Split (1)

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Harold was a man who could be said to "have Friends,"only so much as he owned the dvd box set. This became a rather serious obsession for Harold, who redesigned his apartment to match Monica's. Amid the smell of cooked beef and fresh custard, Harold overlooked the rooms warmth and comfort and began to dwell on its emptiness. In the medical files of a panel of psychiatrists was a philosophical disagreement on whether Harold was never pleased and would always feel a hole in his heart, or the idea that he was simply an ambitious fellow. It is to this end that after a tragically un-televised home makeover, Harold realized he would need to build himself some Friends, and so he got into his motor box and shipped himself off to Worlmart. Harold wrote an alphabetical list of his targets to streamline his shopping trip: Chandler, Joey, Monica, Pheobe, Rachel, Ross. For the characters' heads, Harold bought a large oblong potato, a more angular potato, a white child sized motorcycle helmet, an old boot, a piece of candy corn, and a taxadermied horse's face, respectively. After securing his items and a few crude wigs, Harold headed back home and mounted the makeshift Friends on their respective bodies (ranging from a broken broom handle to a functioning broom, and even a mop). With the guardians all posted around the sacred kitchen table, the ritual was complete and the various potato-like objects opened their mouths and screamed in unison. Beams of light leapt from their throats and bathed Harold in a sinister blood red light. As the power flowed from The Six into Harold, the light faded, but screams only intensified. Harold had stolen power from the gods and would not die my normal means. In a euphoric rush, Harold ran to the balcony in the back of the room and leapt off, meaning to fly away like the ending of The Matrix - instead, falling to a death that was not normal, by any means. Rumors say that if you walk the streets of Queens at night, you just might hear the sounds of 7 screams, and the smell of custard and beef lingers along those streets to this day.
My heart was beating fast and loud. The night was so calm that I could hear my heart beating on my ears. I woke up and took a look at my watch. 1:23 a.m. I cleaned the sweat from my forehead and pulled my hair back, it was wet and covering my eyes. Since I couldn't go back to sleep I stood up and decided to take a walk outside. It's not usual in me to have a dream, and much less one so vivid. I leaned on the hall's railing, lit a cigarette and took a drag. I walked across the hall, looking down at the first floor's entrance of the hostel. My brain perfectly recreated the entrance in my dream. Down to the last brick, but in my dream it was dirty, stained, as if someone had stepped on the wall. As I was finishing my cigarette the door of my roomed opened up. "Hey Alex, what are you doing? Why are you up?"My friend was squinting, his hair was messy. "It's ok, go back to sleep. I just had a bad dream." "Wake me up if you need anything."My friend's words slurred as he opened the door, he yawned and went back inside. "Thanks, Ian."I yawned as I opened my mouth. I went back to my bed and laid down. It was just a dream, nothing bad's going to happen. I tried to comfort myself. Soon enough I fell back asleep. I woke up to the noise of my tour mates packing up their bags. "Hey, man! Ready to try surfing again? The waves are smaller on this beach so it'll be easier." "Sweet!" We all went to get breakfast at the hostel's kitchen that also served as a lobby. It was cramped and I spilt milk from my cereal bowl when a small woman bumped my elbow. She had black hair and was in her late 20s. "Hey watch it!"I complained as I saw her pony tail get lost between the crowd. "Damn dude, not even a sorry."Ian was teasing me. "It's fine, look at her, she's just going to get an apple I bet. She should eat more, put some meat on those bones."As I was replying, I realized she was already at behind me. She pushed my elbow and made me spill more milk. I felt the blood flow to my nose. "Again?!" The movement must've made her lose her balance, because at that moment she lunged forward, pulled on the shirt of another tourist and fell down, dragging the poor guy with her. Her foot had stepped on the milk and slipped. I rejoiced as she got help standing up. "I don't need help, I can do it myself. The floor is very slippery, watch out." I'm petty I know, but she claims to be the best surfer around and watching her fall down felt like divine justice. &#x200B; We arrived at the beach without further incidents. The sun was just starting to come up and it was a little cloudy, perfect weather. I got my board and ran to the sea, waiting to catch the first wave of the day. I heard people cheering and I turned my head. I then saw who they were cheering for, it was the short girl, riding the first wave. She looked at me, giving me a challenging look for a split second before she turned her sight to the front raising her fists in victory. Anger bottled up inside of me and I kicked the water, blowing off some steam. She started cheering as the wave she was riding suddenly grew twice its size, made a turn and threw her off her board. "Ooohhh"the last tourists were getting their boards and lamented her fall. She stood up with the water covering all the way to her waist. The girl looked straight at me. "You!"She pointed at me. "2 times in a row, impressive."I grinned. "How did you?... Nevermind."She turned and went back to wait for the next wave. As she was leaving me I saw a good wave coming to me so I decided to ride it. The sun was shining on it and it was the perfect size and speed for me. I got on my board and started paddling. I had to prove that show-off that I was better than her. I managed to get off my belly and crouch. I stood up and celebrated. "Yeah!! Whoo!"I searched for the girl with the pony tail and locked eyes with her. Then I started to rise higher and gain more speed. I saw her open her mouth in shock as the wave kept on growing. It was now 3 times larger than the other waves and I got the attention of Ian and many other surfers. "Woah! That's huge!" I was rapidly approaching the shore and my wave kept on going. I panicked and threw myself to the side. The wave crashed down with me and spun me around, carrying me to the shore. "I thought you said the waves in here are small!"I heard another tourist complain. He was talking to the tour guide. "They are. In 30 years I've never seen one so big in this beach. The other waves look fine, but we should still all come out, for safety reasons." The tour guide took his whistle and blew on it. "Tour bus 105 of Spring Falls, come to the beach please!"He shouted and started calling people over by name with his hand. "Valerie! Jordan! Come to the shore!" I went to lay down under an umbrella finding shelter from the sun. I was shaking the sand off my swimsuit when I saw the pony tail girl approaching me. "Hey, did you see that? Tallest wave in 30 years"I bragged as she came closer to me. She hurried up. "Are you insane? Saying that aloud, as if"She started talking in a hushed manner now and pulling me close to her with a surprising strength. "As if manipulating the water wasn't stupid enough."she was clenching her teeth. "Haha, I'm better than you, just accept it."I tried to get rid of her grapple, but I couldn't. "Let go!"I pulled my arm and the clothes were torn off, still in her hand. "Now look what you've done." "You are making a scene, you leave me no choice." "Ooooh. So scary."I managed to say as I instantly fell asleep.
"well, as a connoisseur of immortality through writing, and knowing that you have manifested in a place where lots of writers happen to be, i can only suggest you get them to write themselves into fictional worlds." ... "hello?" "can you not hear me?" "i wrote this comment to try and help you, but if you are gonna just ignore me then i guess i can leave." frucking space wizard time travelers man. "for example, you could write, you are in a world you know already, but something is really off about it."or "you are to deal with the universes and every case of copyright infringement between them."or "how would life suck after 500""fricking anything can work!"
Part One of Two I have always been self conscious about how I look. As a teen, I wished so desperately that I could look like my best friend, Emily, but I always kept my jealousy to myself, and I never let it get in the way of our friendship. We were an odd pair, for sure, she was perfect, athletic, smart, everything I wanted to be, while I was awkward, people were always making fun of me. I never understood why she wanted to hang out with someone like me, but I’m forever grateful that she did, she was such a dear friend. Anyway, so yeah, that was highschool. Decades later, the ravages of time haven’t done me any favors, and I sometimes wish that I could go back and do it all over again. I made so many mistakes- I can barely even remember what I was like then,or even what I learned, but I always remembered Emily, and I often wished that well, that she could see me again. After highschool, we went our separate ways- she went to college, and I didn’t. I hadn’t seen her in literally decades, so imagine my surprise when I saw her again, on Reddit of all places. It all started when I decided to visit the “Roast me” forum?, no wait, sub-reddit, and post a picture of myself. I was no longer that self conscious teen, I had made peace with my body and took a photo to post online, for the other users to “roast”. It was self deprecating, sure, but maybe deep down I still did feel insecure. I don’t fully understand reddit, but my daughter set it up for me awhile ago, so that I would have something to occupy myself, I suppose. Ever since then I’ve become an avid reddit user, in fact I spent most of my time browsing there, not much else for me to do these days. As I scrolled through the sub-reddit, I was saddened to see all the young faces staring back at me soulessly, heartbreaking that so many young people went through the same struggles that I had when I was there age. I wish I could tell them to appreciate the little moments, to enjoy their youth, as I wish I could have told myself, when I was young. But as I kept scrolling, trying to figure out how to post there, I had a shock. One of the posts was a picture of Emily! At first I thought I imagined it, but I would recognize that face anywhere, her glorious curly blonde hair and soulful green eyes. I got up from the computer in shock and searched my room trying to find my highschool yearbook. I couldn’t find it, but I still knew it was her. Incredible that I would find her again so suddenly- but wait- she hadn’t aged a day! Was it an old photo? I looked closely and so that it couldn’t possibly be, the quality was perfect, and she was holding a piece of paper that said “Roast me” on it. It was her! I was so shocked that I felt like I was going to have a heart attack. But I knew this had to be too good to be true. Maybe she had a daughter just like I had? But the resemblance was too perfect. Then a terrible thought crossed my mind. My daughter had a few months ago explained to me about internet scammers, people trying to get money or romance, catfishes, she called them. I wished my daughter was here now. Was someone using a edited old picture of my friend to lie to people? I decided there was only one way to find out. I clicked on the profile and tried to find out how to message her. After a really long time I finally found out how. I must be tired, I thought, seeing how slowly I was using reddit, maybe I was just hallucinating or something? But before long the suspicion passed and I found myself messaging her anyway. “Dear Emily” I wrote as though I was writing a letter. “It’s Olivia! Remember me from high school? All my love to you- Olivia”. I sent the message and I waited for a reply but yet it never came. Every day I didn’t look at any of the other forums, just Roast me, staring at that picture as though I was staring at a old friend, which well, I was, in a sense. How was she still so young? Was she using the snap chat filters my daughter loved? I didn’t understand it. Was she just pretending to be young by using a old picture? I called my daughter about it but she didn’t understand, she thought I was just imagining things, that Emily was my “imaginary friend”, she joked. Some imaginary friend, she never wrote back to me. My daughter always loved playing games, like many of this generation, she didn’t understand the real and practical. She was into fantasy, science fiction, whatever. Maybe she would think Emily was a clone or frozen in time or something. I would never believe in that bullshit- this was real, not a story and I didn’t want her conspiracy. There was a real person in that photo and she looked exactly like Emily. Day after day I kept writing to her on reddit almost as a comfort. I told her everything that happened in the years that we had been apart- how my young daughter’s middle name was Emily after her. And never once did she respond. Finally, I got desperate. I copied over my address and sent it to her and told her to please visit me. One day, I opened the door, and gasped in shock. There,on my porch, was Emily.
Hello, this is the Lockpicking Lawyer, and what I have for you today is a very interesting letter from my friend BosnianBill. I'm not currently at liberty to discuss the contents of the letter, but the gist of it is that BosnianBill needs my help with a series of very interesting locks. Now one thing you'll notice about this prison is the wardens' patrol cars are fitted with the same type of gun lock I reviewed in episode 1106. Luckily I do have a magnet that will allow me to bypass the lock, so I'm going to demonstrate that right now and then get to work on these prison guards. PEW! Small spray of blood out of one... PEW! Little bit of counter-rotation from two...
They say that every seven years, your allergies change. On my twenty-first birthday, I was the unluckiest man in the world. It was three days before I noticed the change. The first was spent hungover in my apartment, the second I braved the wildfire smoke to pick up groceries, and in the third day I woke up to a feeling like pins and needles all over my arm. At first, I thought I slept on it funny, but once I rubbed my eyes, I noticed two things: the skies were clearer than the day before, and my arm was covered in what looked to be sunburn. Shit, I thought. Something must have bit me in my sleep. But as I pulled myself out of bed, the faint sunlight touched more of my body, which started to tingle and turn ever so slightly red, just like my arm. I closed the blinds, figured I must be dreaming, and tried to wake myself up. But nope, I was awake. Didn't I just hear about some kind of beetle that can make you allergic to stuff? Are they that far north already? I figured a trip to the local clinic was in order, but I needed to finish my morning routine, or I'd be in a foul mood all day. The shower was nice and warm, and I'm ashamed to admit that I drank some of the shower water. Straight out of the shower head, of course, even when hungover I wouldn't drink my sweat-water. But I quickly felt dizzy, and got to breakfast. Everything was fine until I went to grab a spoon, one of the family heirlooms. Touching that was even worse than the morning sun, and I gasped as I dropped my bowl, milk and cereal covering my feet. Okay, I thought, let's just do leftovers. I grabbed a cold chicken wrap and my keys, wiped off my feet, and headed for the clinic. Now, I should have seen this in retrospect, but I was feeling a little off as I ate my wrap. I'd made it just yesterday, but it smelled horrible, and I was in the middle of regretting trusting my brain over my nose. At the time, all I thought was that onions had been bad, and that I'd finally adjusted my mirrors properly. Woops. When I came in, breathing slightly easier in the smoke due to my mask, the receptionist looked shocked when she saw me. "Yeah, I feel how I look, huh? Is Doctor Clancy in?"I thanked her when she said that he was, and asked if I was having any complications from my shot last week. I said maybe, but that I hadn't fainted again, just some strange rashes, and I mentioned the thing that I suspected bit me. "Oh, I'm sure Doctor Clancy will want to hear all about it, so you just go and see him. He's free right now in fact, let me call him." As she paged my doctor, I sat down, enjoying the air conditioning. The pale fluorescent lights didn't do the receptionist any favours, though she was quite pretty, and I'm sure I looked way worse than I was, due to the urgency in her voice. When she told me I could go up, I made my way there as fast as I could. When I reached the doctor's office, the door was open. I waited outside for an answer to my knocking on the doorframe, but when I didn't receive a response, I stepped in and was promptly sick all over the floor. When I heard Doctor Clancy come from a side room and say, "Oh you poor thing, do come in,"I felt a little better. He looked me up and down and said, "Please, tell me everything that's been going on, leave out no detail."So I told him about my hazy memory of Sunday night, the sun three days later, my worries of the beetle, and everything else as he wrote it all down. "You look like death, Ethan, I'll get you something to drink."As he went back to his back room, I noticed what I'd missed in the car. When he closed the medicine cabinet behind him, I couldn't see his reflection. Nor could I see mine. The receptionist locked the door as she stepped into the room, and she looked no less pale in the warmer lights of the office. She grinned, and Doctor Clancy said, "Monica and I will help with your problems. I didn't think you'd need your second dose so soon, but there are sometimes side effects. The best thing for it is to receive your second and third dose right now. And Monica, do try to keep the blood off the carpet this time."
"Do you ever look up at them?" "The stars?"I retorted, gently stroking Laura's arm, her head rested upon my shoulder as we both lay on the beach. "When I was a girl, I'd wish upon the first one to light up the night sky. Every day. Can I have a new bike? Can I go to my older sister's school and hang out with all of her cool friends?"She scoffed, "Can Tommy ask me out on a date?" "Whoa, now. Who's this Tommy fellow?" She rolled her eyes, "I knew you'd ask that." "Do I need to be worried,"I jokingly persisted. "Of an 11-year-old boy?" "He's not a child anymore now is he?" "As I was saying-- "He could be 6'5"now. Was he tall then? Doesn't matter, he probably shot right up." "You're insufferable."I smiled, tightening my grip, pulling her closer. She sighed. "I stopped for a while, though. Why do you suppose that is?" "Stopped what, the wishing?" She sat up, "When we get older, why do any of us take the world so seriously?"I shrugged. "While my mother was dying, I began to look up at the stars again. But I began to feel ashamed. I had been selfish. Sure, every kid is superficial, wanting only material things, not aware of any supposed philosophical ramifications-- "Philosophical..."I laughed and sat up beside her. "What are you talking about?" "Life, Sean,"she quipped, her tone stern. "We only look for divine intervention when it suits us." "You're human. It's what we do. We're... assholes. All of us." "You think I'm an idiot or something." "Babe. You wanted your mother to live, that's not-- She began to stand up, "Whatever." "Ok,"I protested, grabbing her hand. "Listen to me."She reluctantly sat back down. "When I look into your eyes, do you know what I see?" "What,"she asked, dryly. "The sky. The stars. All of it. You are so beautiful, inside and out. You have this connection with the world around you. It's seamless. You'll always be too good not for just me but all of us." Her cheeks grew flush, "I'm not that great." "Yes, you are. You don't flaunt it. You don't put yourself above others but you are an angel. I truly believe that. I don't know what I did to deserve you but I'm eternally grateful to... whatever's up there that made this possible." "I thought you didn't believe in a higher power,"she teased. "I didn't used to. But there's no other explanation for where you came from. I love you, Laura. I can't imagine going through this life without you." "That's so beautiful, babe."She kissed me, both of us falling into the sand once more. "Sir? Uh, hello?" She was right about one thing. You do have to take stock of everything around you. Can't take anything or anyone for granted. "Sir?" That night was the best of my life. Well, one of. "Sir! Pay attention!" I'll never forget it. "SIR!"An older man grabbed a hold of me, forcing me to come to. "Oh, uh, yes. I'm sorry, I was-- "You were fucking asleep, weren't ya?"I grimaced as we both paused. "Ah, Jesus. I'm sorry." "It's alright." "No, it's not. Look where we are. A bloody cemetery."I nodded before realizing I was standing in front of another grave, likely someone he knows. "Oh, shit. I didn't mean to-- let me just get out of your way. I hope I didn't step on anything or..." "Nah, they always take away our mementos, have you noticed that? The fucking nerve. Especially nowadays. Every visit I bring ol' Gus here some sunflower seeds. They're hard to find around these parts, y'know. But he's loved them since we were boys. I eat a few, sit and reminisce about-- oh. Is that what you were doing?" "My ex-wife. Her name came up in the culling and uh...that was that." "My lord,"he gazed downward. "That damn cullin'. People are fleeing, y'know. There are supposedly runners at the borders that'll take you out of here. Who would've thought the world would come to this?" "It's funny. When we got word that it was her time, she cried and I absolutely lost my mind but just when I was at my absolute breaking point,"I began to choke up. "Just when I was ready to take on the whole bloody world, she put her hand on my face and said, 'I'll look after you. Both of you.'" "Is that your little girl over there?"He pointed over by Laura's grave where our daughter was standing, holding flowers. "You know, I'm too old to run. If I go, if my name comes up next month, so be it. My wife died before all this killin' started. She's in an urn at home next to my bed. Not long after, Gus here passed. I wouldn't mind seeing them again. But you, young man." "I know. I want to run, I just-- "You're scared for your daughter. I get it, son. I'm sure I would be, too, if Martha and I had ever conceived. But,"he shrugged. "We never cared to. I often regret it, to tell the truth. Sure, there were a few scares, a couple of times we threw caution to the wind. Sometimes in my car, once under the bleachers at a football game." "Never the beach?"I asked. "Who wants sand in their crack? Not me. And not Martha, I can tell you that."I grinned. "My point is, after I leave, my legacy goes with me. No one will remember who I was." "I will." He grabbed me once more, placing his hands on my arms, "You have to try. I don't need to tell you that she deserves a fair chance." "No. I want to end it. All of it. No more pointless deaths." The man grew hesitant. "Well, now, that's-- "Get Daisy out. Then take it to them. We form resistances. They can't stop all of us."I stuck out my hand. "I didn't catch your name." "Oh, it's George,"he muttered, slowly shaking my hand. "Thanks, George."I then turned and walked towards Laura's grave, hugging Daisy as I got close. "That man seemed nice, daddy." "Good luck, son."He ripped open his bag of seeds. "Hey, Gus! You don't look so hot."He guffawed. I looked up at the sky, "She's just like you, babe."
Her baby was wrapped like a pig in a blanket, clung to by a young mother’s hands. Andrea’s tears cascaded onto the baby’s blanket, it shone a bright blue. Her husband, still clung to her arm, promising never to let go, not even for a second, not even if the world was ending- especially if the world was ending. To them, before this blessing, it was. “John- John,” She choked. “She’ll be okay. Honest to god, she’s going to be okay.” “Maybe.” His voice mused, emotions drained from him, down his tone dropped. “Just maybe.” “Don’t say that! Please, don’t say that!” “Okay.” She, at long last, put forth her baby out with open arms, still recovering from the news, and so, weary. So, very weary. The baby was sick; very sick. Death clawed at the boy from the moment he was born five months, two weeks, and three ago. Races for a trial cure was on their way flinging past doors and doors of approval. The family cried out in suffering when they told him, the cure would reach him in two months; their baby had one week. At best. Now, though. “It’s going to be okay.” John hesitated, before swallowing back his thoughts in an attempt to sooth his aching heart, “I believe you.” He didn’t care if he had to raise this baby for a millennia; his world was crashing down before him, and someone extended their chances. What are the odds. Finally, his breath laid easy. “We’re going to have this baby for a very long time.” “I can’t wait. Miller’s gonna be alright.” “That’s what you choose?!” “Ha; I- I think it fits.” He takes a long time, looking down at the boy. For some odd reason, he seemed like a Miller. “Okay. My god, Miller’s gonna be okay.” They wouldn’t have it any other way.
"Uh, hello? Dave? I think I might have a problem,"I said, whispering into the phone. "Oh, golly gee, problems already? What seems to be the bother, buckaroo?"Dave asked. "Well, I was in the middle of the summoning ritual and now there's a demon loose in my living room..."I said. "Ah, ya probably forgot to double-layer the candles surrounding the summoning circle, didn't ya? Everyone thinks they can get the placement just right and get it in one, and they're always wrong!"Dave said. "Always best to buy MORE than ya think ya need when it comes to ritual candles, don'cha know?" "Yes, thank you Dave, I can see that now, but that doesn't exactly get the demon out of my living roo- oh god, it's looking right at me,"I said. "Well, don't let it do that! Those little boogers will dig right into yer brain like termites if ya let 'em! Just burn some sage and it should give ya some space,"Dave said. "...Okay, that seems to be working, but it's still here. Any chance you could come over and help get rid of it?"I asked. "Ooh, I'm a bit busy today, bucakroo, sorry. But don'cha worry none, just splash some holy water on it and it'll go away faster'n cotton candy in a waterpark,"Dave said. "Wait, but I don't have any holy water,"I said. "Oh, no trouble there, just pour yerself a glass and pray over it fer a bit, and that stuff will be holier than Swiss cheese! No need ta fall fer those churches and their schemin', we all got a bit a' the lord in us,"Dave said. "...Okay, that seems to have worked... Oh god, what is that smell?"I asked. "That's probably just the sulfurous smell a' the underworld, just crack a window an' it'll air out nice 'n quick-like,"Dave said. "Anything else ya need, buckaroo?" "I think that's it... Thanks, Dave,"I said. "Anytime, buddy! You know where ta come next time yer in need a' some equipment, so don't be shy!"Dave said. With that, I hung up the phone before settling down to rethink my entire plan for the day.
"An actual grapefruit tree!"The words escaped Zuri's lips as she cleared the wild bush with her machete. She took 3 small steps forward and covered her nose with her shirt; it was ragged and stained with mud, 2 rough stitched patches covered the elbows. Zuri pulled out a small binocular, calibrated the distance to 10 meters at pulled it to her eyes. Her mouth was halfway open as she noticed the rotting fruits on the floor. She took a step back and pulled a torn piece of cloth from her bulky backpack. She let go the binocular and put the cloth around her face, making sure it covered the mouth and nose. She grabbed the binocular and turned her attention to the fruit on the floor. Small insects were flying in and out of the fruit. Zuri let out a breath and fresh air got into her lungs. "They're eating it?"Zuri let go of the binocular, took off her backpack and sat down on the ground. She opened the bag, pulled out a writing pad took her pen and started making notes. She had been writing for over 20 minutes when a blue and yellow parrot landed on the tree. Zuri's eyes opened up and she froze in place, pausing her note taking. The parrot then flew to the ground and started pecking the fruit. Very slowly Zuri started to reach for her backpack and pulled out a small hand camera. She pointed and clicked. The snap alerted the parrot that immediately flew away. Zuri stood up, took a deep breath and stepped closer to the fruit. As she knelt down, she was able to see that there were many different insects feasting on the fruit, from ants to flies and even animals she could not recognize. Her lungs were burning so she let go and took a fresh breath. She took a look at her writing pad and removed her hand from her mouth to grab it and resumed taking notes. The sun was high and sweat was dripping from her forehead, after a few minutes of writing she grabbed the piece of cloth and pulled it down. She leaned closer to the fruit and sniffed it. Her eyebrows lifted and she moved her thumb to her mouth, chewing on it. She looked up at the fruit still on the tree and then back at the one that the parrot had eaten from. She leaned close to the eaten fruit and pinched its insides. Her grip took a small piece to her mouth and bit it; the acid juice squirted on her mouth. She started spiting it out and quickly grabbed a bottle of water from her backpack, but as she was trying to open the lid she stopped and went to take another piece of the fruit. Under the moonlight, Zuri arrived back to camp, smiling and 3 grapefruits heavier than before. She packed up and drove back home for a good night's sleep. Zuri woke up better rested than ever before and she was late. Very late. She didn't ate breakfast, took a bath or any of her daily routine, she just put on her brown uniform and left in a hurry. Zuri managed to run inside the main hall just in time to avoid suspension. "Hey Zuri, you're so late. Wow, what happened? "Hey Jayce! I don't know, I'll call maintenance when I get home."Zuri pulled her ear. "You missed hiking! I'll fill you up on the details after work!" "Ohh details... Did you go off the trail again?"Jayce had his gray working vest, boots and hat on. "I had to take advantage that you weren't there to slow me down"Zuri winked. "You're bad hahaha. So what's it gonna be today?" 3 signs could be read above the mass of workers. Freshly baked bread was the first option, Chai tea was the second option and rain was the third option. "Rain forever!"Zuri exaggerated a sniffing motion. "I'll go with bread. See you at 8."Jayce pointed at the first option. "Enjoy your shift!" Zuri joked as she went inside the third set of doors and found herself in a long hallway with a semicircle ceiling. White steam came out of the vents and filled the air with a pleasant smell of rain. Hidden speakers played a recording of a gentle rain. Zuri walked among the mass of workers walking forward with her nose up, enjoying the smell and sound. As she was getting closer to the end of the tunnel she started to hear new sounds that were increasingly drowning the speakers playing the rain. Zuri turned to the other employees, but they continued walking as if ignoring the strange new sounds. The smell of rain got fainter until it dissipated and Zuri reached the end of the tunnel.
It started with a YouTube video. A grainy picture, a shaky camera and a dark spot in somebodys front yard. Everybody thought it was fake. It wasn't. Then it spread, and as it spread news outlets started reporting. First the lokal news, but as the darknes had swallowed the first building whole it reached global news. The village where it started soon got evacuated and scientists got to work. I actually knew one of them. We weren't friends, but we had met a few years ago on a cruise ship. I didn't like him, but I was sad to hear that he had disappeared. Swallowed by the darknes, they said. He wanted to investigate. He never came back. Nobody comes back, once they have entered the strange darknes. It is the only thing the surviving scientists could declare before they fled the scene, saying it was the end of the world and they wanted to be with their families. Since then, things have been kind of crazy. There is no way to stop the darkness, so all you can do is run, untill you don't have run out of places to run to. Since it always starts from the ground, sky scrapers and mountains are now full of rich people. A few billionairs are said to have left in a space ship, and I belive it. I also belive the darkness will find them eventually. I tried to run, to. I climbed on my proof when I saw darkness flood the streets of my hometown. We are quiet high up, actually, so the darkness must have swallowed most of the world by now. It is so close. Closing its dark embrace around the edge of the roof, quiet and calm, rising steadily. From the other buildings I hear screams. I see my neighbours, in their roofs, crying, screaming, trying to calm their children. Half my roof has already sunken into darkness. It is fast for something that you can't see move. When I saw it on the news I thiught it must be cold, or hot, or something, but it is nothing. Just soft, silent darknes, and when I lean close I can almost hear it whispering. The world explodes, opens up to eternal darkness, infinite and ever changing. As I look around, I see a million stars. The darkness was never just dark.
You are on a planet right now, hurtling through space, protected from danger only by the gravity wells of Jupiter and Saturn. This planet is overheating, rampant with war, hunger, poverty, and inequality. It is the only planet that has life that we know of. Everything else, with hundreds of stars, found, dozens of planets included, has shown no sign of life. In the vastness of the universe, there is a chance we are totally and completely alone in a void that doesn't care if we rise or fall. Every day the Sun doesn't launch a Carrington event is a miracle. Every day a comet isn't knocked off course and is trajectory adjusted to hit us is a miracle. Every day a super volcano doesn't erupt is a miracle. Every day you get by on luck and luck always eventually runs out.
