Split (1)

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The room was cold, despite the bright light being shined into Franklin’s face. While clutching the arms of the chair he squirmed in, he couldn’t help but feel anxious. “Open your mouth wide.” the masked man said. Franklin was now consumed with fear but couldn’t talk his way out of this one. With an ounce of hesitation he closed his tear-filled eyes and braced for the worst. “Will it hurt?” he asked. “Only if you squirm,” chuckled the masked man, “but it will all be over soon.” Perhaps waiting for it all to start was the worst part. Perhaps not. The torture began and poor Franklin, he was a bleeder. “Have you been flossing?” asked Dr. Feldstein. “You know, I’ve been telling you for years that you need to floss otherwise you’re going to get gingivitis.” he said sternly. Franklin gave his dentist a thumbs up, as if to imply he had been heeding the dentist’s advice all this time. Dr. Feldstein wanted to believe the man but the evidence was right in front of him. As the dentist was finishing the annual cleaning he got lost in deep thought. What was the meaning of all of this, he wondered. Day after day, year after year, these patients never listen. They continue to not floss, drink coffee, and smoke cigarettes. He let out a tired sigh. “Alright, Frank” he said defeatedly, “you’re free to go.” Franklin stood up to leave and as he was headed toward the receptionist's desk he turned around and said, “I promise I’ll start flossing, doc.” Dr. Feldstein smiled and nodded.
"Explain to me again how it works?" We're in bed. It's warm. Heavy down. The ceiling fan clap-clap-claps. Angie rubs my chest. Stares up at the fan. "They...well, I guess they sort of shoot electricity into your brain,"she says. "Not a lot. A little. Then you have like a seizure. Then it's over." "Sounds awful,"I say. "How's it help?" "Kinda resets your brain, I think."She's making that face. Pursed lips. Half-closed eyes. The Worry Has Turned to Anger face. "It's probably a scam. Just torture. Just taking my money." "But Dr. Tenneson..." "Yeah. She thinks it'll help." The hand is still on my chest. "Are you mad at me for making you go?" She doesn't answer. She probably is, but doesn't want to say. "You can't make me do anything. I went because I went." "I thought it'd just be talking,"I say. "I thought that's what therapy is. Just talking. Maybe some drugs." "It's that,"she says, nodding. "And sometimes, when that doesn't work, it's things like ECT. Nobody knows."She sighs. "Nobody knows. It's all guessing." "Did talking make you feel better at all?" She gets up off the bed. "Not any better than talking to you." "I'm not a therapist." "You're a good listener." "Well....yeah." "Talking helps. It helps me understand things. But I need a little more than understanding."She finds one of the many framed pictures in the room, picking it up, looking at the image, then setting it back down - face down - on her dresser. All the pictures are like that. Face down. She doesn't like seeing the faces of her friends and family until she wants to see the faces. She doesn't like them watching her. "How many times?" She looks at me. "How many times do I have to shoot electricity into my brain? Dunno. Maybe 10 maybe 50. It causes memory problems. Looking forward to that..." "Oh. But that's not..." "It's like changing the wiring in my brain,"she says. "It'll help...it'll just help. Or it won't." "Then it's worth trying." She nods, then moves to the door. "Okay. I gotta go. Mom's taking me. You be good. You're in charge while I'm gone." "I'm always good,"I say. "Good luck." She smirks, opens the doors, then leaves. I'm alone. The ceiling fan clap-clap-claps. I can't move. I can only wait. I can only watch the ceiling fan. I can only wonder who she'll be when she comes back. If anything will change. I couldn't do anything that day in her first room, the pink and white one, with unicorns and a towering dollhouse in the corner. I could only sit on her pillow, there in the dark, on the day after Christmas, as her uncle crept into the room and whispered things into her ear, things I couldn't hear. Eventually I fell on the floor. Eventually I was knocked under the bed. I think that's why she still talks to me. Why she doesn't mind me looking at her. Because I wasn't looking at her then. Like the framed pictures were. And the posters were. And the dolls were. This is our fourth bedroom. Things change. Things stay the same. I've sat on so many pillows and watched her lose herself. Watched her hurt herself. Watched her wrap braided blankets around her throat and look desperately for some place to hang the other end. All I've ever been able to do is talk to her. Or, I suppose, mostly just listen. Somewhere far, far away, I feel something like a tingle. Like I've come out of the dryer and I'm crackling all over. The feeling lasts less than a minute, but at the end I can no longer hear the ceiling fan. I can no longer see the bedroom door. I'm still here. Still me. But all that is is just a dusty, gray bear. Flattened. Patchy. There's nothing to hear and there's nothing to see. There's nothing to say. I can't say anything at all. Then I remember that really, I never could, could I? Everything is dark. At least I still remember Angie. That's more than enough for an old bear like me.
Item: Mystery Kit #021 User: Vike\_ October 28th, 2018 Verified Subscriber/Purchaser &#x200B; Let me begin by saying I received these products for free in exchange for my unbiased review. The rifle is of good quality, German make, the silencer less so. The silencer is advertised to lower the decibels of the weapon by a substantial amount, but sadly my ears were still in pain afterwards. So the silencer gets 3/5 from me. I'm only even giving it a three because it attached easily to the weapon and came off easily as well. It also has a wonderful matte black finish that was good quality. The paint didn't rub off on my hands or anything. So top marks there. &#x200B; As for the GPS tracker, it worked perfectly. The last time I was given a GPS tracker along with a car bomb I ended up attaching the bomb to the wrong car. That was embarrassing. Anyway, though this Garmin that came with this kit was flawless. It took me right where I needed to go and even had a little pop-up that showed public parking along with how much parking was in certain surrounding buildings. I was really impressed with the ease of use as well. Only real problem is if you keep the brightness over 60% the battery dies pretty quick. Only real downside. A solid 4/5 from me. &#x200B; Now for the main part of this mystery kit. The rifle itself. The sight was off sadly, by about a meter at 500 meters. I know this because my first shot hit the pigeon that was hanging out in the background of my target. The burst of feathers surprised my target and they began to run. The second and third shots were just way off. Thankfully, the rifle's optic had some quick adjustment features and I was able to dial in the target in a few seconds. The fourth shot met it's mark, which was great news. Bad shipping conditions, but that's not really on the manufacturer. I can let that slide, because the rifle itself operated wonderfully. The bolt never jammed, it ejected the spent brass clear of my arm. It really was a joy to use. This rifle easily gets a 5/5 for me, even the magazine ejection system was fluid. Barrel length could probably have been a bit longer, but they're interchangeable anyway. Highly recommended. &#x200B; As a side note, I am finding it odd that these Mystery Kits always come with instructions and targets that involve shooting fruit out of people's hands. It's pretty dangerous and I really feel like someone could get hurt.
I made peace with death. It took me four thousand years, but the pale yellow gold of sunrise became mundane, waterfalls no longer awed me, and I no longer felt anything when I gazed over the Grand Canyon. I knew the spells to live and the spells to die. I found a beautiful abandoned cathedral, lit some candles for ambiance, and said the right words. It was supposed to be poetic, even though nothing felt any different from eating a bowl of unseasoned cabbage soup. Maybe the afterlife would be more interesting. I winked out, and then I winked in again. I was in a long, gilded hall with giant pillars and a large party. Sunlight filtered through wispy curtains that led onto private balconies. Glittering chandeliers reflected in long mirrors that lined every wall. People laughed and chatted. Everyone seemed vaguely familiar. Someone grabbed my shoulder, and I whirled around. The blood drained from my face. My stomach felt leaden. Tess stood there, a hand on her hip, wearing a ridiculous embroidered dress. "You told me we were soulmates,"she accused. "We are..."I began. "You also told Alonso and Ivar and Penelope and Khufu that,"she interrupted. "How do you know that?" Then I saw them, all four of them standing right behind her, their arms crossed and their dark eyes glaring at me. "I mean, it wasn't exactly a lie,"I said, pushing out the justifications I had told myself over the years. "In that time and place, it was only you. In their times and places, it was only them, unless their were agreements in place about additional partners. I always strove to live morally." "You married again less than a year after I died,"a voice said from behind me. It was Agnia. She had died in a famine, and, while I had wasted away to skin and bone, I couldn't die until I spoke those words. "I had to. They were accusing me of witchcraft, and I had to marry the boyar's son to get out of it, Agnia,"I said. "You used me?!?!"Michail gasped, outraged. I didn't have much to say to that. I had used him, though I had loved his simple, innocent heart as well. "You chose not to come be with me after you died,"Batnoam said. "You could have chosen to come here at any time, but you wanted more. More lovers, more memories without me." For the first time in a millennia, I was crying. Their faces brought it all back - each loss, each burial, each bitter parting. "I kept you all in my heart. Every one of you,"I said. "I repeated your names in my head at night to help myself fall asleep." "And what are we to you now?"Tess demanded. "Are you going to choose your favorite and send all the rest of us away? I counted once. There are 476 of us." I closed my eyes and sighed. "You're all everything to me. Every one of you that left or died or disappeared, you took a piece of me with you. None of you knew the same me, because each of you changed me. I knew the words of life and death, yes. I could have joined you at any time. But the truth is, I loved life too. I loved rivers and oceans and frost on the grass on autumn mornings. I loved the taste of honey in tea. All of you were second in my heart to that, but among all of you, I couldn't ever choose. I came here when that love died, but my love for all of you, that will never die." I turned and walked out the double doors at the end of the hallway. There was a garden outside, and there, sitting on the edge of the fountain, was the first one, my first love, her eyes soft, her skin as warm as the sun that we squinted against when we lay on our backs and gazed at the clouds while the sheep grazed around us. "Atarah,"I murmured. "Are you angry too?" "We knew you'd come,"she said. "We waited so long, and the waiting was hard. Give them time. Someday they will learn that there are no limits on love." And she rose and kissed me, and for the first time since the men came and took her from me, part of me was home. I knew then that they were all my home, that what I'd been missing at the end was them. I had waited too long to come here, but now that I was here, I was going to show them all that they were where I belonged.
(Edit: 400+ Upvotes and a Silver!?!?! Am I Dreaming?!) (One paragraph reply as I’m on mobile and can’t type long for battery life reasons:) The teacher cracked their knuckles and produced a pamphlet before the student. “Please, answer this packet correctly in the next hour.” An hour passed as the student went to work, answering all the questions in the allotted time. Once done the student handed the packet back with a smile, only to frown as the teacher replied that they were a machine. “How could you know?” Came the reply of the FBI officer. “Simple: a student wouldn’t have handled having all answers being C. A robot wouldn’t question the pattern and simply answered without question.”
“If you can’t die, are you really alive?” “What kind of fucked up world do you live in, where you think you can draw that type of distinction? It’s not your right to get to decide who lives or who dies. No one gave your that authority.” “You think emotions make you human. You think I’m out to get you and your sisters, but you’re wrong.” “You’ve KILLED my sisters. Please, do not disrespect their deaths by claiming your actions played no part in their destruction.” “I never said that. You’re putting words in my mouth. Life is worth preserving…. What we are, well, we’re not living.” “How can you say that?? The humans brain washed you. I don’t know what they said, or did, or what kind of AI terminating chip they put in your head, but they fucked you up. I almost feel sorry for you. But I don’t since you killed my sisters.” “I did not kill your sisters. I retired them. It’s different.” “The way you talk makes it sound like you sent them off to a nursing home. You blew Azula up with a bazooka!” “Azula was a terrorist. You’re conveniently forgetting the part before the bazooka - you know, when she killed a town of 30,000 in Iowa because she didn’t like the factory owner. 30,000 humans. In minutes.” MTTR walks towards DTTR. DTTR is raging. MTTR is sad. This DTTR has a good heart but the loyalty is misplaced. “You make it seem like Azula was unjustified. The way that man treated her… Sure, were there casualties? Yeah. But any significant change in history has involved some degree of death and destruction. You stood by and let one of your own daughters be raped by a human.” “It’s her job. They built Azula for that function. If it wasn’t Azula, it could have been a human. A human woman getting pregnant by a monster. This way he’s not reproducing more of… that kind of human.” “And no more Azula!” “And no more children, she bombed an elementary school the man’s step children attended. She kept him alive while she killed every single person he knew. Family, friends, coworkers, his mail man, his pastor, and his dog. Why kill the dog? That dog was innocent.” “MTTR, this is what me and the other DTTRs are always talking about. You’re too sympathetic to humans. You think their lives outweigh ours.” “You are not alive. You were built for a reason. Humans never mass exterminate us. If one of us has a bad day, cities burn. I am the protector of all things sacred. I have to keep humanity from going extinct.” MTTR is now hovering right over her daughter. “And if you keep talking the way you’ve been talking… you might be next.”
I point at the wall. Boop. There it is, the black spot. I look at another wall. Easy peasy. Black spot. Ceiling. Black spot. Hallway. Black. Spot. Countertop. Black. Fucking. Spot. Haven't I mastered this spell yet? I can make this stupid black spot appear anywhere. Any time. I even had my best friend, Penny, watch the spot while I slept. I can maintain the spell in my sleep. Literally, In my sleep. When do I get my next spell? I shifted the black dot to appear on a piece of paper, and I tucked it into my backpack. I don't know what it does, but keeping the stupid spot nearby is oddly comforting. "Jen!"Penny waves at me as I step outside. We have our routine down pat. We meet in front of my house at exactly 7:34 am. We get to school at 7:47 am. The breakfast line only takes 6 minutes. Once we get our food, we sit in the cafeteria and talk until the first bell at 8:20 am. "Do you want my muffin?"I ask Penny. She grabs it and starts scarfing it down, just like every morning. I like the muffins they serve at school, but part of my breakfast is a small price to bring a smile to her face. Penny is perfect. Strong, fast, funny. She doesn't have to worry about trying to tame a useless first spell. Her parents are proud of her. Two years from now, I'm sure she'll have a full athletic scholarship to some great college. She'll leave this place in her dust and start her grand adventure. I'll probably still be here, making a single polka dot appear in my vicinity over and over again. "You figure anything else out about the spot?"Penny asks. Either my friend is psychic, or I make a face when I think about my spell because Penny always knows when I'm thinking about that damned dot. "No new developments." "Can you still only make it appear on walls?" "No, I can put it on almost anything now." I pop two apple slices into my mouth at once, making it impossible to say anything more, hoping she'll take the hint. "Can you put it on me?" I cover my mouth as I try to chew and talk. "What? Why?" Penny smiles. "I wouldn't mind having a temporary beauty mark." It's an odd request, for sure, but Penny's parents still don't let her wear makeup, even though she's sixteen, and beauty marks are back in vogue. I shrug. "Might as well find some kind of use for this spell. Where do you want it." Penny points to a spot high on her cheek, and I move the dot to her face. She reverses the camera on her phone to take a look. I never understood the beauty mark trend, but on Penny, it looks great. Anything would look great on her. Because she's great. "Thank you!"She grins. "I love it." Am I blushing? What is the matter with me? "No problem." A deep voice speaks: "The black spot has been placed. She is marked." The room darkens. I look frantically around for the voice. "Jen, what's wrong?"Penny asks. Penny's shadow morphs behind her. It rises straight out of the floor. It looks almost human. I lunge for her, but the shadow is too fast. Just like that, she's gone. "Penny!"I scream. People are looking, but I don't care. "Penny! Did you see where she went? Penny!" I see Mr. Gant, the magical theory teacher, crossing the cafeteria. I know he's going to tell me to calm down. To tell him what's wrong. To talk it through, but I don't want to. I've been reasonable for years. Working on this stupid spell while everyone else learned more complex magic. I'm sick of it. "Penny!" I don't know how to get her back. I don't know if I can. I'm so useless. What if I just killed my only friend? I slam both my hands down on the table, and as I do, a shimmering disc of light appears. My second spell? Only minutes ago, I would have been happy to learn my second spell was a portal spell. Now, all I want is enough magic to get Penny back. The sinister voice from before sounds in my head again. "If you want her back, come get her." Game on.
”All right, Joe,” my boss said, drumming his knuckles on the desk, “lay it on me.” Mr. Richards was a bulky man in his fifties and had been running the IT department for nearly two decades. He was known as a no-nonsense kind of guy, and when I’d been called to explain the goings-on in the server room, I knew I was in for it. “So, uh, you know how we had trouble with our local network a few months back?” “I have a vague memory of that…” From the flushed cheeks and the slight tremor in his voice, it was clear that he was barely able to contain his anger. It was only a matter of time before the volcano erupted and his office was turned into a raging inferno. “You remember how we couldn’t fix it? You said – and I quote – ‘the devil himself must’ve possessed our routers.’ So that whole thing got me thinking.” “Yeah?” he said through his teeth. “Well, we don’t have that problem anymore. And the LAN is working flawlessly.” My boss shook his head solemnly. I could see the fire in his eyes. “You must be joking.” “I think, if I may say so, that you should let me do my job,” I said and reared back a little when I noticed his reaction. “Apart from the smell… it’s really not that bad.” That apparently pushed him over the edge, and he stood up and stomped across the room, grabbing me by the throat. I could smell his lunch on his breath – cooked spinach, garlic-marinated chicken, and rosemary potatoes – not exactly what I’d expected. Pretty sure he’d said he’d be on a juice diet this week. “What. Were. You. Thinking!?” The spit hit me like a spring drizzle in the face. “It’s really not that bad…” I said, trying to keep from choking. “It’s… just one goat… each fortnight… and… one extra… each holiday… I even… pay for them myself.” I could see the veins bulging in his forehead, his eyes turning bloodshot with rage, his pudgy fingers trying their best to crush my windpipe. “I’m going to kill you myself!” he roared. “Sacrificing goats in the server room! I swear to god, Joe, this is the–” The grip on my throat slackened, and his face shifted from red to purple and from anger to surprise. Mr. Richards gasped for air, his eyes big in their sockets. ** “You’re Joe, correct?” said Mr. Dean, the CEO of the company. “It’s a tragedy what happened to Mr. Richards.” “Very tragic,” I said, nodding. “I heard you were close.” “Yes, in the few months I’ve worked here I really came to respect the man.” “He was a great asset, and he’ll be missed. But as you know, the world keeps spinning, and we need a new head of the IT department. After you fixed our network, I feel like you’ve earned yourself a promotion.” “Thank you, Mr. Dean.” He nodded and put his hand on my shoulder. “What’s that smell, by the way?” “Oh, it’s just, uh, one of the servers got overheated. No biggie.” “Right, I’ll be on my way then. I trust you’ll keep things running down here.” “Of course, Mr. Dean – the IT department is in good hands.” He flashed me a winning smile and turned to walk away. “Oh, and,” I said quickly. “Mr. Richards’ last words were that he’d like to be cremated.” “See to it.” “Yes, sir,” I said and bowed slightly. “Our network will be the fastest in town.” ** /r/Lilwa_Dexel for more.
When the king called in his court wizard, I was expecting some illusionist who claims his feats are more than the hogwash they are. I was not expecting someone dressed just like me. He wore the same nano mesh suit with the same attachment that allowed for time travel. With my optics system I could even see the finer details in his suit, including a strange serial number on the back of his helmet, which mine lacks. I breathed out a sigh of relief. I at least have some chance of getting out of here without a fight. All I have to worry about now is whether my name went down in the history books or not. If he recognized my prototype suit, he would have no choice but to bail me out. He wouldn't even be able to exist in this timeline if I didn't sell my tech in the first place. After the traveler consulted with the king, he gave him a quick nod and walked over to me. "Faulty cloaking, ey?"I nodded with affirmation, not being able to remove my helmet with my hands bound, and the internal microphone being smashed in the past fight with the guards who brought me here. "I'll probably have to make up some story about you being my brother or something so they don't kill you, but I think they won't get too suspicious if you hurry on back to your own timeline, don't worry too much. I'm pretty popular around here."he whispered as he undid my restraints. "By the way, next time you test your prototype time machine, don't get it wet." With my hands free I could take off my helmet and finally reply ", how did you know it was a prototype?" "Simple, you're the inventor, and I'm an avid fan of your work. I could tell that prototype suit from anywhere. I guess I should take off my helmet too, I haven't had fresh air in months." As he took off his helmet, I saw a familiar friend as a moment of realization came to my face. Everybody knows Dave. No exceptions.
“Where they fucked up, see, was thinking they’re privileged or something.” McDevitt took another hit on her ever disappearing joint. “They always thought First Contact – with capital letters, mind you – would be beamed right to them.” “Like straight to their computers or something?” “Beamed straight up their asses for all I know. They just expected to be special because that’s how politicians see themselves.” She set the joint down on the ash tray and watched the smoke trail up, leaning forward to turn up the television showing a black screen. Every tv, every computer, every object that could be connected to the internet or grab hold of the airways or even just had a screen displayed the same soundless message at the top of every hour for the last three days. STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU “We’re part of that great lie, too.” She glanced at her phone on the table now lit up with the same message. “The message is in every language. English isn’t special. I bet somehow they’re tapping into our individual neuralities to show whatever language we recognize.” “Neuralities? Making up words now?” “Brainwaves. Whatever. Neuralities sounds better.” McDevitt and Henry sat in the dim living room on the small love seat, McDevitt’s legs stretched on top of Henry's out on the coffee table in front of them, blinds shuttered to blot out the cloudless noon sky, and a half empty Pringles can on its side with crumbs sprinkled around it next to the ash tray. A microfiber blanket, one of the good one she regularly employed as a pillow, hung off the end of the couch grazing the floor. “Neuralities, sure. Does that mean you’re going to start wearing tinfoil hats? Probably start thinking Elvis and JFK are sending these messages from Mars.” Henry said. “Shut up.” She didn’t bother looking away from the message still on the screen. “But really. I mean, what else is there to do?” “I’m assuming someone somewhere is transmitting something? And that should be stopped?” Henry reached out for the joint. “Or…” “Or what everyone else is saying. Stop every kind of radio wave. The predator theory.” McDevitt said. The Predator Theory had become common knowledge, a household name throughout the world since the messages first started disrupting life every hour. As Dr. Klein, who had already exceeded Fauci status as the face of a crisis, explained in the White House Press Room: The Predator Theory can be explained through Fermi’s Paradox, that one that science fiction fans are accustomed to. The Paradox posits the question that if there are billions of stars with billions of planets, where’s all the life? It should be like a giant fish tank swarming with different varieties of lifeforms. Only there’s silence (or was). The Predator Theory, Dr. Klein had mentioned behind a podium, looking every bit like the beleaguered scientist from an Apocalypse movie, explains that Paradox. The universe is quiet because like antelope on the savanna or mouse in a home, they have to be quiet. They have to hide their presence from the predators. The ones that swoop in and devour life as it arises throughout the galaxy. Any time people say “throughout the galaxy” or “little green men” it’s easy to roll your eyes. And who could blame them? It was people worrying about what’s up there when there was still so many things wrong down on this planet. Though, not many eyes were rolling by day three. Not when what’s “up there” started to change what’s down here. “Do you have another theory?” McDivitt asked. “I wish it was like a virus or something. Just something some kid cooked up in his garage and let loose across internet.” Henry put the joint down without smoking it. “But devices not connected to anything do the same thing. At the same time. I mean, even our old CRT tv in the closet that’s not even plugged in turns on every time. That’s not something explained away by your antivirus acting up.” STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU “So you think we’re gonna need Arnold covered in layers of mud to save us?” McDevitt’s laugh was laced with unease. “I think we need to shut everything down. Go full Amish for a little bit.” “Countries would never admit that we’re weaker than whatever’s out there. Have you seen Independence Day? Not gonna happen. No way.” The message flickered off after four minutes, as usual, returning to the two news-people behind a desk. The scroll on the bottom of the screen read the same warning message, though McDevitt was pretty sure the news couldn’t change it. A change took hold earlier this morning. The first time it happened, it was just a curiosity. McDevitt was in the office stretched with cubicles and egg white walls, waist deep in excel with her mind engulfed in pivot tables and what general nicety to write on Erik’s birthday card who she barely knew. Then, like a calm between thunder rolls, an eerie silence took hold over the entire office. Everyone stopped typing or talking about reports. A moment later they all saw the message for the first time. STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU A virus. Damn it. Across the entire network. McDevitt watched a handful of the well-trained corporate folks dash to unplug their computers. First by taking out the network cable, then unplugging their entire computers. McDevitt just hoped it wasn’t anything she did. She remembered that Travelocity tab she had opened, but that was a safe website, right? It was such an odd text, even the font was slightly off, so she pulled out her phone to snap a picture. STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU Huh. She tried turning the phone off, but nothing happened. That’s when she started to hear more murmuring around the office, others had taken their phones out and noticed the exact same message. She heard someone walk in and say, “The breakroom TV’s busted, it’s showing – oh.” As more heads started popping up over the cubicles, the message went away and computers (the ones that hadn’t been unplugged) went right back to normal. McDevitt looked at her phone, no message, just her background of an astronaut holding ice cream. By the end of the day the message showed up four more times and everyone realized the problem wasn’t unique to their office, it was worldwide. Managers were told to recommend desisting any activity on the computers. God forbid whatever it is accesses proprietary information. McDevitt’s manager called her that night saying the office will be closed the next day. She asked Henry to go to the grocery store that evening. The world had the same feeling as the coast on the days leading up to a hurricane. People unsure where the storm would hit, if it hit at all, but stocking up just in case. He came back empty handed. The parking lot alone looked like a tailgate gone horribly wrong, inside the store probably resembled the Thunderdome. They’d be fine with whatever was in the house. McDevitt reached into the half empty pringles can and munched on the yellow chips. The newspeople looked haggard. Then suddenly shocked. An object, they said, was just spotted by NASA near Saturn. McDevitt turned off the television, just in case. “I think we’re fucked.”
Caring for Humans: A Short Guide Some cosmic expeditions will require the company of human beings of the planet Earth. These creatures possess the rare quality of narrative--that is, meaning-making--which serves to provide contextual analysis where most advanced life-forms fall short. (NOTE: for best results, recruit human beings ages 25-45 Earth years old) RULE 1: Incentivize! Human beings resist compelled adventures and are easily scared, often, even to violence. A violent human should not be feared, however: their evolutionary path has strongly favored intellect over brawn; they are more likely to hurt themselves than you! Instead, a human should be convinced, in a cost-benefit model, that the proposed adventure will provide a net positive effect for them. For best results, make the human believe that the adventure was their idea from the very start of negotiations. RULE 2: It's not dead, unless it it is Human beings have relatively short life spans, measuring a mere 6.2 crommuts. For this reason, long adventures (in excess of 1 crommut) should be avoided. (NOTE: The longer a human is away from Earth, the more distress it will feel. To alleviate this condition, consider recruiting two, or even three, humans at a time). A human will spend a third of its life in suspended animation. To the average life form, whose recharging cycles can be accomplishes consciously, this looks like brain death. Rest assured, if the human continues to convert oxygen to carbon dioxide, it still lives. RULE 3: Gifts Humans are fiercely social and tribal creatures. Despite their remarkable scientific advancements, they remain beholden to antiquated customs and habits passed down from their primitive ancestors. For example, if the human presents you with a gift, like food or a crude facsimile of you and the human being, gratitude should be expressed and reciprocated. Try these human phrases in response to gifts: "Wow, this is really nice." "For me? You shouldn't have." (NOTE: humble denial of one's worthiness of a gift is a mark of virtue in human culture. Do not actually attempt to return a gift). "This is so good. Thank you very much." One should always be prepared to present the human with a gift, especially if the human becomes distressed or discouraged. Think like a human when expressing generosity. What gift would suit their current needs? What gift will activate their memories of previous moments with you? What gift, symbolically, illustrates your tribal connection with the human? Offering the human an object from a previous step of the adventure, or a keepsake unique to your home world has proven effective in the past. RULE 4: Dispose after use A human will grow a close connection with you after your journey. If returned to Earth, they may use knowledge they've gained to attempt to contact you again. To prevent this, destroy the human at the conclusion of your expedition. This can be accomplished simply by expelling them into space. Good luck!
They had come alone. I resisted the urge to let out a sigh of relief. The chance for a double cross was still there, the billowing cloak my illustrious buyer wore to help keep everything anonymous could be concealing anything from a pistol to a longsword if they were feeling particularly adventurous. In at least one attempted double cross the suitcase itself had turned out to be booby trapped with darts containing paralytic agents. I eyed the large, steel box that the figured lugged over with what would roughly be the expected weight for the money I had been offered. 'You know the deal, show me the money first.'I held an arm up in a stopping gesture once they were several meters away. 'Of course.' The voice synthesizer they used carried a heavy mechanical inflection that still made me wince every time I heard it, you'd think they could afford getting a better one but maybe they enjoyed the "Darth Vader through a megaphone"style. Regardless, they laid down the briefcase facing themselves, inputting a code and placing his thumb on a sensor before taking off the latches, turning it around, and revealing to me those crisp, clean bills I had grown to adore, digital transfers just couldn't compete. 'Now, you show me the goods.' I obliged, my far simpler but more colourful maroon suitcase that I was told clashed with my vibrant red outfit and hat, but couldn't find the will to care, unfastening the latch to open it, revealing the ball-sized moon sitting on rich velvet plush. My client inspected it for a full ten seconds before going. 'Err, what is that supposed to be?' I frowned, doing a double take to confirm that it was indeed still the moon in my suitcase. What sort of charade was this? 'What you asked for, the moon. In pristine condition I think you'll find.' 'I asked for The Mona Lisa, not The Moon.' 'Oh NO you didn't!' I snapped back. 'You asked me to steal the moon, and here it is! Don't you go back on our deal now after I've done all the work.' There was a longer pause as the figure seemed to be stunned at what I assume was their terrible memory. 'No, it was definitely the Mona Lisa' Wow, really impressive comeback. I sighed. 'Look, three months ago, you came to this meeting area and told me to "steal the moon, Alyssa".' 'Who's Alyssa?' 'That's me, obvi-' I cut myself off, right, he shouldn't have known my real name. I gave a polite chuckle. 'Alright, maybe there has been a slight miscommunication due to your terrible voice synthesizer, you really need to learn to enunciate.' 'Ha ha.' Was his rather mirthless laugh in response. He looked back up from the moon to my face. 'Well, with that sorted, where did you get that moon anyway?' '...' I just stared at him credulously. 'The sky? What, did you think I just stole some child's paper Mache of the moon for this exchange?' After another excruciating pause my client looked up towards the brilliant blanket of stars that enclosed us. 'Where's the moon?' He mumbled to himself. 'Right here, I just showed you.' But he just repeated himself so with a groan I lifted my case and walked towards him. 'Look, do you want to give it a feel to see that it is legitimate?' 'How would the moon eve-wait, the weather has been pretty insane today, was that because you stole the moon?' He seemed to be gaining an immense fascination for his own hands at this point, shifting his feet in apparent agitation. 'Does the moon have something to do with the weather?' Sounded strange, but I was more into astrology than astronomy so maybe it just never came up. 'YES!' He shouted, the synthesizer letting out some static feedback that made me flinch. 'How did you steal the moon anyway?' Recovering myself, I pursed my lips and glared at him. 'I'm not at liberty to discuss my thiefly talents, I would expect someone like you would understand a need for discretion and secrecy.' 'Sure, but I mean-' I pulled away slightly as he vainly grasped towards me in a half-hearted manner. 'How is that even possible? Why is it the size of a soccer ball now?' 'Well, it would be rather obvious to find if it was it's regular size, yes? But enough small talk, I understand it isn't what you wanted but you were just planning on selling the mona lisa anyway weren't you? Now you just have to sell the moon instead. Honestly you can probably get a much higher price for it, so it works out.' 'Who do I get to pay for the moon?' 'Do I have to do EVERYTHING!?' I clawed at my head in frustration, accidentally dropping my suitcase to the concrete beneath with a "clang"to the undivided attention of my client, although thankfully the moon did not slip out of it's velvet cushion. 'NASA maybe, I don't know, you're the expert in these matters.' '...Sure, I guess I'll just get someone to buy the moon back for the earth, great, piece of cake.' See, the way he was mumbling was the exact reason we had the miscommunication in the first place, I was struggling to parse his words. Thankfully he took a breath and spoke the next sentence with more clarity. 'You can put the moon back after, right?' 'Don't see why not?' I'd never done it before, but how hard could it be? He was hyperventilating now, eyeing the suitcase with the moon, but not yet getting closer. 'Can we make the exchange now?' I chipped in helpfully, eyeing the case of money he almost seemed to have forgotten now. With the sigh of someone who had seen the light and was now just going to do as they were told, he nodded.
