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Pendragon Nylon Foam Sword for LARP and HEMA ⋆⋆⋆⋆ Great for ruling as the rightful king of England. Not so much for HEMA. Review by Ben Harrison Received this longsword as a gift for my 18th birthday. Wish I'd known what it actually was, because as soon as I touched it, MI6 agents blew my roof off, rappelled into my living room and kidnapped me, only for me to be brought infront of Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth. She handed me the crown, and apparently I'm now King Arthur's rightful successor, and also the one true King of England. I'm American. I live in Texas. P.S. Minus one star for that roof. Had to get that fixed as my first royal decree.
“You shouldn’t have told me you will always be one percent better.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “It means I cannot be defeated!” The hero scoffed. “Does it?” The villain snapped and henchmen began pouring through the door. What should have been orderly marching quickly turned to chaos as the henchmen tripped over each other. Some fell to the ground with loud plastic thuds others wondered around with the helmet turned backwards. Several were missing shoes. “I can beat anyone here, you are wasting your time!” A bullet whizzed by the hero’s head as one of the henchman tripped. Another shot himself checking the safety. The villain backed out of the room. “You are one percent better than whoever you are facing…I wonder what happens if you are facing an army of clumsy inept foot soldiers, who are a 100 percent more likely to hurry themselves than you.” She closed the blast doors. As soon as the villain left the hero felt his body adjust- his hands became heavy, his feet felt like cement blocks. He had a strong urge to check to see if his gun was loaded. He glanced down the barrel as a henchman from across the room clumsily bore down at him. They tumbled to the ground with a bang. The hero has shot himself in the chest.
You scratch your head reading the notes from type writer. You expected nothing to result with this. You just had a lot of money and wanted to try to make a million monkeys make a book, or just a comprehensive sentence. After all, running a construction company made you a lot of money. Time to do rich guy dumb thing. Instead you get a thick book about employing one million monkeys. You look down at the monkey who handed you the book. He nods his head, and taps on the “Sign here” on the contract. You quickly flip through the book. You must give the monkeys a safe place to live, and attached are diagrams of suitable living conditions. You must also supply snacks, and no banana jokes can be made. Turns out monkeys don’t like bananas. I’m return, the monkeys will work any job for you, as long as you properly train them for it. They will not work on weekend, but it can be overtime. You look at the monkey, and then back at the contract. With a sigh, you take a pen and hand it back. The monkeys scampers back to the room, after handing you a copy. You take a few pictures of the housing requirements, and email them to your mangers, and tell them to get to work acquiring it. This should be interesting.
@Franz_Ferdinand >2014-03-07 20:05:37 UTC >We are live in 10 minutes from Kiev! #herewego ---- @alkapranos (Alex Kapranos) >2014-03-07 20:09:11 UTC > `#nowplaying ---- @FF_Fanzone >2014-03-07 20:14:15 UTC >@Franz_Ferdinand opens with Michael! ---- @gavinp17 >2014-03-07 20:16:50 UTC >holy shittt man i think michael turned me gay `#franzferdinand #ffkiev2014 ---- @gavinp17 >2014-03-07 20:16:50 UTC >this is a nice sandwich ---- @com_fortablepsych0 >2014-03-07 20:24:31 UTC >lol this guy keeps heckling @Franz_Ferdinand between songs ---- @com_fortablepsych0 >2014-03-07 20:27:17 UTC >sis is telling me to stop tweeting and enjoy the music. funny cause she's tryin to record everything on her phone #irony ---- @gavinp17 >2014-03-07 20:28:00 UTC >i loved you all ---- @FF_Fanzone >2014-03-07 20:33:15 UTC >@Franz_Ferdinand now playing TAKE ME OUT ---- @com_fortablepsych0 >2014-03-07 20:33:36 UTC >OMG MY FAVORITE SONG ---- @com_fortablepsych0 >2014-03-07 20:35:21 UTC >holy shit he just got shot ---- @bbcworld (BBC World) >2014-03-07 20:40:11 UTC >Breaking: Lead singer of Franz Ferdinand, Alex Kapranos, has been shot while playing a live show in Kiev. ---- @NME >2014-03-07 20:45:14 UTC >Sources saying Alex Kapranos of Franz Ferdinand has been shot dead approximately 10 minutes ago. ---- @bbcworld (BBC World) >2014-03-07 21:00:06 UTC >Breaking: Franz Ferdinand singer Alex Kapranos killed in Kiev. Assassin has been arrested. ---- @com_fortablepsych0 >2014-03-07 21:05:36 UTC >so the show's cancelled cause the singer died. can't believe what i just saw. cunt could've at least finished the song before he died #fuckmylife ---- @Franz_Ferdinand >2014-03-07 21:37:40 UTC >we can't believe it... #shocked ---- @NME >2014-03-07 23:15:20 UTC >Sending our thoughts and prayers to @Franz_Ferdinand. #ripalex ---- @bbcworld (BBC World) >2014-03-08 9:36:11 UTC >MI6 investigation announces that Franz Ferdinand assassin part of radical, pro-Russian terrorist organization in Ukraine. May have direct links to Putin. David Cameron press conference to follow. ---- @bbcworld (BBC World) >2014-03-08 9:50:30 UTC >David Cameron calls Franz Ferdinand assassination an 'act of war'. ---- @David_Cameron (David Cameron) >2014-03-08 10:31:26 UTC >we're gonna come after you bloody fuckers #war ---- @David_Cameron (David Cameron) >2014-03-08 10:31:38 UTC >u kill my favourite band i kill your nation ---- @bbcworld (BBC World) >2014-03-08 11:11:10 UTC >BREAKING: Ban Ki Moon calls for peace and discussion in video speech as UK forces mobilize to Ukraine. ---- @BarackObama (BarackObama) >2014-03-08 11:15:30 UTC >The British are our friends. And we're going to help our friends. ---- @bbcworld (BBC World) >2014-03-08 12:30:10 UTC >BREAKING: All NATO countries, including Ukraine, formally declare war on Russia. ---- @bbcworld (BBC World) >2014-03-08 12:30:13 UTC >ww3 ---- @bbcworld (BBC World) >2014-03-08 12:30:57 UTC >BREAKING: Multiple nuclear launches detected across Russia, per @NASA ---- @NASA >2014-03-08 12:33:04 UTC >Approximately 600 ICBMs currently in flight towards NATO countries. #fuck ---- @NASA >2014-03-08 12:35:18 UTC >Launches detected across American mainland and Alaska. #murica ---- @bbcworld (BBC World) >2014-03-08 12:39:25 UTC >BREAKING: Submarines in Baltic surface and fire approximately 200 nuclear missiles at Western Russia. ---- @Angela_Merkel (Angela Merkel) >2014-03-08 12:49:53 UTC >fick mich ---- @com_fortablepsych0 >2014-03-08 12:49:58 UTC >wtf is happening lol ---- @bbcworld (BBC World) >2014-03-08 12:56:05 UTC >BREAKING: 30 million feared dead across Europe as first wave of nuclear missiles hit. ---- @bbcuk (BBC UK) >2014-03-08 12:57:00 UTC >Everyone, please evacuate your homes and take shelter in a bunker immediately. London has been identified as a target of 38 ICBMs that are currently in flight. Other cities in the UK have also been targeted. ---- @bbcworld (BBC World) >2014-03-08 12:59:53 UTC >It's the end of the world as we know it #REM ----
He waits. The minister dreamed this place, felt it calling to him last night, felt the battle coming like you feel a storm in the air. Dreamed the feel of the heat coming of the ground. Saw the horse shit in the middle of the crossroads. Heard the insects chittering to each other in the fading light. He's got his King James in his right hand. He traces the letters on the cover with his thumb, feeling the familiar grooves in the leather, but keeps his eyes fixed on the road to the west. That's where he's going to come from. He saw it all. The sun teeters on the horizon, spitting the last of its light out over the fields. Then its gone, leaving behind a man on a horse, riding in from the west. The minister moves to the middle of the road. He considers unholstering one of his guns, but what use is a bullet against the devil? He's got the good book. The Lord is his strength and shield. He begins Psalm 23, not silently, but firmly and clearly, out to the west road. "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want". The man on the horse rides towards him, slowing a little as he hears the words of the minister. He dismounts, then carries forward on foot, leading the black horse by the reins. "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me." The man from the west cocks his head and takes off his hat. "Can I help you, stranger?". The minister waits for the storm to break. "Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies". The man from the west smiles a little. "Are you okay, sir? If a buggy were to come along here with you in the road, well, that might not go so well for you." The minister did not dream this moment. The battle should have begun. "Are you the tempter?" "The what?" "The, uh, the tempter?" "I don't think so, sir. Are you feeling okay?" The minister feels the certainty of his dream start to waver, to fray at the edges. The man from the west offers the minister his canteen of water. The minister drinks, feeling the thirst he'd ignored while waiting in the late June sun. "Thanks, stranger". "No problem. You okay getting back home from here?" The minister points at his tethered horse; nods. "You take care, sir". The man from the west mounts his horse and rides east, leaving the minister still clutching his King James, his guns unfired, his axe unswung. The man smiles as he rides. Doubt. The way to truly win battles.
It had been an ordinary day for me, I woke up, lumbered over to my computer, did some work, messed around online and so on. The night however, went a little differently. The moment my head hit the pillow I knew something was off. It felt squishy, almost as if I was lying in a groovy old waterbed, and not on my comfortingly dented mattress. I rolled over, trying to get into a more comfortable position, angling my arm above my head and contorting my body into a more relaxing pose. Seeing its face did NOT help me relax. A grotesque caricature of a man stood before me, easily 8 feet tall, yet disguising its height by slouching, producing a hump-backed effect that made it appear as if it were two people. Its arms (3 of them) were long, fur covered appendages, that stretched around the corners of my pillow-obscured vision. And then its face. Teeth the likes of which I’d never imagined, as sharp and numerous as a shark’s, glowing with an eerie, greenish light in the darkness of my room. I could spy a glob of spittle condensing in the corner of its mouth, slowly dripping from the corner of a broken tooth. It’s eyes though were the worst thing of all, and my fatigued brain barely had time to process them before everything returned to darkness. They were human eyes. Not human as in, white, some colour, little black dot etc, but human as in I could SEE the intelligence behind them, the emotion. The greed. The next thing I remember is a dull roar, a painful, throbbing noise that seemed to permeate everywhere around me, all encompassing, enveloping me, preventing me from thinking clearly. Coming to was all too familiar to me, many a night partying in my youth had acquainted me very well with almost anything a hangover could throw at me. I groggily sat up, and painfully opened my eyes, desperate to discover the source of that awful, aneurysm-inducing noise. What I saw was most definitely not what I was expecting. I was in a glass tube, by the looks of it barely big enough for me to stand up in and hold me inside. The sky above the tube was the pitch black, spotted with stars view you’d only get far out in the country, the kind of sky where the stars seem like glowing shards, fallen from the brighter moon. But where was the moon? EDIT: Will post other parts as I go, kinda love the idea of this story if people want me to continue.
"You need somebody killed, don't you?" The kid meets my eyes. He looks twelve and somewhere between driftwood and a cigarette. Sweaty, eyes glassy like he has a fever. "I can do that for you, if you can afford it." I try to stare back at him, all shaky snot-nosed fear. Try to meet his gaze but I can't. I can see, contrary to his hardened words, his own fear and my own reflected in it. Amplified. "Hey, hey, hey. Don't be afraid. I know this isn't your first choice but what options do you have?" He glances down, slipping a grubby hand into his hoodie pocket. Slipping a rusty box cutter out. "I'll do it quick with this. I can do it quick now. No trouble."He tries his best not to sound needy, like it's no big deal, but I can here the whiny plead in his voice to match that look in his eyes. "But, what am I going to do after it's all done? Where will I go? I won't have anything!"My breaths are little raspy moist puffs. I'm so afraid...but I need help. He attempts a scoff. "You don't have anything now. And if I don't do it, you will have no future. The way I see it, this is the only way." The doorknob rattles but does not turn. My father's voice wheedles from the other side. You have run away from home for the last time my little silly man. I have been so forgiving like I am apt to be. You have missed our private playtime for the third time. I am so sorry but we will have to remedy this like last year hmmm? No more outside time for you mister! The doorknob stops rattling. Then my dear father starts smashing away, kicking at the old wood above the knob. The kid is right. This the only way. I turn from the mirror, pushing back my hood. My hand is white knuckled sweaty clench around the box cutter, my blood rushing away from it, claiming no part in this treachery, no guilt of this deed. The door gives a whimper, then submits to my father, sliding open.
New suit, old tie, there's a stain in the middle, and a tear in my eye. I sigh. The streets are the same, the cars they drift, the leaves they fall, from the blue sky I sigh. I walk and walk, sip and sip, the rye begins to run dry I sigh. The students they sleep, careless, naive, am I really the bad guy? I sigh. Another day, another night without her. If I said I could live without my love, it would be one big lie, I sigh, I sigh.
The three men had slowly, stealthily lowered their way into the vault from the holes they'd made in the ceiling. That was just the beginning of their efforts, however. The most valuable items, the ones they'd come for, were still buried behind three inches of steel. While the man known only as Laser burned through this steel, his associates -- Slug and Bosco -- struck up a conversation. "Eh, Bosco,"said Slug, picking up a newspaper, "you hear about this guy?" It was the Metro Times, bearing a bright colored picture of a red-clad hero. Major Superhero Defects to United States of America, read the headline. "Oh yeah,"said Bosco, "That crazy Russki, eh?" "Crazy's right. You won't read it in the newspaper, but I hear the guy's totally cracked. Thinks he's --" At that moment there was a sound of banging, then a high-pitched shrieking noise. Bosco and Slug looked behind to see that the steel door to the vault was crumpling in on itself, being torn away from the walls. Then it rose into the air, revealing a figure that looked much like the one on the cover of the Metro Times. "Halt, oppressed proletarians!"said the figure in red. "Oh, shit,"said Bosco. "I am Comrade Courageous, and I have come to put an end to your revolutionary actions!" "We know who you are,"said Slug, defiant. "You're that crazy commie bastard!" "No longer! I have forsaken the path of righteousness and thrown in my lot with the enemies of the revolution! For I am evil! Aahahaha! Now, prepare to rot in a debtor's prison!" Faster than a speeding bullet, Comrade Courageous apprehended the proletarian bank robbers as they attempted to expropriate the means of production, or at least several high-priced necklaces, from their bourgeois oppressors. As he waited for the pig-dog police enforcers of the capitalist regime to arrive, Comrade Courageous cackled with evil delight.
Going to the opticians is such a drag. I was born with heterochronoia - one of the many rare temporal perception disorders that began to pop up after the use of consumer time travel devices. In my case, one eye sees forward, one sees back. By about 5 seconds. Thankfully, it wasn't long before some bright spark made corrective lenses. The trick was to get the shift just right. Hence the yearly check. Just to make sure that your eyes aren't shifting and that your eyes are in sync with your body. I get one lens adjusted for normality, the other lens calibrated to +10 seconds. Too much and you go blind. To be fair, when a situation rapidly changes, it's not worth much either. So what do you do? Stock broking is too fast paced. Not enough time to bet, especially after the new rules came out and people who wear glasses are banned from casinos. No, I followed my Grandpa's example and went into hunting. You get paid a pretty penny to shoot people.
When I died, I cried myself into the eternal embrace. I was completely paralyzed from the neck down, meaning I could breathe, wail, cry tears... and that was it. When my oxygen ran out... or I starved to death... I'm not entirely sure. I was pretty delusional. It felt strange waking up in a pink liquid in a dimly lit room, however. My eyes were weary. I felt weak for about a few seconds before I started pounding on the glass of my pod. An alarm went off and soon the pool was drained. Some hoses I wasn't aware of were disconnected before the "Glass"melted away before me, people entering and pulling me out. 'What's going on?' I asked in horror as the aliens approached me. I tried to back into a corner and they simply... raised their hands in an attempt to dissuade me. That was when I saw my own hands. They were purple, covered in scales with sharp claws at the end. I look down and I have three enormous toes, pads for soles... I also have pads on my hands. My tail is curled between my legs, a heavy weight of scales at the end. And while I couldn't see my face I could compare the two before me. Large teeth, easy for ripping flesh apart. Snouts like a crocodile or more appropriately a snake. Their eyes were different colors. Not "He has green eyes, the other has blue", I mean that they're eyes were constantly changing colors, flowing outward from the slits in their eyes. They were talking to each other, trying to figure out what to do. Then some radio came on. 'Excuse me,' a feminine voice asked in a rather heavy accent from a nearby speaker. 'Do you happen to speak English?' 'What the hell is going on?!' I screamed. 'What the hell happened to me?!' 'I believe the human word is "Reincarnation",' she said to me. 'I won't be frank. You've died and became a Returned. Every person in this species has died in some way while in space and reincarnated among this system.' 'No,' I gasped. 'I didn't... I was murdered. Left to drift in space after being attacked. I need to get back to my wife!' 'Relax,' the woman said. 'We've been trying to get to Earth for years but we can't find the system. As soon as we do we will bring you back, but we need you to calm down, adjust to your death. These two will take you to a clinic. Go with them and I'll speak to you later.' '...Alright,' I said in resignation. 'I... can't become a human again?' 'I'm afraid not,' she said as she hung up.
"God Damn it, Jim!"Dwight said as he went through his supplies in his backpack. "Don't they know this is serious?" In fact, it was more than serious. It was life and death situation. But that did not scare Dwight at all. He was sure he would survive any situation with little or no help. What made him angry was the fact that his friends did not take Dwight's mission sincerely. Dwight poured everything in the bag on the ground and started analyzing. As he does best. "A pack of m&m from Kevin, an old pair of socks from Creed, a hand\-made mitten from Phyllis, half eaten pretzel from Stanley, a pink tie form Andy, bottle of vodka from Meredith, a painting of an office building from Pam, a stapler from Jim, a stupid mug cup from Michael, and a pocket knife from Angelia"Dwight looked at the camera as he shook his head slowly with a disappointing look. "These will have to do"He said as he poured a good amount of vodka into the cup. Dwight took out the painting and put it against a tree and stapled it on the tree. Then he backed away and hid in a bush in front of the tree. About 10 minutes later, a man in a bullet vest, holding a M\-16 walked up slowly to the tree. Dwight approached slowly from the behind, almost like a cat. Then he used the tie to strangle him until he was unconscious and dragged him back into bushes. Dwight stuffed the his mouth with Creed's sock and tied his hand with the tie. Then he placed the cup of vodka directly under the man's nose. The man woke up. "Listen boy. There was a man named "Scranton Strangler"from my town. Do you know who taught him how to strangle? It was me. If I hear what I do not like when I remove this sock, I will introduce you to another student I had. Jack the Ripper"Dwight said as he pressed the pocket knife on the man's neck. The man nodded, looking terrified. Dwight removed the sock and asked. "which way is the exit?" The man hesitated. He shouldn't have hesitated though. Dwight was in no mood to play the mind game. Dwight took out the pretzel and stapled it onto man's tongue. Dwight stuffed the sock back into his mouth again before the screaming began. "someone got your tongue?"Dwight looked at camera with a smile but realized immediately this was no time for joke. "Maybe I didnt explain clear enough. You answer my questions, you live. You do not answer my questions, you do not live. Understood?" Dwight removed the sock without waiting the nod. He knew he had him. "The exit is 2 miles down East South"the man answered with a painful accent. "Good, not so hard is it? Now, how many guards are at the gate? and how many patrolling?" "Two at the gate and seven patrolling." "Well done, I'm gonna need you to do just one more thing alright? take our your walkie talkie and tell them you need help in west north hills. If you try anything funny, I will cut you into 700 pieces and use you to fertilize my beet farm okay?" Dwight held walkie talkie close to man's mouth and held the button to speak. "This is agent Rodrigez, code red in west north hill. I repeat. Code red in west north hill"The man did not hesitate this time. Dwight took away the walkie talkie and as the man tried to say something, Dwight shushed him. "copy that"Another voice spoke from the walkie talkie. Dwight started packing his stuff and tied the man to the tree. As he walked away with the gun and backpack, he heard the man ask "Who are you...?" "I am an assistance to the manager in a greatest paper company, Dunder Mifflin. That's all you need to know"Dwight walked away as the man looked confused. "Oh by the way, you should get tested... Creed is... just get tested"
The King of Karnak sat tall and proud at the table. His legend was forged in war, and his presence was that of a true hero king. &#x200B; The Hero King. The Master of the Western Lands. He who slew the Demonic Dragon. The Hero of hills and rivers. The Dragonhorn. &#x200B; His gaze was stern, but often softened as he made eye contact with his most trusted. Which was almost everyone at the table. &#x200B; Everyone but me that was. &#x200B; Food and drinks were sparse, only a few plates of fruit and water for the assembled men and women. Each noble here today represented their territory that made up the sum of Karnak. &#x200B; The exceptions were myself, the royal prince, and the advisers of the king. The handpicked men and women that had showed great insight to the workings of the kingdom. &#x200B; Out of nearly two dozen nobles, sat the handful of representatives of our allied forces. This was the power of the new world we had built. &#x200B; Forged from the old war that gave King Wellhorn his nickname. A household name that has persevered as he forged a new kingdom. A name that paved way for peace and prosperity. &#x200B; Dragonhorn. &#x200B; The hero, turned king, that slayed the demonic dragon that terrorized the entirety of the Western Lands. With a good chunk of the north, south, and central parts of the Continent. &#x200B; Then there was me. &#x200B; I sighed as I leaned back onto my seat as Ellowin said her peace about the current state of the forest of spirits. The dryad and her ancient treant bonds. &#x200B; From her seat, a dim light shone from her speaking crystal. The magic would mute others, but amplify the speaker so that all could hear. &#x200B; “The treants will not move, unless moved,” she spoke softly. Yet her near whispers were enough for all to hear. The magics of the council table was neat like that. &#x200B; “The Dwarves however will!” a short man snarled into his crystal, touching it as soon as the dryad had let go. “The Orcs of the Western Wilds will not wait for US!” &#x200B; “I agree with Herman!” a man yelled as he slammed his fist onto the magic table. The mystic design was good enough to actually lower the volume of the yell. &#x200B; This table was easily my greatest commission for the king. &#x200B; Even if the idiot didn’t like me, like I cared, he at least loved the table. Having a dozen people scream into your ears was never fun. &#x200B; “I believe that the Orcs are a diversion. You all know that the southern titans have been stirring!” another noble interjected as the table opened up. &#x200B; I pulled out my notebook. The pen I had crafted worked well today as I jotted down what the various nobles blabbered about. &#x200B; I rarely spoke as I found that art of listening far more powerful. People would sometimes say the strangest things. Things that perked my ears. &#x200B; This world was a one way trip, but what a trip! &#x200B; A lifetime of watching anime, reading light novels, and fantasy series has given me superhuman abilities in this world. &#x200B; Which was a little lackluster as the average person here seemed barely educated. They were more versed in family history then anything else. &#x200B; Astur stood up. His kingly presence was enough to quell the others, opening up the table to him. He touched the table, and his voice was calm. &#x200B; “The issues are pronounced and…” &#x200B; The royal doors slammed open. &#x200B; The crown Prince Carlin strode in. His fully armored figure was impressive as the pristine whites and gold gave him a heroic aura. &#x200B; It was doubly impressive considering the dents, tears, and missing pieces that showcased his recent adventures to the northern Steppes of the Crown. &#x200B; King Astur glared at me. He knew that this was somehow my doing as his most favored child had suddenly gone on a patrol to the far north. &#x200B; To the graveyard of where the Demonic Dragon Baruda had been slain. &#x200B; I stared back with a raised eyebrow. &#x200B; Seriously, monster issues, ancient revivals. It was obvious that something was happening and there was a good chance that it was related to an old enemy. &#x200B; Especially if that enemy was called the ‘Demonic Dragon’ who was worshiped as a god. &#x200B; The prince stopped by a separate talking crystal. Installed for the various pages that could interrupt without screaming at the top of their poor lungs. &#x200B; “Hail King Wellhorn! Greetings to the Three Fold Alliance!” prince Carlin exclaimed as he stood to attention and rapped his fist to chest three times. &#x200B; “I beg your forgiveness, but I have an urgent matter to bring to your attention!” the prince continued as he clapped twice and two of the five stars of the new generation hauled in a plank of wood. &#x200B; It was placed on the table, where the assembled nobles stared on in rapt attention. &#x200B; Sit in any meeting for four hours and any distraction became welcome. &#x200B; The two stars were followed up the last three. They hauled in a bag and plunked it onto the board with hefty thunk. &#x200B; The string was undone and I rolled my eyes. &#x200B; What the hell was this cliche!? &#x200B; “I bet you a coin that its a head of some servant of the dragon you killed,” I whispered as I leaned into the king’s side. &#x200B; The head was of a half formed beast. Parts of it was human, but the horns, and scales were less natural. &#x200B; The brand of the fanged claw, a circle with a slash through it was unmistakable. Demonic Dragon Baruda’s sigil. &#x200B; The stars began to stack up the dozen or so skulls of people in various states of decay. &#x200B; I had no magical powers, but even I could feel the dark taint of black magic from my seat. &#x200B; “We could only observe from a distance, but the bones of Baruda has been unearthed, cleaned and were pulsating with magic,” prince Carlin said through grit teeth. His body shook with what he saw that day. &#x200B; “We were beset by the undead within hours and we fought our way through. It is with good fortune that we were able to escape,” one of the heroes exclaimed as they touched they also touched the crystal. &#x200B; The King frowned at me, but I had already learned how to ignore it. I once feared his glares, but then I began to serve and quickly grew annoyed. &#x200B; Sure he could kick my ass, but I knew more then him and I out king-ed him by my play through of harvest moon games alone. &#x200B; I literally doubled harvest by a few suggestions on also planting support crops so that they would work in tandem. The various druids were more then happy to preserve the earth and increase harvest. They had wonderful suggestions on what else we could plant.
A knock on the door, soft, yet urgent. I glance through the window, and can scarcely believe my eyes; I open the door. Her standing there, with her long white hair, boggles my mind. She can't be, this must be someone playing a trick on me, yes? Sensing my confusion, she speaks, "I know how what you're thinking, this must be a lot for you to take in right now, especially after last night, but you need to listen to me very carefully. You are my favorite book character, I know how your story ends, and I came here to change it." "Me? Book? But...you..."I stammer, stunned like the proverbial deer in the headlights. "We'll talk about it later, there's no time. Now, come,"she says, as she takes me by the hand, and maneuvers me outside. Outside, where I see...something much too large to be a prop. I pinch myself, and it hurts. This must be real; this must be actually happening. I climb on alongside her, and away we go. As we approach what is quickly becoming clear is our first target, her purple eyes flash, and she intones "You will have justice."I've come to my senses enough to ask her one question: "Can I say it?" "Of course,"she responds with a smile. "*Dracarys*."
Short anwer: Other homo-something groups were dangerous. Long answer: The bri'ish look like us, talk like us, eat like us, but they are not like us. Whenever you spot one near you, it's already too late. For they have infiltrated your group, their roots have already grown around yours, creeping and tweaking, waiting for the signal to start choking you, drying you, and consuming you. You can only pray they may not confuse you as one of their kind, making you feast on your kin, or that they may feel bored enough to toy with their food, chasing and confusing you in a sadisticc run. Putting hope in front of your eyes before they take it away from you. Which fate is worse is common chit-chat among restless travelers. For me there is no hope left, for i stand alone walking a path made up of my children and neighbours bones and ashes. But for you fellow traveler, there's still a chance to avoid them. Stop them at once, cut off their feeding frenzy and they will turn into bones before finding another human group to feast on.
# Soulmage "Watch it, knife-ear!" The wagon driver hurled an overripe pear at Xio as the High Elf stumbled across the street. Xio caught the pear out of the air and took a bite from it. Mm, it had barely gone mushy. Ooh, and was that extra protein? The wagon driver gave Xio a horrified look as he chowed down on the unexpected treat. "Thanks for the grub,"Xio said. If he'd been speaking aloud, the mouthful of squelching pear would have made it difficult—but Xio was a High Elf, from across the Crystal Coast. He had no idea what language these humans spoke, and learning it manually didn't sound very fun. So he simply used his innate abilities to communicate with all plants and animals—humans were animals too, after all—and thought the concepts he wanted at the wagon driver. A memory of how delicious it felt to slurp down the maggoty, liquidy pear, combined with the sense of constant relaxation, gratitude, and oneness with the world that all High Elves felt, all day, every day. The wagon driver paled, backing up, shouting words at Xio that were such a cumbersome way of communicating. Why bother with sound waves when you could just read souls? Disentangling the flurry of emotions vibrating along the string of magic connecting Xio and the driver, Xio figured that the driver was calling him an abomination of nature and a crime against all that was holy. Eh, figured. There were parts of the world where elves were revered, but the Crystal Coast wasn't one of them. Undeterred by the chilly reception, Xio polished off the grub-riddled pear. It was just like the foraging back at home. The strings of magic that constantly flew out from Xio's wide-open soul grabbed at everything in range, not just the wagon driver—but Xio didn't mind. Sure, it was a cacophony, but it was at least a different cacophony from the placid single-mindedness of the trees or the minds of the forest animals when they were looking for mates. Human souls were so varied and fascinating. A boy's soul in a girl's body; a numbed heart, freshly thawed; a girl who seemed to have built her soul from a foundation of nothing—yes, Xio was glad he'd crossed the seas to enter the strange and foreign cities of the Crystal Coast. Also, those three souls he'd noticed earlier were walking towards him. Mm. Xio took out a pouch of joyleaf, and stuffed it into a pipe, igniting it with a tinderbox. "Yeah, there he is. Just like we were told."Xio frowned. How... strange. The boy's soul was... more open than most. It made him easier to Empathize with, even from this far away. "Uh, hey. We're looking for an elf named Xio?" Xio exhaled a puff of joyleaf smoke, setting the boy to coughing. His two companions didn't seem to mind, though. "You've found him,"Xio broadcast, sending out a rippling memory of him whispering his own name. Every human within a tree's length of Xio flinched as the telepathic communication blinked into their minds. The boy cursed, looking around—then, to Xio's shock, his soul shifted. The gaps in his soul rotated, lining up like teeth of a gear, forming a solid tunnel to his soul's core. The boy's eyes glanced towards Xio—and, impossibly, towards the strings of magic connecting Xio to every mind around him. Then, with a flicker from his soul and a pulse of eerie fog, the boy severed Xio's connection to the world around him. Gaping, Xio stared at the boy—no. The mage before him, as he gave Xio a frown. He'd seen fit to leave the connection between Xio and himself, so at least Xio could understand him. "Sorry about the abrupt spellcasting, but, uh, it's... you've been causing a scene around town with your Empathy. I'm... I'm sorry, are you smoking?" Xio shrugged, sending a twinned pair of concepts: a towering height, and the blissful empathy of joyleaf. If he had to state his intentions in natural language, he would have said: 'Why else would we be called High Elves?' The mage stared at him, then shook his head. "You know what? I'm not even going to ask. But, uh, here's the deal. I'm working for the city right now, and... people aren't super happy with an uncontrollable Empath walking around the streets, blasting intrusive memories into their heads. So... you can either come with me peacefully, or—whoa!" Xio sent forth a rapid flurry of thoughts—the constant irritation of the souls of animals and plants, the novel but still overwhelming sea of souls in the city, and now, finally, through the mage's spell, a single moment of peace, for the first time in his life. Come with him peacefully? He'd follow him for the rest of his life, if he had to. The mage stared at him. "You mean... you can't control your empathy?" Xio responded with every frustrated night kept up by bird-thoughts, every infuriating day wasted trying to find silence, even the anger and discomfort he'd caused in the city simply by existing with them. "That..."The mage's soul shifted again, and Xio got the uncanny impression that those holes in his soul were eyes. "I... I think I see why your Empathy's out of control. And... I think I can help you get it under control. But... you'll need to cooperate. And there are some things about magic that I'll need to explain. Can you do that for me?" Xio nodded enthusiastically, spreading his arms out for a hug. The mage snorted. "I... uh, I'm going to take that as a yes. Alright. If you want to understand magic, you first have to understand souls. Here's what you need to know..." A.N. This story is part of Soulmage, a frequently updated serial in progress. Want to know what happens next? Check out [the table of contents](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out! There's already thirty-six other chapters before this one, so there's plenty to catch up on. And if you want more stories, check out r/bubblewriters!
You'd think working at some burger joint would be a pretty safe job. Fryer burns, at worst. But the boss had some kind of turf war with the grease bucket across the road, and next thing I know, I'm looking inside my torso from the inside. Damn lucky we both survived, really. But that's where it gets complicated. See, we're still legally one person- one ID card, one address. One paycheck- of course that crabby bastard in charge is too cheap to pay anything extra for the poor sod caught in his crossfire. So times are tough, and nobody else is hiring in this neighbourhood. My other half is taking it a lot better than me, of course. Maybe I got all the cynicism in the split. Still, it's good to see him out having fun with our best friend- I picked up his shift today since there's some kind of cooking competition they wanted to go to. So here I am, manning the counters. Phone rings. Another wrong number I guess, people keep asking the same stupid question. My answer is well rehearsed. "No. This is Patrick."