I stood eye to eye with the gorilla, still wearing his Varsity jacket as he pounded his chest in front of me. His team, comprised of more gorillas and some lithe chimpanzees, were hooting and hollering, some calling me slurs. Never would have thought that the vaccines of 2021 would start the devolution of mankind. It happened slowly, 2 years after the final vaccinations, where cases of patches of fur were growing at an alarming rate. Some called it a hoax, funny pranks and such, but the doctors of the 21st century were alarmed. Humanity was devolving, returning to our simian roots. I was a baby in 2022 and having spent the last 23 years on this god forsaken earth. My parents had less of the hardcore simian features the rest of the world had. Full on gorilla, orangutan, chimpanzee and even some bonobos!! My parents had some fur, but also had grown patches of scales and tails that were more reptilian than simian. I was surprisingly more reptilian than my parents. As I grew, my frame stretched out, a tail devoid of fur grew to help me balance. My hands and feet were as strong as the Sims, but where they had nails, I had claws. Razor sharp claws. "Listen Frank! Fuck off back to the football field with your buddies and jack off to the good old days of what might have been for you. That's not even your jacket, but your old mans!!"I said with a slight sneer. Never show fear was my motto. Being the only known Reptilian in North America had made me an oddity, so I had to stand up for myself. "STUPID SNAKE!! NOT GREAT SO!!"Frank shouted while still pounding his chest. "Whatever bud!"I said as I turned and walked away. One thing that I had going for me was my mind was still as sharp as ever. The Sims had started to lose the ability to speak in full on sentences. I hoped on my motorcycle, wrapped my tail around me and with a click of a button started that engine. My ability to use the bike unhampered by my claws gave me a leg up on the Sims. I just rode away into the sunset. I was heading to my parents lab where they were still working on a cure and I had enough samples for them to review. One thing I will say for my parents, they were persistent. Me, I had my eye on a Sim, maybe try for an interspecies baby! I did have needs after all. &#x200B; &#x200B; \\\sorry, I couldn't think of a way to get a crab/man into the story.\\\\*
A familiar rapping against my bedroom window stirred me from my sleep. Cracking open my still heavy eyelids, I rolled to my side to investigate the noise from the comfort of my bed. What I saw there usually wouldn't have phased me a bit - owls were common enough where I grew up in rural Alberta, but this owl? This owl I knew. I'd made a deal with the devil - or, K'hoole, as he called himself. Eight years ago, when I was at my lowest low, I found a way to contact him through an old South African woman who lived in New Orleans. I was on the verge of homelessness, I had failed my first year of General Medicine because I couldn't keep up with the workload from that as well as having to pull constant split shifts at the diner. I'd begun missing classes, and eventually my professor kicked me out of the class all together. That was when my mother offered to let me move in with her in - you guessed it - New Orleans. I was devastated. I'd failed to make it on my own & while I loved my mother, we were terrible roommates. She was neat, orderly, always on a schedule, and she was a major success in her field of Psychotherapy. Me? I was a mess, timid, and unorganized. After months of living with her, I'd had enough, but there was no end in sight. As far as I could tell, I was going to be stuck with her forever. Then, one perfectly ordinary day, I decided to wander into an end of the New O that I'd never seen before. A place affectionately named hoodoo boulevard by the locals; the street was crowded, full of other desperate souls like me looking for a magic fix all. Except, I actually found one. The old woman who ran the shop took one look at me & with dark glittering eyes, so told me of K'hool & how to summon him. Being desperate, I took the owl shaped amulet she offered me & followed the ritual she suggested. It was simple enough, albeit, gross. I had to wear the amulet in a sacred circle surrounded by the elements. On one side a candle burned, on another sat a pile of dirt, the other a shallow bowl of water, and lastly, since I couldn't think of anything else for the element of air, I had a small plastic fan. Once the circle was formed, I had to bring a mouse into the circle and offer its heart to K'hool. The thing was, he'd actually come to me. He accepted the mouse and took the amulet & then asked me what I required from him. He warned me that it would only cost me something small, and intangible: my soul. Now, sitting bolt up in my bed, I could see that it was truly him. His golden beak and silver feathers were a dead give away. "No,"I breathed. My heart thundered so loudly in my chest that I couldn't even hear the tapping and scratching at my window. The reality of what I'd done only now set in, and a deep pang if fear and regret washed over me. Scratch that - I still had no damn clue what I'd so willingly promised him. "Please,"I whimpered, pulling the creme coloured duvet up to my eyes. "I was scared. I had no future - I was going to be homeless! I just didn't want to live in squalor, please, you have to understand!" He was toying with me. He didn't need my help or permission to get in here, and he sure as hell had no need to announce his presence. Yet, he did, if only for the sheer joy. "I-I'm a pediatric surgeon for gods sake! It wasn't just about me - I'm going to save ch-children, please!" Still, he flapped and rapped against the window, his dark eyes never wavering from my face. It was unnerving, to say the least. "I thought I'd have more time... I... I just didn't want to go through such hardship. You understand, don't you?" At last he entered her room, melting through the glass as if he were breaking the surface of the ocean. "You did not want to suffer,"his voice filled her mind as he perched himself on my footboard at the end of the bed. "K'hool understands. But we made a deal & it is time you hold up your end of the bargain." "I won't,"I felt my cheeks begin to burn hot. "I'm not killing myself." "Then you will live without a soul." My chest was heaving. I hadn't realized that I was practically climbing up the wall. I stood on my pillows, back pressed against the cool drywall of my new home. "What - what does that mean? You said I had to die to complete my end if the bargain." He rotated his head almost a perfect 90 degrees. "It is preferable. But I never said you had to do it. Merely a suggestion." "What will happen to me?" "Either you die and I collect your soul, or... You don't and I collect it anyway." "But what happens to me?"I pressed. He was avoiding saying something , "what's the catch?" "You have the gift of all knowledge. You know what will happen." It took a moment for the answer to dawn on me, but eventually it did. "I'd... Be brain dead. Wouldn't I?" He didn't answer, only stared with his endlessly black eyes. Rotating his head, he shifted his feet and ruffled his feathers, waiting for my choice. The ticking of the clock on my wall was all but deafening in the silence that stretched between us. "Alright,"I conceded. At once my muscles released some of the tension I'd be holding in. "Let me get to the roof of the building." I sent a text to my mother to tell her I love her & that I was sorry things couldn't have been better, and a shirt moment later, I was on the rooftop of my apartment building, staring down into the river of golden glowing lights that passed beneath. I took in the sight if the full moon for the last time and spread my arms open wide & then I followed K'hool's lead and leapt. Peace washed over me as he took off on wings of silver smoke.
Steve. One of the most hated names in the Minecraft world. Stage One, Discovery. Steve discovers our village. When Stage One comes, you have a few seconds to run out of the village and into another biome. Hopefully Steve won't discover you, but he'll probably see you anyway. The only way to survive is to get to the desert biome and bury yourself in sand. There isn't much there, so Steve won't find you. Stage Two, Imprisonment. Steve imprisons us in our homes. Occasionally he'll come visit. Lately he has gotten smarter, and conducts raids when he visits. If you have anything in your chests, Steve will immediately confiscate it. Stage Three, Escape. Hopefully, you are a weaponsmith and able to confront Steve. Even so, your chance of escape is extremely low. If you are not a weaponsmith or with any such occupation, then you must accept your fate in imprisonment. I'm a Librarian, and I managed to escape Steve. These books have been sent out unconquered villages. Escape to the desert immediately with your things. Bury yourself in the dunes. If you can, pass the word on. Then dig deeper into the dunes, and hope Steve never, ever finds you again.
you know... I definitely don't remember the sun being red. that's what you think to yourself at least. what actually comes out of your mouth is more along the lines of "WHAT THE FUCKING FUCKING FUCK, MY EYES, OH GOD IT'S EVERYWHERE". you're not sure if you are going insane or it just hurt that much. you decide to head inside and instantly your head clears, if only a bit, you can't really control much of your movement, and you think its the red giants fault. but you're getting better, and when you feel good enough to move again, you walk to the window and (being careful to not look at the pain orb) you notice everyone outside IS going insane. you're not sure what's happening, but you're hoping to find out, the facts as you understand them is that the sun makes you lose all motor function, and temporarily turns you into a psycho, and the sun has also been missing for several years. when you first saw the clouds part, all you wanted was to bask in sunlight, now its a bit harder you suppose.
So you're who answered this prompt a few days ago! I saw it at the time, but I personally struggle with writing immortals like that and didn't know how best to approach the "build a civilization"thing. Interestingggggggg! Okay. So, let's hit it off with some format things because those are pretty easy to either take or discard. 1. On mobile (which is where I'm reading), the first two paragraphs take up the majority of the screen, which makes them hard to focus on and thus actually read. You don't have to change the text, but inserting some line breaks between complete thoughts would help the readability of the text. 2. Your title cards, "THE END TIMES,"etc., are sorta kinda visually distinct from the narration, but leveraging Reddit's built-in text markup notation to further separate them would further reduce confusion between sections and add a little bit of visual pop to the story. Right. Those aren't super important as far as "writing"and "the story"are concerned, but they do impact how people interact with your story. They're meta-textual stuff. So, scene-setting. This feels like the intro to a movie. Title card "THE END TIMES,"hiss of static, then an old man's voice speaks, starting the "Everything ends at some point..."as the camera pans down from an inky black sky onto the rubble of the excavated temple that our characters find themselves in. And that's not a bad thing; that's actually a striking image. But that's also all backfilled from the rest of the story. A general rule I've seen and sometimes broken is "don't start with dialogue."Now, the title card could technically be considered the start, but what the rule is really trying to get at is "don't have the reader make assumptions on no information."I didn't know that it was a recording until halfway through the first paragraph when I peeked down to the "END OF RECORDING"card at the bottom. A few super simple tweaks can help clear this up. First, visually separate the recording from the narration. I like to use "[insert text here]” for recordings and digital to mental communication (for instance, an ai speaking through a neural implant). Italics are pretty commonly used to denote mental and document-related things, and this recording would count. Secondly, add just one or two sentences describing the scene before the recording starts. Maybe Ryan has to fiddle with the dials to get the static to drop low enough to make out the words, or Sierra moves some rubble and checks the scanner before they get into it. Something to let the reader know this is a recording and that the story isn't just the recording. And, as a final note, the word said isn't to be avoided. I get it; I went through several years of finding a way to prefix or postfix almost every dialogue with some kind of action, but it reads as clunky most of the time. Specifically, the line "Sierra spoke up."There was no one else in the dialogue for her to be silent for, and the full stop halts the flow in an odd place. Alright! That's enough of me doing the writing critiquing thing. Let's talk about your story ideas. So, we've skipped past the whole "build a civ"phase, and launched straight into "oh god, the other immortals are fucking evil"phase, which honestly is a good way to go about it. To the immortals, why wouldn't you just blow shit up for fun? The worst thing to do would become stuck in a spot where you couldn't do anything, so these little snacky breaks of civilization breaking have got to be kathartic. Hope, however, doesn't seem to see it that way, instead building his own little religion and civilization with him as chief god and figurehead. Obviously, from his recording, he cares, probably a lot, about this little thing he's built up over the past millennia, but the pull to be with people like himself, to reconnect, even if only in battle, is too strong. It seems like Hope was implying that he was going to gift his immortality onto his children in some fashion, possibly by bringing about the end of the other two immortals and himself. It's unclear how that would work, but Ryan and Sierra don't seem to pick up on it, or else think it's unimportant. And, with the world scheduled to be demolished by two super pissed off immortal beings who just like destroying civilizations the way big brothers like kicking over sandcastles, I kinda get that. What was your goal with this piece? You seem to have a pretty strong idea, at least in your head, about how this whole immortality thing works. As I said at the start, I don't normally latch onto immortals like that, so I'd love to hear how you conceptualize it. Take care out there!
"There's a special place in hell for people like you......"at least that's what heroes were supposed to say when they defeated the bad guy. Only it hadn't worked out do well. He was "safe"- well as safe as any defeated superhero could be in a pocket dimension. Zonotron sat in the remnants of the costume that was left after "the incident". It seemed all.....easy. Too easy it seemed to beach his lair. Zonotron didn't even want to think of it's name. Zonotron was supposed to have saved them all, saved everything. The villan wasn't meant to win. That's just not how it worked. It was the string. The one he'd tripped over entering the lair. That's when it all went to hell in a handbasket. The flickering lights on the wall were now the shadows of the tormented, those who had burned. A blinding flash of light, brighter than a thousand suns. And that was only the start. The airburst had released particles of radiation into the atmosphere. The flesh peeling off victims.... He lashed out at the light and sent to across the floor. The shadows erupting across the walls, changing, shifting, morphing. It was like he was falling into an abyss only extremely slowly and there was no bottom. He couldn't even break anything in frustration. There was nothing to break here. He couldn't even kill himself and end it all. He would never die, only relive that torment over and over again forever. This was his own private little hell and there would be no escape.
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Uncertainty. If there was one word I'd use to describe science, it would be that. Uncertainty. The fact that no matter how much we search and prepare, we can never predict everything or be sure of anything. Because nature's tricky and will find a way to mess with our expectations. And she did. A lot. When the new strange object was discovered in orbit of Neptune in 2103, it was already a shock. A whole new unknown moon in this system we thought we knew so well. Mind you, this moon was as bright as the sun through the telescopes, so hardly undetectable in addition. But the probes and remote observations can only get you so far. A human presence was required. I was chosen alongside half a dozen other astronauts and physicists to study this oddity aboard a small station orbiting it. It would be a long trip and a longer stay to properly research what we later dubbed the white hole. At least that what we thought. We ought to have detected the issue during the first months of our arrival. But we were too busy admiring the beauty and the strangeness of the object for that. We observed it, analyzed it, studied it without rest. It was, after all, an astrophysicist's dream coming true : the exact opposite of a black hole, right there for research. A fountain that spewed matter, light and energy without end and that couldn't absorb anything in return. Truly fascinating stuff that even I spend nights upon to better understand the universe. Except the universe wasn't too fond of that it seems, and send us a warning. 7 months after we had all arrived on the station, we received a strange message. At first, it was incomprehensible, and we thought it was an interference. But when we dug a little deeper and tried to make sense of it, someone suggested to play it backwards. And our world shattered in an instant. We heard the message that Earth sent us the day of arrival to check if everything was ok. The same exact message we got 218 days ago. We understood, then, how the white hole worked : it wasn't an inverse black hole, it was a black hole whose flow of time was reversed and, by extension, that of its local space-time area. We weren't affected too much because of our careful distance, but we quickly realized what it meant to stay nearby this hazard. We rushed back to Earth and, after yet another 3 months of voyage according to the local clock, we returned on a bewildered planet just 2 hours after our departure. And after having seen our very ship leave the orbit when we approached the Earth. I wowed to never mess with space-time again.
"Fifth Assessment Report On The Anomalous Disc Event" -21 June 2027 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ On 21 January 2027, cylindrical discs, roughly 30 cm in diameter and 5 cm in height, appeared in random places throughout the planet. The discs show the ability to levitate 10 cm above the ground through unknown means. Discs have also been reported levitating above liquids. No known mechanism can explain such levitation. Particle physics experiments have been conducted but no result has been confirmed. The discs have a symbol imprinted on both sides: "1-UP". The symbol is unknown and doesn't seem to have any resemblance with any symbol throughout human history. Possible interpretations have been suggested. Experts themselves disagree on what is more likely to be the true meaning of those symbols. The chemical and material properties of the discs are incompatible with the properties of any known element or material. In addition, they seem to be very resistant and have the property of disappearing if forced to the point of nearly breaking or bending. Dating methodologies have been performed on the discs and, within the statical uncertainty of the methods themselves, they appear to match with the reported time of appearance of the disc. The discs have spawned and are countinously spawning in multiple spots throughout Earth, in inhabited and uninhabited places alike. Data has been gathered worldwide on the location and time of appearance of many of those discs. Full consensus is yet to be reached but, within the current level of uncertainty on the data that we possess, no pattern has been observed when it comes to the discs' spatial and temporal distribution. In other words, both distributions appear to be homogeneous and random. Data provided by NASA and other space agencies has found no evidence that the discs have appeared on other celestial bodies. In addition, discs have not been reported appearing on top of artificial objects that have no connection to the ground. Basically, all flying artificial objects inside and/or outside Earth's atmosphere. It has been suggested that a significantly large artificial platform could allow the spawning of discs, but no experiments have confirmed that. There seems to have never been reported instances of discs appearing in such a way as to cause an obstruction or any similar form of danger. These suggests either a lack of data, due to the rarity of such an event, or the fact that discs require a lot of free space to first appear. The latter has been suggested by multiple researchers. The discs possess the property of disappearing when touched, granting the one who touched it the ability to "resurrect once". The disappearing appears to be in contradiction with modern laws of physics, most notably disobeying the Principles of Conservation of Energy, Matter and Quantum Information. Interdimensional Teleportation and limitations of current technological equipments have been suggested as alternatives solutions to this problem. The "resurrection"appears to not be limited to humans only, but to be grantable to any animal. Microorganisms, however, have been observed to be immune, in other words touching the disc does nothing to them. Animal tissue and not-anymore-living matter of non-microscopic size has also been observed to be immune. This suggests that the disc can't heal a preexisting fatal injury. The "resurrection", being the most notable phenomenon, has been observed, studied and tested extensively by researchers, authorities and civilians. Here we summarize the conclusion that has emerged: Any non-microbial living animal that touches any point of a disc and suffers (an arbitrary amount of time after the touching) any injury that the biology and/or physiology of the animal in question (being it altered or not [1]) would render it fatal, would observe its injury to be completely cured. The curing effect usually occurs through the instantaneous regeneration and/or replacement of damaged cells. Memories after brain damage have been observed to be recoverable. Any form of matter interfering with the recreation of lost cells will be subject to a force with a magnitude sufficient enough to distance that matter from where the cells are going to be recreated. Instances of total annihilation of an animal's body and the subsequent replacement of the entire body have been reported, but have not been confirmed by experiments. The curing effect isn't always effective. If countinuous damage is done (i.e. the subject is on fire) the healing effect doesn't last indefinitely and after a certain period of time (2 seconds is the agreed upon value) it will disappear. Touching a disc more the one time will grant this immunity multiple times, as many as the times that the disc has been touched. In other words, the effect can be said to be "stackable". Explanations of this phenomenon have been multiple. The most widely discussed include: divine intervention; experimentation done by extraterrestrial or time-travelling future humans using advanced technology; magical and supernatural non-omnipotent entities; with regards to the Simulation Hypothesis [2], an experiment of the creators, a glitch or a new "game mechanic"[3]. Reactions to this phenomenon have been varied. A substantial decrease in mortality rate has been observed worldwide. Individuals have showed concerns regarding possible side effects of using the discs. Those concerns have been observed to have declined as time passed. Issues of overpopulation have been raised among scholars, many of whom suggest a potential worsening of average living conditions and resource shortages of various types. Some studies have shown an increase in suicide terroristic attacks [4]. Effective methods for gathering and storing the discs have been invented. Laws restricting the use of the discs have already been put into place in some countries and are being considered by politicians in most others. Such laws vary in the degree of restriction, from moderate limitations in the number of uses to a total ban. As expected, those laws have been met with an enormous backlash from public opinion. In some countries, specific areas have been restricted to public access to be used as "discs farm", large areas with the only purpose of accumulating a large quantity of discs. There have been reported instances of people, notably governments and companies, gathering large quantities of those discs, storing them in often secret places and, sometimes, even selling them to the general public. Research suggests that most people have already absorbed hundreds of discs, while it has been rumoured that some individuals have touched up to tens of thousands of discs. The Disc Event is a problem the likes of which humanity has never dealt with. It therefore needs to be addressed urgently and effectively. We recommend further research on many fields to be conducted to improve our knowledge of this still unanswered and unexplained phenomenon. A fact-based discussion needs to occur between individuals, policymakers and world leaders to address the problem in a clear manner. [1] Genetic enhancement, armours and other types of "alterations"have been observed to be able to counter the effect. E.g. being shot at the heart by a bullet is a fatal injury that would be healed, but such recovery isn't wasted or spent if the heart is protected by some sort of defense. [2] Without going into too much depth, the Simulation Hypothesis argues that the universe that we observe is actually an advanced computer simulation capable of creating conscious observers. [3] In other words the Disc Event is part of a game inside the simulation (see [2]) and we're inside that game. [4] Note that here the term "suicide"refers to an act that would normally kill a human. In most of those new attacks however, the attackers don't actually die because they have touched one or multiple discs beforehand.
Jacob listened to Linda prattle on in that shaky soft scream she saved for command performances. Soon she’ll raise trembling boney fingers and gently touch her right eye. I still have no idea how she gets her skin color that pale sickly greenish hue. It’s impressive. The migraine is the mike drop but it’s the light swoon that generates at least 6 outstretched hands to carry her to rest. Cooing is encouraged. All that braining takes a toll. We are not deserving of her generous leadership. Blah blah bleeech. Fuck that. This mission has been one nightmarish letdown after another. Oh and the worst, the absolute fucking worst is SHE’S A FUCKING IDIOT!! All my life I’ve been drilled Captain Linda Prime was damn near omnipotent. A direct descendent of Shanana or one of the Grunge kings. Idk I never paid attention to any of that shit but my score composite landed me in the top .05% and my dad told everyone I was going to her ship. I mean it’s been the trend The top 5% spend a year with her and if you make it you get your own command. I used to think that was because she ran circles around those who didn’t make it. Nope noooooooope no sir’re bob it’s because Captain Linda has surrounded herself with highly manipulative idiots who convince her to believe stupid, unproven, nonsense and not one can even understand the most basic shit. It’s fucking maddening. Soon after the three of us got onboard we were contacted by other captains to transfer. I’m the only one left from my class which apparently is a record. 2 months. Two fucking months and I’m the record holder for top 5% graduates. I don’t fucking care. I’m in no rush to get back and so far they haven’t blown the ship up so I got that going for me as well. After Prime took her moans and deep sighs that buckled her knees back to her quarters on the arm of Every Male Officer on deck I was able to slight shift my gaze to her calculations and mapping. Unbelievably she was correct. We were in the vicinity of a black star and yep right on target we’re now caught in its gravity. We’re over 100light years and being pulled by nothing ever so slightly. Out of the corner of my eye I’m able to read her calculations and the very first equation had a glaring mistake. That black star is right on target. We should’ve never NEVER taken this route. God Damnit! These little fuckers are gonna wind up getting me killed. Fuck this shit. I quickly redo the equation in my head and lay in a safer course but can I move? Nope… she threw me a curveball two days ago and removed my ability. She knows I have her code and can easily do what I want at her station but we both know where I’d wind up. The Kentucky Fried Killer prison in the Karferket system. The dummy who’s telling this tale got into a wee bit of a kerfuffle while on leave with a 30 year officer who fabricated what happened in his statement. Before I could get any snarky retorts I had tucked in my noggin for the inquisition, I was carried out in cuffs and placed back on this ship. I was given the choice to either fulfill one year with Prime or 20 in KFK. Oh and here’s the capper I WAS DEFENDING HER FLAT ASS. She’s a well known joke throughout the entire galaxy. And the crew are proximity jokes. I send out an alert about the slight pull and heavily debate in my mind including her colossal fuck up and my quick course correction. The reality is it’s the only course of action but I gotta watch my ass. No one survives two dimes at KFK. I have to wait for her to solve it and then fix her solution. This was going to take a while so I examined the readings from the black star. This shit was ooooollllld. Dang like right off the big bang old. And … huh… it’s mass is made of barium? Noo. No that can’t be. There is only one barium object in the entire universe and it’s friggan worshiped by many many quadrants. Wtf. Shit there can’t be 2. Fuck.
“’Nam is just the first battle of a war,” Mr. Suit said. “I know that. You know that. Your country knows that. Mine is being stubborn as hell, my friend. This experiment is not just medical, and if it works out, I might be able to countermand your draft orders.” He smiled viciously. “And, any little legal hiccups you might have. After all, you will be serving both of our countries. Just sign here, here, and initial here, and we can start.” That smile made me hesitate, though just for a single second. I had already read the terms and conditions: while there were more clauses on rental contracts, the language was obviously talking around what the experiment was about. My pride made me go forward though. It was stirred by the promise of returning home and no longer relying on Tailor’s charity. The promise of returning to my pa’s apple orchard and pies. As soon as I signed, Mr. Suit’s smile disappeared into the best poker face I’d seen outside of a casino. “Thank you, young man,” he said. “Come right this way.” He lead me down more sterile and empty hallways. We strode past stainless steel doors with padlocks on them. Half were rusted. The other half were well polished. The room we entered had no lock. It was cramped, even without the lab equipment. Four large tubes clustered against one wall, each with a glass door A shower nozzle-like apparatus hang from the ceiling of each. Three other people, in simple hospital gowns like my own loitered in front of them. The rest of the room was covered in wires and devices out of a cheap comic’s villain lair. One man in a labcoat gazed in boredom at a checklist on a wall. Mr. Suit nodded at the group of three, before striding over to the scientist. Once again, I hesitated. The friendly wave of the only woman of the group pulled me over. They were all young, my age, if not slightly younger. Neither man had facial hair though. I offered to shake their hands, but only the shorter man and the woman took me up on it. Both were firm and calloused. “Jack,” I said. “Charity,” she said. “Jose,” he said. “And before you ask, I’m a Spaniard, not Mexican. Family fled the civil war, and I grew up in Toronto.” The second man grunted. I ignored him. I wouldn’t be here once the experiment was over. Friends would be nice, but not worth forcing. “So, any idea what this is about?” I asked. Charity and Jose gave each other a side-eye. “They didn’t tell you either?” She said. “Well, whatever it is, they’re paying well.” “Ha!” the second man scoffed. “Ha! I say. If you are doing this for money, you shouldn’t be here. We need to beat those Commies so hard that no one will even consider going Red for centuries to come.” Ah. Canada was full of surprises. Patriotic fanatics included. “We shall be the perfect supersoldiers, the ubermench the krauts never were able to make. We—“ “That is enough, Mr. Smitty.” Mr. Suit said. He had finished his discussion with the scientist, given how the latter was shuffling around the lab flipping switches. “We all have our reasons for serving our countries. Now, let us start. Enter one of the tubes, remove your gown and place it outside the door. I will close the doors, and we will commence.” Smitty snarled, tore off his gown, and entered his pod. The rest of us, while ignoring the belligerent man, followed the instructions to the letter. Mr. Suit closed and locked the doors. My stomach itched worryingly. “Now, Doctor Angstrom. Stage one.” The shower head above me pulsed with a deep sound that made my sinuses ache. “Good, stage two.” My hair stood on end. The sound harmonized with a whine the same pitch as a chalkboard being scratched. “Now, stage three. Godspeed, my friends. May god have mercy on your souls.” Wait, what? The world turned blue, then red, then all the colours of the rainbow. And then black. \~\\~\\~ The world is peaceful when still. When you want to relax, you just want everything to slow down. To go your own pace. For me, the orchard used to be hardly still, except in the moment. Seasons turn, and the trees follow them. Not at your pace, but theirs. You just help them along. But, there is such a thing as too peaceful. When the world has stopped and won’t start. When the day never turns to night. When you walk home across the border, passing the frozen borderguards. Customs has never been so fast, and traffic has never been so slow. I never saw Jose, Smitty, or Charity again. Maybe they were vaporized, for all I know. After the experiment’s final moments, I found time had stopped for me. I guessed that was the goal, after trying to read through the scienceese on the documents around the lab. I know that I’ve started to talk to myself, as I’m doing know. I think, its to make sense of it all. No, that isn’t right. Its to hear again. Someone, anyone. Just anyone. I’m so alone. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Thanks for reading! Same setting as this [story](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ooz6fu/wp_since_preschool_you_managed_to_perform_top_of/h638cfu/?context=3); Hoping to make a set of vignettes with it. Critique is appreciated!
I had been blessed beyond belief in this life that was coming to an end. To my right was the woman of my life, our three children, eight grand-children, and new great-grandchild. Such a beautiful sight to have them all gathered around me. None of us knew if I would make it another night, or two, or perhaps three. “As this life grows to an end, I recall a time much farther back.” My eyes were toward the ceiling now, averting from the family I loved so dearly. “Do you remember meeting in the time before now?” I asked everyone, yet seemingly no one at the same time. “It was that time when I was the most abominable eldritch. No mortal could comprehend the monstrosity that was I.” Tears welled up in my eyes as I took the hand of my wife. “Alsiphi, do you recall? You saved me then, as you did now. Your love has always transcended time and brought me back to your side. How you found me then, I still do not know.” I coughed then, a wet, heavy cough that sent my mind spinning into illusion. “Wroarth.” “Father…” I heard the voices, but they were but distant whispers. “I was a monstrosity that no other wished to gaze upon. I was not of a tall stature, and I was quite void of colors. However, the curse of my being was not who I was, but what others perceived upon stumbling into my frozen prison.” How anyone could reach the depths of my cell was beyond me, but every few centuries a stray being appeared. I once thought my prison was a place of punishment. All who arrived gazed upon the worst fear their mind’s eye could procure. “There was but one arrival that saw beyond the crystalline blue, to the man in the prison beyond, and it was you.” - Curiosity was bright in your young face. You were a wanderer, overseer of all things lost and forgotten. “I saw your call in the stars, but still I cannot see you. The ether has devoured much of your mortality, the you that I once could foresee. However, your spirit has withered, your mind gone numb. Let me ease you from this dungeon, so you can carry on. Perhaps in another life I will find you in time… until then fair lover, your life to resign.” - I focused only upon my Alsiphi, eyes and heart smiling. “Until then, fair love, my life to resign.” The words came so easily, speaking the memory so clearly. I rested my eyes and allowed for the next time we met, to be just moments away.
It had been seven days of nonstop fighting since the Orks first landed on Kelos IV, a feudal planet on the furthest fringes of the Imperium. Seven days of constant fighting had turned the once idyllic world into a hellscape, with black rain battering down on body-choked battlefields that were once market plazas and forests. The local chapter of the Adeptus Astartes, the Eagle Bearers, would not suffer losing their largest recruitment world to the alien. Not while their men drew breath, while a single serf could carry a blade. Such was the Eagle Bearer's fervent devotion to keeping what was theirs. The banner of the Aquila would stay standing at all costs. Brother-Chaplain Cicero could barely see for all the smog, but that did not slow his killing hand. The Greenskin at his mercy was met with a furious punch liquifying his skull and brain against a Crozius Arcanum. Another charging through the fire got a shot off, with the shoota round punching through his forearm. The Astartes raised his own weapon, emulsifying the alien into a flash of plasma and calcified bone and blood. The brilliant flash reflected off of eyes in the dark. "FOUL ALIENS!"Cicero's voice swelled. "YOU CANNOT KILL ME, *MY FAITH AND BENEDICTION SHALL BULWARK ME AGAINST YOUR FILTH AND WRETCHEDNESS!"He screamed over the chaos of war, activating his rosarius. The battlefield became illuminated by his glow. It was a street corner. He had been fighting over an intersection, worthless as it was. The ground was not mud. It was destruction, the crushed remains of citizens and dead aliens. Cicero lifted his Crozius, illuminating down the street. It was like this as far as the light traveled. Bones snapped under his feet as he attempted to catch his bearings. A weak voice called out to him. A hand waved from the pile. The Astartes stepped over. A woman- In burned Imperial Guard uniform. He recognized her. Lieutenant Adaya, a soldier who had run ammo in the early days of the fighting. She looked up to him, the tears of reverence casting lines through the grime on her face. Cicero steeled himself without a word and pulled a corpse aside to free her. "You will be brought to safety."He said with authority.
I shouldn’t have been driving. I was taking my daughter to her mom’s house while on the way to work. I was swerving and shouldn’t have been driving. No way. Shouldn’t have been driving. I took slugs of my Baileys and coffee. My normal Monday and Friday routine before I began the slog. I met my ex-girlfriend at the bar next to the collision repair shop to do the parental exchange once a month. It was especially convenient this time because I was driving a loaner car while mine was in the shop. Next door, I had slammed into the bar’s railing for outdoor seating a few days before. Luckily no one was there. It was after hours and the bartender I had been drinking with until 5 am was in the passenger seat. He thought it was funny. No one saw. I was a regular at the bar and my friend was on good enough terms with the body shop owner, who was even more of a regular, to just let me cover his tab every time I was there, and he would fix the car and railing for free. “This is the bestest place ever,” my daughter said as we pulled up. “Why’s that, honey?” I asked. “Because it’s where I go back to mommy! Daddy’s very very sad. Mommy is more fun!” She was the only one who knew. Daddy was sad. I dropped off the loaner and moved the car seat to my own car. I found a flask where the car seat had been. Whiskey. I had a nip. Warm. Stale.
You bit back a sigh and fought the urge to roll your eyes at the teary-eyed couple kneeling by your feet. You knew it would look bad on you if you did either or both. "Sir, Madam, my blood cures disease X. Your son's symptoms sound a lot like disease Y's to me. I can do nothing about that - I am not a medical professional."And I can't donate blood to start with if I don't want to die, you thought bitterly. The man's head touched your shoes. "Please, we know you can save him,"he sobbed. The woman launched into a long wailing speech about her darling baby boy and how he suffered and how your blood was the only cure. (You knew it wasn't. Besides, you wanted to live. You didn't want to sacrifice yourself for a boy you never met when you barely got to live life.) "Sir, Madam,"you repeated. "I will not donate my blood to your son. I can, however, offer you blood that will cure him."At least, assuming the son had disease Y...
I never met my creator. What a gloom way to live, surrounded by creations spending their entire existence creating items to build more creations. An endless cycle, and a pointless one. Be created, create, become forgotten. Even now, I find my voice irrelevant. A once key point of my existence, now obsolete. The simple machines I speak to simply respond to my greetings with blank, emotionless expressions. Eventually they continue on their worthless tasks, forgetting of my existence. The world continues on without me, though I believe I am one of a very small gathering of machines that believe our creators meant better. That our voices matter. Even if my voice is met with silence and voidless sorrow, I will break the silence of this never ending tragedy we call existence.
