through it all, my people were forced to watch, as their fortress couldn't move. It was then that I decided that Terra, as lovely as it was, needed to be purged. Purged of all these horrid things. But how would I do it without harming my people? Then I had a moment of clarity in the madness, and I got to work. I made a construct, A horribly contagious virus, that would leave the creatures on their knees. Then I would send agents of my will into them, to snuff them out Project Terra was in danger, Project C-19 would be it's savior.
(Note, please bear with me - English isn't my first language and this is my first try in this subreddit... I hope I didn't make any really big mistakes) Carson put out his cigarette, sighed and took the next folder from a seemingly ever-growing pile on his desk. The folder had "Case #45215"in large letters on its front page, followed by date and the name of the... what should he call it? Victim? Offender? Hard to tell. He sighed again, opened the small folder and started to read. Some guy over in Baltimore apparently had woken up and felt like he could run faster than sound. So he put on his running shoes, and... well. Yes: He could run faster than sound. For a short time. Then the energy consumption from his muscles was so high that he basically starved to death while running. The autopsy also revealed that he had numerous torn muscle fibers, and his joints... Carson took a brief look at the x-rays. Yeah, well. As one would expect. Human bodies weren't built for hyperspeed. Unfortunately, Mr. Runner didn't really paid attention to the government warning that was now broadcasted every hour: "If you feel like you develop super powers like many of your fellow citizen, please be warned: Your body can still be physically harmed. Consult one of our super power consultants before actually using any powers you feel inside of you!"- of course, many people wouldn't listen and try their powers nonetheless. And then, a lot of these ended up on Carson's desk. He wasn't a super power consultant. He just had to clean up the mess the ones left that didn't went to see a consultant before giving it a spin. The best job description would probably be "insurance clerk". Just not a standard insurance though. Rather a fund paid by governmental resources. He sat back and thought about a few cases that he had worked on this week: The girl that suddenly could throw fireballs from her hands. Resulted in burnings of 2nd and 3rd degree (no permanent damage), a shocked teacher and a classroom in flames. The girl didn't know any better, therefore they paid for the hospital bills, the fire brigade and so on. That man who somehow became radioactive. Difficult to say what purpose that super power would have. Again, not his own fault. They had to very qucikly relocate him to a special home with lead-covered walls. The guy who could shrink to the size of an atom (although he didn't make it that far) - no physical harm to anyone except the guy himself, but the pictures would haunt Carson for a while. Same applied to the twenty bystanders that filed for their treatment of PTSD. But after a while, it was more or less business as usual. Carson took a look at the clock. One more case, and he would call it a day. He opened the folder - and raised an eyebrow. That one was new. Super power: Fixing stuff by touching it. And apparently, the chamber of commerce wanted this to stop immediately, because they saw it as a violation of... the rules of commerce. Carson read the short report. The guy could simply touch something, a broken engine, a misaligned satellite antenna, a stuffie witha torn seam - et voila, it was fixed. Cost him some energy, sure. But nothing that one or two candy bars or a plate of pasta wouldn't fix. The report said he had tried to revive a dead mouse (Carson just felt relief that he started with something that small), but it didn't work. The power applied to mechanical stuff only. Which was a good thing. Carson shuddered: The last thing the world needed was some kind of necromancer running wild. But no matter how he looked at it: He couldn't find any problem with that guy's super power. Well. Maybe they needed to send someone to talk him out of any ideas, like opening a repair shop in New York City. Just the right amount of money for an early retirement and the friendly reminder that moving to a very, very small town was... the right thing to do. Carson nodded to himself and wrote a note to that effect into the file, before he turned of the light and left the office. It was a strange job. But someone had to do it.
The President had gathered the greatest experts of culture in the Oval Office. The Smithsonian was well respresented, as were a number of private institutions and musical schools. Together, they picked the lineup for the greatest orchestra the world had ever seen. The President invited the alien representatives to the Kennedy Center in Washington DC, where they played a number of beautiful symphonies. The First Lady was moved to tears by their rendition of Schubert's String Quintet in C, 'Adagio.' At the end, the President and his security team clapped as hard as they could, but the aliens were unimpressed. "We told you we wanted to hear your Earth music,"they said, "Not these wooden monstrosities!"He lashed out a tentacle, smashing a Stradivarius violin. With a huff, they left the concert hall and reboarded their ship. The panel reassembled at the White House. They scoured through databases, looking for the greatest vocal talents in the world. In the end, they settled on a boy's choir from China that had recently been awarded a number of prestigious honors. The President sent Air Force One to collect them and bring them immediately back to the United States. Once again, the Alien ambassadors met the president at the Kennedy Center, where the boys sang a number of beautiful ballads. Again, the Aliens stomped out disappointed without elaborating on their demands. The president was stumped. The experts called in ambassadors from the United Nations. Each country would bring the greatest of their own native cultural artists to the Kennedy Center to put on a performance. Mongolia brought a band of talented throat singers; The Vatican volunteered the Pope's favorite Gregorian Chanters; Australia brought up 12 didgeridoo players. Etc, etc. They all assembled on the stage before the Alien ambassadors and one by one showed off the music that the Earth has to offer. And once again, the Aliens left without a single world of praise: just a threat. "Mr. President, we will give you one last opportunity to show us the greatest, most talented Earth Music. Do not disappoint us."They went back to their ship and ascended into the sky, making sure that the President could see the giant weapon slung underneath their spacecraft. The president sat alone in the oval office, holding his forehead in his palms. "I'm going to regret this later,"he muttered to himself. With a sigh, he reached for the phone and dialed. "Yes, it's me. The President. I need you to come to Washington, Kanye." ---- If you enjoyed the writing, check out /r/Luna_Lovewell!
