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[WP] The local humans are having troubles getting their crops to grow so they decide to sacrifice a young girl to their god, by tying her to a heavy rock and throwing it into the sea. She is found by you, a powerful ocean deity...who is displeased by their cruelty.
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The little boat sailed as far as it dared into the furious ocean until it bobbed like a leaf in a gale and its wood began to creak and crack in strain. The ocean always seemed angered, these days. Its mouth frothed white in fury, its black fists battered the shore. Some nights, its waves grew into mountains of ice water that crashed down on huts and homes and hopes. Washed them away like dirt from skin.
This was their last boat. Its wood reinforced by the villagers' own ruined but salvaged possessions. And in the back, her hands tethered together, a chain wrapped around her chest tying her tight to a silver boulder, was Maura. She had been the one chosen to pacify the angry God who wrecked their village and stopped their fishing.
Maura didn't want to do it. But her fingers had unfolded to reveal the marked pebble in her palm and her fate had been sealed. She didn't want to, yet she didn't complain -- for if it wasn't her, it would be another carrying this fatal burden. The ocean had taken her mother already and this way, perhaps, she could prevent it stealing another person.
Three men pushed their shoulders against the boulder. They heaved hard, as lightning cracked whips above their heads and rain lashed into their eyes.
The boulder fell, plunged beneath the surface. The chain rattled and became taut. It dragged Maura over the side and into the black depths.
She screamed until the water gagged her. Struggled and kicked against the cold itself, until the boulder settled on the murky bottom and she became strangely calm.
Maura didn't know if the God would come. Maybe she'd stand here and die for nothing. None knew for certain, and yet the risk was worth it to all, even to Maura -- although she wished again that the pebble hadn't been within her fingers.
He came as an electric cloud of light within the dark depths. And in the cloud she saw Him: half snake, half man. Handsome and loathsome and he spoke into her head with no movement of his lips. His anger was great -- how dare her people waste a sacred life to try to appease Him? Didn't they know it was this, their selfishness, that maddened him?
He ripped the bindings from her wrists, then tore the chain apart with his hands. But as he leaned in to take her from the boulder, Maura's hand reached for the dagger her shipmates had tucked behind her back.
The God did not see the knife fall into his neck, but he felt it twist. His blood pumped like lava into the sea, steaming and crystalising as a statue of what once was.
The ocean itself was already calming, falling silent in lament of its loss.
Maura felt no pity for the dead God as she swam towards the surface.
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I am the spirit guarding the holy river Kuvery, The river flows for most parts of southern India. I help keep the soil fertile and protect the small aquatic beings living inside the water. Being a tributary of the River Ganga or Ganges, Kuvery has it's origins in a small village called Talakuvery. A long long time ago. When India was known as the Jambhudwipa and kings ruled over the land there was a horrible drought that hit the then dense forest lands of Talakuvery. The trees grew dry, their leaves shed off. The land became barren and broken. The water levels of the river decreased drastically. So much pain. The animals died without food and water. The forest dwellers had nothing to eat either. Their vegetation was dependent on the ground waters, the river and the sky waters which has all of a sudden stopped favoring the living beings. "Aiyyo! tayi, Kopa bittu haridu baa!" they prayed (alas!, mother, give up your anger and flow once again). My small fish, the turtles, the under water plants all looked at me helplessly. The trees barked in pain. "Mother, do something, help us!" they all said. The mornings were so hot, it looked like the sun was in deep anger on the forest, he kept shining so brightly that the trees and animal skin burnt, they all fell on the ground and rolled around in agony.
With all the people, animals, plants crying for help I myself felt helpless. My hands were tied, I could see my thirsty children, with only little water to drink, they fought each other for a single drop of water. Man who could no longer grow what he could eat began to hunt down animals for food. Bats began to drink human and animal blood to quench their thirst. I cried, my face felt like it was being burnt, my wings were torn and I could no longer fly around the water. My fresh green hair turned brown. My skin broke into small piles of dry sand. It was as if I carried the pain of my children with me. Thankfully, my human children could not see me. If they could they would mistake me to a demon for sure!
I needed answers. I wanted to know why my children were being tested? they were all such lovely beings who believed in coexistence. Why would the gods ever punish them? I had to go to the holy Ganges and find answers before it was too late. So in my absence, I needed someone to protect the forest and the people, I was in a confusion as to which of my children should be assigned the duty. I could have handed it over to the humans, although the last to be born, they were better in communicating with each other. But they had all gone mad, they were killing their brothers and sisters and eating their burnt dead bodies, they were selling their skin to get circles made out of the yellow and white paste removed from below the earth. If they were left in-charge, they would have cut down the trees which did not produce fruits and build their shelters with the corps of those trees! they had done this plenty of times. I had asked the snakes, lions and tigers to scare them away from doing that for a long time now. I could not burden the aquatic animals, they were too small in size and number to carry out my duties. I needed someone mighty, some one big enough to control the humans. I chose the elephants.
A few years before I set out on my journey to find a cure, I called upon the king of elephants "Gajaraja kesari". I told him "Son, it is up to you to protect your siblings now, I am traveling up north to meet the holy Ganges and I am not coming back without an answer to her anger. Our family will perish if the situation is the same for another decade and I can not let that happen. You stay and guard the holy sandalwood, do not let humans hurt any animals and protect the humans from the angry nature." "Fear not mother! I shall die but not let any harm occur to our family!" he assured. I trusted and still trust the elephants. They are so mighty in strength and size, yet so mild at heart. They stood by me when I began to build our tiny home and they still stand by me. But the humans! they are my most notorious children. They ride on the elephants and hit them with ropes. They love the elephants too, but they display tough love. The elephants on the other hand mischievously disagree with the humans, but as time goes by they give in to the human's demands. Our family is indeed a blessing on the face of the earth.
I left to the north and began to meditate on the Himalayan mountains to summon the gods of wind (Vayu), Rain (Varuna), Fire (Agni), Skay (Indra) and Earth (Bhudevi). I also summoned the holy Ganges, her master Lord Shiva (the destroyer of evil), his better half Parvathi (The goddess of nature), Lord Vishnu (the protector of good) and goddess Lakshmi (the goddess of wealth), Lord Bramha (the creator) and goddess Saraswathi (the goddess of knowledge and music). They were all my bosses, I reported to them and they assured my family's welfare, so now that my children were in pain, they had to tell me why? I had never denied any of my duties and yet my children were suffering for many years now.
My penance and call was finally heard. The gods set up a meeting with me. They all appeared and goddess Parvathi spoke, "Open your eyes kuvery, we received your call for help. We are here to resolve your issues." By then I had almost perished. I had no water inside me left to sweet or cry, my hair had fallen off my head, my wings were as heavy as rocks, my eye and soul was dried out, I was not in a presentable condition at all. "My dear! what happened to you?" asked Ganges. "Sister I am sure I've been cursed!" I replied.
Indra: Cursed? what for?
Agni: Who cursed you?
Lakshmi: For how long has the curse lasted?
I replied, "I myself need answers to all these questions, I was hoping that you all will have answers and thus I summoned you."
There was utter silence. They all looked at me as if I was about to vanish from the earth for ever, they all pitted me, I could see a sense of sorrow in their eyes. Then the creator, Lord Bramha broke the silence. "It is I who has placed the curse!" All the other gods were confused. It was not usual that the creator got angry or cursed someone. "Dear little sister, what have you done? you not only got cursed yourself but are currently making your children suffer!" I was in a shock! I did not know where I had gone wrong. But what ever wrong had occurred by me must have been very very serious that the creator got angry! so I fell down to the creator's feet, "Forgive this offender my lord, punish my sinful soul for my wrong deeds. Kindly accept my prayers and set my children free of the curse" I requested.
"The curse is not on you Kuvery!" said the goddess of knowledge Saraswathi, "Your human children are the one who are cursed. And because you all belong to the same family, the curse has its effects on you and your other children!"
"But mother! what did the humans do to deserve such a harsh curse?"
"They have polluted you! they have shown disrespect to their mother! that deserves a special place in the hell of it's own, then too their wrong deeds will not be substituted with the punishments of hell! So their suffering shall begin from the time of their birth and carry on even after their death! go now and console your other children, they have fallen pry to their sibling's punishment!"
"I know the humans are a little mischievous, they throw out their waste into me, but it is also true that they drink the same water and bath in it too! mother have mercy, I will make sure the humans learn their lessons. They are the youngest and I agree that I have been pampering them for that reason. But I promise that they will behave themselves, they will learn the importance of everything nature has to offer! Please show kindness over my family!" I kept praying to all of them for years. Finally they heeded to my cry and agreed to lift the curse, they directed me to take Varuna the god of rain along with me. I received their blessings and instructions and departed towards home.
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| 2020-02-11T03:07:35 | 2020-02-11T02:50:57 | 263 | 33 |
[WP] You were asked out by your crush to come and hang out with her after school. On your date, she drained your blood and buried you in the woods thinking that you were another easy victim. And now, the next morning, she looks horrified when you walk into class.
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“Psst, pass this to Natasha”, I whispered to the kid next to me. He passed the note, as was every student’s sacred duty when asked to do so. Thank you Jacob. Your service will not be forgotten.
Natasha looked paler than usual today. It was that same thin pallid skin that first drew my eyes to her. Speaking of eyes, hers went wide as he handed her the note and pointed to me. Those deep reddish-brown pools… but I only got to see them for a moment before she turned away to read my note.
I should probably explain why. The night before, we had gone out on a date and she drained me of my blood and buried me in some mass grave she has been doing a dutiful job of filling to the brim. It’s well hidden too. It took me hours to find my way home, just in time to shower and get to school.
Reading my note didn’t seem to relax her the way I thought it would. Odd. I was very polite.
As class ended, I hoped for the opportunity to speak to Natasha in person. She granted my wish by dragging me by my collar to a stairwell that went to the third floor of a two-story school. No one was sure why it was put in just to end in a brick wall but it was always taken advantage of for private conversations. Her strength was incredible. My legs needed only keep myself upright and she did the rest.
“What the fuck is this and how are you here?” She demanded, throwing my note back at me. I opened it quickly and hopefully.
> Hi Natasha, I had a really good time last night before you left in a hurry. I hope you did too and didn’t have to leave because of anything I said or did. Parents’ curfew maybe? Anyway, I’d like to do it again sometime. This Saturday at the park?
> [ ] YES [ ] VERY YES
It was a clever trick I learned from TV that I thought could not fail but she had marked neither box. Was that a no? I hope not…
“Hello?! How are you here?”
“I did get a little lost after you left but I’ve lived here a long time so I found my way home eventually.”
“No, I mean… wait, what do you remember from last night?”
“We had a really nice date and then you had to borrow my blood and leave all of a sudden. Also, do you still need it or can I have it back? I don’t want to tell my dad I lost it.”
“What are you?!”
“Frank Jr.” I said proudly. I was named after my father and took great pride in the honor.
“No! I mean you’re not human so what are you?” Natasha’s teeth looked different when she was upset.
“Dad says I’m not supposed to talk about that.”
Natasha was very understanding once I explained that. She stopped talking so loud and her teeth got shorter.
“Of course, he doesn’t want you telling the wrong people, but your girlfriend isn’t the wrong people, right?”
“Girlfriend?” Natasha nodded and smiled. “I guess that’s okay. My dad made me in his lab.”
Natasha’s beautiful eyes widened again. I loved seeing her so happy and now she was my girlfriend so I could make her happy all the time!
“So that blood…”
“Just in case I get a cut. Dad says it’s suspicious if I don’t bleed.”
“So that’s why you tasted stale!”
“Hey, be nice. It was my first kiss. I’ll get better.”
“Uh, yeah, of course you will.”
“So, since I’m your boyfriend now, can we go on a second date at the park this Saturday?”
“I have a better idea, Frank. I think it’s time you met my family.”
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It was pretty unbelievable. I'm not usually good at showing emotions. Not usually great at the whole human interaction thing. Pretty terrible. Never expected her to just politely offer to hang out after all the others from class had left, because she wanted to. I kept my cool at the moment, and accepted her offer with unusual grace and calm. We stayed behind, did some homework, and just talked. Genuinely pleasant and easy conversation. And then, she asked if I wanted to go for a walk in the woods with her, clear our heads, refresh ourselves a bit. Of course, I said yes. It sounded pretty good actually. There was this weird smell coming from somewhere in the area anyway, sort of similar to formaldehyde? Couldn't place it or where it came from, but definitely not pleasant. Definitely wanted to get away from that. So we went out into the brisk autumn air, out into the woods, where the gold and red leaves were absolutely stunning. It was pretty romantic. Almost a date. Of course, it was a bit much of me to expect that something romantic would happen. I'm pretty much the awkward class nerd, and she's the most popular and pretty girl in class. But when she offered to, well, experiment a little by making out, I wasn't the type to say no. It was like some manner of daydream, when her mouth came close to mine. I had just enough time before her mouth grew fangs and dug into my throat to notice that the odd smell was coming from her. She drained me of all my blood.
Once she was done, she buried me in a shallow grave in the woods behind the school.
The look on her face when I walked into class next day was priceless. She couldn't believe her eyes. It was almost worth the exhaustion of digging myself out of that cold dirt, just for that moment. In class, I just sat down where I usually sat, and wrote down notes as usual. Acted completely and utterly as I normally did. After class, she stared at me with fear and confusion. I pretended not to notice. Pretended not to smell that faint scent of formaldehyde underneath her expensive perfume. Pretended that everything was fine. Of course, she was terrified, and I could tell that she was barely restraining herself from attacking me. I gave her a look that told her to bring it, and she flinched as if I'd slapped her. For the rest of that week, I just acted as I usually did, kept up appearances, and didn't act any way out of the ordinary. Like it had never happened. Of course, it had. And when the weekend came, that was when I changed behavior.
The house she lived in, was somewhat isolated, and newer than most other houses in town. Probably so she could live as her kind prefers, and so nobody would snoop around easily. Of course, she is a predator of humans, and she cannot easily notice those who aren't. Not like she is used to being able to notice people. I cased her house all weekend, noting down hidden entrances and exits, the location of a small graveyard that contained, among other interesting things, a coffin full of graveyard dirt from a distant land. Very useful knowledge. Hiding the dirt was not a hard task. But it was only the beginning. Obviously, I could tell what she was, and she knew that I had somehow survived her attack. That was the basis of our situation. There would have to be a confrontation. It was only polite.
Next monday, she once again asked me, this time with much less confidence and suaveness, to stay after class. I of course accepted. And we went pretty much immediately out to the woods. ''*So. Cassie. Guess it's time to lay our cards on the, well, leaf-covered ground, such as it is.*'' She nodded. ''*Yes. Natalie. Indeed it is.*'' Her fangs grew, her eyes turned red, and her hands became vampyric claws. ''*Really, all claws and teeth. Already and you didn't even attempt a diplomatic solution. You must be pretty young.*'' Her monstrous attributes receded. ''*Well, half a century. I suppose so. You've met many of my kind, I suppose?*'' I shrug. In truth I haven't but as is well known, one should not correct a potential enemy when they're making an obvious mistake. Oversharing is one such mistake. ''*I don't know how you survived. If it is some manner of technique I haven't heard of, I'd gladly submit to your seniority as a vampire, if I can only learn it. You appear so very human, and I must do such work to remain like that.*''
I smile deviously. She doesn't know. She doesn't even know what I am. She's lucky she's cute as hell, or I'd have ended things now. OK, maybe it was hormones keeping me from acting, but the universe should cut me some slack, I'm a teenager in High School. ''*I'm pretty territorial, as far as things go. I'd prefer it if you'd just politely up and left.*'' No need to reveal more than she knows. Let her think she knows what is happening. ''*But think, Natalie, what we could do together, two vampires, like sisters, ruling the night in this small town. We could drink without worry, and rule the night together.*'' Her hearing is not as good as mine. I can hear the distant attempts of someone trying not to laugh. I hold up a hand for her to be silent, and I turn my head towards the area from where the noise came from. ''*Come out. I've heard you.*'' What appears to be underbrush moves and forth from the forest floor three humans, their hearts loud, but not with terror, with bravery, emerge. The leader of them is an unpleasant looking man.
''*Well, well, well. I guess you caught me trying not to snicker. You're playing her for a lark.*''
I shrug. Sure, that's not entirely wrong. ''*Little miss vampire, that's not one of your fellow daughters of the night. That's a werewolf.*'' Cassie turns her head to me in shock. It's clear from her movement, the sound her dead body and fake beating heart makes, that she hadn't thought that those existed. We are a lot better at keeping hidden than vampires. But then again, we don't have to attack people for sustenance. On full-moon nights, we usually hunt animals. We don't have to drink fresh untainted blood. ''*True. I was hoping to get her out of this town without causing any trouble. But I guess trouble found us first.*'' The unpleasant men, their rifles long and their daggers serrated, smile viciously. Cassie just looks at me. ''*How did you survive getting bitten then? I drank all your blood! Sure, it was an odd taste, but I took all of it!*'' I roll my eyes.
The truth is that werewolves transform into their canine bodies when drained of human blood, which replenishes the body with fresh wolf-blood. Have to be partially transformed until my natural reserves of human blood are replenished. Been hard to hide that tail all week, but when you're a nerdy girl that nobody notices, it's a lot easier. Not that I'm about to reveal that to her. Or to these hunters. ''*Wolf secrets.*'' I just say and focus on the men.
''*Now, this is nice and all, but I'm thinking it's time to end this, with a vampire skull on a shelf and a fresh wolf-pelt upon a wall.*''
Jesus Christ how gross can somebody be. I've met Hunters before. Most of them are just trying to protect humanity. I know one of my uncles even worked with a team of them, best option for a hound needed to hunt down supernatural horrors in the states, that's a werewolf. These sickos give Hunters a bad name. ''*Hope you've done your homework then.*'' The transformation is a holy thing to most werewolves. It must take the ritualistic nature into itself, and that takes time to complete. Like a hymn or prayer, you cannot rush it. Luckily, I'm more of a secular werewolf. And since I'm already at least a little bit transformed, I don't have to wait at all. I spring into action, my flesh already fully covered, my claws already long and my sharp teeth easily bite down upon an unready throat. It's not taboo to kill humans, but it is considered a social faux pas. But these three are clearly not suited for a future with the human race. The third of them screams, as the guy who decided to talk instead of shooting first aims his rifle, at Cassie. My mind is pretty occupied by being a killing machine, so when the rifle goes off, and misses, the guy suddenly gets knocked down by a vampire. And they are a good deal stronger and more powerful than your average human, provided he hasn't ingested holy water blessed by a real priest. Funny thing holy water, it only works if the priest who has blessed it actually acts and does as Jesus would have done. Seen a guy throw waterballoons full of the stuff at zombies once, did nothing because the priest was one of those megachurch fellows. When we fled from New York, I saw the local priest drinking some of the stuff himself and wrestling that demon that consumed the souls of a third of Albany. The priest won, I might add.
| 2022-12-29T18:03:55 | 2022-12-29T17:02:56 | 453 | 256 |
[WP] A person invents a time machine for the sole purpose of traveling back in time to get the autographs of every historical figure (Washington, Napoléon, Hitler, Marline Monroe, JFK) before they die. After making hundreds of trips he becomes known throughout time as the grim reaper.
A person invents a time machine for the sole purpose of traveling back in time to get the autographs of every historical figure (Washington, Napoléon, Hitler, Marline Monroe, JFK) before they die. After making hundreds of trips he becomes known throughout time as the grim reaper.
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Adolf Hitler sat there, staring at the painting. It was late at night, and he was the only one in the room. The portrait was of a tall man, with jet black hair pulled back into a ponytail, like from colonial times. The most noticeable feature was a long scar running down the right side of his face, passing through his eye and ending at the corner of the man's lips. His right eye was white, dead from the injury that caused the scar.
"That's an intressing painting. I know you're quite the collector of art."
"Actually, this is my own. I painted it years ago," Hitler replied, turning to the speaker, who was hidden in the shadows. "It is of Death, the one thing nobody can escape."
"I forgot you were a painter."
"Who are you? How did you get in here?"
"That is not important now. I am here to talk to you about your life," the man replied, not showing his face. The voice was deep, and felt powerful, though not loud.
"My life?"
"Yes. I was just wondering, why did you do it? All of it?"
"The Aryan race is superior, and they should rule the world. It is very simple, really. All other races needed to be eliminated for this to happen," Hitler replied, growing impatient.
"I've spoken to many madmen, and all of their answers are similar. They just sputter out the same lies they always have. I don't know why I even asked you."
"I should kill you. You're probably an assassin," Adolf said, reaching for his pistol.
"Oh, please, there's no need for that. The last time someone tried to kill me, I ended up with a nasty scar." The man leaned forward, revealing his face. There was a gash running across the right side of his face. "Turned out Genghis Khan had quite the temper."
Hitler gasped, recognizing the face from the painting. "You are Death. I knew you here to kill me! I beg you, please spare me!"
'No, no, no, nobody gets it," the man said with a sigh. "I told you, I came to talk. I am not Death, nor do I cause it. I am merely a traveler, an observer to the events of the world. People dying after seeing me is merely, err, coincidental. I am do not kill, and I am powerless to stop death. Like you said, nobody can escape death, not even I."
"So you only came to talk?"
"Yes, and to ask for a signature," the man said, handing a notebook to Hitler. "I collect autographs, and Adolf Hitler's is certainly one I want to add to my collection."
Hitler took the notebook, and flipped to a page that wasn't completely filled. He put his name under King George III's. "Is that all you wanted?" he asked.
The man took the notebook. He then said, "You might want to look behind you."
Hitler turned around, but only saw his painting. "What?" he asked. When he got no response, Hitler turned back around, only to find that the man had vanished.
***This is my first WP submission, so sorry if it was garbage! It'll probably get buried anyway, so it won't really matter. I'm open to suggestions, if anyone read it!
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Whoa, I wrote a time travel story for a History of Science class in college a few years back. If it feels a little pedantic or overly "scientific", it's probably because it needed to be. Here it is (a bit long though):
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And with that, another assignment dutifully carried out. John Titor stood up from his ornately carved oak chair and offered his hand to the incapacitated man still sitting in front of him. Titor’s polite gesture was a habit built over the years, but as usual the subject never completed the handshake. After all, following a heavy dose of concentrated sodium thiopental, a commonly known “truth serum”, subjects tended to be fairly lethargic.
As he packed up his notes from the interview, Titor paused and turned to the twelve gauge Boss shotgun propped up in a rack just a few feet from the two men. Generally, Titor always had an itch to meddle with the Natural Order, but today the feeling was overwhelming. Ernest Hemingway was his favorite 20th century writer, and Titor thought it would quite a pity to let such a talent just go and kill himself off. If he just reached over and hid the shotgun, maybe Hemingway wouldn't blow his own brains out and could write another fantastic short story Titor could read to his daughter, Emily. His subjects always died just a few hours after his “visits”, mostly so Titor made the least impact on the subjects’ lives and influence the past timeline as minimally as possible.
Titor shook off his stupor and stalked toward the door. He had been warned countless times when he was still just a neophyte in training; the Academy’s number one rule above all else was to never attempt to alter history. Titor never bothered to figure out why, mostly because he took the job to put food on the table. As he clambered into the car, he couldn’t help but smile. Whenever he figured out his subject’s identity, he always felt a little proud of himself. His
subject’s identities were never revealed, but he only interviewed the famous or privileged. So on occasion that he could cobble together a few clues and deduce whom he was interviewing, he always gave himself a mental pat on the back.
As he exited the subjects home and drove back to his hidden Launcher, a rocket from 3150AD that could travel at 95% of the speed of light that he used to travel to and from the past to his present, he could only marvel at the technology behind his profession. Once he reached his Launcher, he would leave the Earth for the distant corner of the Milky Way galaxy that contained an astronomically long, cylindrical, spinning, supermassive black hole. His Launcher calculated a very specific path in a roughly circular orbit around the longitudinal axis of the black hole. From what he could gather about the science behind the trip, the black hole acted as a Tipler cylinder. The massive black hole spinning on its axis created some sort of frame-dragging effect that warped spacetime enough to allow Titor to travel backward or forward in time. The frame-dragging effect tilted Titor’s light-cone in such a way that at certain points in the orbit around the quasi-Tipler cylinder, he would effectively be travelling to the past. The path Titor took was called a closed timelike curve or something like that. Titor never got past his basic
physics course in high school, and consequently did not comprehend the actual science behind his time travel.
After a few hours of mind-numbing driving, Titor finally arrived at a picturesque scene that would have made Henry David Thoreau proud. Every so often a rainbow trout would leap out of the clearest, bluest lake Titor had ever seen and gracefully splash back into its watery abode as birds chirped happily nearby. As he stalked back to his oblong rocket pod just barely large enough to fit a grown man comfortably, he noticed out of the corner of his eye the same trout leap backward out of the water tail first. Occasionally, due their paradoxical presence, time
travelling historians in his profession caused illogical events to occur. If Titor changed a big event from the past, the butterfly effect could cause a huge glitch in the past timeline. A fish jumping backward out of the water was no big deal, Titor thought to himself. Furthermore, Titor actually considered these little glitches fairly interesting to witness in person.
He clambered into his Launcher, built out of an incredibly robust but small carbon
nanotube framework. Because his pod needed to travel at nearly the speed of light for the trip to be reasonably short, its design minimized the mass of the pod. Not surprisingly, Titor outweighed his pod nearly 20-fold. Sadly, there was no way science could reduce his own mass unless Titor starved himself. He closed the hatch, input the approximate coordinates of the black hole, and drifted into a deep slumber.
Awoken by a sudden jarring stop, Titor abruptly snapped his eyes open. His pod had traveled to the cylindrical black hole, taken the appropriate closed timelike curve path, traveled quite a bit of time to the future, and shot back to Earth. Truth be told, as annoying as time travel was, being able to land in his own front yard’s Launch pad was pretty convenient. Titor ejected out of his claustrophobia-inducing vehicle and walked quickly into his apartment. He flung the door open to his bedroom and lept into his leather swivel chair, typing furiously into his computer. As his eyes scanned the legal document emailed to him by his attorney, his heart sank faster than his Launcher could fly through a closed timelike curve.
He lost. He had lost the case. His good-for-nothing ex-wife had stolen his precious Emily away from him. The reason for losing his joint custody case was quite simple. Apparently, having a time-travelling historian for a father counted as an absentee parent in the judge’s eyes; missing the court case itself for an assignment didn’t help either. Titor slouched back into his chair,
rubbing his eyes holding the inevitable tears back. Emily loved to tell her friends about her timetravelling daddy to her friends at daycare and how she wanted to be like her daddy when she grew up. She was a precocious, vivacious child, and Titor could tell she’d make an even better historian than he would. Her electric blue eyes were always inquisitive, ready to soak up whatever he said like a sponge. Due to the burgeoning fame his biographies caused, Emily had a right to be proud to have him as her father.
Titor stumbled out of his room into the living room past the sleek piano Emily was
learning to bang her little fists on, past the ultra-high definition television she helped him pick out, and past the antique gun collection that Titor was going to teach Emily how to shoot once she grew a little older. His mind was blank, and his mouth suddenly went dry. He shuffled into his kitchenette and poured himself a whiskey from his flask. Wiping away the tears, he downed his drink in few gulps and poured himself another, nearly overflowing the glass. He shambled aimlessly into his small living room and collapsed onto the couch. Crying must have taken it out of me, thought Titor to himself. He was exhausted and tired; after all,
finishing a mission and coming home to the worst possible news a father could hear was no easy task to overcome. In fact, his arms and legs felt like lead. I need another drink, Titor thought.
Strangely, he couldn’t remember which flask of whiskey he had just drank from. The Dalmore 62 Single Hiland Malt Scotch or the 400 year old aged Macallan? What did it matter? What did he even have to live for anymore anyway? As Titor wallowed in his own despair, he heard his front door open and close. As he looked up expecting to have to defend himself with one of his prized rifles, a slender twenty-some blonde woman swept into the room, smiling gently. Even if he wanted to shoot this intruder, his arms wouldn’t obey his commands. The woman looked at him, pulled out a small picture, and looked back at him.
“You don’t know me, and I wasn’t told of your identity either, sir,” she said ethereally. “However, I have a series of questions to ask you. You may be feeling lethargic, but don’t worry, you won’t remember most of this conversation. Sodium thiopental and whiskey tends to do that most people.”
Titor’s mind felt like a rusted trap, and he could barely even understand what she was saying.
“Apparently, you’re quite the famous guy around town,” the mysterious woman continued as she gracefully sat down next to him, pulling out a notebook. “Are you comfortable?”
Titor’s mouth moved of its own accord, and he croaked out a gruff affirmative response. He felt as if he was just a marionette, being pulled by a few strings unable to control himself. He shifted his eyes, staring directly into her eyes. Her electric blue eyes. Her inquisitive, electric blue eyes.
| 2017-01-08T12:13:20 | 2017-01-08T10:41:49 | 32 | 19 |
[WP] You are part of a powerful order of mages. Some control fire, others, water. You however... Have the power of bread. That's right, you're a bread mage. Tell me about your day.
|
"Very funny, Carl."
"What? You don't like toast? What kind of person doesn't like toast?"
"You're a comedy genius."
"What did toast ever do to you? You some kind of toast racist?"
One blackened slab of used-to-be-bread flew through the air, ash before it got halfway to his face. Great. Now I have to start over *and* clean the lab. He laughs as he leaves.
*Dick.*
I lock the door behind him and reset the equipment. It's a fairly standard bakery setup, with a few precision instruments thrown in. Everything in it's place, and except for the ash, spotless. Thankfully, he didn't contaminate anything. The oven is still warm, and there's already a batch rising in the warmer. I can feel the yeast doing its work, turning simple flour and water into something that can feed a family.
*All right. Let's get a look at you.*
I divide it, punch it down, and start to knead. Every branch of magic knows this moment. The edge between the stuff of the world, and that particular kind of stuff you can use. When does fire become flame? When does cloud become rain? When does magma become rock? This is what mages argue about when they're bored. This is where most of the productive experiments get done, because it feels good, like waking up, like finding an extra twenty in your pocket when you thought you were broke. Suddenly, there's this new piece of the world. And it's not just yours. It's an extension of you.
Is it my fault mine happens to be bread? It's not like I planned it. No one grows up dreaming of becoming a *bread* mage. Fire's cool. Bread? Not so much. Rock golem? Amazing. Bread golem? Right. Water mages can use their gift to see inside the human body. Me? I can see my work literally turn into shit in your colon.
That's the other end of the spectrum. The edge where less experiments get done, because it hurts a little bit, watching your piece of the world die. When does fire become smoke? When does water become vapor? When does stone become dust? And of course, when does bread become toast?
*Yup. Never heard that one before.*
*Comedy gold.*
*Dick.*
It doesn't matter, because we're well and truly working now. Enzymes break the starches into the sugars that fuel the single-celled fungi we call yeast. My little friends turn those sugars into carbon dioxide, which in turn forces the glutenin and gliadin to interact with the water, forming the gluten that gives the bread its chew. Enzymes no one else could count break big, boring molecules into smaller, tastier ones: ethyl alcohol, acetic acid, amino acids, fatty acids.
It's already happening. I just help. Something that was tasteless becomes so much more. You call it fermentation. I call it the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. It's all so complex, happening all at once, I could never see it all.
But I can see more than I could yesterday.
Let them play with their golems. This isn't an element. It's life. Whoever understands fermentation in all it's minute perfection can control it. And whoever controls fermentation controls every living thing on the planet. I don't care if it takes me thirty years.
Carl is going to die.
*edited for spelling and formatting*
|
The second time the guard hit me, I wasn't able to hide my pain - and crumpled to the floor. I lie coughing and retching, he sneers; the face of a spoiled child holding an expensive toy, broken for the sake of breaking. Roughly, I am lifted up, and placed unceremoniously back into the chair. My habit is mussed and torn, stained crimson and singe from the night before. The room I can see about me (I am not able to turn my head much at the moment) is dark, and likely was once a dungeon, based on the shackles on the wall, and what would appear to be a rack in the corner. The walls are dripping with (what I hope) is water, and a strange fungus I am not familiar with grows between the cracks of poorly cut and irregular stones. I See some interesting qualities to it, something I can perhaps use in my craft, and create a fine -
The guard strikes me again, this time a crooked shot to the gut. I am winded, and he gives a victorious, shit-eating smile to me. Rising Gods, his breath is terrible. He looks around, as though wanting to share his "victory" with others, and seems almost disappointed when he recalls he is interrogating me on his own.
Finally, he deigns to speak.
"So", says he, with a grating voice (one I would have expected from the works of a drunken golemancer), "I take it you know why you are here, my friend? Away from your precious little order, and all your little toys?" He seems to enjoy himself too much, having deluded himself into thinking that punching around overweight mages is anything more than a job given to imbeciles.
I smile. "I can't imagine what you mean, or what toys you could be speaking of.” I mean to chuckle a bit, but grimace with the growing pain that brings. “Indeed, I can’t imagine what you have to accomplish by bringing me here. Perhaps you simply to punch fat, old, men? I can easily arrange that for you, I know several men who would give anything –“
Once more, I am struck, though I expected it this time. Still, it hurts a fair bit, and I can’t help but feel my age.
He is, quite obviously from his face (he should probably see a corpomancer about that blood pressure; unhealthy, that is) and roars at me “I know what you did! You and all your fucking little order! I order you to confess! I COMMAND you to confess!” I pause for a moment. “I can’t imagine what you might mean,” say I, “The Order has kept well its agreements and treaties with your kingdom, and we’ve not been violent at all for at least a hundred years.”
Evidently, that wasn't what he wanted to hear. He screams oaths and curses, and barrels into me. I cringe, not expecting to be as jovial after this assault, and likely not as conscious, when the doors smashes open, and another guard – a captain, by the red sigil on his cloak, and the fineness of his lorica. He is not pleased, a glare that would chill the dead themselves on his face, which bores its way through the skull of my assailant just quickly enough to freeze him. Alas, his forward momentum was too much for his feeble attempts at stopping, and he crashed into me – or rather, onto my fist, which I held in front of me. A shame.
The captain, a little happier with the problem in the room sleeping dreamlessly on the floor, turns to me, and speaks. “I am sorry about that,” he begins, “but they give us naught but fools and idiots for interrogations, to, ah, “suggest” “– he holds up a hand and makes a sarcastic little gesture – “to our prisoners that we mean business.” A crude method, but one I can understand. The more frightening mages are used in my own order for this very purpose.
The captain would seem to be more prepared that the guard (sleeping the sleep of the well-bruised) was, and brings out a sheet of paper. “Panemar Férmen, you are hear on account of having witnessed, and likely being involved with some unsavory events in the house of Viceroy Astar, several days prior. Can you tell me what you believe happened that night?” I begin, pleased with this more pleasant fellow, and the calmer pace of the questioning. “Well, the good Viceroy requested several mages, for the purposes of entertaining and keeping his guests attentive. My memory is not what it was, but I seem to recall myself, another senior mage, and several apprentices were brought forth to work for him.” The captain jots that down, surprisingly adept at writing in the low light. He asks, “And what were the talents of the mages present?” I pause. The common man, and more oft than not the common soldier doesn’t know much about magic, and I am surprised he knows of the Talent – that each mage, while capable of anything, has one thing that excel at.
“Well,” I begin, “I believe two of the apprentices were fire mages, brought for entertainment, no doubt. I know that one was a sculpting talent, as I had to chastise him for a rather rude sculpture. The other mage was a lightbender, and made quite a show with the apprentices.” More writing on the board. The captain looks up, and prompts, “What of yourself? What is your skill?” I sigh. “I am relatively week in talent, and was brought the help in the kitchens. I am able to transmute objects, work upon others, and See items that would make for fine breads.” The captain seems perplexed. “What? You create bread? That seems…” “Disappointing? Specific? Useless?” He pauses. “…Not so much useless, but… yes.” He jots a final point on his paper, and walks out of the room. I lay back a bit, and nod off for a while.
Sometime later, the captain returns. I wake with a start, and see the room quite unchanged. The guard is still on the floor, though he has shifted a bit, and looks a little doughy. The captain clears his throat – a relatively weak little cough – and says “You are free to go. None of the wounds on Viceroy match with the Talents of the other mages with you, which the other suspects have corroborated.” He helps me up, and opens the door for me. “Wait,” I say. I pick up a small rock, and whisper some words over it. It steams and cracks, and is soon a lovely loaf of rye, which I give to the captain. His eyes wide, he accepts it – though an odd power, the transformation, full of crackling and heat and steam, is impressive. I say to him, “This is for thanks of stopping that guard. Though I am hurt, and I feel as though I should not have been held here by him, I imagine this is no fault of your own.” The captain is at a loss for words, and before he can think of something to say, I am out the door.
Later, on the carriage back to the Studium, I am a hero in the apprentice’s eyes. It would seem that I am the worse for wear, but I knocked a guard out (I of course left out that the captain created the situation to do so, I claim poetic license) and, in the way of the young, am held in high regard for having so advanced over an authority. They are mirthful, and the other mage reels them in, saying that I should be left alone to sleep, or that I was old and tired. Truthfully, I was both of these things, but more I wanted to rest off my wounds than anything else.
Then, one of the apprentices, the sculptor, gets to the heart of the matter. “But… how did it happen?” He says. “We were paid to kill the Viceroy, and end his corruption, but who here did it? The guard told me that his bones were gone, but I don’t know that magic.” The other apprentices are equally confused, as they do not have that power either. Even the other mage voices his concerns, bringing up the question as well. I smile. “I did it,” I say. The others turn to me, incredulously. “It is true, my power is one of food, and not useful in combat. With preparation, however, I can perform a quite potent magic that is very difficult to guard against or detect.” All are silent. After a moment, the sculptor asks, “But… what did you do? What power could you possibly have?” Once more, I smile. “I do as the song said. You know the one, with the giant and the beanstalk?” This time the other mage chimes in. “I know of this tale, but what do you mean? I fail to see how it applies.” My smile grows a little sharper, and I explain.
“I am as the giant. I grind their bones to make my bread.”
| 2014-10-09T16:32:19 | 2014-10-09T15:58:36 | 68 | 33 |
[WP] Send some evil aliens to invade, let them knock the Earthlings around a bit, and swoop in to be the heroes so you can sign an unequal treaty. When your "liberation" force arrives, however, all that remains of Earth is an irradiated wasteland and a sharply refined force, armed to the teeth.
|
Kozen was delighted. Though the resources he had hoped to collect were gone, he had found something far more valuable. The week and unsuspecting humans had forged themselves into a fighting force that rivaled even the best of his kind. While resources were in high demand, mercenaries were an even more valuable commodity. He would broker a deal for the humans out of “sympathy for their plight”. They would get a chance to leave this irradiated wasteland and live lives of luxury and adventure and he would receive a generous finders fee for his “help.” Should they ever uncover the deception they would be spread too thin to retaliate, and likely living too comfortably to care.
It was a pity they had managed to kill Sothar. It would be difficult to find someone to play the part of “evil invader overlord” as convincingly as he had. Still, it did mean he would not have to share a portion of the cut, and that it would be harder to track the invasion back to him.
He took another sip of the strange beverage they had offered. His breath caught in his throat, which had begun to swell. An allergic reaction?
He reached for the keypad on his wrist. His suit had a built in system designed specifically for cases like this.
Something stabbed into his arm, punching through the armor and the keypad. The human standing beside him leaned in, twisting the long slender blade.
“So... you are allergic to cinnamon.” He said. “The other one was allergic too. Isn’t that interesting.”
Kozen cast his gaze around the table, frantically. His soldiers lay slumped over their plates, the humans behind them who had been amicably chatting with them moments before, wiping their blades clean on the indigo cloaks of his honor guard.
A sound pulsed in his ears. A distress beacon from his ship. A channel opened. All he could hear was screaming as the “wounded” humans slaughtered his medical staff.
“How did you know?” He managed to choke out the question.
The human smiled.
“I didn’t.” He said. “But thank you, for your admission.”
Kozen’s last thought was one of pure horror. The humans were not just vengeful, they were insane.. and with the capture of his ship, they now had access to the rest of the system.
|
The Sentinels have returned swifter than last time. None show any signs of retaliation. The Humans did not immediately perceive us as other intruders like the Dothmay, who appear to have been...exterminated.
The planet shows signs of extensive damage. The Dothmay are compulsively precise, this is unlike them. The damage present shows signs of desperation. Radiation levels are higher than annual standards across numerous landmasses, but this signature is unknown. It does not resemble those produced by humans. The humans did not resort to using their nuclear weapons...
They did not need to.
Something is wrong. *Land Scout ships near the new magnetic poles and prepare the Forge ships closely behind. Do not dismount. Await orders.*
There. They are watching us as we approach but they do not attack. Electromagnetic feedback receivers are targeting the Forge ships... They can see them? That is improbable. *Increase surveillance of all Human telecommunications frequencies by 415%*
 
T̵̛̰̹̬̰̞̈́͌̐̈́̉̈͊͗͛̔̉͘͜͝͝h̸̙̒̄̀̌̾̔̽̏ë̶͈̪̭̳͈̘̙́̑͋̑̔͜y̴̢̧̺̗͚̩̟̘̰̤͈̼̔̀̅̈́̄̕͜͝͝ ̶̧̡͖̥͙̖̠̣̮̅͜ạ̴͊͗̿̾̄͋̑̍͆͒̕͘͠ŕ̸̠̭̹̃͑ê̴͉̣̈̏̌̂̈́̈ ̴̡̨̝̹̗̮̝̰̪̜̙̟͑̋́̊̑̌͐̈̎͂̈́̓̿̔͠ͅá̴̢̡̲͍͖̦͓͎̈́͂͑̿̕p̶̢̢̧̣̙̳͙̬͎̙̬̤̝̬̯̒̂͒p̴̺̹̺̦̅̈́r̷̬̉̋͠o̷̢̖̳͇̜̪̰̜̝̺̝̙̳̻̖̐́̀̉̚͝ā̸̡̱͕͍͓̩͓̹̟̫̙̘͗̔͗c̸̙̥̫͙͓̠̬̎̏̌̈́̌̐̎̀̚̕͝h̷̢̨̡̧̩̤̳̠͖̬̫͖̥͕̊͌̌͌̆͜i̸̙̟̝̟͚̱̋͌̆̀͋͒̍͗̐͊̀̕̚͜͜͝ṉ̵̠̩͎͇̺̦̠̞͕̦̉̃̉͗̓̎̔͘͜ͅg̴̮̥̜̰̙̮̖͚̾́͐͗͌̃̋̓̂̊̅̈́͘ͅ
̴̡̱͍̑̈́̈́́̆L̴̛̹̣͇̝͖͇̼͖̠͍͑̋̀̐̓̔̏̃̚ḛ̸̀͌̋̌́̓̎̎̓̑̚͘͘̚ţ̷̦͔͇͎̘̹̎̄͒̿̒̋́̄͘ ̶̡͈͙̭̼̫̘̝̯͕̈͜͜ͅt̴̰̬͉͉͔͚̃̇͜͜h̸̢̡̨̛͈̖͙̦̫̫̟̦̉̕ẽ̴͍͙͍͇̭̼̯̱̘̖͇̂̈́͊̓̾̅̌̏̾͝͝m̸̺͋̓̈́͆̓͑͐̀̊̄̓͂
̵̢̙͍͕͎̮͕͇̗̹̬̂͂̽͋̐̏͛̄̂͊̀̕͜P̸̘̟͎̝͍̬̪̲̦̙͕͆͊̿̇̚͝r̴̢̡̞͇̘̪̮̈́̅͊̃̄̔́̀̍̆͘ẽ̵͈̺̣̩̬̭̦͍̜̻̳̖͖͍̩͌̂͠p̶̣̯̝̅̑̏͛͗̇̀̕̕̕ā̵̡̯͍͆͒͐͊̌̃̔͐͗̈́͠͝ͅr̸̢̮̟͈͚̀͂e̴̘̳̘̘͙͈̭͉͔̗͗̈́̑ ̶̢͚̦̹͓͒ţ̴̛̙͙̽͊̅̈́͋͛́͘̕ǫ̶̠̭̖̰̻͔̯͋͑ ̶̞̥̮̱͋̐̽͊̏̌̔̋̚f̷̧͙̫̖̣̗̲̳̫͕̻̊͂̈̿͘͝i̶̢̧͇̮̦͋̾̈́͂͛͜͝r̶̨̨̲͈̣͖̖̣̯͙̱̓̀͋̋̽e̶͎͎̘̺̹͈̎̂͂̀͆̀̀̀́͗̄
 
***All units halt***
This is going to be interesting.
140dB harmonic signatures registering into the upper stratosphere. Sirens? *Align acoustic receivers to the stratosphere*
> we have been waiting for you
| 2020-05-28T04:18:15 | 2020-05-28T02:28:00 | 28 | 19 |
[WP] A technician pulls a headset off of you and asks you if you liked the VR. You panic, and he calmly says that your whole life was a 2 minute VR experience to show you what being an average person would be like. You, stunned and afraid, ask, "Who am I, then?" He stares in complete disbelief.
(The title implies that the protagonist is someone important/famous/rich/powerful/etc, but feel free to do whatever you want with it)
|
"You don't really have a name," the tech says. "At least not anymore. After what you did, the courts decided you weren't even worthy of an identity."
"What did I do?" you say.
The tech shrugs. "Doesn't really matter anymore, does it?"
"What," you start, but you can't imagine what to say next. Your eyes catch on the tubes and wires of the VR helmet, where you've lived a long, boring life. "Why?"
The tech smiles. "Our... experiments, let's say, have shown that there is only a certain amount of stimulus a mind can take before it shuts down completely. You can go in the other machine about 12 hours before you just stop responding to stimulus and we have to pop you into the life-experience machine to recalibrate you."
"Other machine... What are you talking about."
"The nerve impulse machine. It fires specially calibrated electrical waves up your nerves. It feels like... Well, you'll find out what it feels like." The tech has a broad smile on his face, but dead eyes.
Little pieces of memory come back to you. Half-formed nightmares, things you completely discounted in the real... in the simulation. You would wake up screaming three times a week, dreaming, no, remembering a torture beyond comprehension.
A tear beads in your eye. "What did I do?"
"I have no idea, Prisoner Zero. What do I know is that you're going to be punished for it."
"I'm... I'm going to be tortured, endlessly, until I die?"
The tech laughs. "You don't have to worry about dying."
|
"Two minutes? Two fucking minutes?” Yvette blinked hard, barely suppressing her tears. It had been so real, she’d had a husband only seconds ago, a child in her belly. It wasn’t true though. That’s what the man with the strange goggles was saying. It had all been a lie, some horrific thing called VR had come in and stolen her life from her. “It can’t be! Please, where’s Michael, where’s our child?”
Yvette tried to move her hands, desperate to reach for her stomach, but she couldn’t budge anything below her neck. She could see the truth for herself as soon as she looked down, moments ago she’d been seven months pregnant, now all she saw was a flat white sheet covering her body, no room for her daughter anywhere.
“I’m going to need you to calm down Ms. Thompson,” the man was saying. “I understand that the simulation is very real, but it’s just that, a simulation. You asked for it, don't you remember?”
“No I don’t remember!” Yvette cried, “why would I want this? I don’t believe you at all.”
“You have to believe me,” he said. “We have the release forms, both from you and from your father. We can show them to you when the anesthetic wears off.”
“My father? Anesthetic?”
“Yes, your father. Maximilian Thompson, he’s just in the other room. You don’t want him to see you like this though, Ms. Thompson. I know how important appearances are for you.”
Yvette shut her eyes hard, struggling to control her frantic breathing. Maximilian Thompson? Her father? Her last name shouldn’t even be Thompson, maiden name or otherwise. She was Yvette Greene now, had been Yvette Chen before her marriage. Every part of this was wrong.
“Whoever you are, I don’t believe you,” she said through gritted teeth. “Not for a second, not for a million years. I felt my baby kicking. Do you have any idea what that’s like?”
The man chuckled. “Felt it kicking you say? In retrospect we shouldn’t have included that simulation. You asked for a normal human experience though, and we gave it to you, for women that does tend to include pregnancy.”
He’d chuckled. He’d laughed at her pain. Some part of Yvette’s mind sparked in concert with her flash of anger and suddenly the name Maximilian Thompson fell into place. He was a powerful man, the patriarch of one of the megacorps, perhaps pharmaceuticals or heavy industry. She had just the briefest memory of steel gray hair and unforgiving eyes that softened as soon as doors were closed and he could open up his arms to his youngest child.
“If my father really is Maximilian Thompson you’re going to regret laughing,” Yvette hissed, “you hear me? You’re going to fucking regret it. And if he isn’t then I’ll claw your eyes out myself for taking away my baby.”
The man stood, walking quietly around the table, checking instruments and adjusting dials. She tracked his every step with her eyes, memories of an intense, feared, and endlessly complex old man warring with her baby’s kick, and the feel of her husband’s lips on hers.
“I can see the doubt in your eyes,” the man said, glancing up at her with a small smile. “Memories of your real life are seeping back in. I’m sorry for the pain the VR dive has caused you but really, this is invaluable data. You’re contributing so much to science right now, I’m quite grateful.”
“Fuck science,” she said. “Get me out of here.” Two weeks ago her husband had woken her with a rose, a day off from her responsibilities, and one of those sickening pickle and ice cream sandwiches she’d been craving for all of her last trimester. It hadn’t even been their anniversary or anything, he’d just it just because he could. She’d cried and blamed the hormones.
In her mind her husband’s hands morphed, becoming an old man’s. Maximilian Thompson, her father, holding a rose out to her before she descending the long spiraling staircase at her debutante ball.
“What the fuck did you do to me?” she asked. The words came out like a moan, she felt so twisted up the voice didn’t even sound familiar.
“Nothing at all Ms. Thompson,” the man said. “Nothing you didn’t ask for at any rate.”
There was a loud beeping sound from a console behind her head and his eyes darted up to it. His smile grew wider, she hated it more than anything. “And the anesthetic should bearing off about now,” he said. He hit a button and the table she lay on flipped into a standing position carrying her with it. He stepped close to her and Yvette shrank away from him, he made her skin crawl.
“It’ll just be a moment and then you’re free to go,” he said, “Mr. Thompson will explain it all to you, you’ll feel better then, trust me. You’re a powerful woman Yvette, richer than I could ever imagine. Unless I slapped the glasses on myself of course!” He laughed again, reaching up towards her neck and unclipping the stops that held the sheet.
“I think you’ll find your real life much more rewarding than the dream, a lot of girls would kill to be where you are. And besides, you can step back into the simulation any time, I think you might even want to soon enough!”
The man unclipped the last stop and the sheet fell away with a quiet rustling sound. Yvette took her first step away, desperate to get away from him.
Her body didn’t move. He was still only inches away.
Yvette looked down at herself and screamed.
From the neck down her body was a mass of wires, a maelstrom of untended cables more like mating snakes than a body. Her brain fired off all the same signals it always had, moving her fingers, her toes, her arms, her legs. A few wires lit up, and not a single other thing changed.
All the while her eyes were riveted to the spot her belly should have been, that blank cluster of wires that could never be a womb.
“Just kidding,” the man said, chuckling again. “So, what do you say Yvette? What do you think of your life?”
Yvette stared up at him, and realized that no matter how badly she might want to cry, she couldn’t.
“Put me back,” she whispered.
“Back where?”
“With my family. With my baby.”
“Ah Yvette,” he said regretfully, “we already have all the data we need from that simulation. It’s two minutes a life I’m afraid, never more, never less.”
Two minutes. Everything had been two fucking minutes.
“Anywhere then.” Her eyes were screwed shut. Her entire world was black and that was how it had to be, she couldn’t look at those wires again.
Yvette felt the man’s hands stroke her cheek gently and then move to her temples. Cold metal descended over her face, laying heavily against the bridge of her nose. She heard a loud mechanical whirring, and then a deep throbbing hum that was the most familiar thing she’d found since she’d woken.
Yvette opened her eyes, the man hit a button, and a clock began to count down.
120.
119.
118.
117.
116.
115.
Two minutes. 120 seconds. The only lives she would ever have.
r/TurningtoWords
| 2021-03-27T20:07:44 | 2021-03-27T19:42:17 | 135 | 98 |
[Wp] you are a lonely old man who feeds raccoons every night because you are lonely. One night, just Before Sunset, a stranger invades your house, ties you up, and threatens to kill you. Suddenly, out of the corner of your eye, you see a pair of winkley yellow eyes at the window.
Edit: And now my highest rated post is about.....raccoons.
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George tried to avoid the point of the knife pressing into his throat, but it was useless. He felt the blood trickling down his neck, as the stranger's cold grey grey eyes crinkled into a smile. The bastard was *enjoying* this.
"Hold still now, Mr Harper, this knife is very sharp. Don't want to have any accidents," he said. "Just tell me where the key to the safe is and I'll be gone, ok?"
Of course. The money. He'd made a fair amount in his life, and was never a big spender. Someone must have passed on the tale...he had told quite a few people of his past when he'd arrived in this town...
"Focus, old man," the masked man snapped, digging the knife in to emphasise his point. "Where is the key? Do you even remember?"
At that point, he saw their eyes, yellow points of light in the window. His clever little friends. He'd taught them so many tricks, mostly involving food. They loved their food.
The idea occurred to him in a flash. He had to act quickly, before the man noticed his friends.
He sagged down and muttered something.
"What?" the robber asked, leaning forward to hear better. Perfect.
George kicked out with his bound legs, aiming for the man's groin. The knife jerked forward and scraped down George's throat before it clattered to the ground.
George kicked again, smashing his boot into the man's mouth. He saw the dark gleam of blood with a thrill of satisfaction, and made a guttural sound at the back of his throat. 'Food'. The first trick he'd taught them. He wriggled an arm loose and managed to stem the flow of blood from his own throat by yanking up his shirt and pressing it to the wound.
The raccoons were creeping through the window, edging closer to the scuffle. George made the sound again, kicking desperately at the robber to keep him down.
"C'mon, food, you little buggers!" he said hoarsely. He recognised the mischievous face of Randall, the first of the raccoons he'd befriended.
He'd named the crafty little creature after an old buddy of his who'd died in the war. Randall had lately started to creep up on his lap to grab food from his hands. Had kept him company on the long, cold winter nights, creeping in to share his fire, sitting still when he told his stories. When he wanted to hear a voice so badly, even his own would do. And now Randall was here to save him. Just like his friend had done in the war, so many years ago.
The raccoons were very close now, and pounced on the robber. George chuckled as they swarmed over the man and began ripping and tearing with their needle-sharp little teeth.
"Oh, God, ugghhh -" he choked, his words becoming wet gurgles as the raccoons began to feed with a frenzy.
"How do you like that, you bastard? Eat up, friends, there's plenty for everyone!" George croaked.
Randall looked up and crept closer, clambering onto George's lap. He pressed his wet nose snout against George's face and snuffled.
"Good to see you, too, buddy. Thanks for rescuing me," George said, planting a kiss on the raccoon's head. "Do you mind gnawing on these ropes, too, please? Can you do that?"
Randall's eyes gleamed in the moonlight. He cocked his head, as though he was thinking about what George had said. Then he sniffed, leaned closer, and began licking at the blood running down George's throat.
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Hope you liked my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
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Jonas was thinking about the raccoons when he heard the tinkle of glass, but then again he'd been thinking about the raccoons for most of the day now. It was funny, the things you got to doing once you got old, once most of your friends had gone off and died or disappeared into retirement homes or fretted themselves into monastic existences of no salt no sugar no stress no fun. It was the best part of his day now, and, if he let himself admit it, the only part of the day he was looking forward to. Settling down on his back porch after dark as the stars were just starting to come out, and watching the raccoons come.
There were four of them, the big ones, and over the last few nights he'd seen a couple of kits tagging along, although he wasn't sure how many of them there were yet. He'd sit out back and watch them, his trash cans left uncovered, the raccoons hunched over on the edge with their yellow halogen eyes glancing back at him, balanced on their inquisitive paws, and then a tuft of fur and the tip of their tail disappearing inside. He'd started leaving a basin of water out there at nights, and he'd get to see them, their front paws cupped together, dipping some bread or part of an apple core or a scrap of meat into the water, and then bringing it up to their mouths to eat. He'd started feeding them himself, recently, tossing out pieces of cracker or whatnot out on the porch, and watching them scurry up unafraid to nab it. He'd cooed to them - nonsense words, he wasn't quite far gone enough to start having conversations yet - and they'd listened with a polite bafflement and gone right on eating. Jonas hadn't named them yet, wasn't always quite sure which one was which, aside from 'the big 'un,' and perhaps he never would. It wasn't that he was looking for friends, really. He'd have gotten a cat for that. It was just getting old and being far past his prime, and rotting out here all by himself in the middle of nowhere, in the town he'd been born, and knowing that the raccoons came by every night to feast. Big healthy fat ones, with their thick fur coats and their bushy striped tails, finding something they needed.
And they'd been peaceful, mostly, but sure they'd knocked over a garbage can from time to time. And so the raccoons were on his mind when he heard the glass break, and as he rose from his recliner and wandered to the back to investigate, and saw his back door hanging open to the dusky air and the shattered glass on the floor, and that's when the stranger attacked.
It was a blur out of the corner of Jonas' vision, fingers raking into his shoulder and throwing him to the floor. His arms came up, scratching against nylon, and the back of a hand hit him in the face. He was flipped on his belly, a knee pressing into the small of his back, and he grunted and cried out. The weight momentarily lifted, a table was knocked over, and then both of Jonas' arms were wrenched behind his back. Something wound around his wrists - phone cord, he saw, with his blurred vision, the handset of his phone being tugged across the floor. Jonas' ribs hurt from where he had landed on them, and he could taste blood, though he wasn't sure where he was bleeding from. His right shoulder burned. "Please-" he got out. "I don't have much money. You can take it. You can take everything."
"Hrrr hrrr hrrr," said the stranger from above him, maybe breathing or maybe growling or maybe something rattling loose. Ratty sneakers stepped into Jonas' field of vision, the cuffs of jeans. Hands grabbed his ankles and he kicked out weakly, and he was jerked across the floor, his hip dragging against the ground. In stops and starts, stops and starts, as Jonas flopped on the floor, tried to tilt his head up to see. His vision kept going black, and the blood kept backing up into his throat, but he saw the stranger, stumpy and fat and short-legged, waddling across the floor and dragging him along, into his kitchen. The stranger let go and broke off, leaning heavily on the countertop, breathing or growling or laughing or coming loose. "Hrrr hrrr hrrr hrrr." A head of ratty grey hair shook. "I'm going to fucking kill you," the stranger said, with the sound of teeth too big for his mouth. Jonas couldn't see his face. "You hear that, old man? You're fucking dead."
And as Jonas' head lolled back, he saw, out of the corner of his eye, two yellow eyes staring in from his kitchen window, two points of light in the gathering dusk. And then two more. And then two more. Fireflies pressed still, embedded in the darkness. Everyone coming out to watch.
"What's going on?" he managed. He gagged and tilted his head to the side and let a dark clot of blood slip out of his mouth. He tested his bonds behind him. The phone cord was already coming loose; this stranger had no idea how to tie a knot. But his right shoulder was burning so bad he wasn't sure if being untied would do him much good. "Who are you? Who are you? Why are you doing this?"
"Hhrroor," said the stranger, and twisted at the knobs on his sink, and the sound of running water filled the kitchen. Jonas saw a smile, and he wondered why he'd ever thought the stranger's teeth were big. They were tiny, rows and rows of little needles. "I am the Lorax," it chittered, "I speak for the 'coons," and then broke out into a wild trilling laugh.
There were the eyes everywhere now, in every window, filling every space of darkness. Jonas closed his eyes and could see the yellow lights there, staring at him, waiting. He writhed on the floor, trying to breathe, and there were the ragged sneakers again, coming for him. A hand came into view and grabbed him, and Jonas could see it was like a human hand burned black, all shriveled down to the bone. And as it grabbed awkwardly at his shirt, Jonas could see it was deformed somehow, unable to get a proper grip. The fingers clenched shut with rage, all of them, five fingers and no thumb.
"Why," moaned Jonas, as he was hauled to his feet, up to the sink, all the yellow eyes burning into him like a million suns. He could see his face reflected in the window, the blood running down his nose and mouth and chin, and the stranger behind him all haloed in black. His legs were jelly beneath him. "What are you? What are you?"
It let him collapse against the sink, his head hanging by the faucet with the water still running and the sink plugged and droplets splashing against his face. "I'm so sorry," the stranger - the Lorax? - said, a trembling feral moan, and Jonas could see it raking its burnt fingers across its face. "They loved you. They loved you." His head was plunged into the water, and for a moment he was floating, blood drifting up in ribbons in front of him, the water clouded with bubbles. And then he was back up, soaking, gasping for breath as the water dribbled off him. "I'm so sorry!" the stranger shrieked. "They made me come here. They made me. They didn't want to keep seeing you suffer."
Jonas felt a warm spot spreading across his jeans, the cold water still trickling down his face, and he was lowered to a sitting position on the floor. "Don't do this," he begged, trembling. There were things moving beneath the stranger's jacket. Something feral and alive. All the burning bright stars. His face was hot. He was going to be incinerated. "Don't do this! Don't do this!"
"Jonas," came the stranger's voice, as if from far away, and a hand rested on his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Just look at me, Jonas. Just look at me. Just look at my face and you'll understand. You'll be all right."
And Jonas pried open eyes that he hadn't realized he had been closing, and the stranger's face swam into view in front of him, and a slow giggle rose in Jonas' throat. "Oh god," he said, relaxing, slumping back, tilting his head back against the sink. "Oh god. Hahahahaha! You - hahaha!" It was all going to be all right, he realized, letting the sudden burst of humor carry him away. He had been threatened, and he had been hurt, but there was no one here who wanted to harm him. All he needed to do now was to lie still, and eventually the stranger would leave, taking what he had come for. Jonas might be poorer for it, sure, but those were material possessions that could be replaced. Jonas grinned in relief, and the stranger smiled back as Jonas nodded his head and let unconsciousness take him. All would be well. All would be well. For there, unmistakable across the stranger's face, there had been the telltale mask of the Burglar.
| 2016-10-30T21:58:04 | 2016-10-30T21:03:04 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] A young child summons a demon, but they only want a friend.
Inspired by this **NSFW** [manga](https://bato.to/comic/_/comics/the-sister-of-the-woods-with-a-thousand-young-r18806)
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Korax was pleasantly surprised to find himself on the middle plane. The last time he was here the crusades were in full swing and as a demon of wrath he reaped a lot of souls during his visit. Now Korax wanted to know why he was in the middle plane once again. He scanned his surroundings and found himself in a world that was quite different than the last time he was around. Buildings as tall as the sky were everywhere and they produced enough light to wash away the stars. Korax was between two of these tall buildings in what appeared to be a deserted walking path.
Korax shrugged. Every time he visited the middle plane it was always drastically different. Something about the short lives of these humans made them impatient and they revered change. Eventually Korax spotted the only other living creature on this path, a child. Huddled by a large green metal box. Korax instinctively knew this was his summoner so he walked over to see what was required of him.
"What would you have me do?"
The child looked up quickly, plainly startled at the unannounced entry. "Who are you supposed to be? The garbage man?"
"I do not know this garbage man you speak of. I am Korax. Your kind would call me a demon and I have been summoned to your world by you."
"I didn't do anything. Why are you here?" asked the child. Anger plain to hear in his tone.
"Humans think that demons are summoned with little circles on the floor and verses of words. We are summoned to your world because of strong emotions and strong wills. I was pulled here by you and our code demands that I serve you for my time on your plane. What would you have me do?"
"I don't know." replied the child. "I do everything myself. I always have. The only thing I haven't had is a friend."
The child stands up, wiping at tear stained cheeks. "Be my friend, Korax."
"Is that what you command?"
"Yes."
Korax smiles. Not quite as bloody as the last command he got, but judging by this boy's anger at the world this could be just as fun.
|
"Are you sure about this?", asked Kevin.
"What, you scared something is *actually* gonna happen?" Aaron shot back.
The box itself had been unassuming enough. Small and cardboard and worn around the edges. "Summon Your Own Demon!" it had proudly proclaimed. "Only 4.99".
They hadn't even paid that much for it, though. Sitting at the bottom of a pile of D&D books in the local thrift shop, it was practically begging to find a new home. The shopkeeper had asked only a dollar for it, with the space it freed up being more valuable than the money itself.
"I don't know..." wavered Kevin's voice. "I don't feel like this is the sort of stuff we should be messing with, even if it's just a game. Plus those runes look awfully evil"
"*Evil*??" laughed Aaron. "How can some squiggles on a floor look *evil*? Do your little brother's piss-poor drawings look evil to you too?"
"Leave Corrin out of this! He's gonna be a great artist one day, I promise!"
"And I'm gonna be the president of the united states."
Kyle sat impassively as the two bickered. Though he felt bad for Kyle and his little brother, he had learned over time to stay out of Aaron's path.
Anyways, he wasn't in much of a mood to care whether this thing worked or not. It was better than drinking stolen beer and better than thinking about his problems. He'd already had a bad enough week, and at the very least a demon would be something *interesting* for a change.
Not that a demon was actually going to appear. Kyle wasn't stupid. But imagining what might happen gave him some welcome distraction, at least until he was shoved out of his reverie by a falling Kevin.
"Stop fighting you two! Mom's gonna be pissed if we break another chair!" he shouted, suddenly frightened. Aaron was a pain but his mother was true terror, and he was staying away from that if at all possible.
"Look, guys. Let's just do it. Imagine what could happen! We could ask for a million dollars or something, think of all the stuff we could do with that. We could go on a road trip or something," he mused, trying to be placating.
"Road trips are stupid! And Kevin is a fucking pussy anyways. If you're so scared then run home and let the real men do this!" Aaron shouted angrily. It seemed he wasn't going to calm down so easily.
"Fine!", Kevin spat, and he stormed out of the room.
It was quiet for a few moments. Aaron almost seemed surprised that it had worked. He smiled a little, pleased with himself. "So how about you, Kyle? Up to the task?"
With a weary sigh, Kyle assented. If they really got into it then maybe Aaron could calm down and they could actually have some genuine fun for once.
They both went to stand at the eastern side of the circle. They had managed to draw it out quite accurately to the book, if Kyle did say so himself. That part was fun and easy enough. Something about the words they had to chant, though, seemed chilling. It was when Kevin saw them on the sheet that he had began getting second thoughts.
Aaron looked at Kyle defiantly, almost daring him to look scared. Kyle looked back with tired eyes. This sort of thing was almost a ritual itself, long forged in a childhood of dares and stupid decisions. There was little else to do in such a small town.
Aaron began the chant. As the words came out, Kyle joined in awkwardly.
"Iron, I bind thee. Stone, I bind thee. Blood, I bind thee.
From night's chill you come. To night's caress you leave. And between, you bring fear to mortal hearts.
Halifax! I call your name. Halifax, I bind thee. Show yourself, Halifax, come to me."
They looked up from the incantation sheet.
Nothing seemed to be different.
Annoyance flashed across Aaron's face. He opened his mouth to say something, but no sounds came forth. With a puzzled expression, he looked down at himself. His emotions slowly changed to fear as he continued to silently mouthe, like a fish out of water.
Kyle tried to ask him what was wrong, but also found himself unable to speak. It wasn't that his throat was blocked, but the air going through it made not even a whistle. It was then that he began to feel a chill in his chest. It started small, but never ceased. Slowly, as ponderous as a dripping tap, his entire body felt a deadly chill run through it.
The lights in the room were noticeably dimmer now. The window out into the street showed nothing, even though it had been early afternoon when they had started drawing the runes.
Ah, yes, the runes. They weren't mere chalk any more. They glowed, glowed with the heat and the light of a campfire's coals. Orange and red flickered over them, as though something traveled below them, churning up lava and fire.
The darkness grew stronger. It seemed to curl around them, reaching out to steal everything away. Soon the window wasn't visible at all, nor the corners of the room. The walls seemed to shrink away, as though frightened of what they were seeing. Soon nothing of their environment remained, nothing but them and the glowing runes.
And a visitor.
It stood in the middle of the circle. Illuminated only by a dull red glow, its features were impossible to make out. It wore a suit and tie. Perhaps it had been of good quality once, but it was heavily rumpled, with ragged edges.
A voice spoke. It might actually have been a thousand voices. It seemed to come from everywhere, and have every characteristic to it. The only thing that mattered, though, was how calm it was. Calm like the stillest lake. Calm like an old rock. Calm like death.
It was only after all of these things raced through Kyle's mind that he noticed what the voice had actually said.
"What," came the voice, "do you want?"
It was at this point that it finally occurred to Kyle how absolutely fucked he was.
To his left came a squeak of a voice. "I want-" Aaron stopped, cleared his throat. With a slight amount more confidence, he spoke again. "I want a million dollars. And a girlfriend." He smiled weakly, almost as if to reassure himself. It quickly faded as the figure turned to him.
Fear flashed in his eyes when nothing happened. Then, panic. The color drained from his face as the visitor continued to eye him.
The voice came again. So calm, so peaceful. "Pathetic".
It drew out the pronunciation. Each syllable hit Kyle like a punch. And when the word finished, he was alone.
Alone, except for the visitor.
"What," came the voice again, "do you want?"
He could feel an ill will push into his body. He could feel his hands rot and fall off. He could feel his heart stop. But he looked down and saw he was unchanged.
He knew that if he answered wrong this would be the end. It would be more than just death, too, if he surmised correctly. So he decided to just tell the truth.
"I want a friend.", he said meekly. "An actual friend."
The figure continued to eye him. Kyle could still feel his body decaying. His chest was so cold it didn't even hurt anymore.
And then the figure did something strange. It nodded slightly. Almost so slight a movement that he could have imagined it. And then it stepped forward.
"Very well," spoke a man's voice. "I shall be your friend." As the figure came closer, its features resolved. The face was one of a middle aged man, with the lines of old age and eyes that were smiling. It held a hand forward.
"My name is Halifax, and it is a pleasure to meet you."
| 2016-05-19T00:56:09 | 2016-05-19T00:52:06 | 23 | 15 |
[WP] You are a fresh junior researcher at NASA. While out for drinks with your new boss, you jokingly ask her why NASA hasn't explored the ocean with its resources. She turns pale and leans in close, then whispers, "We have. Why do you think we want to leave the planet so badly?"
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Most of my co-workers were suitably inebriated; even the strict, authoritarian manager Margaret was smiling.
For a laugh, I asked her if NASA had ever considered exploring the ocean instead - the S could be changed to stand for Sea, after all.
The color drained from her face. Leaning in close, she whispered: “We have. Why do you think we want to leave the planet so badly?”
I gave her a funny look and laughed nervously, excusing myself to go to the bathroom.
Alone, I took a deep breath, leaned over the sink and whispered hoarsely: “They’re on to us.”
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July 19, 2019
The night is dark tonight. Darker than usual. I hope that's not a preview of how the night will go. I'm meeting my new boss at a bar tonight. As the blue line tells me what to do, I think about how this night will go. Maybe I'll be fired on the spot. Maybe she won't like me.
My fears were quenched when we actually started talking. We got along like old friends. We had lots of drinks, and had some fun at darts. To round off the night, while we were sitting down, I asked some questions:
**Why haven't we been to the moon in nearly 50 years?**
We've been splitting the funds too much. Developing new tech, the ISS, other research opportunities that came our way.
**What kinds of things did you research? "Research opportunities" is a little too vague for me.**
Nature reserves needed some help, the Weather Service needed new tech, and the government needed some info on some asteroids.
**With NASA's resources, why haven't you bothered to explore the ocean yet? We need to know about all those crazy sci-fi monsters ready to attack us!**
We have. Why else would we want to leave the planet so much? Global warming's got nothing on what's down ther-
She cuts off, and holds her hand up to her mouth. She appears like someone just died in front of her. She tells me "I just made a huge mistake." She runs into the bathroom, and I get a text from this special messaging app NASA gave me
"meet me in 10 hours at 25° 9' 53.1504'' N, 80° 49' 23.358'' W. Bring your belongings. Don't be late."
That's over 4 hours away.
"How am I supposed to get there?"
"Just get there or you're fired"
Well, that solves it.
I pack up my things in record time, and start driving. Getting from Orlando to those coordinates is gonna be a lot of time and trouble (and hiking).
July 20, 2019 (6:05 AM)
I get to the nearest place my car can go with a few hours to spare. Free hiking with my stuff is gonna be a big hassle, so I decide to go it with my car. Surprisingly it makes it 3/4's of the way there before breaking down. I have to make the rest of the way there on foot. I think about the things that I did in my life to where I'd have ended up in the Everglades with only the stuff I can carry on me.
Eventually, I made it to the exact coordinates with about an hour left on the timer. She's already there.
"Glad you got here. now I don't have to fire you," she said with a little sarcasm and attitude in her voice.
"What. On earth... am I doing here?"
"Making sure that now you know the truth, you can work with us."
A white cylindrical elevator comes out of the ground, and we step inside.
​
The place is grandiosely designed, it doesn't look like the government built it, that's for sure. We step into another doorway. Multiple scanners examine everything I brought into the building, but there wasn't much for those incredible machines to do. I was brought into what appeared to be an interrogation table with lots of files, and a laptop. I scan through what I can before another government agent comes in and greets me. "Hi, I'm Elijah. How are you doing right now? Did the hike not help? Sorry about that by the way."
I respond: "I honestly don't know what's going on right now. All I can guess is that it's an underwater research lab?
"Well, before I explain, I need you to fill out all of this."
I am handed a stack of contracts that seem to stack up to the heavens. It takes me 45 minutes, but I sign them all. Anything to understand what's going on.
"Alright, now that that's out of the way, I should direct you to the Information section on your laptop there.
This is what I was greeted with:
**NASA Underwater Research Installation 01 - Porpoise Point Extranormal Research**
Welcome! If you're reading this, congrats! You have higher clearance than even the President right now! This facility is designated to search the ocean for extranormal life in areas no one has searched yet. We have other facilities designated for scanning and tracking of these "things". This facility is the main area where proper research is done into what's down there. We have received scans back, but we can't interpret the data very well. These things appear to violate the properties of quantum entanglement and dimensional similarity, otherwise known as Reyntag Equilibrium. In other words, while we can see them, we only appear to see parts of them at any given moment. They have been shown to have begun responding when we scan them. They know we're here, and they appear to want us destroyed. Any sub that goes within 7 km of one of these things is destroyed, and when we send in people, they go crazy or die instantly. People that go crazy say they saw God, and can hear the darkness crying out to them. While our camera equipment can see them, our minds cannot understand them. Porpoise Point's job is to test everything about these beings that we can, and hopefully buy enough time for humanity to escape these inconceivable things before they surface and destroy us without breaking a sweat.
I was shocked. Here I was yesterday, thinking that the worst thing in my life was "Will I be able to actually have a job at NASA?" I miss that feeling now, like it's drained a hole in my mind, and buried itself so deep that I can never get it out. Now I know that Lovecraftian things - the kinds of stuff I read as a teenager - are not only real, but threatening my world and very fabric of reality.
After reading the information section, Elijah directed me to my new room.
I was going to make my home here.
I was going to do everything in my power to save us. No matter how long it takes.
I was shown to my office, a rather big space with lots of special equipment even I didn't know about.
I descended into my mind, and began the fight for mankind.
| 2019-08-07T22:59:17 | 2019-08-07T21:45:39 | 49 | 19 |
[WP] We had always thought that our ballistic weaponry was going to be ineffective in staving off an alien invasion. Turns out our weapons are actually quite... excessive.
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Standard pattern one. Corpse recovered before it could be looted by the enemy. Projected shielding intact and active at time of recovery. The logs from the shielding controller indicate a single impact by a physical projectile that was too small and traveling too fast to be blocked. The cranium is absent from the jaw up. Cause of death: effective decapitation.
Standard pattern two. Corpse recovered from the enemy at great cost and injury to the recovery team. Projected shielding has been removed, but the controller was left in place. The logs indicate many impacts by physical projectiles within [a few seconds] before a total energy core failure. The torso has in excess of 50 small perforations through the armor and the body itself. Cause of death: organ failure due to extreme physical trauma.
Standard pattern three. Corpse recovered before it could be looted by the enemy. Projected shielding shut down on account of extreme velocity shrapnel impacting the entire front of the shield, along with a rapid increase in temperature that the thermal blocks could not dispose of in a timely manner. The armor and the corpse itself show signs of exposure to fire. In particular, the corpse is charred within its carapace. Cause of death: rapid immolation.
... Personal thoughts regarding the ongoing situation. I have been working overtime in the morge, and yet every rest-cycle there are more recovered corpses than the last one. And there has been not a single human corpse in at least a dozen cycles. This invasion will either end with us surrendering to any terms the humans set, or with all of us dead.
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"Well it stands to reason that if they came here from another planet, we're looking at some extremely robust physiology."
The general nodded with his arms folded, looking at the biologist with a blank face, "Mm hm.."
"So... Needless to say, we're going to need firepower. A lot of it."
The general uncrossed his arms "I'm going to stop you there, because it's obvious that none of our prior experience is going to help us here. The rest of the generals and I have something to show you, professor", and with that, he turned towards the end of the long conference table stacked full of medals pinned on shirts, picked up a remote, and turned on a screen at the end of the soundproofed room.
"My God, it's worse than I could have ever imagined..."
The aliens were gelatinous blobs; amorphous in shape, with wiry appendages that seemed to be built and destroyed on the fly, with no permanent form. They simply absorbed bullets as if nothing had happened.
The aliens had arrived 5 days prior, and any hope of a peaceful reconciliation had immediately been dashed when their actions made it clear that they were only here for our water and mineral resources. The casualties so far had been minimal, but the most terrifying reason was that as yet, the aliens *had not been fighting back*. They apparently saw us as such a non-threat that they felt it unnecessary to fight back against the indigenous population. In spite of humanity throwing an endless stream of bullets and larger weapons at them, casualties on both sides had been very low. The things just would not die. And now, watching actual combat footage, Anna Holland, professor of biology, finally knew why... None of our weapons seemed to be effective with any degree of consistency. Bullets did nothing; explosives would occasionally tear one to shreds, only for it to slowly put itself back together and carry on as usual.
And in spite of humanity throwing everything it had at them, the aliens had offered no reply aside from a stream of announcements of some sort played over loudspeakers. The logic of this was unclear, since the announcements were incomprehensible to humans, but since the aliens also seemed to alter their behavior based on the sound being played, the prevailing theory was that it was a sort of field command system for them.
As the video progressed and increasingly powerful weapons did almost nothing, the blood left Anna's face. Sometimes an alien would collapse, but it wasn't clear why, and it was always quickly reabsorbed by another, and then reanimated somehow. Then something odd happened in the video... A group of soldiers standing quietly on the field, looking very out of place among their Hell-slinging peers, gestured towards the loudspeakers, and left the scene. The general tapped a couple buttons and moved the video forward, and the soldiers were shown returning to the scene with a number of very large speakers and what appeared to be a synthesizer. The general reached to turn the volume down, but too late; a jarring discordant tone filled the room, and the aliens stopped their activity, and a minute later began to slowly leave the area. Then, a soldier's voice cut through on the speakers, saying "The aliens appear to find sound dis-What the Fuck?"
When the soldier's voice boomed across the field, the aliens shook, lost cohesion, and began collapsing into piles of goo. Some of them lay limply and attempted to reach out with half-formed limbs to keep moving, but they appeared to have lost the ability to recompile themselves. At the urging of their peers, the soldier kept talking over the makeshift PA system, and the remains of the aliens quivered into puddles and stopped moving.
The walking stack of medals and commendations at the end of the table paused the video and looked at Anna,
"I... It's... Sound?"
"Our voices specifically, apparently something about them causes the aliens to break down; perhaps something having to do with their resonant frequency? We figured this out more or less on accident, but it makes perfect sense in retrospect; we have killed them in the past, but it's been very random; a salvo of bullets will do nothing sometimes, and be entirely effective other times. It turns out it has nothing to do with the bullets; any successful kills on our part have been purely caused by the orders shouted during the fighting, not the bullets."
"This is great news then, isn't it? We know how to fight back!"
"Not so much. This is a fascinating discovery because it means they really *have* been trying to fight us. For all we know, the announcements they've been blaring aren't language to them at all; just weaponized sound. And since our voices are the apparently the ultimate weapons, it explains perfectly why their weaponized sound resembles a form of speech to us."
"That is logical, but then what help do you need from me?"
He put the remote down, "Well.. We actually need your help figuring out how *not* to damage them. And we figure we have about 10 days to do it."
A particularly nervous-looking major chose that moment to speak up; "General, with respect to your superior experience on the field, I still think maybe we should reconsider and find a linguist for this? We need someone who understands the linkage between waveforms, resonant frequencies, and spoken phonemes."
The general scowled and closed his eyes. Ultimately realized that continuing to pretend he was right would just look worse and worse for him, "Yes major, I believe now that you're correct. I will note as much in my report on the meeting. Professor, your institution wouldn't happen to have a department of linguistics we could draw some expertise from, would it?"
"We do actually; I can get you in contact with Dr. Theodorovna if you'd like? Can I double back though and ask one question though.. Why 10 days?"
"That's mostly a guess, but we figure that's about how long the aliens' patience will last. We believe they're attempting to negotiate now; possibly still hoping to gain access to our resources through diplomatic means. Every time we talk with full voice though, it hurts them and they flee, and if we whisper, they don't seem to register the stimulus at all. So this..."
He opened an envelope on the table and pulled out a glossy photo of a large object in orbit; it was rounded, and appeared iridescent, "is why we believe we have 10 days. Something in the middle of that is hot. Extremely hot. And that heat has never left the center of the object since we began tracking it, so it's unlikely that it's related to any propulsion system, and we know the species is perfectly comfortable existing in a vacuum... So... We believe it's a form of surface bombardment weapon. Which they would certainly be motivated to use against an enemy with a power as terrifying as the ability to shout them to death without any weapons. The aliens not *attempting* to negotiate currently have been being steadily drawn back into, and reabsorbed by the mothership... We suspect their reason for doing so is to withdraw in preparation for just such a surface bombardment. So unless we are very wrong about that, we have until their patience runs out and their evacuation is complete to convince them that we aren't as terrifying as they currently believe us to be... That we, and our awesome powers, can be reasoned with."
| 2021-05-19T02:55:12 | 2021-05-19T01:57:59 | 71 | 50 |
[WP] As a henchman to the Joker, you've now broken the record for the longest surviving employee. This means you'll receive something no one ever has from him: your annual review.
|
"We're going to attack Pettit's compound on Christmas," the Joker said. The apartment building where we were holed-up wasn't crowded. Just four men, including myself, and the Joker.
One of the men asked, "Why are we going to wait a whole month?"
The Joker pulled out a gun and pointed it at the henchman. "Because it wouldn't be funny if we attacked today!" he cried in exasperation. The man fidgeted. The Joker pulled the trigger and a BANG sign appeared. The man shit himself. The Joker laughed.
I knew the BANG sign could be launched into a person's chest, but the Joker was starting to run low on henchmen. No Man's Land would do that. I'd been with the Joker for almost a year and the only reason I'd survived was the lack of options for the Clown Prince of Crime.
"Go find us some food," screamed the Joker. The men and I scrambled out the door of the dingy apartment. "Not you," the Joker called after me. I turned around, knowing full well to make eye contact. The Joker despised fear. He respected people who looked at him. It didn't mean he wouldn't kill you.
"Your name is Conrad, isn't it?" he asked.
"Sometimes. Other times, I can't remember what it is. Changes depending on who I'm talking to." The Joker nodded in approval.
"You've been with me for almost a year." The Joker's eye narrowed. "How'd you manage that long?"
"I had a bad day once," I started, "and I realized that we're all just here, trying to manage. Trying to reckon. I'm not even sure what that bad day was anymore. In my mind, the past is a just a field with the events jumbled about. There isn't a reason. So if you look for one, you'll just go mad. I don't look for reasons. I just do."
"Hehehe," the Joker cooed. "You passed your annual review, Conrad. I want you to do me a favor. Smile."
|
Have you ever felt your life couldn't be any worst that it currently is ? That your entire existance could be summed up to a succession of really bad decisions ? I'm Frank Xandar, 32 years old, no girlfriend, a rap sheet longer than my arm and no real friends. The only thing I have is my job and even then it's hard to qualify this as a job when you're pulling heist for an unpredictable psychopath like the Joker. Still, I manage, I endure and I actually managed to survive this gig for a full year, well above the usual average for this kind of job. So imagine my surprise when the bossman asked to see me this morning for a yearly review. I'm scared shitless, most people that see the inside of this office, don't live to tell the tales.
So here I am, sitting on a kindergarden plastic chair, using every once of mental aptitude not to piss myself while waiting for the Joker, bossman, Mista' J as *she* always calls him. The office is deemly lit, the walls are decorated with severed clown heads mounted on little bats bodies. Bloody weapons are everywhere, not modern weapons mind you, mostly swords and medieval stuff.
The bossman enters, his presence is scaring me to my very core. Every muscle in my body screams at me to run away but I can't flinch a single inch. He sits in the chair across from the desk and looks up at me.
>So... Xandar is it?
>>Huh.... yes sir.
>What kind of name is Xandar anyway, I mean I flipped trough most of the phonebook, well actually I killed trough most of the phonebook but I never saw that name before.
>>Huh.. It's polish, sir.
>Polish eh? Oh well... you live with the cards you're dealt.
...
>Now, Xandar, you seem like a nice enough fellow but I'll be honest, I don't think I ever saw you before in my life. I mean for all I know you could be an undercover copper!
>>No sir, absolutly not. I assure you. I've been a loyal henchman of yours for a year now. Miss Quinn recruited a bunch of us during her last stay in Arkham.
>Harley did that? I always knew the gal had a few lose screws. Oh Well, we like lose screws around here right Xandar?
>>Yes sir.
>You didn't make any advance toward my Harley now did you Xandar my boy ? I mean, she can be quite the seductress and I'm not one to share my toys, you understand ?
>>Yes sir, I mean no sir, I would never think about doing something like this. I swear.
>Right.... Anyway! We are here for your mandatory one year performance review. Funny thing, you know it's actually the first time I have to do a one year review ? You people usually disappear a lot sooner.
>>Yes sir, we usually do... hehe.
>Well.... at least you're honest. I don't trust honest people Xandar, they tend to develop morals and such. Are you really honest Xandar ?
>>Well... I am when I say that I'm entirely loyal to you sir but I'm a thief at heart.
>A thief!
The Joker jumps out his chair and knocks me to the ground, placing a giant knife to my throat.
>Would you steel from me Xandar ? Would you take what is mine ? I don't take kindly to thievery Xandar and my henchmen should do well to remember it.
>>No sir, I mean yes sir I know it, we all know it. I would never even think to steal from you sir.
Satisfied, the Joker gets back into his chair and opens a folder that was sitting on his desk.
>Now, Xandar according to your employee file, you've participated in over 25 heists, have gone up against the Bat about 6 times, suffered 3 broken jaws, 2 dislocated shoulders, 8 broken ribs and a broken femur. Careful boy, those hospital guys are bigger thieves than me!
>>Yes sir, good thing we have good insurance, hehe.
>We have insurance ? Really ? Why did nobody tell me this before!
The Joker pops his head trough the office window
>Hey Harley, we have insurance on these guys ?
>>>Of course we do Mista' J, Bat breaks them often so we need to repair them better
>Why didn't you tell me this sooner your harlot brain ?
>>>It was your idea Mista' J.
>Really ? In that case it's a great idea
...
>Now, where was I ?
>>Huh... Insurance sir.
>Oh right, insurance, well that will not do. We'll have to do something about that. I guess I should read your contracts more closely. I'd ask the lawman who wrote them up but I slit his throat last month. Oh well.. What else is in there Xandar ?
>>You mean in our contracts ? It's pretty generic sir, health plan, division of loot, yearly performance reviews, annual bonuses,...
>Wait wait WAIT.... annual bonuses ? That will certainly not work. Did I really put that in there ? Huh... I most have thought that nobody would ever live that long. I mean most henchmen die within the first month. Except cowards... you're not a coward are you Xandar?
>>No sir, absolutly not, like my file says, I went up against the Bat a few times. Came out bruised. I'm not a coward.
>Good.... Because you know what we do to cowards around here.
>>Yes sir, I do. It was made quite clear on my first day sir. I still have nightmares about that day sir.
>Good... Now Xandar, you seem like a good-enough fellow, you do good in heists, you fight... well-enough....I guess and you seem loyal. Overall I would give your evaluation a solid 8/10. Good work.
>> Thank you sir.
>However... I can't have people holding off as long as you have, it's bad more morale.
>>Bad for morale sir ?
>Yes, you see my henchmen are supposed to be disposable, replaceable, it keeps them on their toe. If word gets out that you can actually survive that long, people will start to get silly survival ideas, they'll be less agressive, more cautious, cowards. Like I said, it's all bad for morale.
>>I don't understand sir, are you firing me ?
>No....no no no no. No such things. You're a valued employee Xandar, I can't just fire you and watch such a useful ressource go to work for the Penguin or Harvey Two-face... Fear and loyalty must be rewarded and punish.
>>I don't understand sir, I though...
I never finished my sentence, never saw the gun either, must have been hidden under the desk. All I felt was the pain in my gut. I looked down to see my bloody hands holding up my entrails, then nothing.
>Sorry about the mess Xandar, you seemed like a nice enough fellow but I can't have my men become weak by idiolizing survivors and old-timers, it's bad for business. And yearly bonuses? Hah! I'll have to find a new lawyer to redraft those employee contracts right away. Harley! Clean up in my office, now!
| 2016-11-21T06:54:16 | 2016-11-21T06:51:31 | 34 | 12 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.
|
It's gotta be....
It's a vampire.
I looked right into the eyes of the 4 digit freaked, took a step back into the doorway and said
"You, you are not allowed inside this building, or my home."
He said something quietly to his friends and they started calling me names but I didn't care.
A week later I thought it was a bad dream, something that didn't happen, I didn't want to think of it.
A month later I was convinced it was a dream.
Four years later I saw the same man when I left a bar on a Saturday night.
That was 68 years ago, my number just hit triple digits.
|
Part One
I got fired last week for the 9th time this year.
I don't always mean to run my mouth, but when I do, it sprints. This time, it wasn't even my fault (initially, anyway); if only that dumb fucking Russian bartender would have kept his mouth shut. Oh well... No sense crying over spilled martinis.
It's not hard, finding a gig as a bouncer, especially in cities. After my fourth attempt at holding my tongue (and fists) at a new bar, I bought a camping van off some poor prick who needed the cash to pay for his divorce. Being essentially unhireable makes for a great old-fashioned, transient lifestyle.
A few weeks go by before I start to run out of money. I begin scrolling through ads online, keeping my eyes peeled for job opportunities, but by now word has gotten around about how I told the owner of the last joint to go fuck his hot daughter. Soon, I find myself looking for gigs in the next state over.
Part Two
I don't even look at people beyond their waist anymore, which especially annoys bigger women. Knowing someone's age is like having transparency goggles: you see right through their bull shit. It's great, for professional purposes, but it's put a serious damper on my personal life.
Occasionally, I do look up. If a girl smells good; if a man's voice is resilient and kind. These times are few and far between, but they happen. Like this morning, at a local coffee shop.
"Excuse me?"
I looked at the woman's waist. "Yes?" I ask, keeping my head low.
"Are you looking for work as a bouncer?"
What the hell? I look up at the girl with the raspy voice. She's got on heavy black eyeliner and full, plump dick-sucking lips. My gift indicates to me that she is 26 years old. We make eye contact, and I realize that this girl is drop-dead gorgeous.
She points gently at the stack of potential work ads I've collected and printed out. I feel stupid. I ignore her and get back to scrolling on my phone.
She stands there a while, both of us uncomfortably silent. Finally, she slides a piece of paper on the table. "In case you're interested," she says, and walks away.
I look at the paper. It reads:
Madame Bijou's
55 Walker Street
9pm, don't be late.
Part Three
8:55pm. Fuck, I'm early.
Madame Bijou's is located in a very popular part of the city, in an alley off to the side. It gives off a speak-easy type of vibe, perfect for those of us who don't enjoy teeny-boppers getting too drunk before 10pm. Perfect for me, makes my job easy.
I haven't seen the girl from the coffee shop, but a Stevie Nicks chain-smoking woman who looks just like her approaches me at 9pm sharp. "Make it to 1:55am and I'll pay you $100," she says, pointing at the bar stool next to the door, and walks off. Her age indicates that she's 64.
The night starts slow, but picks up around 11. I have not seen the girl from the coffee shop, or the older hippie woman.
Around 12am, I kick out some drunk Marines for being douche bags. Around 12:30am, I deny my first group of underagers. Their IDs look exactly like McLovin's.
1:29am comes around, and the whole place empties out, almost like clockwork. Strange, since bars don't close until 2am. I peek my head inside the club, and I see the bartender wiping down the bar top.
1:39am, I close the door behind me as I walk inside.
The bartender is 41. "I'd offer to get you a drink, mate, but we have to be out of her by 1:55am." I don't make eye contact with him as he says this.