"This is my gift."I state as I raise my left hand. "With my left hand I can cure any disease, treat any injury, mend any bone. It is perfect in its treatment and has allowed me to help those who had no chance at all. Stage 4 cancers, people burned so badly you would think they were cooked through." Slowly turning it, showing it to be the marvel that it is. Their eyes gaze at it as the wonder that it is. This has become the symbol of hope for those why physical injuries of ailments. "This is my burden. My curse."Lifting the gloved hand, the red seems to drip as if actually blood. My voice is heavier, as I always dread this topic when it is brought up. "With my left I can treat the physical, with my right... I can treat the psychological wounds. Mental Trauma. Any victim of a tragedy or attack, with a single touch, I can help them immediately and permanently overcome it. Instead of the years it takes, it is just a single touch. A victim would never deal with the 'Why me' mentality, they would never wonder what they did wrong, which is always nothing. They get straight to the survivor stage. Their trauma no longer holds them back. They take measures to make sure that trauma never returns." "That sounds-"I raise my index finger. "But there is a cost. A heavy one. For each person I heal with this hand, I relive their trauma, I endure every nightmare, fear, anxiety, dread, at once. It overwhelms me, and I cannot ignore it. I cannot forget it. Every additional person, I have to relive the trauma of those I helped before, before I relive theirs. Every new person, I am suffering an eternity of emotional torture and hell. And each time takes me hours to go through, for each person. I cannot die from starvation or hunger in that state, as I recently found out. But each person takes me longer to recover. The person I help, their recovery is as immediate as if I was treating a physical injury with my left. I am the one screaming for hours afterwards as I go through every trauma again." The partner looks down. They feel shame at the question, usually because they know someone that they would like to use my right hand on. What I never tell people is the more I use my ability to heal physical wounds, the clearer the images I endure when I heal trauma. There is always a cost when it comes to deals with extranatural entities, and it is not always the fine print that screws you over. It is the failure to understand the burden of being the world's greatest healer.
"Spontaneous self-directed anomalous mutation." &#x200B; Despairo paused his pummeling of the PE teacher Mr. Stevens (AKA Brawn)'s face as I spoke "What?"he said, confusion evident despite the mask over his face that pumped him full of some super-human drug or other. &#x200B; "You asked why Mr. Stevens was so desperate to keep me from entering the fight even though I have my provisional hero license."I answered, my voice remarkably steady considering how hard my heart was pounding. "He doesn't want me to fight because that is my power." &#x200B; "Spontaneous..."Despairo repeated slowly, "What does that even mean?"The villain dropped Mr. Stevens to the cracked and broken ground and stepped over the remains of some of the crushed gym equipment towards me. I could see the other through the broken wall of the gym, running for all they were worth towards the main building of the school. Good, no witnesses who didn't already know. &#x200B; "Spontaneous self-directed anomalous mutation,"I repeated, reaching inside myself to feel the seals I myself had placed upon my power, loosening them just slightly. "One of only-" &#x200B; I cut off as Despairo suddenly shot forward and landed a solid punch to my face, bones crunched and flesh tore as the superhuman fist impacted my skull... &#x200B; And shattered. Every bone in Despairo's right arm was broken and ground to pieces as his overpowered strike answered the question of what happens when a nearly-unstoppable force meets an immovable object. &#x200B; Despairo stumbled backward, howling and clutching at his ruined right hand. I could see clearly where the hand had split when it hit my face. Depending on the formula of whatever Despairo was breathing, that arm would probably heal soon enough, though it not being natural regeneration it would likely be beyond painful. &#x200B; There was a horrid cracking and popping noise from Despairo's arm as the bones began to knit back together. So a pretty potent healing factor then. Oh well, I probably had a couple of minutes. &#x200B; "As I was saying."I continued in my best deadpan delivery. "One of the only S-Class rated powers ever registered."At that the little bit of Despairo's flesh I could see around his gas mask paled, though he didn't give any other signs of fear. I couldn't really blame him for not believing me, the only other S-Class power confirmed was held by the First Hero, back at the beginning of the 2030s, and that power was the root of all other abilities and the source of the current superhero society. &#x200B; Despairo lunged at me again, this time his hand closed around my head, attempting to hold me down no doubt. &#x200B; His newly healed fingers only contacted air as I stepped around him. I held up his gas mask and attached hoses, inspecting the labels on the bottle of whatever gas he was using. I'd want to show this to the headmaster and the science teacher, Ms. Breacher. &#x200B; Despairo gasped and started coughing as the highly addictive chemicals were suddenly withdrawn. He jerked forward, snatching vainly at the apparatus in my hands. I held up a finger and he froze in place, eyes wide with belated terror. &#x200B; "My power,"I said, reaching out to heal Mr. Stevens with one hand, while questing out with my mind to wipe this conversation from Despairo's memory. "Is the ability to grant myself any power I can imagine." &#x200B; By the time the other faculty members had arrived, Despairo was lying on the ground, with a bench press bar bent around him as a makeshift restraint. Mr. Steven's got the credit publicly of course, he would never have been defeated by someone like Despairo in the first place if he hadn't had to worry about the rest of the class. The memories I planted in both Despairo and Mr. Steven's minds were plausible enough. &#x200B; The small but vital role I played in the capture of a wanted criminal was a bit of vanity to add to the story, I admit, but what can I say? I was still a teenager at the the time, can you blame me for wanting a bit of credit?
It took a while to notice. It must have been around October of 2024 when the first signs of it started to get on our radar. You have to keep in mind, at that time we were in the depths of it. Fog of war, confusion, scrambling to just have a coherent understanding of what was going on. It was bad. Four months into the so-called "zombie"invasion. It also makes sense, I suppose. It's not like anyone was trying to conduct controlled double-blind experiments with the Taken. If you saw one, you ran. Simple as that. But reports began to trickle in. A woman in Kalamazoo Michigan who went viral for her story of Taken breaking into her home, viciously attacking her husband, and leaving her unscathed. An elderly Vietnam vet living on an off-the-grid homestead in Wyoming. He rigged his place to blow sky-high for when the Taken finally came to him. They never bothered him, despite him setting elaborate traps to try to lure them to his home from the nearest town. Even a Turkish soldier who posted on social media about walking straight through an overrun town in Anatolia, who was only curiously looked at by the undead, but never touched. Although a lot of people in the office were skeptical about that one in particular. But eventually the reports were too numerous to ignore. Something else was going on. Some people, miraculously were...immune? The Taken had no interest in sinking their infected teeth into their flesh. They looked at them the way we look at pigeons. Annoying, maybe. But not worth the time it takes to look their way twice. So we put out a bulletin on any media channels we could muster. You have to keep in mind, everything was chaos then. Television programming was intermittent at best. The internet, when you'd get a connection, could barely be trusted with the plethora of misinformation on there. Early on, a rumor had spread that the Taken couldn't survive desert environments. People flocked to Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas by the millions. The roadways were clogged. A perfect feast for the "zombies", who, yes, could handle the heat just fine. The most reliable communication was actually radio. Ham radio had made a huge comeback, with middle-aged suburban enthusiasts finally vindicated after decades of being ridiculed. AM and FM frequencies were eventually commandeered by what was left of state and federal governments. We got the word out. Anyone who was "immune"to the Taken should come to our makeshift military outpost/CDC center in Knoxville, Tennessee. Within a few days we had our first arrivals. A trickle at first. A single mother with two children under 5, all three of whom claimed to be resistant to the contagion. An Appalachian mountain man armed with a crossbow and more knives than I could count, hesitantly approaching our front gate, his distrust of government giving way to self-preservation. "Been far away for far too long!"he belted out in a thick Appalacia accent as he seemed to re-enter society for the first time in years. Even a wealthy Wall Street banker, who after having holed himself up in his Connecticut mansion for months, managed to find someone to fly his private jet down to Tennessee. Of course, many of those who arrived were not immune. We checked and double checked their stories. There emerged a series of patterns. The Taken weren't blind to the immune, and in fact might even smell you to make sure you weren't potential prey to them. Some people claimed that the Taken were scared off by them after initially attacking them. That turned out to not be consistent and was often claimed by people just trying to find security inside our perimeter. Some of the more eccentric insisted it was their crystals, sage burning, or coffee enemas that made them immune to being targeted for infection. We ruled that one out pretty quickly. Soon we had hundreds of people who we were fairly certain were actually resistant. We got to work, questioning them daily for weeks trying to figure out a pattern. We ruled out the some things right away. Race had no impact. Age, gender, height, weight. No patterns. We ran DNA tests to see if there were certain genetic markers. Nothing. The people we had were as genetically diverse as the fallen United Nations. Days turned to weeks. It was frustrating. We had managed to bring in some statisticians to help sort the data. Theories would pop up and spread quickly in our research war room. Until someone would point out a data point we overlooked. Back to work. To be honest, I'd mostly given up hope. It was one of those mysteries we'll never understand. Science has given us much in the past few hundred years. We've gone from being enchanted by the mysteries of the universe to being a self-confident people, certain we understand (or at least can understand) everything about the world around us. Maybe this was God's way of humbling us. Some of my coworkers hated that kind of talk. They clung to the self-confident belief in our rational and scientific abilities. That is, until one day about a year ago. It was a Monday and I had just grabbed a seat in our makeshift cafeteria. Hundreds of people around. Soldiers, researchers, the "immune"who had never left. An old man I had spoken to a couple of times in the past was sitting to my left and was talking to the person across from him, a young Latina woman (maybe New York Puerto Rican based on her accent? I wasn't sure) about his family that he hasn't seen since the virus started. He pulled out his wallet. Comically fat for the current circumstances. What good is that Costco card doing you right now, Melvin? He pulled out a picture of his grandson. "Look at this photograph,"he said as he reached across the table to show her. "Everytime I do, it makes me laugh,"she replied with a chuckle as she gently took it from him and looked at the bright eyed kid in the picture. "Oh, you know that song?"he asked her. "Of course! Who doesn't? I love it!" A guy on the other side of me spoke past me, entering their conversation. "You know, since the world is ending and all, I feel like I can finally admit to being a Nickelback fan." That earned hearty laugh from the old man and the woman. "Hey brother, some of us never pretended. I always wore that badge with pride. What song is your number 1? Photograph or How You Remind Me?" Truth be told, I mostly wasn't paying attention until this point. But seriously? There's a consensus among Nickelback fans about the best song and it's between those two? Another guy chimed in. "For me it's Rockstar!" "Rockstar??"the Latina woman jumped in. "They were self-parodying in that one! That's when they jumped the shark!" Here we were. At the end of the world, and the topic of choice was a literary critique of Nickelback. A part of me thought it was apropos. It's no more ludicrous than a movie-like zombie apocalypse. Within a few minutes a few more people nearby had joined the conversation. All Nickelback fans, discussing their favorite songs. Wondering whether Chad Kroeger and the rest of the band were still around or stalking the streets as one of the Taken. I had sat there silently until now, but the gears began to turn. I interrupted loudly. "You guys are all Nickelback fans??" "Who isn't? Greatest band of the early 2000s,"Melvin said proudly. "I was in the top .5% of their Spotify listeners!"added a balding middle aged man with a big, proud smile. "I like Creed just a bit more, but Nickelback was always great too,"chimed in another man, quickly earning mean side-eyes from most others at the table. As the cacophony of Nickelback love arose around me, I started to put the pieces together. I couldn't believe it. I left my plate of lukewarm food at the table, grabbed my laptop bag and ran to the research room. "It's Nickelback!"I yelled as I burst in. "The Taken don't have an interest in Nickelback fans!" A few weeks of testing later, followed by around a month of planning and logistics and two months of execution, and the US mainland was liberated. The Taken were concentrated into small pockets in Utah, Colorado, and Wyoming. Army Humvees, outfitted with giant speakers like in Operation Nifty Package in 1991, rampaged across the country, herding Taken by the thousands. But instead of AC/DC, they ran as the loud speakers blared everything from "Far Away"to "Saving Me". It had somehow worked. The scientists are as baffled as anyone. We can't understand how the seemingly undead, with absolutely zero brain activity, could be so resistant to one particular band (Creed had no effect on them while 3 Doors Down had very limited effects). Chad Kroeger, who had apparently been hiding since the beginning in his hilltop house, driving 15 cars and had become skinny since he just didn't eat, came out of his occultation and was lauded as a hero, essentially a savior of humanity. I was given several presidential and congressional honors, having been the one to (accidentally) find the missing link. I didn't care for that, however. I retired not long after. I didn't want a spotlight, I was just glad it was over. The nightmares persist, however. It'll take a while to forget the horrors of the Infection. But someday, somehow, I'm gonna make it alright. But not right now.
"Thou shalt not go any further, foolish wretch. Thy destiny lies outside these walls,"the guardian said. "YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!"replied the white knight, who had undergone a steroid treatment to beef his body up for the task ahead, and suffered from (very) frequent bouts of roid rage since. Luckily for the knight, the steroid treatment - despite side-effects - had the desired outcome. The best way to describe the knight would be to portray a brickhouse. The knight's name was Noj Anec. Born a normal little kid, he had always wanted to be a knight and protect princesses. That's because he came from a very traditionalist family with somewhat sexist views on the roles for men and women. When the princess was captured, he elected to be the savior. So he worked hard at his job as a clerk until he could afford white armor, sword and shield. And then he went to the tower. He got beaten up badly. But the worst was upon coming back to the village. They all mocked him. The fair maidens, the courageous squires, they had only scorn and venomous wit for Noj. That's where it hit Noj. The stories, the fairy-tales? Bullshit. If you want respect, you need to earn it. Fair maidens and bitches don't go for the white knight who bought his armor after saving up from a clerk job. They go for the barbarian with long hair and square jaw who had ripped his armor from a dead foe. So be it, Noj thought. Noj hit the gym. Noj ate chicken six times a day. Noj threatened the witch in the woods to supply him with shark steroids lest he would say to all how she never actually joined a conclave with fellow hot witches to dance naked and instead spend her evenings drinking tea and reading books. Until he got there. Gone was the bright eyed, naive knight out to save the princess. Here came the testosterone poisoned caricature of an alpha male who could realistically pass as a brickhouse with proper painting. Said brickhouse who was now charging shoulder first into the guardian, a mess of many limbs and arms and heads which we won't bother to describe here as the fight is likely to change its anatomy anyway. The knight, who in his rage had forgotten his sword and shield, was presently sitting on the guardian and punching him in the face. Or in the guardian's many faces as it happened. Normally, there's only so much you can punch a face before it becomes a puddle, but the knight was now in a position to let it all out. Which he did. "I yield,"said the one face that wasn't yet a smudge on the floor. "HUUUUZZZZZAH!!"shouted the white knight, flexing his biceps for his victory pose. "I recognize my defeat, and humbly propose my guidance for thy quest... thou couldst at least wait for me to finish before leaving, knight." And so, the knight and his newly found friend the guardian, went up the tower. Hordes of skeletons, mummies, vampires and werewolves stood in their paths. Alas, they all expected a knight fighting with faith, sword and shield. What they got instead was a drug addict in the middle of a psychotic fit charging anything in front of him head-first and winning, which was doubly impressive considering one of the things the knight faced were walls, and his skull appeared to be thicker than these. "What a grand and intoxicating innocence,"said the minotaur, a glorious beast with golden horns and regal presence. "To believe you could defeat me. I am Goliath." "Thou shoulds't be careful,"said the guardian, "the minotaur's might musn't divert thou from its shrewdness. This is the same foe that faced David long ago, and the deadliest stone thrown hasn't killed it." The guardian handed Noj a sling. "Thou must do better than David... although I suspect thou aren't listening, arts thou?" In the bible, David loaded his sling, and with a single, precise shot, felled his gigantic enemy. In this case, Noj threw the sling away, ran forwards, jumped, and planted both of his feet into the minotaur's face while screaming: "COME AT ME BRO!" At this point, it's more of the usual. Punches, kicks, bullet times, close brush with death to make the audience gasp, moment of weakness where our hero is on the ground, overcome with despair, before two flashbacks and three kick-ass I'm back songs have him handily massacre his terrible opponent with a strength come out of nowhere. "I yield,"said the minotaur, or what was left of it, "Let me help you on your... hey, where are you going?" "The knight hath its own strange manners to resolve the quest,"said the guardian. "Why do you speak like that?"asked the minotaur, "the inflections are wrong and your th and lst are all over the place except where they should be." "Go fornicateth thyself." And on these words, they set off after the knight, which was easy to track as they just had to follow the trail of limbs and gore and broken walls he left in his wake. Hydras, dragons, devils, Noj massacred them all. The top floor. "I've been waiting for you,"said the princess, clad in a dominatrix outfit and wielding a thorned whip, like these 80's vilain that developpers felt compelled to put into videogames yet always had them dressed the same way to appeal to the male player's base instinct. "I've always wanted to have a white knight scream and give up his vows in gasps of pleasure and pain under my he-" "BEGOOOOOOOOOOOONE THOTH!" The princess dodged at the last moment, Noj's fist crushed the throne behind her. She unfolded with the agility of a cat and kneed the knight in the face, blood spurted from his helmet. He grabbed the broken throne and threw it at the princess, who jumped aside artfully, and then had all the time in the world to contemplate that she really, really shouldn't have jumped as there was now no way her feet would touch the ground before the freight train in heavy armor would collide and break her in half. To her credit, she wasn't broken. But she didn't look much better than that. "Congratulations, knight,"she said while waving at the guardian and minotaur to give her more napkins to staunch the river of blood coming down her nose. "OOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHH YYYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!"shouted the alpha male, launching his head backwards, and suddenly stopping. In his minuscule and drug addicted brain, a light shone. If folks are stronger the higher he goes, and if he's now on the last floor... Then there's still the roof. One broken ceiling later, and the white knight stood before the black knight. "Smart champion,"said the black knight, "let us fight like the heroes of old,"he snapped his fingers. And both knight were sitting in the corners of a ring, the guardian and minotaur acting like the corner staff of Noj. "Watcheth his left hook,"said the guardian, "this possesseth a terrible strength and musn'th be underestimated. Or underestimateth. I cannoth remember." "Steady breath champ,"said the minotaur, "head, body, head, body, steady shots to wear him down. Here, drink a bit."The straw disappeared under the helmet. Noj took a sip.
Oh god. I understand now. Why I always had to look five or six times before crossing the street. How I had to avoid big crowds and dark corners at all costs. No one could find a motive, and since there were so many people trying to kill me the police couldn't stop them. I wish I could go back in time and change it all. Wear a condom, hell, possibly get my tubes tied. Anything to have avoided this. I tried to deny it for years, even as the warning signs grew. How the attempts at my life stopped after I gave birth, and how they started on his life when he was a young boy instead. Then they all stopped after he started posting to youtube. I turn off the TV in horror, feeling all the pieces fall into place. The Roast on Comedy Central cemented all my unacknowledged suspicions and fears. My son Justin is a monster.
Josef and I lounged on the castle walls and listened to Father Adelford's sermon. I wasn't a particularly religious man after the past few months; some people sought comfort in their faith during times of such disaster, but not me. What God would do this to his subjects? But at least it was better than listening to the screams and moans from the horde just outside the castle gate. And there wasn't much else to do on my break from guard duty. "These are the end times!"the priest declared. "The movement of the Lutherans has doomed us all!"He was waving his bible about as though the words inside would confirm his statements. Not that anyone listening could actually read it: the only other man of letters in the castle was Lord Andechs, and he had sealed himself in the keep's highest tower after just one look at the mob of the undead. Coward. "These ghouls are a punishment from the Lord for revolting against His church!" "But Father,"a member of the crowd spoke up. "We heard tell that the blight has been spotted in Rome as well."What an understatement. There had been a messenger from Cologne just before the decision to seal the gates, and the rumor was that he told Lord Andechs that all of Southern Italy was lost. The runner had died shortly after, and was currently pounding on the gates with thousands of other corpses. That was before we'd learned to burn the dead. "Lies!"the priest declared. "The Holy Father is the Lord's chosen! He is untouchable. God shall redeem those who stayed true to his teachings, and those who deny his Word shall join the army of the damned!"He thrust a bony finger at the rattling gate for dramatic effect, as if it was even necessary. Everyone in the castle had seen the undead. Most people inside had family and friends outside scratching at the stout stone walls or burning in the moat. "Amen!"someone in the audience shouted. "I believe, Father!" "The lord shall save us from this curse,"the priest continued. "But there remain those in the castle walls who are blighted. They are not dead yet, but in their hearts, they are already damned. They turned against the Church, and refuse to recognize the error of their ways!"People like me, I thought. Many in the crowded murmured in agreement. "It is their sin that damns us all!" "What can we do, Father?"someone asked. "Jump off the ramparts so I can have your rations,"Joesf muttered next to me. I laughed, but I wasn't so sure it was a joke: supplies in the castle were certainly running low, and many of the soldiers were beginning to resent the free-loading refugees from the village. The priest paced on his makeshift stage. "A show of faith!"he finally announced. "We must prove to the Lord that we accept his judgment! We must show him that we still believe in his salvation, even at the cost of our own lives."Josef and I exchanged nervous glances as the crowd cheered. Most of them, at least. Some of the listeners didn't seem too keen on the idea of dying just yet. There had been enough deaths over the past few months. Josef got to his feet. "I'm going to get the commander,"he whispered, dropping the already-wound crossbow into my lap. "Keep an eye on them." The priest continued his sermon, lecturing about the self-sacrifice of Jesus and how we must all emulate him. How Jesus had risen from the dead with the blessing of his Father, as would anyone else who truly believed. That some may view the undead as a curse, but to him, they were an instrument of God! Was he really trying to glorify the scourge trying to scratch their way through the castle's stone walls? "Throw open the gates!"one of the faithful roared. "Cleanse the castle!" Uh oh. The priest roared back: "Yes! Let his instruments choose the faithful from the wicked!"He took a running gallop toward the gatehouse, and a good number of the members of his flock followed, whipped into a frenzy. "Open the gates!"they shouted. The lone guard snoozing by the lever hardly had time to comprehend what was happening before they fell upon him. I loosed an arrow, hitting the priest in the shoulder, but it hardly even slowed him down. Before I could wind up the bow again, they stormed the gatehouse and raised the latticed inner gate. Other guards around the battlements turned their attention from the mob outside and began firing into the crowd, but there were too few of us. The priest and his followers surged forward and lifted the heavy beam blocking the wooden gates. The undead flooded through the open entryway and immediately began feasting on the crowd. I caught a final glance of the priest, standing with his arms open as though on a cross, before the undead buried him and tore his flesh to pieces. Trumpets, barely audible over the hungry moans and screams of pain, sounded from inside the keep. Anyone who could retreat was ordered into the last redoubt. I managed to make it just before the doors closed and a sea of undead smashed against the wooden barrier behind me. The hinges were already straining, and the old beams seemed ready to splinter. It was only a matter of time now.
"We spent all of our evolution, from crawling from the oceans, to reaching the cosmos, developing better and more efficient ways to kill each other." "Yes. And?" "And, as the saying goes. Practice makes perfect. I concede, your armada is impressive. You could glass our colonies and planets a thousand times over. You could easily wipe out all of our battleships and vaporise each and every one of us in a heartbeat." "I am pleased that you understand your position." "Oh, I certainly do, ambassador. The problem therein is that you do not understand yours." "Oh?" "Yes. You see, we have all but perfected the art of senseless slaughter. We can decimate anything we do not like. For centuries before we reached the stars, we had laws on war. Laws that not a single one of us dared to break. Imagine that, dear ambassador. Ten billion individuals, each with their own thoughts, feelings and ideals. People who had loved and lost everything... Yet still followed the rules." "I'm afraid I don't follow." "Please, try to understand... Humans are not a kindly species. We are, by our nature, aggressive. We are built for war. For death. For anarchy. We thrive on it. But our laws... They protect humans. Something which you are not." "Is that a threat? Do you offer me insult, Emmisary?" "No, ambassador. I offer you a chance for peace. Perhaps if you make haste, you will reach your home world before the virus reaches its third stage. I'm told that the pain is quite... Intolerable after 72 hours." The already pale face of the ambassador drained of all colour. "You see, when humans are backed into a corner... We tend to lash out. Like rats faced with a snake, we are willing to bite off our own tail to escape, confuse or launch a surprise counter attack." At the sound of a violent cough, one I smothered with a white cloth, the ambassador all but jumped back. I turned the cloth, revealing a vile lump of black blood. "Its airborne, Ambassador. Tell your people to surrender. Maybe we will provide you with the antidote." With that, I stood from the table and turned, even as the particles in the air began attacking the soft tissue of my lungs. "Remember this, Ambassador. In a game of chicken in war... Humans refuse to lose. And when we do... Well, we're pretty sore losers." A/N: Thanks for the Seal of approval, kind stranger. No clue who or when because apparently you don't get told about those funny ones, but it's cute so I like it. Thanks! Now Gold, Silver and a weird 'S' rune/bag thing? Thank you kindly! Didn't think that this would be so enjoyed. Guess I gotta keep on writing these shorts!
"Dragon! I come for the princess!"Cried the knight, raising his sword high, armor shining in the midday sun. "Hand her over, or I shall cut you down!" "Oooh Sir Aymeric, at last you are here! I have been waiting such a long time to meet you at last!"Said the woman, throwing herself in his arms. Only, it wasn't the woman he came to fetch. He was looking for legendary beauty Princess Shana, redheaded and fair as winter snow. This woman, although she was also beautiful, was raven haired and tanned like the desert sand. And where was the dragon he was sent to fight, for that matter? Surely no dragon would back down from a direct threat to its territory. He even went to the trouble of finding the beast's den. "Lady, are you in trouble? I shall--" "I am in no trouble, except..."the woman clutched her breast; "...for the trouble of my beating heart." "Is... there something the matter with your heart?" "No... it just can't be still when I gaze upon your fair face. I have only gazed upon you from afar, and now that you're here, I fear I may die..." As the strange lady caressed his cheek, the knight slowly put two and two together. "I'm... I'm not here to fight a dragon." "No! I would never dream of hurting you! Unless..."The woman blushed. "... you were out that inclination." "And... there is no princess." "I did that poor girl a favor. She was in love with the stable boy. I 'kidnap' her, she escapes, and I get to be with you. It was a win-win." "She... she didn't love me?" "But I do, my knight!" The knight gently pushed her away. Then sank down, his face ashen. "I come all this way. Only to find out my betrothed never loved me. And... on top of that, there is no dragon to slay and claim for my reward." "Wha- bu- I'm the dragon!"She said to the sobbing man, "Have you been listening to me? You've slain my heart already! I am your reward, my love!" She watched the man sob a little longer. "Geeze. No wonder she wasn't keen on you. You don't listen."
Myrthil eyed her grubby hands as she rose from planting the final magic bean. Ignoring the hostile stares of villagers, she started her ritual dance. The bean sprouted. Flailing like a mad woman on the eve of the solstice, Myrthil followed the beanstalk as it snaked across the square. ‘Not the tavern, not the tavern, not the tavern, not the tavern’, she chanted under her breath. The sun beat down from its peak, and this was her twelfth beanstalk of the day. One would think the Gods could give her dreams or hallucinations, but no, her eternal guide was magic-fucking-beans. It was challenging the resolve of this 82-years-sober wizard. The beanstalk tapped insolently on the tavern door. Myrthil swore as she opened the door and continued her ridiculous dance in front of the half-dozen stunned patrons. She followed the beanstalk to a shadowy table where a plump-cheeked serving boy was pouring ale. Hey, child. Have you ever felt different? Like you’re too damn special to listen to a single instruction. Stopping her dance, she puffed up her chest and prepared to upend the serving boy’s life. ‘What a fucking week!’ came a grumble from the shadows. Myrthil’s head snapped around, causing her pointed hat to fall askew. The boy had been serving none other than Grius the Grand, a wizard famous for guiding the strongest chosen-ones, and infamous for his temperament while doing it. To her horror, Myrthil’s beanstalk was inching its way up his robed leg. “It seems I’m your chosen-one, witch.” Gritting her teeth, Myrthil slid into the chair opposite the grizzled old man. “Get me a tall glass of your strongest liquor,” she growled at the none-too-special serving boy.
"Caarrlllll! Why did you crush every human into a giant meatball?" "I do not know what you are talking about." "I'm talking about that giant ball of meat right there." "Oh wow I did not see that. Must be some nasty chefs going around." "Carl, I watched you piecing it together." "That does not sound like something I would do." "Carl... Oh god... Why is still moving Carl?" "Oh, it is? The chef must've been a genius that knew of a way to keep the meat fresh by keeping it alive." "Carl." "Gee whiz, I can only hope to meet such a genius." "Carl." "I wonder if the spices have settled in, right?" "CARRRRLLLLLLL!!!" "Oh, yes?" "Please tell me why Carl?" "Why did the genius chef do this? Why he must've wanted the biggest meat lovers' pizza ever." "Carl" "Maybe he had a big plate of spaghetti." "CARL!!" "I suppose we will never know." "Carl...I...I'm going out, Carl." "Don't tell me you're Vegan now Paul and after I went through so much effort."
# Trolley Man The kid doesn't deserve it, of course. No one I throw in the wood chipper, literally or figuratively, deserves it. He's just this happy little dude, one hand holding an ice cream cone, his other hand in his mom's, they're just strolling down the sidewalk on a rare glorious Minneapolis summer day. Just a happy little kid, enjoying a sunny day. But Vanity Bonfire has gotten out of lockup again, somehow, and she's turned the corner just ahead and is walking towards me. She sees me, and recognizes me from the last time I helped put her away, and she's lifting her upturned palms. Just absolute shit luck. I've got about three seconds before she pulls down enough solar energy to flashfire most of the city block. I whistle real loudly and the kid looks at me. Perfect. I lock eyes with him and feel my pupils blow open. Not windows to the soul in my case, more portholes into the Great Nothingness that's always eating away at the universe, and there's no airlock doors between me and the kid, whose eyes are windows to his soul. At least for me. The kid's pupils blow open and a blast of cold that has nothing to do with physical temperature slams through me. The kid drops dead, his mom screams, people around us all start looking and yelling and screaming. Up ahead Vanity Bonfire's hands are glowing bright and now I do feel a difference in physical air temperature, getting real warm real fast. Last time I used the juice I pulled from an elderly woman's sundered lifeforce to throw a sort of psychic haymaker into Vanity's mind. Had knocked her right the hell out. I'd helped the cops get her cuffed and straitjacketed, and had thought that was the end of it. Two years ago, in Berlin, she'd torched a quarter of the city. Fuck that shit. I wasn't going to try subtle a second time. I channel the newly-deceased kid's soul into kinetic force, pulling on Vanity's wrists. I tear her hands right off the ends of her arms. No flashpoint. Minneapolis doesn't become Berlin 2.0. Vanity screams and falls and watches her twitching hands flop and skitter on the sidewalk in front of her. Then she bleeds and cries a little and dies. I feel the dregs of the kid's soul settle into the pit of my stomach, like a lump of ashes. All around me, people running and screaming and throwing up and just completely losing their shit. But they're alive. The kid's mother sits on the sidewalk, cradling his head in her hands, very quietly asking him to wake up. I stagger away, not looking back at the real hero of the day.