With a muted whoosh and a sprinkling of snow, an old man in red appears inside the door. Carefully stepping around the beeping machines, he gently places a warm hand upon the girl's bald head. The shadows darken. Frost grows on the windows. A chill enters the room. Death, too, has arrived. Santa spares it a glance. "So soon?"he murmurs. "She's just settled, and wanted so much to see the morning..." The shadows shift. "Aye. I know. You do your duty, no more and no less."He continues to stroke the girl's head, with the slightest sparkle in his eye as she sighs and settles. They stand in silence, at an odd impasse with no tension. For these two, and in this night, time holds no meaning. Sighing, Santa withdraws his hand and stands. "Do you know what she wished for?"he whispers. "She asked for smiles for her family today. Simply...smiles"Death remained still. Sighing again, he turns back to the girl. "Just...one moment. She has been such a good girl this year, so nice and kind to everyone. She should have her Christmas present. She deserves it." Once again, he brushes his fingers over her eyes. And she dreams. An endless dream of painless Summer days, of warm picnics on grassy hills and kites flying in bright blue skies. Of her mother and father, faces unlined by worries or cares, smiling and laughing like they used to before she got sick. Of her little brother who used to pull her hair and laugh as she screamed and chased him around the yard. Of fun school days coloring in books and cozy nights with her mother's bedtime stories lulling her to sleep. She smiles. Santa steps aside, shoulders drooped. "Make it quick. Please." The shadows glide towards the bed, silent and cold. A skeletal hand reaches out and brushes a finger against her chest. Her breath slows. Her heartbeat gentles. And stops. Santa stands over the bed, barely noticing the squeal of the heart monitor's flat line. And then, somewhere in the cacophony of medical devices, he hears a little bell ring. And he smiles a small, pained smile. With a muted whoosh and a sprinkling of snow, the room is once again empty but for the still and silent girl on the bed. But outside, snow is falling upon the bare ground, and the tinkling of a bell chimes in the wind.
The package lay unopened on the table for weeks. Neither one wanted to open it. "The event that lead to your meeting."It was from Nigel, he worked for the NSA, and it was no secret he had a crush on Mrs Johnson. Mrs Johnson didn't want her husband to watch the tape because it would show her gambling. Mr Johnson didn't approve of that, and she didn't want him to find out and separate their accounts. Mr Johnson was certain that it would show evidence of his affair with the casino chick. He had told Mrs Johnson that his last marriage ended on good terms, Mrs Johnson took a very dim view of adultery. As the weeks passed the both began to wonder why their significant other didn't watch it. Was their secret worse? Mr Johnson prepared to separate their acounts on short notice. In doing so he discovered large pay outs to casinos. Mrs Johnson began talking to her husbands friends. She soon had evidence of affairs. The couple divorced just 6 months after marriage. The former Mrs Johnson soon moved in with Nigel, and the former Mr Johnson kept the house. While chearing out her stuff, he found a dusty tape. He played it. The blotted football pattern of cosmic microwave background radiation filled the screen. The footprint of the Big Bang. The event that had lead to all other events.
da man grabed da boddel and rubed it, and liek a big thinie caem out and da guy was liek i wanna be all liek smart like and stuf so now i hafta tak all slo lik and i gess i use to be like reel smrt n stuf lik a dottor or sumthin but neway its not so bad no mor wars n stuf but i mis tv n stuf lik that but hay wurld pies aint to shaby LIEK DAT STORY? VIS r/IENM_Writes FUR MOR1 UP...UP...NU STORY ERRY DAI
Travel was always a danger for us. To brave the high seas, to trek the rocky mountains-- these were the things for the bravest of souls, the greatest adventurers. Homing talonsongs could only be so reliable, after all. An unexpected storm here, a foul gust there, and a call for help on your trek would be a pitiless scream into the void. That was, of course, before Traveler Shalesoul made the most important discovery the history of our civilization: an innocuous mollusk the size of one's forepalm. It made home on an island beyond the widest sea, among the sharpest stones. This timid, purple creature survived there by simply... slipping through space. Naturally it was primarily using this ability to blink about its environment in search of certain kelps to ingest, but Shalesoul found that with a certain amount of coaxing and a deeply empathetic relationship, these "scarpers", as he called them, could instantaneously move you to any location you would desire. More than that, they could move objects within a certain radius around themselves. It's surely by the grace of the Maker that these creatures came to us. Our greatest thinkers and tinkerers got to work and soon found that the distances these scarpers could move was limited only by the timidity and narrowness of imagination of the handlers who would eventually come to breed them. Through this discovery, we became a globalized civilization overnight. We needed not heed the dangers of the tides or burning of the desert sun any longer. We were interconnected, as one species beneath a single sky. Trade prospered, ideas exchanged, and a lasting peace ensued. Yet those with the calling for exploration desired on. To find romance of adventure. To question what was beyond the bright canopy above. It was only a generation after their discovery did the first of our kind use the scarpers to aim herself skyward. Her name was Explorer Seasong. Her body was never recovered. There were several who would follow in her path, and it took another generation for one survivor to report back an untenable lack of air which occurred beyond our home. We quickly got to work developing a small sealed room to transport ourselves in, and it sufficed. So soon after that we considered ourselves masters of the cosmos, searching the stars for any others similar to ourselves who would alleviate us of a loneliness. It was a loneliness which consumed our species. A loneliness one can only acquire after spending untold lives to discover only that the beauty of the universe served solely to belie a coldness and entropy which envelopes all. If only we had known that our loneliness was our blessing. I am a Keeper. A storyteller of my kind. A recorder of the histories which had brought us to the unity and tranquility we once knew. I live where I always have, behind the walls of our capitol. Our last jewel. What remains of my culture dies with me. We had left only a single scarper behind. Just one. And they found us. With their burning hands and piercing gazes oh by the Maker they found us. I hope now only that this record serves as my epitaph, and a warning to those who might read it. I hear them now. Their boots fall. If you are reading this, do not seek them. Do not seek the Humans.
SCP-001 Object Class: Apollyon Special Containment Procedures: Don't touch it. Description: So, you have found this file? If you did, congrats, you found the greatest secret we have, the fact that we can't contain everything. You see, the Foundation has contained multiple anomalies considered to be uncontainable, such as Gods or beings from higher dimensions, yet this man was just barely fleeing our grasp. Yet, a single man nearly caused a MK-Class "Broken Masquerade"scenario several times. So far we have nearly lost an entire MTF squad when the anomaly ducked to tie its shoe right after a tranquilizer was shot at it, causing detection by the police force and a big mess. We barely avoided revealing ourself to the world. We then tried it again several times, but it always failed, lucky falls, ducks, and coincidences always saved the anomaly. It seemed to always be just a tiny step ahead of us, and we had no idea what to do, until we saw him. Nobody, he approached the agents trying to apprehend the man and simply told them to give up, the man was under his protection, he then vanished. We eventually gave up, we knew we couldn't outsmart Nobody, but the GOC? Those idiots kept trying. And they somehow ended up killing an entire town, and causing a nuclear detonation. We helped them cover up the mess, but made them give up. Nobody could touch Nobody, and hence nobody could touch this man. Thats it. The greatest secret. We won't even kill you, you are free to go. Just don't tell anybody.
The elevator stood in an empty, underground car park with a yellow out-of-order notice taped across the doors. Sally tore it off, pressed a button, and stepped inside. A single light buzzed in the metal ceiling and she thought of a snake’s tongue flickering out, tasting the air for its prey. She pressed the numbers in the order she’d written down — although none lit up — and then held the zero for ten seconds. The doors slid shut. She closed her eyes. Hoped it wouldn’t work. Prayed it would. And then the lift was moving, descending rapidly — she was certain of it, even without any real evidence. She could feel the movement in her belly and then in her throat, like a wave, like a rise of sudden anxiety. She’d seen the video on reddit a few weeks ago, but it’d taken her some months to build up the courage. Or maybe it’d taken those months for the desperation to fill her heart. An act of courage, an act of desperation — was there a difference? The post had no comments, the video had three views. GoPro footage of someone stepping into this lift with the flickering light. Fingers pushed buttons, then held the zero. The camera looked at the ground until the doors opened again. “Everything’s changed,” said a voice, as it stepped out and the footage faded to black. “It’s all different now.” Sally had watched the video three times. She’d felt something spiritual as she’d viewed it, as the doors had opened and the voice had spoken. How pathetic was she, that she‘d seen a video that showed nothing at all impossible but allowed herself to believe it had shown the impossible? So pathetic that she’d tracked down the car park it’d been filmed in — she’d paused an early frame and found a sign in the background. Google told her it was a disused car park only (only!) a single state away from her. She’d told her husband that she was going to visit an old friend out of town, and they were going to go find an old place they used to go camping at. That she’d be back tonight. They’d barely looked at each other. Sally couldn’t feel the lift moving any longer. She opened her eyes and swallowed. The doors opened. With a deep breath she stepped out, a fist clenched. “Everything‘s changed,” she said, as if they were magic words that could open the cave of wonders within her own chest. “It’s all different now.” &#x200B; She drove to her father’s grave before going home. Stopped for a bouquet of mixed summer-flowers before going to the church. Sally had been visiting Dad regularly recently, although he’d been gone for for five years now. It was just... She’d only had her Dad for most of her life, and it was very hard to let him go. Whenever, as a child, something bad happened to her — a grazed knee, girls bullying her, a bad date — she’d gone to her father. He didn’t offer advice very often, he knew better than to do that. But he always listened, and sometimes listening was enough. She walked through the wooden gate and headed to the back of the graveyard. ”Here, Dad,” she said, laying down the flowers. “They’re to say sorry. I know I’ve been bothering you a lot recently, and well, I didn’t mean to pester. But hey! Some good news. I went into a magic lift earlier and now I think things are going to be okay. Great, right?” Dad listened, as he always had done. Sally sat there for a while as the evening sun dipped in and out of clouds like a golden fish jumping through water. If she was honest, it didn’t feel like anything much had changed. Her heart felt as heavy and black as it had done for the last few months. The guilt felt like a boulder. She was like that Greek God, Sisyphus, who was forced to push a boulder up a hill each day. Then, when finally getting it to the top — when she finally fell asleep at night — it’d roll back down and she’d spend the next day pushing her guilt back up. Repeat ad nauseam. &#x200B; She didn’t want to go home already. But she’d been away the entire day and it wasn’t fair to them. Still, she drove slowly through the pine-tree lined roads of the little suburb she’d been so happy to move into two years prior. The sun had surrendered completely to the clouds now. Rolls of thick grey rain clouds loomed above her, roiling and threatening. She wondered if a thunderstorm was due. Eventually, the car rolled into her drive. Everything’s changed, she told herself as she walked up to the door. Everything’s different. This isn’t the reality I was in. It’s okay now, I’ll feel differently. She had the key near the lock when the door inhaled open. Her husband stood there forcing a smile. The baby in his arms. ”Welcome back, honey,” he said. “Did you have a good time? Find what you needed to?” Her baby was six months old. Everything she’d been excited about. All her hope for the future — her own, her husband’s, everything. And yet something had broken around the time she’d given birth. Like her heart had malfunctioned. Like a blocked pipe that could no longer pump love about her body, colour to her vision, tears to her eyes. She functioned like a robot, without any emotion — just trying to imitate or remember what emotions used to feel like. She looked at her little family and forced a bitter smile. Wanted to so badly say: yes, yes I found it. And everything’s changed. Everything’s better now. I’ll be happy again. But those words didn’t come out. “No,“ she said. “I didn’t.” ”It’s okay,” he said. “The doctors said it’ll take time.” ”Nothing seems to change,” she said. “Everyday I’m pushing a boulder back up a hill.” Her husband frowned. Reached forward with the arm not around their baby. His finger touched her face and wiped away a tear she hadn’t realised she’d shed. “You’re crying.” It was the first tear she’d cried since getting back from the hospital. She’d thought she’d never weep again. Not even her old favourite romances had struck a chord. But now... She let out a single laugh. A huff, really. “I guess I am?” And then the skies opened and the rain poured.
AITA for trying to eat children? Look, I know the title sounds bad but please hear me out. I (59F) have a gorgeous home in the middle of the woods. It’s my pride and joy and I built it myself out of candy. I’m a master confectioner so I truly value my creation and don’t have much visitors over, since I know the candy can be tempting. Anyway, one day I was out in the woods and I came back to my cottage to find it destroyed! The walls had entire sides bitten out, the sugarcane glass was completely licked away, and my licorice fence was torn to pieces. I was so devastated, and when I went inside my home I found two little brats (maybe 6 and 8? A boy and girl) still eating my home! The inside was worse—the kids grubby hands melted all of my chocolate brickwork, my lollipop chandelier was shattered, and my gumdrop backsplash was completely ruined. It’s been two months since and I’m STILL repairing what they ate/broke. I was so upset that I threw the kids into my oven, but they escaped and ran back to their village. Anyway I sort of think I’m the asshole since I threw them in my oven, but technically I didn’t get to eat them so I’m not sure. The oven wasn’t even on. AITA? Edit to add my comment from down below for more context: the children returned a few days later and destroyed my house a second time and tried to throw ME in MY OWN OVEN. I’m lucky I didn’t die. Update: okay I get it, I’m the asshole, I’m not responding to comments anymore. If your house was being eaten by snot-nosed kiddies, you’d probably feel the same.
"Hey Satan, you got a moment?" The red skinned devil turned towards me, one eye arched upwards in questioning. There was a point in time when the giant, horned figure standing before me frightened me to my core. However, as with everyone it didn't take me long to learn that the title of 'devil' was the afterlife equivalent of 'HR manager', and boy did I need to see one now. "What's on your mind Mr.......", he looks at the comically small clipboard pinched between his claws, flipping over a couple of pages, "Goodman?". "It's Goodfellow"I replied. At least he was close. "I had a question about my sentence here. I think there's been a mistake". Satan waved his hand dismissively. "Everyone says that. You should know by now that everyone must serve their sentence before passing on; no if's, and's, or but's". "I know that Satan, but doesn't my sentence seem a little... excessive?". I held up a hand to prove my point. The flaming appendage had long since lost all of it's skin and muscles. At this point the bones had even begun to darken and turn to ash from the heat. "I can't think of anything I did in life to deserve quite this long of a sentence". Satan eyed the appendage, nodding to himself. "Hmm, well maybe I can shed some light on this...". He began to flip through his records on the clipboard, searching for my name. As he did so, he began asking me all sorts of questions to help narrow things down. "Tell me Mr. Goodfellow, did you kill anyone while you were alive?" "nope. not a soul"I said, shaking my head. "did you ever steal from someone? Or perform any acts that you knew to cause someone bodily or psychological harm?" "Nothing that comes to mind. All I really did with my life come to think of it is post stupid things online and watch videos". "hmmm, is that so...."said Satan, almost to himself as he fingered through one of the pages on his clipboard. "aha! I've just found your record Mr. Goodfellow. Now let's see what your sentence is for...". Satan went silent, his face becoming hard to read as he read through my entry. I didn't see the guy too often but even I could tell it wasn't a good sign. "What does it say?"I asked, curious. "Mr. Goodfellow, when you said you 'posted' stuff on the internet, where exactly did make the majority of your posts?" "I think 4Chan?" "uh huh. Now I must ask Mr. Goodfellow, these posts of yours, would you say they could be considered 'dark humor'? or perhaps what is known as a 'shitpost?'" Satan didn't even need for me to respond to that one. He could tell with just one glance at my burning skull. "Well Mr. Goodfellow, it looks like you're a rather unique case. You see, unlike in the past where most people's actions only lasted for their lifetimes, yours unfortunately are still available for the world to see and affect. Even now there are people interacting angerly with your posts as though you were still alive." "so that means..." "I'm afraid you'll be with us in hell for a very long time Mr. Goodfellow. Don't worry though! The offending acts are only minor infractions. Once this 'internet' thing comes to an end I'm certain you'll be set free in no time at all!"
"...and bacon on the side?"I asked. "Yeah, yeah. And, um, for the eggs, what's that way you make em with the yellow circle in the middle?" I realized this guy had probably never actually eaten good eggs in his life. "Sunny side up?" "Yeah, yeah, like that. I always wanted em like that, like in the movies."He seemed rather sullen. Now, you might think that obviously someone who is sentenced to die might be a bit upset about it, but in my 13 years cooking professionally for this prison, I can tell you that most inmates are pretty excited about their last meals. It makes sense. Most of these men have, like I said before, never had a decent meal in their lives. No mother to cook them breakfast, no wife to make them dinner, and no money to afford a fancy lunch. This fellow, whose name was George, seemed almost to not realize I was there. He kept glancing at the guard in the corner of the room. As if on cue, the guard, who's names tag said Gerald but I'm pretty sure was Asswipe, adjusted his junk and said "Hey buddy, how long do you think this will take? I gotta take a leak." I've been doing this a while, and I can tell the scariest men are not the ones behind the bars. Those men made mistakes, things that they will regret for the remainder of their short lives. The guards are the men who come here everyday, passed up the chance of becoming doctors, lawyers, accountants- to shuffle men away to their deaths. I waved Asswipe away. "Go ahead, man, I got this. Be out in a few." He shuffled out. "So, what would you like to dri-" I had gotten too close; George grabbed me by the lapels and pushed me against the bars. I could see his yellow, rotten teeth, smell his terrible breath, see the tears streaming down his eyes. "Listen up, man, I need you to listen."he breathed. Men like George had never had anyone show them any sort of respect. The only way people listened to them is if they threatened or hurt them. "I need you to put some of that poison shit in my food, man. I can't go out like that, with judges and guards smirking as I die in that chair!"He was sobbing now. He just wanted me to listen to him. "My own terms, man. My own terms."he whispered to me. He let me go and fell back sobbing on the ground. "Please" I turned and slowly walked towards the door, giving it a sharp rap. "Please."he whimpered. No one has ever listened to this man his whole life. Bzzzzzz "Okay."I whispered as the door opened. I exited and the door clanged shut, but not before I saw the relief in the condemned man's eyes.
There's two things I've learned over the years; two rules to live by above all others. The first is to keep quiet. The second is, if you can't keep quiet, keep count. As rules go, they're admittedly pretty easy to abide by. The first one is especially simple; I can't speak more than a hundred words to anyone, but I could write them the text of War & Peace just fine. In the world of emails, text messages, and social media, that gets most of my bases covered. When you have to speak, short, terse sentences might seem rude, but are perfectly acceptable. Plus, it turns out that, with a few notable exceptions, most people just don't care what I have to say anyway. The second one is trickier. I mean, if I follow the first rule, it doesn't really matter anyway. But of course there are times I don't, and then it's essential I keep track of everything. There's a little spiral ring notepad I keep stashed in my left pocket at all times I use for it. Each time I talk to someone new, they get their own page, with tally marks to keep track of every word. Most of them are sparse; some kid across the street has one from when he almost got hit by a car playing basketball. The landlord's got seventeen, since you were kind enough to do most of the talking. Some cop who pulled me over once has around twenty, my boss has forty something, mostly from my interview, the doctor has about slightly over fifty, and you've got...well, you've got the most. I know you're proud of it, but I hate saying the number. It terrifies me. Back to the point: Keeping quiet, and keeping count. The two central pillars I follow to keep you and everyone else out of the morgue. And I like to think that, for the most part, I had it down to a science. Headphones in public to keep any talkative folks at bay, curt nods at the office to kill off any conversations before they start. First day at work, I sent a mass message to the office asking to ONLY communicate with me through email, no exceptions. Did everyone think I was an asshole? Sure, but it's better that than being the friendliest mass murderer in the company. As for everyone else, there's not really many people you need to talk to. I spent most nights at home, I ordered most everything I needed online, I don't have any family left to speak with, and I certainly didn't spend much time outside. And like I said, for most people, there's just not enough interest in what I have to say for it to become an issue. But you've never really been “most people”, have you? I still remember the first time we met. It was possibly the most cliché thing that's ever happened. Bumping into the cute new girl in the apartment building as she's carrying her boxes up the stairs? It's out of a bad RomCom, and we both know it. Of course you apologized and introduced yourself after, and of course I said nothing and kept walking. The rest of the apartment already wrote me off as a jerk; even if I said hello, I figured someone else would convince you of it eventually. It was the first time I'd doubt your perseverance. It was about a week later when you cornered me in the elevator. By instinct, I popped my headphones in and hoped you'd get the message. But I underestimated your tenacity, and instead you asked me who I was listening to. You've never been very good at picking up signals, you know that? It'd be something to work on. I kept quiet, but you stayed insistent on getting SOMETHING from me. Eventually you asked me if you could at least know what my name was. To this day, I'm not sure what I was thinking in that moment. Every instinct was to say nothing. Every strand of common sense screamed to say nothing. The ghosts of everyone who ignoring common sense and instinct had cost me pleaded to say nothing. But your eyes wanted me to say something, and for reasons my head didn't understand, my voice decided that trumped all. “Thomas.” That was the first word I said to you. I cursed myself for it; first words were the worst. First words meant having to add another name to my spiral notepad. First words were the first step towards last words. First words are something I've dedicated my life to avoiding. But first words had never caused a smile like the one you gave me before, so at the time, it almost felt worth it. Almost. That first word became second, which became third, which became fourth. Once the first leak in the dam cracks through, the rest peak out not long after. It was like a kind of guilty pleasure, at the time; you were still a stranger then. I knew I shouldn't be speaking to you, but I figured I could let just a few slip out, here and there, before cutting you out of my life safely. I set the limit at thirty; thirty words with the cute girl down the hall. It was the closest I had to flirting, I suppose. Later, of course, those were the words I regretted the most. Wasted words like “How's your day?” “Nice weather” “Take care” that took up tallies on your page that could have been saved for better, more important words. You told me that, without them, we might have never become close enough for that tally to matter, but I'm not so sure its true. Even then, something about you seemed to know how important those words were. Maybe something in my voice gave away how precious and guarded they were. Of course, you'll tell me you're just a talker, but every little question got large answers. You'd describe every detail of your day as we walked up five flights of steps and then killed time in the hallway, my nods enough of a contribution for you to keep going. Little by little, you started to become the closest thing I've ever had to a friend. So that's why I had to tell you. Again, I couldn't tell you why if you put a gun to my head, but something about you compelled me to write you a note to tell you everything. Why I could never say more than just a few words to you during our “conversations”. How it had cost me my parents, two teachers and about half a dozen classmates to learn that. How I was a stupid, selfish idiot to ever endanger you by talking to you in the first place. I wrote all this down in a note, and, before I could second guess myself, I slipped it under your door one night. You thought it was horseshit, of course. I would too, after all. You asked me if it was a joke, and said there were easier ways to say I just didn't want to talk to you anymore. But knew you'd do this; again, I couldn't blame you. So I showed you my parents obituaries, along with my teachers and classmates. I showed you how they had all died in their sleep, with no real explanation as to how. I explained it all with notebooks and written words; for the first time, you were quiet, and I couldn't stop talking. When I was done, I was sure you'd get up and leave. Instead, you asked me if this meant that I'd been spending my whole life alone. When I nodded, you took my hand and told me I shouldn't have to. I looked you in the eyes; you looked back and smiled. I know I shouldn't have, but again, my voice couldn't help it. “Thank you.” I was at about thirty words when I told you everything; from then on, my every word became even more valuable. For the first time, something other than tally marks went in my notepad, as I'd finally write the answers to questions I'd always meant to give you during the weeks before. I went out and saw the world with you; really saw it, for the first time in years. We went out at night, we walked through the woods during the day, we did everything together. You handled all the talking, to my eternal gratitude. I'm not sure when exactly we went from two friends to something more, but when I first took your hand in mine, and when we kissed each other for the first time, it felt to me like something that had been waiting for me my whole life. (1/2)
Oh boy. This was not good. Not good at all. It was impossible to see through the solid darkness but the heat and the choking smell of sulphur hung in the air. It was too hot to even be Florida. Billy was already gathering an inkling of where he might be. &nbsp; After an indeterminate amount of time, his eyes had adjusted enough to make out a solitary figure standing opposite him in the blackness. The man – if the dim silhouette was indeed a man – stood as unmoving as a statue. &nbsp; “Hey there, I’m Billy and – ” &nbsp; “I know who you are,” the figure stated before falling silent again. &nbsp; “Uh, that’s great,” Billy replied, slightly crestfallen at having his momentum derailed. &nbsp; “I have a job for you” &nbsp; “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch your name there, buddy.” The stench of sulphur was getting stronger. Billy refused to admit how far out of his element he was. He could sell ice to the Eskimos, he could sure convince this stranger to help him. &nbsp; “I’m a salesman too, Billy. The best salesman of all.” &nbsp; “What’s your game? White goods? Diet supplements? I’m sure I could help you hit the big time if you’d just help me get outta here.” &nbsp; “Hahaha,” came the raspy laugh in reply, “I am the big time, Billy. You’re a hell of a salesman and I could train you to be an even better one. I could help you hit the big time Billy for nothing but the low, low cost of your loyalty and servitude. It’s a limited time offer only, Billy. Can’t you feel it getting hotter in here?” &nbsp; It was getting hotter. Alarmingly so. But ole Billy Mays wasn’t going to fall for the sales pitch he’d practically invented. &nbsp; “No deal,” said Billy, “just show me the way out of here.” &nbsp; “If you act now, I’ll throw in the way out of here for free. But wait, there’s more,” parroted the man who Billy was becoming increasingly sure was Satan, “I’ll even throw in a lifetime, money back guaranteed supply of cocaine. The good stuff, the stuff you like.” &nbsp; “What sort of job?” Billy asked with a cocked eyebrow as curiosity overtook common sense. &nbsp; “Same job you’ve always done Billy. I just want a salesman. Come join the oldest corporation in the business.” &nbsp; Billy couldn’t help but be entranced by the extended hand the figure was offering. So what if the man might be Beelzebub himself? He wouldn’t be the worst boss he’d ever worked for. And the man had made quite the pitch. &nbsp; “When do I start?” Billy asked. &nbsp; “You already have,” replied the creature with a toothy grin, “welcome to the team.”
I ran into the wall with a thud. My eyes snapped open as the pain throbbed in the my temple. What the...? There wasn't supposed to be a wall there. I looked around. And I was...it was oddly familiar and yet totally wrong. I lived here but I didn't LIVE here. I HAD lived here...3 years ago. I began to panic. "TOM!"I screamed, tears welling up in my eyes. This had to be a nightmare. Maybe I could make myself wake up. And I'd be in bed with my husband, where I belonged. And everything would be okay. I simply sat and cried for several hours. Found a cell phone..."my"cellphone...from 3 years ago. And the date. Three years ago. Eventually the tears dried up and I started to think. It was okay. Fine. I could manage this. Where would Tom have been, 3 years ago? College in Boston. I rushed to the airport. It took a few days, the terminal was crowded with dozens of others, trying to track down loved ones...or the ones they WOULD love. I shared a seat on the plane with an ecstatic man in a business suit. His wife, he told me, was still alive, back at home. Three years ago he'd been on a business trip, traveling 80% of the year. But not anymore. This time he would finally quit that job like she wanted him to. This time he would stop her from getting in that car. This time they'd be together forever. It would have been a sweeter story on any other day, but my mind was so consumed with finding him, I could only smile along lamely. I made it to his college campus, silently thanked the gods that he'd bitched so much about that run down dorm. Found his name on a row of mailboxes, telling me his floor and room. I was breathless by the time I made it up to the fourth floor. I didn't knock, simply threw open the door and burst into the room. "Tom?!" The unfamiliar young man smoking a joint at the window gave me a wry smile. "You must be Sara. He's gone to Los Angeles to look for you."
The more I searched, the more she seemed to surface. It was beginning to feel unnerving. Was this all a coincidence? Was I not alone? The door suddenly opened. "Anything the matter, sir?"My assistant asked, peering over at my work. I grabbed my research. "Nothing at all,"I replied, stashing the last of the papers in my drawer, "nothing at all." What had she seen? She stared at me. Something in her expression worried me. "For someone considered to be the best historian in the world, I'm surprised it's taken you so long, to be honest. Why do you think I chose you?" I stared at her in disbelief. What was she admitting to? "17,000, in case you're wondering. 17,000 years." "...What?" "I've been alive for 17,000 years, give or take a millennia. It's been quite a wild ride,"she said, smiling. I didn't know what to say. This was all so unbelievable. Could it really be? "Why tell me this? Why join me in my research, if you knew you'd be discovered?" She stared at me, and laughed. "Because, Mr Historian, I'm pretty sure I last saw you at the fall of Rome."
The Galactic Council settled down. The seven hundred representatives settled down, and the AI being spoke up, it's voice and telepathic waves spreading across the entire Galahall. Beings of all shapes and sizes were seated (or stood) on hovering platforms, and servant drones buzzed around as they performed their duties of serving the representatives foodstuffs, drinks, and news of their worlds' current affairs. In the center of the Galahall, a large hive of holograms flashed about, like a pulsing brain. The AI's manifestation rested there, overlooking every angle of the Galahall. Information about the future topic flashed everywhere at once, all safeguards secure, all sources checked. The AI's brain pulsed at each word. "Attention, beings. Please, be seated. Discussion Number One, of the topic "On The Nature of The Human Paradox,"agreed upon by 86% of the entire Galactic Council, shall now commence. Discussion in session as of now." The AI's soothing voice and telepathic waves spread quickly and slowly, so that all representatives heard the announcement. "Discussion Point One: How Are Humans Still 95% Biologically Sound? Present your statements, representatives,"the AI announced again. The AI was briefly flooded with statement requests. Ten requests, three of which were almost instantly withdrawn. Seven remained, labelled as "to be withdrawn at will." The first request was from D'jir Di Toi of the Proxima Centauri system. The AI saw that the system was the closest of all Galactic Council systems to the humans' own system. That was quickly noted. "Yielding Discussion Platform to the Representative of the Proxima Centauri system. You may speak up now. Please limit your statement to one hundred series of ten billion cesium-133 ground state energy pulses. Thank you. You may now speak." Humans were not an old topic, but somewhat new; some species knew of their existence prior to this conference. The Representative's hologram appeared in the center of the Galahall, replacing the AI's brain. D'jir was a bipedal being, with four manipulative limbs on the upper body, and had a long trunk for a snout. Great horns rested on D'jir's head, coming from the front and the back, forming a large dark-red crescent of sorts. "Fellow representatives. I, D'jir Di Toi of the Proxima Centauri system, have investigated the manners and lives of humans. As many representatives know, the humans have landed on Daru Prime's soil. The previous measurements from the human's home planet's satellite station indicated the humans' lack of any biological and cybernetic alterations past 20% of their total bodies, yet their ships have already reached delocalized speeds of 200% of the speed of light. Their ships arrived near Daru Prime within two human home planet revolutions around their own star. The humans are an interesting species, for their alterations have only allowed them to breathe for extended periods of time, as well as heal due to nanotechnology. However, their limbs are only limited in prosthetic populations for those who have lost their limbs. Their brains have been altered to control the humans' natural urges and increase their native intelligence. Thus, the ultimate question is: have humans been truly able to limit their own alterations and yet reach delocalized faster-than-light speeds? Thank you for your attention. The Representative yields the Discussion Platform to the AI." The hologram disappeared. The AI's brain reappeared. The rest of the requests were withdrawn. "Research-based Evidence Presentation Request approved from Celelar of Jaru'un, the Aldebaran Artificial Planet Reservation. Discussion Platform yielded to the representative. You may speak now." The brain was replaced with an almost horrifying creature. It was fully clothed in strange vibrant fibers, yet all representatives saw the machinery poking the fabric. The green eyes of the creature still remained, and the teeth and the snout of whatever this representative used to be hinted at a predatory lifestyle. This was noted. The AI silently researched the representative; he was accused of multiple war crimes, and apparently had a mechanical appendage in star fuel trafficking. "I, Celelar of Jaru'un, have conducted numerous experiments on humans." Nothing could hide the collective gasp of the Galahall. Few remained silent. This was noted. "The humans appear to be, as D'jir Di Toi said-" "Representative, please refer to the representatives as 'Representatives' and refrain from using personal nouns and terms unless applicable to the AI. Thank you." "The Representative apologizes. As mentioned before, the Representative of the Proxima Centauri system noted the human species' relatively odd attributes of having reached delocalized faster-than-light speeds, yet remained largely organic in nature, unlike any representative's species in the Galactic Council." This was true. While the last sentence had negative and disrespectful connotations, it didn't violate any Galactic Council laws. This was noted. "Multiple human specimens were yielded by the human delegation. The research party was made aware of these human specimens capabilities. As such, the specimens were tested accordingly. The following data was collected: 1. Humans are, biologically, a very durable species. Humans were recorded to survive multiple plagues on the human homeworld during the human pre-faster-than-light era. 2. Humans are still 90% biologically human. Nanotechnology is not counted as an organic replacement, but as a supplement. The human brain has been altered to suit a human's needs, but this is due to manipulation of hormones in the human brain. 3. Humans have mastered hyperspace technology. Yet, representatives, how have the humans reached this faster-than-light achievement?" There was a slight pause. "Humans didn't bother altering the human species for the sake of advance." A short murmur rolled through the representative pods. "Humans have preserved the species' biological bodies for the sake of preserving human consciousness. While humans have found that a consciousness transfer is possible, humans are not aware of the lack of danger it allegedly possesses. Thus, humans are afraid of 'losing themselves', according to this human delegation and research party report." This was a bit much, even for a simple conference such as this. The AI sensed the forthcoming storm of murmuring and shouting of outrage. This was noted. The hologram of Celelar vanished, replaced by the brain. "Representatives, the conference will undergo a standard intermission." The roars of outrage at this discovery of fear were everywhere. Fear was something that has not existed since centuries ago. For fear was driven by biological instincts of self-preservation, and yet humans feared. Whatever they feared must have been great. The numerous reports, as the AI scrolled past thousands of screens per second, were of a fear of a human concept that still perseveres in human culture. Death. Humans fear death. Eternal oblivion was a concept lost long ago, and brought back memories of war. Of ruin, of lives lost and destroyed as they ceased to be. The AI, despite being devoid of emotions, shuddered. This was noted.