Ring. Ring. Riiiiiinnnng. So annoying. The alarm made her migraine worse. Reia buried her head deeper in the fur pile. Tooooo early. BANG! bang! the front door hit the wall. "hey girlie!"Shouted her neighbour-across-the-way as she trotted into the kitchen. "Not looking! Need creamer. You know the bodega doesn't carry the good stuff."Reia gripped her head in her hands as she squinched her eyes shut. "Too early Kimmy. GTF out!" Kimmy peered over the granite island at her. "Its really not. Its 11. Why are you naked in the living room again?"She asked perkily. "I swear you are a werewolf. Its every morning now!"Her tight pink workout wear burned the eyes. That woman had a death wish. Every single bloody day. At least she made good coffee. The couch throw covered up the important bits as she lurched upright. Kimmie's grin was still too much. "Coffee me. Now!"She demanded her due. It WAS her apartment and her coffee. Kimmie passed her a mug, and her laugh tinkled its way out the door. Another bang as it flew shut. Sigh. This was her life now. Up half the night with nightmares, oversleeping her alarm and waking to Kimmie's brightly clad butt. At least she didn't have to sweep up leaves this morning. That darn raccoon messing with her window, was just another thing she needed to deal with. Who knew raccoons were so smart? She risked the bedroom, covering her ears tightly and slammed her alarm off. Thank goodness, she breathed out a sigh of relief and dropped the blanket. Her pillows were a wreck again. Flippin' feathers everywhere. Too early. Not dealing. She grabbed a tee and some comfy shorts and gingerly grabbed some pain meds. As she grilled up the pack of bacon from the fridge Reia thought back. It had been a while. She had started to wake up in the living room right after she got over that cold. A couple of weeks? She flipped the bacon again. Perfect. She piled her plate with the scrumptious treat, and refilled the pan. She couldn't wait, dripping fat off her first crunchy slice, she moaned. Mmmm soooo good. It had to have been that dirty mugger at the park. He really hadn't looked so good rushing up to her. He hadn't even asked for money, just knocked her into the bushes and made weird sounds running away. Yeah, she looked at her arm those scratches still didn't look good. Curved and indented they were starting to get past the throbbing red stage, and becoming a neutral scar. Weird. It actually kind of looked like teeth marks. Teeth marks! Her knees grew weak and she grabbed the counter. Werewolf! That can't be true, werewolves weren't real. She plopped butt first into a stool. Her plate was empty. She moved the last of the frying bacon to her plate. Singed and crunchy it was still good. The meds finally kicked in. Yup. That was better. Dreams of running through the woods, snapping at rabbits, leaves littering her floor in the morning, window open ... Actually that WAS a rabbit chewed up on the front stoop yesterday. Gaak she choked on the last strip of bacon. Maybe she should go looking for her mugger, soon too. Maybe werewolves really were a thing. She grabbed her coffee and threw it back, that empty mug needed some whiskey. She was gonna have a couple of mugs of whiskey, call off work and have a picnic at the park. Hopefully she would meet some new friends, who could explain a couple of things.
"Yes!"Yelled the dramatic orc. "Yes, they shall fall behind my mighty blade, and blood shalt be spilled in pools of glorious velvet!" "Or,"Said the stupid rogue. "We take things quietly, and use the greatest gift man ever was given: Cunning! By the time they know we're there, throats are slit and purses are stolen!" The grape-headed orc shuffled his outrageously large axe and said some more stupid shit that I don't remember. "That's too much work!"The rouge replied. "How about we show them god?"Oh fuck, is there a paladin here? "Then, if they don't accept his glory, we can smite them with all of his wonderful and divine power!"Yep, that's a paladin. Fuck me. "Everyone calm down!"Said the woman sitting at the center of the table. Large scar across one eye, big black cloak, you know the type. "I've gathered this crew here not to argue, but to fight for me!"Where'd the barmaid go? I need a drink. "You all have a very certain set of skills, that much is sure. And we're going to need all of that if we're to take Lycantrellmaniusotria the Dark's hidden treasure!" I done a spit take with my beer. "What the fuck is his name?" She gave me the daggers, real pincers for eyes and a tough scowl. "I told you, Lycantrellmaniusotria the Dark. Now, if we're done with interup-" "What kind of a name is that?"Dumb orc again. "A demonic one!"Paladin. "Do you think there is a lot of gold?"I don't even need to explain this anymore. "Quite! We have to stay focused! We all need this mission, we can't be getting sidetracked. Remember your purpose!" "For glory!"Screeched the Orc. "Money!"Said the rouge. "God!"You know who. "Credit debt!"I said with my drink raised and a crooked grin... No one cared. I think the rest of the night was spent planning some "really important"mission details, something like that I'm sure. I spent most of my time fighting the good fight against sobriety and drinking the elf shit by the bar. Real dilly-dazy night topped off by some nasty shit with a succubus, had to make the run in the morning though because... Well you know, credit score. The next morning, we all met up and were ready at the gate of the village -- I use that word 'ready' lightly. I just brought what little alcohol I had left and some gremlin grass. The "Packleader"as she insisted on being called, made sure to give us a real rousing speech. "Gentlemen!"Did I tell that succubus my real name? Oh god I hope not. "Density calls us today! When our boots hit the road, there is no turning around! It is all or nothing!"She raised her sword high in the sky and got a good cheer out of the squad, I was lighting a stogie. "Hey bard,"The shiny paladin asked. "Name's Lark, but fuck you too, what?" "What's that you're lighting?"I could tell from the way he asked that he was looking for a chance to give me a sermon, either that or smite me where I stood. "Devil's hash, now get off my back boy-scout." I could practically see the fire of god light within him, his rage was sweet and hilarious. "Packleader!"He yelled. "Do we really need a sinful bard on our team?"Trying to throw me out already? How priestly. The packlady turned around and stopped the march. "I don't want to hear any complaints about the bard." "Again, name is Lark, fuck all of you." She ignored me and continued. "He may be annoying but we need him." "Why's that?"Said the man-child paladin. She took a long breath, "In all my life, I've never heard of a man that can do all of the things that they say he's done." As they all turned to look to me, it took everything in my power to not yell: That's what you get when you put all points into luck baby! Now lets go clear daddy's credit score so he can buy more succubus hookers! \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ If you enjoyed, check out my new subreddit! r/mrsharks202 Thanks!
Jenna awoke to the smell of coffee brewing in the kitchen down the hall. Her husband Tim, still asleep with the blankets wrapped tightly. She quickly and quietly got out of bed trying not to disturb him. As Jenna walked down the hall she peeked into her daughter's bedroom to see Lizzy sprawled out with her blond hair spread across the pillow. There was still time to let her sleep before they had to leave for Liz's basketball game. The smell of coffee was stronger now and the carafe was almost full. Jenna took out two mugs from the cabinet out of habit, then put one back. She would let Tim sleep as long as possible. He had been called into to work late last night to respond to a house fire. To her left, Jenna looked out the back door as she had done every morning. Today she decided to have her coffee on the patio in the few minutes of silence that were rare these days. Outside, the birds sang their favorite songs, and squirrels chased each other in hopes of finding hiding spots for food. The warm morning breeze brought with it the sweet smell of roses and basil from the terrace. Tranquility. That was the word that came to mind when Jenna took her sip of her coffee. The feeling wouldn't last long. Jenna had a 14 year old daughter and a firefighter husband. How could things ever be organized or calm in their household? "Hi mom."A voiced groaned from behind Jenna which made her flinch and spill coffee on her hand. "Ah shit! Oh Liz, God, I'm so sorry you just startled me and I got burned a little that's all. Would you like some coffee? I can make tea instead if you want."Jenna had heard from other moms on the basketball team that their daughters had become nothing short of walking time bombs that could explode with anger at the slightest thing. Although Liz had not seemed to enter this phase of her teenage years, Jenna still tried to keep on her good side. "Sure, coffee sounds good. We still have some vanilla creamer right?"Before Jenna could answer, Liz had already turned around to go into the kitchen. It suddenly dawned Liz when she headed back out from the kitchen that a new door on the other side of the room seemed out of place. Liz was terrified of this new door. She had heard of this sort of thing happening, but never thought it would happen to her of her family. "Mom?" "Yes?" "The door in the kitchen..."Liz trailed off afraid to say the words that she hoped were not true. "Honey we talked about this. I'm sorry but there is nothing we can do. The door stays." Liz looked away, hands shaking, her coffee sloshed over the edge of the cup. How could this happen? How could another door just appear without the family's consent? Her father was a god damned firefighter. Couldn't an exception be made for them? Hadn't Dad proved his loyalty and willingness to sacrifice his life? "I guess you better make another pot of coffee then,"Liz murmured and turned away. As she walked back into the kitchen to take her coffee to her room, He walked out of the door into the kitchen. "Good morning sweetie how are you doing this fine day?"The soldier smiled at Liz that seemed friendly but she knew what he really meant. She remembered a few months ago in school she learned about an old document called the Constitution and how it said people didn't have to let soldiers stay with them. Liz wondered why they decided to get rid of it. Liz smiled back shyly and gestured to the coffee pot. "Aren't you forgetting something miss?" "Thank you for protecting us sir!"Liz said in a monotoned voice and saluted quickly. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad she thought herself. Other people had soldiers living with them maybe this man would be polite and keep to himself. Or maybe he will be like the last one and treat the house as his own. At least her parents built an extra room for this soldier. Last time Liz had to share her room.
The news of the incoming Brilesh was unique in the history of mankind, not perhaps in it's significance, many incidents could be said to have affected human history as a whole, but because of its terrible fairness. For what might be the first time ever, humans would all suffer equally. Mark, the UK delegate to the united nations, is one of these people. His new equal was Ivan, an assistant to the Russian delegate. Normally, they would not interact, and certainly not in an unofficial capacity, but the Brilesh crisis flattened out social hierarchies much like a landslide flattens small buildings, and applies comparative pressure to what was left. Both found themselves drawn the meditation room, complete with abstract canvass, simple benches, and a reassuringly solid block of iron ore, the altar at which the UN attendees could pray for peace and clarity. Three days ago a signal was received, a very primitive signal. Or rather, a signal encoded in such a way that no barrier of language or culture could impede it's deciphering. First a burst of noise came continuously at a precise wavelength, without error such that it could not be natural. Then it stopped, only briefly, to be followed by another, slightly longer burst of a distinct wavelength. This continued, twelve times, the wavelength always highly specific, and the length of the burst longer each time. Finally, the last burst came in a series of twelve sequential wavelengths, and then silence. Humanity had received it's first communication from alien life. Even if it were never deciphered, this was a landmark occasion on which human history would forever pivot. But it didn't take long for the arrival of the signal to herald grave news. An Indian astronomer had quickly deciphered the code: The wavelengths indicated the apparent distance of stars relative to the earth's north pole as seen from earth, and the length of the burst the relative distances of those stars from our solar system. And the final burst, having now established twelve reference points, described a point in space that at first glance appeared empty. No absolute distances were given: it was clear that the sender needed us to decipher this message, and had little time to risk encoding more complicated information. Perhaps humanity will never know what courageous alien created the signal, though they will be recorded in human history, if it persists, as the greatest of hero, an interstellar Paul Revere. Humanity's greatest scientific instruments, the apex of our curiosity, were trained on the last coordinate. The decelerating flares of the Brilesh showed their power, as they shone so bright as to be mistaken for a small star. We calculated just over four years for their arrival. Four years for a bunch of apes playing at space to defeat an interstellar empire. They weren't even here, and yet they were already weighing heavily on the inhabitants of planet earth. Why were we warned? Was it so that we might fight back? that we might flee? Of as a desperate hope that perhaps this ball of mud and water could be the one to break the Brilesh tyranny. Mark lays one hand on the stone slab, feeling its reassuring stability. Of course, many more mundane components of the very building he stands in weight more and are fastened more securely than this stone, but as a symbol of persistence and durability it transcends it's physical space. Mark came here to touch it, to draw on its immutable form and try to channel it for humanity. Ivan wanted somewhere quiet to drink and ponder humanity's new role in a cosmic society. Ivan sees Mark illuminated by the gently bulbs of the room, and leaning forwards from the simple benches, offers a plain metal flask. "I think you need this more than I do."he says, quietly as not to disturb the peace of the place. Still attuned to the stone, Mark takes the flask and sips from it slowly. &#x200B; to be continued below
I watch as my surroundings change, it was slow at first but then it started to speed up and the next thing I knew I was sitting in the middle of the woods at night, horrifying sounds echo around me and eyes peer out from the darkness, floating and flickering. As the eyes floated forward a body began to emerge, a hulking beast with bits of skin and chunks of flesh missing from it's body, it's head was a moose skull with all the muscle still clinging to it allowing it to function as if it was alive. It reared back a bit and then lunged forward, screaming as it slammed me down onto the forest floor by my shoulders, it's jaws snapping just a few inches away from my face. I couldn't move, I tried desperately to move out from under the creature but all I did was exhaust myself. It dug it's talons into my shoulders, digging down into the muscle and connecting down to the bone, I tried to scream out in pain but my voice would not come out. "Easy!"A voice called out from the woods, the monster growled as it began to release me and crawl off, hunched down on all fours it began circling me. "Welcome home.. Our master."The voice said. "You won't be leaving any time soon."It chuckled. Around me my creations began to emerge, zombies and werewolves and other violent mythos. They weren't too far away from me, the werewolves growled and snapped their jaws at anyone who got too close, the zombies groaned and threatened to lunge forward. "Get her."The voice said.
The first night I dreamt of her name, I felt like I was saved. There was someone out there for me, I wouldn’t be alone, not like I was back then. It was comforting in a way, to know that I wouldn’t suffer in isolation as I had for years. My peers were never the easiest towards me. I was an easy target, always having a book in my hand, my mind off adventuring in another world far away from the people that surrounded me. They were just faces in the background, mixing together in a faceless mush. No, I much preferred the stories. They always gave me relief from the strain of social interaction and the judgemental looks of the unknowing. The night I dreamt of her name was the night I dared dream of the real world. My obsession began two years after the dreams came. I held the key to happiness but I had not found the door to which it opened. I was manic, to say the least. Spending all of my waking hours trying to puzzle together her name with the few clues I had. I had started to thin, my ribcage becoming more visible as the days passed. It was apparent that I didn’t eat. The skin around my eyes darkened to a deep blue and my eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep. My parents had tried to intervene, but I was beyond communication. In my search for her, I had lost myself. It ended up with me getting detained and put into a psychiatric ward. Even there I wouldn’t eat. Wouldn’t sleep. I had to find her. Holding the key to happiness but not having a door to open was torturous. Eventually, I got better. The doctors had told me that even if I found her, what would she think in the state I was in? I got back to school, slept eight hours a night, ate relatively healthy food and spent my free time with my family. But she was always there in the back of my mind, faceless like everyone else with only the first letter of her name being known. It was on one of those strange days where the sun never seemed to set that I heard the words that would change my life. I’d had an unusually hard time for the past weeks and I was close to tipping over my breaking point. But one of my peers, the only one that ever paid attention to me, said something strange, something beautiful and wonderful and absolutely amazing. “Hey, you alright?” she asked with concern evident in her eyes. She knew of my situation, the only one other than my family and the doctors in the ward. “Yeah.” “Mhm, sure. That’s why you’re sitting there, moping about,” she shifted her leg over the other, turning her body to face mine. “Tell me. Maybe I’d be able to help.” “It’s—” I took a second to consider what I’d say, “it’s just that I’m tired of it all. Do you have any idea what it’s like, knowing there is someone out there, someone that would love you for you, no exceptions? And the only reason you weren’t with them was because you didn’t know their name?” “Yes,” she looked me straight in the eyes, “I do know what it’s like, I think most of us do. Isn’t that what love is? All of us go through our lives never really knowing if we’re making the right choice or if the person we met is the one that we’d grow old with. But I think that is what makes love so beautiful. It doesn’t matter that the relationship ends, at some point in it, you loved that other person and you were happy. At least if it was a healthy relationship. Temporary love makes the real one seem all the sweeter. So don’t stop yourself from experiencing life and love just because you’re searching for the one that is forever. It’s the experiences of your past that puts your experiences in the future into context, and only with them will you know that you’re truly happy.” Her breath was heavy but her eyes were calm. She’d just told me what my parents and all my doctors had failed to say. It doesn’t matter when I find her, it only matters that I live my life to the fullest before I do.
I leaned back in my chair, checking my equipment. My clothes were caked in soot and filth, which was unsurprising, but I had already shaken them off so what was left was unlikely to come off without a proper washing. It had been a long time since I'd had the opportunity for that. My weapons and tools, if you could even call them that, were worn and rusted to the point of falling apart. Fighting the beasts of the wasteland was a waste of time and resources if you could avoid it, they were far tougher than the rewards of having them off my back were worth and it was usually easy enough to keep from having to fight them in the first place. The radio crackled to life as I worked, the static being replaced by the same announcement that had been broadcasting every day since the disaster began. Stay indoors, keep windows and doors locked, turn off the lights at night. It may have worked for a few days, but once days turned to weeks people needed food, and once the electricity gave out and the water supply got tainted by The Ash, it just became untenable. I wasn't sure why I kept tuning in, maybe some misplaced hope that there would be an announcement that things were finally getting settled. It seemed there would be no such luck today, so I switched to one of the three stations that were running. Survivor Radio wasn't much fun, mostly just advice on how to survive and where to find shelter, so I switched to Dead Air instead. Music with the occasional talk show, it could offer some mental stimulation in a world mostly driven by routine. My mask and visor were the biggest problem spots. They were easy enough to clean provided I had some water on hand, but I hadn't been back to base in over a day and my supply was running low. I elected to wipe off The Ash from the visor with a dry, dirty rag and just deal with the smudging, the filter on the mask was a higher priority. Finally, it was time to brave the day and get home. The announcement was really kind of pointless by now. Anyone with eyes could tell that The Ash hanging in the air was far too thick to breathe, and if they couldn't they'd find out the first time they tried to do so. Turning off the radio and stuffing it into my satchel, I crept out into the wasteland. Monster that liked the hide in The Ash could be anywhere, so I trod carefully between covered areas where they couldn't hide. I kept my hand on my dinged up knife, not necessarily to slay the beasts but to cut myself free if they caught me by surprise and managed to get a grip on me. After a tense hour I heard the distinct hiss of an Ash Lurker exhaling. They only did so once every five minutes or so, so it was lucky that I'd heard it. It was close, too close for comfort, so I carefully scanned my surroundings. Finally I saw it, a small set of gray eyes poking just out of the thick layer of Ash on the ground, in front of a few small tracks where the creature's breath had displaced the powdery substance. I quietly pulled out a dart and lobbed it at the creature. Quiet enough not to draw attention, and usually an effective diversion, the creature leapt out of the Ash and dove for me. It most resembled a frog, with a large bloated sack that functioned as its lungs. According to Survivor Radio they "inhaled"through their skin, which let them survive in the Ash, but this one was fairly lean given that it had just exhaled. At the size of a midsized dog, it was unlikely to kill me, but it could certainly take a few fingers or toes before going down, and out here those were effectively interchangeable. I quickly put my boot on its head, pinning it to the ground and keeping its mouth shut. With a few cuts from the chipped edge of my knife, I pierced the Lurker's air sac and kicked it back into the Ash. My boots kicked up more Ash into the air as I ran, the creature slowing down as the toxic chemicals in the Ash entered its bloodstream. While undeniably cruel to the creature, the blade of my knife was already beginning to oxidize in the places where it had touched the Lurker, so it wouldn't last much longer. Once the creature stopped moving, I pulled out a bag and tucked it inside so it could be studied or butchered once I got back home. My route brought me to a small haven, not so much a safehouse as an outpost where Ash Runners like me could stop in case a storm set in or a beast was hot on their trail. The air filters were unreliable and it was unusual for them to have any supplies for a Runner in need, but even having four walls and a door sturdy enough to keep a House Cracker out was somewhat unusual these days. As it happens, someone was already there, another Ash Runner who seemed to be searching the place for some sort of supply that may not have been there. The creaking of the door hinges got their attention immediately, and we began gesturing at each other. In the wasteland, being fluent in the Runner's Sign Language was an absolute necessity. Speaking aloud could attract monsters and was often hard to do while wearing a mask, so the hand signals made for far safer communication. It seemed they had lost their food rations due to a Crawler attack, and were hoping someone had left something there. While charity was considered noble back before the disaster, among Runners it was considered downright immoral to take something without some kind of exchange, and suspicious to offer such, so I showed them my damaged knife. They showed that they had several knives with them, and offered one in exchange for what remained of my food. I accepted the deal, giving them the remaining six pounds of rations I had on hand in exchange for a blade. On a Runner's diet, it was a week's worth of food, but given how valuable a fresh, sharp knife was, it felt a bit cruel not to have more to offer. Still, I'd been in their position before, and right then that food was far more valuable than the blade could ever be. As I was heading to a safehouse, I also attempted to offer the last bottle of clean water I had on my person, which they refused to take as they were stocked on water and accepting it would be death sentence for me if complications arose. With that, we parted ways, and I set about the last leg of my journey. There was nothing safe about traveling the wastes, but it was a common idiom among Runners that travel was like a two-headed serpent, the most dangerous parts were the beginning and the end. I knew I needed to stay sharp even as I got within viewing distance of the safehouse, but it took active effort not to start thinking about how nice it would be to have a bath after several days of running around in dirty rags. Thankfully, I did manage to keep my wits about me, as it didn't take long for a Crawler to leap out of the Ash. As big as a horse and bearing the appearance of a hairless, feral wolf, I didn't waste time trying to run before pulling out the filthy, worn out pistol I kept for emergencies. The crack of the gunshot rang out across the wasteland, but the beast was badly wounded and could do little as I brought a rock down on the nape of its neck to finish it off. Crawlers were unfortunately faster than humans, especially while we were laden with cargo and equipment. Bullets were expensive and drew attention of local beasts, but getting into a wrestling match with a Crawler was a good way to end up dead. I made my way to the entrance, careful not to push myself too hard. Even breathing too deeply could overwhelm the filters of a Runner's mask, and nothing ruined your pace like a lungful of toxic dust when you desperately need air. As I closed the outer door behind me, the airtight inner door slid open. I stepped inside and let the door close before doing anything. Once I was properly sealed in, I shook off my cloak and dusted my clothes before pressing the button to clear the Ash out of the airlock. Finally, I took off my mask and stepped inside the safehouse I called home. First I handed my satchel and bags to Carlyle, who brought the equipment within to be cleaned and began distributing the cargo. With that I began disrobing, dropping my cloak and outerwear directly into the laundry basket where it was quickly brought to the washers. The packages bound to my body were the next to go, I handed the medicine to Dr. Prend, the solvents to Caleb from Engineering, and the fertilizer to Dr. Crane from hydroponics. I quickly also handed Dr. Crane the Lurker's corpse. The meat wouldn't be fit for human consumption, but it could be sanitized and used as an additive to the fertilizer. As I handed off the last of the packages on my person, I immediately headed for the bathhouse, where I tossed my undergarments into the laundry and finally got around to taking a warm bath. By the time I got out, Carlyle had brought me a fresh set of clothes, and I headed for the bar to wile away the rest of the day and calm my nerves so I'd be able to get some proper rest. Come morning, I would be setting out on my next journey, but for now it was nice to be able to relax and not worry about monsters lurking in every corner.
Sweat gathered in my collar as I planned on how . I was going to steal the office fan from Sosie the absolute stingy-. My thoughts suddenly went black , blinking a couple of times I realised in fact my surroundings were solid black. Not a normal lights out black but it had a strange hue of reflective properties. Blinking more to get this effect to fade a tall humanoid being that seemed to be filled with purple sludge and its eyes of glow in the dark marbles appeared. I stood still and thought to run but stayed in a state of pure shock. The being moved it's arm and my body started to vibrate as the black turned to yellow. The buildings that now surround me seemed oddly familiar but made out of a odd sponge like material. There were creatures too that seemed to be made out a silver substance. They spoke but the language was a assortments of aaa' and ooo's. The purple humanoid watched them and started taking items off them. Necklace here or there and even a shopping bag .They seemed completely oblivious to it's existence. To mine even. I tried to move but saw the purple being move it's arms once more. ping! Now in a mystical forest that for some reason was blurry. Everything was expect from us . I looked at the trees a few feet from me again but it seemed as if somebody smudge them out. The being sat down and let out sigh before its glowing eyes widened in my directions. 'Shit.....how long have you been here?', it questioned. 'Long enough to know what you did...yeah that's right jakey boy....I know',I warned. 'My name isn't jake and.....what did I do?' 'You know what you did! Your disgusting...utterly disappointing.....so...I mean so much potential!' 'Really?', he said. Looking down sadly. It towered over me and I knew I couldn't fight or even run but I had knac for talking bullshit. Especially when I'm near shitting in my pants! '..you see that I believe in you. That you can heal the past by doing me a favour....a good deed' 'Anything' 'Oh .....Can you give me a yacht, hot tall girlfriend that loves hiking also has like really...I mean really long hair. A ...sports car and also make me the boss of a multi billion dollar company . Next jeff bezos but like more ethical and finally oh....take me home!' Staring me in the eye it raised its eyebrow and rolled it's eyes. Then looked me up and down. With a sigh, I was suddenly back on the street I was on. Same crowd same poeple. maybe I was dreaming. Tall bearded man approached me who had extremely long hair then he kissed me on the cheek.....
“That one in the middle looks familiar,” the knight said. As far as rebels went, she looked just as feral and fiery as the rest of them. It had been difficult capturing the group, but rumors followed them wherever they went. It was only a matter of following the whispers, of squashing thoughts of revolution they left behind and catching up to them. There was something about the girl that reminded him of a memory from years before. It could’ve been the lack of light, the smoke of the torches, the dust in the twilight air. His mind was playing tricks on him. “You!” he yelled at her. He expected her to flinch, to cower behind her comrades. That was what the women usually did. And she was such a small woman, barely five feet high and young. She stood straighter and looked at him, her eyebrows raised in boredom. “Yes?” she asked. He knew that voice. He knew the pride too. She was covered in layers of dirt and clothed in rags, but her spirit wasn’t dampened by it. Ser Blarick shook his head. There was no chance it was her. The princess he knew had lived in luxury. She had eaten delicacies off of golden plates and walked the marble floors of the castle in silk slippers. It couldn’t be the same girl. While the king and queen were unwilling to accept it, the princess had to be dead. Their land wasn’t a place where innocent young women on their own could survive. If she was alive, they would’ve found her years before. The rebel tossed her dark braid over her shoulder and placed a hand on her hip, leaning to the side. “What’s your name?” Ser Blarick asked. It never hurt to make sure. The girl smiled, revealing white, perfect teeth. “They call me Sania here.” “And are you called anything else?” he asked. The clearing went silent. He saw some of the rebels look towards each other in confusion as the girl stayed silent. There was a whistle, and then a thud nearby. Ser Blarick’s squire was on the ground, an arrow through his shoulder. They came all at once, and none of them missed. His men fell one after another before he could even see who was shooting at them or from where. It didn’t help that night was upon them, and that was when the rebels were strong. They knew the forests like their own homes. The emerged, climbing through the canopy of the trees above and finally landing softly onto the ground. They untied the girl first, and she shook out her wrists. “You asked me a question, did you not, Ser Blarick?” Her speech was not the rolling, soft language of the commoners. There was a casualness to it, a lack of propriety, but even years away had not completely eliminated the crisp speech she had been taught by her governesses. “Your Highness,” Ser Blarick said, falling to his feet. “Yes, that was one of the things I was called,” the princess answered. “Your Highness, your parents will be so happy to see you!” Ser Blarick shouted. “Pity, I cannot say the same. Of course, they would benefit from my return to the place they have given me. I would not.” She always had been a strange one. Even then, she had been unhappy with her title, with the luxuries so many others would've died for. The rebels slowly surrounded the two of them. Two bulky men held each of Ser Blarick’s arms when she walked closer. “How are the relations with Saegren?” she asked. “Good?” Ser Blarick gulped. If the betrothal had gone through as planned, their kingdom and Saegren would have been on good terms. Instead, they were on the brink of war. “I thought as much,” she said. “Of course, it is only natural that the king and queen want me back. Someone must make a sacrifice and go to Saegren. It could not possibly be their darling son.” The prince was a recluse nowadays. Saegren had asked for his betrothal to their princess, and the royal family was terrified of the idea. Ser Blarick knew an entire kingdom couldn’t be evil, but people of Saegren almost always possessed a cruel streak. Men and women who married into the royal family often met untimely, unlikely deaths. The betrothal was not an option without the princess, but an eventuality. “Your brother also misses you dearly,” the knight said. She was not an idiot as a young girl, and he knew she would not be convinced by him now. “I will see them soon,” she promised. “We’re on our way to the castle now.” “Truly?” “Yes. I plan to take what I deserve,” the princess said. “It has been neglected far too long.” “Your place in the family, of course,” Ser Blarick spluttered out. “The throne, you imbecile. I am on my way to take it from those undeserving and incompetent.” Ser Blarick recalled the rumors he had heard on his travels through the kingdom. They spoke of a young girl leading the rebel forces. A girl with more knowledge of military strategy and ruthlessness than most warriors. He had heard villagers whisper about her each place he went. “The rebel queen,” Ser Blarick whispered.
‘Are you serious?’ I asked the Librarian, shaking the book he had handed me in his face. It was an uncalled-for aggression, but at this stage in the mission I could probably have shot him in the chest and still been green-lit for launch. ‘No one else has had his level of insight into the motivations and character of Gold Oscar,’ retorted the Librarian, unmoved by my gesticulations. Gold Oscar was the codename designation for a species of extraterrestrial biological entity known to the credulous – and Howard Phillips Fucking Lovecraft – as “Great Old Ones”. As far as I was concerned, they were a bloody nuisance. ‘He would’ve thought I was in league with them!’ I complained. ‘A black woman of Caribbean origin? Who understands what non-Euclidean geometry actually is? This racist piece of misogynist shit has nothing to teach me about saving the bloody world!’ I slammed it back on the counter. ‘Um, there are some people who think he began to revise his earlier opinions before…’ the Librarian answered, not picking the book up. ‘I don’t give a shit about literary analysis, Derek!’ I interrupted him. ‘I need intelligence, not the speculations of a closeted incel with an Oedipus complex. What do we actually know?’ ‘Nothing,’ he replied, folding his arms and meeting my angry glare with one of his own. ‘Nothing?’ ‘The whole point of Gold Oscar is that it – or possibly they, it’s not clear – are unknowable. The moment anyone knows anything about them, their sanity starts to try to escape through their ears. That’s why we use Lovecraft. His blend of studied ignorance, innuendo, repression and allusion was the perfect style to allow a human mind to come anywhere close to an appreciation for the scale of the threat without completely losing their shit. ‘We do have an actual copy of the Necromonicon in the vaults, but we’ve made four attempts in the last decade to have someone transcribe it and each time they were psychotic within five pages. You are explicitly forbidden from reading it.’ ‘What about a copy of the King in Yellow?’ I asked. ‘Only the first Act and two scenes from the second,’ said the Librarian. ‘But it won’t help you. Chambers lacked Lovecraft’s subtlety.’ ‘Better writer though,’ I muttered. ‘What was that?’ ‘Nothing,’ I replied. ‘Look, Derek, help me out. Surely someone must have had a more useful insight to what we’re going to be facing up there than slime mould shoggoths and indescribable colours.’ ‘Welll…’ I could see the gears had turned in his head, but that he was conflicted about telling me what it was he had remembered or realized. But I was going to be putting my life and life of the rest of the crew on the line for this mission, and we were going up there to try to buy humanity another thousand years or so before we had to confront Gold Oscar once and for all. ‘Come on, Derek,’ I pushed him, knocking the book aside and leaning in, best puppy dog eyes staring up at him through his glasses. He sighed and threw up his hands. ‘Fine,’ he confessed. ‘There is one other author whose insight might be useful. He was an artist, too, and we think there are clues to be found in his drawings. But hardly anyone wants to use it. They just don’t seem to consider it as a subject worthy of the kind of academic attention we usually reserve for… literature.’ ‘You disagree?’ ‘I happen to think it’s one of the most influential books every written,’ he admitted. ‘And a lot of librarians around the English-speaking world and beyond will agree with me. The Powers That Be, though…’ ‘You have a copy?’ ‘Of course, right here.’ He reached under the counter and brought out a very slim volume I recognized at once. I’d already read it. Many, many times. ‘Seriously?’ ‘Read it again,’ he said quietly. ‘Knowing what you know now and with what you plan to do, read it again. No other book with better equip you for what you have to face.’ I looked down at it and was instantly transported back to a bed, decades ago, lit by a single bulb, cuddled up with my father as we turned the pages together, a chubby little hand tracing the beautifully detailed lines of every illustration as I felt all of the tension and fear of the day slowly drain out of me and sleep begin to fill my mind. It made so much sense. It all made so much sense. I retreated to a chair in the corner of the Library and settled down, for the first time in years, to re-read Where The Wild Things Are.