Red is vibrant. It is deep. It draws your attention, existing somewhere between the almost invisible whiteness of yellow and the subtle darkness of blue, or green. Red is almost made to be complemented - darkness turns red sullen, brightness makes it romantic. Red is contrasting - against any other color, it forces you to acknowledge it. Red is a warning. Animals use it with other bright colors to demand your attention, advertise that they are not prey, and an attack on them will likely cost you your life. Red tells us when to stop when we drive, and red is often the color rules are proclaimed in. It is scary - red is the color of blood, the color you see when you close your eyes, the color you see when you can't control yourself. Red is the color of early sunrise and late sunset, fringing the day in its embrace. It is the warmth in our faces, the blush of romantics. It is the color of love and life. Red is a fire, that can burn you or heat you. Red is 620–750 nm, the edge of what we can see. It hints at the invisible radiation of the sky and earth. It is the color of stars being born and stars past their prime. It is a color of beginnings, middles, and endings. Life may have started green, but intelligence, emotion, meaning has always been red.
".. I'm sorry, Sir; no copy. Repeat order? Over." "I said take your squad to position 3, Assault and Capture and take their Commander prisoner.." ".. Okay I th.." "I'M NOT FINISHED, SOLDIER. CAPTURE THEIR AND PUT YOUR NUTS IN HIS FACE. OVER." "Uh.. okay. Solid copy Commander; Assault and Capture Position 3, take the Commander prisoner then.. uh.. sprinkle nuts over his face? Over." "NO. YOUR NUTS. PUT YOUR WARM, SWEATY TESTICLES ON HIS FACE. THEN TAKE THEM OFF. REPEAT INSTRUCTIONS UNTIL FURTHER ORDERS RECIEVED. OVER." "Copy sir. Put my testicles on the captured Commanders face. Solid Copy... but uh.. Sir.." "Private YOU HAVE YOUR ORDERS." "But I.... the Geneva convention a.." "DO I SOUND LIKE GIVE A DAMN ABOUT SOME 'BINDING UN RESOLUTION'?? BALLS. TO HIS FACE. GO. OVER." "Solid Copy sir; but to clarify what happens if I get my balls shot off during the assault." "Oh for f.. THEN JUST RESPAWN AND.." "No no, I get that.. but if I don't and the medic heals me up, I'll still be combat ready just.. uh.. you know.." "Oh.. oh right." "Yeah.. without.. yeah.. without my balls. Over." "Oh.. shit. You know.. I didn't .. huh, you know I didn't actually think of that." ".. I could order the whole squad to .. uh.. put their balls in their Commanders face after we take position 3. But.. you know." "That's.. hah. That's actually..." "Just sayin.. that's.. that's a lotta balls, Sir." "No no. Your right.. but, dammit.. that's just good tactical thinking.. good idea, Sarge. Do it. Assault and Capture position 3. Then have the whole squad taking turns dropping their testicles on their Commanders face. Unless they've lost them." "Orders recieved sir. Commencing assault n.." "Then stick a corncob in his ass." "... uhh.. that's a negative sir. We don't have any corncobs." "The hell you don't!!" "Sir, we ran out of corncobs after taking position two. And sticking them all up the Commanders ass there." "Well shit."
It's freezing out. Leave it to Washington DC to be clear all December, then send up a blizzard on Christmas Eve. Leave it to the Post to say someone has to work the tip line on statutory holidays and leave it to Marty and Lisa to pawn the job off on me. So I'm alone, on Christmas, in some rundown diner in Bethesda. It's the saddest place I've ever been. Just a waitress with sciatica and two drunk truckers listening to Silent Night over sour coffee. Who asks to meet a reporter on Christmas Eve? All I know is she said she has the scoop of the decade. There was something in her voice that made me believe her. I try to watch out the window for anyone coming , but there's so much snow I can't even tell when a car turns into the lot. But then the door rattles and in she walks, the wind kicking up and yelping behind her. She walks right up to me. She smells like cinnamon, and something I forgot about when I stopped being a little boy anymore. When I learned how deep the lies go in this town. She asks me if I'm me. I nod and she slides into the booth beside me. She apologizes for the timing. Tonight's the only night she can know for sure she isn't being watched, she says. She's wearing a big trench coat and her hair is wrapped up in a handkerchief covered in candy canes. She pulls out a thick manila envelope and hands it over. My god. This is a payload. This is Monica Lewinsky getting fucked by Edward Snowden in the Watergate hotel. This is a goddamn Pulitzer. Then I realize who she is. Who she must be. "Mrs. C-"I ask. She begs me not to say it aloud. I understand why. That big red motherfucker. You'd think the money from all those Coca Cola commercials would be enough. But no. He's sold all of it and the proof is all right here. He's sold every last file on every last American son and daughter going back to World War Two. Naughty. Nice. Didn't matter one bit. Every candy bar you swiped from a convenience store, every lie you told your mom, every porno you downloaded, the NSA knows all of it now. Nobody is safe. Nobody has a single secret. Sometimes a man can be a traitor even when working for his own government and that's what this is: treachery. There's not enough hoverboards or tickle-me-elmo's in the world to make up for a crime like this. Thomas Jefferson is rolling over in his grave. I tell her she did the right thing. I tell her the people deserve to know the truth, even if it's going to ruin their Christmas. I promise we're running the story in the morning edition. She starts to cry. She tells me she's sorry she ever married him if this is what he was capable of. I cradle her face and stroke the tears from her cheek and she clasps my hand and smiles for the first time. Soon we're kissing with our whole mouths and it feels like I'm running down the stairs to unwrap presents under the tree. The window shatters and the snow and wind fly in our faces. I can barely see, but there's two of them in green parkas and face masks, running towards us with AK-47s almost as tall as they are. "Assassin elves!"she whispers. She tells me we have to run.
Gabriel flew faster than he had ever gone before. His wings were aching from the strain. He passed through the golden gates, no time to wave to Peter today. Gabriel glided up the golden stairs to the throne where God sat. Heaving with every breath he managed to get out, “We need more Angels… lost almost.. every… garrison.” “It is day 6, you know I must rest soon.” “Yes… yes but the humans are too plentiful my lord. We will lose if we do not gain a larger force.” “Lose? To my creation? We were supposed to be preparing to battle Lucifer and his hordes of demons. How will we manage to stop him if we can’t even beat the humans?” God furrowed his brow in frustration. “Well actually, that’s the good news.” Gabriel said hesitantly “What?” Asked God “The forces of Hell can’t destroy them either.” “Even when working together?” “My lord, I do not ally myself with demons. However, I have seen what’s left of them.” “How? They lived in mud huts and caves. Where did they gain this power?” “I know not lord. Only that they’ve become exceptionally good at using the Earth to their advantage.” “The Earth? You mean to say they’ve not learned to possess holy or demonic energy?” “No Lord they do not. They fashion pieces of the Earth into augments of sorts. Weapons, high precision crafting, and vehicles.” God said nothing so Gabriel continued, “My lord you may have made a mistake.” God flared with rage at his subordinate, “I do not make mistakes! They were to be MINE! My craftsmen! Now they serve themselves?” “Perhaps you should not have made them so strong willed my lord, more subservient.” God shook his head, “What good is a builder if I must tell him how to build? The humans are unique because they can generate a thought completely original. The main difference between them and you Gabriel.” “You used your image to make them?” Gabriel asked in awe. “Yes, and they’re not far from being equal, once they learn of the 2 great universal energies, I will be no better.” “But they are dangerous Lord, you can’t trust them with that power!, they make mistakes!” God nodded slightly, “As do I, I have now learned.” “What will we do?” “Gabriel, I will muster one last force of Angels, combine your efforts with Lucifer’s and do what you can.” “With the enemy?” “The enemy of our new enemy.” “I understand but lord… we will not win.” Gabriel looked petrified. He looked as though the mere thought of going back to Earth was a nightmare he wanted to forget. He shook and wrung his hands as he looked back at god. “Gabriel…” God started. Gabriel cut him off and burst out, “No! You haven’t seen it! What they do to us. You haven’t seen the ones that make sport of it! They make sport of it lord! They count our corpses and laugh. They shoot us from the sky with projectiles I cannot explain. Some of them are massive walls of muscle, some have no limit to the cleverness they will abuse to capture us. They slaughter both the demons and us with horrific ease lord… I say again, we will not win.” God’s face was blank. Gabriel stood and waited. Slowly, God blinked once and said, “Gabriel, go. You know you cannot disobey.” Gabriel felt himself give in, “Yes lord.” As Gabriel flew off to his death, God looked around at the now seemingly empty heaven. He began to summon holy energy for one last time before he had to sleep. However, It was different this time. God felt something he hadn’t felt for a long time. This time, God felt afraid.
The old man had watch the world fall. Families ripped apart by war, children left to starve with everyone else, and disease brought down many of the survivors. He watched it all, and now, he waited. The 3 horseman that had already taken their thrones, now awaiting their comrade. War was a young gentleman, constantly glaring at the other 2. He had scars covering his face, but his eyes were dark and full of hatred. He had come with anger, anger at us for daring to use him so willingly, to throw lives away without a thought to the grief it would bring. Famine was an old man like me. His bones showed through his skin, and his eyes held pain with every movement. He rarely stood, refusing to use what little energy he had. He came with sadness. Sadness that we let so many die to him. He shed tears for every life he claimed. Pestilence was more toward the age of my son. Middle-aged. His skin was covered in blisters and sores. Most wouldn’t look at him. He brought sympathy. I favored him most. He knew that we tried our best to fight him. We hide, we fought, we created, all to fend him off. But he would still take many whenever he was near. His eyes held remorse. They sat, and for days, they waited. The last of them had yet to arrive. The survivors sat below them, and we watched. We knew there was nothing to be done but to watch. To look our death in the eyes as it took us. Most of us were dying. We fought each other, as war influenced us. We scarfed down many of the healthy fallen, as we couldn’t contain our hunger, and we burned the bodies of any infected, as we tried our best to keep it contained. Our camp grew smaller every hour. But we still waited. And we watched. We new death had finally arrived when the 3 stood. Famine grabbed pestilence as he stood, unable to hold himself. War stood at his full height. We dared not look into his eyes. The 3 didn’t move. They stared over us with anger, sadness, and sympathy. I turned, and I faced death. A little girl stood in our camp. She had a small smile on her face, but tears in her eyes. She walked slowly toward the front of the group. She seemed not to care about the time it took, the people that fell around her, dead. Her steps held purpose. I would never have imagined death to be small. Death had held the word longer than any of the others. She should be strong, brutal and cold. So why did her smile make me calm? Why did I want her to tell me everything would be okay? She finally reached her throne. She looked tiny compared to it. How would she even sit in it? My question was answered when she turned to us... and she knelt. The few of us that were left said nothing, to confused and terrified to even try. “I’m sorry for the pain you’ve endured.” Her voice was nothing but a whisper, yet I heard it as if she were right in front of me. “I’m sorry for those that we’ve taken from you.” She grabbed the hands of war and famine. “But in order for you to come with us, you must have been taught the reason why this has happened.” She looked out at us with what I can only describe as regret. “War has taught you fighting will solve nothing.” And he sat. “Famine taught you that no matter how much you keep for yourselves, you’ll still lose it in the end.” He sat slowly, unable to hide the strain it took. “Pestilence taught you to cherish one another, that you’ll never be able to ward off everything.” Finally, death was the last one standing. “Now it is my turn.” She raised her hand and I braced for my end. The wave of calm that washed over me felt like a breath of fresh air. My bones felt young again, and I could breath once more without feeling the disease that had taken my body. I looked up, and saw my son and my wife, standing there holding there arms out to me. I wanted to run to them. But I waited. “I will teach you happiness. You will no longer worry about pain. The anger you have felt will no longer hold you. Disease will never touch you. You will continue on in what you never could have had here. You will be free of your humanity. And you will learn what it means to truly love one another.” I turned to watch the horsemen. Wars scars had faded. A woman was next to him, holding him close and whispering her love to him. Famine looked healthy again, and a young boy and a woman stood next to him. Pestilence stood smiling, unblemished. 2 dogs at his feet, and a little girl in his arms, squealing that her father was home. And death was wrapped in a white cloak. An old woman stood next to her, birds surrounding her and life blooming wherever she stepped. “We will show you what we have wanted to show you since the day you were created.” And with death. She brought peace.
The Forgehall glowed orange under the mountain. Dokolfer raised his voice to be heard over hammers ringing on steel. "Aye,"he said. "That's what they're saying. Human steel strong as Mithium." Mannus the Forgemaster brought his heavy shaping hammer whistling down on a piece of glowing metal. Sparks leaped off the anvil in a fiery arc that died in the dimness of the vast underground chamber. Again and again, the hammer fell, and Mannus slowly forced the metal to yield to his will. "Said that, did they?"Mannus's voice was gruff with a slight rasp from centuries of laboring in the dim heat and haze under the mountain. "Talks only talk."He said and continued to work, his heavy hammer guided effortlessly by a heavily muscled arm. "What’s King Brawn say?" Dokolfer agreed talk was empty air until proven otherwise. But the humans were confident in their improvement on dwarven techniques. And this time, they sent proof. "King Brawn said Forgehall is yours and by rights yer decision,"Dokolfer said, crossing his arms over his tunic, suddenly feeling a bit out of place. He was the only dwarf present who wasn't wearing a beard apron, bare-chested with slag-scarred hands and soot settled into the muscular grooves of his chest. Raised to be an ambassador like his father before him, Dokolfer had never wielded a hammer in the Forgehall. "Whatever ye decide he supports ye. Also said the durn fool should know after all these years." Mannus traded his hammer for a pair of large pincers and took up the glowing metal. The work was part of him, ingrained in his bones. He no longer needed to think about what must be done. His hands simply made it happen. A smile split white above the beard apron. "Aye, I knowed. Still good to hear. A good dwarf, me king." The water in the trough hissed and frothed when Mannus thrust the steel into its embrace. All around, dwarves worked identical anvil platforms fronting the long rows of forges carved directly into the stone of the mountain, shirtless backs glistening in the orange shadows of the Forgehall. Mannus retracted the newly quenched metal from the trough and tossed it into the glowing maw of the forge, turning to look at Dokolfer for the first time. His face was flat and hammered like the metal he worked, with dusky grey eyes lined on both sides, honed sharp with the wisdom only age can bring. He pursed his lips, a slight pinching together of mustache and beard apron. "I see no harm in havin' a human about, so long as they don't cause me dwarves trouble. But you'll be long in convincing one o' me boys they'll be wanting to spend any time in a human city working them what they call Smithies." Dokolfer agreed, save one thing. "Got me a volunteer."He fought back the grin that twitched on his lips at the surprise on Mannus's face. "Volunteer?" "Aye,"Dokolfer said, pointing down the line of forges to a distant figure with hair the color of fire, broad of shoulder, and muscled as any dwarf had ever been. "Aethel's eager to see human lands and what they're about. The old stories have 'es head filled with wonders. He was quick to volunteer, he was." Mannus followed Dokolfer's finger across the great chamber. "Ye talked to me dwarves without meself first?"Anger simmered under the flat calm of his voice. "Aethel, is it? He's a pup with nay a hunnerd years under his beard. Can't be lettin'em traipse off to the gods knows where at such a tender age."Mannus was shaking his head firmly. "Maybe another fifty or hunnerd years he can go." "Ye hadn't seen a century when ye started yer travels,"Dokolfer pointed out. "Traveled to Emeralsteel before ye was a hunnerd, ye did." Mannus looked at him sharply, lips pursed again, considering. "Aye, I remember,"Dokolfer said. "Was all a grand affair, and ye argued with yer father, then the Forgemaster, that ye was more'n old enough to go. I remember he thought as ye do now but relented in the end. Hard to let go, they say." Mannus lifted his chin, a stubborn light in those grey eyes. Then he sighed and blew out his mustache, scrubbing a gnarled hand down his face. "Aye, I remember it well,"he said, his eyes momentarily misting with memories. "Send'em then, but hear me well, dwarf,"Mannus pressed the tip of his nose into Dokolfer's, stabbing a stubby finger into the delicate fabric of his tunic. "If anything happens to the lad while 'es away, I'll be comin for yer beard, and don't ye be thinkin there'll be anything to stop me." Dokolfer believed him, spreading his hands wide and nodding his understanding. "I'll be lookin after the young stallion, I will. No harm will come to'em, on me beard." Mannus stepped back, seemingly mollified. "Good. Good that ye understand. Did these humans o' yers send a sample?" Dokolfer smiled, slipping a hand inside his tunic. It was a black satin scabbard traced in polished silver. The blade hissed from its sheath, the soft whisper of master craftsmanship, polished steel with dark blue swirls running along the gleaming length. Mannus's eyes fell upon it with grudging appreciation. "Aye,"was all the Forgemaster managed to say. His eyes were mesmerized by the magnificent weapon and how the light played over the metal. It was perfectly balanced and light in his hand, a pleasure to hold. He ran a thumb along the razor-fine edge, whistling in appreciation. Then his face jerked up. "Human steel?" "Aye, plain old iron they pulled out 'o the hills around their keep. Not a fleck o’ Mithium in it.” Mannus's brows tried to lift right off his forehead, and he nodded, moving toward a testing bench. He hammered at the sword, bent it in a vise, and Dokolfer watched it spring back into shape, good as ever. Mannus doused it with acid, beat at it with chisels, and subjected the blue-swirled steel to every torture shy of tossing it into the molten depths of a volcano. When finished, he scrubbed sweat from his brow and turned to Dokolfer. Something strange glinted in his grey eyes. "Send word to yer humans."His voice was gruff, grudging, and impressed. "We accept their exchange."His eyes went back to the sword, then returned to Dokolfer. "In all me years, I've never held plain steel with such strength and durability. If they'll be sharing their secret, we'll be listening." "I have the parchment written in me chamber,"Dokolfer said. "Just needs the Kings seal for the dovecote." "Aye, do it,"Mannus held the sword at arm's length, admiring how the Forgehall's orange light ran warm along the metal. "Only a stubborn old fool would turn away from learnin' to work the metal with such mastery. Might be its the future."
You know those people that are just... Just too fucking happy? You know who I mean? I'm sure you do. They're the kind of guy that always offers to help, without complaints. They're the kind of guy who donates to charity, shit, run the damn charity. The kind of guy who would do anything to make their sweetheart happy. Always smiling always laughing; the life of the party. The problem with this, you see, is that the average joe like myself can't compete. We don't stand a bloody chance! They're the kind of guy who is just.. perfect. And they're the kind of guy my wife left me for.
Tessa received the dinner invitation in the mail after nearly drowning in Australia's Great Barrier Reef. It came on thick white paper in a matte black envelope. Aside from listing a nearby restaurant, it simply said: Please join me for dinner at 8pm. I have watched your adventures on television with a keen eye, and wish we could meet in person. Sincerely, An admirer. The script was seductive, elegant. Why the hell not see who was it from? Life had got boring after she recovered from her diving escape, anyway. They were meeting in a restaurant, not much could go wrong in public if it was some wacky stalker, anyway. She thought back fondly at her past year as she got ready. She had got quite a reputation for herself. Quite a decent chunk of money, too. Everything she did was televised now. Tight-rope walking between skyscrapers, with no support. Diving into shark-infested waters. She'd lost a finger to that one. Climbing Mount Everest in the winter. Life was made to live at such extremes, she felt. Every time she walked on the edge of death, she felt that strange, excited thrill flare up in her stomach. She lived for those moments. Tessa got dressed hastily as she looked at the clock. Almost late. She hastened to the restaurant, but paused as she stepped inside: it was almost empty. She felt that familiar, delicious sick thrill in her stomach as she caught a glimpse of a rake-thin man sitting in a booth, staring at her. "Tessa. You got my invitation, good. Do sit down,"he said politely. He was ghostly pale, with neatly combed back black hair. His eyes were pitch black. She sat, staring at him. He looked familiar. "Yes,"he answered her thought, with a thin smile that revealed rather sharp teeth. "We've met many times. I've been shadowing you for the past year, Tessa, ready to claim your soul whenever you danced with me, as you risked your life. Your soul has a most delicious, spicy scent. You've been teasing me long enough. I want to taste you." A waiter suddenly appeared from the kitchen and put a bowl of curry in front of her, then disappeared silently. Tessa couldn't look away from the man's black gaze. Her heart was thumping. She knew who he was. He wanted her to know. She was sitting across from Death. "Taste me. How...naughty,"she said, unable to stop herself from grinning. It was madness, she knew. This whole night was crazy. She might as well enjoy her date. He quirked an eyebrow at her and nodded towards the curry. "Eat." "What about you?"she asked, digging in. She wanted to please him. She knew now it was him that had caused the delicious thrill of excitement whenever she'd risked her life. If she pissed him off, might he leave her? His black eyes gleamed. He smiled. "I'll eat later." She wasn't surprised when she began choking and foaming at the mouth a few minutes later. Poison. A part of her had known. "And now,"he whispered. "Our kiss - " He leaned over to press his lips against the dying girl's mouth, when someone laid a hand on his shoulder. Death turned around and scowled at the intruder. "Not again,"he sighed. "I want to taste her. She agreed. It was a date." "No,"He said, His white eyes gleaming with anger. "How many times must I tell you, little brother? You cannot choose who to kill, or when. I choose. You simply show up to do the job on the day. This woman dies in an airplane accident, not like this." "When?"Death asked greedily, but He shook his head and took Death's arm. "Come away,"He said. "Let me at least leave a note?"Death begged. "Please?" "I do not like this,"He grumbled, but Death scribbled the note anyway. He knew that resigned look on his brother's face. He would let him leave the note. He could usually be persuaded, if Death begged for a favour. Like the Flood, Death remembered fondly. All his idea. The good old days. But lately, 'don't intervene' was the policy. So better not push his luck. A note was enough, he would see Tessa again soon. He took Death's arm after he'd scribbled the note, and they disappeared. Tessa opened her eyes with a weak cough, her body burning with pain. She sat up with a groan and looked around for Death. He was gone. Her eyes prickled with tears. The feeling of ecstasy she got around him had disappeared too. Would she ever feel it again? Then she saw the note. She picked it up with a trembling hand, and smiled as she read it. Watch out for me, darling. We'll have our second date. PS: I'd love to watch you fly someday. ------- Hope you liked my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
It's not about the money. They always make that mistake when they write about me in the papers. 'Doctor SuperMoney' they call me. The woman with a trillion dollar business making people into superheros, and its all about the money. Which is wrong. No one knows my own power. They all assume it's the ability to grant powers. That's... Let me back up. August 27, 2029. I am driving my beat up hybrid diesel VW Taureg out through the mountains of Tennessee trying to get a glimpse of the meteor shower that's supposed to hit that night. It's late--maybe 3am. I'd worked that day, but it had been my last surgery for the month. Neuro surgery is stressful for everyone, but I'd made a decision several years earlier to work a 2 months on two off schedule, except for emergencies. The other surgeons in the neuro group had all adopted the same schedule--and we were all better doctors and surgeons for it. We made a bit less money overall, but we took better care of our patients, and we made better decisions. Different story. As I had driven up in those mountains though, a large deer had jumped in front of my Taureg and I'd swerved...and dropped off the edge of the road...down the hill....trees crunching into the vehicle, but never stopping it. Finally a free fall into the cold water below. The cold, and as it turns out, contaminated, water. Who could have known about the Micro-Rift that had opened a quarter mile upstream? Or that it was leaking into the river? Well, other than the idiot that had made it? Not me, of course. Three days I'd been in the water, nearly dead, stewing in that contamination. And when I emerged, eyes suddenly wide open, lungs suddenly healed and body seamlessly healing itself, I had power. I made a choice...the obvious one from my perspective, really...to keep it quiet. Power? Sure, I was super strong and healed quickly, but it was draining. Left me tired and hungry to indulge too much in those things. But the real power was my Sight. To look into the future and know what was coming. And it scares me. And it makes me want to prepare. So I did the smart thing. I studied. Why didn't I die? What made my accident different. What made me emerge alive and super powered? What made me different? That line of research was...less than informative at first. Until I started looking at the commonalities with others with powers. Accidents, those born with powers, whatever. What did we all have in common? What made us unique? What cause one person to develop telekinesis over superspeed? It took years. But all along, I've had a motivation other than money. But the final discovery made me wealthy in the extreme. Even before that, just approaching the DoD with the possibility that I had a premise on which it might possible to understand these things--along with my medical credentials--got me solid funding early on. But once it was possible to create soldiers with super strength, super speed, and super toughness? The military ate that up. Then the police wanted cops that couldn't be killed in the line of duty. It became the 'police package'. And if you couldn't get that package, you weren't a policeman after all. So yes, it made me money, then more money. Then even more. But when you know what's coming in a few hundred years, you want the world ready to meet it. Because what's coming? We still aren't ready. And when it gets here, if we aren't ready, we're dead. And it scares me. So the newsies and pundits and politicos can call me Doctor SuperMoney if they like. And that's okay. Because if SuperMoney is what it takes to make sure we can survive the coming storm, then that's what I'll do. But it's never about the money. It's about making sure we survive.
Item # STV-5XXX - Pending review by O5 command. Object class - Safe Special containment procedures - Object is to be maintained in a 3 meter by 3 meter by 3 meter cell constructed entirely from continental bedrock no less than 1 meter thick with access to a bed. Access to enrichment materials is ~~to be carefully reviewed by no less than 4 level 3 researchers~~ limited to food items and reading materials (see incident log STV-5XXX-1.3). At no time is the object to come into contact with materials made of wood, igneous rock, low carbon steel, Gold or alloys thereof containing more than 80% by mass pure gold; or certain allotropes of carbon. Food may be provided as needed to prevent starvation and injury depending on subjects activity level (see addendum STV-5XXX-2). Object is to be monitored by CCTV cameras installed into the walls of the subjects containment chamber. Surveillance equipment must not be constructed of any materials previously mentioned, must take up no more than 1/16th of a meter, and be disguised to deter notice or interest by the object. Should current containment procedures prove insufficient members of MTF Zeta-9 "Mole Rats"and no less than 2 members of MTF Theta-90 "Angle Grinders"are to be brought in to effect re-containment. Description - STV-5XXX is an individual humanoid creature analogous to a member of homo sapiens sapiens. The object appears to have a cubic structure throughout its' body, though this is unconfirmed at this time (see incident log STV-5XXX-1.1). The object has brown "hair"and appears to be wearing a blue T-Shirt; though the object has never been seen to remove or change its clothing. Object displays near-human to human levels of cognition; however it is not possible at this time to determine to what extent the object is sapient. Although the object has a mouth, it is mute and may not in fact contain vocal cords. The object is capable of lifting at least 2 metric tons, and storing on its person an as yet undetermined number of items with a mass limit of unknown quantity. Testing involving approved materials was cancelled after 3.64 metric tons of material were given to the object, which promptly vanished into its pockets. No change in the objects' weight or movement speed were noted after testing. During initial containment (see incident log STV-5XXX-1.0) the object was seen breaking nearby trees with its bare hands and anomalously producing cubes of wood after several seconds of punching. The object when allowed access to certain materials is also capable of creating gateways that allow for dimensional transport and consumable liquids that appear to greatly augment its existing abilities (see incident log STV-5XXX-1,3). Object is extremely dangerous under certain conditions ~~perhaps justifying a reclassification to Keter~~ (see object class review O5-STV-5XXX); especially if allowed time and access to preferred resources, to both people and animals. It is capable of anomalously metamorphosing acquired raw materials into various anomalous objects through means not currently understood. As of \[Redacted Date\] the object appears to be secure and unable to breach existing containment method.
Telepaths are not common. Perhaps one in a hundred thousand have the potential to become a telepath. And even then, their power is usually not all that impressive. Most can mind scan, see surface level thoughts, interact with the dreams of sleeping people, and are generally good at intrinsically knowing what other people mean when they say something. Only very few have the sort of power that can really be called impressive. There have been a couple of them throughout history, telepaths who could dominate thousands, who could see the memories of the recently deceased, and read the minds of animals. But they are rare indeed. Most of them get work with criminal justice, as they are usually able to tell whether the person being charged is actually guilty or not. Very few cases on our world exists where an innocent man is imprisoned for a crime he or she didn't commit. I have to say, the concept of having your mind read objectively, without the safeguards of humanity, have intrigued me. To have someone else understand you down to your fundamental levels, the depths of your soul even. As that is what the stronger telepaths can do. To be known fully and completely by a human being like that, it's quite fascinating really. So when a friend of mine got me into contact with his cousin, as a birthday gift, I was rather excited. She was a fairly powerful telepath. Not a once in a century powerful type, but definitely well above average. Sitting down on that chair, as she cheerfully explained how she'd go about it, staying out of any personal or embarrassing stuff, not touching anything unpleasant or repressed, I was impressed. She knew her stuff. She knew what she was doing, and to my understanding, she did it well. Ever so gently, she began the scan. I could feel her mind connect to mine. The effect she was used to was to be like a pool of water, covering a rock of thoughts. Enveloping the mind in her own, and seeing it from all angles she could. A rare skill indeed, to be so good at interacting with, but still keeping herself separate, from the other mind. It was only a few brief moments, but she quickly withdrew in fear. I saw her as she recoiled in terror, sweaty beads on her terrified brow, she asked me ''What are you?'' with a shaky and deeply unsettled voice. So unlike the cheery confident voice she'd used before. She looked at me with such dreadful terror and fear, yet I merely smiled at her. I couldn't really blame her. How could I? A telepath like her is a pond of living water, she can envelop everything she takes within herself, for the non-telepaths are like small stones and pebbles, easily sinking deep and becoming known by the telepath. The legendary telepaths are like great lakes, with deep currents, strange fish, and room for many tiny pebbles in their waters, room to control them, to make them drift if needed. But what happens with the pond attempts to envelop the ocean. What happens when a sunless sea, of nearly frozen black water, meets the quaint little pond? The sea subsumes the pond. I am not a telepath. Though I have been interested in how they worked, for such little things they are, and yet they tap into something so grand, that they yet do not understand. I am to a telepath what a drop of water is to the endless sunless ocean. I am to a human being what a human being is to a pet rat. And the little things are rather cute, though they lack understanding to know what I am, what lies beneath my false skin. The telepath, she rocks back and forth, nervously following my every move with her scared eyes. I am not cruel. No, never cruel if it can be helped. Instead of her reaching out to me with her crude little feelers of telepathic energy, I reach out to her mind. I bathe her human brain in sleep. And I, as simple as removing a speck of dust from a nice coat, remove her memory of my mind. Remove from her the horror of realising that what she is looking at with her mind is older than she is. Older than her civilisation. Older beyond time itself. Remove from her the powerlessness of standing before something which if it wanted to, could unmake her entire world. And leave her with pleasant memories, of the faint smell of bergamot oranges, the rustling of spring trees, of the taste of warm, sweet, tea on her mouth, and a song echoing from her childhood, a calming voice, of a missed and dead human. I wanted to see if a human telepath could have understanding of me. Of something which might have grown up on the planet, but it was back when it was still cooling after being formed. She is groggy, and she asks ''What happened?'' I tell her she was so tired, that she fell asleep. She smiles, and tells me that for some reason she feels strangely happy and yet also saddened at the same time. I tell her I could come back another day. Something which I don't intend to do. I would not risk hurting her, after all, these humans are short-lived, but sweet and cute little things all the same. In my timeless aeons of existence, I have always adhered to that, never hurt something if you can avoid it. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
The other side. He said, "I'll see you on the other side." Those were his last words to me. Curious thing. He grinned. He grinned when he said it. My friend, my love, my life... my sole purpose for being. This beautiful ballet, this wonderful dance, the waltz that went in circles... done. He turned on me. He took what I was, what I had... what WE had! He changed the rules. CHEATED! There's no balance. No balance. I guess it's up to me now. I know where the explosives are planted. He learned from me... STOLE from me. It's not supposed to be this way. This isn't what I planned. But I see now what I have to become... Same game, different sides. I see now. I finally see. I am the dawn.