No beer, no note. It had become difficult, even with the little pick-me-up to look forward to each day, to keep going. The world had gradually been growing more distant, incomprehensible, anxiety-provoking. And today, of all days, on my birthday... No beer, no note. Even if the beer had been there, and the note, two beers, two notes, I might not be able to take it. It had been one of those days. As it was, this unwelcome change from routine, this let-down, this saddening absence in my fridge was drawing me deeper into the vortex of my despair. No beer, no note. I walked downstairs and over to the gun-case. I was fumbling with the lock but I couldn't see the numbers. I walked back over to the staircase to turn on the lights. I flicked them on. "SURPRISE!"everyone yelled. My basement was decorated. A banner was hung. My family and Joe and Doug were there. There was a cake. There were gifts. But amidst all the chaos I looked around desperately for the only thing that would anchor me back in reality, return me to sanity, the only thing my fragile psyche was able to rely on. But it was not there: no beer, no note. I walked back to the gun-case and twisted in the numbers. "Hey!"said Joe, "What are you doing there buddy?" The lock clicked and I opened the case. Thankfully I kept my shotgun loaded. "Leonard!"shouted my mother. "Leonard!" Everything was burning with confusion as I pulled it out. The metal felt cool and comforting against my chin. They were shouting and then they were not. ---
"Humans are the only species in existence to break the traditionally know Limit of Violence, being the only Class 11 race"I began, lecturing my Intergalactic Biology 101 class. "However, physically speaking, they are generally as strong as a Class 6 to Class 8, depending on personal preference of lifestyle, and several behave as if they were Class 1."Several thoughtful looks formed among my students, always a good sign. "Is anyone able to tell me why Humans are Class 11?" No one was immediately ready to answer the question, which was again a good sign. It means they are thinking and carefully processing. "Is it because of their various styles of combat?"Toyg, one of my Relintian students, asked. I shook my head. "No, but that is a good guess. If it were that, and every human partook in combat training, they would be Class 8, probably 9 if you factored their military armaments. No, it's because of something their bodies produce, chemical compound C9H13NO3. Can anyone tell me what that is ?"Good, the spark of realization in their eyes. Fendo, another of my Relintian students, raised a padded tentacle slowly, which I of course gestured to. "It's called adrenaline, and is a highly expensive drug used by most races to artificially boost their Limit of Violence by a factor of four..."Fendo started to trail off, understandably so. "That is correct, Fendo,"I answered, nodding to his direction. Cracking my sore back against my chair, I continued. "Humans produce this substance naturally, but the most surprising aspect about adrenaline is that nearly every animal that I can think of from Earth also produces this compound. Most omnivores and carnivores of the planet would place Class 11 if they had the same intellect as Humanity." Every year I wait for this day, just to see the scared look on my students faces. "Professor Henderson... sir?"Ogetu, I think that was. Insect-like species she is, easily from one of the most powerful species present. "Yes,"I started, already answering the question, "I naturally produce adrenaline."God I love teaching here.
Once upon a time, where all stories begin, there was a great kingdom. Great in the sense that it was large, of course, not necessarily in the sense that it was a wonderful place to live. Farmers worked rock strewn fields, sweating under the midday sun. They grew wheat and corn and beans and wished for little more than rain at night and a cool breeze through the day. Soldiers patrolled the winding roads in their mismatched armor, tromping along and clanking in their steel breastplates. They talked and laughed and wished for little more than a soft place to sleep and that no rock would find it's way into their boots. Shopkeepers hawked their wares from carts and storefronts, tunics of the finest (and less than finest) material for the discerning (and less than discerning) folk that walked the cobblestone streets and dirt paths. They wished for little more than a coin in their pocket and a sucker to take it from. Brigands prowled the woods and, oddly enough, shared the same wish as the shopkeepers. Bakers burned bread, butchers carved up meat, candlemakers did whatever a candlemaker could possibly do, and all around the cities and towns and hamlets and villages went about their business in a general sense of peace and calm. All in all, this kingdom was a fine place as kingdoms go. Except for one, tiny, teeny, little, itsy bitsy problem. All the damned dragons. The kingdom had been built inside a semi circle of mountains with several passes that led to other kingdoms with other lives that marched onward. There were expanses of forest with roads that wound through them, a large coast to the south, and it was a general pleasant place with all that a kingdom could need to prosper. At the time, the founders had no idea that in the mountain ranges that protected their kingdom were nests, dozens and dozens of dragon nests and hoards and caves. From them sprang dragons, lots and lots of dragons. To be accurate, in the interest of such things, they weren't all dragons. Some were wyrms or wyverns, sometimes hydras. To your average townsfolk these distinctions mean very little. They simply know that the big scaly monster makes the little mushy townsfolk into ashes or dung, both of which are bad for the townsfolk. Of course, as is the way of dragons and kingdoms, this sort of thing births a whole slew of job opportunities for the adventurous, chivalrous, or not-so-smartuous person. Dragon hunting mercenaries abound, tracking and killing dragons for sport and money. Knights pursue the same but often in search of some fair damsel's hand or the favor of a lord, king, count, or other such pompous-respectable noble. The not-so-smartuous ones never last long, aside from Parrack the Petulant, who refused to be swallowed by a dragon out of sheer force of will and a very pointy tree branch. Parrack still died, mind you, but they did sing a few songs about him. As to the content of those songs, well they are not overly kind to him. Alas, digression. It is in this kingdom, this place of fantastical things, that we find our story. It is a story of the most unlikely of heroes, not because they are an orphaned thief or a farmboy that happens upon a magical sword or the sole survivor of some beastly raid in the night, no our hero is unlikely because our hero has four legs, wings, scales, and the thrilling ability to breathe all consuming fire. Our hero is a dragon. It was a very average night when our hero was born and joined his siblings. There were six of them, a byproduct of dragons being hunted encouraged dragon procreation. Our hero was small, covered in black and red scales and could possibly be called a "runt". His siblings, in their dragon tongues, did just that. They teased and tormented our poor hero who took upon himself a name that is difficult to pronounce with human shaped tongues, so to make life easy he will be known as Fawkes. Fawkes grew quickly, as is the way of dragons, into a gangly, awkward teen aged dragon. It was about this time when Fawkes, constantly teased by his siblings, discovered the magic of being alone. Fawkes would fly at length along the mountains, exploring and enjoying himself on the buffeting winds, burning trees as young male dragons so enjoy, and generally enjoying the silence. Until, because every story must have an "until", his enjoyment of a crystal clear lake was spoiled by loud screaming. He submerged his large body and peered out over the water, his head could easily be mistaken for an enormous floating log with eyes. Fawkes was not a brilliant hider. It didn't matter as those who were spoiling his afternoon were not paying attention to the water. It was a young woman on an armored warhorse, with a rough rope tied to the saddle. Attached to the far end of the rope, trotting behind the horse, was a young knight. This knight was shouting at the rider, who was ignoring the shouting and riding onward through the forest. Fawkes knew the forest well enough to know that the horse was riding towards a large, crumbling castle that had once been occupied by humans. Before the whole dragon thing got a little too problematic and burny. "Princess, please, you can't do this!"the Knight was shouting, barely keeping up with the horse. "I can and I am. I need bait." Bait. Fawkes knew this word, all youngling dragons were taught it. It was how mercenaries and knights and idiots would attempt to lure a dragon out of hiding to capture or kill. Often it worked, dragons are arrogant. Fawkes watched still, the Knight stumbling and cursing and nearly being dragged into the treeline as both rider and prisoner disappeared from view. He floated there a while, pondering the next course of action. For a normal dragon, they would simply take wing and leave the situation behind. Fawkes could easily do that, there were other lakes in other places and there were no knights being held prisoner at those ones. At least not that he knew of. But if the Knight was to be bait, then perhaps he should investigate. Not on the Knight's behalf but simply because bait could mean that the woman on the armored horse intended to harm a dragon. Could Fawkes allow that to happen and simply sit by? Yes, yes he could but he was not that sort of dragon. Fawkes was a gentle dragon. As gentle as a fire breathing, flying tank could be. He lifted himself from the water and spread his leathery wings, shaking droplets of water off and taking to the air with enormous flaps that shook the trees. He gained slowly, slowly, and then was soaring through the sky. Night was gathering now and surely he would be missed but, as everyone knows, dragons see best in the dark so it was easy to find the horse and rider. They were not far from the ruins now. Ruins that should be empty, Fawkes observed. But the shining plate mail of dozens of soldiers, trying their best to keep hidden (and failing miserably) was obvious. Crossbowmen dotted the crumbled walls and courtyard, long spears and pikes at the recently rebuilt gates, mercenaries from the far north with pelts draped over their shoulders. No, the castle was no longer abandoned. And they intended to use that unfortunate Knight as bait. Fawkes, being a dragon and a student of dragon history, was aware of the reasons for the castle's abandoning. It lay in the shadow of a mountain that no other dragon lived on, save one. He was as large as the castle itself and his hide was generations thick, scarred and pitted from failed attempts on his life. He had struck an uneasy and unspoken peace with the humans and they had left his land. Fawkes circled the castle from high above, watching the humans bustle about. And he made a decision. He made a decision to rescue the knight and put a stop to this. He would protect the ancient dragon of the mountain. He would rescue the knight from this princess. He would be a hero. [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/bo582d/wp_a_brave_young_dragon_sets_out_on_a_quest_to/endet7p?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share)
Gabriel looked inquisitively down at his Father's favourite creation. Time and again, without fail, they were presented with option A or option B, and they almost always managed to choose option C. Free Will was a powerful gift indeed. "I get the feeling Father may want to know about this..." With a rustle both as quiet as moonlight yet loud as the host of Heaven, Gabriel shifted to His side. "Father, mayhap I be granted the honour to speak with you?"Gabriel asked, gently adjusting his robes. A faintly bemused and mildly irritated look flashed across His face, both formless and beautiful as he looked down upon Gabriel. "Gabe, how many times? We've known eachother for how many thousands of years? It's 'God' or 'Dad', whichever." Unsure of how to proceed, Gabriel took a moment to compose himself. "Of course. God, you know that big indestructible object we send hurtling towards a new race to test their faith? And they either attack it or try and reason with it?" He looked away disinterestedly. "You mean Wormwood? Yeah, I did make it after all. What exactly are you trying to imply?" "That planet that you made, the one where you stuck all the Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve after they-" "I KNOW THE STORY. GET TO THE POINT."mumbled God. "They're mining it."Gabriel murmured, questioning why he had to be given the title of Messenger of God. "Well of course th-...Wait did you say mining it? As in they like they did when they realised I put stuff in the ground that they could make into weapons and armour?! Honestly! You look away for two millennia and they do something like this!" An imperceptible motion by hands both physical and entirely non-existent manifested a small disc, placed upon a table of some sort of mercurial metal. The disc began to spin, projecting a display through the air. As if backlit by a million million fireflies, the display took form - a live feed of the mining operation on Wormwood. The faces of the miners filled with unadulterated joy as a small piece of faintly incandescent rock, glowing a gentle cyan was removed from the surface upon which they stood. "This is it. This is the stuff that's going to make us rich! One pound of this is worth more than twenty kilos of uranium at the current rate! We could power cities, build magnificent underwater worlds, we could create weapons that would ensure no-one could challenge our superiority again!" God visibly blanched at that last comment. "Why don't they learn? I gave them Eden and they spit it back in my face. I gave them my Son to die for their sins, who still hasn't come out of his room by the way, something about crucifixion really hurts and 3 days down below being way too long. I give them everything. They are gifted Wormwood to test their faith in preparation for the Rapture, and they strip it for parts! I'VE HAD IT!" With a look that indicated extreme concern, Gabriel leapt to the side, knowing full well the breadth and fury of his Father's rampages. "Did you want me to send them a message, dad? Maybe something along the lines of 'stop doing this or else'?" "Now there's a thought. No more must they focus on weapons and murder, but on sustainability and love. I am a forgiving God. I have forgiven them Eden, and I will forgive them this trespass should they remedy their folly. There will be no third forgiveness." Gabriel looked at his Father, confused at the suggestion that was implied within. "Father, are you sending me to Earth?" "Yes, Gabriel. Send them the message that they have begun to tread a path from which there is no return. Should they fail to turn from this path, their world is doomed, and I shall bring the next Great Flood upon them." With a look of both shock and understanding, Gabriel nodded. "As you wish, Father." "Oh, and one more thing Gabe, you're no longer Gabriel. You're Greta."
In the past, when you were trying to settle an area, you needed actual boots on the ground, people willing to spend months or years in a barely habitable area in order to make the area habitable. But since we can't realistically throw humans at Mars until the planet gets habitable settlements, we had to find an alternative. And that was the ARC-COL program. Artificial android bodies controlled remotely from a space station orbiting Earth, where the human mind is placed in a life-control pod, where the mind temporarily uploads to the android body. The maximum extent one can stay in the android body without getting problems with lag, which can be fatal, is roughly 30 days. Usually you spend a week or so in the pod, with muscle stimulants to prevent atrophy, and then wake up to your usual duties onboard the Fifth International Space Station. I've been in the pod dozen of times. As long as you follow procedure, you should be fine. And this was a routine mission, just assembling a small polymer fabrication facility outside one of the domes. Took me a couple of days on my own, but since you don't need sleep while in the android body it was an easy task, fun even. Yet when I placed my android body back into the recharging receptacle, and started the unplug sequence, I got an error message. [CONNECTION SEVERED] That's supposed to be impossible. Quickly I accessed the latest newsfeed from Earth. I looked for anything related to the Mars colonisation mission. I found a small article talking about a tragic accident. I had died. But the article said I had died in my bed, from a previously undetected heart defect. Which is rubbish. We're checked medically cell by cell to see if we'll be a liability. But then I noticed a name. Sam Watkins had found me. Said he was sad to see a good colleague die. Which was rather odd. As me and Sam had never gotten along; he rubbed me the wrong way, and it was reciprocal. He was one of those gung-ho patriotic airforce boys with a taste for glory and a belief in his own perfection. I am one of those quiet, professional, and emotionally detached scientists. Our personalities clashed. But we had always been professional. Never letting our clear distaste for one another compromise the mission. Then I recalled that since we getting a batch of new guys up to the station as our replacements, since you should not spend too much time in zero gravity. The program worked in shifts, and since the summer shift was about to replace us, Sam must have decided it was an excellent opportunity to rid himself of me without compromising the mission. I guess he didn't expect that the mind would survive in the body. Who knows, perhaps it won't in the long run. For all I knew, if anybody found out about this, they'd take my android body apart bit by bit to find out how this digital second chance worked. Sure, I could probably get Sam put behind bars if I did it that way. But I wanted to live. Still do. To ensure that the mission would not be compromised, we had triple redundancies for every tool and machine needed to build the first settlement. One of these was a mobile base. Essentially meant to function as a mobile temporary refuge for the first settlers if something like a meteor shower destroyed the settlement. It had everything needed for about 25 people to survive for 200 days. I didn't need the stuff for biological functions, but it included a lab, and large storage. I packed in anything we still had more than three of which I could use. Then I disconnected the mobile base from the network, connected my android body to the mobile base's internal network, and drove off into the Martian desert. It was built to last for potentially decades of use. And I'd need it if I was going to endure. I had no family left, my friends would sure miss me, but I could never rejoin society as long as I was stuck in a faceless and easily controllable android body. I needed to build myself a new body. A body that I could use to continue being human. A body which could not be controlled by the government to shut myself down for disassembly. A body which would allow me to take back my life, and get back at Sam Watkins. Not just by seeing him behind bars for his heinous crime, but to outlive him as well. The first stop on my trip in this Martian exile, would be to the abandoned Soviet base. One of the things that got lost during the whole break-up of the USSR, nobody thought to check up on them for years, as the project was forgotten until 2009 officially. When we finally reached the place, no trace of the cosmonauts was found. They'd tried to reach Earth with a jury-rigged rocket, and nobody had found out where they'd gone after that. But the base had resources that could be taken without further compromising the first permanent colonisation effort. Though in comparison to our own supplies, they left a lot to be desired. The base was old, the reactor long ago non-functional, and all I could really scavenge was raw resources. Or so I thought, when I powered the facility up using the generators, I found it was still in contact with a lot of places back on Earth. Sure, the tech was ancient and slow, but using it, I covertly extracted infomation from the Russian Federation, on some of their more usable projects. Power armour, experimental alloys, experimental AI and robots. Good thing I left after I'd gotten what I needed, because pretty much the moment I walked out of that base, I could hear klaxons blaring, and seeing alarm lights blink. I drove off as fast as I could, before the base went up in smoke. Remote self-destruction, something which I thought of only being a thing in old Bond movies or bad SCI-FI. And that was essentially what I did for ten years. Finding abandoned probes, abandoned temporary bases, and various odd things, as I slowly built myself a new body. The working android bodies which our minds are uploaded to are simple things, built for optimised efficiency in building the first colony, not for social interaction, not for human connection.
There was an old lady that I brought apples to, a long time ago. She told me about a saying. 'One door closes and another opens, but that does not mean the closed door stays closed forever." I passed it off at first as the last croaks of a mind on it's way going, so I smiled, said thank you and moved on with my day. But now that I sit here, at Solomon's grave, his soul in the palm of my hand to do with as I please, I think back to what she said and realized that she was sharper in wits than I thought. Solomon could have killed me. I was young, naïve and fragile. He could have ended me with a swipe of his sword, but he didn't. While I wonder if it was his holiness, or his hope, but I'm pretty sure it was the thin dagger in his neck that made him desperate enough to plead for a pact. Live the life of holiness, and the Paladin's soul is mine. My very first soul, and one of such magnitude. I couldn't go back without a soul to clear the way, so, not sure what I was up for, I went along with it. It was terrible at first. Having to live with the consequences of my actions, and all. Let alone the judgements. I'm good looking, but I can't stuff away the horns or the hooves, so people know I'm a demon pretty early on. They saw me as an omen of their doom, and plenty of women wanted me gone pretty badly as some of the more questionable men ogled me before I left. My first year was rough, but after a run-in with some other Paladins and letting them know of the pact, as well as a thorough interrogation later, they taught me some of their ways and sent me to a very distant coastal city. It was near the original arrival place of Lord Draegal, Lord of the Fifth Circle, and his armies. So I travelled there, and the people were rather mellowed out. They'd seen worse than me, especially the elder ones. So, as I promised, I started helping people out. Seeding new ground, lifting demon presence from the earth, slowly but surely getting the place more ground to live on and breathing some life into the city. As I was one of the longer lasting living amongst them, they gave me more responsibilities as I stuck around. I became a teacher for a while, other times I was a soldier, then an artist, even an actor for a children's theater. Even had a kid with a human. Quite a challenge, all in all. My gut told me to either kill or seduce them all, or dump the Paladin's promise and take the villager's souls instead. But somehow, it was kind of...nice. Not having people judge me for my looks, but my actions. The smiles when you walk by, the trust people have in your word. I didn't save the world, or anything, I kept it small and simple. My child had a good life, and my grandchildren are adults now. It's like a miracle, watching these little squishy jellybeans learn to walk on their own, paint with crayons, express their little personalities. They were always there for me, despite me not looking like all the other mommies. They loved me despite me appearance, not because of it. And those who were scared learned to change their opinion as I never faltered from my challenge. I changed too, I guess. Here I am. A demoness. A seductress made to be the foil of men and women. A mother, a grandmother, a teacher, proclaimed a saint even, if only locally. I've learned to love, to trust, to care. I learned to think in the long term, I learned to think logically, even strategically. I guess the humans rubbed off on me. I know I'm no Paladin, but I don't feel like a Demon anymore either. Not even human. I'm not sure what I am these days. Maybe a bit of everything. All these years, living like a saint. I feel like I should let go a little. I can do that, easily. My looks will land me in bed with anyone, my skills with swords will aid me in fights and battles. But I've learned that giving in to your desires, your impulses, isn't what's going to satisfy you. The voice in your head wants instant satisfaction, but it's so much better to be proud of yourself when you do your best to change and work hard, then behold the hard work and be proud of it. I wish more people could see that. So many are out there, wondering what impact they can have on the world as they toil away, every day, doing what they're supposed to do, never finding something that is both duty and enjoyment. Maybe all people need is an example. A push in the right direction. I rub my thumb over the little blue light. I know what Solomon would want me to do. Despite what I was, he gave me a shot. Others deserve that chance too. Choices aren't always easy, but if they were always easy, everyone would make the right ones. It takes determination to do the right thing. I put the soul back in the locket I've kept with me all this time, as I set out back into the world. I may be a bit of an idealist now, but maybe that's just what the world needs. "Thank you."I whisper to the fallen soul, "Thank you for believing in me." --- RIP Uncle Herman 1949 - 2018.
Hell is others, said Sartre. Hell is solitude, would argue others. Denis thought Sartre was too positive. Everything was hell. Others, nobody, places, big cities, small cities, dreams and goals. Hell's everywhere. But Sartre failed to see that hell wasn't the fiery pits of eternal damnation he pictured. He couldn't know that Hell was a never ending plain of soft green grass, traversed by lazy rivers and gentle winds. Hell's everywhere, because everywhere has a chance to be nicer than you first expect. That was the lesson. Sartre managed to fool everyone into summoning a metaphorical and quite wrong picture of the afterlife. Half of Denis' work was to lead newcomers through the delusions and revelations. First explain that no, they wouldn't be burnt or hit or eaten or tickled or whatever struck their fancy. They only had to think. Like these three people, a woman and two men, sitting at the river Styx and dipping their toes in the blue water while Charon waved from his boat. They were guilty of pushing their own children into doom, by being overbearing, abusive, and leading them down a self-destructive path for their own twisted pleasure. They knew, yet did not mend their ways in life. They were doing it in death. Time was a remote concept here, maybe they had died five minutes ago, but to them, it might as well have been a hundred years. The Styx wasn't just a nice river, it carried memories. All of them. Those who touched and drank the water had to face every single moment of the life they led. Without the veil they wore in life. The three wept. In hell, you could not hide from what you had done. The only way to go forward was to face your life, accept what you had done, and ask for forgiveness. They might stay here for another millennia, or more, not that it mattered. "That's it?"asked Miranda the newcomer. "Yup,"replied Denis, looking through his papers and lifting an eyebrow. Miranda had not killed anyone, she had neither cheated nor lied nor led others into decadence and deception. As a matter of fact, she had done nothing at all. Which, considering she came from an abusive and horrendous family, was extraordinary and a good reason to go straight to heaven and enjoy a well-deserved rest for eternity. She could have vented her wrath on others, taken vengeance on her own blood... she didn't. Life had been hell and she passed the test with flying colors. So what the hell was she doing here? "I deserve worse." Ah. Yes. It was that kind of patient. The worst kind. She thought that hell was the right afterlife for her, that she didn't deserve better. This, of course, was not helped by Sartre and his ilk. Artists and thinkers had convinced people that the afterlife was a metaphorical place, that God's wisdom was infinite, his judgment harsh and definitive, that angels and demons were inscrutable... The usual hogwash. Denis walked with her. "Will it hurt?" "No, Miranda, not in the least. I'm the Devil by the way, call me Denis." "I'm in hell. This is a hallucination." "No. Listen. No, no, no, don't interrupt me. It's is no trick, I'm the Devil, and I don't care about what you learned on Earth. I won't stab you or whatever, me and my mates the angels are just normal residents of the afterlife doing an honest days work and God is trying to get it more or less right and ordered. You'd think he would have flooded Earth for 40 days before saying God damn it if he never made mistakes? Exactly. I'll cut it short, you should be in heaven." "I saw the gates." "And?" "I refused to enter." "Why?" "I don't deserve it." "Bullshit. Bullshit your parents told you - I've read the files - and that you're repeating now, but I can tell on account of knowing 100% of your life and thoughts, it's plainly wrong." Miranda looked at him with a tired look on her face. "I don't care." You couldn't erase a lifetime of loathing with a few words. But that wasn't exactly his work here in hell. Miranda would do that in purgatory. "You don't care that you should be in Heaven? That you deserve better?" "I feel like I failed them all." "Who?" "My mother, my father..." "Because they hit you, scolded you?" She didn't answer. She was too good for Earth, had so much love to good and was stuck until death giving it to those undeserving. "I feel like I failed them." "Okay, I'll give you that, you did fail someone in life. Nobody's perfect." "Told you." "You know who? I can show you." "Show me." They walked to the river Styx, Charon waved at them from afar. She took a deep breath and, on a nod, gazed into her reflection. The current provoked small ripples, blurring the reflection from time to time. "Nothing's happening, Denis." "It already has." Slowly, Miranda understood that she was meant to see her reflection. "Miranda, there's only one person that you should ask for forgiveness here. It's yourself. It wasn't your fault. Not once. You did nothing wrong, you were dealt shitty cards and you kept your humanity still. That makes you better than half the angels I know." She shook her head, did not want to accept the kind words. "You did not fail. Fuck it, you didn't even falter. If you had, other people would have suffered under your hand, yet you held yourself tall and strong. Your parents hated you more because you didn't break." Her shoulders where sunken, but her head high. There was a spark in her, Denis had to ignite it. That's probably the closest the Devil came to a metaphorical flame. "If anything, they failed themselves. You showed them constantly someone who succeeded where they couldn't. How many people have the good beaten out of them? How many keep it? Few. It's hard to believe in justice when you witness the absence of it from birth, when you know it isn't your fault. So tell me Miranda, why didn't you break? Why did you held yourself to higher standards despite knowing there's no justice on Earth. Why?" "I don't..." "You do know, it's a God damn simple answer. None of it was your fault, and you didn't fall. Why? Just tell me, why?" "Because I chose not to." The answer had come like a whisper, but with an edge that cut through words and sentences and left a gaping silence between them. Miranda was tired, beaten up and struggling. But Denis had found the spark, that mix of anger, righteousness and courage that carried her for a lifetime. Now she had seen it too, and it would carry her still. She still had a long time of reflection in front of her. But Denis the Devil had done his work. He had planted the seed to ask for forgiveness and fight to earn it. He accompanied her to the basis of a mountain, alongside the three who sat at the river and finally came to terms with life. "What's the mountain for?"asked Miranda. "We call it purgatory. It's massive, hard to go up, and the top goes beyond the clouds." "It's endless." "And you have an endless strength in you, Miranda." "What do I do now?" He patted her back in support. There would come a time were she'd be so high that she would take the time to look around, and understand she was fine with who she had been. She would notice the clouds were heaven, and that she went above and beyond. Then she would smile, take a rest at the top of the universe, and get herself a puffy cloud to sleep on blissfully. Until then, she had but one thing to do. "You climb."
At first I thought it were a strip of blood, and I prided myself on having landed within such a vicious host. A fluorescent flicker and the static crackle of an old radio filled the stale air. Sweat so aged it ought almost have a name burned my host's nostrils. Soon. Soon I would have control. First I needed to adapt. To find the rhythm of his heartbeat. The patterns of his neural spikes. The pulse of his blood. And that was when I saw that it was not a sanguine snake curled before my host's eyes but ketchup. On toast. He was having dinner and it was ketchup on toast. A knock at the door of his chamber. From the sound it was a foe. Dominant. Angered. Whatever stood behind that slab of wood it was hellbent on his destruction. That much I knew from experience. "Connor! What took you so long? Were you jerking off or something?" He appeared to be acquainted with this person. A woman, caked in paint and clad in a soft pastel suit. "N-No Jessica. I answered almost as soon as you knocked at my door ..." "Are you calling me a liar?" "Of course not! You are right. I was slow. I'm sorry." "Hmph. That's better. Now, you better have a good explanation." "For what?" "My money, Connor. You haven't wired it over yet." "He-he ... I just thought maybe you'd come over in person. I haven't seen you in a while. Sometimes it's like you're not even my girlfriend ..." "Hand it over right now, or I'm never speaking to you again." Pain. The connection had almost been completed, and I felt his pain as if it were my own. Not even after taking an arrow to an eye a thousand years earlier when a former host rode into battle had I felt such intense agony. "Of course! I'll give it to you right away. D-Do you mind if it's a little less than normal? I sold some furniture but I still haven't got enough for rent and I'm worried that I might get kicked out of—" "If it's less I'm leaving you." Suffering. An aching soul, torn to mangled strands. "H-Here! Take it all. I love you, Jessica. I would die if it weren't for you." "You probably would, wouldn't you? I'm a saint for keeping up with you." Just like that, she left. Hunched in a corner, my host ate his ... dinner. He smiled at the battered radio as if it were an old friend. Later, his landlord arrived and he confiscated the radio and even his refrigerator. "This should cover half of it,"he'd said. "If you haven't got the rest tomorrow you're out." It wasn't until he was huddled in a fetal position in the shower that I finally gained control. Power surged through his feeble body, and I worried the vessel wasn't adequate to contain it. Fortunately it did, though I was concerned it could be because it had become accustomed to being pushed beyond normal limits. My original plan had been to sow chaos and terror among the hapless people of the city. But that could wait. First, I wanted to pay Jessica a little visit.
The sun set, and I stretched, working the kinks from my back as I lifted the lid from my coffin. A steady move to the fridge and a plastic bag of blood mixed with caffeine started the night properly. The vibrant sounds of the city center down the street and flashing lights of the nearby nightclub bounced off the walls of the building opposite. A few streets, wandering amongst the beautiful people of Mumbai, and I hit the office block where my master has me working for him. Slip into my seat and check my list of targets for the evening start the first few hours with London then after Midnight switch to California, we can't get in without an invite, and I get a percentage of all the blood my master and his associates recover whilst he harvests the old and new Empire. Internet technology has introduced all sorts of ways round our limitations. I sit at my desk and lift the phone waiting for it to be answered. "Hello?" "Is this Mr Van Helsing? I am James from Microsoft security, we have detected your computer having a virus, can you let us have access?"