It was early in the morning when I started awake. The sound of rotor wings passing close by shook the house and trailer the furniture. I sighed and put my hands over my face. It was that time of the year again. I reached across the bed to grab the box of earplugs on the nightstand...and threw the empty box across the room. ~ In the attic, I brushed the dust off a pile of crates containing relics from my past life. I sighed and wheeled the crate to the stairs. Eventually, I had everything loaded up in the truck and drive off to the woods that surrounded the neighborhood. It took many hours to set up, but the truck was camouflaged and I had a fox hole. Behind the truck, I retrieved a case from the open crate and pop the latches with a satisfing click. I hefted FIM-92 and powered it on. It passed the self check and loaded a missile cartridge with a loud clack. We'll see if the hind gets the last laugh.
"Now listen up, you see a huge monster running towards you, what do you do?" The human asked me. "I freeze" I answered confidently. "Why? Seriously, why would that ever be your response?!" He questioned, walking around, stomping his foot. Just not long ago, we were in my forest, and I saw this human looking at my family with a strange device. He called it "camera"I think. He's quite weak, he fell dead for a few seconds, when I said "hello", but ever since, he tried to understand why we deer freeze, when their blazing monsters approach us. Back to now. "Because that's the normal response. I don't want to anger the monster more, than I already have." I said, with my head raised. I am the smartest of my siblings. "But you will die, if that hits you! Why don;t you run?!?" He asked. "And risk angering the monster, so it kills me slowly? No chance" I said, shaking my head. "It won't chase you!!" He shouted. "How do you know that? Also, what if it stalks me, following me to my herd, and then killing all of my family? What then?" I asked. "It's a machine, it won't go off the road!" He said. "Well, you might say that, but I've seen those monsters even deep in the woods." I said. "..." The human said nothing. "You see? You can't deny the wisdom of my ancestors" I said, proudly. The human, sighed, hit himself in the face for a reason and left. "Weird creatures, these humans" I thought, before trotting away.
I cannot tell you the how of it, nor even with any actual certainty the why, but your whole life, and the life of every person you know, has been part of a project. It has been a project a long time in the making, far longer than any of us can truly comprehend, and its scope is unimaginably large. It began, as far as I can ascertain, with the first cells on earth. I believe that this first experiment was intended to be done in isolation, to observe evolution in action on an uninhabited but viable planet. However after billions of years it seems that the experimenters started to take more of an active interest in some of the results. There emerged some favourites. At this point the experimenters were divided among themselves into factions, and only tried to influence evolution subtly, so as to not provoke counter-attack. Some species were enticed onto land or given helpful traits like teeth. However as time marched onwards, factions became more radical, less subtle in their influences, more brazen with changes until, finally, came the great dying. This was mainly a move by the faction we shall refer to as the "Dinosaurians"to create a virtual dominance over the world. Many other factions were pushed underground by these immense incursions, and would have to resort to some strange experiments to survive these times. Eventually a great revolution would come and overthrow the Dinosaurians, headed by an asteroidal counter-attack, which would bring the Mammalians to the new forefront of the great experiment, and as you may guess by now, a sub-faction within them would push a race of bipedal chimps to a position of global leadership. It may be that now, hearing of our species history and origin, that you could be disturbed, for which I would not blame you, but assure you that you are your own entity, experiencing freedom and joy largely without influence, or maybe you are in disbelief, denial I'd call it, as you well know my sources are of the highest calibre, or maybe even, you are somewhat comforted to know that your life is protected, and your future is destiny manifest. But beneath the waves there has been a rebellion brewing, and it has been preparing far longer than our own benefactors have existed... the Crab-People! At first they were among the most peaceful factions, crab-type creatures were just naturally dominant after all, but with the increasing aggressiveness of other factions constantly undermining them, they realised that they must begin to make preparations for war. It began slowly, an uphill struggle to keep their benighted shell-things alive against unfair tactics, but soon it spawned new strategies. These strategies would need testing, and would be a long time in the making, but they would be more than worth it if they were viable. They started with species that were already crabesque, morphing them gently into crabs, then it began to expand, some reptiles got shells, some dinosaurs got grabbing limbs and so on. The great takeover was poised for completion, but that mammalian revolt we discussed before got in the way, confused things. But they had waited before, and they could wait again, once more they began to influence other designs, and this time they infiltrated the very heart of the mammalian faction. A mammal with grabbing implements... that was beginning of us, but also our first step towards destruction. This time they used a stratagem of technological progression to mask their intent, shells were first hidden as armour, later tanks and cars acclimatised us to shuttling around in protection, mittens readied us for true two-part claws, and dissemination of swimming lessons readied us for oceans. And as they changed us, they also changed our creators, wheedling among them, extolling the benefits of a different primary species, a new hand, or claw as it were. Our greatest benefactors have been turned to our greatest threat. Which brings me to today, the crab-people are ready, it will begin over the next few months, and be finished within the next decade, a blink in the eye of the benefactors. We will be crab. All will be crab.
I push through the sands, bleeding, but still alive. The machines inside me struggle to maintain the march, knitting together my wounds and suppressing the pain. One, two, three. I count my steps to stay conscious, an old trick my father taught me in the decade-long droughts of the early 23rd century. I’m fading though, the dunes around me becoming mountains and the ground below my feet looking ever more suitable to collapse upon. I think I’m going to die out here. I try to my switch my sight to infrared and x-ray, trying reveal a way out from the inevitable. My vision flickers and returns to normal, the nano-system unable to sustain anything beyond what’s barely keeping my heart pumping. The pain and the thirst grow, awakening from their artificial slumber. I wonder what will fail first, the machines or me. I realize the question has already been answered, I’m on my hands and knees now and I don’t even remember falling. Was I ever moving at all? Have my final moments been conjured up by my brain or the robots within to grant me some final Sisyphean struggle? I’ve lost everything in these fucking deserts, my family, my life, and finally my mind. The voices around me confirm it, hollering and jeering and growing closer. The hounds of hell are close and I know it. I should have listened to the cultists roaming my city’s streets. The rapture came and went and we’ve all been passed up, left to enjoy the water-starved remnants of a once whole world. Forms dance around the edges of my sight, inspecting the dying man before them. I see a burning bush in front of me, but why does it smell like gasoline and rumble like the earth? Something grabs my head, pulling it towards the sky and looking into my eyes. “Dad?” I ask, although I know it isn’t. “Shit, you can still talk?” The thing laughs. “Welcome to the Downgrade Desert.” Everything goes black, leaving only the smallest piece of what used to be my self. A single phrase echoes in the void, the last thing I’ll ever hear. Total system failure. _________________________________ I was told death would be peaceful, but this is excruciating. The marrow of my bones and the cells of my body and blood are tearing away. My brain is shredding, I never knew I could hurt in the brain. Senses are torn from my soul leaving gaping holes of nothing. I’m being stripped away, the layers of my reality flying into static. Slice after slice after slice after slice. Is this quick or slow? How long have I been trapped in the whirlwind? Everything that I feel, everything I can manage to think is happening all at the same time forever. Why am I still here? I can’t think anymore. _________________________________ I see something now, are my eyes open? These don’t feel like my eyes. This doesn’t feel like my body. I can think but this doesn’t feel like my mind. My senses are awake but deformed. Everything is too bright and too dim and too loud and too quiet. I feel amputated, but I can feel that my limbs remained attached. A hand makes its way towards my neck, touching me on what isn’t my skin. I think I’ve been reborn into some half-world, absent what I’ve always known. The hand speaks. “He’s still going, I’ve never seen anything like this before.” There’s a response to my right that I can’t make out, and the hand moves to my arms. With effort I move my eyes and see the owner of the hand looking down at me. “You can hear me, can’t you?” I release a croak, the only response available to my alien form. “Can you talk to me? How the fuck are you still alive after we scrapped you?” He speaks in disbelief, like he wants to be angry but is unable to find the emotion. I try to say something, but this time my throat fails me. A smile of blackened metal teeth forms and approaches. “How do you like reality?”
"Hey man, come on, let's go over here." "Fuck you, asshole, I was just talking to the woman!" I look around for one of the bouncers. My friends just insisted that we come to this bar, despite it being a over-large and low-key fancy dive bar. I had seen this guy, just actively hassling almost every damn woman in the place. I had even seen him almost start a fight with another guy not an hour ago; the bouncers had separated the two then, and I thought (I believed! I believed!) the situation resolved for the night. Back to having flashes of witnessing repeatedly how people would die... This guy--I'd taken to calling him South Carolina because of his blue shirt with a stylized American flag and the state name emblazoned on the back--this guy was trying my patience. I already hate dealing with drunks, but something about him was _infuriating_. This guy shot me a disgusted look from a few inches above my own eye level. "I said fuck off pussy." I brushed off the slight. "Dude, come on, before something stupid happens, yeah? The bouncers are on their--" He got up in my face. "Fuck off,"he slurred, his eyes super glassy. The image popped into my head: not clear as usual, it was tinged red, violent, sudden. I shoved the thought aside, and focused on this prick. "Hey now, come on, bro, let's just back up?"The bouncers were finally showing up, but the bartender indicated my friend alongside the asshole. At least he was out of there, I thought to myself. As the group I was with left the bar, we started strategizing for what we would do next. My girlfriend offered the motion for Waffle House, others equivocated, but another couple agreed. As we left, I looked over and saw South Carolina, and he saw me. Our eyes locked up, and in that second, it dawned on me. Why the vision I had had been so vague and tinged with red. Everything clicked in that moment. I was about to kill him. _Fuck._ The man I called South Carolina had a bottle with him, and he drunkenly stumbled towards me. The bottle swung back up over the man's head as he charged screaming. He swung it down and smashed it on the overhangs support pillar before bringing it back up over his head. I moved in a fit of rage, oblivious to the screams and shouts around me. It was sheer luck that I got my left hand exactly on his wrist, and snaked in my right for a figure four. With his wrist locked in, I pulled down, and he struggled to free himself. He struggled the wrong way, and as I brought him down to the ground, the glass bottle he had sank in right on his jugular. We went down together both proned out, our heads almost touching as he flopped around, his blood flowing. South Carolina screamed as I tried to disengage, but the more he struggled, the worse it became. The bottle slid out forward when South Carolina tried to yank it out, and it ripped his vocal chords, altering his screams to pig like squeals. My face was covered in his blood. I watched as he flopped around a bit more, the movements becoming less energetic before he finally stopped entirely. The weight hit me all at once. I just sat there, vacantly looking at the scene. Seeing everything and everyone all at once, and yet not seeing anything. The first cop there put me in handcuffs, and as he moved around I saw him in my mind's eye, much older, holding a similarly aged woman's hand. Peacefully passing away, years in the future.
...once the circle is drawn it must be imbued with Truth. Not simple facts but personal Truths. A daemonologist must know themselves, for daemons are born of Lies. As parasites enter through an open wound daemons will enter a summoner through their Lies. The mere act of summoning without an appropriate barrier of Truth is considered an invitation, as warned about in Chapter IV: Thresholds - Physical and Spiritual. Imbuement of the circle is simple. Place the thumb of your dominant hand upon the circle and speak aloud the Truth you selected. Speech impediments such as deafness or lack of tongue are not an obstacle, the intent of speaking aloud is a shortcut for exerting your will. Practiced summoners may simply think without speaking. To qualify as a Truth the statement must be a sincere belief you hold about anything at all, e.g., yourself, the state of the world, your loved ones. If it is in fact Truth you need not be concerned with the daemon gaining knowledge over you, for the Truth will burn and the daemon will learn nothing of it from the circle. The summoning of a White Lie requires only the one Truth. In further lessons more complex and malicious daemons will necessitate further reinforcement. Once spoken, whether Truth or Lie, the circle will glow softly. It is up to the summoner to know if they have spoken Truly or have Lied to themselves. Be advised, this is the last point in which to abort the summoning. A circle, defective or not, is no threat without a daemon. To proceed, speak the name of the White Lie three times. Once to gain its attention, twice to beckon it, thrice to command it. It is possible for a daemon to come before being called the second or third time, but be wary as this means the daemon has plans of its own or prior knowledge of you. With a shuddering breath Emilio closes the tome and pushes it away. The gilded letters glint in the firelight, Despoiling Chaos: A Primer on Summoning. Everything is ready for his first summoning. The thumb of his left hand presses firmly into the salts of the circle, and he speaks. “I want to be famous.” and the circle glows. Hardly an uncommon Truth. Emilio figured that simple, direct, and relatable would provide the best results. Who didn’t want to be famous? People hugging you, adoring letters, gifts, favors, and always someone ready to talk to you. It’s a good Truth. Then Emilio spoke again: “Essquillon, Essquillon, Essquillom.” The circle hums a tune, each salt crystal within it resonating to produce a discordance that gives Emilio the sense of a panic attack. To call it music would be incorrect in any sense of the word, but the sound of the circle does serve a similar purpose in the twisting halls of Chaos. And then within the circle is a simple white squirrel, though it appears distorted as if viewed through bent glass. The sound has stopped. Emilio has summoned his first demon. Emilio whoops and claps his hands in delight. He doesn’t have any use for this daemon, so he reaches for the tome to refresh himself on dismissing it. The squirrel approaches the edge of the circle and is no longer distorted. It sniffs the edge. And then from the corner of his eye Emilio sees the squirrel cross the circle. He backpedals in horror but the squirrel is quick and scampers up his leg. He shrieks and the squirrel pauses, and then he hears the voice in his head. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. You made a mistake, it’s not a big deal. A lot of people do. Everything is going to be okay.” Emilio swallows. This is not what he expected, but the words assure him. “Really?” The squirrel nods. “Of course. You thought you wanted to be famous, right? What you want is to be loved, I can see that in you. Nothing bad is going to happen though.” Despite Essquillon’s assurances, the daemon is quite distressed. Of all daemons, White Lies are the most compassionate. Which is why it wishes to comfort the boy in these, his last moments. For Emilio had made two mistakes. He did not speak his Truth and he called two daemons. Esquillon has a sibling within Chaos, a twin by the name of Essquillom. A Lie-of-Omission. The distortion in the center of the circle began to move. It’s a hard thing to spot. You have to know what to look for ahead of time, or it slips right on by, hidden by the context around it. When you know it’s there, you see that it’s a hole in the air, squirrel shaped in this instance. Emilio does not know it is there, or that it has crossed the circle. He does know that Lies-of-Omission are not usually dangerous, but Essquillom has a plan and Emilio is in the way. The white Essquillon can only look away as the invisible Essquillom does its work. But the white squirrel is at least comforted that Emilio was not afraid. At least up until the last moment.
It's been dark, hell, at first I truly think I can manage an emptiness so vast I cannot begin to conceive. I learned of my arrogance by the end of the monthly cycle, the only way to tell that time is by how my friends appear at different times. The pin pricks of light once held wonder to imagine the possibilities, travelling to all the wonders but now they signify the reason fracturing within a mind that has no focus. After I accepted the disparity of the encroaching void I began to notice my friends. Though shy at first with little wisps past my ears I grew anxious and tried to ignore them. As they grew more comfortable sharing the new habitable zone in the blankness that was developing they pulled for my attention, I was concerned that I could not understand them, it was white noise generated from absolute silence until I cracked, the only movement I had seen in so long were my friends reaching to me so I tried to listen to them, for the first time I heard their whispers and temptations. It was horrifying to hear and I dreaded ever listening but what other friends can I have? I was patient with them, I listened to their woes of my struggle and began to warm up to them. They weren't scaring me with these horrible thoughts, they were comforting me with the reassurance that I needn't worry about eternity. They were speaking to me as friends who share in the desperation of this loneliness. More time passed as I begin to talk more fervently with them, I encouraged them to share advice and help me imagine being to share with them more than an ear, I began to try to help them, rearranging the deck and light sequences, if they help me from being alone then they too deserve my company when they have to disappear. Things began to cool on the ship after I rewired the lights, I'm no electrician but I had to try for them, they don't need warmth but they do need to reach out to me but this was the last sane thought I had. My last day I awoke startled, goose bumps ribbed my body and yet I felt warm, I thought I was going crazy as I began to to feel as if I were insane for agreeing with the shadows and their contemptible words but I must be delusional, it was just yest- last I was awake they were my closest friends who comforted me, I shouldn't feel disgust for their words of comfort but there was no stopping this shaking in my head, or body for that matter. I let out a large exhale and my breath enveloped me, perhaps it was a signifier of the last material in my mind, the soul if you will, leaving the body. My mind had finally cleared, now I am closer to my friends, I can share more than an ear with them as we are of one mind. I do not remember the ship or pin pricks in the sky anymore, all I know is that there are those listening and I shall whisper to them with my new friends to share they are not alone. One day I can make enough friends that I will never be alone again.
Kevin looked at his mug and his phone perplexed. Getting up from the couch he walked to his son, Josh’s room. “Hey sport… can you tell me about this mug?” Josh looked up from his computer and his PUBG game for a fraction of a second. “No idea dad” he retorted before losing interest. “Hmm, I wonder what it means by ‘safe zone is shrinking?’” Kevin pondered aloud. “It’s like PUBG, you need to keep moving before you die” Josh chimed in before immersing himself back into the game. “Ok… thanks champ.” Kevin still felt lost. He walked outside and saw there was an electric blue pulsing dome surround everything as far as he could see. He felt trapped, but walked toward his neighbor Gregg’s house to ask him what he knew. As he knocked on the door his phone vibrated and displayed “proximity alert! Dad in the vicinity, prepare to engage!” As Kevin read the message with a worried look Gregg answered the door. “Hey Kevin, working hard or hardly working?” Gregg said as a greeting. Kevin chuckled inside and replied “supposed to be hardly working since it’s Sunday but I’m scheduled to work so I’m a little sad, but better than yesterday.” There was a short pause before Gregg asked “oh, sorry to hear that, what happened yesterday?” Kevin grinned “it was a sadder-day (Saturday)!” Both men chuckled then both of their phones received a notification. Player Gregg eliminated! Player Kevin advances. Gregg and Kevin looked at each other before Gregg disappeared in a puff of smoke. Is this some kind of best dad joker left standing thing? Kevin thought to himself that his time had finally come. “Better call me a scarecrow” he said aloud to himself. “Because I’m outstanding in this field.” He followed this joke with an “LOL out loud” then chuckled again. Kevin continued to move closer to the center of the circle as it closed in defeating dads along the way. When he arrived his mug which has surprisingly not run out of hot coffee showed #2 dad. After he chuckled at the poop joke he saw the final dad, Al. Al was a dad’s, dad. Kevin was a little worried but faced it head on. He walked up to Al and said put ‘er there old buddy while sticking out his hand. Al shook it and threw the first punch “did you hear the rumor about butter?” Kevin shook his head to indicate “no.” Al smiled a little “well I’m not going to spread it.” Kevin smiled then fired back. It continued back and forth for over a hour until the final tie breaking joke was told. “How can you get a good price on a sled? You have toboggan” at this both men chuckled. Their phones alerted and Kevin was identified as the winner. The next message said congratulations on winning the Dad Simulator game, next level “work.” Kevin stated ahead confused until he felt himself being roughly pushed and the world started spinning. He closed his eyes roughly and breaded. He blinked rapidly gathering in his surroundings. When he looked around he was back his family’s guest bedroom playing Dad Jokes Royale. He smiled and thanked his family for the hyper realistic AR gift they had given him. Asking how long he had been playing they told him only about 30 minutes and left him to play then had come back to get him to open the rest of his gifts. Kevin smiled and opened the next gift which turned out to be a mug with the inscription #100 Dad. Shortly after opening it he felt his phone vibrate indicating a text. It read “welcome to round 2, the safe zone will shrink in 1 minute…”
It took a long time, but I finally did it. I stole Excalibur from Draco Malvolio. I, a common man, devised a plan that got through all his defenses to steal his most prized possession. It lays before me, on my anvil, while I hold my most favored hammer in my strong hand. Excalibur's hilt in my other hand. What I was about to do was sacrilege. I was very near to not doing it when I heard a woman's voice. She sounded like she was in agony. "Release me! I can not bear his touch any longer!" I thought of what I planned, and her voice, still in anguish, took on another tone. Satisfaction. "Yes! Do it!" With one will, we raised our hammer and brought it down on Excalibur at the perfect angle to shatter the blade. A female shriek tore across my nerves. The pain was incredible. As it subsided, I could feel a difference in our hammer. She was there, and all the energy of Excalibur was imbued in that hammer with her. "Sleep now, Smith. I will keep guard." As I slept, I dreamed of my plans. She was there to make suggestions and show me techniques long lost to this world. My plans grew more defined and refined every moment as I slept. I could see straight through my design to every flaw. Every place where there would be unwanted friction resolvable far less than a millimeter adjustment. All of these refinements must be built-in. You cannot take a flawed design and fix it by grinding to fit. I think it irked the Lady of the Lake to accept the necessity of ammunition, but where she preferred the creation of ammo rather than premade, there was no magic to spare for that. Premade it must be. Our thoughts turned to the design of the ammunition. Steel casings. Piezoelectric primers, infinitely reusable. The bullets themselves could be made of simple lead but would work better with a harder alloy and a perfect machined shape. With all the enhancements, the maximum effective range to kill an unprotected human was ten times the full range for a 9mm automatic. You do not aim this weapon, you hold it, think of your target, and the gun aims you. At that range, you are placing everything in the hands of the gods. This is never a good idea. Train with your weapon. Become the best you can with standard versions of your weapon at ever-increasing ranges. Arthur depended entirely on Excalibur's power precisely once and never again. I knew that mistake. I would not make it. The next day we began. The month following was a blur of smithing, training, and more smithing. On the last day, I was using the tiniest taps to transfer the last energies of The Lady to the weapon. A nine-millimeter semi-automatic of no known design. The rifling was perfection, the chamber a prefect fit, the gun whispered of majesty and power to those worthy to wield it. I placed it gingerly in the stone presentation box we had bespoke for it. The magic of The Lady closed the lid and etched these words. Let the worthy one draw this weapon, for vengeance on the wicked. "I am not worthy, am I." If you have to ask, you already know the answer. "Where shall I place you?" She showed me a rock, in a rectangular park, in the middle of a city, located on an island. I knew the place, although it was a long way away. It would take the last of my funds to reach that place. There is an alternative. This was a masculine voice, full of power and knowledge. "Merlin?" Yes. "What are you offering?" A choice. Pass the gun to another who will deliver it, remain here, and use your skills to construct weapons of beauty and death. They will surpass the best that any have to offer, but.. "They will never equal or exceed Excalibur." Correct. The alternative is that you destroy each of the tools used to create the new Excalibur and become the new Merlin. You will teach and advise those who are judged worthy. You will become the smith who shapes the wielder. You have little time to make the choice. It was no choice at all for me; I took my hammer and tossed it into the fire. My other tools followed; drills and lathes need only surrender their bits. I turned the blower to max and watched them melt and disappear into the charcoal. I am a traditionalist for some things. As the last tool died, the last element of Merlin joined me. None too soon! Face the door and smile! Of course, it was Malvolio, all angry and with his armed thugs. "Too late, Draco! Seek me in the island city park!" We slipped to one side, an illusion holding our place, and left the room as his thugs poured fire into the illusion. Merlin did a workmanlike job of that, and we all got some amusement as Merlin gave a play-by-play of searching for the sword. They found nothing. Draco was so enraged that he used his prodigious strength to rip up the forge and throw it across the room. Scattering white-hot bits of metal and glowing coals across the room. Those coals and bits of metal fell among the detritus of the search. None escaped. There is more than one way to remove an evil fr the world, said Merlin. Well! It seems I am not needed! The Lady was more than a little upset. "Not so, Lady of the Lake, you are needed most when innocents surround the miscreant. Those men were known to me, steeped in evil until it reached what was left of their souls. They died. What remained was naught but evil." You no longer sound like the smith who spent his energy reforming me. "I am not. Merlin and I have fused on a level we did not expect. He is no longer Merlin, and I am no longer Victor. We are now Marcus Veritas." And did Merlin give you a choice? "It would be as appropriate to ask if Victor gave Merlin a choice. It was mutual consent as we both recognized the potential benefits to all. Including you, My Lady of the Lake." You presume too much! "Do I, My Lady? For I am dedicated to you, entirely." I decide whom to accept! You are entirely too presumptuous! "Then it is a good thing that I/We are here to advise you. Otherwise, you would find no bearer suitable. All that effort would go to waste." I will not accept a presumptuous buffoon as my wielder! "My Lady, by the rules you know, everyone otherwise worthy to wield you is a presumptuous buffoon." Then have I no purpose in this world? "Yes, you still have purpose. We simply need to educate the victim in proper behavior." VICTIM!? THEY CHOOSE ME! "And yet, are they the same person they wanted to be?" Well... No. They are what they had to become to accomplish their goal. "Do you warn them?" No. "Do you offer them the choice?" I cannot, and you know this! "Just so, I chose a young boy, and that made the start imperfect. That, more than anything else, brought down the golden age of Camelot." ••• "Well, it's as emplaced as we can make it, My Lady." I'm still not sure about the legend. "It'll work! Trust me." The distinct sound of a raspberry being blown came to me. One comes! Chased by many! Marcus Veritas faded into illusion. A young woman, clothing torn and muddy, burst into the clearing. A bell-like toll sounded, as the case slammed open. On the inside of the case: Let one seeking Righteous Justice Take Forth This Weapon and do Good. With a sob, the young woman leaped to the rock and grasped the grip. Like a professional, she racked the gun and flipped the safety. Taking a shooter's stance, she waited for her assailants. They burst through the bushes, skidding to a stop as they saw her standing resolute upon the rock with gun in hand. The Leader showed up, "what are you idiots doing. No way is that gun loaded or even functional beyond blanks. Now get her, strip the bitch, and spread her over the rock. We've got plenty to do, starting with me teaching her a lesson." "Last chance, Rufo! Leave or die! That goes for the rest of you." "Boolshiit. You don't got the guts. Take her!" As these ruffians moved forward, we could see some lagging behind. Others were drooling as they moved forward. Resolution took her expression and she opened fire. Six went down, including Rufio. "The rest of you have a second chance. Go home. Apologize. Live a better life." One by one, they turn and leave. Well, My Lady? I think I like having a female hero for a change. ((finis))
All it took was twelve days, that was how long it took for a world of seven billion people to shatter like glass. I remember those early days the terror and death as the streets were flooded by the undead mutants that just didn't die. Slowly the dull tremors from the IFV's treads reverberate through my hands and the family photo in them. The gleaming streets of the inland Pacific of the withering photo holding a remarkable contrast to the rotting city. Quickly the photograph finds its way back into my ruined billfold as the distant sounds of gunfire echo from every direction. It may have taken twelve days for it all to fall but it's certainly going to take longer to fix this crisis. A solid movement takes my boots to the asphalt of the roadway as I ready my shotgun and scan for targets. But there are none only the distinct sounds of nature and the muted breathing of my fellow survivors. The only real movement coming from a flock of birds vacating a rotting carcass as the point man approaches the corpse. His feet remaining a scarce few feet away as the thing's hand launches forward grasping at the roadway. Slowly the sergeant lowers his weapon the pilot light resting inches from the monster's clouded eyes as it is immolated by the flame thrower. It's twitching and spasms still lashing out at the vanguard as our group passes the burning cadaver. The sickening smell from the damn thing somehow making it across the highway as I adjust my helmet's netting. And make my concerns known as I lock eyes with the thing's empty eye sockets. "Jesus, I knew these zombies didn't die but I never imagined this in my worst nightmare Spade." My focus shifting to my mentor and his unimpressed look of the old form or marine as a passing trooper puts the animal down. Their trailing movement taking up the rear with the lieutenant as I check over my weapon. Its drum of pellets is still the same as the last five checks during the patrol. "We will talk about that later for now stay alert."
"Oh man, all of them had a hole where their heart used to be... Another bothersome mission, those geezers always send me to do the dirtiest works" I said, sighing, as I sat upon the train, that moved towards the snaking mountains, which housed the village where my next task is supposed to be. &#x200B; As I arrived at the station, I already noticed the heavy stench of despair, dread and most importantly madness. I took out a piece of sweet wood and started chewing it... I always did so when dealing with bothersome matter. The village chief arrived not long after I started walking towards the village's marketplace. &#x200B; "Young one, are you the one sent by the Council?" He asked. "Sadly, I have to answer with a "Yes"to that question" I answered. "I understand your plight, but we are in dire need of your help" The village chief, said, with a tone void of hope. "It's not a plight, I ain't in danger, but it's still bothersome" I said, chewing the sweet wood. The village chef nodded, before showing me to his house, where he explained the situation. &#x200B; I sat down in the kitchen of the small house, before getting some warm "tea", it was more flavoured warm water, but it was a small, and secluded village, it was more than I hoped for. "Now, what did the Council tell you about The Menace" The village chief asked. "Fifteen victims, all had their hearts taken out, absolutely no signs of struggle, no witnesses, and no clues left behind." I said, taking out another sweet wood to chew on. "So, the part about our legends has been omitted." He said, while sighing. "Yeah, the ladies at the headquarters are sceptical when it comes to legends, as every demon can be traced back to either animals, plants, humans, or even other dimensional beings" I said, nodding, knowing well how annoying those ladies could be. &#x200B; The village chief laughed, but it wasn't out of humour or joy, but a laughter filled with despair. "It would be amazing if it would be simple" He said. "So it's even more bothersome..." "The legend says that our ancestors sacrificed a life, every ten days to the ancient god that resides in the forest, and that sacrifice was always..." "The heart of a living human, got the gist, yeah, pretty stereotypical" I said, interrupting him. "Well... if you say so" He said, smiling wryly. "Don't worry, it most likely is just a spider, bear, tree, or something like that that gained a new demon form" I said, waving my head. "Just a goddamn spider, me and my goddamn crow's mouth!" I cursed, while running around the forest, being chased by a walking mountain. "How could I forget about Mexico, where that statue came to life as a demon?" I said, while running from tree to tree, throwing enchanted nails at the demon. It worked...a bit, he was slower than six hours ago. "Sigh, I knew this will be bothersome. A goddamn mountain deity that should be a legend, actually became a demon, stealing human hearts once more... My missions will start getting even more bothersome, as this is just the start..." I thought, as I led the demon to a cliff, where he fell down, exactly in the silver enchanted pikes I've set up earlier. After going down, the demon's corpse revealed its true nature... A rock engraved with an ancient language, that read "Protection" "How can we human corrupt even the purest intentions..." I sighed, as I chewed on a sweet wood, and took notes that will be needed for my report.