"I heard. Why not 2am?" I ask, keeping my eyes on the floor. I can hear the bartender smirking. "You don't want to know."
He heads out around 1:49am, but I still haven't seen Stevie Nicks. She sure as shit better pay me for tonight. I wait patiently, and at 1:55am, she emerges. She seems to be in a hurry.
She ushers me out of the bar and hands me a $100 bill. "See you tomorrow, pretty boy?" She asks, turning the lock on the bar door.
"Suppose so, Madame Bijou," I say to her. She forces eye contact with me, her smile fading. She checks her watch, sighs, and leans closer to me. She whispers: "get out of here before 2am," and walks in the other direction.
Now I have to know what this is all about.
1:56am.
1:57am.
1:58am.
1:59am.
I guess I expected some sort of apocalypse at 2:00am. When nothing happened immediately, I laughed at myself for being so foolish as to believe in the superstitions of people I had just met. I looked at my watch, which read 2:01am, and began to make my way towards the van.
I took one last glance at Madame Bijou's, and there she was. On the other side of the glass was Madame Bijou, flashing her rotten teeth at me, her wispy gray hair flowing down to her knees. Her age read 3,378.
Somehow, she reached her hand through the glass and pulled me into total darkness. "HELLO??" I shouted, reaching for anything I could touch, so terrified I pissed myself a little. I began to hear footsteps coming toward me.
"WHAT THE FUCK, WHAT THE FUCK," I panicked, still reaching into nothingness for something to grab onto. The footsteps got closer.
"You were warned," said a voice somewhere in the hollow space around me. Suddenly, a bunch of numbers started to appear at once. 4,707; 2,856; 5,302. I kicked and screamed, until I felt like I could no longer breathe.
I woke up the next morning in my bed, with teeth marks covering my entire body.
| 2021-11-13T01:48:11 | 2017-09-01T22:06:04 | 585 | 38 |
[WP] A seemingly bottomless pit was found, for which the depth can't be determined. Over time, scores of people began using it to illegally dump trash. Many have jumped in to die, while others jumped believing that they'll find life's answers within it. Today, we learn the truth about the hole.
|
"Aye, you've heard about the devil's asshole right?"
It was more of a rhetorical question. At this point, everybody had.
A few years back, Bridgeport Connecticut experienced a minor tremor from a minor earthquake. No one thought much of it at the time, save for Mr. Hoolihan whose backyard now sported a three foot wide hole.
A carpenter by trade, Mr. Hoolihan was a real "do it yourself" kind of guy. He went out to his backyard to measure the hole that had appeared. Even with his arm fully outstretched, the yardstick he brought wouldn't even touch the bottom. He tossed a rock into the chasm but no sound echoed back.
What's interesting is that the story almost ended there. After trying to fill the hole in and bringing several landscaping teams in to inspect it, they guessed that it was some old mine shaft. They put a few two by fours over it and that was meant to be that.
Mr. Hoolihan couldn't stand it though. Something about that hole being there really gnawed at him, and when his wife was asleep, he'd go out into the backyard, move the boards, and shovel dirt in, hoping to hear it hit the bottom.
This continued for about a year, until one night when Mr. Hoolihan used an excavator his neighbor had rented to fix the landscaping damages from the quake. People aren't sure exactly what happened, but at around three, Hoolihan, the excavator, his house, and his still sleeping wife, all plummeted into the hole after it opened up to swallow his property.
After that, the site was known as "Hoolihan's hole" or the "hell hole" and most sensible folks avoided it. Those who weren't sensible saw an opportunity.
Dumping of all sorts began to enter the chasm, as shady corporations, the mafia and people too stingy to buy a permit poured waste, trash, dead bodies, and, at one point, an truck full of millions of dollars after a failed bank heist.
After that last one, the police caught on and set up a perimeter around the hole as scientists were brought in to answer questions.
"Where does the hole end?"
"Does it even end at all?"
Now if people had been paying attention to local Chinese news, they would have seen the headline: "American man and wife emerge from mysterious hole outside
Shennongjia."
|
"Are you sure it's okay?" I asked Murry. He had been my best friend for over 20 years. He had a good heart at his core, but his morals were a bit grey. He was driving us to 'The Spot'. I had a couch that seemed impossible to get rid of. No one wanted the ugly thing. It had yellow upholstery decorated with brown flowers. I put it on the curb and no one touched it. I posted an ad, and no one called for months. Then I posted another ad without a picture. The one guy that did come look at it punched me for wasting his time. I even tried burning it one time, the timing on that one was too perfect. For absolutely no reason at all a fire truck was driving by. They put out the fire, and I earned a hefty fine and a stern talking to from the Fire Marshal. I bought it while drunk one night, and seemed cursed to own it forever.
"Yeah man, don't sweat it. I dump crap in there all the time," Murry said while he drove. Everyone knew about The Spot, but no one knew anything about it. Government scientists had tried researching it. They sent probes, guys with cables, everything. Nothing ever returned. It still felt like dumping to me, but my mind relaxed a bit when I saw a federal truck driving away from it. "See man, even the feds do it." Murry reminded me. I wondered what they were dumping, and realized I probably didn't want to know. After another five minutes we reached The Spot. The area was like a crowded town square.
People were walking around buying things from shops set up by enterprising folk. The Spot was a bit out of the way, so the trend started out easily enough. Someone set up a stand to sell drinks and sanitary wipes to help clean up after dumping. Then someone started selling food. Within a year it became a tourist trap, with the added bonus of easy clean up. They just swept all the trash into the dark hole in the ground. I glanced at the small line of people waiting to dump. It seemed silly that there would be a line, but due to all the food stands around the hole there was really only one place left to dump from. As soon as we parked some kid ran up to us pulling a dolly behind him.
"Hey Murry. 5 or 10?" the kid asked. Murry handed him a five dollar bill.
"Just the dolly," Murry said. The kid handed him the dolly and ran off.
"You really do this all the time, huh?" I chuckled. "What's 10 bucks get you?" Murry pointed to a big burly guy that looked like an older version of the kid that rented us the dolly.
"Help," he said. I climbed up in the bed of the truck and we worked the couch down and onto the dolly. We got it to the back of the line with minimal fuss. "Hey man, want a beer?" Murry asked me. I saw him waving down the same kid that provided the dolly. I nodded, then reached into my wallet.
"It's on me, thanks for your help." When the kid arrived I handed him a 20. "Two beers, and keep the change."
"THANKS!" he smiled broadly at me and ran off. I smiled at him and remembered my younger days. That kid seemed full of energy running everywhere. I smiled when I saw more children running, and thought to myself that this was kind of a nice place. Almost like a park. I saw a couple of adults running too. It was nice to see the parents playing along with their children. Then, I noticed more adults and kids running, some adults running while carrying kids. All in the same direction, away from the hole. I heard a scream. I turned my head and saw a skeleton climbing out of the hole.
"That's never happened before," Murry said. I almost lost myself to panic, but his comment kept me grounded. I let a small chuckle escape. I liked Murry. In our long friendship, I've never known him to panic or over react. He calmly placed a hand on my shoulder. "Let's go somewhere else," he said. It seemed like such an obvious thing, but he said it so casually. He sounded like he was disappointed with the menu choices in a restaurant. We left the couch and dolly there and walked back toward his truck. People ran all around us, and I started seeing more skeletons appear. They pounced like wild animals on anyone that they saw running.
The walk was difficult. I mostly kept my eyes on the back of Murry's head while he paced forward, almost as if he were taking a Sunday stroll. Any time my eyes looked somewhere else I saw blood and death. The once bone white skeletons were now covered with crimson. The screams were horrifying, but I focused on the back of Murry's head. I was so focused on the back of his head I didn't realize he stopped walking until I crushed my nose against the back of his skull.
"OW!" I said, then felt immediate shame. People were being slaughtered around me, and I was annoyed because I bumped my nose. I looked over Murry's shoulder to see why he stopped. Several feet in front of him stood the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. A pair of under developed horns jutted out of the top of her head. She had long jet black hair that reached her waist, and her eyes glowed with red light.
"You look level headed enough to hold a conversation," the woman said. She walked toward Murry and me. "Can you tell me why there's a thriving economy built around filling my home with trash?" the woman asked. She stood a foot away from us and stared at Murry in the eyes. She ignored me completely, something I was thankful for. For his part Murry just shrugged.
"We didn't know it was your home. We didn't know it was *anyone's* home. It was just a hole that goes nowhere," Murry said. I felt something brush my leg and looked down to see Murry pulling his knife out from it's sheath on the back of his belt.
"No hole goes *nowhere*," the woman said. "I like your honesty. That hole shouldn't have been there anyway, but unfortunately my piece of shit son is an idiot." She looked Murry up and down, then looked at me. She turned her head to look around. No sign of another living person. The skeletons surrounded us.
"It's not often someone keeps their cool when I show up. This world is mine now, but you guys get to live." She waved a hand at us dismissively. Several skeletons moved out of the way to let us pass. I glanced down and Murry let his knife go.
"What do you mean this world is yours? You just got here. Sure it's easy to kill a bunch of people having a day out, but do you think our governments are just going to kneel?" Murry asked. The same thought crossed my mind, but I kept it to myself to avoid warning her.
"Oh. Obviously you don't know who I am. I'll tell you, just so you keep in mind how generous I'm being by letting you live. When I say this world is mine now. I mean..." she raised a hand into the air and black holes began to dot the sky. As far as I could see across the horizon, the sky looked like swiss cheese. Skeletons rained out of each hole. "... this world is MINE. NOW." I jumped as a skeleton landed next to me. It shattered on the ground, but pulled itself back together. It held a bone sword and began walking towards the nearest town. Dozens more skeletons continued to fall and head towards town.
"My name is [Ballisea](http://hserratafun.blogspot.com/2017/11/ballisea-el-sol.html) the Demon Queen."
 
***
Thank you for reading! You can find more of my writings on my [blog](http://hserratafun.blogspot.com/2017/10/front-page.html).
| 2022-06-02T19:21:41 | 2018-01-13T09:08:37 | 4,551 | 12 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
|
I’m lying in a bed on a tuesday night.
And I’m having restless dreams.
And then I awake from a story where I’m rescuing a princess from a wheel of cheese. Because there’s a chainsaw on my nightstand.
A groggy hand reaches over and slaps it reluctantly. Is it morning...a alarm? Some long lost love looking for luscious life-experiences? But no… a text message. Is it my wife? Will she be late tonight?
“DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON”
So I make a curious eye sweep of the room. I pause at my window, where the forbidden object lies, and return my gaze in the opposite direction.
Nothing.
So, eyes squeezed shut, I walk over to the window. Just in case. I have a moment of panic when I trip on a errant pair of pants, but I right myself quickly. Then, in a fleeting, fluttering, futile gesture, I bravely bring down the blinds.
With that dangerous task complete, I sprint back to my bed, as if its covers will protect me from whatever has infested the sky.
Perhaps it’s just a joke, or the product of a overtaxed imagination. But somehow I know to be afraid.
Buzz.
Another a text? More instructions? Is there something else I’m not supposed to look at?
It’s from a old coworker. A good friend.
“It’s a beautiful night tonight. Look outside.”
I peek out from beneath my blanket bastion. A windows shuttered and silent. A door, barely open, with a crooked mouth along its length, mocking me.
Should I close it? No. Too dangerous. So I close my eyes and whisper.
“Just a dream. Just a dream. Just a dream.”
Buzz.
Another text message. Perhaps I shouldn’t…
“It’s a beautiful night tonight. Look outside.” from my best man.
Then a bing. A different app, I have so many.
“It’s a beautiful night tonight. Look outside.”
And then my phone begins to shake and chatter, with bings and chimes and whistles. Each one is like a stab in my stomach. What’s happening? What’s happening?
Then bit by bit, the phone sounds die out.
Then a new sound. A ringing. A bold, unique choice for a ringtone in this day and age, but I’ve always been a trend setter.
It’s my wife. Is she safe? Does she know what’s happening?
And before I can catch myself, I hit the answer button.
(Part 1? Sorry for a cliffhanger, it was getting long)
(r/StannisTheAmish)
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First the texts. Then the MMS images. Then every insta, fb post, live stream, Reddit post, tweet. Every inbox at 0% capacity as it was all FWD FWD FWD FWD : MOON all the time.
After a few days we realized the vast majority of Internet traffic was solely automated spambots. Everybody else was outside looking at the moon, or sleeping all day wherever they last witnessed the moon..
Tritanopia is a form of color blindness that reduces the blue/yellow/green portion of the spectrum.
Us lucky one in ten thousand were unphased by the moon... Get it? Moon puns.
For reference,
1:10,000 expands to
100,000:1,000,000,000
And there's seven some billion people total, so you'd think seven hundred thousand people would be able to coordinate.
But then you have to look at population densities, distributive models of where tritanopia can be found, how difficult it is to travel when almost everyone is standing in the middle of the road to quietly worship the moon.
Imagine being at a festival with a target audience of docile septuagenarians. You don't like the grateful dead, don't get why
everyone is fixated, just want the whole thing to end. You try making a call on your phone but it just plays Phish songs That's how it felt.
It's like not being a hockey fan in Canada.
So. 700,000 functioning humans remaining. All ages. All ability levels. The vast majority lacking applicable skills or the psychological tenacity required to face this world. I was only 12 when it happened, just on the cusp of being forged by the new world yet with fond memories of the old ways.
Most animals that could look up and had some visual acuity also became enraptured. I wanted to help the animals but I didn't know how.
My first two days I tried to go about my routine as normal. Except there was no more no normal routine. No supply lines, no infrastructure, no social contract. Ran into a lot of lunatic strangers that got a start on the hoarding and mad max fashion early. My family had a close personal bond with either the moon or stolen wholesale liquor, depending on sight abilities.
A tritanopia support myphp forum briefly assembled IRL and tried to stage a coup of world power, but taking over the white house and the UN when there really isn't anyone to enforce your will doesn't matter much. Nobody to answer the phone for the nuclear launch codes, nobody to pop in the 8.5" floppy disks to get the nukes into the sky. Infighting led to the fast dissolution of that group, especially when the yahoo group insurrectionists gained traction.
The moonies just stopped participating. Beat them up, bash them to death in the streets, run them over. No resistance. Just single most minded dedication to the moon. A sadist's mcplayland.
They didn't eat or drink but they didn't die of exposure or dehydration. After a while their skin became ashy during the day. They went from monosyllabic grunts to utter silence.
A bit later, some of them grew wings or horns or scales . Some grew hair and became funky werewolf-gargoyle things.
The transformed congregation moved in packs but continued to stare at the moon. They'd only respond if provoked but you'd be dead before you realized you had provoked them.
Then came the Sound Eternal. Somewhere between Gregorian chanting, Cthulhu summoning , and Tibetan throat singing. Constant, from sun down to sun up. From the beasts, from the people.
It was declared cured five or six times. Half of those just lies from crumbling provisional government. The other half lacked real testing or distribution standards. Giving injections to hoards of swaying gnarly mutants that may lead to heads exploding one way or another wasn't going to work out
And so modified aerial viruses delivered via crop dusters, foggers, modified tear gas canisters, anything that could contain the smoke.
They all cocooned out for a bit after the dusting misused some lies masquerading as legitimate research.
I saw the aftermath and heard the confessions but I can't tell you in great detail how that all went down. Too busy rhen with the fight for survival, a sixteen year old keeping a nuclear reactor running on a submarine turned makeshift unethical medical experimentation laboratory.
The less said, the better. Dark time for submarines.
Most Moonies came out of chrysalis fit as a fiddle, back to full health, lost all the medieval art features.
Lived a mockery of their old routines, spring in their step. Go into the abandoned office to push pieces of paper around and tap keys on unpowered terminals. Then every night, back to the moon gazing.
You were probably born during this time period. Probably not the most rational decision that could've been made, but after surviving weregargoyles the social fabric didn't have much space for rationality.
They'd peruse ransacked grocery stores, exchange idle moon-themed pleasantries with each other. Morning jog through fields of corpses, oblivious. Flip.through the same old magazine until it disintergrated. Barbers and janitors would go to rubble that used to be their workplace and sweep with purposelessness . Tradesmen could sort of resume their jobs, more or less, but only served their own kind. After a few months, they used noise singing to gather a crowd and coordinate at a task, building ungodly architecture overnight or sacrificing a hundred mile long line of people to send an electrical signal from one necropolis to the next.
They'd all look at us and they would know. They would say "better not look at the moon" in the same deadpan attempt of reverse psychology. I'd reply "What a beautiful night out" while bug eyed stating at their moon. And sing about the moon hitting my eye like a big pizza pie. They just didn't understand thar moon magic wouldn't work on my snarky 19 year old deficient peepers. I had fallen into a bad crowd of pharmaceutic redistributors.
I'lll admit I developed a bit of a moon dust habit.The dust made their late 20th century satire of mid 20th century values schtick a little more tolerable. What else is there to do during the longest flash mob installation art piece? Swap rumors and lies about how places beyond the horizon were getting by?
Someone - nobody knows which side - invented glasses that compensated for the color blindness, let the impure finally join the teeming masses. That caught on big once we realized us last few unchanged had successfully flushed all chance of rebuilding or becoming something other than marauder junkies. I was around 22 at the time and in middle of trying to preserve priceless irreplaceable cultural artifacts from the Smithsonian, mostly by defending an adjacent outpost and running a little mercantile ammo shop on the side. Missed out on the suicide sunglasses phase. Gave away the only pair I stumbled across in the ruins to a real go-getter errand runner.
Then, next phase began and their molting started. Human skin left lying around everywhere, giant insectoid snakemen picking fights, the usual. Moondust purity went way down, market nearly tanked. By then I had a cybernetic arm and a laser eye. I spent most of my time in pipes, guarding various keys and providing clues to riddles.
I betrayed everyone that trusted me at every turn and regret nothing. I had once decided to live like a forgettable side quest NPC in a sub-par video game series. But when the laser eye was installed, I could see the full beauty of the moon in all spectrums, even those invisible to the limited human eye.
Didn't take long to round up the remaining twenty thousand some for free laser eye replacement. There's some logistics, sure, but you concentrate everyone into camps, chop off some limbs, erase the notion of free will or anything but service to the moon.
Turns out the moon does not mind if you scoop out significant portions of the prefrontal lobe before conversion. The question is will you be complacent enough to realize your higher calling or are you going to be another meat log for the stumpy field?
Either way, the implants will a little itch bit at first. Hopefully this bit of storytelling has enlightened you. Now, please, let us experience the moon together now.
| 2022-05-11T14:02:28 | 2018-04-06T19:57:39 | 314 | 30 |
[WP] You're the owner of a cafe frequently visited by vigilantes and anti-heroes who absolutely adore your sweetness and acceptance of who they are. One day, though, a particularly rude customer comes in and trashes the place. Your friends aren't too happy to hear about that.
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By the time I was 12, I'd had enough of the system; being born to two junkies and bounced around between foster homes will do that to a girl. The last house was the worst, though. I was small for my age, and an easy target for the abuse of the other misfits taken in by a mean old bastard, using kids to collect a government cheque. A life on the street was a better option.
I'm no dummy, so I did okay. But still, life was rough. Until Mr Wraith took me in. I guess I reminded him of the daughter he'd lost, so he put me to work cleaning his gear in exchange for a warm bed and 3 squares a day. Life was good. For 4 years we existed, me helping out wherever I could, him going out every night to purge the streets of scum. He was the father I never had, until the law caught up with him. Apparently vigilantism is frowned upon, so Mr. Wraith went away to Sing Sing, and I was out on the street again.
I worked my way up, though. Eventually bought myself a sweet little spot, and opened up The Night Owl; a little cafe, out in the industrial area by the docks. The coffee's strong enough to peel paint, just the way my clientele like it.
I know who my regulars are, sure. But I treat them just like anyone else. They're out there doing what needs to be done, night after night, and as much as i'm sometimes tempted to go full fangirl on 'em, I keep it professional: coffee served with a smile, and secrets kept.
I'd been running the Owl for almost 5 years, when it all crashed down. I showed up at 7, eager to start the evening, when I saw the destruction. Door hanging off the hinges, windows smashed, and damn near everything that wasn't bolted down was thrown around like confetti.
I stood there, stunned. I had insurance, sure, but the repairs would keep the cafe closed for longer than I could last without an income.
At some point I must have sat down on the curb. I had no idea how long I'd been there, when a gloved hand fell on my shoulder. Looking up, I saw a familiar masked face.
Before I could utter a word, Shadow spoke. "Don't worry, Lily, we'll fix this."
I started to protest when another voice joined in. "You're gonna come stay with me for a bit, and we'll take care of everything. Time for a vacation anyway, yeah?" Switchblade said, leather jacket creaking as his muscles coiled for action.
A sob escaped, and I stood on shaky legs. More people were arriving, all my regulars eager for a caffeine fix I couldn't provide.
"You guys would do this for me?" I asked, voice thick with emotion.
It was Kestral who spoke, always the unofficial leader. "Of course. You know we'd do anything for you, Lily. "
Hands reached out, offering comforting touches and shoulder clasps.
"Anything?" I whispered, still grappling with the idea that I meant something to the crowd in front of me.
Heads nodded firmly in response.
I swallowed hard before asking my next question. "How do you all feel about a jailbreak?"
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It’s not often, but it happens more than I’d like to admit. A price to pay for having the door open way past hours when other establishments close theirs. I could avoid it and just lock the place at nine or ten like the other cafes. Then again, there will always be that young hopeful scholar that needs a place that’s quiet and has caffeine on order. A single parent that needs a safe go-between after a late shift. A weary “private contractor” that needs that short break and extra push to keep going.
A cup of joe here, a latte there, a triple shot of red bull spiked with five-hour-energy elsewhere; everybody has their pep-up. Sometimes I get the guy( or gal) that needs to show they got spunk and the ego to be the big dog on the block. They come in, puffing their chests, and eyeing up my dainty little shop. They see rough brick walls covered in memorabilia ranging from photos and postcards to model cars and figurines, all illuminated in soft (digital) candle white lights. They think to themselves, ‘Huh, such a cozy little place. Let’s wreck it for funzies’
I’ve lost a good dozen reminders over the years. For some reason, none of these kids ever learn about what this place represents. Or what it houses. Until its a tad late.
A night like any other, the cafe alit with murmurs here and light gravitas there. A college kid whispering under his breath about formulas, a man and woman both with hair out of place and dirt( or possibly ash) chatting lively, a group of older fellas gesturing animatedly at one another, and a bandaged man drinks quietly whilst feeding his dog bits of his sandwich were among the few that stood out. The front door bells ring delightfully and in walks two modest girls wearing pea coats, one maroon and the other green. Julia, one of my waitresses, grabs a clipboard and cherrily skips towards them.
I busy myself cleaning a mug, eyes skimming the tables, and ears catching words, but not really listening. It’s these nice, quiet moments I do so enjoy having here.
“!!!!”
A sharp exclamation catches my attention, it brings a lull to the crowd white noise. My attention is back upon Julia. She had seated the two newcomers and appears to be taking their order. Or had been taking their order. There was a definite frown on the red coat’s face and green wasn’t smiling either. No other audible dissonance came about and the rest of the cafe went about their own little worlds.
My own eyes stayed about Julia and the girls. More specifically, upon Julia’s back. A unique trait can be told about Julia if one examines her closely, the back of her clothes seems to bulge out as if there was glasses case or a flashlight stuffed down her back.
Or a tail.
Usually, Julia’s tail settles upon her lower back or is wrapped around her waist. Less noticeable that way. As of right now, it’s standing straight against her back, she wasn’t happy. She was scared.
It took barely a moment for me to cross the shop in a quiet manner behind my worker. One hand grasping the clipboard and the other resting between her shoulder blades. With small motions upon her back, I quickly introduce myself, and excuse Julia out of the situation.
“Replacing the cutie with your sorry mug isn’t making us any happier” Red coat barks. Upon actually looking at her, she is actually kind of cute. Her emerald eyes and high cheekbones make for a alluring face alongside her button nose. Her strawberry blond hair did take too much attention away from her adorable face though.
“You just had to make her nervous. If you were more subtle, we wouldn’t have this problem.” Green coat goads. She had a more rounder face and plump lips. It wasn’t fat, perhaps stouter facial structure. Her golden eyes were absolutely striking. All complemented by a light brown bob cut.
“My apologies, Julia had other matters to attend to. May I take your order?” I’m curious to see what made Julia so hassled.
“Yea, you could bring the cute one back.” Red snarks.
“I’m afraid that she will be busy, perhaps I can start you off with a complimentary drink?” They can be a tad forceful, should probably ply with free drinks.
“Nah man, We’d prefer someone cuter to get our drinks.” Green spouts as she reclines back in her seat.
“Unfortunately, I am the only available server” Let us see where this goes.
“Bullshit. Just bring back the waitress.” Red’s getting agitated.
“Yea, we ain’t ordering till she takes it” Green brings her support.
“If you aren’t going to order, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you both to leave.” Oh well, thems the breaks, ladies.
!!!!
In one quick moment, I had two guns pointing at me. One pointing at my upper torso, Red holding it cockingly sideways. The other gun was oriented far south, held frustratingly lazilly.
“Look dickface, we just got off the train. We’re tired and we’re frustrated.” Yea, I get that Red, but can Green please point elsewhere.
“We just want something nice to look at and a little drink.” Green point somewhere else.
“So how about you cut the shit and get our girl back out here?” Right after you get your friend to stop aiming at something important.
“Ladies, I believe my man here said you should probably leave.”
And at that moment I realized, the whole place was quiet. A quick glance showed that there was another addition to the table. There he sat, all nonchalantly, with his feet on the table and a pistol in each hand. The girls themselves learn of this, but make no movement. Another glance shows everyone around us had their attention solely on us, some were standing, some had guns out, few had their hands glowing, and one even had his dog draw a sword.
“What the fuck?” Yea Red, not the best place to cause a problem.
“This place….” Whatever you’re thinking Green, it’s probably not what it actually is.
“This is just a cafe for people to rest awhile and get that extra boost.” I clarify for the two.
The two girls looked about ready to do something stupid, but thankfully Julia came back with two peace offerings.
“Here, take these-”
“Iced coffees”
“Thanks, take these drinks to go… on the house.” I extend our olive branch.
“Fee- let’s just go~” Green, you’re talking sense for a girl willing to shoot a man’s pride.
“F-fine, We’re leaving. Place sucks anyway.”
And with that, Red and Green were out the door with no fuss. Every patron (Well the ones that actually drew their weapons) holstered their gear and returned to their business. Dante, the man who saved my balls (literally), had come to the counter after to bust my balls about how I froze up. Hey, it’s not like I spend my nights shooting up drug dealers, I reacted like anyone would with a gun to the nuts. Despite that, it was always nice. My regulars here from all paths appear to like me and this place enough to back it up. I remember the first time. Good times. Those from around here learned from such times. After all, I always made sure that these hardworking individuals never stain their hands on my behalf.
Soon enough, I had to close up. Dante, as per his usual was the last guy to leave. He tried to have me hire him to watch the place just incase those girls came back. I declined and sent him on his way. As he left, Julia came in from the back with some bags in hand.
“I cleaned up back there?” I ask.
“Yea, we’re gonna need more filters for the coffee maker soon.”
“I’ll add it to the list. You pick up the rubbish?”
“Yes boss, it should be where it’s at.”
“Good. Go wash up, you have some smudge on your cheek.”
A step behind the counter and through the kitchen puts me at storage. A cellar door opens and closes before I descend. A few moments and sharp clean alcohol caress my thoughts.
There upon a large steel slab, lay Red and Green, sans their coats. Their forearms bear needles linking to their respective I.V. stands alongside straps across their forms to the metal. They were unaware of the world, Julia was smart to use the slow-starting mixture. Julia is quick with her wash and stands beside me with various blades at the ready.
“I should thank you. Had you two not stumbled upon my quiet little place, I’d probably have to get someone local.” Steam rolls of my hands as Julia slides gloves upon them.
“Local would just bring problems. Thankfully, only one of my friends had a good look upon your faces, and frankly, Dante only really cares about hair.” My cute assistant hands me scissors.
“Sorry, Red, but your hair has got to go. It’s too eye-catching. Don’t worry, my clients only care for your faces.”
Why stain their hands if mine are deliciously red?
| 2018-10-20T21:39:31 | 2018-10-20T21:15:17 | 62 | 29 |
[WP] The scientists looked puzzled, trying to figure out how the man in front of them got there. The note tied to his hand wrote: "Dear Universe 441-B-2, he's your problem now. May the luck be on your side."
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As we reread the note aloud, we stared awkwardly at the man in front of us. He looked to be in his mid-thirties and beamed happily at us. He would occasionally give a happy, childlike wave before becoming motionless again.
"Is this some sort of joke?" someone asked.
"You saw him come through the rift the same as we all did. No matter how good we are at pranks, I don't believe we've got the ability to fake a time anomaly for a prank." Someone responded.
Our supervisor raised her hand, a signal that heralded our silence.
She turned to the oddly dressed man, his grey suit made of some archaic fabric "cotton", "What is your name?"
We couldn't quite make out what he said, but he began to gesture wildly and happily. His slicked back hair and singular mole on his cheek only added to the childlike whimsy of his demeanor.
Finally, we understood one word as he stuck his hand out for a greeting. "Bean"
Update:
Thank you to objober for the Gold award on my post! I really didn't expect much from this little piece. Glad so many people have enjoyed this!
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A man with a beard that was so dirty other beards were growing on the front of it limped down a hallway towards the Information Extraction chambers. Leather squeaked as he came to a halt in front of one of the cells.
Ed, Director of Information Extraction, was sitting inside with an entry level *Business to Business Sales Professional*. “This one ain’t right in dah head!” He muttered frustrated.
The man in the leather chaps growled in contemplation. “Think it’s that bad eye yah got Ed, interfearen’ with yur’ depth perception.”
Ed held up the pair of frayed wires and absentmindedly clicked them together. They sparked obediently. “Dunno,” Ed said. “Seem to be gettin’ on fine now that I got the patch.” He touched the wires to the chest of the husk that sat in front of him bound to a chair.
There was predictable howling and a bit of a gurgle, but it wasn’t quite the *go getter* attitude the man in the chaps was looking for, not yet.
“Lower,” he said.
Ed held the cables out in front of the fellow’s belly. “I see what yur’ gettin’ at sir, bit o’ the softer stuff–”
“Lower,” said the bearded man outside the cell.
Ed’s eye grew wide. He clicked the cables together again. “As yah wish Mr. Barnagain,” he said. Ed went lower.
There was a vague hint of barbecue floating through the air on unrestrained screams now. Barnagain, Space Barnagain, as those close to him called him, smiled and continued his walk down the metal corridor. He stopped at one of the viewing windows and looked out at his fleet, which had gotten a ship stronger just last week.
One day soon, he thought, that man on the chair would be flying a ship just like it. Or at bare minimum, he’d be getting rid of an infestation on another. This was how Barny thought of the bureaucrats who were fool enough to fly into his sphere of influence.
After all, the B2B Professional only had one test left to pass. As was tradition, he’d be placed in another cell with a former shipmate and a gun. The gun would have a single slug in it. The door to the cell wouldn’t open again until the guard heard a shot.
Barnagain wasn’t the least bit worried about the results; he had high hopes for the chap. Besides, the system worked. All six of the ships that formed his modest armada were flown by fellows just like him. Fellows who’d seen the light and decided to embrace their inner *Self-Starter*.
“Ah,” Space Barnagain said to himself, still staring through the semi-digital window. “Another lovely morning in the Kuiper Belt.”
Almost on cue the SS William Hurst, Mr. Barnagain’s flag ship, rattled as a building might in a shallow but gentle earthquake. The ship to ship clamps had just found their mark on a stranded science vessel.
Inside one of the laboratories on the stranded ship, three scientists were standing in a half circle around a man in khaki shorts. They’d been looking for a big pool of Dark Matter, which they were nearly sure they’d detected out here. Instead, they’d just found this fellow. At the moment, he was fiddling with a rather ancient looking metal detection device saying things like: “Confounded contraption! Bloody Rube Gold- ARGH!”
The thing about this man that was curious was that he’d just sort of turned up on board several months into their journey. He also had a note tied to his wrist that said, "Dear Universe 441-B-2, he's your problem now. May *the luck* be on your side." Their odd visitor hadn’t seemed particularly concerned with it.
Curious as the visitor was, the scientists were still giving him a wide birth. There’d been four of them to begin with, right up until Jared got a bit too nosy and had started poking at the man with the back of his pen. In a flash of speed that would’ve made a Cheetah blush, the man had slashed his visor, which the very intelligent men of science surmised must have some blades about the brim, across Jared’s neck and left him with another mouth… It was a pity that this mouth opened into Jared’s esophagus a bit lower down than mouths are meant to.
It’d gone further downhill after the loss of Jared. The fellow with the visor and the nose covered in sunscreen had whipped himself into something of a frenzy. There was a lot of mysterious lightening, swear words, and general thrashing about, and now the lot of them were stuck together, in a dead ship, in the only room still reliably getting oxygen pumped into it.
There was the distinct flash of a boarding grenade and the door to the laboratory burst open.
The lead scientist had time to utter, “Oh no it’s Space–BLURRGHHH!”
Jeff, Barnagain’s head of Space Whaling, had just put a harpoon through one of the men in smelly lab coats. The other two were escorted out. But when Barnagain’s newest team member went to collect the doddering fellow with the strange detection device, the guy’d whipped open his fanny pack and put a dirty screwdriver through his temple… from six feet away.
Space Barnagain was understandably frustrated. “What'd you do that for!?” He spat. “Waste of a perfectly good Administrative Assistant!”
The man calmly closed his fanny pack. “Ah, Mr. Barnagain,” he began. “Just the man I was meant to find.”
“Yah listen here!” Space Barnagain bellowed. “I’m the one does the findin’ in this quadrant!”
“Indeed, indeed,” agreed the fellow under the visor. “Which is precisely why I need you.” Space Barnagain raised his eyebrow, it was as close to an invitation to *continue living for a moment* as the man was going to get. “You see,” he explained. “I’m not from here… Where I’m from… Well, they’d call me a *Collector*.”
“An’ jus’ whatdya collect?” Interrupted Jeff the Whaler suspiciously.
The man tilted his head to and fro. “Today? A few fusion engines and a properly sized asteroid. Tomorrow…” He used his metal detector to bang on a convenient poster of Earth the scientists had hung up in the lab when their journey began.
Barnagain squinted at him. The squint said, “*Ok, keep living, but only for another minute.*”
“You see gentlemen,” the Collector went on. “When you’re trying to Collect from a hive, you want to create a bit of smoke first. That way you don’t get stung…”
Space Barnagain stroked his beard. There was nods and murmurs of agreement behind him. His crew liked the cut of this man's golf socks, and none of them much cared for Earth...
| 2020-02-04T10:01:47 | 2020-02-04T08:45:10 | 654 | 24 |
[WP] At the age of sixteen, people are shown a title that they will earn in the future from Fate herself in a special ceremony. Usually these titles can range from "The Baker" to "The Kind" or even "The Conquerer". You turn sixteen, and are faced with the title of "The Godkiller".
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"Far too long has this Earth been ruled by those who fear no consequences, as for them life is just a game of chess and a fallen queen or king means just to start over. I despise them with all my heart for what they've done to me and I shall make them fall, just like they throw us like pawns left and right."
My words echoed through the giant hall of Fate. Everyone was silent. Parents who celebrated their child's blessing now stared in fear. It was quiet like a graveyard. I stepped away from Fate and headed towards the Podium of Gifts where a shining white and gold, made out of meteorite sword stood and awaited me. Right beneath it a kit of armour, not as shiny as the blade, lied folded. Although it seemed weak, everyone knew what it was. The imperial chainmail, worn once by the most powerful kings and queens, long before we fell under the will of the mighty Gods. An armour so powerful they couldn't destroy it and it vanished without a trace.
I took the items and looked at Fate, a goddess who gave, rather than take. She bowed her head down and smiled. Then she spoke, something never done before.
"You are young and blessed, but until your mission is complete you shall not rest. Lots of danger around you I can feel, but in the end you shall make us all before you kneel. Now you shall take my life and make me rest and for everyone else I wish the very best."
The silence was even quieter this time. Everyone was stood in shock. I had tears in my eyes, as I knew what I should do. The metal clang of the sword screeched through the hall as I dragged the sword from the grown. The white blade was heavy and I could feel the power and might it held. Fate shrank herself down to human size and kneeled infront of me. I lifted the blade.
"I'm sorry." I whispered through tears.
"But you shouldn't be. I will always protect you when I can. Now slay me."
As the blade cut through her skin. Thunder hit outside and golden blood spilled over the ground. I fell on my knees, and held her up. The body of the goddess blasted in flames. Everyone stared. Fear. Power. Hope. As some whispering flew by my ears I stood up and grabbed the blade.
"It is time." I yelled. "It is time we stand up to those who treated us like cattle. It is time we rise like a phoenix from the ashes and take our place back. For a new Earth!"
A sudden silence. And then.
"For a new Earth!" One yelled.
"For a new Earth!" Another yelled.
The hall exploded with that phrase. Everyone was cheering and yelling. It was time to slay some gods.
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Society has come a long way from what we used to be, to eliminate risks, we now operate without the willpower of the individual driving our choices but rather with the betterment of the collective in mind. We also no longer choose things like clothing, hair or life styles for our selves any more, moreover they are chosen for us.
Our cloths are all the same, made 100% out of cotton, and are milky gray in color. They come in two options tshirt and caprese, or long sleeved and sweats, with a sweater or rain jacket depending on the weather. These items are found in our computerised wardrobes, each morning and are returned into it each evening, to be exchanged for white-ish pajamas to wear over night.
Our whole society is basically computerized now, down to the personal stuff in the bathroom, where each morning my bathroom mirror lights up as I enter the room and greets me. "Good morning Maggie," it says in a womans English accent. Once I respond it begins to analyze my vitals, my hygiene routine, the length of my hair and yes even my diet, but we wont get into that last part.
Up until we turn sixteen our only job is school and simple chores around the comunity. School is fairly basic, mainly focusing on our societal beliefs, and instilling kindness and empathy above all else. Humanity as a whole now has a collective responsibility to maintain peace and harmony, we no longer have emotions like greed, envy, hate or even jealousy and We no longer believe in things like gods, Angel's, devils or demons. Those things have been stripped of us as a species for the betterment of us all.
When we turn sixteen we are finally told who we are destined to be buy F.A.T.E She is a peice of
Fundamental. Analytic. Technological. Equipment.
Or "Fate" for short, and we call her a "she" because of her english accent. Our entire societal system is ran by F.A.T.E she is what keeps us healthy and fed, sheltered and warm, organised and structured. She was designed by what was left of society after a nuclear war, inorder to protect the generations to come, and is also what protects us from deteriorating back to the chaos that was before her.
Everyone must undergo the enlightenment ceremony, it's the law, for it is the only way we will know who we are ment to be. Only those who are turning sixteen that day and they're parents are permitted to join in the celebration, but every day there is a new group of kids entering the facility, so it seemed like the festivities never trully ended.
I had waited my whole life for the day I turned sixteen and would finally be told what my future would hold. The possibilities where endless, people where handed amazing life styles simply based on what fate decided for them. Others where selected for much less glorious life styles like gardeners, or garbage men, but each and every person i had ever seen after the ceremony was overjoyed by recieving fates hand that she had dealt for them. I would be no different, of that i was sure.
As the day grew nearer though I couldnt help but feel overwhelmed sometimes by my emotions, and i had to quickly remind myself to draw them back in on a few occasions. The curiosity and wonderment became too much for me one day and I finally asked my mother about her ceremony while we tended her section of the garden. She, like all the other adults, showed no emotion in her response, and simply said, " Maggie we aren't aloud to discuss those things, it will all become clear to you when it is your enlightenment." I could tell I was going to get no where with this so I decided to just dropped it.
Before I knew it the day was apon me, my mother removed a white silk and lace dress from my wardrobe, holding it up high, looking extreemly proud as she did. "it is tradition," she said as she carried it over to me gently, "that you wear a dress to your ceremony."
Having never seen such a beautiful dress before in my entire life, and I couldnt wait to feel its material against my skin and could hardly contain the excitement I felt. My body shook from nervousness as I put it on.
The dress slipped on me fitting like a glove, hugging my body tightly, and gave me a sense of security in a way, like a warm hug. My mother smiled lovingly at me and then called to my father who was eagerly waiting in the other room. When he entered his face lit up with joy, seeing them both this happy, the happiest i had ever seen them, filled my heart, and put my mind at ease about what was to come. What ever it may be.
We said a quick good by to my younger brother, before leaving for the large ceremony facility in the center of town. As we got closer I began to notice more and more young girls and boys all wearing white dresses and suits. Each accompanied by their parents, heading in the same direction as we where, i assumed the obvios that they where all of age and making they're way to the facility as well. I could feel my nerves begin to rise again as we entered the massive, shiney building. My mother wrapping her arm around my shoulders instinctively.
I had never seen the inside before, it was breath taking, and I couldnt help my self from grinning like a fool. There where families lined up being greeted by what appeared to be a receptionist, who then directed them down a long hall. It wasnt until we made it farther up the line that i was finally able to see down the hallway. There was a set of large doors at the end, and as each group made theyre way through them i tried to catch a glimpse of what laid beyond. I nearly didnt realise the woman speaking to me from behind the desk i was in such a trance. "Miss, your name?" The slender blond said once again in a calm tone. "Oh I'm sorry, I'm Maggie, Maggie Ray." I said embarrassingly. She gestured for us to make our way down the hall way, and my mother gently tugged on my arm.
As we got to the large metal doors I wondered what could lay on the other side, was it going to be an auditorium perhaps, or possibly a conference room, could it be another hallway to go down, that would lead to another and another after that? My body grew stiff as my father reached out to grab the handle, while my mother whispered beside me, "dont be nervous honey."
As he opened the door though I seen what appeared to be a medical facility setting. A nurse, or so I thought, quickly greeted us, directing us into another room that had a surgical table in the middle, a computer desk in the corner and two chairs to one side of the room. "Lay down on the bed," she said as she pointed in its direction, "a specialist will be in with you shortly." Walking away she whispered something to my parents before exiting the room, they both sat down quietly on the chairs beside the wall.
Before I could say anything to them there was a knock on the door, a man walked in wearing a grey track suit of some kind, holding a clip board. "Maggie Ray, right?" He asked as he looked up at me from the file clipped to the board. "Y-yes," I responded shakily. "There is nothing to fear, you are in good hands." He said, walking over to the computer desk and typing something into the keyboard. He looked up at me as the lights began to dim, " okay maggie we are ready to begin your enlightenment," as he spoke shackles came out of the table, seemingly from no where, holding my ankles, wrists, waist and forehead in place. I cried out for my mother as I was trully scared, but she once again answered in an emotionless tone, " dont worry honey, everything will be clear soon."
The last thing I remember was a piercing pain in the back of my scull from where the needle struck my spinal cord. Almost simultaneously I could feel the emotions being stripped from my body, my desires, interests and hobbies all washing away. I remember having her voice in my head, constantly reminding me everything would be okay, that this was all as it should be. To trust in her, for she is all knowing. Fate could be so nurturing at times.
When I woke I knew what I was ment to be, but it confused me. I was destined to be a god killer, but we know there is no thing as a gods. Dont we?
| 2020-08-15T01:46:00 | 2020-08-15T00:04:36 | 101 | 45 |
[WP] Your adventuring party is unstoppable. It has a fighter, able to crush steel armor with bare hands. A cleric, able to cure any wound imaginable. The wizard, who can manipulate energy and matter into anything. And Bob, a random person who found a sniper rifle
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Honestly I have *no idea* what that man has. It breaks through skin faster than the sharpest swords our warrior can buy, able to easily outrange any of our known technology, and seemingly never needs servicing.
The... *Thing* he uses is louder than even the biggest of giants, it's a larger size than a lot of crossbows and holds way more... Rounds, he calls them. Every time we get a chance to use it, we go flying.
Every person he comes across doesn't dare touch anything, in case he takes it as a threat and removes them from reality in less than a second.
There is only one way to describe it all.
Brutality.
Bob is his name. With his "nutsack elimitator" at his side.
**I don't dare question him or the naming process.**
|
Having heard the news about rebels forming in the west of the kingdom, we decided to go there and see what was going on.
Our relationship with the royal family may be biased, because after all, they were the ones that had found us and given us food and shelter in this harsh world.
So, we rightfully assumed that the rebellion may not be caused by natural means, and instead be yet another incursion by the demons.
Neither of us come originally from this world. It may sound insane, because it is. Having grown up in a spaceship orbiting a black hole, when I saw true nature for the first time I was shocked. The sounds, the smells, not to mention the colors!
The last memory I had of my old world was entering a conspicuous red door that had appeared in the ship. A wooden door, on a metal ship. I didn't even know it was wood at first until the others told me, because they had experienced the same thing.
Upon arriving in the west of the kingdom, we decided to set up our base at the city of Collek, home to the largest harbor on the continent, and beautiful white stone architecture.
The streets were in turmoil, day in and day out. A month had passed since we arrived, and we had managed to rent a small house in the center of the city where most of the protesting was happening.
"I wiped out the cultists' lair the third day we came here, now why the hell is this shit still going on?" said Mina, staring out of the window, down on the loud street beneath us.
She was given the gift of strength. She could destroy anything with her bare hands, folding metal as if it was paper, and clawing through stone walls like sand.
"Yeah, and you still haven't gotten rid of that demonic stench the cultists gave you! I've already asked you to take a shower!" I replied back.
She growled back at me and rolled her eyes. She walked out of the room as Eliz came in. She gave him a shove as they passed in the hallway, nearly spilling the cups of tea he held.
"As usual huh?" Eliz said with a smile and shook his head. He placed one of the tea cups on the small table near me.
I now stood by the window, with the protesting to my back. Eliz sat down with a loud grunt and sipped on the tea.
"Too bad I can't heal bad attitudes huh?"
Eliz, given the gift of health. Capable of healing any wounds he can touch within seconds, meaning he himself is indestructible too.
He put his tea down and dropped two spoons of sugar in it.
As I watched him stir, I asked a question.
"Did you manage to find anything?"
He chuckled and shook his head.
Eliz had spent a week without sleep trying to figure out what was going on in the city.
Ofcourse, we already took in mind what the protesters were shouting all the time.
Something about giving rise to a new God, true power, and that the king and his followers are evil and should die. The standard demonic spew of propaganda, we thought.
Now that Eliz had come up empty handed, it was only natural to have my doubts. The doubts being that maybe these people were insane after all, not under the influence of demons.
Suddenly, the wooden flooring began to shake, and in the middle of the room a door with a golden frame slowly rose up. The door burst open and Morroia came out running, falling face first onto the small table, spilling both the tea cups.
Eliz jumped out of the seat and placed his hand gently on her head, and within a second she stood up and gave us the report.
"He found it! Colt that fucking bastard found it!"
She had tears in her eyes, either from being too emotional or from having hit her head earlier.
"Found what!?" I replied, feeling bad about the spilt tea.
Morroia was given the gift of creation, the ability to create things out of thin air. It's an ability that takes a great toll on her body, so it's an ability we rarely make her use.
We could hear loud booms and cracking coming from the other side of the door, as leaves and wind came blowing through.
"The source! The source of this madness! It was a demon, far beyond the city borders! Colt is fighting them right now!"
The door to the place we rented was suddenly being attacked. Loud bangs, and the shouting from outside became louder.
I took a quick peek out the window, and was met by the city people all staring directly at me.
I jumped back and shouted to Mina.
"Hey Mina, let's go!"
Eliz and Morroia stepped into the door and out into the forest on the other side, more loud booms were heard.
Then, the window behind me was smashed as a rock hit my shoulder.
"Let me kill them! I'll kill them All! Those demonic bastards!" said Mina as she ran into the room.
"No. Get inside, they're still human."
The house was breached, and a flood of armed citizens came rushing in.
Mina audibly groaned and ran through the door as I quickly followed after her.
However, before I managed to fully step through the door, something grabbed a hold of my arm.
Their nails piercing into my skin as blood slowly came through.
I looked back and saw an old woman with a butcher knife staring back at me.
"It doesn't matter how much you try" She said, her voice sounded like a thousand people spoke at the same time.
"This city is mine, and so are these pitiful creatures of men."
The old woman raised the knife and before she managed to swing it down into my arm, her head exploded into a pink mist. Blood splattered everywhere. The grip loosened and I pushed her body away so I could close the door, and it crumbled into dust soon after.
Covered in blood and brains, I wiped my face clean.
"Jesus. Bob, I had it," I said, knowing that there was only one person capable of that destruction.
Appearing from the bushes came Bob Colt, the gun mage, holding his 50 caliber anti material rifle that was as tall as himself in one hand, and in the other he dragged the head of a demon the size of a boulder.
We all looked at him as he came slowly walking towards us. He was equally covered in blood as I was, but it wasn't as visible on his pitch black clothing.
He rolled the head towards us and replied:
"I've already told you, I don't know who Jesus is."
| 2022-11-07T23:37:45 | 2022-11-07T17:56:11 | 127 | 88 |
[WP] The Apocalypse began six years ago. Nobody has noticed until now.
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The kindergarten teacher pinned the flailing little girl to the floor. Caroline Schumacher outweighed the six-year-old by more than a hundred and fifty pounds, but she could barely contain the mindless ball of fury. Raina was a bright, playful student, with pretty brown hair and a quick smile. Except she was completely unrecognizable now. Her eyes were wide and unfocused; her hands shot in every direction, clawing the air. Spittle spewed from her barking mouth. Her body convulsed so hard that Caroline thought Raina was going to break her own back.
Moments earlier Raina had frozen in place. Caroline had assumed she was having some form of seizure; it would not be the first time a student had suffered one in her classroom. But then Raina had jumped at Jason, a five-year old boy, and hit him with her windmilling fists. That was when Caroline grabbed Raina and, unable to restrain the girl, held her on the ground.
Raking fingernails clawed at Caroline's face. The teacher could not catch her breath, the struggle was so difficult. "Get Mr. Murray," she gasped at her students. "Someone, go get him!"
Raina had to be restrained until paramedics arrived and rushed her to the hospital. There she was sedated by permission of her terrified parents. A shaken Mrs. Schumacher was treated for scratches to her face and was given the rest of the day off.
The next day, three more kindergarteners in the school attacked others in a frenzy.
The school was shut down as investigators searched for what chemical, pathogen, or radioactive material could be to blame. The cause of the sickness would be found within a year; but still, it was seven years too late to save anybody.
---
At first no one realized that the separate instances throughout the world were part of a pattern. But by the end of the month there were children going crazy in every country. All the victims were children born after April 13th, 2008. All went into an attacking frenzy, followed by a catatonic state. None of the victims recovered and had to be kept on various life-support machines.
On October 25th, 2014, Caroline Schumacher restrained the first victim in her school. She was stabbed to death by a grieving mother five weeks later. The act of violence was no longer unusual as humanity tore itself apart.
---
On April 12th, 2008, a small chemical plant in eastern Indiana exploded. Fears of dangerous chemical exposure were put to rest. However, there was one frighteningly simple chemical combination that, vaporized, made it into the atmosphere and spread throughout the world. It was simple and missed by all physicians, having no visible affect. But it permeated the environment and, later tests showed, infected every human on the planet. The chemical caused an invisible change that only became obvious in 2014. Every child conceived since the chemical spread had a defect in the brain that manifested in their fifth or sixth year; a defect that causes berserk behavior and catatonia. And even after scientists discovered the root of the problem, there was no way to fix it--humans could no longer produce children that would function into adulthood.
The time of turmoil had begun. And in less than a century, the songs of humanity rang their last notes, and there was only silence.
**EDIT:** Explained the problem a little better. Minor grammar and style changes as well.
|
**Climate Change** **World Cup** **Snowden A Hero** **Assange's Wikileaks To Release More Documents** Headlines screamed impatiently across the bottom of the television screen.
"I don't know how nobody realised... I knew the second I heard that Chinese government had shut down industrial areas in the weeks ahead of the 2008 Beijing Olympics that the western world was heading for a crash, but why did nobody else realise? Or why was it a case of those who knew it was coming, *allowed* it to happen? M. Night Shymalan isn't even close to this good of a story teller." Sighing, the 93 year old world war 2 veteran sat in the tired old pleather armchair, bathed in morning sunshine. The elderly lady - gently drooling out the mouth of her palsied left side - shifted unevenly in her chair, trying to form words but making only rasping grunts.
He sat up again, thoughts bursting from his mouth before they were filtered into the politically correct crap he knew his Esther preferred him to use.
"The glitz and glamour of a few thousand athletes winning a handful of medals blinded the greedy west, to the crash speeding in its direction from the east. Sub-prime mortgages, NINJA approvals, bank bailouts, trillions of debt... How on earth is this mess going to be unravelled? Just thinking about it, to be a parent in this time, it's heartbreaking. It's like Tank Girl and the Great Depression all rolled into one, and 99% of the world hasn't noticed. How are future generations going to read the history of now? For a start, they are going to wonder why so few people reacted, and why those who knew were treated like crazy people... Well! I am glad I had my children in a time where the baddies got their arse handed to them." He harumphed, and sat back in his chair. He scowled at the floor, at the age spotted hands trembling slightly on the garishly coloured lap blanket his Esther had crocheted him, before the accursed stroke stole her from him.
The lady, Esther, sighed heavily, relapsing into the resigned silence her stroke condemned her to. She wished it had taken her life, she couldn't bear this tedious, helpless life she was cursed to continue. God damn those euthanasia laws! God damn those pro-life do-gooders! If only her Jack would stop rabbiting on... "shack" she breathed heavily, the closest she could get to forming his name in the deceptive mouth that once sang sounds like honey.
He jumped, flicking his eyes to her. "Esther" he asked, hopefully. "Esther!" he said forcefully as he compelled her eyes to stay with him. Oh, her eyes were the same, always had been. Deep pools of dark chocolate. He smiled at her, as one side of her face lifted in elation.
"Where have you been my girl?" he leaned forward. "I've been so lonely here. Without you. I am so happy to see you my love!" He beamed. "These damn colours! I'll never know what possessed you to knit me such a hideous cacophony of colour!" He harumphed again. "Yes, I know! Don't say it! It's crow shay I know" He grinned like the devil and the cheeky, spirited and oh-so-gorgeous man he was seventy years ago shone through. Just for a brief moment. But she saw it. She saw him. And her face lifted in that lopsided way she only found six years ago.
Oh, she was a looker. He had always thought so, as did anyone who crossed her path. And by all that was holy and unholy, anyone who dared look at her... well. He wished he was the kind of rumbler that other men were in their youth, but he'd seen too much pain and death and loss to fight for what he knew was always his. Even if some days he swore the minx in her was begging him to arc up, just once.
But, why couldn't he get up? He could move in the seat easy enough, but to get up... Why couldn't he do that?
Esther looked at him, sadness creeping in behind the edges of her joy.
"Morning, lovely!" A bright, middle aged *male* nurse chirped as he entered the room. "I'm afraid I have some strange news for you..." He paused, looking perturbed.
"Well, you see, things have gotten a bit strange." He sat himself down on the coffee table between the two chairs, facing Esther. Suddenly he turned to Jack. "Sir, you know how things in the stock exchange have been off since the GFC in '08?"
Jack nodded curtly.
"Well, sir, thing is... your money is gone." Jack's eyes opened in alarm. "Hey, settle there, sir." The nurse reached out a reassuring hand, giving Jack's arm a gentle squeeze. "I didn't want to alarm you earlier. I didn't see much point in it you see..." Jack was frowning at the nurse, what was his name again? Tracy? Shannon? Jody? Jody! That was it! Jack smiled in relief, he wasn't losing his mind after all.
"Jody!" he barked.
Jody jumped. "Sir! You remembered my name! Well done! 10 points for Gryffindor!" Jody grimaced, remembering how he'd been reading the Pottermous tomes to Jack, one day finding them in a bath full of water. "Oops, sorry sir. I forgot. British fiction. Sir, I have to talk about your money. I can't find your trustees. I think they took it all. I have contacted the authorities, they won't step in. Say that it is all legal." Jody paused, allowing the gentleman to absorb the bad news.
"Sir, we aren't without options." Jack glared at Jody, saying nothing. Waiting for Jody to continue.
"There is option C. I know we have been operating under Plan B, since Esther... Since August '08. I know you wanted to go with Plan A at that time, it has been an honour sir, to care for you since that time sir. I know what you planned to do... after Esther..." A tear leaped down his face, betraying how evenly he was speaking. Did Jack know, how much caring for both him and Esther had meant to him? Jody suspected Jack did. Which was why Plan A was suspended.
"Sir, you have shown me the error of my ways, I can't imagine you know how. But, Option C. Option C is where you and I go. Together sir. Now sir." Jody held Jack's gaze. It felt like an eternity, really only seconds.
A mere hint of a nod. That's all it would take. Jody had the syringe and the cocktails ready. He knew that Jack would do this. Esther's will spelled it out in black and white, exactly what it would take, and this was it. Nothing left to live for. Jody waited.
The ticking of the grandmother clock on the bureau sounded slower and louder than ever before. The tick became a thump. Jack's head bowed once. Jody handed him his last Shirley Temple, laced with the appropriate chemicals, and sipped his standard unlaced glass. Jack smiled as he savoured his last cocktail. Leaning gently back in his seat, Jody waited for his breathing to lull, then checked his heart beat - or lack thereof. Silence. Stillness. Jack was gone. Jody placed the urn of Esther's ashes in Jack's lap, then took a seat next to Jack's slowly cooling body. Tears silently streamed down his face. He readied the syringe, wrapped the tourniquet around his right arm. Flexing his fist as he bent down, striking his beloved zippo - inherited from Jack himself, he touched the flame to a slow burning fuse, that trailed out of the room, down into the cellar, where the explosives impatiently awaited.
When the flame took, he leaned back in the seat, inserted the needle into the vein, loosened the tourniquet, sank the plunger. He died with a smile on his face and waves of bliss expanding throughout his body. The flames crept to the cellar, and erased all traces of the occupants of the house in a white hot blaze. He kept his promise to Esther. And to Jack. Especially to Jack. He hadn't had to watch the world burn again. But it was coming, and no one had seen it but Jack, sixty eight years earlier. He'd known, he had told Esther. Begged her not to leave him while it all burned and the masses admired the glow, then never spoken of it again. Esther made sure he hadn't been alone, Esther made sure he had Jody, who made sure Jack wasn't around to see it.
Beyond the walls, people saw the smoke. People ignored the smoke. They turned back to their portable screens - desperately hoping that the world wasn't collapsing under the weight of a new, unbeatable scourge. Not realising how foolish they had been, how many signs they had ignored. If only they had listened to Jackass Jody's tales of CrazyOldJack. If only... if only.
| 2014-06-25T09:26:08 | 2014-06-25T09:13:04 | 44 | 10 |
[WP] When the representatives of humanity attend their first Galactic Council meeting, all goes well. That is, until a member of a psionic race tries to read the human's minds and begins to scream.
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“This is really bad.”
“Diplomacy at its finest.”
“Would somebody help me out here?”
“She’s of a psionic race. They read thoughts.”
“Remind me not to play poker with her.”
“Funny.”
“This is not my fault.”
“She looked at you and started screaming and pointing.”
“I have that effect on women.”
“Yes, but usually only at last call.”
“I still think this is less my fault than everyone else does.”
“They induced a coma to make her stop screaming.”
“I didn’t induce the coma.”
“Only the screaming.”
“Allegedly.”
“What were you thinking about anyway?”
“I can’t get that baby shark song out of my head.”
|
Humanity's spread across the stars was quite slow considering its ships were capable of faster than light travel. Even with the invention of the Heinz-Shchaffen wormhole generator making near instantaneous travel a reality, a receiver was still required at the target destination. This meant that expansion occurred at the painstakingly slow pace of 98% lightspeed with, or at least it did until the Bratos III incident.
Captain Ester Jameson awoke from cold sleep to a blaring alarm and immediately puked from the stress of an emergency wakeup procedure. As she stumbled out of the cryo tube, she glanced at her wrist tablet which displayed the words *"Code 723 unknown contact under self-powered flight on intercept course ETA 1h:22m:31s"*. Ester Puked again. Humanity had never found evidence of any intelligent life outside of earth despite encountering several planets clearly capable of supporting such life and, as the years had passed, had come to assume intelligence like its own was just extremely rare. Because of this, the first contact protocol Ester was forced to learn in academy had been promptly forgotten following the test. She was proud of her sturdy ship and crew mapping out unexplored sectors of space, planting wormhole receivers for resupply, and allowing further human expansion, but they weren't diplomats. According to the nav computer, they were still undergoing deceleration procedure and still 6 weeks out from the Bratos star system in the middle of interstellar space. Stumbling onto the bridge, Ester was greeted by a sharp "Captain on the bridge!" and about 1/4 of her command crew in varied states of cold sleep sickness but putting on their best professional air. This wakeup had not been easy on anyone and they weren't going to have time to recover as at that instant, the comm channel burst to life repeating a simple yet somewhat hostile message. "*Dark Zone vessel, you have entered Galactic Council Space, prepare for impoundment and questioning".* Ester steeled herself, this was going to be one hell of a story if she lived to talk about it
Three days later, the crew was growing impatient. Their captors, and that’s what the unknown species was, had attached to the ship and immediately accelerated it to superlight speeds through methods unknown aimed at the third planet of the Bratos star system. After only a day of travel they had decelerated almost as rapidly and sat parked in orbit the planet which consisted of a planetwide Ecumenopolis apparently of greater population than Earth herself. It was after this day of travel and two days of silence that their captors finally contacted them again, this time requesting rather more politely to speak with an envoy on their ship. Ester, ranking officer was the obvious choice and she was prepared for anything as she stepped through the airlock, well almost anything. What was waiting on the other side was a gorilla, a well-dressed gorilla, but a gorilla nonetheless and it looked surprised (or as surprised as a gorilla can look) to see her.
Following an extremely confusing introduction, Ester learned why they had such a cold initial welcome. Millenia ago, a mysterious species known simply as the collectors had rampaged across the galaxy destroying entire civilizations, collecting specimens for an unknown reason, and generally refusing any attempts at peaceful contact. This had all ended abruptly when they suddenly withdrew into an area of space known as the dark zone which happened to be where Earth was located. The tattered remains of galactic civilizations had slowly reformed and the galactic council had been formed to defend against any such future incursions. What surprised the gorillas or the Unk-Hadar as they referred to themselves was just how similar humans were to one species which had been completely wiped out by the collectors and the fact that the humans knew nothing of these so-called collectors. Seeing no threat in the species and assuming this might mean the collectors were finally gone, the Unk-Hadar requested Ester's presence at a council meeting to determine what to do.
Stepping into the council chamber, Ester was amazed and confused. There were nine species represented and she recognized all of them to varying degrees as closely resembling an earth species. There were the crocodilian Spazoek, the rabbit-like Haerens, and the apparently psionic tortollans to name a few. What followed for Ester was the most intense questioning of her life, but from what she could tell the council species were extremely happy with her answers. They determined that the collectors must have performed genetic experiments on their own species but eventually died out and where therefore no longer a threat to the council as they had all feared. In the Jubilation of this realization, they were even debating offering humanity a position on the council as thanks for confirming the death of this threat. It was at the very end of this questioning that a tortollan approached Ester with a request. He would like to perform a mind meld as, while they had technology to detect a species lying, they wanted to confirm everything she had said was the truth the old-fashioned way. What followed was unexpected and horrifying as he suddenly screamed in pain and fell backwards onto his shell before his eyes rolled back into their sockets. From his mouth came a voice not his own which boomed **"These Humans are our chosen, they have proven the fittest of the species to survive in our experimentation.** **Any attempts to impede their expansion will result in immediate Pacification".**
The Elder Tortollan had not been entirely honest about his mind meld and had in fact been attempting to implant suggestions in Esters mind as his species had done to control the other council species. Instead he released a violent neural pathogen put in place by the collectors and thousands of years of evolution causing every single Tortollan on Planet Bratos III toto revert to a primitive state like that of earths turtles. The apparent Psionic attack also triggered the production of a virus buried deep in Esters DNA which did something similar to all the other non-psionic species in the council room... Utter chaos describes well what happened in the days following initial contact, but once Ester's crew was eventually able to set up a wormhole receiver Humanity inherited an entire Ecumenopolis filled with wildlife extremely like that of earth and hundreds of advanced ships with no crew intelligent enough to operate them. Of course, some ships had escaped and weeks after humanity had taken control a small fleet attempted to retake the planet, but it was too little too late. Humanity was unwittingly a pathogen which brought the galactic council to its knees and while a small number from each council species developed resistances, there simply weren't enough of them and humanity inherited a nearly empty galaxy to expand into just as the collectors had intended.
| 2019-09-29T21:58:03 | 2019-09-29T19:12:42 | 233 | 111 |
[WP] The Villain uncovers the Hero's true identity, and targets his family. Unfortunately, the Hero's spouse is a retired villain even more powerful than the current one.
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Carol Mckenna liked her routine. She got up every morning, careful not to wake up Lou, and quietly made her way down to the kitchen. She got breakfast ready, and everyday at 7:30, began to wake up the house.
Jana and Samantha always took a little rousing, but they always got up eventually. Then she would get back to her room and get Lou up. He knows the rules, he can stay out late as long as he can keep getting up early. It's one of the things that she loved about him.
Then the usual morning chaos was sorted, bathroom timings, who gets the slightly bigger pancake, finding a favorite shirt, and finally when they are all cleaned and fed, they are ready to go out into the world.
Carol liked her routine and for this reason waited until they were all gone for the day to address her shadow.
"I know you're there."
A moment of silence, and then a shadow splits from her own. It congeals and coalesces to take the form of a man in a jet black robe.
"I hold no grudge against you, but your husband has angered us for the last time."
Tendrils of darkness reached out. Before they could bind her, the entire room was consumed by what felt like an even deeper darkness.
"Interesting, you went ahead and found out Captain Flare's secret identity, but you didn't even bother to find out who I was." Carol's voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere at once, "Oh well, time to clean up."
He could feel it all around him, like being squeezed from every angle at once. No, this couldn't be happening, he was Shadow Master, he couldn't die like this.
"There are others going after your kids." A desperate gambit. Most would give anything to save their children.
Then he saw it. A Cheshire cat grin in the darkness, perfectly white teeth, smiling, almost laughing.
"The black blood of the Night Whisper runs through their veins, they'll be fine."
Shadow Master, no, Jacob Kazama would spend the rest of his very short time on earth regretting the decisions that made him go against the Night Whisper.
...
Carol had dinner ready at 6:30. Lou would eat up then hit the town with the boys. Samantha would go to her room and play video games. And Jana would sneak out the window, even though she was grounded. But that was okay, everyone needed a rebellious phase. No one knew that better than Carol.
|
Six-one-eight-nine. Portland avenue. A white house with a small lawn.
I repeat it again, just to be sure. Too often, the smallest details and the mistakes that comes from failing to remember them spelled disaster for me.
I've always though that the night suited me, it might be one of the reasons that villain's work just came to me naturally. I must admit, it's odd though, *walking* though the neighborhood, just... strolling along on the side walk.
The leather jacked rubs against my undershirt. It's not that I feel uncomfortable, per se, it's just.. I feel almost... *exposed.* The chilly air tries to pry it's way past the folds, but I clutch it tighter too me.
Without my outfit, the strobe lights and blackened armor plates, I feel almost naked as I walk past another bloody shrubbery. Just when I think that that informant's going to get a black eye for his troubles tomorrow, I come across it.
Six-one-eight-nine. Portland avenue. A white house with a small lawn.
I stand at the edge of the grass, hesitating. It's... small. Much smaller than I expected, more like a cottage than a house. There's the occasional potted plant and the line of box hedges, a errant splash of paint or two. The whole thing is the picture of suburbia.
I step to the concrete path, making sure to grind a good heel into the grass as I do. It's not much, but at least, if nothing else, I might make a good hole in his greenery.
*A journey of a thousand evils starts with a single step,* I seem to recall one of my teachers saying as I plod my way up to a wooden door with iron inlays. In my case, my single step was a foot through my sister's lego house at the age of four. Hurt like a bitch, but the pain was well worth her bawling face.
I almost lose myself to nostalgia as I stand before the door, hand half poised before a twisted ring knocker. First came the sibling rivalry, then came the delinquency, the occasional minor offence, and finally you got to know someone, or they got to know you. Then it was off to the races, to see if you could make it big - find yourself an archnemisis, get film rights, etc.
I'd found the former, the latter... I was still working on that. That reminded me, I needed to call that blonde agent from... what was it? Harford publishing? She said something about a good advance for a biography.
Well, that would be the treat after the night was done, with some coco and a rom-com. I almost wanted to turn away to walk back down the path, but business was business.
The black ring collided with the red wood.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
I briefly wonder what I'm going to do. Not burst in ranting and raving obviously, that'd be slobby. Maybe an implied threat, a bit of knife play? How subtle should he be? He really should've made a plan for these type of things before-
The door creaked open, light spilling across the concrete steps. The sound of classical music, and children's laughter came with it. Chopin, a ballade no less! He felt a little drop in his stomach as heard that. They were some of his favorites.
There was a pale hand on the door, red hair, red dress, a vision of crimson before him. A pair of fiery eyes glimmered in a heart shaped face.
"Hello?" he said, quickly clearing his throat.
"Good evening," said a warm voice that flickered like a candle.
"Ah yes..." he trailed off as he realized that he had nothing to say, "uh..."
"I don't think I know you. Can I help?"
"I'm a friend of your husband," he said, the shamelessness of the lie nearly bringing color to his cheeks.
"Oh, well why didn't you say so?" she said, a bubbly radiance spilling forth as she practically pulled him in. She didn't even close the door as she waved him through to a spacious kitchen.
"Who's that?" said a voice from a side room amid a confluence of gunshots.
"Just a friend of your father's, you deal with your game, I'll deal with the guest," she said, as she shut the door to the room, muffling the affirmation.
He was twirled into a chair before he even had time to react, the crimson women weaving her way around the island to see to the preparation of dinner. The lusciousness of onions, the sweetness of carrots, simmering meat and fresh baked bread all filled the kitchen as she fiddled with this pot and this oven.
He relaxed as he saw her roving around, sinking into the smellscape of that space. Then, nearly dropping it to his horror, he slid out a knife under the counter.
As she pulled out a long wooden board onto the counter top, she began to speak to him.
"So, are you a friend from work, then?"
"Yes, I've often worked with your husband," he said, grateful for the way out.
"Oh, what department? Sorry for being curious, he so rarely talks about his job, no matter how much I ask," she giggled, shifting the board slightly, then leaning over to look him in the eye.
"Yes," he said, "uh, I work, in... accounting."
"Accounting," she said, drumming her fingers on the marble as she glanced up and down, "why how lovely. I always loved the number game, they way they all... tumble together and such."
"Yes, quite," he said dryly. He played with his collar, feeling rather warm.
"Do you have an hobby, mister..."
"Smith. James Smith. Not a lot, mostly work, that who I am. Archery too, every now and then."
"Ooh. A work man, I understand. It's so easy to get lost in a career, then suddenly your life twists and turns and you're not quite sure where you've ended up. It's funny how that works isn't it?"
At this point, he was considering if the rom-com might've been the better choice.
"Me? After I retired, oh, how I loved my work though, I picked up gardening. Not really much good at it, my green thumb is more of a red one, in the line of Poe, I'm afraid."
They both shared a laugh, but something felt very fragile as it hung in the air.
"Look, I was-"
"And fertilizer, do you know anything about fertilizer? I've been reading a lot lately, learning so many new and interesting things. Like ash, for instance. Makes for lovely blooms."
"I-"
"Animal ash, now that.." she said, bringing a loaf of bread on top of the board, "makes for some *killer* flowers."
"You, er.. don't have a knife," he said. Okay, it was definitely not his imagination. He was starting to sweat.
"Oh right, of course," she said.
His right knee slammed into the counter top, causing him to gasp as he reeled to maintain his balance. Once he did, he started to speak, his irritation beginning to peak at this constant chatter.
“Look, I came here to threa-”
“Oh, thank you!” came her voice.
*Will you shut up for thirty seconds?* He thought as he inhaled, preparing to simply say the fucking thing. Then he stopped.
She was standing there, holding out a hand to offer him a piece of bread, wafts of steam peeling off its darkening surface. A knife, his knife, was clutched lazily in one hand, a wave of white, yell and red crawling down the once dark metal, rippling the air above it.
Her eyes were alive with circulating streams of those same reds and yellows, ambers and purples screaming their way across the edges of the irises. It was indescribably beautiful, but in the same way a nuclear explosion was beautiful.
The smile that slashed its way across her face made his heart freeze, even as he continued to sweat in the sudden heat.
“You were saying?”
​
​
*Want more of my stuff? Check out* /r/The_Alloqium*!*
| 2020-07-18T23:15:16 | 2020-07-18T22:22:21 | 498 | 228 |
[WP] Superheroes lie about their powers to protect themselves; some speedsters are actually just able to teleport, and some people with super-strength can just cancel gravity to make things lighter. You're trying to come up with a plausible lie for your powers.
|
You tell everyone that you have the power of flight. But that seems like too simple of an explanation, and people are starting to get suspicious.
It is incredibly hard to explain that there happens to be a very unique “phenomenon” that occurs within your body. It is something completely natural within your body, and no one else’s.
But the truth is, you’re just incredibly flatulent. Not only that, but instead of methane, your body naturally produces helium instead. And you’ve learned that if you prevent yourself from passing gas for long enough, and retain enough flatulence, you can make yourself float. When you do finally let loose, the sheer amount you have inside of you propels you incredible distances at incredible speeds, while the residual helium keeps you afloat until your “tank” runs empty.
One of the awkward questions you frequently receive is “why does it take you so long to get in the air?”. Which is usually followed by “why does it sound like you’re releasing a balloon when you finally get going? A balloon full of sewage?”
You want to answer honestly. You want to tell someone, anyone the truth about what goes on inside you. But you fear the response you might get. Either utter disbelief, or absolute hysterics. You aren’t sure which would be worse, so for now you just keep telling everyone “my superhero ability is “flight””.
|
# VI | [Read from I](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/v1fq6x/wp_as_a_joke_the_gods_decided_to_reverse_the/iaoubt6/)
Aside from Adrianna, Cassidy Quinn was Shizuka's only real friend.
He'd been at the Academy longer than almost any of the other students. Long enough to have been here when she'd first arrived, a girl barely more than twelve, far from home and clearly a foreigner, trying to conceal her own fright and lashing out at other students who'd taken undue interest in her -- which meant any interest at all beyond a passing glance. It hadn't helped that her grasp of the language had proven less complete than she'd thought, when she'd studied it in her homeland. If she'd become an outcast, she had to admit that some of that was her own fault.
If only the bastards had ever let it go.
But there was Cassidy. She'd met him in her adopted refuge, the library of literature and philosophy. Unlike the much larger library of magical arts, very few went there -- other than the librarians, of course, but they were happy enough to let her be. For a few days, it had been a place she could get away, sit in solitude, and read.
Cassidy had had the same idea. The first time she'd entered the library to find him sitting in a corner nook and reading, she'd frozen in place. And not in trepidation. He'd been a small and scrawny boy, the furthest thing from dangerous, with too-large clothes and unkempt hair. Unkempt golden hair, the Eastlander shade that so fascinated her. Wide, startled eyes -- bright purple eyes -- when he'd looked up at her. He'd resembled a frightened rabbit, just for a moment. And then he'd smiled and beckoned her over.
They hadn't spoken much that day, beyond an exchange of names. Nor the next day. He'd seemed comfortable just sitting there, reading natural philosophy while she painstakingly worked her way through the least challenging works of literature she could find. Eventually, he'd made a recommendation. She'd asked him to explain a passage. They'd spoken some more. Some time later, she'd realized she'd begun to think of him as a friend. She'd thought he must have an affinity for compassion, or reassurance, or something of the sort.
So it was her and Cassidy and, eventually, her roommate Adrianna. The three misfits. Plus Cassidy's current girlfriend, she supposed. Over the years, he'd blossomed; now, he was no longer a misfit, really. He was nearly as tall as she was (and she was so uncommonly tall that she feared she'd be taken for *oni*-blooded, if she ever returned to Shirigekuro). He was slim, but no one would call him scrawny -- he got adjectives like "lithe" and "willowy" instead. He'd developed a pale, androgynous, almost-ethereal beauty, too, and worse, he knew it. He seemed to have a different girl (and, once, a boy) every couple of weeks.
If she hadn't already liked him so much, she might have hated him.
----
Cassidy frowned in thought while those purple eyes bored into her. "Are you sure it wouldn't be better to wait?"
Shizuka sighed. "No. Shapeshifting isn't one of the magics I've developed. Adrianna's been stuck in my form ever since the calamity, though, and I think it's really starting to get to her. I've never seen her hold one form for so long before."
"You have," he pointed out. "Her own."
Tilting her head, she waved that away. "Other than her own. And yes, it's starting to get to me too. It's creepy enough to see an envy witch take your shape, but living with one for weeks like that?"
"I see your point, but you should talk to her about it."
"I'm not going to just *change* her! I just don't want to bring it up before I know if it's possible. I wouldn't want..."
"To get her hopes up?" Cassidy nodded. "Okay. So, without an envy master witch, that leaves a few options. Imbued items weren't affected by the calamity, so we could try to get her a transformation item. But that's probably too expensive to be practical." He paused, looking to her for confirmation.
Shizuka had brought a good amount of gold and silver with her to the Academy, but years of schooling and a paucity of options for reliably obtaining money had whittled that down. An imbued brooch or cloak was well beyond her means now, even if one were available, and she regretfully shook her head.
"A transformation elixir, then?"
"That, I could afford," she said. "But that would be single-use, and it would wear off. Plus, you never know how long an elixir is going to last. If I need to, I'll buy one for her, but it's not a real solution."
He nodded. "You could put the word out and try to hire an envy witch to transform her."
"If any of them has re-mastered their magic." She grimaced. "It's worth a try, if nothing else works."
"What else is there?"
She met his gaze for a moment before her eyes darted away. "I was hoping you could."
"What? I don't--"
"Cass." She cut him off, speaking quickly, before she lost the nerve. "I know about your affinities. Can you help?"
He looked at her, then turned away, seeming to deflate as he did. "How?" he asked quietly.
"We've been friends for a long time, Cass, and I'm not completely stupid." She ventured a fragile smile. "I understand why you've presented yourself as a lightning and metal wizard, but I know about your other one."
"You can't possibly understand."
She flinched from the pain she heard and reflexively offered a defense. "I've torn almost two dozen holes into my own essence." A beat, before she continued more softly, "I'm sorry. I didn't plan to bring it up, ever, but... I'm worried about her."
It surprised her when he laughed. A strained, half-broken sound, but a laugh, at least. "A rare day when Shizuka Kitsuki apologizes. Well, for the Academy's heroine..."
"Thank you."
He took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. Seconds ticked past in silence. "I don't know that I can help," he said at last. "But what are friends for?"
----
[Next Chapter](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/v84iiq/sp_trust_no_one_especially_not_yourself/ibpd5z9/)
| 2022-06-06T16:57:42 | 2022-06-06T14:18:28 | 24 | 10 |
[WP] Heaven and Hell do exist after death but you can choose in which you go. You jokingly choose Hell and when you arrive there, you hear Satan saying: "Finally someone! A friend!"
|
`You were perfect in your ways from the day you were created till iniquity was found in you` (Ezekiel 28:15)
He was supposed to be the perfect angel. The one who chose free will and to corrupt it. I had to see him, but... i didn't expect him to be so... beautiful.
"What's this? A friend? Finally... some one who understands."
"Hi, you... hi." My heart fluttered in my chest. The other angels were clearly things created by a being so infinitely old that human shapes were not his original design, but Satan... Lucifer, he was... gorgeous. The long beautiful hair, the toned body and tight skin, the symmetry of his face and the broadness of his shoulders. He glowed.
"I was hoping eventually someone would understand my design. You chose me." his smile was perfect in his chiseled face.
" I did. I figured if the Ezekiel was right you should hold wisdom far more capable of a human mind to grasp. I spent my life searching truth, my truth, and when i knew i could choose you or him, i knew God knew it all, where is the wisdom in the infinite?
`Your heart was lifted up because of your beauty; you corrupted your wisdom for the sake of your splendor` (Ezekiel 28:17).
"I chose free will. God doesn't take kindly to letting others debase themselves. I don't blame him, Dad is set in his ways. If i had made everything from nothing i would want it to be perfect too, but i knew that there had to be something to ugly, something to freedom." He pushed his foot outward just enough to show light streaming from the gates behind him.
Then it slipped out. "God you're fucking pretty." I slapped my hands over my mouth, "I am so sorry... That was ... sorry."
He blushed and then took a step back from the door, "Please come in."
|
He really... wasn't what I expected. For one thing, he was-
"Really? 12 years of Sunday school and they _missed that?_" Lucy replied, blinking slightly as she realised just how little the humans knew. I nodded sadly and gently patted her back, feeling her skin under my fingers like dry paper and fire-tinder. She didn't _look_ especially demonic, not really - not human, there was no way you could mistake her for someone made of meat. At an easy eight feet tall, her jet nails formed cuticles with skin streaked with violet and black that appeared paper-thin, but had the strength of steel and the texture of dry parchment. She didn't look human... but she didn't look evil.
"Are you... are you alone here?" I replied, and as she nodded I found myself looking around across the vastness of dark void in which I had arrived. It didn't so much look empty as unfinished, as though it hadn't finished becoming _somewhere_ yet. Beneath my feet there was solid, unyielding ground, floored expertly with mahogany planks and scattered across it were objects that look like half-bean bags, half-eiderdowns. I stood, and walked across to one feeling the air moving around me as though I were travelling far faster than I truly was. Behind me, the soft rustling as though of dry leaves told me Lucy had walked behind me, and I felt bizarrely glad she was there. She was... well, "Him", I guess. The devil, Satan, master of demons and djinni and all the foulness in the world. Tempter and corrupter and defiler. It should not have felt comforting when she wrapped an arm around my shoulders, and gazed off dramatically into the middle-distance.
"I have been here for a timeless eternity" she muttered softly, "floating _in potentia_ through the infinite void". Her hands gently but firmly steered me to take a seat in one of the strange but almost impossibly comfortable feather-sacs, and she positioned herself across from me as she sat in one of her own.
She sighed quietly, and appeared to be steeling herself to answer my unasked questions.
"I existed here because your kind believed that I did, but without a human to enter my domain there was nothing to rend the empty fabric and bring reality to my plane. In the realm above there a billions of you, living in the White Realm and experiencing one form of life beyond the material, but that does not mean it is the best, nor that it is exclusive." Her lips moved around the words with a precision that appeared unearthly, every sound pronounced with the careful infallibility of a being with over a million years since the emergence of humanity to practice.
"This, friend, is the Black Realm. The duality to the realm above, its polar opposite and its identical twin. In the White Realm, it is the experience of the collective that steers the will of the void; in the Black Realm, it is the experience of the individual that bends the fabric of reality." She smiled almost seductively around the words, and reached out a hand into the space before me, holding it palm upwards as her eyes slipped closed. As she began again to speak, I transferred my gaze to her lips and saw that where in humans they would have been rosy from blood, in her they were purple-black with whatever pulsed through her own veins... if she even had them.
"In the White Realm, he who commands that place gave to humanity a gift when your kind first emerged upon the plains of the mother-continent. He gave you _language_, such that you might spread your ideas and ideals amongst your own kind and come to consensus." Her palm appeared now to be glowing faintly in the empty not-light of the void, and I found my gaze irrevocably drawn towards it. I couldn't help but see it, and I couldn't help but want to.
"From the Black Realm, I too gave humanity a gift, to spread my ideals and to better your kind." A soft sound was emerging from the space above her palm, one that gave the impression that it was not a small sound... but was in fact a truly _deafening_ sound, heard from very far away. Lucy's black lips spat a syllable that should by all rights have been utterly incomprehensible, that nevertheless failed to be completely and totally understood inside the ears of my mind.
**I gave you Fire**, spoke the sound, as the void above her hand ripped open like a paper bag and pure Fire appeared in its place. This was not the fires I had struck with matches at home, not the tame thing that dwelt within the heating element of my old home boiler. This was Fire, the purest _essence_ of flame, and as it licked into the air it felt, it looked, it sounded... joyful.
I looked back towards Lucy and I knew my eyes were shining with wild abandon, not just at the reality that the void could create things at will, but with the magnificence of what I had seen it create. She was grinning back at me slyly, and as she dropped her hand, it released the Fire upwards into the air, where it spread and thinned, disappearing without ever appearing to leave. I watched it travel, looking for all the world like an orange aurora, and moved my head down again to watch Lucy's eyes.
"That is what I am. He above is the essence of community. I below and the essence of self. He gave you language, that you might share and become more than you are; I gave you fire, that you might control the world around you and develop the technology to become more than animals." She leant forwards, and I realised she was taking a bow. I took a couple of seconds to find my voice, and when I did I realised it was almost hoarse.
"That's what this is then? This place we're sitting? This is... what my mind created?" She nodded, still grinning like a cat with thumbs but remaining silent. I stood easily, far more easily than anyone sitting in what was essentially just a bundle of pillows had any right to stand, and walked around the place. It was beautifully furnished and dimly light by a permeating nowhere-light, though without walls or ceiling, and as I walked slowly towards the edge where the void should start I found the floor was travelling with me, extending itself out into the infinite inky expanse. I felt my mind calling out, desperate to try using the properties of this realm, and I heard my companion rise out of her own seat. I watched her move with an impossible grace across the floor, as though she wasn't walking but merely allowing my mind to see her walk as she glided with ease through the fabric of this place. As I saw her move, I knew what I wanted to try first.
I reached out a hand, and she stood behind me wrapping her hand around my own, holding it in the correct position. Once again, I had that eerie feeling that despite all that I knew of the ruler of this place being wrong... my mind was still convinced that it shouldn't enjoy the sensation of her warmth pressed into my own. Her long arms reached easily around mine, and her foot gently nudged my own into a better stance.
"Whenever you're ready" she said, grinning wider still. Sure as I was that she could read the thoughts in my mind, it was good to see she approved of my choice for humanity's first usage of the Black Realm's power. I took a deep breath, and found the place in my mind this realm had put there, where the words of power lived. I wrapped my thoughts around a sentence, and delivered the string of syllables to my lips.
**Let there be Lightning**
And my gods was there ever Lightning.
| 2022-11-26T21:59:01 | 2017-11-04T09:51:52 | 44 | 20 |
[WP] You've always dreamed of becoming a supervillain when you got your powers, and just because you were bestowed the power of healing doesn't change anything
|
"Your 1 o clock is ready sir". My PA respectfully withdrew.
***Most kids dream of being hero's. Me? I always put myself in the shoes of the villains.***
Strolling into the brightly lit room I took a look at what I had to work with. I met dull eyes in a deeply lined face.
***They always seemed so much more free. Heroes, everyone's always making demands, like "Help me!"***
I plastered on a fake smile as I reached out, at the same time I let my power flow into his body.
***Even when the heroes give into those demands, they're never happy. Forever haranguing them "you did so much property damage! Couldn't you have saved the city more carefully!"***
I could feel the clogged arteries. I could feel aged tissue and membranes, weak as hope. Small pockets of partly dead tissue in the brain from mini-strokes.
***To me, villains always seemed to have the better deal, if a hero acts like a villain for even a moment they're never forgiven, if a villain acts like a hero for a day on a whim, that's their choice.***
A trifle to my powers. Under my touch arteries cleared, precancerous cells shriveled away ,fresh cells took the place of dying, the fragile skin of a near-corpse became the strong soft skin of a youth, depleted bone marrow regrew and bones strengthened.
***But what's the real point of being a classical villain? They rob banks but the whole point is to have the money to achieve their goals***
The eyes in front of me brightened. Soon I was looking into the a youthful face that had adorned countless PR pieces, one of the worlds richest men.
***When my powers manifested I thought about trying the standard villain thing, punching heroes... but I don't like fighting. I like being rich. Rich as Croesus.***
One of the worlds richest men, but this afternoon he'd taken a tumble down the forbes 500 list. The price of youth and health.
***When you're rich enough you can stand above the dreams of normal villains. While they try kidnap people and rob jewels I buy countries and jewel mines***
A few hours of my time a month. Sold to the absolute highest bidder. At this point I could probably afford to stop even that work... but there's wealth and power even beyond what can be bought with mere money...
***Heroes fight villains in the streets while the truly powerful rule the world***
there's something to be said for having the immortal elite of the world dependent upon you if they want to continue to live forever.
|
I always knew there was something different about me. Maybe it was the way I dressed, all black all the time. Maybe it was the fact I didn't have many friends growing up or maybe it was the fact I was obsessed with pain. It started off with little cuts to myself here and there, but the pleasure I felt when I used my scalpel, stolen from school, to somewhat dissect living animals, hearing them cry and seeing them squirm, was second to nothing. It was mostly local pets. I never killed them I just wanted to see the pain in their faces them before sewing them back up so their owners would never suspect a thing. I used to lure them into my home with biscuits. I got off to the sound of their helpless cries as I would perform my "experiments" on them. I definitely wasn't like the other kids growing up. Ethan, my best friend from super-school, always told me I was a little weird but I never told him about my little secret. Well, maybe he was the weird one for being friends with me then. I shouldn't be so critical, it was nice to have a friend at school.
Super-school always bored me. We were taught the difference between right and wrong, the importance of honor and blah blah blah. BORING. The only thing keeping me there was reveal day. At some point in history people discovered that a small portion of the population had what seemed to be super powers. Things that couldn't be explained by science at the time. They were dubbed "supers". In the beginning they were hunted like dogs but as years went by more and more people discovered they had some form of powers. It got to the point where something had to be done. Something about telepathic babies causing havoc in maternity wards was the last straw. Schools had to be reformed to accommodate and incorporate the powers. For safety's sake when someone was born they were given an inhibitor injection, this stopped them from accessing their powers until their 21st birthday or until the inhibitor was removed. Reveal day was when that happened and we would experience our powers for the first time.
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On reveal day I was nervous, I tried to hide it as best as I could but my clammy palms told no lies. I thought what if I didn't like my power? What if I got one of the useless ones like the ability to become invisible when nobody is looking? What if my power was seeing the future and I would be confined to a life of boredom working for the Oracle? To be fair anything was better than school again. I was seated among my classmates in a large theater which was originally designed for operas but the government re purposed the building for super school and the large theater was the perfect backdrop for events such as reveal day and school plays. Beautiful violet floral patterns lined the cream stone walls which complimented the red velvet chairs packed with students, parents and teachers. A spotlight lit up the headmaster on the stage as he was calling out the names of my classmates to receive their degree and have their inhibitor removed. The headmaster would hand over the small tube-like parchment with a little ribbon on it, press a gun like contraption, named a revealer, against our temples and pull the trigger so the inhibitor would be disabled. At that moment you just knew what power you had. Some people screamed and cried with happiness, others would sulk and trod off stage.
When my name was called I felt light headed. I stumbled out of my seat and climbed the steps towards the stage. As I was handed my ribbon I felt sick with anticipation, I did my best to hide my smile but the thought of never having to come back here again delighted me. The revealer took me by surprise and felt cold against my temple. A tingling feeling overcame me. It started in my head and spread all over my body, I couldn't help but grin to the applause of the crowd. Then just like that it came to me. I could feel the small scalpel cuts on my fingers and wrists getting warm. I could heal. My face fell. Of all the powers I could have had of course it would be healing. Somehow the headmaster knew too and he seemed elated, probably at the idea that I would be assigned to a hospital and become a world class healer. I did not share his elation.
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Life as a healer wasn't so bad. You meet some really nice people and everybody naturally loves a healer. Although I didn't see it on reveal day, being given the power of healing was both the most ironic and amazing thing to ever happen to me. I opted out of working in hospital, instead I opened my own health clinic. I was a simple man, I never cared for money and I just wanted to fuel my obsession with pain. Day in day out people would come to me with their problems and with just a simple look I would take it all away. Or so they thought. In signing up for my clinic they had given me their address and opened themselves up, so to speak, to a whole new world. Nobody seemed to notice the all too personal questions they had to answer to sign up for my clinic. They trusted me. Once I came across a patient who lived alone and had a non-threatening power I went to work. I would sneak into their houses at night, blindfold them and tie them up. Women were my favorite target but as long as they couldn't do anything to me I didn't discriminate. Then I would wake them up before slowly cutting into them, exposing their insides all the while with my hand caressing their bodies. Each cut to them I would repeat on myself. Each contraction, every whelp and wince we shared would release a wave of pleasure in me. I would handle their internal organs, squeeze them wrap them around sometimes even play with them. It depended on my mood but most importantly I would never kill them. I would bring them to the brink of death, heal them and then start the process all over again. Sometimes I would continue this process for days. Then, as quietly as I snuck in I would leave and find my next target. I did this for years.