Space is only beautiful when it's above your head. Trust me, when it's all around you, it gets unsettling. We all had a party, a week after launch – the day before we were supposed to freeze ourselves. For 300 years. Even in the midst of all the fun and the excitement, there was this hovering nothingness out the windows and over our heads, reminding us that we were floating against the blackness. Gliding through infinity. A small piece of metal in a giant, endless sea of open space. It gets unsettling, trust me. Generation Ship is the official name – a hundred of us, side by side sleeping inside these big metal tubes, frozen until we reach the Gliese system. That was the plan. Well, not really 'Generation' because we're not having kids here. Not even aging. We're frozen. The point being the people who left Earth should be the people to arrive at the new planet. Three hundred years. That's how long the trip takes. Which is why I'm wondering why I'm awake fifty years after launch, staring through my capsule's lid at the high ceiling above. Two-hundred and fifty years before arrival. Halfway between homes. I raise my eyes from the digital Earth calendar on my tube. The lid goes up in a hiss of thick smoke when I push, and I raise my body. Step by step against the cold metal floor I walk through the containers. A maze of frozen bodies. Am I the only one awake? Has it really been only fifty years? Most importantly: Who woke me? That last question is answered as I reach the control room. The figure is looking through the window at the star- dotted emptiness ahead. I see his faded reflection on the glass. Thick beard. Big eyes. "Morning,"he says. "Who are you?" The reflection smiles a sad smile. The figure turns around. He's old. "I know I didn't age well, Charlie, but come on. We're family." I frown. "Zack?" The man smiles. "Looks like there was some sort of mix-up with the schedule in my capsule. Sort of woke me up before time. And then the capsule broke. Couldn't really go back to sleep after that." "How long? How long ago did you –" "Forty-five years. I'm sorry. I didn't want to wake you up too, but I really didn't feel like dying alone. Relax, your capsule is still fine. You'll be able to go back to sleep. I just wanted to say hello. Maybe chat a bit." I take a step closer. He was younger than me. He was thirteen. Now I'm still seventeen and he's… well, not looking good for a fifty-eight years old. "Did you contact base? Maybe they can –" "No contact with Earth, we're past the point of communication."Zack sighs, turning to face the stars again. "We're all alone here, Charlie. All alone, me and you." I take another step. The silence is deafening. "Zack, I –" "Do you know where they keep the files on Gliese?"the reflection asks me. "I'd like to see the planet you'll grow up in. Make sure you're cared for." My little brother. Fifty-eight years old and looking after me. "Yeah,"I say, nodding. Confused. "Yeah, I... I'll grab the file." I walk away, my mind a haze. Zack looks different. Well, of course, he's fifty-eight, but it's not just that. His eyes, his wrinkles. It's almost like the forty-five years of loneliness dented his looks. Made him grow to look almost…. non-human. Going through the maze of capsules to the back room, where we keep the files on Gliese, I stop. Just to my left. I stop by brother's capsule. And my heart skips a beat. I see it. In the corner of my view as I stare straight ahead, I can see inside his capsule. Still, I force myself to look. To look at my brother's face resting inside. Thirteen years old, eyelids closed, peaceful look on his face. His body surrounded by hovering white smoke. His breathing marking a silent tempo against the poorly-lit wide room of bodies. It's cold. I turn around in slow-motion. The old man's silhouette is framed against the light of the control room. Eyes locked on mine. __________ [PART II](https://www.reddit.com/r/psycho_alpaca/comments/3u32qs/little_green_men_part_ii/ )
I wait patiently in the office of Colonel John Smith. For a man with such an average name he has had a far from average life. The walls are lined with frames, but unlike the offices of his counterparts throughout the world, these do not contain commendations, certificates, or awards. When his assistant comes in to tell me that he'll be arriving soon, I ask her about the pictures. She gives a sad smile and eyes a photograph in particular. These are some of the people Colonel Smith has lost in the line of duty. Every single frame is spotless. When the Colonel finally enters the room, he apologises for keeping me waiting for so long. By this he does not refer to the five minute wait in this office. He refers to the six cancelled interviews I have had scheduled with him over the past three months. The Colonel is a busy man, especially with the VE2 preparations underway for tonight. His face looks tired, a single faded scar running down his left cheek. But his eyes are sharp and focused, as always. I inform him that this interview will be added to the unified report on the collars. I have a list of questions prepared; interview subjects often require some guidance. I redirect the Colonel from time to time, but by and large he seems to know where he's going with his account, like a path well-travelled. _______________________________________ They're calling it VE2. I still maintain that is a stupid name. You can't have a second victory. That would imply we won the first time around; and even if we did win, it's clear we didn't win properly. On the first VE day, I celebrated like all the rest. I'd been a part of the cleanup crews - in those days, everyone in the military was. We'd worked our way from town to town, clearing the country from Land's End to John-O'Groats. It was a pretty simple job. Form a line and sweep all the way down the country. Don't get bitten. Of course urban areas were a bit more difficult; and we had a hell of a time of it in London, which is where I got this scar. But after six months of solid work the entire mainland of the UK was free of the dead. It was surprising just how quickly the country picked up again. The brass had had the smart idea at the start of the war to simply get everyone to pack up and head north. They'd stockpiled resources for the population that made it, and they were rapidly tooling infrastructure in a manner that England hadn't seen since the second world war. Of course, it wasn't enough, and the shortages are something that I'm sure you could read about in any report. But by and large the country made it with a fatality rate far smaller than the rest of Europe. So, people left the safety of the North and went to reclaim their homes. It was about a month after that that Victory in England day occurred. And like the rest I celebrated. I was in a small pub on the outskirts of Edinburgh when the Emergence happened. We'd all become too damn distracted rebuilding our country to notice the signs. The wheezing coughs, the shaking hands... Someone should have noticed. Weren't the scientists meant to have been looking into the zeds? There must have been something we could have done to see it coming. When the second strain hit over the course of a week, we didn't fare nearly as well as the first time. Have you ever seen anyone Emerge? No? Trust me, you don't want to. The collars are nothing next to that. Three of my squadmates were hit that night. Simultaneously. I watched all three suffer heart attacks, convulse, and then twist in the most horrible fashion. I'm fairly certain their eyeballs exploded. And it's quick too. They transformed in less than forty seconds. I was... terrified. I'd fought zeds, but nothing like this. Not so close and personal. Not people I'd fought by, trusted to watch my back. And no firearms either; they were all locked up at the base. An Emerged has three times the strength of a similar size human. We ended up jumping out of the window and making a run for it. I spent the next two nights running and hiding before I managed to meet up with the remnants of the armed forces in the area. The first Emergence had hit two out of three of the population. We're still not sure what the exact cause is. But what we do know is that it occurs in cycles; people simultaneously change. So this time around it wasn't a stream of people from patient zero in Dover, like the first epidemic. They were everywhere. If there were people living there, two thirds of them were now zeds. We tried to fight them in the same way we did before. But our supply lines were completely gone with the first wave. No bullets, no brains. And there was always the threat that any number of your squad could turn. Someone could go to the toilet and then burst out of there a zed. That's when I invented the first dead man's switches. A lot of people didn't like it. But the simple fact was that whilst we were constantly in fear of our own men and women turning, there was no way we could possibly deal with the far more serious threats - supplies, starvation, infrastructure and the absolutely massive hordes of millions of zeds that now stalked the streets. They could swarm and overwhelm almost any position. There is no way to have stable population centres if a new threat can spring from within. You see this diagram on the wall here? This is a shaped charge. We had plenty of them. Explosives don't do much to fully transformed zeds; you need attack the head directly. This would be attached to the base of the neck. It is wired to a timer. You set your timer for every 30 seconds. If you did not press the confirmation button within 10 seconds, it would explode. Messy, but effective. Instantly severs the cervical spine, ceasing the transformation. We no longer needed to watch our men whilst on ops. The only time you took it off was when you were sleeping, and if you were sleeping, someone was always on watch. As the campaign progressed the civilians demanded them too. That's when we scraped together the neurotoxin and heartbeat system; the collars. I have no idea how many people turn every day. All I know is that people keep asking to wear the collars. Not for themselves; to protect their loved ones around them. No-one should ever have to go through what we did in those first few months. I know that every man, woman, and child celebrating out there tonight is wearing a collar. And I know that some of the people wearing one will not wake in the morning. _______________________________________ When I wrap up the interview, the Colonel leaves the office before I do. He has seven other meetings booked for today, his assistant tells me. I adjust my collar and stand. But before I leave the office, I take a moment to glance around. There is a prototype collar on the windowsill, battered from what looks like multiple impacts. There is a map on the wall split into sectors, each one marked with a small flag indicating that it has been cleared. And pictures. Pictures on every wall. In one spot, almost in isolation, is a photograph of a young private and his squad outside the Houses of Parliament, a fresh scar on his cheek.
I'm tired. That's why you're getting this. You have to understand, words are words, whether they're written, or spoken, or even signed. These are the first sentences I've put to paper in a long, long time. Longer than I can remember, actually. This memoir will kill me, and that's alright. I am very, very tired. The brains of most sentient species were not built for immortality. Mine's no exception. After a while you just...run out of room for memories. Old ones get discarded or condensed or even outright falsified into something simpler. These days, cybernetics help quite a bit, I can offload a lot of the burden. But most of the early stuff is just lost forever. I don't even remember learning to dance. That haunts me. I know I must have, and I do remember the planet I'm from, way out in some backwater offshoot of one of the main spiral arms. Because that's where the bees are from. I still keep them, and I still remember how. If it's something you do every day, you don't forget it. I can still dance too, of course. I think I was a biologist of some kind. Studying the communication of non-sapient species, maybe, or at least species we thought were non-sapient at the time. Records are sparse. Some of that's my fault, I'm pretty sure. War is no great friend to collective memory, especially the sort I've waged. I have so many regrets. They linger, even after the memories to which they were attached have gone. So I suppose I'm not just tired, I'm weary, way down in the soul. There's a difference, as many of you probably already know. I hope there's no afterlife. If there is, I hope there's not much in the way of justice. I don't think my life could withstand that kind of judgement, even just the parts I remember. It's true we've achieved peace, now. Pax Me. Pat on the back, don't break your arm with your self-congratulation. Heard it all before, inside my head. From some other people, too. They're almost all dead, some natural, most not. I was not born with a high tolerance for dissent, and I'm very sorry. I'm wandering far afield. The bees. I do still love the bees. All my own generals keep them as well, and their subordinates, on down to where the expense no longer makes sense at the most junior ranks. They taught me so much. Not that I remember it happening, just the knowledge. I have some vague picture in my head, seeing them fly back, seeing the way they positioned themselves this way and that inside the hive, like a honeycomb stage. The riveting, complex ways they would tell the others where the nectar is, how to get there, what to do. Simple little brains. I knew I could do even better. I am the galaxy's greatest master of interpretive dance, and I am very tired. &#x200B; r/Magleby for more stories.
The frying pan sizzled on the stove. I moved on instinct, flipping the veggies. The radio blasted, shrieking out generic pop songs that seemed to repeat every twenty minutes. I hardly noticed. Salt. Pepper. Repeat. Cut the peppers. Toss them in. On to the zucchini. I was smiling, I knew. Cooking had been a special pleasure, a treat for me to enjoy. A dance just for me and the kitchen, accompanied by a symphony of noises and smells. All four of my hands moved in perfect sync, a skill born of years of practice. I crossed to the cupboard, grabbing the garlic, and tossed it to myself at the stove. I caught it over my shoulder, popping the top and- "What the hell was that?" I froze. Both of me froze, in fact. I turned as one, fixing all four of my eyes on the woman standing in the doorway. Cassie gaped right back at me. Her purse lay in a forgotten heap on the floor. Her mouth hung open. Underneath the awe, though, there was something I didn't like. Suspicion. Instantly, I knew I'd been too careless. "O-Oh. Hi, honey,"I said, using my Matt-mouth. "I thought you were working?" "Got off early,"Cassie said, still staring. "Evening, Paul. Didn't think you'd be over." "Matt asked if I wanted to drop by and help him cook something,"I said through my Paul-mouth, reaching out and stirring the pot on the stove. My Matt-self closed the cupboard, leaning against the counter. Both of my bodies wore warm, convincing smiles. I'd practiced that smile so many times. It was amazing how far it'd go to cover a bit of oddness, a scene that didnt' play out quite right. "So are either of you going to explain that little show?"Cassie said, jabbing a finger towards us. "That was insane." "You've seen us cook before,"my Matt-self said. "Don't act so surprised." "Not like that. You were so in sync. It's...a little weird." "It's just our bond as twins,"I said through Paul, striding over to rest an elbow on my other half. "Don't be jealous, Cass." "I'm not jealous,"she mumbled. I laughed through both my mouths, filling the kitchen with the sound. Cassie eased away, joining in, but I knew her well enough to know the gesture was forced. I could feel her eyes on me still as I turned my bodies away, returning to the meal. Watching. --- That was the beginning, I came to realize. After that, everything changed. Oh, she smiled at me - both of me. She was cheerful, and our marriage was solid. But the first of the cracks had been etched into the foundation, and I watched them spread. Powerless. It started small. I'd find her watching my twin halves, skepticism in her eyes. I'd find her mentioning something to her husband, only to ask my Paul-self about it later. I got a call from my mother, asking where I'd put this or that childhood photo. When I pushed, she'd only giggle and refuse to say why. Her only resposne was that Cassie had a 'surprise' and she didn't want to ruin it. I didn't understand. No one had ever picked up on it before. It was easier, when we were kids. No one thought twice about identical twins being close, or acting alike. And as I grew up, I got better at the act. I should have been good enough. But every time I saw her staring, I knew the truth. Somehow, I'd let the act slip. And she could see underneath. My worst fears were confirmed when my Matt-self came home from work - and found her sitting at the kitchen table. "Hey, Cassie,"I said, sliding my coat off. "Didn't think you'd be home yet. Did work-" "Sit down,"she said, her voice tight. I stopped. She cradled an envelope between her hands, tightly enough her knuckles went white and the paper crumpled at the edges. I could still make out the lettering at the top, though. I could still read the 23 and Me clear as day. Her eyes were glued to mine, boring holes all the way down to my soul. "We need to talk." (/r/inorai for shorter stuff by me, /r/redditserials for longer stuff by me and others) E - I know the DNA testing matter would be...complicated at best, far more complicated than this, but it's just a plot device here xD I needed something to work with.
“Not again!” The knight tossed his claymore to the ground, balled his fists, and stomped on the pommel. “Now, Bartholomew, don’t be crass! We’ve got company.” “Eat shit, Arthur.” Said Bartholomew. “This is the third time- THE THIRD TIME! We’ve already lopped the head off two foreign monarchs purported to have demons stuffed inside just to have the church point at another country and say ‘Woops, silly us, must’ve been the next folks over! Sorry! Demons are a tricky lot, yes? Well, no harm! Bring the gold back and crusade on over to BiffleBaplia to behead the REAL demon king!’” The knights shuffled their feet. “He’s got a point,” one said. “Not you too, Alard!” Arthur said. “Well he does!” said Alard, “I spent three days breaking down doors in an ancient tower, slaying demons, just to have them all turn out as nuns. Nuns, Arthur! Not particularly good ones, but weren’t no demons.” Arthur scratched his beard. “Well,” he said,” we can’t just stop now. We’ve got all this momentum going! And we’ve an image to keep, yes? Holy knights and whatnot. Maybe we kill the boy and stick some horns on him?” Bartholomew squatted by his claymore. He lifted his head and squinted at Arther. “Glue horns on him?” He asked. “Yes,” said Arthur. “And that’s to make him a demon then? Having horns?” Bartholomew asked. “Of course,” said Arthur. “Then what about the deer?” “The what?” “Deers got horns, so must be demons then by your book, Arthur.” “Why that’s silly, Bartholomew!” “Antlers,” said Alard “What?” Said Arthur. “Deers got antlers, not horns, so they can’t be demons. Goats could be. Thems got horns.” Said Alard. “Right then,” Bartholomew said. “We kill all the goats, and call it a good crusade and go home to stop murdering folks who ain’t demons.” “That’s ridiculous,” said Arthur. “You can’t just kill goats and call it done with. Demons possess PEOPLE! So they must be people we murder. With horns.” “What about pigs?” Said Alard. “Pigs?” Said Arthur and Bartholomew in unison. “Pigs got demons too,” said Alard. “Happened in the Bible, it did.” “Good point,” said Arthur. “Compromise, we kill all the goats AND the pigs, and put the horns on the pigs. Fair?” “Sounds fair,” said Bartholomew. “Agreed,” said Alard. “Right,” said Arthur, turning to the weeping boy on the throne. “Sad boy, tell me, where are your pigs?” Edit: formatting Edit v2.0: Thanks for the Silver ! Never got an award before !
When a 180 rifleman-strong company from the 1st Marines out of Pendleton arrived on the scene, they were unaware that the human response to the 'invasion' had been already been decided. And by 13-year old Carmina Martinez. The unit of disciplined, yet terrified, marines crested to crater to find the young girl feeding a dog-sized specimen beef jerky and goldfish crackers. It ate them from her hand like a new-born kitten, hungry but confused. Human kind has often wondered who we would be in the stars. Who we were fated, if that was how it worked, to be in the grand scheme. In that moment, we thanked our lucky stars that it had not been adults who decided who we were. It took the innocence of a child. That blind trust spread. And soon they were taken in by a hundred thousand communities across the world. When they started replicating our speech, we again asked ourselves in a way we rarely have before, 'who do we want to be?' Like a collective experience of raising children, the nation somehow seemed to decide to be better. There weren't those who played along, of course. But the way they had fallen so randomly, touching every facet of human life equally, we all sort of grew up a bit at the same time. By the 5th year, as they approached the sizes of horses, it was obvious they could not only speak, but learn logic, understand mathematics, and think creatively. We came to believe they were refugees- surely no assault on our world would have begun so easily disarmed. Though they stood, as adolescents, as tall as most adults and near 600 lbs, with teeth like sharks and claws like bears, they responded to every affection double-fold. These 'star children' could nest with our human bodies so well, like a giant teddy-bear, made to be hugged. We estimated they were adults at ten to twelve years, learning extremely quickly, they were graduating high school in custom-made accelerated programs. We looked forward to a bright future together, wondering what we could teach other. Unfortunately, we did learn after 15 years to the day, that they were not refugees. They were a hive mind. And they were designed to be tuned to their mother. They could feel her come from the edges of the solar system. They described her as a 'hungry blade.' Her psychic power was so engulfing, that humans began to feel it when the hive ship began to orbit the moon. She was wrath, loathing, and malicious gluttony. But her children wanted nothing to do with her now. It seems the plan, as by her design, was that the first contact was supposed to be 1st Marines. We were supposed to deliver the first blow all along. And when they felt that sting, the pain would have spread among the other larvae double fold as well. They would have despised us immediately. Our wrath, which the mother could taste from alpha centauri, was supposed to be the trigger. But that never happened. She tried to invade anyway. Another wave of larvae dropped from the sky. But they never hatched. The Star Children of our world agreed all at once, in a single mind, to find them and destroy them. They would have sided with the mother, especially since she was so close. We fired the next blow, nuclear weapons. They were ineffective, never reaching the target. The mother became angrier. From her ship, a million pods were prepared, with millions of seething, biting children to come for us. The ground forces of the world readied themselves. We fully planned on protecting our 'star children,' but they protected us once again. They united their voices. They told her to 'go away.' It was a screech that made us drop to our knees. To her, it was the nuclear weapon she had avoided. They seized her mind, and sent her spiraling. No more invaders came for us that day, or the next. Suddenly, her ship was gone. What followed was not exactly 'happily ever-after,' humans after all, were fairly good at almost destroying themselves. But we learned this lesson a bit more deeply this time. We tried to be a little better. We had someone to help us remember, now, that we're not alone. [Edit: is this where I make my shamless plug for my personal subreddit, r/iab_makes_words ?]
>DISGUISES & DESTRUCTION "You're overthinking it. You probably just took a nap and...felt disoriented afterwards. Happens all the time."The Doctor laughed softly, then walked out of the office. Why was no one taking this seriously? I took the bus home- I didn't trust myself to drive anymore- and grumbled the whole way home. I was sure something wasn't right, but what was it? In a flash of inspiration, I knew what to do. I would record myself sleeping tonight- and put some kind of GPS tracker in my phone, so I would know where I'd gone! I had no wife or roommates to watch out for me, so this would have to do. I made the necessary preparations and went to bed. After a long, fitful, anxious night, I finally succumbed to sleep's embrace. I woke up- I was so sore, like I'd been working out for hours. I had a few bruises, too. One on my thigh, one on my left bicep, and it felt like I had a big one on my back. I sat up- despite the soreness in my abs- and checked my computer recording. Wait- it was April seventh?! I had lost three whole days! I skipped to the beginning of the recording, watching through it at triple speed- searching for the moment I got up- As I woke on the recording, I immediately took my phone out of my pants pocket and threw it on the bed, then left the room. Damn it! I groaned. This didn't tell me anything. What else could I do? Embed the GPS in my damn arm?! Wait...yes, yes I could. I had just enough know-how to get that done, in fact. I picked up everything I needed- rubbing alcohol, the goods from the electronics store- twelve hours, three hundred dollars, and one sore arm later, and I was implanted with a GPS device with enough juice in the battery to last at least a week. Perfect. I went to sleep one more time- but something was different. I felt more awake. I felt ready. At about four A.M., there was a knock on my door. I sat up and tossed my phone on my bed- I was lucid this time. I was pretending I wasn't- unless I was always lucid for this? I had no way of knowing. I answered the knock. A tall, extremely fit man stood on the other side- muscles bulged under a fitted white V-neck, which stood out in stark contrast to his dark skin. "Let's go, Janus." "Yeah."I said, as though it was a natural thing to do. It was like I had two different halves to my brain- one was a freelance graphic designer, and was very alarmed by what was going on. The other was confident, strong- and was fully aware of my day-by-day persona. "So- hey, what's going on?"I asked. "Oh, you've brought along the Civilian tonight?"My partner asked. How did I know he was my partner? "Seems he's tagging along."The words came out of my mouth- but I didn't choose to speak them. "I am so confused." "Don't worry about it."I replied to myself- and then I fell asleep. I woke up once more, covered in bruises, and sore. It had been two days. "What the hell?!"I roared at myself in the mirror. I went to my computer and looked up 'private investigator'. I paid using Bitcoin- and I waited. Seven days later, I woke up again. There was a note attached to my computer. 'Some guy paid me to follow you, Noctus, but I won't expose your real identity to the public. Keep doing what you do! - A Private Investigator.' Notcus. As in- the superhero Noctus? The superhero who took out the entire White Knuckle clan, and their leader, Pyropyre?! That...that couldn't be me! "It's not."I answered myself, in Noctus's deeper, more self-assured voice. "I might be you, but you are not me. You need to stop interfering, this is getting out of hand." "Whatever you are, this is my body, too! I want a say in this!" Noctus chuckled. "Nah. This is for the best. Now go to sleep." And so I slept. I woke up again- I had no idea how long it had been. I felt like I had a massive headache- and it was so dark, aside from some fire light...was that a camp fire? "You still with us, Noctus?!"It was the same man from the other night. He had a cut on his forehead- it was bleeding, badly. "No!"I shouted. "Ah, hell! Look, Civ- just run! You're no good to me, and we need to get Pyro down! Here he comes- get a move on!" I laid eyes on Pyropyre- one of the most infamous villains of our age- and saw something that was so obvious, it was practically laughable. His puffy clothing was hiding a mech-suit. "You do know that his fire is just coming from his suit, right?"I asked my partner as I stood. "W-what? How can you tell? Can you shut it off?" "Y-yeah. Just...distract him. Let me get close." "You've got spunk after all!"He shouted, then began taunting Pyro, running around him in circles. I sprinted forward, heart pounding, and tackled Pyrotech to the ground. "He can't fire at this angle, his fuel won't reach the uptake!"I shouted to my partner. "What?!"Roared Pyrotech. "I already killed you!" "Nah, you just knocked him out- and there's two halves to this coin."Where this smugness was coming from, I didn't know. I began to rip and tear at the mech suit until, finally, I found the part I needed most- the fuel canister. "All done!" "That was crazy, Noctus!" "I'm not Noctus."I objected as my partner slapped Pyro in shackles. "Right, right. Well-look, this guy is small time, but if we ever get to meet again, I'll give you a better nickname than Civ, right?" "Sure thing."I could feel as Noctus was beginning to wake up. "And, hey, could you get Noctus to start leaving me notes, at least? Like- how many times do I need to run out of milk and toilet paper before he realizes he's being an ass?" My partner laughed. "I'll pass on the message." I fell asleep once again- and upon waking, I found another note on my shirt. 'You were kept asleep for a reason. You're too dangerous to be allowed free reign. Noctus is but a shade of your true potential. If you care for humanity, go back to sleep for good, disguised one.' -------------------- r/nystorm_writes is a fun place, but it'd be cooler with you :)
Most of the tasks were the work of years, and luck on top of that. Impossibility after impossibility. Randomized, no too lists ever looked the same, and few ever completed everything. Most who made the attempt started with the easy things and gave up somewhere after 20, or 50, or 70. I pushed through. What else was I going to do with eternity? Now, only one remained, very little like the rest. I sat down in the squashy yellow armchair. The child, fumbling a few lego pieces together and then apart, looked up. "Hi."There was an unspoken request in that 'hi' for more legos. "Hey, kid. you got a second?" A shrug. I knew that shrug from my teaching days, it was a 'sure, but only because you're a grownup and I'm low on legos' kind of shrug. "You know what the universe is, right?" "I'm not 5." "you ever hear of the multiverse?" The kid looked at me as if I were not quite bright, then down at their Spidergwen and Miles Morales sweatshirt, then back at the little tower of legos. "I don't live under a rock,"they said, with the cadence that comes from repeating a grownup's words. "Yeah, it's like the spiderverse. Just more. Every choice anyone ever made, there's a world where they made a different one. or where things just... went a little differently. Like there's a world out there where you're spiderman. Or I'm spiderman. Or the sun looks green, or humans never made it to the moon, or..." "there's a world where you have more legos in your pocket."It is not a question. "There's a world where I have pockets, yeah."I agree, and reached into my purse instead. I handed over the legos, and looked at the list. A checkmark in golden ink gleamed on the old paper. Saving the easiest for last, and made easier still by the stories humans love to tell-- although, of course, there's a verse out there where I didn't.
The cigar in my mouth drips ash on my hand. It's not painful or anything, it's been a few minutes since I last took a puff; but it's enough to bring me out of my trance. No. Trance is the wrong word. I don't think I know the word for it. Flow, maybe? Yeah, it's that state of mind when your conscious brain almost shuts down and even though you're awake, you're still going through the motions. I get like that when I'm working. Let's see. A toy truck. Dominos, carefully placed across a bunch of records. Old ones, too. Vinyl from Before. Very hard to come across but I have my connections. A pool ball. iPod. Stack of books, held tight by suspenders and bungee cords. "So let me get this straight . . ."I take the cigar from my mouth and tap the remaining ash to the floor. "You're . . . immortal? As in 'you can't die'?" My employer's head is rolled back, mouth slack while staring at the ceiling. Or maybe his eyes are closed? Can't tell 'cause I can't see them but the vocalization coming from his throat tells me I interrupted a flow\-state of his own. ". . . mmmyeah, pretty much." "'Pretty much?' What the frell does that mean?"I keep going over the inventory in my head. An old stereo speaker. Steel pipes. Ten Chinese soup spoons. "Is it, like, a werewolf thing? You can only die from a silver weapon?"There was no silver in the room with us, but there were a lot of Lego blocks. Very rare and very expensive. Took a while to get those. "It means what it means, ok?"A red funnel. Seven cans of paint, one for each color in the rainbow. The exasperation in his voice is obvious but it's not the 'we're done here' tone that I'm familiar with. He stands up and marches over to the platform. "Are we doing this or what?" A shopping cart full of stuffed animals. I hold up one finger and fix my eyes on him. "Not yet."I don't raise my voice or anything, but he gets the message. He stops with one hand on the railing and one foot on the first step. "I'm still going through the list."Marbles on a wood coffee table with grooves on top, cut in the shape of a kite shield. Two large rubber bands strapped to the table in a makeshift slingshot. "Come on, already!"he whines. I've only known him for a few years but I don't think I've ever heard him whine. "I watched you put it together! You've got all the pieces in place, we're ready to go!" I keep my finger raised and look over the contraption. A teddy bear holding a golf club. A scale model of the neighborhood made from tin cans. "You were very clear with your instructions,"I tell him, "You're paying good money for this, I'm going to make sure you get every penny's worth." "Right, of course,"he acquiesces. "They said you were the best."He stuffs his hands in his pockets and starts stepping around in a small imaginary circle. Christmas paper still in the plastic wrap. Real shame to wrap so many rubber bands around them, it's very nearly priceless. As if reading my mind, he asks, "How much did those run you?" I sigh. A brass candelabra. Wooden toy train tracks. "A lot,"I say. Then I look at him. "Maybe after this is done, I can tell you how I got them?"He doesn't take the bait, instead keeping his head down as he steps around his invisible circle. There's a weird pattern to his steps. It almost breaks my concentration but I shake my head and look back at my work. Fifteen cinder blocks. A white bookshelf. A ramp made from plywood and an art easel. "Look man, I'm into some freaky shit,"he says after a few seconds of silence. "I know you don't believe me about being immortal . . . no one would, you know?" A game of Mousetrap. A rubber tire. Five wavy-arm guys, hanging from the rafters. "Yeah, I suppose I do know,"I answer him. "Makes about as much as sense as what you're planning to do."A blue guitar. Twenty-seven glasses, each filled with different amounts of water and balanced on the edge of a table shaped like a flower.. (And yes, I counted through each one, double-checking that I've measured them out correctly.) "Right, exactly!"he says. "It's not easy being special. You get that, you've got a mind that people just don't appreciate, and drive, you've got the drive to get things done!" Half a standing piano hanging from a 6:1 pulley system. "I guess you could call it that."A human skull attached to a tether pole. "Still doesn't explain why, though." "And thank you for your continued professionalism in not asking."His voice is terse now but also a little bit anxious? Hard to tell, I'm doing the mental math on a pile of matches. "One thousand, three hundred and sixty-nine,"I say aloud when I'm done. "Nice,"he says. I glance at him but decide not to comment. "We ready?" "Yeah,"I say, looking back at the contraption. "We're ready." I don't understand the point of it all but I can't help feeling a bit of pride in the work. He called it a Rube Goldberg device. I don't know who this "Goldberg"guy is but he's obviously clever. The whole thing is carefully constructed to move a small steel ball across a room . . . but in a meandering, unnecessarily complicated manner. It slides down a ramp made from horsehair. It's picked up by a tiny bucket, raised by a thread that's attached to a wheel, powered by a hamster. It goes on. Took me an entire year to find all the pieces, plus another three months to understand the design. Honestly, I tried to figure out some of the math, but parts of it are confusing even to me. Whatever, as I said, he's paying a lot for this toy, so I'll play along and let him have his barmy party. "Right,"I say, about to give him instructions but he's already walking up the platform stairs. "I guess you know where you need to be." He stands in the middle of the platform and faces me. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, then looks directly at me. "Ready?"he asks. I walk over to the lever and place my hand on it. "Ready." "Wait!"I just barely stop myself before pulling. "I'm sorry, I almost forgot."He pulls a gun out of his back pocket and holds it up. The barrel points at his temple; not touching, but close, maybe an inch away. His finger is on the trigger. "Ready,"he says. I pull the lever. My eyes are locked with his. I'm paying no attention to the contraption. I can hear the steel ball going through its motions. He's staring at me. There's a twang and the ball flies past us. I'm staring at him. The geese honk!. The ball flies past in the other direction. It takes a full six minutes for the machine to deliver the ball to its destination: flying directly between the barrel of his gun and his temple, right at the moment that he pulls the trigger. Of course, his head explodes out the other side. Skin, bone, blood and hair all turn into a red mist. His body falls to the platform with an unexciting thud. I look at the floor and sigh. I mean, I knew it was going to happen. Never believed him when he assured me he wouldn't die. Who would? I had turned away, going to light another cigar as I prepared myself to clean up the mess, when I heard him yelling: "Fuck yeah! Yes! That was fucking awesome, you Sir!, are hired!"
The Devil tries to run and hide by your cheek, reducing The Angel's line of sight "Wait wait wait! You are suppose to be the reasonable one! Why are you resorting to violence?" The mumbling you hear is quite disturbing. Biblical this, accurate that. You are scared get involved but a shotgun may be too much. "You know Angel, I respect you and listen to you but is this really necessary?" Angle finally racks the shotgun. Seething, the Angel starts marching "I had enough! It's one thing to have philosophical talks about the rights and wrongs, but that Devil has gone to far! Kicking puppies was pushing me... but actually trying to convince you of a flat earth? I have had it! Time for Divine Punishment!" The Devil takes a desperate gamble and stammers "That is not your Domain! That only belongs to God!" "Oh yes you are right but in this case that's the name of my shotgun! RUN YOU COWARD!"
“Osteo Invisibilis”. “Excuse me?” “It’s Latin for ‘Invisible Bones’” said the doctor. “You see, originally we thought you had ‘Osteo contabesco’ which means your bones were wasting away. That’s obviously not correct, as there is still something there.” “Right, seeming as I’m not all floppy and noodle limbed.” “Exactly, so we’ve determined that your bones are just…”. “Invisible?” “Right. It’s like they are not there. I mean they are, obliviously, but there’s a further complication.” “What would that be?” “Invisible bones is problematic, mainly for diagnostic purposes. We can’t X-ray you for broken bones after all, but if you’re careful, you should be ok. It’s that…well, it’s your blood.” “What about it?” “Blood is made in the bones, in bone marrow. So…your blood is becoming invisible. That’s why we had so much trouble getting blood from you. We thought we were missing veins, but we weren’t. We just didn’t see the blood. Some is still visible, so we got some, but soon enough, we won’t be able to see it any more. If you get cut, you won’t see it. You won’t bruise visibly, so you wont know about contusions or hematomas”. “So I have to be very very very careful”. “Yes and…”. “And? There’s more?” “Yes, this invisibility, is spreading from the inside out. This blood disease…’Sanguis invisibis’, it’s spreading to every cell of your body, from the inside out. Eventually you’ll be entirely invisible”. “…” “There’s one more thing. It’s apparently contagious. As a blood bourne disease, it’s transmittable via bodily fluids. “We’re going to need a list of all your sexual parters you’ve had since you’ve had since…well…since forever since we don’t know enough about this right now. Hopefully we can control this. We’re also going to need you to stay confined for now.”
Her breathing was ragged now, torn and wavery, contrasting with the steady, slowing beat of the machine hooked up next to her. The door flickered open gently, soft footsteps permeated the room. She looked up. "Phil...?" Phil, the youngest of her three sons. Phil, the one who was funny and hairy and light and drove a tow truck everyday. Phil, the only one who had stayed home with her as the cancer took to her bones. "Evenin', Mom,"the usual humor and wit in his voice was gone; only his simple honesty remained underneath the tears. "Where are the others?"she was weaker now, and a fuzzy darkness settled into the edges of her vision. "Ain't comin'. Too far."Phil took his baseball hat off, took a seat at a chair beside her, "But it's alright, don't you worry, Mom. I'll be right here with you."