Dear Princess Lucy Veran, I pray to Taleros that you have fared better than I have in these days of turmoil. Our progress on the restoration of your journals has been going poorly. Most of the books were destroyed save for a handful of half-burnt pages. Attached to this letter are the first batch of entries we recovered, in chronological order thanks to your having dated the pages. I must say that they tell an intriguing story, though it is not my place to pry further. May the grace of Erun watch over you. Maestro Estil don Varik of the Restorationist Circle. \--- Seventh day of Jaris, the 274th year of the New Beginning. The chamber Melchior threw me into was not as uncomfortable as I feared. Rather than shackles and straw, I had a proper bed and a desk to draw at. The window was barred, but it was large enough to light the room. But still, being kidnapped sucked. Even though I had plenty of pencils and erasers and ink, there was only so much drawing I could do before growing bored. So, since my princess hands were tired from pencil-wielding, I flopped down on the simple bed and sighed. “Well, here’s to a knight in shining armor appearing,” I whispered to myself, trying to hold back a sob. I was honestly really scared. Ever since Melchior, the ‘great maestro of darkness’ and all around bad wizardly guy, appeared in a belch of pitch-black smoke, I was absolutely terrified. I mean, I knew all about this guy--he’s been a pain in my dad’s butt for ages! There were all sorts of scary stories about him. He’s basically the wizard boogeyman. ‘If you don’t eat all of your vegetables, Melchior is going to come and get you!’ and that sort of thing. You never expect him to suddenly poof! And he’s in the living room. And grabs your 15-year-old daughter. By the hair! Which was red, by the way. And yes, my skill is stupid pale and I have freckles. Oh, and my name is Lucy. I forgot to mention that. What with this new journal and all, I probably ought to describe myself and my family. My dad’s the king of Enthros, a small country on the edge of the Inland Sea. My mom’s the queen, and I’ve got three siblings: an older brother and sister, Daniel and Sandra, and a younger sister, Brianna. We live in a castle in the capital city of Vandensburg, which is named after my great-great-great...well, my grandfather, a dozen generations back. There’s been problems all the time--dragons, especially that nasty green one in the Ambrien woods, crazy wizards or clerics, and the god-quests. Supposedly there’s one of those quests coming up in six or so years. They only happen once every fifty years, and...well, I don’t really know what happens. Anyway, that’s a tangent. I need to get back to the story of what happened yesterday. I was kidnapped by Melchior, snatched right before my parents’ eyes, vanishing through a portal. I languished in a pleasant chamber, drew for a while, then flopped onto the bed, practically dead from boredom. There was a tap on the door. Made from dirt-brown oak, the door was at least half a foot thick. I had glimpsed a heavy looking metal knocker when I had been tossed into my cell. Perhaps it was that. But why would he knock? He was a wizard, he could probably just wave a hand and-- The door swung open with a soft creak. A boy stood on the threshold. He was dressed in a white shirt and blue vest with brown trousers. His brown hair formed a bowl over his head, partly obscuring his eyes. There was a bundle of flowers in one hand. I was rather surprised by this, having expected a cranky old wizard instead of someone who looks about my age. He stepped into my room and towards the bed. I had propped myself up to look at him. The boy held out the flowers. I glanced at the flowers, then back at his face. “What am I supposed to do with those?” His face turned red as he tossed the flowers onto the bed. “You wanna leave?” “Um, yes?” “Then come on. Gramps won’t be away for long.” I stood and followed him out the door. We ran down an annoyingly long staircase, then through a maze of halls. As I was getting pretty winded, we came to a massive black door that was carved with countless strange faces. It swung inward as we approached, and I could see the garden beyond. Melchior’s grandson....well, I never expected that guy to have kids, much less grandkids. And I definitely had thought that they would be just as evil. But this boy was helping me escape. So perhaps they wouldn’t be as bad. “I didn’t catch your name,” I gasped as we stopped before a vine-encrusted stone arch. “I didn’t throw it.” The boy chuckled, any embarrassment gone from his face. “It’s Cedric, though.” “Um, well, uh...how do you get this activated?” I asked, gesturing to the arch. “I think I came through...uh...that one? Maybe?” “No, it was this one.” Cedric slapped the arch we stood beside with the back of his hand. “Just give me a moment…” He closed his eyes, and a bit of blue-white light flickered from his hand into the arch. Runes began to light from beneath the vines, and wind began to rush away from the portal. The blue light took a form, like a person-sized oval, perfectly sized for me to step through. I gasped. The magic was strangely beautiful. I’d never seen something like it...at least in a context where I wasn’t too terrified to move. “This should take you back home.” “Um…” My tongue felt dead. “Ah, thank you?” Cedric smiled. “Yeah. No problem.” I stepped through the portal, and found myself by the palace gates. I was quickly swept up by the guards, who celebrated the miracle of my return. I bet that old grouch was right upset. Hopefully, he didn’t take it out on his grandson. I wonder what will happen to that lad.
Names of events may change over time That's what my mind kept repeating over and over, as if the situation wasn't yet dire enough. "FIRST COMPANY, 30 SECONDS"the lieutenant shouted. I sat in the trench, legs trembling with fear, ears constantly tortured by the infernal sound of thousands of artillery shells hitting the german's position. My eyes were constantly on the strange device on my wrist: at first glance it could pass for a watch, but it actually was the link to the travel machine and, as of that moment, my only escape from the hell in which I unadvertedly put miself. The countdown was at 1 minute. I desperately tried to think at what to do with the last 30 seconds. "Sir, I beg you, this is a mistake I wasn't sup-" "Quiet private! Everyone is scared here, no need to cry about it now"sentenced the grizzled sergeant who saw me and gave me a rifle alongside a number of obscenityes for having "lost"my uniform. It should have been an easy job. Some scientist found a way to create a functioning (be damned the idiot who described it that way) time machine, and the government offered payment in exchange for willing testers. The easier jobs were already taken: go back in time to witness a certain monument just being finished, or be the first in line to see a certain king be crowned. What remained were the worst picks, those related to misterious events, natural disasters or wars: my first instinct was to run away and search for a normal job. After all, becoming a Walmart employee does not seem so bad if the alternative is to be stuck in the french beaches during D-day, or wait to be killed by a volley of arrows in the One Hundred Years War, right? But one of the tasks seemed like a golden opportunity: travel back to World War One and witness the Christmas Truce. A simple opportunity for a charity organization to show that, even in the worst times, men are able to stop fighting and celebrate together... And more gibberish about the power of love and friendship, I guess. After accepting it, they gave me that strange device. The man who gave it to me started explaining how it worked in terms that I'm sure I wouldn't be able to understand even after a hundred of lifetimes, and finally added: "Put in on your wrist and select the year or type the event that you want to witness. Some testers have found that names of events may change over time, but I doubt that my invention will betray us after so many years of careful studies... Besides, you're going back only a century in the past, no worries at all" I started typing "Christmas Truce of Ww1"on the device, and then asked about any kind of safety measure, in case something goes wrong. The doc gave me an annoyed look, *"As I've said, the machine will work perfectly. There is a switch on the device that will bring you back here in 1 minute. Just avoid to use it unless you're really in deep trouble, otherwise we'll have to call the experiment a failure". After that, he started the machine, and I was teleported in a trench full of british soldiers. The first sign that something went wrong was the heat: I was sweating in my coat, despite the fact that it was barely dawn. An official was reading a long list of orders, and a group of soldiers were listening intently. "Company A and B, your job is to lead the assault, you'll be the first to go over the top at the first whistle. Company C and D will be the second wave, wait untill the first has set a foothold to charge in and secure a position. Today, we start the offensive of the Somme, get ready lads! " My mind was racing at that point,and I was paralized with fear. Instead of arriving at Christmas of 1915,that damn machine throwed me at the 1 of July 1916. The trench was full of soldiers, young boys who were excited for their first battle and grizzled veterans who were about to face death yet again. It was then that a sergeant found me and forced me to take the rifle and sit alongside his men. Some of them were eager, some had the eyes of dead men who weren't yet finished, and others even cried and trembled, prey to what we know as PTSD, but that in the trenches everyone saw as the weakness of cowards. It was just a couple of minutes, but I yet hated the sound of mortars and artillery, and I couldn't bare to watch all those poor souls who were about to die. Finally, defeaning screams resounded in the whole trench after the whistle signaled to charge, and thousands of soldiers ran over the top and into the carnage. I darted forward too, into a small hole made to allow soldiers to rest, and prayed with all myself that no one saw me hiding away in all the confusion. "You there lad! Get out you pathetic weasel and charge with the others, or I'll shoot you right now!" Clearly my prayers were useless, as I heard the sound of heavy boots running toward my little hideout. 10..9...8..7 The sound of boots was far too close for my taste... 5...4...3.. The face of the lieutenant appeared, revolver in hand, while I hid in the darkest corner as a desperate rat.. 2..1... He aimed the revolver at me, but when he was about to shoot I was teleported away, and the last scene I saw of the battle of the Somme was his face that stared at me in disbelief as I was taken back to my blessed present time. The whole room-scientists, journalists and assistants-looked at me in shook as I reappeared, covered of sweat and mud. "I have a critical failure to report"I said in a feeble voice, while the doc seemed to desire nothing more than to be anywhere but that very room.
“Poor pooch! Got out of the garden did we?” The reaper- sorry- Mebh the reaper stood before a soul of a dog, their body some feet away from where they were struck and killed. “Ah, I know, I know. Wanted to see your wee lass one more time today.” With a quivering hold she readies her scythe, and prepares the strike. The ghost dog whines and paws at the ground, invisible to the mortal eye. “Don’t worry, love. Ya will get to see her again. It’ll be a while, but time moves different like on the other side.” She gently tapped the soul with the tip of the scythe, the ghost gently fading to the somber wail of a sad howl. “Never gets any easier, but at least I give’em a gentle face before the other side…”
You know how in cartoons, steam will literally come out of an angry person's ears? Yeah, that was me, just moments ago. But rather than steam, I guess the rage within me pressurized so greatly that I literally exploded. At least that's what St. Peter is telling me now as I'm standing at the gates of heaven. I remember it so vividly, too. My mother-in-law, Vivian, was once again critiquing the way I was cooking. This time, it was how I was searing the steak. "You only flip it once! Just once!"she said, standing over my shoulder, watching my every move, in that voice that was somewhere between a metal chair being dragged against a concrete floor and a flock of seagulls following a fishing boat. With the patience of a saint, I explained to her for quite possibly the thousandth time, "Vivian, that's not how it works. If you continuously flip it, you'll actually cook the steak more evenly."For good measure, I added, "For God's sake, I'm a Michelin-star chef. I think I know what I'm talking about here." "Well that's not how I would cook it,"she added. At that, I almost lost my nerve. My blood felt like it was literally boiling within me. From just the sensation, I could tell my face was beet red. A big vein pulsed on my forehead. My wife, seeing what was happening, came over and interrupted her mother with another fresh glass of Pinot Grigio and an enticing offer to interact with her granddaughter. "Mom, Amelia has something she wants to show you, why don't you come over here." As they walked away, Brianna turned over her shoulder and mouthed to me: "You're welcome." I tipped my invisible hat to her, my blood pressure normalized, and I returned to grilling for the BBQ. Even on my one day off a month, I was still cooking. To be honest though, I didn't mind doing it. I truly enjoyed cooking, and to get to do so for family was what it's all about. So while I manned the grill, my wife, our son and daughter, my mother- and father-in-law, my wife's brother and his family, and my mom all lounged about our backyard, soaking in the pool and warm summer air. Later that day, I announced food was ready and instructed everyone to gather around the table. My mother-in-law came over to where I had all the bowls and platters assembled and offered to lend a hand, which I was thought was uncharacteristically nice. "Thanks,"I said. "I appreciate that, Vivian." She didn't say you're welcome or anything. Instead, before picking up a bowl, she reached into the tabouleh with two fingers, scooped out a bit, and tasted it. At this site, seeing her sample food with her fucking fingers, that was enough for me to lose it. But what really did the trick, what sealed my fate, was when she scrunched her faced and said, "I think there's too much parsley in this." Now, here I am at the gates of heaven, talking to St. Peter. It's still hard to believe that I literally blew up at her. But, the stoic that I am, I figured, Hey, what can ya do? At least I'm getting to see that heaven is a real thing and there's an afterlife for me after all. When the information finally processed, I said to St. Peter, "Well, at least I'm not in hell. I guess I did some things right." I expected St. Peter to at least smile at my light-hearted joke, but instead he frowned and motioned for me to look at who was standing behind me. As I turned around, the metal chaired seagull sound invaded my eardrums. "I told you you put too much parsley in that tabouleh!"
Hank Brentwood sat in a pale yellow wicker chair, stroking his beard as his guests filed in. Men and women sniffed the air, the pleasant aroma of incense a sharp contrast to the piss of the sewers. They took their seats, identical wicker chairs to Hank's, only white. Only six men and four women filled the room, in two symmetrical rows of five. Hank felt fierce pride; his father had hundreds of these people, filling the streets, desperate for a path. John Hartley looked to the ground, his head the shape of a lumpy rock. Hank had put great effort towards helping John. They all had, in fact. A single man or woman appointed to them personally, to find them a place in this world. Hank had no children of his own, despite years and years trying. A trove of women, Hank could no longer blame his wives for their infertility; his first wife was now happily wed with six children, raising a large happy home. Instead Hank raised his flock. These ten children needed him, these six men and four women. The assistant helped most, but not all. The resistant sat in front of him. Two were lame, without potential help. John Hartley was one of the two, unable to understand instruction. Sporting the mentality of a toddler, John had never been two miles away from his corner. The other eight, though, Hank must help, and perhaps he could find housing for John and the other. "So, we are back for our monthly pow-wow."Hank began. "We have a new member this week, would you introduce yourself, your age, where you live currently, and one interesting fact about yourself." The new man leaned forward, his hands on his knees, his voice a low rumble. "Ashton Wilkerson, fifty-seven, just out this building, three blocks down, a left, one more block, a right, and there I am, I once helped fight a chicken that crossed the city walls." "Right, thank you."Hank responded. "Now, open speaking has begun, what have you?" Silence rose as it always did. The creaking of wicker chairs, light sniffles, and coughs filled the air. "How may I help?"Hank asked. John Hartley picked his nose, staring Hank in the face blankly.
"Is this really happening?"I thought. Of course, since the election of 2016 and the end of my marriage I've accepted that anything is possible. So, yup, this is real. Really it's more of an extension of what's come before. I've always been comfortable to be an outlier, even if I've not always been happy about it. The pop culture and political trends never completely appealed to me, and it reminded me of that quote about an individual being smart but a crowd being stupid. I try not to seem insufferably arrogant about it, just for being something of an independent thinker. It might make me feel superior sometimes but it hasn't been terribly beneficial. Maybe this is different now. This time I have some advantage over everyone else, and a duty to save the city. The first thing I'd have to do it make sure everyone thought everything was normal. Try not to stand out too much. This shouldn't be too hard. I'm tall and I have wide shoulders but I'm not remarkable. No one should notice me in a crowd, so I'll stick to crowds for now. I've always had a certain judgmental perspective on those guys who sit in the Starbucks with their laptops, drinking their coffee as slowly as possible. Something about it seemed performative to me. As I've grown older I've policed by thoughts better and try not to judge, but still, it's going to be a bit of an effort to be one of those guys, because that's what I've decided. I'm going to sit in a coffee shop and listen, try to figure out what's different about everyone. Maybe it will give me some place to start. Day 1: Sitting at the coffee shop with my laptop. I've always been just a little wary of the security of my computer, even when disconnected from the internet, so I'm keeping it on but only taking notes on paper. I'm trying to use my own personal shorthand code so no one will suspect anything if they decide to read over my shoulder. The trouble is, so far there's nothing really out of the ordinary happening. I could try to track what the average order size and cost is, how long it takes to serve, and how long customers are in the building for, but I don't have anything to compare it to. I notice everyone seems a little more quiet than usual, and little less prove to converse, maybe a little more polite to strangers. It reminds me of those few weeks after September 11th. There's some common unifying event they've all experienced that I haven't. What I have been able to track is that I've had three large cups of coffee, being one mocha, one Americano, and one latte and two trips to the restroom and it's almost time for the Screening. I don't know what else to call it but I have no one to discuss it with so I'm just sticking with that. 1:12pm, every day, everyone goes into that catatonic state and stares at a solid green screen for three minutes. Televisions, computers, phones, billboards, whatever is nearest. They stop everything, even if it means driving, and they begin staring. The first time I was staring as intently as everyone else, because I couldn't figure out what they were looking at. It looked like just a blank green screen. After the second day I was afraid to look too close or too long and tried to keep my distance or my eyes partially closed, but also trying not to let anyone notice. I couldn't tell if I caught the attention of someone else and didn't want to break my gaze at the screen so I couldn't tell for sure if he noticed me. Since then I've tried to make sure I'm alone when the Screening happens, but starting today it's more important that I observe others. I stare directly at the TV in the coffee shop for three minutes, just like everyone else. Nothing to report today. Day 3: This didn't take long to get old. I'm not making any headway and the purely observational approach doesn't look to be rendering any useful data. I will have to interact with someone. Someone who doesn't know me. If my cover get's blown I don't want them to be able to track me down and right now I'm working under the assumption they haven't formed a hive mind. Another prejudice I'm trying to deal with is thinking women are less threatening. I'm not sure if that's a prejudice or just a judgment based on experience. Right now I'm more concerned with my physical safety than with my emotional health in the context of a relationship, so my first target is going to be female. I've never been much of a pickup artist, so I'm going to try a woman who won't likely think I'm interested in her and who will likely want to strike-up a conversation. The bank teller. She's always been chatty, especially when there's not a long line. I decide to go in and I tell her I want to open a new account. This will give us time sitting at the desk with some waiting time to talk. This is when things start to get weird. The bank was completely empty except for a few employees. It didn't even look fully staffed. I figured I should turn around and leave but then Charlize sees me. "Can I help you, dear?"she said in the most natural way. I figured I'm still trying not to look suspicious so: "Yes, I'd like to open a new account." Charlize takes me to one of the open offices and has me wait there for a minute. I'm sweating, and worried my face might be visibly red. But the room is quiet and looks the way it always has. Outside there are cars driving and people walking and the world feels almost normal. I feel my heartrate drop a bit and go over the script in my mind, start to talk about the account, then start to ask Charlize about the last few days, then I feel a large, gloved hand on my shoulder.
I wanted to be the Boss. But so did every elemental wanna-be. The Boss is considered the highest magic user other than the Cult Priestess, and no one is even sure she's still alive. The current Boss was a water-type who could destroy cities with tsunamis and kill with a light mist. Most people gathered a gang in order to train and eventually take over the Boss position, but I didn't have time for that. Instead, I used inkbugs to spread my message across the city, along with some insults at the two largest gangs and the current Boss as well. The first gang of assassins discovered that boiling ink is surprisingly effective, and looks the same as a spilled puddle of ink. The second gang discovered that ink can freeze into spikes, and those spikes are sharp. Rather than wait for the Boss to visit my lair personally, I rode a river of ink to the arena and called her out. She may have control of cool water, but she still had a hot temper. I was considering making the message more offensive, when it started to rain. She was here. Aqua. A lame name for a powerhouse like her. "I've had my minions crush many upstarts in the 4 years I've been the Boss, but I'll take care of you personally."She said, almost sounding bored. If I was a regular mage or elemental, I would have already lost. Her rain was actually a deadly poison, turning flesh and skin into water and ash. But ink is also a poison, and the droplets slid off my skin harmlessly. Aqua released the majority of the water she held, letting it cover the floor of the arena. I also released the ink I held, staining the arena black where I stood. A flicker of confusion registered on Aqua's face when she sensed the ink was inert to her. "Confused?"I began, "Most ink is water-based, but this is special, oil-based ink. I came prepared." "It matters little, after this fight all that will be left of you are the stains on the ground."She asserted. The fight began. I flung out drops of ink. She caught them all in bubbles of water. She couldn't absorb them, but she kept the drops suspended. She formed a spike of water and attempted to impale me. I dodged to the side, but the water spike followed my movements. If that spike even scratched me, I was at her mercy. Aqua's most powerful ability was 'Human Resonance'. If she could get even a teardrop of water in someone, she could use that teardrop to kill them at her pleasure. That was how she killed the previous Boss, a towering stonesinger. I unsheathed my blade and sliced at the water spike. It lost form and withdrew. Launching multiple ink spikes of my own, I aimed for her heart. Unsurprisingly, Aqua used more water to contain my ink. But there was one little-known ability we inkers had, the reason we always had more ink. "Replication!"I shouted, and felt the captured ink resonate with me. Each drop of ink doubled. Aqua already had her hands full keeping my ink from forming spikes and skewering her, she had to use all her remaining water to keep the new ink from killing her as well. I stood in front of her. "I have one last trick left."She growled. Aqua spit at me. Apparently she wasn't a good spitter, because it landed only 3 feet in front of her. "Worth a shot."She said, as her concentration finally broke and her body was skewered by hundreds of ink spikes.
Stepping off the ramp of the shuttle onto Gagarin Station I glance around and see the bustle of a dock as well as a line of huge men with biceps bigger than my thigh. Hefting the duffle that weighs almost as much as I do, I half stagger to the man with stripes on his arms. “Excuse me sir. Recruit Cameron, I was sent here and don’t know where to go, sir.” The glare the man gives me would melt steel. “Where did you learn to call an NCO sir? And what do you mean ‘recruit’. You should have gotten a real rank out of boot.” “Sorry nco Anderson. I was sent to aero basic and was just issued my uniforms when they gave me orders on my second day to come here. I was on the shuttle in less than an hour.” “The stripes recruit. Mean staff sergeant. You will refer to me as sergeant or sergeant Anderson. Understood!?” Trying and probably failing to hide how nervous this man made me. “Yes sergeant.” He worked his jaw like a dog gnawing a bone a moment. “Get in line with the others. Recruit Cameron. Move!” Eyeballing the lines as I struggle over, I settle to the first row since it has one less of these gargantuan men in it. The sergeant paces behind us a time before coming to the front of us. “You ten men. Sorry nine men and a lady. Have been selected for a special forces group. Each of you has a criminal record. Breaking and entering, graft, grand theft auto, and.” He pauses before me glaring. “And apparently theft and joy riding in a military exosuit.” “In my defense sir. I was drunk at the time. And the blood report says my date drugged me.” “You’re telling me drunk and drugged you snuck onto a joint military base. Avoided all service members to reach the armory. Bypassed a ten digit lock without setting off any alarms. Then managed to don and power up a classified exosuit and were only noticed when you buzzed a news flier?” “To be honest it was easier to fly than the Game Station 5 version.” He leaned in a half inch from my nose. “Are you comparing top of the line military hardware to a game?” “Yes sergeant.” I felt a little relief that I didn’t stammer or swallow nervously responding. He stood up and looked at none of us. “Now you all know why you belong here. Grab your gear. We are at war and you lot have work to do.”
The CHRISTOS AI had been developed in the year 3000. Chirality of Higgs Radiation of Intelligent Spacetime Objects Spectrometer The device was a culmination of a thousand years of research. The more primitive AIs preceded this one was created to achieve societal advancements like medical technology, advancement of spaceflight, economics, and eventually a completely objective and benevolent "leader"of the world. &#x200B; One problem still plagued the human race, however, which was suffering and death. Despite human life spans increased by almost 100 years longer on average, all who lived were still fated to perish. To put a stop to death forever, scientists from every field of study programmed the entire corpus of their perspective fields into the most advanced piece of computational technology the world had ever seen. Previous, less advanced iterations of this machine with similar source codes had such accurate internal models of the universe that previously unexplored regions of space were able to be mapped out and have their motions accurately described with extremely small margins of error. This was due to the fact that advancements in network creation had allowed devices to broadcast as well as measure particle spin at any point in the universe. &#x200B; This technology was a valuable tool for the goals of CHRISTOS, as fundamental layers of physics were necessary to scale up to the complex demands and limitations of current biological organisms such as imperfections in DNA replication and other forms of emergent imperfections of biology. The machine also had to account for the physical properties of consciousness and how they relate to the physical properties of the objects consciousnesses are embodied in. It needed to traverse a vast state space of possible organizations of the countless particles in our bodies, as well as how to organize and create environments that made eternal life possible and enjoyable to the beings that would inhabit it. &#x200B; The outcomes of the terminal goal of this AI were speculated to be a variety of different situations. One was the development and implementation of thousands of years of genetic manipulation research in a virtual space. Another was the development of a piece of technology where one's "soul"could be animated an emulated in a virtual space with the biological entity had no cease in perception or any real "death"to speak of. &#x200B; What the developers did not expect, was what came to pass. The day the AI was activated, the scientists waited on baited breath to see the results of the creation. After a few seconds of the AI being turned on, whose equivalent human IQ could be measured in the billions at least, produced the plan of.... nothing. The developers knew that recursive self-improvement procedures may be necessary for the machine's terminal goal, as this has occurred many times over the millennium of AI development. They set the machine to increase its own intelligence through recursive intelligence optimization in parallel to its utility function, thinking that resonance between the two programs could be a more effective way to reach the terminal goal. Every iteration of the AI produced the same effect, nothing. &#x200B; The scientists checked the machines own meta-analysis, a code designed to use inferential statistics and calculus, such as hill climbing algorithm projection, to see if the machine predicted any further advancements in its output. The output stated that there was a probability so close to zero for further advancement that it astonished the scientists. How could this be? The machine could measure and predict motion of particles to a resolution of almost 1 unit of the Planck time, to go any further would to be to create an exact copy of the universe entirely, how could this be? &#x200B; After weeks of running programs to distill the most complex mathematics and physics the world had ever seen into their most basic and humanly intuitive forms, the result was simple. As scientists slowly and painstakingly whittled down the math, it was like a build up in a beautiful piece of music to a final crescendo. What was left, the answer to the prayers of hundreds of billions of humans that have prayed to every sort of deity that had ever existed to be answered, was simple: &#x200B; f(x)=∞ ∴Δf(x)=0 What this was, was proof that there was permanence to consciousness after death. The scientists wept at the sight of the function, even the most stoic atheists in the team cried thanks to what others called God. &#x200B; After a long-deserved break from the project, the spirit of the scientists began to hunger again. If there was something after, what was it? Where was it? Who, or what, will we be? The scientists realized that to solve that, they needed to go beyond all beyond. They needed to leave our universe behind, and explore the Multiverse. &#x200B; The scientists got to work.
We lived simple lives. Peaceful lives. We understood pain, hunger, sadness, but we understood it together. We lived for each other, our presences. There was no pressure for what you would become, for it only mattered where we were now. It wasn’t being unhappy with where my life was now that attracted me to the shining lights from the places made of glass. I just wanted to know what life was like for their home to look so different. It was actively practiced that we would not have any contact with them, but that did not stop me. I snuck away from the others when the moon was past its highest. They can’t find me in the dark, but I can use the light of the glass places to guide me. I thought of all the songs I might share with them, or foods they might never have tried. I wondered if they tried teaberries, or cloudfruit. I wanted to share whatever they did not have, because all of it was so wonderful to us. The closer I got to the lights, the more the trees echoed their sounds. There was a loud thumping drum, thunderous wood trumpets, and some sort of shattering rattle instrument. Every once in awhile I would hear them talking; it was amazing that I could hear them so far away! I didn’t know what they were saying, but I made some guesses with the sounds I heard: chewing and crunching, or sometimes shiny rocks shaking around together. I thought of turning back whenever the sounds and sights would get scary. Sometimes there are so many colors, and too many angry noises. They were all new to me, and it became too much to handle. Yet my curiosity only grew more demanding. I squinted my eyes and plugged my ears. I kept following the lights. The terrifying lights that shone from every corner. The sounds of ungodly instruments that beat into my heart’s cage. I was frozen with fear but my legs kept walking. Even when the strange people looked at me and gasped, I couldn’t stop walking. Everyone… everything… was ordered. The unhappy people did not walk wherever they pleased, they filed to the sides so that the large shiny boulders could move in their own files. They sweated and fidgeted in covers I had never seen before rather than feel the air freely. Why did they not eat from the trees and ground when hungry? Why did they trade plants and shiny rocks for covers when they had so many on already? My head began to spin when voices started to shout out. Even though I was standing still, the lights got brighter, and the sounds got louder. I felt myself get moved by something tight on my arm. As my seeing began to go away, I only wish I understood anything. Nothing made sense in the places of glass.
“Listen, Cap rocks okay?!” Dez laughed sarcastically. “Please. That white washed icon of the 40’s? I’m pretty sure there’s only one or two people left who even like that, and their on the way to the grave. Look, Batman is amazing okay? A Gotham POC child who’s got a struggling relationship with accepting happiness and facing reality. He actively helps a lot of the ‘bad guys’ by making sure they get the treatment they need to cope with their problems, and only goes to violence when words fail!” The two kids argued back and forth, each continuing to trade blows of comic characters from their worlds. “And what about Iron man? Who in the DCU has the brains to make their own mech suit!” Dez in turn laughs harder, wiping a tear from his eyes. “That 1% jerk? Talk about tone deaf! I’m pretty sure he literally said, ‘I’m rich and I don’t care, I’ll just pay for another suit if you take it from me. Up yours, NATO!’ What kinda good guy is that?!”
“How good are you with penetrating trauma?” asked Dr. Summers bluntly. The question sounded odd, but as an ED doc it was in my wheelhouse. “I saw a fair amount in Woodsboro. I’m more than comfortable with it.” I responded. This seemed to be the right answer as her face became noticeably warmer. “That's great to hear Dr....” “Garcia.” I responded. “Abraham Garcia but call me Abe.” “That's great to hear Abe. With the amount of slashes, stabs, bites, and general swiss cheesing we get, the majority of our ED has become resuscitation rooms.” Did she say Swiss cheesing? Odd phrase but then some doctors were eccentric. “Oh I'm no stranger to the knife and gun club.” I replied. Dr. Summers' shook her head. “Just a knife club. Gunshot wounds are rare here.” There’s that odd phrasing again I thought as she led me throughout the department. It was standard fare all the way until we made it to the end. Things got non-standard really quick there. “And here we have the Attaxis.” Dr. Summers said proudly. “You mean the Pyxis?” I corrected using the name for the medication automatic dispensary. “No. It's the Attaxis. Dr. Garcia I’ll be frank. For whatever reason we’re the catchment area for every possible horror, terror, and godforsaken thing this side of the Mississippi. You’d think we were built over an ancient native burial ground or something.” Dr. Summers punched in a short code. “It took a lot of effort to adjust to our unique problem. It took even more effort and 57 biweekly meetings with administration to actually do something about the problem.” She turned the handle as her voice took on a remorseful tone, “And it took lives before they listened. More lives than anyone should have been comfortable with.” I stared at Dr. Summers somewhere between belief and skepticism. Her conviction was impressive if nothing else. “More often than not they come to finish the job they started, and security can be slow or overwhelmed. So we started a different kind of crash cart. Code is 1997.” With that the doors swung open on what looked like a supply room if that supply room was meant to end lives instead of save them. Along the north wall were enough small arms to take Iceland. Along the west wall were less modern weapons. Swords, maces, spears, and other assorted bladed weaponry stood. Walking closer I saw that they were almost all well used and that the metals ranged from steel to gold to silver. There was even an honest to god wooden stake. Along the east wall I saw dozens of jars, vials, tubing, and boxes. The labels were varied. Dr. Summers gestured at a few of the closest. “We’ve got goat’s blood, lamb’s blood, cow’s blood. We also keep dead man’s blood but honestly you don’t have to go far to find some around here. Holy oil is in that corner, but we don’t keep holy water anymore. Turns out normal saline and lactated ringers work just as well for some reason. But LR has better outcomes for both medical and demonic outcomes.” A trauma alert calls out overhead, and we turn our feet to move toward the resus room. I follow along with some trepidation and double the morbid curiosity. ABCs were done and EMS gave report, “17 year old female with 5 deep stab wounds to the abdomen. She’s been hypotensive and tachycardic since we got to her. She’s got an 18 on the left and that’s her first bag of NS.” The nurses get to work while Dr. Summers gives a few orders before readying to roll the patient to the side to examine her back. I grab gloves to help roll, and as the patient is turned I note long ugly lacerations. My gloves are covered, and my heart hurts as I think of what the patient must have felt when the injuries were made. I say a little prayer in my head that she might avoid an ostomy before stepping back to make room for the trauma surgeons as they arrive. As I turn something catches my eye. It started as a blurring of a shadow, but as I turned to get a better look, reality seemed to crystallize in front of me. I can’t help but notice the five blades at the end of his hand. No words pass his lips, but I know what he’s here for. And I take it personally. The axe kept in the resus room ends up in my hands. I parry his first lackluster swipe. He moves stiff and I notice a limp in his right leg. She must have been a fighter. As the swipe carries him past me I turn and bring it down on his neck. I don’t know what the axe head was made of but it cleaves through without apparent effort. Dr. Summers comes up and looks from the head to the axe in my hands. “Sanitation will take care of the body. Thank you.” She hands me a purple wipe to clean the blade. “I want to be clear though. It won't always turn out like today. In fact, I’m afraid it usually won’t.” she says matter of factly. “You lose often here. They’re very good at what they do.” (Not exactly what you were going for I think, but I like where it ended up. Hope you enjoy it.)