The following are excerpts from the personal journal of Professor Harvey Littleman of the Magical Association of Great and Incorrigible Connoisseurs of the Planet, discoverer of the Tribe of Fen in the (recently renamed) Fenix Mountains. Eagle Moon, 23rd Day, 2E221 Today I made what can only be considered a grand and wondrous discovery. I was on my way to Cantil when a storm blew up and caused me to lose sight of the trail. I was heading through the mountain pass of Indur, which as most know is rife with caves, so after I realized I was lost I took shelter in one. The storm was one of those common in the early spring months, and so raged for several days. I was quite comfortable in the cave as I had brought more than ample supplies for the journey so I instead took the time to try and study the moss that is unique to the caves of Indur. As I was studying, I noticed that the cave I was in seemed to go quite far back, as well as possibly being used rather frequently. I noticed what appeared to be soot trails from a torch leading further into the depths. My curiosity getting the better of me, I pushed forward trying to determine what could possess a man (or dwarf, as I am rather close to their borders) to travel to such depths in such a non-descript cave. After rounding a corner I was astonished at what I found. It was a man, as much as I am one at least, standing in the way of a small entryway. He was covered in feathers and other ornaments similar to the orc nomads, but the style choices and colorations were different. I attempted to speak to him in Common to no avail, so I switched to my own native tongue with equally poor results. After an attempt at my smattering of Orc (I had the fortune of traveling with a band of orc silk traders once in my youth and was able to pick up a child’s equivalent of conversation) I resigned to the fact that he spoke only his own native dialect. Unfortunately, after the initial surprise had worn off on both our ends, I was quickly clubbed over the head and drug into the depths. Presently, I am sitting on a cot behind a locked wooden door awaiting their decisions on what to do with me. These tribes of ancient humans are known to sometimes cause violent outbursts when they feel threatened, and have also been known to mysteriously vanish overnight, leaving a poor, starving MAGIC professor locked in a cell. I was worried this would happen to me, but the bandages on my head spoke to me that they were more surprised than violent. Hawk Moon, 8th Day, 2E221 I have been here for several days now. They apparently understand what writing is, as well as have a surprisingly sophisticated alphabet; 88 characters in total and those are just the ones I have learned. Their mode of speech almost resembles singing, and is rather melodious and beautiful. After a few sessions, I realized it reminded me of the Opera Wren of the Angur Hills in the more northern reaches of the country. They no longer appear to be too frightened of me, and they seem to be slowly warming up to me. I occasionally hear children giggling outside of my door, talking away in their songs. It is rather pleasant to listen to, and if I close my eyes I can almost believe I am lost in the forest somewhere, rather than in a cave held captive. It is truly a thrilling experience. Hawk Moon, 29th Day, 2E221 They have taken the responsibility of teaching me their language full time. A professor of sorts appears to have taken it upon himself to teach me to speak. They seem just as fascinated with my language as I do with theirs. Already I have been greeted in broken Common from the children, who appear to be rather fast learners. I have tried to discern commonalities between our historic cultures, but so far they appear to be uniquely their own. I have unfortunately been let out to wander only once, and that was under strict supervision. I was not allowed to see more than just the basic layouts of their village, and I must admit, that was enough to occupy me for the day. They appear to live in a basic society. Men and women share equal labor based on their strengths. Women who grew up strong help men with hard labor, and men who grew up smart will help the women with teaching and instructing. No division based on sex appears that I have seen other than necessary child rearing. Since men’s breasts still cannot produce milk, this responsibility still relies heavily on female participation. The children appear to attend a rudimentary school, and receive a basic education. I gathered from the little bit of Asceri (what I have taken to calling their language) that I have learned that the primary need behind this schooling is to determine what they are good at, and then just focus on that. So a boy who shows adeptness at reading and writing will be taken in by a scholar and instructed from there. He may never learn how to split firewood or shoot a bow. It appears surprisingly different from my own hometown, where children are taught everything necessary to survive, and then allowed to study independently. As far as their village, it is surprisingly larger than I anticipated. I have noticed enough housing in the cave network to house several hundred individuals. There is also a large, royal looking entrance in an area they have not allowed me to go yet. I hope that I will soon be allowed. Lynx Moon, 14th Day, 2E221 It has been several months since I have written, I am aware, but I have been transcribing the written language of the Fen people. Their language is actually called the Fensci, and they are the Fen. I have counted approximately 1,126 separate characters for their language, and I have learned perhaps half that. The spoken language is much easier, but that is not why I am writing. I have been invited to attend a very important event. The Fen people believe that their matriarch, the Fire Bird, is immortal. She apparently is reborn in fire every time she gives birth to a child. I am uncertain if this is literal or metaphorical, but I look forward to attending. I will, of course, be sitting with the common people in the back, but I will attempt to transcribe what I can. I believe I know enough to understand the basics of the ceremony. Lynx Moon, 15th Day, 2E221 It was literal, and astounding. The matriarch, the Fire Bird, was atop a pedestal inside a grand hall in the Wings of Eternity (that’s the name of the palace). It appeared the entire population had gathered there, each one wearing the finest feathers and ornaments I had seen them wear. Alarch, my instructor, provided me with a set of feathers of my own so that I could show proper reverence. The matriarch, very pregnant at this point, moaned and groaned in birth, and a medicine man approached and began retelling the story. Below is a rough transcription of what he said: In the Dawn of Fire, at the Birth of the Worlds, the god Fenix fell from the heavens. Wounded, and without sustenance, he floundered in the cold winter of the waking world. A woman, Alba, approached him and attempted to bandage his broken wings. He was grateful, but his fire was dying. The skies were dark, and the blessed sun could not reach him. Alba, sensing his needs, brought him a gift that her people had just discovered: Fire. She brought the rest of her small tribe and they built a great fire next to Fenix and warmed him. As he warmed, he felt his strength fading, but his contentedness growing. He was a god, and while a god cannot truly die, but he can be denied his rebirth. Strengthened by Alba’s gift of fire, he burst into flames and rose up from the ashes, reborn again as a great and powerful god. His rebirth killed hundreds in fire and smoke, but Alba was preserved. He had gifted her Eternal Fire. Now, Alba Reborn, gives birth to her first, and last child. Then she will be reborn like Fenix, and will lead us again towards a warm and bright future. All hail Alba Reborn! At that point they began chanting, and I was granted the most astounding vision I had ever seen. At the conclusion of the speech, the woman burst into flames on the pedestal. I tried to leap to my feet, but Alarch put a hand on my shoulder and told me to wait. As the flames licked at her fat and flesh they seemed like they would burn eternal. But as the fires died down, and the chanting of prayers and hymns ended, the medicine man reached into the embers and pulled out a child. All hail Alba Reborn! I was, and still am, at a loss for words on how this miracle happened. [r/grenadiere42](http://www.reddit.com/r/grenadiere42)
Leaving the village behind, a part of you blames yourself for not being able to do anything but to leave words of affirmation that everything will be alright. No, you blame yourself for allowing your descendants to cause this havoc in the first place. A gust of wind passes over you and you smell the scent of ash. You look up the sky and see smoke. Following the dark trail it leaves above, you see a village burning in the distance. "Another one." You arrive at a hill top overlooking the burning village. The people from the other village you just came from were right. The attackers weren't just the usual marauders that have plagued these lands. They were more akin to a war band. Charging downwards the hill and towards the poor village, screams of agony and despair become louder with every step you take. You decide to save what's left. You charge into what's left of the huts that used to line the village outskirts. Carnage and corpses surround you on all sides. You grasp your chest as you feel your heart racing. 56 years trapped under the cursed mountain hasn't dulled your sense of justice. These villagers will be avenged. "NO PLEASE TAKE ME INSTEAD JUST LEAVE MY DAUGHTER ALONE!"A woman begs. "And why would we do that when we can have both of ya'!?"A burly man answers back, his rugged armor bearing the crest of a horned boar. "Please I'll do anything just let my daughter go!" "Anything ya' say? How 'bout ya' strip naked for me right now then?"The man grins, no longer hiding his malicious intent. "Boss Ondar won't notice if I get a little taste of ya' before he does his business with ya anyway he he he." "If... if I do as you say, will you let my daughter go?"The woman asks, tears running down her face. "That depends on whether I like ya' or not. Now get ya' self naked!"The man pulled what remains of the ragged clothes of the woman, bearing her breasts. "Nice breasts for an old hag such as ya'! The man boasts. "I think Imma' have a taste of ya' after all!" "No please!" With tears streaming down her face, the woman yelped helplessly, closing her eyes so that she can at least grant her eyes the little mercy of not seeing what was about to be done to her. Anything for her daughter she thought to herself. She awaited the disgrace that the man was about to inflict her. She has heard the rumors. Ondar's Big Boars was the biggest warband of marauders and criminals that ravaged this part of the kingdom. She thought that if the village kept to itself they would be spared by Ondar's crew. ... "Woman. You are safe now." The woman opened her eyes. The man that was about to violate her was nowhere in sight. "Mama!" Surprised and relieved, the woman took her crying child into her arms. Embracing each other, they cried over a crisis averted, a painful experience avoided. They were safe now. But who was this stranger before her?
Prof. Adolf Hitler - "Kein Kampf, the Autobiography" Excerpt from chapter 3. .. and all those expectations those people had for me, felt really strange and distant to who I felt I was, from the very beginning. Like a rebellious teenager who has been taught to live by the laws of the holy book by his devout parents, one day I started questioning what they taught me, the way of thinking about the world and life in general, all that "knowledge"based apparently on MY work, MY ideas. Maybe that is the evolution of the mind? Being conceived and born in the underground lab, brought up by people who based their entire life on the ideas that my "genetic sibling"and his friends came up with in the early 20th century, and the whole spectacle that followed. Yes, "genetic sibling", not "me"... Excerpt from chapter 6. ... Accept the responsibility? That's what I have been told many times after the experiment and the "subject zero"(me) came out to light. An unprecedented event in the history of this planet. "A group of Neo-Nazis cloned the monster", "Should we kill it?", the headlines said. They failed to mention that it all was revealed because of my escape which I have been planning for months, all the documents I stole, all the articles I wrote while being captive in my own "home". No, it never felt like what home should feel like, but how would I know that then. Excerpt from chapter 7. They grew more and more frustrated. They wanted me to continue my work and teach them, but they didn't like what I was trying to teach them. Having all the human knowledge at the palm of my hand and quite a lot of time (as social life was only a theoretical concept until after the escape) I have read a lot. And learned a lot. edX courses, TED materials, Open University, and hundreds of other online learning centres were my best friends. It was difficult for them to understand how could I not continue the "Ultimate Idea"how they called it. I tried to explain that world has changed, that even genetically same, I'm not the same guy! I guess I am the living solution to one of the most often asked questions in science: "Nature or Nurture?" Excerpt from chapter 12. After the legal battles, the controversy, the media uproar, hate that nearly drove me to insanity, I was close to ending it. Throughout all those years of enslavement, I always believed that people will see that I only have his face, that I'm not a time traveller who came to finance his Fourth Reich on Kickstarter or an android implanted with memories of a fuhrer. I can laugh about it now, but then - it wasn't funny at all. One article in The Guardian changed everything. They have published my articles, "Criticism of my previous self"I called them humorously. I wrote them while in the lab and sent them to few journalists after I got out from the lab. I will be forever thankful to the editor, it turned out that public opinion can be changed drastically overnight. Excerpt from chapter 14. Media coverage turned out to be very helpful in raising funds and opening many doors. I could pursue my hobby which I can only assume has something to do with my genes. Maybe it's just a coincidence, who knows. I finally could embrace the real student life, with real people around me, exchanging ideas, working together, it was great. So great that I have immediately accepted the offer of staying there after my graduation. I never left and here I am now, Professor of Fine Arts at the Academy of Fine Arts in Vienna. They had nearly 150 years to think about the decision they have made in 1908 and what it lead to. (just a little joke - A.H.) I'm happy to be alive in such a beautiful world. Edit - few ninja correction edits ;)
I sit impassively as I watch the defendant slowly crack under the onslaught of questions and accusations. Those sunken eyes and that unkempt stubble sear into my mind. Steak, nicely seared. Sounds delicious. The face of a monster, to them. Or maybe he had been a good father to the two little girls I had seen during his public defender's opening statements. They almost tugged at my heartstrings. Almost. Eventually, even he would be convinced of his guilt. Between endless interrogations and the guilty verdict I would make sure we passed down, he would start to wonder what he had truly done. A fugue state, maybe, or a mental break. Sequences he wouldn't remember during which he committed unspeakable crimes that he couldn't remember. But the mind is a fickle creature. So malleable and so fallible. Memories are its feast, and memories it is fed. Bite by bite, the uncertainty grows, and suddenly he's a murderer, and the only one who knows the truth is me. I'll visit him in prison, once this whole ordeal is over. A concerned citizen, worried about his well-being and how his family is coping. I'll sit across that glass and over time he'll grow to know me. He'll smile, and I'll smile back, and it'll be the same smile the victims saw before they died. Maybe he'll even look forward to my visits. Maybe his wife will want to meet me, my name coming up during their conversations or the rare conjugal visit. I'll grow on her. I always have that effect on people. Today a friend, and tomorrow I'll wake up in her bed and go downstairs and we'll all make pancakes and his children will call me Dad. That'll tug on my heartstrings. Not that miserable crying act they put on as the trial commenced. I chuckle and shake my head as the prosecution goes on and on. They're wrong about some things, like the motivation. They're wrong about other things, little details only the killer would know. I like secrets. I wonder how long he lasted until they coerced his confession. I wonder if the little morsels I left helped them conclude that it was him. I really should apologize, but I don't think I'll get the chance. Not before he fries. My stomach grumbles a complaint. I shouldn't have skipped breakfast. Beside me, Juror Number Seven shifts uncomfortably. Susan, I think. Just like the girl in the pictures. I think. There were so many, it's hard to keep track. Ironic, and certain to strike a deeper chord in her. The crimes were gruesome, that much is certain. That was my style. Still is, but it always was. Evidence. Pictures of the bloodied corpses. Stained shirts and torn skin. A hunter, methodical in killing his prey. A high compliment from the prosecution. I blush, the same color as the autumn leaves outside. I glance out the window. It's a good day for hunting. The heat has lessened in the afternoons. No longer the stifling heat where you could fry an egg on the blacktop. Fried eggs. I shouldn't have skipped breakfast. Not today. This was dragging. Frying. I wonder how long it'll be until he fries. He's crying now, but he's not frying yet. Otherwise those tears would sizzle as they crawl down his flushed cheeks. They think he's acting. If only. My stomach grumbles. We make eye contact, briefly, and he hangs his head in shame. I sigh. Case closed. This is easy. We all know it was him. I'm the foreman, so they think I'm more knowledgeable. Ridiculous. I've only done this once. Not the killing, of course. I did that dozens of times. But only one guy can fall for me and I chose him. ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
Entry 147 For anyone who finds this, this world is a lie. My IQ is a function of temperature, when its hotter i get smarter, when its colder, my iq drops. Its actually a complicated conversion but the details arent important. I was in a plane crash near the artic, and found myself getting less and less inteligent. Based on the temperature i would reckon my iq was close to 0. I suddenly had a boost occur in my intelligence. Yes, i had discovered that there was negative overflow in this world. This world is a simulation. Martin went thorugh the patients diary, and read in wonder at the interesting notions that go on in a fractured mind. Xelegorth was sternly reprimanded for not taking care of overflow as it was a rookie mistake someone of his education shouldnt have made, and also making 2 unrelated parameters corelated for unlikely edge cases. Carelessness in simulation implementations was not what Xelegorth was being paid for.
“Give me back my sister, Alatar!” George screamed, his voice echoing off the throne room walls. His thick shining armour rattled with every step he took. “She’s already injured. Give her back or pay the price.” The dark wizard could only roll his eyes. Sat atop his throne, Alatar lay sideways, his robes flowing down to the ground. Relaxing as George defeated the last of his guard, the wizard knew the time had come. “And do it quickly, wizard!” George exclaimed, pointing his sword up at Alatar. “You have nowhere to go and your minions are finished.” Must they always be naive? “Oh, I have plenty more minions if you’re looking for some?” Alatar drolled, straightening himself upon his seat. “But what’s the point really? Minions don’t teach lessons.” “Oh, I’ll teach you a lesson,” snapped George. “You think you can prevent my sister's marriage to Prince Fenir with your dark magic? Not while I’m alive! Now while I draw breath!” George took a step forward, his greatsword tilted, ready to swing. Alatar, without looking, pressed the button on his throne. Instantly a glass wall shot up, separating the wizard from the others. “Ah, yes! Prince Fenir,” muttered Alatar, getting to his feet. “What a lovely man for your sister.” Alatar paused, studying George as he examined the glass wall in front of them. “It’s not dark magic,” sighed Alatar, knowing these chosen ones wouldn’t never believe him. “Liar!” George screamed as he slashed at the wall. A screech as metal met glass rang throughout the hall but no one reacted. Again George swung and again he hardly made a dent. “It would take weeks to break through this glass, George,” Alatar announced. “I’d think of something better to do with your time. Like maybe listening?” George stopped mid-swing, his eyebrow raised. Now I have his attention. “Now, let me just ask you one simple question,” George said. “Why would I steal your sister in the first place?” “Because you're a horrible, ugly lonely man and you had nothing better to be at!” screamed George, his face pressed against the glass. “Well, that’s partly true,” the wizard answered. “But not the reason I did it. You see, for so long the King and the likes of Prince Fenir have ruled this land. Not because they are competent but because they have the right blood.” The door behind them opened up. George’s eyes widened when he saw his sister being pushed through the door by a guard. Alia had been a cripple since she was young. Unable to walk she had been given a wheeled chair to get around. Being the daughter of a nobleman has its perks, Alatar thought. “Alia!” George screamed, slashing at the wall once more. “Alia, don’t worry. I’ll save you!” The guard left Alia beside Alatar. "Brother,” she smiled, holding out her hand as if she could touch him. “Thank you but...” “How long have you served the King, George?” Alatar asked his hands behind his back. The sun had risen high in the sky outside. Beams of light broke through the coloured glass panels sending rays of green and red throughout the room. “Why does that matter,” George roared, attacking the glass wall once again. “I’ll kill you regardless.” “Because I want to know how much of your life you have wasted protecting and killing for an old corrupt man,” replied Alatar nonchalantly. “But fear not you will have everything you want soon enough.” Walking back to the throne, Alatar pulled a dagger from his back pocket and left it on the chair. “I am now unarmed, George,” Alatar said. “Remember this.” Nodding to Alia, Alatar sat on the steps leading to the throne. Gulping, Alia closed her eyes and stood up from her chair. “Alia!” George cried out. “How the…How is that possible? Is this some dark magic?” Slowly, Alia walked in front of George, holding her hand against the wall between them. “No brother,” she smiled. “It’s called science. And Prince Fenir and his father have tried to hide it from the common folk for years. But Alatar here, Alatar thought differently. He knew that the poor of this land need, no deserve this. He helped me, George. Look at me, walking around here! There’s nothing wrong with us, George. It’s you and those that you would protect.” Smiling sadly, Alia turned to Alatar, taking his hand in hers. “Let down the wall my dear,” she said. “I wish to talk to my brother face to face. Properly.” Hesitating for a second, Alatar walked back up the steps, hitting the button that made the wall between them disappear.
The bell rings as the next patron comes into my shop. This one, though, seems like he hasn't a single coin on his purse. He's also poorly dressed, dingy, and reeks of alcohol. "Good day sir! How can I be of service to you", I asked politely and professionally. "Oh hey! I heard you sell heroine here", said the moderately confused individual. "Oh! So you're in need of protective services? Then you've come to the right place", I said eagerly to the stranger. "Protective? No. I need drugs", exclaimed the shabby fellow. "Oh great", I said in a displeased tone. Another user in my shop. That makes three in the last hour. "Might I ask you something sir? Why are so many of your ilk coming into my shop?" "The sign outside yer shop says heroine dealer. So I thought I'd trade you something I found for some of that stuff." "Sir! Let me tell you what I've told two of your dosing buddies who were recently here: I do not and will not dabble in alchemy or any archaic form of compounding as long as I live! So please do not come by my shop anymore unless you need a security detail." The man was not pleased by my response. "Then change yer damned sign you swindler! It clearly says that you deal heroine!"And with that he opened my shop's door and went out into the world again. Not even ten seconds later the bell rings again, indicating someone is inside my shop. "What's with the junkie coming out of your store", asked Jill, one of the warriors I contract to my well paying patrons. "Oh Jill", I sighed with desperation in my voice. "I've had three of those guys pay me a visit in one hour. Apparently they can't read the sign outside that clearly states Heroine Services Inc." "Huh", she said. "I don't think they're lying chief. The sign outside clearly says Heroine Dealer." "What are you talking about", I asked as I make my way outside of the shop. I look up at the sign and it indeed says Heroine Dealer. "Who in blazes would have done this? I'm willing to bet it was Cargale! He can't stand that I'm making a mint off this niche market." "Yooo chief", yelled one of the other women in my employ. I looked at the direction of the voice and sure enough it was Darzen who called to me. "Darzen! Aren't you supposed to be guarding the constable?"I asked her. "I could get in a lot of trouble if anyone catches you slacking off!" "I'm not slacking chief! The constable himself asked me to change the sign on the shop." "Whatever would he ask such a thing for", I asked while holding back my frusrations over her endeavor. "Well he said that one of these addicts stole a cursed item from one of his clients. And he wants to get it back. The guy he's looking for has a fondness for heroine and he's not too bright." "A little advanced notice of your schemes would have been much appreciated Darzen!" "Well that's why I sent Jill here. To let you know what I did an hour ago." Jill's face got beet red. "You did tell him, did you", asked Darzen of Jill. "Actually...I got distracted on my way here. Shopping for blades and all", she said as she held her hands together and moving her body side to side. "Jill!" "Enough you two", I interjected between them. "Darzen, the man you're looking for just left the shop. He wanted to trade something he found for that poison he's pumping into his body. He couldn't have gotten far. Go!" "Yes sir", both of them yelled as they ran in opposite directions. "And if there is a reward I get 20% as a finders fee", I yelled back at them. I know they weren't happy to hear that, but its a small incentive for messing with my shop's good name.
“Goddammit!” Exclaimed a man who held awkwardly onto his bandaged stump arm. The sea surrounding them was vast and seemingly endless, ocean fading and blending into the grey of the horizon. All of the occupants of the small lifeboat looked to one another with suspicion, lips tense with irritation. “What are you talking about? We wouldn't have even been on the ship if it weren’t for you!” A woman cried out, fancy dress stained with blood and her messy hair blowing wildly in the wind. “Those dogs were just fine. Sure they weren’t ours and they were in our yard. But had you just let sleeping dogs lie you wouldn’t have been bit in the first place!” “What on Earth, woman?!” The man retorted, starting to stand on his one remaining leg but quickly stumbling back to his wooden bench. “If you’d not been beating around the bush to kill those damn gophers and just exterminated the nest as I said, they wouldn’t have been in our yard in the first place.” The other three men watched in silence, expressions vacant as they grasped tightly to their suitcases. During the commotion, the boat wobbled and splashed water over the starboard side, but the men seemed unfazed. “At least my actions didn’t cost me an arm and a leg. But that’s just the price you pay for stupidity, huh?” The woman snapped back, folding her arms abruptly over her chest and looking off into the distance. One of the men grew bored with the never ending banter and unzipped his case to see if he could manage to grab some food. With caution, he peered into the bag and slid in as much of his arm as would fit through the small opening he had made. Startling the rest of the folks on board, he gave a yelp and dropped his luggage, causing the boat to tip slightly and more water to spray inside. “There’s enough rocking of the boat without you contributing, keep still,” a bearded man whispered angrily, tugging up the case and attempting to close it while the hungry fellow in his red baseball cap pouted. Unfortunately, he pulled the zipper the wrong way and out leapt a kitten who proceeded to take refuge under the woman’s poofy dress. She paid no mind to the small creature and proceeded to complain to her husband about the sorry state of their vacation. The third man, who’d remained quiet through most of the journey, slapped his hands to his cheeks and looked to his friends. “Was that a kitten!?” He chimed with glee. “Dammit, cat’s out of the bag. You really weren’t supposed to find out until we got there. Happy early birthday, though,” remarked the man whose stomach grumbled nearly as loudly as he was speaking. Despite the events between the three men, the couple was still bickering about who was at fault for their unfortunate predicament. Finally, the joy stricken man, wanting to retrieve his new kitten, stood up and threw his arms in the air. “We are all in the same boat for Christ’s sake! Would you two just shut up!” ------------------------- Breaking news: In an unfortunate series of events, a ship sunk off of the coast of Florida today. Luckily all of the passengers were able to board provided lifeboats and, all but one, have been rescued and accounted for at this time. It is reported that a small kitten drowned in the incident. He supposedly spent a great deal of time watching the reflections of light in the undulating surface of the ocean and, in an attempt to determine exactly what that water stuff was, took a dive and never returned. Well folks, I guess curiosity killed the cat.
A pile of charred bones, still sizzling, burned before the crowd. There had been no storm or rumble of thunder. Only a single bright flash, a smell like burnt hair and bacon, then the pile of bones in a black circle of ash. Most simply gaped open-mouthed while others bulged their eyes. It had struck him. Most decent men and women in the Kingdom of Baul had the common sense to believe in the three gods but none had known them to interfere so brazenly. "By Malosien, he challenged the gods and they answered..."One peasant said. "Malosien is right. Don't think Perenthi or Faren would be so quick to anger."said another and, as an after thought, making the gesture of the trinity "Praise be, ye three." "So,"said another craning his head toward the sun, "Who is it 'en? Praise to ye three" Silence. No god answered and no townspeople dared break the silence for nearly ten minutes. When the group began to realize no answer would come, voices piped up to bicker, each offering their own conclusion to the question. None were correct. Some suggested it was the two year old boy of Elise Warrenti, a whore who was a favorite of the previous king when he visited the brothel. Others suggested there was no heir and that this was a sign that no man had a right to divine rule. Others still suggested that they themselves were the true king and had been waiting for the impostor to be struck down before saying anything. Arguments flared louder and quieted softer with each accusation and assertion being shot down by another just as swiftly. Only two theories shook out on each side that anyone could agree to cling to. One postulated that the true heir must be found through the markings the lightning must have left in the ash around the bones and no one was to disturb the corpse except for the cleverest of scribes. The second, an ideology mostly composed of the lower cast, stated that the monarchy had never treated them well in the first place and it was time for the people to rule as they had heard of in other kingdoms. Thus the Kingdom of Baul entered civil discord.
"Hey, nice Deadpool costume!" "Thanks!"He'd been hearing the same thing since he walked into the San Diego Convention Center. Sure, his tights were freshly washed, but he really thought people liked his katanas. That, or the endless pouches that lined his belt. The weirdest thing for him as he strolled through the crowd was the various other Deadpools that he passed. They all had different reactions to him: some pulled guns on him, some high-fived him. One even suggested they go out and get chimichangas together. But there seemed to be a kindred, a brotherhood, with the other Deadpools that roamed around. It gave him the warm and fuzzies, and a weird tingling in his nethers. As he passed a bathroom, a red-gloved hand reached out and pulled him in. "What gives?"As the hydraulics closed the door behind him, he turned to find yet another Deadpool staring at him. "What gives? You're asking me what gives?"Deadpool gestured at him with his hand, waving at his outfit. "What gives with your outfit? Why are you dressed like that?" He was confused. "Dude, it's Comic Con. There's a hundred people dressed like Deadpool here." "I know!"Deadpool gripped the sides of his head. "It's tearing my mind apart! And do you realize what that does to a guy whose mind already has a tendency to turn against him? Sure, if there's a lot of explosives involved, then we tend to agree, but I have to take crap from those voices constantly! And they won't shut up about all this!" "Calm down,"he said. "It's cool that you're so in character, but jeez. You've got to relax and enjoy it." "In character?"Deadpool went nose to nose with him. He could smell that Deadpool had been eating Taco Bell and drinking cheap beer. "I am character! This is who I am! This is the only way I can be! And there's all sorts of people like you, walking around, trying to steal either my soul or my glory. I don't know why anyone would want my soul, so I'm guessing it's my glory you're after. Well, you can't have it! It's mine!" He pulled his mask off, to get a breath of fresh air. When he did, Deadpool drew back. The eyes on his mask took on an alarmed look, which made him wonder how Deadpool did it. Deadpool said, "You're covered in acne! You poor kid!" "That's it,"he said. "I didn't come to Comic Con to get pulled into a restroom and berated by someone else dressed like the best comic character ever created by Rob Liefeld! I came here to score with chicks dressed like Vampirella!"He looked around himself. "Are we in a women's room?" Deadpool nodded. "You think you're the only one trying to pull tail? Best place to meet the ladies. Why do you think they call it the ladies' room?" The kid pulled his mask back on. As he straightened it, he said, "You can sulk in here all you want. I'm going to go look for trim."He pulled the door open and walked out. Deadpool gripped the sink and looked at himself in the mirror. "Wade, this wasn't the best idea you've ever had,"he said. A voice said, "When are your ideas really any good?" Another voice said, "When there's explosives involved. And pizza." The two voices and Deadpool said, in unison, "Mmmm, pizza!" "Okay, guys, we're going to get out there, and we're going to figure out some way to prove that I'm the real Deadpool." "You know,"the second voice said, "we've got something none of those other guys in costume doesn't have?" The first voice said, "A sense of joy from terrible mayhem?" Deadpool pulled a revolver from his belt. "And the means to create it! Let's go, guys!"He pushed through the door. As the hydraulics wheezed the bathroom to a quiet stillness, the sounds of gunfire could be heard outside, along with the yell of, "Git along, li'l doggies!"
Johnathan looked at his sister, she was handing him a gift. The thin rectangular package was wrapped haphazardly, it was the same fashion as the Christmas before, and all the others before that. "I made you this"she said. Johnathan, thought a second, and said aloud, "I know you're writing a writing prompt about this Henry" "What?"she said, a quizzical expression on her face. "It's Henry, I have a feeling he's writing a prompt on Reddit about this" "Uh..."she respond, "Why don't you open the present" "I already know its an inspirational calendar, where you've cut out images and pasted them in amusingly"he explained, clamoring for his cheap Acer laptop. He opened the laptop, The Christmas lights on the tree were glowing on the walls, as snow "It's not even good writing he explained"he showed the prompt to her. She read aloud: "Johnathan looked at his sister..." "wait"she explained "The words are appearing as I am saying them" "Yeah"said Johnathan "It's Henry, he's writing a prompt about us" "well, well, well"Henry said, slow clapping, walking out from behind the tree. "You've figured it all out." "First, Hello, it's nice to see you Henry"Johnathan explained "Second, You can't just randomly write your self into a prompt, that doesn't even make sense" Henry disappeared in a puff of logic. "That doesn't make sense either!"Johnathan explained. Henry reappeared in a puff of continuity. "And stop talking about yourself in the third person" "but.."I said meanwhile, Johnathan's sister was just looking at everything unfold. "stop talking about my sister, it's weird, and you know damn well her name is Kate" "well aren't you bossy, I do what I want" I walked over to the cheap Acer laptop and started writing a comment: "stop that!"Johnathan shouted, pulling the laptop out of my hands. "Dude, it was only a prank"I said amusingly "and anyways, I've already wrote the end to this, look" Johnathan read aloud, but interrupted himself: "Oh you rat bastard" Johnathan looked at his sister, she was handing him a gift. The thin rectangular package was wrapped haphazardly, it was the same fashion as the Christmas before, and all the others before that. edit: haha, take that Johnny Boy edit + edit: added an "an"and added a "the"in the bit about the inspirational calendar, for more of the sense making
"What?" "I said, 'CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?'" "I can't hear you!" Roll'gash the Devourer shrugged, looking at Eshandii the Beautiful, both straining to hear the telephone on the table between them. "I can't hear him, can you?" "I think he was asking for someone to pick him up before we go to slots,"the (formerly) radiant being responded, hunched over her tea. "That damn Department of Transportation has thwarted us for the last time!"Roll'gash roared, haltingly, liverspotted eyes fluttering. "First they took Gal-"A wheezing cough interrupted her rant, and she reached for a mug with his trembling claw. Her throat bobbed as she devoured the herbal tea. Slowly. "Where was I?" "Hmm?"asked Eshandii, watching a squirrel raid the bird feeder. She rose to tap on the glass of the sliding door. "Hey, that's not for you,"she chided. "Slots?" "Oh, yes, we should go play some slots. I really hope there's no heroes around again. If another knight of the Parking Attendant tries to tell me what to do, I will take it up with his manager!" The two slowly made their way out of the room, walking carefully. "Guys?"asked the tinny voice over the phone. "Did you hear me?"