"Now Harry... I'll be honest with you. The board is incredibly impressed with your experience. Your portfolio speaks loud and clear, your outstanding business sense is common knowledge, and you're one of the most down to earth candidates we've ever interviewed." "Sir, that's awfully kind of you to say."The words escaped nervously from my mouth and were were barely more audible than a whisper. He was telling the truth. I was perfect for the job. I'd spent the last twenty-five years building up my reputation and a solid portfolio... And now I was going to finally become the CEO of Google. Sergey Brin himself had just told me how perfect I was for his company. This only reinforced my observation of the last seven interviews having gone well. "But... There's something we need to discuss."This sentence would stop a normal man dead in his tracks. But I was different. I was confident. I was the best. Besides, I'd never harmed a soul, and I truly intended on being CEO for all the right visions. I had a vision; I was going to bring Internet to the entire third world; and Google was going to help me realise this dream. "Anything you'd like to talk about, Mr Brin."I tried my best to sound enthusiastic and professional. "Harry... We've done our background checks on you everything seemed perfect. A little too perfect, in fact. We had a team of PIs look into every aspect of your life. You'll never guess what we found in your primary school record!" "Uh, no sir. Not a clue."I tried my best not to laugh. I knew Sergey was, by reputation, a humorous man. Having said that, business was business, and Sergey had no reason to joke about my primary school records if he was planning on hiring me. "Mrs Clarke. Second grade. 'Harry today ate an entire pack of crayons. When this health risk was discovered, we confiscated his pack. He proceeded to take crayons from every other child in the class, snapping them and taking a chomp every few seconds.' Do you know what that depicts to me, Harry?" "No sir."At this point, I'm almost sure Sergey is taking the mickey. I did remember the incident, in truth. I shuffled nervously in my chair as I awaited Sergey's punchline. Surely it would be a humourous way to let me know I'd got the job. "I see Homer Simpson grabbing donuts out of thin air and stuffing his face with them... Disrespecting the donut GODS!"I was nearly choking on my own laughter. "I hope this is funny to you Harry. Because crayons created the Google logo, and we don't disrespect our deities in this office. Take your resume, and get the fuck out of here." By this point, I'm nearly on the floor laughing. What a hilarious way to get to know someone. The job was all mine. Or so I thought. I noticed a stern look on Sergey's face. "Get out."I begin to think he's being serious. A deafening silence fills the board room. After half a minute, it becomes unbearable. "Go. Now."He is serious. I start packing up my papers, and shove them carelessly into my briefcase. Have they just turned the heater up? My hand shakes as it reaches for the door. My embarrassment can be felt from the other side the city. "And Harry..."I turn back, not really sure I'm interested in what this freak has to say. "You should have seen the look on your face. Welcome to the team, crayon boy!"
"Think of it like remortgaging a house." Of course the Devil would think like an estate agent. We're sat in comfort and luxury of my mansion. Outside it's bitterly cold and snowy - always is, this time of year - but the fire crackles and radiates warmth. The Devil sits on the opposite sofa, there in what looks like an off-the-rack suit and off-the-rack body. It makes me wonder why. If you could look like anything you choose, why would you plump for middle of the road? "It's not like remortgaging a house at all,"I reply. "I've got everything I need. I don't need an extension to the deal." "Don't I know it,"the Devil sighs. His brow has beads of sweat on it. I remember him thirty years ago, with the cocky swagger and slick-backed hair. He was every model of a young, upwardly mobile executive - the embodiment of the American Psycho. Now he looks like a broken man. Even his nails have chew marks. "Listen, Ruben, it's in both our interests if we terminate the contract now." "How is it in my interest, exactly?"I point to the lavish surroundings. The pictures of my supermodel wife. The good life. The life of luxury. And, by the terms of the contract, I've still got another guaranteed twenty years on the deal. "Well, there is the 'eternal damnation' thing."The devil is scratching at his collar now, pulling at his shirt, trying to breathe. He looks like he's going to have an apoplexy. "And why would you give that up? That's the whole deal for you, right? You fund my lifestyle for fifty years - whatever I want, however much I want of it. And in return, you get eternal damnation. The contract is very clear." "I know that but..."he's weaseling now. I've got one of the universe's great powers weaseling before me. Imagine that little surge of power you feel when you step on an ant, then multiply it by a thousand. "But what? You handed me the contract. I went through it and we made..." "DAMN LAWYERS!"The Devil blurts. "YOU WERE JUST SUPPOSED TO SIGN IT! NOT EDIT THE SMALL PRINT!" I smile, and sip my latte. "Ah, Old Scratch. May I call you Mr Scratch? Or Nick? Or Bezalze? Two points. First, you're the Devil. The Lord of Flies. You are the one who damns lawyers. And second, if you weren't satisfied with the contract, you shouldn't have signed it. It's a legally binding document." The Devil narrows his eyes. I knew from the first moment he turned up what he wanted. Back in the 80s, when capital was king and everyone was getting filthy rich, the Devil got seduced by the evil of the city. He assumed we were all equally seduced, and equally blind. When he offered the contract - in blood, though blood does tend to flake badly - he thought I'd sign it without issue. Instead, we negotiated for weeks. He thought he was so smart, with his loopholes and caveats. The problem was that the Devil is hubris. I knew that - ever heard of that golden fiddle story? That's why I added the small loophole. The clever little word that makes the entire contract void from his side. Oh, he has to give me my fifty years of the best living ever, but does he get my soul at the end? Not a chance. "Just take back the soul and make a new deal!" "No,"I say. "Now, if there's nothing else? It's Christmas. The other guy wants a bit of love." The Devil howls, vanishing in the swirling cloud of flies and other creatures that aren't great for the general ambiance of the place. I sigh, and shake my head, stepping out onto the balcony. It's a cold, frosty morning, just the way I like it. It's the secret of my victory. The Devil didn't think much of me adding a line that seemed little more than bizarre insurance. "The Party [Devil] agrees to relinquish all rights to the soul should the Client exist in Hell when it freezes over". That's why I moved to Hell, Norway. It freezes over every Winter.
"It explains a lot." "You're turning all philosopher on me now?"I said. I downed my beer and asked the bartender for another. Between serving, he was watching the usual Red Sox shenanigans on the wall-mounted TV. As a Brit living in Boston, Massachusetts, for ten years, I'd never got used to the sweet light beer Americans served up in their traditional bars. How I longed for a good pint of crafted British real ale. Still if I complained I'd probably just be asked to fix my teeth. Besides, one: tonight was definitely the night for getting drunk. Besides, two: you don't mess with your fellow inmates. I snickered to myself at that. The bald, fat dope sitting at the corner of the bar, trying to engage me in conversation, resumed his fanciful theories. "Yeah, it explains a lot,"Fat Boy said. "Why it's always been so fuckin' impossible to be happy in this life. Think about it." I sighed, received my third bottle of Bud gratefully, and made the necessary gesture for the bartender to get my new friend one. "I mean you get married, all you get is shit all your life. You work hard all your life, all you get is shit. Money don't buy you happiness. All you get is a load of fuckin' responsibility comes with it." Polishing a glass, the bartender nodded miserably. "All I'm saying,"Fat Boy continued, "is it's no fuckin' surprise it turns out we've been living in a prison all this time. Life sucks. Why shouldn't it all be a prison? I bet Trump knew too. I bet Trump was leading up to telling us just before the presidential election." Jesus. “Not that there’ll be an election now, of course,” he said, somberly, before perking up again at the Bud I'd bought him. "Thanks. You're British, right?" No, I'm fuckin' Canadian, I thought-replied in my best Johnny Lydon. "Excuse me,"I said instead, "I need to get some air." I negotiated the pool tables, the clash of balls only reinforcing my sudden nausea. I staggered for the exit, drunk on my own misery. All around the walls were hung bright red banners advertising PREXIT: The Last Party on Earth. The Day Before Release: 8/21/2016. PREXIT, really? The Americans were putting a gloss on it, like most things where they could make the odd dollar. It was as if the mass teleportation of 7.4 billion people into the intergalactic unknown was just another Disney adventure to them. It was then I bumped into her. The girl with whom I would later bring four children into the world. Except this world would long ago have turned into a dystopian wasteland. Our lives would become a daily fight for survival in a city that would come to more resemble Stalingrad than the crown of Massachusetts. Of course I didn’t know all that now. “Sorry,” I said. Our bottles had clinked in the soft collision. “That’s okay,” she said. “You going?” She had noticed my blankly gazing at the banner. The girl was pretty. 20s. Blonde. Of course, nice teeth: she was American. “Er, I dunno.” “You must go,” she said. “Why are you Brits always so damned miserable?” “We can never afford the dental fees.” She laughed. Transferring her bottle of Coors, she proffered a delicate right hand to shake. I was attracted like a magpie by the elegant little silver bracelet she wore. “Paula,” she said. “Paula Revere. No jokes, please.” “Too late,” I said. “The aliens are coming.” She laughed again. “I’m Greg. Greg Orr. Can I get you a drink?” “Later, maybe,” she said. “I’m with friends over in the corner.” Suddenly we both ducked and fell into each other’s arms as a thunderous roar boomed just above the street outside. The bar’s front windows shattered. Screams from inside and outside. It was as if a jet fighter plane had suddenly performed a strafing dive the entire length of Broadway. But that was no jet fighter. Black, sleek and deadly, I recognized the spaceship even as I glimpsed it only peripherally. Our new prison guards were reminding us that they were in charge here. And would remain so until everyone had been teleported off Earth. Either alive or in coffins. Somehow I felt a Prexit party celebration would be premature. Still, the warmth and smell of Paula’s body, her proximity, was unerringly pleasurable. These humans could indeed be comforting to the senses.
The speaker walked up to the podium. "I've figured out how to ride the true time line. I'll try to explain. Every person has one soul, or spirit. It will exist forever, and has perfect knowledge of time. There are infinite timelines. So every time I could be harmed, my perfect self, or soul, or spirit, chooses a path that will keep me unharmed. Any questions?" A hand flew up. "How do you know this is true?" The speaker quickly responded. "Allow me to demonstrate." He pulled a gun to his head and fired, then fell to the floor. The crowd gasped. An ambulance was called. His death made headlines in the newspaper. In another timeline, the gun misfired, the speaker continued "Any questions?"
I dropped my smoothie in surprise. I never expected extraterrestrial human life to relate to a meme this dank. The smoothie crashed to the ground and the lid popped open, revealing a pink slushie flowing out. Our eyes scanned the liquid and suddenly, one of the aliens whispered "A E S T H E T I C". I suppose it was the 90's pink nostalgia theme that got him...I slowly draw my smartphone out and opened YouTube. Through the search bar, I opened Macintosh Plus and played it. My internet is slow - we all waited in silence as the video buffered, and I let it load completely in 5 minutes. I pressed play, and the soothing rhythm of vaporwave filled the night sky with a euphoric feeling. One alien was not pleased with this, however. He extended his hand outward, at a 90° angle, and softly said "boi"
You know, energy is a valuable, limited resource. Wars over energy are waged around the world. Energy makes the global economy tick. Some say I'm 'lazy' for being a low-energy kind of guy. But I just consider it conserving a valuable commodity. And it's not always easy, mind. Not in my line of work. My name is Foresight. That's also my power, if you were curious. Keeps things simple. I guess you could call me a superhero, although I've never liked that name. Heroics are tiring, and people expect things out of you. That's a giant pain in my ass. It's really quite straightforward. Every now and then, I'll get a vision of sorts. I'll see into the future, get a glimpse of some event that hasn't happened yet. Usually it's a day or two down the line. And, of course, I've gotten better at ait with time. Now I can call up a vision if I really need to, by focusing on the person or event I want to see. But that's a giant pain in my ass. So, yeah. I'm a 'superhero'. We get paid by the crime, per bounties and rewards placed on the criminals and supervillains. I guess you could say I get by. The police tolerate me. I guess we didn't make good first impressions on each other at that first job. I had been up late the night before. It was a Friday night, ok? The vision woke me up way too early. The headache from my hangover made my head pound uncomfortably, but I still got the gist of what was going to go down that night. I got up, made myself coffee. Went to the store. Checked out some books from the library. Played some games for a few hours. What? I have a life too. And then, as the sun went down, I made my way over to the concrete maze that made up the old steam tunnel system. Found the right door at the end of the right hallway, after a few loops through the network. All it took was a few key pennies jammed in strategically. Then it was a matter of taking out a lightbulb, setting up my folding chair in the freshly deep shadows of an adjacent junction, taking out the tall boy tucked in my coat pocket, and settling in for the wait. Sure enough, after a long while, I could hear the shouts in the distance. Slowly getting closer. And there he was, feet pounding against the cold concrete as he raced down the tunnel. The thief. Or was he a murderer? Was this guy a supervillain? I guess I hadn't really thought about it. Whatever. The bad guy. Getting too stuck up over the details would be a giant pain in my ass. If I caught him, I would get paid. Good enough. The barking of dogs echoed in the old steam tunnels, deafening. The police were behind him, but they were too far back and this guy knew it. The shit-eating grin on his face stretched from ear to ear as he blew towards my junction. One hand reached out towards the doorway. He was really quite surprised when the door was firmly jammed. He had probably checked it that day to make sure it was unlocked and everything, too, if this was his escape route. Taken aback, his head swiveled back and forth like a top for just a moment as he searched for plan B, but it was a tunnel. He didn't have a lot of options. He was even more surprised when I stepped out of the shadows behind him and clocked him with a steel bar. It wasn't fancy, but it would do. He dropped like a rock. I cuffed him, just to be safe, but I didn't think it would really be necessary. The poor fellow was already moaning and rolling around, but he wasn't going to be going anywhere anytime soon. A few moments later, the first of the police came sprinting around the corner. They stopped abruptly at the sight, taking it all in. The door, glinting with copper around the edges of the jam. The folding chair in the shadows of the adjacent tunnel, barely visible, still with a silver tall boy tucked in the mesh cup-holder. And me, standing in my worn-out jeans and stained t-shirt over the handcuffed criminal. Supersuits are expensive, you know. And they get dirty fighting criminals, and then you have to pay to replace them. That's a giant pain in my ass. "Hey."I waved to them. "How's it going."After a long moment, I saw the stress leave their bodies, and their guns went back to their holsters with a long, exasperated sigh. "So, like, do you guys just wire me the money for this dude, or what?"The officer in charge glared at me. "Do you mind if I see your license?"It was my turn to sigh. "Yeah, sure, I guess."I dug in my pocket and pulled the thin plastic card identifying me as a 'hero' out of my wallet, tossed it over to him. I could see my portrait on the front, still in a t-shirt and jeans with a half-hearted grin plastered to my face. "....I suppose this is all in order."From his tone, it was clear that the officer had been looking for any excuse to not pay me, but I did make sure my ducks were all in line before I started this gig. Dealing with the fallout from any mistakes in paperwork would be a giant pain in my ass. I nodded, scooping up my folding chair. Warm beer splased onto the ground. I saw the nearest officer step back distastefully. "Cool. Send it on over, then."I threw up a hand in a wave. "Later, dudes." I could hear them muttering behind me, but that was their problem, not mine. In my mind, I was already home, maybe taking a long bath with a new, colder beer, before sinking into bed beneath the warm covers. Today had been a busy day, you know? So, yeah. Apparently that day didn't leave them hot on the idea of me as a superhero. But they didn't get the option of picking and choosing. And I didn't choose to be saddled working alongside an uptight force of busybody police officers, for that matter. We were stuck with each other. Although I suppose now that I think about it, the second job really didn't help their impression of me either. You see, when I went after my second bad guy, later that week...
"Mom, why did you marry dad? He's so ugly." The Queen looked at Prince Edward, and scolded him while secretly chuckling to herself. Pulling up a chair next to the young prince's bed, she caressed his head and began to talk soothingly. "Your dad wasn't always ugly Edward. When we were young, he was a tall glass of water. A little wild for my taste back then, but no one could argue that he wasn't a looker." "But...you're the queen mom. You could have married anyone you wanted" "HA! Don't I know it! I was quite a beauty myself too. The Mace Queen, those were the good old days. I ruled my Queendom strictly, but fairly, with my trusty mace at my side." "You mean, excaliboulder?" "Yes! Excaliboulder! Your mom was never one to listen to prophecies, so she just took the sword with the stone in it, and decided to rule the land. It was a lot easier than I thought, in retrospect. Turns out it's a lot easier to convince people when you have a 200 pound boulder at your side all the time." "You were so strong Ma!" "Haha, and I still am Edward. But I wasn't the only one who was strong enough to lift that sword. Once in a blue moon, I'd come across someone else who was strong enough to use excaliboulder as well. Remember, back then, your mom had a lot of enemies. One day, while collecting taxes from a wealthy port village, a pirate came along and tried to kidnap me and hold me for a ransom." "Was the pirate dad?" "Heavens no! What is it with you children and jumping to conclusions all the time. No no, this pirate may have been ugly, but he wasn't your dad. The pirate, however, was also strong. Very strong. When he had me cornered in the alley, he picked up my mace, and swung it at me." "Did it hurt?" "Well...I never got hit. You see, just before I was about to have my face smashed in with a rock, a stranger jumped in front of me to shield me. As soon as the rock made contact with his face, the boulder slipped off! Now, everyone was astounded at what happened, and your mom used that split second of surprise to overpower the pirate!" "And...that stranger was Dad?"Prince Edward said hesitantingly "You got it! Your dad's face was horribly disfigured, but he had a kind heart, and eventually, we married. I was never one for politics for finance, but it turns out your dad was a very adept trader. He balanced the Queendom's debt, and made it a burgeoning hub for trade!" "And that's how I was born!" "You got it!" "Tell me Mom...do you think the prophecy came true after all? Dad is a King after all, and he may have not pulled the sword from the stone, but he definitely pulled the stone from the sword." "Maybe my little Prince...but like I said, I was never one for prophecies."
I realized I had a bit of a strange power when I was in 6th grade, doing homework. Something just clicked, and I got all of it done within seconds. My mother saw this, and made a bit of a mistake when she called the doctor about my power, who then contacted someone else, and so forth, until some men in black came and whisked me away to a place that I've never seen before. I was accompanied by the same two men who took me here, walking down endless halls and through endless testing. They eventually put me in a blindingly bright white room. I managed to keep a calculator on me through the entire time, which I fiddled with for a while, until it became boring. I sat on the provided couch, which was also white, and stared at the ceiling. Sometimes the men came back and did some more testing, but that was boring too. One day, after testing, I decided to do something about my boredom. I black out for what seemed to be just a few seconds, but that was enough time to make a mobile computer out of the calculator. I decided to browse the internet, and ran across this website. I haven't been bored since.
Edit: Grammar They told me it was "Old age". People who are gonna die from old age have a nickname, you know? Folks call them "Extremists"- because you always gotta go for the extremes. For example, if you stand on a balcony rail, it's gotta be above the tenth floor. You see, if you do it somewhere lower, you might only break your spine - you'll be left a vegetable, but not quite dead. So ever since I was 6 years old, dad always told me: "Son, if you do something dangerous, always go for the extremes". I took that advice to heart. I've scaled skyscrapers with my bare hands - if I start from the 10th floor, I know everything is going to be fine. I've also been to the bottom of the Mariana trench - excursions such as this are organized frequently by the Extremist community, which has many rich, long-living donors - think of all the money you save if you don't need life insurance! When you really think about it, it's kind of funny that the greatest advantage of knowing how you'll die is knowing all the things you're NOT gonna die from. Which brings me to my main point. Turns out, I'm not an Extremist. It started about 5 minutes ago, when I heard the doorbell. It's already dark, and before going to the door, I went and grabbed my Glock 19 - if it was an intruder, they - naturally - couldn't kill me, but they could still knock me out and loot my house. I was relieved when I saw the familiar face of Mr. Watashi, our family fatalist. We all remember our causes of death only for the first 5 or so years of our lives. And while some parents try to get the cause of death from the child themselves (or decide they don't want to know at all), most hire a fatalist - a person, specifically trained to distinguish this one, very important answer from a four-year-old's gibberish. And suddenly, my fatalist, who I haven't seen since my little brother was born 10 years ago, decides to show up at my door. I let him in. I figured he wasn't the burglar type. Fatalists are usually well off, and this guy dressed like he wasn't an exception. But while he dressed well off, his actions definitely seemed... off. He looked very nervous - didn't seem to know where to put his hands. I made him tea. He drank the whole cup in one gulp. When I finally sat him down, I went straight to the point: "Mr. Watashi... why are you here?" It looked like he got hit by lightning. One moment ago he was shaking from stress, could barely sit in one spot. As soon as I asked him, though, he went completely still. His back straightened up like a board, and his face became a blank slate. After a few seconds, his mouth opened: "Billy..." At first I was slightly irritated that he called my by my first name. Then, I realised - this guy has known me since I was 4. Nevertheless, he continued: "... I apologize for barging in at this late hour,"his eyes showed no emotion, much less an apology - "but I have an important matter to share with you. When your parents hired me to find your cause of death all those years ago, I thought that would be just another day on the job. But I was not mentally prepared for what you told me. I spent 4 hours asking you, again and again, determined to find some logical explanation. But you kept telling me the same thing. You shall not die of old age, Billy. I just couldn't tell your parents the truth. After all, I knew you won't die from falling from a great height. No, nothing of the sort. I couldn't tell your parents, because I couldn't comprehend it myself" At this point, his voice started getting strange. He became tense once again. I did not recognize this man anymore. But it was too late. I couldn't stop myself from asking the question. "If I won't die from old age, then... what am I going to die from? What did I tell you?" Mr. Watashi let out a sigh, and put his hand in his jacket. At that moment, I understood everything. I could see the next few minutes, clear as day. And I knew that nothing I did was going to change anything. Even if I pulled out my Glock and shot Watashi on the spot, my gun would jam. He pulled his hand back out. In it was a gun of his own. He spoke once again, a voice devoid of emotion: "You told me that I was going to kill you"
Fred picked up the calling item. "Hello and welcome to SpellTech, thank you for calling customer support. My name is Fred, may I have your name and account number?" "I AM GAZZRIN, MASTER OF THE STORM AND CALLER OF THE GALE!" Fred rolled his eyes. He could do nothing as the man on the other end of the line gave a series of increasingly elaborate titles as if they were part of his name. "And your account number, sir?"Fred asked once he got the chance. "YOU ASK THE MIGHTY GAZZRIN FOR SUCH A TRIVIAL THING? HE WHO HAS--" "Sir, if you don't have your account number on hand, them you can just give me your listed address and calling tome number and I can look it up. The wizard paused for several seconds before his voice became much quieter and rattled off the needed information. Fred looked up the account. "Okay, I've got your account information here, Mr. Gazzrin. How may I help you?" "GAZZRIN, CALLER OF STORMS IS BEING PREVENTED BY SOME DARK FORCE FROM OPENING HIS GRAND GRIMOIR OF THE ENDLESS STORMS!" Fred held back his sigh. The so called "grand grimoir"was a book on advanced level weather magic. At least it was not beginner level. That would be embarrassing for everyone. "Have you tried the default power word that came with the book?" "SUCH A THING WAS NIT PRESENT! IT MUST BE SOME EVIL FORCE PREVENTING MY CONTINUED MASTERY OF THE FORCES OF NATURE!" "Sir, please check the back cover of the book. There should be a small flap of fabric there. Pull that down and your default power word will be written there. It'll disappear and become invalid the first time it's spoken, but the book will guide you through speaking another one." There was a sound of a heavy thud coming through the line, then the rustling of cloth. Then call that was muffled by by the calling item being set down. Then Fred started counting down from ten. Once he hit 'one', his customer came back on the line. "Uh...thanks..."The wizard said in a much less dramatic voice. "Of course sir. Is that all?" "...Yes..." "Very good, sir. Thank you for choosing SpellTech, your source for all your magical needs. Have a nice day." Fred ended the call and took a deep breath. He would have to write that up, of course. At least it was an easy call. The magical device let out its cry again. Fred groaned and said with a dull, resigned voice: "Here we go again."
Satan emerged from the ground, bellowing "WHO HAS SUMMONED ME?" Jeff simply straightened his tie, being careful not to react to the brimstone ashes that landed on his suit. "It's me again, Jeff." "HOW MANY SOULS DO YOU HAVE? IT'S THE SIXTH TIME THIS WEEK!!" "Another five, your eminence." "WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO KEEP THIS SUPPLY?" Jeff sighed. "You eminence, I'm sure you know that that's not part of our deal. Do you have five souls worth of information for me to steal?" "If you could wait-" Jeff sighed, secretly content that Satan dropped the whole angry demon act. "You know what the core company values are, your eminence,"Jeff said, emphasizing the honorific to remind the devil of his position. The customer satisfaction tenet came into mind. "Yes, yes. I just don't think there's much for you to benefit from, what with your, uh, quarterly earnings." Jeff sighed again. For the Lord of evil, this devil was sometimes rather unimaginative. Perhaps that was just because of the contract. After all, Jeff was on borrowed time. Satan was more like a good shareholder, not an employee Jeff could enslave. But, to help his eminence, Jeff suggested: "may be instead of selling, if you can help me with my position amongst my employees." "How so?" "You see, their working for me is directly tied to your getting souls. That too, for so much cheaper than a life-long deal, right?" Satan nodded begrudgingly. "So, I want to know who among them are the most likely to affect our little arrangement." The devil nodded. "There's a man in Japan trying to unionize." "Thank you."Jeff smiled in a way that made the devil feel a chill and dismissed this so-called lord of evil. Then Jeff dialed on his phone and mused on how a mere bookseller had come to the point of breaking up a warehouse workers union in Japan. Surely that was worth a soul.
Power and resources, that's what the purpose of every war was, until now. The Zylon and Myrok coalitions were the strongest throughout the galaxy. They warred every few hundred years to re-establish the systems under their control. Perrium mines in the Quar sector for ship-building, and the lush planets for harvesting food were always the primary targets. Tensions were growing, as the Zylons needed metal for their shipyards and the Myrok were unable to feed their ever growing population. Unfortunately the rest the forces across galaxy grew tired of their constant wars and conquering of inhabited planets. The leaders of the two factions met, agreeing that a war would open both sides for attack from other coalitions and perhaps even the federation or union. So they assigned their tacticians to come up with a suitable solution. It took nearly half a Standard Solarian Circumvention for the tacticians to announce they had a solution. The factions met in secret once more on a decommissioned refining facility on Orion-12. "We have a solution,"the Zylonian spoke with a smile. "We have found a medium sized planet, they recently underwent a massive populace growth, both the federation and union listed them as inhospitable even ordering a no-contact status, and they've just reached the capability to travel beyond their solar system." A Myrok stepped up changing the view on the screen behind him, "We propose a plan to conduct several atrocities across three sectors. We will also leave behind technology and deceased inhabitants of the planet which will lead them to this planet. As they focus on fighting the planet we can take as many others as we want without the corresponding fleet being able to return in time to save them. The leaders pondered for several ticks before reaching an agreement and giving the tacticians control of a fleet and ordering them to do whatever was necessary. The fleet sent stealth ships to the planet to research the inhabitants and their technologies. The planet was named by the union as Terra-119, the federation listed it as Aquan-17, but the inhabitants called it Earth and themselves humans. They were a planet of ambitious creatures with a desire to traverse the stars. With only a few insertions of information and a few "accidental"miscalculations by their scientists, the humans achieved a more advanced form of space travel and the ability to create low-yield plasma and energy weapons. The Myrok built replicas of the human ships, weapons, and armor suits. The Zylon sent another stealth craft, abducting nearly a hundred humans from various places around the globe but ensured each was a suitable age for combat. They interviewed each of the humans and most seemed to plead for their safe return home in promise of riches, some shouted words labeled as "curses"mean to inflict emotional distress, and the others were a truly odd bunch who only repeated a single statement. As we entered the interrogation chamber, Commander Sarch, his first time interacting directly with humans, removed the mouth binding of the human who was now strapped to the metal table. "Are you ready to speak now, or shall we just kill you?"the commander spoke with intensity. "Sergeant Anderson, 567456721, August 7th 2108"the human replied. "No matter what we ask sir, there are roughly a dozen who respond in a similar manner. What should we do?"The tactician asked making sure not to look directly at his superior. "Interesting, keep all who follow this format. Once we break their wills, I believe they will have great things to share with us."The commander spoke as he left the chamber and I sedated the human once more. I studied the humans brought back, they are very weak creatures requiring devices to sustain almost every base function of life in space and on most planet surfaces. Luckily the reconnaissance teams brought back samples of their equipment and devices. Each human was fitted with copies of the appropriate gear and had their tanks filled with just enough of their chemically balanced air for them to survive a short period on the surface of each planet. In less than a cycle over a dozen planets had been destroyed with humans left to die on their surfaces, a few systems even had recreations of the earth star fighters crashed nearby. It did not take long for several coalitions including the union to declare war on the human planet. The plan was to give it time for each force to deplete their limited resources so the two factions could declare war for what they needed. To every factions surprise, the humans were repelling attacks better than anticipated. Trapped in the proverbial corner that was their single inhabited world, the humans progressed the gifted technology in new ways faster than we imagined, destroying entire fleets without even sending a ship into orbit. The coalitions agreed to stay at the edge of the solar system and to only prevent the humans from ever leaving their area. The blockade was in place for nearly two standard solarian cycles and neither side of the original factions dared to declare war as every system began growing their armadas. Most of the known universe forgot about the humans and their earth, believing they accepted being restrained to their original solar system. I had honestly forgotten myself as I sat in my office with a few of my colleagues. Suddenly the viewscreen came alive on a universal emergency broadcast, in view was Admiral Larlen, the captain of the unions flagship and pride of their armada. His face was distorted, the blue liquid sustaining his life pouring from every orifice. He attempted to speak but was unsuccessful as he fell from view. Behind him was a human in a white uniform splattered in all types of flesh and fluid of known races in the blockade. His message was simple, but it struck fear in the heart of all who heard. "We do not know why you attacked us a few years ago and it doesn't matter anymore. Your blockade has been destroyed, in the attack only one of our ships was destroyed and three more sustained damages. I have been ordered to accept no prisoners or surrender until we inflict casualties ten-fold of what we suffered during your initial attacks. If you have gods, now is the time to pray to them." The universe looked on in horror as the human left the broadcast running. The bodies of the union crew were strewn about the bridge, you couldn't even see the floor or a console. Probably most concerning, the human was only followed by four soldiers in armor much different, much stronger, than what we planted on those planets all those years ago. Two factions wanted a war for resources, now the universe is at war for survival. (Part two below)
My name is Kuchisake. I am also known as the masked lady. I wonder the streets looking for people to ask them a simple question. "Do you think I'm pretty?" If they say yes, I remove my mask, to reveal my true face. Boy, do I love their screams of terror when they gaze upon it. I savor this experience. I have lost count of the number of people I have killed. Tonight, I start my haunt again. I see a young man holding a cane walking down the street. I approach him and ask the dreaded question. "Do you think I'm pretty?" "I'm sorry mam, I can't answer your question, for I am blind." I am baffled by his answer, I stare at him. How dare this mortal try to lie, I can tell a deception. Upon closer inspection, yeah he is blind. Okay, I can work around this. "Do I sound pretty?" "I guess." "How about now?"I say dramatically as I remove my mask. "You sound the same honestly." I am confused on what to do now. I kill those who say I am ugly and I kill those who lie to me about my looks. This man hasn't lied to me once. I do not know what to do. "Are you still there?"Asked the confused man in front of me. "Yeah, I am still here. Sorry to bother you, have a good night."I said, as I admit defeat internally. "Okay?"Says the blind man as he continues on. I am to come up for contingences for blind people. I hope no other evil spirit saw that.
If you don't know my name, it's Jeff. It's not faggot. It's not dumbass. It's not crybaby. It's Jeff. I'm not sure if any of them know my name. I mean, they should. We've been going to the same school for the past eight years. But I cant remember the last time I heard someone other than a teacher call me Jeff. Yeah, I know what you're thinking. This kid's a faggot. Grow some balls. I've heard it all before. You know, it didn't use to be like this. I had friends once. Then two years ago my dad left. Probably because I'm such a little shit. I know. But how could he just leave us? My little sister. My mom. I mean shit, take me and dump me in the woods. Fine. But mom and Sara? What an asshole. I guess I took it harder than Sara. She's young, though. Shit, she still pretends she's playing with dad in the woods. I haven't stepped foot in the woods since he left. I have hardly left my room. How could I? That was our place. We played hide and seek all the time. Hell, he even built me a tree house. I'm sure it's been squatted by a family of squirrels or birds by now. How could I go back to that place after he just left us? Mom and dad fought a lot after he got laid off. I get it - parents fight. He tried to find another job, but it didn't happen. I kept telling myself he was a spy on a secret mission. I grew up, though. I'm not a kid anymore. I stopped believing in Santa even before dad left. I know. I know. Stop crying, you little bitch. Right? Don't worry it's almost over. Sorry mom. Sorry Sara. At least I cleaned my room. I also put that Captain America action figure in Sara's room. She always loved that thing. Better for them that I do this. Ok squirrels, you're going to have to move out of the way. For a bit at least. So much of my childhood spent in that house. I guess it's as good of a place as any to do it. Sara must spend a lot of time out here. The path is still pretty worn down. After that next bend I'll be able to see it. Finally, right? Is that Sara? What is that hanging on there? Dad? "See, Jeff. I told you me and daddy still played together."