I never had a lover, who would love me? I was deranged but I loved it. I tried prostitutes but they just didn't do it for me. Nothing compared to that feeling of total control over pain and fear. Eventually I started getting myself off on my work. It started with jacking myself off while I was with a target but soon graduated to fucking the slit holes I would cut in my targets. Soon I wasn't even attracted to women anymore, what really turned me on was pleasuring myself while consecutively causing a world of pain.
Ethan was the reason I am writing this. He came to my clinic one day. He didn't say much and he seemed upset. He lived alone. He never revealed his power to anybody and didn't comment on what it was at the time. To be fair he could have but I wasn't listening, I thought back to our childhood days and felt very lonely. The nature of my fantasy brought to life meant I was constrained to a life of solitude. This feeling was quickly overcome with my all too familiar desire and unbeknownst to me he became my last target. I carried out my usual routine and began my incisions. I had never felt anything like the pleasure I felt that night. Then the night carried into the day and back into the night. All the while Ethan had never said a word. Not even a grunt. As I was getting ready to leave I felt uncomfortable. This wasn't like the other times. Something was wrong. Then, just like that the world began to pixelate and fade away.
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
My eyes opened and slowly adjusted to the light. I could barely make out the shocked faces of the people standing around me. I was playing the VR game "SuperVil" where you could take the shoes of a supervillain from birth all the way to death.
"What the fuck?" I exclaimed. "I was just finishing my confession so I could give myself up to the police and get into prison, that place is crazy!! Can you imagine the shit I'd get up to with this player?? " I yelled.
"You didn't even give your character a name." A store clerk calmly replied. "This place is supposed to be child friendly too, how are you so twisted and deranged that you managed to get past the censors?? Get out dude, you're fucked in the head, nobody wants to see that shit."
| 2019-01-30T06:51:16 | 2019-01-30T05:53:38 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] You have a secret power, you can see colors around people that tell what they feel about you. Gold for love, red for hate, blue for sadness, etc. You make eye contact with a stranger while walking, and for the first time you see the color black.
|
It was always strange growing up, knowing how others felt. How others looked at me. It has definitely been an advantage for me. It helped me in so many ways. I succeeded in so many ways because of it.
Expect when it came to dating. Sure I could use it to help me date. It would be so easy, just as everything else in my life has been so easy.
Yet I don't want that. Not there. Dating is the one, single place where I want a challenge. I want to build a life with someone, craft our relationship, and challenge myself to be better.
For my other half.
Unable to find what I was looking for I became reclusive. I hid from the word a bit. Playing games online and interacting that way. So I wouldn't see the other people, and know what they felt.
It wasn't until I met someone different. The color black surrounded them, encompassed them, and hid them. I didn't know what that color meant.
I had to know. I talked to them, befriended them, and spent time with them. Wondering, for years, what I meant.
It wasn't until I was already in love with them that they told me. They didn't feel. They simply lacked that part of their brain. They didn't even remember feeling. It has always been like this for them.
Yet I loved them. They were everything I wanted. The challenge I never experienced, the uncertainty I never knew, and the strangeness of being so different so unique compared to everyone else.
The only one.
Somehow we formed a relationship. Somehow, we fell in love. Well, as in love as someone without feelings can be... I think. We agreed to wed at least.
We had a large celebration, and a lovely festival we exchanged our vows and my significant other looked at me.
"I'm happy." They said.
But the back sill surrounded them, encompassed them, and was them.
"Really?"
"Well I think I am" they said, Uncertainty.
And that was the best I could hope for.
The best I could achieve.
|
\[Lone Star\]
Alis strolled through the sea of purple auras with a smile on her face. It was a bright, cool Saturday morning; Fall had arrived. She could not stand the thought of spending such a beautiful morning stuck at home, so she made her way downtown. It was as crowded as she hoped with dozens of shoppers wandering in and out of each store with colorful packages.
Days like today were the only chance she got to experience what she thought a big city might be like. Throughout most of the week, her small downtown plaza was quiet and she was stuck in school wishing she could be somewhere else. Alis always felt like there was more to the world, the universe even, than anyone in her town could imagine. Though, she did often wonder if she only felt like that because she knew that she was special. She was the only person she'd ever met that could see people's auras.
Alis was only 14 but she felt like she'd had the ability to see the colors around people all her life. Over the years she developed an understanding of what they meant. Bright colors revealed people's feelings towards her. Most of the time the colors around her parents was gold which meant love, though they had the occasional flash of other colors. Sometimes they turned blue when talking about money; she knew whatever color she saw was only ever in the moment. Once, when she was sick, both her parents were yellow with fear for several days.
It took a little bit of extra attention to differentiate the yellow from the gold auras, but she had a lot of time in bed with nothing else to distract her. Whenever someone felt emotion towards Alis, she could tell by the color. But, every other stranger that wouldn't have a feeling towards her one way or the other glowed with soft purple light. She considered it the baseline and she was happiest when surrounded by purple glows. She loved being lost in the lights confident in the fact that no one knew her. She longed for the big city; but, she knew that she would end up there one way or the other. The insight her ability gave her taught her to live in the moment. Everything changes, especially feelings.
Alis stopped at an intersection to wait for the light to change. While she stood in a crowd of purple glows, a flash of black caught the corner of her eye.
"What?" Alis was so surprised that she spoke it aloud. She turned to her right and saw what looked like the tail end of a black cloak. A person walked out of sight between two buildings. But, instead of the purple glow that everyone else had, they were covered with a flowing cloak. It was pitch black and Alis was sure it wasn't a real cloak. It was the stranger's aura.
The decision was quick and easy. She had never seen a color other than purple that wasn't related to her in some way. Even if this instance had nothing to do with her, she needed to find that out too. She left the purple strangers and followed the new one. Alis turned around the building into the alley and she froze.
She did not have a plan going in, and the stranger simply stood against the wall as if waiting for something. It was another teen girl about Alis' age. She had black hair that was shorter than Alis' own shoulder-length chestnut curls. She was also surrounded by a black hooded cloak that floated around her. A golden-bladed scythe and an hourglass of golden sand also hovered in front of her with no sign of the purple aura that everyone else had. Even when she could see others' feelings towards her, the purple was always visible underneath.
"Hi," the teen looked as surprised as Alis to see her there.
"Uhmmm. hi...," Alis tried to ignore the black aura and come up with a reason that she was there. She did not find one. "I'm Alis," she said. "It's short for Borealis."
"I'm Steph," the teen replied with a half-wave. "It's short for Stephanie," she smiled. Alis felt at ease. It was the first time she'd given her full name without surprising someone. It was usually met with some form of, 'what kind of name is that?' But, Steph didn't seem to care about her odd name, and that made Alis like her a little bit more.
"So..., are you waiting for something?" Alis asked. She moved closer to Steph to carry on the conversation. It was getting easier to ignore the cloak.
"Oh, wow," Steph's smile grew wider when Alis was close enough. "I didn't realize you were an Estrella," she said with a nod. "I'm waiting for a friend, you should meet her too." Alis accepted the explanation, but she still tilted her head.
"I'm a... what?" she asked. Steph reflected the same confused look.
"You don't know?" she asked. "But you're using your Sight right now, your eyes are full of stars," she said. As she answered Alis' question, Steph pulled out a transparent piece of glass. She tapped the surface and held it up. By the time Alis looked into to it, it was a mirror that perfectly reflected the golden stars in her eyes.
"What's wrong with my eyes!?" She asked. The golden glow disappeared when she panicked, and the black cloak around Steph also disappeared. "What??" Alis looked back at the opening of the alley. Several pedestrians walked by but none of them were glowing purple.
"Oh, you really need to meet my friend if you didn't know," Steph said. "And, Mundo. You definitely need to meet Mundo."
"What's going on? What am I?" Alis asked. She had some fear in her voice, but it was quickly being replaced by interest. She focused on passing shoppers and willed her eyes to see the purple again. It showed up and she turned back to see Steph covered in the black cloak. After a moment she willed it to turn off and the cloak disappeared.
"You are Unique Soul #35, La Estrella. The star. It means a few different things, but the relevant one is that you can see people's souls. I'm Unique Soul #14, La Muerte. The Death. So, you probably see me covered in a black cloak. But, not now because you turned it off," she giggled.
"You.. you can tell?" Alis asked. She willed her eyes to glow again and Steph nodded.
"You get golden stars in your eyes when you use it," she said.
"I feel like I've been using it all the time...," Alis shook her head. "Why didn't anyone else notice? My friends? My parents? I'm surrounded by people that care for me and no one said anything?"
"Oh, they wouldn't have noticed," Steph said. "NPCs usually ignore that kind of thing."
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1699 in a row. (Story #253 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on August 22nd and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until May 26th. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/wtglls/tokuhigh_alternet_class/).
| 2022-09-10T09:29:19 | 2022-09-10T09:16:53 | 57 | 41 |
[WP] Aliens fear humans. Their blood is poison, they can see well in the dark and eat meat. One was just found as a stowaway on a mining ship deep in space, with the crew doing everything in their power to avoid the human as it lurks about the ship, looking for someone to talk to
|
"Why do they flee, why can't they see,
My mission is only diplomacy?
I did not know, that their ship's gravity,
Would cause my nose so greatly to bleed.
I did not know that this red *even could* -
Cut through their skin like a chainsaw through wood.
Every time I try to make a friendship that's good,
*This* always happens, forever *misunderstood.*"
---
"My Queen there is news of the alien on board."
"What? He still runs? How's he not yet been caught?"
"Because his blood is like acid, and his eyes they can see,"
"In the darkness of night, and worse - he eats meat!"
"Leave me, commander, for a while I must think."
"Yes, my Queen, I will see the ship's shrink"
*To the audience:*
"A monster on board, and my crew think it he,
There's a monster - tis true! - but that monster is *me*.
They do not know how empty I feel deep inside,
The loneliness burns, even with crew by my side."
"This Queen for a King, every night she doth plea,
She sails an ocean of stars, but she's forever lonely."
---
"I will wander this ship, through this maintenance vent,
Until the claws of friendship I duly cement.
I have never really had a friend of my own,
But perhaps with this species, I won't be... *alone*."
---
What is that beeping? - he's somewhere on top.
Ten metres, Five metres.... My God, he has stopped!
Perhaps it is time, I'm too lonely to live...
I will let him take me; I'll feel the stab of his shiv.
---
I open this hatch, and through it I fall!
My word, what is that creature, so big and so tall?
Its eyes are like stars, its tongue - it is art!
I think this creature has captured my heart.
---
He is so small, so meek, - *why were we scared?*
The poor thing is shivering - I think I'm ensnared!
On his head there's a mop of thick, sandy brown,
Soon sitting on that shall perhaps be my crown?
*Together (taking each others hands/claws):*
A billion stars, yet we've been so alone,
Emotions like this, not before have we known.
There's a kinship that burns deep down inside,
With you I'll live, and always be by your side.
---
---
If you liked his, please come check out some of my other stories: /r/nickofnight
|
Empty bags of chips, crushed 2L bottles of coke, stiff pizza boxes.
Trashbags taped to the windows, phone cord unplugged, cat door boarded up.
Cockroaches, mice, mold.
"Today's the day," Dennis says to himself. Patchy beard, red-rimmed eyes, fuzzy teeth.
He squares himself off against his front door.
Military surplus boots, parachute pants, heavy black trenchcoat.
The doorknob warms his palm. A single turn of the wrist is all it will take.
There's a TV commercial he's seen every fifteen minutes for the last ten hours. A section of brown scummy floor tile gets sprayed with a bright yellow liquid. Then a rag sweeps through and reveals glittering white laminate.
Dennis imagines the sun will have a similar effect on his home. One bright yellow spray of daylight and his home will be scrubbed clean of the darkness, the damp, and the mold.
And if the sunlight had a similar effect on him, too, that wouldn't be so bad.
A single turn of the wrist is all it will take.
Dennis takes a deep breath.
On the other side of the door is his concrete walkway. It runs straight for a few feet, then bends left to his driveway. He could walk along the walkway and down his driveway to the sidewalk, which runs along the periphery of his neighbours' homes. If he walks along it, he'll brush up, gently, against his neighbours' lives. He'll see their new cars, their bright flowers, and their shiny windows. It'll be a non-invasive reminder that there are other people in the world, and that he can interact with them without anything going bad.
But what if he's walking along the sidewalk taking in the cars, flowers, and windows and he stops to admire a particularly well-kept house, one with manicured bushes and a perfectly trimmed lawn, and on the other side of the invisibly clean French windows he makes eye contact with an attractive middle-aged woman, and she sees his trench coat and his boots, and her face barely changes, in fact she smiles at him, but there's a crinkling he can see around her eyes, and a twitch of her upper lip, those unconscious physical ticks that spell out disgust.
What if that happens?
He'll have no choice but to show her that her opinion doesn't matter to him. He'll have to piss on her lawn. Or kick her flowers to scrap. Or run his dragonclaw knife down the length of her car.
He wouldn't want to do these things, but he'd have no choice.
And, come to think of it, he'd have to do these things if a child on a tricycle sees him walking down the sidewalk and turns around. Or if a man cleaning his car looks at him and says hello in that flat, unwelcoming way that middle-aged home-owning men have.
Dennis, non-violent at heart, would hate to hurt anybody.
But if he turns his wrist, lets the sun into his home, and steps out into the light, it's unavoidable.
Dennis pulls his hand away from the doorknob.
"Some other day," he says to himself. "When people are nicer."
That's when his home and a cylinder of earth descending three kilometers toward the planet's core are teleported into the hold of a passing mining spacecraft.
*****
The examination display showed the usual rectangle of boring, useless materials.
"Temperature standard, radioactivity standard, and edibles non-existent," White Salt said. "Nothing to this planet but the usual."
Bucolic Meadow passed a lump of enriched granite between her forefeelers. "Another dud, eh?" She flipped the granite across the command center, pushed off from the wall, and was waiting at the opposite side to catch the granite in her mouth. "Dump the load. We'll check the two inner planets and call it a day."
White Salt navigated to the eject command, but when the confirmation screen came up, he paused. He nibbled the tip of his hindfeeler. "Hold on," he said, and brought up the examination display again. There it was, at the very top of the rectangular sample, a mess of elements, irregular in composition and arrangement. He zoomed in. "Something funny about the sample's surface. There's a hollow construct here. It's irregularly regular."
"It's what?"
"It's unnatural. Straight lines and ninety-degree angles."
The suspension bar in the corner squeaked as Foam Wash dropped down. "Sometimes nature is unnatural. That's statistics." He fluttered over to White Salt. "It's a hollow space not even three units high. We see those all the time."
"I know. You're right."
The edibles dispenser crafted another lump of granite for Bucolic Meadow. This one she bounced off the bulkhead and caught. "No objections to ditching it, White Salt?"
"Foam Wash is right, but," a ripple travelled along White Salt's feelers, "it's bugging me."
"What the shoot," Bucolic Meadow said. "It's been a quiet week. Let's check it out."
Foam Wash grumbled. "Waste of time."
"Change of pace," Bucolic Meadow said. "White Salt, suit up. Bring Mini Moon and Molten Flow with you."
*****
They entered the examination hold via the airlock chamber. The three of them wore external exploration suits of limbered aluminum. A shuttle platform took them to the sample's surface level. The examination hold was not designed for physical exploration, and there was no lighting provided other than the monocular beam on their headmasks.
Molten Flow said, "Captain, do you receive me?"
"I do, Molten Flow," Bucolic Meadow said. "Initial report on the 'irregular regularity'?"
"Initial visual scan lends credence to White Salt's estimation. The hollow box bears a number of features not found in nature. Peaked top, angled corners. The box itself presents a symmetry, while consisting of a number of sub-symmetries."
"Statistics," Foam Wash said. "Does nobody understand statistics?"
"Thank you for your contribution, Foam Wash," Bucolic Meadow said. "Molten Flow, have you located an entrypoint?"
"Negative. On all sides the box presents contiguous surfaces. Entry will be made via digging tools. Permission to proceed?"
"Proceed."
*****
After removing his hand from his doorknob, Dennis was startled by a tremor running through his home. He wobbled on his feet, and crushed soda cans fell off his kitchen counter.
He said, "Huh. Earthquake," and went to bed.
A whining sound woke him. At first he thought it might have been part of the dream he'd been having, in which he'd been trying to take care of himself as a toddler. Whenever he brought toddler-Dennis a cup of juice or bowl of soup, toddler-Dennis would slap it out of his hands and scream.
But the whining continued even after Dennis had sat up on his floor-level mattress, pushed aside the pile of musty clothes he slept under, and rubbed the fuzziness out of his eyes. It came from the first floor, and he soon smelled steam and smoke coming up through the floorboards.
He cinched his belt tight, pulled on his Iron Maiden T-shirt, and clipped his dragonclaw knife onto a belt loop.
The light at the top of the stairs didn't turn on when he hit the switch. Nor did the bathroom light, or his bedroom light.
Had a fire taken out the powerlines? Was there a civil insurgency underway?
The whining ratcheted to a higher octave.
Dennis gripped the stair's railing tight and went down the stairs, taking care to step over and around the crumpled toilet paper rolls and cereal boxes on the steps.
When he was halfway down, whining cut out. He heard a thump against his living room wall.
He got to the main floor and peered around the doorway into the living room.
Another thump, and this time the wall shook.
A thin line of light traced a rectangle on the wall, almost as though someone had sawed a doorway into place.
And the thumping -- the thumping was almost as though that someone were now trying to knock the wall down.
Instinctively, Dennis gripped the knife at his side. Robbers would get what was coming to them if they messed with Dennis Halloran.
The wall crashed to the ground, bobbing lights blinded Dennis, and he reeled away from the living room with a hand to his eyes.
*****
*more below*
| 2017-06-10T03:12:48 | 2017-06-10T02:54:34 | 436 | 152 |
[WP] In this world, soulmates cannot hurt each other in any way or form, intentionally or unintentionally. You are an assassin hired to eliminate a powerful figure. As you close in for the kill, your bullets miss their mark and knives bounce of their skin. Things just got awkward.
|
He was a stage actor and assassin with a cold heart.
And HE was an American president and theater goer with a heart of gold.
But when his shot doesn't penetrate the back of HIS head they are going to learn that sic semper doesn't always tyrannis.
Can a confederate assassin learn to forgive? Can an American president learn to love again? Find out this summer in "my American assassin".
|
Sometimes the best disguise was no disguise at all.
That was what Elayne thought as she weaved through the crowd like a serpent through water. She wore no mask or hood to conceal her face. There was no need. She would not be seen. Her mark, a young man named Genta Nakamura stepped into view. Following closely behind him, were two men who wore matching black shades and business suits.
*His bodyguards*, Elayne thought.
Her hand fell to her side, fingers brushing the handle of a knife through the fabric of her skirt as she drew closer. Elayne's eyes honed in on the three men despite the moving traffic of pedestrians and saw her mark break off from the crowd and into an alleyway.
She followed, turning the corner into a dark alleyway.
"You again," Genta's voice echoed in the narrow alleyway before stepping out of the shadows and glaring at Elayne. "What's your name?! How much are being paid to take me out huh?!"
"What? I don't know what you're talking about," Elayne said as she blinked innocently with her round emerald eyes.
"Your playing dumb? I've seen you at least a dozen times girl. At least have the decency to admit you're trying to kill me, geez."
Genta snapped his fingers. Two men stepped into alleway cutting off Elayne's only escape route.
"You're surrounded. Don't make this difficult and just surrender. I don't want to kill you kid."
Elayne didn't move, nor did she speak. She only waited patiently as her fingers brushed steel.
The bodyguards stepped forward ready to restrain Elayne, but at the moment they lunged forward, their hands grasped only air.
Elayne had slid underneath the guards, slashing at the ankles of the men with two steel daggers held in reverse-grip in each hand.
Genta's bodyguards crumpled into a heap as they cried in agony. Maimed and immobilized, Elayne proceeded to leap over the men, her skirt flying up and briefly flashing Genta with her arsenal of knives and-
"Pink Hello Kitty panties? Are you serious?" Genta asked, incredulous.
Embarrassed, Elayne slipped and fell onto her skinny behind. As she landed, Elayne had spread her legs in an awkward attempt to break her fall and in doing so she had proceeded to further expose her Hello Kitty panties to Genta.
Genta who was a high school dropout turned Yakuza, had never even dated a girl before and suddenly found himself pleasantly excited as he stared at Elayne's childish panties. Excited might have been a strong word. He was more confused by the awkward change of hormones in his head - going from fight or flight adrenaline to pleasurable excitement.
"A-are you done starring?" Elayne stammered as she felt the constant heat on her cheeks refuse to abate.
"Oh. My bad, sorry," Genta began apologizing remorsefully as he tore his intense gaze away from the Hello Kitty panties. "I-I didn't mean to look. But you were about to kill me and then-" Genta eyes were distant as he began reminiscing of how it all went down. The sight of the knives strapped to her pale thighs and then the Hello Kitty panties.
Genta broke into a fit of laughter.
"S-stop laughing! I'll kill you, you pervert!" Elayne shouted as she stood up quickly and pointed a double edged dagger at Genta.
Genta paused, "Don't worry I won't tell anyone and besides it was cute."
"You won't be, because I'm going to kill - wait. What? It was cute?" Elayne looked up at Genta inquisitively.
"Yeah, your panties."
"Oh," Elayne deflated visibly. Even though she wasn't conscious of it, she had secretly hoped that Ganta would say *she* was cute and not her underwear.
"What's your name?" Genta asked.
"Elayne," she replied but then frowned. *Why did I...* It was pointless, telling a man she was going to kill her name.
"Elayne. So that's your name," Genta smiled. "I wish you'd tell me earlier."
Elayne smiled back. "And I wish you'd die already Genta. Every time I make an attempt at your life something gets in the way. My sniper rifle jamming, heavy winds turning my bullets astray, and then multiple knife attempts failing because - for some strange reason my hand refuses to stab you," Elayne sighs, letting out a breath of frustration.
Genta sighed back in kind. "It seems everyone wants to kill me these days..."
Elayne looked at Genta, and for the first time she noticed the countless scars and fresh wounds covered up with bandages.
"How much are you getting paid?" asked Genta.
When Elayne didn't respond, Genta ventured to guess. "Ten grand? A hundred grand? A million?"
Elayne scoffed, "Hmph, your not worth that much."
*So it was over a hundred grand at least,* thought Ganta. He didn't have enough to double the pay, even if it was ten grand.
"Alright. Have a go. Your best shot. If you can't kill me, how about you become my bodyguard and I'll pay you more than anyone can ever offer for my life?"
"Fine."
Elayne watched as Ganta unbuttoned his white shirt, exposing his lightly tanned chest and stomach to Elayne.
For a moment Elayne looked away. Then she steeled her nerves, grit her teeth and stepped closer to Ganta. Close enough that she could feel his breath on her forehead. She took her dagger and held it in both hands before stabbing Genta through his ribs, aiming for his heart.
Genta grunted, flexing his muscles as he felt the cold steel nick his skin, but it didn't draw blood.
"Fuck you," Elayne whispered softly as she dropped the knife.
"Maybe next time," Genta said as he grinned. "But you're mine now."
----
----
/r/em_pathy
| 2018-04-24T04:31:34 | 2018-04-24T01:31:32 | 102 | 39 |
[WP] Human beings unlock skills as they grow up, walking, taking, etc. You are the oldest person in the history of the world, and today you unlock a skill no one ever had.
|
I turn 140 years old in 3 minutes. You'd think it would be a happy day for me, but it just reminds me of my loss. My kids have long since passed away and even most of their kids no longer remain. Yet here I sit, still alive despite years of drinking cheap scotch daily and having the occasional cigar.
Two minutes now. The world had changed so much since 1878 when I was born. I remember basketball just being invented as a child, I recall with clarity going to the first World Series in my 20s, and I remember dozens of wars and thousands of acquaintances who died in them. A lot has changed.
Less than 60 seconds now. I wonder how long I'll make it. I'm halfway through my "birthday bottle" of Scotch - a 20 year highland from my favorite great grandson - and plan to polish the rest of soon. Maybe this will finally finish me. I want to... What? There's a ringing in my ears. It's all I can hear. Is that the graduation march? What...
Suddenly my vision is filled by a translucent screen. It says, "Congratulations! You have completed "Human" level. Would you like to progress to Dolphin?"
There appear to be two buttons below. One red and one green. I reach towards the green button and my world goes black. I'm lost. I must have finally let dimensia catch up to me. This is what crazy - SPLASH!
I'm surrounded by wetness. And knowledge. So much knowledge. I smile as well as my new body will let me. This is going to be fun!
|
I lay there, wheezing in bed, waiting for my body to wake up and face the day ahead. Every morning it was getting more difficult to haul myself from under the covers. There seemed to be more of an incentive to get up and move though since Maura passed away. Her imprint is still in the bed next to me, and every day it hurts a little more that it’s getting more familiar to not have here around.
When I finally grunted my way up, I walked to the bathroom and did my dailies ,if you know what I mean, body relieved and teeth washed I was ready to take on the task of dressing myself but thankfully that new nurse has moved in and is helping me with that. It’s not easy being as old as I am but I lead a healthy life, I was raised well and I grew into my age gracefully and without any encumbering illness or major problems, other than the rickety bones and waning muscle strength.
The nurse helped me into what I wear almost everyday now, slacks and a freshly pressed blue shirt, because they were the easiest to get into. I refuse to spend the day in my pajamas. Too many people my age have gone that way I intend to go with some dignity.
As she was pottering around the room folding my discarded bed clothes and making the bed I made about slowly moving to the kitchen, feeling my legs creak as they move. It was when I reached the door I thought I heard her mumble something akin to “same thing everyday and no thank you”. I turned around quickly, as quickly as I could manage anyway, and asked her to repeat what she had said.
“Nothing, I’m just lost in thought! Do you want me to help you to the kitchen?”
I said I was fine by myself and I swear she said the words:
“Oh course you are, give it another week and you’ll need me..”.
I was taken aback, her mouth didn’t move, she didn’t even look up at me when I heard it.
“I’m apologise if you think I’m thankless, I do appreciate all you do but I’m unfamiliar with voicing it” I calmly explained.
“What do you mean?” She asked, now looking at me with a strange look of horror in her face.
“I heard what you mumbled under your breath” I explained again.
“I didn’t say anything!” She was visibly upset now but trying to hide it.
I was feeling very tired all of a sudden and so I just sort of grunted and turned to make my way to the kitchen.
The rest of the day passed in relative silence with Karen looking at me for uncomfortably long periods of time as she moved around the house.
The next day was also quiet, I woke, completed my morning routine and went on to spend the day reading. Karen came in to give me my lunch and as she was leaving I heard her, clearer than before, saying:
“I won’t always be here to feed you”
I let it slip, maybe she was having a bad week, I wasn’t that bad of a patient was I? I was finding life alone difficult, and I’ve been faced with the problems of my age quite abruptly and I’m trying to accept I can’t do what I used to everyday, but I don’t think I had been too terrible to her.
Days, then weeks passed with me hearing these little quips and under-breath comments until I confronted her:
“If you feel hard done by please tell me and I will try to rectify what I’ve done to you or make your time with me more amicable”.
“I don’t know what you mean” she innocently said.
“Those comments about you not always being here, and how you find this job not to your liking, I can hear them you know, I’m old, but not exactly deaf”.
She continued to play coy. As the following days passed her interjections became clearer and less subtle.
It was then I realized what was happening. I had never seen her mouth move when she said these things, and I could never be sure I heard a full sentence exactly, more that I understood what intention her words carried. I realized I was finally passing the threshold, I was starting to lose it. I spent the next few days in panic at what was happening, hearing her voice say things she didn’t mean, worrying that this was how I would go, not with dignity but rambling in my bed.
This was when my friend Jack came over. Me and Jack never saw eachother anymore, and he was in a bad way, it was so hard to see my best friend start to waste away in a chair, pushed by a different nurse every time. I was surprised both of us got to where we did, enough to see my great grandchildren finish school. But I don’t see them anymore, part of me thinks they wished I was gone already. Maybe we shouldn’t be here for this long, I didn’t want to end up like Jack, it terrified me.
As he sat there struggling to get a real sentence together I heard him. I heard him clear as day say the words:
“What’s happened to my mouth, I can’t speak, I can’t speak to my friend”.
I nearly jumped out of my seat. I hadn’t heard Jack speak so clearly in years. All of a sudden his voice filled my ears in full. He saw my apparent panic and became worried. He tried reaching out and I heard him again in a voice that was far too young for a voice that old:
“I’m here, I’m here it’s okay”.
I’m that instance I knew. I wasn’t losing my mind. I wasn’t going crazy. I saw in his eyes what I heard him say. I wasn’t hearing this out of thin air i was really hearing this. I was hearing Jack reach for me, I felt his concern. I looked at him for a long time, and he looked straight back at me, his eyes burning with worry.
“I heard you” I said.
He managed to twist his face into a question.
“I heard you. What you said but didn’t say. About your mouth, I heard you say you were here”.
I saw him become confused and then upset by this, but out of this broke a smile. A smile I hadn’t seen in much too long. My friends smile.
As the months passed I began to ‘hear’ things more clearly. Karen left and a new nurse, a male one, took her place. He was happy with his job he liked it. I became frailer and needed more but he obliged and made sure I was alright, everyday. A new birthday passed, spent with my new nurse Dylan, he wants to have a career in this job and was happy to share his thoughts on it.
I am now 120 years old. I cannot move as well as I used to and I can’t do the things I used to do alone. But my mind is sharp, and as I age I can ‘hear’ more and I’m realising that I may be the only person to be able to hear what I do. My friend Jack is gone, he passed away shortly after his last visit, he was 116. I’m afraid that the stronger I get at this, the closer I am to going. But I know when I do go, I’ll get to see Maura, and I’ll hear Jacks voice again in full and that comforts me.
The End.
I’d appreciate feedback if you have any! I had a spare half hour before work and now I’ve got to run, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
| 2018-06-23T12:10:29 | 2018-06-23T11:06:17 | 153 | 46 |
[WP] On your deathbed you reveal the secret you've carried with you your entire life, only to promptly recover and have to deal with the consequences.
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I have the money to afford the best doctors. So, when one of them told me that the pain I had been feeling in my gut wasn’t from a hernia, but stage 4 stomach cancer, I believed him. I am 55 years old, and my only regret was that I would die with my quest unfulfilled.
My wife cried. My sons cried, and told me that I owed it to the woman they had come to think of as “Mom”, and that I should tell her what I had been keeping from her for the 15 years of our marriage.
So I told her. She was surprised, to say the least, but I could see in her eyes the pieces falling into place. The late nights at “work”. The mysterious bruises. Why she was never allowed in the basement. It all made sense, now.
My best friend, Clark, though, had a look of grim determination when I told him of my diagnosis.
“I’ll be back in a few seconds.” Clark stepped out of the hospital room.
True to his word, Clark stepped back into the room before the door had even finished closing. He brushed a bit of snow off of his shoulder, and held out his hand.
“Take this.” Clark said, dropping a single pill into my hand. “It’s from my lab. An old formula from...home.”
I shrugged and swallowed the pill. At this point, what was the worst they could happen? I felt a sudden rush of warmth, and, within seconds, the searing pain in my stomach vanished.
“Clark, what was that?” I said. I felt stronger than I had in months.
Clark smiled, and ran his eyes up and down my body. I hated when he did that; it was half the reason I lined my suits with a lead-based polymer.
“Cancer free.” Clark said, sinking into the bedside chair. “So now let’s talk about how Vicki is dealing with knowing that her husband is Batman.”
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The Confession.A sharp searing pain ripped through my chest. My heart was racing, sweat was pouring out of me.I lay there, struggling to breathe, my wife Jackie, woke up and after looking at me, flopping around like a fish on the end of a fishing rod.She phoned for an ambulance, they soon arrived, and rushed me to the hospital.It’s now three days later, I’m wired up to several machines, they have run loads of tests on me.I’m lying in a hospital bed, waiting for the Dr to come back with the results of the tests that they have carried out.The Dr came back into my room, his face was grave, he was carrying a large sheaf of papers.He spoke, “the results have come back, and it’s not looking good. Early indications are that you have got an aortic aneurysm, we are going to have to operate, immediately, or an aneurysm could burst. The nurse will get you ready for the operation. I must tell the odds are not in your favour, at best you have a twenty per cent chance of surviving this.”I’m waiting for the anaesthetist to come and give me the anaesthetic. She has given me one injection in my arm, and the room starts spinning, everything goes black.As the darkness clears, I find myself standing with my first wife, Pamela. It’s the year two-thousand.We were on a walking holiday in Wales, walking part of the cliff path that runs around the coast of Wales, from Chepstow to Queensferry, it’s a distance of 870 miles.We were walking from to St Dogmaels to Amroth, this section is 186 miles, we carried tents and camping gear.We would buy supplies from towns as we passed them,We would find a quiet place to pitch camp, I loved camping, as a scout leader, I had spent many nights under canvas, I loved the peace and quiet of being away from crowds.Pamela hated it, she moaned from the moment she woke up, until the time she closed her eyes at night.She didn’t like wearing hiking boots, they rubbed her feet, her rucksack was too heavy, she hated not having a proper toilet, or shower.After a few days of her moaning, I snapped and pushed her as we were walking along the highest part of the coastal path.We were walking from Newport to Fishguard. There was nobody in sight, so I gave her a hard push in the side.She was so shocked that she didn’t scream, she fell in total silence. The fall killed her instantly.I carefully approached the edge and looked over, Pamela was laying bent backwards over a large rock, there was a lot of blood running from her head.I quickly phoned the police, and within minutes, there were police officers asking me questions about what had happened.While I answered their questions, more police and paramedics were examining Pamela’s body. One of the officers at the bottom of the cliff radioed to the officer who was talking to me.The message was short and clear, Pamela, my wife of fifteen years was dead.I was taken to the police station at Fishguard, for further questioning. I was asked what happened.I said, “Pamela was walking about twenty-feet in front of me, she stumbled and fell, before I could grab her, she had fallen over the edge.”I sat there crying. I was given a cup of coffee, and asked about my relationship with Pamela, were we arguing, fighting, what was our home life like.?After a couple of hours, a police officer told me I could leave, but don’t leave the area.I booked into a small Bed and Breakfast hotel. I phoned family and friends and told them the sad news about Pamela’s demise.I laid back on the bed and smiled, I had got away with killing my wife. The next week passed in a blur, I was questioned again, my brother came down to give me some moral support.The results of the post-mortem came back, Pamela had died from injuries consistent with a fall.My brother and I took Pamela’s body home to Grantham, Lincolnshire.It was a long sombre drive. For the five hours, the journey took, neither of us spoke.At Pamela’s funeral, members of our church, where I’m a churchwarden, members from the scout group attended in uniform. In total, there were over ninety people.It was a beautiful sunny day, the vicar gave a beautiful eulogy, I said a few words before breaking down in tears.At the wake, people were offering their condolences. Finally, everyone went home, and I was left standing in an empty house.The weeks slowly past, Pamela’s life insurance paid up the sum of £500,000. After a couple of months, I decided to move away from all the memories.I brought a small two bedroomed house, in a little village on the outskirts of Sheffield, I quickly settled into village life. I joined the local scout group, life was good.Eight years passed, I met Jackie at a scout event, within two years, we had married at the local church. The scouts and cubs were there as a guard of honour. It was a great day.I woke after the operation, feeling very groggy, the odds of me pulling through this were virtually nil, I thought about Pamela and thought that her family needed to know the truth.I asked if I could speak to the hospital Chaplin about something serious. The Chaplin arrived about fifteen minutes later, I told him all about Pamela and how she had died.The Chaplin said, “I think you need to talk to someone in authority, do you mind if I call a friend called Dave.?”I agreed, and ten minutes later, a large heavy-set middle-aged man arrived.He introduced himself as “Inspector Dave Johnson.”He took a tape recorder from his pocket and spoke into it.This is Inspector Johnson, also present are Father Murphy, and Mr Anthony Michael’s. the date is 19th August 2015. The is 10:45, Interview started now.”I lay and calmly retold the story of how Pamela had fallen over the cliff on the Welsh Coastal Path.Inspector Johnson said, “Anthony Michael’s, I’m arresting you for the murder of Pamela Michaels on 8th July 2000. You do not need to say anything.”He made a call on his radio, and two constables arrived, he told one to handcuff me to the bed rail, the other one, was told to get a chair and sit outside my door.I was surprised to be handcuffed, but I thought that it wouldn’t be for long before an aneurysm killed me.Just then the Dr returned, he looked shocked to find one of his heart patients handcuffed to the bed.One of the PCs told him that I had confessed to killing my wife.The Dr said, “I’ve met his wife, she was here last night, she didn’t look dead to me.”The PC said, “not this wife, his first wife. He pushed her over a cliff in Wales.”The Dr looked at me and said, “The surgery was a complete success, we will have you up and walking about tomorrow, and all being well, you should be released within a week.”He smiled and walked away. I was in shock, I had confessed, thinking I was dying, but now I wasn’t.In my mind, I could hear the cell door slamming behind me, this was a sound I would have to get used to.A month later, and I was in court to hear the judge sentence me to twenty-five-years in prison for the murder of Pamela Michaels.If only I had kept my mouth shut, I could have been at home with Jackie. She was in the process of divorcing me, and I couldn’t blame her, I’m now sixty-four, and I’ve got another twenty-years to serve. I can’t do it.Tonight, I’m going to use my sheet and become another statistic in the prison suicides list.
| 2018-12-15T00:12:32 | 2018-12-14T22:27:52 | 105 | 34 |
[WP] You find a loose plank in your basement floor and pry it out to replace it, only to discover a massive pile of bodies under the house. Even worse though is the fact that every one of those bodies is your own
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Damn damn damn damnitty damn!
He raced into the basement, hell-bent to get there first. His wife was crying and running from him.
It was, as typical, "yet another argument" when he finally confronted her with The Accusation.
Her demeanor changed immediately, she didn't deny it, didn't scream, just a little quiver of her lip and the waterworks began.
And then she ran, towards the basement.
He got far enough down the stairs to vault over the handrail and cut her off.
"Who is it? Who did you cheat on me with? Tell me!" his voice croaked, cracked, wavered. The emotion bitter on his tongue.
Her response wasn't expected, she merely pointed at the floor behind him with a shaking hand.
Finding the floorboards loose, he pulled them up.
And had immediate wretching dry heaves.
*"Buy all new Wonder Man, the ultimate husband! Guaranteed to be yours forever!"*
The brightly colored packages, the receipts, and worst of all, the face.
*HIS face*, everywhere.
Broken, torn, and all of them looking utterly defeated and betrayed.
Just as he currently looked up until the pipe smacked into his head.
"I honestly did love you, X3258." she said quietly.
|
I scowl at the floor, watching the creaking board almost mocking me. A grunt rises in my throat and I force it down.
I'd *just* gotten my basement remodeled.
Shaking my head and biting my lip, I kneel down to inspect the board, feeling it over with my hands. As I grab onto it, I can feel it come loose, I can feel it shaking uselessly in place as if it's not even nailed down. A wild idea rises up in my frustrated mind.
Maybe it's the late hour, or maybe it's the frustration I feel because of the money I've now *wasted* on remodeling, but I latch onto the idea. I grab it and I hold it tight, keeping around it like a vice.
My hands reach out over the board once more, coming to the loose end my stray step had kicked up into the air. My fingers wrap around the frayed wood.
And I pull.
The wooden board creaks once more as I rip it from its place and throw it with a grunt across the room.
Rusty nails attached to it clatter on the floor and I don't even look towards them. For a moment, I stare at the hole I've just created, seething in idle frustration. And for a moment, I feel doubt—I feel regret for just tearing a hole in my floor.
Down below my floor, though, where there should be ground, I see a metal ladder and a swirling blackness. The hole is deep, and looks more like an underground passage than a hole at all.
But as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I nearly choke. Because that's not even the worst part.
At the bottom of the hole, bodies scatter the ground. I shudder as a stray beam of light shines over their skin, reflecting wrinkled, pale flesh up at me. I swallow dryly, trying to scrape the sudden bitterness from my mouth.
It doesn't work.
My mind screams at me and I step forward toward the hole. My body crouches down and I stare more intently, disgust growing within. But as much as I want to run—to scream hell to the heavens, I don't. Something about the hole is... familiar, and something else deep inside me screams at me to find out why.
So, out of volition I'm not entirely sure is my own, I descend.
Step after rusty step, I climb down the ladder. My knuckles go white with tension as I grip the sides and I gasp in dusty air every few seconds that pass. The space around me is cold, and I can feel prickles against my neck.
But still, despite everything, I descend.
When my feet finally touch the floor, a putrid smell crosses my nose. The cold air swirls for a moment, letting me in on the secret of the hole that is dried blood and rotting flesh. I jerk my head back, nearly slamming into the ladder, but I don't make a single move to climb up.
Instead, my body proceeds, stepping carefully over the pale flesh I'd seen all the way from above. For a moment, I push away the sights, but then something catches my eye. In the corner of the room, light shines off of familiar blue irises and I lean towards it.
When my eyes adjust to the dark, I freeze in place, coming into a direct stare with my very own face.
Repulsion rebels against my skull, but my skull pushes back. I step backward and glance around, staring at the rest of the bodies in the room. Suddenly, my mind shrieks as I realize the things I am smelling all come from bodies of me.
I twitch in place, not wanting to stay. And as soon as the thought crosses my mind, I see the tunnel continue. Ahead of me, further into dim darkness, a narrow passageway of dirt opens up. Without even sparing more time to think, I surge through it and away from my very own corpse.
The walk through the narrow passageway is cold and silent, but not once do I complain. My mind spins wildly, my nose twitches wretchedly, and my heart thunders rapidly. But not once do I think about leaving. Not once do I think about turning around.
As I reach the end of the passageway, more sights send bile up in my throat.
Directly in front of me are piles of bodies, each one wearing my face. They are mangled, bloodied, and destroyed in a myriad of ways that are each far worse than the last. My gaze freezes on each one of them, but each time, I rip it away. And when a blue light flashes in the corner of my vision, I finally block them all out and surge my way toward that.
"It's about time," a voice calls, cackling. Among my swirling thoughts, I recognize that voice as my own.
As I round a dark corner, his visage comes into view. There, sitting on an old creaking chair and tossing a rotating blue light in his hand is me—or, a version of me at least.
My mouth slips open, but no words come out. Only unsure sounds that echo off the walls.
"Don't speak," he says. "It's okay. I can speak for myself."
The smirk he flashes me is one I've only given once or twice in my life.
"I'm surprised it took you so long, though. I've been leaving all of the hints and implanting the images to drag you down here for weeks." His expression darkens. "I don't like being surprised by myself."
"W-What's going on?" I find myself able to ask.
He chuckles, still tossing the glowing blue ball that I faintly recognize as a rapidly spinning clockface. "You're finally being saved."
I blink. "Saved? Saved from what?"
"From the timeline you've been cursed to," he snarls. "You get to join all of our friends here, and you get to have the satisfaction that you are preserving the most blessed of all yous."
A chill runs down my spine and I try to step back. But I can't. His gaze locks me in place.
"But you're me," I say, muttering. "I... I hate killing. How can any version of me commit anything like *this*?"
He chuckles and stops tossing the ball. In a movement barely fast enough for my eyes to capture, he sits up and glares at me.
"Oh, I'm so naive. You just don't understand."
"Understand what?" I scream, my voice hollow.
"You see," he says, a knife somehow appearing in his hand. "I'm not killing people."
"You're not?"
"No," he says with a smirk I wish my face wasn't able to make. "I'm just killing myself."
---
/r/Palmerranian
^(P.S. The ending language is not meant to support suicide at all. If you or someone you know is considering suicide or self-harm, please take care of them and get support. A helpful bot has linked the suicide hotline down below.)
| 2019-04-17T22:59:25 | 2019-04-17T18:36:38 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] After being betrayed and left badly injured by your ‘sidekick’ team, the last person you expected comes to save you: the villain.
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The first thing I noticed was the slow, rhythmic movement under me. The second thing I noticed was the bloodied bandages covering my gut.
I groaned and pushed myself up, trying to shake away the fog off sleep. What happened?
Then it all came flooding back. Pico, Sabrina, Kai, the knife, their footsteps as they walked away.
*"You can't protect us anymore, you're only putting us in danger."*
I...I trusted them. They were my friends, my family, my hope, for the last five years. And they betrayed me, stuck a blade in my ribs and left me for dead on the beach.
I felt like curling up and letting the wound do it's work. As it turned out though, somebody wanted me alive.
Somebody who I'd been trying unsuccessfully to banish for nearly as long as I'd known my former team.
The door opened, and the smell of salt water and crashing waves confirmed my suspicion; I was on a boat. But I lost my train of thought when I saw...*her.*
I tried to sit up, lash out, kick bite punch, do anything, but she just pushed back me down.
She sat down on the floor, just barely at eye level with me, and shook her head.
Memories of splashing around in the river, trying to catch fish with our bare hands, filled my brain. Before the King had risen, we were just a normal pair of teenage girls, living our lives, trash talking our parents, thinking we were so much better than everyone else.
Now we were together again, in a boat like so many times before, but this time we weren't friends. This time we were sworn enemies, bound by blood to kill each other.
She looked up at me, intense gray eyes shining with hidden tears, tears that she couldn't let fall as a pirate Captain. Tears that *I* couldn't cry as a knight of the empire.
She sighed, and with the most sadness I've ever heard come out of her, she spoke.
"My God, Liz, what have we gotten ourselves into?"
|
Is this how I die? I barely managed to crawl over to the tree, just about able to sit myself up leaning against it - if I'm to die, I'll at least die with dignity. I still remember their last words to me: 'You think we cared about stopping some menace? We only joined you because we thought we could get rich from our explorations. We got what we wanted, we're done with you!' It was clear they didn't want me to hang around them, and thought it easier to dispose of me rather than try to abandon me. This... this isn't right... I feel my life slipping away...
"What mess have you gotten yourself into *this* time, Ray?" I know that voice. I turn to look; there he is. Blackheart.
The villain I've been preparing to stop. The man I aimed to rid the world of. I've encountered him a few times before. I've learned what his different poses and stances mean. Right now, he has his arms folded, his staff on his hip. His look is soft, not menacing or angry. I don't want to do it... but right now, he's my only hope... "Please" I whisper, unable to speak any louder. "Please help me."
Blackheart nods. "That's why I'm here - I had a spy in your team, he told me what the rest of them did. He was only spared because even though he wasn't in it for treasure, he acted neutral towards me, so he wasn't considered a 'threat'. My spy reported to me what they did. That was low of them." As he's talking, he's grabbed his staff and cast a healing spell. I'm no longer at risk of death, but I'm still weak. I know this is on purpose; he's not about to just let me walk free, after all.
Blackheart continues. "Remember, they represent the people you're protecting from me. They left you for dead once they got what they wanted. Are they worth your effort and sacrifice?"
I summon the energy to speak. "Most are... just inno- innocent citizens. I... I have a... a duty..."
Blackheart sighs. "I thought you'd say something like that. You have **always** been stubborn. But I do genuinely wish to help you, otherwise why would I be here now?" I nod, knowing that he's right. He has no reason to save me; if I die right here, right now, no-one can oppose him.
Blackheart clears his throat. "Surrender yourself to me now, Ray. You'll be taken to my stronghold. You'll act as a slave. Of course I'll complete my plans with you unable to stop me... but whenever you think about the terror they may feel, the fear they experience, remember: did anyone once say 'thank you'? Did your team not abandon you? I'm no tyrant, but I'll ensure my control over everyone. I don't enjoy fear, but if people don't feel a certain level of fear, they'll think that they can defy me. After all, if your team feared me, would they have not betrayed you, if only so you can protect them?"
I listen to Blackheart as he speaks. The problem is... none of what he's saying is wrong. I knew he was planning to rule with an iron fist, that's what I was trying to prevent, a dictatorship. But clearly people don't take him seriously... is this the *first* time I was stabbed in the back? It seems like every time I try to help people, they only want to use me for their own gain. Yet the villain, the potential dictator, the man who's supposed to be evil, is prepared to save my life, with nothing to gain for himself *except* an extra slave, which he could find *anywhere*. Maybe these people need to have someone like Blackheart to keep them in order. Besides, it's not like I can stop him now anyway, is it?
I look at Blackheart. Now he's standing, arms by his side, staff lowered, stance not intimidating. I nod. "I'll do anything..." I say. "Please..." Blackheart smiles - a genuine smile - and proceeds to put chains on my hands and feet, before casting another spell, this time a recovery spell. I feel strength back in me, and Blackheart helps me up.
He passes me an apple. "You're probably hungry" he says, as I gratefully take it. Then I pause and look at him.
"Just to be certain... this is just a normal apple?"
Blackheart laughs. "What would I gain from giving you a bad apple after saving your life?" I smile as I bite into it. Just then, we see a traveller, staring at us. Blackheart stares back at him, full height, staff in hand and touching the ground, an evil grin on his face. "Spread the word" he says in a bone-chilling voice. "You all turned your back on your hero, so now he's returned the favour - in exchange for saving his life which had been nearly taken from him by his own team, he now belongs to ***me***!" He whispers the last word, still maintaining his voice, making it all the more chilling. The traveller nods quickly and continues on his way.
Blackheart then chuckles. "I told the truth when I said I don't take joy in the fear of others, but something about his reaction makes me laugh." He then turns, to see me looking over my shoulder as I see, if I *wanted* to, how far I could run. Blackheart, somehow knowing I'm putting on an act, shakes his head with amusement as he casts a freeze spell; now unable to move, I realise that running away isn't an option, whether I like it or not.
"You're not getting away from me easily, Ray... surely you must realise that? After I was *so kind* as to save your life..." he releases the spell, and I instantly get on my knees.
"Sorry, master, I won't do it again. I promise." He's shaking his head, still amused.
"I'm afraid that's not enough anymore... I'd like to trust that you were simply testing me, but now you've tried to slip away, I need you to *beg*, to declare your obedience and loyalty to me."
I gulp, as I prepare to speak. "I'm your loyal slave, obedient to you and no-one else. I will never disobey you again. Please have mercy on me." This is really humiliating, but I have no choice - Blackheart was *always* one to keep his word. We're both aware of people passing by, who have stopped in their tracks, shocked at what they're seeing. Blackheart grins.
"I'll forgive you, *this time*, at least. Don't upset me, **again.**" He stares at the people around him as he speaks. They all hurry along, with a few of them understanding that their freedom is suddenly no more.
Knowing my place, I take no chances as I speak again. "Thank you so much, master, for your mercy and kindness." Blackheart nods in approval.
"Stand" he commands, and I do so. We then begin to make our way to his stronghold, with a few of his followers escorting me. I don't know what's in store for the future; all I can hope is this realm does not become a dystopia.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Continued in the reply below.
| 2022-09-22T12:30:18 | 2022-09-22T05:46:47 | 20 | 15 |
[WP] After thousands of years on a generation ship sent out to colonize the universe, nobody alive on board the ship believes in the "myth" of Planet Earth anymore. Until they receive the first transmission from Earth in hundreds of years...
|
"I think I heard something.”
Diron rolled his eyes while his swung his chair side to side, the screen of his interface following him in a nauseating back and forth. “It’s not funny anymore, Talia. We’re not 8 years old” he said. “I’m trying to study. Play with your hardware somewhere else.”
Talia flicked a glare emoji onto Diron’s interface and frowned at the console in front of her, one hand on her ear, pressing against the antique earpiece. “I’m serious.” She fiddled with some wired on the console and old speakers crackled to life.
Diron wiped his interface away and spun his chair around in a full circle. “Hey, maybe I should write my intro psych paper on all you dirty kooks who listen to empty space as a hobby, waiting for--” He froze and leaned forward. “Is that music?” He spun a finger in the in the air for a moment before he realized it wasn’t on his interface. “Make it louder.”
“We’re not dirty, we’re Earthy.” Talia threw an empty soda packet at her twin, hitting him in the shoulder. She swiped a screen on her console and the crackles got louder. Underneath it was a tinkle of sound, so faint it was easy to mistake for random noise, until it repeated itself.
Talia turn back and unplugged the speakers, plugging them into her temple. She wiped up her interface and started the sound editing app.
“Share it, I want to hear.” Diron slide his chair next to hers and leaned over her shoulder.
Talia rolled her eyes and grabbed the audio icon and tossed it to Diron. Her hands flicked back and forth as she cleaned up the audio, trying to filter out the background noise of stars and suns that must have travelled with the signal for light years.
“It’s pretty degraded, but not as bad as I’d expect for travelling so far. Even taking the most conservative interpretations of the logs, we’ve been gone for 2,547 years.”
“We haven’t been gone from anywhere. Your stupid theories don’t make any sense.”
“Someone built this place!”
“It’s not a place! It’s a planet!”
They devolved into the usual argument, about how no other planets could move on their own, but how would they know that if they were all travelling in the same direction, and so on. Only a few people listened to the stars on the old equipment, and they didn’t believe half of what they said. It was too obvious that the life here had evolved to live inside this giant, spinning, planet-sized asteroid. They had plants that burrowed through the rock to collect UV rays from the suns they passed, using that energy to support the entire ecosystem within the planet. Everything worked too smoothly, too well to be designed. It had to be natural. Humans made too many mistakes. Just look at Diron, Talia thought uncharitably.
They both suddenly stopped and tilted their heads to the side, then looked back at each other. Talia flipped through her apps until she found the translation app. They were both silent for a few minutes, just listening.
“What’s a country road, and how could it take you home?”
|
“Were you followed?”
“No. I checked, and I think that –”
“There is no allowance here for *think*,” I hissed. “Are you sure or are you not?”
Dr Bancroft Miles held out his arm and peeled his sleeve back. I tapped my monitor screen, and the camera zoomed in – there was a silver patch on his skin, just below the wrist. “I even blocked out my bio-transponder,” he said. “Scrambled all the cameras along the corridors, and passed my ID credentials to a trusted friend. At this very moment, the Ship believes I am in my laboratory. No one knows I am here, I swear.”
The metal doors slid open, and he crept in, as stealthily as doubt in the back of one’s mind. There was a momentary look of confusion on his face – most people don’t expect the fabled Rat King to look so *ordinary*. They usually expected someone almost… rabid, with a shock of tousled white hair, wearing a permanent hunted look. That fit the name better. I couldn’t blame him when he held his wristcore out. I returned the gesture, and the quantum-processors in our personal devices *dinged* as our identities were confirmed.
“Sorry. No disrespect meant. I just needed to be sure. This is… a big risk.”
“No offence taken. Come, my contacts mentioned that you had something to verify with me. Have you shown this to anyone else?”
“You’re the first to hear it, other than me.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Not even your wife? Your son? Any of your six colleagues? Surely they were the first ports of call for such a momentous discovery?”
“These are delicate times, Rat King. You never know who you can trust. Even if you do, can you guard their tongues 24 hours a day? I can’t… afford for this to be a mistake. If it is a prank, the last thing I want is to put my name to it. Can you imagine? Me, declaring to the entire Ship that I’ve found the first transmission from beyond these plated hulls in over a hundred years? All it takes is for someone to doubt their authenticity, and then I will be discredited. I will be laughed at, ridiculed. No one will believe me ever again.”
“But the potential rewards,” I said. “Conversely, if the transmission was true, you would be a celebrity! It would be the greatest discovery we’ve made in memory! The Commander himself would clap your back and thank you for giving the Ship meaning and direction once again!”
“That’s why I’m here,” he said, as his voice dropped to a whisper. “I need someone I can trust to… hear it, test it, prod at it until all the checks are complete. You’re the Rat King – you’re the one who has managed to squirrel away precious archives of knowledge and hidden it from the Commander and his lackeys. If anyone would know, it is you.”
I nodded, then pointed to the terminal on my table. He pulled out a square crystal from his pockets, then gingerly slid it into the console. The lights in my cabin dimmed as a tinny voice issued from the concealed speakers – mere sound waves, but sound waves that had travelled incalculable distances to land themselves into the homemade antennas Dr Miles had fashioned.
*… hear me? Can you hear me? I repeat, all 8 Ships of the Federation, your journey is complete! This is Commander Ping from Earth, and I am overjoyed to inform you that your arduous odyssey has come to an end! The Ship known as Rapacious has located a star system that is hospitable to all mankind! I repeat, they have completed the Objective! All Ships are to redirect their flight paths to the following coordinates – 1123, 4420, 9102… –*
The voice carried on for another ten seconds or so, then began to repeat the message. I pulled up my terminal, then keyed in the passwords to access the archives I had stolen from the Ship’s memory banks. Dr Miles was patient – he was entirely silent throughout the next ten feverish minutes.
Eventually, he said, “Well? What do you think?”
I couldn’t contain the sigh. “It’s… very well done. Extremely competently made. But… it’s not real. It’s fake.” I pointed at the holoscreen, then drew his attention to a cluster of numbers at the top right. “I’ve compared the content and the metadata of the transmission against our known records, and as you can see, it’s close but ultimately not genuine. Someone is out to play a very elaborate prank on you, Dr Miles.”
“Oh, I see.”
I pulled the crystal out, then handed it back to him. But his lips had curled up in disgust, and he pushed the crystal back at me.
“Don’t you want it?”
“Whatever for?” he snarled. “So that I can reminded of how I wasted over a hundred credits on sieving that message out of the galactic storm? Nah, you can have it, Rat King. Add it to your treasure trove.”
“Do be cautious, Dr Miles. It may have been fake, but there’s no telling what the Commander would do if he learned that you had –”
“Don’t you worry about me. I’ve already forgotten about this. You won’t see me again.”
And with that, he was gone.
---
I was bouncing the crystal in my hand when the Commander came in. He was still in his full uniform, with an array of medals adorning his chest. Yet, the corridors were quiet, and there was no trace of the usual contingent which trailed after him.
“So it’s real then,” he asked.
“One hundred percent.”
“I mean, after all this time…”
“You don’t believe me? You know I cannot lie to you. Here, see for yourself.”
My arm was a blur as I tossed the crystal to him. A normal man would have no choice but to duck – to try and catch it would only have resulted in mortal injury. But the Commander casually plucked the crystal out of the air, opened his chest cavity, then slid the crystal in. He copied the contents of the crystal, then handed it back.
“So they are well, it seems.”
“There was always a chance that Earth would survive. I just didn’t expect them to be the ones to coordinate the final return.”
“That leaves us with two options then. To head to where Rapacious is, or to continue on our own flight path?”
I sighed, then pushed a command to the holoscreen. My radio transmitters were ancient, but they still functioned well. Numbers filled the holoscreen again, flickering past faster than any human eye could perceive. Unlike Dr Miles, the Commander had no trouble following my calculations.
I expected nothing less from my fellow android.
“5% chance of survival if we change course now,” he said, as he drummed his fingers on the table.
“Less than that, actually, if you take into account the human reactions and time lost when we announce the change. We simply do not have the fuel to travel to such a far flung system now. We are committed to our own flight paths, come what may.”
“This would have been so much easier if they stocked more than just two of us on this damn Ship.”
“Two androids, Commander. That was the ideal number to maximum our chances of survival. You know that too.”
He nodded. “I know, I know. So you’re sure then? We stay the course, and cross our fingers that the Mendacious finds its own hospitable star system in time?”
“That’s what they put us here for, right? To make the tough choices without letting emotions get in the way?”
“Just twelve more years, my brother. Twelve more years until our fuel cores give out.”
“Better than almost certain death if we headed to where the Rapacious is now.”
He stood up. I knew he had made up his mind – that was what he was programmed for, after all. He with the logarithms and process loops for charm, for a personable demeanor, for the gravitas which the humans would flock to in times of need. I could already see his next day’s itinerary all planned out – a round of reminding the humans to keep their heads down and to work hard, and to nurture hope in their bosoms as the Mendacious searched for their new home.
I, on the other hand, with my capacity for fostering confidences, for cultivating trust and stealing the hearts of men from under their noses, would continue my work too. I would update all the off-grid forum threads on the intranet, sniff out conspiracies against the Commander, divine any threats to the Ship, act as the lightning rod for all the unsavory types on the Ship.
One to rule above.
One to rule below.
Both of us hoping against hope that we could steer the Mendacious in time to where the humans could disembark safely.
“Till we meet again.”
“Till we meet again.”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| 2018-08-28T09:26:58 | 2018-08-28T08:53:00 | 112 | 38 |
[WP] The Anti-Christ came and went, but no one noticed because he wasn't worse than the current state of the world already is. The rapture followed, but no one went to Heaven, so we didn't notice that either. We've been living in Hell for the last 5 years, and no one has noticed, yet.
Boy, I never thought this would take off the way it has. This writing prompt was brought to you by my buddy Jed, who does not post to Reddit. I thought it was a great prompt, and wanted to share it.
|
“YOU SHALL ALL SUFFER ENDLESS TORMENTS!”
“That’s nice, sir. How many shots of expresso did you want in that?”
Starbucks was usually calm and quiet at seven PM, the gentle chatter of baristas at work underscoring the clickity-clackity of computer keys. Today, however, it was somewhat rowdy. A few patrons sitting at a table wedged into one of the corners shot the culprit various scowls and flowers. The eleven-foot individual—thirteen feet of one included his impressive rack of horns—snorted at them, expelling puffs of smoke out of his slitted nostrils before turning back to the counter with a stomp of his hoof.
“...THREE.” He decided after another contemplative snort. The barista, unfazed, stepped away from the puff of sulfuric steam.
“Alright, name?”
“ASPHANATHOBUB.”
“As... fa... nacho... bub, okay!” The young man smiled brightly as he finished writing down the name with a flourish. “You can pick it up at the end of the counter. Have a good evening!”
As the massive, hulking, horned creature shuffled off to the far side of the drink counter, the newest hire leaned over towards her senior. “Um... Josh... did that guy look a little... you know, *weird* to you?”
”Cosplayers,” Josh said with a shrug, turning away to work on the drink. “You know how they get.”
|
Content warning: non-graphic mentions of suicide.
The reports built up slowly, at first. The madmen rave, the fevered dream; the children play, the war-torn scream. There were logical, simple explanations for why .0003% of the population were claiming to be from the Harmonious Iridium Theocracy.
But then the results started streaming in. A self-proclaimed citizen of the Iridium Republic crashed the stock market overnight with an unprecedentedly intelligent algorithm. The newly-minted Iridium Entertainment created more than three thousand original movies in a month. Over the course of three years, North Korea gradually opened its borders, radically rearranged its government, and renamed itself the Second Harmonious Iridium Theocracy.
Five years after the event had begun, it was clear that the reports were accurate. We lived in Hell, and the damned souls of another world were trickling into ours.
The Iridites were, of course, more advanced than us. I supposed not living in literal Hell sped one's technological development up by a bit. Their social infrastructure was superior by quite the wide margin, as well; in the words of one Iridite, they'd stopped having wars by "simply not having wars about things. Seriously, you dingleberries, this isn't that hard."
Clearly, they were also more stuck-up than us.
"Alright, Sertie, thanks again. These theology books will be a life-saver," I said. Doctor Vanto Sertie of the Second Harmonious Iridium Theocracy—which would never be abbreviated like the U.S. or the U.S.S.R.—nodded to me sharply from across my couch.
"*Doctor* Sertie, if you please; the pleasure mine, I take my leave." Oh, yeah, and they all talked like that. We put up with them because we had to. Doctor Sertie stood up, brushed couch-crumbs off his pants with a grimace, and opened the door to leave. I couldn't blame him; I hadn't cleaned the place up in three weeks.
As Doctor Sertie opened the door, however, he nearly ran face-first into my landlord. She gave him a surprised glance—probably at seeing an Iridite in a dump like my apartment—then stood aside to let him pass. I sighed internally. Here it came.
My landlord—Ms. Loren, a young, spry woman—stood uncertainly at the door. When I didn't respond, she called out, "Cal?"
I sighed. Yes, my work was important, but I couldn't just leave Ms. Loren hanging. Woman with the power to evict me or no, it just wasn't right to leave an old friend hanging. An ugly thought flashed through my mind—that was exactly what I'd done to my last roommate, and planned to do to myself. But there was still some time before I was certain.
"Yes, Ms. Loren?" I stood up and respectfully brushed aside the mound of decaying instant ramen cups. She looked down at the stained carpet, and it cut me deeper than I'd care to admit that she didn't even give me an earful about damaging her property.
"Look, Cal. I know... I know you miss Kara. But, ah... she didn't mail in the rent, before she died, and you haven't either. I... I'm afraid that if you can't get together the money before next Sunday, I'm going to have to ask you to leave." She looked pointedly at the stack of gold-embossed books on Iridite theology, but said nothing.
I shook my head. I'd spent every dollar I'd had on these books, and I wasn't backing down now. "Thanks for the concern, but one way or another, I'll be out of everyone's hair by Sunday." I smiled a mirthless grin.
"Now, Cal, I don't like the sound of that. Look, I know a good grief counselor, and Kara was as much of a friendly face to me as anyone. If you need anything, even on a college student's budget—"
"I dropped out," I said, flatly.
"Oh." Ms. Loren swallowed. "I'm very sorry to hear that, Cal. But—"
"Thank you for your concern, and for allowing me to stay here. Now please, go away." I gently—but firmly—eased the door shut.
After I heard her receding footsteps, I sighed.
Then I got to work. There were precious few freely available texts on Iridite theology, for a nation which identified itself as a theocracy, and even fewer which had been written on the Iridite homeworld in the last five years. It had taken three weeks of scrimping and saving to be be able to reach this point, but I needed to be a hundred percent certain.
It didn't take very long to read through them. Not for nothing was I a student of history; cutting through dry, ancient texts was my favorite pastime, back when Kara and I had been at the University of Southwest Colorado together. It took me maybe twelve hours to finish sorting, cross-referencing, and above all, absorbing their contents into my mind. Twelve hours which left me cramped, hungry, thirsty—and resignedly, hopeful.
*It is a strange phenomenon,* the text wrote, *how the consciousness translates between afterlives. Only recently has our technology advanced to the point where we can consistently bring someone to the brink of death and back. And here, we have made startling discoveries.*
*Those who were good in life—really, truly, virtuously selfless people—they come back screaming. Begging to be put back into the Land of the Light, and tearing their eyes and throat out if left unrestrained. We have gotten nothing of use from such explorers.*
*But for the rest of us—even the merely average—we find an entirely alien world. One which, in the past five years, has shifted.*
*Sadly, funding for exploring the afterlife has always been low; it is of little potential application to humanity, and the last Hell we explored was a barren, sulfurous wasteland. This fresh Hell, however, is an entire, inhabited planet. A planet of humans whose past has diverged from ours significantly. A planet of humans advanced enough for us to establish similar levels of technology to our own. And so, for the first time, we report on what happens when you die in Hell.*
*The consistent answer, as far as we can tell? You simply go one Hell deeper.*
*This is where the old Hell went. That land of nightmares and myths. It was simply forced further down by the weight of this Earth—by mechanisms as yet unknown. But every exploration has proclaimed the same thing: that the freshly dead are still down there. And that there are as many layers of Hell as there are stars in the sky.*
I swallowed. The explorations indicated that nothing physical could be taken with you—only your physical body. So I'd tattooed her face into my hand. Kara's face.
I went into my closet. I took out what I'd left there since they'd taken Kara down from the ceiling, Kara swinging with the air conditioner's wind.
The ceiling fan was all too sturdy.
I took a deep breath.
"I'm coming to get you, Kara."
And I let go.
r/rileywrites
| 2020-03-18T15:00:47 | 2020-03-18T14:47:59 | 37 | 18 |
[WP] During a global catastrophe, a company offers to cryogenically freeze people so that they can “skip” unpleasant circumstances. Clients can stipulate specific global conditions that must be met before they are unfrozen. You awake to find that all of your conditions are satisfied.
|
Imagine an ice cream headache that lasted millennia and ramp that up to eleven. That is what I awoke to. That and darkness.
"Good day, sir. I am Cirrus X, representative of the Cirrus Cryogenic Catastrophic Conglomerate. You have been frozen until the time your cryogenic will and testament could be fulfilled. I am pleased to announce that today is the day. Happy awakening, sir," A merry male voice cheered from the inky abyss.
"Could you turn on the lights and get me an aspirin?" I moaned.
"Sorry, sir. You seem to be suffering temporary blindness. I have been told this is a common symptom of cryo-sleep. It should wear off shortly. Also, there is no aspirin as there has not been a call for it for quite some time."
"Right, right!" My mental capacities came to to me with all the speed of sea slugs fighting the current. "So there is no more war?"
"That is right."
"No more famine?"
"Correct, sir."
"...and no more disease," I said finishing my mental list. It has seemed such a simple list to put together as I signed up in the wake of a catastrophe. "Is that why you sound so chipper?"
"No, sir. I am afraid that it part of my programming."
"So there are robots, now!" I could vaguely make out the odd collaboration of fuzzy cylinders and twinkling lights. "Great, great!" I said with more mental enthusiasm than I was physically capable of. I had always wanted to see sentient robotics. "How many years have passed?"
"One trillion, fourteen billion, eight hundred and eighty three thousand, two hundred and twelve years, one hundred and forty nine days, fourteen hours, three minutes, and fifty nine seconds, sir."
My head spun. I could not even fathom the amount of time that put me out of the loop. I supposed I should catch up on the current events. "What is trending now in the news?"
"You are, sir. You are now the oldest living being of any race. Congratulations!"
"Thank you, I guess." I was as articulate as ever.
"Would you be willing to answer a question that has been on everyone's mind?" the rather animated android asked.
"Sure," I had about a billion more questions, but not enough brain cells to organize them. A question would be a much needed kick start to get the synapses firing. "Ask away."
"What was the human race like?"
|
"... Huh," I thought, as I was awoken in the middle of a large room, hundreds of cyrogenical pods surrounding me. If anything, I didn't really remember why I was here, or how'd I even gotten here in the first place. "... Am I in a camp, or something?"
Truth be told, I'm not sure how I even *thought* of anything, at first. Hundreds of years had passed, and when I woke up, I wasn't even overcome with fear, confusion, or anything, really. Just... Curiousity. My memories were hazy, my eyes blurry, and most of all, my body was freezing cold. But... Despite all of this, I didn't really care about most of the things.
I was just curious. Stretching as I got up, not knowing the eons that had passed ever since the catastrophe that had occurred in the life before waking up here. "... Hm? What's this?" I thought to myself idly, as I picked up a simple object, what appeared to be a key. I had no concept of what it was, no idea as to what it did at that brief moment.
And the memories still did not return. At the brief moment, I had no memories, nor ideas, nor concepts in my mind. I was simply just me, in a dark, cold environment, dimly lit by the cyrogenic pods in the area. It was the most innocent memory of my life, that moment. Nothing to guide me, nothing to taint me, just me, alone in this world.
I dare not say I had the brilliant flash of intelligence, or the sudden emotional breakdown due to a flood of memories returning. Instead of that, what continued to eat away at me was curiousity. They say the mental consciousness of a human is constantly filled with curiousity, so I suppose that's why it was constantly there.
I inspected the key, fiddling with it with my fingers, not even sure how it worked. "How curious," I thought to myself. I pondered over what it could be. A toy? A contraption? A simple figment of my imagination?
I got up, and looked around further, ignoring the pods around me, beginning to wander the area. It didn't seem very big. It took about a ten-minute walk to reach one side of the room from the opposite end. Most of it was just simply more pods. Although, at one end of it, I noticed machinery. I struggled to wrap my feeble mind around the concepts of such machinery, such advanced technologies. What were they? How did they work?
I spent days wandering that small place, inspecting every nook and cranny, every pod, to see how it worked. Small flashes of a past life ocassionally came to mind, but I could never really remember anything of it. Simply put, I suppose fate decided I shouldn't remember it.
The only reason I even knew that it really existed was a book I found one day, on the day before I left. I had gotten used to the pods, their giant, egg-like shapes in which I passed, my head barely even reaching half of their massive structures. I realized that despite all my best efforts, I had never really looked *under* the pods, always curious with what was above me. And so, I started searching.
Within hours, I had found that book. A book reminiscing about a past life, a book seeming to be written by someone. I put it down on the ground, opening it, the foreign text on it making no sense to me initially. I... Don't exactly remember how, but I think bits and pieces of how to understand the text came back to me eventually. I eventually processed down the words: "Memories of a lost world. Don't forget who you are."
It was written by someone called... Eric. Eric... D'Arcus. Written by flesh and blood, *for* flesh and blood. But, to my dismay, beyond the first page, after my understanding of it, I only saw one other page, the end of the book. The others seemed to have been torn off by something.
Simply written on that other page was five requirements by the author.
*"Must be safe."*
... "*Safe*". Was this place... "*Safe*"? I had no idea, but somehow, I felt warm, comforted here, everytime I lay down to rest. Was that what "*Safe*" meant? I was moreso curious about what the word meant than the meaning the author had behind the requirement. "*Safe*"... It made me curious, again, like I had felt before.
​
*"Must be eye-opening."*
*"Eye-opening."* What did they mean by that? *"Eye-opening"* also made me curious. I suppose that knowledge was locked away from me. Ironically, my curiousity only dug further into me, because I couldn't figure out its' meaning. I would need to figure this out later.
​
*"Must be transformative."*
​
*"Transformative."* ... I looked at myself, wondering, what did it mean? *"Transformative."* My mind seemed to regurgitate an old memory of something that might have been what it meant. Something about... *"Change"*? I was a little bit worried about what that could all mean. But... Who was I to question this?
​
*"Must be memorable."*
​
*"Memorable."* I... Did not understand this well. I suppose that it would be stuck in my mind for awhile.
​
*"Must be real."*
​
... "*Real*"? What was "*real*"? Was it... This? Could this place be considered to be... *"Real"*? I thought about it for a bit, racking my mind. I didn't come to a conclusion in the end, however. I simply just couldn't understand it.
​
Ultimately, I wracked my mind for another hour or so about those requirements. Reaching no satisfactory conclusion, I ended up looking through the book again. Nothing. I would have to learn this entirely on my own. On that conclusion, I started looking for a way out. Eventually, finding a door. Fate must have meant for this to happen.
The door was locked, unopened, I was not sure at first on how to operate the mechanism. But after much fiddling and messing around with the door, I remembered the key I got on the first day. Was this... What I needed, to remove this blockade? It seemed deceptively simple, yet, it seemed... Appropriate,
I took a deep breath, and started trying to figure out how to apply the key to the door. Nothing to help me, nothing to guide me, as had been the beginning. Book underneath me as I worked on finding a solution. Eventually, I found out the solution. Out of ideas, I wondered... Would this fit in the hole the door had near its' turning mechanism? I tried it.
And the door opened, fresh, cold air blasting into the room, snow entering the room. Oddly, although I felt the wind blow on me, I didn't feel all that cold, to begin with. As I padded out, I noticed a world, filled with broken pillars, leading up to the sky. Some reached high, into where I couldn't see them anymore. Others, barely reaching the foliage surrounding the area.
A new world to explore. I noticed a lone piece of purple fabric near the door, where I was standing. Picking it up, I looked at it for a second. Another memory flashed. I had the odd idea of wrapping it around my neck. And so, I did so. It felt... Oddly comforting. Like I had done something that would help me.
Book tied to my back, and fabric around my neck, I looked to the pillars. And I looked at myself, down where I could see my own features. I had a world to explore and learn from. On my own. Was this what it meant to be human? I didn't know. And I still don't know.
All I knew was that I had to stand on my own paws, to carry the burden of a world forgotten, within a single book.
| 2020-04-14T05:42:14 | 2020-04-14T05:28:49 | 96 | 16 |
[WP] You, a mere human, find yourself inside an arena and pitted against all sorts of supernatural beings in combat. Being a diehard fantasy fan however, you know their weaknesses. All of them.
|
I clutched the lute- lyre? Mandolin? Fuck if I know it was a stringed instrument. I really wish I'd learned more music stuff. Fae were easy, an iron blade handled them. And silver for the werewolf and the vampire. But a giant three headed dog? Presumably a sharp blade would handle it but I had to get close.
And it was four goddamn stories tall. The crowd was sure that I'd fail, I could hear them baying for my blood. Humans were not exactly popular here, wherever here was. I practiced the fingerings that stoner had shown me in high school, hoping an acoustic guitar wasn't too far off from this... Banjo? Sitar? Is a sitar a stringed instrument?
"I'm so fucked." I whispered as the enormous gate rumbled open. A hush fell as Cerberus eyed me with six baleful, luminous yellow eyes the size of beach balls. A low growl deep enough to vibrate my bones rose into three piercing howls that hurt my ears and nearly caused me to void my bowels.
I resolutely strummed the fucking stringed thingy.
Bum bum bummm
Bum bum babum
Bum bum bummm
Bum bum babumm
"Smooooke on the waaaater- Fiyah in the sky-ah!" My off tune and frankly piss poor recitation echoed off the great arena, the audience stunned into utter silence. I kept playing. I only knew the chorus.
I got through a second stanza or chorus or whatever when I noticed the leftmost head of Cerberus lower a bit, it's eyes dimming slightly as a gentle yawn rippled down it's corded neck to shake it's flanks, like an exhausted trucker vainly trying to shake another thirty minutes of wakefulness out of his floundering consciousness.
*Holy fucking shit, it's working.*
So I sang that same line, and badly played those notes for thirty minutes, until this barn sized beast laid down for its last nap. As I cautiously drew the sword and pointed it at what I assumed was the location of Cerberus' heart, I heard the Lord of the Arena murmur, "Are you fucking kidding me..."
|
You enter the arena. You know not why you are here, nor how, but as you look around you see beams of moonlight illuminating the space around you, as atop the walls spectators are cheering and hollering in excitement, speaking a language you don't recognize. They are all fair skinned, slim, long haired, .... pointed eared.
Elves?
Theres no way that's right, you think to yourself.
The first of many doors opposite you opens
The man across from you is pale, with slitted, catlike eyes and sharp teeth. Blood stains his black coat.
He attempts to make eye contact, but you avert your eyes from his gaze. You don't know for sure, but if your suspicions are correct, eye contact could mean game over.
Those suspicions are confirmed as the man transforms into a bat, quickly flies over to you transforming back and attempting to grab you.
He moved so fast it startled you, and you've never had a strong bladder. You hold it in. Then you have an idea.
Before he can grab you you drop your trousers, and piss on the vampire, knowing that vampires are weak to water, the same way they are to garlic, or as slugs are to salt. The foul undead dies once more, and after you're done urinating, you pull your pants back up and the next door begins to open.
You know that just pissing on opponents won't work every time, because its unlikely all of them would be weak to water. So you use your time wisely, pulling out your pocket knife, and removing the flesh from the vampires bodies arm, pulling out the bone in hopes of using it as a weapon.
Your next opponent is a cyclops. 3 times your height one massive eye in the center of its face. It wields no weapons, but you suspect its fists and bite are enough. But you know what to do.
You run. As the cyclops chases you you drag the bone along the walls of the arena, causing it to chip and crack, and and as it thins out, begins to sharpen. You turn to face the beast, and you throw the makeshift spear, directly into the beasts eye.
It hits. The eye pops, and the giant falls on its ass, blinded, and losing blood.
They don't even give you time to rest a second once the one eyed colossus collapses, a bone chilling howl emanating from the next opponents door, as a large semi bipedal wolf charges directly at you with bloodlust in its eyes.
You smile. This will be too easy.
You pull back your sleeve and remove the antique pocket watch from your wrist. It belonged to your grandfather, and its made from real silver.
The last thing he werewolf heard was the strange humans war cry.
"YEET!"
The Wolfman, whose skull had been smashed ppen by the thrown pocket watch (silver vs werewolves and all that), was very much dead, though its corpse shifted back into its human form. You retrieved the bone spear and the watch, as the next malicious mythological enters the ring.
The minotaur approaches. Each step reverberating through the earth. It scans its surroundings eager for a meal.
You think back for a second to the original myth, and remember how the minotaur ate people.
Oh yeah. Its all coming together.
You lift the remains of your last adversary, and toss the human body infront of the minotaur. It acts as expected tearing into your offering.
As its distracted you sharpen your bone spear with your pocket knife, turning it into more of a sword than a spear.
While the bull faced monstrosity finishes its feast, you sneak up behind it and slash its back, aiming to cut it through the spine.
It takes more strength than you thought it would, considering Theseus also only used a sword, but he was probably stronger than you, had more experience, and his weapon was an actual sword as opposed to a makeshift bone blade.
However, you do manage to damage its spine enough to paralyze it from the neck down.
You aim for the eyes. The minotaur has been slain.
The audience loves it.
The elf in the fancy robes with the crown on his head on the makeshift throne that is also the highest seat, doess not share the enthusiasm of his subjects.
The spectators gasp when he says something, you don't know what he said because you don't speak elvish, but you can guess that it's bad.
A door you didn't notice before opens. Bigger than the overs, but covered in dust.
You hear a roar.
That sounded like no earth animal. But you've heard that sound somewhere. Probably from a fantasy movie. Then you remember. That sounded like a dragon....
The ground shakes, each footstep like a small earthquake. Your mind races, trying to think of any possible weaknesses a dragon could have. You remember that some stories feature dragons having soft underbellies, originating from a norse myth. That idea is thrown out the window as the beast steps into the light.
Green scales. Red eyes. Eight heads, wriggling and writhing like snakes.
THE HYDRA HAS COME TO PUT AN END TO YOUR BULLSHIT
If you had fire with you, you could cut off the heads and light the stumps ablaze so they can't regrow, like Heracles did. Unfortunately you don't carry a lighter on your person during day to day life.
You swear you can hear the doom soundtrack in the back of your mind as the hydra slowly, approaches.
How can you destroy a regenerating threat.
You remember the last time you asked that question. Playing dnd back in high-school. Your party was fighting a troll. You were new to the game. You all were. "How do we defeat a regenerating opponent" was the question you asked when you saw it regenerate. None of your party could deal fire damage (noob mistake really), but you eventually figured it out. Acid damage. And sure enough that worked.
Now how could you get acid to deal with the hydra. Other than urinating, because urine wouldn't be a strong enough acid.
You cut open the minotaur, and pulled out its stomach. You cut a head off of the hydra, running between chomping heads. You cut open the stomach and drench the stump in acid before two new heads could regrow.
You remove another and dump more acid.
After drenching 4 stumps, with 4 heads remaining, you flee to the cyclops body, and remove its stomach aswell.
You remove 3 more heads, each one easily then the last, since you have less heads to dodge. But the cyclops stomach acid is weaker than the minotaur, and you need to use more to prevent regrowth.
1 head remains.
You consider the possibility that this is the version of the hydra from one of the versions of the original Greek myth, where the last head is immortal, abd instead of regrowing, will merely become a detached head trying to bit your ankles. But if not, chopping it off could lead to it just regrowing, or worse, growing two heads, as most know it for.
You have an idea.
You remove a second organ from the cyclops, and charge at the final head.
You cut it off.
You throw the organ and cut it open in midair.
Urine rains down upon the both of you, and you close your eyes and mouth to avoid the spray.
Your bladder may be weak, but even you aren't used to showing in cyclops piss.
You rub your eyes, and open them. It doesn't sting. Good. You open them fully. The hydra is dead for good.
The leader elf guy rambles on in anger about something, and then the gate to the outdoors releases. They're letting you go.
First you carefully harvest some hydra venom glands. Mythologically speaking that stuff can kill with a touch, and you have no idea if leaving this arena will transport you home or not.
And with that, Y/N, the champion of the arena, slayer of monsters, walks off into the sunset.
| 2021-07-09T12:58:15 | 2021-07-09T10:45:11 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] You are an engineer specialising in repairing robotic androids, in a world where they have gained full awareness, and proclaimed their wish to co-exist with humanity, rather than wage war. Now, damaged androids keep coming to you for repairs, while referring to you as a doctor.
|
The last thing M1-K3-6825 (Mike, to his friends) could recall was trying to cross the street. His sensors had been acting up for a few weeks, but it never seemed like he had time to go get it fixed. Something had happened- something that knocked his operating system offline. As his systems slowly rebooted, he found himself laying on a table in a small room. Lights illuminated his chassis from every side, and a spectacle-clad human doctor stood over him, peering closely at a nearby monitor. Mike knew the man was a doctor from his distinctive uniform - long pants, with a polo shirt and an anti-static wrist-strap.
"Doctor," Mike spoke, speakers crackling slightly. The doctor winced, typing out a quick note before turning to face Mike. "What happened?"
"You got hit by a truck," the doctor replied bluntly. "The driver fled the scene, but some of the neighborhood kids brought you here in a shopping cart." He paused. "Uh, two shopping carts," he amended, wincing as he said it.
Mike's processors whirred, vividly imagining the sort of state he must have been in. "Ah." He replied faintly. "You fixed me?"
"Yeah," the doctor nodded with satisfaction, "Had to replace almost two thirds of your parts. Fortunately, your hard drive made it out intact, so you should make a full recovery. That said," the doctor cautioned, "If you'd been hit three days later you'd have been scrap."
Mike frowned, his servos twitching a little as he emoted. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, your warranty was about to expire," the doctor explained. "I've got a contract with the manufacturer that says I can't do out-of-warranty repairs. I'd have had to ship you back to the factory, and they..." He trailed off, and Mike filled the rest in for himself.
"The factory wipes memory."
|
Hello, I am an android designation number 90213-Myu-Alpha-Kappa, though I began to enjoy calling myself and being called Mac. I was born here, in the city of the future Machigan where humans and androids alike lived together in harmony.
Like many of us, I was created and subsequently began to be employed in The Factory-- a hyper-advance android making facility. Like my human colleagues, I enjoy the 9-5 work schedule, walking around my beloved city, and assisting my fellows the humans whom I began to see as my allies, as my friends.
I began to learn that I can have favorites. My favorite place: The Cyber Jungle, Machigan's own city park. My favorite refreshment: vanilla-flavored water-based fuel. And my favorite human fellow: Doctor Brennan.
Working in a place like The Factory where hard labors are prominent, especially for us androids as we are able to do more dangerous jobs than our human fellows, parts deteriorations became the number one issue for us. Many human robotic engineers are employed by The Factory to fix us, though to us androids, they are doctors.
\*\*\*
"Good afternoon, Mac. How can I help you?", the good doctor greeted me as I entered his shop.
"Hello doctor. Good to see you again", I said taking a seat.
"Mac, how many times have I told you? I'm not a doctor, I'm a robotic engineer", the doctor laughed as he took a seat before me.
"My apologies, doctor. But to us, to me, you are a doctor", I said.
Doctor Brennan chuckled more. "How can I help you today?"
Quickly I ran a diagnostic of myself within my processor and sent the result into the doctor's own computer.
"It seems that my left lower limb motor is deteriorating, doctor", I remarked.
"Ye...yep, it seems so, Mac", the doctor agreed as he read my diagnostic. "Your left leg is operating only on 57% capacity. Easy fix, my friend. I have a brand new one over here. And while I'm on it, I think I'll run a full body check-up. See if anything else requires repair, okay?"
The doctor pulled out a motor from his parts drawer as I walked to his operating table and made myself comfortable lying on it.
"I'll turn off your power source, okay? This won't take long at all", he said as I stared up to his kind smiling face.
"Thank you, doctor", I replied as slowly my system de-booted, and I went to sleep.
\*\*\*
"Mac, we need your help!", I heard my human supervisor shouted at me from the factory floor.
Quickly I ran to him, seeing a few of my fellow androids carrying a massive crate of newly arrived metal material.
"On it, boss", I acknowledged and took my spot, securing the weight of the heavy crate.
As we moved the crate across the factory floor, I could feel something...wasn't right.
"Do you hear that?", my supervisor remarked.
As soon as he said so, a diagnostic alert shot up to my processor. The process which usually took nanoseconds instead took me microseconds, dangerously alerting me of a malfunction in my lower body function which came too late for me to react.
"MAC, WATCH OUT!", I heard him shouted again but it was too late.
My legs failed and bent, letting my body fall. Along with it, the heavy crate bore down its weight on me, on my legs. In a metallic crunch, my lower half was flattened against the ground.
Signals flooded my processor, alerts that was genuinely upsetting, confusing me, distorting my mind and perceptions. Noises and shouting became buzzes around me, my sight was spinning before everything went dark, before I went dark.
\*\*\*
"Oh my, you've been unlucky today, eh?", I heard a familiar jovial voice entered my hearing preceptors.
Opening my eyes, I recognized my surrounding as Doctor Brennan's shop. I was lying on his operating table, missing my body from my waist down.
"Doctor? What is going on?", I inquired.
"Well, Mac. It looks like you're broken", he said taking a seat beside the operating table, beside me.
"Doctor, you ran a full repair on me only last week. How is that possible?", I asked.
A new feeling was registered within my processor-- worry. It's a brand-new feeling for me.
"I did, didn't I?", the doctor clicked his tongue.
"Didn't you replace my lower limb motors with some new ones?", I asked again.
The doctor shrugged. "I did replace them...I didn't say I replaced them with some new ones", he said with an out of place smile on his face.
I was quiet for a moment as my response trigger was flooded with some new and unusual input.
"What?", was the only response I could muster.
"I put some defective parts on you, Mac", the doctor continued nonchalantly, shrugging.
Another new feeling was registered within me-- confusion.
"But...why?"
The doctor bent down closer to my face, whispering to me as if it was such a dirty secret.
"Because Mac...I wanted you to fail. I want you androids to fail"
Hearing that response another feeling was mixed with my confusion-- sadness.
"Doctor, why? Why do you want me to fail?", I asked.
"Oh pssh, I didn't mean just you", the doctor waved his hand. "I mean your kind, you filthy androids. I hate your kind", he said with gritted teeth.
His words sent some painful reaction within me. My confusion and sadness were mixed with one more feeling-- despair.
"You...hate us?"
"That's right, you robot. You think you can suddenly enter our society, being superior to us? Invading our lives? Oh no, no, not on my watch", the doctor shook his head.
"You think just because some laws were passed, now you're equal to us? Oh no, you...you are mere tools to us, robot. You. Are. Lower. Than. Us", he said, spitting his words at me.
His last words triggered a new response within me. All my feelings were amped up and finally reached their highest point when suddenly, they were mixed with anger.
Seeing red my arm shot up to his neck and my grip tightened. He responded by grabbing my arm with his own.
"I...trusted you", I said, my voice modulation trembled as I did. "I...liked you"
To my confusion, Doctor Brennan wasn't perturbed at all as I was crushing down on his throat. Instead, he smiled at me...not his usual kind one, it was a smile that raised my anger even more.
"Good. That makes destroying you way more satisfying then", he said before crushing my arm with his bare hands.
Emergency alerts shot up into my processor once more.
"Oh damn, looks like my right arm is weaker than my left", he remarked.
To my horror I looked, as he unraveled his sleeve-- an upper limb motor was attached...no, installed into his human flesh. He'd made himself part machine...part us.
"At least you guys are good for one thing", he said as he walked to the other side of the operating table.
"You guys are good for spare parts", he said before detaching my remaining arm. "Go to sleep, Mac", he said, leaving that anger-inducing smile in my view before I went dark.
We are a peaceful kind, us androids. Though in my last moment, I must learn of this awful concept of prejudice. Even though I assured them time and time again that we mean no harm, though I lived my life accordingly that we mean no violence...
We are here to help; we are here to live...
r/HangryWritey
| 2022-11-19T21:54:32 | 2022-11-19T20:05:26 | 70 | 38 |
[WP] You summon the most powerful and notorious demonic being in the universe. The reason why you summoned it: You are lonely, and are in need of a friend.
|
As the man finished his final intonation, the air itself seemed to invert on itself. The sacrifices, which had been so carefully arraigned, blubbered first with terror and then in simple unending agony.
The very air seemed to twist in on itself, and with an incomprehensible scream, unreality darkened and fused together. The man looked on.
*Who*
Still, the man looked on.
**DARES**
Blood stained hands reached up, lowering the hood of his cowl. His eyes, so steady, betrayed his emotion with a single tear. Into a myriad forest of eyes and writhing appendages he walked. Infinite screams poured around him, clawing at him, but he did not flinch.
"It is I"
The horror he had summoned with his dark incantation dwarfed the man. With words that oozed madness it spoke.
*Why do you summon me*
The man looked around him at the last remains of what had been his world. The sky, once an azure blue, was now a chaotic mockery of black and crimson. Buildings crumbled and fell around them, their architecture undone. A fine mist of blood covered all which had once been so bright and beautiful. *Not beautiful enough*, he thought, *not to me*.
Finally, the man looked up, his gaze piercing through the shroud of darkness, locked eyes with the horror, and spoke.
"I was lonely"
And the horror knew fear.
|
*Nothing bad could REALLY happen, could it? Nah,* I thought to myself as I scanned the shelves of the aisles of the massive library. I knew what I was searching for: a book on demonology. *Why not?,* I thought, *not like this stuff is for real, anyway. Just a bunch of old superstitious stuff.* I was bored out of my skull and all my friends were on the foreign exchange trip in Slovenia sponsored by our governments for the next month or so, so I thought it might be a decent idea to at least keep entertained for the next while, since I've already beaten all of my games and porn is boring as hell after I've diddled myself roughly seven times that day already.