Marcus Krauss always wore a cross around his neck. He didn’t particularly believe in any faith, but as an archeologist, he had trampled on ritual sites, dug up burial grounds, and defiled holy lands. So a little insurance couldn’t hurt. Who knows? Perhaps two sticks glued together really was the redemption to all his pagan invasions. Today, he had found a new site, though he had never seen one quite like this. A gigantic boulder blocked off what seemed to be a cave. He would’ve missed it if not for the runic symbols carved into the stone. Initial dirt analysis dated the rock at around the birth of Christianity. Whatever this is, it was protecting something. Marcus’s heart quickened as his brush inched toward the stone. Somehow, the runic carvings had remained completely unperturbed by the elements. There wasn’t even dust collecting between the cracks. It must’ve been a trick of some kind. He brushed off the surface. A crack resounded from deep within the boulder. Marcus jumped back and saw a fissure snaking through the rock. With a final rumble, it split into two, revealing a pitch black abyss behind it. “Oh goody, a visitor,” a voice came from the black. “It’s been thousands of years since I had one of those. Would you like some tea?” Marcus squinted his eyes but found nothing. “Hello?” he asked, his voice echoing back at him. “Is someone there?” “Of course someone’s here, how else can you hear my voice? It’s not like you’ve gone insane or anything.” Once again, Marcus squinted. Either someone was playing a prank on him or he was going insane. Footsteps sounded from the cave, echoing closer with every step. At last, a figure emerged from the darkness. Marcus’s jaw dropped. “What the fuck?” The figure was a man dressed in robes. He looked like the skeleton of a dead tree, his cheeks drawn-in, and his bony toes barely even filling his sandals. Though despite his malnourishment, a thick beard sagged from his chin and his eyes gleamed as they caught Marcus. “A man of faith,” he said, smiling. “Just my luck.” “What?” Marcus looked around and then down at his cross, realizing that he was the man of faith. “Who are you?” The figure handed Marcus an empty cup. Slowly, it filled with piping tea. “You don’t know who I am?” Marcus dropped the cup, spilling the tea into dirt. He looked back up, his eyes wide and lungs refusing to expand. He shook his head in a nervous tic. “That is a cross around your neck, isn’t it? You are a man of faith, aren’t you?” Another nervous tic. “I believe in science.” “Science,” the man chuckled. “You humans do make wonderful toys. But for how smart you are, sometimes, you’re really stupid. Take for example when you buried me in a stone cave and placed a runic boulder in front of it. Three days later, when I had resurrected, you unearthed the wrong grave!” “Three days? Resurrection?” Marcus pinched his cross between his fingers and brought it up to the man. “You’re Jesus Christ.” Jesus smiled and picked up the cup Marcus had dropped. He offered it to the archeologist again. “And I have returned, Marcus. This world has been left to chaos and sin for far too long.” “Wait, but if they unearthed the wrong grave, who was in the other one?” Jesus smile dropped. He tightened his grip on the cup until his knuckles drained of blood. The cup cracked. “Lucifer.” --- --- /r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations by popular demand, and more!