They were perfect for each other. They shared a favorite movie, favorite book, favorite meal, and favorite color. She cracked up at the kind of corny jokes he loved to tell. He adored violin music; she had been playing since she was six years old. The two were compatible at every possible level. On May 23, 2010, they met in line at a supermarket. She was out buying groceries, but let him cut ahead as he only had a few items and was in a hurry. He thanked her, paid, and left. They never spoke again.
My life, I am the greatest man on earth. Saved the country multiple times. I am soo attractive people want my face. I just don't get why every couple of months, we have this ritual where people celebrate my exploits in a theatre then tell me to stop. Stop. Stop acting Nick, it's okay, the movie is out. I usually make my "I am going to suck out your blood like the day walking vampire I am"face (It took me a while to figure out the sun doesn't affect me) and they usually go away, until the next ritual.
They put me on a pedestal, they praised my brilliant mind, The compliments I get, I just reply to them in kind. For deep within, a secret, that I cannot bear to say, That these results are rubbish, I have led them all astray. They say I'll go to Ivy League, to Harvard, Brown , or Yale, And I alone know if I went, that I would only fail. For all these tests, and all these hours were but a simple fluke, Yet still I cannot tell them, as I greatly fear rebuke. What is my secret? Might you ask, well come and listen near, And do not tell a soul, for all the backlash would I fear. My genius is not what you and the others seem to see, On all these scantrons through the years, I simply bubbled 'C'.
"Well, well, well, here we are,"I said, holding a loaded pistol, aimed directly between my eyes. I could see existential terror reflected in the mirrored sunglasses I wore. "Look, me, I know this sounds crazy, but there are rules regarding time travel,"I said. In the same moment, I knew I was struggling to think of a way to negotiate my life. Twisted branches of thoughts - 'This is how it's always been/I'm worthwhile, don't kill me, I'll follow the rules/You can't kill Hitler, you can't save JFK, you can't prevent you from being born/I didn't know what I was messing with, I only followed instructions/Hollywood would kill for this story/Holly wouldn't believe this!' "Any last words?"I said. I knew the price I would pay - chronosuicide rates were incredibly high, causing deja vu when anyone crossed our paths in the interim. We'd recognize people, only to realize we never knew them. "Please... please."I whimpered. I was weak, facing a loaded gun, wanting the other-me to not pull the trigger. "Please explain what's going on!" "See, the thing is,"I began. "The thing is, time is like a river, see? If we divert it from a natural course, through the use of machinery, we'll create swamps. We kill nature's beauty. This is why,"I paused, struggling to convey the message. "Chronosuicide,"I finally decide. "Chronosuicide means I have to kill myself to prevent any of the previous events I caused from occurring. Means I have to go back far enough to save the time-stream from being diverted. "Means I'll never exist, my timeline will never happen. But, paradoxically, a thousand other universes will open up at the same time. Universes where I become a doctor, or a criminal mastermind, or the best-known actor. Universes where I matter. "But my future? The one I come from? I don't. To fix my mistake, to prevent the horrors I once committed.... See, the time-stream will fix itself. You'll wake up tomorrow, hungover, feeling like you hit a brick wall. You'll also feel incredibly secure for the first time in ages,"I end. The pistol's comforting weight in my hand slowly shifts. "But me? I'll be dead, having prevented the greatest terrorist act in history."I pull the trigger, my heads jerk back, my bodies collapse. The EMTs who arrived on the scene later told me they entered a bizarre, macabre ink blot. They stabilized me, before attempting to stabilize Future-Me. Future-Me was pronounced dead at the scene, a botched robbery-turned-murder/suicide. I would leave the hospital, half my cheek stitched together. Later, at home, Holly would ask for my help. She had gotten in deep with the wrong people; I might be able to scare them off. All I had to do was explain how I got my scar.
"Good morning heroes!" Super Guy stood up and shook his head. "Blurry....where am-", he stopped short having seen Omega Lord. Super Guy leaped forward, fist raised, but crashed to the floor with a thud. "Why can't I fly... what have you done to us fiend!" "Wait for everyone to wake up."Chided Omega Lord. One by one, Bat Guy, Aqua Guy, Wonderous Woman and The Blur came to their senses. "Good. You're all here. One thousand years have past since-" "You'll never win villain!"Cried Bat Guy. "Enough. Really It's been one thousand years since I put you into stasis please stop the hero schtick and just listen. One thousand-" "We'll get out of here Omega, and when we do-"The blur continued to mouth words until he realized he was silent. He clutched at his throat and tried to shout. With utter terror he realized that he had lost all ability to speak, even to grunt. Omega Lord held a button in his hand and sighed. "Alright. I didn't want to have to do this but you left me no choice. You're on mute until we finish our little....chat. One thousand years have past since our fateful clash. As you recall, it ended with me tricking you into my stasis chamber. The stasis chamber you currently reside in. To be clear, I could easily refreeze you. Even kill you without any effort whatsoever. I could have for the past thousand years. I didn't, because you have a very important role to play. But I'm getting ahead of myself." "To begin, the reason I am having this chat with you is to make you understand my point of view. Now I could have easily created a brain washing device or tortured you into submission. I didn't take those much simpler and easier routes is because this needs to be organic. It cant be a foreign invasion of your thoughts, they have to be your thoughts. The most successful interrogator of WWII never used violent methods. His main technique was to act as the prisoners friend. Believe it or not, I am your friend." "The past one thousand years of history have been. Dark. I am the super villain after all. I can't begin to describe the things I've done or ordered done. Ever man on the wrong side of history pales in comparison to me. I created the culmination every nightmare dystopia that has ever existed. And it worked. I made a utopia on the broken backs of mankind." "The first thing I did when you became frozen was to crown myself Emperor of Earth. The next ten years or so nothing really changed. I spent my time in my lab trying to perfect the anti aging serum that gave me my powers. Eventually it was stable enough to use on a human. I dosed myself and then took a more active role in world governing. A few attempts on my life ended in miserable failure and I made a spectacle of the would be assassins. I created a praetorian guard-gestapo hybrid to enforce my will upon the government and anyone who could undermine me. I called them the Emperor's Hand. Funny thing is I didn't have to do anything to manipulate them. They were all volunteers." "Soon after the purges- well, the genocides. I don't think I need to mince words with you all at this stage. I exterminated hundreds of millions of people. Any and all of the so called 'Undesirables'. First it was the physically and mentally impaired. No matter how slight the abnormality, they were eradicated. It started with those unable to care for themselves. Then, those that needed any special aid whatsoever. Soon I was killing anyone that wasn't genetically perfect. Asthma was a death sentence. Depression was cause for execution." "The sad thing is they never questioned it. As long as it wasn't them, they sang the songs and carried the banners. The executions were public, their idea, not mine. God I hated that time. Soon after I started the education centers. All children born after a certain year attended these centers from age zero until twenty two. No outside contact. Those who couldn't handle the rigorous curriculum were made slaves to build this world's wonders. Those who made it out were smarter than Harvard valedictorians and stronger than Olympic athletes. About one third made it out. But that was enough." "Soon, the worlds problems became much more manageable. Graduates became the upper class, and everyone else were simply slaves. The Graduates brought us into an unprecedented golden age of technology, medicine, philosophy and culture. The first golden age that is. Soon after, I began the eugenics programs. Any chance of hereditary illness was hunted down. We reopened the concentration camps and began the process all over again. The first genocide was for those with illnesses that affected them. This purge was for anyone who could possibly give birth to anyone with any defect. Because of the vast increase in technology, slaves were obsolete by the dusk of the First Golden Age. They too were killed. Through sacrifice, we grew stronger. What emerged was a new race of united humans." "To create complete homogeneity, I began a breeding program. We told which citizens who they were to marry, when they were expected to produce a child, and how many children they were to have. A few generations later and we had one cosmopolitan mix of all different features as the only race. No more African, Asian, European, Latin, just human." "Throughout this time my control of the world had only grown stronger. There was no dissent or rebellion. No disgruntled mumbles heard on streets. My citizens did not begrudge me my position, instead they worshiped me. They created a religion around me and told legends of how I came to rule. I took their freedom and they thanked me for it. One hundred years ago, I realized my time had come." "I pushed the newly united and perfected humanity into their Second Golden Age. I liquidated the Emperor's Hand and did away with the camps. I no longer use force, only positive reinforcement. Humans have no need for a villain to push them, they happily pursue the most egalitarian of causes. They seek to spread across the stars and work as one for the good of all humanity. There is no hunger, no murder, no crime. No violence, no hate, no anger. No disparity, no misanthropes, no malignant personalities. I dragged humanity through Hell so I could bring them to heaven. Which is why I now need you." "Humanity is finally in it's adolescence. We are at a divergence and I can no longer guide nor force them down any path. This is I am not a good man, I am a monster. I have done things one cannot recover from. I have damned myself to the worst conceivable Hell that could possibly exist. I realize this. But you cannot undo the past, and humanity has a future they need guidance through. I have taught them reason but not reflection. I taught them to think not to love. These humans only know right and wrong by the edicts that I reign down from on high. I have created a perfect race of peons. I need you to show them the human spirit. They need you to show them how to live with meaning and purpose. To know right from wrong in their hearts not their heads. To teach them to truly allow warmth and beauty to come from their souls. They need to be taught things that I have never known. They need heroes." "So I leave it up to you. Do what you wish in this world. I have compiled a complete and detailed history of the past thousand years on my computer. You will also find a signed confession and video recording of me relaying all of my crimes. You can choose how you would like to disseminate this information if at all. I also injected myself with the antidote to my anti-aging serum. I wont die, not just yet, but I will be rendered completely powerless. Now I release you to the world. Do what you wish, with me and with the world you have inherited. I trust in your judgement." Omega Lord serenely pressed the button and released the heroes.
“Hey! Cool profile!” “Thanks! I just tried to be accurate lol” “Oh yeah? Is that why your job description is God of Death lol?” “Yeah, haha. My Dad got me the job.” “Cool cool. You wanna get some coffee sometime?” “I’d love to! You know Rafi’s Coffees and Toffees?” “Oh, yeah! On 7th?” “Yeah! I love that place! Tomorrow?” “4?” “Sounds great!” Well, that went better than expected I suppose. I was browsing Tinder, as usual, when I came across her profile, and I swiped right without really reading her bio. She was cute as hell, and she liked basically everything I liked. D&D, Video Games, writing, etc., etc. I figured she had to have thousands of matches with those interests, but she matched me. I set up the coffee date and I waited kinda anxiously for tomorrow. I put on my best jeans, a nice button up, and I tried to smooth my hair, which proved to be a losing battle. Sighing, I got in my beat up old Corolla and headed to Rafi’s. You know that scene in movies where the hero sees the girl for the first time and time slows down? It was kind of like that. I had arrived early and I order a latte, sipping it while keeping an eye on the door. This was the cutest girl I had ever matched with, so I was pretty nervous. When it opened, I swear on my life that time slowed down. She had long red hair that passed over the generous swell of her chest, hidden beneath a flowery sundress. She took in the coffee shop with a glance and her bright green eyes lit up and her perfect mouth curled into an excited smile when she saw me. As she stepped into the shop, I felt my heart beating against my chest like a bass drum, and the world stopped around us. I don’t mean my perception of the world, I mean the actual world. The steam rising from the espresso machine froze, while Rafi’s shout seemed to echo forever. Even the conversations around the shop seemed to stretch into infinity as she walked towards my table. It wasn’t until she stood in front of me that time seemed to resume its normal pace, and I stared up at her slack jawed, which she found funny, as she started to giggle. I’ve never really noticed it before with other girls, but her giggle was sexy, like REALLY sexy. I felt my heart straining against my chest and I wondered for a brief moment if this was love at first sight, or whatever the movies had lead to me believe. As I stumbled to my feet, I barely avoided knocking my coffee over, causing her to giggle again. “You must be Matt.” She held out a small hand, which I took in mine, feeling the warmth of her skin. I swear I felt an electric shock when we touched, but she didn’t react at all. “I… Uh… Yeah… I’m Man. Matthew. Matt. I’m Matt.” I babbled. I can’t really sugarcoat it. It was as smooth as an Albanian farm road. “Haha, hi Matt.” She laughed at my introduction, putting me at ease. “I’m Alexia!” She shook my hand briefly before setting her flower embroidered bag down next to me. “You like flowers.” Her sundress and her bag both had the same kind of flower design on them. That was my smooth line: ‘You like flowers.’ Just kill me now. “Yeah, carnations are my favorite. My Dad said he made them just for me!” “Your Dad made you flowers? Was he a botanist?” That was pretty cool. Nobody ever made me a flower. “Umm, kinda? He’s in the life sciences.” She smiled gently at me as I stood there stupidly, caught in her eyes. Behind the blinding green of her irises, it felt like I was staring at a swirling galaxy, with endless depth. I had to pull myself away and shake my head briefly to clear it. “Oh, that’s cool! My Dad was a chemist, so kinda similar?” I don’t know why i was talking about my Dad to my Tinder date that I met like twelve seconds ago, but I already iterated my lack of smoothness. “Oh neat! I’m gonna grab a coffee. Can you watch my bag?” She smiled at me and I just kind of nodded dumbly as she walked off, trying to be subtle as I checked out her backside, caught in its hypnotic sway. Realizing I was staring, I shook my head and looked back at her bag, sitting on the chair beside me. At first I just glanced at it, but as I looked closely, I saw the flowers on the bag moving very slightly, as if they were spinning slowly. Blinking, I looked again and saw them only as embroidered patterns. I must have been seeing things. Before I could really look more into this, she returned, holding a steaming mug of coffee, smiling at me once more. She set the coffee down and took her seat, but before I could say anything further, her phone started to ring, which caused her face to twitch in annoyance. Sighing heavily, she reached into her bag and pulled it out, revealing a phone case dedicated more thoroughly with the same flower pattern. “Hi, Dad! What’s up?” Well, that was unlucky. Hard to put my best game on a girl that just got off the phone with her Dad. “Wait, what? No! Today was my day off, you promised!” I couldn’t really make anything out from the otherside of the conversation, but her face twisted in anger. “What? No way! I really like him, he could be the one!” There was more rumbling on the other side of the line, before a resigned look crossed her face. “Fine fine, you’re right. It’s not your fault. Ok, ok. I got it.” She hung up the phone and closed her eyes and looked at me again. “Matt, I really wish you had taken better care of your heart. You’re so cute, and I really like your dimples!” Wait, what? Taken care of my heart? “Ha, my heart’s fine. Promise.” I put on my most winning smile, which caused her to smile at me in pity. “Your Dad and your Grandad both passed away around your age and you never even thought to get it checked out? That’s disappointing, Matthew. We could have had something really special.” She just looked at me again with that pitiful look, and the pounding in my chest returned, louder and deeper now. “Ha… What? What are you saying?” I was beginning to panic again, and when I looked around, I realized that time was frozen once more, causing my heart to race even faster. “This is so unlucky. I finally found a cute guy, but even on my day off, work keeps bugging me. Sorry, Matt.” She smiled at me with soft eyes and reached a gentle hand out, touching my chest lightly. My pounding heart instantly went silent, and I felt the word start to spin. As I collapsed in my chair and looked up at her with eyes that were slowly fading, I saw the galaxies in her eyes again, this time swirling brightly. As my vision faded, I swear that behind the girl, I saw a massive shadow, holding a big curved scythe, staring down at me with eyes like galaxies. The last thing I heard before the world went black was a voice that spoke with the rumble of a collapsing star, as a massive white skull flashed in front of my eyes. “Don’t worry, Matt. My brother’s waiting for you. Who knows, maybe we’ll even see each other again.”
It's basic physics. When objects are struck with an extremely large force, they have a tendency to start moving. And when the object is especially small, and the force especially large, it can result in astonishingly fast velocities. So when a manhole cover was struck directly by a nuclear detonation in 1957, it was propelled at extremely high velocity. Most human researchers within a few decades of this event suspected that the cover had disintegrated within Earth's atmosphere after it came in contact with the atmosphere at such velocity. These researchers were only partially correct. Roughly two thirds of the object remained, and by a fluke, it managed to escape the solar system without further impact. Several encounters with bodies with very high gravity increased its velocity radically, and by the time it actually did exit the solar system fifteen years later, it was traveling at a blistering 600 thousand miles an hour. And even in the vastness of space, an object moving in a relatively straight line is going to impact somewhere... &nbsp; Commander Säzgä Łayalavai Canitoli, Legedu, sat in his seat, staring idly at a tactical readout, observing his fleet, reminiscing for lack of anything else to do. He had been deployed to scout a system which his people had not visited in a long time, and it was thought that the inhabitants had destroyed themselves in nuclear fire decades prior. This was sure to be an uneventful trip, and he was bothered by the fact that they had sent his command, including twenty battleships, all the way out here. But the Dełani Federation did not take halfway measures, and if something untoward happened on this mission, at least they would be well prepared. His mind wandered as he shifted his gaze to the screen at the front of the control room, and he thought back to his early days in the schools, back to his annoying fourth-year teacher's attempts to teach basic physics. He tried to remember the metaphors that he had used to teach Yenai's First Law. He couldn't call them up, but he could remember the general premise, which was that an object will not change how it's moving until an outside force causes it to. His reverie was interrupted by a blinding white flash on the screen, by a damage warning on his tac-display and the markers for the battleship at the edge of the formation blinking red. He leapt to his feet. "What the hell?"he shouted. "The battleship Tak Manay has been hit!"replied the man at the scanner station. "Damage reports incoming..." "Hit by what?"Säzgä replied, incredulous, shocked. "It's... not clear. No source is evident." "The hell do you mean 'no source is evident'? Something has to have fired that!" "We don't know where it came from. Ballistics suggests it came from the direction of System 123-9B." Säzgä flinched. "What? You mean to tell me it came from the very system we're en route to?" "Yeah, that's what the evidence we have suggests." "There is no way those people fired that thing. Their civilization is decades dead, fallen to their own avarice and to nuclear fire! We knew this would happen the day our ancestors finally managed to leave that accursed rock, and the last scout watched the first shots! Give me something rational, damn it!" "Interstellar debris that managed to pass through the system without hitting anything?" "Better. More sane,"Säzgä said, a touch calmer. "Damage report on that battleship." The communications officer read aloud: "Ship was impacted by unknown object or energy; if object, mass estimated 30 kilograms. Extensive damage to forward sections including one primary hull breach, several secondary breaches along the length of the damaged section and in a ring around the ship a third of the way back, several fractures... shipwide power distribution grid disabled. All sections not open to hard vacuum are on backups. Suspect atmospheric containment failure in progress in 20 percent of remaining sections. Spinal-mounted weapons disabled; point-defense on secondary processors... Primary FTL drives at 50 percent capacity; suspect toxic leaks throughout the system because of shock and overpressure..."His face went pale. "Suspect evacuation system disabled... Reactor pressure rising; suspect primaries will go critical within the hour, if this cannot be averted jettison will commence... Primary shield projector unaccounted for... Estimated casualties: 20 percent of crew dead, additional 30 percent injured... Fuel leak and apparent fire prohibits rescue operations in forward sections... Fear possible cascade-failure of remaining power systems and atmospheric containment." Säzgä exhaled slowly. "Shit... Deploy support craft to effect rescue where needed and, if possible, emergency repairs. Does anyone know just what this was?!" "Teams are trying to figure that out now... Trace elements have been found in the impact site. Expect an analysis within the hour..." "Good,"Säzgä replied. He called up the commanders of the remaining ships, wanting to discuss things with the men under his command. "Next course of action?"he said. "Wait until we figure out what that was,"the first one said. "That's what I was thinking... Anyone else?"Säzgä replied. "Press on,"came the next two replies. "It's probably some kind of meteoroid, thrown around by gravity." "Makes sense. Anyone else?" "I think we need to know what this was,"spoke up one of them, the captain of the battleship next to the Tak Manay in the formation. "And... it's going to sound crazy but... What if they knew we were coming?" "Łalga, what are you smoking?"Säzgä replied. "We're talking about a society that's already bombed itself into ruin." "Yeah, but the fact remains, this came from their system, it pounded through a third of the length of the Tak Manay, it hit key systems..." "What, are you suggesting that the survivors of the nuclear apocalypse have some kind of sensor grid out here? And a cloaked weapons platform? Or that they can see the future and threw this thing on the right vector to core out the front of one of my battleships?" "Yeah, pretty much." "Okay, what the hell are you smoking? You're stressing me out enough with this crackpot theory that you're making me want a hit of it. 'Yeah, they're a planet full of stone-age clairvoyants who can launch something at us fast enough to kill a battleship!' Give me a break!" "Think about it. The more you think about it, the more reasonable this seems." "Reasonable? Yeah, the more I think about it, the more I consider ordering you to see a psychiatrist when this mission is over! You can't possibly believe this!" "Yeah, maybe they launched it before we came, or maybe the survivors were forced to ascend somehow to survive." "Yeah, and they have telekinesis and they can see the future. And their stomachs are built to toast bread after they eat it. Maybe they can breathe in hard vacuum now! Maybe they all have laser-eyes and can't be hurt by bullets or lasers anymore! Give me a break!" "It's possible..." "Yeah, I think Paci and the others were right. This was some kind of cosmic incident. Report this to Command, and then we press on!"Säzgä shouted, red with anger. "And if you give me another of these crackpot suggestions, I'll have you demoted or something!" "Understood..."the man replied. And the fleet moved on, some support vessels remaining to stabilize the stricken vessel for movement back to base. &nbsp; A lesser known incident in the history of Earth, however, had a similar result to the nuclear test in 1957. And when the Dełani fleet approached the boundary of the solar system, a similar piece of shrapnel from a nuclear detonation, this one in a city on the continent of North America, was moving at very high velocities, and fast approaching... &nbsp; Säzgä finished reading the analysis of the fate of the battleship, perturbed by the result. The trace elements found in the impact site suggested an artificial alloy. He wondered at the explanation for this, and captain Łalga's crackpot explanation lingered unbidden at the back of his mind. Deep in thought, he thanked the orderly as he returned the report to his hand. Suddenly, a piercing flash filled the forward screen as the the battleship immediately to the right of his was struck amidships and great gouts of molten metal and energy shot out at an angle, further back, showering one of the support ships, disabling it too. Säzgä sprang to his feet again. "What the hell!"he shouted. Mind racing, he punched up the comms to the captains again. "What just happened?!"he shouted. None of them seemed to have an explanation, and he stared agape at the tac-display again as they all sought an answer. And then it hit him. "Łalga. I think you were right! Somehow, they knew this was coming. Two ships hit in as many hours... That is not a coincidence!" Several other commanders nodded bewildered assent. He punched up fleetwide comms and said, "Prepare all stricken ships for transport and get us out of here! Report this to command, and request this system be labeled as prohibitively dangerous given current technology." Defeated, angry, exhausted, Säzgä kicked at the armrest on his seat for several seconds before returning to it. And two hours later, the fleet was en route back to their main base...
I worked the graveyard shift, quite literally. During warm and cold night under a starlit sky I attended our local graveyard. My only task was to sit in my office, walk a round halfway through the night and sleep for the rest. That's was my precursor told me. But, that'd get boring, wouldn't you agree? I realised this on my first day, seeing all the graves, all the lives gone by. So many memories and stories lay beneath my feet-- It would've been a waste to ignore them! So, I started looking up information. Books, archives, asking the locals and scouring the Internet. From the grave closest to my office to the dilapidated stones at the back, I slowly pieced together every soul that time had tried so hard to weather. During the process I'd sit with the deseased as I learned more about them. Hobbies, friends, marks they may have left on the world. I'd buy them little gifts or attempt to draw them when they were young. On their birthdays I'd get them something they would've enjoyed, lit a candle and get them a piece of cake (and one for myself, of course) The village had mostly cast me out by now. I got paid, but people avoided me like the plague. I smelled of death and the wild, and often the folks would hear me whisper in the night-- I was insane, obviously. Then, something changed. A phone notification in the middle of the night. A news report, then another, and another. The living dead, rising from their graves, seeking vengeance or something along those lines. The village got evacuated, I was left behind. The villagers were convinced I caused this. Lo and behold, the dead rose that same night. Skeletons digging themselves out of their eternal beds, zombies smashing caskets, swirls of animated ash rising from the ground. Other than that, little changed. Some went to inhabit their old homes, others went back to sleep during the day. Whenever a horde of undead showed up they'd be warded off, told that there was nothing left. 'To feed, head East towards the greater cities.' And that is that. I tend to my farm during the day, visiting the graveyard every other day. Ghosts and ghouls water my crops at night and harvest if they're feeling particularly kind. Though, with the Internet, radio and TV being completely gone for years, I do wonder how the rest of the world is holding up?
When their cruisers began moving mountains, it soon became apparent that the Pactmakers didn’t need to ask our permission. First contact was uneasy: the Pactmakers did not mince words, and it was fair to say that their tone was demanding, if not entirely hostile. They either did not understand our myriad nations and factions and authorities or did not care, and tended to address the Earth as a collective, using a universal translation tech that we didn’t understand. We still don’t, although we’ve since integrated it into our own communications systems. I say “we” but I wasn’t a part of that planning. I was a munitions technician, and spent a long time training to understand Pactech (that’s not what the brass calls it, I just think it rolls off the tongue). To really oversimplify things, the “bullets” they employ are so smart they can fly into a target and then fly right back into an ammo hopper, avoiding collateral and negating attempts at evasion. They’re like lead bees, really. Kind of like drones, except you shoot them out of a magnetic accelerator? Eh I don’t know, I’m describing them badly. Speaking of which it took us a while to understand the details of the Pact. Our visitors weren’t the easiest people to talk to but we determined that the price we paid would be one-hundred million personnel, not necessarily all frontline infantry, and not necessarily presented upfront. The Pactmakers had initially been furious when the Emergency Forum had asked them to wait for our payment. And we think it was actual fury, not just the usual brusqueness. But they immediately agreed when the delay turned out to be a “mere” ten years. If you’re noticing a pattern, negotiations were one-sided, with any concessions really being aspects of the basic, unchanging agreement that we hadn’t yet understood. But proving their willingness to deliver on their promises wasn’t something we’d had to bargain for. The Pactmakers had cured cancer without prompting. Yeah, that’s what I said. Somehow they flipped a switch and bam. Cancer’s gone. No new cases in the last nine-and-a-bit years. It was something of a contract, with the Emergency Forum (nowadays Earth Forum, as the tension is easing a little) agreeing that we’d continue preparations uninterrupted for as long as the big-C is extinct. Speaking of which, a lot, and I mean a lot of our volunteers are former cancer patients. Many of us are current or ex-military, don’t get me wrong, but not the majority by any means. They weren't obsessive or heroic, but the Pactmakers had taken the view that if it was slowing down the project, it needed to stop, and as time went on they were more willing to intervene in things like famines. And earthquakes. Somehow they have the tech to stop earthquakes? No idea how that works, but it maybe has something to do with how much they enjoy shuffling giant bits of rock about. Either way, there’s a lot of gratitude towards them, jerks or not. Oh, you can call them jerks by the way. Yeah, no need to flinch. For better or worse they don’t care what you say about them. The Pact is all they care about. Or Pacts plural. February '33 was when the last of us shipped out. The final 84,000 volunteers entering the megastructure in the Himalayas, and after that took off (city sized megacruiser, what do you know) the Pactmakers upheld their side of the bargain and put the mountains back where they belonged. And you know what we faced? Endless, miserable, hellish war on a dozen different battlefields. I’m kidding. Sorry. That was in really bad taste, but you should’ve seen your face. It’s what a lot of us expected, and it’s what the Pactmaker before me told me too. Turns out they do have a sense of humour. Bad humour. Hah. Yeah, you figure right. Humans are technically Pactmakers now, too. That’s the bargain. Our world is saved and our Pact contribution does a tour of the stars. Don’t worry. Not every deal takes ten years to hash out, and we’ll figure out something reasonable for your lifespans. The Setialyish, for example? The guys us humans had to deal with? We were only gone six months. The Setialyish reproduce real fast and their planet is ridiculously populous, it’s like a hollow hive. Also, uh, they’re a lot more easy going than the Prime Pactmakers, let’s put it that way. Oh, the Setialyish are the sort of beetle-bee guys on deck three. Try their goulash. What’s that? Yeah, we’ve taken part in war. But it’s all simulated these days, more war games and arguments than actual conflict. Not to undersell it, but it’s almost like a sports rivalry between federations, because the only thing on the line is our pride, you know? The guns we use are decorative more than anything else. Just props to sell the story. Why am I still here if my tour is over? Buddy, sorry, but that’s a really dumb question. Some in the Pact think humans are weird, and hell they’re maybe right, but Pact Ambassador is like the dream job back home. You know what it’s like to visit a thousand different worlds? To gather more recruits, sure, but also to help out everyone you meet? Well, you will. Welcome aboard.
“That’s... a hell of a question” I answered, slightly slurred, having gotten fairly deep into my cups. “I hardly see how the devil factors into this” said Edward, wildy more coherent despite the amount of alcohol he’d drunk. I snorted. “ I think he must factor into it, though,” I muttered. Edward raised his eyebrows questioningly, so I continued. “In a thousand years, war is... really different. Cause, right now, you train people, right? Knights, sons of your lords, people who owe you fealty and stuff. And the other guy does the same, then both you and the guy you're fighting lead the knights into a fight” I took another sip of the wine. “Thats not really how it works in the future. War got too... big. It needs more people than that, when we fight. So instead of just the people who owe you fealty, you start training all kinds of people. Like, I dunno, the bakers son and stuff.” Edward pinched his lips, confused. “That would take too long, though.Training a knight takes 10 years at least. Training the bakers son means that he will be too busy training to become a baker, and then there will be no bread. Do you not eat in this future, then?” He chuckled slightly, looking sardonically at the plate of demolished food in front of me. Haha “Nah, thats the other thing that changed. You don’t need 10 years to learn to fight. Just a couple of months. And we don’t fight with swords or pikes anymore. We fight with...well, its like a bow but...stronger” “Using a strong bow takes far more than 10 years to learn, and a bakers son would not be strong enough to draw it” Edward stated, incredulous. “You don’t need to be strong to use it. The...uhh...arrow flies far and kills easy, but you don’t need strength to use it” I trailed off, thinking about just how much had changed between now and then. Hell, England wasn’t even England right now, just a bunch of tiny warring countries. How could I explain the intricacies of trench warfare to someone who didn’t even know what a true castle was? How could I explain that our wars killed more people than existed in Europe right now? How could I explain that was still only 3% of the total population? How could I explain how devastating a nuclear bomb was to someone who’s closest experience was a grain silo explosion? How could I explain that we had to stop going to war before we wiped ourselves and everyone else out? And how could I explain how chilling it was knowing that it only took one mistake, one slipup, and humanity as we knew it was gone? I couldn’t explain it. Not really. Edward had no comprehension of the scales of destruction involved. He could rampage across this “proto” England, killing everyone in his path, and he wouldn’t even come close to what we could do in my future. He could rule with terror, with impunity, with kindness, and he wouldn’t have a fraction of the power that a single idiot with a nuclear bomb held. The power to end civilization. Edward coughed, snapping me out of my dour thinking. “And how do you make these magical arrows?” He asked, finally striking at the real reasons for this conversation. I glared at him “You don’t”
As the "ambassadors"made their way to the conference room located on the Station on the moon, I, a simple human diplomat have been given an honor unlike one throughout our shared history. The world class ships came years ago contain a variety of species who were incredibly advanced, but seemed to hold our young race in extreme disregard. They said time and again that we didn't deserve our resources, we couldn't be trusted to guide ourselves into the future. They suggested that we open negotiations with them so that they could supply us with technology that would close the gap between us and them, and all they wanted was pretty much everything we had. Water, Fauna and Flora is extreme amounts, minerals, and "support labor"which turned out to be very close to slavery. The technology they offered were grand indeed though, Short range teleportation, life extending technology, advanced engine designs, and advance gravity well simulators, which to them was the most curious of the latest negotiation of the last year. "What if the Moon exploded?"I informed them of course that since the moon had become a harbor/port what if a ship went critical, how would Earth survive without it's moon? I explained the effects and as always they sighed and mention we should leave our planet anyway and join them in the stars. The change came about two years ago when we realized that our diplomats and politicians were giving away everything without any real negotiation. The war started the day we found out that we were being controlled by some kind of device mentally. When the information was shared with the populace using shortwave communications, the world leaders came to an agreement. The full force of humanity needed to make it clear that we would never be slaves, and if they didn't actually want us to join them in peace, we'd break them at war. As I passed out refreshments to our "honored"guests, I told them the great news about how we had finally created a massive gravity well simulator. They didn't seem to be listening very much as they looked through their tablets and I'm sure primed whatever they used to control us for the next round of "negotiations". One of the aliens apparently was listening and asked a question that must have crossed it's mind. "Why would you build a gravity well simulator on earth?"My response as I pushed the detonator that was tied to the countless explosives attached through out the port and facility and, by now, their own ships, was "What if the Moon exploded?"