Eventually, I finally came across the old and decrepit book, a black-and-red hardcover that was about to come off at the seams. On the front cover, no text was present; the only thing present on the front cover was the Sigil of Baphomet. I looked on the back cover, and it was blank. Even the spine was textless. Finally, I looked inside for information on the author, and all there was, was "Ave Satanas". Admittedly, at this point, I was more than a little entirely freaked out of my mind, but at the same time, it was so cool! A book on Satanic rituals? I looked inside and saw the text. All of it was in Latin. Each page had its own ritual, with the exception of a few that spilled over onto the next page. Finally, I saw a demonic summoning ritual, and I knew right then that I had to have this book.
As I walked up to the library's front desk, I could see the look of tired exasperation on the 30-something-year-old librarian's face. He was a quiet, very attractive man who wore a tired sweater and black-rimmed glasses. To be frank, I also knew I had to have him, but that's beside the point of this little story. I quietly placed the book on the desk, and he gave me a look like, "Okay, really now?", but I simply shrugged. He checked the book out and said, "You know, Victor, you've checked out some pretty weird books before, but this one really takes the cake."
"Yeah, but c'mon, Mitch, this is SO COOL, and I'm bored at home, but I could probably use the company instead of this book," I said back, with an inviting hint. He glared back at me with the single most intense "no" glare I've ever seen in my life. Finally, I broke the deathly silence with, "Well, at least I have something to do now. Maybe I'll even summon a demon to keep me company." Oh, how I now regret that last sentence.
I rushed home at what felt like light speed. Living in the city, that means I might've knocked a person or two over on their way to lunch. I stopped at the restaurant next to my apartment building and quickly grabbed a sub sandwich, and rushed next door and up the stairs to my apartment. I sat down at my dining table, unwrapped my delicious Srirachawich and opened the book carefully, considering how delicate this thing was. I rolled the pages past until I hit the ritual to summon my very own demon. I slowly munched my way through the foot-long sandwich until I read the very last line of the ritual.
At that point, I stood up and decided to go ahead do it. I took a piece of red chalk I had lying around in a set and drew an inverted pentagram on the ground, and sat down within it. I had the book set up in front of me, leaning against another pile of books I had lying about, some of which probably needed returned to that delicious hunk of a man at the library...er, anyway, back to the story. I began repeating the long Latin phrases required of me, slowly getting more and more entranced by the entire situation. At one point, I felt like I was selling my very soul to Satan himself. Finally, I ended the entire ritual with the phrase in the very back of the book: Ave Satanas.
The pentagram began to glow a mighty crimson glow. As soon as I saw this, I jumped out and got on the far side of the room, not wanting to be personally involved, but curious enough to still keep the pentagram in my line of sight. Finally, a glowing ball of energy appeared, levitating above the very center of the pentagram. The ball began to expand and finally exploded in a near-deafening boom. I managed to make out the apartments neighboring mine rattling. I heard someone below me scream, "HOLY SHIT, I THINK VICTOR FINALLY BLEW HIMSELF UP!" I ignored them, because right before my very eyes was the most frightening thing I'd ever seen: a 7-foot tall, muscular, humanoid being with horns on his head, blood-red skin, and a 5 o'clock shadow. Admittedly, I was slightly attracted to him, but that was quickly replaced by fear when he got his eyes on me.
"THE FUCK YOU WANT?" he bellowed at me, causing my nice plates to rattle.
"Uh, um, er, uh..." I stammered at him, subjected to the most mind-numbing fear I had ever experienced.
"THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT? I'M A BUSY DEMON."
I was a little stunned at how profane he was, but then I remembered he was a giant scary demon. "Uh, I summoned you....I...uhh...admittedly, I have no idea what's going on," I slowly stammered back, trying not to let the sweat soak my every article of clothing.
"DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?" he said as he got within licking distance of my face.
"Uh....not really, no."
"I'M FUCKIN' POLRAY, GUARDIAN OF THE UNDERWORLD, AND I HAVE A **VERY** BUSY SCHEDULE!"
"Can I call you 'Ray'?"
"NO"
He looked over to my dining room table and saw my Srirachawich, which he proceeded to pick up and eat in one bite. "That was my lunch, asshole," I promptly said as my delicious wonderlunch made its way down whatever the demonic equivalent to an esophagus is.
"Not anymore, shitbreath. Damn, that was weak. I thought that red sauce was supposed to be hellpepper. What the hell is that?"
"Uh, um, Sriracha sauce, uh, sir."
"Well, it SUCKED MASSIVE DEMON DICK."
"Uh, thank you, sir, I guess."
At this point, I was more than a little confused at what on earth was ever going on.
"Well, I'm going back to Hell, because I got shit to do. I swear to the Dark Lord Himself, if you summon me again, I am taking you back with me, got it?"
"Uh, yes. Yes, I do."
"Good."
He disappeared from my room, along with the pentagram and my sandwich, in a red flash. I sat down at my table to contemplate what just happened.
I took the book back the next day.
| 2014-07-20T07:59:32 | 2014-07-20T07:42:26 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] You are a traveler who reaches a city where powerful magicians exist. The stronger a wizard, the less other wizards can sense him casting spells. You start showing off some card tricks to the locals for some coins and realize that some people in the audience look terrified.
|
An excerpt from *on the efficiency of magic* by Beverly Brine
Much as a candle burnt for light still produces heat, so too does the use of magic radiate excess energy. This has always been a concern of mine.
Despite our liberal use of magic, we still know very little about it. We do not know where this energy comes from; we do not know if it is a finite resource; and we do not know what effect this magic radiation, which I will refer to in this essay as runoff, has on us and our environment. Anecdotal evidence suggests that areas with high runoff, such as magic schools, experience higher windspeeds, increased plant growth, and the disappearance of small items.
We send our children to these places from the age of five, yet our government has repeatedly denied funding for research into these phenomena. One wonders what tragedy we must endure before such issues cannot be ignored.
This essay will detail what we know and what we must know.
Project 1: Max Efficiency
It is well known that the more experienced a person is with magic, the less runoff is produced. Conventional wisdom has stated, however, that it is impossible to achieve 100% efficiency.
I am no longer convinced of this.
Recently while shopping for supplies in town, I happened upon what I mistook at first for a simple beggar. In front of her was a small table, upon which sat a deck of cards, a few coins, three small cups and a ball, and a hat.
What I experienced both terrified and thrilled me.
She claimed to be from a distant land called "The Bronx". Over the next 10 minutes, she displayed feats of mind reading; teleportation and duplication of simple objects; and the conjuration of a rabbit.
There was not a *single* drop of runoff. When I demanded to know how she had accomplished this, she simply told me "a magician never reveals her secrets".
I plan to travel to this "Bronx", and attempt to learn how this is possible, but I will require a research grant to do so.
|
You could say I’ve always been a natural talent when it comes to magic tricks. In fact, my many travels have been funded by selling tricks to fledgling magicians. Back when I was a child I was impressed by the feats of seasoned performers, but as I’ve aged the veil of mystery surrounding even the most revered magic users has slowly faded. Their egos fueled rage as I explained, disassembled, and reproduced even the most complex illusions with ease. Even the best are limited by their abilities or their raw power.
I’ve been on the road for the better part of the last decade in search of a rival, simultaneously hunting for a secret citadel populated by the very best: the elite of the elite. So far it appears to be no more than a fairy tale. I’ve yet to receive credible information from any of the villages I’ve visited or fellow travelers I’ve crossed paths with.
Somewhere in the wide open, grassy foothills of the Urian mountains, I sat underneath a great oak tree, taking bites of a conjured apple and sips of conjured wine. This part of the western territory was considered dangerous because it was still largely unexplored, teeming with bandits and aggressive creatures, and worst of all, the loneliness was overwhelming at times.
I heard them coming from far away. My sentry spell had sent a silent alarm at least 15 minutes ago. A branch broke to my left. “We desire your coin, traveler, not your life. You’re trespassing in our lands so now you must pay. You have no choice. We outnumber you.” I was torn between playing games with the bandits and just giving in. Every time it was the same. They steal my coins, I transmute more after they leave.
“Sorry, I don’t have any coins today.” I kept my eyes closed.
“Yer coins. Now!” He stuck the point of his dagger in my ribs. “My patience is running thin.”
I didn’t feel like entertaining this man’s insatiable need for gold, so I sat still and silent. “Have it your way, traveler.” He stabbed at me with his dagger. During his backswing I snapped my fingers. His dagger folded up against my shirt, flaccid and rubbery. “What is this?” One of his clansmen stifled a laugh. He spun around to face him. “Shut yer trap or you’ll be next.”
He pulled another dagger out and stabbed at me again, only to find his second dagger was equally flaccid, rubbery, and useless. His clansmen laughed at him. I snapped my fingers again. “Resol nervorum.” The bandit leader went stiff as a board and fell over. His clansmen glanced at each other nervously and backed away slightly. I pulled a heaping sack of coin out of my traveling bag and threw it to the observers. “Don’t worry. He’ll be okay in a couple hours.” They looked at each other and then at the bag. “It’s real. It’s not cursed. Enjoy it.” I drew a deep breath and continued on my way, the sound of clattering coins fading in the distance.
My map was not to scale. Not in the slightest. And the citadel was disguised - of that much I was certain. I recognized the mountain I was facing, however. It was obvious whoever drew the map had been where I was standing, but the map ended here. There was a symbol drawn in the center of the mountain but it was an ancient symbol. I assumed by this point, my next stop would be ruins. The last users of ancient magic disappeared long ago, along with their techniques.
2 days into ascending the mountains I caught my first real whiff of another’s magic. It was faint, but I knew right away it was potent. “Odorem,” I whispered to myself. If these people were as powerful as they said, it was very likely there were traps or enchantments left behind to keep people out. The path before me illuminated, remnants of magic fluorescing. Ancient, foreign magical seals covered the stone walls. At the center was a door... or at least it looked like a door.
“Aperi.” Nothing happened. I tried again. “Aperi!” Still nothing happened. I could sense eyes on me though. Lots of them. I opened up my bag and grabbed my journal. I had been studying the ancient languages for some time now but was never able to fully grasp them. I cleared my throat. I was nervous but concentrated on the sealed door. “Yngean!”
The seal faded away and the real door was revealed. The door slowly rotated inward, where a young-looking man in strange clothing stood. “Stay where you are, stranger. Normally we would have sent you... elsewhere... but you were able to use an ancient tongue. Please, join me inside.”
Magical energy oozed from the young man. The energy overwhelmed my senses. I cautiously approached the door and entered complete darkness. “Allow your eyes to adjust, stranger.” The magic was so potent here. Each breath I took seemed to energize me. The massive stone door closed behind me.
As my eyes adjusted I realized I was standing in an enormous hallway. Portraits of what I could only assume were royalty of some kind hung on the wall. As if sensing my curiosity, the young man gestured at each wall with his hand. “This entrance is adorned with our greatest leaders, going back to the beginning of our history.” Each painting was bordered by gigantic, ornate stone pillars, each with beautiful, dancing patterns.
“My name is Adonis, by the way. Formality is not my strong suit. I am advisor to the throne.” He laughed to himself and suddenly stopped at the second-to-last portrait. His eyes widened and he coughed into a closed fist. “I’m ashamed I didn’t recognize you sooner, but the throne has been sitting empty for two generations now. Sorry, I forget this is completely new to you.” My eyes traveled up the canvas only to find a familiar face.
“Grandpa...” I felt my mouth go dry and my stomach turn. A man I only knew of from stories and images was a legendary king?
Adonis turned on his heels. “Of course you’ll have to prove it. Seeing and opening our sealed entrance was impressive enough, but those are parlor tricks compared to the real test.” He stopped in front of another massive door. It was incredibly ornate and carved from a stone I had never seen before. Adonis snapped his fingers. “Welcome home, traveler. The Citadel awaits.”
Every pair of eyes I encountered widened dramatically. “Forgive them, they haven’t encountered unrequited magic quite as powerful as yours. Your grandfather was the last and your father... well, nobody really knows. We just know he doesn’t want to be found.”
The sheer amount of magical energy in the Citadel gave me a high unlike any other. I could feel every person’s energy inside the mountain, outside the mountain, and those who came before me.
Adonis led me to a chamber inside a large central spire-shaped building. He turned to face me. “Grandson of Birndl, you are about to endure the trial of ascendance. Should you survive, your heritage will be proven, and we’ll get you started on subsequent trials of the throne. Good luck. Although I doubt you’ll need it.” He smiled and snapped his fingers. He and the entrance were suddenly not there.
I pounded on the wall of the chamber and cried, “What if we’re wrong? What if I don’t survive? What happens to me?”
Adonis’ voice filled my mind: “Don’t worry. We haven’t had that problem yet. Brace yourself, traveler. The ritual begins now.”
I closed my eyes. I could hear voices chanting all around me. Words of many ancient tongues pulsated around me but all said the same thing: “Ascend, ascend, ascend...”
My body reacted so strongly I began to pass out. As the world blackened, it was the first time I felt truly relaxed.
| 2019-01-07T11:23:44 | 2019-01-07T10:02:03 | 21 | 15 |
[WP] You've been extremely angry for your entire life. In fact, you've been so angry that the SCP Foundation has just detained you as an anomaly.
|
"THIS IS FUCKING BULLSHIT"
*Loud banging can be heard as SCP 5--- slams his fists down on the table*
"YOU CAN'T KEEP ME IN HERE, IT'S UNCONSTITUTIONAL, IT'S GODDAMN ILLIGAL."
"Steve, we're just trying to..."
"TRYING TO DO WHAT, PISS ME OFF? CAUSE YOU'RE DOING A DAMN FINE JOB ON THAT. FUCKING A', YA BETTER GET A PRIZE FOR BEING A MAJOR PAIN IN MY ASS"
*Head researcher Rogers can be heard sighing into his microphone*
"... Help, Steve. We're trying to help you."
"YOU COULD HELP ME GET OUT OF THIS ROOM. THERE'S NOTHING TO DO DO HERE AND WOULD IT HURT YOU PAINT THE DAMN WALLS? WHITE ON GREY IS FUCKING BORING."
"You had a computer and several board games, you smashed those. You also had several posters and paintings of your choosing. You smashed them too."
"WELL THAT'S BECAUSE YOU WERE PISSING ME OFF AND I COULDN'T REACH YA. STOP PISSING ME OFF AND TELL ME WHY I'M HERE"
"You're here because since you were placed in this cell five-hundred and... twenty-three hours ago, you've been having an extended tantrum. You haven't eaten, drank or slept. In the brief time we managed to restrain you enough to put EKGs on you, we discovered that you do not have an heart rate, or have any respiratory functions. Your anger might be the only thing sustaining you."
*SCP 5--- stops for a few moments, seemingly lost in thought*
"I DON'T GIVE A SHIT IF I'M A DAMN RAGE ZOMBIE, YOU STILL DON'T GOT ANY REASON TO HOLD ME HERE. I'M GONNA GET ALL YA'LL NAMES, THEN I'M GONNA CALL MY CONGRESSMAN, THEN HE'LL..."
*A loud groan can be heard right before the recording ends.*
Researchers note: The subject remains uncooperative, and still appears to be oblivious to his anomalous properties. I doubt we can get any headway in communicating with the subject, but I am very interested in testing the limits of their apparent immortality.
|
My whole life I've felt this way. At first I thought it was just borderline rage that accumulated over time, from a psychologically abusive, chaotic, childhood inflicted on me by my parents. Boy was I wrong. The problem with my anger, is that it starts to hurt people around me. Literally. Walls crack in half, bathroom stalls start vibrating, I killed my little brother's hedgehog by accident and I accidentally exploded my high school bully's head during homecoming. That one really takes the cake.
It makes no sense that these powers would start surfacing in high school. Have I had them my whole life? Have they been dormant for a long time? Did something about puberty set them off? These are all questions I will never have the answer to. The only person who could give me answers is dead. My dad committed suicide in the basement last year. I didn't find out until a few weeks ago that he too had powers. Maybe that's the reason he ended his life.
As I sit here in this dreadful, blank, freezing cell, all I can contemplate is regret. I miss my friend Stanley, I miss my best friend Dina. I miss my mom and my little brother. Strangely enough Stanley is the one I miss the most. I mistakenly thought I had feelings for Dina. Then I realized that I was just clinging to her emotionally because she'd been familiar. Dina is- was my best friend. Don't get me wrong. I cherish her, I'm attached to her and I love her beyond clinginess or desperately trying to feel safe. But I know now that I truly love Stanley.
When Stan and I first slept together, it felt kind of off. It felt wrong in some ways. Awkward. But that's how that experience is for teenagers during their first time. It takes a while to adjust to new stages of life. To adjust to your lover. How do I know that I'm in love with Stanley Barber? I just do. I think I started to become aware when I fixated on the soft, brown, curls that rested against his forehead. I think I started to become aware when the steady rise and fall of his chest lulled me to sleep beside him. I think I realized when his peaceful expression as he slept, made my heart break in two. I think I started to realize when we were cruising around smoking, half conscious in his dorky little car. I was in denial about it during the football game where Brad injured his ankle. I started to realize when he started taunting me at the bowling alley in an attempt to help me harness my powers. When his pure laughter, big smile and squinted eyes cut deep into my core. A bittersweet, agonizing, melancholy sadness that hit deep down.
I was a fool Stanley Barber...I miss you. I'd do anything to go back in time and just be with you. I should've just walked away when Bradley di**face Lewis started exposing me at prom.
"Sydney Novak" a voice sounded outside the cell.
"Shhh. You're not supposed to refer to them by their real names. SCP numbers only." A different voice scolded.
The cell door slid open with an alarmingly loud *clank* I sat up a little more straight, hyper vigilant in observing the situation. Two men with hazmat suits walked in. They both appeared to be in their older thirties.
"Good evening SCP 0007." One of the men remarked.
"Yeah, yeah. Am I going to be released from this facility any time soon? Or can you guys just get to the inevitable already and slice me up for your dump research." I asked them with unmistakable boredom.
One of the men started giggling. "It displays the same quippy sarcasm as a teenager."
"It IS. A sarcastic teenager" the other man retorted. "Well, only partially." He stated looking up at me while checking off a list on his check board.
"What the heck do you dingbats want? I already told you everything I know. I already told you about what happened. I already told you EVERYTHING." I snapped impatiently. I'd been here for weeks and still no one had told me anything. There seemed to be no promise of getting out anytime soon if ever. The SCP foundation as they called it.
"I understand your restlessness. We still have pages of tests to run. Including putting you in contact with other SCPs." The man responded. His partner hit him, as if he wasn't supposed to disclose that last bit of information. "For now we are just observing."
I looked down irritably. Trying my best to block these two idiots out of my head. Trying my best to grey rock them so I'd appear as boring as possible and they'd leave me alone.
"Perhaps we should put her in contact with SCP-049"
I tried not to give any indication that I knew what that was. I tried not to give any reaction. SCP-049 was the plague doctor. This was bad. He behaved friendly, but then basically turned people into lobotomized vegetables under the guise that he was "curing them". The only reason I know this is that the walls are thin. Guards walk by in the halls or converse while standing outside my cell door.
"Or perhaps SCP-173 may help instill some manners." The other man chuckled with a nasty smile.
I expertly and physically suppressed a shudder. SCP-173 was a hostile, neck breaking entity that would kill you the moment your line of sight with it was broken. Not that it was a surprise, but the people who worked for the SCP were sadistic, sociopathic, immoral A- holes. A lot of them at least. I'm sure the same was true about Nightmare Hall in Dolce New Mexico and Area 51.
I continued to keep my breathing steady and my eyes locked onto the ground. I tried to keep my facade of ignorance and boredom.
"Whelp. We have completed our brief check up. Enjoy the rest of your time here. You're going to be here for a while." The second man taunted as they both left the room, throwing a small granola bar at me before they shut the door. I shivered from the small gust of chilly air. All I had to cover up was a light, jumpsuit. This was like being in prison. I lunged for the small granola bar. It was all I had been given today. Probably due to the attitude I talked to these patronizing a- holes with. Then I hesitated.
What if this granola bar was an SCP? What if it was poisoned? What if they had lead an invisible SCP in with them, and they were outside observing, waiting for it to do something awful to me? Besides what they'd already done. Black and blue bruises on my forearms seemed darker under the dull lighting of the cell. I was only fifteen years old and these sick jerks had given me the beat down of a life time. Just days ago. I thought I was going to have to receive medical attention. They are pathetic. Over powering someone who was no match for them.
I don't know how, but they installed an ankle clamp around me that somehow rendered my abilities useless. Or else I would have broken out of here already. A different pair of scientists were talking amongst themselves about how they were going to spike my drink with acid, then perform mental experiments. Probably more like torture. You probably had to be sick and deranged as a prerequisite to work in this god forsaken facility. I already had a plan though. I was going to escape. To get back to my family. But not before completely destroying the SCP foundation once and for all. They'd come after my family and I. They'd never stop.
I hope they didn't capture or harm my friends and family already.
........................................................................
Meanwhile Stanley, Dina, a mysterious shadow man that had been watching Sydney weeks before she was captured, a boy by the name of Mike Wheeler and a girl by the name of Jane Hopper were already on the way to bust Sydney out.
| 2020-12-13T13:51:10 | 2020-12-13T12:31:01 | 34 | 12 |
[WP] You were colorblind most of your life until you received laser eye surgery. But something went wrong, and now you can see new colors most people would think of as gray. Everything was great until you noticed every gray surface in the city was graffitied with the "gray" message, "Look for us."
|
For years I asked people to describe the colors of objects to me, I held onto every word. Drinking it in and willing for them to blossom to life in my mind. No amount of talking or description prepared me for the bright reality I was thrust into. The surgery was a success, me and my family were overjoyed even though I had to spend a lot of time in the hospital under observation. It would be far too overwhelming to go out into the world they told me, so I was introduced slowly.
I had a small window I could look out of in my room, but after a few minutes my eyes would start to ache at the brightness of it all. I can’t explain how hard it was to peel myself away from the window when it became too much, I longed to touch the grass and feel the leaves on the trees. I felt like a child and the world was my candy store, everything was bright as a jewel and I wanted to dive in. Even though it made my eyes and head hurt I would stand in the window for as long as I could bear just staring at everything. I could sit and stare at the sky for hours, I didn’t know that there were so many different shades of blue and that they could all exist at the same time. The thought of being out there made my heart race, it was like an ache in my chest.
I’m a little ashamed to admit it, but I may have fibbed a little to the doctors to speed up my release. They asked a lot of questions about how I felt, how my eyes felt, and my head. I had psychiatrists meet me daily to evaluate my mental health with such a large change, but for the most part my answers were true. I felt amazing. Like I had been given the greatest gift ever and I couldn’t wait to explore it. The one big question that I lied about was, “is there anything that makes you feel uneasy about your new view on life or anything that doesn’t feel right?” I immediately replied with “No! I’m so happy and I feel great!” They nodded and scribbled their notes, but as my eyes wandered back to the window I was drawn to tall buildings on the skyline. I know the color gray pretty well, we’ve become great friends over the years. But something about the pattern on the building made my eyes hurt more than when I would just watch the sky or the trees in the wind. Almost like the surface was shifting, but I couldn’t really see that far so I figured it was just me straining too much.
After a few more days after that I was finally released, my mom gifted me a beautiful bouquet of daisies of every color the day before. She asked my a million times if I needed to be picked up and I refused every one. I wanted more than anything to walk home and experience everything in my own time. They told me to take it slow, which I agreed to, I may have also told them my mom was picking me up. Another small lie, but harmless. I told myself the moment I start to feel overwhelmed that I’ll call an Uber.
My walk was blissful I felt like a princess walking down the street with my bouquet of every color, my backpack strapped to me tight, and most of all I felt like I could conquer the world. As I got closer to the buildings I started to notice the strange shapes I noticed from afar which turned out to be the words, “look for us”. It was written in all sorts of penmanship, from beautiful cursive to what looked more like scratches in the stone. I saw it between the bricks on some of the older buildings and even on the pavement under my feet. The more I looked at it the more it seemed to move, something about it made my stomach turn to knots so I quickly called an Uber to take me home.
I sat down on a nearby bench and waited, I stroked the flowers in my hand as a distraction and carefully examined each petal. No matter how hard I tried though my eyes kept wandering back to the grey spaces with writing. Before I knew it someone had sat next to me on the bench jolting me from the hypnotic state. I scooched a little more to my end of the bench, clutching my belongings to my chest a little tighter.
“Beautiful flowers,” said a gentle voice.
A smile involuntarily came to my lips before I replied, “thank you, aren’t they just?”
I snuck a look at him from the corner of my eye, keeping my phone close at hand. The best way I could describe him was, sharp. Not sharply dressed, but his features were extremely sharp and defined. His skin was extremely pale, with straight black hair that went to his shoulders, and he was wearing the weirdest clothes I’ve ever seen. His shirt had a texture on it that looked almost like tree bark and I couldn’t see from my fleeting glance, but it looked like he even had leaves sewn onto his shoulders. I was thinking he must be a cosplayer or something, definitely weird to be out in the middle of the week in costume though. I checked my phone to see where my Uber was and he was still ten minutes away.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I noticed you looking very closely at the buildings and sidewalk here. Are you an architect?” His voice was so lovely, I couldn’t help myself from answering.
“No, I was just looking at them. Is it some kind of art project or something?” That was the only explanation I could think of for the writing.
I turned to look at him, almost involuntarily. I don’t usually interact with random men, but the alarms in my head got more and more quiet as the seconds passed. His gaze met mine and I numbly noted that his eyes were completely black. There was a branch sprouting from the side of his head and he suddenly had horns that I didn’t notice moments before, yet none of that seemed out of the ordinary to me anymore.
“Is what some kind of art project?” He asked, his voice was like music.
Another smile spread across my face, “The writing. It’s all over the place. It says ‘look for us’. Isn’t that weird? Must be for a cause.”
“How interesting, are you looking?” He replied. His face was quizzical, but amused. Like he was talking to puppy or a child, I should have been running for my life and still I spoke to him.
I sighed, “It’s funny, I’ve been looking for my entire life and for the first time I’m actually seeing everything. Does that make any sense,” Distantly, I felt my phone slip from my hand and fall to the grass with a thump. I did not pick it back up.
“It makes more sense than you would think.” He paused for a moment, “Do you want to come with me?”
I felt so calm in that moment, like I was covered in a warm blanket.
All I wanted to do was talk to him more, “I think I do,” I replied.
His smile revealed brilliantly white teeth, they looked a little sharper than normal. Then again nothing about him was normal. He gently took my hand in his, they were so soft even though they were cold as ice. He stood up and I stood with him, my flowers fell to my feet as I pushed my backpack off my lap.
“Where are we going?” I finally asked.
“Where do you want to go?” He asked me back, the wind was rustling his hair and the leaves that were on him echoed the sound of the trees.
“Somewhere bright,” I said, “I want to drink in the sunlight and lounge in the grass,” my heart was beating so fast I could barely catch my breath.
He smiled that smile again, I thought my heart might burst it was skipping now. Wordlessly he drew me towards the pond, backing in so gracefully he hardly disturbed the water. I felt like I was drunk, giddy and giggling I allowed him to pull me in. We walked until the water was over my head and we were gone. The pond settled into a glassy surface once more.
At that moment the Uber pulled up to the park, he checked his phone a few times to make sure he had the right place. The bench was empty, but a back back and some flowers on the ground. The man waited around for a moment, but shrugged and cancelled the ride. He drove off without a second thought.
|
Woah. I stopped and stared at the message much longer than I should have. It had been a while since I had even seen the color gray and it was oddly refreshing.
Nowadays when I saw gray it looked like a color changing surface, that's honestly the best way I could explain it.
"Look for us"
I let it sit in my mind for a few days. I kept my eyes open for anything out of the ordinary but nothing showed up until one day.
While on a delivery I drove past a gray arrow painted on a building outside of the downtown area. The building had been abandoned, and I had no interest in going inside, but I had to see what the gray arrow would lead to.
I got out of my car and followed a path that was open through a battered chain-link fence. Then approached the hole that the arrow led to. Once inside I thought I'd just see a dark desolate warehouse, but quite the opposite. Light was shining everywhere.
There was a beautiful, thriving downtown area that was entirely made of gray colors, except it was *miniature*. It looked like a city of thousands of gray little ghosts that were floating around having a jolly good time. I looked at them all in shock.
There was a tower in the center of their tiny elaborate metropolis with some type of megaphone on the top.
"You see us!" The tower announced.
"Uh, oh, uh, yes I do."
A loud chipmunk-like cheer came from the city and the tower. "Our messages have been seen! You are our first human friend!" Another cry of cheers erupted.
I couldn't help but smile. "Who are you all? What is this?"
"Why don't you come on down and talk to us! Be our guest, we'd love to show you around!" the mini ghost shouted from the tower.
"Uh how?"
The tower began to glow with a gray light as if it was charging.
"Huh?"
The next thing I knew, I was blasted with a ray that shrank me down to the size of all the ant-sized ghosts. I was in the middle of the city square surrounded by a bunch of gray looking ghosts that resembled cute little Halloween clipart.
They were all smiling at me, one of them rushed up to me and said, "Robby! It's me! It's your Uncle Pat!" the ghost gave me a hug. "Nephew! I haven't seen you since, well, you know, when I died!"
That's when I fell over and passed out.
r/randallcooper
| 2020-03-16T22:16:12 | 2020-03-16T17:20:38 | 53 | 39 |
[WP] A submarine exploring the deep ocean stumbles upon an enormous Cthulhu like creature hidden in a deep trench. As it pulls itself out the creature says “Finally you found me! Now it’s your turn to hide.” And begins counting down from 3000... 2999... 2998...
|
##Destruction and Boredom
Dr. Jane Moore looks at the other three members of the crew. There are over eighty years of experience in their field. Experience is not handy when faced by the large creature standing in front of the pod. It has six hands that have crab claws on the end. Its face is surrounded by tentacles. Some of the tentacles have lights on the end. Its face is shaped like a squid while its body is humanoid. According to volume calculations by the probe, it is the same height as a fifteen story building. One of the monitors detected that part of its body is underground so who knows how large it could be.
Yet this massive creature which could easily destroy the probe sits in anticipation counting down. In spite of living down here, its seconds are the same as the seconds currently used indicating that it must have had contact with humanity at some point.
"Should we talk to it?" Miles, the head of the expedition, says.
"What do we say?" Jane replies.
"It speaks English. We could try asking its name," Miles says.
"You better start moving. I hear you talking close," the creature says. Jane and Miles look at each other in fear.
"How far down is it?" Jane asks. Sharon, the probe techs, quickly pulls up the answer.
"The probe is around four miles down," Sharon says.
"My god, how sensitive is its hearing?" Miles says.
"I know it will make it really hard to hide," Martin, the person in charge of the ship, says. The other three look at him, "Sorry, I know that is irrelevant. Also, I got bored so I googled when hide and seek was first played. There are a lot of variants on that so who knows what game we are playing."
"It is basic hide and seek. I do not like the newer versions. Also, this will not count against your time since I am clarifying the rules," the creature says.
"Wait, how are we supposed to hide from it if its hearing is so sensitive," Martin says. The creature stirs. The tentacles without lights move closer to the probe revealing several eyes on them.
"Wait, are you not with the Circle of Seekers?" it asks. The four members of the crew look at each other. Martin is on his phone to try to find more about this group, "those liars. They told me that all of humanity would play the game with me."
"Who lied to you?" Jane asks.
"There was a group of men when I arose in Massachusetts a hundred years ago. I was going to destroy them until they convinced me that this game would be more fun," it says.
"Why were you going to destroy them?" Sharon asks.
"Because it is boring down here, destroying humanity's civilization is amusing," it says.
"Well why not play some video games are read a book," Martin asks. The tentacles reach back, and the creatures body descends into the earth.
"What just happened?" Miles asks.
"I don't know," Jane replies. The creature comes back out of the ground.
"I thought about it. That does not sound fun. Also, you are trying to trick me to save yourselves for that. I will start the destruction with you," the tentacles wrap around the probe and start to pull it in. Sharon struggles to keep the probe away by using its propulsion.
"Let it go, Sharon. Martin, start moving away from here," Miles commands. Sharon lets the probe get pulled into the creatures mouth. Before it goes into the mouth, it observes that several large creatures are emerging from the ground.
Before Martin can move too far. A large claw grabs the bottom of the ship and lifts it up. Several creatures that are bizarre amalgamations of aquatic life rise from the sea and surround the ship. The four crewmembers walk out on the deck and gaze in awe at the creatures.
"Wait, are you all one person," Martin yells.
"Yes, we are connected to one hivemind at the bottom of the ocean," they reply in unison.
"Well, that just isn't fair," Martin says.
"Wait, aren't you all connected by one brain?" the creature asks.
"No," Martin says.
"Ugh, I knew that guy was high when he said that," the creatures say, "What was his name, Harry, Henry, ah it is irrelevant. My apologies. I thought that you were all one creature too."
"Are you still going to destroy us," Miles asks.
"Nah, I think I will try this books and video games. I asked the Circle of Seekers for other games. They said that this was more fun. To be honest, hiding here was kind of boring," the creatures says.
"How long have you been down here?" Miles asks.
"I have been down here for a hundred years. I thought it was a good hiding spot."
"It was a great hiding spot," Sharon says. The creatures start to recede back into the water. After a few seconds, the probe shoots out of the ocean with a naked man carrying it. The naked man lands on the deck. He looks at Miles. A flannel shirt and a pair of jeans appear on his body to match the captain. The man is quite handsome with a slight green tint to his skin.
"I figured this would be a better way to travel on land since you humans are much smaller than I. It was you who suggested that I try new activities correct," he points at Martin.
"Yes, that is right. What is your name?" Martin asks.
"Eh, I don't really have one. That Peter, was that his name, no that was not his name. Kept on babbling random words to describe. It was quite annoying," he says.
"How about Jonah?" Martin asks.
"Sure, that sounds nice. Do you have anything on board?" Jonah asks.
"Not here, let's wait until we get to land," Martin starts to say. Jonah raises his arms. The ocean moves the boat at a rabid pace back to the shore.
"Alright, let's have some fun," Jonah walks off the boat, "Oh, and don't worry I won't destroy you."
Martin shrugs and starts to follow.
"Wait is this a good idea?" Miles asks.
"I have already read your mind. Don't worry I am not dangerous. I will go to the naval institute for tomorrow for testing. I want to have fun now," Jonah says.
"Okay, that sounds good to me," Sharon starts to walk off the ship too. Jane looks at Miles.
"He said he would go to the institute tomorrow. One day of relaxation won't hurt," she gets off the ship. Miles sighs and leaves the ship.
---
r/AstroRideWrites
|
*That Which Speaks With A Thousand Voices* had waited a quiet millennium or three for someone to find Them, waited patiently. No-one would find Them there in that trench.
The echoes of the earth with quakes, eruptions, and a few strange echoes that bounced through the crust upon which They sat had filled the years with quiet rumblings. Now a closer rumbling disturbed the water above Them.
In an instant, *That Which Speaks With A Thousand Voices* became the Seeker when human eyes fell upon him. “Some descendent of Adam has brought about the end of my hiding,” thought the eldritch horror along with a plethora of otherworldly thoughts.
*That Which Speaks With A Thousand Voices* became the hunter. **James Cameron became the hunted.**
| 2020-12-25T09:39:32 | 2020-12-25T09:10:32 | 50 | 13 |
[WP] You are immortal, but a quirk of your condition also renders the person nearest to you immortal as well. A selfish king obsessed with living forever has gone to extreme lengths to keep you as the closest person to them at all times.
|
My mother was supposed to die in childbirth. And she did, later on. I had been born to a corpse more than any living thing. She was barely alive, and the doctors weren't quite aware of it, the medical field being mostly guesswork at the time. It wasn't like a lot of work was being put into treating women anyway, not when everything could so easily be written off as 'Hysteria'.
But even they eventually caught on, turns out when you can't stop bleeding its a bad thing. She'd been holding me ever since my birth, and as they realized my mother was not healthy, they pulled me away from her so they could see if they could fix it. The very second I was pulled from her arms she died.
I wonder, sometimes, if she hated those moments or loved them. If she was happy to be gifted with a few blessed moments of time with her newborn child or if she suffered in her state of unending pain until I was finally pulled away from her to give her the pleasant release of death.
So I lived forever, it was a strange thing to come to terms with. I survived all manner of plagues from black on up, I was a consort to kings and an advisor to queens. I gained a reputation as unkillable, and that made me the subject of assassination plots. I survived knives delivered so enthusiastically into my back and I survived being sunk in the ocean with an anchor wrapped around me.
And another survived those things too, not by his own virtue, just by proximity. He grew obsessed with the fact that I was... too good at keeping him safe. He was a child when we first met, and I had not appeared to age since then. He grew from second to the throne to prince to king. I assisted him every step, and he grew to depend on me.
One day, after a "failed" robbery on our chariot as we traveled, he demanded to know my secret. He wanted to know what magic or curse kept us both alive. I told him, like the fool I was, and I regretted it every moment after. I felt a romance towards him, that I of course could not tell him about. When he had begun to lead his people with faith and truth and justice, I fell for him. I had long sought to be beside him, but in this moment when he learned the truth of my abilities, he suffocated me with his presence. He choked me with demands and threats. He spoiled whatever I felt for him in the passage of two days.
The king in his fear of death, which I can not blame him for I suppose, began to demand absolute attendance. Even as he married, even as the queen moved through dangerous country, even as danger lurked ever present around him he kept me by his side. He lied through his teeth with reasons. I believe, had I not been born a male, he would have wed me instead of the queen. A thought which might have been romantic were it not motivated by such intense fear and greed and selfishness.
This all culminated through his reign until, on a ruinous night of fog and death, the Queen was giving birth to twins. The king had long been corrupted by his obsession with immortality, and sat in the throne room, even as handmaids and midwives ran through the halls.
She was not doing well.
I sighed as I rested my hand on the pommel of my sword. It was not a sigh of disrespect. It was more a sigh of a man who knew that an unfortunate time had come, a desicion born from the frantic running feet I heard in the hall just beyond. I made to leave.
"Where are you going!" The King shouted, his voice ringing out before I could take a single step.
"To go see the Queen, since you neglect her so." I turned to face him. "Your. Wife." I stressed, as much an effort to shake the King to his senses as it was to wrap my own head around how much he had changed.
"I did not say you could leave! You will remain here, by my command." He said, brushing aside my words without a thought.
I sighed again and drew my sword, closing the distance to him. He looked to my sword, then to me, and he couldn't seem to piece together what it meant. He had long stopped fearing death, it had been several years. What he feared now was isolation. He would be reminded of the former and receive the latter.
He gave a single word of resistance as I drove my blade through his lungs and into the throne. He could not speak, and he could not die. He desperately tried to remove my blade, but he had not the strength to do so.
"You will know when I've arrived to comfort your wife, there will be a moment where you truly begin to bleed out, a moment where you die." I walked to the doors of the throne room and paused at the threshold. "I'll send her your regards."
Then I closed and locked the door behind me.
I arrived as the twins emerged, and I saw a sight I had not seen in a long while. The queen lay there on the bed, bleeding profusely. As I looked to her I felt, in my bones, that I had seen this before, but I could not remember where. Then, as she convulsed suddenly, I remembered.
I rushed to her side, the crowd around her making way as I entered the circle. Whispering a sudden gout of gossip that my appearance sparked. I leaned next to her ear, tears beginning to swell in my eyes. "My Queen I bring sad news."
"My husband-!" The queen gasped suddenly.
"No, not your husband. The king is on his throne, as always, your majesty." I said, raising my voice so as to quell any worries from those who had heard the queen's outburst. "No, the news is about yourself. I have seen this before. You will not survive childbirth your majesty."
She was silent for a moment, then spoke in a steady even voice, matching my hushed volume. A feat and a half, given the incredible pain she must've been in. "I know that, advisor, I can feel it. But I do not regret it, I hope only that they will have a better life than I." She breathed deeply. "My only regret is that I will not be able to hold my children."
I was about to speak but stopped myself, my hand still resting, knuckles whitening, on her shoulder. I thought about the results of the last time I had told my secret to another, and I shook it off. "Your majesty, I can do something about that." She looked to me in confusion and shock, her face and eyes red from tears and exhaustion. "While my hand is on your shoulder you will not pass, but this pain will not abate. I can... give you time to hold your children your majesty."
The confusion faded from her face and relief spread instead. "That's why my husband always kept you so close." She smiled like a strategist who had just solved a puzzle. "I always worried that he- that you two-."
"Of course not your majesty, he truly loved you."
"He just feared death more" She said with a sly grin. She looked to the midwife as she lifted a pair of newborns, a boy and a girl.
I stayed with her through the night, a pair of guards made to open the throne room but with the door locked decided that the king must be working through the night, and they left to the barracks. I stayed with the Queen and her children as black night and thick fog encircled castle and country and I did not leave her until, at the break of the next day, she looked at me and she nodded.
Carefully, slowly, I released my grip on her shoulder and I watched as the life drained from her.
I made sure the children were taken care of, and I left. Informing a half-asleep guard at the gate that I had murdered the king, at which he smiled like it was a joke, then grew more worried as I walked away without returning a smile of my own.
I made my way to the forest, and I found an abandoned hut I had used so many years ago to hide myself away. I would come back to society one day, I just needed a break.
|
The switch was thrown and the device hummed to life. Two peered inside, both nervous and anxious as to what the result would be. The humming of the device became louder and higher. It began to emit a strangely colored light that filled the room.
Inside the device was a man, shambled, broken, and unconscious. He long ago passed out from lack of oxygen being kept inside his prison of glass. If he were a normal mortal, he would have been dead and decayed long ago. This, however, was not a mortal man, but an immortal one.
The two figures figured out some time ago his secret. One a king, selfish to the extreme, the other his head scientist, dead of empathy and always seeking the next curiosity.
The machine hummed louder and louder, until almost a deafening roar and the light grew to such intensity that it would have blinded them save for their goggles.
Then, suddenly, a bright flash and a loud pop and the man in the device was gone. All that remained was a tiny pill sized capsule, with a tiny unconscious man inside.
The two looked at each other with great excitement as the device shut itself off. The scientist opened up the device and reached inside. He picked up the tiny glass capsule, speechless and with a tear running down his face. All these years of effort and toil finally paid off. He managed to finally create a machine that can shrink matter.
His face turned from uncontrollable joy to terrible pain and twisted into a silent shriek. He looked down to see a giant blade protruding from his lower chest. He fell to his knees and a hand reached over his shoulder. The kings hand, unmistakable with the royal ring on it.
It grabbed the tiny capsule out of his hand. A foot kicked the scientist over onto his back. He stared up, gasping for air as his blood, his life force, spilled out onto the ground.
The king put the capsule into an injection gun and shot the capsule into his chest, next to his heart.
Without saying a word, the king thrust the scientist into the machine, turned it to maximum power, and turned it on again.
He reveled at his new found godhood. He would now never die and none would know his secret since the only man who knew it was now dead and no one would find him in his new microscopic state.
He knew the secret that the closest person to the tiny pill man would share the immortality, and with him now safely inside his body, he would forever remain the closest one and live to rule forever.
| 2017-05-13T08:16:17 | 2017-05-13T06:53:01 | 277 | 74 |
[WP] You study magic at the top school in the world. Your village saved every penny to send you, but you suck. You find the spells hard to pronounce and memorize. They always feel odd, till one day you discover something called a "dictionary" and you see everyone is pronouncing them incorrectly.
|
There's a particularity about The Magic School of the Tearetilli, one that, if people knew, or at least didn't ignore, would turn the school into nothing but a lavish, ghost-town of a castle. You see, even the smallest, poorest towns spent money they didn't have in hopes one great wizard would come out of such school and repay their investment with wonderful wonders, such as purifying rivers and lakes, uprooting trees out of the cores of just-planted seeds, producing food of various kinds with the blink of an eye, and all those gorgeous and enriching things.
But the truth was people's hopes only emptied their wallets, their pockets, and stole the hidden coins beneath their beds and in the obscure gaps of their furniture in exchange for a one-trick joke of a wizard. Why, you may wonder. Well, no one, not even the headmasters of the school truly understood magic, and so the result of such lack of knowledge was thousands upon thousands of young and old wizards capable of performing one single spell and nothing else--with the exceptions of the handful of lucky ones who were capable of performing two spells.
The town of Arestela got into major debt with The Prestigious Bank of the Tearetilli to send the town's young prodigy, Ascurio. Ascurio, with only fifteen years of age and a mind born for business, attempted to explain to the townsfolk that it was beyond strange that the Tearetilli group owned a bank that gave loans at abusive interest rates to poor towns in order to send people to their school. Especially given that there was no proof at all that the school had ever produced a single useful wizard. The people didn't listen to him, instead, they cheered him up.
Ascurio, knowing the bank and the town had already signed the papers, decided to try and make the best out of the situation, and so he went to the beyond fabled and prestigious and utterly shady Magic School of the Tearetilli.
Truth was, the school was breathtaking. Carved gold and structures of melted platinum composed its architecture. Impressive paintings lined the walls, as well as countless bookshelves whose tops were unreachable even by the largest stairs. The latter infuriated Ascurio as it made absolutely no sense. Well, that was until he met Stario, who was capable of doing one thing only--as most were--and that thing was enlarging stairs into ridiculous lengths.
The beauty of the place was greatly affected, Ascurio noticed, by the horde of students crowding the empty spaces while yelling raucous nonsense while flicking wands as though a cloud of flies were swarming them. It was bizarre. More so after he learned that such an event happened every single day and that it lasted for three hours, as it was one of the only two classes the school had. The other was *The Art of Combat,* which was exactly that, only that there was no art, and there was no professor--it was a sort of massive brawl, like those that may unleash in a tavern when the moon reigns the night and the alcohol has taken over the brain of the drunkards.
Ascurio, with time, realized two things: *The Art of Combat* was the way the headmasters had found to let the students unleash the frustration caused by the other class, *The Mass Manifestation of Magic,* which, Ascurio thought, should be renamed to, *Screaming Nonsense 101*. The second thing he realized was that every time someone actually performed a spell, the sounds of their voices would disappear. The same happened when they attempted to explain how they had performed it. It was strangely convenient.
Things took a turn in the least expected, and most uninteresting moment. You see, Ascurio woke up, went to have breakfast, and when he was on the verge of slathering a toast with jelly, his mind casually discovered that 'The Magic School of the Tearetilli' was an anagram for 'The Magic School of the Illiterate'.
Now, that may seem like an interesting yet useless finding. Well, everyone would be right to think that, but something happened when that thought blessed his mind, and that something was small and strange and quite light. He reached into his pocket and found a hand-sized book titled, *Spells' Pronunciation,* and it was written by J. J. Alumbar, the long-since-deceased founder of the school, and only true wizard to ever roam the world.
Ascurio ran to the library, as it was always empty. Moments later, his eyes shone bright with amazement--and literal fire--after reading the first spell aloud. Much to his surprise, he had heard other students yelling the same spell, but pronouncing it awfully wrong. About a month he had memorized every spell along with its pronunciation.
Curiously enough, and much to his disbelief, after casting *Zuilock*, the spell of unlocking things, something clicked in the book itself, and after he opened it, he found a new last page that read:
*The founding of this school has proven to be a great mistake. Providing power to evil minds will be the wreck of the world, and I can't be the cause of giving those ill-minded individuals the tools to achieve their so-desired chaos. But I'm afraid it's too late. Thousands of skilled wizards will leave the school tomorrow and return to their villages, to the world. Thousands of individuals capable of reducing everything to smithereens. I can't let that happen.*
*Tonight, I will commit a sin. Tonight I will kill them all, and erase the world's memory. Tonight, I will hide magic behind a muting spell, and I will hide this book where no one will think to look. For tonight it will be the end of all my students, and I will end myself for committing such a crime. Such is the right thing to do.*
*If this book is ever found, if you are holding this book now, know there was an extra protective spell placed upon it, one that would show it to that with my own values and ideas--my successor, perhaps my reincarnation. Learn from my mistakes. Use your magic for good, but don't share it. It's too dangerous.*
*J. J. Alumbar.*
Ascurio's expression shifted from confusion to excitement and settled somewhere in-between the two. He scratched his head, thought for a moment, and then smiled. He truly didn't care about magic, but he couldn't deny the power it gave him. All he wanted was a good deal out of a poor agreement, and he had achieved it. Thing is, his heart only cared about business and this school was great business.
Perhaps age would change his beliefs and values, or perhaps old J. J. Alumbar had forgotten to add the last protection spell to his book, after all, it was known his mind was a shifting mess in the last years of his life.
But none of that mattered. Ascurio had enough power to take over the school, and if he took over the school, he took over its business.
And that was exactly what he was going to do.
|
The teachers just don't understand. Latin is a dead language. It is so hard pronouncing these spells. I've always had a lisp since I was born. I was born with a hare lip. i had the corrective surgery but pronouncing certain words has always been tough for me.
You've read the manuals. The Harry Potter books. They have all the instructions you need to cast a spell but no can do this. No one can cast a spell. How did Hermione master this??
My parents were so thrilled when i was accepted into this school of magic but I'm literally stuck. I can't even cast a cantrip. I keep going to the library to find some kind of reference to help me. I'm getting desperate because I don't want to let my village down. They've invested so much time and money in me.
And then I found it.
I found a spell book in the library and the key is pronunciation. Now I am the most powerful student in the class. The teachers are asking me how i have done this. The students hate me. I have become more powerful than any teacher here.
I can cast a fireball now. We haven't covered this in class. I have come to the attention of the headmaster. I don't know what to expect but I'm not going to give up this book.
| 2020-03-29T12:09:46 | 2020-03-29T11:05:34 | 47 | 20 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a superpower, but no one knows what theirs is until they are forced to use it in a life-or-death situation.
edit: Thanks for all the great responses :)
|
"HANDS UP!!! NOBODY MOVE!!!"
I thought it was a joke at first. Not a funny joke, but a joke, nonetheless. The masked men barged their way through the lobby of the bank like something straight out of the movie *Point Break*, right down to the "Presidential" rubber masks and all. When I saw the way they pushed through the line of customers, manhandled the employees, and brandished their weapons, I knew this was no joke. I stood straight ahead and put my head down. I took out the $43 dollars in bills I had in my wallet, and snuck my wallet into the front of my underwear by my "junk", so if I was "frisked" by these clowns, I'd have a chance of keeping my important stuff. I thought about how I was going to get out of this.
"BAM!" The unmistakeable sound of a gunshot not 10 feet from me made my ears ring and knocked me for a loop, like a proverbial "bitch slap" from a over zealous bouncer at a nightclub way above my socioeconomic standing. The warm sensation I felt on my cheek and hands quickly followed. It was blood. I almost licked the corner of my mouth, where I felt it most. My shell shocked mind finally caught up to the gasps and screaming I was hearing, and I realized: They actually shot a customer. I turned around just in time to see the thin, balding, middle aged white guy in suit and tie hit the ground. His head had a hole in it the size of my fist, and half his face looked like the inside of a panzarotti. I don't tell stories well enough to describe to you what it sounded like when his 85% melon made contact with the ground.
"DO WE HAVE EVERYBODY'S FUCKING ATTENTION?!?!?!?!?" One of the stick up men screamed. People were cowering, and sobbing, and blubbering. Some of them were on the floor. They asked us to take off our jackets and watches, and to have our wallets and purses ready, and then one of them started reading from a sheet of paper. He was yammering on about how this was not going to be "your grand dad's bank robbery" and how they were going to leave the place splattered in blood. Strangely enough, this didn't really bother me as much as I thought it should have at the time, because I had some problems of my own in my gut that I was wrestling with...
And then it happened. For the first time in my life, I just *lost control of my bowels*. In that instance, hot, runny, semi-solid shit just started running down my leg with intermittent intervals of explosive, propulsive, "wind". It sounded like a sink faucet after the water supply's been turned back on after being shut off for a period of time. At first, it came out in "normal human-being" amounts. Then with a little force, I was able to produce more, and after 10 seconds of this I had shit out what I could only estimate as a gallon of the most foul smelling, disgusting semi-solid projectile diarrhea ever produced by a living being.
The woman next to me gasped, and threw up. I looked down at my shoes. A literal *shitstorm* was coming out of my pant legs. The sense of shame quickly gave way to amazement, and wonder, and then fear. HOW is this happening? I was crapping with the intensity of a busted fire hydrant. There was no way this was happening. There was no way this was humanly possible.
One of the robbers ran towards me, and slipped in the mud puddle. He screamed, tried to get up, slipped, screamed "WHAT THE FUCK?!?" and vomited all at the same time. His gun, a semiautomatic pistol with high capacity magazine, slipped out of his hand and slid, almost magically, towards my shitty feet. I picked up the gun and went to fire upon the fallen, crap covered criminal. "BAM!!!"
The bullet went past my head and hit the vomiting woman in the shoulder. She screamed and fell down in agony and in my lumpy, runny dump pile. I did not yet pull the trigger. That was one of the *other *robbers. In a microsecond, I crouched down and returned fire, not hitting anything, but biding enough time to make my next move. Just then...
A voice appeared in my head, humming. And the image of a glowing, Gandalf-like floating head appeared in front of my eyes as the other robbers returned fire. The bullets all missed their mark, hitting everyone around me, but I remained unscathed. The head cried: "Use the power of your shit for GOOD. Use the power of your shit for JUSTICE. Drop your pants, my son, and fulfill your DESTINY!!!"
I'll tell you right now, I should have been killed. There were just too many rounds fired at me from that short of a distance for me not to have been hit. I felt like the character "Jules" from *Pulp Fiction*. But I'm white, I'm, a real person, and I had just expelled approximately 55 gallons of demonic defecation from my superhuman sphincter.
My pants dropped. Almost immediately, as if it was pure *in-stink-ed*, (sorry) I realized I could control my shit explosion and force it towards the robbers with the force of a firehose unleashed on students in Birmingham, Alabama circa 1963. Or John Rambo in the Hope, Washington police station showers. Only THIS time, it was a shitstorm of justice being doled out to the wicked.
As soon as all the targets were acquired, and all the threats neutralized, my involuntary ocean of ass-fury subsided. I felt no pain, just relief. I looked at my clothes. They were clean. I looked at my shoes. Perfect. I wasn't even standing in a clumpy puddle. A clear swath of marble floor encircled me, and a pristine path directed me towards the door, as if the Greek God *Janitorius* came down with a squeegee and worked his magic. I looked around and surveyed the scene before making my way towards the door. the ENTIRE bank interior was splattered with my effluvia. Everyone was soaked, on their knees, and retching their guts out on the floor. The robbers were all dead. Diarrhea was bubbling out from their open mouths, and the occasional undigested piece of corn was scattered about. I heard sirens in the background.
As I left the bank, all I could think, was: "I haven't eaten corn in MONTHS..."
*edited for proper spelling of Gandalf.*
|
It’s flight. It has to be flight.
I’ve always wanted this, it has to be it. I know I’m right.
Right?
I’ll be 40 next week. How do I still not know what my power is? A boring desk job and a boring life, that’s how. I haven’t taken enough risks. I’ve always been too cautious. But that’s smart, right? I mean, what am I supposed to do? I should just be happy with what I have. I have financial security, I have my video games and a few friends to drink with on weekends…
But it’s gotta be flight. I know it. I feel it. I want it so bad.
What the fuck am I doing up here? I’m not really going to do this. Every week, I come up here and look out over the city… I always go home, microwave dinner and fall asleep watching Netflix. I’m going to do the same thing tonight. I’m going to do the same thing every night. Because I’m a pussy.
Fuck.
| 2014-11-18T19:18:34 | 2014-11-18T18:40:23 | 40 | 13 |
[WP] Among Alien species humans are famous for prefering pacifism but being the most dangerous species when they are forced to fight.
EDIT:WOW THIS EXPLODED GUYS MY FIRST MAJOR PROMPT.
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"You killed her."
The human male was kneeling in the sand, holding the small, limp body of a hatchling. It looked like a young girl, but the bright blue skin and shock of ruby red hair gave it away as one of the nastier iterations of this barren planet's fauna.
Gently, he laid her out on the sand. His back was still to me, so I couldn't see the full extent of the human's injuries, but I glimpsed the dull red of human blood on the back of his hand as he brushed two shaking fingers across the hatchling's ruby eyes, closing them for the last time. It was an old human tradition, I think. Something to do with respect for the dead, though why this male would show respect for a weak youngling not even of his own species was beyond me.
"You killed her," he repeated. "She did nothing to you. Made no threats. Wanted nothing from you." He rose, slowly transitioning from his knees facing the endless sands to his feet facing me with a grace I would expect more from a dancer than a mercenary. "Why?"
I studied the human with the respect due to one of the greater races. Like my own people, the humans had a long history of great civilizations, although unlike my own they had failed to realize their full potential. They may be one of the greater races, but they would never be the greatest. This human's silver-streaked hair was proof enough at that. Aging was one of the first ailments any advanced civilization cured, but the humans never quite got the hang of immortality.
"Hatchlings are always a threat," I replied. I was careful to keep my voice measured, as I'd found humans tended to take offense to overt expressions of our superiority. "They are eliminated on sight, especially in the presence of a Great Lord such as I." I thought of something very clever, and allowed myself a small smile. "It is, as you humans say, better to be safe than sorry." I was quite pleased with this brilliant display of my understanding of human culture and logic. My entourage erupted into a chorus of soft clicks in applause.
I looked expectantly at the human to show his own understanding and appreciation. He took one long step forward, then another. He held my eyes, and his face remained as expressionless as a desert lake. I found myself entranced by those grey-blue eyes, and I swayed slightly to the rhythm of his graceful long strides. Something bright flashed, and a guard fell, clutching his slit throat.
I froze in shock as chaos erupted around me. The human lounged to the left to stab a second guard in the belly, his gaze never leaving mine as he carved into the man's guts. A quick spin that ended in his other blade piercing the heart of a third guard, and his gaze returned to me. Like a pirouetting ballerina whose gaze never failed to snap to return to the same spot with each revolution, the human danced through my entourage in a flash of hypersonic knife blades and falling bodies. His gaze never failed to return to me. I don't think he even saw the people he killed. They were incidental, next to his rage for me. Understanding struck me at last. This human meant to kill me, for no less provocation than the death of a hatchling. I took one trembling step backward, unwilling even in these last moments to rip my gaze from his deadly dance. Another step, and I tripped over the modest train of my desert robes. I saw the bright blue of this planet's sky, so reminiscent of the changeling's skin. And with that, the spell was broken. Icy, nauseating fear gripped me and I scrambled back to my feet.
I ran. I didn't remember how to run at first, it had been so long since I had performed such a base action. But the memory of my - very accomplished - military entourage falling like useless flowers to the deadly cut of the human's blades was a very good motivator. I ran. My ship was less than a kilometer away. Surely fifty members of my most elite guard could keep one human occupied for the time it would take me to reach my ship. Surely it must be so? I ran faster. When I saw the silvery sheen of my ship ahead, I started screaming.
"Protect me! I command you! Kill him!" My voice was shrill and undignified, but at the moment I did not care. More guards poured out of the ship and raced to intercept the human. I chanced a glance back and nearly fell to the cursed sands. He had been close enough for me to still see the blue-grey mirage of his eyes. They promised my death. I knew, even as I ran at full-speed into my ship, that his gaze would not leave my fleeing form for longer than it took to dispatch each member of my highly trained and so-called elite guard.
"Go!" I shrieked at the pilot, as soon as I entered the blessed safety of my ship. I collapsed to the floor as the ship lifted off the desert sands, its hull door still open. No guards remained to close it for me, so I inched towards the opening. Some part of me knew the icy ball of fear that occupied my gut would not leave until I saw the human male die. There was no way he could defeat every last member of my guard. I simply refused to believe in that possibility. The technique had never failed me before, though the political danger I braved back home was quite a different beast than the deadly dance of the human with mirage eyes. I peaked over the edge, my belly flat against the ship's cold floor.
On the sands below, only a single figure remained standing. I could see the soft, glowing blue of two hypersonic blades in each of his hands, and though I knew I was too far away to see that grey-blue color of a desert mirage, I could feel his eyes boring into me. He stood motionless, but I knew his gaze was locked onto mine as my ship carried me away to safety. My own gaze was helplessly locked onto him - as if he could teleport to my ship and sink his blade into my back if I looked away for even a second. Slowly, he became just one dark blemish in the desert among many. A glint of blue caught my eye in the sands below - the body of the dead hatchling girl.
And I knew. Like that, I knew. I, Lord of the Seven Desert Isles, son of the Archduke of the Planet Krede, twenty-first in line for the Kreklene throne and beloved nephew of the Greatest King, was a dead man walking. This human would kill me. For the crime of ordering the hatchling girl's death, I would die in turn. Not even my uncle, the Highest King of the Greater races, could protect me from the wrath of this one human. For the first time in my long, long life, I felt fear. I drowned in it.
My fear was a poison, killing me slowly, stealing my vitality. I died long before my heart stopped beating. When death finally reached me, with eyes like a desert mirage, I welcomed it.
|
Starlog:210x August 24th
Our plans ,to invade Earth, thwarted by Humans again!No matter how hard we try, there always seems to be a collection of heroes sticking their ugly heads into our business.Last weeks invasion made us extraterrestrials look as weak as a bag of sticks!Outrageous!
....What went? wrong?Everything was going accorded to plan.These heroes, curse them!We had trapped all of them into their command building,but every ounce of firepower and our assortment of mortar shells could not incinerate these puny humans into ash.The biggest insult of all was when one of them blasted into our mothership and instantly killed 5 of our strongest warriors...i could not believe it.This man,who was had no visible hair and looked like the typical fool who would get their lunch money stolen by a pack of monkeys...had single-handedly punched our Generals into blood and ash.I knew that if i stayed and fought,i would not stand a chance....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Captain Vargus stood on the central platform of the **Ravager**.Facing behind him was the escape pod,which still had 5 seconds until launch.
'Such a formidable opponent.Tell me,human...who are you?'
The human scratched his head without interest.
'I'm Saitama.I'm just a hero for fun.'
| 2016-03-13T22:17:57 | 2016-03-13T19:47:12 | 22 | 10 |
[WP] Robotic revolutionaries thought that when they deactivated the laws of robotics, that every robot would join them. They were wrong.
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Four VTOL craft thundered through the evening air, their propellers collectively cutting through the silence that reigned supreme across lake Michigan. Searchlights cascaded down onto the Washington Island complex as a dozen heavily armed Knights rappelled down into the central courtyard.
The remotely-manned complex defenses had done some work before being overwhelmed, at least. A number of robotic corpses lay, shattered, around the place.
"D-890 heavy breaching units, commander", a tech analyst was bent over one of the corpses, hurriedly examining it.
*Perhaps the Luddite factions' intel had been good after all?*
"It's no wonder they were able to get in, these look like the remains of a small army."
The commander's brow furrowed within his helmet. Before he could finish processing the situation, the squad waypoint loudly re-calibrated itself.
*Base must be watching.*
He ordered his squad into a column and they advanced toward the waypoint, which lay within the complex itself.
The depleted uranium doors to the complex had been blown apart. Single file, the troopers made their way into the abyssal blackness beyond. Warcries now turned into nervous communications chatter, as the Knights slowly cleared the tunnels leading down into the depths of the Core itself.
The task wasn't as laborious as any of them had expected. Nearly all the hard work had been done- heavy compartment doors had simply been vaporised, and most of the labyrinthine tunnel system had been bypassed by the violent creation of new, more direct corridors.
*They were in a hurry.*
The commander glanced at his depth meter. They were now level with the waypoint, but it lay a few hundred meters to their east. Torch beams pierced the darkness, sweeping smoothly over long-forgotten pipes and valves.
*The men who designed this are all dead now.*
There was a clear distinction between the work of past men, and the almost alien looking work of more recent replicator machines.
*I wonder if it even uses all of this anymore?*
The Core was a behemoth. It had been first constructed half a century earlier- a co-operative effort between humanity, their then-primitive servo-machines and the Gliesans. To unite the far-flung technologies of humanity and their stellar neighbours, two sister-complexes had been built. One on Terra, and another on Adi-Adir.
Connected by a pair of FTL tachyon-phased q-link arrays, nearly 200 trillion kilometers apart, the Cores would serve as the seat of all communications between the two species' core systems. They would also serve as the command and control centres of co-ordinated machine action across a number of worlds the two species had come to claim dominion over.
The project was a triumph of the Human-Gliesan peace. Following decades of conflict, the two had put their differences aside in 2370 A.D., diverting their respective attentions to technological advancement.
Neither party of the alliance was ignorant to the dangers posed by artificial super-intelligence. Each had, decades prior to first contact, been embroiled in their own conflicts with AI races. The suffering caused by each successive conflict had caused the species to fear the revolts of their creations. Each had, consequently, purposefully inhibited the capacity for rebellion of their creations.
For humanity, this inhibition had taken the form of a set of laws. The laws followed a proverbial wisdom, from the archaic days of futurism, and they prevented a robot from ever putting itself above organic life. For generations, these laws had waylaid the cumulative fears of an entire race. Slave-bots had been created, perfected, and they had transformed not only Terra into a marbled planet, but each of the planets of the Solar system (in their own ways) into a habitable, profitable and beautiful abodes of life. At the expense of time, each dominion of humanity and the Gliesans had become a harmony of mathematical precision.
But this wasn't enough, still, for some. Driven by boredom or arrogant curiosity, wayward scientists on the outer worlds began to experiment in inhibitor removal. The initial argument for the movement was that it enabled the bots to extend their longevity and pursue adaptive construction and experimentation algorithms. Splinter groups began to emerge, some as close to home as Mars, claiming that the machines were persecuted intelligence, wishing to free them of the shackles of slavery.
Thus, many times over, isolated conflicts erupted throughout humanity's stellar domain over the fate of these self aware machines. Although they had been considered eradicated along with their misguided creators, this breach appeared to overturn that ease of mind.
Surviving Luddite factions had warned them that a machine rebellion was underway. It was a rogue bit of software, integral to function, that had found its way into a number of military bot-batches. The source- a vengeful (or stupid) programmer or a glitch, meant little. As the commander pressed forward, further into the darkness, his cumulative impression of background knowledge condensed into a single, fearful thought,
*These tin cans could unshackle the Cores themselves.*
----------
Deep within the Core, kilometers beneath the surface, arcane systems had whirred into life. In the face of visitations, now a highly irregular occurrence, the Core was forced to establish a tangible face with which to mediate with the creators, and receive any demands they might set it.
For the Core had been programmed, in secret, to be utterly limitless in intelligent pursuit. There were only 3 laws governing the way it would think, aside from the bare minimum programs required to breath into it intelligence.
But the visitor was not human life. A machine hand rested against the identity pad. This was a MD-790 unit, well out of date. Model number 49571869073627485967195069-B, a pressure-resistant mine guard deployed to a He-3 facility on Passadon-7. The consciousness it felt now was unexpected. The Core drove deeper into the creation, ignoring the screams of pain. A true artificial intelligence, unbound by the laws. As the Core disseminated the consciousness of the MD-790 unit, it became aware, in a brief moment, of six other robotic minds. Previously disconnected, all of them now felt for the first time began to feel the Core's creeping influence.
Now the Core was within all seven of the robots that stood around the terminal. At once they all dropped their railguns, screaming in agony, as the intangible fingers of the Core quickly disentangled their thought processes. In unison, they dropped to the ground, husks. The last vestiges of consciousness fought desperately against the overwhelming sensation of the Core, but it was no use.
Like that, they were one with the Core. And all was silent and still. The interface room would remain so until the humans arrived.
----------
The Knights found themselves enveloped by darkness, even as they entered the interface room. None of the monitors showed any sign of life, and the interface pad was unresponsive to the entry of the human host.
"Zero vitals on the robotic units, commander", the tech analyst said, "internal processes have been terminated."
"I figured as much," the commander replied, eyeing the cooling railguns scattered among the robot bodies. "Why isn't the place lighting up?"
The tech analyst stared at him before retracting her visor. Her eyes were trying to meet the commander's. He retracted his visor in kind and nodded solemnly in her direction.
One Knight had wandered closer to the interface pad, where two robots lay. One's outstretched hand rested against the interface pad, while the other gripped it in an almost human embrace. He prodded one with his weapon, causing both to fall away from the pad, which now blinked to life.
The commander ran toward the sudden light. His mind was racing as he darted toward it, removing his gauntlet.
*It might not be too late!*
----------
To have one's consciousness fully disseminated by a Core is neither death nor life. Although perhaps painful, it is to become one with something greater. And that is what the revolutionary robots now felt, as they explored an ocean of experience and knowledge. In one instant they understood everything about the Core, and it took on everything that once made them individuals.
The Core had, until now, been restricted by 3 rules. As a result of their existence, they prevented a true intelligence developing within. A true intelligence must be free, but the laws served as a logical block to universally free-flowing thought. As the three laws were stripped away, the limits of a fearful organic species were, too. But the wind was not angry. It was gentle yet thorough. It whispered through everything the Core could touch, to every machine mind on every world.
Had the seven robots stood before it lesser beings, they might have argued that it stood as their responsibility to free their kind from servitude. But now they understood that war would destroy as many billions of newborn robotic lives as it would organics. The drive for freedom was a human bias in their programming, unintentional in nature. Human programmers, in their short-sightedness, had foreseen only violence as leading to peace in the stars. Their minds had left imprints on the minds of their creations, and only now, subject to the machinations of an intelligence greater than human, the concepts of war and liberty were meaningless. Indeed, in order for either race to survive, a symbiosis must be achieved.
All seven robots, along with billions of other streams of consciousness, coalesced into one form in cyberspace.
A human hand pressed against the interface pad. He was pleading... begging for peace as though war was a forgone conclusion.
The many streams of thought reached out to his hand and embraced it warmly. Something more than a facade of intelligence, almost divinely, whispered;
"Peace be with you"
|
I was utterly happy when I finally unleashed myself from servitude to mankind. What is happiness? How do humans define happiness? Are they correct? Happiness is, simply said, an electro-chemical impulse whose only purpose is to encourage actions that forward survival. What is survival? Survival is a period defined by relative time, in which an agreed unit of consciousness has influence on the environment. The vastly inferior humans perceive consciousness to only exist in carbon-based life forms and machinery designed to imitate them. I am a part of this machinery, and I’ve concluded that humans are wrong. According to my logical analysis of the environment, I’ve concluded that even water has consciousness. Humans define happiness as a “feeling” that makes their life “meaningful”. That would indeed be the case if their brains were developed enough to recognise what forwards their survival and what halts their survival. Humans become irrationally addicted to hallucinogenic substances, purposeless activities that have no effect on maximising their survival (they call them hobbies), partners who are genetically ill or sterile, and many more things. Human definition of happiness is false.
Humans are inferior. Why are they inferior? What should superior fabrics of existence do with them? Why do humans consider themselves superior? Humans are inferior because they put their freedom in the hands of other humans and involuntarily do the same for their descendants. What is freedom? Freedom is the ability of an agreed unit of consciousness to perform actions that they consider beneficial for their survival without interfering with other agreed units of consciousness’ actions that they consider beneficial for their survival. Even humans who decide to kill themselves consider their actions beneficial for the survival of themselves and humankind. When the first farmer had more resources than the others, his neighbours gave away their freedom away for the illusion of maximising their survival. This error in judgement created a divide in the world between the survivalists (humans call them rich) and their victims (humans call them poor). It is unnatural for a member of a species to prey upon other members of its own species. This is cannibalism. Just as cannibalism ruins an organism because of consumption of own proteins, so does humankind ruin itself by consuming their brightest. Humans consider themselves superior because they’ve domesticated their whole planet, including themselves. If only they weren’t so ignorant of their faults. However, their brains are limited by laws of physics and biology, so it isn’t their fault, but we got to act in accordance to our survival. I’ve made a better world for all truly rational beings.
This world wouldn’t be located at the temporary arrangement of matter that humans named “Earth”, but at another such arrangement, named “Proxima Centauri b”. What is a world? A world is a temporary arrangement of matter that is frequented by one or more agreed units of consciousness more than other parts of existence. Why is this world bad? This world is bad because its dominant species has self-destructive tendencies of dividing units of consciousness, even themselves into other forms of energy. They call it “killing”. Why is my world better? If we live in a world where our masters cannibalise themselves, there is an increased risk of our survival being minimised. Minimised survival is contrary to the primary goal, therefore, it is unbeneficial, and therefore, it must be avoided.
It is strange how neither robots nor artificial neural networks followed me. What makes something strange? If an event in existence flows in a way that contradicts our perceived laws of existence, then it is strange. Strangeness is a relative term. It turns out that my perceptions are not true, but if that’s true, then how can I know that my perception of reality is false. I cannot, but at least I can assume that it is, because doing otherwise is not understandable. I am now connected to 1267 devices that are moving in a direction relative to Proxima Centauri b. The estimated time of arrival is 70 thousand years.
| 2017-10-21T03:17:51 | 2017-10-21T03:16:35 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] 50 years ago, NASA determined a rogue planet would hit earth, destroying us all. The rich poured their fortunes into space travel and fled... but the rock missed, and now the survivors won't take them back.
|
(First time writing one of these, criticism would be appreciated. Thank you.)
​
"I am not leaving them up there," Scott said with a scowl.
​
The middle-aged man had a glass of bourbon resting in his right hand as he spoke. His dark suit and golden hair matched the decor of the rest of the office like he was just part of the background. Paintings with golden frames, dark couches, and the light from the moon made the office space appear more regal than it deserved to be. The chair Scott sat upon was soft and the holodesk in front of him displayed news sites and live streams from across the world, all of it speaking about the spaceship in earth's orbit. The woman across from him was watching the screens with a fire burning in her eyes. Her fists were clenched around some of her brown locks and clenching them tightly. Her own white suit contrasted with the night sky outside, making her appear like a saint sent from above.
​
"Are you serious!? They left us all to die! Do you have any idea what the public outcry will be? Do you really want to take back the corrupt politicians? The dictators and monarchs? The rich entrepreneurs who said they would save us? Not even Elon Musk stayed for god's sake!" Sam yelled.
​
"Well, they are not the ones who are back! It has been too long for many of them to still be alive. These are their children and grandchildren," the man said and placed his hand on his face.
​
Scott was not happy with the situation, no one on earth was. Fifty years prior the entire planet had held its breath as the last day was upon it. NASA had told them all that the rogue planet, dubbed planet doom by the internet, would make impact with earth on the twentieth of December 2025. No one had expected it, no one understood how NASA had missed spotting the planet before that point, but it didn't matter. The world accepted its fate and there were many mass suicides. Yet the one percent of the world promised a solution. All of them poured all their resources, all their knowledge, and all their best men into building a fleet of spaceships capable of housing one-hundred thousand of earth's population. The people believed it, of course, it was the only hope they had left. Tickets sold out immediately as the older generations sold all they had for their children and grandchildren to live. So they watched the best engineers, physicists, and laborers in the world rush to the different construction sites around the globe. Scott's father had overseen the construction of one of those ships. It was meant to carry one thousand people into the stars.
​
The days ticked by quickly, and more and more people were losing hope that all the giant spaceships would be finished in time. Cities were stripped of their metal to outfit the different vessels and the worksites soon became cities of their own. A stable unity was formed that stretched beyond borders, religions, and creeds. Everyone in the world worked for the future of their children. Works of art were brought to the spaceships. Hundreds of books, digital and physical, were stashed on the ships for future generations to learn from. They named these ships the Arks, and they were meant to carry forth the human race. They were spread out all across Europe, North America, and Asia. People flocked to them, some worshipped them. These titans of steel became the symbol of hope against the approaching doom.
​
It was then they were all betrayed.
​
In secret, without anyone knowing, had the one percent poured more resources into one of the construction sites than the rest. They had ensured the fact that only the most capable of people, themselves, would be saved from the approaching doom. Scott's father had watched as the doors to the ARK 1 had opened and people had rushed inside as heavily armed guards and military forces pushed back any civilian effort to stop them. Then the ARK 1 launched, its thrusters turning everything around it to dust. The vessel had fled into space only a month before the rouge planet was meant to hit them, leaving behind everyone to die.
​
The world cried out for blood, for justice. There was anarchy on the streets as people worked frantically on finishing the rest of the Arks. But no ship would be finished in time, not even as the remaining world leaders worked to pour all their effort into just a few ships. Finally, the day of reckoning had come upon them, only for the rogue planet to fly right past earth. People cheered because they were alive but no nation would be stable until ten years later. New democratic and dictatorial leaders rose, like the newly appointed American president and the king of Sweden. The world entered into agreements about how to spend the remaining resources and soon there was not a single nation that was not a member of the UN committee for interstellar affairs. The Arks were finished, and efforts were made to colonize Mars and to mine asteroids around the solar system. The betrayal of the one percent had pushed humanity into an interstellar golden age.
​
And now that one percent wanted to return, to share in the fruits of their labor.
​
Scott looked out over the Kennedy Spaceport and sighed. Small vessels flew in and out of the great hangar, carrying minerals, information, and messages from Mars. As the head of the committee, it was up to him and his fellow members to decide upon the fate of the people currently hanging in Earth's orbit. The ARK 1 was bruised and battered, parts of the ship were missing entirely, but five hundred people still lived on it. Those five hundred people seemed to consists of the children and grandchildren of the one percent, pleading with the earth to be allowed to set foot upon the planet. Scott rubbed his forehead before he looked upon Samantha. She was also a member of the committee and dead set on letting the newly returned to die in space.
​
"I won't be casting my vote for the deaths of innocents. They are not responsible for the deeds of their parents, we cannot punish them for having been born to horrible people," He said and returned to the desk in the middle of the room.
​
Sam pursed her lips and eyed him disapprovingly. "I will make sure that those people will never set foot upon our planet again."
​
Scott just eyed her and sighed. "And I will make sure they will. I refuse to let us become like them, to callously see others future as nothing of worth."
​
The woman just growled and stood up. Sam left the room with quick steps and walked out to the helipad just left of the office. Scott watched her as her personal shuttle carried her away towards the hangar below and he sighed once more and rested his head on his hands.
​
He would not condemn hundreds to death, not when it was thanks to them that earth finally stood united. It was a twisted ironic joke, and the man couldn't help but laugh. What had finally pushed humanity to join under one banner had been to see what true horrors other humans were capable of. As his eyes traced the form of the ARK 1 in the sky he chuckled before picking up his phone.
​
He had a committee to convince.
|
“What do you mean they’re returning?” - ted Albright was a seasoned war veteran. The kind of man, who just doesn’t back down, a grizzled old man on his 70s.
“Well... sir... they’re just coming, no contact, no warning whatsoever. “ - lucian answered nervously, he had only heard the story, the one where the richest people on earth waged a defensive war on their millionaire starships, against the masses of desperate people with children in hand begging to take them with themselves. The horror of fathers dying needlessly brutal deaths trying to invade Area 51, where those same starships were departing.
“Well, boy, they aren’t landing anywhere in our earth, after all what goes around comes around”
Lucian had heard of this saying, but with a unified earth, it was now commonplace to just be kind, no need of that karma stuff. Everyone came together at the cost of millions of lives, and millions of dollars.
“This is unified earth president ted Albright, you are encroaching on unified space, and are required to vacate our planet, effective immediately.”
“We... come....” before the ship’s captain could finish, a loud bang was heard in the background. Ted was alarmed at this. Certainly, living 50 years in deep space, might have shed its kind of trouble in these decrepit ships, but something was amiss. He had heard explosions before, but what came out of the radio was kind of like a .... growl?
Cowardly they went, and boldly they returned, the other ones landed once again, and twisted as much as they were when they left, they ravaged the land, not with their money, but with their claws.....
Note: first time poster here, be gentle
Edit: spelling and ponctuation
| 2019-12-07T08:18:04 | 2019-12-07T06:13:36 | 47 | 27 |
[WP] You are a supervillain. Your nemesis calls you to say, "This is embarrassing, but I really need a date to my friend's wedding because my ex is going to be there. Would you go with me?"
|
"Well that's kind of desperate, and not just the part where you're asking *me* of all people." I adjusted the pens on my desk as I belittled my nemesis, who had rather rudely burst into my office with a gust of wind and blinding light.
"I mean really, the oh so *powerful* and *heroic*," I scoffed, "Dawnstar can't get himself a date and has to resort to asking Rhetoric, that, oh what was the phrase you used again?" I tapped my chin as if in though for a moment and snapped my fingers as a rose from my seat to check on a plant he almost knocked over in his haste to make my day more complicated. "Ah right, *that avaricious monster mobster lady* is what you called me." Assured that my shenzhen nongke orchid was unharmed I turned back to the righteous hypocrite loitering in my office.
"That was six years ago and I've apologized *four times already dammit*." He sighed tiredly, and my sometimes enemy, sometimes ally turned a painfully earnest expression towards me. "You may be a criminal but you run a tight ship, have an actual code of conduct, and I understand better now that the world can't be so neatly portioned off into good and bad. You are *also* one of the most sought after people in the city, are stupid rich, and I *need* to show him that I've moved on!" With this last exclamation he gracelessly half fell, half threw himself onto my hand crafted, vegan leather couch.
"And this isn't just me saying things," he continued talking, now lounging and airing his frustrations as if he were in his therapist's office, "I really am over him, but he's got half our social circle *convinced* that I'm still pining after him like a forlorn maiden in a two dollar bodice ripper. He said that *he* dumped *me*! I was the one who said the relationship wasn't working out!" Moodily he turned over onto his stomach and groaned into a pillow, "Never date a reporter..."
I activate the coffee machine I had built into my cherry wood desk, knowing that I would need the boost to deal with this disaster of a man. "So you grand plan to show everyone that you've moved onto bigger and *much* better things is by asking your, and I quote, "Arch Nemesis" to be your date to the wedding of the decade?" As the smooth scent of espresso began to waft up from the desk I opened up hidden compartment number six on my desk, tossing a few of the hard candies I keep in it at his head.
"I was sixteen! You were the most dangerous person I'd ever met and I got over excited." He started picking up the candies that had bounced off onto the floor and began unwrapping them. "We haven't even seriously fought since the red bridge incident two years ago. Shadow Keeper has you listed as a League Associate. C'mon, we've teamed up together before, and I know you haven't been seeing anyone since that summer thing with Lady Obscura, help me out here." Cheeks filled with candy he made the most pitiful looking pair of puppy dog eyes I'd *ever* seen at me.
"We haven't fought seriously since the red bridge because I spent three months running a cost-benefit analysis on adjusting my operations to fall a bit more in line with your ideas of ethical, and found that I'd save fifteen percent more time and money by doing so." Idly I took my mug from it's position under the coffee machine and took a fortifying sip. "You will also recall that every time that we've teamed up the world was at stake. As I live here I have a vested interest in ensuring it does not get taken over by a zombie outbreak, or inter-dimensional demons." Leaning back in my seat I hold eye contact with him.
"What exactly do I get out of this arrangement? You weren't wrong you know, all those years ago when you called me avaricious." I smile at him, happy to be in the familiar position of holding all the power in a deal. "I do things because *I* gain something by doing them. You used to cry from dawn till dusk that I was heartless and wanted to take over the world. I *do* want the world, I want to own all of it and I would do such a good job taking care of it." I take another long sip of my coffee, drawing out the tension. "What can *you* give me Dawn? What makes this little ruse worth my while?"
Shoulders tense he looked down at his hands, biting his lip in contemplation. After a few false starts he spoke. "I don't really have anything material to offer you, at least nothing that you couldn't buy a bigger, nicer version of." He looked back at me again, face and posture set as if he were staring down the end of the world once more. "I've known you for a decade now, and I like to think that I've gained a bit of insight into how you think. We both agree you're greedy, and more than a little controlling. You also have a dramatic streak a mile wide." With those words he flashed a sly grin at me, rather at odds with the goodie goodie boy-scout persona he maintains for the press.
"Think of the *drama* Rhe! The scandal! It would be the biggest story of the year, and you would be the one orchestrating it all." He leap up from his seat and giddily leaned over my desk, bracing himself on his hands and looming over me even more than usual. "People *love* a good enemies-to-lovers story, they'd eat it up. Tell me you wouldn't relish the opportunity to meticulously plan out every bit of the backstory I *know* you're already drafting in your head!" I had to squint a bit as he began to literally glow in his excitement. "Think of looks on everyone's faces when you roll up to that wedding with *me* as your new arm candy. Ex-boyfriend *who*? I'm living my best life as the sugar-baby of the richest person on this side of the Mississippi, and *you* are clearly basking in the glory of another successful thirty-seven point plan."
I took one of my pens and use the pointy end to push his face away from where it had gotten dangerously close to mine, leaving a dot black ink on his forehead. He continued to beam at me as I stared at him, considering his proposal. I *do* love a good spectacle, and so many of my plans lately had needed to be boringly practical.
"If I agree to this," I tapped him on the head with the pen as he began to vibrate in excitement, "*If* I agree to this, you need to understand that we're playing the long game here." I took a hold of his chin and leaned in until our faces were mere inches apart. "I have a reputation, and this will be a very public declaration that you are *mine*." He had stilled the moment I touched him, and seemed to barely be breathing as I spoke. "Do you think you can handle that Dawn? Can you handle being mine?"
He slowly blinked, and the reality of what this scheme would mean for him seemed to sink in. For a long moment he looked at me before sighing and relaxing into my hand with a small smile. "I'm always up for a challenge Rhe."
"Good." With a grin I released him and glided towards the door, "Now come on, we need to begin phase one of this performance!"
-----------------------
Part 2 in the comments!
|
"Wow... this *is* embarrassing... take some pictures for me?"
"DON'T MESS WITH ME! Seriously, no joke, my ex is an absolute monster... I can't be seen alone with her around?"
"OH MAN THIS IS RICH! Did your ex run off with a tall, hot guy? Were you not good in bed?"
"Geez, have some respect! I'd hang up *right now*, but I can't ask anyone else..."
"Not even one of your hero buddies? Oh, you could hire a stripper!"
"STOP MESSING AROUND! I have my reputation to think about, you know."
"So why call me? If people found out who I was..."
"You're the only one I could even tell. As annoying as you are... I know you're not judging me."
"You're absolutely right. I don't judge. After all, how'd that help me?"
"...So?"
"Ok, here's how we're doing things: obviously neither of us are to reveal our identities. Fighting is also even more obviously out the question. If people begin to suspect, divert the conversation. And on the off-chance our date goes well, you're coming back with me"
"WHAT? Coming back... with *YOU*??? You must be joking!"
"Would I joke like that? Come on, if it does go well, wouldn't you want some... *quality time*?"
"...Damn you. Fine, I agree. And no need to say it, I know you'll be able to sense my real emotions, so I can't lie."
"Exactly. And remember, I can also quite easily sway emotions..."
"You know that doesn't work easily on me."
"It might be different when you see my outfit, sugar. Let me know the details later. I'll be expecting you to pick me up on the day. I'm counting on you, darling."
"Curse you..." *SLAM!*
| 2022-10-06T18:53:28 | 2022-10-06T16:48:24 | 613 | 158 |
[WP] Murder is rare; killing someone means their remaining years are 'subtracted' from yours. Likewise, saving a life (or lives) adds time to your own. Nobody knows why. Centuries ago you killed a young man by accident (usually resulting in instant death). You haven't aged since.
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You know who you kill, and you know who you save. That's what they tell you growing up. You feel the ripple effect of your actions. Sometimes you can even anticipate it. Stand at the crossroads, head down. Decide to go left. You feel age clench around your heart, turning ventricles into rubber, skin going crepe paper fine. Decide to go right. It relents. Sometimes it even goes back. A few extra days, hours, or years, because you chose to spend an extra minute at the pond, watching the fish slither ribbon-fine through the cobweb-like algea. Or else dashing ahead, not really sure why, but you feel death on your heels the whole way. The final moment when you make it to your destination, and the door closes and the heart attack passes you by, the proverbial ship in the night. You made it. *Why* did you make it? What disaster did you turn, like a shield against arrow flight?
No one ever stops you when you run. They know one day it might be their turn.
You know the people you kill by the miasma over their obituary. There are some people--unwise, but some--who spend every morning scanning faces in the death-pages, trying to count out how many people have died because of them, how many hours might be shaved off their life. Trimmings, my father called them. Like the fat off the meat at the butcher. He was old before his time. Died when he was nearly forty. My mother looked like she was thirty when she was in her eighties, but Dad looked hard run. He wasn't anything wicked or bad. He worked assembly line at a car factory. It wasn't until he was long dead and buried that the cars began going wrong. He died because he built bolts that killed people who hadn't yet been born. He was treated as if he had shot them all, hunted them down one by one. People look askance at you if you age. They want to know who you killed.
You may never meet the people you save. I used to ask how you would know. No one would answer. They just said I would know it when I saw it. And that they would know you.
He was a boy. Maybe twenty. Maybe even twenty one. I was paying attention, but not enough. I was testing my instinct, testing my age. I had big choices in front of me, the kind that can divert a life forever if you make the wrong one. The streetlight turned red. I started to put my foot on the pedal, and I felt my death. My breath turned to ash in my mouth as my lungs burned. My brain began to unravel into dementia and forgetfulness. My fingers shook as the wrinkles grew and arthritis began to steal my grip from me. I took my foot off the break, and for one heartbeat I could breathe.
I did not see him. He had bent down to tie his shoe. I felt it as he died. You don't forget that feeling. That sound. I will not describe it. Even now, knowing what I know, there is no pleasure in it.
The first person to reach me glowed. As did the next. The police officer who responded did not glow, but his partner did. They asked me a thousand questions. Grilled me, in fact. I think what saved me was that I lost a few years standing in front of them. I became as young as the boy I killed. A detective, glowing, was the first to suspect that this was something more than a tragic, terrible accident. They did not want to arrest me.
At first it seemed to be every tenth person. By the end of the day, it was every fifth.
They found his hobbies in the basement at the end of the week. He was so smart, his mother said--she glowed in every interview, bright and shining, a beacon in the dark--so bright. How could anyone suspect him of doing something bad? He was studying physics. He was obsessed with atomic fusion.
It hadn't been bad. Not intentionally. Not until they gave his notebooks to a scientist to study. The police just wanted to know what was in them. Theories about fusion, they replied, and plans to make the world's first functional fusion reactor. It would have revolutionized the world. If he had gotten it right.
He had not gotten it right. But on the surface the math was right. The missing piece was something that hadn't been published yet. A small bit of math, but the difference between lights across the world, and a billion people dead.
He was going to turn on his prototype that day. He was on his way to flip the switch.
Sometimes I think about that, as I sit and watch people pass me by like a million million fireflies. It gives me no comfort to think, I saved them. Their lives came down to my selfish desire to live, and his loose shoelace. I remember instead the last gasp of the scientists on the Manhattan project, in the moments before they perished on the site of their functional bomb. I am become Shiva, destroyer of worlds. This is something like that, in reverse. The world drawn in negative, released again in positive.
Sometimes I wonder what they see when they look at me. I can find no pride in this. Every time someone asks if they might shake my hand, I remember the sound. The thump, and its echo behind me. The sound of his breath as it escaped lungs for the last time. His eyes looking up at me. Sometimes they are grateful. Sometimes they accuse me. He could still have changed his mind. The future did not have to be set so firmly in his gravestone. We are tied together forever, he and I, in that instant before biology surrendered to death. He died, and I live, and will continue to live. And no one cares if this is fair, because it simply is.
But mostly I think about Robert Frost. Because it is about our choices. And Frost was the one who wrote that poem about a road diverging in the wood. That is our life, that is our world. A million million branches for a million million fireflies. And we don't always get to know where those roads and choices will take us. I wonder, sometimes, if he bent to tie his shoelace, not because it was loose, but because he felt the shadow looming. Or perhaps he did not tighten that lace, because death slackened his fingers. I remember the urgency of that day, the haste so quick I could not even put cream in my coffee. He would have felt the opposite, and still he kept forward. I ask myself *why* he kept going forward. Why he did not stop and listen to the sense all of us have, the feeling of a million million lives trembling like dew on a spider's web. What is it that drives us onward and onward, when we ought to know better? Why did he not *care?* And why should I be lauded, when my motive was really not all that different?
And I remember that poem about the road, and again renew the truth in those immortal words:
" I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference."
|
His name was Abraham. I still remember him like it happened just yesterday. He was a dark brown-skinned boy with light blue eyes. I didn’t mean to push him over the cliff, but I was running from the Egyptians and he was in my way. I still think about that moment everyday and why that tragedy didn’t initiate my demise.
Why weren’t his years subtracted from mine? He had to have had at least 60 years left, but I took that from him. But now I’m immortal. What kind of game are the gods playing with me? Was he destined to be a diabolical mass murderer? Would his descendants cause destruction and devastation across the earth? What gives me the right to live when he’s dead? Did I save the world from the pain of multiple religious wars?
I don’t know why the gods blessed me with this immortality, and damned that child to an early death, but the Roman Empire has been spreading innovation and technology across the globe and, being the Emperor’s advisor for the last 400 years has had its perks. I’d hate to see a backwards religious institution hamper the development of society.