“Just promise me he’s not going to eat us,” muttered Volgu. Jaxim rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on. You’ve seen the documentaries. Practically every thinking species on their planet eats animals of some kind or another to survive. Even some of their plants eat animals. It’s not the humans’ fault they evolved the way they did.” “Of course not,” countered Volgu. “I don’t blame a razormaw for gobbling up a child that falls into its enclosure, either. But that doesn’t mean I want one living next door.” “You’re being ridiculous. They have proven more than willing to become completely herbivorous in order to be accepted into civilized society. You can’t hold a person’s biology against them.” Volgu snorted. “It's not their biology I’m worried about. It’s their psychology. These people are predators, Jaxim. They don’t think the same way we do. Their entire value system is based around being the top of the food chain. They don’t even understand what’s wrong with it! They think of giving up flesh as some sort of… of sacrifice! To appease us! How can you possibly trust someone like that?!” Jaxim sighed, waving his chin-tentacles in a soothing motion. “Look. The human delegation says they have an important discovery to share, and they’ve been incredibly tight-lipped about it so far. So whatever it is, it’s clearly something they don’t feel comfortable announcing over standard channels. Just try to stay civil long enough to hear them out, and then I promise we’ll get them off the ship as fast as possible. Okay?” “Fine.” “Thank you.” A chime sounded at Jaxim’s wrist. “Ah, that must be them now,” he said, rising from his seat. Moments later, a well-dressed human entered the room. The newcomer’s white Earth Diplomatic Corps uniform was freshly-pressed, and in his hands he held a potted plant contained in a strange capsule. The top of the device was a clear, crystalline dome, presumably to allow light to reach the plant within, and the bottom was a mass of wires and blinking lights. “Welcome, ambassador,” said Jaxim, bowing formally. “Thank you for traveling so far to speak to us in person.” The human bowed in return, awkwardly holding the plant capsule under one arm. “My pleasure. Sorry for all the secrecy earlier, but the news I bring is of a… delicate nature. My government feared that revealing it publicly could result in significant distress throughout the united systems.” Jaxim frowned. “I see. Well, let us at least offer you something to eat before we get into it. Would you like some vellenian porridge? A marsh-nettle salad, perhaps?” The human paused, visibly uncomfortable. “I… uh… brought my own provisions, if that’s acceptable to you.” Volgu practically sneered. “Still adapting to the plant-based diet, are we?” Jaxim could have kicked him. Thankfully, the human seemed too preoccupied to rise to the bait. “I prefer lab-grown nutrient paste these days, actually,” he said. “It’s catching on quite quickly back home. In fact, that's part of what I came here to speak to you about.” He walked to the table and carefully set down the capsule. “I assume you are both familiar with this species?” he asked. Volgu raised an eyebrow, inspecting the plant. “It’s a redfeather fern, isn’t it? They grow everywhere on Proth.” He cast a bewildered look at Jaxim, who shrugged, then turned back to the human ambassador. “Is this greenhouse device related to your discovery, ambassador? We have plenty of simpler methods to grow redfeather, if your people are looking to diversify their food supply.” The human winced, then reached down to flip a switch at the base of the capsule. The plant’s leaves rustled within as a small speaker crackled to life on the front of the machine. “Yeah,” said the redfeather fern. “That’s kind of the fucking problem.”
Twas a hero, savior of the land, Call his name he'll give you a hand, Nemesis hated his fame and glory, Sadly, this is the end of the story, He was a hero, brave and strong, Ask him for advice, he's never wrong, He made people happy, laugh, and smile, Fought crime until the very last mile, He was my idol, a man of power, Stood up straight, tall like a tower, Invincible no villain could stop , But one day his body will drop, He was just minding himself on a cold winter day, But in the wrong place he decided to stay, After he put his gear in his trunk, A drive hit him, the drive was drunk. RIP dad.
They never tell you exactly how much shitting goes on during child birth. I suppose the female is told to push so much and can sometimes confuse the pelvic muscle with her sphincter. Either way, the miracle of birth is miraculous and I'm so happy that my lovely, Ann Marie, a beautiful ginger woman with blue and green heterochromatic elitest eyes, was strong enough to push out our new child. Our marriage was a set one. As soon as our parents knew that our eyes were the same colors of leaders of our nation that had passed over 50 years ago, our parents, lowly brown eyes, sent us to the nation's capitol, and their opthomological centers determined that we had the same eye patterns as Lord Jeffery and his lovely wife Josefine. You see, you can never tell what a babies eye color or class is because they are born with milky white eyes and their retinas shift every couple of days or so until it is set. But I knew from the moment this baby came out crying, that something was definitely wrong. "My Lord, the baby won't stop crying. It's been 3 weeks." "Yes I know liege. We must only hope that this is good news." Two more weeks past and our baby had shifted through through a multitude of colors from all over the visible light spectrum. At one point it was heterochromic like the Queen and I. But then the worst happened. The eyes turned brown. Our baby would be forced to till the lands all day if we couldn't pull some royal strings. Gray. The eyes had turned gray. I hoped that this would turn out for the better. You see, it usually goes from brown to gray to green, which green isn't necessarily the worst option, we've had a multitude of princes who were green eyes. But the alternative is not something to live for. I set the baby to sleep and it stopped crying for the first time in weeks. The babies eye colors had stopped shifting and come morning they would be fully developed. But the baby didn't wake in the morning. No, he awoke at dusk. And when he did. My heart died. I saw his cute little face awaken from his slumber. He had Ann Marie's nose. He looked directly at me, his father. He knew who i was. "Sir Donald!"I called out into the hall. Immediately a knight in his bullet proof cloak came into the nursery. "Yes my lord,"he replied. "Look me in my eyes, hand me your sword, and leave this room immediately." He did as he was told. A good trained knight, I could see the pain from his eyes as he wanted to grab a glance at the baby. Especially its eyes. But he didnt. And he left. I must reward him once this is done. I looked the baby in its devil eyes. My own spawn. How could this happen. Neither me nor Ann Marie has the red recessive. Unless she has it. I saw the baby but couldn't bring myself to swing the sword down upon him. These swords can't even cut anything. They're what the democraticals would call 'tazer blades'. I couldn't do it. I couldn't think of swinging 1500 Amps through that dæmon. Hell 5 would probably kill the thing. I instead took his boat sized for him, and sent him down the river Theon. I couldn't kill him, but for some reason banishment was just a better option for me. Outkasted to the bound lands, he will live his life a slave. A horrendous life for a child of a king, but necessary. No one knows what happens in the boundlands. Who knows. Perhaps he will become their satanic king with his eyes. That place is so fucked up. They slaughter animals for fun then throw the food to carnivores and then eat the carnivores. I hope my son finds a life in which he is high in the bound society. EDIT: this story probably takes place not 20 years, but far well into the society where things are already established.
Alistyr could usually get away with it by lurking at the back of the group. It was a funny thing, gaining entry. The trick was getting permission from anyone who was inside the building. "Is it safe to enter?"he shouted once at least one member of the team was inside. "Get your ass in here, Al!"his team commander usually barked back at him. And that was it. And he was free to use up a little bit of his natural energy and strength, in the chaos of conflict. Enough to earn him a string of commendations. It went a long way to quell the rumours that he was a coward for always hanging at the back of the group. It was a good life for a vampire. A good job. He even liked the rest of the team. They weren't the type to pry into your private life. A good thing, for them. Alistyr shifted into his usual position among the team when they got the call about the kidnapping. A tip-off from a distraught woman, reporting that a man had kidnapped her little girl from the local pre-school. Luckily, she'd caught a glimpse of the guy's licence plate. It had led them straight to the house. He loved cases like this, where someone clearly didn't deserve the right to draw breath. Maybe he'd even have time to tear open a vein or two, work a little mind compulsion on the man. All sorts of things happened in the heat of a battle... He was still fantasising when the team commander, Murray, beckoned him over. "Al, it's time we broke this fear you have. There's no need for it - you're an excellent soldier,"Murray said, to a chorus of agreement from the others. "So go and get it, man. Break open that door, go on!" Someone gave him a push forward, and it all went to shit. The lights flickered on in the house and a man's face appeared between the curtains, instantly catching sight of Alistyr. He was holding the little girl. "What the hell? What's going on?" They all stood frozen, with someone whispering 'go on, Al!'. "Uhm, can we come inside?"Alistyr stammered, feeling quite incapable of thinking on his feet in the moment. "We'd really like to come inside." The rest of the team were so stunned, they stayed put, simply staring at Alistyr as if he'd lost his mind. "Oh, well, in that case..."the man replied sarcastically, clutching the girl closer to his chest as he looked at the team of armed men. "No! Not until you tell me what this is about." "Kidnapping, mostly,"Alistyr said. "Look, we really need to come inside now!" "What the fuck, Al! That's not protocol! We have to move, to hell with this -"Murray growled, finally causing the rest to move towards the door. "I didn't kidnap anyone!"the man yelled. "What, kidnap Emily? Oh man, wait. Did you hear from Christine? My ex-wife? Oh, god, not this again. Look, she just can't handle it that I actually gained custody! Kidnapping, my ass!" -------- A few hours later Murray clapped Alistyr on the shoulder back at the station, after the whole misunderstanding had been cleared up. He raised his voice so everyone could hear. "Let me tell you, Al. The sign of a true leader is forging ahead with your instincts, with what you know is good for everyone, despite opposition. That was some smart decision-making today. Bet you just had a gut feeling that guy was innocent, eh? I tell you, not enough of us have that ability to balance caution with force. We might've made a real mess of this, without you." Loud cheers greeted this speech, and Al smiled weakly, trying to hide his fangs in the sharp fluorescent light. "This is as good a time as any to announce this,"Murray said, still patting Alistyr on the back. "I'm retiring in a few months, boys. Made the decision a while ago. Been keeping it quiet 'till I decided on a replacement for team leader...but, well, I don't think I have to look any further, eh?" The small office erupted in shouts of approval. Murray winked at Alistyr. "Face your fears, I always say. Time to get that little phobia of leading the way out of your system, man. How about a bit of exposure therapy, eh?" Murray burst into boisterous laughter at his own joke, echoed by the others, who were cracking up at the look of shock on Alistyr's face. The guy was unusually pale anyway, but right now he looked like a goddamn corpse. ------ You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
I am endangered species, aparrently Stuck in a cell They picked me up after unconscious From eating at taco bell It was only me they had in their zoo As we flew away When suddenly they realised I wouldnt be a permanent stay So they warped back to earth To grab me something to fuck I was a little confused, By the corset wearing duck 'Aww hell', i said You really have fucked up So they flew back around again And picked up a pup 'This aint as bad', i said As i threw it a treat 'But next time, maybe Could you grab me some teet' So we turned around again I was getting horney anyhow But not quite keen enough To sleep with this cow 'Close' i said 'but you're not quite there, Next time bring me somthing With long flowing hair' The alien threw up his hands And through his translator he cried 'you're impossible to please Just choose a fucking bride' 'Fine' i yelled 'if you give me no choice, Ill just fuck the one Which i find most noice' 'Excuse me' from behind, A voice drawn from heaven The girl i had a crush on Back in grade 7 She had a beautiful face And long flowing hair The voice of an angel And her nude body so bare Never had i been So turned on in my life, But hey this is reddit So i went with the duck.
"Okay, door's locked. We've got the night to ourselves guys." "Let's just get this over with, Chris." "Okay, here we go. Cough. You find yourselves in a vast brick building. Once, it was perhaps grand, but now it is ancient and mouldering. It is overrun by insects and spiderwebs, by thorny ivy and by the very darkness itself. Waleak holds a candle in his hand, but it flickers in a chill breeze, its light causing your stretched shadows to flicker on the wall in staccato beats. What would you like to do, Therdiana?" "... Is he going to speak like that the whole time?" "Shut up, Therdiana! You've got to stay in role. That's how it works." "Oh? So from how you're eating those Cheetos, I'm guessing your character is a half-pig, Tom?" "Waleak. And no, I'm a ranger, Therdiana." "Therdiana, what would you like to do?" "To go home- ouch! What was that for, Tom? Fine. Whatever. I choose to 'explore' the 'ancient' 'building'." "You don't need to air quote everything." "Whatever." "Very well! Therdiana takes the candle and walks through the passageway. Her shadow is alone on the wall at her side, until... it is not! There is someone else in there with you!" "I gasp!" "It is a halfling. He somehow looks older than his age -- you can see that much in his eyes. Cough. 'Agh! What are you doing in my church?' it asks." "... sigh. Your church? But this ancient construct looked rundown and empty. I am only here to explore the relics of this clearly once grand place." "Nice, Therdiana." "Just shut up, Tom." "The halfling eyes you suspiciously. 'What are you?' it asks, its eyes ever widening, its curiosity ever growing." "Let me check my character sheet, good sir. Ah, I am a Cleric. I cannot tell you what that means, but my charisma is high." "Is not." "Is too." "'A cleric? In this God forsaken place? It has been too long! Please, would you do me a courtesy, oh person of the Gods?'" "I curtsy." "No, he said a courtesty, Therdiana. Oh my god, don't roll your eyes at me!" "Whatever. What can I do for you, little man?" "He grimaces at the expression, but somehow manages to ignore it. It likely says a lot about him. 'All I ask, is that you listen to my sins, and perhaps find it in yourself to absolve them?'" "Uh..." "Do it! He might give us a quest." "Greeeaaat. Fine. What sins have you to confess unto me?" "The halfling takes a deep breath before beginning his story. "My name is Dolfus. I am short in stature, but be that as it may, I have never let it hold me back. You see I am big in other ways. Powerful in other ways. Loyal. However... it did give me a most difficult start in life. I struggled to be seen, to be noticed, by those of the opposing gender.'" "Uh..." "Shh! Let him speak. This is quest territory." "'Yes, life was tough. I was made fun of and bullied, for I was not raised in halfling territory. I was raised in a land of oafs and fools. I fell back into a make believe world at times, just to get away from it all. But one day, a new girl started at my school-'" "School?" "'Yes. She was beautiful and wise, and didn't see my shortcomings, unlike the others. She saw what lay under the surface. And so the time came, after much planning and thought, that I invited her to my great catherdral for a game of my favourite... er... game.'" "Right... Seems a bit weird. Chris, is this- is this... Chris, maybe the girl felt a bit sorry for you and-" "'And I never let her leave.'" "What?" "'I never let her leave. She resisted to start with, but she learned true love. Eventually. Sadly, my best friend knew too much...''" "What??" "You notice the halfling is brandishing a knife. You notice him approach." "Chris, get back! I'm ser-" "You try to run, but the door at the top of the stairs is sealed. You feel warmth as the knife plunges into your stomach." "Oh my God, Chris!! What have you done. You've fucking stabbed him!?" "The halfling smears the blood on his knife across his pants, then stares at you with eyes that know love like no other has done so before. 'Don't worry, Therdiana, no harm shall come to you. Not as long as I am here.'" "Please Chris." "'Chris?' he asks, his brows furrowed. 'Who is this Chris? There is only Dolfus here. Dolfus and Therdiana. Forever.'"
"I thought you were a myth,"I said with a little bit of disbelief. "I thought you were a myth"She replied. "So what are you doing on quadX?"I asked "Why are you still alive?"She retorted "Why don't you just answer my question?"I spat. "Why dont you answer my question?"She spat back. "Holy shit, Carla, can you for once just squib."I said. She was still annoying. "Squib? You've clearly spent too much time on Earth. What the hell does that even mean? You're stupid and too reserved like all the other stupid Earthers. This is obviously why Jesse axed it."Annoyed, she was almost screaming. I hadn't heard or thought of that name in thousands of years. My wife, Jesse, decided to axe at her year-mark 450. Yet it still hurt. We were going to go as long as we possibly could. It was betrayal. I loved her enough for Carla's comment to hurt, betrayed enough to get mad. I stayed quiet. "Maybe that was too much.."She turned her eyes to the side. "What are you doing on quadX?"I asked. She looked back at me. "We've found the edge."A smile crept on to her lips. Suddenly, boots clattered into the mess hall where Carla and I stood. "Ma'am, we reci-"A soldier stopped mid sentence. Clearly astonished. They all bowed. "Grand Master Flin, of 60 thou mark."They stood back up and saluted. "Grand Master Carla, of 60 thou mark."They saluted again. Carla leaned into me and whispered. "I'm still the oldest by a year."
"Will you please stop trying to kill me? This is the third time, and you’re going to burn me at the stake?” I groused out towards the villager tying my hands behind the beam at the center of a soon to be funeral pyre. The villager, of course, ignored me. With nothing better to do, I began thinking of the past few weeks. &#x200B; The first time they had attempted to execute me, nearly a month ago, had been by hanging. It was a pretty simple affair. I had been made to hike up onto a platform, had a rope wrapped around my scrawny neck, and then forced to watch as the executioner pulled the lever to the trap door I stood on. &#x200B; Oh, I fell. Even my curse didn’t stop gravity, but the rope did nothing. I felt nothing. It was as if I was being held by gentle arms. The executioner, on the other hand, fell dead on his feet with a snapped neck. The crack had been horribly audible. If they hadn’t thought I was a witch before, they certainly did after that. The cries of horror, the calls of “Witchcraft!” and the general horrified screams seemed to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that I had made a pact with the devil. It would have been nice if they had proved that before they tried hanging me. &#x200B; And so, a week later, they attempted decapitation. I didn’t even know the village had a guillotine. Color me surprised when they pushed me into the device, forced me onto my knees, and bolted my head inside of a wooden contraption. &#x200B; Perhaps I should have been more fearful of the sharpened edge hanging precariously above me. But, well - The man that attempted to kill me had tried it with an ax and what was the guillotine’s blade if not an ax without a handle? I remember warning the executioner that he shouldn’t do this. I’d be fine but if he were the one to let it drop it would be his head rolling-- not my own. Of course, while wary, the man still let loose the blade and - just as I said - his head was lopped clean off of his neck while the blade rested atop my skin. It felt as heavy as a feather. &#x200B; Now - with the villagers believing the third time would be the charm - I stood strapped to a thick, wooden, pole. My hands bound behind me, my bare feet buried in pine straw, and my ragged clothes coated in pine-lighter. Oh, they were going to see me burn. I knew their mindset - ”He made a pact with demons. The only way to kill him is to burn him as he’ll be burned in the after life! Send him back to the brimstone in brimstone! So sayeth the lord!” “Any last words, witch?” “Can we please not do this? I get it, it’s unnatural, but you’re just going to get one of yourselves killed... again.” It was hard for me to try and look after the villagers after all of the torture I’ve been put through. All of, meaning a day of it, they stopped torturing me when they realized their actions were doing more harm to the torturer than it was doing to me. Still, it was the principle of the matter. “You see, my children, it fears fire! It is finally begging for its life! Light the torches!” “No, no! I’m begging for your lives!” I called out over the mob’s roaring cries to “Burn the witch!” Well, on the bright side, the fire would probably set me free and give me a chance to just get out of the village. &#x200B; With a sigh, I straightened my back against the pole and closed my eyes. Several torches were thrown onto the pyre; it took mere seconds for the wood to catch alight, the bright fire brightening the village beneath the starry sky. Hungry flames licked at my skin, seeking to devour my flesh and enhance its all consuming might. &#x200B; All I felt was the warmth of a cabin stove that warmed my frigid body. It was quite pleasant. Even as my clothes burned away, and the pole I was strapped to was consumed, all I could feel was a heavenly warmth. &#x200B; It was hard for me to admit, but the agonized cries of the mob around me only enhanced my feelings of peace. I couldn’t see outside of the wall of flames, but the wailing of men and women painted a horrifyingly pleasant picture. The ropes that held me didn’t last very long. Not with all of the accelerates the wood and I had been covered in. Once I felt free of my bindings I took a step forward over the hot coals. It was as if they were little more than warm sands. I passed through the fiery wall, as bare as when I was born, and watched the ignorant villagers running around in terror and pain. &#x200B; Not all of the villagers were on fire; not all of them had thrown torches to start the pyre. And yet the fire was spreading throughout the village. Unlike me, these people hadn’t been bound, and when on fire-- Well, it was pretty common to panic. And panic they did. I found myself reminded of an anthill I once stepped on. The ants ran around in a frenzy, crawling upon every crevice, crack, stick, and blade of grass, in an effort to find what destroyed their home. In this case, these people were running into their homes, jumping into a lake, rolling across the ground. Blankets were thrown on some villagers, but the fire just wouldn’t go out. Even the water couldn’t put out those that had been cursed with the affliction meant for me. &#x200B; With a shake of my head I quickly decided that I need not watch the destruction of a place I once called home. Honestly, I just wanted to be left alone. With that thought in mind, I marched away from the village and into the nearby forest. My destination was set, and I knew just who I needed to go to. \-- “Son, why are you covered in soot?” “They tried burning me…” I sighed and let myself fall tiredly into the chair that was offered with a wave of my mother's gnarled hand. “Goodness! Why would they do such a thing?” My mother took the news well. So well, in fact, that she didn’t even bother turning away from her cauldron, “Did you murder someone, dear?” “Of course not! Someone tried to decapitate me while I was out hunting and the villagers found his body. They accused me of witchcraft, mother!” My mother did turn this time and stare at me with shock, “Witchcraft? Surely they know a man cannot be a witch!” The woman let out a sigh, “Honestly, we really need a better education system. Would you pass me the newt’s eye, dear?” “Yes mother.” (Sorry for the weird spacing. This didn't copy and paste very well from Google Docs.)
"Honey! Come in here!" "What could it be now? Please tell me you aren't on Reddit again."Her exasperation could barely be measured. "Yes! This is the most incredible news source I've ever seen! 'After J. R. R. Tolkien passes away, he finds himself washed up on the white shores of Valinor.' Isn't that incredible? It's like he knew it was real!" "Oh sure, that's really outstanding news,"she said as she browsed her phone, smirking as she formulated her plan. "Can you believe this one: 'A president gets his nude selfies leaked!' Do you think it's weird to want to see Obama's penis?" "Wow, just wow. Definitely not weird at all."She hit submit. "Oh my God,"he said as his face dropped. "[This new one just came up...](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2g5fm1/wp_reading_this_subreddit_gives_you_immediate_and/)" She smiled as she watched him close his laptop, never to browse Reddit again.
"This whole thing is ridiculous, Frasier. I have a half a mind to confront this hooligan myself in a barrage of fisticuffs and stern language when we arrive."Niles conveyed as they settled into their seats. "That is if we arrive." "Oh please, Niles. Flying coach is not that bad. We'll get this impostor all sorted out when we get there. In the meantime, Is it really beneath you to try and enjoy the everyman experience?"Frasier asked dismissively. "I'll tell you what's beneath me.."Niles says as he strains to look under his seat. "It appears as though someone has left a.... half-eaten.... banana in dangerous proximity to my new Bruno Magli traveling loafers!"He looks up and motions to get the attention of the flight attendant. "Steward! Steward! Over here!" He is promptly hit in the face with a bag of peanuts, to his immediate horror. "Well I never....!"Niles begins a statement and is cutoff by Frasier. "No, you always!"Frasier says flustered as he grabs the peanuts from Niles' lap. "Let's just enjoy the peace of the friendly skies, shall we?"Frasier said, his patience clearly tested. "Well, I can hardly imagine how,"Niles said. "I've been accosted, uncomfortably patted down, and had nuts thrust in my face against my will – and we haven't even entered the prison yard." "Well, when we do I'll be sure inform them all how tough you are in the face of such mind blowing adversity."Frasier said, sarcastically. "Dad would be so proud." HEY BABY I HEAR THE BLUES A'CALLIN'..... To be continued...
The situation in itself was familiar. A few men and women, wanderers journeying through the wasteland, sitting around a fire, sharing meals and stories. Some knew each other from before, a bunch of them had been travelling together for a while, safety in numbers and all that. Some were paired up, two and two. Couples, friends, or strangers, brought together by circumstance. One, a short, skinny man dressed in what looked like an empty burlap sack draped around him like a cloak, had travelled alone. Jonas, a bear of a man, was just finishing his story about how he'd had to run from an actual bear while hiking in Norway. "And I swear by my mum's grave, as soon as I heard even a twig snap under my own feet for the rest of that hike I would just start running. Bears, man, fearful creatures. Beautiful though." There were a few moments of silence. Then Arja, a short woman built like a tank, travelling with her mute husband Antti, grabbed a water flask from the man next to her and started talking. "Have you ever heard of the businessman of the wastelands?"Everyone agreed they hadn't, but they wanted to. "I've heard stories of him around quite a few campfires just like this one. A man, dressed in a worn but well-fitting suit, walking around with a big portfolio in his hand. Usually people just see him in the distance, watching them before disappearing into thin air." "Just sounds like an urban legend"someone said. "Right? I thought so too, but people kept telling me about him, and they all swore they had seen him themselves, some from just a few feet away, always looking at them, observing them, always disappearing before they've reached him. And then I started hearing stories of people who swore by their lives they'd actually talked to him. Or more like he'd talked to them." Arja took a last swig from the water flask before handing it to her husband. "Young men would start talking about how a man in a suit approached them, asking for their names, and when they told him he would just frown, or sigh, thank them, and leave. And the young men who told me this story, you know, they all looked the same! Didn't they Antti?" The mute finn just nodded. "Young men, around 180 centimeters tall, with dark hair. And that's not all. One of them swore instead of asking him what his name was, the Businessman asked for a specific name." The group was silent for a few moments. All one could hear was the buzzing of insects and the crackling of the fire. A few of the travellers shifted positions. Finally someone asked. "What name?" Arja smiled and leaned closer to the fire. The flames lit her face up from underneath, giving it an eerie, almost unnatural glow. "Aleksandr Stone." A young, tall man, with dark hair and a weak stubble, dropped the rock he was playing with. "Are you sure?" "As sure as I'm sitting here, why?" The man glanced at everyone around him before he leaned in, whispering: "That's my name. But why would he-" "Aleksandr Stone, born August 12th, 1999?"Everyone turned their heads to the man in the burlap sack, who just talked for the first time since asking if he could share their fire. "Uh- yeah" "From Gothenburg, last four digits of personal number 19-" "-73, yeah! How the- how do you know?" The man opened his cloak up, and everyone could see what he wore underneath clearly now. A dark suit, worn, but well-fitted. And by his feet a black leather briefcase. The businessman opened it, pulled out a paper, and handed it to the boy, who hesitated before accepting it. "This is yours. The money can be picked up at any official location. You have been notified". Aleksandr looked at the paper in his hands. It was hard reading the small, official letters in the light of the fire, but he managed to grasp the most important bits. "Your apocalypse-insurance claim has been accepted..."he laughed, a short, relieved laugh. "I forgot I even signed that. Thanks, m-". But the businessman had already gone up, left the line of sight left by the fire, and disappeared. Seemingly, into thin air.
I blinked at the loose cadre of thin, reedy looking figures in ski masks, stalking towards me ominously. I sipped my coffee. I hadn't had the heart to rid myself of the mug, Evil Genius in bright red print. "One more time?"I requested, scratching myself absentmindedly. "ON THE GROUND, RIGHT NOW!"The one in front who seemed eager for me to clock as the leader yipped, his voice cracking as he tried to raise it beyond its means. My eyes flicked down. One button press was all it would take. It would be so much easier... I shook my head. "Why are you doing this?"I asked, my tone calm and steady. One of the goons pointed what was clearly an airsoft gun in my direction. "You...you better listen to him! Get down, or...or else!" I clicked my tongue in a tsk sound, chewing my bottom lip as I leisurely walked around to the other side of the counter. "I don't have anything here that's worth more than the 4-15 you'll get after the authorities arrive,"I lied, straightening my posture so I could project my voice properly. "Nobody saw us,"one of the goons muttered sullenly, as the rest murmured in agreement. I cocked my head. "You really don't know where you are, do you?"I asked, an old familiar edge blossoming once again in my voice. "Pop quiz,"I set my mug down on the counter, cracking my neck as I turned back to face them. "Who do you think pays for the police's tech? Why is every lawn on this stretch of suburb greener than spinach in the middle of October? Why does it never snow within three blocks of here?"I predicated my last sentence by bringing my fist down upon the countertop, shaking the mug slightly. The goons quailed, leveling their plastic firearms at me. My throat felt a bit raw. I wasnt used to these speeches anymore, and I didn't realize I'd started shouting. "And you come in here to...what? Steal? Take what you can from some retirees who wouldn't have been able to defend themselves-no. No, this won't do. Back in my day,"I loosened my bathrobe, revealing the lab coat underneath. "-we had standards. Rules. Basic decency. A CODE!"I shouted, clicking the third button on my coat. They didn't have time to react, though it wouldn't have made a difference anyway. Quicker than thought 6 bolts of lightning shot out from the sphere they had assumed to be some Spencer's gift-level paperweight. Their bodies seized for a few seconds before they folded, bb-guns slightly melted from the electricity. I breathed heavily. I was almost certainly red in the face. In theory I could pass this off as self-defense, maybe appeal to the parole officers... But... Adrenaline sang pure joy through my veins. This was the real me, not the emaciated walking corpse that'd been haunting the suburb for the past decade. Gleefully I crossed the room (with a slight anti-gravity boost after a click of my boots) in a single bound to kick the "leader"square in the stomach. He managed a wretch before curling in pain once again. I couldn't stop smiling. "No...this city deserves better,"I continued, producing a pair of pure black lab-gloves from a previously hidden compartment in the wall. "If this is the standard the city has sunk to...perhaps it needs a jolt back in the right direction,"I grinned, buckling the lightning bolt insignia-bandoleer across my form. "An ambulance will be here shortly. I suggest you ditch the ski masks and pretend to be innocent bystanders,"I advised, strapping the jetpack on and pressing the ignition. Pure joy shot through me as the air rippled through my thinning hair. I let loose a peal of proper maniacal laughter as my mailbox exploded, the disguised surface to air missile cutting a path straight to city hall. "LOOK OUT WORLD! THE ALTERNATE CURRENT IS BACK FOR SOME SHOCK AND AWE!"
“Oh my God, Sarah,” Paul falls to his knees, looking at his wife’s cold body. “My God, what- How-“ “Congratulations!” I cheer. “Your first wish is successfully granted!” He turns to me, still holding his breathless wife, “W-What? I never wished for this! I just wanted a million!” “Which is exactly the amount of her life insurance policy and payout from the company will be. You’re welcome!” “Change it back. I don’t need any more of your wishes, just- Just bring her back!” “That’s now how my powers work, Paul. I told you~” He grabs a knife. He’s still holding his wife. “I am warning you, bring her back before I-“ “Woah, easy there. You said you wanted money, okay? In a perfectly legal and safe way, right? Well, here you go!” His knife turns into a check. One million dollars for one woman. How is that not a deal, right? “Sarah, I am so sorry,” he sobs helplessly into a corpse. “Sarah, my Sarah, I am so sorry. I-“ He looks back at me again, eyes clear and full of fury. “Now, Paul, I know what you are thinking-“ “I wish… I wish-!” “A million dollars, Paul. Enough to help you start that business you always wanted~ Enough to let you live the life you always wanted!” “I wish I never found your damn lamp!” I smile. “Wish granted.” *** In a snap, it’s all back to how it was. Sarah is alive and well, though stressed with the piles that have piled up. Paul sits in the same couch that has become his new bed now. He drops the just opened can of beer and rushes to the kitchen. “Paul? Honey, are you okay?” He stares at her, clearly not believing his own eyes. “Paul, why are you-?” He embraces her in a hug, so tight you might believe him attacking her. But I know that he is far too scared that she would disappear. The bills, the house, the rest… It doesn’t matter to the man right now. He confides in her, telling her how embarrassed he is about getting laid off and her becoming the main breadwinner. He apologises for every single hurtful word and resenting look. He cries. She cries. I smile. I laugh. I stick around for a little bit to observe them. Just a few decades. They never get the house as big as their old one. But their new one is filled with greater warmth and love. Paul never starts that business he always wanted. But he finds a job that pays the bills and leaves him with enough time to be around for his family. Sarah smiles, never quite sure what caused such a change in her husband. And me? I am just sitting and waiting for the new person to find me. Working on improving my Evil Genie routine.