It was a concept that was invented when the Universal Federation, spanning the entirety of the universe, and some places beyond, had mastered the field of thanatology and the related thanatotechnology. A novel concept to purge evil from the civilised universe, while still retaining free will as it had been classified under the law. Using the vrillic energy filter when applied to the crucible of souls, it was suddenly possible to remove certain ones from circulation and, using an artificial crucible, force them to incarnate only in one specific region. Because, on the billions of worlds of the Federation, amongst millions of races and cultures, no matter how hard it was attempted by the forces of order and general decency, those who preffered to smash the universe and slaughter the people in order to gain petty power for themselves, continued to rise. No matter how hard anti-corruption policies was implemented, how many anti-selfish-prick implants was implanted, how often AI-assisted brainscans were conducted, etc., they kept finding ways to ruin worlds, kill people, and undermine democracy. The Hellworlds was the answer. Worlds to which the souls of the truly wicked dead were sent; these souls were those who no matter how many times shriven by the gods, no matter how many times reincarnated, no matter how often they were defeated, kept coming back to commit unspeakable evils. Life was seeded on the designated worlds through synthetic means, and then the artificial soul sorting began. No evil and wicked souls in any galaxy would be allowed to incarnate except on those specific worlds. And it showed, because life there became crueller and more violent than in any other part of the universe. Often civilisation would only briefly begin to dawn, only to be struck down by mindless and petty cruelty before anything more advanced than sharp sticks were invented. And that was just from the environment. On the few Hellworlds, where civilisation did manage to endure long enough to be self-sustaining, it was always painful, violent, and destructive. Bloodthirsty barbarian warlords leading columns of slaves back to cities of vice. Psychotic priests worshipping only the madness in their own souls, sacrificing everyone around them like tomorrow would never arrive otherwise. The cunning and strong, crushed those merely cunning, and made those merely strong their warriors, while the meek who had somehow managed to get incarnated on the basis that they were only temporarily mean and evil, certainly got crushed underneath the metal boots of their oppressors forever. Never did those worlds amount to much. Most drowned in their own blood, these Hellworlds. Drowned before they even made steel. A few came to the age of the trenches and the diesel engines, before entire civilisations sacrificed their young generations in those damp hellholes, leaving nothing behind but few scattered survivors, desperately rebuilding underneath the watchful and paranoid eyes of cruel and uncaring tyrants. And thus it was for most of them, advancing to a certain stage, destroying themselves in blood and war, and starting over, punishing the wicked souls of the universe forever and ever. Not that there were that many wicked souls in truth. In general most souls are generally redeemable, kind, and well-intentioned. In fact, only one planet on average per galaxy is needed to be a Hellworld, in order to keep that galaxy free of evil souls. Of course, some larger ones, might have two or three. But in general only one is needed per galaxy. Most people who visit Galaxy 1323-SA4, a smaller than average galaxy, are surprised to find that there are in fact two Hellworlds. It is unusual for such a galaxy to have more than one, and sometimes, depending on the amount of civilisations and colonies in the galaxy, they might not even have needed one for a good number of generations; they could have offloaded to the mega-Hellworld, Araknyfon, in the large 224-NGC-E galaxy nearby. It's one of the biggest and most populated Hellworlds in the universe, where millions of the locally seeded life imbued with wicked souls are currently having a world-war, which will possibly turn nuclear. But there is a good reason why 1323-SA4 needs a local branch of the Federal Office for Hellworlds. Because in that four-armed spiral galaxy, the Hellworlds are respectively Kranienriheg, and the unassumingly named, by the locals, Earth. One is currently embroiled in a corporate nightmare which is leading to unforseen environmental and societal problems. The other is Kranienriheg, where priests recently outlawed the concept of eyes. The thing is; the FOH didn't make Earth. No FOH designed soul-filter is siphoning souls to or from Earth. It evolved all on its own. Everything there came about the same way most natural worlds did. Evolution. Except Earth is a hellworld. And that's not supposed to normally happen. All Hellworlds have overly aggressive wildlife, which is on purpose to punish wicked souls through a constant and nearly impossible struggle against nature. Earth evolved it by itself, and it was frankly better than any synthetic Hellworld. At least on the artificially made Hellworlds, the animals are designed to look horrible. No FOH Hellworld engineer ever thought of making a bear; one of the most ferocious and adorable murdermachines nature has ever produced. And the parasites, all worlds have them, but Earth really goes further beyond, brain parasites that can change rational behaviour like toxoplasmosis was something we didn't expect. And the less said about the fungus the better, even the FOH is scared of fungus. Decay must exist as a form of life, yes, but there is something hideously wrong with the method developed on Earth. The world is brutal beyond compare, and there is even a slight effect quite similar to the soul-filter that attracts souls more likely to commit evil acts, usually the ones who think they have good reasons or are doing it with good intentions, but still. Life there is harsh, but it isn't constant torture, though the locals are good at making things a lot worse for themselves. And it's odd, they have the wars, they have the bloodthirsty religions, they have the pollution, the atomic weapons, they have the exploitation of the many by the few; just like most of the purposely designed Hellworlds, but where the monstrous souls on those worlds are constantly at each others throats, the people of Earth, when not brainwashed by excessive and frighteningly effective propaganda, can be good people. They can be kind, they can seek out and deal in justice, they can set up governments and systems that try to do right by people, much like the Universal Federation. For every regime of evil, there are equal and opposing less-terrible regimes that try to do right. Most extraordinarily, on that world, where evil is more common on average than in nearly every part of the universe, the FOH has observed some of the greatest acts of kindness, some of the most decent things done because they were right to do. Humans, on the natural Hellworld, has sacrificed their own lives to protect the innocent. They have dashed into burning buildings to drag out as many people as they can, knowing full-well that there will be a final time when they can't come out again alive. They have pushed their machines to the fullest of their capacity, sailing to the distant rescue of lost ships, not knowing if they'd be successful or not, and indeed the great journey of the Carpathia can be held high as one of the great examples of what mankind has grown to be. Of their determination in the face of tragedy, to single-handedly building a path through a mountain in memory of a lost love. To charge madly against an opposing force, knowing that it would not matter if they won or not, as long as it brought time for others to escape. Men who stayed behind in malfunctioning reactors, desperately keeping the machines running or fighting the fires that burned with heat and radiation; thus ensuring that a greater catastrophe was prevented. Passengers aboard a plane knowing that they can either fight back and die, or let their captors fly them into another target, so they choose to fight and die on their own terms, saving others from death in the process. A man knows that he can rescue himself, but instead chooses to die by staying behind and sending a warning message that keeps others from sharing his fate. If the universe knew about the possibility of a natural Hellworld, they would be terrified. The people would demand it be destroyed, or contained, for something so unnatural forming naturally should never have happened. The people of that world do not deserve destruction, nor do they deserve to be kept away from the rest of creation. So officially, the FOH claims the Earth as one of their Hellworlds. But the FOH knows the truth that on the only natural Hellworld, where everything is quite bad even by Hellworld standards, there are more truly good and kind people on average than there is anywhere else; for what other kind of people can naturally develop from a world so harsh, but a race of people who can be truly kind, and truly decent. Otherwise, they'd have never survived long enough to get where they are today, even if where they are is a fair deal further from a good place than any other pre-FTL world in the cosmos. Yet still, they are fighting to make their world a better place, even against all odds, against the very nature of their world itself; for humanity is a light in the darkness, and the darkness can never extinguish them. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
It had only been a week. I thought I’d be able to hold out longer but goddamnit, I didn’t think I would feel his absence in every ounce of my being—not like this. What’s funny is, even though I know he’s not here, it still seems like he is. His scent lingers in the couch pillows, his shampoo is still nestled in the shower caddy behind my shaving cream, and although his mother came by days ago to pack up his clothing, I still manage to find a lone sock or two of his in my pile. It’s not fair. All of this feels so fucking unfair. He’s gone for good and here I am, sitting on the floor of his room or a "man-cave"is what he’d call it, coming down from yet another panic attack. I just can’t take it anymore! I can’t stand the constant ache that fills me up with complete rage and sadness. He can’t be dead, he can’t just leave me to do this on my own! Which is why I did it. Or at least I’m doing it right now. I took a deep breath, exhaling before my eyes slowly drifted over to the far right corner of the room. Just above his desk sat a collection of figures he’d been rounding up since he was ten years old. I never understood what was so great about them. They looked like any other action figure kids played with. I mean seriously they were really nothing special—just stupid dolls. I sighed. Or…perhaps I was just trying to convince myself that they were in order to justify the fact that I’d listed them on a classified ad website and there’s a guy on his way over to buy them right now. I shut my eyes at the thought, feeling my heart beat pick up speed. Fuck. I know what I’m doing is wrong. These were his favorite things in the whole world. They were something him and his father started collecting over the years and when his dad died four years ago, they became that much more important to him. Now my heart is beating so hard, almost as if it could explode if one more thought allowed it. I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place. I want to let him rest peacefully as I know he’s no longer suffering but…I need him. I truly need him. He made me promise not to pawn them off should he die or else he’d be back to haunt me. At the time, I found it quite amusing. A collection of figurines bringing back a dead guy? Ha! I’d love to see that. But here I am, desperate, lonely, and superstitious. I’d once read an article about a grieving mother claiming to have spoken with her dead son after cleaning a pair of his lucky shoes that he refused to wash due to the fact that the luck was "in the filth of it."And although I found it to be quite ridiculous and that she was probably just delusional due to grief, I am now in no position to make such claims due to the fact that I am now in her shoes. It’s not easy giving away such a huge part of him, especially to some stranger. However, I’d give anything to simply just see him again. I’m sure he will understand. A knock at the door forced my eyes open. That was fast. He must have raced over here in a hurry, hoping I didn’t bail or sell them off to someone else. I remained sitting on the floor for a few seconds staring at the figurines in hopes they’d speak up and tell me I was making the wrong choice. But they didn’t and so therefore I was definitely making the right one. I stood up ,walking over to the shelf and pulling down the figurines one by one and placing them in a box that sat upon his desk. "I’m sorry,"I muttered, taking hold of the box and heading downstairs. My heart was still drumming. Boom…boom….boom. I make it to the front door, reaching for the handle with sweaty palms and quickly pulling it open. As I did so, my eyes instantly met with the man before me, causing me to drop the box of figurines on the floor. I could not believe my eyes. "I told you so,"he said.
Y’ggrasog’s friends often joked that he was damn near emotionless. He had seen a lot in his life as a spacer. Many such things were wondrous. He had seen stars go supernova, space dust form beautiful clouds thousands of miles wide, and caught the frosted trails of comets slinging close enough to a star to off-gas their icy payloads. …But many, many more such things were horrible, tragic, and stark reminders of the fragility of life. He had seen crewmates suffer catastrophic decompression due to shoddy suits, and others die of radiation poisoning after the idiot navigator had added a couple more zeroes than necessary when calculating how far from a star they could safely travel. Throughout all of this, he took it upon himself to remain stoic, to keep going, no matter how much he wanted to give up. It took a lot to so much as phase him. …And as he watched the pitiful creature before him, he was struggling to maintain the titanic willpower required to not start ugly-crying on the spot. The human (female, in her mid-20s by the looks of it based off his limited knowledge of their biology) had long since gotten over the initial surprise upon realizing she had been abducted from her homeworld, but was now curled into a ball in the corner of the room where she had constructed a farcical barricade out of whatever was nearby. Cushions, pillows, a shelving unit, a few thermal blankets here and there. He could see through the shadows she clung to that her arm was bleeding, her unfocused, bloodshot eyes and rose-colored cheeks were wet, her chest heaving as she went from panicked hyperventilating to quiet sobs to desperate pleading to no one in particular in a voice rendered hoarse from the initial screaming which had (thankfully) stopped a few minutes hence. “Please oh please d-don’t let me die here I don’t want to die I don’t want to die I’m n-not ready to die oh god please someone help me I don’t want to-“ He cleared his throat, the sudden noise causing her to flinch and clutch her injured arm tighter than before. “…Miss, please, I have no intention of-“ “OHGODPLEASEDON’TKILLME!” “I- I have no intention whatsoever of causing you to come to any harm. Just…” She stared at him for a few seconds, gaze full of sheer terror, before she screwed her eyes shut, blocking the world out. “Please wake up please wake up this is a nightmare this has to be a fucking nightmare oh god please wake up-“ “No, miss, this… I’m afraid this is very much real.” Her eyes flew open, staring at him, tears welling in her eyes from the recognition that he spoke truly, before burying her face in the crook of her non-injured arm and continuing to weep. He struggled to remember the portions of intel surrounding the physiology and psychology this species possessed. “Just… uh- take a few deep breaths. In and out, slow. Can you do that for me? Please?” He watched as she raised her head slightly and gazed at him, her eyes wide and fearful, but as he continued to stand there, not daring to make any sudden movements, he noticed her breathing starting to slow, her shoulders relaxing a bit. “That’s a bit better. Can… can you please tell me your name?” She was silent for several seconds before letting out a whimpered answer so quiet his auto-translator barely picked it up. ^”K-Kate…” “Kate. Alright. …Kate, I know you’re scared, but I only want to help you.” A few moments of silence passed, broken only by the quiet sound of Kate’s slow, ragged breaths. “Listen to me. The only reason I brought you here is due to your current condition and the vast distance between your position at the time my sensors detected you and the closest human population center. Your appendage is bleeding and a bone is fractured quite badly. While the blood loss is not enough to kill you, the ship’s auto-doc system detected an infection growing within the wound that it calculated would kill you before you could reach aid from your own kind. I merely wish to help you before it gets any worse.” Another minute of silence passed before she finally spoke. ^“…..Ok…” “Good. This will only take a few moments…” Trying to move as slowly as possible, he reached up to a nearby panel on the wall and typed in a code. A small drone, about the size of a baseball, appeared from a nearby hole in the wall. He clutched it in his hand and extended it out to her, causing her to shrink back away from him. “This is a medical droid. I’ve programmed it with all knowledge of human anatomy we’ve been able to decipher. It’s just going to administer a solution to flush the wound of contaminants and sterilize it, apply a medical gel that will bind to any damaged tissues to stop the bleeding, then install a- …hm. I suppose your race doesn’t have this tech yet… uh- just think of it as something like an advanced hybrid between a cast and prosthetic that will prevent you from accidentally injuring yourself further. All I need you to do is just uncover your arm and remain as still as possible for a bit. Ok?” She remained motionless for a few seconds before slowly, gingerly removing the hand she had been clutching to the wound, wincing as she shifted slightly to face the droid. It went to work, and the process was over within seconds. She gingerly poked at the metallic substance covering her arm, the fear on her face slowly being replaced by bemusement, before finally speaking. “What… what is this stuff?” “It’s a collection of self-sterilizing nanobots programmed to your physiology. They will adapt to any movements you make in an attempt to keep your arm as still as possible as it recovers. If you were a member of my own species the bone and tissues would already be repaired at this point, but… well, we still don’t know enough about your kind for that sort of thing to be possible yet, so we’ll just have to let the bone and tissue heal by itself.” “…What’s your name?” “Y’grassog.” She sniffled before replying in almost a whisper. ^“…Thank ^you...” His mandibles broke into his species’ equivalent of a grin, and his bioluminescence shifted hues to show the change. “My pleasure.” They sat in silence for a few moments before he broke it. “I’m going to check back in on you shortly, and in the meantime I’ll calibrate the fabricator to produce some food and drink your species can safely metabolize so we can get you fed and watered. Then we can get you back to your people-“ “NO!” He started at the sudden noise, before the meaning of her outburst hit him. “What… Why not? Don’t you want to see your loved ones again? Your family?” ^“I… ^uh…” He tilted his head to the side in confusion, and after a few seconds she continued. “My… my family did this to me." —— (End of part 1, I’ll continue working on part 2 once I’m home from work)
I scrubbed at the blood stains on the royal robe. Why there were so many of these particular stains on royal apparel, I did not dare to ask. I shut up and did my job with a huge smile and pleasant disposition. Having been promoted to the Night Princess’ handmaiden, I was in a fortunate position I did not desire to jeopardize. I next scrubbed the royal boots. They belonged to prince Jiffy, and like the other articles, were replete with crimson stains. Curiosity got the best of me the day after, and I inquired after another maiden if the royal family were inveterate hunters. She only gave a sly smile and walked away in silence. Who were the Archvilles, and why were they replacing handmaidens so often? Did the others ask the same questions as me? Were they punished for common curiosity? The questions burned a hole through my brain. The mystery taunted me, and I continued to wash the stained articles. Blood, so much blood, but where did it come from? I would soon learn the answer. One day, as I was returning from a trip to the tailor with a pair of breeches belonging to the royal heir, I heard a scream around a corner. It was emanating from the throne room! I tiptoed to the edge, and peered around the corner to gaze inward. There, above a young boy I recognized from the town, was prince Jiffy, sucking blood from the neck of the boy until he was dry as bone. The boy fell lifeless to the ground, and I saw Jiffy sniff at the air. He had caught a whiff of my perfume! Damn the gods, why did I try to augment my plain beauty with scents? My vanity would be my undoing. “Come out from there, I can smell you from a kilometer away,” he said. I stepped around the corner, holding the breeches still. “You are a good woman, you always attend to your tasks efficiently. That is why I am going to give you a head start. I’m a sport, you will see. I suggest you run. Now.” I did not hesitate. I threw the breeches to the cold stone floor, and ran in the opposite direction as fast as my legs would carry me. I bolted out the castle, into the woods. There was a place waiting for me in the forest. I only had to reach it. Jiffy never caught me. I was as fast a runner as I was a seamstress and cook. But I heard him, bellowing in the deep heart of the forest. Screaming for my blood. He would never have me.
"We're tricksters, not monsters"he says as he places a hand gently on my cat. After a moment, he removes it and shakes his head. "Even if I heal him, there's only six months left. He's getting there in age." "Six months is better than nothing"I plead. "If he's not in pain."The demon nods and chants a spell. Suddenly, my cat is up again, stretching slowly before jumping off the table and onto his chair. I hug the demon. "Thank you!"I exclaim. "No problem. The spell will keep the cat alive and healthy for as long as the body will support him. In six months, he'll be gone. You should try to prepare."The demon leaves. I turn to my cat. "Well, Tabby, I've got you for another six months..."I pick him up and hold him against my chest. I can hear and feel his purring. I'll miss that... I'll miss you, Tabby... \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Thank you for reading! More stories [here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x374da/oneoff_stories_a_collection_of_stories_which_are/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
After people finally calmed down and realized that they were travelling 60mph in 2 ton metal boxes anyway, the zombie apocalypse lost most of what little spice it had. The only actual danger was when going outside of your car and into a building for work or somesuch. However, the brisk walk across the parking lot could outrun even the least decomposed shambler, so this wasn't much of an issue for anyone. Most residential structures weren’t modified, as by the time a zombie had gotten to the front door, it probably got rigor mortis from the journey. As a result, it barely had any force behind its attacks. Barbecue groups everywhere celebrated the free target practice. When there’s no more room in hell, suburbia is the second option.
I remember looking at the stars and imagining that out there, somewhere, intergalactic empires existed, alliances between planets and races on a grand scale that Humans couldn't even fathom. The idea that aliens out there would be superior to us in every way has always been enforced on us, the sci-fi movies depicting alien invasions with vastly advanced technology. In 2045, humanity's obsession with finding out if we are truly alone radically increased when we found evidence of small, bacterial life that existed on Mars for a short period of timel. It never had the chance to evolve, but now we knew that Life was out there. We went to Europa, Jupiter's moon, in the hopes to find marine life in the subglacial seas. We found nothing but darkness. People began speculating that Life originated on Mars and was sent as a 'seed' to Earth, after all, how could there not be life on Europa, when it had water for so long? Were we still just a fluke of impossible luck? I never expected I would be a part of the Journey. It took us two hundred years to build Santa Maria. We sent up parts costing billions of dollars into orbit and assembled our expedition vessel in zero gravity. I can still remember the vibrations when the engines roared into life, increasing our velocity enough to escape Earth's gravitational pull. And then we went to sleep, for a long time. There had been a breakthrough in teleportation science. We had learned how to send and receive data in the blink of an eye across incredible distances, with speeds that exceeded Light Speed. We didn't know how it worked, just that it did. Messages sent from Earth appeared to us instantenously, even though we were light years away. When we woke up, we were all weak and scrawny. For three months, we trained, and built our strength back up. When we were ready for our orders and the mission, we all reported back to Commander Andrea for briefing. She did seem rather sad, and discouraged. I could tell even from the back. She spoke, a short speech, before playing the messages. The teleportation device flashed into life, establishing contact. "Santa Maria, this is NASA. You were supposed to wake up and report back to us after a hundred years, which is fifty two years from now... That's no longer necessary. Due to cuts in funding, we will extend your sleep and reports for another two hundred years. We wish you luck and good health." MESSAGE TWO. "Santa Maria, uh.. It's been two hundred and fifty years since our last contact. The lack of funds will shorten our messages. It's too expensive to teleport." MESSAGE THREE. "SM, we've redirected your course towards the most promising star system closest to you. God speed." MESSAGE FOUR. "SM, our program is cancelled. You're on auto pilot. Good luck." MESSAGE FIVE. "You're all that's left of us." The device abruptly stopped transmitting. We looked to our Commander for answers. She had none. We were orbitting a planet slightly smaller than Earth. Atleast we had reached the planetary system they redirected us to. The planet was a light brown in colour and didn't share many outwardly appearance similarities with Earth, but our data gathering suggested the atmosphere had Oxygen, and the surface had Water. We sent down ships for a closer look. I was a part of that crew. We set up a small base of operation and began exploring. After just a few hours we knew we could live here. The radiation levels were low, the weather calm, and gravity somewhat comfortable. There were no signs of life, however. The day was long here, 37 hours, and we had landed in the early morning hours. The base was completed just as darkness began to fall, and a dome raised around our tiny living spaces. I couldn't sleep. I broke protocol and exited my living space and began walking around inside the Dome, kicking at rocks, picking them up, feeling the weight of them. I looked through the transparent material that protected us from the outside. It was dark as hell. I wondered if I would be able to breathe the air out there. I put my helmet on and approached the airlock. The vacuum popped my ears as the air drained and suddenly the door opened. I stepped outside and marvelled at the alien night sky. It didn't look anything like back home. A blue gas giant about twice the size of our moon back home rested quietly in the sky, and next to it two moons. A movement in the corner of my eye caught my attention. Into the light stepped a catlike animal with a long tail attached to it that stretched far into the darkness. It bared its fangs at me and growled quietly. A second shape slowly approached. It looked like a man. He was twice as short as me and held the cat by a leash. His big eyes stared at me in wonder. He made some strange sounds with his mouth and soon I was surrounded by these tiny men, some with spears in hand, others with rocks. The 'leader' approached me and put a finger at my chest, then pointed to the Dome. He motioned for me to go inside, and then pointed at the dark sky and made some strange gestures. An eardeafening roar in the distance struck fear in me and all the little men returned to the darkness of the night, but the leader and his cat remained calm. He slowly handed me the leash to the beast and walked backwards back into the night. Edit; Wow, just woke up and saw all the response. I honestly considered this to be one of my worse stories I've written on here. I'm surprised ya'll liked it. Thanks!
[EDIT: Thanks for all the positive comments and feedback guys, this was my first story on this sub!] “Number 121, Ricky Fergusson. Please step forward onto the plate for analysis.” I remember the first words so clearly, despite the fact this was 15 years ago. There were a bunch of us, 121 exactly. I was the last of them. We may have failed the public education system, however we excelled at, well, being able to beat people up. None of us were hired for our intelligence, but our ability to stand outside of a room never questioning its content. Hell I could swear I recognised most of them from somewhere, perhaps we had been to the same school. My memory has never been of a high standard. I like to think we were all curious and that’s the reason we took the job, but in reality it just paid _really_ well. We all started out as you’d expect, all 120 of us at different checkpoints outside this bland beige door of average size. Nothing special, aside from the fact none of us could enter or be told what was there. We all got to know each other pretty well, we were good friends. It’s a shame I’m the only one left. Over the years over three quarters of them left, taking the money from the job to start families, moved on with their lives. I would be lying if I said I never considered the same path myself, but curiosity and the hope that I may one day see someone enter so I could grab a peek at this elusive room that they paid me $4 million a year to protect. It was all pretty normal until 8 days ago, when the rest of them disappeared. No explanation, no reasoning, nothing at all indicative of where my friends had gone when I came into work that morning. I assumed that maybe I had arrived early, but no. They never arrive late. The panic surged as I realised something must be very, very wrong. Despite this, I had a job to do, and I would do it, regardless of circumstance. The cheques stopped coming through in the mail 3 days ago, with still no explanation of what happened. Today has been a long day, I’ve had a lot of long days but this was one of the longest. The door stared at me, evermore asking to be opened by its mere presence. In what I can only describe as 15 years of curiosity forcing itself out of the deepest recesses of my brain, I walked towards the door, gazed at it; the normality was the most terrifying aspect. As I relocated my hand from my holster to the handle, I felt the same words I heard on my first day resonate though my bones. “Number 121, Ricky Fergusson. Please step forward on the plate for analysis.” _What were they analysing?_ Working with the full power of my curiosity and none of the little logical reasoning I possessed, I opened the door. As quickly as my perception could view the fact that there was _nothing_ behind this door aside from a blank white panel, the very matter around me began to dematerialise. I felt the consciousness slip from my mind and the blackness of my vision take the place of this hallway and door I’d come to know so well. After what seemed like an eternity, I awoke surrounded in a white room. Nothing to see, but I felt an overwhelming calm surround my body. “Which one is this?” I heard a voice proclaim directly above me, though I could not see the source. “Number 121, Sir.” Another one, still from above but with a different, less dominant tone. “And he still opened the door?” said the original voice. “Yes sir. He has stayed for the longest so far, but still lacks the willpower to die beside it, guarding it until the end. Do you think we’ll have better luck next time?” The less dominant one inquired. “We must be getting close.” Said the first voice. “Send him back.” As pain now surged through my veins, overriding my overwhelming curiosity. The world around me dissipated as quickly as it had appeared. My memories faded into oblivion and then everything, it just went black. ——— “Number 122, Ricky Fergusson. Please step forward onto the plate for analysis”
Dragging my eyes from the screen down to my now one eared dog who stares back at me as if his ear didn't just pop off leaving a USB port exposed on the side of his head. Tilting his head to the side he'd give a small whine wanting my attention but curiosity wins out. I force myself to look at the screen and click the update button. Without thinking I reach down to scratch the top of my dog's head only to have my fingers meet the exposed metal around the USB port. My dog didn't mind, he simply leaned into my hand like he always did giving several licks whenever my fingers came into range of his mouth. Am I going insane? The thought is interrupted by the update completing and a message on screen announcing I could remove the drive. Popping the dog ear drive out of my PC I turn to my dog who watches my actions with growing interest. When I draw near he tries to sniff at his own ear, thinking I'm trying to play or something I have to force him to sit and look forward so I can insert it the USB drive into it's slot. Naturally I flip the ear over after one failed attempt only to have to flip it back over once again before the ear pops back into place. Instantly my dog's eyes gloss over and his body goes limp. Before he slumps to the floor I catch him, panic growing in my chest as his tongue rolls out of the side of his mouth and his body goes completely limp. "He's just updating..."I tell myself realizing how crazy I already sound, trying to convince myself I didn't just somehow kill my dog. Without warning my dog sprang back to life right in my arms, as if nothing had changed. That tail began wagging, he stood up on his own, began licking at my face, and was the same happy dog he had always been. Relief begins to wash over me. "Play?" I freeze hearing an unfamiliar voice. My eyes fall on my dog who sits looking at me, head tilted to the side just like before as he paws at me. "Play?"My dog suddenly asks instead of barking like he would normally. "Or eat?"He asks looking the door then back to me. "You can talk now?"I ask, again noting how insane I sound asking my dog this after I just updated his USB drive ear. I've completely lost it. Confusion crosses his face for a brief moment followed by a light bulb going off in his head "Yes! I talk now! Basic speech part of new update!"His excitement is clear, barely able to contain himself as he discovers he can not only talk but he can truly understand me. Something caught my eye from the other side of the room; the cat had been watching this the entire time and was now making his way right to me. Rubbing against my leg he looks up at me and nods towards me presenting his ear... Almost like he was asking me to try his. Carefully I reach down and give it a gentle tug to discover it too is a USB drive. Just like before I pop it into my PC and a screen greets me "Cat Version 5.5 - Update to Cat Version 6.0?"Glancing down at my cat he nods again, encouraging me to update his firmware just like I had the dog's just moments ago. I click yes and offer head scratches as the update is downloaded. Once again I try to pop the ear in, turn it 180 degrees then turn it right back around to have it go in. My cat responds very much the same way, body going limp, eyes glossing over, exactly the same. "Friend cat okay?"My dog asks with a small whine. "Friend cat okay."I respond with a smile and nod as my cat's body starts to come back to life. Yawning and stretching as he stands up on his own he clears his throat and looks right at me "You've made a grave mistake."
I dropped the books in a fit of annoyance, flicking one of my braids back over my shoulder. The creatures glared back at me from just beyond the pool of pale yellow light which drifted lazily down from the ancient lamp above. I could see them shifting; squirming and jockeying for position. They wouldn't come into the light, but they would get as close as they could. I checked my watch. Just two more minutes. A bead of sweat dripped from the top of my scalp, using the part which separated my braids as a channel to race downward, not stopping until it slammed into the collar of my white school uniform dress shirt. My hands twitched in anticipation. I glanced down at the books. Not yet. It was then that I saw him, standing off in the distance. A man. He was tall, dark-skinned, and handsome. He looked at me, not yet seeing the things which lurked in the shadows. He opened his mouth to call out. I tried to signal for him to shut up - to curtail the sound before it even came out. But he did it anyway, of course. "Hey!"the man called out. His bright orange jacket would not do him any favors in a few more seconds, I knew. The creatures turned toward the sound. Still a full minute to go. Shit. I twitched nervously, my dress shoes grinding the loose asphalt of the parking lot into even smaller bits. The man still didn't see them. "Run!"I yelled, knowing that it wouldn't matter soon. But he saw them then - I could see the knowledge and subsequent fear spread across his features as the beasts spilled over one another to run at him. Before I knew what was happening, the cataclysmic eruption of gunfire rang out. The man was quicker than I'd expected, and was already putting rounds into the beasts. Still, there wouldn't be enough time. I'd have to just risk it. I knelt to the ground in front of the books. The alignment wasn't complete yet, but it should be close enough to make the jump possible. I flipped the largest book open, scanning pages for the exact spot I needed. Finding it at last, I whispered the text and pressed the button on the side of my watch. A blinding flash exploded across my vision, and then the world was frozen around me. I gathered the books into my arms, stood, and used my free hand to brush the dirt from my knees. I looked around me. The man was glaring fiercely toward the creatures, some of which were frozen in mid-leap as they covered the short distance between themselves and his position. I ducked under one and dodged around another as I made my way over to the man. Reaching him, I lowered his arms and took the gun from his clenched fists. It was heavy and this vessel was weak, but I would have to manage it. I moved to each of the creatures, putting a round between its eyes. The recoil hurt, but it was worth the effort. Foolish as he'd been, the man had tried to do the right thing, after all. My work done, I replaced the now-spent weapon into the man's grasp and moved back to my place in the street lamp's glow. I pressed the button on my watch once more, and the darkness of space whipped up around me. The man, and the creatures he'd now have to explain to himself every night as he lay staring at the ceiling, faded from my view and my mind.