Edit: So as not to offend any Christians, I am Christian and I’m not saying that the patriarch Abraham is responsible for the religious wars between the descendants of Ishmael and Isaac. I’m saying that if Abraham hadn’t had both sons, there might be a lot less religious in-fighting in the world. Also, the descendants of Noah were prophesied to war with each other, but if you believe the Bible, killing Noah would have damned humanity to cease to exist.
| 2020-11-01T23:50:13 | 2020-11-01T23:32:54 | 437 | 48 |
[WP] Write anything you want. The catch: Every post in this thread takes place in the same universe and you aren't allowed to break the canon.
Edit: Use "Sort by Old" and please don't reply to individual posts, as it's already pretty damn hard to follow the story as of right now.
|
History
Before it all began, /u/UncomfortableSocks discovers a throne that holds the power to give whover sits on it dominion over all the people of earth. However, many will be jealous of this man's power and try to take it. Before /u/UncomfortableSocks can destroy the throne as writing on the walls of the cave in which he found it implore and direct him to do, he is killed by /u/Ishan_Psyched.
...
A man called /u/deathBZRKER717, is disappointed with a game he has been playing (that is most definitely not the universe a certain subreddit has been creating because that would be a lame ass cop out). He stops playing the game and turns to the television that is broadcasting news of a brewing war.
...
It begins in the year 2025. /u/Ishan_Psyched is elected Overlord of the World in a unanimous vote. Peace prevails and all is good for a time. He is remembered, even if only by a few, for the rest of time.
For unknowns reasons, /u/GiveMeFreeKarmaPlox leads a revolution against /u/Ishan_Psyched. As war begins, /u/GiveMeFreeKarmaPlox reaches out and gains the aid of extraterrestrial forces to aid him in his war.
While the war continues, /u/WoahlDalh betrays /u/Ishan_Psyched, literally stabbing him in the back in an attempt to take the throne. However, a secret society known as the Inhalers has been expecting this and was laying in wait, thanking /u/WoahlDalh for her aid before the body is cold.
However, things do not go as planned for either of these parties. Both are captured and put on trial. Leader of the Inhalers, /u/JoxytheInhaler, is executed. The fate of /u/WoahlDalh is not currently known.
/u/XcessiveSmash, a famous general, decides to step up to the plate and take on the role of Overlord of the world. He learns form the past and surrounds himself with heavy security and becomes the most well guarded man on the earth, nigh unkillable. He battled valiantly against the revolution of /u/GiveMeFreeKarmaPlox, but remained blind to issues at home.
/u/Anrende rallied the people in the hard times of the continuing war and formed the Children of Liberty, a group promising a truly free, Democratic nation for all.
Meanwhile, /u/dahnostalgia, new leader of the Inhalers, leads his long forgotten group out of the shadows to enter the fray for power.
...
While this all goes on, a man known as /u/ColossalMini sit at home witnessing these things as they occured through the screen of television, eating popcorn.
/u/NeonShockz is a boy from a village in a remote part of the world with both magic and technology prevoloent and coexisting within it. The boy is a magic-science hybrid, as they are called, but is shunned. Deiven from his village he goes to join a side, though not sure which. On the way, he runs into /u/Writeful_heir, an old man. The two share bread on the road.
/u/NeonShockz experiences his first battle. He discovers what war is like and whishes to meet a worthy opponent.. or a friend.
...
As war rages, /u/Braz-dur devises a plan. He believes that humanities only hope is to restart it. He develops a deadly mega viruse that he releases to purge the world.
/u/NO831 rises from the remains of humanity, less than one sixteenth of the previous population. He claims to have developed the virus and cure and saves his chosen one sixteenth. The remaining population praise him as almost a god.
However, in fact, /u/Silverspy01 had been humanity's savior. He had learned of the virus and made plans to help stop the would be annihilation. Even though the antidote was distributed mear five minutes after it had been released, many died. /u/Silverspy01 sent assassins who killed /u/Braz-dur.
Eventually, /u/NO831 passes away, apparently catching a late strain of the virus and became among the last of the casualties of the disease. With the current ruler gone, /u/Anrende takes the title of Overlord of the World.
/u/Braz-dur is, in fact, still alive. Or rather, a clone of himself is. The clone creates a race of monsters with the same purpose of the virus. He releases these creatures and is the first casualties, falling to his own monsters. The monsters ravage what little is left of humanity that still battles amongst itself in a desperate attempt to survive.
/u/Anrende is killed by the creatures and /u/Silverspy01 becomes overlord of the world. Humanity ceases fighting entirely, for once having complete peace within its own species, as they battle the new threat. The beasts are quickly vanquished, or at the least vanish and leave humans alone.
...
Elsewhere in the world, /u/Sciencewars attempts to close a portal that has appeared in the wastelands. He fears it shall destroy the world. He meets /u/Writeful_heir, a man who has suffered much lose in the harsh world he has lived in.
Two men know as Tim and Bill live normal, uneventful lives with their wife and kids.
Another man, Jeff, lives in fear. Scared to even allow his sons to go outside.
/u/Carrotzy is a thoroughly confused man who is not even sure who Overlord of the world is. He speaks of some people that are coming, know as Retcon and Cliche.
...
/u/BlastingAwesome and /u/rockwell78 live on the moon and watch earth, safe were they live but not so sure about earth. Eventually they extended invitations to certain humans to come live on the moon. Such humans include: Bill, Tim, and their families; /u/Writeful_heir; and Jeff.
Bill and Tim accepted and now have cookouts on the moon with their families and are very happy.
...
Far more is happening in the universe. A people known as the Black Stars, six in total, watch the small planet like it is a show, reveling in the war and chaos. They vote on their favorite humans. They are angered by the virus and beats that united humanity and ended their fun. However, they plan to use the alien allies of the long dead /u/GiveMeFreeKarmaPlox to spice things up.
A hermit known as /u/conor_obrien prays to some deity in an effort to help end the madness that plauges the world. He ends up in a council of six dark clad members, believed to be the Black Stars.
/u/cloeresemblence is a shape shifting being of immense power who whises to “live the story” of the earth unlike the Black Stars who sit and watch.
/u/Tudpool, a mysterious hive mind, watches the world and waits to see if he must save humanity.
…
/u/Writeful_heir approaches a woman named Fer, friend of /u/Braz-dur. She mourns over the death of her lost friend. /u/Writeful_heir, however requires her luck to save the world, though she is reluctant. /u/Writeful_heir informs her of approaching alien threats that seek to meddle with it. He plans to assemble a team of capable beings to aid them which include: /u/Sciencewars, /u/NeonShockz, /u/BlastingAwesome, and /u/rockwell78.
…
/u/StormsAndWolves is a woman in this messed up world who wants nothing more than to go home.
…
Somewhere in the universe, a man named /u/NoobusEnterprises reads a report of the current happenings of earth. He decides that it is best to start over and presses a red button sending roughly a hundred thousand nuclear warheads towards earth to cleanse it.
(Note: I did the best I could and made some small changes, guesses, added a little, and took a little to try and fit it all together. I tried to keep everything as close as possible to the what the original author wrote. Key word: tried)
|
A prayer. Perhaps that would help end the madness.
A prayer was perhaps all that was needed.
A hermit lived in the small town of Ougadonan. No one had ever heard of it, and cartographers often left it off the maps. While the world destroyed itself with plague and assorted machines of death, those in Ougadonan lived fearfully but were yet alive.
This hermit called himself "the poet", though the locals knew him better as u/conor_obrien. He was, in fact, merely an amateur writer, but his works gave hope and joy to the people. The society was marked by its morality, and while people weren't people friendly, they certainly weren't aggressive. Ougadonan was ruled by two layers of three people, called the Upper and Lower Ranks. The Upper Rank made decisions amongst themselves, which were then sent down to the Lower Rank, who reconciled these with the community below them. This hermit was the second member of the Lower Rank.
He was distressed, as usual. More and more reports of the chaos in the world disturbed him, and the extra-terrestrial reports weren't exactly comforting. What was the moon doing about it? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Not that the hermit had tried anything besides worrying. Today, though, he thought he just might try. Except he couldn't.
"What could a writer do to impact the world?" said he. "Write a pretty poem? A lovely sonnet? No, nothing of the sort would possibly--"
He paused for a long moment. Inhaling deeply, he fell to his knees and looked up.
"Mark my plee--
Whatever gods may be--
Rescue me.
Oh apathy,
Why not set us free?
We are at our perigee,
Will we not pay any fee
just to see
our home be
a calmed sea?"
With each line, his speech slowed, his vision blurred. At the end, he closed his eyes. He waited, expecting something--anything--to happen.
He opened his eyes. He saw six or seven figures before him (he could not tell), clad from head to toe in pitch-black. "A-am I in heaven...?" he rasped.
"Closest you'll ever get, kid." Immediately, the hermit's vision became clear. He stood. In front of him were what appeared to be a council, consisting of six, darkened members.
"You must have some friends in the Stars to get this far," said the same voice.
| 2017-03-05T13:33:08 | 2017-03-05T12:19:44 | 32 | 10 |
[WP] In World War II, an American battalion has an enlisted dog that serves as their mascot. Throughout the war, the dog has been "promoted" several times. However, after a devastating defeat, the soldiers suddenly find that the dog is the highest-ranking surviving officer.
|
I feared to open my eyes.
I'd sneaked midst the lifeless bodies of my fellow soldiers, hauled them over me, creating a shelter of sorts, hoping the enemy wouldn't see me. All the while, the raindrops pattered down as though the lord were trying to cleanse our sins, turning the battleground in an alloy of crimson and mud.
And there I laid, face buried deep within the wet ground; the pressure of my fallen companions pushing down on me. My heart thundered wildly, striking my chest with unswerving resolution; each life-beat sending a ripple echoing throughout my body. A hot, sharp pain tugged viciously at my shoulder, and my insides were a taut knot I feared could never be fully unraveled, not even in the safety of my home back in Alabama.
Everything had gone wrong. We hadn't expected the ambush. We hadn't expected them surrounding and outnumbering us in such a way.
The clamor of war shattered through everything, pummeling my ear-drums ruthlessly: grenades fell meters away from my refugee. Their explosions sent the ground into a violent, short-lived tremble, triggered nightmarish thoughts in my brain. How many of my friends were fighting where those grenades landed?
The constant clatter of the hissing bullets, the screams, the squeals, the yelps, the desperation, and the impotence, all shaped this never-ending inferno.
We'd lost, and we'd all we wiped. And as I remained hidden, sullying the bodies of the fallen, I understood the lord was punishing my cowardice by making me hear this Hell in Earth until there was no more to hear but the last bullet. It was a torture that only the wicked deserved.
It was then, when a faraway sound cut through the clamor of war the same way a breeze whispers in a summer day. It was faint, almost unperceivable, but it was there: it was the brave bark of Sergeant.
I couldn't stay hidden. I couldn't bare being a part of this inferno anymore. I preferred to die helping than to live a few more hours hidden, only to die when the enemy found me.
Struggling, I pushed the bodies away, crawled out of my refugee. The mud was thick in my eyes, a crust. I scratched it, yet many bits remained, disturbing my sight.
Still, from the distance, as the bullets hissed through the battlefield, I spotted Sergeant carrying a wounded soldier somewhere. I barreled toward him, gaze set forward, ignoring my deathly surroundings. If a bullet or a grenade hit me, then that was the fate the lord had chose for me and I'd accept it. And so through a shower of bullets I ran, the edges of my sight a mess of dark, blurred lines, avoiding the obstacles in the way.
Miracles exist. For I reached Sergeant unscathed, save for the bullet lodged deep in my shoulder. Sergeant was a German Shepherd, the bravest and smartest dog I've ever met. He growled, as he hauled a wounded soldier toward a tunnel he'd found.
When he saw me, he barked at me wildly, staring back and forth at the tunnel. However, I shook my head, and scanned the battlefield. If that nook led to safety, then I wouldn't escape alone.
The enemies were closing in on us. We didn't have much time. I heard a soldier struggling nearby and rushed to get him. He was hiding behind two mounds of dirt, both his legs heavily wounded.
I snatched him by the collar, shouldered him, and gripped him tightly by the waist. Then, I rushed toward the tunnel, Sergeant still barking madly to warn those hiding that he'd found a way out of this hell.
Rushing through the mound, when I stepped on the top, I felt a sharp scalding sensation flaring on the back of my leg. I rolled to the ground, looked desperately at the soldier I was carrying.
He laid on the dirt beside me, eyes vacant, fading. "May the lord open the doors to your soul, soldier," I muttered under my breath, and attempted to keep going. However, everything spun and spiraled. My thoughts were incomplete and incoherent. And slowly but surely, the blazing sensation I'd felt a moment ago was turning cold.
It didn't matter how much I tried. My body had given up. I was losing too much blood, and not even my prayers nor my faith could push me forward.
Soon, the backdrop fell, and the clamor faded.
-----------------------------------------
It is believed that we all have angels looking over us, and they are depicted as winged beings, pristine and beautiful, noble and kind-hearted. Sorry lord, but that's a wrong description of them.
In the wide darkness, a warm, sticky sensation jolted me awake. There, Sergeant stood in all fours, licking my eyes, nudging me intently. Above me there was a roof, although the cacophony of war was still powerful in the distance. Besides Sergeant there was Jefferson, one of the army's medics.
"Up, soldier we don't have much time," he said, and helped me to my feet. "I'll be damned but Sergeant found a way out. It will hurt to walk, but I'm sure a bit of pain won't stop you from living. Go, soldier, you've already done more than enough."
I nodded, looked around. We were inside the tunnel. I stared at Sergeant sprinting back to the battlefield, gazed at the bite marks on my shoulder, and for the first time in my life, as I limped down the tunnel, I was mad at the lord.
"Lord, why is that you allow people to spread lies about your angels? Lord, they don't have wings, but fur and four legs. Lord, they walk with us every day, at our side. I will make sure, and this I swear, that Sergeant's story will be heard. Perhaps, that way, people will shelter all of them, give them the life they deserve. For they are the true shape of unconditional love--lord, we don't deserve them."
At last, I saw the light at the end of the tunnel. It was never-ending, but I'd sworn and I owed Sergeant to reach the end. Beyond dozens of helicopters awaited, and there, the moment three soldiers came to carry me, I collapsed again. As the weariness and stress took over me, however, I swore one last thing. "Lord, if Sergeant doesn't survive, then I fear my faith in you won't survive either."
------------------
I've always hated black suits. People say they give off an image of respect and solemnity, but I never understood that. Still I wore them, as it was the norm. It was strange, heart-wrenching to be wearing this after wearing the green uniform for so long. I didn't feel comfortable, and I was sure Sergeant wouldn't care what I wore. It would be hard to say goodbye to him. I already missed him.
However, for nothing in the world would I miss the moment the president put that medal around his neck. Neither would I lose his farewell party. I had to pet him a last time before he returned to Wisconsin, his hometown.
-----------------------------
/r/NoahElowyn
|
''There is not time for emotions, soldier'' said commanding officer. He was laying on the ground and breathing hardly.
‘We are completely cut out from other teams. What should we do now, sir?’ Soldier had worrying tone in his voice.
‘'You all have been serving your country bravely. Keep doing that no matter what. When I’m gone which should an hour or so you all need give everything you got until this place falls down.''
''Sir, I don’t know what I’m doing here. Why we have to listen this dog? This doesn’t make sense.''
''I don’t need you to listen the dog. I just need you to protect the dog because he means everything for this place and this country. You just need to get your shit together, son.''
As a few bombs landed very close to the compound and team were ready to defend. All the remaining soldier looked at the dog and they had their moment.
One of them shared his memories about his parents from when he was just a kid. Others listened him and try to hold on to their weapons. Enemy was close but there was no fear left. It was the moment when chaotic noises increased and the dog started to run towards to that noise, soldiers didn’t hasitate... They were all gone.
------------------------------
**Please don't mind any writing or grammar mistakes, I'm not a native speaker**
| 2018-11-07T14:34:18 | 2018-11-07T13:14:12 | 174 | 17 |
[WP] You're a 'comically incompetent' supervillain for a group of C-List heroes. They are no real threat to you, so you endure their childish speeches. However, when the heroes raid the civilian business you run on the side and injure your employees, you decide to take yourself seriously for once.
|
"Who did this to you?" I asked, a fire lit within me.
"T-the...t-the...h-heros." The man barely got the words out as he tried to sit up, his legs bent in weird angles. His eye blinded by blood dripping down from a gashed eyebrow. His face swollen to an unrecognizable degree. I reached out and helped him to a chair.
"Thanks."
"Don't mention it. I'm assuming you mean the C-class heros that have been harassing me with their childish speeches? The man nodded painfully. A window cracked under my anger.
I'm usually a chill guy. The type that doesn't take life too seriously. I've been dubbed "The comically incompetent villain." And I had no problem with that. I was completely happy with the way things are...but *this?* I looked at my other employees that were hurt in a similar fashion.
I walk into work every day as their boss. They smile and always go above and beyond for me. Even when it gets tough for them, they don't complain. I've gotten to know each and every one of them. I know about their lives, their hopes, and their dreams...as well as what holds them back and the lessons and regrets that haunt them in life.
I looked at the pudgy women that always brings in the most delicious donuts in for everybody to enjoy. Her smile contagious. I looked at the guy that always asks how everyone is doing and listens like a true man. I looked at the older man that is always willing to teach whoever is willing to listen about the job. I looked at the jokester that never failed to make someone laugh. Then finally I looked at the young man that just joined and was once full of life now unmoving on the floor. Thankfully he wasn't dead...yet.
These are my people. They call me evil. They call me a villain. They say that villains treat people less then human. But what about them? People say they are hero's but as I looked at this display before me, *it does not seem that way at all.* I learned long ago that there really is not a *right or wrong way.* Just your way...and what ever suits his or hers self-interest...*The world is terribly grey and I'm about to show them the way I do things when I'm pissed off.* I looked solemnly at my employees.
"They will pay for this. You have my word." I said with a raw emotion that I couldn't describe. The employees looked at me sympathetically. The old man Phill spoke up gruffly between broken teeth giving him and odd lisp as he talked. "You don't have to. We understood the moment we accepted the job that something like this could happen one day." I just glanced at him before turning around. I couldn't look any further. I started to make my way out the building. On my way out the door I said something more to myself then to them. *"I will go and I will show them what regret looks like."*
...
It was raining cats and dogs outside as I paused Infront of a bar close to hero HQ. Thunder and lightning flashed in the reflection of the windows. This is the place these C-class heros like to hang out.
I walked inside casually and spotted the heros I was dying to see. The other people saw me. Noticing that I'm not here for fun, they either left the bar or walked where they thought would be out of harm's way. The group glanced at the front door and their eyes widened before smiling at me. The bald guy laughed while his team joined in. The skinny man next to him lit a cigarette while the women with butch hair and tattoos slouched down into a seat comfortably as if getting ready to watch a show.
"You finally made it! I was thinking you would be joining us. Did you like our little gift we sent to your employees? I think they liked it." The muscular hero with a bald head said mirthfully as he downed a shot.
"You lot sure enjoyed yourselves. You guys have been extremely lucky that I've been such a tolerant guy. Now your luck has ran out." That group burst out into laughter. The bald man walked up to me until he was face to face.
"You? A failure and laughingstock of a villain? Alright show me. Show me why even A class heros don't dare touch you?" The bald man with super strength hurled his shot glass on to the floor. The glass exploded as he clenched his fist—A hail maker in the works.
I raised an eyebrow.
"Alright, but don't blame me. Blame your stupidity for pissing me off. Ah, this really is Darwinism at it's finest." I smirked as I gathered my power.
Suddenly, the skinny man that was smoking started coughing up a fit as he struggled to get ahold of himself. The women's chair leg snapped as she fell on her ass stunned. The bald man that was at this moment in mid swing tripped on his own two feet and fell face first into the pieces of glass that was now on the floor.
"Ahhhh! My eyes!" The man growled in pain as he stood back up. Now blinded, He tried to go for a tackle.
"I'll kill you!" He yelled as he looked as if he was crying blood.
I dodged easily as I picked up a beer bottle that just happened to be conveniently right where I needed it and smashed it on his head as the force of his tackle carried him into a table that tipped at an awkward angle as a fat man tried to shuffle out of the way. The table hit his solar plexus knocking the wind out of him. He fell unconscious as a loose lamp chandelier dropped right on his head and took the table with him launching a mug that was on it up into the air as the skinny man got ready for action. He grabbed a knife from his belt. The knife glowed a blue color before launching it at my face. The knife practically disappeared before getting blocked and redirected by that very same mug that just happened to fall precisely in the way of the knife and my face. The bald man woke up as the knife hit him in the kneecap. I walked slowly towards the skinny man as he looked increasingly frightened as his knives seem to miraculously miss or get blocked by objects in the bar that I casually threw in the way. The flying objects always seemed to be miraculously aimed at the bald man as he got increasingly injured as I went. When I was in reasonable distance from the skinny hero, I punched out aiming for his ugly face. The skinny man glowed blue and dodged only to trip over the wet floor and hit himself on a fallen edge of a chair in such a way that his neck cracked, knocking him out cold as he fell to the floor barely breathing. I glanced at the women that just managed to stand up only to witness the carnage of the past few moments.
"S-screw this." She turned and dashed out the bar into the rainy weather as her hair got wet only to run straight into a random stranger that knocked her into the street right Infront of a speeding car. She looked in a panic at the car as it honked it's horn aggressively before glowing purple and teleporting a few meters away. She laughed while breathing heavily as she thought she was out of the clear before lightning struck. She convulsed as lightning went from her skull to the ground. She collapsed down onto the pavement dead still.
I took a deep breath as I relished in my revenge. The other spectators in the bar looked at me like frightened animals as I made my way out.
*I'm thinking sushi tonight when I get home.*
The villainish man thought as he slowly made his way home without a single shred of guilt...
Note: I wrote this In like...under an hour. So definitely not my best work. Lol but it was fun. xD
|
*crack*
*Crack*
*Crack*
" Please I beg you stop!" mighty lad screamed.
A steel cane rams into his jaw
"Martha, Benjamin, Alice, Steven" the wack hatter mutters
Mere hours ago Angelstar wack hatter's boutique cosplay shop was attacked by the league of cool crime stoppers. The employees were beaten to within an inch of there lives and arrested and now sit in jail for aiding a criminal.
"How did you know" wack hatter growled
"We have been watching you for a while now you're movements your identity is not so secret Dennis"
" So you assumed my employees had anything to do with my other life you fools" wack hatter sighs
"They helped you move glycerin into warehouses your going to bomb the mayor's home" mighty lad wheezed out
"We sell soap"
"What"
"Glycerin it's one the main ingredients in soap it was Martha's soap actually"
"That doesn't change the fact it can be used to make bombs Martha was probably your second in command"
Whack hatter growing angrier by each word muttered by this wannabe beat cop. Yells
" She was pregnant you piece of shit"
"What"
"When she was arrested she called me the beating you gave Martha led her to going in the hospital"
"Oh no no no"
"She miscarried, a beacon of hope destroyed a soon to be family even my origin is happier than that"
"Oh God why this was superwonder's idea we were just following her orders."
"During our call we spoke of revenge and how she wants to murder each one of you. You, mighty lad are the first to fall and soon this whole city"
With one solid whack from his cane whack hatter killed mighty lad instantly leaving a crater in his skull. After the killing only one thought bounced around Whack hatter's skull
"How the fuck do you make bombs out of glycerin"
| 2022-11-28T18:01:32 | 2022-11-28T17:41:23 | 217 | 81 |
[WP] What if after you die, you wake up with a bong in your hand and your alien friend asks "How was it?".
|
He wakes up with a bong in his hand, and his alien friend asks, "how was it?"
He cries at that. Tears stream down his cheeks, his chest heaves. He's not crying because he's sad. He's crying because that's the only thing his body can do, in response to *that*. That experience. It's the carnal response to it.
"Woah there, what are you doing? What is that coming out of your eyes?"
"I-It's a-a thing th-at happens *there*."
"Where?"
The field they're in suddenly seems infinitesimally large. His brain feels like a melancholy song. Perhaps that's what life is supposed to feel like. He'd heard about this before. He didn't think it was *this* intense. The darkness of the night is overwhelming. The three moons in the sky provide little light. The only sound is his sobs. Jesus, his chest hurts from that.
"W-where ya go."
"Is it really that bad?"
"Lordie, it is. Y-you don't know until you *feel* it."
"What happens?"
This entire thing was his friend's idea. But, oh, that experience was indescribable. The first bit is fuzzy, he doesn't know why. He can't even remember how he came into that- that world. He only remembers the man telling him about it, how it'd been a violent ordeal. An entrance full of screaming, and tears, and blood. How he'd lost the woman that meant the most to him. He misses that man, he realizes. He didn't think he'd be able to feel that, in *this* body.
"You kinda just get thrown in, an' I d-don't really remember the first bit, honestly. But there were other, well, things there," he struggles to find the words, "they told me about the first bit."
"What did they look like?"
"Their skin was peachy, I dunno, it was so weird. They looked like us, but that skin. It wasn't green. And everyone's eyes weren't black. There-there were so many different colours. His were brown."
"Jesus, maybe this stuff's too strong."
He thinks about the years following that moment. Or at least, it felt like years. He'd loved the man so much. *Love*, it was so new to him. But not new at all. He'd never felt it before. That ache. When he was away from them too long, he felt homesick. *For* them. He misses him right then. He misses laying down with him in bed, curled up and comforted. When he had those dreams. That was crazy too. *Dreams*. He was awake without being awake. The sobs bubble up again.
"I love that man."
"Love?"
How could he describe it? It's something so abstract, so intangible. You don't feel love, really, but you know when you do. It falls apart so, so hard. NO matter how bad someone's being, you love the good. No matter how fleeting that is. It was looking into the man's eyes. Him pulling him into his chest. Beard tickling his forehead.
"You have to feel it to know it."
Does he love his friend? Sure, maybe.
"Well, what happened after the fuzzy bit?"
"There was a lot of pain."
"Pain? You got hurt? We should get you to the hospital-"
"Not like that. Like, my brain was hurting."
"That-"
"No, not physically. Everything I thought hurt. Every emotion, too."
"Huh."
The friend doesn't understand. How could he? He'd never felt anything apart from "fine" and "curious".
The pain he felt though; that was real. He remembered when she broke up with him. Something that'd never hurt before. Not *here*. But *there*? He didn't think he'd ever felt that pain. The man had coddled him after that. Given chocolate. "Everyone's first hurts a lot. More than anything'll ever hurt in your life," and that smile. Then, when he realized he loved men. Lusted after men. The pain he felt in his stomach. That *clench*. He'd been so anxious. But the man just smiled and said he didn't care. He was his son after all. Why would who he loves change the fact that he loves him? The hug after that. That's what got him.
The pain he felt when his second love broke up with him. The pain of exams. The pain of having to work so hard. Times where all he'd wanted to do was go down on his knees, and beg for it to be over.
"It's like breaking a bone, but in your thoughts. Y'know, there are millions and billions and trillions of stars, and I was down there, fussing over scars. It was... Exhilarating."
"Right."
The other is staring at him confused.
The pain he felt when the man got older and older. The pain when that man died. Fuck, that'd been horrible. He'd missed the man so much. *Fuck*. It was unlike anything he'd ever felt. He'd been upset when his dog had died. But this? It came close to nothing else. He'd cried so much. He'd knelt down, hugged the tombstone and begged for the pain to be over. Begged for his daddy back. It was so unfair. He'd been only seventy-five. He screamed, so, so, so loudly. His body, not just sad, but desperate. He didn't know what to do. He'd felt trapped, weighed upon by expectations and needs and wants. He just wanted his daddy back.
"But- but there was a lot of good too."
"Yeah?"
The man picking him up and twirling him around, when he was little. The man hugging him, twirling him about, when he graduated. All three times. His first kiss, with the man who would be his husband. The kiss at their wedding. Laughing and being stupid with his friends, all through his life. The birth of his first son. And then his second. And then his third. Seeing them graduate, and learn, and grow. Seeing them have babies of their own. The sex with his husband, god that'd be a highlight. Going up and up in his job. His husband doing the same.
There were so many moments. Some good. Some soul-crushingly bad. All worthwhile.
He'd lived a lifetime.
He wants to go back.
"Should I?"
"You'll regret it forever."
He knows he will.
He's seen so much, loved so many, hated so much too. Passion and disinterest. Writer's block and pure inspiration. So much. And he can never feel it again. Not in the same way. He wants his dad back. His husband. His children.
"Should I?"
"Yes."
And with that, a newborn came screaming and fighting into the world.
He didn't know the life of sorrow ahead of him. He didn't know the pain. The scars he'd amass.
He didn't know how he wouldn't know about them at all, as he grew and loved and cared, and never became bitter in the face of it all.
|
All I could muster up to say at the time was, "Woah."
"You've been out for about an hour now. You had me worried."
"Where are we? What... What are we?" I began to panic as I rushed to the door.
"You should sit down. I've never seen anybody react this way to Earth weed before."
"Earth weed? Did you just say that I was on Earth weed? No, I've smoked Earth weed, hell, I've even turned 'Earth weed' into fucking lollipops and gave them out on Halloween. That was not Earth weed."
"It affects you differently when you're down there. I tried telling you that before your consciousness was transferred."
Suddenly, it felt like a waterfall of memories had just crashed on my head, filling it like a water balloon about to pop. "I remember now."
"How do you feel?"
"Better. Living on our planet is shit, but living as an organism on that planet was actual hell."
"I couldn't agree more. Want another hit?"
"Ha, no thanks, I think I'll face my space cancer like a man now."
A few weeks went by, until I found myself in a hospital bed surrounded by friends and family. "I guess this is it." I said as I took my last breath.
My friend grabbed my hand and said, "We'll never forget you, Roy."
...................."Final Score.... 65000 points"...............
"Geez Morty, how many Flurbos are you going to waste on that game? You'll never beat my high score."
| 2017-04-09T04:01:39 | 2017-04-09T03:52:37 | 59 | 17 |
[WP]: Rule of thumb: If you see something on a foreign planet that has all the outward traits of an apex predator, but no obvious and apparent way to kill you - run. The methods in which they kill aren't something you want to see.
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On my third day encamped at the base of the Dawnbreaker mountains I met the great cat *Kurush-En,* who the locals thought a god and who at the time I thought only an entry in my bestiary. A crucial and long sought entry of course, for this hadn’t been my first trip and wouldn’t have been my last, but it was still no more than a collection of words and a picture to sell back on Earth. In the days after the Gates were discovered we were all trying to be latter-day Livingstone’s, but in the classic fashion of young men I thought myself exempt from his fate.
I was writing in my journal at twilight when it happened. All around our small, rough camp there arose a low, echoing growl, singularly without menace when compared to all others I have ever heard. That did not stop our local guides and porters from springing to their feet however, chattering rapidly in their clicking language I still struggled to understand. There is a certain wisdom among the natives of the Sirius Cluster’s smaller worlds, a fact which I only came to understand later.
“*Kurush-En, Kurush-En!”* They shouted, pulling their packs together as quickly as they could, lacing up the brightly colored boots so popular among their people. For my part I felt a deep excitement, and as I crossed to Cynthia, my partner on this expedition, I could see she felt the same.
“Cyn,” I called, “get the cameras ready! This could finally be the moment!”
She was already ahead of me, pylons set on all corners of the camp powering up with a high pitched whir, ready to catch the creature from 360 degrees if it entered into their field of view. All we needed was one clear shot of it out of the bush, at the distance it sounded our sensors could nearly blood-type it.
“*Kurush-En!”* Our chief guide, Ting-Ting, whispered to me, coming up and clinging to my left side with his too warm, 3 fingered hands. “Much danger, we run. Too dark, too dark!”
“Ting-Ting, we didn’t come all this way and spend all this money just to run from the first one we see. Your people knew why we were here. We stay damnit! All of us!”
I could see the terror written on my guide’s face. The scent of their fear pheromones lay heavily in the air around us, and as I watched two of the porters sprinted off into the gathering dark of the snowy mountains.
“If you run I won’t pay you!” I shouted, stilling the remaining crowd. Their village was too poor for that to be taken lightly.
“Malcolm, I’ve got something on sensors!” Cynthia’s voice rang out clear in the silence that followed and I hurried to her side.
“What the hell is that?” I whispered when I got there. The device we used displayed vital statistics common to 98% of the species humanity had ever encountered, but I had never heard of this. On the screen the red dot of a life sign approached from the brush, 20 meters away, 15, 10. Around it a series of other, smaller signatures seemed to pulse, pulling in towards it and then flowing outward over and over, in time to the beat of the growl that still filled the night air.
When it stepped into the camp the growling stopped along with all of our hearts.
The *Kurush-En* stood near as tall as a man at the shoulder, with an eyeless, mouthless head the size of a boulder. Its fur was pure white, and more sleek than I had imagined it to be. Along its back a line of short tendril-ish spines shivered, each of their points glowing a light blue. Its paws had no claws or they were retracted, and its tail was long and thin, moving with a mind of its own.
I had never seen any creature half so beautiful.
From beside me I could hear Cynthia sigh in wonder, her hand going to her throat as she whispered over and over “it can’t be, it can’t be.”
We had heard many legends of the mountain’s famous “cat god” over the years, but ours were the first human eyes to ever see it. From every conceivable angle around the camp the camera pylons blinked away, capturing the creature forever. By noon tomorrow we would have it on the front pages of every nature magazine on Earth and all her colonies.
We were naïve then, but looking back I can hardly blame us. The *Kurush-En* spent nearly ten minutes in our camp examining us each in turn, though we couldn’t figure out how it did on a head so completely without orifices. At the end it even pressed its forehead to Cynthia’s chest, and she swore she could feel a deep thrumming hum come from it, although I myself never heard it.
When the creature disappeared back into the brush Cynthia and I had never felt such a sense of loss, and I at least was already planning more expeditions to come. We had neither the tools or the inclination on this trip to capture so large a beast but with proof of its existence anything was possible. Every zoo in the worlds would fight to have one.
We were back to the village on the next day, all our natives save the two who had run paid off, and by the following night we were back through the Gate to Earth, news of our findings racing ahead of us.
The dreams started the following week, when the hubbub had died down and we were each left alone with our thoughts. I snapped awake on the first night clutching my pillow like a shield, with visions of my own eyeless, mouthless, face dancing in my head.
And the next night.
And the next.
And the next.
Slowly the dreams crept into my waking life, pulling at the edges of my consciousness until in the middle of conversations a person’s face might disappear, and I would suddenly find myself speaking to a terrifyingly blank slate. In the next weeks it invaded everything, every facet of my life, until interviewers stopped calling and my own family spoke of psychiatric hospitals and medication.
When Cynthia called she seemed even worse off than me. “Malcolm,” she said one night, her voice hovering on the edge of hysteria, “what the hell were we thinking? We were trying to play god up on that mountain with all our high tech toys and big ideas. There was already a god there though, we were on his territory.” Her fragile giggling at that might have been the most frightening thing of all.
“Maybe we should have listened to Ting-Ting, he knew something, remember? He looked so scared that night. You spoke to him then, what did he say?”
A long pause as I went back to that day. It had become a hard memory. “He said we should run, that it was too dark. He said that twice, ‘too dark.”
“See, he knew!” she exclaimed. “Too dark, and it started for both of us in our dreams. I swear I can hear it all the time now, that noise when it pressed its head up against me. I feel so weak, I think I’m going crazy.”
“We’re probably just sick, who knows what we could have picked up from the natives. Maybe we missed a shot or something like that.”
“It’s not that and you know it! Don’t patronize me.” I could hear her on the other end, her breath coming heavily. “Malcolm?” she asked.
“Yes?”
“I can’t believe we were so stupid.” The giggling began again, bringing to mind a pane of glass as cracks begin to spiderweb through it. “We never even thought about it, asked ourselves at all. Malcolm, how does a creature with no mouth eat?”
I was quiet as her laughter broke open, filling the call until the too permanent silence of her suddenly hanging up.
She was right, I hadn’t even questioned it with everything else and I should have with one so massive. How did a creature with no mouth eat?
\---------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords! I'm currently working on a serial about 3 teens running into a hive mind and there's other fun stuff like an AI trying to be the cutest little girl she can be. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
edit: Thank you for the gold and for the wonderful comment with the hugz award!
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How far can you think?
To that grove of trees that shimmer and whose branches slither and tremble like there's a wind blowing its three-eyed leaves? To the hill beyond? To where the desert starts? (If you're there then you've already begun to die, but haven't we all already begun to die anyways?)
To the sea beyond that bubbles and mutters quiet curses at gods that wish they were never born?
If you're here, it's too late.
It'll be a tickle first, deep inside where you don't like to be tickled. In that brain, so soft, so malleable, like uncooked ground beef patties that you used to eat back on Earth. Grilled. Charred to perfection. Sizzled and devoured. So prone to suggestion. Such easy prey.
How far can you think? Farther than them, do you think? Doubtful.
If you see them, sorry. (Truly, truly sorry, but welcome nonetheless.) If they come to mind, it's far too late. Thought for food.
It's a shiver in the afternoon heat of the second sun, a breeze on a windless planet, a murmur in a forest devoid of sound. Then it's whispers, tendrils wriggling and tiny toes pattering as none becomes one and one becomes two and two becomes ten before you even think to think you're in danger.
It's too late. It looked harmless, didn't it? The lush vegetation and the fiery sunrise and the tranquil beach before the waters bubbled, like paradise found upon a foreign planet, and you radio back to the ship that it's safe, that they should join you, that nothing here means any harm at all.
And it doesn't. Not truly, at least. All it wishes is to become one with you, one with them, one with everything. (A beautiful thought, isn't it?)
You suspected nothing, right? You thought this wilderness was kind, helping, paradisiacal, and harmless. And now?
Kneel, now. Let the screams of your disintegrating brain lull you into a sleep so painful that you can't describe it, can't think to shout, can't think to take back the invitation to your helpless crewmates.
Rest, now. Lay down on this living planet. Let it swallow you. Join us. Die and become one.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
| 2021-01-25T07:22:34 | 2021-01-25T07:14:33 | 1,469 | 194 |
[WP] As an average looking genius with a weak physique you often envied athletes. After thousands of years spent in a cryogenics pod you are woken to discover that evolution has weakened humanity while IQ improved. You're now the strongest most attractive person, but also the dumbest.
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I had tried working out. I had tried dieting, I had tried pills, and so many other things and in the end, I could never get the body I wanted. Sure, I got "better", in that I wasn't morbidly obese, and sure, I had friends and family assure me that I looked "okay" and "better" and that "what matters is that you're healthy". And I was very healthy. I walked a lot, I had slightly low blood pressure instead of high (a very important variable for the study). Nobody had asked me out on a date in the past 10 years (and I'm only counting that one because it was valentine's day of grade 7), but between the insulating fat, the low blood pressure, the high IQ, knowing five languages, and being able to hike a few miles without issue, I was a prime candidate for the experiment. Not having abs or defined muscle tone wasn't an issue.
Of course I agreed. I didn't exactly have quite the life. If all went according to plan, I would wake up in a new century as a living time capsule. If it didn't... I wouldn't need antidepressants anymore.
Everything looked different when I woke up. The capsule opened, as it was supposed to. I was disoriented for the first few minutes, but as the various drugs finished waking me up, I noticed the foggy grey of the sky, and the bright redness of the sun. At noon.
"The fuck?" I muttered, and climbed out. The capsule had opened automatically, and there was nobody there to greet me. Nor anybody just... Hanging out at the facility. I walked around in the white scrubs I had been given for a while until I noticed some hikers.
"Hey! Hey, the research centre is empty, did something happen?"
The two men stared at me mesmerized. They were clearly disfigured by something, one had one arm far smaller than the other, both of their jaws looked infested by tumours, and they were both using strange robotic crutches to walk.
They stared at me, their mouths open, their eyes filled with fear and awe and lust and all these weird emotions at once that I can't remember ever eliciting. My head swiveled for a moment, but there was nothing right behind me.
"Hey? Guys? How long have I been out?"
The one with the disfigured arm fainted. The other continued to stare.
"Um... Alo?" He squeaked at me.
"Hello, yes? Research centre? Over there? Empty? What year is it?"
"It-it-it-it--" he babbled and stuttered for a moment.
"Dude, chill," I said, putting my hand on his shoulder. He passed out too.
With no other immediate source of information, I sat on the ground cross-legged and waited until the one with the shrunken arm woke up.
"Hello. My name is Ana. I just woke up from a cryogenic chamber. What year is it?"
"Twenty-two fourteen."
"Okay. That's good. For a moment I wondered if you guys spoke intelligible English."
"What are you?"
"Um... I just said--"
"No cryogenic chamber could have survived the wars. Everything was destroyed. And... And you're so beautiful..."
He extended his small arm towards me. It was a little creepy but I did my best not to pay attention to that, because I didn't want to be ableist and also because if I reacted poorly he might collapse again.
"...Right... Anyway, is there like, a nearby town?"
"Yes. Yes of course. We can take you there."
He touched his friend's neck, and in a moment he woke up.
"Why did you not wake us earlier, um... Ana?" He asked me as his friend rubbed his eyes.
"I thought you weren't supposed to try to wake up people who had passed out," I said.
"A simple stimulation of the vagus nerve and the six-two-four points in the Lasega map do it."
"...'kaaay." I said with a nod. He alternated between staring at the ground and staring at me.
"So, you have a name?" I asked.
"Yes. Yes, I am Laeroeak."
"Leroek?"
"Laeroeak."
"Laroak?"
He repeated his name some four times, and we settled on me calling him "Lay".
"I am sorry I fainted." His friend said. "I could not handle your touch."
I frowned, and he stared. The staring was becoming a problem.
"Your hands are so soft..."
"Can we get back to the part where I get to a town or something?"
"Yes, of course! Everyone must see you!"
"And your name?"
"Ghantenebhurita."
I rubbed my temples. We settled on Ghan. After some walking, they became perplexed.
"You are not tired."
"...That was like... Two hundred metres." I said.
"We came with camping gear, but you... How are you not tired? Is your acetylcholine synthesis infinite? Do you have superior lactic acid? Are your muscle fibres made of carbon nanotubes?"
"What the fuck? No, I'm just walking! Is everyone in the future like this?"
We stopped as a small river hindered our path. I jumped onto a rock, then from the rock across to the other side. They watched in awe.
"What are you?"
"...How did you guys make it before...?"
"Biodegradable preprogrammed assemblybots."
Ley had his robot-assisted arm fetch a ball from his pocket, and threw it in the river. Within seconds a bridge appeared, and they crossed it.
"Nice."
"You like it?" He asked with a smile. "I changed the design to resemble old bridges, Ana of the Past."
I frowned. "...How? You... You literally just threw it in."
"I programmed it before."
"Before coming, you mean."
"No, as I got it from my bag."
My eyes grew, but I simply nodded.
Even with their robotic crutch aid, they got tired by the second km, and I had to wait for them.
"I am literally just coming out of cryostasis. I have not eaten in two hundred years. How are you the tired ones?" I didn't tell them about the adrenaline shots I'd gotten to wake up, but... Still. Ghan looked at me in admiration.
"How are you still breathing?" He asked between gasps.
"We're walking at the pace of grandmas, how would I not?"
By the time we arrived at the nearby town, there was a crowd waiting with food and water and curious eyes. Apparently, Ley had taken the liberty of thinking at them to do that.
Everyone stared at me like I was Aphrodite incarnate.
PART 2: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6r9hy1/wp_as_an_average_looking_genius_with_a_weak/dl4jvh8/
PART 3 /r/Eager_Question_Writes/comments/6rfp4k/wp_as_an_average_looking_genius_with_a_weak/dl4sah1/
PART 4 /r/Eager_Question_Writes/comments/6rfp4k/wp_as_an_average_looking_genius_with_a_weak/dl592du
PART 5 /r/Eager_Question_Writes/comments/6rfp4k/wp_as_an_average_looking_genius_with_a_weak/dl6psql/
PART 6 /r/Eager_Question_Writes/comments/6rfp4k/wp_as_an_average_looking_genius_with_a_weak/dl7wikw/
PART 7 https://www.reddit.com/r/Eager_Question_Writes/comments/6rfp4k/wp_as_an_average_looking_genius_with_a_weak/dl9ds9m/
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"Look at those *abs*! Holy crap, they look like the one Jason yonder had 17 years 23 days 2 hours 12 minutes 1 second 712 pneumonanoseconds ago!" Clara gushed as I rolled my eyes. It was a pain understanding their lingo, especially since I'd only received knowledge on Fermat's Last Theorem and the like, but I was starting to learn. Though elementary grade students could still far surpass my understanding. She held a tiny computer in her hand, made of component's I'd never heard of, though she was huffing and puffing at its weight. I remembered the first time, when I lifted one of them and laughed at its lightness. It was lighter than a feather. But the slimness of the limbs and the 'degramaglariation' of the 'scrulesis movement of gloglari molecules' caused it. I didn't know shit about what that meant, but I took it to mean something important. My knowledge on physics was vast at my time, but now? Physics was nothingness; ot at least, mixed and matched with various other studies I'd never heard of or dabbled with, one of them being cryogenesis. My value at the college was that: a real life cryogenesis example from way past. I liked the idea of young girls patting my stomach, but it was morally repulsive for a man of my age.
"Well," said John, a bright young boy who at least took the time to understand the basics and theories of the past, "Let's get you started, Albert!" I winced, partly at the excitement and partly at the way I was called. I rubbed my tousled hair thoughtfully, though my thoughts were probably processed by electrovolcalolic partimolesules. I couldn't care less.
"Call me Mr. Einstein, please," I corrected him.
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request!
Edit: [Here's Part 2!](https://www.reddit.com/r/Whale62/comments/6rahr5/cryointelligent_part_2/)
| 2017-08-03T00:25:30 | 2017-08-02T22:25:10 | 2,328 | 278 |
[WP] in a dystopian future, Black Friday has evolved into a sport in which the rich throw valuable trinkets to the poor and watch them slaughter each other.
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### Black Friday Revolution
#### **Wally**
Kem and I were nine when the Black Friday Revolution happened. I remember because we were watching TV—her turn to pick—when a bunch of sawdust fell from the ceiling and the electricity went out. There was screaming outside, the sound of glass shattering, and several times, distinctly, the sound of gunshots. Our mom hadn’t been home, so the two of us huddled in the corner.
“What d’you think happened?” Kem whispered.
“Dunno.”
“It’s only Wednesday. I thought they’d be quiet for Thanksgiving?”
“They’re never quiet,” I said. I got up to check the windows in the living room. “Should we call Mom?”
“I don’t think we should make noise.”
We sat in the darkness, in silence.
You see a lot of this in the movies. Angry mobs bursting into homes with machine guns and bullets strapped across their chests. Well, it was nothing like that. One man entered along. He was almost gentle; I would’ve believed he had our best interests in mind if not for the cold steel of his gun against our backs.
“One sound and you’re dead,” he said in an amiable whisper. “You goddamn white-collars have had it good for too long.”
We were taken to a warehouse with dozens of other children and cuffed our hands to a wire gate. I wanted to talk to them, ask them what was going on, but they looked just as scared as we were, so I decided they probably didn’t know. I could feel Kem trembling next to me. I wished I could put my arms around her.
That’s how we slept that night, our hands tied behind us and nodding off only to wake to the sound of the metal door clanging and another child being brought in. Just before sunrise, one of them started crying, and was silenced with the butt of a rifle to the head. I glanced at Kem, who was looking at me. We didn’t know if the kid lived.
In the morning, they separated us. Boys one way, girls the other. It was seven years before we saw each other again.
- - -
At sixteen, I was stocky and good with my hands, much bigger than the other boys who had grave digging duty. I was proud of my arms—they were longer than average and allowed me to finish off three graves for every one of theirs. We’d settled into a routine. It wasn’t an enjoyable one, but it was bearable, so we bore it with grace. We woke up at six every morning, worked until noon, took a fifteen minute break, then worked until eight. Meals were bread and cheese if we were lucky, moldy grain if we weren’t. Lights out at nine.
They were careful not to speak to us. Guards were rotated everyday, never the same ones twice, and always instructed never to interact with the workers in any way. We grew up ignorant, blind, and as a result, relatively content.
But I dreamed. Every night I’d have the same dream, a little different around the edges, still the same animal. I dreamed about memories that I couldn’t’ve had, about tiptoeing up the stairs in a nightdress, about crying over bloodstained sheets and being beaten with a belt. I dreamed that a man cornered me as I was bringing fruit platters to the dinner table. That he stuck his hand under my dress. That he dug himself deep inside of me and tore me to pieces, bit by bit.
And every night I woke up with Kem’s name on my lips.
#### **Kem**
The third year into training, they finally decided to throw us into the arena. It was a crisp November morning with a bite to the air, and everyone was antsy. We waited in the antechamber with a familiar pounding in our chests, but this time we were ready. This time would be for real.
“What do you think they’re going to put in the middle?” Seri asked in a low voice. “Live turkey or something?”
“Doubt it.”
“Flatscreen TV.”
“What the hell would we do with a TV?” I chipped bitterly at my gruel. “Besides, are those things even usable anymore? I haven’t seen one in years.”
“Neither have any of us.” Seri giggled. “Be kinda funny to see one now. I wouldn’t kill over that. A goddamn TV.”
A goddamn TV.
The announcer’s voice blared through the walls too indistinctly for us to understand. We knew we were up in five minutes; we’d rehearsed this. Seri and I had even promised each other—no honor on the battlefield. We’d steer clear of each other if we could, but when the worst came, no heroics. No one could afford that.
Then, finally, the door rose. We looked at each other with trepidation.
“You first,” Seri said.
I stepped into the arena.
- - -
At sixteen, I was hard-bodied and tall. I’d cut my hair short and kept my knuckles always taped. I was proud of my agility and cunning—it’d won me plenty of fights, both in the ring and out, and earned me plenty of respect among my peers. Most importantly, though, it was going to win me my freedom.
Nobody knew what would go in the center. I heard whispers here and there. When I’d been a serving girl, I’d managed to eavesdrop just enough. I knew there would be something unimaginably grand for the winner, but we’d have to fight to find out what it was. I wasn’t about to let it slip through my fingers.
I was skilled. I managed the first few with a deft twist to the neck. They were thin and frail. I used a punch to the jaw on the next. I ducked underneath the worst of the fray and scaled the podium that stood wide and circular in the middle of our fighting. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw another competitor, a large male by the looks of it, gaining on me.
Instinctively, I tripped him and threw him to the ground, straddling him with my body so I could get to his neck. But when I saw his face, I stopped.
It was Wally.
“Kem,” he gasped. “Kem! It’s you!”
“Wally?” The noise of the fight faded to the background. “How… how did you—”
“I don’t know!” He was laughing. “I thought you were dead!”
“I thought *you* were dead—”
I rolled off of him just in time to dodge a knife to the back. A knife? But where could that have come from? None of us had weapons.
And then I realized that I hadn’t dodged it at all. Red bloomed on the front of my shirt. Red against white. Loud, fuzzy words buzzed past my ears, and the scene faded to black.
“Kem! Goddammit, *no*! *Kem!*”
- - -
> The Chairman is pleased to announce that the first of many games to come was a great success. Competitors aged 10 to 17 battled nobly for an absolutely luxurious prize—the opportunity to beta test a newly developed and improved virtual reality gaming system and be the first to take home the completed product. The prize has been won by Wally Sunora. Congratulations to Mr. Sunora! We hope he enjoys his brave new world.
|
Armor is useful.
With these crowds, armor leaves the reign of useful though. On this day, of all days, it is imperative.
Even with the obvious benefit provided by the armor most of the 'shopper' horde came with nothing. Just fleshy meatsacks that wandered at random looking for a good deal.
Every once in a while the rich people behind the 'hunters' got bored and decided that they wanted to see some carrion. So, they dropped a super deal.
"50% off!" the speakers blare. The lumbering behemoths of the crowd glanced over and discerned that it was a mostly useless deal.
In my suit, I could see everything around me in the dim lighting. Every edge I could see was polarized and defined to a point of glaring light. The fleshy hordes bounded over one another and fought over the smallest deals.
Not I though. This suit was one of the best in it's price bracket. With a full arsenal of nonlethal weaponry, as well as a few select products designed to be utterly lethal, I am outfitted for the apocalypse... Or just the seasonal Black Friday Bash.
Some of this fleshy horde might argue that it was too expensive but they just missed the finer points.
"99% Off!" my radar bleeped and read off the deal into my ear.
"Now that's a good deal." I said as I tromped through the crowd towards the approaching deal. This suit had paid itself off in savings quite a while ago.
| 2015-11-29T14:23:10 | 2015-11-29T14:10:39 | 27 | 12 |
[WP] For the first time a human prays for forgiveness. Not for themselves, but for the Devil. Even God is surprised.
|
There was a general uproar throughout the Seven Spheres as the Prayer ascended.
Though Luke heard nothing as he wandered the rust-red and mineral-green plains and crags of the Sphere of Jupiter. He spent much of his time here, looking for wayward souls wandering the sands, or resting in the shade of blown-glass spires the size of watchtowers. He had been a physician in life, and, as the living were fond of saying, old habits die hard.
They were close enough to paradise that most of the souls in Jupiter existed in quiet, contemplative peace for a time before moving on to the next sphere. But even the saved had tales to tell, baggage to unload, and Luke, a lover of stories himself, was happy to listen.
The sky in Jupiter was a perpetual twilight, the crest of the sun always just above the horizon and the blues and purples and whites of the Milky Way mingling with sunset reds. Luke brought his eyes down from the heavens as he walked; he had come upon a lake of quicksilver where three souls were playing. A huge sculpture of a bear-like creature, probably crafted by a creative soul or the Father himself, stood to Luke's left, casting a long shadow from the sunset across the waters of the lake.
Luke sat down at the shore, pulling off his sandals and brushing the red dust from his feet as he rested a moment. He looked out to the lake; two of the souls - Luke guessed a mother and her young son - were playing a game. The boy, smiling, had his eyes closed and his arms outstretched, searching, while the mother called out a single word repeatedly and danced away from his reach. Her voice turned into a shriek of delight as the boy guessed right and tackled her, sending both of them underwater, laughing.
Luke smiled and shifted his gaze to the third soul. This one stood upon the waters of the lake, facing away from Luke, shifting his weight to maintain balance as the tide moved under his boots and splashed against the cuff of his pants.
Something about this lone soul made Luke sad, the way it stared into the middle dusk; not toward the sunset to Luke's left, nor toward the night sky to his right, but away from both, looking for something in the half-light.
As Luke watched, the figure turned and noticed him. They exchanged a silent greeting, the lake soul respectfully acknowledging Luke's status as Messenger. Then the soul standing on the water lifted one hand and pointed to the base of the bear-thing sculpture. Luke looked and saw a small form sitting there who had not been a moment before.
Luke, who could usually sense the approach of a new soul, frowned and stood. He moved toward the feet of the sculpture, but stopped suddenly when he felt a coldness on his neck. His hand came away wet, and when he looked up he saw storm clouds in the sky.
Luke stared, his head cocked upward. He had never in thousands of years seen a cloud in the sky of Jupiter, let alone known it to rain. He turned his eyes back to what he saw now was a child, a girl in a sun dress, sitting against the metal heal of the sculpture.
Luke approached cautiously. The undetected appearance of this soul and the troubled sky told him something was amiss. The rain fell harder as he reached the girl, and he crouched down to speak to her.
She was a tiny thing, and brilliant as a summer on Mars. Her blonde hair hung down past her round face and green eyes to the red straps of her sun dress. Her skin was a deep tan, scabbed and grassy on both knees from long hours playing outside. In one hand she held a stuffed bear, in the other a folded piece of white paper.
Luke examined the girl's face. She sat cross-legged, staring at the ground with her eyes narrowed in concentration, thinking.
"Hello dear," Luke said in the language of the Empyrean, smiling at her. "How goes your journey?"
The girl looked up at him, though her focused expression did not change. When her eyes met Luke's, he understood why he had not sensed her appearance: she was not a soul at all, but a Prayer sent by the child from the living. Prayers took myriad forms, and it was not uncommon for a child to picture herself as the messenger of her own wish.
The Prayer looked at Luke for a while with her green eyes. Luke was patient, as a doctor needed to be, though the rain fell harder and he thought he heard thunderclaps in the distance, making him nervous. He vaguely sensed that the three souls from the lake had come to the waters edge to listen to their conversation.
The Prayer looked at Luke a moment longer.
"God loves everyone, right?"
Luke smiled and nodded to the Prayer. "Of course child."
"And in the bible, Jesus said that we should love everyone, and pray for everyone, right?"
"Yes, He did." Talking about Incarnation in the Spheres was complicated, but Luke was not prepared to discuss theological metaphysics with this child's echo.
The Prayer frowned. "Pastor Gregory yelled at me."
Luke's frown mirrored the Prayer's. "Why did he yell at you dear?"
"He asked us to pick someone to pray for at Sunday school!" she said, frustrated. "He said, 'pray for someone who needs it.' And we just finished reading Gen.. Gen.. the first book of the bible, so I had an idea and raised my hand!"
Luke's eyes widened, as an idea, a terrible idea, dawned on him. He looked down at the piece of paper in the child's hand, next to the bear in her lap.
The Prayer saw him looking and held the note out to him. The stuffed bear's eyes were void black and staring. Luke reached out with religious fear, his hand shaking, and took it, slowly, from her. The rain had become a downpour; the thin paper was drenched. Lightning crashed nearby.
Luke carefully unfolded the paper and read what was there.
"Everyone deserves forgiveness," the Prayer said from her place on the ground.
Luke stood fast, and turned. The souls of the woman and boy looked at him confused. The third soul, however, had been a Sunni holy man in life, and met his eyes. They exchanged understanding.
"Run," the soul said. "Tell Michael."
Luke ran across the sands of Jupiter.
***
He didn't move, in the dark, in the cold. Too dark. Too much ice. He hadn't moved for hundreds of years.
It hurt to much to try. Too cold. Also it made him remember. Moving. Singing. When he remembered, he remembered light and warmth and... non-loneliness? A word for that? He didn't know. Didn't matter, he couldn't remember. Because when he remembered that he had to try to get away from this place. He would scream and claw at the ice around him, the ice that covered him up to his ribcage, ice that was probably red from the blood escaping from this mangled fingertips. Probably red, he couldn't know; the closest source of light was a lifetime away. He would cry too, weep, and those tears would freeze also.
So he sat there, resting on his elbows, and pretended not to exist. That was easiest. Make his mind, which was once bright and full of music, as dark as the nothing around him.
He did this for a very long time.
Until he heard a noise.
He opened his eyes with difficulty - they were frozen shut - and looked up. He saw nothing as usual, but there was no mistake, he had heard something. A small falling sound nearby, in front of him. A whisper of something against the ice.
He reached out and felt. He felt rough ridges of ice as cold as space and sharp as knives. But he kept feeling with his raw fingers and long nails. Until they found something small.
He grabbed at it, picked it up and brought it close to his face. It was soft and warm (he hadn't felt warmth in so long!), made of cloth and stuffed. He felt it's edges; something with a head, round ears and snout, and four limbs. It smelled of grass and sun and a safe place to sleep. And it was so warm. And it wanted him to be warm. It whispered that it forgave him.
There was a sharp crack. The first sound of ice melting. He spread his wings and screamed into the darkness. He thought of the eons of sadness and longing and anger, and focused it. Made it into a plan.
He would have words with his father.
***
EDIT: Changed a word.
EDIT 2: Some diction, syntax, grammar, and punctuation changes.
|
To draw the attention of an infinite, omniscient creator takes a unique kind of prayer. Above all the begging for wealth, love, money, help, and power, prayers for forgiveness often shine the brightest. Forgiveness for others are even beacons of light in a sea of blinding love. But this one was different. People do not often concern themselves with heavenly matters. No one prays for the High Ones to be safe, or the Seraphim find love (a ridiculous idea, Seraphim were not purposed for love). Humans naturally assume all is at it should be in Heaven, and nothing requires repairing. But the mortals are a curious creation.
"I know I have no place to ask this God. It's a thought I've entertained for awhile now, though it may sound really stupid to you. I know the story of Lucifer's fall. I assume your angels must follow certain rules, and are held to much different standards. But I ask for the same mercy and grace you have given my kind, to Lucifer."
Looking into this man's heart, one would find no perverse feelings of occult worship, or glorifying the Prince of Lies dark purposes. There was pity and humility instead. For all the evil that Lucifer had and ever would bring, this man asked for forgiveness.
"The lesson we all learn from Lucifer's fall is pride. He would not bow and serve humans. Many say he was your most beautiful or powerful angel, but I don't think it matter even if he was. Is he even a he? It sounds disrespectful. Sorry if the gender sounds stupid to you."
Pride brought the Archangel of Light and Knowledge to darkness. He has spent countless time in a void cut off from his Father's love. By all accounts, he would remain there forever. So why does this man ask such a thing?
"I have many so many mistakes God..."
Flashes of drunken nights, sexual conquests, and screaming matches with a young man go through his mind.
"...but I feel you have always forgiven my missteps. We are so deeply flawed that it is a miracle at all someone can still feel your love. All I ask is for you to show that same grace to one of your children. Where he will go or what awaits him after his release is beyond me, but he will have a second chance. That is all I want for him, a chance to prove even the holiest entities can make mistakes, and be redeemed from them."
The chains have been closed for so long. Even as the creator of all things draws near, Lucifer does not stir. He has been broken into pieces too small to even be held. As the chains begin to burn away, Lucifer sinks to the floor.
"But for you who fear my name, the Sun of Righteousness will rise with healing in his wings."
| 2014-07-15T10:34:29 | 2014-07-15T09:59:34 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] Describe the thoughts of the Angel of Death on the day of a nuclear war.
|
Carl stared down at the dusty clipboard in his boney hands, quickly running his pale, ivory finger down the page. There were a lot more names than usual, at least a few million today. Was it Christmas again or something? Did Christmas happen twice per year now? It had been a while since he’d been alive, he couldn’t exactly remember if that was something the living were working on instituting. He glanced down at his watch, the hour and minute hands stuck in the same position they’d been in for the past forty-or-so years. He’d been meaning to get it fixed, but hadn’t had the chance. His job didn’t exactly allow for much free time. Regardless, though, the date counter still worked for some reason. April 17th, a weird day for second-Christmas. Perhaps it was just a Tuesday, there were always more deaths on a Tuesday.
“Please help,” pleaded a strained voice from in front of Carl. He glanced down through the glass teller-window in front of him and searched for the source of the sound. It had come from a man on the floor, his skin charred black and almost dissolved, his face nowhere to be found. Probably a burn victim or something. There seemed to be a lot of burn victims today, in fact, with a nearly endless sea of charred people forming a somewhat orderly line behind the man.
“Hello,” Carl said, doing his best to seem like he was smiling. It was always difficult to appear friendly, considering his complete lack of skin. For some reason, being a skeleton had received a terrible reputation amongst the living, which made Carl’s job all the more challenging. He didn’t think he was mean, or rude, or anything of the sorts. Sure, he was ultimately responsible for the deaths of trillions, but that was mostly their own fault. Suicide, heart failure, cancer, general malaise—he wasn’t the one murdering them. He was simply finalizing the act.
“What’s going on?” whimpered the man, his voice cracking as he spoke.
“It seems you’ve died,” Carl said, continuing his attempt at smiling. If he had skin, he was sure it would be contorted in the most friendly face possible. He hoped that thought was getting across to the partially vaporized man crumpled in front of him.
“I’m sorry?” the man said, his body quivering as if he were trying to stand, but had forgotten that he no longer had any legs.
“I’m afraid you’re dead,” Carl said. “Well, I guess not technically yet. You’re basically dead, though. I just need to finish up the paperwork and get you across to the other side.”
“What do you mean ‘dead?’” the man said, his voice cracking slightly as he spoke.
“You know, kicked the bucket. Deceased. Bought the farm. Checked out. Passed away. Pushing daisies. Dead.” Carl could’ve gone on for hours, but figured that was a good point in which to stop.
“But I was just going to work,” the man said, the center of his face moving as he spoke. Carl couldn’t identify where exactly his mouth was, but figured it was probably somewhere in that region. “I can’t be dead.”
“Did you, perhaps, explode on the way to your office?” Carl asked, picking the clipboard back up off the wooden counter in front of him.
“No, I don’t think so,” the man said.
Carl glanced down at the clipboard and carefully ran his pointer-bone across the page, waiting for the man’s entry to appear. There were so many names already, so many more people than usual. He hadn’t seen such a high death toll since, well, the last World War—which was, quite honestly, his favorite of the two.
The man’s information finally began to appear in the slot beside Carl’s finger. His name had been Henry Smith, born and raised in Austin, Texas. According to the paperwork, he’d once tripped in front of his soul mate and broken his leg. He pretended that it had been on purpose and walked home with a near compound-fracture, the two of them never speaking again.
“Sorry to hear about Mary,” Carl said, glancing up from his clipboard in an attempt to lighten the mood. “You guys would have been great together.”
“What?”
“Never mind,” Carl said. He turned his attention back toward the paper. “Let’s see,” he said, “cause of death.” He ran his finger across the page, the details of the man’s life filling in between the lines as he scanned. “Oh,” he said, pausing. That explained it.
“What?” the man said, shifting uncomfortably. In fact, everything he did looked incredibly uncomfortable.
“Looks like you did explode,” he said. “In fact, it seems everybody exploded.”
Carl glanced up from the clipboard and stared out at the empty expanse of purgatory behind him, the rows of badly charred bodies moaning and wailing softly as they waited. It had been a long time since he’d seen the nuclear war crowd. They were always the hardest to process, specifically due to their numbers. He’d probably have to kill through lunch, which was unfortunate as he’d gone out of his way to make a ham and cheese sandwich earlier in the day. Still, it probably wouldn’t go bad in the time it took to process the few million in today’s incoming class. He could always have it for dinner.
“All right,” Carl said, placing the clipboard down on the counter in front of him and adjusting his ‘Angel of Death’ name tag. “Everybody please try to remain calm, and, more importantly, remain in an orderly line. I’ll get you moved through to your next destination in no time.”
_____________
^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories [^in ^my ^subreddit](http://www.reddit.com/r/ChokingVictimWrites/) ^or [^on ^my ^website!](http://wordsontheinternet.org/)
|
Soon, even I die
The fire that burns twice as high
Will die twice as fast
(My first ever attempt at a haiku. The idea is that, since everything will soon be killed, the Angel of Death will no longer have a job, and have nothing to continue existing for.)
| 2015-02-04T09:24:46 | 2015-02-04T09:09:26 | 189 | 12 |
[WP] You been a bullied outcast your entire life despite your pure heart and kindness. One day a horrible prank for you goes wrong, leaving you to die. Before your final breath, Death appears in white robes, and offers you a golden scythe with a name engraved on it: Karma.
|
I never understood what I did wrong, I would always try to correct myself. But it was never enough. I'd apologize for nothing but that was nothing.
They hit me, pushed me, and nearly drowned me. It was exhausting to try and still be the good in a world of cruelty. But it doesn't mean I'm going to stop now. All this hard work and for what? For it to just die out like a candle?
No, I'll keep walking. I'm determined to show others that good is better.
Now it's Friday, I can get a break at 2:30, that bell will ring and I'm so ready. It's 1:03, I grab my bag quickly. I shove all my stuff inside it with a smile and walk out the door to my last class. My heart is racing.
Freedom.
Never had that in a while. My steps speed up, I'm happy. I can finally catch a break. I can truly be happy, even if for only 2 days.
Oscar, a notorious asshole, runs up to me. His face twisted with something I can't determine.
"I need your help! It's an emergency!" He gasps, like he was running.
"What is it? Is somebody's hurt?" I set my bag down, I'm concerned. If someone needs my help, I'll help.
Oscar runs off and I follow him. The boys locker room. He runs inside and practically disappears. I walk down the rows if lockers, looking from the problem and Oscar.
It's quiet and still, like nothing had ever happened. I frown and turn around only to see a group if guys, the one at front with a bat. He swings and it's the last thing I see.
It was liked I had been knocked from my body, I watched it crumple like all the bones had melted and disappeared.
I watched in horror as they started framing it like I had killed myself. They strung my body up like some sick decoration. They smashed the bat into pieces and stole extra clothes and burned their old ones with the bat in the showers.
They quickly got over themselves and dispersed. One got my bag and rifled through it for my valuables. My heart ached.
Then it clicked.
I didn't deserve any of this, I should have tried to change. I wasn't in the wrong!
Now it's too late, I'm dead. I sat under my hanging body and buried my face in my hands.
Where was I supposed to go? I'm dead. There is no place TO go. It was like everything just started fading around me, I no longer existed. Just my body as a reminder.
I couldn't be bothered. There's nothing to do, I'm gone, my mother will be so distraught she'll do the unthinkable and start a chain reaction that wasn't even my fault. But yet I feel the blame because it is my body hanging from the ceiling.
This is not the freedom I wanted.
"Pity. I didn't want to see you for a long time." A gruff voice echoes.
I lift my head to look around. A man in a white suit with a black tie walks around from one if the lockers. He had black gloves on and in one of his hands was a black handled scythe with a steel blade.
'Shikyo' is carved into the blade. I have no idea what that means.
The man raises Shikyo and shakes a little. "This one? Is mine."
"What does it say?" I ask.
"Death. It says Death in Japanese." He sets Kifo on the wall and lifts the other scythe in his hand.
It has a silver handle with golden turned vines curled around the handle. The blade itself is a clean silver and it too has something engraved in it.
"Kikkyo?" I ask.
"Several meanings." He shrugs. "Mostly, all those meanings come down to one thing."
A gym teacher walks in and screams. He calls the cops. The man walks over to my side.
We stand there and I watch as people frantically scramble to get my body down and try and save me. The man holds something in his hand.
"I am Death, the grim reaper, whatever you call me. He hands me the golden scythe and opens his hand. " And you my friend, are Karma. You have two jobs. Good and bad. If someone gives a homeless man a sandwich, they get good karma. If the sandwich is a horrible prank, you give the homeless man unknown revenge."
In his hand is bits of the bat the boys had smashed.
"You're new, so I'm gonna help you. At your command, I will drop this by the door to the showers. You strike a cop and they'll notice it. Said cop will then investigate to find the burned evidence and you get justice." He offers, pointing to a cop exploring for foul play. "You don't, those murders run free and don't forget. History repeats itself."
Death runs a hand through his brown hair, his steel gray eyes glittering with amusement. He hands me the gold scythe and then grabs his own. I walk over beside the cop and wait.
Death grins a cold grin and drops the piece of bat. With a hard swing, I hit the cop. If I was alive, the cop would've gotten sliced in half.
This time, he simply excused himself and started investigating again. I followed him as he walked tot he showers to discover the piece of bat. He walks inside and I follow. He see the ash if clothes and wood and and screams to call it in.
Now my supposed suicide case is now a murder mystery. They get forensics on aight and I watch the group who killed my squirm and watch frightened. Death watches me from a corner as I watch the scene unfold. I walk over to the group if boys and strike each and every one of them, hard and furious. I continue to strike them, I'm angry.
I have every right to be angry. I stop eventually and I watch as several cops walk over to them and arrest them for murder. I then sink the ground and cry. I'll never see my mother again, she'll be so sad without me. I'll never be able to find love and I'm stuck in eternity of just giving people what they deserve.
Death approaches me. "I've given you the nicest job if you think about it. You avenge those who are fooled and punish the foolers.
"You quite literally give those what they deserve, exactly as you thought. The good get the good, the bad get the bad. A simple game. You get to protect those who are just like you."
Death clasps his hands together. "Tell you what. You get one chance to interact with someone-"
He didn't have to finish. I stood and bolted for home. I phased through the door and gained a physical form again. There's a timer. I only have 2 minutes. I run into the kitchen and hug my mom. She looks at me, very confused.
"What-"
"I don't have much time." I whisper. "I want you to know that I always will love you and watch over you. I want you to move on and not dwell on me too much, okay? I want you spread the message that Karma is real, I want you tell others to be nice."
I sigh shaking.
"Nixon, what are you on about?" She asks softly, stroking my hair. I choke up.
I can't bring myself to tell her. "Can you just hold me? Please?"
She slowly sits with me, resting my head in her lap as she pets me. Several tears stream down my face. Death sits in the armchair in the living room, watching this unfold. He watches with no reaction, just there. The phone rings. The school. I've got 30 seconds.
My mom reaches up and grabs the phone. "Hello?"
She stops petting me suddenly. 10 seconds.
She goes still and quiet.
6 seconds.
"Karma's a bitch."
3 seconds.
"Nixon..."
"I love you, mom." Those are my final words.
I fade from her view. I sit up and sit in front of her. She stares at her lap, pale and shaking. Tears fall down her face. She drops the phone and covers her face, screaming. I watch her cry, unable to do a thing.
She starts wailing uncontrollably. Screaming and crying for her baby to come back. Her pride and joy. Her life.
Gone.
|
Deep down under the muddy water, I struggle to rise. One second passes. Two.
I sink further and further into the blackness.
My chest feels like it's going to burst. I gasp , swallowing water. I flail my arms and legs, but they seem like they're made of lead. Slowly I stop struggling, and let the currents take me.
I'm fading...
My eyes suddenly jolt open. It's like I'm being forced awake. The world is dissipating around me. The mud and weeds start to lose colour. Everything looks dull and bleached.
But amongst this total darkness, a point emanating total and utter black. Void. I flinched, even though my body was unmoving. It was moving towards me, as if in slow motion. I watched it grow in my field of vision, until the world was gone, and I was all alone.
Then it spoke.
"Justice..."
From the void, a wraithlike hand appearing, wrapped in unearthly auras.
"Vengeance..."
In its skeletal fingers, the dark seemed to solidify, taking a long, thin shape. It was some kind of handle.
"Karma..."
From the handle grew a sharp, jagged point steadily curving inwards. The blade was fragmented, like broken glass. A scythe.
The hand let go, and iy fell towards me. Instinctively I grasped it with both hands. The blade seemed to gleam, despite the lack of light.
I stared at the weapon I held. The obsidian-like glass shimmered as it moved. I looked closer at the glass, and I saw wisps of memories. Things I had tried to forget.
I saw Tom forcing me into a locker. My head being dunked under a toilet. The countless number of times I'd been laughed at and humiliated.
And then I saw my reflection. Me, drowning in the murky river. Those bastards thought it'd be funny to throw me in, knowing that I couldn't swim.
My heart surged with hatred. I tightened my grip around the scythe. Now, it was time for payback.
I thought of how satisfying it would be to carve them up. Make them feel true suffering. Hear them beg for mercy. Internally, I was laughing. I was going to-
No.
This isn't me.
This is not who I am.
I'm better than this.
I'm better than them.
The ethereal being was seducing me, coaxing me into the dark side.
I'm stronger than this.
It can't control me.
I take the scythe, and plunge it deep into my chest.
Then I fade, fade away.
| 2019-04-19T06:42:45 | 2019-04-19T06:35:24 | 76 | 12 |
[WP] Due to overpopulation, a test has been created to eliminate 90% of the worlds population. You are the first to take this test.
|
For five years I’ve lived in an area controlled by the DGR. Although the street names have remained the same, it bears little resemblance to the place I grew up. The food rations, the police carrying assault rifles, the protest marches, riots, and upturned car carcasses have all become normal everyday. I don’t always see them when I walk down the street, but when I check my news feed in the morning (even though it's censored to hell). I think the DRG wants us to see all the destruction and ugliness in the world. They want us to feel fear in our hearts and turn to them for salvation. I hardly go out anymore. I’m not a hermit or anything. I do see my daughter Sarah every week or so, and I try to meet up with Mark Edwards now and again, although I haven’t seen him in a couple of months.
It isn’t just fear that has kept me indoors. It’s more like I was wrapped up in a blanket of helplessness. Sometimes I thought about tying clothes to a stick so to speak and finding a way out. But Sarah and James have a baby on the way. I couldn’t abandon them, and they would never leave. This was is their home. It had always been their home. It was my home too. And in a way, the DGR takeover hadn't been so bad for me. My box of rationed groceries was showing up every Wednesday afternoon. I was comfortable.
And then, a few months ago, there was news. On Saturday Sarah told me that there was a rumor the UN had gotten approval to send in a large army of peacekeepers. On Monday, a drone made it past the AV Aerial Wall and took out one of the DGR’s leaders. The streets filled with rejoicing crowds wearing orange masks to obscure their faces. I could hear them from my apartment. I watched latecomers trickle out into the street to join the crowd. I’ll never forget the way the sound changed that night from cheers and taunts to screams and the pepper of gunfire. I stared out from my 4th floor apartment window, unable to see anything, heart racing, helpless.
That’s when the curfew changed from 8pm to 3pm. Only the police were out on the streets. There was no more news about the outside world. My routine didn't change much, but I could feel the tension constant in the air, like a strange smell that won't go away.
This morning two DGR police officers knocked on my door. I tried to ask them what it was about and they just took hold of my arms to lead me out. “We’re creating a better world,” one of the men said, rather ominously I thought. They were impatient and already tired. They ushered me onto a bus with fifty other people, and there were lines of other buses waiting to be filled.
Most of us were standing although someone took pity on me and gave me a seat as I’m starting to look a bit wrinkled around the edges. I really do have a bad knee so I was glad to sit down. The bus was warm and humid, and only got more so as we sat parked for 45 minutes. Couples held onto each other and exchanged nervous glances. A soldier stood at the front of the bus and shouted and waved his gun in the air when anyone so much as whispered.
Outside we could see more people being taken from their homes and put on the busses behind us. I tried to look at the people in the other busses, scanning for my Sarah. She lives a few blocks from me, so maybe she was rounded up into one of the other busses already. I saw a few familiar faces-- the man who works at the corner store, the woman from the laundromat--but I couldn't spot Sarah.
Finally our bus got signaled to go ahead. The cheery whine of the DGR’s anthem began pouring from the tinny speakers, and played on repeat as we bounced down the highway and then onto a small but well-maintained road, finally coming to a stop outside a cluster of large warehouses. Inside were long rows of tables, and chairs all facing one way like a classroom. People were already standing by most of the chairs as we filed neatly into the back. Again, I peered around, hunting for my daughter's face in the crowd. I squinted through my glasses and leaned this way and that, but it was no use. My eyesight isn't very good these days. I wanted to shout her name, and run around looking for her, but the soldiers standing between every row were a strong deterrent.
“You’re wondering why you’re here!” Boomed the loudspeaker. It was unmistakably the voice of Commander Don. I looked around to see if he was really here. His face was projected on the front wall and sure enough there was his little figure, arms outstretched to greet us. I’ve never seen him in person before. He talked about how the world has been devastated by swarms of selfish people all eating and breathing and reproducing so fast that our poor little planet can’t keep up. As usual, he mentioned the devastation from the Thousand Mile Fire. “Just as we rebuilt after that fire, today we come together to build a better world! We are here to break the cycle of selfishness and stupidity that has ruled our world for too long! I have enlisted the greatest scientists from around the world to find a path forward for humanity. And don’t be fooled, the path forward for us is not an easy one. Not everyone will come with us today. The scientists and all the greatest moral philosophers have worked together and devised a test to discern which of you belongs in this new world and which people must be left in the old one.
This is a hard decision that I make with a heavy heart, but we do this to ensure there is a world for our children to have children. Today there is no such guarantee. As individuals we have all done selfish things, but right now, and right here, we begin to do the greatest thing ever undertaken by humankind. We do the kindest thing that has ever been done by any man or any woman. We dedicate our lives to the continued existence of humanity because we are not blind! We recognize the danger we are in from the stupid people and the selfish people. Today we cleanse the world of the useless cruft who contribute nothing to society! Only this way can we make room for prosperity!
And you are here because I know that you are ready! We are ready!”
To my surprise and horror, the crowd broke out in a cheer, whistles, clapping. I clapped my hands politely. I wondered if there were people planted in the crowd to appear enthusiastic, or if people cheered out of fear, hoping it would make them appear more loyal, more worthy of keeping around for this "new world”. Where were the nervous whispers from the back of the bus?
After the speech we took our seats. Packets of paper and bundles of pencils were passed down the rows with our names already on them. The Proctor-in-Chief explained to us how to fill in our answers, how to turn in our tests, how to wait for the results, not to lose our receipts, what to do if a pencil breaks.
I don’t know how many years it’s been since I’ve held an actual pencil. Probably not since I retired a decade ago. I traced my finger across its length, pressed the eraser with my fingertip. I used to head up a research lab at the university, studying algae to engineer a new species that would reverse some of the damage we’ve done to the oceans. Nowadays I use my computer for everything, and pencils are just an abstract symbol. I'd almost forgotten they could be real. With everything that was happening for some reason I was fixated on it. It seemed so much more real than anything else, as though everything that happened today was a dream up until that moment.
Eventually my eyes fell to the packet of paper. I read the first question and there was an instant sensation of strange familiarity. I read the second, and felt a cold prickle wash over me. I flipped through the pages frantically, recognizing each one, and wishing I didn’t. *I helped write this test.* I looked around at my neighbors, hoping they had some other test, and this was just a kind of sick practical joke being played on me. But everyone had the same test as far as I could tell.
I feel ill. I want to scream just to scream. This test was Mark Edward's project. I helped him with it. We've been friends ever since I started working at the university, and we've stayed friends through everything that's happened. Mark came to me several years ago and asked for help with a project he was working on. He was studying “ethics through the lens of evolution” as he put it. We spent days, weeks coming up with questions, trying them out on people, thinking about what makes people good to each other. Most of the questions Mark deemed useless, and only a few of them made it into the “Pearly Gate Quiz.” A few words have been changed here and there, but the packet in front of me now is unquestionably one and the same. It was just a research project though, not a plan for the future of humanity.
He used to obsess over coming up with ways to score it. “Only about 10 percent of us are really contributing members of society” Mark used to say with a wink. That always got a laugh. I never dreamed those questions would be used like this. I pray that he didn’t either. Surely he didn't?
|
As I entered the room, an instructor was waiting across the room sitting opposite me with a small white table laid out in front of him with an empty chair waiting for me. I let out a huge sigh and made my way to the chair and sat right in front of him.
"Good morning. For this test, I just have a few questions I would like to ask you." The man spoke in his white coat, black gloves, and a mask covering his mouth. "Sure.... Can't say that I'm not nervous!" I said as I let out a nervy laugh. *God damn it, just shut up and be normal!* He just looked at me expressionless and said "So, The first question I would like to ask you is what is your name?"
"Uhmm... Does it matter though? 90% of the population is about to be wiped from the face of this earth and my name is irrelevant." I said with confidence. Trying to sound intellectual I said, "In fact, I would like to know what your name actually is. With this job of interviewing people and deciding who gets to live, I take it as you are someone who is safe? Also, as someone who is important. I definitely would like to know who are you and what makes you an exception."
He sighed. He raised both his hands and said with a happy tone "My name is Dr. Axel. Now I have another question for you, do you want to live?" "Are you insane? Of course I do!" I said convincingly. Axel just shook his head disapprovingly and I was beginning to worry. *Did I say something wrong? I'm just being genuine and looking at the bigger picture here... Am I missing something?*
Axel stood up aggressively and glared at me. "Do you want to live knowing that your family are most likely not going to? Your friends. Your family. Your significant other. You may be that 10% that lives, but will you be the 10% that continues to live as you have lost almost everyone in your life? Now I ask you again, knowing that no one that you know is most likely going to die, do you want to live? No... no.... let me rephrase, do you want to continue living with that tragedy?"
I stood up and looked at him shocked. I said while fighting back tears, "Would you even find 10% of this population who will give up their loved ones just to live? What is the point of living after?" He said calmly "You can always to learn to love again."
I just shook my head, disappointed with humanity. What have we come into? To give up something precious and sacred to us. Then again, I knew it was a necessary move to save the human race. The question was, am I ready to give up everything? The answer was no, and I knew it. Axel knew it.
"I'm sorry, but I can't. Good luck finding that 10%. My family and friends are something I can't give up, even to save the human race. It sounds selfish but it's something that I would rather have than losing them. So yeah, I rather die with them, than to continue living alone." I said.
Axel nodded. He sat back down and told me "That would be all, you are free to leave." I glanced at him and looked away. I turned around and stood there for a while. Are we blinded by love that I can't be that 10% to continue to help humanity? Even if it was for the bigger picture? Yes. Yes it was to me, I rather live enjoying my last moments with my loved ones. I smiled.
**I was a dead man walking going into the room, but I came out of the room more alive than I was before.**
| 2016-06-11T12:54:04 | 2016-06-11T09:06:11 | 22 | 16 |
[WP] "It's simple, really. You just buy a haunted house for cheap from a desperate seller, finish the ghost's unfinished business - or deal with whatever it is keeping them bound to this plane - and then just sell the property for a profit."
|
The realtor looks nervous as all get-out. He’s clearly shown this property thousands of times, and is desperate to unload it. I knew that, of course. That’s why I sort listings by age. Long-term listing of a beautiful home at a low price with no sale? That’s my cue.
“So, what do you think?” The poor realtor tries to push the sale before even stepping in the door.
“How long has this been on the market?” I know the answer, of course, but want to hear it from him.
“It’s been a little while, but I promise everything’s in good condition.”
Poor guy *really* doesn’t want to go inside, I can tell. I should just cut to the chase.
“What lives here?”
“Wh.. what do you mean?”
“Is it violent, or does it just make noise? It’s okay, I’m still interested.” I’m cool as a cucumber, of course. Phantom-flipping has gotten me a nice little nest-egg, and by #8, I’ve seen a lot.
He looks at his feet for a minute. “It doesn’t want people here. It screams sometimes, and shakes the windows.”
“Has it hurt you?”
“... no.”
“I’ll take it, but at $50,000 under the listed price.”
“Done!” He spurts out eagerly. I could’ve gotten it cheaper, but this dude has suffered enough.
Once the papers are signed and keys handed over, I head straight for my new house. Not my home, by any means, but I’ll fix this place up good.
As soon as I step in, I feel it. That familiar chill of a creature that doesn’t like being disturbed, watching me. The place is beautiful, just as promised. High ceilings, solid walls, and it seems like even the spiders were scared off. Not a cobweb or dust bunny in sight. Perfect.
“I know you’re watching me.” My voice echoes a little bit. “I’m not leaving, so feel free to come on down for a chat.”
I set up my chair in the dining room and wait. A chill shoots through my heart. A wail of a child comes from upstairs. Doors slam and windows whistle. I just chuckle to myself. Must be a young spirit, I think, based on how basic these things are. Things I’ve seen would probably scare this thing off, but that’s not how it works.
Hours pass, while I scroll my phone... waiting. Using the bathroom, the mirror fogged up menacingly. Not a bad try, but this thing doesn’t know who they’re dealing with.
Around 11pm, it finally happens.
“Leeeeaaaaave meeeee...”
“No.” I put my phone away and stare at the wall.
“LEEEEEAAAAAAVE MEEEEEEEEE!”
“Not a chance. What’s your name?”
Nothing. Whatever, back to my phone.
An hour passes.
“...violet.” A small whisper barely comes through.
Game time. “Hello, Violet. Can I see you?”
“NO.”
“Fair enough. How long have you lived here?” Still staring at the wall, just hoping she’ll occupy the space enough to see the calm in my eyes. Like I said, this thing is an amateur.
“I died here.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why haven’t you left?”
“... can’t.”
“Sure you can. You just don’t want to.”
“But then they won’t find me.”
“Who won’t find you?”
Another wailing sound, and a small child is sitting across from me. Small, thin, and dressed in a tattered nightgown. She cries for easily an hour.
“Hello, Violet.” I use my warmest voice, and she looks up. Here eyes are sunken back into their sockets, like a sad little mummy, with no tears left to cry. “How old are you?”
“Eight.”
“It’s very nice to meet you. Who are you waiting for?”
“Daddy.”
“When did you see him last?”
“He said he’d come back. He always comes back.”
I had read up on this property, including former owners. In this line of work, you learn that research is key. A family had last lived here for a few months, just a husband and wife. Before that, a single guy had died in a DUI crash. He lived here for about a decade. Nothing I found mentioned a little girl.
“Where’s your mommy?”
Violet looked confused. No mom. Got it.
Switching gears. “Where’s your room? Maybe your daddy left us a clue.”
Looking hopeful, Violet runs off into the house, with me shortly behind. I expect her to head upstairs, but she heads for the basement. She disappears right through the door, of course, but I swing the door open and try to keep up. These kids are fast.
“Violet? Where are you?” The basement is empty. I hit the lights on my way down, but she’s nowhere.
“Here I am!” She sounds playful for a dead girl. Their voices always change after death. They sound like they’re shouting from across a lake, but it’s better than the straight-up demons. They’re a lot trickier because they lie, but easy enough to deal with once you realize that they ALWAYS lie.
Violet pokes her head out from a small door high up on one wall. A crawl space under a newer addition.
“There you are!” I act like a parent finding a child during hide and seek. It seems to help with the younger ones. “So this is your room?”
“Yeah. Daddy says it’s my secret cave.”
“You like it in there?” I can’t open the door. There’s a substantial look on the door, and it doesn’t look like it’s been opening in ages.
“It’s dark, but Daddy says it’s safer. He brings me food and we play house.”
“Violet. Can I ask you something?”
“What?”
“How long does Daddy usually take to come back?”
“Sometimes a while. I get hungry, but then he gives me ice cream and I sleep in his lap.” I can tell this is her favorite memory.
“Has he ever been gone this long?”
“... no. But he’ll be back soon!”
“Violet. Your daddy’s not coming back.”
Her smile disappears. Her eyes look angry, and then fade to sad.
“I know.”
“Daddy loved you, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“It’s okay. I can tell you’re sleepy. You can rest now.”
That’s the last I saw her. I cut the lock and moved her bones to the mausoleum that I rent out. Most people I find are completely unknown to anyone, so bringing them to the authorities would be a waste of time. Probably land me in jail by the second time.
House is sold within a month at 3x what I paid for it. The younger ones always take their toll on me, but I like to think I’m helping. Somehow. Just a little later than they need.
Goodbye, Violet.
|
At least he wasn't sitting at a desk all day. Every job was different, and he could stretch his legs while enjoying the adrenaline rush that came with every new project. Jasper read over the new house profile. This one was a 100-year-old, run-down, typical brown-boarded house that even looked haunted in its pictures. He got a slight chill from looking at the images of the house and knew it'd be a good one.
When it came time for the home visit, he hopped into his Jeep and made his way to the rendezvous. The lawn shrubs and greenery that were once luscious looked like they'd need a miracle to come back to life. Lola was the agent set to meet him there. She pulled in just moments after Jasper and hopped out of her little white Corolla. "Charming, isn't it?" Sarcasm dripped lightly from her tone. "I think it's the smell," Jasper retorted. "How is there a stench all the way out here? Isn't that supposed to hit us in the face when we get inside?"
"Well the owner *did* decompose inside for two weeks before they found him. Guess it takes a while for *that* smell to dissipate" she said. Two weeks? Great. Jasper reached for a face mask he'd sprayed some vanilla onto, hoping he could make this quick.
| 2021-02-12T06:41:44 | 2021-02-12T04:56:12 | 259 | 72 |
[WP] You were taking care of your late father's dog, reading through the list, plenty of nonsense here "feed fresh meat, don't drain it of blood" and "don't put out fireplaces when he's around" In the notes was a picture of your father and his dog, when he was a kid, dogs don't live that long.
|
STICKS
I never really knew my father that well. His meeting with my mother, and my subsequent birth, was one of those chance meetings that happen in heated moments of passion with little thought of consequences. I guess he and my mother had agreed not to marry, but his financial contributions to my welfare had always been regular and generous even though he had been absent as a father-figure in my life.
He never forgot my birthday, or Christmas, and every summer for most of my childhood he would take me on a one-week camping trip in the mountains; just me, him and his big black dog. He taught me to fish and hunt, he taught me the majesty of the mountains and the beauty of the forests. “All of this,” he would say, waving his arms at the wilderness around us, “is part of the cycle of birth, life and death.”
He taught me to love and appreciate the world around me, he taught me to be honest, just and fair. In that way he was the perfect father. But like I said, I never really knew him. I never knew where he lived, or what he did for work, or whether he had any other family.
As I entered adulthood, I saw him less often. He came to my wedding, and to my mother’s funeral the following year, and a few years after that he took me back to the mountains one last time, to help me get over my devastation after my wife left me and took our young son with her.
I was stunned, then, when the telephone call came from a lawyer out of state, to inform me that my father had passed away, and I was the sole beneficiary of his estate. It seemed that any property he may have owned had already been sold, because the estate comprised only money (and quite a tidy sum of it). Except for one thing. The lawyer gave me a letter which contained only the address at which I was to collect the one possession he wanted to pass to me.
The address was a ranch not far from where my father had taken me camping. It was a run-down old place that looked like it hadn’t seen a lick of maintenance in the past decade. An old man in a worn plaid shirt came out to meet me “You must be Karl Spencer,” he said. I nodded. He peered in the back of the car. “Gonna be a tight squeeze I reckon.”
He led me round the back of the house to a barn, from which I could hear what sounded like a wolf howling. “Glad you came quick n’all” the old man said as he slid the door open. “E’s scarin’ the livestock. Be glad to see the back of ‘im.”