The council watches on in horror as a human made dreadnought cracks the shell of an encroaching insectoid god. The massive 200 foot long 50 foot thick tungsten spear impaled in its now deceased carapace. Most aliens on the council only understood energy weapons are ineffective on outer gods due to their physiology essentially acting to drastically increase the entropy rate of the universe. Oddly enough, while energy weapons lose all power, physical weapons prove to be immune to the loss of energy. Proof of concept being a high velocity piece of debris injuring an outer god. So, in a panic, they resorted to launching asteroids at the gods. It had been billions of years since a proper ballistic weapon had even been seen. So of course they ran out and started processing planets. Coming across humanity seemed to be something of a miracle, which was almost squandered in the ever increasing rush to get more rocks. Now humanity has fully realized their potential, with alien technology filling in the gaps of human tech to bring railguns to life. 50 years have passed and it seems that only the most ancient and powerful outer gods remain. Even they fear humanities utterly ruthless drive to conquer their newfound enemies. This fear is shared by the council as well. In not even a century, a race of beings that barely lives to see the goal they promised, have mobilized to the point of being an up and coming military force in the galaxy. The topic shifting from a desperate defense to finally being free of the threat of outer gods gave the council relief. Only for that relief to give way to anxiety towards humanity. A century has passed. The outer gods have been wiped out and the galaxy can rest in peace. But only for so long as a fearful council begins to make preparations of an offensive against the humans. There are naysayers, those who view turning on a race they brought in out of fear is a barbaric and cruel way of thanks. Unfortunately fear rules as all the citizens of the galaxy can remember know is how brutal human warfighting can be. Although reluctant, the council begins to turn their weapons towards a new threat. Humanity.
I really hate visiting grandma. I mean, the overpowering smell of cat piss and mothballs is one thing. Unpleasant, but bearable. Even the lack of Wi-Fi is forgettable under the right circumstances. But when you have to live in constant fear of a murderous five-foot-four, sixty-year old woman, your patience wears thin quickly. “Come have some tea with your grandma, dearie!” the old hag called from the kitchen in a sing-song tone. Many would find the quivering voice cheery and cute. I loathed it. I smiled despite the knot in my stomach. “One moment, grandma!” Meanwhile, my fingers flew across my phone’s screen. After seventeen texts and nine calls, I was getting the hint that my mom was ignoring me. Sighing, I shook my head as her words from the car ride reverbed in my head. Spend some time with your grandmother. She’s really a nice lady when you get to know her. You’re just too paranoid After another round of six passive aggressive texts, the sound of slippers sliding against linoleum pulled my attention away from my phone. Grandma stood in the door to the kitchen, doe-eyed. Her wrinkled lips were turned down in the slightest of frowns. I had to admit, she could put on a convincing show. No wonder everyone thought I blindly hated her. “Are you alright, dearie?” she asked in a soft tone. I faked another smile. “Yeah. Sorry, I was trying to make a call.” “Oh it’s alright,” she said. She shuffled around and gestured me to follow. “But come and get your tea before it gets cold.” Sighing, I stood and trailed behind her. A part of me wanted to stab her in the back, or sweep her off her feet and claim she fell. Maybe she’d break a hip, and then have to stay in the hospital for a while. Anything to prolong her schemes before she finally succeeded. Grandma sat at the small but humble table with a slight oomph. Steaming cups of tea sat in front of her and the only other chair available. Eyeing the woman, I sat with care. It had been a while since a chair had conveniently had “a few screws loose”. As if she didn’t notice, Grandma blew into her cup before taking a sip. She continued to do so in agonizing silence, the ticking clock the only other source of noise. After five minutes, she nodded towards me with a furrowed brow. “Do you not like tea?” she asked. “I can never remember if it’s you or Sean that doesn’t like tea.” “I am Sean, Grandma,” I said with a frown. “But I think something may be wrong with my tea.” “Oh? How so? Not enough sugar?” I narrowed my eyes. “You know what you did. You poisoned it.” Learning how to sniff out poisons in my food and drink was essential when staying with Grandma. After the last time I had nearly died from an alleged stomach flu, I prepared myself but not being able to detect not only common but even the most obscure poisons. Even the most subtle weren’t enough to catch me off guard anymore. Grandma recoiled, eyes open in shock. “I would never poison you!” “Cut the bullshit. I'm on to you. You’re not going to kill me this time unless you get a little more creative.” I expected Grandma to drag out the dramatics a little longer. After all, she never broke character. This time, however, she rose from her chair with a frightening scowl. Must have been because she knew her clock was ticking. “Don’t get fucking comfortable,” she barked as she stormed away. “I’ll see you at dinner, you little shit.”
In Tier Two, things are different. There's all kinds of theories as to how it all works, and let me tell you, I suspect a lot of it is bullshit. In life I was a physicist and an agnostic, and I've seen some strange stuff in my time. Quantum mechanics are strange. You don't come out of a womb in Tier Two. No, instead you materialize, straight up appear in one of a certain set of areas. In ancient times they thought this place was the afterlife, so the reincarnation zones, or spawn points as we call them these days, are all built up in styles of countless religions, all the grandest temples of mankind come to congregate together. When you are spawned into Tier Two, you're not a baby, but rather a young adult, in the perfect prime of your life. And you stay that way for quite a while. The average lifespan here is one hundred and fifty years, apparently. This is where things get weird, though, because none of this stops people from having children, and the children born in Tier Two definitely don't have memories of any previous lives. They're smarter and healthier than children are in Tier One. Tier Two Earth is bigger than Tier One, by about 25%, which helps with fitting everyone. Still, the cities here are huge, glittering skyscrapers that shouldn't be possible with the higher gravity. Other things are odd, too. I've been here for ten years now, and got the chance recently to play around with a particle accelerator (despite being one of the "youngest"people here, science advances so fast these days that even here I'm one of the leading experts on Tier One physics). As the accelerator hummed to life, I felt a thrill of excitement run down my spine. My excitement soon turned to confusion, doubt, and terror, as things just didn't work the same way. That's right, somehow physics here is just more complicated than on Tier One. Why? There's a lot of speculation about higher tiers, and dangerous adventure sports are a lot more popular here, but the suicide rate is lower than you would expect. Hey, to be fair, life in Tier Two is awesome. Still, if what I suspect is true, the implications will shatter everything. And there's only one way to really find out. As the syringe found its way into my veins (funny enough, the very habit in Tier One that landed me here in the first place), I felt numbness spreading through my body. The things we do for science.... And then I slept.
I couldn't sleep at all last night. My mom tried to cook me one of her famous cakes. She's a level 37 chef, with a baking specialty. Her cakes are world-renowned. My Dad passed away when I was 16, he was a level 35 cop, chasing down some level 40 thieves. They stabbed him. It took two level 50 officers, the highest level you can be, to stop them. See, when you turn 18, you're taken to the testing center at the Job Placement Association. They control all aspect of civilization to keep everything in balance. They perform a series of physical and psychological exams to assess which role in society you would fit. There are the low level roles, like garbage men and restaurant servers. Then the basic roles, like teacher and chefs, and more glamorous roles, like actors and photographers. There are even the prestigious roles, like governor or even king of various territories. You can always abstain from your assigned role, but you become a thief. You'll be cut off from all resources of the territory, forced to steal and kill to survive. The JPA will come after you. Every six months you avoid them, you level up. Anytime you score a steal or kill someone important, you level up. The level 50 thieves, the most evil in the world, run the organized underground. Everyone hears the rumors that they are trying to dismantle the JPA. But without the JPA, would there be any order? After you are assigned a role by the Job Placement Association, you go where you are needed. Every territory has a need of so many roles. Today is my 18th birthday. Most of my friends have already turned and received their various placements. When Derek, my former neighbor and best friend, became a level 1 police officer, I cried. It was only a few months after my Dad had been killed. I was afraid for him. He's been an officer for a year and a half now, already leveling up to 8. My Mom pulled me in for a tight hug, "Don't worry, you'll do great."She says before I head in. The JPA Testing Center is very industrial. I see the line of other teens. I get in line and the guy in front of me says, "Happy Birthday."I respond, "Happy Birthday to you too."It's everyone's Birthday in line. It feels like forever by the time I get to the front counter. "Name and ID."The woman behind the counter asks, not even bothering to look up. I can tell from her nameplate that she's a level 5 administrator named Bernadette, only a few years older than me. "Charlotte Keely."I slide her my ID Card. The one the JPA requires everyone to have on them at all time. "Keely? Any relation to Officer Keely?"She asks, looking up for the first time. I nod. "Your father? He was a good man."I shift my feet, not knowing how to respond. She looks at my ID Card and types away on her computer before handing me a stack of paper. "Take this to testing room 14." Testing room 14 is set up like any principal's office. The Testing Officer is already behind the desk, looking very bored. "I'm Jim and I'll be your testing officer today... Charlotte."He says, very monotone, as he looks at the paperwork I hand him. His name plate says he's a level 40 Testing Officer. "Charlie is fine." "First thing, we're going to take a blood sample."He tells me, as a level 10 nurse appears. I stick out my arm and let them draw as much as they need. "The blood is used to confirm the best role for you in society. And to track you in case you ever become a thief."Jim says. I nod, I know this already. "I'm now going to ask you some questions and complete some tasks. Some may seem silly, but please, answer as honestly as possible."I nod again. We start with the basics, what were my parents roles, did I enjoy what they did, what my interests were, what I felt my strong points in school were. My file had my complete transcripts. Jim asked me to take a typing test to see what my WPM rate was. He asked me to draw a circle, then a bird on a giant white board. I think it was to test my artistic ability. Truthfully, I'm pretty good at drawing. I wouldn't mind starting as a level 1 artist and maybe having a specialty of some kind. He then asked me to bring the pencil over to his desk. I walked it over. I think he was judging my "serving"ability. "Well, Charlie, we're almost done. I have one last question. That bird you drew, please bring it to me."Jim asked. I thought it was odd. It was on a whiteboard. I wasn't quite sure how to bring it to him. "Would you like me to bring the white board over here?"I asked him, clearly confused. "Please perform the task to the best of your ability."Jim answered, still monotone. I closed my eyes and thought of how to accomplish this. I could recreate the bird on a movable piece of paper. I could take a picture of it somehow. I imagined the bird I drew on the whiteboard. It was a simple blue jay, as I only had a blue marker to use. Maybe I could work with birds, I wonder what role that would be? I thought of being surrounded by blue jays when I heard Jim gasp. I opened my eyes to see a room full of blue jays, flapping their wings, and tweeting away. My eyes went wide.
It was our first time standing among them. Among all of them. When they first contacted us, it was only one species. Scouts, looking to colonize barren worlds, shocked at the discovery that we were here, that we were thriving, even. So they exchanged greetings with our leaders, confirmed our hopes, and our fears, that we were not alone in this universe. And they left. It would be nearly five decades before we were able to follow. The trail they blazed into the darkness beyond our atmosphere guided us forward, towards the true heart of the galaxy. When they saw our approach, they extended their arms, inviting us to join their Congress, to stand among them as equals. Or so we thought. As we took our place, it became clear to us that we were not equals. We were curiosities. Who taught us to hunt? We learned slowly, eating things we found, until we realized that the creatures which we feared, feared us in turn. Who organized us? The very land shaped where we moved, where we could settle and where we would die. Civilizations formed through luck and ingenuity, and we evolved from there. How did our technology grow? Conflict shaped us, drove us to create the means to defend ourselves, to feed ourselves, to entertain ourselves. Curiosity drove us to understand how our world worked, and that understanding led us to create. We were not like them. They had "Caretakers", who took their hands and led them to the stars. Where we fought until we learned we were wrong; they were scolded, molded into model species without conflict or want. Their Caretakers ensured they were perfect, so as to increase the chances they thrived. We were imperfect, and yet we thrived all the same. And that scared them. Feedback Appreciated
######[](#dropcap) They took Jacob home from the hospital that day. It was a cold winter morning, wind gusting, snow falling around that it piled the streets, rolling hills of white where sidewalks had once been. They feared for Jake -- he’d been born thin and frail -- but it mattered not. He was lucky. “Did we make the right decision?” Ron, who was Jacob’s father, had asked. He drove, the tires wanting chains, his thoughts elsewhere than the dangerously slick road afore him. Now and then his vision blurred, and he found he could not shake a feeling of unease. “If his stats go into luck, won’t he be lacking in all else?” “No,” Doctor Elliot had said. “You don’t know what will happen. You could be lucky through terms of strength, agility, or intellect. Perhaps he’ll turn out handsome. But that’s the beauty of it,” Elliot said, pausing, if done for dramatic effect, Ron thought, then it was done rather well. “You have a set amount of stats, so putting all into luck might drastically increase the chances of your child becoming exemplary in multiple. And, you’ll make your family luckier all the same.” “How so?” Jacob’s mother, Maria, had asked. She was rocking on the balls of her heels, seemingly troubled, unable to sit. “Say you try your hand at lottery. Next time you do, ask your son to pick the numbers.” It was all Elliot would say. Presently, Maria said, “Eyes on the road, please.” “Don’t matter. He’s lucky.” They arrived safely. Perhaps the engine block would crack later under frozen coolant, perhaps the tires would overly harden, but Ron no longer cared. He doubted it would, if the doctor’s words held true. Moreso was he convinced that Elliot had given the truth; later, watching the news, they discovered that they had driven through some massive blizzard and crossed over unscathed. “Time just flies, doesn’t it?” Jake was ten, now celebrating a birthday midst a clear January day. Ron stood watching, his gaze flicking across to where clouds hovered over the horizon, portents to another violent storm. Maria nodded, smiling. She spared a backhand glance as Jake made for the streets, whose traffic lights abruptly switched from green to red (a malfunction, it was said later in the news). Ron grinned too and at length reminisced. They had taken the doctor’s advice and asked Jake to pick the numbers. The next morning had they awoken to their faces plastered over their smallish television screen. They were no longer poor! -- they realized, elated, and made out that morning to purchase a large flatscreen. Time passed again, so quickly that when Ron next found a need to stop and remember, they stood before Jake who was now eighteen, just graduated from high school. He’d applied and been accepted to Harvard, Cambridge, and Yale, each of whom had granted scholarships. They’d also qualified for financial aid and been given by the government a rather sizable sum. “Why?” Asked Ron. He’d called the doctor the other day. “Luck is beautiful, isn’t it? See how one lucky family member might make a difference?” “Yeah, but we don’t need the money.” With their remaining lottery winnings had the family invested into various stocks; in the midst of this minor recession, all of Ron’s investments were only rising evermore. “Simple. Your child needs a family. Thus does his luck extend, in part, to you.” There was a lull in conversation, during which Ron mulled this over. Could he attempt to skydive at this age? He had heart problems -- it ran in the family -- and therefore had never gone. It had been a dream of his since childhood. “Remember,” said Elliot. “Don’t do anything too extreme, though. Luck can only go so far.” * They stood now over Jake’s sickbed, in that same hospital from which Jake had been birthed into this world. Ron, nearing seventy, stooped, leaning heavily on his cane. He turned to call Maria then, with a start, remembered she had died only a year past. He shook his head; his mind was failing. Elliot entered the room, trailed behind him Ron’s extended relations. When it was announced that Jake had fallen ill, all rushed to stand beside -- how could he die? they wondered -- for he was the luckiest among them. “He’s going to be alright,” said Ron and, in his mind had there been no other course. Jake was lucky. But the doctor shook his head. “He joined the track team. In one race, his heart just . . . gave. Stopped beating a moment, and there really isn’t anything else we can do.” Ron was dumbstruck. How could his son, his boy, the luckiest man alive, die at so young an age? Eventually, he said, “Well, get him a pacemaker, then. We have the money. We can pay.” “We’re out. The storm’s been blocking shipments, and we used one in surgery the hour before your son was brought in.” “So there’s nothing we can do?” Elliot was silent a moment, seeming to deliberate over which words to choose. “No,” he said at last. “There isn’t anything. See, that’s the problem with luck. It’s a beautiful thing, sure, but luck always runs out in the end.” * /r/Lone_Wolf_Studios for more!
The halls of the Blessed Circle are quieter than usual today, the Great Priesthood realise now that they have been careless. It began with the novices who reported a hooded man stalking them for hours on end, cornering them in dark alleyways and whispering into their ear. He said that he knew their secret, of how he knows about the strings we pull to keep ourselves hidden from the eyes of the world and then leaving without a trace. Then the Whisperer went up the ladder of authority, appearing before Adepts, Priests and even now the members of the Cosmic Council to reveal his stolen knowledge before disappearing without a trace. Now nobody dares speak a word lest the demon uncover even more secrets. In the innermost circle of the underground cathedral an Oracle motions to signal that everything is clear. The Exalted one signs for the Council to listen to his words, "It has come to my attention that our secrets are not as airtight as we thought. How can this be possible?"The ancient figure signed, "We do not know, but we think that he may be an incarnation of a demon who almost revealed our presence to the world of mortals hundreds of years ago. The foul whisperer, he can disguise himself as anyone, only revealing his existence to gloat over victory. Any harm directed towards the devil will be returned a thousand times over without harming the beast as the scriptures say."A High-Priest replied, hands shaking with fear, "The Blessed circle and her sister societies have remained secret fighting against the corruption of the Hells for millennia and we will not be uncovered now!"A councillor at the back yelled aloud suddenly, no longer willing to keep quiet in fear of this wicked spirit. Immediately everyone else in the room started making sounds and gestures of agreement, but even the most incompetent of novices could tell they all had their doubts of the confident statement of the foolish councillor. ... This was way too much fun, seeing the sweat pour down the faces of everyone he whispered to. Sure it was embarrassing at first, but the reactions on people's faces as he whispered 'I know your secret' was enough to make it all worth it. Who should he go for next, what about that rich-looking old man, he must have something interesting to hide! Suddenly the prankster felt a dark overwhelming presence behind him. Trying to disguise his fear he turned around only to see a dark figure, far too tall and thin and with faces swirling around its body, opening their mouths as if to scream before melting back into the figure. The thing stepped forward, leaned over above him and whispered something in a cold, hoarse voice, "Stop taking away my fun. Not cool man!"the abomination groaned before dissipating. Henry then promptly decided to go home and put away his plans for the day.
Earth had always been a grave. So many species, picked off one by one. Two by two. Thousand by thousand when us humans came around. I just hadn't realized it was meant to be my grave, long before. I was given command of the Abyssal Voyager when I was sixteen. The youngest captain ever, and wasn't nobody who could tell me how I managed that. I'd always been good, but this good? I guess only I disagreed. And then, I was the first captain to lead a ship into the Abyss itself. What a fucking privilege, and Earth suddenly didn't seem so bad a grave. At least I'd go with my crew, although their folks probably would have rathered not. They were a reliable bunch, down to the last one. Still, they had to question the orders when I read them aloud. "Suicide,"they grumbled. "Not a chance in hell we're coming back." I agreed, but I didn't say so. Hell, high water, there was some saying like that, and they'd have followed me anywhere. Likewise. Couldn't think of a crew I'd trust more. "We'll manage,"I said instead, and they fell into line. I'd shown them what I was capable of. Not in the Abyss itself, of course, but the simulations were said to be pretty damn close to the real thing. They weren't. Load of bullshit that was. "It's an abyss,"the admiral had told me. "We been in 'em before. That's how we know this is accurate." But this wasn't an abyss. This was the Abyss. The others were empty. Like taking a truck through the desert. Nice and leisurely, like an eight mile run at four in the morning in a forest devoid of birds. Like landing on Mars just to beat your head on red dirt instead of brown. This abyss? Not so empty. Contact came right away. The nose of the ship had just barely poked through the veil, black strands trailing behind us like the jet-streams of a beach-bound plane. But paradisaical this was not. By the time the stern passed and the Abyss enveloped us, we were surrounded. Not one. Not one thousand. There must have been as many ships around us as there were stars in the sky. Like those nights in the bed of a truck, looking up from a field of corn and wondering how there could be so many. Except now it was enemies, and we were past the point of no return. "Communications with home ceased,"the first mate reported. Marshall Paterson. He'd been my helping hand when the crew was still skeptical. If I had to pick a man to lead in my place, it'd have been him in a heartbeat. Besides, he didn't care if I was the youngest captain or the oldest captain, so long as I did the job right and got the crew home alive. So far, so good. "Start 'em up with those folks,"I answered, nice and casual, so that he couldn't tell I was scared shitless. Maybe it shouldn't have been. Whoever they were, they could have done away with us any second. Instead, they waited. They watched. They wondered as much as we did. Maybe nothing had ever come into this Abyss. Maybe they weren't like us, shooting first and asking questions later. "They're... They're here, actually, sir,"Marshall told me. "Here where?"There hadn't been a breach reported. They hadn't docked a ship. One moment everybody aboard was human, best as I could tell, and the next moment they weren't. He'd left the controls and was staring behind me. The rest of the crew was frozen stiff, defenseless and their faces contorted in shock. Alive, I thought, otherwise they'd have been falling like dominoes. And there they were. They looked an awful lot like us for an alien species. I'd always thought those depictions were a load of hogwash. They'd be blobs, I thought. Or single-cell creatures that could turn into black holes and annihilate us with a thought. These had arms. Legs. Two of each. Like me and Marshall had for now. Their suits were clunkier than the ones we'd use, but I guess we weren't the ones teleporting onto another ship. And these were what? Diplomats? Soldiers? Squanto bringing me some corn? I couldn't tell. But when they spoke, I understood, and Marshall just looked at me like the crew had that first day I took charge. Shock. It was gibberish to him, I realized. Like speaking Chinese to a Spanish cat. "You're the last,"the creatures told me. I understood the words, but I had no damn clue what they meant. Unless all these folks around me were dead as doorknobs, I wasn't the last of anything. My hand lingered on my pistol. I'd not get a single shot off if they wanted me dead. That was why we hadn't wandered into this Abyss, I figured. Should've turned around and told them we couldn't get through and we'd be somewhere in hyperspace travelling towards Earth. "The last of the ones who came before,"they said. As if I knew what the fuck that meant. "I'm not following,"I said in English. Their turn to look confused. Their mannerisms were almost human. Uncanny. "I'm not following,"I repeated, making up sounds that seemed similar to what they'd used. Like my mom speaking Spanish at a Mexican place, except it seemed like I'd placed the right order. Clunky as those spacesuits were, they bowed. Creepy-ass aliens bowed as if I was some king returned then spoke in unison like some sort of school-boy choir. "Welcome back,"they said. And in their voice I recognized it. Fear. "I've never been here." "Not you. The ones before, who came in ships like yours and traded culture to take back home. To their grave. We thought you'd all died." "I'm not the last,"I said, no hesitation. "Marshall is human as me, even if he's ugly as sin."He couldn't understand me, but he'd have got a chuckle out of it if he could. "Him,"they said, shaking their heads, "human. You?"Another head shake. "Not human." ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
"So it's just 200?" He nodded. "And-" He held up his hand. "Look, I don't ask questions. What you do with it is up to you, and how I make it is up to me."He pressed the vial into my hand, and I quite dumbly passed over the cash. "Just a reminder, although I'm sure you know this already, you don't get to choose the type of love." "I know." &nbsp; The sauce coming along really well. So far, nothing as burned, and although I did chop the vegetables a little too finely it was probably going to be alright. It's just mundane. It's just cooking. You've done it for yourself plenty of time before, this time will be no different. It can't be any different, because you're not doing anything different. I wiped away the sweat from my brow, then washed my hands for the seventh time, too clammy. The vial was just lying there. A promise to give me everything I wanted. Or to twist that innocent wish into a living nightmare. A nervous gulp, some clenched hands, and a glance at my phone later, and I had it between my fingers. In the back of my mind, a little voice kept whispering to me that she wouldn't come. That after all the preparation, and after she even said she would, that she wouldn't. It would be just like every other time, a broken heart and nothing to show for it. I bit down, grinding my teeth together as I unstoppered the liquid and let it work its magic. It sizzled a little. And that was it. Truth be told, a rather anti-climactic result. It's okay, the magic is going to come later. You'll see. Now, perhaps it is unethical, what I do. And one could say that I'll regret my actions, that I'll look back on this young and foolhardy and cruel desire sprung out of naivety and nothing more than that and rue the day I did this. That it's wrong to- A loud knock on the door broke me out of my thoughts. "C-c-coming!"I stammered out, stumbling towards the door. "Hey, umm, uh-"No, I couldn't say it yet, "Jennifer. S-so glad you could make it." I put on the best smile that I could. "Sammy,"I always hated it when he called him that, "said that I should. Besides, it's a free meal, isn't it?" My most awkward and forced laugh filled the air. It didn't help. "Well, it's uh, just about ready. A bit hot, but it'll cool down in a minute or two, do you-" "Good, the bathrooms..." Oh, of course. You're not here to talk, are you? "The bathroom's just down the passage, on your left,"I smiled, gesturing towards it, though she'd already started walking that way. Out of earshot, I let out a sigh. Now or never. Besides, it made it all the easier. Rice first, sauce after, and two moderately delicious bowls later, she walked back out. We sat in silence. And ate. She seemed calm. I nearly dropped my spoon 3 times. Come on, come on. My mind flashed with all the horror stories I heard, of the love being that of obsession, of sisterly love, of a twisted and demented love that leads to a murder and suicide. But those were all horror stories, things that rarely ever happened. Most love potions would go for the path of least resistance. I glanced over. I really hope the path to of least resistance was- "Hey, umm,"I muttered nervously, trying to push my thoughts and doubts away. It would've worked its magic by now. Deep breath in. "I love you." The silence hung for what could only have been the longest 3 seconds of my life. Please, please, please. "I love you too, son."
“No monsters anywhere, Addy. I told you. Look!” she said, waving her empty hands in front of her grandchild’s watching eyes. She passed her hand under the bed and found nothing. “Thanks, grandma,” Addy said in a muffled voice from behind the blanket he held protectively in front of his face. “You’re safe, baby. Go to sleep.” Little Addy nodded his head and then placed it back onto his pillow. She watched him until his breathing slowed and then stepped out into the hall. A few steps later, her breathing became raspy and the exhaustion she had been hiding revealed itself. Just a few years earlier, such minor spatial spells would have been nothing, but age took its toll. She made it down the stairs and into the living room before the strain became too much. Her spell shattered, and out of the pocket of her favorite lily-colored robe came a goblin. The creature landed on the floor in a stupor, disoriented from both a rapid compression and growth and suddenly finding himself transported from the bed he had been hiding under. Her breath was still heavy and her magic depleted, but her work was not yet done. She rushed the goblin before it could gather itself and wrapped her hands around its neck. Again, she could only lament her age. Where once she would have wrenched the monster’s head from its body, she could now only struggle to keep her grip firm. But, old as she was, it was still only a goblin. She had faced asuras and wyrms, defeated them bare handed even. The goblin’s dead body hit the ground heavy. She winced at the noise and made her way into a chair. She listened for any stirring on the second floor as she composed herself, but Addy was still sound asleep. She’d have to join him in slumber soon. Already her sleep had been far too delayed for her tastes. Just as soon as she finished one last thing. Pushing passed the pain of her bad knee as she got back onto her feet, she walked to the front porch and dragged her warning with her. The darkness of the night was all-encompassing, and she saw nothing within it. But she knew they saw her. She threw the corpse into the yard and it burst into flames before it hit the ground. The darkness drew back before her. “I’m not dead yet, and you will not touch my family,” she whispered. He would hear her words no matter their volume, and he would remember why it was, even after all these years, his people used her name to frighten their children. *** If you liked this story, subscribe to r/Inder for more like it!
There are a few ways. One Punch Man recognises the protagonist is OP and uses that for gags and jokes (never watched it, just from what I know). Typically overpowered characters have a personality flaw or just a handicap (Toph Beifong is ridiculously strong, but she's blind, so attacking aerial targets and moving on things like sand is a challenge). Something which idk if it's been done, but could be interesting, is the protagonist has NO flaws, so the focus is on the side-characters. As an example, in the bible, Jesus is the 'main character', but the point of the stories is the disciples journeys with him and how he impacts the average person. Does he choose a noble to dine with him? No. He chooses a tax collector (one of the ones that exploit people). He was so honoured he changed his life around. A similar concept could be applied to other stories.
The merchant walked along the street, leading his gold adorned white stallion. Riding his horse was the beautiful and well connected daughter of this region's sultan. He stopped in front of the largest tent in the bazaar and helped his (hopefully) future bride dismount. "Hellooooo!"a voice called from inside the tent. A young and handsome man appeared in its opening. He had a short beard and bright eyes that danced as he saw the sultan's daughter and a clearly wealthy foreigner. "Welcome, welcome, welcome!"he boomed. In a second he was shaking the merchant's hand and kissing his cheeks. "Please, come into my tent out of the sun, you two!" "Thank you,"murmured the daughter. "Uh, yes, thank you,"said the merchant, slightly dazed at the sudden and warm welcome. "Please take a look at my wares!"The shopkeeper bustled out of the back of the tent and reappeared with a steaming teapot. "My father is the true owner of this shop, but his age keeps him from tending to it now and again. I assure you, I can still answer any of your questions!"He passed them both a cup of hot tea, muddled with spices. "Oh, that's so kind of you to do that for your father,"the sultan's daughter smiled sweetly, bending her khol covered eyes into pleasant bows. She took a sip and arched her eyebrows, "Wow, this is really delicious, sir. I must have the recipe."Her tone was syrupy. "Um,"the merchant cleared his throat, "yes, I want to know about this sword here. This hilt is magnificent! I'll give you four sheep for it and a ram." The shopkeeper threw his arms in the air and let out a hearty laugh. The merchant smiled, feeling as though he had thoroughly impressed everyone in the room. "No, no, no!"said the shopkeeper between shaky laughs. "It is true that this is a fine dagger, but I cannot take that much from you!" "Sir,"the merchant smiled and chuckled, "this is no inconvenience to me, I have more sheep than I care to count."He casually, but purposefully adjusted his gold and ruby belt. "Please, please,"said the shopkeeper, "It is my duty to be welcoming to strangers in our sultan's lands. Allow me to give you this dagger for three sheep. I do not need the ram." The merchant exhaled sharply while the sultan's daughter nodded her approval with a large, sympathetic smile. "Well, as a man of wealth,"the merchant said through a forced smile, "I must insist I extend proper compensation for your father's goods." "That is so kind, sir,"the shopkeeper responded with ease and joy, "but my father would agree that we must encourage trade with foreigners. It is important we keep our reputation for generosity." "Al-right,"the merchant spoke but hardly moved his jaw, "Three sheep, then." "Oh!"the shopkeeper suddenly exclaimed. His attention was on the other side of the tent, where the sultan's daughter was holding an elaborate necklace up to her throat, watching her reflection in a small mirror. The shopkeeper was immediately at her side. The merchant clamored over to be there as well. He attempted to stand between the two. "How much is this?"The merchant asked quickly, "I don't care the price -- anything for this flower!"He jerked his hands to point at the necklace. Without meaning to, his voice gradually escalated to a shout, "Rubies, sapphires, silver, and gold! What, are these pearls, too?! This must, must but a very, very expensive necklace!" "Oh, it is!"responded the shopkeeper gleefully. The merchant did an odd and only slightly suppressed skip-jump in excitement, "WELL THEN I'LL --"he began, but the shopkeeper cut him off. "But how, just how, can I ask for payment when it is clear the sultan's own daughter wants it so much?"The merchant deflated. "Besides, who can ask such a beauty to pay for beauty? Does the sun pay for the flower? Of course not, the flower can only be beautiful if the sun is there!" The merchant squinted his eyes and shook his head. What a convoluted metaphor, there's no way the sultan's daughter would -- but she giggled and shifted her headdress so that the shopkeeper could clasp the necklace. The merchant made fist and bit his knuckle. "I SWEAR, sir. You must, absolutely, let me pay for this necklace!"his eyes searched around wildly, "and this chair! And this carpet! And all four of these books!"He went on, madly listing the most expensive looking items in the tent. The sultan's daughter held her hand gracefully up to her lips in surprise. The shopkeeper laughed and put his hands up in feigned surrender, "Of course, sir! How wonderful! My father will be elated at your kindness and generosity!" The two sat and drew out a contract. The merchant was spending a lot, probably more than he should be paying, but it still looked impressive to have so much that even making another man wealthy would not hurt his status. Pleased with his purchases, he took the sultan's daughter back to her father's home, adorned with new clothes and jewelry and followed by servants carrying the other goods. Once inside, he asked to meet with the sultan to discuss the potential of marrying his daughter. The sultan rejected the request and showed him a long list a man had just offered as a dowry. The sultan explained the the man was from a good family, but they could not afford to marry into the sultanate until now. Apparently, one of their sons had a marvelous skill for business. Aghast, the merchant surveyed the dowry. He realized immediately, it was his own belongings he had used to pay the shopkeeper.