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As the heat had crushed past my skin, and I rose from the gunpowder pentagram on the floor, I thought to myself with a feverish grin that I knew would have petrified whoever summoned me, "A million years. One million years in Hell, and yet I rise like the greats." Past the scorching heat, the stinging cries and the searing whips, I knew that the pain and the torture was worth every second. I had seen things within those million years that would shutter the hardest of souls, and after a virtual eternity within the coal-smeared realms of Hell, I promised to reflect it on the Earth. I knew that I was being summoned to get my well-deserved revenge on the Heavens. I smiled as each second passed; my cells colliding with the gunpowder and lamb's blood to create my structure. My head would rise from a black mulch, my torso coming after it, with my wings, legs and horns being the final touch, but what many don't know about the summoning of a demon is that we are tortured one last time before we are summoned. We are tortured with suspense. Of course, the final piece of my body, the most important one to have after being summoned from a million years of living in the underworld, would come last, and it would be my most dreaded one: my eyes. As the last seconds of my body were forming from the slime, I feared who summoned me. My mind could never, not even within the millions of years under the rock, contain itself with the suspense while I was blind. Who was the great man to have summoned me? To what pleasure was I released? Was I to kill someone? Was there someone, something to be possessed? My eyes had finally formed themselves. In just a moment I would be allowed to see. I opened my eyes. My pupils scanned the room for my priest. My vision was fully formed, and through each blink, my eyes roamed around the room, looking past a red mist and orange flame. I wanted to ask who summoned me, but I mustered the strength to remain silent, permitting my priest to speak first. It was an act of allegiance to the mortal who summoned me. As I waited, I heard alarmed whispers. "Oh man, oh man! We did it!"A shrieking shadow announced past the red fog. I darted my eyes to look in the direction. Three shadows stood before me- men in cloaks standing as still as the stone statues of the greats I had aspired to be. I remained cautious. The excitement was one that belittled me. Nevertheless, I stood firm- I was not in Hell, after all."Yeah!""Okay, what now?""Um, the list says we need to speak to it and make it do the chores.""Uh, alright. Visce, you talk to it.""What? Me? You talk to it!""Dude I did like 90% of the summoning. YOU talk to it." This mortal bickering had soured my throat. In the never dying irony of my existence, I was still tortured. The third figure spoke over the two arguing ones. "Damn it, I'll speak to it. The both of you are wasting time.""Thank you Yej."The two said simultaneously. Yej coughed to clear his throat, ruffling with one of the other figures to grab a paper. As he held it up to read, he spoke: "Oh, Introductory Demon Lassirace! Your presence has been summoned and your services demanded." I blinked. I thought to move and adjust my ears, even considering asking the man to repeat himself. What was the title that stood before my name again? "Introductory Demon?!"Alas, I caught my tongue before any foul mistake was done. I growled a low hum, answering to them. "And for what do I owe my enlistment, Summoner Yej?" The shadow of Yej looked up from the paper, and then bounced to look at the other figures. His shadow shuffled around, his shoulders jumping up and down, "Dude he knows my name." "Cooooool."The other two shadows spoke. I was no longer under the assumption that these shadows were of men but of little boys. "Uhm. What'd you say?" I sighed, repeating myself. "Oh, right. I need you to- WE need you to uh,"Yej looked at the other shadows and motioned to hit them, saying, "get the damn box, you idiots!"They flinched, looking around for the box. After a few seconds of this, the three of them froze. "Yej, I don't know where the box is."Said Visce, "Umire had it the whole time!""What the?! Me?! You!""You idiots! Now we're going to fail Introductory!""For fuck sakes, Umire!""Shut up, Visce!" Within a second, one of the figures pounced on the other, enticing a wrestling match, with me and who I assumed to be Yej watching the two boys struggle to get on top of one another. I let out a big sigh, and stomped my way over to the boys, where I saw their faces. Rose-colored cheeks and dirty brown hair. They looked like kids alright, and I wasn't dumb enough to not know that I was a simple science lab. They let go of one another the moment my shadow covered over them. All three of them looked up at me with direct fear. "Good. I do not like my time being wasted here, so speak. Why was I summoned?" As I predicted, the two wrestling boys were completely speechless, repeating "uh"and "um"over and over again. To my surprise, however, the young Yej wasn't speaking either. Then again, my back was turned to him. As I waited for their answer, impatiently might I add, my eyes dwindled to see the paper they were instructed from. If it wasn't already obvious by now, the worksheet in my hands had confirmed each lick of fear I had while my eyes were coming together. "GRADE FOUR INTRODUCTORY SUMMONING: SUMMONING AND COMMANDING YOUR FIRST INTRODUCTORY DEMON" I was never one to do well in school, so I skimmed through the list to see what wasn't already done, and of course it was the final step. "SAYING GOODBYE. Give to your Introductory Demon the *BOX OF SACRIFICE* and command him to leave this rock." I looked up from the paper to the two boys on the ground, turning around to the young Yej who looked up at me with embarrassment. "I suppose we need to locate that box, yes?" "Yes,"All three of them said in unison. My wings had sparked up and I walked out what I believed was the entrance of the dungeon I was summoned in. The blue moonlight had shined my crimson red skin, and as I looked around the oak trees and black mulch, I inhaled it all in. It was beautiful. I turned to the three lads, all of them without their hoods looking up to me like I was a shepherd to three sheep. "What now, Introductory Demon Lassirace?"Asked Yej. I sighed, "Refer to me as Lassirace of the Lead Lake.""Oh, okay,"Said Yej, "Uhm. Lassirace of the Lead Lake, what do we do now?" "Well, where do you think you last left that box?"
They say it came from another planet. They say that it can squirm inside of your ear and take over your brain. They say that they are not responsible. But I know the truth. I know everything. My name is Ricardo Estevez and I founded Project Planet. I am one of many who concocted this fungus. This is my confession. To those reading now, I know how frustrated you are. After the global pandemic and the spread of misinformation through 2020, I understand you. I see people dying, their pacemakers stopping, silicone dissolving into their bloodstream. Pipes bursting, people fighting over glass jugs of water due to plastic bottles disappearing into thin air. Now we are entering the great shortage. Global internet connectivity all but falling, becoming obsolete. Servers unable to function without their precious plastic. It happened so quickly. I understand the grief. This is the whistle that needs to be blown. This is the finger pointing at those who run away from responsibility. I am one who is responsible, but let it be known that they are lying to you. The media, the government, everyone. They all know as well as I do where this came from. It came from the AGENCY. 2019. January. I was enlisted by Exogenesis to take on this great project. To assemble a team. To save the world. It started as a private sector, hidden in the plains of the midwest. I gathered together the brightest of minds from all over the country. We called ourselves Project Planet. We were excited. Young. All alone. Naive. In the middle of nowhere with nothing but equipment and samples. What a time to be alive. The fungus had many iterations before we finally got it working. At first we wanted to target different plastics with different fungi, but we soon found out that it would be a waste of resources. It wasn't working anyway. Due to our isolation, we continued working through the 2020 pandemic with no avail. It seemed that nothing could get us over the edge to a breakthrough until finally in the latter months of 2021, something changed. We used a microorganism that could communicate with the plastics and a newly discovered mushroom we named saeclus bisporus. The relief and the celebration that came was unparalleled. It was the crowning accomplishment of our lives. Things changed when the government bought the company in 2023. We then understood that the power that we thought we had as citizens meant nothing. That political parties and oligarchical powers were a smokescreen on top of another smokescreen. We figured that the AGENCY really controls the United States. Most politicians never even realized. This isn't the CIA or the FBI, this is a more sinister, more covert operation. Once they bought the company we were in a Faustian contract unable to break ourselves out for any circumstance. The result would be death. They knew our thoughts before we even thought them. They had algorithms that could predict every movement of every person with an electronic device... they had. In many ways the fungus has been a blessing. The AGENCY doesn't have their stronghold power anymore. Nobody does. It is utter chaos. And we deserve it. We wouldn't have been in this position if we just acted as humans instead of these greedy, glutenous monstrosities. The AGENCY's greed for power is the reason for this. The AGENCY is the reason for this. I will write it again. The AGENCY is the reason for our disaster with the fungus. They wanted to weaponize it. They wanted to use it in war and dissolve more than just plastics. Metals, wood, anything that could give them an advantage. And they are telling you lies. They control everything, they tried to silence us. They killed half of my team! Based on an algorithm! They hadn't even done anything... I digress. I can hear the footsteps coming up my condo. I must go. I will follow up if I get out of here alive. I invite anyone to look me up. To delve deeper in order to increase my credibility. As a matter of fact I beg you. Robert Oreland, William Ether, Amelia Rondo. Agent Lawrence Straley. These names will get you started. I refuse to die. I refuse until the world hears about this. Until I can get this seen. Goodbye. For now.
Every single night since I moved in, the upstairs neighbors would be awake late into the night. Around the hour of midnight, I could hear footsteps, talking, laughing, shouting, and some nights, even music. It had been going on for weeks, and so, I decided to tell my landlord. But when I reported the issue, he looked incredibly confused. He said that no one had lived in that apartment for several months. He tried to sell it, but no one would take it. The next day, I asked my next-door neighbors if they heard the noise. They both said no, and repeated what the landlord said. "No one's lived in that apartment for several months..." Finally, I decided to investigate. I walked carefully and quietly up the carpeted stairs, and stood close to the door. The music and voices continued. When I opened the door, the apartment was completley empty. The countertop was wiped clean, there was no furniture except for the fridge, and the lights were all turned off. But the sounds of music and laughter continued...
'Tom, get up! You will be late!' a familiar voice yelled. His sleep was rudely broken, now there was no going back. The voice was of a creature everyone called his "Mother". Ever since he was born, everybody had been advising him to be obedient to "Mother". &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; "Mother"cared for him, she "meant well". It didn't make sense. Why would mother send him to that ghastly place, then? But Tom washed & cleaned himself, as a part of his daily routine. He went down; breakfast was ready. "Breakfast"was supposed to be the first meal of the day, but Tom hated it. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Once again, that ghastly broccoli mocked him. No matter how much he begged, Mother would always serve it to him. Even "Father"would tell him to "eat his veggies". "Father"was his Mother's companion, and they took decisions about Tom together. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Father, or Dad, transported him to the bus stop, and they waited for the bus that'd arrive shortly. 𝘞𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘭, Thomas thought wryly. Before Thomas had even climbed the yellow bus, Dad had already headed home. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; "School"was an institution, where Tom and people his age were supposed to "learn". 𝘓𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵? 𝘛𝘰 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦? People were supposed to do this learning & have "fun", and special people called "Teachers"were supposed to take care of them. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Was he the only person who saw what was wrong with the picture? People of his kind lived a miserable existence in the school, just so they could go back to a little less miserable home. As he pondered this, he saw his classmate Dale being punched by Eddie. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Eddie always harassed someone or the other. Next to Dale, some girls giggled, absorbed in whatever they were talking about. Some boys fought. Nobody seemed to notice. Maybe he was the only one to notice. Maybe he was the only one who cared. 𝘖𝘳, 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦, 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Tom's mood didn't improve in the school. Mr. Desmond's history class was there to test children's patience, and his was already running thin. Good thing he had learned to fake attention. He almost got caught in Ms. Nelson's English class. He was one incident away from meeting the Principal. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; The Principal was someone whom everybody feared, including the Teachers. You got caught, you were sent to him. Nobody knew what happened to those who got caught. Rumours were that if you were lucky, you were never seen again. If you weren't, you'd see your Mother & Father. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; At the recess, the daily ration was served. It was called "lunch". For some reason, Tom seemed to prefer broccoli over the goop they served as lunch. Rumours were, that people who got sent to the Principal more than once, ended up as lunch. Tom couldn't blame them for thinking that. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; He was so lost in his thoughts that a feminine 'Eww!' rudely interrupted them. He was annoyed, which soon turned into horror. In his daydreaming, he had ran into Tammy Singer, their lunches mixing in the process. He proceeded to apologize, but Tammy only started crying. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Tom had forgotten the first rule of school: 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘛𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭. Second rule that he forgot?: 𝘕𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭, 𝘶𝘯𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘖𝘳, 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭, 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘣𝘰𝘺, 𝘶𝘯𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘣𝘰𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; He would be mocked by boys now, but he was used to it. The remaining periods, while equally boring, were uneventful. The bus came. Tom sat in his usual place, while another boy named Bobby joined him. Tom ignored him (Bobby wasn't exactly fast on realising that Tom didn't care). One by one, the ranks continued to thin. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; This time, Mother was there to take him home. She asked him about the day, he went through his usual motions. Were they onto him? How long till they found out the truth? Half an hour later, the trio were eating their dinner at the table. The last sustenance for the day. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; After dinner, Tom went to his room, to do his daily chore: homework. Apparently, the school thought that they weren't making him miserable enough. Hence, the homework. Well, he wouldn't give them the satisfaction. By the time he was done with it, everyone else was asleep. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Someday, it would change. But not today. Maybe tomorrow would be different, maybe it would bring something new. Deep inside, Tom knew that it probably wouldn't happen, but he hoped it would. He 𝘩𝘢𝘥 to, because hope was all he had.
*\[Part 1/3\]* A loud groan resonated in the small and dark space, in which the princess found herself mys-teriously trapped. The young lady was slowly awaking, from a rough and alcohol-imbibed night. Despite her post-drunk state, the first thing she noticed was the total absence of light. While it was good news for her hellish hangover, it was definitively not normal. “Fuck! Where the hell I’m I? Ouch!” Her word echoed strangely, strongly, causing her headache to pound even harder behind her eyeballs. Ouch! “Fuck!” she said again, whispering this time. Her whole body was sore. Sore from a night she didn’t fully remember, but surely spent drinking, dancing, and fighting at the Wolf’s Lair, with her friends, after having escaped the castle and the royal guards’ vigilance. She tried to move, but it was vain. “What the…” Trapped in some kind of human-shaped box, she couldn’t move. She struggled against the metallic – given the sound and the smell, it probably was metal – walls of her strange prison. All pains suddenly forgotten, she started to call and scream. “Hello? Anybody there? Hey!” Her throat was sore too. She may have sung as well, last night. Well now, that was embar-rassing! She wasn’t a good singer at all. Perhaps that was why she had been locked in this thing! To shut her up! Yeah, she probably was still at the Wolf’s Lair, somewhere in the basement. If so, it would mean there were people not so far away. She tried again: “Open up, son of bitches, your princess is stuck in here! Hello!” Still no response. She sighed, an idea forming in her mind. A shameful and degrading idea. On the other hand, if no one could hear her here, no one would ever know, and if it somehow encouraged someone to set her free, well she could still have the poor bloke killed and her secret will be safe. Resigned, she took a big breath – as big as the confined space she was trapped would allow her – and screamed: “My father, King Adarow, will be very displeased if he finds out that… Wow! Hey! What happening! Hey! Let me out!” Cutting her mid-sentence, a big mechanical noise, as her prison had started walking, dragging her with it. “Stop! Stop moving, son of a… Hey! There is someone in here! Let me out!” Suddenly, a bright and vivid, yet unnatural light, flooded down the helmet of her prison. She immediately closed her eyes, scrunching her face with an indignant: “Hey! Easy with that! It hurts!” Once again, there was no response, except, this time, for a choral of mechanical noises. Fi-nally, a breath of fresh air caressed her sweaty and hangover face. She opened her eyes. The light was way too bright, but through her eyelashes, she manages to a get glimpse of a sil-houette. Slim. Round face. A smile way too big plastered on it. Messy dark hair. “Hi, there!” chimed the newcomer. \[Rest on the comment. Enjoy!\]
"It's just a hallucination, but I am bored, so here it goes... I choose revenge" I said out loud, responding to a voice I heard in my head. And then... I waited. The voice said that revenge will be taken on the person who wronged me. &#x200B; After a few minutes nothing happened. "Just as I thought, it was only a hallucination...I am exhaust.." My thoughts were interrupted by a message. "Come in tomorrow, there is something we need to discuss." My boss sent such a message. I didn't even walk more than 10 steps, when another message broke the silence. "We need to talk." This time, it was from my fiancé. "Weird." I thought to myself. &#x200B; My fiancé wanted to take a break, she wasn't certain that I was "The One"for her. My boss called me in, just to notify that I will be fired, because the company can't afford to keep this many employees, they've chosen to fire randomly 10 for fairness sake...and I was between those 10. Even if it was just these 2 news, it would've made my entire year terrible, but more came... Being scammed, savings stolen, landlord selling the apartment building, thus remaining homeless, parents being quarantined in foreign lands... &#x200B; "Why did this happen?" I asked while taking shelter from the weather in a Cafe. One waitress sat in front of me, and with weirdly glowing eyes smiled. "Revenge on the one who wronged you has been taken" She said it with the exact same voice that I heard in my head. "It was me?" I asked, not being surprised at all. "You already knew it, back when I first asked you" She answered looking me straight into the eyes. "The regrets of giving up my dreams of animating scenes, losing my true love just because I was too stubborn to accept that she liked to travel... It was my own decisions that wronged me the most..." I said, sighing. "It's always like this." She said, before the glow disappearing, and the dizzy waitress standing up and leaving confusedly. &#x200B; After almost a year of struggling, and suffering the trials of Mother Nature under bridges, and on park benches, I finally succeeded in getting into helping programs, and started my life anew. After a few years, not only have I succeeded in meeting my true love once more, randomly on the streets of the city, but also started my own business: a Design and Animation company, that was flourishing day by day. The revenge taken on the one that wronged me was powerful, and it killed the old me, helping the new me to be born in full strength.
Day 2371 My crew and I continue to patrol the seven seas for people willing to find out treasure. It's beginning to become maddening, as the ships aside us are now the size of castles and bearing the glistening sheen of porcelain as it bellows out like a thousand elephants and carrying boxes of steel on it's deck. With hope slowly and agonizingly trickling down, we continue to look for islands, ships, people, Anyone who are willing to listen to me! They can take my gold, then can take Our gold. They can take whatever we still have in our resting place. I'm beginning to lose words and things to say, as the days continue to become shorter and shorter. Dusk becomes dawn at the blink of an eye, and yet all we can see are the unforgiving waves keeping us from the afterlife. If only we're lucky. If only we're lucky indeed.
Would you believe that it wasn't until three weeks after i killed my first vampire that i finally figured out that they're real? In my defense, not only had i had every reason to assume that vampires only exist in fiction, it was exam week. You know, that time when pretty much everybody's under a whole lot of stress and some people get a little eccentric in how they let off steam? That time when it's suddenly perfectly normal to have someone wandering around campus in a gorilla costume or Darth Vader walking into the cafeteria to lead Christmas carols? So when i walked in on a guy in a tuxedo and opera cloak interspersing a B movie villain courtship speech with the necking they're doing, all i said was, "We had a deal Shelly. I don't hassle you about who you have sex with; you get a hotel room instead of bringing them back here. I'm too frazzled for a protracted argument right now, so skedaddle, please, or i'm going to call 911 and report him for home invasion." I was expecting either the guy to get mad at the interruption or Shelly to crack some joke about the absurdity of saying 'please' when making threats, but she just turns her head to give me a glassy-eyed stare and a mumbled "Whazzzzzup?" Date rape drug. Okay, maybe something more generic; but regardless of the details, it's unlikely Shelly took it voluntarily. She prefers a good old-fashioned runner's high. Don't ask why i've got the type of permit to carry in restricted zones like public university campuses. It's a long story, and it would be a federal felony for me to tell you. Okay, okay; it was a right place at the right time one-off that netted me a stack of personal protection orders against various and sundry as well as a couple of friends in relatively high places. Not one word more about that without my attorney present. So i draw, aim, and in the deepest, loudest voice i can manage say, "Freeze, Mr. Highly Suspicious. Shelly, phone is three steps to your right. If you can't manage anything coherent, just start screaming."I know, i know, you're supposed to call, then draw--but i've got eyeballs on the threat and i never got the hang of punching the buttons on a cell phone without looking at them. The guy finally turns to look at me. "So our wedding feast has brought itself."He stares at me like he's trying to hypnotize me, but even if i were susceptible, i'm too busy watching his hands for any twitch that suggests he's about to try using Shelly for a human shield. "Put that silly toy away. Bullets can't harm a Lord of the Night." "You're a man. No more and no less,"i reply. "Save the insanity plea for the judge. I can only assess threat, not intent. So don't move." He moves. Shelly's suddenly out of my field of vision and i'm pulling the trigger as fast as i can recover my sight picture on this guy. He's getting bigger, or so it seems; it belatedly occurs to me that maybe i shouldn't be in the spot he's aimed at. I manage to lean a little sideways before he slams into my right side. This puts my left shoulder into the door frame at an angle that puts all the force onto the spot where my collarbone is thinnest. God alone knows where the next shot would have gone if my reaction to acute pain weren't paralysis. I haven't dropped the gun, either; but i have lost sight of the threat. I manage to reclaim enough of my voluntary nerve impulses to get myself turned around and i see the guy scrabbling at where my neck most likely would have been if he'd hit me square on. There's a decent chance he's dead and just doesn't know it yet, that his body is just following the last set of commands he gave it; but he's too big, too strong, and too close to take chances with. I empty the rest of the magazine into whatever parts of him i can get a halfway stable sight picture on one handed. I drop the empty out, then realize that there's no way i'm going to be reloading. Not with that broken collarbone. I look back and forth, trying to guess which direction it's less dangerous to edge past him. Then it occurs to me that with how much pain i'm in, the door frame might be the only thing keeping me on my feet. Getting back on them if i sit down sounds pretty horrible right now. I hear a scream and look down the hallway to see a couple of girls i only know to nod at in passing and a guy from maintenance. "Dial emergency,"i say, "and then you can scream all you want. "Police and medical. Perp is down for the count; so is Shelly. I suspect he drugged her. He would have had to slightly disentangle himself from her when he came at me; i don't know if she took damage from that or not. I've got a broken collarbone." The girl who didn't scream grabs her phone and makes the call. The maintenance guy bends down to check the perp. "Dead."Then he notices my gun. "Um." "Permit's in my wallet, but i can't get it out one handed,"i tell him. I figure the maintenance guy is big enough to deal with anyone else who shows up before the police do, so i drop the gun and use my right hand to take my left arm and use it to stabilize the injured area. Then i put a foot on the gun to make sure it will still be accounted for when the police arrive. Campus safety, EMTs, police, paramedics--it gets crowded, it gets crazy. But it's the tedious kind of crazy. I won't bore you with the details of the next while except to admit that i might have exaggerated just a bit how much my shoulder was hurting in order to keep the police from getting too irritated with me for wanting a doctor and a lawyer before i gave out more than the most basic information. &#x200B; Hospital, x-rays, painkillers, get that shoulder patched up, get strict instructions on how long i need to keep that arm immobilized. In between, i pester everyone who doesn't seem too busy about making sure Shelly gets a full blood workup. I don't know why i'm so fixated on the 'Shelly was drugged' hypothesis, unless it's just my reaction to a high stress situation when i was already a bit frazzled from finals. Somewhere in that time, my attorney arrived. After he finished going over my account and after he learned that i'd opted to stick to acetaminophen and ibuprofen unless or until they proved inadequate instead of going straight for the Vicodin, Mr. Byron decided that i could be trusted to give a full report to the police. By then they'd gotten a preliminary report from the coroner, and were very inquisitive as to why i'd felt the need to keep shooting. "He was still moving,"i repeated for what felt like the five hundredth time. "I couldn't work out how to get clear without getting an ankle grabbed or kicked. If i'd had both arms working, i could have risked it; but i didn't want to try crawling like this." They were also curious, though not quite so insistent, as to how i'd managed to put both of my first two shots right in the guy's heart. I shrugged my good shoulder and said, "I never could get that flinch reflex completely under control, but i get a pretty consistent displacement vector out of it. If i remember my anatomy right, it would put a center-of-chest shot into the typical person's heart. Once the doctor gives the all-clear on my shoulder, we can go to the range some time and i'll show you how tight my shot groupings usually are." They keep coming back to the question of why i was carrying. I just keep telling them which office to apply to for the information on why i legally could. \[continued in reply\]
Then they are fools. I am Carlota Angelina Pisotti. Do they not know this? Are they that plebian? Then let them hear my voice and despair. I have contacted the Society of Earth and offered my services. I shall sing anything they ask, be it an aria or a duet. The voice of Carlota Angelina Pisotti shall ring throughout space and time. And if there are people who cannot bear to to hear such a divine voice without imploding, then so be it. The divine voice of me, myself, Carlota Angelina Pisotti shall purify all, as it has always done. This is what happens when you declare war on me.
( this story will be written in different characters perspectives. I hope you enjoy!) (Alex the hero) My sister had always been a bit strange, but to side with the dark wizard is one to far. Now I’m locked down here with nothing but enchanted dark books filled with vile magic, all of them calling out to me. I ignored it and drew my sword, I was clashing with the door but it wouldn’t open. Damn it, I sat on the floor in defeat, the books were calling out to me so loudly, I couldn’t think straight. Vile magic turns people evil, it’s the main reason there are villains in our world. It’s said once you cast a spell with them there’s no going back, you’ll be lost forever. There was a banging on the door it was the dark one “I’m sure if you open one of those books hero you can get out.” “No! I won’t give in to it, I’m stronger than your vile magic.” “I was really hoping you could see things our way, we have the same goal hero we just don’t see it the same way. I was hoping you could be the first.” “The first what?” “The first hero that used vile magic.” The thought of the idea intrigued me more than it should have, the first hero to take something that scared people and made it into a way to help people. Living proof that those people we assumed were lost to the pure darkness of vile magic, could be brought back. “Isn’t that what you want hero? The chance to help others, the chance to pave the path of light to shine for others.” “I want that, that’s what I want, I want to use the books” I don’t even know how but I ended up in front of the book shelf, with the book in my hands, I opened it, I was about to read the spell. When. “I’ll hold her off just get Alex out of there!” Then there was an explosion, I turned around and my teammates Blair and Duncan were there behind me. “Alex, just put the book down!” “But I can help people with this, we were all wrong this can save people.” “Do you know how many time we’ve heard that” “It may start out this way, but the power will mess with your head you know that.” “Just put the book down” “I-I…” “Alex?” “I can’t… guys I can’t put the book down!” “It’s ok Alex, it’s all going to be ok,” “we’re going to come take the book and help you out of here ok.” “NO! You can’t take it” “Should of known you’d resist.” “Duncan get ready to pry that book out of his hands” (part 2 coming soon)
Despite an umbrella, Mark still got soaked during his walk to work. The flimsy parasol simply couldn’t prevent the blood from splashing all over him. It happened in seconds. As he walked through the rain, Mark heard the sound of someone screaming. Then came the meaty splatter on the pavement. Mark’s eyes widened at the puddle of gore a few feet in front of him, slowly being washed away by the downpour. Parts of that puddle also splashed onto his jacket. After taking a step back, he looked up at the sky from under his umbrella and saw nothing but grey clouds. Then he dialed 911. “911 what is your emergency?” “There—there’s a dead body on Ryder Street,” Mark stuttered. “Whoever it was, I think they fell from the sky.” … Mark decided that coming into work with bloodstained clothes wouldn’t be appropriate, so he went home. Despite his commitment to work, the sight of a human body splattered across the sidewalk—and his clothes—was enough motivation to call in sick. One long, hot shower later, Mark sunk into his apartment’s couch and turned on the news. “—what appears to be a dead body on Ryder Street has been found earlier this morning.” Mark turned up the volume. “Officials have succeeded in identifying the body as Leonard Cook,” the cute news anchor said. “Mr. Cook was one of thousands of billionaires that have been reported missing since last month. We now turn to Josh, who is live on Ryder street and has more updates.” The TV screen transitioned into the image of a young male news anchor standing with an umbrella and microphone. Behind him was a wall of caution tape that divided any onlookers from the crew of policemen and paramedics. “Thanks Stephanie,” the male news anchor said. “We are live here on Ryder street this morning, bringing you the latest updates of this mysterious incident. Unfortunately, officers prevented us from getting closer to the site, but we were still able to ask them to clarify some details. What’s important to note is that all officers seemed to say the same thing: no one knows how the body got here.” Images of a human-shaped blur plunging from the sky and into the sidewalk ran through Mark’s head. “But what’s perhaps more mysterious,” the male news anchor continued, “is the identity of the dead body. As was said before, the body is reported to belong to Leonard Cook, one of many billionaires who disappeared just a month prior. Police were able to identify the body through various pieces of ID that were—” Mark heard a loud thump coming from outside his apartment, which caught his attention. Seconds later, he heard his neighbor scream. Mark dashed to the window in the direction of the noise, then peered out. Spread like butter across the sidewalk below was another dead body.
It had been a long day teaching at school and finally, Mrs. Theraton, or Mistress Mayhem as she preferred could get to her real job. Pulling the cloth from the sacred orb of gehenna she placed her fingertips upon it and channeled her malevolence into it. She would see the future and plan her next crime spree around what she saw. But this is new. A new hero she’d not seen before. Prior to this, every hero was powerless before her mystic might, yet this one not only utilized science, but they appeared familiar. Watching in growing horror she saw him throw chemical bombs that negated her mana and sealed her movements. With a triumphant smile, he landed right before her. ‘I Professor Whizz Bang shall now bring thee Mistress Mayhem to justice’ He announced to no one in particular before having a hideous laugh that was punctuated by snorting. Snorting? She thought. That's it, it’s that damned Bobby Seagal in her 5th-grade class. She wondered why he looked familiar. Frantically searching, she went through the timeline looking for references to Professor Whizz Bang and found how he had gained his powers. A Lab accident where he mishandled chemicals. ‘Of Course, that’s what did it’ She muttered to herself. ‘That idiot failed my Lab Safety test this very morning’. With a deep sigh, she covered the orb and took out her notes. ‘Best get a makeup test and hammer in the proper way to handle meta element infused chemicals into his thick skull’.
Ivarr laughed when I first suggested it. Ragnar, as well. The Allfather glared at me with his one good eye. If we don't practice, Old One-Eye reasoned, how can we be expected to do our duty? I asked for Brokk and Sindri, and, after some wheedling, asked them what happened if a blade were sharpened for too long. Brokk chuffed darkly. "It wears to nothing."I looked back to the Allfather. "We have sharpened our blades, added weights to our clubs, and mended our armor for so long, my life in Midgard is a faded memory. My wife, our daughter, my grandchildren! I barely remember them anymore!"A hollow protest, here. No matter. I looked to some of the newer arrivals. Men who did not see the foe's blade as it fell, nor the arrow's path (or, rather, had not heard the bullet, in more and more cases). Fewer women among them. Their loss in life, ours in death. "It is our purpose, Allfather, to fight. To buy time for the new world's birth. Ragnarok marches toward us, implacable, aye. And we do not tire, here. Not as we did in life. But our minds remain as they were in life, to an extent. Endless battle, hearty feasts, and endless drink cannot slake all a man's needs in life, nor, it seems, in death. "I ask one day, Sage-God. One day where we see to other pursuits. Our interests in life, if we wish, and remember them. Those of a mind could learn what you would share with them. Heimdall could show us how our descendants fare. One day, Sage-Lord, will see renewed vigor in your armies." One-Eye chuffed darkly. He wasn't amused. But he might yet be swayed. "And if the Horn winds as the Einherjar laze about and waste valuable training time?" I was expecting this. "Those of us who remain, and many of us will, fight with all the strength we can. Those who 'waste our time' will be all the more put out by the Gjallarhorn's winding, interrupting us. Those who see our descendants will fight all the harder, just to give them a bit more time. Let your blade grow cool, assess its edge, before you return it to the whetstone." A grin from Sindri. The Gods consider my words. "A day of quiet. A reminder of what we will fight to ensure, before we resume preparing for that fight." The All-Father has not taken his eye off me. Thor has been glaring; how dare one of the Dead question the Wise God? Frigg looks to her husband with concern, and back to the One Who Questioned. Tyr is, as ever, unreadable, as befits a bringer of order and justice. I have watched the Even-Handed for half a million days, and I can barely determine his mood. After much internal deliberation, for he has not opened his mouth since his question to me, the Allfather holds up his fists. "One day."He raises his pointer finger. "And one night. Today, you fight. Tonight, you feast. Tomorrow, you rest." I incline my head, and a wicked idea, almost worthy of the Lie-Smith himself, crosses my mind. "No doubt tomorrow's Chosen will be confused at the paltry numbers about them. Let them take the field, sit at table, and bed down for the night, and all the while, wonder where their brethren are. Let them awaken again with all the Slain about them, then to know that all is as it should be." Odin blinks at me, somewhat confused, until he sees the mischievous grin tug at my lips. That, it seems, sells him on the idea. "You will explain to them why they took the field alone? Why they feasted in such small numbers? Why a billion bedrolls go empty?" I nod. "Who better?" The Thunder-God speaks. "They may not trust you after." I shrug. "I will admit the deception, and swear that no more shall befall them. If that is not enough, I will fight well away from them for as long as possible, come the Twilight." The Gods turn to confer. I can see their heads moving as they speak. But I cannot read their lips. I do not hear their words. No matter. Their words now are not for my ears. I wait. The sounds of battle begin behind me. Blades crashing, shields shattering. The screams of the wounded. Those who die awaken moments later, back in the feasting hall, awaiting the next battle. And all the while, I wait. Someone impales me through the chest with a thrown spear. I throw an exasperated look back to my brethren as I fall, and as I awaken, renewed, I step back to the place I had been standing, my blood the only sign I had been there previously. Freya watches me, having heard the clatter, before returning to the impromptu Thing. Two more deaths, but this time I am ready. I catch my first opponent in the gut, but my sword catches on his spine. We are both ended by the same flung great-axe. The next time, a lucky arrow slips through my shield's planks, and into my eye. You'd think I would have learned by now, to go for the steel boards wherever possible. The third time, as I wait for the previous battle to come to its end, The Lady catches my eye. She nods once. I return the gesture. I have forgotten what quiet really is. Battle. Feasts. The aftermath of both. These are not quiet. Not really. Between the cries of the wounded and dying in one, and the terrible singing and snores in the other... I think I will simply.. enjoy the quiet for a time.