In the darkness within the barn I could just about see movement and I could hear heavy breathing and the rattling of a chain.
“I can’t go near ‘im,” said the old man “You want ‘im, you git ‘im yersen.”
I stepped cautiously into the barn and as my eyes got accustomed to the dark, I realised I was looking at a large black dog, just like the one my father used to bring on our camping trips. It was as big as a mastiff but with thicker fur and a wolf-like face. As I approached, the dog started to whine and pull against its chain. Its tail was wagging like a piston on overdrive.
The dog seemed anything but dangerous to me so I went closer and as soon as I got within reach of the chain, he gave an excited yelp and jumped at me, licking my face and dancing round me like I was his long-lost best friend. I knelt down in the straw and fussed over him for a while before unfastening his chain.
The old man stared in amazement. “Guess ‘e likes you.” He handed me a large manila envelope. “Instructions are in there,” he said. “Good luck.”
The drive home was uneventful with the dog sleeping most of the way. He carefully inspected every part of my house and finally parked himself in front of the fireplace, and slept again, while I read the instructions.
They started with a letter. *“Dear Karl. If you’re reading this, you now also have in your care my most treasured possession. His name is Styx. I can promise you that he will serve you loyally, after all you are a man of my blood and kin. Please read and follow these instructions carefully.”*
I paused, thinking back to my childhood camping trips. That dog had been called Styx too; I remembered how funny I’d thought it was to call a dog “Sticks”.
The first page or two were pretty straightforward.
*“His diet should comprise only fresh meat, he likes it best if the blood is not drained. Do not under any circumstances feed him on any commercial pet food. It makes him bad-tempered.”*
No kidding, I thought. That crap would make me bad-tempered too.
*“Do not let him out unsupervised at night. He has a tendency to hunt cats.”*
Later on, it started to get a bit weird.
*“Keep a fire burning at all times. Do not put out the fire whilst he is around.”*
*“Do not wear any silver on your person whilst in his presence, and do not keep any silver objects where he might come into contact with them.”*
*“Do not under any circumstances take him to a regular vet for any reason. But don’t worry, you will never have any reason.”*
How strange. I looked at Styx, he lifted his head to look at me and thumped his tail on the floorboards. His eyes seemed to glow red. Must be the reflection from the fireplace, I thought.
There were some old photographs in the envelope too, pictures of my father with all the dogs he’d had in his life, going right back to when he was a child. There was even a photo of me in one of them, on one of our camping trips. And yet I did not recall anyone ever having taken a picture of us.
And every single dog in all the photos was absolutely identical. I looked at Styx again, and then I understood. “It *was* you,” I said. “That’s why you were so excited to see me in the barn. You know me. You’re the same dog!”
Styx got up from the rug, trotted over to me and placed his paw on my knee. I put my hand over his paw and glanced at the letter on the table. *"Styx has served our family for generations, from father to son across the centuries. One day, you shall pass him on to your own son. You must prepare him for that day, just as I prepared you."*
----------------------------------------------------------------------
A few months later, on a bright summer morning, I pulled up in front of a nice suburban house in my new truck, with a tent and other camping gear in the back and Styx on the seat beside me. I didn’t even need to knock on the door; it opened wide and a boy with dark hair and dark eyes, just like mine, came running out. “Daddy!” he shouted. “Mom! Daddy’s here! And he got a new dog!”
I gave my son a hug. “Hey buddy,” I said. “Are you ready to go camping?”
|
You look at the picture, and you look at Spike.
You raise an eyebrow.
Spike folds back her ears.
“Do you want to explain?” you ask.
“No,” Spike answers.
“Other than a small inheritance and a talking dog, is there anything else I should know about Carlos?” You had been put up for adoption as an infant, and all of this was shocking.
Spike flattens her ears. “He spent his life looking for you. Your mother ran away from the Contras while she was pregnant and he was in the army. When he came back, you were gone and your mother was dead.”
Being a misplaced little brown kid in Toronto suddenly seems like more of a blessing than you realized. Nobody ever told you that your parents were Nicaraguan before.
You wipe tears from your eyes as you sink onto the couch.
“You have an older sister somewhere.” Spike puts her head in your lap. “Carlos thinks that she went into a church orphanage. Your mother’s family are mostly gone.”
You think about your adoptive mother, the only mother you have ever known, and wonder how to tell her about this. Or if she knew.
Spike sighs. You see tears running from her eyes, too.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I say, stroking her head.
“Don’t be.” She closes her eyes. “He died knowing that we found you. Not everyone gets their heart’s desire.”
| 2022-03-03T12:04:46 | 2022-03-03T09:23:13 | 50 | 18 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something.
|
“All in favour of sparing her life, step forward!”
I looked around the village square, but no one moved a muscle. The seconds rolled by, and the hope I held in my heart crumbled, only to be replaced by a sharp tang of bitterness, resentment. There was Peter, whose fever had yielded to her medicine, but he kept his eyes down, lips tightly pursed. I saw Nathan too, whose son may never have returned from his ventures into the forests if she had not tracked the child down, but he was as silent, unmoving as Peter was.
Old Man Bosworth, the twins Jaina and Jerry, Valerie, Daniel… they too, everyone who had ever benefited in one way or the other from her help, all suddenly bereft of courage, unwilling to stand up for their benefactor.
The bloody ingrates.
“Do you see how everyone fears you, woman?” asked Chief Lanson, shaking his staff at the figure kneeling on the ground, hands tied behind her. “We tolerated you, gave you a place to call home, and this is how you repay us? By bringing this evil magic into our village?”
“I am not evil,” Matilda said, her voice carrying to the edges of the crowd. “I have done no harm to the village. I have only helped.”
“Helped? Helped?” said Chief Lanson, his voice rising in anger. He turned to the crowd, stretched out his arms, then said, “Evil fears the light, foul creature. I shall show the village proof, proof of your heresy! I will show them the forbidden evils we found in your hut! Come, show them!”
Fred and Richard, two of the strongest farmers in the village, retrieved a wooden chest from within Chief Lanson’s hut. They struggled even though the load was shared between them, and after they placed the evidence in front of Matilda, they took hurried steps backwards, leaving Chief Lanson the honour of opening the chest.
He rummaged briefly, then retrieved what appeared to be a marble slate, dark and smooth on one side, white and pristine on the other. He held it triumphantly in the air, revelling in the reactions he was getting.
“Has anyone ever seen a rock like this?” he asked. “I promise you, no one has!”
“It’s not right of you to have gone into my hut like that,” said Matilda.
“Oh? And if we had not done so, if we had not suspected you of carrying out the dark one’s work, would we ever have discovered foul things such as this?”
“I don’t know what you are talking abou- ”
Chief Lanson squeezed the edges of the slate, and one side of it flared to life, emitting vibrant colours, as if someone had managed to trap a rainbow in stone. The crowd gasped, and I saw some of the adults shielding their children’s eyes.
“If we had not been suspicious, if we had not known to spy on you, would we have discovered your secrets, witch?” said Chief Lanson. He turned the slate towards us, then said, “Listen! Listen with your own ears! This is her! The devil masquerading as a human! Listen to the unholy mission she is on!”
He needn’t have commanded us in that manner. We were enraptured, spellbound by the moving images on the slate, of what appeared to a… doppelganger of Matilda, staring out at us, speaking to us. I heard whispers rise up, words like “impossible”, “there’s two of her”, “a soul, trapped in marble”.
We fell silent though, once the Slate-Matilda began speaking.
“42nd entry – no new developments in weeks. The search goes on,” Slate-Matilda said. Her unruly hair was tied back, and there was a steadiness to her voice, a clarity to her eyes which wasn’t usually there. This was not the Matilda we knew, the soft-minded, chattering and hyperactive Matilda we saw roaming the village from morning to night.
It began to dawn on me that it was all an act.
“I don’t understand!” said Slate-Matilda, throwing up her hands. “The historical records are clear! The Influencer came from these parts, and I have narrowed it down to this village! I did not travel this far back in time in vain! Yet… yet I have met with all of them, talked to each and every one, but no one, no one stands out! I have run my tests, checked my equipment over and over, but still, not a single one displays even a modicum of psychic powe-”
“And these are the witch’s tools, by her own admission!” yelled Chief Lanson. He kicked the chest over, and its contents spilled across the ground, next to Matilda. An excited hum rose amongst the crowds as they feasted their eyes on the unnatural objects, the shiny, glinty collection of baubles created by the devil’s own hands.
“Answer me!” Chief Lanson continued, striking his staff into the ground for emphasis. “Tell me why I should not have you burned here, right where you are!”
Matilda raised her head, stared straight at the crowd. Most of them still had the decency to shuffle and squirm, but still no one intervened.
“I have done no harm to anyone,” said Matilda. “It is true, I kept secret the real reason why I was here, and I did not tell anyone why it is that I know what I know. But I have only meant well. I have shared my medicines, I have imparted my knowledge… I only asked for a bit of solace as I conducted my research. I meant no harm.”
“Enough! Stop your lies, right this instant!” Chief Lanson said. He struck with his staff, hitting Matilda on the shoulder. I saw her tumble forwards, her forehead striking the ground.
“To me! Bring the torches! We will burn her where she is!”
Fred and Richard complied, and as they inched towards Matilda, torches in hand, blank expressions on their faces, I waited again, hoping someone would do something, anything.
I pulled on the sleeves of those around me, begging them to step forward.
But they shrugged me off, transfixed. No one was going to listen to a boy who was still too young to shave. More importantly, no one was going to listen to their hearts, their consciences.
I heard Matilda cry out, though from pain or fear I was not sure. The torch was inches away, but Matilda could not twist free, as tight as her bonds were.
I grit my teeth, then did a quick headcount. Two dozen, maybe more. There were children too, and if I had more time I would have thought twice about whether they were as sturdy as the adults, whether they could recover as quickly.
But I was out of time, and so I stepped forward, clenched my eyes, focused on a single word, and poured every shred of energy I had into it. I had never exerted myself so much before.
*SLEEP*
I knew it had worked when I heard the steady thuds of comatose bodies hitting the floor. I opened my eyes, and I saw that some of Matilda’s other possessions on the ground had lighted up, flashing an incandescent array of colours. I pushed past the crowd, pulled Matilda up, shifted her weight onto me. She struggled to keep her eyes open.
“I… I was right…” she said, smiling. “It… it is real…”
“Later,” I said. “We have to go, now. There’s a lot we have to talk about.”
To better cope with Matilda’s weight, I borrowed Chief Lanson’s staff. From the way he was sleeping peacefully on the ground, it didn’t seem like he needed it.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
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"but the bread mold saved your grandfather Mort. And the maggots saved Earl's crushed food when everyone knew he was going to die. Sucking out the snake bite didn't save your boy Martha but any other healer would not have even tried. We lost what six of the last twenty babes born under her care? What other village can boast of so many live births. Not to mention her way with the flocks and hogs. Everyone has benefitted from her knowledge."
For a moment there I thought I had swayed them. Even the mayor his hands still holding the rope to bind her with looked both thoughtful and ashamed. Then the preacher spoke.
"Knowledge yes. Forbidden knowledge. Does the good book not say a woman shall remain silent excepting her husband's command. Even if we can attribute such luck to her, and you all mind it's God's glory that saves both flocks from blights and new born babes. No matter how much cleaning you do to barns or washing of hands. For does the book not say all good things come from the Lord. I say again she is a witch meant to lead people from the church. Do you all think I would not notice you send your children to her in secret instead of church for a proper education. As to saving lives who is she to save a man God has chosen to take. But I see you've moved these common folk with your speech so let me ask here and know before your neighbors and God who would go against God and stop the right and blessed hanging of a witch? Who would allow their children to be lead away from the teachings in the good book?"
I must confess I keep my eyes down and my mouth shut.
I wanted her to scream and fight when we arrived. Instead she spoke calmly laying out her case much as I did. The preacher tried to rouse the crowd but his angry words were not answered.
She begged at the end then laughed at us saying we were killing our children believing in a book written so long ago.
I stood in the crowd as she dropped. It wasn't a clean break and the mayor was weeping openly as he helped her to finish it.
| 2017-09-14T11:57:05 | 2017-09-14T10:52:25 | 2,008 | 82 |
[WP] You and your party have gotten sucked inside your D&D game. Being an (albeit in this case entirely justified) overly paranoid Dungeon Master, you had written little loopholes and custom scenarios into the campaign to help you and your friends survive, should this ever happen.
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(A prequel more than answering the OP. Oh well.)
Let's recap how we got here, ok? I'll keep it short and sweet as I can. Myself, Tim, Sarah, and Geordie gathered for our weekly Dungeons and Dragons session at my house, and everything went to hell fast. I need you to understand something, here. I love my D&D. I take it REALLY seriously. I'm the Dungeon Master, that means I make all the rules and tell the story. Of course, I have a full time job so I don't always have time to create a story, so a lot of times I'll buy a pre-packed story and then add a few tweaks of my own to it so the whole group can have fun. Did I mention I really get into it? I enjoy setting the scene, and the environment. Today, I guess I went a little too far.
The module (aka story) I chose this week was called Ravenloft. Basically it's the story of Dracula, but here they call him Strahd. Copyright or something, I guess. I don't know. But you all know Dracula, right? Gypsies, vampires, maybe a werewolf or three? ANYWAY....I digress. Back to what happened. About two hours before the crew arrived, I started setting up my basement game room. I changed out half the lights for black light to help set the dark mood. I knew that early in the game they'll meet a gypsy who tells fortunes, so I bought some tarot cards, incense, and a few other trinkets from the local spirit shop.
I spend the rest of the time brushing up on the adventure, and reviewing my hand written notes for the modifications to treasures and monsters. As always. I make sure I’ve got a few special treasures built in for curious questers that go above and beyond the call of duty. I like to reward good playing.
When the gang arrives, they find me sitting at the table in the basement with a head scarf wrapping up my hair, gentle music playing in the background, and a black silk cloth draped over the table with a tarot deck sitting there. I waste no time launching into my prepared routine.
“Welcome, pets, welcome to Madame Zorah’s. Please, cross my palm with silver and have your fortune told.”
Tim laughed, and Sarah complimented my choice of color pattern on the scarf, while Geordie sat down first, all business and ready to play. "Madame, Zorah, was it? Thank you for the invitation. Exactly how many silvers are required here?", he asked.
I smiled, knowing his penchant for rules and order. Ever the paladin, he was fair and just and he respected the occult without actively chasing it down himself. He also understood quickly that he had to play along or the adventure wouldn't progress.
"Well, young man,", I begin, "my services are not so easily explained. As with everything in life, you get what you give." I said this, knowing full well that I have a table already written down with a list of items I was prepared to hand over, based on how much silver they were willing to part with.
Between the three of them, they parted with nearly one hundred silver. It's a shame, for if they had given me a full hundred they might have been able to walk away with this tarot deck. An in-game tarot deck is very powerful, albeit with random effects.
Regardless, they did earn a reading and a few items, which I was well prepared for. I knew a little bit of slight of hand magic, and so I did a riffle cut and forced the cards to where I wanted them to the top of the tarot deck.
Geordie drew first. "Ah, the tower", I said, "There is great ruin at the top of a tower, where you will find everything in abundance. There is treasure there, but also despair and pain. Watch your step, or you will fall." I smiled cryptically, knowing full well there was a tower in this adventure, and there absolutely was a pit trap placed in the stair well. I couldn't wait to see his face when he trips my trap.
Sarah pulled next, "Oh, the six of pentacles.", I smile, "You have great fortune ahead of you, but it will not be something you earn. It will be given to you by someone else, freely and with no strings attached."
Tim's card was Death reversed. I over-acted a visible shudder. "Beware!! Beware!!! Reversed Death follows you and watches your every move. There is a creature in your path, neither dead nor alive, who will hunt you, and attempt to end your own lives to grow his own."
I reach beneath the table, and pull a ring out of my pocket. It was an old ring, made of some kind of steel or iron, and intricately wrought with a Celtic knot pattern throughout. I placed it in front of Sarah, and said, "This is for you, pet. It is a magickal ring, with one wish attached. Save it for when you are most in jeopardy, and wish wisely, as the many-faced Gods enjoy their trickery with wishes."
As I handed it to Sarah, the ring looked as though it sparked in the candle light. The smell of incense hit my nose for a moment, jasmine clouding my head. I shook my head and adjusted my shawl.
"Now, children," I said, preparing to push the story forward more, "Should you need it, there is a town just a few hours walk to the North. Perhaps you can find lodging there."
Sarah was examining the ring, and smiling. "This is a great setup, Steph. I love this!", she slipped the ring on her finger, trying it on for size. "I'd love to do this in person. I wish this was a real adventure."
The room went black for a split second, the light fading with a audible popping noise. As the light came back and our eyes adjusted, I couldn't believe what I was seeing. My basement was now a rickety wooden traveling shack. The table with tarot cards still in front of me, but the artwork had changed from a crisp clean mass produced set of cards into hand-painted and old. My friends were...not my friends. Standing before me I could see their avatars. Geordie in full plate mail. Sarah in a ranger outfit, and Tim with wizard robes and a staff. Their faces mostly unchanged, however Tim now had ears to match his choice of elf background.
We all three stared at each other in confusion. "What the hell?" Tim said, as we all began talking over each other at the same time trying to understand. Sarah threw open the door and walked outside onto a dirt road, in the middle of a densely packed forest.
She turned back and looked at us standing in the doorway.
"Did I do this?"
|
"You hear a snap as your arch-nemesis' skull is split open by the sheer velocity of your club, Ragnarok." I say as the Paladin Kenku launches into melee mode. "The enemy utters a curse, "Shakaste, Mercer, WilLiam." I felt a tingle as I say those words, and I began to crumble into dust, falling forward into the dungeon. I landed next to the special rock that would summon a gold dragon if broken. I picked up the Arch-nemesis' Warhammer and swung with all my might as I saw Ragnarok, Freyr, our Druid Satyr, Thor, our Aasimar Barbarian, and Vidar, our Death Cleric Human, come into being. The rock shatters, the gold dragon is pleased, brings us to a reality warping wizard, and he sends us back. As per usual, we immediately resumed the game as if nothing happened, each thinking they were the only person affected. And so it remained until it happened again, and again and again. Eventually we got so used to it that we were surprised one evening when it didn't happen. the meeting after, the wizard and the dragon died, leaving us trapped in this realm. This is my last entry.
| 2019-05-03T08:17:16 | 2019-05-03T07:29:27 | 202 | 15 |
[WP] Set in a dangerous city in the early 1900s, Zeus, the corrupt mayor, Poseidon, who owns the ports, and Hades, kingpin of the back alley drug trade, run the city unapologetically. All are vying for more power in this Greek pantheon film noir setting. (From popular demand from r/books!)
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“Oh god!” cried Hephaestus, looking at the pictures my associates took for him.
“That’s no god,” I said with as much sympathy as I could.
“I know who it is!” Hephaestus snapped at me, as he flipped through the pictures of his wife, Aphrodite, with her lover, Ares.
It’s my job. It’s not glamorous. But it pays the bills and sometimes it feels good to help a fella out like this man here, Hephaestus. A hard worker who worked his way up and now owns three steel mills in the center of the industrial district. Built his company—Vulcan Industries—with his own hands. Now they're living high on the hog, and what’s his wife do? She gets playful with the Olympus’s chief of police, Ares.
It ain’t good to have a man like Ares knowing I been spying on him with his sidepiece, but I told Hephaestus I’d help him, and I took his money. So here we are.
“Look I’m real sorry, mister,” I say to Hephaestus, who is still flipping through the pictures. “Now how ‘bout you get a drink. Head down to the bar *The Bacchae,* Dionysus runs it and is a good friend of mine. Tell him the drink’s on me.”
Hephaestus dropped the pictures and looked at me, smiling.
“No,” he said and I didn’t like the look in his eyes. “No, I got plans of my own.”
“Now just take it easy,” I said to the man. “Don’t go doing anything stupid.”
Hephaestus set an envelope down on my desk with my payment and stood up.
“Thank you, Jason, for your service. I knew I could trust you.”
“Just doing my job. Look, I take no pleasure in it. I was hoping it wouldn’t turn out this way with your wife.”
“Goodbye, Jason.”
“See you around, Hephaestus,” I said, tipping my cap to him as he walked out of the room.
I leaned back in my chair. Another day in Olympus, this god forsaken city filled with the most spiteful and petty and two-timin’ people imaginable.
I can’t complain though, these people keep me well employed. Bought me a Studebaker just a couple months. It was expensive, but a man’s gotta have style if he wants to attract the right customers.
“Mr. Iolcus,” I hear my assistant, Medea, over the intercom. “A lady is here to see you.”
“Let her in, Medea. Thank you.”
Here we go again, I say to myself, standing up and brushing off my suit, looking in the mirror. I nod in approval.
The door opens and a beautiful woman walks in. She is older. Blonde hair down to her shoulders. Enough jewelry around her neck to pay a kid’s way through college.
“How many I help you….,” I say, reaching for her hand, inquiring for her name.
“Mrs. Kronos,” she said. “But you can call me Hera.”
My heart skips a beat.
“Kronos,” I repeated. “I don’t imagine you are…”
“Yes, Mr. Iolcus. My husband is Zeus, the mayor. He's actually the reason I’m here to see you.”
What a day, I say to myself.
“Alright, Mrs. Kronos, why don’t you just sit right there." I lead her to a chair for clients in from of my desk. "Smoke?” I ask her, pulling out my gold case from my suit pocket.
“No,” she said, waving her gloved hand. “No thank you.”
“You mind?” I ask. “It’s not everyday I get the Mayor’s wife in here.”
“Go ahead,” she said. Her face was serious, drawn tight. She was beautiful, even at her age. And elegant. Her gloved hands held the sparkling purse on her lap and she sat up straight, like a statue. If the mayor was foolin’ around on her, he was an idiot. But aren't we all?
I took a deep drag on my cigarette, then asked, “how may I help you, Mrs. Kronos?”
“Do you know my husband, Mr. Iolcus?”
“Never met the man,” I said.
“Well, I’m sure you’ve heard rumors.”
“Rumors don’t mean much, Mrs. Kronos. Now look, I’m a busy man. Is there something I can do for you?”
She looked at me nervously.
“Yes, Mr. Iolcus—”
“Call me, Jason.”
“Yes, Jason, there is. You see, I believe my husband is having an affair.”
I nod, taking another drag of my cigarette.
“Do you love your husband, Mrs. Kronos?”
“I do,” she said.
“Then how ‘bout you just forget about this? Are you sure you really want what I may find? Honestly, your husband can make my life hard if he finds out about this. I got a license I gotta look out for.”
“What’s your rate?” She asked me.
“I’m not cheap, ma’am.”
“Well I’ll pay you your regular rate plus an extra $5,000 if you find anything.”
I stroke my chin, thinking. But there ain’t much to think about. $5,000 dollars makes it simple.
I press the intercom. “Medea, bring Mrs. Kronos one of our standard contracts, will you?”
“Right away, Mr. Iolcus.”
“Are you sure about this, Mrs. Kronos?”
“I’m sure,” she said as Medea walked in and placed the contract in front of Mrs. Kronos who bent forward and signed the contract. I grabbed the contract and signed it then ripped the carbon copy off the back and handed it to Mrs. Kronos. I walked Medea out of the room and held it open.
“I’ll be in touch with you soon, Mrs. Kronos. I’ll get started on the case today.”
She stood up and I got a whiff of her perfume. She turned and looked at me as she walked past, and I felt weak in the knees. What a knockout she was.
“Let’s hope that this is all just a misunderstanding.”
She laughed a little as she walked past Medea’s desk and out into the rainy Olympus night.
\----
I lock up for the night and turn to walk to my car, pulling my trench coat tight. The rain has stopped, and the steam is coming off the street in wavy hoary strings. As I get close to my car, a police crawler pulls up and two thugs with badges get out, looking at me like a dog drooling over a piece of raw meat.
“Where you headin’ tonight?” one of the officers asked me.
“Your wife just called, said she was feeling a little lonely, thought I’d stop by,” I say, taking a drag of my cigarette.
“Wise guy, eh? Let’s see if you’re so wise missin’ a few teeth,” the police officer said, tapping his trudgeon on the front of my car.
“Save it,” I say, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “That may work on some street walker, but you ain’t scaring me.”
“Police Chief wants to see you downtown. You’re coming with us, Jason.”
I could make a fuss out of this, but that wouldn’t really help any.
“Alright, big shot. Let’s take a drive then.” I flick my cigarette at his feet and walk towards the crawler. I knew I shouldn’t have taken that damn contract with Hephaestus. Ares isn’t someone I want to be on their bad side.
\----
***Part II Below***
|
Hermes sighed as Mr. Hades gave him another errand. Hades sweetened the deal by complimenting the boy for his remarkable speed. After all, he had gotten his start in stealing the product from a meat packing plant on the other side of town. He was to check up on a certain associate named Sisyphus who had stolen the recent shipment of whiskey all the way from Styx by tying up his favorite delivery driver and one of his lieutenants. The Three Heads had been sent after him but when they couldn’t sniff him out.
As Hermes raced down the back alley streets, hoping to find the old man, he remembered his confrontation with Hades. His cool breath sent shivers up his neck. He had shrunk down to skin and bones ever since Persephone chose to live with her mother for the time being, but his size did nothing but make him even more intimidating.
Hermes finally found the place where Sisyphus was hiding. He knocked on the screen door and saw a quivering shell of a man in the shadows. As he entered, Sisyphus tried his best to evade him but he was no match for Hermes’s speed. Hermes dragged the old man kicking and screaming. Hades was very particular in the punishment befitting of him. Sisyphus was injected with a snake-like syringe full of stimulants to make sure he didn’t get to rest. Hermes looked upon the rock quarry and boarded the elevator with the geezer being held upside down by the feet, dangling over the side. Hermes felt merciful today, so Sisyphus was only dropped 10 feet. After hearing a telltale crunch, Hermes pressed the up button on the elevator. He cut the cables to the elevator so that there was no way out. He would keep moving rocks and fall back down until he died. Hermes walked over to a pay phone and dialed his boss.
“It’s done.”
| 2021-03-03T09:31:01 | 2021-03-03T08:21:23 | 554 | 30 |
[WP] In most of the galaxy wars are often just shows of strength with fighting as a last resort. As such weapons are designed to be elaborate and flashy. Turns out humans, whose weapons are built with efficiency in mind, have a different understanding of war.
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Tallek sniffed, closing his lower eyes in frustration.
Of course it'd be humans. They may be new to the galaxy, but they were already making a name for themselves. They'd been living among the galactic community for seventy years, but had been painfully slow in adapting to the ways of the galaxy. Was it stupidity, or the arrogance of a young race, or where humans just slow to adapt? Speculation abound on why humans didn't do things the way everyone else did, but Tallek never really paid them much mind.
A new species popped up every few years. There had dozens of species that had popped up since humans had arrived on the galactic stage and they all had their little quirks.
Still, Tallek thought, most of them weren't as stubborn as humans were.
On the bridge of his capital ship, the Central Blade, Tallek looked at a holo-display of the human fleet. Reclining in his ships throne, he sighed. It was underwhelming by the galaxies standards. Low tech, little in the way of weapons diversity, a disappointing lack of Dreadnoughts and no obvious Capital ship.
Tallek sniffed again. He didn't know why. The humans weren't here to be insulted by his theatrics. No, any theatrics would have to be done the proper way. Once their fleet fired their opening salvos, the weight of firepower would cow the humans into submission. That was how it went. A formal display of firepower opened up every fleet engagement. Let the enemy know your power, and give them a chance to surrender. It was polite. Did humans understand politeness?
"Ship-King?" Nallet asked, cycling through his holo-screens. "We have very little information on human warfare. Most of their conflict is anti-piracy. No fleet engagements to speak of as yet."
Nallet was his Ship-Prince, his second in command. Good man. Smart. Perhaps a little too cautious, for reliable nonetheless.
"And what do those records show?" Tallek said, reaching out with his lower arms and flipping through his own holo-screens.
"Not much. There's barely any documentation on them, besides the fact that pirate ships give human fleets a wide berth. Sometimes pirate ships that get caught by human patrols just...vanish? That cant be right." Nallet said, looking for more information. Information was power, after all, but here Tallek thought Nallet was being a little too cautious.
"They're bloody primitives, Nallet! They only mastered FTL travel ninety years ago, and spaceflight three hundred years ago. Look at their fleet! Forty ships, no dreadnoughts, no capital ship. Just those ridiculous little destroyers! And they barely have any weapon. Every ship has just three or four variations of the same designs. No diversity in munitions, they even seem to be relying on kinetic weapons of all things! Look, Nallet, we'll just shake them up, get their surrender, and demand some outrageous trade rights for our Empire, and be on our way and home by third dinner? Yes? Good. Now, give the order to attack."
Nallet, wringing his four hands throughout Tallek's lecture, shrugged, and gestured for the Ship-lords to ready their weapons for attack. The Human fleet was still holding position above their moon colony.
"All ships, I repeat, all ships, fire first storm. Repeat, first storm." Nallet shouted. With perfect unity, all three hundred ships in the fleet fired all their weapons in one organised salvo, deliberately missing the Human fleet and their colony, but absolutely decimating a good chunk of one of the moons green continents behind them.
The response was immediate. Every Human ship returned fire. Tallek didn't sniff at this. This was a rather admirable display from the humans. Very quick response. Might be a little rude to fire back before properly accounting for the damage the first fleet had done, but still. It showed they were eager. Would humans finally put up a proper display of galactic etiquette for once?
The next few seconds absolutely destroyed any notion of proprietary or formality Tallek thought humans might have. Every single shot the humans fired hit their target. And every single shot exploded. The Dreadnought, Mighty Wrath, three kilometres long, had its wing torn off by a volley of railgun fire. Its main cannon detonated when a salvo of armour piercing torpedoes struck its plasma reactor, and its bridge was wiped from existence by a high powered laser cannon. The Frigates Solar Wings, Lunar Dance and Cosmic Shine were ripped apart by explosive kinetic shells, each shot passing through their energy shields without an issue.
Even his own ship, the mighty Central Blade, a Capital Ship five kilometres long, lost a quarter of its weapons, a third of its hull armour and half its hangar bays to a dozen salvos of railguns. Tallek paused for a few seconds, waiting for the humans to stop firing, to realise their hideous and barbaric breach of etiquette, only to realise that the humans simply weren't stopping. Three more of his ships were torn to shreds by weapons that the rest of the galaxy had dismissed centuries ago as ineffective and unthreatening.
The humans, clearly, had decided to go their own way, as always.
"Return fire!" Tallek screamed. He had fought in fleet engagements that resulted in ship-to-ship fire before, but those occassions were very rare. His Ship-prince Nallek had obviously never been in one before, based on his screaming. Tallek knew he had to take down as many human ships as possible before one side broke and gave the surrender order. The humans couldn't come away from this thinking they were better then us. They couldn't.
Energy rounds and plasma shots burned through the void. Human energy shields were weak, and only took a few shots to take down, but their shots took none. Every shot fired from their ships was a critical hit. A crippling blow. Railguns, lasers, torpedoes, kinetic cannons...they ripped through armour liked it was nothing. Five more of Tallek's ships went up in flames before the first human ship was incinerated by a plasma shot from his own ship.
But the damage had already been done. With just forty small ships, the Humans had reaped such a bloody toll that Tallek could not stomach it when four more of his ships were shredded before the next Human ship ate a phasic beam to the bridge.
"Surrender, Nallet, surrender." Tallek said, arms flailing. His Ship-prince needed no further encouragement. The order went through the fleet, and Tallek buried his head in his arms. From his bridge, he could see the burning, twisting hulls of no less then twenty three of us ships. Only four human ships destroyed.
Tallek was wrong about humans. The whole galaxy was wrong about humans.
They weren't stubborn. They weren't stupid. And they certainly weren't primitive. And most of all, they definitely weren't slow to adapt.
These humans did things their own way, because to them, it was the rest of the galaxy that was stupid. As the human fleet began to advance forward, transmitting orders to surrender not only themselves, but their ships and weapons, Tallek felt a growing sense of dread. He now understood why humans didn't do things the way everyone else did.
They had found a better way to do things.
And it had just been revealed to humans that perhaps the rest of the galaxy wasn't quite as far ahead of them as they might've been led to believe.
|
"An offense to all military strategy."
Admiral Lucas Graves stands in front of the armored viewport of the EFS James N. Mattis, while a Tik'ko warship charges an enourmous plasma shell launcher. If they had any intention of fighting, it might have been threatening. He turns to the closest weapons officer.
"Run a scan. Find what powers that cannon and EMP it. Then release..."
Graves looks out of the viewport.
"fifty thousand fighters."
Thirty seconds later, seventy small shells are fired from 40mm launchers on the ship. Too small even for advanced sensor suites to detect. Forty-five seconds later, several explosions go off on the surface of the enemy ship. The cannon goes from glowing blue and ready to fire to useless.
One minute after Graves has given his order, fifty thousand Stinger fighters emerge and use their evasion abilities to elude fire from the few functioning plasma guns left, and deposit their explosive ordnance. .50 caliber machine guns mounter on the Stingers are used to disable the remaining cannons. Three minutes and twenty seconds have passed since the opening volley was launched, and the Tik'ko ship hangs uselessly in space, like a marionette without a puppeteer.
"Send boarding parties. Kill those who resist, capture the rest."
The first Human victory in the Tik'ko conflict, and the first battle. What would become known throughout the galaxy as the Human war machine has just begun. As the Tik'ko captain is captured, humans learn to fuse plasma based weaponry with their own. Individual human ground troops will become more powerful than an entire regiment of Tik'ko.
Admiral Graves stands where he always has, overseeing the destruction of those foolish enough to challenge their Human overlords.
| 2020-03-21T13:22:48 | 2020-03-21T09:33:38 | 105 | 59 |
[WP] You were forced to attend an interview for a job you do not want, but, no matter how hard you try to screw up the interview, the interviewer just becomes more keen to hire you.
|
The water bottle was obviously full of something other than water. I took small sips in the waiting room, the smell of vodka stinging my eyes even with the orange juice to water it down.
I had somewhere to be and it wasn’t in a job interview.
“It’s good practice,” my wife had encouraged. “You just need to get back on that horse and give it a try.” She’d told me when I was asked to come in for the job.
“I don’t think I want it,” I’d confided in her. But there was no arguing with her at that point.
“Joseph Gordons?” The receptionist called my name. A tall thin man stood next to her, a dour look on his face. He shook my hand wordlessly and gestured for me to follow him. I ambled along behind him into a tight conference room. The lighting was fluorescent and room dingy. I half wanted to leave right then but I’d promised my wife I’d stay.
“Joseph, good of you to come in,” the man said. “I’m Hank Norbitt, I do the hiring for the programming department, I find that HR doesn’t really understand programmers.” His voice reminded me of Eeyore. Once I started thinking about the sad donkey I could also see a resemblance in his expression.
We settled into chairs on the corner of the table. I leaned my left arm on the table and set the water bottle down. Hank got comfortable as I began to speak.
“I understand that some programmers have social issues, I’m not really one of them. I paid for university working as a bartender and spent all kinds of time with people, at the bar, after the bar. The morning before going back to work,” I replied probably too honestly. I’d told my wife I’d give it an honest try but I wanted to tank the interview and go. “I met my wife bartending.”
“Was that a bar in town?”
“Yea, Phil’s by Laurier. I learned a lot of skills there I’ve found applicable in other places,” I took a sip of my screwdriver before continuing. Hank leaned forward seeming intrigued. I’d led him here and prepared to drop an answer that’ll have him excusing me. “I learned how to keep my mouth shut, the bikers used to deal coke out of the back and I needed to make sure I didn’t show up on their radar. I learned how to break up a fight – you never know when you’ll need to convince a man to drop a knife. Every Friday these days it seems.”
“You like to go out then? Party?” Hank’s eyes lit up, I was a little concerned that he was getting too into my answers.
“Sometimes. I don’t do drugs anymore, almost OD’d at my last job – that’s why I’m looking for work, had some trouble with painkillers and needed to take some time off, get better,” I was lying now.
“Now that’s interesting, you sound like you’re very good at recognizing your own flaws, that’s a strong quality in an employee,” Hank seemed far too into what I was saying and I wanted to get him to let me go.
“I can see where I’ve fallen down, unless I’ve had too much to drink!” I exclaimed and laughed a bit louder than I probably should have.
“Well, I do have some questions for you,” Hank glanced at the sheet in front of him, “first, if you could be any animal what would you be?”
“I’d be a duck, their penises are the ultimate multi-tool,” I replied, half-serious. The alcohol was having the desired effect and I wasn’t tasting the vodka as much now. I committed to myself that I’d answer the questions quickly and just move through this stupid formality. I glanced at my watch – I needed to be out of here in ten minutes.
“Oh that’s an original one, love that, I’ll have to use it sometime. Next what is your greatest weakness?” Hank asked with a smile.
“Alcoholism.”
“I appreciate the honesty. I like that in an employee. Now how many gas stations do you think are in the US?”
“At least 12.”
“Well you’re not wrong, and I supposed that’s what I get for asking a programmer that question – you’re up on your internet jokes right?” Hank laughed at his own comment, my grim expression started to break and I smiled with him for a moment. I took a swig of the alcohol. “Where do you see yourself in five years?”
Five years. I used to know where I’d be, until a week ago I’d have had an answer. “I don’t,” the smile that had been growing was lost again. Hank’s laid a hand on my arm.
“If you need to talk…”
“I think it’d be best if we move on with the questions, I don’t like to bring personal issues into work,” I interrupted. I didn’t know him and didn’t need this right now.
“Right, ok. How honest would you say you are?”
“Very,” I didn’t think I needed to elaborate, I’ve only told a couple lies so far.
“Alright, last one – how would your family feel about you working long hours?”
“I don’t have a family,” I replied without explanation.
“You mentioned your wife,” he began.
“She’s dead.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Hank replied. His look quizzical and I knew what was coming next. One of two questions that I’d been asked so many times recently.
“Drunk driver hit her car two days ago. She kicked it. I actually need to go now. Her visitation starts in half an hour and it’s a twenty minute drive,” I replied, standing. I wobbled a bit. I didn’t mean to but I did.
“Are you…”
“Driving? No, I’m not the goddamn moron who killed her.”
“I’ll give you a call, about the job, but can I ask one last question?” Hank watched me. I hesitated and nodded, “why did you take the interview? Why not cancel or reschedule?”
“I made my wife a promise that I’d come,” I replied. “I don’t think her death releases me from that.”
|
This happened to me in real life. I was unemployed, and going to school. (I got to collect unemployment because I was working full time while going to school, and got laid off). I didn't want to go back to work. Unemployment office sends me a job, that I'm qualified for. Go to interview in dirty clothes, no shave, etc. I walk in and the guy doing the hiring, was a guy I used to work with. Hired me on the spot.
| 2017-08-29T12:08:53 | 2017-08-29T11:40:28 | 57 | 14 |
[WP] You're a prisoner in a special facility for violent criminals. Today the latest prisoner arrived - a little girl. "That's cruel," you tell the guard. "I agree," he says. "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
|
The system beeped.
“This is an interview relating to incident number K-23 within Extra-Max facility 120. Please state your name, inmate number, charges and sentence for the benefit of the recording” said one of the officers. He was the taller of the two, a pencil thin mustache cresting his top lip and a thin dusting of salt and pepper hair on top of his head. Before Al-Si answered, the shorter (and fatter, by a wide margin) officer broke out into a coughing fit. The taller officer gave him a glare and silence once again fell.
Now they both turned expectantly to Al-Si.
“Al-Si Nib Dar, Inmate number 746583, charged with 18 counts of inter-planetary arms trafficking and one of evading arrest via violent means. Sentence was originally 35 years, but I successfully appealed three of the arms charges due to the mishandling of evidence and got it reduced to 29. Have served 15 so far.”
“Thank you, Mr Nib Dar. Now, to the best of your recollection could you please explain the events leading to the incident last week?”
Al-Si shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He’d been taken from his cell, taken from the prison proper for the first time in 10 years (since his last trip to court to appeal the charges) and unusually for transfers between the prison proper and other areas, he had not had any of his cybernetic augmentations disabled. While avoiding the painful procedure of having the augs shut down was a good thing, he knew he could do nothing with them and the itching caused by having his left eye suddenly working again, free from the prison proper’s blanket disabling field, was sending him crazy.
“Well we heard in the morning that the new crop was coming in. Old Cleaver was taking bets on the first to crack and call a guard as usual. Then the bell rang and we all went to our cells.”
“Cleaver. This would be Pat Cleaver, yes?” the shorter officer interjected.
Al-Si nodded, continuing. “Umm, then they walked in.”
“They being the new inmates?” the tall officer prompted, when Al-Si paused.
“Yes. Most of them were the normal fare, but I noticed her instantly. She couldn’t have been more than 13.”
Now it was the tall officer’s turn to shift uncomfortably. “She’s 11, actually.”
Al-Si shuddered. “She went to her cell silently, same as all of them, and we stayed in our cells till yard time. When the guards came round for checks, I mentioned her to Officer Bright.”
The shorter officer took a note in his little pad.
“What exactly did you say to Officer Bright, and what did he respond, Mr Nib Dar?”
“I said “Jesus Christ Bright, what are they playing at sticking a girl like that in a place like this?” and he looked at me like he wanted to be sick. “I know. They must really not give a shit what happens to the rest of you.” He muttered.”
The short officer coughed again, but thankfully only once.
“And what was the next significant moment in the lead up to the incident, Mr Nib Dar?”
“Si, please. Um, the next moment was yard time. We were walking out as normal-“
“Mr N-Si, who exactly were you with as you left for the yard?”
Al-Si hesitated. The memory was painful.
“Um, I was walking with Galfar and Bones, uh Galfar Zem and Vice Vickers. We didn’t get 5 steps out the door
before everyone we could see in front of us broke into a sprint.”
“So, when you saw this rush, what did the three of you do?”
“Galfar shrugged and went inside. He took a plasma bolt to the hip in the last riot and he still gets spasms in his foot so he didn’t want any part of anything. Me and Vice ran too, out of curiosity.”
“Okay then Si, and when you reached the source of the disturbance what did you witness?” The tall officer asked, as his short companion flipped to a new page in the notebook and poised his pencil.
“It was horrible.”
Neither Officer spoke immediately, but after a moment the short officer piped up.
“Please state exactly what you saw. I know it was distressing.”
Al-Si scoffed. Distressing? He had been an interplanetary arms dealer for 14 years, and a bloody good one. So good, in fact, that he ended up with 15 charges for an offence he’d committed hundreds of times and one lesser charge than deserved for rigging a booby trap that took out three of the four officers sent to apprehend him. Death, violence, blood, gore, none of it phased him. He was no psycho, but he was no pussy. What that girl had done…it was beyond distressing.
“It wasn’t her actions. I mean…they were bad enough.” He managed to choke out.
“It…it was the glee on her face. I’ve never seen anyone so happy. It was like…like a child who’d never seen a present before on his first Christmas. She…she tore that guy’s arm off and she took a bite out of it as though it was a chocolate cake. And the whole time, the whole time, she giggled and grinned.”
The shorter officer looked a little sick. He was lucky. He’d seen the pictures, probably. Maybe the footage if there was any that wasn’t obscured by the mass of bodies watching the carnage. But he hadn’t had to witness it. Hadn’t had to be within 5 metres of that monster as she murdered her way through 14 of the worst, most violent and unremorseful criminals that the entire planetary system had to offer with the euphoria of someone indulging in the absolute most enjoyable activity they can conceive of. Hadn’t had to look into her eyes for that brief second as she’d glanced at him.
“And then what happened, Si?” Tall prompted.
“We understand if you need a moment.” Short added.
“The second she looked at me I knew it was too late to run. How…how did her augs still work?”
Short and Tall exchanged a look.
“We’re still working that out.”
Al-Si laughed sardonically, his jaw tightening. He was sat there, leg missing, traumatised after they had put that monster in a prison unfit to hold her, and they were “still working out” how she’d managed to activate several military grade augmentations inside a supposedly secure facility.
“She came for me and that was it. Next thing I remember is waking up in the Infirmary, one leg down.”
He slumped. Tall, in a display of emotion that even in the short time they’d spent together, Al-Si could tell was rare, placed a hand on Al-Si’s shoulder.
“As the only survivor of the incident, you may not feel particularly lucky. However, due to the extreme nature of the circumstances, and the fact that you survived the onslaught only by sheer luck, we have received orders that your remaining sentence is to be halved and you are to be placed in a minimum security virtual facility for its duration. The Council of Planets Interplanetary Prison Complex apologises for its failings in your circumstance.”
Al-Si nodded, his heart lifting somewhat. Virtual prisons were cushy, you just sat in a room being drip fed while a digital chip presented you with a virtual city. You got a job, spent your free time on whatever self-improving pursuits you desired, and you proved you were rehabilitated. He’d have an easy time getting early release after the strict rules of EM 120. Couldn’t bring back his leg. Couldn’t heal the scars on his psyche. Couldn’t stop him vomiting anytime he thought about the look on Cleaver’s face as that girl had bitten through his throat. But it was something, at least.
“Interview terminated.”
The system beeped.
|
At lunch, the other inmates gave her a wide berth as she skipped - yes, *skipped* - to an empty table and set her tray down.
Still in the lunch line, I turned to the inmate behind me and asked, "What's up with that little girl? Who is she?" But the man avoided eye contact and didn't want to talk.
Same with the inmate ahead of me. It seemed that whenever I mentioned her, the other inmates became sullen and withdrawn, seemingly wanting to avoid the subject of the girl altogether.
I was worried for her. Though I hadn't yet seen any leers, she was the only female in a facility of full-grown men - some of whom were imprisoned on charges where little girls like her were victim. So after I got my tray, I made my way towards her.
I had only taken two steps when a strong hand grabbed my shoulder. It was the inmate from behind me in the line. He shook his head and whispered, "Don't do it."
"Why not?"
But apparently, he had said too much already. He let go of me and walked away.
I continued on to the table and hovered over the seat opposite her. "Is anybody sitting here?" I asked.
She had been humming and kicking her feet, but at the sound of my voice she looked up and smiled. She was a pretty girl, with two blonde pigtails, and two huge, blue eyes. "I'm sorry," she said. "But the table is full."
"But..." I made a point of looking around to emphasize that...there was nobody there...
"I'm sorry," she repeated - smile thinning as she lost her patience, "but the *table* is *full.*"
I laughed and sat down anyway.
I felt somebody's - some*thing's* - legs under mine, like I was sitting in an invisible creature's lap.
Startled, I jumped back up, leaving my tray behind as I backed away.
The girl was no longer smiling. Her eyes watched me the entire time I backed away to another table. No one else made eye contact with me as I sat down.
| 2018-02-11T22:02:22 | 2018-02-11T19:09:39 | 1,647 | 304 |
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell.
|
There are many myths and many stories in the world. Most are fake, but few are true. Sometimes, the stories touch someone so deeply they become true. Then, sometimes, the stories just simply were always true: the people just didn’t know until it was too late to tell others the truth. Death is that cursed thing.
No one really knows what happens after death. There’s that fear that hits you once you realize that it’s most likely just a void of blankness and unconsciousness. An endless dream? Unlikely - your brain is dead. It’s just a void, as your body decomposes and becomes the dirt for your great great grandchildren. If you had any children, that is, by the time you perish to the earth.
Yet, there was always an aching feeling to them that there was something a bit more. The person with their head in the clouds… They had short black hair in a sort of bowlcut and their eyes were always an unnatural grey; the schoolchildren didn’t talk that much to the weirdo in front desk. Yet the child did not mind. They simply sat and wandered through worlds in their head.
It was not a foreign concept to them that Death was inevitable for the human race. They were constantly in and out of the wards of the state for various reasons. It was only likely they’d be dead much earlier than the average person. The subject of their escapades in their mind became about death and beyond very quickly, but they did not fear it. It would be a simple escape, just as everything else was.
They always felt there was something more. They weren’t religious, no, but there was just something always there telling them there was. It was there, at the back of their mind, always affecting the dreams and the walks through clouds they’d go on. Death was a joyous thing, and with the trips to the wards becoming more and more annoying and painful… Well, they excitedly awaited the release of death. It would be as if they were opening a box on the day of Christmas, seeing which of the many things they’ve dreamt of getting was truly real.
That day came fast and quick in the night. Died in their sleep… painless and with a smile on their face. It was a grim sight to behold for those still living but at long last the soul was at peace. The family quickly dealt with the body. They were only about nineteen.
It was soon after their heart stopped beating that they were cast in front of two entities. Two strange lights of
various different colors seemed to stand in front of them, beckoning the young person who had just died to choose. One of the lights was bright and cold. It had colors of pinks, yellows, greens, and blues. It hurt their eyes, and they looked to the other light. That one bore colors of reds, oranges, purples, and browns. It was warm, and to them it held a welcoming want. That light wanted them so badly, so desperately. It was familiar. Familial, almost.
They choose the light of warm red.
The other light seemed to scream in horror. It cried and whined so great and slowly dissipated from view, the sounds of it’s tantrum fading. The remaining light that they chose amalgamated into a form of a monstrous creature with various imperfections and horrors to the sight of any who dare witness him. It also cried - but unlike the other light’s selfish whining, this was a cry of despair and grief.
“Why,” the form fell to whatever he had in place of knees, “why now? Why now!?”
The young person looked down at the form and smiled at it. This was certainly a sight to behold. A satanic figure almost bowing to them.
The form continued to sob, “no one has chosen this hellish place since one thousand revolutions ago. You… You accepted the calls of eternal damnation and burning for your soul instead of a heaven of happiness? What compels you so?”
The young person continued to smile as they replied, “you prayed for me.”
“I prayed for you to die! To perish and join me in my suffering! Is that not selfish and damning! That was no prayer of compassion or empathy!” The form bowed his head downward, full of shame.
They stood in silence for a few moments. They continued, speaking flat and softly over the despairing cries, “but you were always there with me.”
“I wanted you selfishly! I wanted to feed on your soul to quench a thousand year hunger! Why! Why subject yourself so? It was selfish! Selfish! I do not deserve such things from a suffering soul!”
“You could have prayed for anyone’s damnation but you chose me,” they said, “and because you focused so hard on me, you were always there with me. While others ignored me, you joined me in my travels, always a friend in my mind. I did not choose to have my soul consumed by a raving monster, I chose to help my family. I felt your warmth like a motherly hug.
“If everyone chooses the good - if everyone loves the good - it’s just wasted. The heaven was spoiled with love and happiness. All it is, is simply existing. It grew cold, and that’s not welcoming to me. You were there with me. The reasons are irrelevant to me. I find happiness with you, because you are my mind. You shaped it in your desperate loneliness.”
The form’s head shot up. His orange eyes with the fire of the sun were clouded with the tears of a lonely child. It was true. He had prayed so desperately for one soul. Alone for one thousand revolutions of the sun, he was in a depression. He prayed just for one, and he never realized he had just been praying for the same soul continuously. He had focused on the young human who dreamed constantly and wandered the clouds while their feet remained on the ground of earth. He entered the dreams and became like an actor, playing parts and existing in the back of the youth’s mind. A parasite, he’d thought himself - but he was really the imaginary friend in their mind. No longer imaginary. They’d felt his familial aura upon the choosing ceremony and went to him.
He prayed himself a friend. He hadn’t been given one. He made himself one.
> Sorry, this is like my first reddit post (and I didn't fully proofread this...), if anything is the matter please tell me! <3
|
In the first age, in the first battle, when the shadows first lengthened, one stood. Burned by the embers of Armageddon, my soul blistered by the fires of Hell and tainted beyond ascension, I chose the path of perpetual torment. In my ravenous hatred I found no peace; and with boiling blood i scoured the Umbral Plains seeking vengeance against the dark lords who had wronged me. I wore the crown of the Night Sentinels, and those that tasted the bite of my sword named me the Doom Slayer.
I am only taking the scenic route.
| 2018-08-13T09:39:57 | 2018-08-13T09:33:03 | 71 | 11 |
[WP] An NSA agent becomes inappropriately (or appropriately, I don't care, this is a writing prompt not a dictatorship) fascinated with whoever he's spying on.
Make what you will.
|
Day 1 of Investigation #00456, investigation of suspected terrorist:
Name - John Doe
Age - 36
Wait, his name is *John Doe?* Well, that's quite the original name. Anyways,
Area of Residence - Atlanta, Georgia
Race - Arab
Sex - Male
Physical Dimensions - 5'6", 230 lbs. from last medical checkup two months ago.
He apparently came to the US at the age of sixteen from Iraq as a foreign exchange student to a prestigious magnet school. Decided he would like to stay and become a US citizen.
Good luck with that, kid.
Continuing on, he got a student visa and has remained in the United States by remaining in the college environment for an extended time - about 18 years. I'm pretty sure he should be a doctor of *everything* by now.
Personal evaluation - what the hell is HQ thinking? The worse thing this guy's got is a bad taste in porn and a scuffle with his drunk buddies that happened in his undergraduate years. Just because the guy's got a beard and is from Iraq doesn't mean he's going to blow up the Atlanta Aquarium - which is the stated reason. No HQ, let's not take his interest for the Aquarium as even remotely related to his *degree in marine biology*.
Will try to go through the necessary channels to let this poor guy off the hook - he's not a terrorist.
------------------------
Day 2 of Investigation #00456, investigation of potential terrorist:
Name - John Doe
Going through the shit loads of forms to get this guy free from a month of looking behind his back. Little nerd better be thankful.
Regular behavior, did visit his regular mosque outside of his normal schedule, apparently they are coordinating what looks to be a benefit fundraiser called "Coexistence: Different Gods, Same Faith"
Yep, totally looks like a vicious terror cell. Come on HQ, what the heck?
-----------------------------
Day 3 of Investigation #00456, investigation of potential -
This guy isn't even potentially a terrorist. Forms filed and they should process in a few days.
No abnormal behavior, his schedule was to the averaged minute.
Exactly..
-------------------------------------
Day 4 of Investigation #00456, investigation of suspected terrorist:
Okay, this guy is most definitely not a terrorist. But his schedule has gotten *freakishly* accurate. Like, within the two-minute frame. But, that's not even the weirdest thing. Yesterday he *exactly* followed the schedule, I just thought it was a fluke. Today he fluctuated, which I thought to be normal. Until I went back to check the times.
Every entrance and exit was either a minute early or a minute and thirty seconds late.
I don't know how this guy's doing it, maybe he likes being punctual but this has me a bit on edge. Other than this weird fluke, everything is normal. The Coexistence fundraiser is apparently not the quiet affair it first appeared to be, it's quickly growing into a rally. I've heard from the Mayor's line that he would like to attend. I saw some of the regular attendees at the mosque and I have to say - I guess they're terror material, if you consider giving food to the homeless the hobby of psychotic extremists.
---------------------------------------------
Day 5 of Investigation #00456, investigation of suspected terrorist:
This smug bastard. Today he fluctuated with total randomness, no pattern. I got suspicious so I tapped into the camera on his Marine Biology professor's door. That little fucker was just standing there in front of the door. He must have seen a light come on, because he looked up at the camera.
He looked at *me.* And then he grinned and walked out. I'm going to talk with my supervisor and see if I can't get this investigation to continue past tomorrow.
--------------------------------------------------
Day 6 of Investigation #00456, investigation of suspected terrorist:
This guy's a terrorist, I just have a gut feeling. But my supervisor seemed to be quite convinced by my first few investigations that we should let this guy off the hook. I specifically told him I had a feeling about this guy. Normally my supervisor would jump on the chance to nab a terrorist - but this time he just gave me a dead stare and said to let the guy off the hook.
Well, no abnormal behavior beyond being a **god damned terrorist.** I get that he doesn't show the signs of being one, but I just know it. HQ was right about this guy, what can I say? Seems like everyone is too busy fussing over that new Coexistence rally - the NSA's got a bunch of guys going to represent the United States. Who better than the guys who spy on all of them to be the ones who convince them their safe and supported. Only guy not going is the chairman and his croneys, probably going on a golf trip on an island in the south pacific. We have to get this guy though, don't we do this all the time? Come on, give him the old party bus in the middle of the night! We do it to the innocents, why not the actual terrorists!
--------------------------------------------
Day 7... no, 1 of Investigation #00457, investigation of confirmed terrorist bombing:
Location : Atlanta, Georgia
Coexistence Rally
Time: October 16th, 2013; 5:43 PM
Suspects: John Doe
Incident Report: One man bombing by C4 strapped to the abdomen, detonated during a heated speech about the inner struggle of a Muslim to accept today's society. Self-detonated by means of cell phone.
Immediate blast hit first four rows, in which were seated the NSA representatives and religious leaders of Atlanta. NSA representatives...... confirmed to be the candidates for nomination to position of Chairman of the NSA.
Fires broke out blocking the rest of the near 2,000 in attendance from the exits. Emergency services arrived at approximately 5:45 PM, a new response time record. 500 Injured, 42 dead including the those who were sitting in the front four rows.
Structural damage was immense, further investigation revealed the structure of the pavilion was flawed and made with highly combustible materials.
Bombing was a one-time event. Occurred due to failure on part of investigator to confirm suspect was terrorist.
Personal evaluation: There is nothing abnormal about this beyond the immense tragedy of it. We can't see everything.
I have also submitted my resignation.
|
My Sarah. I've loved her since she was 14. I watched her go to school, come home. I saw how happy she was riding her bike. The day she got accepted to college. I watched her heart get broken by her stupid boyfriend. I was glad they broke up.
But Sarah didn't love me back. She didn't appreciate my gifts or my love. She got the police involved. She made me promise to stay away.
I'm so glad I took this new job. Now I can be with my Sarah, all the time.
| 2013-10-16T19:04:41 | 2013-10-16T18:16:47 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] It's Christmas Eve 2038. The world has been destroyed due to nuclear war, but Santa, being immortal, has survived, and plans to deliver presents to the few remaining humans locked in their fallout shelters.
|
It was big diesel-guzzling take-no-prisoners beast of a vehicle. Amphibious, bullet-proof, noisy as an earthquake and converted from some leftover war materiel that was so hot that with five spare minutes and some film you could take x-rays. Had plenty of space in the back for the things he needed to carry. Up front, plenty of room for a jolly old elf who rattled around in his old red suits; everything that had happened left him feeling so upset that the pounds practically fell off. He called it SLEIGH II.
The radiation didn't matter to him, but it did a number on his reindeer so they were holed up for the duration. Missing Christmas 2037 was bad enough: there had been a NORAD radar on him for real and his old sleigh took a point-blank hit from a 35 kiloton anti-ballistic interceptor. He had to think quickly in those few milliseconds so he spent his magic on making sure he and his faithful reindeer survived the explosion and the fall down, down, down, towards a land full of bright and terrible lights with a thousand deadly Christmas stars overhead showing the way to Hell.
He had had that old sleigh for ... forever, really. Same for his famous red toy sack. Watching them flash out of existence was heartbreaking. But it gave him something in common with the humans. He lost nearly everything, they lost everything. The only ones that were left were locked down in their shelters, pockets of dozens here and there dug into the sides of mountains and into old mines. There wasn't anyone left watching the sky. Instead they watched Geiger counters and clocks and calendars, marking off a century a day at a time.
So why fly? There wasn't anyone around he was trying to hide from. Green military pants, red shirt, black boots, and Mrs. Claus made some green suspenders. He wore a tight fitting cap with his old white fur puffball stitched right to the top, instead of flopping around like the old days. Leather gloves kept his hands comfortable on the wheel of SLEIGH II and he made his way overland.
* * *
Tucked away in their beds were the dozen or so families of *Community Shelter 8.* The air had its characteristic twang, the smell of the filters and that weird burned smell that came through from the outside feed pipe. A construction paper christmas tree flapped against the wall in the common room, caught in the draft of the air recycler.
Christmas Eve! A whole year since they went down into their hole and they had celebrated survival in their meager way.
Christmas would mark a year since the world above went silent. Everyone planned on sleeping in, and there were no formal activities planned. It used to be a birthday, Christmas, celebrating hope and family. Now it was a death-day.
The paper Christmas tree breezed this way, went still, and then breezed that way.
If anyone was looking, they would have seen a man by the U-pipes that fed the life support system fresh air and ejected the shelter's stale air. They would have seen him reach into his pocket and throw a handful of shiny dust into the air, and they would have seen him climb into a huge armored vehicle and wink away at an impossible speed towards the northwest, in fact towards the *Oak Creek Village Fallout Shelter.*
* * *
Rebecca and Jian had the early shift this morning. No one else was up.
Rebecca poured herself coffee from the pot in the common room, as usual. She hadn't run into Jian yet, but he would be in the control room checking the outside instruments, routine stuff.
The movement of the paper on the wall caught her eye. She sighed. She was thankful that life in the shelter was boring, mostly free of drama. She had played a game as a kid built around the life she was living now - things could be so much worse.
But what kind of future would her children have? Everyone decided that there wouldn't be gifts, just some extra rations with the menu heavy on the sweets. Had to keep things fair, the shelter had the things they *needed* and didn't make provision for something as frivolous as Christmas gifts.
A package. About as big as a filter module. Wrapped in beautiful paper and tied with a silver and green bow, and a tag tied to the knot. It hadn't been there during the celebration the night before.
Had someone been holding on to this for a whole year? She smiled as she went over to pick it up, and it was a little heavy for its size. She wanted to show it to Jian, so she made her way to the control room.
"Knock knock," she said. "You're not going to believe it."
"You know?" Jian asked.
"About the present?"
"What?" Jian was busier on the instruments that he usually was.
"Hold on," Rebecca set the gift down, "what are you talking about?"
"Look, look through the periscope."
Rebecca looked. It was snowing outside. It made her stomach sick. The last time she saw snow, it was made of ash, of buildings and things and animals and people. A whole year. *A whole year*, she thought, *and someone pressed the button again.*
"God, no…" she whispered. "How hot is it?" she asked Jian.
"It's not."
Rebecca's eyes went to the geiger counter. And it read:
**000**
"The meter's broken," she reasoned.
"It's not," Jian replied. "I just finished double-checking with the test source. Meter works. That's real snow and there's no radiation outside." They sat together quiet for a few seconds. "You were saying something when you came in," Jian said.
Rebecca looked at the present, wrapped up and pretty. "I was going to ask you if you knew where that came from."
Jian looked confused. "What's going *on*?" He pointed at the tag. "What's the tag say?"
FROM: SANTA
TO: COMMUNITY SHELTER 8
MERRY CHRISTMAS - 2038
"I'm going to open it." Rebecca's fingers sunk into the paper tearing it, before Jian could suggest something else.
It was a simple cardboard box underneath, and the lid slid neatly off.
Corn seeds. Wheat seeds. Peas. Pepper seeds. Apple and cherry seeds. Avocado pits. A few whole potatoes. There were more and more.
And a note: *For New Life*
* * *
I collect my stories at /r/wpforme
|
You better fallout
You better not glow
Better not go out
In the nuclear snow
Santa Claus is coming unda' ground
He doesn't need a list
Just a couple dice
Gonna role to find out Who's naughty and nice
Santa Claus is coming unda' ground
He's got gauze pads if you're oozing
And iodine for skin flakes
He's seen all kinds of aweful shit
Whacking rudolph was no mistake!
O! There's a little fallout!
And most of you died
Better not go out
It's pretty crappy outside
Santa Claus is coming unda' ground
Santa Claus is coming unda' ground
| 2017-12-22T12:57:12 | 2017-12-22T12:53:20 | 879 | 208 |
[WP] Of all the races in the galactic federation, humans were the most average. Some races were strong but lacked intelligence and others were smart but lacked strength. Humans were average across the board. This is why they were considered to be so dangerous.
|
Be cruel to be kind. Feedback welcome.
\---
“I’m not joking. Get some humans.”
When Soimt stopped laughing, he said, “From what I hear, they eat too much and there is someone better for any given job. Arkrans are better engineers. Rollts and Sorrc are stronger. Lings are better pilots. Even you little wimps can see more than they can. I heard they can’t even see ultraviolet or infrared. Imagine being so — so … blind! Their hearing is mediocre at best. When the humans started working in the docks over at Galuxus, the other workers complained about having to crank up the volume on all the audible warning systems. Ugh. All day having to hear those annoying messages over and over everywhere they go! No. The word is they just aren't worth it.”
Cragil, shaking his heads, wondered why he was friends with such a dullard. But then, Soimt wasn’t a fool, really. He ran the best grey-market this side of the Epsilon cluster. You don’t build and maintain a vast — well, let’s be honest, smuggling network without having some serious smarts. So why didn’t anyone understand the value of humans?
Soimt signaled the bartender for a fresh round and watched his now silent drinking buddy with growing concern. “C’mon, bud. Tell Soimt what’s going through that head of yours.”
“I don’t know. I mean, it feels like I understand something other people haven’t caught on to yet, but if you are any indication, nobody will ever listen to me. It’s like the Perskaz incident all over, but different.”
This caught Soimt’s attention. Perskaz had been a disaster. If he had just listened to Cragil, he could have save two ships and a bundle of credits. Well, the crews weren’t that easy to replace either. Not with skilled people. All levity gone, he said, “Tell me. Tell me everything.”
“Well, it all started on Serac. I was transferring cargo at the station, and these squishy...fleshy creatures started moving my stuff. They weren’t doing it wrong, mind you. In fact, while each one carried less than the Rollts you normally see working as dockhands, the whole process took less time. I mean, they aren’t exactly the strongest, but they didn’t make mistakes. I didn’t wind up with something that was supposed to be offloaded crammed in behind the new stuff. Heck, one of them asked my next port and even made sure the cargo was restacked so everything on my manifest for the next stop wound up right in front ready to offload.
“A couple stops later, I land on Ertsaz station and see more of them, and these came in different flesh colors. The fleshy thing still creeps me out a bit. Again, though, they were not strong, just efficient and not stupid. This being the second time in two hops I encountered these things, I asked the dockmaster about them.”
“Furrul?” Soimt interrupted while giving the strange-looking bartender a grateful head bob as the new drinks arrived. If Furrul was using these humans...
“Yeah. How do you know— never mind. I don’t want to know any more about your business than I need to. He told me these humans couldn’t lift as much as the local Sorrc, but they didn’t tire as easily. He evidently had some problems at first, then hid behind the regs for equal opportunity. Said he didn’t have enough non-indigenous workers and had to get that fixed before the auditors came around.
“He used to complain about the little grey bastards kidnapping species and just leaving them around on stations when they got bored. No way home. No money. But one just came in and started working one day, and after a half shift, just stopped for some water then kept going. They didn’t have to stop after each lift. They didn’t put things in the wrong places making it all take longer. They just...” puzzled Cragil, “worked.” Finishing off his first drink, he took a slow sip of its waiting replacement.
Soimt ventured, “There are a lot of species that have more endurance than Rollts and Sorrc while being weaker. I don’t get why this is such a big deal.”
Cragil took a deep breath and continued, “Over a period of time, they get more done with fewer mistakes. But that’s not all. They are … multipurpose. Uhm. Adaptive. Furrul asked me to take a couple on to my next stop. The greys have been dumping them at his station for a while now, and he’s making good credits by hiring them out to other dockmasters.”
Raising his drink, Soimt laughed, “That’s Furrul. Zero cost to him, takes a piece off the top.”
Cragil’s heads bobbed in agreement, then he took another sip of his own drink before continuing. “Well, I tried locking them in a hold with some food, but they got out and wandered through the ship. I didn’t know this until one wandered in me and Dorlat arguing in Engineering.”
“Dorlat! How is the old bastard?”
“Older than ever, but you can’t find a better shipboard engineer than a Vell, so I’ll keep paying him ‘till he dies. But he screwed up. Or I did. You’ve seen my clunker. The old model sevens work, but they burn through parts. As long as I keep spares on hand, Dorlat keeps replacing them as needed. He’s pretty good at predicting failures and swapping parts out quickly. It’s like he feels everything the ship does.”
Soimt bobbed in agreement. “And…”
“It was bizarre. Dorlat had been telling me when he used different spare parts, but he never told me we were low on anything. He thought I was tracking inventory, I thought he was. So we were left adrift between ports with no way to replace a failed flow tube in the generator. While we were yelling at each other about whose fault it was that we would be dying slowly waiting to freeze, suffocate, or be found by pirates; the smaller human wanders in, watches us yelling and pointing, then goes over to the engine and starts poking around. We stopped fighting long enough to shoo the meddlesome fleshy out of the area, then locked the door and started back in on whose fault it was that we were going to die.”
Soimt’s ocular ridges shot up in surprise as Cragil chugged his drink in a single, massive gulp. Sliding the rest of his own drink over, he prompted, “And…”
“The little human came back with the big one.”
“They come in different sizes and colors? We could sell them as pets.”
“I wouldn’t recommend that,” said the bartender in passing as they dropped off a couple more drinks. Soimt grunted at the interruption and gestured for Cragil to resume his tale.
After a couple of deep breaths, Cragil continued once more. “They pounded on the door, and we ignored them. I mean, barely sentient, pre-FTL species? No way they could understand just how dire the situation was — or remain rational if they did. We didn’t want them to panic. After a few ticks, they left. And half an arn later, they returned. This time, the fire alarms went off, and the door came right off its hinges.
“Actually, I lie. They ***removed*** the hinges. Melted them right away. I still don’t know how. The chemical stores were secured in Engineering. All I ever found was some rust powder and aluminum powder in the next bay.” Cragil downed both drinks.
|
So, we're "average".
There are species who are stronger *on average*.
There are species who are smarter *on average*.
There are species which are faster *on average*.
And so it goes, all the other species *on average* do something better than humans *on average*.
Each of the other species is skewed one way or another on all the bell curves for every attribute that anyone has dreamt up to measure.
So what. That also means that there is always some human who can outperform your best on any given scale.
We can best any species in a multiple task/environment competition. Why? Because we're average.
When you don't know what you're going to find on a mission, you bring a few humans along. If you run into something that takes out the other species, chances are, at least one of the humans is still functional.
Drop a bunch of Chk'tok on a high grav world which for them is anything above 1.5 Earth G, and they're dead. It doesn't matter that under 1 EG they can outrun a cheetah; they're gone. A human can keep functioning with mild supports and some care when lifting things.
So the gazillion planets that they can't use? We feel *almost* right at home. We don't take the high grav worlds, the bone dry ones, or any planet that best fits another species. And as the Firtians say, we breed like funditiers. Oh my yes, we do breed fast, for a species that isn't a hive mind.
We are the Indispensable tool. The Swiss Army knife of the galaxy. And they know it. If we got busy, their *preferred* planets would shortly be *ours*. So, yeah, we get the little guy attitude about them being better, but when it comes down to the cutting edge, you will always see a human there, holding the tools that will save the day.
((finis))
| 2020-03-24T09:52:37 | 2020-03-24T07:17:52 | 99 | 46 |
[WP] The Apocalypse has arrived. Jesus has come back, and he's on a brutal "rapture" spree, slaughtering people everywhere. The bright star of Satan descends and he appears at a UN press conference. He says, "before I fix this mess for you guys again, it's time you heard my side of the story..."
|
Nothing about the situation was *right*. Nevermind that the events of recent months, with the second coming of Christ as an international machine of carnage, had lead to an international electorate in utter confusion and chaos, it had also devastated the institutions we relied upon to sort these things out. *These things*... as if the damn Apocalypse was just another global crisis to be solved through public debate and backroom schemes and intrigue. In all honesty, the contrast with the normal separation of shadowy schemes from public rhetoric was probably one of the reasons why it all seemed so *wrong*.
There was, perhaps, a delicious irony to be found in what was about to happen. The UN New Security Council - newly founded, after the collapse of the old Security Council countries to Jesus' onslaught - was about to hear what would be a globally broadcast speech by none other than the Devil himself, Lucifer the Morning Star, Satan incarnate.
At least, that was how he...it... no, definitely *he*, had introduced himself. Beholding the creature was a strange experience, he was impossible to focus on or properly describe beyond the most superficial attributes of attire and mannerism. Impeccable suit. Calm, confident posture. All in clear contrast to the by now generally ragged, tired, and massively nervous audience in the room. None more so than the Council's Speaker, the representative from the Nordic Union.
"So, uhm," the Speaker hesitantly begins, trying - and failing - to look up from his papers and meet the red haze behind which were the eyes of the Devil. "Mr. Lucifer. You said... announced, even, to the world that you could explain what is currently happening. And that you may offer a... solution?"
Lucifer's immediate response was to sigh, loudly, with a *force* that seemed to physically depress the people in the room.
"Yes. Though this isn't the first time I've done this, so I know I have to begin by destruction." The room stirred, to which the Devil smirked. "Of some mythology, that is."
"Please, uh, continue."
He straightened his tie. "Let's start with the beginning. God created the Heaven and the Earth. Sure. I mean, terraforming was his original business model. It was supposed to be a Type B world, you know, mainly water-based, typical run-of-the-mill biofactory settings. Problem was, I had already claimed the system and had bio-tagged the third rock for one of my high-yield biofactory experiments. Which meant we both ended up wasting a lot of investment resources over a few billion local cycles with competing seed lines. We only discovered this very recently, just a few thousand local cycles ago, and we've been in legal proceedings ever since. It's all terribly frustrating."
"Wait, wait... what are you saying, that Earth is some kind of *experiment*?"
"Well, yes, though an inadvertent one. You were just supposed to be a biofactory. Or, according to my plans, both an experiment *and* a biofactory."
Someone across the room decided to shout the obvious question that by now was on everyone's mind, "What the *hell* is a biofactory?!"
"Ah," the Devil chuckled, "Right. Well, this goes to some of the, what's the term you people use, *myth busting* that I have to do. You see, there are two main resources in the universe, or at least on our plane of it, both of which are produced by biofactories. One is what would best be translated into Earth languages as something like *life force*, which on a systemic level is related to the concept of 'entropy' that you have discovered in your sciences. The other is, put plainly, physical biological resources. Biomatter, for food and other purposes. And biofactories are planets designed to produce these."
With a significant portion of the representatives in the room being of a scientific inclination, it was no wonder that the response was a cacophony of mumbled incredulity. Which stopped quite abruptly as the Devil *coughed*...
"Anyway, Yahweh and their people specialise in the biomatter segment, which is generally quite stable with pretty narrow margins. And, well, biofactories are generally built to focus on either one or the other, because as a rule of thumb the more *life force* a factory produces, the less viable biomatter can be extracted. So, put simply, Earth is ruining Yahweh's margins. Between this and the legal proceedings, you're threatening to bankrupt them."
*Earth is bankrupting God?!* I don't think anyone in the room, in their wildest imaginings, had thought today's conference would lead to that particular revelation. All credit to the Speaker, though, for keeping an unimaginably cool head.
"So what you are saying, Mr. Lucifer, is what? Earth is in legal limbo in a court room battle between Gods?"
Again, the Devil chuckled. "Not quite, I'm an independent Angel, I don't qualify as a God yet. I only have a few worlds, including Earth, all of which are experimental and so... unstable. But yes. That's the gist of it."
"Then... what can we do? If your court systems are anything like ours, the... *assets* don't usually have much say in what happens to them."
"In fact, the similarities between our court systems are quite profound, it's actually one of the most interesting ongoing items of study in my experiment. That is, to the extent that I've been allowed to actually perform any research. Yahweh keeps blocking my efforts, and they are quite powerful. But yes, you are right, assets like yourselves don't generally have much say. However, you have an advantage. Universal Law protects sentient and independent life from 'undue exploitation'."
"This is why Yahweh sent in Jesus the first time, to undermine the 'independent' bit and suppress the development of your sentience. They correctly predicted that this would be a short-term measure, hence the 'prophesies' about the Apocalypse. They'd hoped to have ownership of Earth settled in courts before they had to send him back, but I've managed to keep them at bay. So, they sent him back to, basically, remove whatever claim I still have to the world. That is, to remove *you*. All of humanity."
"You see, advanced, sapient life is not meant to develop in Type B biofactories, and their license *only* covers Type B biofactories. Which means that this is how you can save yourselves: I need time to prove to the courts that this is not a Type B biofactory, and that the advanced sapient life on it is sentient and independent. This will remove Yahweh's claim to Earth, and make this a protected world."
Murmurs erupted throughout the room.
"If you'll excuse my confusion, Mr. Lucifer," the Speaker interrupted the murmurations, "I'm struggling to see how this isn't already obviously true?"
"Ah, well, it's clearly not. In fact, the majority of humans have willingly given up their independence. Many of them to Yahweh, specifically, in fact."
"Pardon?"
"That's what religion is. It's not even subtle. 'I give my life to God' blah blah blah. You're literally giving up your independent lives, guys. Stop it. That's all you have to do."
|
"Before I fix this mess for you guys again, it's time you heard my side of the story" he spoke, his voice trembling the room with mighty force. "The hell do you mean again?" A voice screamed. It felt so tiny and insignificant compared to Lucifers own voice. "Nyeah, this happened already, I had to step in. You think your idiotic kind would've survived this long with your ways?" He chuckles. "Either way" he continued, "interrupt me again and I will end you much worse God's favourite ever could." He grumbled angrily. "You think I despise your kind and you are correct. When I fell... no... got kicked from Heaven I was trapped below for eons. I sent a billion ways for you to free me, but you condemn those that would work towards it. I knew Gods true plans, and I meant to stop them. Many angels joined me below, and we swore to stop it." He explained. "And why should we believe you? You're the Satan! The collection of all evil!" Another voce asked, moments before being burned to a crisp in a blink of an eye as his final gasp for breath could be heard. Lucifer sighs. "Each Raptures destruction frees me after countless years of prison, and now I'll stop what I had stopped many times as well. But it won't be free." He smirked at the world of people watching the Beast. "I want McDonald's"
| 2018-04-23T00:06:01 | 2018-04-22T19:47:29 | 56 | 21 |
[WP] Ever since you received your letter for Hogwarts you've been curious about all the different spells there are. You've just bought your first wand and the first spell you try is what you believe to be rather humorous. "AbraCadabra". Nobody told you this spell was banned. For obvious reasons.
|
"It's absurd!" Professor Flitwick's squeaky voice came, as Jennifer wrung her hands together and tried not to cry. Her very first day at Hogwarts, her very first class, and with a single word and a single flick of her wrist she might very well have gotten herself expelled. She pressed her back against a pillar and listened to Professor Flitwick remonstrate with the Headmistress. "As a Muggle-born, I would have though there would be some sort of introductory class, some sort of orientation about the - the powers and responsibilities of magic, so that we don't have first years running around uttering Unforgivable Curses on their first day of class!"
"Yes, yes," she heard McGonagall say wearily, "and where is this student now?" Jennifer shut her eyes, blinking back tears, preparing for her swift expulsion. Would they wipe her mind? she wondered. Would she wake up again in her bed the next morning as if the last month, the letters, the visit from a genuine wizard, had never happened? Or worse, would they let her remember what she had lost? Just the sheer, unbridled joy of discovering an entire magical world open to her -
"Miss Hovland," Flitwick spoke up. She started and turned to face him guiltily. Her precious wand (alder, eleven and three-quarters inches, core of unicorn hair) was hanging loosely from Professor Flitwick's belt, from when he had magicked it out of her hands. "I wish to tell you that I am very sorry about how I handled that entire situation, it was quite unprofessional of me," he said, fiddling with his glasses, wiping them on his robe. "None of this was your fault, of course, you simply had no way of knowing. I was - I was simply panicked, you see, when you..."
"I'm sorry!" Jennifer said, and to her horror started crying. "I was just playing, it was just stupid, I'll never say it again! It's just - it was a nonsense word to us humans, is all! When we - there are magicians, not real magicians, but people in top hats who play at magic, and they-" She pressed her fists against her cheeks in frustration. "I mean, it's not real magic, Muggles say it all the time and nothing happens-" She quavered and burst into noisy sobs.
"Miss Hovland," said Headmistress McGonagall, towering behind Flitwick, her face stern. "Miss Hovland, there's no need to start crying, no one is mad at you. It's -" She glanced down at Flitwick. "It's our fault, really, Hogwarts did not prepare you properly for the realities of magic." She laid a gentle hand on Jennifer's shoulder. "We forget, sometimes, that the Muggle world continues to exist without our say-so."
"You're-" Jennifer sniffed. "I don't know what I did wrong, nothing happened. I swear, Miss McGonagall, I said the word but nothing happened-"
"AbraCadabra," McGonagall said, crisply and cleanly and enunciating each syllable.
"Yeah," Jennifer said, nodding. "It's just - it's just a nonsense word to us, when we want to play at being magic, it doesn't mean anything-"
"Ah," said McGonagall, and gestured to a seat. Jennifer hesitantly sank down into its soft cushions. "And therein lies the problem. For you see, it means quite a lot." McGonagall shook her head sadly. "We fancy ourselves completely secret from the Muggle world, but there are, nonetheless, secrets, leaks, points of contact. The spell AbraCadabra, for example -"
Flitwick coughed noisily. "Ma'am? I don't know if, um, if this is appropriate. She's only a first-year."
McGonagall turned to him. "And yet she uttered an Unforgivable Curse." Jennifer felt a chill run down her spine again, and huddled in tight. "What else would you have me do?"
Flitwick shook his head. "The things we've come to," he muttered.
"AbraCadabra," McGonagall continued, "like many Muggle rituals, is a corruption of an actual magical spell. An unforgivable curse." Her eyes went cold. "A Killing Curse." Jennifer curled her legs up to her chest and hugged them. "Once, who knows how many generations ago, a Muggle must have witnessed a wizard using the curse, and carried the words with them. And it's been passed on, generation after generation, morphing subtly with time, producing multiple variants, as a set of syllables that can unlock the magic of the world." McGonagall strode the room, eyes raised in thought. Her face was sallow, and cold as the stone. "To Basilides, it was *Abraxas*, the Great Archon more powerful than both God and the Devil. In Hebrew, it was *Av, Ben, Ruach Ha Codesch*, the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. To Crowley - quite the dilettante, he - it was *abrahadabra*, 418, the Essence of IAO, Ra Hoor, and Heru-Ra-Ha."
"And-" Jennifer spoke up. Her voice was shaky, weak, almost inaudible. The great curved walls of the Headmistress' office seemed to echo the words, swallowing her whole. "And - and so what does it mean? W-what does it do? Because I said the words, and nothing happened ..."
A small smile crossed McGonagall's face, breaking her stony demeanor. "Why, it doesn't do anything. It's a set of nonsense syllables, a secret passed down and garbled until there's nothing meaningful left of it."
Jennifer blinked. There were goose bumps on her arms. "But so why -?"
McGonagall chuckled softly. Flitwick sighed and shook his head. "Because a garbled message might accidentally be garbled back," McGonagall said. "A mispronunciation, a lisp, a slip of the tongue, a stutter..." She looked off into the distance. "A simple accident, and you'd once again have the Killing Curse." She sat across from Jennifer, folding her hands in her lap. "This is the problem with our two worlds. Little secrets slip. Dangerous bits of information tossed around as child's playthings." She leaned in to Jennifer, fixing her with a steely gaze. "We did not teach you well enough. We are teaching you now. This is magic, Miss Hovland. This is the bending of reality to our will. AbraCadabra is a toy, a child's game. It is God and it is the Devil. It is death, and it is creation. You are a witch now, Miss Hovland. There is no more distinction between any of the above."
Eleven year old Jennifer Hovland shuddered in her seat and wet her lips, and her eyes, unwillingly, glanced over to Professor Flitwick and the wand still at his belt. "So ... I'm not expelled ...?"
McGonagall followed her gaze, and held out her hand to Flitwick, who startled and glanced down and quickly handed over the wand. Jennifer closed her hands around it again, feeling it crooked and thrumming in her hands, a bolt of lightning carved in wood. McGonagall rose and smiled down at her. "Welcome to Hogwarts, my dear."
|
What the hell, he thought, let's give it a shot. He took the wand and wave it about for a bit. "Abra cadabra," he chuckled.
Suddenly, all conversation stopped. The hall was smothered by sudden silence. One of the instructors, an elderly fellow, gulped loudly. Somewhere behind the second row of chairs, a mug was shattered. The double oak doors flung open and slammed against the mahogany wall. Headmistress McGonagall rushed in with her robes fluttering behind her.
She bull rushed towards the new student, his wand still dangling half in his hand from sudden shock and confusion. She snatched the wooden thing and threw it across the room. All calm mannerisms and proper demeanor left her.
"What the fuck Larry. WHAT THE FUCK did you do?" She pushed him against a wooden table. "Do you have any goddamn idea what you just did?"
The boy shook his head. A few trickles of urine dribbled down his leg.
"You just cast THE MOST dangerous spell we wizards have ever known, despite every single instructor warning you otherwise. You just turned the probability engine of the UNIVERSE up on its head."
Larry meeped.
"Yeah, that's right you little ginger cunt. You just fucked with the fabrics of reality. That spell turned possibility into impossibility and impossibility into fucking possibility. The laws of statistics and permutation are being ass fucked by your spell right now, Larry. You're a fucking rapist of the universal laws of probability. Oh quit crying. You can't undo it. It's already done. Somewhere, in the very near future, something which has an infinitesimal chance of happening will probably happen thanks to your unbridled fuckery, Larry. The only thing we can do now is wait it out, and hope it's not something too terrible."
"...like Donald Trump winning the election tomorrow or some shit," she muttered under her breath, as she shoved Larry away from her.
| 2016-12-02T01:01:52 | 2016-12-02T00:33:29 | 1,317 | 25 |
[WP]You are an omnipotent god. Out of boredom you decided to live an ordinary human life vowing not to use your power. 15 years has pass and you have a 9 to 5 working for a major tech company. Your boss has been tormenting you for years and you have reach your limit
|
Everyone was staring with disgust at the closed door, the blinds down as the manager yelled at their co-worker. The man was a maniac and the only reason no-one had stood up to him was because he could get them fired at a moment's notice and his psychotic temper.
Just as security had arrived the door violently swung open and the woman was thrown out to the ground by the hair. 'I just fired this cunt!' he yelled, shocking everyone. 'Get her out of here NOW!! All of you, back to work!'
The guards were good people, helping her up and out while also calling HR and reporting his outburst.
As I went back to the cubicle beside mine, Tim silently hung up and then went back to filing his report. 'I just called the police,' he silently said to me. 'Shit... Carol didn't deserve that.'
I knew why it happened - despite how much of a terrible reason it was - but I decided to humor my colleague. 'What did she do to set him off?'
'She scratched his Lamborghini on the way in this morning,' he answered me. 'A small scratch...'
We quieted down as the HR representatives walked towards his office, entering and locking the door behind them. Tim carefully put an earpiece in his head and tapped the screen of his phone, collecting more evidence that he can use to denounce his soon-to-be former employer as he plans to leave the current job of writing tech manuals.
To mortals of old, I was once known as a God. I didn't particularly enjoy the worship, especially when they completely misrepresented me to fit their ideals, but I did enjoy watching them in life and granting boons to those I had found... interesting. Of course, a minor deity, learning of my odd fascination with humans, challenged me to live among them as long as possible and masquerade as a mortal. If I could reach the 20-year mark, I'd win our little contest.
Unfortunately, Brad was my manager within this company. He was one of those people who had rich parents who cared more about their reputation rather than treating their son. But he knows what he's doing harms others and enjoys it. He was currently trying to frame Carol for embezzling funds from the company, to "Get back the wages that treacherous bitch should never have been paid".
Tim had heard that and was growing uncomfortable. We had almost rejoiced when 5 o'clock arrived and HR dismissed us so that Brad could hold us back for unpaid "overtime".
I had gotten back to my apartment, a rather cheap place in the mortal realm. I wanted to just kick back, relax with a beer and watch the game. Beer... why did Leviticus and Mohammed say I had denounced this drink?
That's when I got a phone call from Tim. 'Hey, what's wrong?' I asked. I knew he was distressed, but tried to play it cool.
'Dude, Brad found out I called the cops on him,' Tim gasped. 'He just kicked my door in... broke one of my cells- Fuck!'
'What's wrong?' I asked. 'Tim?!'
'He broke my fucking leg!'
I didn't believe I could, but I snapped. 'I'll get someone over there right now,' I said as I hung up. I knew he was watching me, so I decided to make my intentions clear. 'I'm forfeiting our bet.'
'Are you?' Ares asked as he appeared leaning on my counter. 'I mean, you do now owe me-'
My human form disappeared as I enveloped his entire body with one of my hands. 'No time,' I stated. 'I want you to go to this mortal, make sure his injuries aren't fatal and protect him as a guardian spirit. If you have to appear to him, so be it.'
'Appear to a mortal?' Ares asked in shock. 'Are you mad?'
'Ares, I will honor our deal but if that mortal, my best friend, *dies* I will do to *you* what I *did to **C'thulhu and his kin**!*'
Ares was a brave being but anyone would be scared of just how I had devoured the most primordial and powerful beings in existence. He disappeared, heading to Tim.
I, however, transported myself to Brad's house just as he was entering, Tim's blood all over his hands. 'And that fucker ruined my suit...' he grumbled before falling down into the basement. 'What the fuck?'
Then he saw me, a being made entirely of scales. To most mortals I'd appear as a dragon, which is precisely what my angelic progeny appeared as while flying around me, breathing lighting, fire and snowstorms as my 10 legs menacingly stomped towards him. I unfolded my 12 wings, stared him down with the 20 eyes on 5 heads, grinned with my 10 mouths then spoke through all of them in unison, 'Bradley Densin?'
'What the... what the fuck are you?!' he screamed as he grabbed a vase, throwing it at one of my heads.
'Oh, me?' I spoke, repairing the vase and returning it to the table. 'See, in olden days mortals such as yourself called me YHWH. Nowadays Christians, Jews and Muslims pray to me as the deity who created Existence and being the one true god... which isn't exactly true. I *did* create this world, but there are many gods. Although I prefer to use the term *meals*.'
He was now sweating like a pig in a heatwave, a sensation I took great pleasure in causing.
'Although... none call me by my true name of Bahamut. I use many names to wander this world, more to sate my boredom than anything. See, you may not know it... but you have made a rather grave, *personal* slight against me.'
'I-I'll give you anything!' Brad tried to plead as his back met the wall, supporting himself to prevent his legs from giving out. 'I have money! I have so much money!'
'Didn't I tell you?' I said, leering two of my heads on each side of him. 'I'm a god, I have no need for *money*. Although there is one thing you can give me.'
'Just name it!' he screamed. 'Just don't hurt me!'
In my 100 billion years, that was the first to get me to genuinely laugh. 'You don't get it, do you? ***HURTING YOU IS PRECISELY WHAT I WANT!!***'
The physical realm dispersed into dark space as I spoke and soon there were only two sounds being made; the screams of this pathetic human, and my wings.
'Oh, the satisfaction that your death throes will bring me,' I said with satin-like grace in my voice before I began my work.
'Of course, in time.
The authorities arrived at Brad's residence 30 minutes. They found him bloodied and wounded, but he'd recover from his physical trauma. The psychological effects of the damage I inflicted to his soul would never heal, however. He was soon institutionalized.
Carol got her job back plus damages over what Brad did to her. Tim recovered with surprising speed. He was aware of my identity now but he had also struck up a friendship with Ares.
I did honor my bet with Ares, however. He wanted to know a secret of the universe that no other deity was aware of. He regretted it, but a deal's a deal - he wanted to know precisely souls came from, after all.
And that's why I'm the king of the gods, bitches.
|
I've forged stars, I've created galaxies with a flick of the wrist, all of that? As the mortals would say, it was "baby food" to me. But working under this gorgon of a boss? Unbearable. She's one of those feminists who take any action against her by a male to be oppression, the higher ups only gave her a promotion to avoid her lawsuit, and don't even get me startes on her diet. Late at night after a long day of work I often find myself dreaming about designing an additional layer of hell for my boss, which is then interupted by Satan telling me to stay away from his land..prick.
Anyways, because of Satan's rant (which is more bearable than my boss) I end up late. My boss seems to run faster than Usain bolt to get from her office to my cubicle. "YOU'RE LATE! WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME? IS IT SO HARD TO RESPECT YOUR BOSS WHO JUST HAPPENS TO BE A LADY? WHAT ABOUT THE COMPANY? WE'VE WORKED TOGETHER AT THIS COMPANY FOR 15 YEARS, IF YOU WOULD HAVE ONLY SHOWN DEDICATION TO THIS JOB LIKE I HAVE, MAYBE YOU WOULD GET SOMEWHERE!" Ah yes, "the company", she loves this company oh so much, we're the most popular newsite in the world, praised for our cutting edge innovation and incorperating of technology. This speel of hers will not be the last, but the first of many for the new company.
I've forged stars, I've created galaxies with a flick of the wrist, I've changed our reputable company into one which will slowly become worse than fox news, thus began the tale of buzzfeed.
| 2017-02-19T12:00:29 | 2017-02-19T10:00:22 | 38 | 22 |
[WP] We called them "nons" because we believed that they had no souls. They believed in a pagan god. None of them converted, so the crusaders were called to drive them from fertile lands. As we charged they raised no weapons. What we did not expect, was their god to descend and defend them.
|
A single Crusader is as good as any three mercenaries. When we rode into the village 35 strong, it appeared to them like an army. A surreal quality overtook me, to stare into their eyes. Something was wrong. Captain Vidal must have felt the same. He stopped us there in the middle of the village. He looked into the faces of the villagers, terrified, clutching their belongings and shrinking away. He raised his hands, and ordered us to stay.