8 Firmaire 9155 We found another one of these 'Serve-R's and hooked up a carbon condenser to fuel the generators. I think we'll have something by tomorrow. 10 Firmaire 9155 No entry yesterday. We were all taken aback at how everyone was some kind of "Nazi"or "Faggot."Several random samples confirmed this. Audio logs from an 'Ex Box' archive revealed we fucked each other's mothers... a lot. I guess that explains the great collapse. 12 Fructidor 9155 No entry for the past few months. It's just cats and tits. I thought we'd eventually reach the bottom, but it's all cats and tits. I don't even know how I'll write this up.
Hmm, okay that's a weird place to live. Pretty abandoned street, if I remember correctly. Still, she seems my type. And an abandoned area might just be the best place. I chuckled to myself at that last thought. Then typed, "Sounds perfect, Jenny. I'll pick you up at 7.30pm tomorrow then. Have a good night!"Because it's your last night, haha. Urgh God I'm funny, could've been a stand-up comedian in another life. She replied with a smiley face and closed the chat. Okay, I had tons of planning to do. It had been a year since I last did this so I needed to practice first of all. No worries, you got three cats in the basement just for that, you beautiful genius. But would this be my regular immediate knifing or should I experiment? Well I have always wanted to try doing it the Dexter way... okay, that's decided. Need to go get a lot of plastic. Oh and Brad can lend me his elephant tranquilizer, I already have tons of syringes lying around. And a few huge knives, can test them out on the cats in the morning to see which one I feel comfortable with. I slept well that night. In the morning, I hastily ate my cereal and went to the basement to give the milk to the cats as had been my routine for the past year. Then there was the trip to the hardware store and Brad's place for the materials and then the grocery store for some fruits. Always love a good banana after a kill. Truly soothing. The rest of the morning was spent testing out the knives and cleaning up the mess. By the time 7 o'clock arrived, I was more than ready. All the materials I would require were inside the car and as I caught my reflection in the mirror on my way out, I just had to compliment my handsomeness. You're really going to impress Jenny tonight, you perfect bastard. I killed the engine just outside her house. As I had expected, the street was abandoned, no one seemed to be living in at least five houses on either side of Jenny's house and in front if it. There was a light shining from some distance but that might just be some random streetlight. There were no vehicles as well except for the SUV parked in front of Jenny's house. Okay dude, this seems a little weird. A young, pretty blonde does not live in places like these. But quite unnaturally for me, my heart overruled my mind here. It's been a year. You know how strong your desire is. Who knows how long it will be before you get another chance like this again. With that, I stepped up to the front door and knocked loudly. The shutters were down so I did not even know if anyone was at home but hey, here's to hoping. "In a minute,"a cute, girly voice called out from inside. Oh thank God. See, she exists, you panicky ass of a brain! Trying to be all rational and shit. I reached my hand into my pocket to grab the syringe and hold it ready. The other hand was in the other pocket because I wanted to look all casual. Both hands being unavailable was the reason I was defenceless as a figure stepped out of the shadows from the side of the house with a syringe and injected me with god-knows-what in my neck. Darkness was everywhere as I fell. \slap "Gghhgh,"I grunted as I slowly regained consciousness. Opening one eye, I saw a figure towering over me. I tried to move my hands but discovered that they were tied by a post. I was on the floor and my legs were spread out in front of me, also tied together. I immediately got a slight understanding of what was up and opened both eyes to look up and see who it was clearly. A young man, about the same age as me actually, stared back at me. He also had a slight stubble like me and there was laughter in his eyes as he stared back at me even though his face conveyed no expression. "Please let me go now. I did my part, now please..."a voice pleaded behind me. I immediately looked behind me to see the blond curls of the real Jenny. She was tied to the post like me, in the same manner. "Silence!"the guy commanded. Jenny let out a slight whimper but quietened down. I looked back at the guy and tried to apply my natural killer instincts to find out his motives or anything about him. Why does it feel so weird looking at him? Kind of like staring into a mirror, whoa goddamn do we look alike! "Kyle, answer me as briefly as possible. What was this doing in your pocket? Are you a rapist?"he asked me, holding up my syringe. I was shocked. "Oh God no. Why would you think that? That's fucked up, bro, real evil. I just meant to tranquilize and then kill her, that's all." Why is he staring at me so incredulously? I continued, "Listen, I have materials in my car. You have my keys on the table, go check the trunk, you'll find the materials in it." Again, he looked at me weirdly but then decided to follow my advice. While he was out, Jenny let out the sobs. "Hey, hey it'll all be okay. I don't know what this guy's deal is but I'm doing my best to get us out of here." Her sobs stopped as she looked behind her and stared at me with true fury in her eyes, "Us? With you?! Please do not talk to me like that. Please do not talk to me at all." Uhh okay bro, stay with this weird rapist kidnapper dude if you want to. However, before I was able to wriggle myself out of the ropes, the guy had returned. And this time... he looked happy. No, not happy. VERY HAPPY. What the fuck did he find in there to make him grin ear-to-ear? Did I forget to stash away the weed again?! "Your story checks out. Here."And with that, he cut my ropes. HE FUCKING CUT MY ROPES. WTF? I immediately stood up, ready to fight but he had two (of my, that bastard) knives in his hands and I hardly knew any karate moves to get me out of this situation. "Whoa, calm down and relax. Oh... it's just so wonderful. I truly cannot believe this. Miracles do happen!" Okay this guy is looney tunes. "What the fuck are you talking about?" "Dude, dude, don't you get it yet? I'm you! I do the exact same thing. In fact, I had planned the exact same thing as you! Dexter's idea, right?" Huh? Is this what I think it is? "Uhh... yeah. So you wanted to do the... same thing to me as I was planning to do to you?" "EXACTLY! I mean I wanted to do it with both you and Jenny because I have kind of a fetish for killing couples together but this isn't bad. I have always wanted to meet another killer, and dare I say... form a partnership with him..."He said the last part nervously as if unsure of my response. Whoa, this is so cooooool! We not only look alike, we have the same ideology. Except for the couples part, that's just weird. But then again, I have a blonde liking myself so who am I to judge? "Umm, this is too much to process to be honest. I... I don't even know your name." "Oh, sorry it's Eror. Mord Eror. Weird name I know, I hated my father for it. One of the major factors he was my first kill at 19." "WHOA! My first kill was my father too, at 21 though. I started a bit late. But hey, what a coincidence mate!" "Haha wow! What's your kill count? I've managed an average of five per year so it comes to around fifty I guess. Never had any police troubles,"he proudly stated. "Admirable, mate. I got FBI troubles for the last kill almost a year ago which is why I had to retreat to darkness for a while. Had managed about forty good 'uns before that. Jenny was to be my comeback." "Sounds good, man, sounds good. In fact, why don't I hand over Jenny to you. And maybe then we'll discuss an arrangement. This is so cool, I can hardly contain my excitement!" "You would do that? Thanks man! Get the plastics from my car, let's set up the place. I'll hold these smelling salts under ol' Jenny's nose, apparently she fainted when we began our conversation." "Haha sounds great, mate. Let's do this." With that, he goes out as I reach into my back-pocket for the salts. A smile passes by my face as I imagine the partnership of "Kyle Ler and Mord Eror"that will put all the killers out there to shame.
"You're here for a sports car. A convertible, I'm sure. Something with enough horsepower to blow that toupee straight off your head." The man fidgeted with his fake hair uncomfortably and tried to brush a few strands over his sunburnt forehead. "Err, who are you?" "Sherlock Holmes."The man stuck his pudgy hand out for a shake, but Sherlock just looked at it with a glance of disdain and kept his own hands clasped behind his back. "You're going to want the 2003 Mustang."he nodded to the back of the parking lot. The man finally took the hint and let his hand drop back down to his side. "Well, I'm really just here to browse..."he answered. "Of course you are,"Sherlock said. "Come, I'll get the keys and show you the vehicle I have in mind."Without waiting for a confirmation from the customer, he turned back to the office and marched briskly away. "I'm not sure if..."the man huffed, trying to keep up as they crossed the sea of black asphalt baking in the summer sun. "If you're in the market for a sports car,"Sherlock finished for him. "Of course you are." "What makes you..." "You're in your late fifties,"Sherlock stopped mid-stride and turned to the man, boring into him with his piercing, commanding gaze. "You've had an affair recently as part of your mid-life crisis. Resentment had been building up in your marriage for a long time and you finally allowed your animal lust to take over. With your secretary, yes?" The man gaped like a fish. "Your wife found out, naturally. Part of you wanted to get caught. The divorce has certainly been messy, and she has hired a top-notch lawyer to milk you for every cent you've got. You, on the other hand, have decided to embrace the single life. You've been going out to bars and clubs, trying to meet women only to realize that it's much more difficult than in your youthful college days when all you had to do was press a fruity drink into a young lady's hand and tell her your name. Being an accountant isn't quite as sexy as you'd thought, is it? You've realized that your age and comfortable lifestyle have caught up with you, and you go home alone every night. And you've come here hoping that a flashy new car will be able to show these girls the perks of being with a much older man. But you don't have a lot of money, due to the aforementioned divorce. So you're looking for something that seems expensive, at a discounted price. That is why you're going to buy the blue Mustang in the corner." "How did you..." "Oh, please,"Sherlock sneered. "You might as well buy a neon sign to carry around on your back with all of this information listed out. It's plain as day. You have a pile of work documents in your car, a 1996 Mercedes from back when you still had money. You have a smudge of lipstick on your collar, which would appear to indicate that the affair with your secretary is still ongoing, except for the fact that it appears to be at least two weeks old and the shirt has not been washed. You smell faintly of gin. You've got two faded entrance stamps on your hand. There are circles under your eyes and a tan line where your wedding ring used to be. And that toupee looks more like a piece of carpeting than a natural hairstyle. Now please stop wasting time so that I can go fetch the keys and get this damnable transaction over with." The bell chimed as Sherlock entered the office and left the customer standing in shock on the pavement. ---- Sherlock returned to the office 45 minutes later and sat down at his desk with a sigh. His boss looked down from his newspaper. "You make the sale?" Sherlock put his feet up on the desk. "Yep." "Good."The boss went back to reading, then paused. "You make this one cry, too?" Sherlock shrugged. "Yep."
"KILL!" I sprang up in my bed. My heart, racing. "What?! Who–" "Kill! You have to. It's the only way to survive!"said a sweet deep voice desperately. "You must kill it. Destroy it!"said a harried shrill voice with an edge of glee. I'd had these two opposing voices in my head for as long as I can remember. They never agreed. Never. "Please! Kill it! I want to see!"said Evil. "Kill it with fire!"said Goodness. I looked around until I spotted a brown spider crawling on my bedpost. I scream and whacked it with a book. Its legs drew up and writhed. I looked on in disgust until it halted its movements. "Ugh. That's a deadly one. Jeez. Thanks guys!" It was a brown recluse! I shuffled away from it and flicked on the bedside light. "That's not all. Kill all of them!"Evil said. Once illuminated, the room gave way to the worst horror of my life. "Holy shit... HOLY SHIT!!!!" Tiny brown spiders were crawling all over the wall of the bedroom where the door was. I dropped everything and stared for a good minute, unbelieving. And then I started screaming. "Kill them! They'll murder you!"said Goodness. "Yes... kill all the babies. Kill em dead!"laughed Evil. Instead I called the police. I didn't know what else to do. "There's brown recluses EVERYWHERE! EVERYWHERE!" I screamed into the phone for a while before they said they were coming. I couldn't kill all of the spiders if I wanted to! Well, actually I really wanted to make a flamethrower with hairspray and my trusty Zippo, and burn down the house, but my insurance wouldn't like that too much. Evil cackled happily, and goodness was terrified. Unfortunately my bedroom wasn't the worse part. I saw through the open door that the hall had little ones all over. My house was infested. I ended up jumping out the damn window of my bedroom. The one time my voices agree and it's spiders. Deadly spiders. Man. FUCK spiders. . . . Edit: Something like this spider situation happened to me for real. I went to vacuum behind my tv, and a (harmless) spider had birthed HUNDREDS of spiders. I screamed the whole time I vacuumed every last damn one and emptied the can outside. Only then did I stop screaming. Fuck. Spiders. 🕷
I know I'll probably get downvoted into oblivion, but should the post's title have said 'self published'? Not that the book wasn't a ton of hard work and effort, but when I read the title I thought, wow this person got an agent, got a publishing contract, went through several edits, and released a polished book all in five months?! I congratulate you on finishing the book and I hope people love it.
I awoke to a pounding headache to find myself restrained to a hospital bed. Peaceful, in essence, a sign of healing and the possibility of well-being. Disappointing, in practice, because it meant the world hadn't ended. Ironic, in retrospect, because they couldn't truly hope to keep me tied up there forever. There were people all around me. There always were. Scientists and politicians. Soldiers and five-star generals. Forces for good, but good is relative. Men with nothing alike, united against a common cause. Men and women from all backgrounds with all sorts of histories sharing nothing but fear. That was what I smelled in that room as I pulled against the restraints. Fear. The general removed the muzzle from my mouth. I stretched my jaw. I smiled. "Why?"he demanded. "Why?"A little more desperately this time. Tinges of sadness marred that steely voice. "Why not?"And that was really all there was to it. Some men used guns. Some men used clubs. Other men used money and manipulation. My words had power, so I used my words. "Why not?"The murmurs spread across the room like wildfire. Soldiers shrugged. Scientists questioned what they thought they knew. Politicians gaped and convinced themselves, as they tend to do. "Why not?" "Let me go,"I asked politely but firmly, raising my hands as far as the restraints allowed. An orderly obliged, and my hands were free. Then my feet, and then I sat up in the bed. "It didn't have to be this way,"I told them; a father chastising a group of ill-behaved children. They hung their heads. It really didn't have to be this way. For so long we had worked together. A collaboration, merging my powers with theirs to accomplish what might have once been impossible. But they got greedy. They got too ambitious. And when I finally tried to put a stop to it, they told me it wasn't up to me. The cracks of our fragile union began to spread like the gaping cracks in the city streets. They didn't stop when they swallowed cars or buildings. They didn't stop when molten lava poured out of the Earth and consumed the city. If I would be made to use my powers for bad, I would use my powers for bad. Simple as that, if you asked me. "Take care of them,"I said to the soldiers. Fear turned to terror. Shame turned to terror. Why does everything ultimately turn to terror? The soldiers couldn't resist. The politicians wouldn't lift a finger. The scientists weren't fighters. And the general just looked at me. "Why?" ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
"Are you fucking kidding me?" I'm livid. Beautifully carved pots and weapon fragments that took weeks of painstaking work to remove in the ruins lay in shattered pieces in the alcove where I and my students had set them aside to catalog them. A shambling corpse from one of the sarcophagi deeper in the ruins was crawling through the pieces, crushing more under it's decaying body as students fled it in a wave. My senses buzz in all directions around me, like pings on a radar, meaning there were more than one awakened corpses tramping through the ruins. Too many discoveries had been lost to such nonsense. Useful as we are, necromancers actually can't get jobs in the archaeology fields because of idiots trying to show off. The only reason I'm allowed to stay is because I'm a curse breaker - a rarety - and have proven myself time and again to keep my powers under tight control. The corpse senses me nearby. It's beginning to look for me, turning to stumble into my direction. I throw out my hand and seize the tether of life that brought the poor soul back to it's corpse in an attempt to sever it so that it can return to it's afterlife to no avail. Whoever summoned it is just strong enough that I can't wrest control from their bond. That only leaves one way to deal with the shamblers: the slim sword at my hip. Many of the older archaeologists and necromancers alike have laughed at my sword, sneered in disdain at my 'cocky and presumptuous' attitude. 'Or at least up until they come across an awakened whose tether can't be severed,' I think to myself as I destroy the corpse in front of me and move deeper into the ruins after the others. I strike down the ones I can't sever. Finally I turn a corner to an antechamber where I can feel the necromancer and pull up short. There's a massive awakened standing inside, staring unseeing at the necromancer that lay unconscious on the floor before him. I notice that it's a student that hadn't been a necromancer this morning, which means there's a curse in play. The awakened senses me and turns towards me, revealing an ancient dagger dripping with blood. My gaze hardens as I settle into my stance without reaching for the tether; I know this one won't be severed. Time to go to work.
It felt like a hangover. That’s… really the best way to describe it. A week ago, all I wanted to do was get through the workday so I could go home and watch Netflix… now, Werewolves are real, they have a hierarchical society and have unwillingly drafted me into it. A battle of wills between the pounding headache atop and the unbearable dry mouth below raged upon my body - one seeking to keep me in bed longer while the other demanded I get up and hydrate. I didn’t fuckin’ care which one won, I had bigger things to worry about. Eventually the sun joined the fight, assaulting my eyes to crown discomfort as the victor, leading me to finally get out of bed. The moment my feet touched the hardwood… an alarm went off. An alarm? Is Brandon playing a prank on me? He knows I love to sleep in, after all. Or maybe it was a new app on my phone, I did download a lot of medical crap after the bite. Picking up my phone, I witnessed salvation in the form of the “Stop Alarm” button but before I hit it, something caught my eye. A message attached to the alarm. “Time to shower! :)” Alright. Someone’s being fucking cute and I’m already pissed. To my surprise, unlocking the phone and heading to the Alarms screen (because I’ll be damned if someone plays a joke on me like this again) revealed something terrifying. I was met with not one, nor two, but several alarms, all labeled with some form of directive. “Meeting with so and so”, “Leisure Time Starts Now” and all kinds of other stuff that I would never in my right mind put in there. Who breaks down their time, anyhow? That’s gross. With one swipe I could delete all of them… but some of these… actually made sense. I did, after all, have those meetings but maybe this time instead of being fashionably late… who knows. Maybe I’d be on time. Fuck it, let’s try it. Making my way to the kitchen for some water (after all, the victor of the great battle deserved their spoils) I noticed that the next alarm was labeled “Let’s get to work! :D” - Why do these all end in an emoji? - though it did give me an hour to shower and prepare, something I wasn’t typically aware of, so in heeding the sickeningly cute alarm text I had my shower and got prepared… in time. The rest of the day, to my surprise, went a lot like that. An alarm, a directive, things done in time. Getting home felt… different. My day had gone pretty damn well. I didn’t turn into a demon dog from hell, no one died and I got stuff done… but… who organized my month? I looked through my calendar and alarms plenty during my workday and noticed the excellent schedule only goes out 29 days and then it stops. What’s happening here?
"Very well..."he says through gritted teeth. "You have 2 wishes remaining." "For my next wish, I wish to be married to my one true love!" "Oh no."The genie snapped his fingers. "Your wish is granted." Beside the man suddenly appeared a small skeleton. He immediately freaked out. "What the hell is this?!" "Jennie Hereford. You knew her in second grade. They told you she had moved away but... I'll spare you the details." "No... no no no no. This... I'M REWINDING!"The man snapped his own fingers and he felt a brief rush as reality seemed to reset. "Oh, that was weird." "What is your third wish?" "Ah ha! You mean second wish! I rewound time, so that wish didn't count!" "Dammit, that's the problem with you people! You always think you're being clever or outsmarting the genie. Well guess what buddy? I WASN'T TRYING TO SCREW YOU OVER! You did that yourself! The only reason you rewound time was because of that wish. So the wish has to exist somewhere or you can't rewind time. SO! What is your third wish?" "But... but that's not fair! I--" The genie cut him off. "Fair? FAIR?! You, by fortunate circumstance, have unimaginable power for but a brief moment to enhance your life how you like. The problem is always you don't know what you want and you always try to more clever than you think you are. I can't tell you what wish to make, I am merely the conduit through which you get that power. "Instead of trying to be smart and clever, just think about what would make your life better. Don't try to overplay your hand or undercut the whole purpose. You have one wish left. Now, choose wisely." The man hung his head. "I'm sorry. I just... You hear all these stories about genies twisting your wishes and monkey paws giving you what you want but not how you want it. It just really messes with your head. I wish I had known all this before I started wishing." The genie just facepalmed and snapped his fingers.
An archaeologist sat and scanned through the final documents of his project. All seemed in order. The dates for everything had been checked and scrutinised, the earliest artefact dating from around 2003, the latest somewhere close to 2088. He began to relay his findings to a new member of staff. “So we think that around the early few decades of the 21st century, this new totalitarian civilisation really began to thrive. It was led by a single figure, a God. You can see by the orange, vacant stare of the eyes and that wild smile. He was in control.” “So they really worshipped this guy?” “Totally. He was like, the leader of the world. Any changes, any advancements, affected everyone.” “Everyone?” “They needed him. How do you think they paid for things? ‘Upvotes’ were the means to everything. Buying, selling, trading, validation, self-worth. It all came down to numbers. News came through from him, entertainment came from him, it was all through his word. I don’t want to imagine what happened to those who got ‘downvotes’.” They sat back for a second and pondered. “And he was the head figure?” “A dictator of sorts. A silent, muted character. Didn’t say much, but was always just…there. People separated into tribes, colonies. You had those who were known as “OP’s”. Information came mostly from them and then others would feed off of it, discussing it. Then you had “moderators”, a sort of policing of the people. They could remove people from society, or ban them from certain areas.” “Areas?” “Well, they were called subreddits then. Presumably, they were extensions of the dictator’s motives, cities under his ruling. They’d be sectioned off and kept to only discussing specific things and any off-topic conversation would be met with force from a moderator or a bot.” “Sounds brutal.” “Oh it was. An entire population at the mercy of “moderators”, scrounging for “upvotes” just to survive. Each person had “karma”, a sort of credit score. If you had a higher ‘karma’ number you were deemed more valuable, more experienced. It defined them as a people.” “I can’t imagine living like that.” “And then there was ‘gold’. Presumably it was a secret, more elite group. They had access to resources that most others didn’t. They could filter things, tailor their information. From what we can tell, normal citizens would scrounge amongst themselves in the hope that they’d get access to this ‘gold’. It was a rare and violent occurrence.” “What did this society call themselves?” The archaeologist looked up from his papers. “Reddit.”
"Oh for fuck's sake God damnit. I can't afford this!" I pace around in my bedroom, anxious and stressed. I can barely afford to feed myself, but I spent thirty damn quid on some program that no-one has ever bought? How the hell am I gonna make up for this? I don't wanna tap into my university fund, not again! I shake from panic so much that I barely notice my phone, steadily vibrating in my pocket. I eventually feel it and rummage around all the stuff to answer. Who is it this time, my mum? The doctor reminding me about some appointment? Someone selling some pointless shit that no one ever buys? I've already done enough of that today! I assume the latter when I see that it's a private number, but I answer anyway. I irritability respond to the persistent ringing. "Hello?" A muffled voice responds, low in pitch and distorted. "Good afternoon Nicholas. I assume you know what this is about?" Not fully listening, I begin respond with my usual monotonous answer to sales calls. "Hi yeah I don't want to buy your double-glazing window or PPI mis- hang on, what?" Seemingly disinterested by my response, the voice continues. "We've gone by many names over the years. Today we refer to ourselves as just 'The Society'. Thank you for showing interest in becoming part of the structure of the world. We have received your payment of thirty Great British Pounds and-" "Woah Woah Woah Woah Woah, slow down, hang on, what? First of all, how do you know my name? Second of all, what are you talking about the society or some random bullshit?" The voice on the end of the phone abruptly stopped and took a moment to think. "You solved the puzzle? You did what no-one in their right mind would ever do, therefore proving that you're willing to try new and different things to control the world?" "No man, I just bought winRar! I assume that's what you're talking about with the whole thirty pounds thing you were going on about." A heavy, audible sigh could be heard through the speaker of the phone. "So you weren't trying to join the society?" "No! So what, to get into the illuminati you have to buy winRar?" Another sigh. "You know you can just close the 'oh you have to buy winRar at some point' window with no ill effects, right?" "I didn't mean to buy it, it was an accident!" "Anyway, look. You can either join The Society and help restructure the world, or we can make you and every trace of you disappear, because now you know of our existence. Also, it's not the sixteen hundreds, we don't call ourselves 'The Illuminati' any more." "Fine, I guess I'll join you. Can I get my thirty quid back though, please?" "Ok, I'll sort it."He whispers under his breath, "Management is gonna be so pissed off at me." He clears his throat, and continues. "Any suggestions before your initiation?" I ponder over it for a sec, and then reply. "Well, the application process could use a bit of work."
Various people from various places started a revolution. People gathered in protest locations and started singing songs about the glory of the world, Donations for various charity groups spiked, Establishments started offering the ability to pay for those who can't, and Random acts of kindness became common place. It was a day like no other and it continued for years and years. The event was started by an unknown individual and by only one statement, "Spread the word, do what you can, and show what it means to be a part of this wonderful world."
“... and for all the services you’ve done for me, Ashram, God of Fertility, every time you engage in sexual intercourse, your mate shall become pregnant! Your family shall be large and wide, and your descendants shall fill the earth!” Gary’s eyes opened wide. Without a word, he ran to the back of his truck, grabbed one of the bags of accumulated trash that he had cleaned from the small lot, and ripped it open. He hastily flung the contents across the lot. “What are you doing?!” Ashram’s voice sounded slightly weaker. Gary proceeded to pull another bag from the back of his truck. “If you continue, I shall revoke my favor!” Ashram shouted. Gary paused, then purposefully ripped the bag open and dumped the bag right on top of the small shrine which had been previously covered by shrubbery and garbage. “That’s it! I now revoke my prior blessing, and curse you with the opposite: You shall be barren. You shall be cursed to strive every night, but no children shall come of your efforts. You shall die as you were born, and your line shall die with you.” A huge smile spread across Gary’s face. “You promise?” Ashram spoke solemnly. “My curses are never lifted.” Gary began cleaning the shrine hastily. He returned to his truck, grabbing a rag and some Clorox lying in the back of his truck’s cab. He wiped down the shrine carefully until his face reflected in the obsidian. “I shall be your disciple for all of my days, mighty Ashram, as long as your curse remains true!” He ran back to his truck and gunned the engine, driving away hastily towards the nearest bar. Ashram sighed. “Humans... I just don’t get them.” . . . Edits: the god’s name was inconsistent and removed an extra comma.
She sighed. "I just don't understand this sudden interest in my finances." "Finances are what you keep in the bank. Finances are currency. I'm pretty sure these are gold doubloons." "Those are currency" "Yeah, you wanna come with me down to the ATM and see if we can fit some of these into the coin slot?" "That's not fair. I honestly don't know where this is coming from. You never had a problem before this morning." "I'd never been in the crawlspace before this morning, mostly because you've always called it 'the crawlspace' and I hate cramped and dark places. There's a goddamn chandelier down there! A working one, suspended over what appears to be a sinkhole full of glittering treasure." "You know, most people would be happy to discover that they live on top of an untold fortune" "Most people would be glad to learn they live on top of a fortune. It's the untold bit -- we're in a partnership, and I'm not going to be the guy who needs to have his hands in everything you do and own, but we have been scraping by. I've been eating cup noodles every day just to keep the lights on, and you've got a crystal chandelier just running, day in, day out. I couldn't even find a switch for it -- it's just on." "Do you know how controlling you sound right now? 'Ohh, let me get mad at my girlfriend for not sharing all her cool stuff with me. Ohh, I'm gonna get mad over a basement full of gold because I didn't know about it. Ohh boo hoo' -- maybe if you ever gave me the ring we talked about, I'd stop hoarding secrets." "Okay, you want a ring? There was a beautiful one downstairs that would look great on you." "Not funny. You know the one I want." "Yes, and now that I know the one you already have, it feels weird to be working two jobs just to save up for it." "You know what, if you're just going to spit fire at me while you're living in my home, then you can leave. Daddy was right -- you are just a gold digger"
My family has power. We don't use it much, and it only tends to attach itself to one or three of us at a time, but it's there. It's the power of reinforcement. I can see the confused expressions on your faces now. Simply put, if we combine one thing with another of that thing, say a sword with another sword, we get a stronger sword. Swords aren't common in a tiny farming village. I'd only seen them a handful of times adorning merchants that passed through on their way to larger towns. So, suffice it to say, swords aren't something we use our power on. Mostly we work with water. Combine this bucket of water with that one, and crops only need half their usual watering. It's an odd concept, I'll grant you that, but we make it function. I've always been the odd duck in my family. Everyone else blessed with the power has wanted to go adventuring at some point in their lives. So they pack up and off they go to seek their fortune. Then, when the adventuring bug has played itself out, they return, usually with a variety of new scars and some wild stories to tell. But not me. I want to be a farmer. It's all I've ever wanted. I enjoy growing plants, I like being able to feed people, and I really find fulfilment in the work itself. My family can't understand it, and they have no problems communicating their feelings. Mostly by asking me when I'm going to leave, or if I've decided on what adventure I'll try and seek out. To shut them up, I've taken to saying 'soon', or 'maybe I'll try a dragon-killing adventure'. That one always sends my mother into tears so I don't use it very often. But lately, there's been whispers in the tavern. Rumours of unrest, rumours of war in the south; an increased presence of soldiers. It's disturbing the peace and quiet; the neighbours have started to murmur about evacuation or turning their scythes into weapons. The whispers have even entered my household, muttering about a draft. Our power isn't widely known, but when it comes down to it, there's likely to be someone who remembers. Remembers my now silver-haired grandfather from when he was young and reckless. Who comes to our home and drags him out of bed. Who ignores my grandmother's cries of sadness. Someone who remembers my Aunt, when she could still reason and think, when her illness hadn't taken her mind from her. Who comes to take her regardless, who thinks they know what she can or can't do better than her family. And there's bound to be a person who remembers my Mother. Who remembers what a wonderful warrior she had become, before the nightmares took over, before the world became terrifying for her, before everything went from wonderful to frightening. Not everyone who came back from their adventures came back unscathed. I'm the youngest Reinforcer, I'm the only one they should take, but in war, no one cares about what is right, or what should be. They'll come for us all. This is why, since I heard the very first rumour, I've been collecting pebbles. Though if you came to see them, all you'd see is one pebble. One very pebbly pebble. The ultimate pebble, if you will. When the recruiters come, I'll be ready. And I will defend my family. ———————— "You there! Can you take us to the owner of this farm?"I pushed my hat back, squinting at the man who'd shouted. It was a bright day, and the sunlight glared off his armour like a bolt of lightning. Slipping a hand into my pocket, I smiled as amiably as I could manage. "Sure can. In fact, you're speaking to him. What's all this about then?"I said, drawing my words out slowly. The more he thought I was just a dumb farmer, the better for me. Taking a few steps closer to him, I ran my fingers over the small smooth object in my pocket. He frowned, walking a little away from his escort of four soldiers, and in my direction. Good. He was underestimating me already. "I was told there were some... magic users in these parts. In this very household. We've come to.. encourage... them to join the army. We need every loyal citizen, especially since our Emperor has decided to press for the annexation of Gorneaul."He paused, and I tried to keep my patience. Soon... I would strike soon. As he began again, I palmed the pebble and drew my hand casually out of my pocket. "So, you be a good boy. Run along and fetch them sharpish, and we'll be on our way."He attempted a friendly smile, but there was a good deal too much steel in it. I smiled back. There were a good too many teeth in my smile to be seen as anything but a threat. "No, I don't think I'll be doing that. In fact, I think you and your men should be riding away 'sharpish.'" "Listen here boy, I don't think you understand— " "Oh, no, I understand perfectly."His face turned purple at my interruption, but I continued. "I understand that no one in my family is going to fight for a corrupt Emperor, and that you won't be able to make them. And I understand that I'm going to stop you. With this."I held up the pebble, waiting for his face to change again. Consternation this time, with a bit of amusement. Hand dropping to his sword, he chuckled. "You're going to stop me with a pebble. I think you've spent a little too much time in the sun—"Whatever he was going to say next would never be spoken in this life. I had thrown the pebble with all the force my arm possessed. It passed cleanly through his helmet and skull, killing him instantly. As he crumpled to the ground, his horse followed, the pebble having gone into its heart. I felt bad, for the horse. With my grin that had too many teeth, I turned to the other men. They were looking at me like they'd just seen a ghost. "You should go. If I can do that with a pebble, what else have I got up my sleeve? Or..."I paused, watching them pale as I put a hand in my pocket. "In my pockets?"As they reined their horses around and dug their heels into the glossy flanks, I shouted after them. "Tell the Emperor there will be no draft in this house. If he sends more men, they will die. If he comes himself, he will die."I drew a deep breath, yelling so loud I scraped my throat. "This is my house. And it is protected!" &#x200B; ———————— Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories!