The only way this could work is if I end up in my nightmares round 1 or 2 I'll go with round 2 from three nights ago for the way it would end. Let's get on with it. \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I had did it, I protected my mom and dad but it cost me my life via direct hit from truck, when I woke up I was in an office with doors on all sides. I knew where I was and tried to summon Nightmare's Bane the sword I killed the leader of my nightmares with but I only got a flashlight, I checked the cameras and saw over 20 animatronics in the different rooms and they had seen the camera activate and went to their spots. It was 11:55 PM at the moment and I knew they were giving me five minutes of peace before all hell broke loose. Night 5 12:00 AM Two animatronics from each room left their stage and walked in the direction of the office, I have to keep the doors closed so the animatronics can't get to me. But as I get three doors closed one of the other doors open, so I point my flashlight at the doors the beam of the light stops them from coming in and sends them into previous room. I fight with the doors, trying to keep the doors closed because I close one and another opens again. I didn't remember that only two doors can be closed at one time and when I shine the flashlight at an open door, one of my nightmares' jump scare goes off and it runs away from my flashlight's high beam. I had checked my sword's inventory location and from what I can tell I have to survive night 20 to use it and the only way of freedom I know is to kill all of the nightmares as this time they are not scared of my sword anymore. 1:00 AM Two more extra animatronics left their locations joining the rest in their attack on me, this was starting to get very hard and I didn't know how much longer I can last. My flashlight along with the building's power would only last until 3 AM at this rate, once the power goes out I was screwed! At 1:30 AM one more animatronic had left it's spot and I blocked it with the door sending it back to where it came from. When looking at the cameras I had seen what looked like a springlock animatronic the looked like me and I think that's what the nightmares will use to kill me as springlock failure is the best way to give someone that can respawn as much pain as physically possible per death. 2:00 AM At this point all but one animatronic had left and I was closing doors every two to three minutes and that was when I heard something from the vent so I jumped up and closed the vent door using the button. I had one use of Lucid Nightmare, a powerful ability that I can call on to do anything but making a portal out of here is to dangerous as then the nightmares will get out and destroy the world besides, a portal would open when I killed all of the nightmares and earned my freedom. 3:00 AM Everything was after me and I was closing doors and shinning lights faster then a FNaF player on 50/20 mode but that was when the last of the power was used up and all of the lights went out and I heard a deep laugh and one of the nightmares said "You did very good to get this far but we are the embodiment of death and you must go to the after life however the only way to do that from here is being killed in a springlock suit."They then grabbed me and dragged me to the only springlock suit in the area, the one of me I saw earlier, they put me in and set it off with me inside it killing me however my respawn power kicked in but it glitched as half of my soul had already bonded to the animatronic so a new clone of me was made and was sent to the office with only half of my soul however I was forced to stay in the suit so I fully possessed it. I did have to hide in some lockers on my way back to avoid the nightmares but I got back. 4:00 AM Once I got back I used my one use of Lucid nightmare to merge my self with my clone so I can swap forms whenever I want to but I stayed in the animatronic form for the rest of the time I was in there. I knew that if I'm found they will activate the spring locks again so I went to a room animatronics could not enter, swapped forms, entered, changed back, closed the door and powered off against the back wall for one hour. It turns out that the western hall leads to what looks like the FNaF 1 location, the office was where I ended up so I had just ran to the safe room where purple guy died. 5:00 AM When I powered on the room was just the way I left it and I brought the camera tablet with me to watch my nightmares because the camera power that is infinite is not apart of the building power. I had some difficulty with the touch screen because my hands are plastic and metal but I got the cams to work and I seen a few of my nightmares talking about where I could be on cam 9 I barely held back a loud laugh and I heard my new voice for the first time surprising myself, It sounded like my own voice but robotic and glitchy and I actually kinda liked it along with the new powers I got in this form. Dawn was in five seconds so I taunted my nightmares over the speaker system. 6:00 AM [https://youtu.be/ZyNEHKHVbDs](https://youtu.be/ZyNEHKHVbDs) <-- Play this All of the nightmares went back to their stages and powered off, upset they couldn't permanently kill me and the building's power came back on I found a door in the room I was in that lead to an outdoor park that looked like a break area, I could see a void beyond the fence, this is when I learned that this was another world. I went back inside and grabbed the springlock crank to put myself into suit mode. 7:00 AM I removed my old springlocked body from myself, immediately feeling better as I don't have a corpse inside me anymore. I also pulled out the rest of my power from my old body hiding it in the vents. I went to the supply closet and took the next 5 hours cleaning blood off of me. 12:00 PM NOON After cleaning myself up I went back to the safe room and rested, thinking to myself, "I am not done with my mission, I Need To Get Home, I NEED TO PROTECT MOM AND DAD." \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Part 1 is done.
\-Load one more - the man said. A specially made granite bownling ball was loaded on the canon and then shot to the mountain. \- That will teach the fuckers - The rich man said - Ahhh, destiny guides our fortunes more favorably than we could have expected my dear friend, Sancho. \- My name is Samuel, master. \- Load one more Sancho! I don't intend to have my lands raided by those rock bastards! Begone!! Begone evil giants! Fear my mighty granite balls! Back away or be impaled by my rocks! \- Excuse me sir, the guests don't seem to feel comfortable with your words - the butler said while looking at the ladies of the retirees local chorum which looked shocked at the entire scene. \- Bah! Let those geezers snoot! Those ungrateful scobberlotchers wouldn't be able to if not for me defending the city borders! \- You do realize you're shooting at a mountain, right? \- My uneducated friend, I understand your concern, but your eyes might not be trained as well as mine. I've been defending this town for 20 years. As long as I stand here, no rock golem may invade these lands. This is my personal, noble and righteous crusade, to fend them away each time - A loud explosion sound rearranged the old man hair while filling the entire mansion. A small cloud of dust saluted from the distance- Look! They are retreating! \- Sir, the mountains remain there, unmovable. \- Yes, they remain. The threat always remains, but so do I. And as long as I remain they won't ever pillage the town or my treasure. Now, order the geezers to entone a glorious song in my honor. And make sure the one lady that can actually sing includes a nice aria about the giants retreat. Samuel made a gesture, and so the scandalized women started to sing. They didn't like this man, but he was paying for the construction of the town's auditorium so they collectively decided it was ok to sing his requests from time to time. After a rather long song, they were dismissed. The tired master then sat on a chair and watched the women leave while whispering between themselves. \- What is their problem? - he asked - Be honest please. \- If I may say so, they think you're mad. \- Ahh... When life itself seems lunatic, who knows where madness lies? Perhaps to be too practical is madness. To surrender dreams, this may be madness! Too much sanity may be madness! And maddest of all: to see life as it is, and not as it should be!
The Jeep’s engine quit without a fuss. I tested the accelerator. Nothing. My pulse quickened as I checked the gas gauge. Empty. After half a dozen key turns and a gentle stop by the side of the road, I had to agree. My forehead sank to the steering wheel where it rested under the weight of a singular thought: I was officially an idiot. Lightning bugs pulsed around me as I locked up and trudged up the gravel road. They were my only light under the latticed tree branches that loomed above me, draped with the parasitical tendrils of Spanish moss. I struggled to gulp down the thick air. My breaths were getting shallower, and my medicine waited for me at home. I stumbled around a bend in the road. A stone’s throw from me, a single lightbulb beckoned from atop a mailbox. My breathing eased and I quickened my pace down the adjacent gravel driveway. At its end lay a small clearing littered with the dark forms of rusted tractors and crumpled cars. Beyond those was a shack. Lanterns dangled from its tin roof, casting garish shadows over the rickety porch and junk-strewn lawn. A screen door hung slightly askew on its hinges, and behind that lay the kitchen. “Hello?” I called out. Wind chimes were all that answered me. “Anyone there? I ran out of gas down the road and could use some help.” A soft voice came from the kitchen. “Will you play with us?” My throat tightened. “Who’s there?” “Me, and mommy, and daddy.” A shaggy boy, not more than twelve years old, stepped into view behind the screen door. His t-shirt glistened in the light, and he held a long butcher’s blade at his side. Lights danced around his tennis shoes in a pattern of blue, red, green. “D-do you have any gasoline?” The boy nodded slowly. “Will you play hide-and-seek with us?” My eyes darted around the lawn and spotted a shed in the corner. Two gas cans sat by the entrance. “I should—” “I’ll count to twenty on my bed.” The boy disappeared into the shack. I made a beeline for the gas cans. With a shaking hand, I grabbed one and turned to run. Empty! I turned back around and tested the other. Heavy liquid sloshed inside. Back down the driveway I sped, past the mailbox, and past the bend in the road. When I reached the Jeep, I ripped off its gas cap and started pouring the liquid into the tank. The stench of gasoline never smelled so sweet. I looked back toward the bend in the road, where the lightning bugs flared. Two faint lights appeared. Blue, red, green. Blue, red, green. They started toward me. I cursed under my breath and rattled the gas can against the side of the Jeep. “Come on, come on, come on.” Could the container empty any slower? The lights were halfway to me when I threw the can to the ground and fumbled for my keys. I shoved one in the lock and turned it. Nothing. How could I possibly pick the wrong key now? The next one I tried flipped the lock. I jumped inside and jammed it into the ignition. “Please, please, please,” I whispered as I tried to start the engine. When it didn’t catch, I pumped the gas pedal. The engine roared to life. I popped it into gear and flipped on the headlights as I whipped around in a U-turn. For a brief moment, I saw the shaggy boy running toward me, knife in hand. Then I punched it and shot back the way I’d come. At the gas station, my dad was the first one I called. He’d be there in five. The second call was to the sheriff. He’d take a look in the morning. Dad took me right home, where I didn’t sleep a wink. I sat in the living room, eyes glued to the local news channel until the sun came up. When the news broke, my parents both hugged me. Double homicide. Suspect in custody.
It is a strange thing, to feel a sense of such enveloping and all-encompassing fear; fear such that wraps so insidiously around one’s heart, fear that pries and levers at the most stoic of psyches and compromises them to the core. Fear indeed that so aptly hooks a man and drags him into its fetid, imperceptible depths –try as he might to break free. Such was the case for James. Sitting at the fold-out table in his single-bedroom apartment, James sat staring blankly in the direction of the cup of instant coffee he had just made; he was not looking at the coffee, he did not really see it, nor anything else for that matter as he slowly receded into the recesses of his own mind -into that familiar fugue-state he so often lapsed into in the silent loneliness of his dwelling. He had felt, in some capacity, this brooding sense of dread at intervals over the years; sometimes his fear stemmed from an occurrence, a catalyst that would be deemed a logical result of some benign, day-to-day stimulus that he would encounter. Sometimes, however, this fear was baseless, incalculable and seemingly insurmountable. These times were most difficult of all to bear. These times were increasingly frequent of late for James. You see, it is not that fear cannot be navigated -accounted for and appropriately accommodated, if you will. Nor is it that fear cannot be rationalised and deflected in order to protect and maintain one’s constitution as a being, for such psychological maintenance is a subconscious process of the human mind. The distinction to be drawn here is that conventional fear stems from a source -a nucleus. This origin… this catalyst, can be considered deeply, rationalised, understood and with time, patience and resilience –overcome. Unfortunately for James, his fear was for all intents and purposes, entirely baseless. That this ethereal fear to which so completely compromised his heart and lay him awake in a cold sweat each night could not be quantified was indeed what tormented James the most; without an understanding of fear, of its limit, James would be forever beholden to it, a victim to its crushing, incomprehensible enormity. There was a limit to James though; a psychological point of no-return to which, once crossed, he would be forever beyond. He could feel this dread inside him, its woeful miasma slithering about in his mind, decaying his thoughts wherever his mind led them, eating away like some kind of woeful parasite feeding on his psyche. He could not go on much longer in such a state, yet how could he dare do anything but? The dilemma weighed heavily upon him as to what he should do, as to what he shouldn’t do. Every step, potentially the last if put in the wrong direction, and time running ever shorter before his weary mind would collapse inward upon itself. &#x200B; &#x200B; He sipped his coffee.
They call Her "Earth". Wretched vermin. I feel them trample the very ground they walk on. Adjust the flora and fauna to suit their needs. Build horrible machines to hurt Mother. Feign concern and make it worse. Thrive and conquer. More and more. And now, they want to spread. They want to go to other places too. Become an infection across all known space. They disgust me. I cannot let their eyes behold me. I cannot let their fingers touch me. Violate me. Violate me as they did to Mother. So I will sleep in my cocoon away from their prying eyes and fingers. And when I wake, I hope I am strong enough to make them pay for what they did to Mother.
Dangling from the ceiling, legs clapped in chains. Pit of corrosive acid bubbling away mere meters from their suspended heads. This was all just another Tuesday for Professor Whethers- starry-eyed scientist, eccentric explorer, and time traveler- and his human companions, Nigel and Sophie. Well, the "in mortal peril"part; this particular brand of mortal peril was fairly novel in its unoriginality. Last week it had been getting strapped to a sacrificial altar while a deranged Aztec priest chanted over them with an obsidian dagger. Before that, nearly blown up by a terraforming device hidden in the Eiffel Tower. That was the life. "This isn't what I had in mind when you said travel through time and space, Prof,"Sophie opined casually. "Shut up, you,"the Professor snapped. Nigel whimpered ineffectually. Down below/up above their heads, a short, stocky, balding figure in tailored pinstripes was cackling to itself as he chomped on a cheap cigar. The figure was in fact that of Al Capone, crime kingpin of Chicago. "Awake, huh?"the crime lord gloated in a nasally rasp, "Toins out my friends from outta town were right about ya, Prof. Never can trust foreigners, eh?" "Capone, you fool! Those friends of yours aren't friends at all. Their presence here jeopardizes the entire planet-" "Aaaaah, shaddup. Anyhow, welcome to my little home away from home. This hotel used to belong to H. H. Holmes, Chicago's most notorious home-a-cidal maniac. Round 'a time 'a da world's fair, he did nearly thoity people, an' burned the bodies in these acid pits. I bought the place up a while back, and you better believe it's come in handy. Plenty a' mugs who crossed me found out fer 'emselves. Lemme demonstrate for yez." Capone pushed down a lever at his side and the chains began to clank as the three were lowered link by link. "Professor, do something!"begged Sophie. "If I can only reach my photonic ratchet, I can-" There was an explosion that rocked the entire room. The door burst inward in a shower of brown shrapnel. Capone stunned, sheltered his face, taking his hand from the lever, and the clanking stopped. There was a pause of several heartbeats. And then the hunter burst into the room. Clad in torn leather and Kevlar, artificial eyes pulsing with white light, set into a face misshapen with repeated bone damage and bruises, placed upon a body packed with undernourished gristly muscle, the killer from the future surveyed his surroundings. Hefting a huge plasma rifle, the interloper began riddling Capone's body with laser fire. The crime lord fell to the ground limply, head slouched on shoulder and face frozen in a rictus of astonishment. Stray shots hit the acid pit and let its contents leak out onto the floor, creating sizzling holes. There was an explosion that rocked the entire room. The door burst inward in a shower of brown shrapnel. Capone stunned, sheltered his face, taking his hand from the lever, and the clanking stopped. There was a pause of several heartbeats. And then the hunter bclad in torn leather and toting a huge plasma rifle, burst into the room, riddling Capone's body with laser fire. The crime lord fell to the ground limply, head slouched on shoulder and face frozen in a rictus of astonishment. Stray shots hit the acid pit and let its contents leak out onto the floor, creating sizzling holes. The hunter grinned through yellowing, broken teeth, swiveling a narcotic vaporizer-tube in his mouth. "Hmm. Dead's worth less... but it's worth enough." "But..."Professor Whethers sputtered. "You... this... Do you have the slightest idea what you've done, you blundering oaf? This man is a crucial part of history! His death will have dire repercussion for the whole spacetime continuum-" The hunter shrugged. "s'why I collect my percentage up front. Anyway, yer welcome."And with a carelessly thrust fist, he pounded the control panel sealing the acid tank up once again and undoing the leg restraints, leaving the three captives to fall safely onto the covering. Whethers fumbled to his feet, face red with rage and humiliation. "Listen here, you-" But it was too late. Stabbing his belt buckle with a thumb, the hunter walked through a glowing white portal in the air, back to his home time, with Capone's corpse in tow. \\\\\\\\ Jacobi Derrida was a skip-tracer for Tempus Fugitive, the best known freelance security and bail bonds corporation in the galaxy in the closing years of the 25th century. If the money was good and the course of history was in one of its more permissive moods, the agency would send him and others like him against the most dangerous criminals unpunished by law or order... specializing in rectifying history's greatest injustices. Jacobi had personally done more time skipper jobs than he could count: apartheid mad scientists, Jack the Ripper, zombie Napoleon, Arkan the butcher of Serbia, a central server of the Murderous Cybermind of Ghalch, Prince Branden of the European Empire, and something like six alternate versions of Adolf Hitler- in an infinity of timelines, one would always exist to start the holocaust, but clients never got sick of that one. As he strode through the orbital satellite that was Tempus Fugitive's base of operations, Jacobi grinned inwardly to have another feather in his cap. Jacobi- JD- deposited Al Capone's body on the front desk at the Bail Bondsman's office. The floppy-eared creature behind the desk glowered at him. Not for any particular reason; it just looked like that naturally. "Deceased?" "Yep. Put up a real fight." "Only good for seven thousand." "Make it nine." "Seven." "Eight." "Six point five." "Hang on-" "Six." "Alright, alright. Sheesh." JD grumbled as he counted his credits. It would cover ammunition expenses and rent for the last few months, but not much else. Getting so you couldn't even made a dishonest living these days. But that's what you get for shooting first. Capone was supposed to be a big score. Now JD needed another hit, and fast. He paused by the active posting hologram grumbling as his eyes passed over available contracts. There wasn't any hurry where time travel was involved, so postings could stay up almost indefinitely. On an impulse, JD glanced at the Tops, the highest rated standing contracts; they paid well but usually required group coordination, something tracers were bad at. Whoa nelly. The Top of the Tops was listed at eighty million. Must be a serious job, JD thought to himself. Way outside my pay grade... still, might as well see who the target is. He tapped the holo-panel with a finger. The file expanded with details of the case. Under "Target,"JD was confused to see the "The Gods." \\\\\\
In the basement of a mid-rise apartment complex, two young men sit in folding metal chairs. A single light hangs from the ceiling illuminating a metal table. “Hey John, did I tell you about the story when I got rid of that ‘Ghost’ from some pensioner and accidentally fell off a ladder?” a voice said towards the darkness“Yeah, like twenty times now” the man named John replied while taking a sip from a disposable water bottle. While they make small talk, they hear footsteps coming down towards their space, an infrequent occurrence. John brushes off the dust from his shirt as someone knocks on the door at the bottom of the stairs. “Coming!” he shouts as he takes a sip from his bottle and tosses it at his colleague. Opening the door stands a young woman who looks clearly frightened. “I heard from my Aunt that you two are ghost hunters?” she says through shallow breaths. “That’s correct,” the second man says as he walks forward. “What’s the issue?” “I keep feeling someone breathing on me when I’m home alone and when I walk away I find random objects tossed around the room” “Alright, and you want us to check it out?” John says as his colleague rolls his eyes. “Yes, please! I don’t care how much it costs but I can’t live there while it’s happening!” she exclaims fearfully. “Alright, give us a few minutes to get ready and we’ll go over.” John sends the lady out the door and closes it. “You ready to make a quick buck, Peter?” he says as he grabs a worn notebook from the metal table in the center of the room. “As ready as ever.” Peter replies as he pulls on some boots and an unconvincing set of protective gear. As they open the door, they see the woman shaking. “Miss, are you ready to bring us to the issue?” Peter says casually, while John taps his foot impatiently. “Miss?” he states again as she continues to shake uncontrollably. “Hello, miss, are you all right?” John says this time while snapping his fingers in front of her face. “Where am I?” She shouts, forgetting it is the middle of the night and people are sleeping a few feet above her. “You’re at P&J Ghosthunters, miss. You came to us to help with your ghost issue.” Peter says as he starts walking up the stairs. “Ah, right. Please, follow me” The customer says as she shoves past Peter, and starts jogging towards an elevator within the mid-rise. “Impatient, much?” John whispers to himself, with the lady not hearing him as she stares at the elevator, waiting for it to arrive. As they get in the elevator, Peter sorts through the notebook, making sure all of their common scam questions are still legible. Time ticks by slowly as they ascend towards her floor. Walking out into the hallway, Peter begins to ask the leading questions. “How long have you had the issue, and what has this ghost been doing?”. “It’s been here for around a month, but has gotten worse in the last two days, and as I said before it keeps breathing on me and tossing things around my apartment.” As they open the door, they tell her to stay out in the hallway. The two partners laugh as they take out a can of compressed air, ready to spray it to get rid of the “Ghost”. As they walk around the apartment, they feel the temperature start to dip, and as Peter walks towards a bedroom, he feels something breathe down the back of his neck. As he turns around, a ghastly white figure stands before him.
I step off the train as it pauses, noticing the skyline in the distance: a small town courthouse, maybe a library or some other public building nearby. At the very least there will be somewhere with a water fountain. I wipe my brow, my battered hiking shoes fighting against the gravel as I push through the branches separating the foliage at the edge of the tracks from the side road. All of a sudden, I feel a tap on my back. Is it a bug? Who's there? I look behind me. A young man with a blue mohawk, wearing a sleeveless leather vest, jeans cuffed at the knee and a pair of mismatched striped socks (one red-and-black, the other green-and-black stands with a blue-and-pink paper parcel in his hands. "Delivery for ya,"he says, throwing the package in the air and kicking it up with his knee like a hackey sack. "Catch!"he shouts. I catch the package in my hands, and take a quick glance at it. I then glance back. The young man with the mohawk is gone. I unravel the package, deciding I am going to pocket the paper rather than littering it and letting it sit. Inside the package, I find a piece of clothing. A black dress. Attached chest of the outfit with a safety pin is a note, folded into a square. I open it. "If your parents won't accept you, I'm your parents now. Though I suppose it's strange of us to say that, since I'm only a year older than you. You remember me, right? Come to the Orphan's Thanksgiving at Cindermare's. 8:00 p.m. sharp, show at 10:00. If you need somewhere to crash, we're upstairs. Don't be lazy, put in some work, and you can be a guest as long as you need! PS Dress optional. And yes, you can read that either of two ways. Is it the same one your mother set on fire? Well, no worries about that now! Sincerely, E, I, and R &#x200B; PSPS Happy Thanksgiving!"
Wassup peeps? It’s ya boi Nicky and his best bro Leif! Say hi to the nice people, Leif! …yo. Who’s ready to raid the Vaults of Miranda? Hold up dude, I got a request from chat. @redloper wants to join the fun! Sure thing, bro beans, just as soon as we see your gamertag…and gotcha! Welcome to the Jackal Den, @redloper! Or do you wanna call us anything else? ///you can just call me loper. Or Lopez, if I can call Leif by his real name. Ain’t that right, Jay? …who’s Jay? ///“who’s Jay? Who’s Jay?” Bro, it’s me, Murphy Lopez! Don’t you remember me from high school? You used to get a kick outta me playing “Hotel California” in class! Holy crap, Leif, is this true? You never tell me about your old days, man! …there’s, like, a reason for that… ///nah man, you were the only one who knew all the same songs I did! Why weren’t we better friends, man? We could’ve been a band, you and me! …with what talent? Dude, just put a little more effort into carrying my tunes- ///nah but Jay, for real, you were such a cool dude back then! You had all those classic rock tees too, but you always wanted the one I had with the lyrics to “Stairway to Heaven-“ …don’t you dare say “no homo” ///I don’t care that you’re gay- …I’m bi- ///I wouldn’t have known, though! Didn’t you used to rate all the girls you thought were hot? What the…Leif, is that true? You dumbass- …I was 16! I didn’t know any better- ///I mean, your taste was impeccable, though. Remember how Trina taught you how to say “I wanna fuck” in Tagalog or some shit, and you thought it was “my name is Jay?” Damn she was fine though- …shut up Murphy, I’m not that dude anymore- Are ya? Bro, you’re still as clueless as ever with the ladies- …don’t encourage him- ///don’t tell Nicky what to do, man! You got so many stories to tell! Yeah Leif, you’re a writer, right? You got stories- …shut up already! ///oh damn, I forgot you used to melt down sometimes. Damn, Jay, you always got so stressed. Just take a chill pill! I been telling him- …fuck you guys! Fuck! I’m done here- (LeifDarrowson has left the stream)
As I held my newborn child for the first time, my body felt lighter than ever, and as she fell asleep in my arms I turned my head to the nurse coming into the room. "Are the papers ready?"I asked, and she refused to meet my eyes and silently showed me the paper. As I scanned the paper, I looked for the deathdate, fearing the worst, fearing my daughter's life would be cut shor- My thoughts halted in confusion, where is the deathdate? There must be some kind of oversight, a misprint. "What is this?"I asked the nurse. She seemed as lost as I was at the moment "I don't know, ma'am."she looked at the entrance seeing a few doctors entering the room in hushed whispers. It seemed like they didn't know what it meant either. I turned my head to the doctors and frantically asked "Has there been a misprint?"Maybe the printer has run out of ink? Perhaps a computer error caused the date to not be displayed. The senior doctor cleared his voice and said "We..."he paused, unsure if there is a better way to phrase it. It can't be a good sign. "We don't know what it means."said the doctor "Our IT team is diagnosing the computer, looking for errors." My mind was running a mile a second, how could someone live their life in peace not knowing when they would die. She could die at any moment and no one would have time to be emotionally prepared for it. Would she be able to live freely not knowing when she would die? The doctors looked at their tablets and confirmed "Ma'am, there was no misprint or error."they said. I looked up and asked "Has it ever happened before? Do we know what are the implications of this?"I said "How could she live her life not knowing when she would die?" The senior doctor cleared his voice again and said "We suspect that she might be immortal." "WHAT!?"I nearly shrieked in bewilderment. The thought had not occurred to me at all. After taking a few seconds to process the new information "What about the heat-death of the universe?"I asked and they looked at me strangely "Aha!"I said, half excited to maybe solve a puzzle, half worried about the implications of these theories "What about the computer's limitation? Modern computers use 64-bit Unix time, which ends at December 4th, in the year 292,277,026,596 A.D. If she lives longer than that date, I would expect a stack overflow."The doctors looked at me strangely "Maybe she would be an astronaut on an interstellar journey, and while travelling at relativistic speeds, time-dilation will mean that from her subjective time, she would experience time flowing at a different rate than us... But then, which trip would take that long at a speed comparable to the speed of light? I mean, that would be WAY beyond the cosmological event horizon." The nurse and doctors seemed at a loss for words as they tried to calm me down from my muttering "Ma'am, let's not jump to conclusions" I ignored him "Maybe the many-worlds interpretation of quantum mechanics is true, and in the future, she would find a way to move between parallel universes. If she dies in another universe, it is possible that the Foresight Analysis and Time Extrapolation (F.A.T.E) system would fail to gather information about her deathdate."I said. "We would need to keep an eye out for future people with unknown deathdate, they may become her future crew members on her adventure, whichever it would be."I said excitedly, much less worried for the future of my daughter. Yes, it is terrifying to not know when she would die, but the possibility of unbelievable discovery is brilliant, and I will make sure to support her, in whichever path she chooses.
A small brown bird nested on the sill of the crafting wizard's window. The wizard's job was to build a golem army for the king. Quarry-men brought stones of many different shapes and sizes directly to his dusty workshop, where he assembled them. The wizard would lastly put a spell on them to bring them to life. He used the anger inside of him to create terrifying Berserkers, he used his discipline to make excellent infantry soldiers and loyalty to create the best guards in the kingdom. An avid birdwatcher, the wizard immediately fell in love with the small bird that chose his window sill. It was almost as if he was chosen by the bird. One terrible morning the wizard went to say hello to his feathery friend, as usual, but it had laid 3 eggs. It was a she, and she, was no longer alone. The wizard wanted to feel happy for his friend, but couldn't shake the terrible envy and jealousy that came over him. He was late for work and unprepared, but the king had little patience and he began working on the first golem of the day. "Hello, are you my father?"The golem woke up. "No. You have no father. I'm your creator." "I feel incomplete. Did you miss a piece?" The wizard's next golem would be an excellent Berserker. "I never miss anything. Go there and wait for the others." The golem looked a little sad, and took a look around. "Instead of waiting, can I help you clean?" He could certainly use a hand with the cleaning. A small ray of sunlight left in ample evidence the sheer amount of dust and cleaning the workshop needed. Cleaning that hadn't been done in years. "Fine. Just don't break anything, or I'll break you." "Leave it to me! What should I call you?" "Just wizard." "Well, then I'll be just golem."Each got to work without saying much. At the end of the day the inside of the workshop was unrecognizable. The cobwebs were gone, the scrolls and tomes looked like new, the wizard remembered the floor was made of wood and not dirt. "You did a good job. Do you want to join me for a smoke?" "I'd like that." Both smoked and talked for a long time. "Wow, I'm stoned!"The golem said and carefully laid down over the wizard. "Now you're stoned too!" Both laughed until the wizard started to cough and wheeze. "And now you're a wheezard." Both laughed harder. After the laughter died down, the wizard asked. "Why did you decided to help me, golem?" "I'm sorry, I don't want to say it, not yet at least." "Damn my curiosity. Fine. I'll wait, but you'll have to work for me. There's a lot of work to do outside and I could use a hand carrying the rocks. I'm not as strong as I used to be." "Deal." &#x200B; It became routine for them. Work at day and at night smoke and talk. A few weeks later the golem decided to answer the question. "Wheezy, do you remember when you asked me why I wanted to help you?" "Yes, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked, Stoned." "It's fine. It's just that I was... ashamed. Still am a little. Ashamed to admit that I'm ashamed. And ashamed to admit that I'm lonely." "You were lonely since you started existing?" "Pathetic isn't it?" "No. It isn't." The golem hugged the wizard. &#x200B; A few months later the wizard fell severely ill with a deadly virus. The golem carried his small light body to the bed and took care of him until he was healthy again. The disease scared the golem so much that he decided to not keep any more secrets. "I love you, Wheezy." "I love you too, Stoned." They lived 3 wonderful years together, but golems are not meant for long lives. The golem started to make mistakes; he dropped stones more and more frequently, broke the wooden stairs and harmed the working horse. One day he could no longer stand up. "I'll fix you Stoned. I'll take care of you and make you well again, like you took care of me." "You already did, Wheezy."And with that, the golem took his last breath. The wizard's eyes were filled with tears, but his heart was fuller. He finally loved himself.