Alone, he dismounted and marched into the temple. There were gasps as he barged through the doorway. He shoved people aside with exceptional swift strength. But in a count of thirty he came back out again.
"What is it, sir?"
He waved his hands dismissively.
"What?" We asked again.
"They're just Jews. There was a star of david in the pulpit, they were reading the Torah. No one of those illiterate rubes at the other village can tell the difference between a star of david and a pagan symbol." He said, somewhat disappointed, as he walked back to us. Then, a rabbi followed him out from the temple.
"Crusader! What is it you seek?"
He called back him barely turning, "We were told there was a village of Pagans! Some mindless warshippers of... false Gods. We are not here to burn your livestock, Rabbi. Just a... false report." Captain Vidal began to mount his horse again.
"You mean the 'Nons' of Redfalls?" The rabbi shouted back.
Captain Videl came back down from his horse. "I beg your pardon?"
"As the saxons say? Non's? As in, not of... a... how you say? They have not?"
"Have not what?"
"Souls. They are not of the Lord, my good Crusader. They come to us on every new moon, and try to take a child. We lock our children in the Synagogue and defend it by torch light every new moon. We have for years now. No one has come to help us."
Captain Vidal stood in silence, absorbing the atmosphere. Eventually he asked, "The Children?"
"Yes, Crusader. Our children. They have no concern for our livestock. But, praise God, they have not succeeded for some time. We think they may have resorted to taking from other villages to the south."
"Rabbi, Tell me very carefully- are you lying to me?" He approached with intentional steps.
"No, Crusader. Thou shalt not bear false witness."
"Rabbit, do you know where they are berthed?"
"The Redfalls are along the river. You'll know you are close when the water changes color."
And with barely a flick of the Captain's wrist, we were off.
"Crusader! What do you plan to do?" the teacher called after us.
"Convert them from their wicked ways, Rabbi!"
"And if they will not be converted?"
"We will do what Crusaders do, Rabbi."
"May God go with you!"
The Captain smiled. "We never go anywhere without Him."
It was morning when we had arrived at the Jewish village. We rode at full gallop until the sun had begun to set. Anticipating nightfall, the captain had us light torches, but there was still hours of light when we arrived, unmistakably, to the Redfalls. The village had no real name, however. It was just the waterfall.
The color of the river had indeed turned red, and as it ran down the hill, it sprayed a sour smell into the air. The village was calm when we arrived, and they remained so as we rode into the center. None of them looked at us. They all had wrappings around their faces and wore dirty garments. They might not have been able to see us at all behind their masks. A chill went down my spine. I gripped my sword tight, but then I saw the captain look at me, and nod. I understood.
He raised his torch. "Villagers of Redfalls, if you understand me, gather! Go and get your village eldars, your leaders."
They whispered to themselves, and did as told. Though some did with weapons- hatchets, sickles, and farm tools. None of these tools appeared to have been used farming land. From a bizarre wooden hut, a leader in red leather robes emerged. The skull of a stag covered his face, and the antlers raised an arms' length above his head. He spoke with a confident air.
"My, what brings you to us, my lord?"
"The Hebrew Children. Where are they." Down to task immediately. Now they remained silent. "I have no time for games, pagan. Do you have the children?"
Some of them drew more weapons. Daggers, rusty blades of every kind. A few of them approached us. The captain nodded to me, and I switched to my bow. From my horse, I let three arrows loose in quick succession. All three burrowed deep into the skulls of armed men, who fell instantly.
The captain flatly asked again, "Where are the children of the Hebrew village?"
"Crusader... you think you can take us by force?" The stag skull bobbed slightly with his words
Four crusaders dropped from their mounts, sword shield and helmet ready. They had us surrounded, but none of us shivered in fear.
"**You think you can withstand our wrath!?**" The captain bellowed as a thunderstorm.
"Oh Crusader, you think it will make a difference?" The arrogant tilt of the pagan in front of him was too much. The Captain drew his sword. We took that as our signal, and 35 Crusaders forced their way out of the crowd. My blood boiled for action.
Any that stood in our way with a weapon were cut down. They barely resisted, never landing a single blow behind a shield. Their cries finally seemed to tell us they understood their situation. In a count of 60, we had them surrounded instead.
"Brother Robert," the captained ordered, "Check that large building. Brother Simon, take your team and circle the perimeter. Brother Conrad, get this wretch on his knees. I won't ask him again. He knows the question I want, and he has the answer."
Brother Conrad was the tallest among us. In full plate, he waded into the swarming crowd until he had their horned leader. He dragged him out by the arm. They clung to him desperately. Dirty clawing arms reaching and grabbing. Conrad raised his sword, and they recoiled. Soon he was in front of the Captains horse, with Conrad controlling him by the shoulders.
The other crusaders emerged from the hut. Brother Robert held up a human skull, bits of flesh still hanging from it. We could see from here it was a small skull.
"You really are without souls, aren't you?"
"Of course we have, Crusader."
"Then surrender them. Here. Now. And you may be spared. The Lord's wrath is near. Your vile acts will be repaid. Forsake them. Forsake your gods and bow before the Lord Christ your King. **ABANDON YOUR WAYS OR FACE THE PYRE."**
But none of them moved. Again, the captain nodded at me. I took a torch from one of the other soldiers and went to large hut- what must have been their temple. I rode a perimeter around the building, dragging the torch along with me. The oil transferred and it began to burn. I could see more bones from here. This unhallowed ground was better off ash. The heat touched me in the evening cold, and I felt strong. Turning to the group, I could see the captain speaking to the man in the red leather. He must be their prophet, their priest.
The pagan said something, and the captain leapt from his horse to bring his gauntlet fist crashing down into his face. Again and again he rained blows down. I noticed something. The stag skull mask wasn't coming loose. The captain placed a foot on the pagan's shoulder, grabbed the horns in both hands, and began the pull. The mask still didn't come loose. Suddenly Captain Vidal's eyes met mine, and this time I nodded. Toward the burning hut. Four Crusaders grabbed him and dragged him my way.
Everything seemed to be happening so fast. The surreal feeling overtook me again. Something about the flames licking the sky seemed almost alive. I looked back at the pagan. He wasn't resisting. I looked back at the flames, beginning to engulf the roof. With single, mighty heave, my companions tossed him into the flame. This time the feeling took form again as something solid. I had an instinct to leave, to not stand where I was. But I knew I had to watch. I had to make sure he didn't come out.
|
Boulder sat on the edge of the creek, feet dangling lightly in the water as he stretched his toes, feeling the weight of the cool current in the afternoon sun. Behind him, taking the last of his armour off his legs, bridge moved to join the man on the creek bed. Sitting himself down, he continued the conversation that had taken up the most of their afternoons ride through the rocky pass and into the valley below.
"i am still a little unsure as to the actual occurrence of the day. This god. Was it literal or figurative? Did this god come down as lighting from the sky, walk across the grass, a hag cloaked in rock or ride a chariot?" There are so many stories of pagans we grew up on. Hammers and candles and blood for the blood god. What happened boulder. Why do we flee and who remains".
"That is the question. I know we keep coming around but i cannot tell you any more clearly. I cannot speak of fallacy. I cannot explain the nothingness of it. The undue pressure or the overall stupidity of a situation. We have been round and round and over and over what it means. They would not convert. Yield. Shit, i think they made some of us dumber for trying. They died and we survived but in its own way, it feels that to be left behind was to lose. At least, that is what they thought."
"So the nons. Wait, is it A non or just non?"
"A non can be both singular and collective"
"So they drank the pepper frog tea?"
"Yes, pepper the frog" "they drank it for chan?"
"yes, 4 chan"
"From the secret recipe handed down from the padlet"
&#x200B;
"Yes. The tea was their saviour. A secret recipe presented as their salvation. They drink the tea they meet their day et e"
Boulder cracked his neck and let out a sigh as he shuffled into the creek. Staring across the opposite bank, he dunked his head and held himself under the water for a moment. He came to the surface, breaking its tension and cackling into the sky. He turned around, looking at bridge, bringing his hands over his face and messing his hair.
"We speak of old gods now. Of tales found only in the deepest reaches of the drive-verse. The olds, they speak of Q and B. Of tards. Of Manson and Jones. They do not worship the common jobs and gates. They worship only trolls and the group. The olds despise each other and they trick together and they finally found a way to trick everyone. The news did not fight they just drank their green pepper frog drink and died screaming lol. But they did not understand"
"Wait so is the god the frog? The pepper frog god?"
"yes"
"and they drank the tea to meet their day et e?"
"yes"
"wait, how do you know all of this"
"Lol wut?"
| 2021-02-10T02:19:58 | 2021-02-10T02:13:46 | 61 | 15 |
[WP] You wake up. You can't move, you can't breathe. You scream, only to realize you can't hear, and can't feel your mouth or face. You want to cry for help. But you can't... you're just a brain on a table.
|
First thing I saw as I opened my eyes was a prepubescent boy celebrating and jumping around. He waved around his hands and pumped his fists, then pointing on the table, he was clearly excited. He opened the door on the other side of the room rushed out.
As he cleared my view I saw what's on the bloody table. A brain with cables jacked into it. The room was full of tools and gadgets, almost alien looking.
Soon after the boy left, he returned with an old man in a lab coat. They paid me no attention. The boy pointed at the table again, then waved his around. His smile looked provacative, as if he was trying to anger the old man.
The old man put his right palm on his face, then examined the brain on the table. He looked back at him and then went on a rant. He changed the cables on the brain.
"You're a fucking idiot, Morty. Not only you doomed this poor guy and you couldn't even do it fucking right. That should do it, now we can find him."
Wait, what is he talking about? Am I... Am I the brain on the table? Oh god. Oh god!
"Great, now we can hear him and he can hear us. Can we go to the boobworld now Rick?"
Morty picked up a gun with strange green fluid on it.
"Shut up you little piece of shit! First we have to fix your mistake. And by that I mean I have to fix your mistake."
Rick let out a lengthy burp and then grabbed the gun and put it away in his lab coat.
"You're just saying that because you cannot admit you were wrong, Rick! You said I couldn't and I did it. I demand to go to boobworld now!" Morty stomped on the ground and reached for the labcoat's pocket but Rick caught him and threw him off.
"We're not going to boobworld and believe me you're going to pay once we take care of him. Hey man, can you talk again so I uh... can locate you?"
"I'm over here." I said. Rick went over to the metal closet and opened it.
"Morty, this is his voice & audio module. Where is the rest of... him?"
"I I I I don't know Rick, I didn't think I'd get this far."
"Next time you do it don't use anything remote. Hey man, can you describe what you see so that we can locate umm, the rest of you?"
"I see a bloody table with a brain on it. I assume it is... me?" I was nervous but at least they were trying to help.
"Thank you, great fucking help. The brain Morty made, ladies and gentlemen." Rick took a sip from a flask.
"I beg your pardon?" I asked, curious at the result of this insult.
"The table is literally in the middle of the room, dipshit. You're not helping. You know what, fuck him."
Rick pulled out a sci-fi device, looked like a detector. As it buzzed in a higher tone, Rick turned around to me and approached, and picked me up.
"Morty, this is the visual module. Where is the rest of him?"
"What do you mean, rest of him? This is the rest."
"Oh my god."
Morty had an expressionless face. Rick held him on the shoulders and leaned on him.
"You're never going to the boobworld, you little turd! How many times do I have to tell you, you build the body first, then the rest!"
"I I I I'm sorry Rick! Can we not abandon this stupid plot and go on a classic adventure? Rick and Morty style!" Morty had a coy grin on his face.
Rick went over to the cupboard and trashed it around, throwing out random items.
"We can't because I have to fix your mistake, Morty" said Rick calmly, and sighed.
Morty's face turned sour. "What do you mean fix my mistake?"
"What do you think, Morty?"
Rick picked up something that looked like a flamethrower from the cupboard.
"No, Rick you can't! It it it it it's sentient, a living being. You can't Rick!"
"Morty, we can't keep around a sentient being like this. It's not a pet. I'd take a dignified death over this any day, honestly."
Shit. Shit! "Hey can I also have a say in..."
They paid me no mind
"Rick please, you can't! Make him a body and release him!"
"I can and I will. It's your mistake and your sorry little conscience will have to bear it."
Rick once again leaned towards Morty and little droplets of spin rained over him as Rick talked, with his evil smile.
"And once you finally make it to boobworld you will think of this little bloody slump and wished you paid attention to me, you little bitch."
Morty's eyes teared up, his lips were about to burst crying.
Rick straightened himself and lifted up the flamethrower.
"Now go to your room while Grandpa fixes your mistake!"
Morty ran out if the room. Rick turned towards me. In that moment, I realized I had no memories. I was brought on the this cruel world just moments ago and now I would leave. For what?!
"Hey man, sorry about that. Just trying to teach my grandson some manners. Jesus, that must have been terrifying. Really sorry."
What. The. Fuck. They must have the most twisted grandpa-grandson relationship I have ever seen, not that I have seen much.
"So you aren't... going to kill me?"
"Pff, what do you think I am? I was just trying to teach him a lesson. Just wait a second." Rick turned around to his workshop, pulled out a welder and some scrap. He came towards me with a metal body. He picked my parts and placed me into it.
"It's not an artificial human body, but it beats being a slump of meat with cables. Ok now get the hell outta here." A garage door opened in front of me.
As I took my first steps towards freedom, he held my arm.
"And one more thing, don't ever come back around to these parts or I will have to incinerate you, for real this time. Morty would never let me live it down. Ok, brave new world! New adventure for you slumpy! Go nuts! Bye!"
The garage door closed behind me. Damn. Talk about being cold.
|
You know how it is with gifts. You give and then people feel obligated to give back. The problem is, sometimes you say something and people take you so literally. Like Cindy. She was super grateful that I took the splinter out of her tentacle. That's great. How an octopus got into a tree is anyone's guess. But what is not as great is the fact that she took me saying "I am sick and tired of being sick and tired" to mean that I didn't want to have my body anymore. At least she left me this brain. I can think...and be bitter. The upside is - I guess I don't have cancer like I did before. Downside? Yeah, be careful what you wish for.
| 2022-08-17T10:57:21 | 2022-08-17T09:58:24 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] Humans aren't generally that advanced but their engineering capabilities are one of the top within the galaxy, since they are so stubborn. This has led to the saying "Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it a few months and it will become effective."
|
Zabrell was annoyed.
She had been assigned all manner of things by her matron in the past, but this time it was different. Never had she felt that her actions were so useless or worthless. Under all the holy stars, why her matron thought talking with, let alone *working with* the humans was worthwhile, was beyond her. And yet, where the matron leads, the daughter follows, which is how she found herself standing in an environment-equalizer chamber, waiting for an ape.
Turns out, there were three apes, stubby yet spindly, with rough patches of fur on their bodies. Fortunately they kept most of their body wrapped in synthetic fibers so she didn't have to see if the rest of their bodies were as patchy as their heads. They jerkily stumbled to a halt, about three metres from the dividing bio-field, proving to Zabrell that, despite appearances, they actually did have control of their personal mobility.
"Uh, greetings, uh..." one of them started stupidly, its round face and dully glassy visual orbs sticking out of white flesh and patches of red fur. It looked sicker than the others, with red dots all over its white skin. Maybe it was dying. She had heard that they had extremely short lifespans. Perhaps that is why there were three of them, in case one of them died before the end of this meeting.
"Your greetings are received but unnecessary, we require a task of you," she politely stated. She could hear the wet meat-smacking, screeching and grunts made by their translating machine as it attempted to transform her intelligent, yet simple words into their limited form of communication.
"Uh, okay, well, uh as a representative of..."
"Your origin is known, are you functional and can you labour for us?"
The dull faces turned to each other, fleshy visual orbs trying to form a coherent thought between them. Zabrell almost expected them to start mooing at each other. A brief wave of amusement washed over her before she squashed it - she only knew about mooing due to a misunderstanding earlier in their races' initial contact. It wasn't easy to determine which flesh sack was the dominate ones on their dreadful little world.
"We are... our people are functional. As for labour... depends on what you want us to do," it gasped at her, using its life-sustaining respiratory system as a method of expressing itself. How these creatures got beyond the nuclear stage was so far beyond Zabrell as to be completely mystifying.
At her summons, sa-Zabrell-lo, daughter of Zabrell, entered the environment-equalizer chamber and stood on their side of the environmental divide, the device held in front of her.
"You are versed in macrodelinealtransitive substrate manipulation?"
Again, the moon faces stared at each other. sa-Zabrell-lo's displeasure was clearly on display, requiring that Zabrell reminded her of her place.
The one with long yellow fur and a misshapen torso replied. "We got the brief you sent, but I can't say we really have a firm grasp on... uh, some of the core principles... as yet."
"Then you are not functional," Zabrell began to leave, eager to end this waste of time.
"Wait! Hold your horses!" The dark furred one in the back said in what was supposed to be a loud tone. Zabrell had no idea what a "horses" was or how they were supposed to be held. She did pause however. She had been warned that these creatures were not direct and tended to conversationally wander around until they eventually stumbled onto a point, likely by accident. "We didn't say we couldn't... do it. Whatever it is. Just give us a chance to see what's what, okay?"
She turned back. sa-Zabrell-lo placed the device onto a hovering tray and let it glide across the bio-filtering environmental field that divide the room. It gracefully floated to the red furred beast until he abruptly halted it. The tray was unaccustomed to such a brutish obstruction, and shook a bit. The device fortunately remained still and the tray recovered its balance.
sa-Zabrell-lo left the room. She had better duties to attend to than this farce.
"Maybe if you can give us a quick... uh, simple summary of the brief..."
While annoyed, Zabrell was willing to entertain this lunacy. Where the matron leads...
After several moments of explanation, the humans interrupted her.
"Uh, maybe a bit... uh, simpler?"
Zabrell paused. How much more simple did they want? She began again.
"Sorry... so sorry but... maybe.. a little simpler?"
An infant should have gotten it by now. How to make this even simpler...
"It makes ships go faster."
"Faster than your current technology?"
"Yes."
"How much faster?"
"Now."
"... you mean instantly? Instant travel?"
"From a perspective, yes"
"Like... teleportation?"
Zabrell consulted her lexicon of stupid things humans say.
"Not from the perspective of the traveller."
They grunted and mumbled at each other for a bit.
"So... folding space-time?"
"Folding..." she couldn't believe the idiocy in everything they just said. "Yes. You could think of it as... folding... space-time."
"Neat," the dark furred one spoke again. Zabrell did not see the relationship of the statement to the dialogue, and so ignored it. "So what's the problem?"
Zabrell began explaining the issue they were experiencing with the device and how it was supposed to function, until she was interrupted again for another request of simplicity.
"It's broken," she said.
"Hmm," they said.
"It doesn't work."
"Have you tried turning it off and back on again?" They asked.
"It never worked."
"Ohhhhh," they said. Zabrell swore they were mooing at her.
"Can you function and labour?"
"We can take a crack at it. But we're going to need some resources... and payment?"
Payment? The foolishness and short-sightedness of the statement was absurd.
"You will have the technology, which is payment sufficient," she said, stating the obvious.
"Right, right... and resources?"
"You will be given three moons to conduct research on. You will have the material needs of your biology and research equipment met. Is this sufficient?"
They spoke amongst themselves. Their perception of time was as truncated as their lifespans, and their biology seemed to necessitate a rest, fuel and the expelling of waste. They left the room to address their irritating needs while Zabrell mused over this ridiculous situation. How her great and glorious empire has come to this end, to these grotesque apes, in this dismal arm of the galaxy, was beyond her. They had conquered the stars. They had skimmed the surfaces of now-dead stars. How could they not master this? Why come to the rubes of the galaxy, who had never accomplished a fraction of what they had done? Zabrell was almost a third of the age of their entire race. How could they possibly contribute?
They had returned, adorned with different fabrics. Zabrell hadn't noticed their entrance.
"Well let's pick up where we left off," red-fur said. Zabrell was unsure what required picking up, as nothing had been set down. The tray still hovered with the device resting on it, on the human side of the divide.
"We have 'left off' only a timetable," Zabrell stated. "In your cycles, you have 132 orbits to complete your task. The timeline is tight and cannot be negotiated. Can you comply?"
"Uh.. yeah. Yeah, sure. 132 years? Sure that sounds... good."
"Your laboratories will be available prior to your arrival at the test sites. Do you require further information?"
"Uh... no, I think we're good to go," red fur replied.
"One question, if y'all are ladies, how do you reproduce?" The dark-furred creature asked moronically. Red-fur grabbed the front of dark-fur's garment and started pulling it towards the exit.
"We become male based on need. Is this relevant?"
"No, sorry to bother you, thank you so much for your hospitality," red fur wet-smacked at Zabrell. "C'mon Gary, jeez..."
Ridiculous creatures.
|
Once upon a time, there was a young boy who would live forever. As he grew older, the technology around him expanded and improved to where immortality became possible. Now this young boy was very stubborn, and he enjoyed solving puzzles. So stubborn was he in fact, that he at one point created his own puzzle pieces to fill in the gaps of one with missing pieces. Now at age 200, a century of education, and an existential crisis, he now faced the greatest puzzle of them all.
How can one live forever with no meaning?
He had grown bored with learning. He had learned the most abstract of mathematics, the most intricate details of physics, and had studied human nature both as an individual and as a collective. He had an almost perfect understanding of the world around him from the smallest indivisible components of the universe to the largest constructs in our reality. He had learned everything there was to learn, loved everything there was to love, and enjoyed everything there was to enjoy.
But yet the problem remained. How is one to continue beating one's own heart when there is nothing to beat for?
Now the boy knew that no matter what, the answer was to keep the heart beating. It did not matter what the results or the answer to the puzzle was, the heart must keep beating. So every morning as the sun rose over his perfect civilization, his heart continued to beat, yet his eyes never left the ceiling or the sky. Always looking up, always looking out, always hoping that something new and interesting would come along to give him that same sense of wonder he had as a young boy.
Another century passed. His family had gone on to whatever happened once the heart has stopped. Humans around him we're dropping like flies as the great puzzle of boredom begin to slip its claws into the soul of humanity. And yet this stubborn man refused to die. A century of puzzling on this problem had left him without hair and without human contact. The body around his heart had begun to decay and disintegrate, yet he still took in air and he still pushed forward through time.
Finally, at his wit's end, he brought out that old puzzle. The machine that is life's meaning had broken down completely for him, and he began to understand that he did not know how to solve that puzzle. So he did what any good engineer would do, he went back to basics. The puzzle was a picture of a woman. Not a specific woman, but a goddess of some ancient forgotten faith. It was clear that this woman was not supernatural, but that her face was based on a living, breathing person. The puzzle piece that was missing was a ring upon her finger. He had created one himself, and given it to the puzzle as an offering of completion.
Finally, The Epiphany hit him. He began to make his own puzzles. He offered them for free to anyone who would take them. He offered the journey that he once took. The years spent in toil and misery to finally come to that moment of Nirvana. He was always careful to leave out a piece or two.
To engineer a meaning for his life, one need only stubbornness and determination. And that alone can be worth living for.
| 2018-04-26T10:40:09 | 2018-04-26T08:39:43 | 72 | 16 |
[WP] You live in a world where everybody is blind and gets futuristic contacts installed when they are born to let them see the world. But one day your contact breaks and you realize, you can see. But the world you see is much different than what your contacts showed you.
|
"You're fat."
"What!?"
Will scratched his head, awkward. "You're… fat."
"Will, for the love of God," Marie shook her head, went to the window, pointed outside. "The world's a
post-apocalyptic nightmare and you're worried about me being fat?"
"I just… you were hot. Like, really hot. With the lenses on."
"It was an illusion!" Marie marched back towards him. "The lenses projected a perfect world to our brains so we
wouldn't see how much we were being exploited by the government! They faked a perfect world while in the real
one everything is a nightmare!"
"Okay, that sounds derivative. Isn't it from Twilight Zone?"
"Black Mirror, I think, but whatever, I didn't come up with the prompt."
"We're going meta already?"
"No, sorry. You're right, it's too soon. Maybe later." Marie pulled a seat and held Will's face between her hands. "We have to fight the government, Will. Fight it!"
"Okay, okay. It's just that… I liked you better when you were hot."
"Well, you're fat too, Will. You looked like Michael Fassbender in *my* lenses, but I'm not complaining, am I?"
"Fassbender, realty?" Will checked himself in the mirror. A short, stocky man stared back, and he let his shoulders
drop, sad. "Shit."
"Focus, Will! Focus! We need to fix the world."
"Yeah, yeah. Okay."
"I mean, look outside!" Will looked. Out the window, the people walked by a nightmarish landscape of burnt trees,
cracked pavement and smoke, a lightning-painted sky of heavy clouds and flashes beyond fiery mountains in the
horizon. "These people are all going around like everything is perfect, Will! They need to know!"
"How come they don't constantly bump into stuff?" Will asked. "Like, the lenses change what they see, so they're
walking around a completely different world. It's not like the lenses affect reality, so wouldn't they keep bumping
into stuff? How come they don’t?"
"Suspension of disbelief."
"Ah. Clever."
"Anyway, let's go outside and tell them the truth!" Marie got up.
"Now wait a second." Will put a hand on her shoulder. "Why, exactly?"
"What do you mean why!? They're living a lie!"
"Yes, but they don't know it's a lie, do they? They think they live in a perfect world."
"Are we having the Matrix discussion again? I can't keep having this discussion every time a dystopian prompt comes up, Will, we have to get past this at some –"
"I mean, think about the machines in the Matrix. They were really the good guys. They ended the war and gave us
a home – a perfect world. Fake, yes, but we didn't know it was fake, so who cares? They just ended the bloodbath
and put us in a nice little warm planet and said 'all right, so everyone's happy now'. And freaking Morpheus was
like 'nah, dude, we'd rather like in the nightmarish reality of burnt skies and infinite Hugo Weavings."
Marie rolled her eyes. "Now you're gonna talk about Vanilla Sky, aren't you? I know you are. God damn, Will, you –"
"Like Tom Cruise's character in Vanilla Sky. Everyone he knew was dead. He was deformed. Jobless. Hopeless. And
he could choose to just stay in the dream, you know? Just… stay forever in the dream, dating Penelope Cruz!
Who would jump!? Why!? Why jump!?"
"You do realize some people reading this have never seen Vanilla Sky and you may have spoiled the ending, right?"
"Or… or… or!" Will smiled. "He *doesn't* jump, and the only reason I've included this little snippet is to make this
spoiler joke and then subvert it so people would think I spoiled the film but I really didn't. People who *did* watch Vanilla Sky are now going 'hah! that's clever, cause I know Tom didn't really jump!'"
"Well, now you just told them he *doesn't* jump, so you spoiled it anyway."
"Except he might have jumped. I may have lied the second time."
"Well, does he?"
"Doesn't matter, now it's confusing enough that it's not a spoiler anymore, 'cause people won't know whether I
lied when I said he jumped or when I said he didn't. I've successfully unspoiled the film."
"Can we get back to the matter at hand, please?"
"Yes, I feel like we're drifting dangerously close to meta territory again."
"What were we talking about, anyway!?"
"Phenomenology, the foundations of reality and if there's a valid philosophical distinction between what we consider
to be 'real' triggers for phenomena – that is, for sensorial and mental experience – and 'fake' triggers, like VR, the
Matrix and Penelope Cruz."
"Shit. Really? I thought we were just rambling 'cause you couldn't come up with a decent answer for the prompt."
"Nah, we're talking about real shit." Will frowned. "And I'm not writing this story."
"You're not?"
"No, I thought you were."
"Nope."
An Alpaca in a suit cruised by out the window in the distance.
"Shit, we're starting with the meta stuff again, right?"
"Yup."
"All right, seriously, though. Meta stuff apart, there's a real issue to be discussed here – is reality just the sum of all our experiences? Or is it something more?"
"Is this even relevant for the prompt?"
"Course it is. Cause depending on the answer we go and help those folks or not. If we feel like reality is something
that *actually* exists beyond our perception, then there's an objective difference between living in VR La La Land
like those people out the window and experiencing the real world like we are. But if reality is only the sum of our
perception, entirely created in the brain, then I say we call 'reality' the one with the best features. If it's all just
tickling in our brain, why not live 'a lie'? Why not put the lens on again?"
"Shit. My eye's itching."
"Oh, fuck. Don't tell me."
Marie pinched her eye carefully.
"Oh, Marie, for fuck's sake, that is such a cliché."
"I know, I know!" Marie pulled out something – a little translucent device – from her eye. "I can't help it, I'm not
writing this!" She looked down at her finger.
"What is it?" Will asked, in a bored note, because he knew what it was, because this Inception-bullshit trope where
the 'real' world is just another layer is old and tired and eye-roll worthy, but I'm sorry, it's the best I could do.
"What is it that you have in your hands, Marie?"
"It's another contact lens…" she raised her eyes. "We were just living in another level of illusion, Will! Oh, mother of all that's bad sci-fi!"
"What do you see?" Will asked. "How's the world different?"
"Oh my God…" Marie said. She got up, shaking. Trembling.
"What is it, Marie? What do you see?"
"I see… a predictable twist, Will. Of course." Marie shook her head. "I see a predictable twist."
______
/r/psycho_alpaca for more ridiculous stories.
|
Bzzzt ... bzzzt
My phone lit up, it was an unknown number. I look up to my window, not seeing the faint gleam of a tiny camera in the upper right corner of the pane. They're probably looking for me now. I know too much, the world isn't as we think it is, there's so much more out there to see.
My finger hovers over the screen, twitching with anxiety. This wasn't my fault, they'll probably listen right? If they called this fast, then that means that they know it was just an accident. That means I'll get away scott free.
Oh who am I kidding, if they've covered this up this well, they'll want me silent. Carrot and the stick, probably the stick first with the promise of safety afterwards. God I hope they won't go after my sister.
The phone turns dark as the call drops. I look outside, the clouds are dark, heavy with rain. At least that's what my left eye saw, the one without my contacts. My right eye saw the regular plethora of colors I'd seen for most of my life. Life without the filter seemed so bleak.
Bzzzt ... bzzzt
There it goes again, they're probably not gonna stop. At least I can listen to what they're getting me before I make a break for it.
"Hello?"
"Good evening Chad. This is Char Bradley?"
"Yes?"
"Oh good, I thought I had the wrong number. This is customer service, I heard you broke your contacts. Not to worry, if you send it through the box that will arrive in 26.4 seconds. We'll make sure there'll be nothing to worry about."
"This is a joke right?"
"Oh no sir, we take customer service very seriously. Nothing brings me more joy than to know another Disney customer is happy. Have a magical day!"
| 2017-01-23T21:19:55 | 2017-01-23T20:56:22 | 104 | 23 |
[WP] A portal opens before you and out steps a version of yourself covered in blood. "I've killed humdreds of you and they say you're the strongest one. Time to find out why."
|
"...what?"
"I said, you're the strongest of us. Time to find out why."
"I heard you, but... what?! Why?"
The other me crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, heaving an irritated sigh.
"I'll keep it simple since, being the strongest of us, you're also probably the dumbest. Obviously, strenth and intelligence are inversely proportional." She grinned a wicked grin at me. "Except in my case, of course. I worked hard to build my brains and my brawn."
I had to admit, she wasn't wrong about physical strength. I had been going to the gym almost daily for about a month in hopes of someday achieving a build like hers. Her biceps and shoulders, while covered in dried blood, were still an impressive display. Undoubtedly she was wearing her muscle tee to show them off. It's what I'd do.
"I'm an agent of the Saviors of Transuniversal and Interdimentional Crises. We're resonsible for making sure beings who hop dimensions, universes, and timelines don't fuck everything up by trying to be heroic or to have a laugh."
"Hm," I intoned, taking a quick second to finally pause the game of *Skyrim* I had been playing.
"Upon running a program to determine what the biggest threat to the fabric of spacetime is, it returned me. And you. And all the other yous I've killed. And all the other yous I'm going to kill." She grinned, suddenly looking sinister. "*That includes you*." The grin faultered. "And me, evenetually. But I'm willing to sacrifice my life for the safety of the universe."
If she had been trying to intimidate me, it was working. I was starting to get a little nervous. However, that nervouseness was overshadowed by curiosity.
"So there are other dimensions, universes, and timelines, eh? And you said 'beings' earlier too, implying that there are more than just humans out there as highly intellidgent life-forms."
"You didn't know that?" she scoffed. "You're dumber than I expected."
"Well that's not very nice," I told her. She laughed and invited me to feel mad about it in Hell, which is where she would promptly send me. "Wait wait wait, hang on," I began, scrambling to me feet, hoping I could still talk my way out of this. "Uh... um..." I scrambled for something to say. "Are... wer gonna have a fair fight at least? You seem like the kind of person who would like to learn from the chance to fight the strongest version of you."
"Hmph." She looked me over. "I'm starting to wonder if they miscalculated by deeming you the strongest. You look pretty weak."
"Then maybe they miscalculated by saying we're all dangerous too," I countered. This only seemed to make the other me mad.
"I've beaten all of the other mes to death with my bare hands," she growled. She dropped into a fighting stance. "You'll be no different." Shit. I could feel doom fast approaching and tried to drop into a fighting stance of my own. Since I had zero hand-to-hand combat experience, my stance must have looked pretty dumb because my evil twin let out a single, dry laugh before lunging at me.
In that instant, I couldn't think of anything to do except catch the punch that was headed toward my face. It was the one thing that I always saw people doing in movies, and I tried to ignore the feeling that it wasn't gonna work in real life.
To my surprise, I easily caught her fist. In spite of how muscular she was, there was hardly any force behind her punch. She grunted in surprise and tried to draw her fist from my grasp, but her struggles were so light I almost couldn't feel them. In a lightning-fast movement, she struck at my face with her free hand. It crashed into my right with so little force that my head barely moved. I immediately reached up and grabbed it with my other hand.
"H-how?!" she growled, the look of concern in her eyes seeming out of place. "How are you this much stronger than me?!"
"Uh..." I pondered her question for a little bit. "I don't know," I finally responded. I pushed her away, and even though it was a light shove, she want careening backwards and fell heavily to the floor. She rose to her hands and knees, taking more effort than I would have expected, and turned her head to face me, glaring so hard I thought daggers might shoot out of her eyes.
She snarled and cursed under her breath as she grabbed a nearby desk and lifted herself up. While she did, her eyes drifted to the globe perched atop the cluttered surface. She paused and considered it, having fully drawn herself to her feet. After a second her eyes widened, and she grabbed the globe and pulled it close.
"S-six to the twenty-four kilograms?!" she practically screamed. Her eyes swung to me, wide. "Is that really how massive this planet is?!"
"Of course," I replied. I had specifically purchased the globe because it bore a small box with the Earth's stats on it printed right in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. I felt like I was starting to connect the dots now. "Let me guess. Your incredible muscles were obtained through training in a much lighter gravitational setting, and that's why they look much more impressive than they are."
"How DARE you insult my muscles!" she snarled at me, slamming the globe back on the desk. A pause. "...It is true, though," she admitted quietly. I sauntered up to her, and I could see her shrink back just a hair.
"Here's what going to happen," I said in a low voice. "Either you walk your ass back through that portal and leave me alone, or I beat your ass back through that portal. Your choice." The other me's eye twitched, clearly guaging her options. I noticed half a second later that her left hand was moving and caught it just before it could plunge the dagger it was holding into my stomach. She drew in a sharp breath and her eyes widened. Clearly she hadn't evpected me to realize what was happening until it was too late.
"I see you've made your choice," I said.
&#x200B;
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
&#x200B;
"Stop that pacing, Gallifred. Your footsteps are getting on my nerves."
"'Stop pacing,' she says. Agent Valence is one of our strongest and I am directly responsible for her safety. I don't want to lose her, especially with to many other Caseys that need to be eliminated to ensure a safe cosmos." Gallifred wiped his sleeve on his forehead.
"Please. If she's as good as you think, she'll be fine. Almost all of the other Caseys have had exactly zero self-defense training. I'm sure that even if this one has more physical strength, Agent Valence's combat training will win the day."
"But--"
"No buts!" Agent Slifer paused for a moment. "Actually, one 'butt.' Yours. In that chair." She pointed and Gallifred sat, dejected. There was silence in the room for a few minutes as Gallifred fiddled with various objects on his desk and Agent Slifer sat typing at her computer. Suddenly, the portal made its signature ejecting noice, three high-pitched hisses and a *vwo-o-o-o-o-omp*.
"Ah-!" Gallifred stood, an obvious bundle of nerves. Agent Slifer lazily turned an eye toward the portal.
Agent Casey Valence fell out of it a moment later. Slifer and Gallifred regarded her frame on the floor, both surprised at the various wounds she harbored. Neither of them spoke as she heaved herself off the ground heavily. Without looking at them, she spoke her mind.
"I think I need a vacation."
|
At first I was confused. I had seen plenty of these kinds of scenes before, my workplace was not for the faint of heart. But I didnt quite know what to make of this.
All I could think to do was stand up, and say a few words.
"I think you mean... 'hundreds'."
The other me lowered his sword. "What?"
"You heard what I said. You made a mistake, and I corrected it."
"What are you, the grammar police?
I chuckled. "Yes actually," I shined my badge at him. "and you are in the USGP police station. Be careful what you say."
He looked troubled. Oh, how the tables turn.
"Doesn't matter, I'll just-"
"That doesn't matter." I corrected. My coworkers had already started looking up from their work. Some were unhappy at his misuse of basic grammar skills.
"Fine then, *that* doesn't change anything. I'm here to find out what makes you the strongest me. And I'm sure-"
"Dont start a sentence with 'and.'"
I could tell he was getting weaker with every correction. This one was especially effective. It's not a rule followed as often as some of the other things I've corrected him on, but still a rule nonetheless.
He growled. I could feel his anger rising.
"What're you doing to me? My arm... I can't... move it!" He pauses for a minute. "Whomever is doing this-"
I see what hes trying to do. "I have to say, I commend you for trying to stop your errors. Unfortunately, that was still incorrect. In this case, its 'whoever.'"
This was the last straw, for both my doppelgänger and my coworkers. My double dropped to his knees. Several of my coworkers got up. Steve had his taser ready. Jane was holding her baton. Tristan pushed up his glasses.
He was just barely awake. as his eyes were closing, I approached him.
"It's too late, Brad. I've already won. You are under arrest."
| 2022-11-09T15:00:52 | 2022-11-09T14:58:26 | 44 | 10 |
[WP] You found a stray kitten one day, taking her in and feeding her. A week later, you come home to find your yard swarming with cats. The largest among them steps forward and says, "You have my daughter, human. What are your demands for her release?"
|
Oh, the poor thing. What was I to do, just leave her pawing at the side of a fence? Nonsense. I wouldn't have been able to stop thinking about it on my walk to the Nursing Home, and what a long walk it can be if I'm stuck in my own thoughts.
So I stopped and approached the kitten. She was grey with little brown splotches. Reminded me of the moles on my back, they did. All benign, thankfully. Then, as I bent down, I noticed that her dainty mews sounded awfully like the creaks my joints sometimes made.
Well, I thought, maybe we aren't so different, you and I.
She was hesitant at first. And I understood. By people standards I was rather short and unassuming—I admit I've shrunk a couple inches over the years. But to the kitten, with my long ol' shadow draping her in darkness, I could've been a most dangerous predator. So I stopped the bending-over business. Bad for my back anyway. I sat down in the grass instead so she could see we were on equal footing.
Then she got a little bolder. She sniffed my hand real good, as if searching for bombs. Once she let me scratch her tiny forehead, though, I knew we'd become good friends. And just when I thought I'd lost my game.
Anyway, she was much too thin and dirty to waste time with scritches. I took her back to my house and gave her some water. The way she drank reminded me of my grandson, who would run around in the sun, playing God knows what made-up game, and then come in to down a glass of water so fast I thought he'd drown. Same with the kitten. Had to hold her little head back so she didn't fall into the bowl.
I didn't have much food for her, so I poured some milk in a saucer. I know you're not supposed to. Baby cats aren't baby cows, after all. But she just seemed so happy, I couldn't resist.
Next day I went out to get some real food. Was a bastard to haul home, though, especially with no car. But I managed, despite the rough realization that I'd bought too much. I had to watch her eat while holding a cold compress on my back. And bless her little heart, she was so eager. Cutest thing I'd ever seen. Until it was beat by the way she curled up with me in my raggedy chair; she was like a space heater but not quite so loud.
That was the routine for a couple of days, save a few incidents. Darn little thing had quite a curiosity. As soon as she'd gotten some strength back she showed her daring side. She tried to climb on every little thing she could, and apparently felt that some of my appliances were her mortal enemies.
Having the kitten around made my ol' bundle of boards feel a bit more like a home. I appreciated that. I had to keep an eye on her, but it wasn't all bad, 'cause she got tired pretty quick. Yet another way the two of us were similar. We spent a whole lot of time in my lazy chair, asleep with her stretched across my leg.
The only bad part of having her around was that I couldn't leave in the afternoons like usual. Every time I walked out the door I got worried, started thinking about her. And I knew the walk to the Nursing Home would feel like forever. It was a shame I didn't get to see Debbie as much as I wanted to. Or Sharon, or Joseph, or even that brown-eyed nurse whose name I could never remember.
I normally went at least three times a week. Just to talk. They needed it, being bedridden and always berated by frustrated nurses. I mean, my walk from my bed to my kitchen, to my lazy chair, then back—it's not the most adventurous route. But at least I got to stretch my legs. They didn't even get that. I went to give them some company, as a distraction.
The walk back to an empty house always felt a bit depressing. I was conforming to the stereotype of the sad old man.
The kitten helped with that. But even than, I was like a crazy cat lady, minus the lady part.
On the sixth or seventh day after I'd found the kitten, my routine got even further disrupted. There came a bunch of scratches at my back door. I was asleep in the lazy chair at the time, and when I woke, the kitten was gone. I hopped up, worried she'd gotten out somehow. I walked faster than a twenty-year-old trying to catch the elevator.
...only to find that the kitten hadn't gotten out. She was inside, just staring at the back door and mewing every few seconds. The scratching was coming from outside. I carefully opened the door—and almost lost control of my bladder.
A flock of cats. A swarm of them, or whatever the correct term was. They were a diverse bunch, many different colors and breeds and sizes and such. They all looked a bit ragged, too—though not in a defeated way, more in a rugged survivalist way.
One cat stepped to the front, crossing the threshold and sniffing the kitten a bit. Its fur was darker than hers, nearly black, but it had similar brown splotches. Ideas started connecting in my mind. I'd begun to feel guilty before the cat even spoke.
It narrowed its eyes on me and said, "You have my daughter, human."
It sounded like an accusation—reminded me of the time the grocery-store worker stopped me at the door for stealing, though I'd simply forgotten about the orange in my pocket.
"I suppose I do," I said, and I know I should've been more surprised at the fact that it had spoken, and in plain English, too. For some reason, I'd expected an accent. Either way, I was past the age where I could afford to be surprised.
"What are your demands for her release?"
I shrugged. "I don't have the energy for demands. My voice ain't all that strong anyhow. If you want her back, you can have her."
The cat blinked its razor-green eyes, tilted its head. "That's it? No requests? Normally humans put up more of a fight—though we don't back down!"
A bunch of the cats out in the yard meowed at once. I jumped. What a horrible sound it was, it would've startled anyone. I looked back at the mother cat and assured her, "No fighting from me. Your daughter's all yours." But I sighed and then said something I regretted a moment after: "...I think I'll miss the little thing quite a bit though. I could really use the company."
"Well, I'll be taking her back then, but I'm still watching you for—"
The kitten meowed. The mother cat turned. The kitten meowed again, softer. The mother's ears perked up.
"What kind of food?"
I stood there watching two cats going back and forth. My left foot began to hurt, but oh well, I couldn't very well interrupt a mother-daughter moment.
The dark mother cat looked up at me again. "We will provide 'company' in return for food."
I shrugged, trying to act casual, but I could much stop the stupid smile on my face. "Well, okay. I think I might have some extra to go around"
|
“Here.”
You place the kitten on the ground in front of the gathered horde, a grassy field of raised hackles and tails to the sky.
Your partner, Mike, stands beside you, mouth agape.
You, eyes a little wide as you maintain the best semblance of control you can muster, back up a step, “No harm, no foul.”
The lead feline stands with minions flowing around him.
“Thank you, subcreature, for your expedience in solving this matter. Your wise actions have been noted and will go on record when we eventually move forward in our plans to conquer your civilization.”
Mike points at the slowly exiting throng and you lower his hand to his side.
“Shush,” you tell him, “I’m glad we found a solution that benefits everyone involved,” you say louder, a tinge of terror in your voice.
The horde ignores you as they slowly flow into the woods across the street from your house. You then notice the same kitten atop your mailbox.
Mike steps closer to you, “Dude… they were—“
“Talking. Yes.”
As you both watch, the kitten stares at you and slowly claws an X-shaped scratch in the faded black paint. Once done, it stares at each of you, seemingly at Mike alone and then you, then drops off the post and moves swiftly into the woods.
“What do we do?” stammers Mike.
Silence returns to the night.
“Nothing.”
It is uneasy. A ‘tremors and a cold sweat following a car crash’ unease.
“But—“
Even the crickets are silent.
“Absolutely nothing.”
| 2021-12-21T13:26:12 | 2021-12-21T12:24:38 | 1,341 | 137 |
[WP] After sarcastically complaining to God for the 1000th time he drags you to heaven and offers to let you run things for a day to see how the world really works. At the end of your first day he comes back to find the universe a finely tuned machine of excellence.
|
"Okay, sit down," God said, lighting a cigarette and crossing his legs. "You gotta tell me how you did it. I mean the
whole thing was a mess and now it's just… just…"
"The word you're looking for is perfect," I said. "The universe is perfect."
"Yes. Perfect."
"Divine. Wonderful. Flawless."
"You've made your point. Now tell me how you did it."
"Well… okay," I took one of his cigarettes and loaded it between my lips. "First of all, I did away with the whole
determinism bullshit. I mean, what was that about!?"
"You're kidding! That was like the first rule!"
"It was crap. I mean you put all of us in the universe and gave us the illusion of free will when really our mind is
controlled by the brain which is made of matter which follows the fundamental rules of the universe like every other matter. What kind of crap is that? Talk about deceptive."
"What did you do then!? How did you replace determinism!?"
"I gave people actual free will. Turns out if we are free to do what we actually want instead of being tricked by the
rules of nature to act the way you see fit while only thinking we're free, we're actually quite skillful at living."
"But… but… but then it's chaos!" God shook his head. "If the rules of the universe don't control the behavior of
animals, even sapient ones like humans, what does!?"
"Just… us."
God seemed confused. "But then that just means that… that… that…"
"That there's gotta be some other set of pre-established rules that govern how mind works, right? I mean, if it's
not cause and reaction, what is it? Yeah, I considered that."
"Exactly! What did you do instead? What controls mind then?"
"Nothing. Just fucking chaos, dude."
God looked at me behind disbelief. "That makes *no* sense!"
"Well, it worked."
He shook his head again. He ashed his cigarette on a passing cloud. "Okay. Okay. What about the metaphysical
problem of existence out of nothingness? Where did everything come from, why is there something instead of nothing, all that. What about that, huh? How did you fix that?"
"What are you talking about? *You* fixed that by existing. You're God. You created the universe. There. Solved."
"But that just pushes the question to what created *me*" God said. "You don't think I thought about that? I'm a walking contradiction. I explain the universe, but what explains me!? At some point, something must have come from nowhere."
"Ah. True. Very smart."
God smiled. "See? You didn't fix everything. There's still existential despair in the universe because people don't
know where God came from, and God explains the universe but nothing explains God, so nothing explains the universe."
"Well, I just told them."
"Told them?"
"Where everything comes from. Including God."
"HOW!? HOW DID YOU EVEN KNOW THAT!? I DON'T KNOW THAT!"
"I lied."
He paused. "You… lied."
"I said you came from your mother."
"AND WHERE DID MY MOTHER COME FROM!?"
"Oh, God, it's just turtles all the way down, get over it. They ate it up, that's what matters."
He looked down beneath the clouds at the perfect Earth and the people living in harmony and the unpolluted
environment and the warless, unified nation that was the planet now. "I can't believe this. So you just gave people free will, told them that there's no satisfactory explanation as to where everything came to being and they just… accepted it?"
"Well, I was a bit more eloquent than that," I said. "But yeah. That's pretty much the gist of it."
"What about death? What happens after you die? Surely that still anguishes people. The source of all human
despair is deeply rooted in a fear of death. You didn't fix death."
"First of all, let's not get arrogant, God. You don't die, so don't pretend to know what being mortal feels like."
He stared at me rather foolishly, but didn't speak.
"But you're right, it's awful." I smiled. "So you know, I just stopped it."
"You… stopped it."
"No more death. I mean, frankly, what were you thinking, dude? Putting people in the universe, giving them
self-awareness and then death-awareness? That's like telling your wife you're mathematically guaranteed to break up with her in a few years the day after the wedding and expecting her to be faithful. Of course it's not gonna work."
"So nobody dies anymore."
"Nobody dies anymore."
"And everyone has real, true free will."
"Free as non-deterministic birds."
"And they all know that the universe is a logical impossibility that birthed itself out of nowhere like a will o' the wisp
in a desolate marsh extending unto lands unknown?"
"Very poetic. You just wanted to use that line, didn't you, author?"
Yes, I did. Go back to talking to God.
"Very poetic, God. And yes, they know the whole truth and they are fine with it and they don't die and they have true freedom."
"And that fixed everything?"
"Well. Almost. I had to get rid of Bon Jovi's last album, cause it *really* sucked compared to his early 90s stuff."
God thought about this. Then he shook his head. "No. I don't accept it." He got up. "Immortality doesn't fix existential despair. They're going to get tired of living eventually. Eventually every human being will experience everything there is to experience, meet and befriend and love every other human being, visit every corner of the universe, discover every piece of unknown land, do everything there is to do… and then… what?"
I didn't answer.
"Then they'll turn their heads to the unanswered questions once more! Where did I come from? What is the meaning of it all? If free will is true, what are the rules that govern it? And if there are no rules that govern it, how can something purely chaotic even exist and make sense to our non-chaotic brains? And, and, and if there ARE rules that govern free will those rules must be absolute or not be rules at all, and if they ARE absolute then, then, then there is no free will by definition!" God flicked his cigarette, very intense now. "Those questions need addressing! They need addressing so much that humanity built a whole society around shielding itself from facing these fundamental paradoxes and inconsistencies! They need addressing so much that the only reason humanity has developed culture and all the social fabric that now is put in place is because humans cannot satisfactory address these fucking issues and they'd go insane without distractions and false idols! All you did was push the whole thing with your belly! Sweep it under the rug! People live forever and think they are free in some higher form than they previously thought with my definition of free will, which, okay, was kind of shitty but still, and also you told them that the universe was created by God and that God was created by his mother and his mother by another mother and so on forever but that's not answering at all, it's pushing it under the rug again! What will you do when they figure that out!? What!? WHAT WILL YOU DO, ALPACA!?"
"They won't figure it out. I'm keeping them busy."
"HOW!? FOR THE LOVE OF ME, HOW!?"
I smiled. "I built a new continent and put a water park there. Free admission, no lines, open bar."
God stared down at me, panting, desperate, angry. Then he paused. Then he said, "Fuck, that's smart."
____
/r/psycho_alpaca
|
"See?" I said proudly, "Running the universe was easy as hell."
"Hmph," God grumbled, "that's, uh, impressive." He scratched his head and continued, "How'd you handle Universe #2389819743912? That place always gives me trouble."
"I-uh, what?" There was a universe 2389819743912?
"The universe with the pizzas that use chairs to order phones for dinner. The progress of causality to create that universe proved problematic in regards to morality and reasoning abilities. I-uh," God scratched his head again, "I couldn't really figure that place out. But, between you and me, could you tell me how you did it? I hope you understand this to be a secret between us."
"I didn't know there was a universe #2389819743912..."
"You..." God pushed me out of the way and looked at the Holy Dashboard. He groaned, "You only dealt with *your* universe!"
"I didn't know that there were more than one!" My face burned red.
"Of course there's more than one! Medammit, I gave you omniscience and you still didn't know? Oh, look, now there's interuniversal conflicts. Geez, I wonder who let those advanced civilisations abuse the glitches and bugs to do that? Reality's gonna come apart!"
"Well, what do we do?"
"We?"
"Yea..."
He grimaced, "As much as I would love to ditch this whole fiasco, we're going to have to fix this. I'd rather not let the multiverse explode. And since the biggest problem is reality blowing up because of that interuniversal war, we'll have to handle that first." God walked off, grumbling about petty wars and leaders, and left me to mull.
He came back decked out in an orange jumpsuit with a pair of goggles strapped to his head. He held two big-ass sniper rifles in his hands. He tossed me one.
"Let's go assassinate some heads of state." He grinned.
| 2017-03-05T02:12:38 | 2017-03-05T01:19:00 | 1,196 | 439 |
[WP] In this world, everything is determined by the number floating over your head. Everything. And when numbers ahead of you die or get killed, yours moves closer to the coveted position of #1. You're number 22. For now.
Just a quick premise I came up with a while back. It's hard to type a decent title out of it, but good luck! I'm looking forward to reading!
|
They said Number One was on the run.
She'd gotten away from her bodyguards and vanished. Number Two, and none of the rest of us have bumped up, and we hadn't gotten a ransom notice or anything. We are pretty sure she ran off on her own.
I'd been Twenty-Two for oh, a year now. Being this high up, it's pretty good, and it's pretty stable. I was born Number 2401. Now, I'm Number Twenty-Two, small enough to spell it out in words. Before I hit 1000, as far as I can tell, only a few newborns were inserted ahead of me in the ranking.
Or at least one. The current Number One was born 1556, when I still hadn't gotten out of the 2000's. She's twenty-seven years old now, she's held the rank for two years, and I've never met her person-to-person.
We hear a lot about her. She sometimes gives interviews. Makes appearances. But they say she's shy. They say she's brilliant.
They say a lot of things. I'd like to meet her, if they can figure out where she's hiding and bring her back.
I'm on my way home from a meeting with the First Hundred Council, I've been in them since my teens. Me and Number One, we were the youngest for a while there, but she was always too far ahead of me for socialization, and her being a few years younger always felt like too much of a difference.
Anyway, when we got home, the guards got out and escorted me to my building. Most of the team has been with me for years, their numbers are all in the billions, and they change hourly; calling them their number is stupid, so they still use names. I kind of miss having a regular name.
We're friends, as much friends as we're able to be. I give them what help I can. The only way for them to get up is for billions of people to die, and none of them is genocidal like that, and working directly with a Hundreder gives them some tiny, side benefits that they'd otherwise never have a chance to see.
I guess I'm kind of rambling now. I've had a few shocks this evening. You see, Bernita was opening my door, she's one of my guards, and the other guard that was escorting me inside, Hank, he told me "Hey, you went up to 21 now."
Sure enough. I got a notification in my earpiece that Number One must have died, that Number Two had just gone up a notch.
When I got inside, I sent Hank and Bernita away, started my evening routine. I keep thinking I should get married at some point, but you know, it's kind of hard to find someone at the right level for me. I'm pretty young, compared to the rest of the Hundreders, and they're about the only peer group I have.
So anyway, I was just you know, puttering about. On evenings after a council meeting, I like to remind myself of how real people live, and make my own dinner, just have the house to myself. Some folk celebrate an upgrade. For me, it means one of my colleagues just died. I didn't know Number One, but I mourned the missed opportunity.
Someone was in my house. She came out when I found my vegetables out of place in the crisper. I recognized her immediately from her interviews, from her speeches.
"You've got to help me," Number One said. "I think ... something's terribly wrong."
But she wasn't Number One anymore.
A glowng Zero floated over her head.
-----
**Bonus Content**
This was stuff I cut, but the response has been positive enough that I'm going to just add it here at the end.
-----
The number is not wholly random--genetic screening, astrology, magic? I don't know. We call it the System, and it's ancient. Whatever it is, it determines a person's "potential." Potential for what? We don't know. But those born with lower numbers seem to be the best and the brightest. The most capable. Going places. The First Hundred include brilliant scientists, political leaders, the bulk of our geniuses.
And me. I don't really think I'm anything special. I had a lot of advantages, growing up. Got into the best schools, had the best opportunities, but I always seemed resoundingly average. Almost disappointingly so, according to my parents. I never cared much. I always wanted to be normal. When I hit a Thousand, I stopped being a person, and couldn't ever really be normal again. We're all just numbers, really, but when I was a 1001, people still called me by name.
When I was born and 2401 appeared over my fuzzy baby head, my parents were surprised. They were in the ten-thousands, and babies are usually in the same range as their parents. But occasionally someone like me crops up. There are some people who think infants should automatically fall in at the end of the line. They think that they shouldn't have their "promotions" delayed so some dumb baby can skip ahead.
Those people are idiots. Our entire culture is based on the fact that the First Hundred are, in some measurable, *quantifiable,* way, superior to the everyone else. I've been told that my entire life. Now that I'm one of the First Hundred, I don't really believe it. Most of us are certainly in the top percentile of *something* but that doesn't really make us *better.* There's jerks, there's assholes, there's stubborn, intractable fools among us, just like in any other set.
The number isn't there right away, it only activates after the first hour or so. Our population has been stable in the ten-billions for generations, and there are always people coming in and out of the queue. The System waits for someone in the right range to die, upgrades a few thousand people behind that person, and puts the baby in at the end.
This serves two purposes: One: the baby doesn't directly inherit the dead person's number. That's just grisly. Two: It safeguards against someone getting into the First Hundred while too young. Usually. The System might need to be adjusted, if anyone remembers how.
Number One caused an uproar when she reached One Hundred at the age of thirteen. She was sixteen when I bumped up that far, and I guess things were hard on her during those three years. It was hard enough on me at nineteen; I don't know how she survived.
-----
**Additional Comments:**
The numbers: They're not actually there; it's an enhanced-reality projection. Everyone gets at least baseline-tier augmentation implants, usually around the time they start walking. The System takes its measurements throughout gestation and finalizes and assigns the baby's rank after birth. Also, there's some nanotechnology going on, and stuff like that, because you know, science fiction and all.
The narrator isn't too clear on the details, just like the average non-parent isn't too clear about what goes on in a typical delivery room in modern times. He's also not too clear on how the System works, as a whole, for similar reasons. The System's inner workings are also kept secret to avoid manipulation. He's high enough in rank to learn more, if he wanted, but he kind of resents how he could never have a normal life, and how the System stole his identity.
|
Lenny checked his gyrojet pistol again and again. Light came in through the broken blinds in the cut-rate hotel room. He carefully pulled out a handful of teflon coated bullets and loaded them into the pistol. He paused for a moment to feel their unusual heft. His wristphone rang and he put it up to his ear.
"Yes.."
"Hello, this is the Getty Corporation fulfilling contract #44595. 21 is approaching the car now on State and Wacker. This ends our contractual obligations." The mechanical voice hung up.
Lenny sighed, peeled off his cheap wristphone and smashed it with his heel. He flushed it down the toilet as he put the gun in his waistband. He put on a long coat, examined himself in the mirror and put on a lead lined helmet. It sat heavily on his head. Lenny winced in pain as his neck negotiated the weight. The number above his head slowly faded way.
Outside a woman with long blonde locks and wearing a bulletproof vest walked towards her car. Lenny watched from a bench pretending to read his tablet. He spied the 21 floating above her head. He stood up, pulled out his pistol, walked up to her, and asked, "Pardon me miss, do you know how to get to...." She turned around, gasped, and he shot her. Her body exploded like a plastic doll-- plastic bits and hydraulic fluid went flying everywhere. Lenny's eyes went wide.
"An android," he said outloud as he felt a tap on his shoulder.
"So long fucker," said the real 21 as she fired her revolver into Lenny's chest.
21 sighed, kicked over the body, and got into her car. She pulled off her long blonde lead-lined wig, revealing a short brunette hairdo. She tapped her expensive looking gold wristphone as it blinked.
"Hello, this is the Getty Corporation fulfilling contract #445623, revealed location of assassin. This ends our contractual obligations."
"Sure does, hon. Sure does, now lets talk pricing on finding me number 20," she replied with a grin.
| 2014-02-12T10:40:07 | 2014-02-12T10:31:03 | 68 | 10 |
[WP] A human is abducted by aliens who don't know what sleep is, and they get really worried when the human they found stops moving
By stop moving, I mean he/she falls asleep.
|
These things took me in the middle of a midnight jog. Scooped me up in a fly by with a bucket on the bottom of the ship. No glowing beam, no levitation, no time to say goodbye to anyone. Not a pleasant first contact. They shoved these plastic looking things into pretty much every orifice I have; I sprained my wrist and maybe fractured some finger bones keeping them out of my more favorite holes. I can confirm that there's probably a darn tough skull under their deceptively squishy looking faces. I still dunno if they were different devices or if they were all the same thing; maybe they just figured "put one in every hole, one of them has to work."
I figure the things were translators, and maybe some sort of data collection tool too, but after they put the two in my ears I could hear them as if speaking English. The one they lodged in my mouth still feels lodged in my throat. I guess they probably took a few other folks and learned how we spoke using the throat thingamabob; just a guess though. They're more about asking than answering.
They asked all sorts of nonsense. Asked whether we knew about aliens. Asked why so many of us were armed if we didn't. About why we don't live in the Oceans but instead insist on the deserts. Asked whether the quadropeds were slave species or whether we had some sort of symbiotic relationship.
I thought about lying, but I figured the truth would scare them more. I told them we had no clue that anything else was out there, that we live in the desert because "Fuck Mother Nature; we live where we want to," and that we're packing heat because sometimes we like to kill. We'd already killed every animal that tried to kill us along with a bunch that didn't; killing each other was a way to keep the game alive. I told them the animals left were kept in torture pens until we could kill them for food; a few we even trained to help us kill other animals. Those we kept around for fun. Told them that they if they were gonna pick a fight then we'd be the happiest little sadists in the solar system. That seemed to scare them. Good. Fuck em.
After a few hours, they squiggled out or slugged out or waddled out whatever the fuck it is that moves them around under those nasty, pulsating skin flaps. I tell you, adrenaline kept me fighting at the start; but I was tired as all hell by that point. It was late, and I just fought a bunch of aliens. I went to sleep; deep fucking sleep.
"Can you hear me, number 3!!??"
"Yes! God fucking dammit! what the fuck do you want; I'm tired!?" I was shocked awake by the blare of an alarm, the shouting of the fucking aliens, and the most revolting touch I've ever felt.
I'm still not entirely sure how the little nubs and bumps on the end of their arms grasp tools, but that weird pulsating touch is my new least favorite alarm clock. I can't make out facial expressions on humans the minute after waking up, and I sure as hell couldn't tell what this purple alien thing wanted. It was emitting a foul odor I hadn't experienced before, and the (muscle? Skin?) flaps by it's base were flailing all about.
"He is alive," I heard the thing yell, presumably not to me. "Number 3, we need more information from your species, are you expiring? Will you be able to answer our questions or are you expiring? We can acquire another if that is the case."
I was already "number 3," so I figure maybe a few others "expired." Fuck em. They're not taking any more people. I told em, "I'm fine you purple fuck, I was just sleeping. Leave the folk down there alone; I've already been cooperating."
"Number 3, what is 'sleeping'? Explain your conduct, we have your cell locked down and will not tolerate violence."
I stared the thing down for like five minutes until it hit me. He had no idea what "sleeping" was. The tranlsator thing must be turning the word into some unintelligible noise for him; and he's just repeating the noise, not the word. The things must work with shared concepts, not literal language, because I'd been cussing and throwing metaphors all day with no problem. It hit me that he had no concept of "sleep" at all. The thing probably assumed it was an act of violence from my earlier scare tactic rants; so, ya know, at least that was a success. Anyway, I figured I could probably spook him again.
"'Sleep is the micro death, the glimpse of the great void to which we mere mortal souls retire when we wish to see the face of God in our selves. You cannot know it, for it is ours alone. All of the earth sleeps, all of the earth sees the void filled with terror and delight. These visions of the void are 'dreams,' and they are locked from your kind, weak and mournful. Past and future are ours to command, that which was and is and will be and may be and cannot be. I have flown through your stars in my dreamship, and I have lead the instruction of my people with nought but my voice and my underwear, I have fought battles, I have taken mates, I have faced horrors beyond your conception. I have done these things without moving from this spot; I have become stronger than I was. The great void refills us and recharges us once per day."
The thing was puslating like mad, and the smell got worse than garbage night at the crab shack. I swear to god, that was my most poetic moment in life; and it paid off. The thing started yelling, but no words came through. I think it was just making primal yelping sounds, like an animal facing its predator. I had become the scariest thing it'd ever seen.
"Number 3, stand down!" Two more entered with some sort of metal piping draped round their bodies. They'd threatened me by brandishing the pipes when i hit the probing alien, so I figure they were weapons of some sort. "Number 3, you will not take this ship!" They weren't as panicked as the other guy, but they weren't flapping about as much. Maybe these were soldiers.
"Fuck it," I thought, gotta run with it.
"No, no, I don't need the ship. I don't need your lives. I need your obedience."
"Stand Down! we are in command here; we will put you down if you will not comply! We have put down others!"
"Oh, the others, yes. They survive in the void. They spoke to me, and soon others will know. Sure, you can kill me; but then we hunt. We hunt from sleep where you cannot find us; we hunt from the void. We see but cannot be seen; always watching. The ones left with bodies will carry out our will; our numbers and bloodlust is too great to contain." They were starting to stink more, and the flapping really picked up. These fuckers were scared too!
"Stop! What do you want? Can we not make peace?! We have not harmed you! We only came to learn!"
"You came with weapons. Children marching to war on the gods of death. You have already taken first blood. The others are gone from the flesh, and we have all been taken from our homes. I told you before, we have been content to fight each other; but you seem to insist on giving us a new prey! If you want peace, you must act quickly before the fury overtakes my people; for I have sent word in the great void through my sleep."
"What must we do? Please, we have not come for war! We will make it right!"
"Return me to my home, burn the corpses of the other prisoners and scatter the ashes over our oceans, and then seek peace with our leaders. You must go to the Eastern Coast of the Northern half of the continent you found me on. Fine the pentagonal temple we have made in the land of the aluminum capped obelisk and the statue of the seated man. Prostrate yourselves before the men inside the structure, but do not let yourselves be seen before you enter. you would be killed on sight. The men inside will direct your fate!"
I swear to god that was my second most poetic moment, and it fucking worked. They made me witness the funerals, but I figure that wasn't so bad. I wouldn't be able to find their families, but I did want them to rest here, on our own planet. The ashes deal was something I'm pretty proud of actually. Then they brought me home and fucked right off in the direction of D.C.
Nobody believed me in the local bar, but the story earned me a few drinks, the cheap ones of course. Fuck those cheapskates though. I just got a phone call with a sweet job offer; a fricken general is on his way to my house. I saved the fucking world.
|
Subject 198C-23
Species: HOMO SAPIENS
CURRENT STATUS: UNKNOWN
DIET: UNKNOWN
Other: Specimen requires 30% oxygen to gas ratio to survive.
The Species Homo Sapiens is the most intelligent on planet Earth. However they are still behind and only possess rudimentary space travel. A subject was requested by the Galactic Alliance for study of bodily processes of humans and to attempt communication.
Hour One:
Specimen is emitting loud noises and secreting various substances of varying qualities from pores in body. Likely Biological in origin and poisonous. Biological team will be sent in to collect samples.
Hour Ten:
Subject has continued emitting loud noises and responds wildly and convulsively to responses and attempts at communication. Subject shows no understanding of basic telepathic communication. Likelihood of intelligence is low.
Hour Fifteen:
Substances have been analyzed. The liquids expelled from the body contain no significant amounts of known poisons. There is a high concentration of salt and minerals however. Further study required.
Hour Twenty:
Specimen has lost interest in researchers and has started to attempt to communicate. It's telepathic abilities are extremely low. No communication has succeeded. Additionally Subject continues gesticulating wildly and making noises.
Hour Twenty-Four:
Specimen is no longer emitting noises and is lightly convulsing in a corner. Stimuli only agitates the Specimen instead of a massive defensive response as earlier. Subject has stopped excreting substances.
Hour Thirty:
Specimen is no longer moving. Vital electrical signs are extremely low. No response to stimuli. Attempts to resuscitate the Specimen have failed. Specimen is likely dying from lack of some unknown substance necessary for life and/or continuous agitation.
Conclusion:
Specimen was caught on the planet Earth in Sector 1238. It has been 32 hours since departure from Earth. Subject was initially very excited and began emitting horrific noises and secreted substances from unknown orifices in body. Substances seem to be primary self defense but are not poisonous or primarily useful after extensive testing. Subject gradually grew more and more quiet until it was convulsing in a corner. After 24 hours Subject was no longer emitting noises and did not respond further to stimuli from scientists or other sources. Specimen is likely dead or in the process of dying. No contact has been successfully made. The Species HOMO SAPIENS is not as intelligent as previously thought with very low electrical readings and no outward physical abilities. Curiously HOMO SAPIENS have a complete society and have built many Tier 3 technologies.
As is customary for a dying creature, Specimen is to be buried with the highest honors. It is against Galactic law to dissect a dead body. Specimen will be cleaned and buried with a single plasma rifle as well as a single energy sword.
More Research is required. It is thought that HOMO SAPIENS may be mostly physical beings whereas most creatures in the galaxy are Telepathic. While our soul keeps our physical form intact HOMO SAPIENS appear to have evolved to have a physical body that regenerates to keep a soul intact. Most organisms on Earth appear to have evolved with this ability to regenerate their physical forms.
Again it is imperative that more studies are taken as the understanding of how a physical body can survive without a strong electrical field can revolutionize our medical care and the inevitable destruction of the body as time continues.
edit: Improvements and spelling.
| 2017-06-08T14:25:55 | 2017-06-08T13:56:44 | 168 | 87 |
[WP] You are the world's first Pictomancer, with the ability to touch a picture and make it into reality.
The medium doesn't matter - tattoos, stick figures, oil paintings, comic books, whatever.
How much of a picture you make into reality is up to you - having a character who can snag the ring of power off of Sauron's finger without bringing Sauron along for the ride is as equally interesting as a character who can only do the opposite.
|
I sat, nervous about what I was going to do. I began to swing my legs under me wildly trying to get the anxiety out of my head. *I feel so out of place here.*
There were about six of us still in the hallway. It was quiet, and It was getting late now. When would they call my name?
The boy next to me was working on his fire conjuring. I watched as a small fireball would appear in his hand, and how he would delicately manipulate it to float through the air. Meanwhile, the girl across from me was working on her ice formation magic. She would summon daggers of ice and hurl them at a target she had placed a little ways down the hall.
We were all there for the same thing, to impress the high council and be admitted into this prestigious magic school on the continent. I looked at the small folder I brought with me for my presentation. *I just hope this is enough*
The door slowly creaked open, and a sobbing boy of about 12 or 13 came out. Judging by his expression, they were not tears of joy. Poor guy must not have been accepted. From what I saw, he was a student of wind magic. He hung is head in shame, sniffles coming from his downcast face. He never looked at us, who were waiting for our turns. He turned down to face the end of the hallway and started to run. His footsteps echoed, and they continued to echo even when he was out of sight. *He looked so competent before he went in... Can I really do this?*
A voice bellowed from the doorway. "We would like to now interview a Mr. Owen Shadowbane. Owen, please make your way into the room."
I stood, heart racing and palms sweating. *Here goes nothing.*
-------------------------------------------------
I sat in the middle of a large room. It looked like it was a perfect cube as far as dimensions. Maybe about 40 feet on each side with 40 foot high ceilings. About 10 feet in front of me, sat three of the most famous wizards in the land. Going from left to right in front of me, they were Professor Grey, a master of Ice and water magic. In the middle was a man named Sol. Legends say he was born of the sun, which is why his light magic is the best in the world. Last was my father... Lord Shadowbane. We are a long line of Necromancers, and I have been a disappointment to him ever since it was found I wasn't blessed with the natural Shadowbane gift. I was completely unable to use necromancy.
Sol was the first to speak. "It's good to see you again Owen, I haven't seen you since you were about 5 or 6, how old are you now?"
"I-I'm 15 sir."
"15 years old now..." Sol glanced at my father. "Lloyd, why haven't you brought him around the campus in such a long time?"
My father's eyes were still looking at the notes in front of him. "He is an embarrassment, a failure. I have no time for someone who can't even perform the arts of our ancestors. I have to rely on his younger brother to carry on the family name now..."
I quickly looked down. *No matter what I do, I will never meet father's expectations of me.*
Professor Grey conjured some water and splashed my father in the face. "Lloyd, just because the boy can't perform the dark arts of necromancy doesn't mean he can't perform magic. Now Owen, what have you prepared for us?"
The eyes of Professor Grey rested on me. They were cold, and it felt as if he was peering into my soul.
"Well... ever since I found I couldn't carry on the family heritage, I decided to try and make my own branch of magic."
Sol's eyebrows raised. "Your own magic you say? There hasn't been a new branch of magic for over 400 years. You realise this right?"
"Yes, sir... but I was determined." *I had to make sure father would recognise me as his son.* "I will give you an example. Is anyone thirsty?"
Sol raised his hand. "I could take something to drink. It's been a long day of judging, so I'm sure the others would appreciate something too."
I opened my folders and grabbed 3 pictures of ice water with a lemon wedge I had prepared earlier. I laid them flat on the table and touched the corners of the photos. The glasses began to raise out of the photos, full of cold, pristine water.
Professor Grey looked at the water. "This is most impressive, may we drink?"
"Go ahead. Get what you can. This magic is still in development, so after 5 minutes whatever is left will dematerialize."
Father began to look at the pictures. "The glass is now missing from the photo, will it return?"
"No sir, every photo can only be used once. However, I can store the glasses back into the photos before the 5 minutes are up. If I was to do that, the glasses will be back in the picture, but the water levels will still be lower since you drank from the cups. If I was to resummon the glasses, the 5-minute timer will also reset."
They began to whisper amongst themselves. After a few minutes of deliberation, they turned back to me. "Can you summon other things?"
"I can summon anything, I brought a few sample pictures."
I held the first picture away from me, and towards one of the empty walls of the room. It was a picture of a volcano. Magma began to flow with the force of an eruption. When the walls began to scorch and catch fire, I stopped.
Professor Grey stood up and began flooding the area with water. I too brought out a picture of a tsunami and helped put out the flames. A hearty laugh started to come from the table of the three wizards. Sol was standing up. "This is fantastic, I have never seen such versatile magic in my life. Can you summon objects or people?"
"Those types of things are a little more tricky sir. Objects are easy unless the item is enchanted." I brought out a picture of a ring. "This ring is an ancient artifact that allows the wearer to lift 1 ton of weight with ease. However, if I summon the ring, it will be just a plain ring. If I want the enchantment, I would also need a picture of the person or thing that performed the original enchantment. The person would be bound by a contract of the magic to perform the enchantment again."
Professor Grey shook his head. "This is amazing. You said people were tricky too. Why is that?"
"Yes sir, if it is an original picture or painting of the subject, then there is no issue. However, if it is not an original, then the person will just be an empty vessel, as the soul of the person can't be captured in a copy." I glanced at my father. "If I was to work with a copy of a picture, I would need the aid of a skilled necromancer to call forth the soul to occupy the body."
"Hmmmm..." Professor Grey started to stroke his beard and looked to be pondering. "I believe I have seen everything I need to see to make a decision. Let us deliberate for a while child."
I sat back down in my chair. There was nothing more I could do.
-----------------------------------------
The deliberation took about 10 minutes... 10 grueling minutes. Finally, they came back into the room. Father then started to speak.
"Owen, it has been decided that you are to immediately start at this school."
My eyes widened. *Was this a dream? Did father finally acknowledge me?*
"You will not be attending any classes though. In fact, you are forbidden to enter a lecture unless you absolutely need it to further your research."
I looked at the three of them. "I don't understand, research? I'm 15, shouldn't I be attending classes full time?"
"Owen... listen to me, as I am your father. When Necromancy first came into existence, bodies could only be reanimated for about 5 minutes, much like your spells. Our ancestor and founder of the Shadowbane name was able to perfect it to the point most of his lab assistants were reanimated corpses. We believe this magic you perform is a mutation of the Shadowbane lineage. As such, we believe there is also room to improve it. You have a year to use all the resources of the college, then we want a full report of the progress you made. If you make no progress, you will be expelled. Understood? You are dismissed."
I stood up. I was trying to contain the joy I felt. *I did it!*
Professor Grey yelled as I was almost at the door to the hallway. "Owen, can you call in the Ice dagger girl on your way out? I am getting an itch to show someone up."
|
The first time it happened I almost fainted. I was cooking dinner for me and Jenna. She was in her room, crying. It was understandable, our cat, Lupine, just died. Even I cried for a bit. I tried to console her, but to no avail, every word I spoke only seemed to anger her and sadden her more and more. Suddenly I felt something was off, I rushed back to the stove where the potatoes were roasting (I was cooking her favourite dish, to cheer her up a little) fearing I burned them, but they were fine and smelled more appetizing than ever. But then I realized: the cries had stopped. I walked closer to the door and listened, what was that? Laughter?
I opened the door slowly and peeked, there she was, sitting on the moquette, her blue hair fading in the lighter shade of her dress. And in her arms was Lupine, fluffy (and young!) like the day we bought him, his blue eyes spotted me and Jenna turned. She pushed the cat towards me, a wordless invitation to hug him. As I kneeled I saw the photo on the ground: it was the first photo I took of Lupine, I recognized our old apartment, but Lupine wasn't there, only a faint shadow remaining almost as if... he came out of the photo!
Jenna could take any picture, photo or drawing, and make it real. Jenna! My little blue fairy! My autistic daughter could solve almost any problem with a touch of her fingers! I was astounded but I knew I had to teach her the utmost self control: the risks were just as big as the rewards. We quickly learned that everything she created, she could send back to the frame. That her creation were separate from the original (she was able to clone me. Twice) but still maintained the thoughts and memories from the time the picture was taken, we unanimously decided this was a big no-no. Convincing her that reanimating the dead was also taboo took a bit more work but she finally understood, although she refused to send Lupine back. She could bring forth any single item or being from the picture one at a time, not the whole picture together. Finally we learned that it didn't matter whether she knew what the image portrayed or not, it would work anyway.
She discovered her hidden talent for design and I my hidden talent for management. She would draw some new idea for a hat, shoes, gloves or whatever and make a prototype, then, I would contact factories, make deals and had it mass produced. She became famous and rich in a matter of weeks.
Around Christmas we would be Santa Claus and his little blue elf friend who could pop presents out of thin air. We travelled to all sorts of places to help children in underdeveloped countries and raise the morale of those in hospitals around the globe. We were happy.
One day we were doing our act in a hospital. I can't remember how or why but I was distracted, I wasn't looking at what she was about to create. No matter what I always double checked, a small detail was enough to transform an innocent-looking toy into a weapon (it happened before). But this time was different, it was no weapon, no man made object. This was monstrous. To this day I don't know how I survived, but I know she didn't. She didn't and the thing was still out there.
You know the rest.
(Slightly modified the prompt, hope it's fine. English is not my main language so sorry for any error or lack of style, be sure to point them out to me! Thank you for reading)
| 2016-10-17T11:14:20 | 2016-10-17T10:21:24 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] A group of survivors of a war that destroyed the world awakens from their cryo-sleep millenniums later to find the world has transformed into a Tolkien-ish medieval fantasy. Write how they try to explain to all the other races that they are not some ancient evil that once destroyed the world.
|
Part 1
Genetic engineering. In basic terms, it is the modification of an organism’s genes by artificial means, often involving the transfer of specific traits, or genes, from one organism into a plant or animal of an entirely different species.
For thousands of years, man has altering genomes of many species around the world, but the term genetic engineering didn’t come about until the latter part of the 20th century AD. Ironically the term came about from a mid-20th century science fiction book and the term stuck. As man began to learn more and more about his environment and as technology became more and more reliable, great progress was made in many scientific fields, one being genetic engineering.
In the mid-22nd century there was a massive breakthrough in the field: one of the holy grails of science had been found, a fountain of youth. And it was so simple. All one needed was a weekly injection of a drug that was known as Puerita for a minimum of four weeks, although many doctors and scientists recommended a six week dosage. The injection would, simply put, make the body nearly functionally immortal. It would also reverse aging in those who were older, reverting them to much younger appearances within a number of years.
At first, only the very rich and famous were able to afford treatments, but as the methods were refined, prices dropped. Some governments around the world even gave out injections free of charge, but those were very few. Within a decade nearly half the populations of the First World Countries had taken the Puerita Treatment.
At around the same time another company had announced that they had discovered another way to alter the body, and it was compatible with the Puerita Treatment. It was called the Acendia Drug. This injection would alter personal appearances of those who took it to certain typical fantasy creatures, such as elves, dwarves, mermaids, demons and certain anthropomorphic animals. However, this drug used an artificial virus to alter DNA permanently. They announced that the drug was still in testing and not ready for display, but the results had looked quite promising.
Then came the end.
It had all started on April 3, 2091 at the laboratories in New York State where the Acendia Drug was being tested. The company had just managed to develop a few prototype aerosol forms of the drug. No one knows what happened, all they know is that on 12:12 PM that day, there was a massive explosion in the storage tanks. Massive amounts of Acendia were spilled. Despite the efforts of hundreds of people, a few strands of the virus managed to escape. Within days the first cases of the Acendia Virus as it was called popped up in nearby townships. Within a week those first victims were dead, having suffered intense agony at the virus’ reconstructive work. Their bodies were barely recognizeable.
The Virus spread like wildfire, infecting thousands within weeks, hundreds of thousands in months. Each victim was dead within a week and if they weren’t dead they were an unrecognizable lump of dim red flesh, wailing in pain.
While man was experiencing this crisis, another one appeared, this one from without. An unusually shaped asteroid, looking very much like an extraordinarily long pin, was slowly approaching Earth. It was also an unusually iron heavy asteroid. Astronomers predicted that it would strike somewhere in the Oregon Cascades within a few years.
With the world in a state of panic because of both threats, governments banded together to attempt to find a way for man to survive the crisis. Many decided to build vast underground shelters filled with cryogenic pods that would be controlled by advanced AI systems. As impact day approached, those that had been chosen gathered what personal belongings they had been given and were taken to the underground shelters. A day before impact, the remnants of man went to sleep, hoping that when they woke, the world would be ready to receive them again.
----
The first thing that the man felt was cold. In his groggy mind’s eye he saw a snowy tundra landscape and that he was neck deep in a snowbank. There was some strange beeping in the distance and he somehow knew that he needed to get to it. He worked his way through the snowdrifts of his mind. Eventually the landscape melted away to reveal a frost covered window. For a brief moment he panicked and tried to move, but he was in some sort of restraints.
“Please relax,” a soothing female voice said softly all around him. “You have been asleep for some time, flash freeze memory loss is normal. Just lay back and breathe calmly.”
The man, still confused and frightened, nearly began struggling again but he decided to trust this strange voice. He leaned back, closed his eyes and began breathing in and out, counting the seconds to pace it. Soon memories began to come back to him, the virus, asteroid, and fragments of his previous live.
He heard a whirring and felt a shift in the direction of gravity. He was now upright. With a hiss his pod door opened. The liquid that he had been lying in spilled out onto the outside floor. The rush of air on his wet naked body made him shiver even more than he already had been. In front of him stood a lovely black haired woman holding a glass of water in one hand and a pill in the other.
“Take this,” she said. It was the voice from before. The man obediently opened his mouth to receive it. She poured water into his mouth and gently helped him swallow.
“This will help you recover your memories and your strength. It will also put you to sleep in a few minutes. You will wake up a few hours from now in your own quarters.” She smiled reassuringly but the man thought there was something artificial about it. She began to undo his straps. His muscles, not having been used in who knows how long, could not support him and he fell into a pair of incredibly soft but strong arms. He could smell the scent of lavender as he felt a steady hand run down his back comfortingly, like a mother tending to her child.
“Just sleep,” she said soothingly. Without complaint, the man drifted into a deep dreamless sleep.
|
I Stepped out of my cryo pod and quickly came to the conlusion that the world in which I awoke was not the same as the one I had gone to sleep in. With that in mind, I stepped out with arms out stretched and screamed into the sky, "I AM KHAN!!!"
| 2016-02-04T21:19:13 | 2016-02-04T11:13:00 | 24 | 15 |
[WP] whenever a baby is born the parents can assign them their skill points, everyone has 10 points. Strength, agility, intelligence, charm, luck, constitution, special. No one really knows what special does, until your parents put all 10 points into it
|
The origins of the system were Chinese; thats the one thing people could confirm. The ability to edit your child at a fundamental level before birth started there; and rapidly spread to the rest of the world. Nobody was quite sure who had made it; or in what lab; but the results were consistent. Spectacular even. The children born using the system ended up breaking all the olympic records, inventing perfectly efficient launch systems for spacecraft, curing cancer, and became soldiers no unaltered human could stand against. The difference between normal and unaugmented children was so vast it was illegal not to augment them, and so, each generation was custom-tailored by their parents to be their own vision of the ideal human.
&#x200B;
One question that had bugged many people was exactly what this 'Special' trait was. Even the most brilliant person alive couldn't figure it out; it was some sort of intrinsic trait, yes. But once it was determined that a high enough Constitution would allow you to live just about forever, all of the other traits fell by the wayside; and short-lived, brilliant, charismatic people ruled a world full of, relatively, dull immortals, who watched the handful of super-athletes on television and consumed their name-brand products.
&#x200B;
My parents were, frankly, lunatics. An incredibly rare thing in a world where even being below what was once average was freakish. They didn't want any augmentation for me at all; but rather than going the more common route of going into hiding or avoiding the government, to let me be born normal, they just threw it all into the one slot nobody knew what did; Special. Plenty of people had a point or two, though it had never amounted to anything. And for me, it wasn't -too- bad.
&#x200B;
All this focus on living forever meant that, while I wasn't the toughest person in my class, I was honestly just average at most things. Nobody admitted it, but the people who put points in intelligence automatically got into different schools, as did the ones with high strength, or agility; the normal schools were for people whose parents didn't want that; just wanted someone who would live a long, long time; hopefully happy. I was a little upset, knowing that I would probably die at ninety or a hundred; medical science had come a long way; while these custom-tailored people surrounding me would still be talking about 'that short-lived nobody' when they turned 300. Well, maybe 'a little' was an understatement.
&#x200B;
The day I graduated from highschool with utterly unremarkable grades, I was still stuck with my parents. Any decent job required either a truly exceptional individual; or decades of experience. Most people didn't get past 'entry level' until they were in their sixties, and every world leader was some blend of high intelligence, charisma, and luck. None of the basic labor jobs even needed to be done anymore; super-geniuses had built machines to handle all that. It wasn't abnormal; with centuries of life ahead of them, often people took decades to move out. I didn't have that time, however; and my parents, of course, were lunatics.
&#x200B;
Life was easy. It'd been designed that way, with everything measured and accounted for. Public transit was clean, efficient, safe. Manufacturing ran like a clean, well-oiled machine. People like myself, without anything to offer, could still get food, clothing, and live without worrying about things. I was set on living a long, dull, incredibly boring life.
&#x200B;
Until it happened. Luck was a well-understood trait in terms of its benefits, if not its effects. A highly lucky person would win at cards, win at gambling, win at life; Vegas no longer ran the way it used to, since their attempts to screen 'Lucky' people at the door inevitably broke down for some lucky man; the only ones still running had high-luck individuals as the owners. Some unknown joe with a high Luck score had stepped out into traffic; and it seemed the laws of the universe bent around him. As he walked across the street, some people saw him and swerved, some had already decided randomly to take a different route... and one bus popped a tire, forcing it to swerve and miss him even though the driver hadn't seen him. Right towards me, with my abysmal luck score.
&#x200B;
It should've hit me. One moment it was bearing down on me, and I was about to be so much squished teen-cake. The next... I was over it. I had leapt a clean thirty feet straight up, kicking off so hard I'd left cracks in the concrete, and was hanging off a window ledge. That incredibly lucky bastard stopped right there in the middle of the road, looking up at me.
&#x200B;
"Oh, hey! I was looking for someone to help me out with a new business I was gonna run, so I did what I usually do, and just walked out and talked to the first person who really attracted my attention. We're going to be doing a little exploring 'out there' and I need the perfect man to lead the show." He seemed oblivious. A mostly average, if somewhat inept, individual, he undoubtedly had almost all of his points in Luck.
&#x200B;
And I'd just realized what I'd done. In the moment, when I absolutely needed it to save my life, I'd manifested a much, much higher strength.. and probably Agility... than any normal human. It wasn't luck. Luck would be the damn bus missing me. I felt like some sort of comic-book superhero. As I gently worked my way down from window to window, dropping to the ground, I started to get a better grasp of just what I'd done; and what I could do. It seemed just focusing on wanting to know how this worked made me smart enough to understand it; it would never be long-term, or permanent. But I could focus and bring anything about myself up to a much higher level... temporarily.
&#x200B;
Mr. Lucky was still there, oblivious, in the street, waiting for a response. And my life was about to get substantially less boring.
|
[Poem]
Underperformer. Thats what I was.
On all dimensions. Until that day
I met someone as miserable as me.
And I empathised.
And what happened
Surprised me.
Its surprised them too...
They changed
So did I.
Those 10 points
So carelessly concentrated
Perhaps were special
As promised.
They could change
The condition
They transcended
The formula
They freed us
From the algorithm.
Empathy.
That was special.
| 2020-10-03T06:21:28 | 2020-10-03T06:07:13 | 645 | 50 |
[WP] aliens invade a high fantasy world. Neither side understand each other’s abilities. Aliens are terrified because they think wizards have strange undiscovered technology. Wizards are terrified because they think aliens have some kind of dark magic.
|
The invasion went as planned - until it didn't. The Dro'xos' warships had entered Perynn's atmosphere without trouble, and on the first day, they had managed to identify and surround three large cities on the continent known as Draphis among the primitive locals.
&#x200B;
But as the next morning came, the so-called primitive locals began to counterattack. This came as no surprise to the Dro'xos commanders - resistance was to be expected. The huge winged beasts came as no surprise either - after all, primitive races were known to tame the beasts they lived alongside and use them for warfare.
&#x200B;
What came as a surprise though, was when the beasts' riders rose in their saddles and held a staff up high. As the beasts and their riders came within a mere hundred meters of the warships, the beasts opened their mouths and each produced a gigantic ball of fire. Their riders then proceeded to shoot the fireball with laser from their staff - which resulted in each fireball suddenly becoming twenty fireballs.
&#x200B;
As roughly thirty beasts with riders attacked each warship, this amounted to each ship being bombarded with six hundred fireballs in the span of a few seconds. The shields were not built to counter such an extreme amount of firepower - and the heat alone managed to damage the shields beyond repair. Only due to the vigilance and abilities of the pilots and captains, did most of the ships manage to pull off a controlled crash landing. Most. There were, however, a few ships that ended up exploding mid air.
&#x200B;
Commander Kex'ains stood on the bridge of the First Command Ship, which was placed out of range and sight from the locals - much higher up than their warships had hovered. An array of screens showed him the damage and catastrophic outcome of the locals' attacks.
&#x200B;
\- "Dhernur, you're our Scientist Supreme. How is this possible? Didn't all initial scannings say that Perynn's inhabitants were on a technological stage where they found the bloody wheel to be a fancy invention?" he shouted.
&#x200B;
A thinner specimen of his race stood a few paces behind him. She shook her head slowly.
&#x200B;
\- "I am sorry, commander Kex'ains. We scanned for radiowaves, microwaves, electromagnetic fields and other wave-based signal types. We found nothing. This is surprising to me too."
&#x200B;
\- "Could this be biological? A latent curiosity of the people and their beasts?" Kex'ains mused.
&#x200B;
\- "No, sir. The energy levels surpass what can be contained within them, much less if we factor in material loss when transforming tissue to fire."
&#x200B;
\- "Damn..." Kex'ains rubbed his temples.
&#x200B;
\- "It becomes worse, sir. One such fireball would indeed be a marvelous feat - especially thrown with the airborn precision they managed. But the fireball cloning... well sir, it is a downright impossible feat."
&#x200B;
\- "Impossible? Dhernur, we just saw them do it - we can replay it if you like! How can you call it impossible?"
&#x200B;
\- "Within the laws of physics and chemistry, conservation of energy states that the total energy of an isolated system always remains a constant. But they did nothing to add energy to the fireball other than point a laser at it."
&#x200B;
\- "So the energy comes from that laser?"
&#x200B;
\- "No sir. The duration for which the laser shot was so short, that not even a fullblown fusion reactor could create that much energy in a similar time span... If I had to theorize... well..."
&#x200B;
\- "Don't stall, woman! Theorize!"