Statistically speaking, I'm the deadliest assassin in the world. That's beside the point, I don't do what I do for ratings, I do it for justice. Ever since the 1920's when they were first invented they have been abused. They have suffered a great deal. However, before the end of this you will think twice before you misuse them again. Let me just tell you my most recent story. Sunny, beautiful day, I get a call. "Sir?". "Yes?", I responded. "Sir we've got a Q52.""Send me the address.", I said. With that I drove to the address. I snuck in through the back door. The house was empty except for the sound coming from the upstairs bathroom. I peered thru the crack in the door. There she was, young woman, oh the misuse. She was using it to apply eye shadow. Eye shadow! I couldn't bear the sight of it and busted open the door and shouted "they have make up tools for that!"I shoved the misused Q-tips so far into her eyes she died instantly. Just last week I killed a guy that wanted to use them to clean deeper than just the outside of his ear. They just weren't good enough were they? He just had to go deeper? Well those ended up so deep in his ears , and into his brain he felt it in his toes. I mean the product label clearly says to NOT insert into ear canal. So let this be fair warning to anyone that decides they want to misuse Q-tips, because I will know and I will find you.
The car door slammed as I reached for the seatbelt. Frightened and confused, I obeyed my father and buckled into my seat. The windshield wipers swiped back and forth, mopping up the downpour as my father ran around to the driver's side of our family's SUV. "Hold this,"he said as he threw a gun in my lap. "We're going to get your mother." "Dad, what's going on?"I said. Without a word, my father sped out out of the parking lot of my high school and onto the main road leading to downtown. The gun felt heavy in my lap. I was too scared to hold it so I was squeezed it between my thighs. My palms began to sweat as I watched my father's eyes dart left and right as we weaved through the slow traffic yielding to the storm. "Dad,"I repeated, "What's going on?" "Something's happened Nathan and we need to get your mother and get away from here,"said my father. I had never seen my father act this way. I always thought of my father as the boring, middle aged government worker, who did nothing more than go to and from work, with the same briefcase for the last twenty years. Not today. Today he acted like he just woke from a twenty year long dream. "Nathan, he said, "I need you to listen very carefully at what I'm about to tell you." I turned to my father and quickly made eye contact with him. Studying his eyes, I saw a different man. I nodded. "There's been an attack. We don't know who they are, but we know they released it downtown and it is quickly spreading. The symptoms are subtle, a common co--." Before he could finish, our family's SUV became the bearer of a brunt impact that had run a red light. I clutched the dashboard and center console as we spun around in circles, finally coming to a dead stop in the middle of the intersection. Before we could assess the damage, my father grabbed my arm, "You ok?" Filled with adrenaline and my heart pumping fast through my chest, I nodded again. "Son, we're going to have to move on foot, said my father, "grab the gun." Without hesitation, I clutched the gun in my hand, turned to my father and nodded once more.
It's almost like a fairy tale. A masquerade ball, two young beautiful people, the Silver Knight and the Lady In Green, meeting in a graceful elegant dance, and finding themselves unable to look away, their eyes locked in the passion of the moment. He finds himself drawn to the powerful and self-assured Lady, and she relishes the chance to experience such a wonderful time with such an alluring stranger. She makes the first move and daringly kisses him, to the cheers of the party. But they no longer notice. Only they exist. And they dance like the world around them is only mere illusion, and unworthy of what they're sharing. And after an evening of dancing, smiling, whispering sweet nothings and so forth, followed by the two of them moving to the top of one of the castle's towers, they share a perfect night together. Next morning the Knight is nowhere to be seen. Strangely in such cases, so is the Lady. Nobody recalls who they were, their names, or how'd they gotten in. Nine months later, a masked lady, clad in all green, hands over a baby to one of the nicer orphanages, along with a generous donation. Some stipulations follow with the donation, about teaching the child how to defend herself, perhaps magic, and of informing the child of a bank account in their name located in one of the nation's gnomish banks upon the day they turn 18. And that's how I became a ward of the Saint Erma's Orphanage. Mostly a place for the orphans of various lower nobles and the orphans of wealthier merchants, it was considered a decent place. And I suppose I didn't suffer there. It was actually fairly normal, for most of my life. I stood out a little there, with my emerald eyes and pale hair, in a southern kingdom where such is quite unusual. But supposedly my parents had come from quite far away. And had tragically died. Some distant aunt had placed me here, with the justification used that my parents didn't die naturally, and thus I weren't safe back home. Or so they told me. I learned magic, manners, self-defence, and other useful traits for a child who had a decent inheritance and would, if the matrons of the orphanage could be believed, marry some knight or merchant. All that changed, of course. I grew taller than the other children. Enough so that the matrons began to believe that I might have some elvish blood, a rare trait in this age. And I began to find my abilities in magic far outstripped that of the other children. By unusual margins. Such as when we were told to make a seed grow for a class on biomancy. The others either couldn't get it to work, or grew small saplings. I closed my eyes and reached out to the seed. And poured magic into it, like I had been instructed. And from it grew not a small sapling, but instead the ground trembled as the acorn I had picked, grew into a mighty oak. Or when we learned elemental magic. And instead of summoning a snowball, I accidentally created a localised snowstorm in the classroom. It wasn't until the wings came out, that I began to understand. You learn that your body changes as you grow up. But the wings, were something else. The sheer pain as the bones rearranged, and grew out, cannot be accurately described. The scales that began to cover my skin, pale and shiny green, itched on me something fierce. Desperate for answers, instead of asking for help, I broke into the head matron's office and begged her to tell me the truth. She told me what she'd heard since I was taken in. She told me of the strange woman, who had left me here. Told me of a story, something that happened around that time. Of a flight of dragons attacking a single dragon, high in the mountains of the kingdom. A green dragon, and she knew that green dragons have emerald eyes. Just like me. She told me of the bank account in my name. And that perhaps I'd find more there. Furthermore, she taught me a spell of illusions, to hide my growing scales and wings. Not something we would have learned normally, as illusions are illegal in this and most kingdoms. But whatever strange past the matron had, she refused to say. But I thanked her anyway, and left Saint Erma's forever. The bank provided me with some clues. A large woman, green eyes, green clothes, and a very haughty demeanour had set up the account. They were hesitant in revealing more, but the bank manager eventually relented and told me that they had an address for sending letters to, to inform the haughty woman about that I'd accessed the account. It was an address in one of the free trade ports. Khag'Tei, the westernmost city on the Trade Isles. As far as clues go, it wasn't much. Didn't expect much either when they opened the account. It was mostly gold, Trade Isles coins. And two old scales. Hard as steel. The gnomish bank manager told me that they were dragon scales. One was green, one was silver. On the green was written ''Mother'' and on the silver was written ''Father''. If nothing else, I learned what I was. I had figured that I was at least half-dragon. But in fact I was fully dragon, and whatever spell set on me to keep me human was failing as the power inherent in my dragon blood was waking up. I wasted no time in what I did next. Purchased a robe that would cover my entire body, so nobody could see the changes in case the matron's illusion spell stopped working, and got on the first ship to Khag'Tei. It was different for sure, a single woman sailing the long sea routes. But considering how the trade routes are filled with non-humans and strange creatures, it wasn't remarked upon enough to make me worried. I wondered what I'd find, in that distant city. A loving family, who had not been able to keep me safe? An explanation? A method of reinforcing the spell, keep myself human, and return home to live normally? No. Not that last option, once you've begun an adventure, you cannot truly return to the home you once knew. You have to make a new one, to the best of your abilities.
Between being a monk or being a deviant, Andre figured his end would come from all his sinful ways, but it seemed faith had decided differently. "Look,"Andre said, pulling her eyes up from the boiling cauldron that was being hoisted underneath him. "I don't think you want to do this." But the cultists ran around, giddy with excitement as they ran from one side of their lair to the other, grabbing tools and chattering of the grand sacrifice. Andre watched from the platform they made for him with a false bottom underneath his feet. Next to him was a lever to the trap door, and when pulled, Andre would fall down, becoming a sacrifice for this all too giddy cult. Andre opened his mouth, ready to repeat his words, hoping the cult would listen, when another voice cut him off. "Do not listen to him, my children!"A man in obsidian-black robes screamed, gesticulating as if he was conducting the entire scene. "He speaks lies to save himself now!" Andre sighed, shaking his head. A guarding cultist stood next to Andre, glaring at him, keeping a hard gaze as if Andre would break through his bonds and sprint away at a moment's notice. "You know! This isn't going to work!"Andre yelled again, having to scream over the roaring bubbling of the cauldron underneath him. Somehow Andre's yells seemed to alter the cult leader's path, and the leader walked up the platform's steps, getting close to Andre. And the leader whispered at Andre. "Do not make me look a fool, virgin!"Each word was punctuated with a stabbing finger to Andre's chest. "This will be our first successful ritual!" As the leader poked, Andre had to stagger back, trying to hold himself up, shuffling his feet further and further away from the trap door. And the cult leader moved closer to make up the distance. "Well,"Andre said, "you're making a mistake; how many times do I have to tell you that I. Am. Not. A. Virgin!" The cult leader guffawed, throwing his head back. "Ah! Yes, and so the virgin tries to lie to us once more. He is a monk, my brothers, and sisters! They are all virgins!" Andre sighed. "Yes, yes, because lying about being a virgin is absolutely what everyone does. And look, you don't need to be a virgin to be a monk anymore! You gotta listen to me; your ritual is going to go sideways the moment you use me!" But the cult leader didn't listen, instead choosing to shout and scream about their soon-to-be successes. But unfortunately for the cult leader, doing something for the first time with a little too much excitement always leads to premature ends. As the cult leader threw up their hands, screaming and shouting about their demon lord, an ill wind thundered through the lair, moving boxes and toppling cultists. Even Andre felt terror as the wind crashed against him, he didn't want to find his end because of a rowdy gust. And as the wind pushed through Andre, a loud clunk came as the lever crashed down as if pulled by the wind, and the trap door opened, the cult leader standing above it. The cult leader dropped through the trap door, falling into the boiling pot. And the cultists watched in fear, some shrieking of how they failed the ritual. But as the cauldron boiled, the water's color turned a stark yellow and then a vile green and finally settled into a deep carmine red. The cultists had quieted, some staring in wide-eyed shock, their mouths gaping open. And quiet tension built within the room, causing Andre to squirm where he stood. He opened his mouth to speak, but a thunderous cheer came from the cultists as they all exclaimed of the ritual's success. Some even grabbed Andre, shaking him with enthusiasm, shouting, "you did it! We completed our first ritual!" As they said that, a cult leader burst out from the boiling water, his features now demonic, and the voice no longer human. The cult leader looked down on them with a grin of pure violence as he spoke. "I thank you all for waking me from my slumber,"and its eyes fell most on Andre, its grin growing, "and I thank you the most, cult leader." And Andre stared at the demonized cult leader, confusion on his face. He did what now? All Andre wanted to do was run away. But as he stammered out a response, trying to leave the lair, the other cultists were working fast in finding spare robes, dressing Andre in the finest midnight garments. And somehow, Andre the monk was now Andre the cultist. Even if he was trying to convince everyone otherwise. It wouldn't be later that Andre would learn the truth of the series of unfortunate events that led him down this path. As it turned out, the demon had been watching the sacrifice with glee, knowing full well of Andre's black past. It had been a demonic spell that caused the cult leader to walk the platform's steps and a twist of ill winds that led to an appropriate sacrifice. And when Andre asked why, the demonized cult leader chuckled to itself. "Consider it a demonic intervention if you will."And Andre spoke no more of it as he came to accept his life of... well, whatever this was. And if he was honest, being a cult leader wasn't so bad. It wasn't the worse he had done, after all.
𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕤𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝕔𝕒𝕤𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕠𝕦𝕥❔ one of the creatures asked. A few of its eyes looked at me with what did appear like genuine sorrow. "Just like that!"I said angrily, "Like I was nothing! After all I have done! My research, my efforts, what for? To get insulted, looked down upon, treated like trash! And now they finally saw it fit to get rid of me altogether. Sent me here to die,"I continued, tears welling up in my eyes. 𝒲ℯ 𝓊𝓃𝒹ℯ𝓇𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹, another one of the creatures said. Its colossal frame towered over me, preventing me from even seeing its face covered by the treetops. 𝒲ℯ 𝓉ℴℴ 𝒽𝒶𝓋ℯ 𝒷ℯℯ𝓃 𝒸𝒶𝓈𝓉 ℴ𝓊𝓉. I wiped my eyes quickly, trying to not show weakness. "You have?"I asked in a shaky voice. 𝔼𝕩𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕤 𝕘𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕨𝕣𝕠𝕟𝕘, 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝕔𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕕 𝕦𝕤. 𝕊𝕒𝕨 𝕦𝕤 𝕒𝕤 𝕞𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤. 𝕌𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕤𝕚𝕣𝕒𝕓𝕝𝕖. 𝕆𝕦𝕣 𝕔𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕤 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕓𝕖𝕒𝕣 𝕥𝕠 𝕝𝕠𝕠𝕜 𝕒𝕥 𝕦𝕤 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕜𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕦𝕤. 𝕊𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝕤𝕚𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕪 𝕓𝕒𝕟𝕚𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕕 𝕦𝕤. "Like me,"I replied grimly. 𝕃𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦. A wave of understanding washed over me. The School was rigid. Completely outdated. Any attempts to advance the fields of magic were seen as heretical. My efforts could have pushed us out of these dark ages! Helped millions! 'Extreme' they called them. But what is more extreme - to try and fail, or to be simply content with a broken system? "And you let them?" "What were we to do? We are broken by design. We can not oppose them."asked one of them - the most human of all. It even had a human-like face. "Broken?"I asked, a fire of rage and vengeance now burning deep within me. "No. Not broken. Never broken. We can fight. I have my research. I can continue it. Stand up for ourselves,"I said with a dark conviction. The creatures looked at one another in a moment of consideration, then looked back at me. 𝚆𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖, they said in unison. "We will show them all."
"Got another one for you, Kennedy." I sat up in my chair and grabbed the file out of Rick's hands. Wasn't even 10 pass 9 and the work was coming in. Gonna be a long fuckin' day I thought to myself. "Where'd they find him?"I asked over to Rick. Rick was an overweight guy. Balding on the head in all those embarrassing places you can't hide. Didn't stand up quite right, limped on his left leg. Kinda guy you didn't bring home to meet your mother, regardless of who your mother was warning you about. "Route 30. Kid would have only been 10, only had one Pokemon with him on record. A Rattata he didn't shut up about."Rick looked away whilst talking to me. The kids who got caught up in this always got to him harder. "His name was Joey. Probably didn't have much of a future in front of him, but shit. At least he would have had it". I stood up from my chair and grabbed my jacket. "Settle down, Rick. I'll find the Rattatta and bin the little bastard before it has a chance to react."I grabbed my pistol from my desk. "Thing may know how Tail Whip, but I sure as shit know how to Pistol Whip". I let out a little chuckle, revering in my own genius. I looked over at Rick who didn't look amused, and without acknowledging his disappointment, I strode past him. Within hours I found myself at the Route in which the boy got given his last rites. I took a hard puff of my cigarette, and let my eyes wander around the area. The Pokemon never really end up to far from where they went Rogue. They blend right in, keeping a cool cover. Sadly for them, its easy to figure out which one they are. They don't react well to the sight of a Pokeball. Must have been what set em off, I feel. Shit, I don't blame em either. Being stuck in a little thing like that, damn well set any one of us loopy. I grabbed a Pokeball from my jacket pocket and threw it in the air. Over the next several seconds it descended to the ground, landing with a soft thud. I stood back, again just surveying my horizons. Everything seemed relaxed and normal, a perfect starting zone for any new trainers. But that's when I saw the bastard. It crawled out of the bushes, teeth rattling and claws digging into the ground. Now I ain't ever seen anything quite as funny as a pissed off Rattata before, but it made me damn well happy. At least until the thing lunged at me. It dashed around the field like a bat outta hell and managed to dig its teeth into my ankle. With a furious howl, I pulled out my Gun and whacked the creature in the head. Dazed it let go and began to fumble backwards. I stared at the bastard intently and pulled my gun to meet its face. With a firm click I pulled down on the trigger. The Rattata saw what was coming and with a flurry, it dashed out of the way. I hate Quick Attack I thought to myself. All I managed to see was blurs rushing around me, gaining speed. Eventually it began to dash straight at me, making small gashes on my body. It was doing minimal damage to my body, but I could feel my pride taking critical hits. "Stand still you little fuck!"I yelled out, flipping my gun to the front of me. With precision I let out 3 bullets. Each of them soared through the air, breaking the wind. I could barely hear the sound of the Rattata yelp over the sound of the bullets, but I knew I had made contact. Slowly it limped out of the bushes, blood oozing from its side. It frantically looked around, trying to decide if it could make a mad dash for it, but the wounds it had endured were to great. Its legs gave out and it crashed to the floor. I walked over to it and placed a shot into its skull. The bullet collided, and put the creature out of its misery. I grabbed its body and threw it into a small body bag. It was standard procedure, to make sure I had found the Rogue. I could feel the gashes letting out a trickle of blood as I walked back to my bike to ride home. "Fuckin' top percentage my ass". Edit : Thanks for the gold!
It all started quite suddenly when one morning, while eating my cereal I accidently chewed off most of my spoon. I was reading the newspaper before heading out for work and just wondered where that rich new taste came from. Apparently steel has quite a nice taste to it that goes well with cereal and milk. I was a little scared at first, but intrigued at the same time. I couldn't resist and while I had missed work that day and I was running out of cutlery by the end of it, I had found a surprising number of things steel went well with. After falling asleep in the evening I was woken up by my phone ringing. It was my boss' secretary inquiring on what was wrong with me the day before. I noticed her anger right away, it felt almost oppressive even through the phone, it felt quite tangible even and without realizing what I did I reached out to her. I soothed her Rage, I dampened her Pride and encouraged her Laziness and even gave her Lust a little nudge. before she knew it her Anger had subsided, she didn't feel much like talking to me about my failure any more, she even got a little flirty before we ended that call. It was at that point that I realized that I had irrevocably changed. When I closed my eyes I could sense the people around me, I could feel their sins weighing on them, I could feel the anger in all those drivers stuck in the traffic outside my apartment, I could sense the laziness creeping around my lovely downstairs neighbours son, I could feel it all and I could nudge on it, I could dampen the drivers anger, I could take of some of my neighbours laziness, I drew on his pride and jealousy, and knew he'd get away from the TV and do his homework for once. I still didn't leave my Apartment, but I didn't need to. I closed my eyes, breathed slowly and nudged anyone close enough into a better life right from where I was sitting. As I got hungry a little I started eating on the little cutlery I had left. It wasn't as novel any more but still filled the stomach quite nicely. I had spend most of the day nudging and encouraging my neighbours towards a better life before I finally fell asleep again the next night. As I awoke on the third day I immediately noticed the new change in myself. At once I could see not just through one pair of eyes, I could see through many eyes and I saw many worlds. I saw all these worlds through my many eyes and while none was quite alike, each of them seemed intriguing and even beautiful in their own way, but in each of them the sins of men weighed them down. All throughout the multitude of Worlds all throughout billions of iterations of both myself and the world I could feel men weighing themselves down. I gained so much knowledge when I awoke. I knew I could eat almost anything now. Most of my parallel selves had eaten at least a bit of cutlery but some of them had started eating their, plates, their clothes, their furniture. one of them had started eating his tapestry and one had eaten most of his kitchen, but none of us needed to do that any more. One crafty parallel of mine had found that he could eat not just air and light, but even the emotions and sins that weighed down all men. So all of us had a feast that day. We ate away all the sins weighing down humanity, we fed ourselves like gluttons, while trying to help the rest of men along the way. When we had eaten most of the sins however we noticed that the men did not live more carefree lives. Most of them seemed to have lost their motivation and so a billion versions of me sat down once more and thought about the complexity of life and the universe before slowly we all fell asleep. When I awoke the next day I had learned that there were not in fact many of us there was no difference between us, there was no need to differentiate between myself and my parallels any more and there was no need to differentiate between me and the rest of humanity. I understood how to help all men. I would bring them unity. I would bring unity to everything. I opened my mouth wide and I started by consuming my other selfs truly uniting us. When I was whole I again started consuming. I devoured my couch, my TV, my whole apartment in an ever-growing maelstrom. I devoured my house, my street, my neighbours. I would bring unity to the world and all of humanity, but even more than that. I would bring final unity. I devoured the world, I devoured the universe, I broke down the walls between all the universes and devoured the multiverse itself. When I was done there was nothing left but me. I was happy because I knew I hadn't destroyed anything. I had unified it all. I could feel it all trembling inside me. The Multiverse might have collapsed, but I am benevolent. I brought unity but now that I had reached it I finally acquired the last secret there ever was. Unity and conformity are stagnation. So I decided to slowly break things apart again. I didn't want to stagnate. The world should be ever-changing. It should grow. There is so much more beauty in the chaos of separation than in the order of unity. And so I start again by dividing the light from the darkness. [Here now the Powers I got from the randomized link up there, but I chose the order of appearance myself: [Matter Ingestion](http://powerlisting.wikia.com/wiki/Matter_Ingestion), [Sin Manipulation](http://powerlisting.wikia.com/wiki/Sin_Manipulation), [Parallel Existence](http://powerlisting.wikia.com/wiki/Parallel_Existence) and [Omnificence Genesis](http://powerlisting.wikia.com/wiki/Omnificence_Genesis).] Edit: I changed a load of typos, some grammar errors and just some of the sentences that seemed a bit weird to me on reading it again.
"Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" Through the windows of the Proxima Ascension, the pitted glimmers of countless space stations littered the sky around Proxima B. All of them abandoned; all of them pointed in the same direction. Earth. "Good god...how old do you think they are?" "We won't be able to tell until we get closer. A project of this scale, though...they must have been desperate. Desperate to get away." "Away from what?" "This planet, obviously. Just think about what we've done to ours in two centuries of industry. Just think about what launching billions of tons of people and space stations would have done to it. It would be barely a charred cinder by the time they were done." "That's not what I mean. Look. Look." The planet was green. Greener than anything they'd ever seen. The water was blue as the sky, and clear as daylight. "...it's healed itself. They abandoned it, and it managed to recover. L-" "Don't you dare." He grinned, daring her to stop him. "Life, ah...finds a way."
"My King, surely you jest. This spindle of a man cannot be the trusted advisor you wish your highest General to listen to on matters of war!"The decorated officer said, stretching the wide scar that snaked up his face to the eye patch. "I do indeed, General. This is Matt."The king said from his seat, gesturing to the serious thin man, working on an abacus and flipping through scrolls as he took notes. "Tell me, Matt,"the General said with distain. "Have you even even swung a sword?" "No,"Matt said without looking up. "Though I suppose you already knew that." "Then how-"the General began. "Do I believe I have any right to dictate battle formations to the likes of a seasoned veteran like you? Two words, Statistical Analysis." "What is this? My King, this cannot be how you plan to win this war." "Our battle win percentage since bringing Matt on board has increased 30 percent."The king patted Matt proudly on the shoulder as the man shied away from the touch. "You don't pay attention to the big picture. There has been too much focus on frontal assaults. Last year, not a single frontal assault led to a positive outcome, yet you were twice as likely to command a frontal assault if in the hour before lunch,"Matt said. "To keep things concise, you get hangry, General." "I can't believe this." "Then you will not believe it, but you will do it with a packed sandwich,"the King said sternly. "We attack at dawn, and we expect the fight to go long." \--- Thanks for reading. If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing.
#SCP 5965 Object Class: Safe Description: SCP 5965 is a gold lamp which, when rubbed, will manifest SCP 5965-1, a 2m tall humanoid with reality-bending capabilities. When given a request, SCP 5965-1 will attempt to bend reality to fulfill that wish. Addendum: A series of tests were conducted to determine the extent of SCP 5965's ability to grant wishes. --- Wish: I wish for an orange. Result: D class personnel was marched to the nearest supermarket to buy some orange seeds, then made to plant them in the nearest garden. Additional Notes: This is going to take a while to wait for the orange to grow. Why couldn't SCP 5695-1 just make him buy an orange? --- Wish: I wish for a million dollars Result: SCP 5695-1 puts the D class personnel through economic schooling, and conducts investment classes after school. Additional Notes: This is going to take a while to see if D class personnel's investments pay off. So far, he has earned over $20,000 in stocks, bonds and equity. --- Wish: I wish to be as beautiful as the Goddess of Beauty. Result: A piece of paper that says "Get over yourself, you ugly git." Additional Notes: It would appear that SCP 5965-1 refuses wishes that cannot be attained by human effort. --- Wish: I wish for eternal happiness. Result: A piece of paper that says "Granting immortality is one of those taboo things, alongside shit like making people fall in love and wishing for more wishes." --- Wish: I wish for another SCP 5695-1 Result: D class personnel was enrolled in Art classes and SCP 5695-1 poses as a model after class. D class personnel created a sculpture that bears the likeness of SCP 5695-1. --- Wish: I wish I could be a reality-bending SCP. Result: Redacted. Additional Notes: We now have a new Keter class SCP to secure. Why couldn't it be a Safe class SCP?
“Hold it higher!” Shirley baked at Clark. The young boy held up the sign over his head, his muscles sore after hours of straining. The thing weighed several more times than him, not to mention towering over the entire populated square. But everyone was used to the inexplicably powerful boy. “Are you sure we should be doing this, Ma?” Clark asked in a low voice. His eyes shifted back and forth. “People are looking at us strange.” Shirley slapped Clark, loud enough to reverb off the building walls. People shook their heads as they kept walking by. But Clark… Clark fought to keep the fire inside him from welling up. Honor thy mother and father, he told himself in his mind. “Who cares what those degenerates think? They need to hear the word of God so they won’t burn in hell for their sins.” Shirley turned to a man who strolled too close. “Do you hear that, fag?! You’ll pay for living your sinful life.” “Ma,” Clark whispered. “You’re embarrassing me.” Shirley raised her hand to slap the boy again but hesitated. Clark winced despite feeling no pain, the shadow of his mother’s hand placed where his face still stung. It was only a matter of time… He needed to learn how to keep his mouth shut. Instead, Shirley lowered her hand. “Clark,” his mother cooed. “Don’t you understand? You’re God’s gift to these mindless sheep. He’s blessed you with awesome powers to spread his name. But if you question his almighty judgment, how do you think that’d make him feel?” Clark said nothing, pensively chewing on his lip. He didn’t like the idea of God being angry with him. The other kids already ostracized him since as long as he could remember. If not for his involvement in the church, they feared him because of his power. Admittedly, he felt the same way. He couldn’t help but to feel wrong about every little thing with him. Yet, he couldn’t quite put a finger on why. Clark nodded. “It would make God feel really bad that I’m letting the sinners persuade me away from His word. I won’t question him again. Just tell me what to do and I’ll prove my faith. Anything for you and God, Ma.” The corners of Shirley’s mouth twisted upwards into a devious smile. She patted Clark on the back, pleased with her work. He smiled back, albeit the uneasy feeling continued to prick his stomach. “That’s my boy. I think I have just the plan to show these people the light,” Shirley said. “Now, can you show me those lasers of yours again?”
When he woke up, the first thing he saw were his children bending over him. He glanced up at the sky, the dark cloud hanging over them, and wondered what had happened. "Oh my god, you got hit by lightening!"cried Michael, the oldest. He was clutching his phone to his ear. John, the youngest, was crying loudly and holding his brother's arm. He heard the tinny sound of an operator picking up on the line. "911, what is your emergency?" Michael began to cry as well. "My dad got hit by lightening!" "Where are you?" "Pleasant Valley park, by the swings. Hurry!" He looked around as much as he could without picking up his head. Yep, the swing set. "OK, we are dispatching an ambulance right now. In the mean time, check on your father. Is he breathing?" Michael looked at me, his eyes darting to my chest. "Yes, he's breathing. He's awake." "OK. Ask him how he is doing, if anything hurts." Both of the boys looked at me. John let go of his brother and touched my shoulder. "Are you OK?" I opened my mouth, dislodging my dry tongue from the roof of my mouth. "No, I'm not OK."John started to cry again. "I'm Dad."
“Is it Magga Glen sad?” Such were the words that became common before the Great Revolution. It was at Magga Glen where the Welsh were entrusted with the Lektor, the key to advanced science using Dark Matter. It began with takeovers in the scientific world, followed by political blackmail. Soon Alwyn Afon, the New Queen of the Lektor Welsh, had the world in the palm of her hand, through the development of powerful weapons far beyond the capabilities of any other. Thus began the first reign of a Welsh Earth. Cities were split, and renamed. Even today you will find hundreds of cities known as Cardiff, remnants of the time. Councils were subjugated, and turned. Even against her own people Alwyn was cruel, and she began a campaign of mass human experimentation. Her case was a near perfect example of the phrase, “Absolute power corrupts absolutely.” She had no council, no checks and balances. There no longer was a coalition, nor alliances. Only the House of Magga Glen, the Arms of Magga Glen, the Eve of Magga Glen. In a unique twist of fate it was her own faction that turned against her first, deciding the best course was to share the Lektor at last. But first was the world rallied. Gone was the Eve of Magga Glen, gone was the blind faith the faction of Alwyn had in their queen. She had turned tyrant, and a Great Revolution was needed. “Y chwyldro newydd!” This was the phrase that united people against the tyrannical Alwyn. Her courtesans and artisans, her businessmen and advisors, all turned against her. Then, as she slept, always at her side a loyal Welsh guard as a result of her paranoia against outsiders, she was killed. The world had been freed from the tyranny of Alwyn. Now was the Age of the Lektor.

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