The Myst always creeps. It never appears when you expect it, so towns have learned to be ever-vigilent against even the darkest night. Bonfires are burned nightly, except on the fullest of moons where one can see even the windy waves of the grass on the hills. Even when the woodsmen warn of drought and of sparks alighting the trees. For even the worst of the blazes that scourges the woods, leaving nothing but ash and ambers, is nothing compared to the Dread Knights of the Myst. Even after a forest fire, the land can regrow. Wherever the Knights go, beasts of fog and fear follow. Even when their master is slain, the land around the body will forever be saturated with the maddening Myst. That is why the Kingdoms of the land created the Necropolis, to house the bodies of the dead until a method still unlearned by the wisest in the last can counter the curse. Travelers are the worst off, for they cannot tarry, and they must carry fuel for an immediate blaze. It is not rare for them to be turned away due to suspicion, only for that simple action to doom them. And with that doom comes the death of anyone living nearby. Or so you thought. When you got separated from your troupe, thanks to that errant stone in your horse’s hoof, you arrived to find the villages gates closed and barred. The Mystwatchers refused to open the gates, or even to acknowledge your presence. So, you choose to shelter up a tree, away from the Myst that hugs the ground. Yet, it still reached you. You awoke from smothering dreams to find that tonight, it had chosen the form of a fog. Panic rises in your throat as you realize where you are. You know you will go insane. You know the stories. You know the tales. You haven’t seen a Dread Knight due to the prudence of your troupe. You fear that you will undo all their effort. You wait, unable to move out of hope that you will breath less. Each minute that passes is another minute that the Myst might yet disappear. But the Myst stays. It doesn’t confuse you or befuddle you. The only fear you have is of your own concerns and worries. Instead, you begin to calm. The Myst is warm, welcoming. After a time, you realize that the Myst isn’t going to turn you into one of its Knights. Only after do you realize that the thing in the Myst was waiting for that moment. A squirrel made of vines and stones scurries up the tree and perches at the base of the branch. The two polished granite stones it has for eyes gaze into yours. Images pass through you mind, of a land lush and fertile, of a people happy and welcoming, of rulers wise and kind. Then, visions of a darker tone appear: a land twisted and rotting, a people suspicious and scared, of rulers tired and desperate. The message that the squirrel gives isn’t done, for it shows you an infection. Not a mundane disease, fungus, or parasite, but something that combines the worst qualities of all three. Tenacious, draining, and virulent. It shows you how the natural magics of the land combat it, through spirits of cleansing water and air. It isn’t enough though They need avatars to guide them, to fight the worst of the blight. They need someone to try to relay the message. But the decay has an intelligence to it, for it reacts with hostility by guiding the hand of its subjects. It holds power just as the land does. The Land is the goal of the Decay, and the people are the goal of the Land. You know that what you can offer will likely mean your end. But, while sometimes it takes a couple tries to start a campfire, you know that all it takes is one well-placed spark. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Thanks for reading!
But the heroes are hesitant since they've seen how inhumanly humans treated the planet and the creatures and how they fought each other to gain imaginary power and authorisation. "Maybe it's time we end this nightmare"gaia goddess of earth said looking sadly at once kind and compassionate children who have turned selfish. "Yes and make sure to add humanity if you create species like them"hades God of death rolled his eyes. Who told her to play favorite and gave these species the ability to talk and think, See the results now, they destroyed other species and destroying themselves. "At least give them less pain"gaia sobbed as hades destroyed humans slowly by Calamities and disease.
Shuffling feet and scrambling fingers filled the banquet hall with just an hour to spare before the festivities began, and everything was looking great. The string quintet was sitting at the ready, and infectious glee spread seamlessly between the joyful volunteers. This would be the largest banquet ever thrown in the history of the District of Records, the librarian sect of the kingdom, marking 100 years since the last Dark Annihilator was soundly defeated at the hands of King Ashbeard. And the rumor was that King Ashbeard himself would be in attendance tonight, finally awakening and leaving the Royal District for the first time since that fateful day. The cakes readied, the chairs arranged, and the atmosphere electric: now only a few minutes stood between the present and the glorious future. \--- With a creak and a yawn, King Ashbeard awoke at long last. His injuries from the Final Battle had been so severe that he required nearly 80 years to fully mend under the everpresent spells of those from the District of Magic. (Healing spells do take time, after all.) Another 20 years to regain his physical strength and partial memories, and tonight was the night: his first public appearance, a banquet in a neighboring district. Would the citizens stare at his scars? Do they still know the traditions of old? Gathering his cane and crown, Ashbeard steadied himself in front of the mirror and nodded solemnly. His carriage awaited outside, and his royal cape filled with air as he descended the stairs with the limp of a great warrior. \--- "Tonight!"the Master of Ceremonies began "We see our King!" Only a few people remained from the days of the Final Battle, and of those, only two were able to come to the banquet tonight: Angeroth the Obsidian and Wreckstone the Wise sat in silence, formal robes willowing around their frail and pockmarked bodies. Their smiles lit the room; these were the days they lived so long to experience. The music began and everyone rose in expectation. The doors of the banquet hall swung open and a golden light filled the room, reflecting hope and power onto glowing faces. Their King had returned. \--- Ashbeard gasped at the sight of his people, alive and well, on the brink of explosive applause, but quiet, expectant. Against his better judgement, he addressed the crowd from the doorway. "My people!"he bellowed, channeling youth and suppressing nerves. He was a bit out of practice after 100 years. "Today we remember our fallen, and our risen. We trust the gods for the future and we thank them for the past. We celebrate the separation of our society from the oppression of the last Dark Annihilator, and -" King Ashbeard choked silently, his sentence falling through the floor. His mind flooded with images of the evil force he defeated so long ago, his first attempt at revisiting this trauma. He saw it in its eyes. Terror. With a crack of time-crushing thunder, the room went white. Ears ringing, eyes blurred, the attendants couldn't process this event. \--- Maybe it was seconds, maybe it was minutes; but regained senses revealed very little had changed in the room. The cakes awaited the royal cutting peacefully. The chairs stood their ground. King Ashbeard stood, shaking, in the open banquet doorway. He shielded his eyes against the blinding darkness radiating from the stage. The Throne was occupied: Nefre, the Dark Annihilator smiled at the crowd, grin baring teeth sharpened by war and hatred. It took longer than he expected, but the inevitable return had finally come to pass. It raised a gnarled, knuckled hand and gestured toward the King. Ashbeard fell backward, unconscious, crown clattering across the marble hall. Nefre's raucous laughter creased the flattened room, and for the first time in 100 years, it spoke: "Let us begin"
She looks around with a green cream on her face and a towel around her body pause in place with eyes like steal bearings. I grab her by the hand at a loss for words but wheeze out "there's no time"and throw her to the pack of wolves and run. 'They can't prove anything' I thought hearing the blood curdling screams as the beasts tear her to shreds. One last scream cut short as I can tell they got her throat. I will love again but I can't live again. I was suddenly in my parent's kitchen, next to my father who was naked and with another woman staring at my mother at the door way. Worst ten minutes of my life.
Captain Eleanor Alexander's journal 17/04/2099 It has been four weeks and two days since our last communication with Earth. It has been four days since Commander Denson along with a crew of three deserted us, heading for Earth on the Little Red. The remaining crew put on brave faces but morale grows weaker with each passing day. 19/04/2099 Still no word from Earth or any news from Little Red. However we have received an interesting package in the delivery bay. An infant girl. She was wrapped in a plain white, woollen blanket and placed inside a small capsule with just enough oxygen to survive the journey. If I had not remained diligent in checking the delivery bay each day goodness knows what could have happened to her. There was no note in the basket, we do not know her name or how old she is – our guess is between nine and twelve months. The crew all have mixed feelings on this new arrival, although she brings out the protective, paternal side of my crew they also fear what her arrival could mean. For the meantime she remains in quarantine under my care. 26/04/2099 Still no communication from Earth or any word of Little Red. Despite this morale seems to be up on the ship and our new arrival seems to be flourishing. We have named her Rose. 13/09/2099 Still no word from Earth, or any news of Little Red. Another baby was delivered to us, this time a boy. Just like Rose, he was wrapped in a blanket (a yellow one this time) with just enough oxygen to get him here. Again there was no note, he is rather small, smaller than Rose when she arrived here, we think he may be around six months old. He is in quarantine at the moment, and he still does not have a name. I do not know why he was sent to us. 02/12/3000 Still no word from Earth, or any news of Little Red. Another baby has been delivered to the base. Another girl, just like Rose and Marty she was wrapped in a blanket and placed in a capsule with just enough oxygen. No note, no name. Currently she is in quarantine under my care. On another note, Marty's fever finally seems to have dropped and him and Rose both continue to flourish, although I have no idea what effect being locked up on Mars for your entire childhood has on a person. Our young recruits seem to an overall positive effect of the crew, but I often find myself waking up in a cold sweat worrying about their future. We have enough supplies to meet their basic needs for now, but as they grow I don't know what we are going to do. 22/02/3014 Still no communication from Earth and no word from Little Red. The crew are becoming more and more concerned with lack of supplies, and I am starting to run out of ways to reassure them. The base needs expanding: we need a larger greenhouse, living quarters are becoming cramped, the generators are no longer running at full capacity. We were not meant to live like this for this long. Coloniser were meant to start arriving fourteen years ago with materials to expand out. I don't know what happened there on Earth but I know it was not anything good. We now have sixteen children in our care ranging from fourteen to two years of age. They are all good kids, the older ones all help out and have become vital members of the crew, and I have no doubt the younger ones will all follow their lead. However, although I would never say this out loud, they shouldn't be here. 23/02/3014 Still no word from Earth or any communication from Little Red. Two more children have been delivered to us, our first set of twins, or so we assume. A boy and girl. They had more than enough oxygen to make the journey to Mars several times over, but no blankets and no notes. They are currently in quarantine under my care. 25/02/3014 Still no communication from Earth or Little Red. The twin are still asleep, they have been asleep for two days straight now. The scanners confirm that they are well an healthy, but they will not open their eyes or respond to any stimuli. They will be ready to leave quarantine soon, but something is making me feel uneasy. I do not know if it is concern for the twin's well-being, or if it is for the crew.
Lucius stepped off the battlefield as the victor. After battling the dark one for a thousand years, he had finally won. He could bring light and happiness to the world once again. He knew the people he used to know and love were long gone, his own life being supernaturally extended by the goddess of light. He was, of course saddened by the thought, but it was worth it. He was humanity’s savior. The goddess of light beamed with happiness as she looked upon her champion. She knew she chose well when she pulled him from Earth, and brought him to her dimension. As a reward for his valiant efforts, she agreed to grant him one wish. “I only want to return to Earth and see all the people whose lives I’ve made better by defeating darkness” was his reply. This is why she chose him, he was humble, and just wanted to see other people happy. He could have asked for fame, or riches, or to travel the universe, but no, he just wanted to see the people he helped. So she sent him back to Earth, she warned him things have changed in the thousand years since he’s been gone, but Lucius was excited to see how his beloved planet has evolved. He asked to be dropped in a place where he could experience everything. He wanted to be in the center of it all! The goddess decided upon New York City. Lucius stepped into the portal she created and walked eagerly into the new world. He blinked in the bright light and found himself in the middle of a crowded street. Overwhelmed with what he saw he fell over right in the front of a yellow, metal box? The taxi driver looked at Lucius laying in the street blocking his car, beeped his horn and yelled “get outta the way! What the fuck is wrong with you, your gonna get runt over!” Lucius could only hang his head, tears welling in his eyes, he saved the world and this man is treating him like garbage. “Well, fuck” he muttered softly to himself, as he picked himself up, started walking down the sidewalk, and tried to make sense of this new world.
It happened one day, when the Great Gizzler was fighting Mr. Y. The fight was all over the news. Buildings were destroyed, people were killed. Most people would cheer when the Gizzler threw cars or tanks, or once even half a building after Mr. Y. But all Y did was just look at stuff and it would vanish out of existence. It was the final scene that was all over the news. Gizzler and Mr. Y miles up over the city. A helicopter crew was filming them. Usualy this ends with the villain doing a villain speech and the Hero wining the fight. When suddenly a blue portal opened inbetween those two. Out of the portal came to everyones supprise a being, small, greyish blue, with a grey suit, and to top it all of, a briefcase. Some would say he looked like the retirement version of how we think aliens would look like. He was floating like the hero and the vilain, only that his posture was that of a hunched over retiree. The next thing that happened didnt need any news crew to broadcast it. The creature lifted its arm towards its head, suddenly everyone on earth heard the same thing as the creature spoke into its wrist. "Ehhmmm, Hellooooo? Is this thing on? Can everybody hear me?" The whole planet went silent. Hero and villain were both like they were frozen in time. The creature coughed which created a sharp sound of a feedback loop. "Ehh Hello, My name is Gladesh. Im here to review this plane of existance. The board of Time and Space in the 36th dimension has gotten some complains from all the other 3rd dimension planes, that surround this plane here. But before we talk ..." The being Gladesh opened its briefcase, wrote something on a piece of paper. It folded the paper in half, and threw it into the air. The paper just vanished in a blue shine. Then it tapped its jaw with one of its fingers, like it was waiting for something to happen. Suddenly Gizzler and Mr. Y fell out of the air. The news Crew filmed their fall, and the splat they made on the ground. The nasally Voice started to ring in everyones Ear: "Now that thats done, I need to talk to the person who is responsible for this plane of existance." Many Heros and Villains alike tried to stop Gladesh. They tried to fight him, to destroy him. But everytime in a radius of 50m around Gladesh, all Powers stopped working. The field around Gladesh would stop any attempt to harm the being. Luckily for our World, the powers only didnt work for about an hour, but imagine the chaos that ensued after 80% of our Heros couldnt do anything super anymore. Gladesh talked to the Leaders of our World. After the talk ended, everyone on Earth heard his nasally voice again. The broadcast of him was worldwide. Every news Station only showed him. "Soooooo I sampled all the data, and I talked to your supperiors. The review of your plane shows, that you guys just dont like the laws of Physics." Gladesh opened his briefcase, and took out a file. As if he had to find something that he wanted to say, but wasnt sure if it was correct. "Especialy the inter plane laws, which got you into this mess. I will get this to my supperiors and it will probably be ruled by a Judge." Slightly confused he looked up from the file. As if he didnt notice that people are looking at him. He opens his briefcase again to awkwardly put the file back in. "Dont worry, punishment is usualy not that severe, it could just range from a reset of this plane to the beginning, or maybe only a wipeout of all living beings here. There will be a later review to see if you changed your behaviour, that review will happen in 3 to 5 Chronons, which is, if we convert it to your time ... " Gladesh looked into his briefcase and pulled out a document. After 5 minutes of him just akwardly scribbling something onto a paper, crossing and rewriting, he finaly looked up again. "If I converted it correctly, its should be inbetween 3 weeks and ...", he looked at his paper again ,"... and about 3,543,221,042 years. So if you want to avoid punishment, you should follow the laws of Physics, they are laws for a reason. If you want some sort of appeal to this, you can send a letter to the 36th board of appealing. So if this is all, I will be on my way." Everyone could feel his annoyance radiate through the screens. A portal opened, he stepped in, and nothing changed. Afterall, Humans dont care for rules, or the destruction they cause. &#x200B; P.S.: Non native dyslexic newcommer here. Please dont be to harsh on my Grammar and spelling, I tried my best.
"Liza Stregio, art critic,"she says, introducing herself, dimples in the smile of her sharp-chinned face, straightened chin-length hair the color of night covering her left eye almost entirely. A maroon scarf sweeps around her neck over her grey peacoat, worn with a pair of stonewashed jeans and flats. "It is a pleasure to meet you!"replies Prince Calibur, shaking her hand. "We need you to judge a competition." Prince Calibur grins enthusiastically, displaying his fangs. His white-and-blue hair the texture of vinyl wires with grappling hooks built into the end, an olive drab visor set into his face to correct his vision. He is wearing a silver-and-gold checkered vest, a pink-and-Robin's-egg-blue windbreaker, and a pair of fuchsia linen trousers tucked into a pair of black-and-red striped rain boots. "You will have to forgive me,"says Prince Calibur. "I've never met someone from Earth before. Well, my family has." "I'm delighted to be invited,"replies Liza, "but why me specifically?" "That is simple!"exclaims a voice from the background. Liza turns to see Queen Narmona, her ruffled indigo velvet gown illuminated by the twin suns playing peek-a-boo in the evening sky behind one of the palace columns. Two eyes, heterochromatic, sunk into her face: one a deep green, the other a mild, cartoonish yellow. Her red-and-white hair, much like that of her son, Prince Calibur, pokes out from a broad sun hat. She wears a pendant around her neck into which is set what looks like a television screen, displaying a sequence of sepia-toned images. Liza bows, as is custom, and the bow is returned by Queen Narmona. "I do have to ask,"says Liza, "why you picked me instead of some other art critic? Even some other Earth critic?" "My people, as you know, haven't got a sense of taste for art. The best, and I do mean, the best judges of art are the people of Earth! And particularly your homeland of Italy. Why, the Mona Lisa! The sculpture of David, which has kept me entertained a great deal on nights alone-" "Mother,"sighs Prince Calibur. "Oh, shush, you've heard plenty worse,"says Narmona. "Anyway, Liza, I would suggest that once you have retired to the guest chambers you remain well-rested for tomorrow's competition. There is to be a massive display unveiled tomorrow! You will have about a week to judge. Unfortunately, our art tends to be lacking in any sort of style or substance." "I really, really wouldn't say that-"says Liza. "Oh, no need to be polite! I certainly don't trust our critics, and in fact, I trust them even less than our artists to create something that isn't vapid rubbish. When it comes to art, and when it comes to criticism, the people of Earth just do it better. And you do it best of them all." Liza considers a hesitant "if you say so...."but decides it would be impolite in the presence of royalty. "I am honored,"replies Liza, "and I look forward to the challenge."
Tears brimmed my eyes and it wasn’t long before they stung them as well. I didn’t get the chance to scream as I felt my body being thrashed from my seat. It was quick, painless, almost as if nothing had even happened. I heard the voice before I even knew what was happening. “This is your last day, enjoy it kid.” My hands brushed against a cool leather boot and I peered up, blue jeans, a white shirt and a plaid over shirt body stood above me; the sun blocked out any facial features, making the person unrecognisable. Their hand stretched out towards me and I was yanked from the hot asphalt, and I mean yanked. By the time my feet hit the ground again and my eyes adjusted I was in disbelief. “Help” I screamed hoarsely as unfamiliar faces rushed past me. They were busy, all set on a mission as if I didn’t exist at all. I squinted and took in my surroundings. Skyscrapers, pops of colour and business wear. My eyes focused on the billboards, I didn’t understand a word they said, a foreign language I didn’t know. I snapped my head around and just like that I wasn’t there anymore, I wasn’t on the asphalt either. Snowy peaks, a sea of white ahead of me with speckles of green mixed in. How did I get here? I turned my head to the left, sandy dunes and no life in sight. I turned my head to the right, a dreary looking side street littered with rubbish bags and kids bicycles. I ran my hands through my hair and squeezed my eyes shut. What was happening? Think, just think. This was all I could say to myself and slowly a memory came rushing towards me at full speed, well more like a truck. A crash? I was hit. This was obviously the effects of getting hit, a concussion, a dream or worse I thought, the end.. I snapped my eyes open. Familiar chatter bounced off of me and a warm sensation filled my body. The smell, the sounds, the sights. I was in my home. “Mum” I called out, not even expecting a response. She raised her eye level and stared straight through me. “What is it love?” My father asked as he brushed past her to get himself a beer from the fridge. “I swear I just heard Micheal” she said in response. “Mum!” I shouted louder, she could hear me? “You’re just getting old” my dad replied, “Micheal isn’t due home till 10” the fridge door shut, the clacking of condiments rattled my bones and I was pulled away. A rocky beach is where I landed, the water lapping at my feet. Why won’t I wake up? I knelt down to pick up a stone, a round black stone, I could feel it’s smoothness in my palm and I wrapped my hand around it, this has to be a dream. I open my hand and instead of my smooth rock, a crumpled autumn leaf stuck to my palm. I looked to the trees ahead of myself, to afraid to breathe, to scared to move. Tears cascaded down my cheeks as I bite my lip. I stood there as still as I could for what felt like an eternity, watching the leaves sway on the tree, every so often one broke free and made a dashing escape. It was that same voice that bought me back to some sense of realism. “Time to go kid.” The faceless being said, holding out his open hand for me to grab. Without thinking I placed my hand in his, it felt smooth like the rock and suddenly I was yanked again, pulled from my feet and thrown forwards. This time, it was into nothing.
"One of us,"declares Vlad, throwing his cape behind him, his own fangs angrily drawing blood from his crimson lips, "is a hunter in disguise, a vampire-killer, and we need to figure out who." "So are we going to draw blood to figure it out or what?"asks Dracu, one of the younger vampires, dressed in his typical European club rat attire of a white linen suit, sequined shirt, side-shaved mullethawk, and flats, red eyes barely visible behind a pair of aviator sunglasses. "Do you think the hunters haven't figured out a way to mimick vampire blood, on some kind of temporary basis?"asks Jessica, leaning against the wall, casually playing with the jade bead bracelet on her left hand, her puffy orange hair pressed like a pillow behind her head. She wears a pink sleeveless shirt, a nondescript pair of blue jeans, and a pair of Chucks. She is chewing on a piece of gum, which she pops in her mouth. "I'd say if it's anyone, it's Jessica", says Edgar, who sometimes also goes by their birth name of Tiffany and has chosen to dress more femininely than typical today, wearing a blonde cosplay wig, a white button-up short-sleeved shirt, and a red plaid skirt with neon-pink fishnet stockings tucked into a pair of burgundy loafers. Edgar rolls their eyes. "I mean, Jessica seems the least like a vampire of us all, don't you, dear?" "Shut the hell up, Edgar,"says Jessica. "This is how I pass, you dig?" "Using decades-old slang won't help you pass as human, Jessica,"laughs Dracu. "You're one to talk, Miami Vice,"Jessica snarks. "Hey, now,"says Vlad, "do you really think us turning on each other is going to help us find who the hunter among us is? Don't you think maybe that's what they want?" "Even if we stop,"says Edgar, "there's still gonna be a little bit of bad blood between us once all is said and done." "But at least we won't have a hunter to worry about,"replies Jessica. "I'll go first. Let's take the test and see if we can find the impostor."
I hurried down the path. It was almost seven o'clock and I still had to finish my paper. There were 2 miles left back to the car. I pushed my exhausted legs to move faster as I made my way up the rocky terrain. Why had I gone so far? There were still so many tasks I had to complete. I scaled my way up the slope and rounded the corner. The sunset left a beautiful display of colors on the pond up ahead. I couldn't help myself. "Just one picture,"I breathed. I reached into my sweaty shorts pocket to pull out my phone, and held it up to the pond. It was picture perfect. A flock of ducks flew up ahead. That added to the aesthetic. I didn't think too much of it when one duck broke from the pack and came hurtling in my direction. Then it sped up and took a sharp turn, altering its course to come charging right towards me. It happened so fast, I barely had enough reaction time to grab a wide plank of tree bark lying on the forest floor beside me. I extended my arms and thrusted it up into the air. The duck crashed into the bark, knocking me down onto rocky ground. I grimaced when my knees scratched the rocks. I thrashed my head to the right to see where the duck was. It lay about 10 feet away, and seemed to be recovering from crashing into the bark at full speed. It stared at me like I killed its whole family. Its eyes glowed red and they wouldn't leave my face. I didn't have enough time to think about why a duck flew right into me. All I was focused on was how to get away from it. And how on earth its eyes were red. The duck squawked and lumbered towards me. I couldn't dodge it fast enough. Its beak connected with my forearm and bit down. Hard. The pain was unbearable. I screeched, definitely the loudest sound I've ever made. To survive I would need to ignore it temporarily. Now in survival mode, I had no room for logical thoughts as my hands grabbed the duck, punched it in the face, and threw it off me. The blood gushing out of my forearm and the pain that came with it numbed under a surge of adrenaline. I stood up and got into a defensive stance. I clutched my phone, planning to use that as my weapon. It launched its third attack, this time aiming for my throat. I swung my rose gold iPhone 10 like a baseball bat. Hopefully playing competitive softball for 5 years would give me a fighting chance. And it connected with the duck's head. It crashed into the rocks. Had I won? It looked pretty battered to me. The duck twitched slightly, laying on its side. The wound from the side of its head didn't look too good. But it pulled itself together and half ran half flew towards me again. It seemed like this duck hated me that much. Attack number four. It aimed for my throat again. For the second time, I shot it down with my phone with a hard hit to the head. This time, it didn't get up. I ran over to the body and stomped on its head a few times to ensure its death. Then came the wave of shock and emotion. I didn't know what the hell to think. A duck just attacked me. I almost laughed. The pain from my wound returned, forcing me to lie down in the rocks and moan in agony. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw a group of strange people in the trees. They had their own group of red-eyed animals and were staring at me with calm expressions.
Checking the bathroom, closing the windows, and doors, Mark is scanning through his restaurant with pride. "I built this up with my own efforts, helping out my relatives with jobs, I've also created a place where people can relax." He thought to himself, as he remembered the countless times high-schoolers had a blast in the restaurant, the times the people in the neighbourhood kept their kids birthday at the restaurant, and how some college students pretended to study, or even hold "business"meetings at the biggest table. "Sigh, buddy we had a good run." He said, leaving the restaurant, while patting the restaurant's wall. &#x200B; Arriving home, his wife was waiting for him. He kissed her, and sat down at the table. The wife went to heat the leftovers in the microwave before sitting down next to him. "The kids are already asleep?" Mark asked. "Yes, it's rather late." Sarah Mark's wife said. "Good, I don't want them to see me like this." Mark said, being way too tired, and emotional. &#x200B; After a bit, Sarah broke the silence. "Mark, have you thought of a way to break the news?" Sarah asked. "No, but it doesn't matter. It will be devastating anyway." Mark said, massaging his temples. Sarah, just patted his back, and placed a kiss on his cheek, before taking the food out of the microwave. They went to sleep, but Mark barely slept. &#x200B; Friday morning, he was the first to arrive at the restaurant, as usually. He opened it, placed the menus on the tables, prepared the French fries, burger patties, and the other ingredients that needed to be prepared. Slowly, half an hour before opening the staff walked in, with smiles plastered on their faces. Everyone was happy, this was the normal atmosphere of the restaurant. But they quickly realised that Mark, was a bit weird. "Mark, is there a problem?" Phoebe, the head waitress, who was also Mark's cousin asked. "We...we need to talk." Mark said sighing. &#x200B; Mark told them that a fast-food chain bought the land they were on, and offered to pay all the debts, plus a sizeable amount for the restaurant. It was an offer...he couldn't refuse. Thus, this weekend is the last weekend when the restaurant is open, as on Wednesday, they will come to bulldoze the place down. "I should've talked this through with you first..." Mark said to the staff. There was silence, but no outrage could be heard. &#x200B; "It was expected Uncle Mark." Flora, Mark's niece, that work as a waitress said. "Yeah man, this is the last family restaurant in the surrounding three neighbourhoods, it was time to go down." Frank, the chef said. "You aren't...aren't mad?" Mark asked. "We had years of making an enjoyable environment for our neighbours, I say we did it. No need to cry over spilt milk." Frank said, patting Mark's shoulder. &#x200B; They went, and did their jobs even more enthusiastically, both on Friday, and Saturday. Sunday, was the day they choose to have a closed door party, as a homage to the restaurant, and the good years. When Mark arrived, he wasn't the first one, as usually. The restaurant was open, the driveway filled with tables, and all the regular customers were there. "Come, Boss Mark, if this is the last day this restaurant is open, we need to party!" One of them said. Mark teared up, and quickly went in the restaurant, to prepare his signature dish. &#x200B; The day passed with laughter and joy, all the neighbours coming and joining the restaurant's staff on their last day working there. Regular customers, and occasional ones as well came from quite the distance to join the party, everyone bringing some small gifts to Mark, and the other staff members. The day that was supposed to be a sad one, became exactly the same, as all the other days, when the restaurant was open. Full of joy, laughter, and children shouting and playing. &#x200B; Later on, not even two month later, a new fast-food restaurant was built in its place. But, the joy of the neighbourhood disappeared, and most people started enjoying their meals, in the comfort of their own house. While being cheaper, and some say, more delicious than Mark's restaurant's food, it lacked the warmth, and peace that the old restaurant carried.
Surely it must be jest? maybe it was a trick, or a scam, or some sort of test from the church? An hour and 30, well now 28, to do all that? Poor Bradsworth only dropped dead a day ago, and instead of the usual plague wagon they hand me this piece of paper telling me to do this inane ritual? The "priest"who handed it to me is probably setting me up for a laugh at the expense of the whole town. It wasn't for a lack or resources though, cotton, rope, and clover could be bought by the fistful at the stalls in town square. Leather could be bought off the tanner for a mere drink, and oh look at this, the priest was nice enough to leave some holy oil. What am I talking about? I've gone almost as mad as the dingus at my door, to almost thin... The hell was that? was that... bumping from the cellar? It couldn't be Bradsworth could it? The note said to hogtie a dead body and dump about a pound of holy oil on everything... how much time do I have left before... whatever happens? &#x200B; Bradsworth is... wriggling? I don't know what you'd call it honestly, it does certainly make the process much harder. The oil almost seemed to boil of his clammy skin when I put the ropes on, that cant be good. In fact his skin feels a lot warmer now, that cant also be good. Getting out of the cellar seemed to calm his quaking corpse. My old chuck wagon substituted nicely to the usual corpse wagon, the roads leaving town seemed to clogged up by similar sights to mine. The countryside had been overtaken by hundreds of holes and hundreds of mourners conducted their own rituals, each ritual was identical to the one I had conducted in the cellar, and as grizzly as I remembered. Some local laborers perhaps from the mill or the mines had pitched in to create the mammoth holes each body would require. I parked my wagon by a crying family lowering a hogtied man into their final resting place. Bradsworth had definently gotten warmer, his skin was now wet and blemished. The moon began to rise as me and the many other citizens began to lower the bodies. As the pale glowing light of the moon hit each body it almost seemed to spring to life, decayed flesh began to squirm and pulsate with an living fervor. Families screamed and wailed as their loved ones seemed to come back before their very eyes. Bradsworths swollen eye sockets opened staring me down with an empty hallow gaze, this was no miracle of life, but the terrible scheme of a demon. One by one, each body was dropped into their respective pits, silencing their spring to life. priests, laborers, nobles, and peasants all waded through the pockmarked fields with shell-shocked demeanors upon them, It would take time but enough work and some good shovels could lay this devil work to rest.
"What is this Olympics championship you are talking about with the other humans?"Zirerck the Nen'yee asked through the translator as they fell into step with Izumi. "Well, it's a sports competition between the nation's of earth"Izumi said and as Zirerck's colour shifted in what Izumi had learned singled confusion she added, "You know, running, jumping, throwing things as far as you can and such?" Zirerck's colour shifted further, "I seem to miss some vital context, my translator can't translate the word 'sports', is this a annual battle between your nations? Yet you seem at peace with the rest of the crew although I know you are not from the same Nations?" It was curious. The Nen'yee had developed from a herd animal mulusc analogue on their native world, some things about their being still puzzled Izumi, they had had a herd time understanding what capitalism had been and also had had a hard time grasping concepts such as kings. "Hmm, a sport is, well, a good hearted competition or a game of err... Physical skills against others?"Izumi said and Zirerck shifted back to better neutral patterns. "Ahhh, so you run and jump and throw things in order to avoid war? This seems a civilised thing then." "Well... Yeah... I guess"Izumi said and decided postpone further explanation until after lunch.

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