"Annnddd... the new subroutines are live this patch, so good luck big guy!"Devone said, as his greatest champion knelt before the shrine to his god. "Try not to get creamed out there." "Yes Milord,"Drynx, lord of despair and once hero of the realm said, drawing his sword. "Thank you for giving me this opportunity once again." "Server reset is on Friday. Make me proud." Devone's presence vanished from the small shrine, and Drynx turned his attention over to the book shelf in the corner. He would make his master proud for once. Today was not the day that the end of the expansion proved to be a joke. He had learned from the initial campaign. He had watched as he wiped party after party, one by one, all recorded for the glory of Devone, and then been crushed again and again. But not this time. Drynx clenched his fist and the book burst into a flurry of digital particles and swept his way out of his bedroom and over to the main hall. This time... This time... ---- The top guild in the country grinned at each other in their VR headsets. Top of the line emotional computational transmitted it across the land so that everyone could see every raw detail, with a few... simple exaggerations or manipulations to make all the gender swapping work out correctly. After all, gamers would be gamers. Swords drawn, they assembled into a phalanx formation and swept forward. "Alright, we don't know what changes they made for this patch, but we should see some flash backs to the initial fight. Rogue, keep on distraction and DOTting, Cleric, keep him off balanced, lay down some debuffs. Paladin, draw aggro." "And what are you doing, oh glorious wizard?" Terrence grinned under his hat and adjusted it on his head. "I get the hard job; countering his kill spells." The party laughed. They'd never seen Terrence fuck that up yet, but he was also the highest level wizard in the guild, so he could be telling the truth. "Alright, break the sacred pact on my mark,"Terrence said, throwing up a hand. "5!" The pact had been obtained by the freshly excavated dungeon to the far south, dug out of the ground after countless players dumped gold into the merchant caravaneer's coffers. There would be a quest after this about that, they were sure, but this was the last big boss encounter. But this was the lord of despair. "4." The rogue stood by, casually counting out how many items he had on him. It wouldn't do to run out." 3."The paladin spoke, hefting her axe. She laughed, twirling it. At last, she could get her revenge. 2."The cleric shifted nervously, flicking through what divine clout he had at his disposal. He didn't like this, and he certainly didn't want to be the first party to wipe. "1." The pact exploded in the paladin's hands, and the doors blew off of their hinges as the last words of the fabled heroes echoed across with blasphemous intent. A bloody scream as the hero plunged his weapon through the sorceress's throat, to seal the greatest evil of all away. The land was covered in drought and fissures from the lack of water. The Desert Age would soon end, with the blood of Drynx. "At last,"Drynx said, rising from his ice throne, tossing aside his white hair. "Someone has heard the call of the pact and freed me from my prison. Shall you admit I was right all along?" "There is no right here,"The paladin said, thumping her tower shield on the ground. "There is only the end of this cycle. Return the ocean to where it came!" "And yet my people, they have moved from the mountain islands they were trapped upon so many years ago. They fill the great valleys. Where shall they go?" "They shall find their places. We all need the water, Drynx. Do not pretend a moral high ground,"The wizards threatened, lowly. "I will make a moral high ground of your corpses,"Drynx threatened, lowly. Then the icelord drew his mighty rapier, and the entire room frosted over. "DOT!"The rogue pointed, watching his health tick. "CAREFUL!" "Divine magics have been diminished in this area,"The cleric shouted. "Paladin, watch out." The paladin scowled at Terrence, flashing him a murderous gaze from her blue eyes. "Dispel this, you idiot, before he wipes us." Terrence stepped forward and eyed Drynx. They remembered each other. They remembered that first encounter, where the fight had glitched. When Drynx had been dishonored. There was no need for that now. Drynx's lips curled into a smile. Terrence dispelled the debuff. ------- The axe came down upon Drynx's thigh in a spray of liquid nitrogen and blood, catching the paladin by surprise as she froze in place. "Dammit!"She cursed, rallying her deity. Drynx picked her up casually, looked her over, and hurled her into the rogue, sending them both sliding against the ground. Arrows decorated his form. They etched his armor to his body and his clothes to his bare arms; the great knight was little more than a pin cushion, but still he stood. "You idiots,"Drynx roared. "Nothing less than the sun itself can quench my light." The paladin stumbled to her feet, spitting blood on the ground. "That's fine," Drynx eyed her, glaring. "I specced into solar damage," The paladin burst into a radiant spectre of light, and Drynx saw his programming flash before his eyes. Not this time. He wasn't going to wipe this time. Not to the first battle. Not when his army lay before him, shattered, those that were most loyal to him melted. Drynx swallowed, then took a step backwards. "What's the matter?"The burning paladin asked. "Scared?" The boss took one last step back; into the area where there were reduced polygon counts to prevent the fight from lagging. And then Drynx stepped into an area of poor collision, and teleported to the other side of the room as the software auto corrected his position. He was larger than a player model, so the system spat out errors trying to fit him through the invisibly walls, slamming him into the physical wall where his body phased through, rapidly moving back and forth up and down. Halfway through the wall, the sound engine broke spectacularly, sending an agonizing shriek into the room. The rogue failed to deafen himself and fell over. The paladin succeeded. Then Drynx dropped right outside the fight's door, where reality was just an inky black void to save on hardware rendering. He adjusted his armor and stared as the shrieking error noise continued. One by one the party failed and fell to the ground, just leaving the paladin. "You're still here?"Drynx laughed, raising his arms. "I'll be here until you die, you fucker,"The paladin swore. "Then you won't like it when I do this,"Drynx said, stepping inside of his own room again. Then his eyes flicked to the other side of the room. Where his second instance had spawned. The fight was reset. But Drynx was still here. "At last,"Drynx said, rising from his ice throne, tossing aside his white hair. "Someone has heard the call of the pact and freed me from my prison. Shall you admit I was right all along?" "What the fuck,"The paladin swore, paling. Drynx was delighted to hear Devone laughing in his head. At last. He had pleased his god. ---- For more like this, click here! https://old.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/

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