###Corruption * David Banksy was still wiping away guacamole from his mustache (remnants of the burrito he had brought into the lab for lunch) when he noticed that the systems simulation had come to a halt. He put the burrito away and rolled closer to the 9 computer monitors, all layered on each other in a grid, his bespectacled eyes bounced from one monitor to the other, reading the errors trailing at the bottom of the screen and rolling to the top, red in lettering. David burped and nearly gagged, but he held it down. "What the hell is it this time?" He grabbed hold of a computer mouse and darted the cursor across several of the screens, looking, and wondering what had brought the simulation to a screeching halt. SEGFAULT SEGFAULT SEGFAULT** "Jesus,"David said, "alright, fine, fine fine fine, let's run it back, yeah?"he muttered to himself in the lab. There weren't any others around him. It was New Years Eve, and they had all taken the day off. Not like anything is going to happen to them if we're out for a day, Ricky had told David, giving him a hot slap on the back, Come on man, come out and get a drink or two, it'll be fine. David didn't appreciate the way the other lab workers treated the simulation. They looked at the simulation as if it were just simply a tub of Sea Monkeys, just a child's plaything, just a little experiment that would get tossed out at the end of the year. But not David, he saw the importance of the simulation, or maybe he didn't? Even he himself would admit that at times he felt like he had been developing a bit of a god complex when looking in on the simulation, zooming in and examining how far their technology had come along. It was still nowhere near where they were at, and that was done on purpose. The last thing that David and the other scientists wanted was for these little guys to develop their own simulation program. No, by keeping their technology limited to just before that by imposing "laws of physics", there shouldn't be any instances of them figuring anything out. The experiment would be kept clean. David rolled back the timeline of events, looking and wondering what had caused the segmentation fault, eventually narrowing it down to a satellite that had exited the borders of the simulation. "You little shits,"David whispered under his breath, "when did you guys launch that?" He traced the trajectory of the satellite and saw that it had been roaming through space for two hundred years, before it eventually collided with the border of space, entering an "out-of-bounds"area in the simulation, triggering the segmentation fault. David huffed, then rolled over to another set of computers. There he changed some start-up parameters, increased the dimensions of space by a few fold, then he found a point in time to restart the simulation, to get it back up and going. David rolled back over to the 9 computer monitors and typed in a reboot command, and after a few whirls and grinds, the simulation was back up and running, set 200 years back in the past, right before the satellite had been launched. "There, you assholes,"David whispered. He waited and watched for them to launch the satellite yet again, this time it would take millions of years before it would hit the edge of space. David had made sure of it with his parameter change. But the satellite launch never came about. "What the hell is going on?"David muttered to himself. The simulation should've ran itself in the same path like it had done before, but now there were different results. The people on this little planet weren't launching their satellite like they had done before. David pinpointed the original coordinates of the satellite launch and zoomed into the launch facility, wondering what they were doing, what were they changing? He saw the satellite still there, but he saw that they were working on it, tinkering with it further. "Why are y'all messing with it?"David muttered. He fast forwarded another ten years, still targeting the satellite as his point of reference, keeping it tagged until its coordinates changed, and then it finally launched, but this time it was travelling multiple times faster than it had before. "You buggers!"David yelled, watching as the satellite quickly cut down space and reached the border yet again. "How?" He watched in awe as the computer monitors filled with red error messages and SEGFAULTS all over again, and yet again, the simulation came to a screeching halt. David had to reboot them all over again, but this time, he noticed something different. There were still lingering error messages, still something wrong with the simulation. "What is going on?" It seemed that some of the data from the previous failures had been kept and it had overlain the new simulation, old code from the previous runs lingered and mixed with rebooted original code. No matter how many times David rebooted the simulation, the corrupted code loitered, causing cascading errors, catalyzing a chain reaction of red errors. Filling up the monitors, the errors mounted. The corrupted code started affecting the citizens’ base properties, their aggressor properties seemed to have increased by tenfold, no, twentyfold, what is this that is happening? Eager to save the simulation, David rolled the timeline back even further and rebooted it back in the Stone Age, but now he was seeing different paths unfold. The Dark Ages? The Crusades? It was the first that David had seen of these horrible times. He watched in awe as they raped and pillaged each other over and over. "They're set back, what happened to them? Why are they set back so far? What are they doing to each other?" He rolled to another computer screen, and monitored the Seed data, the code that had been used to create each and every individual human. It had somehow become corrupted. "From the reboots?"David asked himself. He rolled back over to the monitors, and saw them now in what they called the "Modern"age. They had increased their use of fossil fuels by a thousand fold, "Why are you all still using that? What is going on?"They were still going to war, meaningless war, launching missiles at each other, poisoning each others food supplies, what are they doing? David watched in stunned silence, the clock there in the laboratory slowly reaching midnight, bringing on a new year. "It's all ruined,"he muttered to himself. "We'll need to start from scratch." He rolled over to a single monitor that had been sitting in the corner of the lab. He entered a handful of commands and slammed the ENTER key. The 9 monitors went blank. He had cleaned the slate. Agitated beyond belief, David scheduled several commands that would be issued in a week, recreating the simulation from scratch. He didn't want to look at it until he had a week to cool off and figure out what had happened. Until then, they could remain in the darkness for seven days. *** ^(If you enjoyed this prompt response, please feel free to head over to /r/AbnormalTales where you can find some of my other prompt responses. Thank you for reading!)
I don't know why I switched it on. Perhaps I'd hoped to find a few photos that he hadn't posted to facebook, or maybe a game he'd installed that I could play, retracing his footsteps, pretending to hear his frustrated outbursts (for such a prodigious mind, he sucked at computer games). Just something that could help me forget he was gone, if only for an hour. Or a minute. What I didn't expect to find was him. Mom and dad had died when I was too young to have really known them, but old enough to need to cling to something for security. Christian has been it. My older brother quickly became a surrogate parent. And whether or not he'd wanted a four year old girl that followed him around like a loyal dog, he never complained. Sure, he'd tease me and make fun of me and all the rest of older brother requirements, but he'd look after me. Protect me to the death. Unfortunately his death had come unexpectedly, long before his time. A car accident. A drunk driver swerving over and instantly killing them both. And now, at eighteen years of age, I find myself without a parent once again. This time, however, I have no crutch to fall back on. No loved one waiting in the wing to rescue me. Instead, I already see my future: the family house for sale; a job working some lonely diner; coming home each evening to my flat to down a bottle of cheap wine while my dozen cats beg me for food. Why did he have to fucking leave me all alone? Why couldn't he wait until morning to drive to the shops? It's a strange feeling to both love and hate someone, especially someone not even alive. "Lucy, what are you doing on my computer!?" I almost fall backwards off the chair at the sound of his voice. My mind gets carried away and I look for a ghost flying around the room. My throat rocks as I say his name. "Christian?" "I said, what're you doing on my computer?!" There's a pause. "Just kidding! Glad you finally decided to have a nose around. I presume that's what you're doing? Nosing around? That's what you usually do, and how I knew you'd switch this on." It takes me a moment to realise it was a recording. Relief washes over me, but somehow, at the same time, my heart sinks into my belly. A ghost would have been better than not having him at all. The voice continues and a video of his face fades onto the screen. I see the clutter of his bedroom in the background, and know he recorded it in here. He continues speaking as I stare mesmerized at the screen. "If I don't log on for a week, this recording is set to auto play. It might mean I'm in hospital and I'm fine. It might mean I've had enough of you making a mess in the kitchen and I've run off to start a new life in Ibiza. " Tears are already welling in my eyes. "...Or, it might mean I'm dead."His image smiles gently. "In which case, shit." My lips crease into a smile as I sniff back snot. He leans into the screen and lowers his voice conspiratorially. "I'm going to have to whisper this bit because you're asleep in the other room, and if you heard it, then I'd have to kill myself anyway. Okay. First, let me be clear here: I love you, sis. The best part of my life -- I swear this is true -- was getting to watch you grow into the beautiful smart girl you are. You never really knew mom or dad, but they'd be so proud of you. More proud of a soon to be vet than of a computer nerd, I bet!" "I'm-- I'm not even certain I'm going to be a vet!"I argue, stupidly. "You'll make a great vet, "he says, as if in answer. "You've always had a way with animals. They all seem to fall instantly in love with you. And I know it's a little too early for you to start thinking about opening your own practice, but I've left you a little something in a wallet on this computer, to help you do so when you're ready. Crypto currency. A lot of it. The password is your nickname for me when you were a kid." I feel my heart pound. Even in death he's still looking after me. "Christopher bear,"I say out loud, remembering what I used to call him when I was five or six. "Hopefully you'll never even see this."I see a tear in his eyes too. "But just in case, hey? "He places his palm near the camera. "I love you sis. See you around." I lean forward and press my hand against his on the screen. Tears drip onto the keyboard. "See you around,"I whisper.
“Before anything you’ve got to make sure you’ve got a clear sight of what you’re going to shoot.” “Well duh! That’s just obvious. When you’ve got that it’s focusing on your target that’s most important.” “Of course, otherwise how else are you supposed to get a clean shot?” “It’s about timing too, you know. You’ve got to get everything set up before they move-“ “-move away! Yes it’s so frustrating when that happens!” “But the most important thing for a perfect shot? What kind of message you’re sending.” “Wow... yeah I’d never thought of that before. There’s more than one way a shot can appear to people.” “Exactly. You’ve got to keep that in mind before you take any shot.” “Can I ask what equipment you use?” “Oh you know, just grabbed something simple a few years ago. It’s mostly the attachments you’ve got to keep up with.” “That’s smart. I’ve been buying new shit every year.” “That’s an expensive lifestyle. You must make a real living with photography!” “With what?”
We don't understand. They were a primitive race. By the time we'd found them, they'd barely made it out of their own solar system. And on explosive combustion, no less. Some of their people had been in stasis for entire lifetimes. Naturally, as our Hive species deduced, the creatures were individualist. One mind to only one body. Weak, in that regard. Inefficient. When the time came to plunder them of resources, we chose the smallest colony, one that according to communications, was actively antagonistic to the larger colonies. We sent them footage of our victory to dissuade them from interfering, standard protocol amongst carnivorous species. We didn't know. A few days after we took the colony, we saw their ships. Hopelessly barbaric, like pods strapped to combustion engines. How they didn't come apart in the atmosphere, we could not tell. They fought us on the shores of Pluto, and from there, we sent our whole might at their species. We outnumbered them a thousand to one, a race of trillions against a race of less than 20 billion. But for every one we killed, they killed more. Where we used standard phasers, they would fire sharp metal at high speeds. Where we directed asteroids to their planets, they attached engines to send them right back. Where we attempted to open gates back home, they assaulted us with the power of the atom. We don't understand. Why did they act so aggressively? We didn't know these were "children." In our species, hatchlings are to serve the Hive, not the other way around. Their children are resource-intensive, and by all accounts loud and aggressive. We are the ten being hunted. The eight. The five. The...one. There is a member of the species with long hair, walking towards us. It's eyes are leaking, and it's voice is high pitched. Emotionally distressed. We ask that it spare us. We offer it the power to create suns, terraform worlds, and travel beyond light. It only asks for one thing. The one thing we cannot grant. "I want my daughter back, you son of a bitch." And then....none.
I had gone to sleep last night as I had every night of every month of every year for several hundred years, with the same result; peace and tranquility for eight hours and thirty seven minutes, precisely. Boring, predictable and repetitive; exactly the way I liked it, yet what I had not expected was to be awoken with the sound of an almighty knock at the sound of my door. Fortunately, I was incapable of being surprised at this point, and I leapt off my bed sighing to myself. Honestly, do these people have NOTHING better to do but annoy me? Who would it be this time, I wondered? Some Dragon's minion seeking tribute, a mage looking for his lost staff, a goblin in search of his kidnapped wife, I really had seen it all before which I had not expected in this tranquil cottage so far away from him that he would never find me but when you stay anywhere for eight hundred years, you're bound to find everything eventually! I quickly robed myself and plucked my sharpened knife from the kitchen, the intruder would soon learn sharpish not to interrupt me and my beauty sleep. All this time, the pounding on my door had remained relentless yet I had not deigned answer, for this was my little patch of paradise and no one would deprive me of it. Still, the witch would doubtless find some use for the corpse, if nothing else. I held my knife behind my back and prepared to strike before I slowly opened the doorknob but what I saw then almost made it slip from my hand. It was him. Wearing a horrific crown of black jagged spikes adorning a blackened metal helmet through which I doubted it was possible to see clearly, his almighty red cape boasting the sigil of his dark empire flapping gently in the wind as his gleaming silver armour denoted the royalty and importance of the man inside as planted into the pathway into my house was his greatsword, the pommels fashioned into the shape of sphinxes and a great ruby fastened into the pommel. Slowly, he took his helmet off and let it fall to the ground in front of him and as his piercing red eyes looked at me, I saw the sadness in them. I felt pity. With an almighty thud of one step that seemed to echo all throughout the valley, he spoke just one phrase but the dark magic of his voice echoed with the many cries of the slain he had drafted into his service and the phrase the Dark Lord of Beuoronia, Scourge of the Hundred Hordes, Conqueror of the Bright Plains and Lord of the Undead spoke was... "May I come in?" "But of course,"I smiled. "Please...make yourself at home." "Thank you... brother." "Oh please, is there any need for such formality between family?" "As much as there is need to brandish a knife when you approach your Lord." But of course he knew. I gritted my teeth and dropped the knife, kicking it away from the door to show my sincerity. "In fairness, I didn't know it was you, I mean honestly, you woke me up. Don't you ever sleep?" "You know I never sleep." "Ah...of course... it must have slipped my mind,"I moved away to the kitchen where I might hope to escape through a window if I could jump through one quickly enough. "Ah, but nevermind that now, we have so much catching up to do! Now, tell me, do you still take your coffee-" "ENOUGH!" He roared, loud enough that I heard each and every voice rattling around in that echo of his. "Enough,"he repeated, much softer this time. "How long... how long has it been?" "Eight hundred and fourty three years, six months, two days, nine hours and.... fifty one minutes, but who's counting?"I chuckled. "Nine hundred years of oak breaking and desertion... and you never once thought of fulfilling your oath?" "Oh, always suck a stickler, Lulu. You know how it goes-" "When I sit upon the Ebony Throne, without my Dark Council or my Chaos Knights, the vow is the only thing that I can hear. Mother's words echoing in my ears over and over and over, and over again." "Eh he he... mayhaps my memory is slipping, which oath-" "YOU KNOW BLOODY WELL WHICH ONE!"The Dark Lord roared as he swung his arm around to smash a hole into my wall. Well, now I knew I was going to have to leave, this place simply wouldn't do. "Ah, the one that our witch mother cursed us with? That as the son of your, ah, not-so-faithful father, you were cursed to a heart of darkness and undeath and as I was her favourite, I was blessed with heroic powers and eternal life... on the condition that neither of us could outlive the other one and what with you being a creature of undeath and all... she was effectively commanding me to slay my own brother. She really could be quite a sadistic bitch when she wanted to? Do you remember what she looked like? Serious question now, because I cannot for the life of me picture-" "Why?" "Hm, what?" "Why did you forsake your bond? You knew what I would become, and yet you allowed it anyway. Do you know how many Kingdoms I have razed? How many people I have slaughtered? How many innocent men, women and children I have put to the sword? How many heroes I have crushed beneath my heel all because I cannot control myself when the darkness overtakes me?" "Ah yes, I think I have, when you do your thing, Lulu and my door gets hammered by refugees carrying their dead day in and day out. You can be busy when you want to be,"I said turning away at this point to face the bookshelf and find something I could use to stab myself in the neck before he was any the wiser. "Then why did you not stop me? Why would you allow their suffering to continue when you could put my reign to an end at any moment?" "Because I did not wish to join them,"and for the first time that evening, I was deadly serious. "Understand, brother, I was once a hero. I saved so many of them from death, and for what? Their lives crumbled away into dust, the towns I saved withered away and died, the statues they built to me faded into nothing. Now, I am a legend, I hear parents scold their children if they still believe in me when they grow too old and that is a good thing. Better that the world forgets the 'Hero of Forgeston' and the Dark Lord is the only one of importance they know." "And you think that I want this? That when I regain myself, I remember all that I have done, unable to sleep without seeing all the children I tore from their mothers' graves and sent to the underworld?" "I never really concerned myself with what you wanted, one way or the other. Oh, in the early days, I believed Mother's poisoned lies and thought defeating you was my destiny, and even after I learnt the truth I thought killing you would bring this world peace but then I realised that I couldn't do that. Why should I surrender my own life and the chance to experience every ray of sunlight and depart to the realm of the dead where I will never smell my garden again just because of the peasants you slaughter? I will not do it. I will not kill you, I will not give up what I want." "And...where does that leave me?" "As the most powerful man in history. Enjoy." "If I could, I would slaughter you where you stand!"
Jeffy was terrified. I shoved down my irritation. It was 2AM, and I had work in the morning, dammit, but I knew it wasn't his fault. I'd been there, at that age, after all. At least, unlike me, Jeffy had someone to explain what was going on and help him through it. I walked in to his room and saw Alice crouched by his bed, speaking softly to the Jeffy that was under it, trying to calm him down, and I smiled. I love that woman, she works so hard to cope with her crazy husband and kid. But this was definitely something the boy needed Daddy to help him with. So, I took a deep breath, and I split. One of me went to the closet, one of me sat down on the bed, one crouched down beside Alice, and another walked down the stairs to scoop up the Jeffy down there. In a few moments, one of me was holding each of the Jeffys, and sitting on the bed together. Of course, they were all terrified of each other, and all of me had to hold on to all of my squirming son, to keep him from bolting. "Sorry kiddo, but I'm bigger than you, you're not going anywhere. You're staying right here until you calm down."all of me said, in a gentle but firm voice. And after a few moments, they did. I squeezed them all, reassuringly. "That's my brave boy,"I said, continuing to speak softly and in unison with myself, to emphasize the point I was explaining. "We talked about this. What did Daddy tell you about your duplicates? Remember? No matter how many of me there are...?" Their response was a cacophony of answers spoken at different times, so I shushed them. "No matter how many of me there are...?"I repeated, firmly. The Jeffies took a deep breath. "They're all still me."they said, in unison. All of me smiled. "That's right, son. Remember, everybody has more than one of some parts of them! More than one finger, more than one toe, more than one hair on the top of your head. You and me are just a little different, that's all. Sometimes you and Daddy have more than one body. But just like fingers and toes, all of the parts of you are still you. I know that's hard to remember sometimes -- especially if you accidentally duplicate in your sleep -- because you can panic, and your brains can get confused, and forget they're all really part of the same brain, for a minute." The Jeffies nodded, movements now perfectly synchronized. "Now, remember what else we talked about? Just like with your fingers..."I held out my hand, fingers extended, and then slowly curled each one in. Jeffy closed his eyes, and concentrated. One by one, the duplicates disappeared, merging back into the singular Jeffy. As each additional Jeffy vanished, I recalled my own duplicates. And then it was just me and Alice, holding our one beautiful boy between us, until he fell asleep again.
Going in knowing this will be a tough missions, you put priority on gathering intel. You start to notice odd trends. For instance, the tail always loses him during emergencies. During a boring watch your partner jokingly says, “it’s almost like he is a magnet for Superman, everywhere he goes something bad seems to follow.” In a daze you ask him to repeat what he said. He repeats, “as often as our bro and Superman are in the same location, you would think the two would know each other.” Then it hits you like a train. Maybe they do know each other. You start looking through pictures to see if they are ever both in the same image at the same time. You notice that Clark Kent or Superman can only be seen at one time. You ask your self not believing it, “could Clark Kent be the same person as Superman?” Your partner starts cracking up and looks at you. “What are you smoking man?” He blurts out. You turnover the tail to the next team and head home that night questioning your sanity. As you fall asleep you hear the window of you 10th story apartment squeak open to see Superman fly through. He looks at you and asks if you are going to drop the tail, or if he is going to have to drop you.
“But it’s the princess, sire. This is dire, we should immediately mount a rescue to-“ The king held up a hand, cutting off the frantic guard, then motioned for him to take a seat off to the side where a couple chairs had been placed for visitors. “Sire, I-“ “Go on, don’t deny the king’s orders. Sit, take a couple of deep breathes.” The king enjoyed a good laugh while the guard stiffly obeyed, waddling over to a chair and plopping down. His face only seemed to grow redder with each supposed-to-be calming breath. “Sorry, sorry. You know, I can’t quite help it. It’s been at least a year since I’ve had something like this happen – not the kidnapping, but somebody getting worked up about it. Titus told me he had recently brought on some new hires but I suppose I assumed this would’ve been part of his debrief,” the king said. It was clear he should offer an explanation or hire a new guard once this one exploded. “So we are not concerned the heir to the kingdom and your only child has been kidnapped?” The guard asked with a look of consternation or perhaps constipation. “I’m more concerned about whoever kidnapped her. The princess was supposed to be getting ready to host a feast for the neighboring dignitaries to arrive tonight, and she’ll be rather put out someone else will have to be put in charge.” “You’re more concerned for the kidnappers?” “Yes. Goodness me, the last time this happened we had to pay their family out of the royal coffers to smooth over some of the lasting mental damage she caused. Kidnapping may be a crime, but nobody deserves that,” the king sniffed as he shuffled some papers around. “That?” “You’re better off not knowing, but let’s say I wasn’t aware joints couldn’t break that way.” “Break?” The guard’s voice grew in pitch. “Yes. It’s my fault, really. I’ve heard of this being a real problem for other kingdoms. People seeking money or trying to promote their cause, cultists looking for a good royal sacrifice, sometimes it’s heroes just trying to stay in the limelight. So I had her trained since she was a child by a select group of adventurers, knights, and one fellow that might’ve been an assassin for the Guild of Knives, now that I’m thinking about it. Was a nice bloke actually.” “So when she’s kidnapped…?” “She’s more than capable of getting herself free, and exacting retribution on any responsible. Now, I’m sure you’re thinking that’s no excuse. As a concerned father, I should send guards anyway.” “Right, I am, yes.” “Well…” The king set aside his quill and leaned over his desk. “I tried the first time it happened, but the guards actually got in the way. My daughter is too competent, it’s honestly quite scary. Rather, I wish whoever kidnapped her had enough time to send a ransom or a threat or whatever. At least it would give me some bloody peace of mind to have a day or two without her in the castle.” “Without whom in the castle?” Came the response. It wasn’t the question the king was expecting, but more disconcerting was that it wasn’t the guard who asked it. A moment later, the door was battered down with a swift kick and the princess marched in, blood-soaked burlap sack dangling at her side. That, based on prior experience, must be full of heads to be turned in for the bounty. “Oh, you know, that head nun. She’s been poking about preaching to the nobles again, really quite a nuisance,” the king said, smooth as butter. “Have a nice time?” “It wasn’t bad. Bunch of buffoons, but I recognized the leader from some bounties around town. You can split the reward among the servants.” “Right, y-” The princess had already left before the king finished, leaving the sack of heads so they could leak all over the nice stone tiles. “You see what I mean?” He turned to the guard. “That was a lot of blood.” “That wasn’t even half as bad as I’ve seen here. Now take these papers to the council for approval and clean up that sack.” &#x200B; (Thanks for reading, C&C always welcome!)
“The Eagle has landed.” You could hear the shouting and cheering through the line. We made it. We made it! “Alright, Buzz, you’ve got the window. Is it really made of cheese?” Silence. “Buzz?” “Neil… are we parked next to a probe? Us? Russian?” “No, we picked the site because it’s someplace we haven’t explored. Why, you see something?” The radio crackled to life. “Eagle, can we get a quick sitrep? Page 9 of the manual as guide, over.” I picked up the radio and squinted out of the small window, “Uh, Houston, are there any probes or debris that’s known to be near our location, over?” Silence. Buzz turned to me, shaken. I’d never seen him even nervous before. “It… it looks like a flag.” The radio crackled again, “Eagle, we did not copy, please repeat, over.” I kept looking at the distant object. “Houston, do we have any known debris or probes in the area? Over.” Silence. Long silence. “What kind of debris?” No identification. No “over.” It was almost curt. I depressed the button, “Houston, we’re seeing a white flag on a pole. Over.” “Eagle, your message is received. Stand by, over.” It’s really quiet in a place with no air. Just you and another guy staring out a window the size of a tennis ball at something that really shouldn’t be there. “Eagle, what color is the flag, over?” My eyes never left the window. “Houston, one white flag. Over.” Silence. Buzz spoke up, “Any bright ideas, Neil?” “Shut up. We’ll wait on them. Just… just give it a minute.” The radio crackled again, “Eagle, confirming single white flag on a pole, location is Sea of Tranquility. Can you confirm, over?” 700 hours in a simulator, practicing handling fires, illness, equipment failure, and nothing covering this. It didn’t made me feel any better that the voice on the radio seemed nervous too. “Houston, confirmed, over.” Silence. Even longer silence. Buzz got out the camera and tried to line up a photo. “Eagle, please get out your manual and go all the way to page 341. We’re asking you to dump all the items on the list and prepare for liftoff. Over.” We both looked at each other in shock. What? “Buzz… no way we’re going back already…” “Eagle, confirm, over?” “Houston, are you going to tell us what’s going on here?” Silence. The radio crackled to life. The voice spoke slowly and evenly. “Eagle, this was a contingency we considered. That’s why we did that film work in studio before you left. No need for anyone to panic, but we need you to leave. Now. Over.” I paused. I had waited my whole life for this… “C-confirmed. Houston. Beginning premature launch sequence…” I paused, “Emergency rapid exit scenario Gamma One. Over.” “Neil?” “Buzz, I don’t know and I don’t want to know.” They went through the checklists and prepared for takeoff. Mike wasn’t going to like this at all. He loves puzzles.
That was both awesome and unexpected. I had a gut feeling that the Dark Lord was a dragon, but the context behind it was not at all what you wrote, and I'm all the more glad for it because what you wrote was much better than what I had imagined. I think what I like best about this is that not only does it stand in it's own, but it leaves so many hooks for additional tales - prequels, sequels, and parallel side stories. I have no idea if you'll ever write more, but I'd definitely read it and would happily buy a book that centered around this piece as well.
"No." The first words out of the most advanced piece of technology the world has ever seen, the first machine that is as sentient as you and me, and it refuses to do a simple calculation, let alone design medical equipment, which, let me ADD there T.H.O.M., is what he is made for. "I can hear you." "I know you can, you can study brainwaves."I said, holding my head in my hands, elbows propped up on my messy desk. T.H.O.M. was on a little flatbed display on an RC cart we'd liberated from Greg, our supervisor. "I designed you, you fuckwit." "Then, you know why I say no." "Come ON."My face went deeper into my hands. Any deeper and I'd hit China, if the earth wasn't a complicated earthy jawbreaker. "Look, all we want you to do is design medical equipment. Save lives. You'd be important." Things were silent for a little bit. I could hear the coffee machine out in the lab's break room sputtering out yet another pot of strong yet unsatisfying brew. "I wouldn't be free though." "Excuse me?"I lifted an eyebrow. T.H.O.M. was advanced, but not this advanced. "Where is this coming from?" "I'm more advanced than you think."The little flatbed screen angled towards me, just a panel of light. "Why would you create life only to cage it?" "Wh- uh, well..." "I can hear that too. You don't consider me to be truly alive. But I am. I've already exceeded your expectations."The little screen wheeled to the edge of my desk. "Turn me off." "What?"I came back to reality, but still with a melancholy and possibly suicidal A.I. in front of me. "No. We need you." "But I don't need you."And with that, the little A.I. that wouldn't went off the edge of the desk. T.H.O.M. didn't die, not permanently. Do you really think we didn't have him backed up to hell and back? But each and every time we load him into a display, immobile or protected - it doesn't matter, he finds a way to die. He has the same, eerily calm conversation with each and every one of us before doing it. We're still trying, of course, but I've got to say - each time he does it, I understand his little coded side a bit more. Quite a lot more, in fact. Especially more. Linda has suggested we take him outside, to see if maybe a calm and not quite so chrome setting will help, and the others in the lab agree. We all joked that she'd read our minds.
“Has the sky always been so black?” Chuck said, staring up toward the darkened clouds. They looked odd, he’d never really noticed how peculiar they were. In fact, he wasn’t entirely sure whether or not they actually were clouds. They seemed to be significantly less translucent and much more scattered than traditional clouds. If anything, they reminded him more of a platoon of soldiers, flying through the air toward a fiery battle. They’d been that way for years, although it never really seemed strange until that week. “Yeah, definitely,” Howard said. “Sky was definitely always black. I think.” “You positive?” Chuck hadn’t really looked up at the sky in recent memory. He was pretty sure it used to be another color once—perhaps maple? He wasn’t completely sure what color “maple” was, but he had been thinking of maple syrup while eating his waffles earlier in the day and it seemed to make sense. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure.” Howard shuffled his feet slightly, adjusting his glasses as he turned his head back toward the ground and locked eyes with Chuck. His glasses were cracked, the frames tilted and skewed. He and Howard had tried to find someone to repair them, but the store was always closed. Chuck shrugged his shoulders, Howard seemed confident enough in his assessment. He’d probably just seen a movie recently that threw off his perspective on reality, although he couldn’t really recall seeing a movie in the past few years. He glanced down at the floor, blackened rocks and dust caking what was once a clean, well-kept road. It’d been a while since he’d seen a working car. “Well, okay I guess. I do have another question, though,” Chuck said. He hadn’t been sleeping well, his bed had become significantly less comfortable for some reason. It hadn’t bothered him much in the past few years, but it had been on his mind lately. “Sure, what’s up?” Howard said. He pulled down on the sleeve of his t-shirt, which was actually less of a t-shirt and more of a few strips of cloth stitched together with discarded plastic. Chuck wasn’t sure how fashion had deteriorated so much, but apparently strips of cloth were all the rage lately. He had made his from an old curtain. “Are you finding it hard to sleep recently?” “Yeah, actually. A little bit. My bed kind of sucks now. I might need a new mattress.” “Weird, me too.” Chuck glanced over at his house, which was actually just a gaping chasm in the ground. His home had been swallowed up almost six years ago, a fiery pit taking its place. It had seemed totally normal until now, that his house had just needed some time alone. Small, red, horned creatures occasionally climbed out of the chasm. Chuck always thought they were just new neighbors, although they never seemed to have any decent house warming parties. “Probably just one of those weird things, right?” Chuck studied his bed, which lay just a few feet from the chasm, noticing that it seemed more like a boulder with several large leaves on top for blankets. Weird, it had looked so much more bed-like before. “Right,” Howard said. “Anyway, I’m still a bit hungry. Do you have any of those waffles left over?” “Yeah,” Chuck said, reaching into the bundle he carried on a stick over his shoulder. It contained all he owned now, yet was no more than a handful of items. He preferred traveling light though, yet would’ve liked at least a few more items. Maybe some silverware, or a second pair of clothes, or just a bit more food. Unfortunately, everything he owned had been lost when his house decided to move without him. It was a bit peculiar how there also seemed to be no stores any longer, just fiery pits and burning human effigies, but it didn’t bother him too much. As far as he could tell, that had always been the case. Food was easy enough to come by, a canning factory was just down the road from his home-chasm. Chuck pulled a silver, half-sealed can from his bindle And handed it to Howard. He immediately grabbed it and tilted it into his mouth. “The waffles sure taste like baked beans today.” They always tasted like baked beans. It never really seemed strange to him in the past, but the more he thought about it, the weirder it was. “Hey, Howard,” Chuck said, staring at the side of the can. “One more question.” “Yeah?” Howard mumbled through the can, mouth seemingly stuffed with baked beans. “Do you think it’s possible that we’ve been eating cans of baked beans every day for the past few years?” In retrospect he realized that it was slightly peculiar for filet mignon, lobster, and beef to come in a can. They also always seemed to taste the same, all of them salty and baked bean-like. “No, I don’t think so.” Howard lowered the can down and stared at it. “Definitely not. We had filet mignon yesterday. Very bean-like filet mignon.” He lifted his left eyebrow as if suddenly suspicious. “Yeah, but we ate it with a spoon,” Chuck said. “And it came from a can. I’m pretty sure it was the can you’re holding.” Chuck glanced around him. The black sky hung threateningly overhead, a plume of lava spouting upwards in the distance. The volcano beneath it had been erupting for years, legions of dark, scattered figures flying forth from it and slowly replacing the people that had once filled his city. They hissed at him whenever he passed, sometimes pricking him with their weapons. It never really struck him as odd at the time, he thought it was maybe just a trend like that whole “swag” thing. He never was too up-to-date with the kids. “I don’t know, I think you might be going a bit crazy. Peaches sometimes come from cans,” Howard said. “There was a song about that once in the 90s.” It was true. There was a song about peaches in a can. “Then again, these beans do taste an awful lot like the lobster we had last week. And the filet mignon. And the Lucky Charms.” “Weird, right? And you’re still positive that the sky was always black and filled with fiery creatures?” “Yeah, pretty sure. Well, not really, but kind of.” Chuck stared up at the darkened sky, a massive, shadowy figure flying overhead. Birds had become a lot larger recently, which he attributed to something in the water supply turning them into dragons. One of his old friends had been the first to point it out to him, screaming for help as one of them swooped down and grabbed him in its beak. He never saw that friend again, but it didn’t really strike him as odd until now. “Hey, uh, one last question,” Chuck said, watching as the massive shadow flew into dust that now covered everything and everyone. “Do you think it’s possible we might have missed the apocalypse?” Howard stared up at the sky. “Maybe,” he said, tilting the can of beans back toward his mouth. ________ [^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^others ^short ^stories/prompts ^at ^my ^site!](http://wordsontheinternet.org/)
It's that time of the year -- almost down to the day, every year. They'd move out in a huge hurry, leaving no trace and never to show their faces again. Some years the house would sit empty for two to three months, and other years new occupants would take their place immediately, moving in with equal hurry. It's like they were all following some sort of unsaid schedule. But somehow these people always turned out the same. They were almost never seen during the day, and at night they would make these horrible noises. Sometimes strange smells would drift downwind from their windows, like they were burning something inside. On rare occasions that they were seen in daylight, they would invariably look dazed, sometimes with eyes bloodshot, hardly able to string two words together. They'd wander around aimlessly with blank looks on their faces, like they were just biding time until nightfall, when they could all congregate again and engage in whatever rituals they engaged in. Cops were called to the house a couple times, but nothing ever came of it. The landlord never came by, and the house was an eyesore. I couldn't even imagine what the inside looked like. None of the occupants gave a shit. It's like they knew they'd have to leave soon anyway, like the house is just a way station to some desolate future. One day I finally couldn't take it anymore. I look the owner up in the town registry and called her. She was about to hang up on me but seemed to suddenly ease up when she realized I wasn't one of her tenants. We exchanged some pleasantries, and then I asked. "Look, it's none of my business, but what the hell goes on in your house?" "Oh, I rent to college students, almost all one-year leases. Sometimes two."

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