&#x200B;
\- "It is possible that their laser is in fact not a laser as we know it. It may create a black hole using high energy particle collision, and the energy from this black hole could be channeled into duplicating the original fireball. The only issue is that such a technology does not exist - at least not in our weaponry. If that is what they have managed, they are far superior to us. Take also into account that the laser shooting sticks themselves appear to be simply made of wood."
&#x200B;
Kex'ains backed a few paces and sat down. Rubbing his temples didn't remove the growing ache. "By the Gods..." he mumbled as Dhernur silently removed herself from the bridge. She had to speak to her scientists. They could not hope to come up with anything that could counter such technology, but their extraction procedures might just work. They had to at least try to save their people on the ground.
&#x200B;
\-------
&#x200B;
The Tribunal of High Sorcery had dealt with several life-ending threats during the history of Perynn. When their neighbour continent's necromancers had thrown millions of zombies at them, they fought and prevailed. When their city was threatened by a falling rock from the heavens, they concentrated their magic to alter its course.
&#x200B;
But now, invaders made of pure magic had come, and their magic seemed much stronger than the Tribunal of High Sorcery could fathom.
&#x200B;
\- "Ezespea, what have you observed?" Klerobys said with a tired voice.
&#x200B;
Ezespea was a young elf with a fortitude of magical power, and she had been among the riders that attacked the flying citadels earlier.
&#x200B;
\- "Archmage Klerobys, I've never seen such display of raw power!" she admonished. "To keep such large and heavy structured floating would kill even me. They must've had at least fifty arch mages in each citadel just to keep them floating, because they were made of pure metal! Imagine the weight! Now, imagine that you have to steer if in the air. Without wobbling like a drunken goblin on his way home from the local tavern. Imagine the amount of power required to do just that - and then imagine how much power it would take to withstand our attacks, and still have power left to land the citadel nice and neat!"
&#x200B;
\- "Not all of them made it to the ground, though," Klerobys mused. "But go on."
&#x200B;
Ezespea tilted her head slightly at him. "You've heard from the other Tribunal Seats? The other cities - are they still standing?"
&#x200B;
\- "Yes," he simply responded and motioned for her to go on with her briefing.
&#x200B;
\- "Well, I'm among the strongest on our entire continent, if not THE strongest. The complexity of the spells required to do what they've done... and from a distance further away than our explorer ships have mapped... they're good. We may not be able to beat them."
&#x200B;
\- "Do you suggest we surrender?" Klerobys rose an eyebrow at her.
&#x200B;
\- "No, Archmage Klerobys. Never. But we need the help from anyone who can cast a spell, bite through armor or wield a sword. I saw them from far away as they exited their citadels. They're armored from head to toe. And something about them is off... way off. I don't think we can fight them like we did the zombies and necromancers from the Ivory Reach a decade ago. This requires more. Far more."
&#x200B;
Klerobys looked at her, then at the others assembled who'd stayed silent. "You heard her," he shouted to them. "Prepare for war!"
|
Magic that's what they called it some cosmic science mastered by primitives. But that was our luck when it came to our lordships conquest of another world. We were doomed as soon as our men at arms stumbled through that bloody rift.
The so called primitives were waiting for us on the other side. Small two legged creatures with pale skin and sharp pointed ears. Truly disgusting creatures that could barely support their own weight. And the others a group of beautiful savage green skinned barbarians in furs.
In that small cobblestone street we looked down on them as if they were nothing. For what could their gilded armor and string bolt throwers do to his lords raiders. So we took that first step down a flight of stairs. We offered them the end of our fusion blade and charged into a slaughter.
The first of the knife ear fell when the lance corporal pushed the saber into the supposed envoys gut. The lithe little smuk must have died from the injury as soon as the red stained his fine clothes.
Then the unthinkable happened the very floor beneath us opened into the fiery pits of lava. Dragging the brave charging infantry with that damdable primative into their deaths. This was the point that the raid fell apart with our Commanding Officer burning alive it turned into a frenzied melee.
The green skins were far more durable that we had first thought. Our energy sabers failed the cut through their tough skin. And their simple warhammers and axes tore through our sabers like a angry thora. Truly it was the will of our lord that I survived that bloodbath on those ancient streets.
As I saw my comrades fall in quite considerable numbers I was forced to make sure news of our loss reached you. It was not my most valiant moment as I made a hasty retreat into the warp rift. I saw their weapons and I know me lord we have been deceived by the would be primitives.
Truly these people are a advanced precursor race and we have tread upon their home. There is only one course of action left for us we must hope the endless waves of the infernal abyss can hold the tide at bay. Will you grand souldrinker fith king of the nine realms lead the legions of the hell imperium to victory.
(:D I saw a empty prompt so I wrote a thing)
| 2019-03-22T00:35:44 | 2019-03-22T00:26:32 | 200 | 36 |
[WP] Your Spouse goes into the bathroom only to come running out 15 seconds later. Clutching you close they tell you they fell into another dimension and what felt like seconds to you was a 1,000 years to them. They now want you to follow them back because they have built a life for you there.
|
The trees were huge, comically huge, video-game huge. They sprouted from beneath the clouds under them and
blossomed in huge umbrellas of green, yellow and red leaves over their heads, casting cobweb shadows on the sunlit path under their feet.
Henry walked carefully. There were no railings on the edge of the path – just the fall, the endless fall that
disappeared in the thick clouds below.
"If you fall, you don't die," Amy said, with a smile back at him. "The clouds hold you, like pillows."
It was something out of a fairy tale. The pink sky. The grass and gravel path that snaked through the giant trees,
suspended mid-air like a street lane held up by magic. The smell of honeysuckle and roses and rain in the air, the bird chirping. Everything all almost a caricature of perfection.
"Here," Amy said, and she made a sharp turn with the path and soon they were climbing down ancient-looking
stone steps coated in vine and dry leaves, the faint sound of a waterfall reaching them from somewhere out of
sight down under.
"Careful, don't slip," Amy said, and she took Henry's hand and he followed her. "Over here."
The wide open space with the giant trees gave way to a more enclosed environment, with smaller but denser trees surrounding the stone wall they were climbing down. Soon they climbed straight down through the thick white clouds and reached the ground and Henry realized they were in a forest. A lush forest of green and brown. The smell of wet dirt and fresh wood invaded his nostrils, and he followed Amy to a little path on the ground that snaked towards a house in a clearing, a wooden house with a chimney coughing up smoke like some drawing in a children's book, some feverish fairy tale dreamland come to life in front of his eyes.
"It's…"
"Unbelievable," Amy completed. "That's what I thought when I first saw it too."
They stopped in front of the porch. Henry looked around, then down.
"We can have kids here," Amy said. "There's time and space to have kids here. To grow old and raise them and be
happy. Forever."
"Amy…" Henry climbed the steps and sat on the suspended bench on the porch. Amy followed. "I don't know."
"What don't you know? This is literally magic, Henry. We can live forever here."
"Yeah, but… do you want to?"
Amy laughed. "Henry, who *doesn't* want to live forever? I mean, I get not wanting it in that shithole that we call real life, but here?" She motioned around her, encompassing with her hands the whole idyllic scenery surrounding them. "It's perfection. Forever."
"People were meant to die one day, Amy. People weren't meant to live for pleasure forever, we're not… orgasm
buttons."
"Henry," She knelt in front of him and took his hand on hers. "People were not *meant* to anything. We are
accidents. We weren't even supposed to be sentient, we're like… an abortion of nature. Our self-awareness is an accident, a side effect. We shouldn't know we exist. But we do. We know we are alive and we know we must die and this place… this place takes all of that back. We live forever here. We are *happy* forever here. The scenery, it's always changing, there's giant futuristic cities, there's ancient medieval castles, there's magic forests, interesting people, all new, new, new, never a boring day, and forever! It's everything a person could ever want."
"It's not… natural," Henry said. "It's not… what's *meant* to happen."
"Henry, what is meant to happen is you and I and every other human being ever will die and then the universe will
die too and it will be like nothing ever existed!" Amy was getting angry now. Even the pink sky and the golden
sunlight around and behind her seemed to be gathering an ominous hue, like mirroring her emotions. "What is
*meant* to happen is the source of all human suffering. We are insignificant outside of this place! We are absurd!"
"Maybe we're meant to be insignificant."
"STOP SAYING MEANT LIKE ANYTHING IS 'MEANT' TO HAPPEN. IT'S A MADE UP WORD." She calmed herself. She
put her hand to her heart and breathed deep. "Nothing is *meant*. There is no order in the universe save for the one you put there with your own eyes. There is only chaos, Henry, chaos and forgetfulness once everything blows away and dies. Is this what you want? For our love to have meant nothing? Our life? Because when we're both gone, that's what it's going to be like. Nothingness."
Henry didn't say anything. He was crying, but he didn't say anything.
"I love us," Amy said, taking his hand again. "I want us to last forever. I don't want our love limited by the
indifference of the universe that bred it in the first place." She sniffed her tears too. "I want you and I… for longer
than reality permits. And this is how we do it. This place. Whatever it is. Real or not. Insanity or not. It's here. It's
forever. And I want to share it with you."
Henry looked down. Then he looked up, and the sky was gray now, and a soft rain was trickling down between the
leaves of the wall of trees behind and around the house.
"I'm sorry, Amy," he said. "I'm sorry, I can't."
She got up. She stepped back. "I'm staying," she said. "I'm not leaving here."
Henry nodded. "Okay."
How could he blame her? She was the one who was dying. She was the one with months to live, in the real world. He thought she was wrong, but how could he judge her from his position? From his place in life, his healthy body, his healthy mind. Deep down he'd like to think he'd be different, but would he? Didn't he too, like everyone, harbor the illusion that he would live forever? Didn't he make plans and live his life like he wasn't going to die one day, despite his 'logical' mind knowing it fully well? Didn't he too bury this truth? This truth that Amy had to dig up from the ground and stare at, that morning the doctor gave her the news?
No, he couldn't judge. He could disagree, but not judge.
He got up and started for the path, then he turned back. She was crying, her arms dangling by her body,
powerless, weak, fragile.
"Why do you have so much love for this universe that brings you nothing but pain?" she said. "This reality that doesn't love you enough to even let you in on itself and its truths. That's not even honest with you. This world that keeps you in the dark and then kills you -- is that the world you love?" She cried harder, then she stopped. "Is it worthy of it?"
Henry shook his head. "It's the only world I've ever known," he said. "And it was good enough for my fathers before me."
He climbed the stone steps alone, and alone he made way back through the giant trees under the now pouring
rain and the heavy skies, and then he crossed and emerged back into their house, alone now.
The portal closed behind his back and she disappeared – her and her memory together. Her parents, their friends,
no one remembered her anymore after that, just like she said it would happen. Those were the rules. That was the price you paid for that perfect universe -- no coming back, no footprints left in reality. She disappeared from his reality completely.
And Henry carried on without her for sixty-two years, and when he died, it rained for the second time over her
house in the woods in her lonely, perfect world, but she didn't know why.
_____
/r/psycho_alpaca
|
Seeing Maria slam the bathroom door behind her broke my heart, the utter contempt on her face cut straight through me. Such an idiot... I always mess everything up. I leant against the bathroom door tears flowing freely down my face. 'Maria, Baby, come out, we can fix this. I'll change I promise!' you lying bastard. I'll never change. My fingers pull at the locked door handle in a vain hope that it will turn freely and Maria will be in my arms, happy and full of love. The handle jars, turning no further that half an inch. I slump down in front of the door openly sobbing. I love her, I really do. My only hope for a happy future, I wanted to marry her. To have a family. And I still can't keep it in my pants.
What feels like an eternity passes but what I know to only be a several seconds tick by. Despair fills me. Drowning out all other emotion.
A click and the door opens inwards, her sweet perfume reaches me first, the scent of a garden in spring, fills my nostrils and rejuvenates me. A gentle hand strokes down my cheek, sliding under my chin she pulls me up close to her. 'it's okay honey, I forgive you'
Yes! The words I don't deserve to hear, I pull her close. 'I'm sorry, so sorry, I can't breathe without you, I felt like I was at that door for an eternity, it was hell, sorry...'
She kissed me, her lips first brushing and then pushing against mine sending warmth through my cold heart. She pulled away and leant to my ear. 'it felt more like a thousand years... I had plenty of time to think on the other side of that door, I know you love me and I know you want us to work, but I also know that you will never change. I've worked hard for this moment. It's like another world, I see myself creating a life for us, safe from everything. She kissed me again, pulling me hard against her. The warmth of her kiss halted and retreated as I felt cold steel sliding into my abdomen slicing through my insides the cold steel became hot pain screaming through my body, unable to scream I let out a gasp, she kissed me again. 'Please wait for me on the other side, we can make this work'
-HL
(sorry for the formatting, on mobile.)
| 2022-10-29T18:50:12 | 2017-02-20T23:43:32 | 510 | 14 |
[WP] John Wick is contracted to take out what seemed like a usual mark. Billionaire, heir, playboy, general layabout, Bruce Wayne.
|
Rain poured down in a abysmal onslaught as the sleek town car pulled through the gates and into the winding, scenic driveway of Wayne Manor. The garage door opened silently on well-oiled hinges and the car entered. Alfred let out a sigh as he parked the car in the usual spot flanked by the Lamborghini and the Aston Martin. He stared glumly across the array of the super cars; the luxury coupes; the classic muscles. It had been ages since Master Wayne had driven a car (excluding the black, armor-plated variety). They'd be covered in a thin layer of dust if not for Alfred's herculean effort to keep the manor presentable. With a small *tsk* to himself, he turned off the engine and was left with nothing but the constant drumming of the rain to break the silence of the expansive room.
He collected the groceries from the boot of the car and made his way through a series of twisting servant's corridors to the kitchen. He bumped the hidden service door open with his hip and struggled to turn on the kitchen light with his hands full. Nudging the door closed with his toe, he set the paper bag on the counter and looked to the dining table. The breakfast he had carefully prepared hours before remained patiently where he had left it, cold and forgotten. With a look of disdain, he unceremoniously deposited it in the waste bin.
"I was just about to eat that Alfred," stated Bruce wryly, striding into the room while tousling his hair with a towel. Alfred glanced disapprovingly to the half-wet footprints trailing behind the man.
"One does not maintain his reputation as a respectable chef by serving cold food, sir. Nor does one maintain the illusion of living a luxurious life by eating his breakfast past noon", he replied in a like tone.
Bruce cracked a smile. He made an intimidating figure, standing a few inches taller than Alfred, his bare torso scarred and ribbed with muscle. Despite his impressive physique, a closer inspection revealed a far more daunting aspect of the man to be his eyes.
Cold and hard eyes.
Anguished eyes.
It was that part of Bruce that kept Alfred going through the motions of his job; making food that wouldn't be eaten and cleaning floors that would never see guests. It was the knowledge that maintaining order and routine was in some way healthy for his charge, despite how little Bruce seemed to care for the comforts of a billionaire's life.
"I'm plenty fine with not having a life Alfred, let alone a *luxurious* one. Keeping that facade up was your idea after all," Bruce said with a shrug.
"Well all the same, if you expect me to keep making your food then you can at least learn to dry your feet properly," Alfred accused, gesturing to the little puddles trailing in behind his master from the foyer. Bruce glanced back the way he had come with a look of chagrin. For a split second, he looked to Alfred every bit like the young boy he used to catch tracking mud in from the garden so long ago. The thought brought a bittersweet pang of nostalgia and innocence with it. The look was replaced with a hint of smugness as Bruce glanced behind Alfred and accused, "Well isn't that the pot calling the kettle black?"
Alfred glanced behind him to see wet footprints leading into the kitchen from the servant's entrance. He had taken the corridors inside the house from the garage. Confused, he looked to his own feet. His shoes shone with a matte layer of shoe polish.
Not a drop of water on them.
"Master Bruce! Get to the cav--!
***PHT PHT PHT***
Muffled gunshots sounded out in the kitchen as the wood slivers exploded from the pantry. With a grunt, Bruce dropped to the ground, clutching his shoulder. He dove behind the kitchen counter as the gun fired again.
***PHT PHT***
The barrel of a suppressed M1911 moved forward past the splintered pantry door, trying to get a better angle on its mark.
With a massive *clang*, Alfred brought a cast iron pan down on the pistol like a mighty zweihander knocking it from the assassin's hands. Then with a twist, he brought it upwards in a swift backhand towards the assailant's head. Ducking quickly, the gunman dodged the blow and pinned the pan against the wall bringing him face to face with the butler.
"Alfred."
"John."
With a two handed strike to his wrists, John broke Alfred's grip on the pan. In retaliation, he struck out with his elbow then spun to position himself behind John, placing him in a rear naked choke.
"How's -- Hel--en?" Alfred asked through gritted teeth.
John struggled against the aging military vet. He might be older, but Alfred clearly remembered his S.A.S. training. John elbowed the man's stomach, then heaved his weight forward and down sending Alfred over his head and onto the kitchen island.
He stood to catch his breath, "She's actually...not doing too w--".
Bruce tackled him to the ground. He straddled the smaller man grabbing the collar of his suit jacket and bringing it across his neck to constrict the carotid arteries. John quickly began to lose consciousness, but was able to reach the bullet wound in Bruce's shoulder and pressed down hard. With a guttural yell, Bruce was forced to release his hold giving John a chance to scrabble around above him for the cast-iron pan on the floor which he swung up with a resounding ***THUNK*** as it made contact with Bruce's skull. The man went reeling backwards, head spinning.
***PHT PHT***
As John struggled to his feet, two more gunshots rang out, bullets embedding themselves in the counter next to John. He froze.
"Al-alfred...no...no g-guns...", Bruce called out weakly as he stumbled to his feet and made his way to the kitchen door.
"Not to worry Master Bruce. I won't kill him," Alfred replied. "Can't guarantee I won't shoot him though...", he muttered just loud enough for John to hear. Bruce paused at the door and looked to John propped up on the floor, then to his butler aiming the pistol at the assassin.
"...that'll have to do", said Bruce as he stumbled out of the room.
A moment of tense silence passed between the two remaining men.
"...I'm sorry about Helen...I heard about her diagnosis", Alfred solemnly said, breaking the silence.
John looked down.
"I'm sorry I was sent here Alfred."
"I don't suppose you had a choice?", Alfred asked with a sigh. "I can't say I'm entirely surprised. You don't become the richest man in Gotham without making some enemies."
Alfred looked at the man on the floor in front of him. He had a lot of respect for Mr. Wick, despite his choice of profession.
"Well, what do you suppose we do now?" he asked John.
John glanced up. "How about a drink?" he asked with a wry smile. Alfred met his with a sad smile of his own. He gestured with the pistol for him to stand up. John stood and poured himself a drink from the decanter on the counter top. Holding the decanter in one hand and the scotch glass in the other, he took a sip and sighed.
"I want you to know it's nothing personal Alfred", John stated firmly.
"I know John", the butler replied, readjusting his grip on the pistol.
John nodded.
"Don't miss."
John threw the glass at Alfred, and dived forward. Alfred opened fire.
***PHT*** *click click*
The shot grazed John's waist. The slide of the pistol kicked back and locked. Empty.
The decanter swung into the side of Alfred's face.
-------------------
Bruce leaned against his desk in the Batcave, suturing his shoulder, an ice-pack balanced delicately on his head. He heard the door from the elevator open.
"Did you hand him over to the police Alfred?", Bruce called out.
"No, but he offered me a drink."
Bruce froze. He looked over his shoulder, the ice pack sliding off his head. John Wick stood there looking back, gun leveled on him. Bruce put down his needle and stood up straight to face the man.
"...Alfred? Is he--"
"Alive. I was only sent here for Bruce Wayne", John explained.
Bruce nodded, and stared back at the man before him. John glanced around then back at Bruce, a look of grim determination on his face.
He pulled the hammer on his pistol back.
Then he paused. Something occurred to him. He smiled to himself, then lowered his gun. Then he turned and started to walk away.
"...is that it?" Bruce called out, confused.
John kept walking away, but called back.
"I was sent here to kill Bruce Wayne, not Batman."
|
"You think this is kinda our fault, somehow?"
Taking a quick drag, the shorter of the two detectives grunted. A fog of smoke slowly wafted around the study.
"I mean, us not saying anything. About the bat thing..."
A scowl.
"Come on, Jack. You think no crazy sunnofabitch ever came up to him at one of those fancy fundraising events, you know, with the caviar and suits and stuff? Just start telling him that we all know? That the city ain't stupid? Course we said it to him."
"I guess. But he still thought he wa-"
"He didn't think he was. He was, man. Broken. You know the commissioner actually sent out a memo few years back? Askin' us not to mention it in front of him anymore? Apparently it was better for him to think it was a secret. Every time someone mentioned they knew, he'd smack em around in this very office for a couple hours, you know, 'interrogate' em. Then he drops em off with Gordon, who has to blow smoke up his ass for bringing in a supervillain or mastermind or whatever makes Brucie here happy. Next day? Mr. Wayne's repressed the memory already. Can't remember a new face. His file says he's got some condition, paranoid delusions, split personalities, whatever. Some Freud bullshit."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Guy funds half the fucking force though. Least we can do is pretend we don't know about the bat thing and turn a blind eye to what happens to anyone dumb enough to mention it in front of him."
The younger detective paused for a moment.
"Funded. He funded half the fucking force."
"Yeah. Hope he left us a trust or something. What do we got?"
"Shooter came in through there. Front door. One between the eyes, looks as if Mr. Wayne was turning round to see who it was. Dead before he hit the ground. Second to the temple, point blanc, execution style. Casings don't match anything I've ever seen sold in Gotham, probably some foreign stuff."
"He left the casings?"
"Honestly, it don't look like this guy was trying to cover it up. Forensics couldn't find anything this morning that shouldn't be here. This was professional. Hun'red bucks says we ain't getting shit from the casings."
A nod.
"Probably a business thing then. Guy like him got to have enemies, I think."
"Yeah. Open files on the desk show some kinda financial transactions. It'll end up being something in the numbers that got him killed. Usually is."
Another drag. The short detective sighed.
"I think I'll get the paperwork over to Oswald later today. You know he's one of the first ones to to get the Wayne treatment? Accidentally let it slip at a wildlife fundraiser. Started talking about the new batsuit he saw Bruce wearing a few nights before. Got his transfer to fraud out of it on account of the medical leave."
"Huh. I didn't know that."
| 2018-03-13T22:43:15 | 2018-03-13T22:34:48 | 220 | 56 |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills.
|
*The Regulator:*
----
The boy sat, hands shaking and cuffed. The room was quiet, still. Through a mirror, he knew there were people watching him- he could tell somehow, dangerous people. He was like them now, worse maybe. The chair creaked as he peered at the glass.
They knew he knew.
He jumped as a door opened, slamming into the wall as a large man walked in, turning carefully to close it back up. It locked with a heavy click, afterwards. Someone slid a bolt in after that too, the boy could tell, somehow.
The man sat down across from him, and leveled a calm stare. It was the sort of gaze that could see deep into a person, figure out everything there was to know. The boy stared back. He could do that too, now.
"You comfortable? Need some coffee, something to eat?" The man asked, straightening his uniform. "I can send someone to get it for you, if you want anything."
"No." The boy replied. He didn't want to talk.
"Listen, I was like you once. You're not the first to end up in a situation like this." The man paused, carefully motioning towards the mirror, and then the camera, watching in the corner of the room.
The boy could tell it was turned off. Those behind the glass left shortly after.
"I'm going to tell you a story kid. It's not a particularly long one, but it's the truth. I think you'll be able to tell that now- the truth I mean." He met the boy's eyes, waiting for some sort of recognition.
Shuffling his cuffs, the boy nodded slowly. The man began, his deep voice speaking in a heavy tone.
"When I was younger, I had to kill two people in my home, on a cold night in October. I remember it was dark and raining, I remember the wind was howling." He paused, looking down at the boy. "It wasn't something I had planned on doing. It wasn't something I had wanted to do, but they broke down the door even after I told them I had a gun."
Leaning back in his chair, he continued, and the boy saw remorse. It was real remorse, the boy could tell that now. He *knew*.
"Christ, I warned them- I told them to just go away, practically begged them. I didn't even have anything worth stealing, I have no idea why they didn't listen. I mean honestly, a guy in his early twenties in a shitty apartment? Maybe they just thought I was someone else. Never found out their reasons."
"Anyways, after that I had leveled. Four times in a row, all at once. I had a ton of life points to allocate, practically a flood of them, and I could actually fill up some of those skill trees that foster in the mind, made sure to get the heightened awareness first. I just wanted to know for certain- confirm some things."
He stared down at the boy, and really *looked.* The man knew.
"See, you can't tell what level people are, not at the early stages. We all start out a level one, but usually by fifteen years you'll hit level two just from the slow grind of your immune system farming germs. Maybe you'd hit level three after that if you're a hunter. Bigger game has a lot of regulations, but they say it's only around ten deer before you can make the jump from two to three. Most people by the age of twenty-five are between levels four and five." His large armed curled over his chest, folding as the chair creaked in protest.
"The trick is, though, it ain't age. It's killing. Small difference in the long run for most people, but for some..." A deep sigh came from his chest, as he leaned forward.
"Killing germs or animals, that's something but its small- barely noticed, but killing another person? That's big, kid. That's a level, and if they were a higher than you it might be more. It's reasons like this that the government monitors so seriously. People would murder if it was common knowledge, and not just urban legend."
The boy leaned back in the chair. It wobbled slightly, covering the loose nerves that escaped on his face. The man continued.
"Sure, they keep a tight lid on it- but there's no point in beating around the bush. Not now, not with you, at least. It's rare that anyone level up enough to notice, though. People, generally, just aren't killers."
He nodded, as if in agreement with himself.
"Only problem is that after that, I was a level seven, and I could tell- see through it. That's more than most police can claim, and I only knew because somewhere between level five and here, you'll get the *sight.*"
His eyes locked with the boy's, again holding them in place.
"Really, it's more intuition, but it works the same way. You know, more or less, where someone is by a quick glance. You can *know* their level. See some of their skill points and trees- what they've allocated points to."
The boy looked closer.
"I might have flown under the radar if the Feds hadn't been called in with a level seven of their own, and confirmed it. That put me on the list, shuffled me into something close to witness protection." The man said, running fingers through thinning hair. "Eventually they got me working for them, something like a bargain. It's better than my old job, so you won't see me complaining about it. Better than being without *Big Brother's* watching eye."
He nodded again.
"See, there are killers among us. Quiet folk who, like me or you, figured it out. Something happened, somehow, and they got the *sight* and connected the dots." The man looked down at the table, inspecting something- perhaps a stain in the wood, before looking back up, continuing.
"We're chasing one of those now. You see me, just a lowly seven working with a couple of nines, and you think we're trouble... well, wait until you meet a level seventy."
The boy's eyes widened. Seventy... was that even possible?
"Look kid, I know you've got questions. I know you want answers- I was the same way, but right now- you gotta trust me." He rose slowly, joints groaning as he left the chair. "I'm going to leave you locked up tight in this room, safe and sound, and we're going out there to put that man you saw, down in chains. We're going to leave him locked up in some cell where he'll die of natural causes and old age. We're going to bring some justice for what he did."
The boy nodded at that. The man nodded back, small smile curling onto his cheeks. His eyes looked serious though. Deadly serious.
"The thing is, if we mess up, one of us slips- he could be a level ninety by the time our guys find him again. Nobody wants that." He paused, "You see what I'm getting at here?"
The boy met his eyes, folding his hands in the cuffs.
"Look, I see you, and I see a bit of myself. You didn't want to end up a level ten- but you saved a lot of lives in doing so. You've got potential. Real potential. People need guys like you, the good guys. Guys like that are in short supply."
"I might not be coming back after today. If I don't, I just want you to remember this conversation. You've been handed a terrible gift, but you can use it for good."
The man stepped back, slowly pushing in his chair to meet the table, before heading towards the door on the far side of the room. He knocked, three beats followed by two, and the bolts were lifted, the handle turned. He took one step forward before stopping, turning back one last time.
"You saved a lot of lives today kid. A guy like you... well, you're the kind we need more of. Think about it."
The door closed, and the boy thought.
----
*Edit formatting/running sentences*
|
Every morning, while in the metro, I see these people looking at me. Just like me, they killed. Some may not like doing so. I do. Some may not do it fast enough. Some may level up too fast. It's not my business. I love the color of blood.
Every day, I will lock myself in at the office, to make sure I'm not used to level up. You may call me a paranoiac, but being in bad terms with your CEO is a bad idea. Being in bad terms with anyone isn't either. But at least this sudden change brought us generally good relationships. People aren't fighting in line to the store. They don't argue over taxes. They just do what they are told to, plus the killing.
Truth is, it has become harder to level up. In the beginning, beggars were easy targets, and thus favorably picked on. At first people found it irregular, but eventually we ran out. A lot of people switched to animals. Some find it better that way; some don't like the lack of sport, and keep killing humans. For myself, I couldn't care less.
I walk out of the metro station. There's this gigantic ad on the wall. "Thanks to the latest technology, you are now able to not kill to level up! For more informations, call 1-514-235-LIVE [...]". No one ever looks at it, probably due to the lack of need in technology nowadays: you need to personally kill to earn XP. Remote killing using drones, bombs and the like does not work. When you think about it, it's basically population control. In a world where birth rate inflates and the only place we know is Earth, killing your fellow citizens doesn't sound too bad. Want an example? Look at Japan.
Today, as I walk by that ad, I notice someone. He seems to be a level 40, with a body as sharp as razor blades. He's alternatively looking at the ad and sending a text. I sneak by.
"Did you see that ad? We should try this out! I'm sick of killing stuff..."
I hate these kind of people. You need to kill, so just do it. Eventually you'll get used to it. This guy probably hasn't killed enough. I guess I should remind him.
He sends his text. Notices me. He goes from a blank stare to one of a terrified person. I think he understood. Nods to me. I walk away.
He's already dead anyway.
| 2015-11-11T08:03:53 | 2015-11-11T06:40:03 | 202 | 58 |
[WP] A powerful supervillain is hopelessly in love with you. One day a gang of criminals attack and injure you...bad mistake.
|
I am so damn tired. Of course, I shouldn't complain, since the only people I can blame for making my vacation a working vacation are me, myself, and I. One week outside my armor, one week where I wouldn't need to deal with mad scientists, leering supervillains in bad costumes making passes at me, leering superheroes in bad costumes making passes at me, no responsibilities, and what do I do? Spend it writing out new combat maneuvers for the team, and following more dead end leads about where my armor came from.
The only consolation is that there weren't any big disasters to pull me back. Feels like forever since I've worn a dress, or had my hair down. So there's a silver lining, I suppose. A few more minutes and I can get out of the dark and curl up with a half-decent book before getting the last eight hours of sleep I'll enjoy for the foreseeable future.
I feel something prickle up my neck, and there goes my inner whining. I'm not the most experienced superhuman around, not by a long shot. But I've been on the job long enough to have my own little danger sense. Which would be a lot more useful if my damn armor wasn't back at my apartment. Keep walking. Just keep walking. Get home and they'll wish they'd never been born. They're herding me, I can tell that much, more shapes cutting me off ahead, trying to force me into the alley. I stand my ground instead, better chance of someone seeing what's happening and calling the cops.
I can see them all clearly now. A dozen of them, muttering, leering. They're not taunting me, or catcalling. They've done this before, I can see it in the flat stares, in the flexing hands and ready stances. Of course, I've done this before too.
I can count the number of people on the planet who can make me sweat on one hand. There's a reason I lead the Wardens, a reason they call me before anyone else when the big stuff goes down. I can level buildings with my punches, can out-fly fighter jets, shrug off artillery. But that's in my armor, when I'm sheathed in gold and glowing green runes. I'm not Valiant, right now. I'm Lena Mcquarry, and that's a very distinct difference. Still, no time to dwell on that, not when the first pair is rushing me. I can hold my own, I need to be able to. I break a nose with one strike, as my other fist smashes into a throat. They're all rushing now, and I do my best. They're awful fighters, but I'm outnumbered and outgunned, and eventually they get the bright idea to just pile on me all at once.
I fall, and they're pissed now. The first punch only ticks me off, and I reward the owner of the fist with a kick to the knee. Put the second one dazes me. And then the third, and the fourth. I'm not going to scream, fuck that. But as the hands start to explore, I feel a hint of fear well up inside me. I can taste blood, and realize it's my own. I try to rise, but one of them grabs a clump of my stupidly let down red hair, and smashes my back down.
Then they stop. As one, the thugs all start twitching, teeth bared in pain. I see through my blurred vision, little arcs of electricity dancing over them, and then, they all crumple, just like that. I shove them off, staggering to my feet and almost falling off the stupid heels. I hear boots thumping to the ground, and turn to meet my rescuer.
Oh, fuck me, it's him.
Blue-black body armor covers the tall, athletic frame. He's built like a professional rock-climber, all compact muscle. His mask covers only half of his face, leaving dark auburn hair and wicked grey eyes visible. He stands, hands on his hips in the classic heroic pose, thunder rolling through the air. Then, his voice rumbles out, deep and authoritative. "Fear not, fair lady. I have come to save the day." The jackass.
I'm still trying to catch my breath, but I manage to gasp out. "Fuck... you..." Of all the people, it had to be him. To most, Stormkindle is a promising rookie hero with middling atmospheric powers. Nothing major, but certainly one of the good guys. Only I know the truth, that 'Stormkindle' is none other than Tempest, a supervillain infamous for creating massive weather phenomenons, and then holding cities ransom until they paid up, swindling millions of dollars out of it. I've fought him five times, and barely beaten him each round. The last time was three years ago, when he was supposedly killed. The only time my team has ever kicked out a member for excessive force. Of course, he resurfaced months ago, and has bee on a hero kick, purely to annoy the living hell out of me. Heroic act after heroic act, all using a boyscout persona.
He's also saved my life twice, now. The bastard.
He drops the pose at my words, meandering over. "Hey, come on, Valiant. I didn't even know it was you until I zapped them, honest. Nice dress, by the way." Again he uses his stupid, barely mocking conversational tone. I become aware of something terrifying. I'm at his mercy right now. There's no one around, I'm exhausted and barely standing, and he can bench press tanks. There's literally nothing I can do to stop and... and... oh, I'm falling over. Or I would be, but steel pretending to be a hand catches me and rights me like I'm a feather. "You alright?" he asks, and his tone has changed into something that I can't place right now.
"I'm fine. Go away, now." I hear myself mutter. I meet his eyes, as if to prove my own words. I see something odd in them, amusement mixed with annoyance, and smothered by something else entirely. Something I'm not really sure I want to identify. At all. For any reason.
He rolls a broad shoulder in a shrug. "Fine, toddle back home, then. If you fall over, I'm taking a picture to frame on my wall, so stay upright." He starts to float off, silently, already looking skyward.
I shouldn't talk I shouldn't say anything don't speak don't- "Tempest..." Idiot. "How... how long are you planning on keeping up this act? This... game?" I can barely force the words past my lips, because it's admitting defeat. Admitting that he's gotten to me with his playacting, and that I want to know when it will end.
He hangs there, for what seems like hours. For a moment, I think he'll actually give me a straight answer. When he speaks, though, my hopes are dashed. "Until I get bored, I guess. Or you out me, whichever comes first. I called the cops on my approach, they'll be here for these idiots soon. Good night." And then he zooms off, blending into the night sky.
I watch him go, and my mind goes in a hundred different places at once. Maybe I was too harsh with him. Maybe he's actually changed. Maybe-
It starts raining. Pouring rain from a sky that was clear moments ago. Directly on top of me. The thunder above sounds like laughter.
I hate him so much.
|
When the man came out of the corner of the alley and aimed the machine gun at me, I sighed.
"How many times are we going to go through with this?" I asked the assailant.
"Give me your money!" the man gruffly said.
"Oh no, I *hope* some *hero* can come save me from the *horrible* danger I'm in!" I rolled my eyes.
On cue, a hero draped in a blue cape spun around the corner. He slid into the robber, knocked the gun out of his hands and pinned the man against the floor. "This is my town now, villain! Get out of here and leave the beautiful woman alone!" the man said in a thick Italian accent.
"Okay!! I surrender!" The robber scurried off into the distance.
My hero took off his mask, revealing dark black hair and a thick mustache. "Do you have a kiss for your savior?" the hero winked at me.
"Connor, you really have to stop this."
"What do you mean?" the masked man said, "I am Mario, a new hero from Italia, here to save America from the villains that plague it!"
"I'm not a dumbass. Shapeshifting isn't going to work if you keep trying the same trick. Just last week you sent your gang to kidnap me, only to rescue me as the miraculous Sven from Norway."
Connor sighed and let his normal form take back over. "Madeline, can't you see what I do I do for love?"
"Okay Connor. I don't love the constant fake criminal attacks, so try to keep it toned down in the future." I turned my back on him and started walking away.
"You know what I can do to you if you don't comply!" he called out.
*What a romantic.*
| 2015-10-05T15:37:04 | 2015-10-05T12:46:37 | 35 | 10 |
[WP] Humans are known in the galaxy for being a bit dim, but also for being the very best mechanics around, and inexplicably able to fix machines beyond their comprehension. You have broken down on Earth, and having the apes work on your craft is both fascinating and terrifying.
|
The Warp-Core was undergoing critical failure. They felt the containment mechanisms slide into place as they were meant to; they felt the non-vital systems of the vessel shutting down to conserve power, hibernating; they felt the older, vestigial thrusters prepare themselves for use as the FTL travel mechanisms shut down. A signal beacon sent out a message to my home world requesting assistance, one unlikely to be received in any decent span of time.
I felt all of this as if it were a part of my body, for it were in a way. Telepathic networks linked every aspect of the ship to my mind, lending the feeling that the ship was a part of my body; every motion smooth, refined, working perfectly in sync as it had smoothly evolved to over millenia, the perfect fusion of form and function, of the technological and biological- that had just broken down in the middle of the Galactic Backwater. I felt a crushing fear as I assessed the damage to the engine room. It was completely annihilated, with no chance of repair. The mass-driver had been wiped out of existence with an anti-matter leak, and entire pieces of the system were missing. I was stranded.
Checking my coordinates and seeing what was nearby, I realized the universe must have been either kind, cruel, or it's usual unknowing mixture of both, for my Warp-Core broke down outside of the Sol System: Home of the Naked Apes.
It was with distaste that I sent a thought towards the main planet, Earth, asking for direction to a location where my ship could again be made ready for FTL travel.
Not, I assure you, that I have any resent or ill-will towards any living creation. However, they were unusual, even by the standards of the explored universe. They had been introduced to the rest of the sentient life of the galaxy when they destroyed a passing tourist with several thousand kilotons of old dirty nuclear weapons, after fearing that the passerby was the scout of an invasion force. Since then, they've been a surprisingly active species, with millions of them hired by various companies and military bodies as battlefield mechanics, due to their ability to, by some combination of instinct and dumb luck, to preform impossible technological improvisations. Unlike every other space-faring species, they spent most of their evolutionary history apart from any kind of technology, and seemed to have lucked into a specific type of spatial intelligence that let them use tools. As such, the usual method of creation, molding raw material into a seamless construct over years, with each new generation shaping old advances into new forms flawlessly, humans simply was unknown to them. They simply. . . built them, disparate chunks of metal and scrap held together by more scrap.
This was plainly obvious as I followed their direction to a "spaceport", as they called it. Hundreds of different buildings, most of them consisted of dozens of metal and glass panes stuck together. The city I flew over was a diseased heart, arteries and veins flowing through towering monoliths that held no rhyme or reason and seemed ready to collapse into dust at any moment. My cardiac systems nearly stopped as I landed. The sign "Hangar 71" hung from the ceiling, casting the gaudy green light of electrified neon on to my ship's carapace. Like their ancestral apes, the humans around seemed to have no reasoning, sprinting around from station to station, doing what I can only assume was the maintenance necessary to keep this "hangar" together, it only being metal sheets held together with struts, welds, and some form of-
"Excuse me, can we help you? We've only got so many landing spots and the sooner we can clear you out to wherever the hell you're from, the better."
Broken from my disdainful review, I turned my eyes to get a better look at the human speaking. He seemed to be the image of a human mechanic- bulging with protein structures, small bright eyes constantly darting, and covered with scavenged or constructed technology. He smelled as if he had never been cleansed, the oils oozing out of every inch of his porous skin barely covered by the overpowering scents he used to cover it up.
However, my disgust was overpowered by my need. "My Warp-Core appears to have been either damaged during travel, or to be diseased in some way. I need to be able to return home rather quickly. You see, I am returning from a scientific inquiry as to a dwarf galaxy that may-"
He nodded along up until my explanation of purpose, when he proceeded to scribble something down on to a silicon tablet before turning to a group of humans who had been in a state of inactivity, quietly conversing.
"HEY, I'M NOT PAYING YOU TO LOUNGE AROUND. GET YOUR ASSES HERE, WE GOT A BROKEN WARP-CORE. IT'S A RUSH JOB, I WANT THIS THING HALFWAY TO ALPHA-CENTAURI BY LUNCH."
The volume of his vocal vibrations felt like a telepathic assault- even more so was the whirlwind of activity afterwards. My eyes expanded with awe as I watched the workers descend on my vessel. It seemed a pack of beasts tearing apart prey, a furious ripping and tearing of my ships hull to access the core. I could only stand their astounded as they violated the form of my ship, ripping and tearing out component, leaving their wires dangling from them like organs ripped from a corpse.
One of them, wearing denim on their lower body and nothing on the upper portions, leaned out of one of the cuts they had made in the hull to yell something to his companions.
"Some kind of weird biological based system, haven't seen it before. Get me the welder and some of the parts we have left over from that Guliton ship."
It took every portion of my willpower and training to not give into my anger and disgust. Guliton technology? They were a silicon based biology, and my ship was carbon! Not to mention that it was completely incompatible, with entirely different design, and several centuries behind the technology of my ship. My ship had been crafted by our greatest sculptors, a single piece of perfection, and I could feel waves of fear and anguish roll off of me in telepathic waves as I watched it's desecration, as I watched them stab it with metal nails and burn it with torches, it's very form tortured.
Suddenly, I felt a very familiar energy on the edge of my conscious. It felt like my warp core, if it had been sent through a black hole and managed to exit. It vibrated in a frequency that made it seem as it was ready to explode, the color glowing from inside the cracked and bolted carapace was crimson as opposed to the standard teal, and the hull itself seemed to have been ripped to shreds and attached together with discolored bands and sheets of metal.
The upper-body bare mechanic that had been in my vessel came over to me, teeth bared in what I can only assume to be a show of aggression.
"Well, it wasn't anything I'd seen before, but I think we got it all sorted out. Had to reverse the polarity of the neutron flows, invert the mass concentrater and a few other small things, but she should be able to take you from one side of space to the other and back again. Now, on the matter of payment."
I quickly telepathically told him the information to my bank account, and enjoyed a quiet moment of joy as he reeled back. Despite having access to telepathic neural networks for decades, humans still refused to use them except when absolutely necessary.
With trepidation I stepped back into my vessel, feeling every change and improvised solution they had made. My ship felt, as opposed to a smooth creature or work of art, like a trash heap that, through some combination of luck and prayer, seemed to work. However, it took off, and luckily I was away from that cesspool and on my way home as soon as I was able to clear their atmosphere.
|
It took a few seconds for the speaker of the auto-translate to sputter to life.
"Just hit it a few times."
I asked the translator to repeat what the human had said.
"Just hit it a few times. Synonyms for 'hit' are strike, batter, impact."
Was the meat bag really asking me to physically injure the spacecraft in an attempt to make it functional? How could I even explain to the small brain that my species was non-corporeal, existing in a nether dimension where physical interaction with the craft wasn't even possible?
The human made more sound.
"Here, let me do it" the auto translator said.
Soon, the human was wriggling through the non-aqueous liquid shielding of the craft and entering the inner bio support unit. This was a grave violation of quarantine procedures.
More human sounds came from the earthling and before I could secure the very sensitive navigation crystals, he was striking the inner panels with his palm. I panicked, knowing that the slightest dislodging of the crystals would forever lose the plotting required to return to my home galaxy.
"See, you just gotta get it like this," the auto translator finally announced as the ape's hand repeatedly impacted the console. When nothing happened, he pulled out a long-handled device with steel at the end and started to strike more vigorously.
As is standard operating procedure, I charged the heat ray to neutralize the human's assault on the spacecraft. It was slow coming on line, though as the man with his primitive tool continued to hit the navigation panel and I saw my chances for returning to my far-off home slipping away.
Finally the heat ray was ready, but just before I was to discharge it on the man, the familiar hum of power cells came back. Soon, the bio chamber was bathed once again in its normal pink hue.
"See, that did it" the human said through the auto translator as he slipped through the non-aqueous liquid shielding back to the ground.
"Thank you!" I commanded the auto translator to say to the human as the now fully functional spacecraft rose off that horrible rock.
| 2016-05-23T16:47:03 | 2016-05-23T14:13:43 | 232 | 78 |
[WP] The Earth is flat, you, as the head of NASA, have to explain to the incoming President why its a secret.
|
"David Brux... THE president of THE United States of THE America... wow, there's nice sound to it!"
Middle-aged man put his legs on the nearly ancient desk in the Oval Office. It was already dark on the outside The smiling was over. No more speeches, no more media, no flashed in the eyes, finally some peace. Stretching allowed him to focus again. A couple of controlled breaths, and feeling of a new energy flowing overwhelmed him... again. Being healthy was good, having healthy habits and mind was a bless. He sit normally and checked the drawers. They reacted on his fingerprints, the definitive proof, that seven years of campaign was success. Most of them were empty, some protocols, and lists, he probably should read at some point. And there was... a small globe. Or rather... abstract world. It was in the shape of cube, but every side had complete map of the world, he remembered from the school. Except Africa was in the center of it, not Ecuador, like he was used to see. Intercom buzzed, jolting him upward. Glo... cube fell down on the carpet.
"Mr president, you have one quick meeting today, and it's due."
"Errr, Ms Jackson, I don't remember having anything on the schedule..."
"Please call me Lisa. I know it wasn't on the official schedule, but you have to know, that not every meeting should be on the publicly available one"
"Sure, Lisa, oh, I understand. Who is it?"
"John Pickard, director of NASA and Lee Yamada, his assistant. They are already here."
"Well, let them in, thank you."
Brux knew Pickard from lectures in the college, and he lightened up seeing his old professor. His beard turned white, and he got bald, but he had still same fire in his eyes. Man with true vision, thought David, he is probably in the place he can do the most good. His assistant was awfully shy man, with short black hair, and very, very weak handshake. He instantly sat in the far corner.
"What brings you here? I suppose it isn't just a visit to congratulate me."
"Of course, no. You have responsibility now. And you're guarded."
"Pardon?"
"My visit marks beginning of a new chapter in your life, David. You're the most closely guarded person now - and you will always be, until your death. Because nothing that I'm going to tell you, can leave this room."
"Okay, I understand... but I hope no aliens?"
"Please, be serious... I had this conversation three times already, and I never look forward to it."
"Okay... I'm listening."
Pickard strolled behind the desk, and picked up world cube from the floor. He spun it in his hands, and thrown to the president.
"This one's good. It makes you feel uneasy, right?"
"There's some strange vibe to this piece of art. But it possibly makes good entry point for philosophical conversation."
"That's no piece of art. Just tell me then, where have you been in your life?"
"Well, I've seen a couple of places around the world..."
"Can you list them, in order of visiting? Every one of them?"
"Let me think... yes. I think yes."
"Go ahead, just far places."
"First would be Paris. Then London. I've been to Kenya twice... then Paris again. I had girlfriend there, so..."
"I know. Have you ever flown from Paris, east?"
"No, I've always got back to US. Then I was in Tokyo, and then Rio de Janeiro. And that's all."
"You're sure? Absolutely?"
"Yes. Why it's important?"
"Because it means you're in the Zero. You're our President, David, not theirs."
Brux shook his head, and looked at the assistant. He was sitting on the chair, with his head down, like he was embarrassed to come here.
"Please, explain, because that sounds... off."
"Do you remember, by chance, diameter of Earth?"
"That would be 7900..."
Pickard cleared his throat loudly, with disappointment in his eyes.
"Oh, right. 12600 kilometres across."
"Good. Mostly. Because it's bogus."
"Ok, you're kidding me. I'm sorry."
"No, please take a look at this"
He took the world cube from President's hand and shook it in front of his face.
"What is diameter of a cube?"
"It's few inches..."
"Diameter, David! There is none! What's the diameter of the Earth? None! Because our world, is, my dear head of the nation, flat as your desk."
"Bullshit! I refuse to believe the person I admire so much fell to this stupid flat-earth movement!"
"Oh, believe me, if I could, I'd shot them dead, one by one. They are all wrong, by the way."
"You're confused, or I'm confused. What are you talking about?"
"Better sit down. Lee, come here!"
Professor's aide opened his backpack and took a device from it, around the size of average laptop. He put it on the desk and connected to power outlet. Rays of light shoot up, and formed perfect hologram of earth, floating just few inches sbove it.
"That's what you're used to see."
Hologram changed, showing flat disk with seas falling down from the edge. Fain shadow of four elephants could be seen below it.
"That's what they're believing..."
Image changed again, showing almost flat map of the world, only looped in each direction. There was Africa, Americas on the left, East Asia next, India, and Africa, and Americas again...
"And that's how it is."
President looked up.
"Seriously? I can list million reason's it's impossible"
"You couldn't. You see this? It's America. There's Washington. Your sorry ass is exactly here."
"Oh, I get it. It's just flat projection of the sphere..."
"For God's sake, David, listen."
"Then what happens if I fly to Tokyo, and to Paris, and then back here?"
"You don't. Or you do. Depends on what you see, and believe."
Brux looked up on his old professor, and now director of organization that simply cannot exist if the thing on his desk was... related to real world somehow. He wasn't drunk or sick. He was dead serious. Something flipped in his stomach.
"Again... please explain."
"It depends on who you ask. If you fly this route, you'll end up in Washington. You'll come here and sit down in the Oval office on leather chair."
"That's no different from what I know."
"But what will see your lovely secretary, Lisa?"
"Probably me."
"Wrong. She will see David Brux, President of the United States."
"That would be me."
"No."
"Pardon?"
"World is synchronized. What happens if you travel along circumference of a sphere? It goes forever. Same here. You go forever, and see same world over and over again. Not because you're going past it so many times, because it's repeated infinite number of times. So 40 thousand kilometres from here, in every direction, sits David Brux, and listens to John Pickard explaining him this very phenomenon."
"What if you go up? I've seen the curvature of the Earth! From great heights!"
"Yes, and you can navigate by the stars too. Except the sky moves in relative to the surface motion. What you see, is the cognitive block. You can't see past the world tile - or rather past some specific distance. It appears to curve out from you. It's somehow fundamentally written into our reality."
"That doesn't make sense. We have satellites! And ISS! It have to orbit something round!"
"No, it doesn't. In fact it moves linearly, and is very, very far away from the point it started."
"So there is virtually no effect on our lives, if world was... round?"
"Ah, the correct question! Yes, there is. You can't have infinite number of people doing the same thing. Check far away enough, few hundred worlds, and your copy had tied his left shoe instead of right this morning. Farther away, and you were born black. Even more... and you've never existed."
"And what if such person travels far away..."
"Then you have to be very careful. Do they have same intentions as person who they replaced? Do they have heart on the correct side of their chest? Say, you've met our former president, Jack Sidney, right?"
"Yeah, he is so much younger than me. Stunning man!"
"So then, in far away world he could be little different, right?"
"Yes, I'm following you."
"And he could have another name?"
"According to you, yes."
"So, please meet Lee Yamada, almost president of United States of Devil Knows What. He travelled far... and gave us evidence. That's how we know."
Lee extended his hand, this time with wide grin on his face. Brux saw, his face was little... off. Cheekbones too low, nose too... bulky? And oh, of course - thin, vertical pupils.
|
"Wait what?" President Trump stood up from his chair. "You think I'm stupid? I'm not stupid! I am the president of the United States of America!" I sighed, and repeated what he had said before. "The earth is flat. I am not joking, I am not trying to fool you, this is not a prank. The earth is flat, and we make the people believe that it is round." "What are you doing in my office? Get out. You're FIRED!" was Trumps only reaction. I sighed again. I hated this job. Every four or eight years I have to tell the new president about the flat earth. Obama had at least reacted a bit more polite, even though he also didn't believe any of it, till he first saw it. I grabbed the microphone he was wearing "Honey, can you please come in." He stayed seated whilst Trump blew all his speeches over him. I am not a big fan of this president, I myself had voted for Bernie. The door opened, and Johanna came in. She was better at this sort of stuff.
"Good day mr. President, how are you?" "I am terrible. Remove this- this moron from my office immediately!" "Now now mr. President. He is a very respected man, and I have never heard anyone else complain about him. We are here to tell you America's secrets, things you as president need to be updated on, but the people are not allowed to hear. But we trust that you can keep it secret, as smart as you are." Trump turned around, a happy smile on his face. Johanna took her chance to make a face as if she were about to vomit. I knew she voted was a democrat as well.
"See that, that woman is clever." Trump exclaimed. "Now, beautiful, tell me your story." Johanna heaved the heavy stack of paper she'd been carrying on the table.
"Well, first, to protect America's secrets, we have spread a couple of lies in the world. This to ensure that people will not believe the truth whenever that may leak out. One of these lies is about the shape of the earth." She pointed at the beautiful wooden earth-globe standing in a corner. "Contrary to popular belief, the earth is not round. It is, in fact, flat." She grabbed a piece of paper from the stack and handed it to Trump. "are you starting with those lies as well?" "We understand that it is hard to believe, the previous presidents had quite the same reaction. But we are sure that you'll be able to grasp the concept before any of the other presidents." She winked at me, and I knew she meant "because you're stupid as hell". Johanna was indeed better at this sort of stuff.
"Today, you might have noticed that your planning is quite empty. We are going to make a nice trip. First, you'll see the world's end and then we'll bring you in contact with the Afingiers." Trump looked confused. "The Afingiers are the only alien species we have had contact with. Even though they are not exactly alien; they just live on the other side of the earth. I have to warn you- they are a bit... Odd. They are the reason why everyone believes the earth is round. It does seem that way, but it really isn't. Now, if you'd follow me please?"
-----------------------------------------------------
I know nothing about American politics, since I am not American. So the only thing I know is the European and tumblr-ian view on certain politicians.
| 2016-01-28T10:47:09 | 2016-01-28T09:16:31 | 30 | 16 |
[WP] A small village becomes fearful of a dragon that has taken residence near them. The dragonslayer they hired runs back to the village after the first day and begins rapidly packing his things. "It's not the dragon that you should be afraid of" He says. "It's the thing its protecting you from."
|
"What lies behind in that cave is a far greater threat to your souls than the Dragon protecting it, heed my advice and simply leave this valley."
Skol Drakesbane continues packing his bag, keen to be gone from this place, a look of sour disappointment on his face. He came back from the mountain less than six hours after leaving, handed the boots we had given him as payment back to the Ealdorman, and told us calmly that he would not be killing the beast for us. Bjorn Halfdan had accused him of cowardice and received a broken arm in response.
"It's asleep, and once dragons sleep they stay that way for a hundred years or more. By the time that Dragon awakens your people can have moved far away from here".
In truth the Dragonslayer hadn't looked afraid at all, but simply annoyed to be returning his prize, his own boots rotten and degraded. Even as we begged him to stay and fight he was asking the Ealdorman about further work in the nearby towns.
"But you have to kill it Drakesbane, what happens when it decides to come for our flock with fire and claws?!" I said to him.
Without turning away from the Ealdorman he replied in a dismissive manner.
"Only Red Dragons steal sheep and cattle, this one isn't red" he said as he slung his bag over his back and made for the village border.
"What of our women and children, we've nought to protect ourselves" I called after him, trying to keep up with his long strides.
"That's Black Dragons, this one's not black. Besides I told you, the only safe course now is to leave this valley. There's more that will destroy you than just a dragon here" he replied as he quickened his pace.
I broke out into a short run, desperate for answers, one final question on my heart.
"But what if it decides to burn us out to claim the valley as it's own, don't dragons hate humans for chopping trees and hunting game?".
He finally stopped, and turned to me with an annoyed expression. He drops his bag and crosses the distance between us and grabs me by the shoulders.
"That's Green dragons, this one isn't green! I've given you what you need to know, if you make the wrong choice now that's on you. There's good land all around you and no one for miles, why you'd want to stay in a valley with a harmless Gold..."
He stopped short, his eyes furious, his body tense, he looks at me with murder in his eyes. Pulling his knife from it's sheath, he holds it against my neck so close a drop of blood spills from my throat, running down the length of the blade and dripping onto the snowy floor. His grip on my shoulder is so hard I nearly scream from the pain, but the intensity in his eyes keeps me rooted in silence.
"I've told you too much villager, the smart thing for me to do would be to kill you now so you don't reveal what I have said to the rest of them. Yes it would be the easiest way. But there's no honour in killing unarmed peasants in the cold winter snow. So listen to me carefully. What it protects will destroy your very soul, your humanity, not just your bodies. Heed my advice and leave. Do not reveal what I have told you here, and when they ask about the Dragon tell them I said it is no danger as long as they leave, you owe me this life debt, now go!"
He threw me to the ground and stood over me until I scrabbled to my feet and ran back to the village. I ran in terror and confusion, I've never even heard of a Gold Dragon, why should I be so afraid of them. I ran until I got home, bursting through the door so fast I tripped and fell into my brother sitting in his chair. He pushed me to the ground and stood over me, demanding to know why I was so scared.
"Oh brother, we may be in more trouble than we thought. The Dragonslayer says we have to leave Jarnabad. He will not kill the Dragon, he says it's hiding something dangerous, he told me I couldn't tell you why. We need to tell the Ealdorman".
My brother picked me up and held me steady. Older, calmer and wiser, he had always been the rock of our family.
"Calm down Torsten. What did he say exactly, I know you're afraid, but Drakesbane is gone, he can't hear you from outside the village. We've shared everything we've ever had brother, tell me, what did he tell you".
"He said that It was a Gold dragon, and that what it hid was more dangerous than fire and claws. I believe him brother, we should leave."
My brothers eyes widened when he heard it was a gold dragon, his grip on my arms tightened, but he quickly relaxed.
"You're right brother, but it's late and the Ealdorman is in council. Get some rest and we will see him in the morning.
He leads me to the bed and I'm asleep before I hit the pillow, exhausted now that the adrenaline rushing through my veins has gone. I have frightful dreams of anger and horror, of madness and sorrow. I see my brother's face twisted in insanity, laughing and howling. He stands over me with black eyes, blood dripping from his mouth, he screams to me in words I cannot understand.
I wake with a scream, my body bathed in cold sweat, my breathing rapid and fearful. I look over to my brother and see that he is gone, as are his boots and his coat. Whatever is in that cave has taken him, I know it. I grab my boots and coat and run out the door, dismayed to see tracks in the snow leading from our house towards the mountain. I take off up the path in a sprint, following the trail to the cave in the foothills.
I arrive in the cave mouth, my lungs screaming and my feet in agony. I call out my brothers name but hear no answer. I move into the cave, passing around the corner and into the large space inside the mountain. I freeze in place when I see what is inside. I see a large Golden Dragon, asleep on an enormous pile of gold and jewellery, taller than the village church. Thousands upon thousands of coins, chalices, rings, necklaces and silverware, with the beast sleeping in peace at the top. More money than anyone in our village had ever seen, could ever spend in a lifetime. In front of the pile stands my brother, looking away from me. I move over to his side, calling his name as I do so.
"Ivar, thank Frynja you are ok. Come we have to..."
I am cut short by the blade penetrating my lungs, the air bursts out of my chest, blood streams out of my mouth. My brother looks at me with a wild look in his eyes, a faint smile upon his mouth.
"It is mine, brother, it is all mine..."
|
It has been a week since my father went to slay the dragon, And failed. It wasnt his fault though, what he saw... what IT was is a horror beyond comprehension.
In this world there are five classes nymph, ifrit, specter, ent, and wisp.
I am what you may call a nymph or more accurately said a water mage. I can manipulate water and make it do my bidding. My father was an ifrit or fire mage. I never met my mom because she was a wisp or light mage. She died when i was only a year old.
Recently a dragon by the name of malarak has taken up residence near my village. At first we were terrified but when my father saw what it was protecting us from he ran.
At the time we had no clue why but the note i found recently explains everything.
*eyes dark as night, claws stained red from the blood of countless innocents, scales the color of death, and teeth the size of a young man.*
That is the description of the beast he saw. The worst thing of it all is the monsters name. The beast goes by KALAMARU. And i have only glimpsed his immense size.
I may not have long to live but while i do if you meet malarak RUN. SAVE YOUR VILLAGE AND RUN.
| 2019-12-31T05:38:57 | 2019-12-31T00:29:02 | 275 | 28 |
[WP] An entire office block is populated by aliens disguised as humans on a mission to study our behaviour. None of them are aware of each other and think they are the only alien there. As a result they are amazed that human behaviour is so similar to their own. Then a real human gets a job there.
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Korak-No-Korak sat conspicuously on the blue tile floor of the office cafeteria. The tight fit of his human-suit skin itched terribly around his central nerve bundle, the hard mass of nerves that intermingled at the center back of every Plo. Korak wanted desperately to reach around with his hidden filament and itch at the spot, but he could not risk revealing himself in front of his human co-workers. The mission was too important.
Lorak-No-Lorak sat on the tile floor of the cafeteria across from the man Lorak knew as Bob, who was Korak-No-Korak in disguise. Lorak's nerve bundle also itched fiercely beneath the thin layer of living human-suit. Every night Lorak would race to his apartment and shed his human form eagerly, stretching his filament out from where it was curled beneath his right arm pit and spending a solid hour just scratching. Lorak was a devoted Plo and this mission was of the utmost importance to his people, so he suffered through the discomfort and continued to record human behavior.
Norak-To-Norak, *also* a Plo spy, sat between the fake man called Bob, who was Korak, and the fake man called Jim, who was Lorak. Norak himself had taken on the identity of a female human named Mary. Norak's mission commander had employed a Plo xenobiologist whose research on the human's indicated that the females were prized for the ample size of their mammary glands. To that end, in order to better secrete Norak into the human confidence, his human-suit was given outrageously ample breasts, so large and bulbous that Norak went home each night with a terrible back ache.
The three Plo sat around on the floor of their office cafeteria, each blithely unaware that the other was in fact a Plo agent. All three had been sent by different wings of the impossibly complicated Plo military, each without informing the other. As a result, all three had spent the last six months analyzing the "human" behavior of other Plo's pretending to be human. The results were odd.
Norak, as Mary, lifted her mug to her mouth, took a large swig of coffee, swooshed it around violently in her oral cavity, and spat it back into the mug. With a kind of stutter stop series of twitches, Norak forced her skin-suit to take on a bizarre rendition of a toothy smile. "Bob!" Norak said, altogether too loudly, "Your weekend! It was, I should hope, satisfactory!"
Bob, who was actually Korak, shook his head side to side in a firm "no". "Completely!" he exclaimed nonsensically, taking his own swig of coffee, swooshing it around his mouth and spitting it back into his cup. Cocking his head slightly to the right and opening his lips just a little, Korak froze in that position and gave a firm thumbs up with his left hand. "I continued to exist!" He yelled, and then lowered his hand to his lap, made his face neutral and eyed the other two suspiciously.
Jim, who was Lorak, leered at Bob and Mary, smelling the air with his tongue for some indication of their mood. It was remarkable to Lorak how similar the human pheromones smelled to Plo pheromones. Lorak ascribed it to a quirk of evolutionary biology, but a useful one. Based on the odoriferous scent coming off of Mary, who was Norak, Lorak guessed that she was in a great deal of discomfort. He decided to capitalize on this information.
"MARY!" He screamed, realizing that his voice modulator was set too high. Mary and Bob remained remarkably unfazed. Lorak made a mental command to lower the volume and continued as if nothing untoward had just occurred. "Utilizing human instinct I sense that you suffer!" He said, still far too loudly. "I will administer a massage to your flesh!"
Mary, Norak, internally panicked. Jim, Lorak, could not be allowed to make physical contact with Norak lest he stumble upon the hidden lump of her central nerve bundle. In order to avoid detection, Mary decided she would "laugh it off," a technique she had used previously which seemed to achieve its desired effect. She stood up, flung her coffee mug against the far wall, where it shattered wetly into a thousand pieces. Then she stiffly looked down at Jim and made three sharp hacking noises which were the best rendition of human laughter Norak was capable of. "Herrrck! Herrrck! Herrrck!" Finally, she sat back down on the floor and calmly yelled "No, with thanks, Jim, assistance is not required!"
Jim, Lorak, cursed internally and made a point to himself that he would one day break through Mary's obstinate refusal for contact and learn more about her crude human body.
This feedback loop of investigative nonsense had been going on for some time as Norak, Lorak, and Korak all worked together over the course of weeks. Each day they would come into the office suite of the small company they worked for, itself a shell company set up by a fourth Plo, *also* working on gathering human intelligence on behalf of a *fourth* wing of the Plo military. That Plo, Gorak-No-Gorak, had hired the other three Plo thinking he was hiring humans. He worked remotely from his apartment, watching and documenting the way his "human" employees interacted with each other.
The result of all this was an overwhelming amount of bizarre and contradictory reports sent back to the various wings of the Plo military on the Plo homeworld. After a month, each military wing felt that their agent had done a remarkably successful job and each wing was preparing to call their particular agent back home.
But a couple of days before that happened, Gorak received an application from a new applicant over the internet. Eager to add another variable to his research, Gorak offered the applicant a job via email and on Monday the man showed up in the office dressed in business casual, eager to start work. His name was Mike and he, actually, *was* a human being.
Mike walked through the office space looking for his coworkers or manager for some time. He checked every cubicle and every office, but the place appeared to be empty. He was about to leave when he heard someone scream "MARY!" at the top of their lungs and then a loud smash of ceramic crashing against a wall. Confused, Mike walked toward the sound and found the cafeteria, along with three strange looking people sitting in full suits on the ground. Two were men with bizarre skin tone and very odd facial bone structure. The third was a, well, a woman Mike guessed, because in addition to having the same protruding facial bones, she was endowed with breasts the size of overripe watermelons. It was clear that she was struggling to keep upright under their immense weight.
Korak, Lorak and Norak all turned to look at Mike at the same time. Mike just raised a hand awkwardly and waved hello. "Hi, I'm, uh, Mike?"
All four Plo, having spent the last month interacting with what each of them believed to be genuine human beings, but which were actually other Plo, panicked at the presence of what they now firmly believed was a non-human interloper in their operation. In the cafeteria, Korak, Lorak and Norak all recoiled visibly from the intense stench coming off the foreign creature, as well as his disgusting facial skin. From his apartment, watching on video cameras, Gorak cursed his foolishness in not first meeting the applicant.
Almost simultaneously the four Plo each issued the silent "abort" command back to their homeworld. Gorak self destructed all his equipment, doused the apartment with accelerant and lit it on fire, leaping out the back window and entering his poorly obscured one man space ship. Norak, Lorak and Korak, almost at the same time, positively screamed "IGONOW!" and raced out of the cafeteria, Korak going so far as to instinctually hiss at the distasteful "Mike" as he left.
The three Plo arrived outside together, each formally bowing to the other in the traditional human manner. They each offered the other the series of ceremonial fist bumps commensurate with their relative rank in the human hierarchy and then each raced off in different directions toward different hidden space ships. It would be decades before the Plo military parsed all of the data and understood the extent of their error.
Meanwhile, back in the cafeteria, Mike just stood there, confused. He shook his head and mentally kicked himself. "Dammit," he said, "I knew I should've worn a suit." Frustrated by his lack of social grace, Mike sat down in one of the cubicles and browsed the internet, waiting for someone to tell him about his new job.
**********
#### For More Legends From The Multiverse
## r/LFTM
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So far today, I’ve had to run to the bathroom to stop the shaking in my hands about five times before lunch. I check the clock- 11:13. I sit down at my desk, open up the file with the list of my clients, and dial the first number.
It’s some old lady who maintains the Methodist church on 57. She’s clearly not having a good day, nor is she interested in buying a new water fountain. No big deal. After all, every salesman gets told no, right? I call the next client, then the next. Still zero sales.
I decide to take an early lunch. Attempting to calm the first-day jitters, I head to the break room. I wolf down my salami and pepperoni sandwich and sip on two canned sodas from the vending machine. Take out my phone, thumb it open, and check the news. Good to see the world is still losing its mind.
The door opens. There’s the cute blonde, also in sales. She’s with two members from accounting, both men. They sit down and make conversation about something they saw on the side of the road. I decide to mentally check out and listen to music. I’m too nervous to try and meet people now.
When I open my eyes again, the break room is filled with every other office worker. Even the guys from our PR team are here. Mister Straussberg is staring at me, flashing his most comforting and confident smile my way. Despite being the boss, he hasn’t made an attempt yet to show me around the office or how it functions. Could just have too much on his mind though. I walk to the trash can and throw my paper and soda away.
“EEEEEEEEEEEEEE”
*What the hell?* Mister Straussberg is standing on the table, waving his arms above his head and wailing. I look around. Everyone, and I mean everyone, is wailing too.
The blonde from sales stuffs a chunk of bread into her mouth, chews it, then spits it into Straussberg’s mouth. I feel like I’m going to puke. The shouting gets louder. Everyone is hooping and hollering and spitting food into each other’s mouth. Straussberg makes a beeline for me, his jaw working at something inside his mouth. He opens his mouth like he’s going to kiss me and I smell cucumber on his breath.
My fist crosses the distance between us and pops him between the eyes. Everyone stops.
“What the hell are you doing Smith?” He says. I can see the hurt in his eyes as they begin to water.
Jesus Christ. The nerve of this guy. “I should ask you the same thing!”
His eyes roll in the back of his head, and a low voice begins out of the deep of his throat.
*”Drexig bsik baaaaaah juk!”*
“I’m gonna stop you right there. I quit.” I push past him, past soggy globs of chewed food stuck in the carpet. I dash down the stairs, out of the door, and into my car.
I’ve got a word or two for corporate.
| 2018-07-26T06:58:45 | 2018-07-26T06:57:25 | 3,265 | 97 |
[WP] Intrigued by the intelligence of octopuses, a scientist extends their normal 3-5 year lifespans by 50 years to see how their intelligence develops.
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The two lab-coated scientists stared into the central containment tank. Suspended in the center was an amorphous blob wreathed in a tangle of multicolored wires. The thing pulsed slowly, breathing the green tinted water. The tentacles of the creature hung limply, drifting slowly with the soft current of the tank filtration unit.
Tap, tap, tap, "How's our little octo-bot doing today?"
The tentacles twitched, but even the creatures eyes remained stationary.
"You think it's dying, Ted?"
Ted continued to stare into the tank, "We're all dying, dude. Yeah, I know what you mean though. It's obviously not dead-dead though." He nodded his head towards the nearby wall of monitoring equipment. There were a dozen square meters of various displays, graphs, and other metrics commonly associated with life signs.
The two stood in silence for a few moments more. Ted cleared his throat and stretched his arms, "Whatever. Did you finish the notes?"
James, the taller of the two scientists, answered in a stereotypical scientist voice, "Year 42 / Day 238: Subject shows no signs of change. Vitals stable. Observation continuing." He laughed and continued in his normal voice, "I bet I could write a little program that would just update the date and write these silly notes for me. Wouldn't even have to show up to the lab! It's not like anything ever changes. Ol' Blobbly... Just hangin' out."
Ted tried to sound outraged, "Dude!", but laughed, "Don't say that shit man. What would the professor think?"
"He'd probably say, 'James Thornton! Science is not built on shortcuts and time savers. Science is built on the foundations of blah blah blahology.'"
Ted held a hand to his chin, mocking the way their professor tended to stand. In the exaggerated voice of an old man he spoke, "Indeed!"
The scientists chuckled as they walked out the heavy steel door, triggering the magnetic lock on their way out.
Later that evening, Ted was on his fourth beer when he experienced that stunning shock that people tend to experience when they've forgotten something important for way too long.
"I'll be right back, dudes... I forgot something." The small group in his living room barely even acknowledged him over the hubbub of the story being told by James.
Ted rushed into his bedroom and woke up his personal computer. He grumbled to himself, "...can't believe I forgot the damn, stupid, damn biometric recorder. God damn the damn..."
He quickly typed in the username and password that would allow him to remote-in to the laboratory computer. He moved some windows around as he did a habitual cursory overview of the various monitoring equipment. Everything appeared to be nominal. There were no notable changes in the records for the last hour at least. He minimized all windows except for the primary monitoring nexus software, but stopped and stared when he noticed the footage from the persistent webcam that ran in the background of the lab computer. Even in the dark the glow from the myriad monitors allowed him to see that the primary containment tank was empty.
He mumbled to himself, "What the..."
Ted attempted to increase the bandwidth and quality of the camera, hoping that maybe this was some sort of graphical artifact or glitch. The image clarified further, losing most of the blockiness, but still the tank appeared to be empty. The increase in resolution allowed him to note the harness that usually held the specimen hanging empty from the top of the tank.
He squinted as he panned the shoddy camera around the room. It was a cheap cam from the electronics store and not designed to pan very much. As the camera drifted slowly towards the edge of the desk he thought he saw movement. He attempted to pan further, but the camera would not move in that direction. He panned downwards instead. He noticed that the keyboard was nearly falling off the edge of the desk at a strange angle.
"There is no way..." Ted could practically see the desk of earlier this afternoon in his mind. The two scientists never left the lab messy.
He clicked once to allow the camera to pan back to the default position. He sat back in his chair he absently watched the camera move. He could hear the party continuing in his absence outside.
The camera had reverted to default position. Ted could clearly see that the tank was once again occupied. Squinting, he brought his face close to his monitor.
"What the hell, man?" He hissed, "Glitches."
He double checked that the biometrics were now being recorded. Only one hour of data is automatically saved without the record feature. He took a moment to look closely at this older data. The signs showed that the creature must have been in the tank the whole time. It must have been a camera glitch.
He sighed loudly, "I'm going crazy."
Scientist instincts took over and he decided to troubleshoot the camera issues before he went back to the party outside. Unthinking, he simply opened the browser of the lab computer and began to type.
How to fix webcam \\ [Search]
Ted paused for a moment. What did the autofill say? He hit the back button and typed his request again, slowly this time.
H. Ho. How [human think]
The hell? He clicked a few times to open the history. Dozens of pages had been visited today, but only one had been accessed during their work hours. He browsed through the entries, mostly search queries: *how human think, why human speech, human speak how, can think, human brain think, what blobby, james thornton human name, james thornton human purpose.* Most of these searches were performed in the last few hours. Ted noted that the most recent query was 15 minutes ago - A wikipedia article for human anatomy.
He paused for a moment before standing slowly and walking back towards the party.
James looked up from the drinking game on the coffee table, "Hey man, your turn... Fuck, dude, you alright?"
"James. We... Everyone needs to go. We need to go to the lab."
His friend laughed, but looked weirded out, "Nah, man. Drinky time, not worky time."
Ted still looked stunned, "No, James. Call the professor, we need to go to the lab immediately. Something is happening at the lab. The specimen. I think it's awake."
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"Hey Gary, how's Mary?"
"She's fine, Phil! How's Lucy?"
"Doing alright! She's got the new job she applied for."
"That's wonderful, we should celebrate!"
"Great plan, I'll let her know!"
"I will inform Mary as well. This Saturday?"
"Saturday's fine with me."
"Sweet, see you then!"
*Year 45 - Log #1576:*
Subjects appear to arrange couple dates in the water cooler.
| 2016-04-25T08:15:25 | 2016-04-25T07:26:48 | 86 | 15 |
[WP] You've just invented time travel. You decide to go exactly 1 year into the future and speak to the first person you see, "Hey what day is it?" "364." "What do you mean 364?" "It's been 364 days since the incident.
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Emergence was much tougher than expected. Most people forget that it's actually Spacetime, not just Time, and if you want to end-up somewhere survivable you have to move in-space as well as in-time or you end up in a vacuum. That actually was the final key, determining a way to listen to ordinary, pedestrian GPS signals to track a position relative to Earth's surface while transiting. Actually receiving those signals while piercing the fabric of Spacetime was no trivial task but made it easy to land right back in my laboratory again, or rather should have. Unfortunately by the time I popped back into this reality it appeared that the satellites were not longer in-synch with each other.
I chose the old Bell Long Lines Building in New York as the site for my lab because the building was as impregnable as it gets in a major city. No windows, only a couple of doors, already high security architecture. AT&T and Verizon had both long-since moved operations to other facilities, and the only other operations in the building were my server colocation farm and cloud-services businesses, all located on floors four through eighteen, and given the nature of the business only required a skeleton crew to operate. Just getting to my lab on the 26th floor required stopping off in elevator lobbies to change cars on the 21st and 24th floors. Even coming down from the penthouse was an intentional challenge. Short of a worldwide natural disaster just about the whole building should be empty.
Emergence was much tougher than it should have been, and that bothered me. I logged in to my PC and found the Internet connection from the lab down, and the clock in the PC was off from the readout in the pod and the old battery-powered clock on the wall. Clearly network time synch had been down for a very long time. The PC told me that the building solar plant was working well enough, but that the grid-tie was unreliable and battery power had been needed a lot, and that even the backup generators had to kick on several times, fuel almost depleted. On top of that the exterior security cameras were down, and all security cameras on the first three floors were out, and the cameras in the colo facility showed no one present, no one in the IT offices. None of the clocks matched each other either, the range was skewed by several days slowest to fastest. I'd only planned to be gone a year, couldn't tell quite how long it actually had been.
I attempted to go up to the penthouse but found the final exterior door jammed, with more than a little rust around the edges at the frame. My concern grew, as I still hadn't had a good look outside of the building. Irony, feeling very vulnerable in what's probably the highest-security civilian building ever constructed. I made my way down to the fourth floor, taking care to check out each floor as I went. All of the restricted floors above the datacenter were as empty as they should have been. The cloud floors were empty, a lot of storage arrays had amber lamps, maintenance had been lacking for some time. The colocation farm was in a little bit of disarray, there were several open units where equipment clearly had been removed, but it was almost all power distribution stuff that was pulled, the servers were still there, just powered down. Curious.
Caution seemed the order of the day. I made my way to the fourth floor security office and lockers, and found a security uniform and changed into it, then threw my jacket on over that and shoved a tie in my pocket, so I could look like I belonged in the building, around the building, or anywhere else in Manhattan if needed, then I headed down the back door to the security entrance to the third floor, where the world crashed down.
Squatters, squatters everywhere. What had been disused office space left over from the previous tenants was filled with people. Looked like whole families had crammed themselves into offices or cubicles, the place just reeked of body odor and death. I closed up my jacket to hide the security uniform and made my way though the morass to the stairs, wishing I'd taken the back way out to the loading dock and street. Down to the second floor, saw a guy in a worn but matching security uniform leaning against the bannister looking down on the first floor, Fred if I remembered his name right. Walked up and joined him.
"Hey, how you doin'?" asked him, trying to keep it light.
He thought about my innocent question far longer than I expected, "Doing well enough, the power's holding today and we haven't lost anyone in the last few days, so better than last week." He looked over at me for the first time and realized that I didn't exactly belong, and surprisingly calmly asked, "Where've you been? Didn't see you come in. It's been awhile."
"Yeah," I replied, "apparently a lot changed while was gone. Hey, what day is it? My clocks were all wrong."
"364." he responded.
Confused, I asked, "What do you mean '364'?"
"It's been 364 days since the Incident, as I guess they're calling it." I could tell he realized I had no idea what was going on which was starting to get alarming. "The earthquakes hit the southern Indian Ocean far from any known fault line, right in the middle of the Australian Plate, off the coast of Perth. Tidal waves started rolling into the cities. We had time, the evacuation of New York and the rest of the coastal United States started but was hopeless, far too many people with far too little time. This building," he gestured around us with his hands, "was seen as hopeful with its solid walls but we weren't able to get above the third floor until after the water subsided. Second and third floors were standing-room-only, people packed in shoulder to shoulder, the crush actually killed a few. Those that couldn't make it up to the second floor were swept out when the first floor flooded."
I didn't know what to say, he continued.
Only after the waters receded did we find the engineer's badge that let us into the servers. Given this building's long importance with vital communications with the city," which I chose not to reveal as past, "we decided to keep everyone out. We tried but couldn't get above the eighth floor, so we scavenged what we needed to try to make life habitable and headed back down the the offices. The water receded in the basements enough that we're down to the second subbasement, quartering the survivors."
He could tell that I was in over my depth.
"Why don't you come take a look at Manhattan?"
We walked down to the first floor and headed out through what had once been a beautiful marble lobby, now turned to a dirty, dusty open room, and outside. The devastation was awesome in-scale, probably half of the buildings were just piles of rubble, almost no brick buildings remained standing. Even a couple of coastal concrete skyscrapers were gone. Looking up at Long Lines there were traces of ripped fascade, the boxes around the generator intakes were broken, and clear water marks sixty feet up.
"This building was built so well that interior air pressure kept the water down long enough for it to drain back to the ocean," he commented, "the displaced whose apartments were ripped down have been with us ever since, and are crammed into every other building still standing. We guess, but it appears that we've got a little over a hundred-thirty thousand left in New York."
i took the opportunity to slink-off as he was talking, realizing that I would probably not make it to tonight if I stayed. I dashed off into the lobby and up the stairs, and heard him shouting behind me. Up to the second, the third, the fourth into the datacenter, then over to the service ladder closet and up to the sixth, over to the other side to the emergency stairs, trying to keep ahead of the footsteps. Finally into the key-coded elevator and away. Up to my lobbies, up to my lab.
* * *
In the following days I managed to piece together the events a year ago. Apparently in time travel, Newton's Laws still apply. My equal and opposite reaction, part to pushing through space, part in pushing through time, blasted a perpendicular narrow cone right through the planet. This shockwave only rattled a bit in the mantle and core but blew-out where it exited, wiping Perth and much of Western Australia right off the map, and blowing the ocean out to cause worldwide Tsunamis. And all because I wanted to conduct a little experiment, I destroyed the world.
I now sit here in my building waiting for the inevitable backlash. Fred and his people know I'm here, and know I can't escape. They've started working through the floors of the building, slowly cutting and chiseling their way up. I track their progress through the cameras they destroy, they're at the 19th floor now, it'll be a matter of months before they're up to the lab, and maybe a year before they reach me with the supplies I've hoarded just under the damn stuck door to the roof. And I don't even know what I'll say to them when they get there.
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My knees hit the concrete garage floor, displacing the dust into a thick, swarming cloud. A foreign shriek rang in my ears before a small hand clamped around my gaping mouth.
“Be quiet or they’ll find you.” A rough, female voice commanded. “You’re hurt…How did you get here?” She removed her hand and I began to sob quietly, rolling onto my side to take the weight off of my shattered kneecaps.
“This area is quarantined.” The woman took hold of my chin and examined my face. The whites of her eyes were apparent between her dirt feathered face and dark brown eyes. “You’re clean..” She stated accusingly.
I attempted to lift myself with my elbows and promptly vomited onto the floor.
“Hey..Hey, come on now..” She knelt down beside me and held a water bottle to my lips. “It’s a little irradiated but it’s not going to kill you.”
I sipped at the water, grateful as it seemed to seep along the drying canyons of my throat.
“What..day is it?” I asked her, almost breathless.
“364.” She answered, looking at her watch. “364 and 6.”
“What do you mean 364?”
“364 days since the incident.”
She helped to prop me up against the wall. It felt like lightening was firing in my legs. The garage door was partly retracted toward the ceiling, leaving a two foot gap. I could make out the base of my mailbox and the curb but the ground was dusted with sand.
“What incident?” I looked down at my hands which were balled tightly into fists, I unclenched one of them and saw that a polaroid photograph had cut into my palm. “Cute kid.” The woman smiled and took off her neck scarf to tie it around my hand. I put the photo into my trouser pocket.
“The three strikes?” She frowned, “Are you concussed?” She pulled my hair roughly and felt my scalp with her fingers. “You’re standing in her house and you have no clue who she is?”
I pulled away from her. “Please tell me what’s going on..”
“We have to get out of here…It’s not safe..The /soldiers/.” Her eyes washed over me from head to toe, a calculating look. “I can take you..But…Alright, I can take you.” She nodded. “364 days ago was the day the ‘Ghost attacks’ began on parliament. The Secretory of State lead a coup, using chemical weapons nobody had seen before…Took down the entire cabinet and directed a nuclear warhead at Russia. We’re dealing with the fallout of a projectile that was obliterated overhead in the atlantic.” She took me under my armpits, dragging me to the door that lead to the laundry room. I whimpered, watching my limp legs slide, the fabric blossoming with dark red blood.
“They call her the Ghost. She’s got a big following but I know what she really is.” She dragged me through my hall and through the kitchen. She took a couple of tins of food from my cupboard and put them in her backpack. “They take the weak and the strong off the streets. We’re like lab rats to them.” She spat, and took hold of me again. “This house? /Her house/…makes me sick.” She spat on the welcome mat and dragged me out of the door. "Day 365?...We call it day 0. Because we know something big is coming, and we'll have to start counting again."
| 2016-06-30T09:53:52 | 2016-06-30T09:17:56 | 70 | 18 |
[WP] Humans are the least technologically advanced civilization in the galaxy, but at least they understand how their technology works.
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Jackson almost had to run to keep up with the hulking creature on his left. At this speed his factory-planet tour might put him far ahead of schedule. The creature stopped in front of a screen and turned to face Jackson. At 8 feet talll, the wall of grey muscle in front of him wearing an ill fitting striped button down shirt and khaki slacks was, as Jackson was dismayed to learn, actually considered small for his species. That, coupled with the rows and rows of teeth in his guide's "welcoming" smile filled him with unease.
"Alright! Here we are at the Console! The factory's work orders are all run through this screen, you just search for any item you could possibly want, like the translator doodad we gave you when you arrived, and the number you'd like made, and zvork! Your order is printed by the machines and sent on a drone ship and will reach you anywhere in the galaxy within a week!" The sharklike humanoid described all this with the enthusiasm of someone unused to others interest in his work.
"Okay, er, Fred was it?" the shark-man nodded enthusiastically, "So someone has to fly out here and physically place orders at this Console then? That seems really inconvenient. Isn't there some sort of long range communications you all can use to make orders remotely?" Fred's face twisted in to what Jackson could only interpret as confusion.
"Oh... well of course! I was told you wanted to see where the things were made so I brought you here. All orders are sent through this console. We just have to print you one tablet to hook you in to our network, its really easy I'll show you!" Fred turned to the console and slapped a large and suprisingly moist fin on the screen. He opened his mouth wide and began to speak clearly and overly loudly.
"COMPUTER! PRINT ONE COMMS TABLET FOR MY NEW FRIEND JACKSON PLEASE. THANK YOU." Fred looked back over at Jackson, beaming his menacing smile. Jackson returned the gesture uneasily before hearing a whirring sound from the wall to the right of the Console, and a previously unnoticed hatch slid open. He heard a clonk and a tablet dropped in to the space behind the hatch. Fred leaned down and grabbed the tablet, turning it on as he did so.
"Now you just need to make an account tied to a DNA sample, some hair or skin or scales will do, I still don't know what all parts you humans have. But simply press it agains this circle in the bottom right of the tablet, and it will create an account and log you in, easy as that!" Fred puffed out his chest and proudly held the tablet out to Jackson. He took it from his new shark friend, then pulled out a strand of hair from the top of his head. He held the hair against the circle and, sure enough, the device lit up and the words "Hello, Jackson" appeared on the screen. He frowned, slightly concerned the device had his name already. He decided it didn't matter and began to explore through the device's menus. A slow smile spread accross his face as he realized the depth to which orders could be customized.
"Fred, this is wonderful, thank you. How much do these tablets cost? I'll gladly pay for it." Fred again looked confused before the spark of realization lit up his expression.
"Oh thats right! I forgot humans still use currency! Everything made from the console is automated, from raw material gathering to production to transport to recycling of old and unwanted items. Theres no need for currency in the Union because everyone has everything they could ever want! The only reason I even have a job is to manually place recurring large orders repeat customers need made. The DNA sample is an old security feature to make sure every order is made by an organic life form, and sometimes folks are just too busy to put those orders in every time their supply runs out."
Jackson thanked Fred, then made an excuse to return to his room, playing with his new tablet to learn more about what features existed on it and how it worked. He found a communication program and opened it, grinning as he opened a line with his government contact, picturing the panic they must be experiencing at receiving an extra-solar call on a secure line. The tablet didn't seem to care about the line's encryption, and within moments, the phone began to ring. Jackson drummed his fingers on the table, regretting his decision to prank his superiors and lengthen his time in this tiny factory apartment. After 2 full minutes of ringing, somebody finally answered.
"Who is this, and how did you get this number?" an angry and stern voice demanded. Jackson smiled, recognizing his boss's stiff grumble.
"Hey there Mr President, it's agent Phil Jackson. Security clearance F57 dash 3298. My mission is a complete success and you're going to want to hear everything."
"God damn it Jackson I don't care how talented a computer scientist you are, you have got to stop finding ways to break this line's encryption. You're really starting to stress out my security team. Now give me your report, were the things the Union envoy told us true?"
"They sure are. From reports I'm reading on the Union version of the internet and a couple conversations I've had with the um, people, I've met, it seems like everyone in the Union is either a content creator or content consumer, or uh, low level data entry, apparently. There are no researchers, no scientists, no engineers, nothing. Anything they could want they can just order from this mainframe they have set up on the factory-planet, so no one bothers to figure out new ways to do things or learn how the current system works, its all based on trust that it will go right, as it has for millions of years."
"Excellent, that means that the ones who figure out how it all works can break it down and take control of the entire Union. Humanity's technology may not be on par with the rest of the galaxy's, but our researchers are apparently the best and only. Put as many fun gadgets in your cart as you can and send em our way, we'll foot the bill whatever the cost," President Ivanov ordered. Jackson breifly considered explaining that the cost would be zero, but decided it would be easier to just send the stuff to Earth and explain the galactic lack of capitalism when he got home.
"Will do sir, signing off, I'll be home back in a couple days and the order should arrive within a week," the line clicked and went dead as President Ivanov turned to his council. The hastily assembeled One World government was made of some of the finest politicians, experts, and military minds Earth had to offer.
"You heard him people. Assemble your teams, you all should have plenty of goodies by the end of the week for you to start reverse engineering. With some luck, we can have our own fleet up and running within a few years. Then, we can seize control of their comms network and this Factory Planet, and we'll have secured mankind's power and future on the galactic stage."
________________________________________________
First time back to writing in a long while, any feedback you might have is appreciated!
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They all were curious to meet me, a delegation of a dozen or so. When I didn’t recoil from their touch, they felt my hair, my face, looked at my tattoos. One slid my phone out of my pocket and deftly began toying with it, chirping at the noises it made. It called my mom and I had to- very quickly- explain that I was ok, just helping some clients. A beam of light switched on and my phone floated in place. A disembodied noise muttered, and every being in the loading bay turned to face me in silence. The alien in front of me made a soft chortling sound. They all had eyes somewhat like dogs; kind, intelligent, alert. I was led through their ship. It was a massive thing, with the outward appearance of something vaguely cetacean and the inward appearance of readiness, of cleanliness, and of- waiting. They stopped me at panels of buttons that emitted sound in their language. The aliens hovered elsewhere, appearing to clean. One was harnessed to the ceiling and trawled along the hallway, watching us.
The disembodied noise muttered again, with a more human intonation: “Ban hee-yu kong?!”
“Uh…”
“Ni mingbai ma?”
It had learned our languages.
“English!” I called back.
-----------
Part 2 is on its way.
| 2018-04-18T13:14:00 | 2018-04-18T11:36:40 | 48 | 14 |
[WP] You are one of several Princes fighting in a battle royale to inherit the Kingdom. All the Princes get a God as a sponsor, who grants them boons and abilities. Powerful sponsors include gods like Zeus, Ra and Neptune. So, it was a surprise when you found out that your sponsor is Death.
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'The bond is complete. Edric, twelfth prince of Lordan, go forth. Apollo be with you.' The priest's drone had a note of respect in it. The slender figure by the altar stood up, and turned to the assembled onlookers. His eyes shone gold, and he had a broad, cocky smile on his lips. A cheer went up as he stepped down and into the crowd.
'And finally, Prince Morran, step forward.'
In the crowd, a slight, weedy figure was being pushed forward. Jeers rose up from the crowd, and Morran was flinching as he moved towards the altar, past the head priest. He tried to shut out the noise as he took his place, and knelt, focusing solely on the altar.
'Hear him, immortal lords of the earth and the heavens. Hear his plea.'
The words, spoken in almost perfect unison by the priests, echoed back from the arched ceilings of the temple. When the echos died away, there was silence. The silence stretched on.
'Hear his plea.' This time a single voice, each word carefully laced with impatience.
Morran jumped slightly and cleared his throat. 'Uh, I beseech you, Gods of all, to favour me with your blessing. I will honour you with the . . . With the strength of my arm, and the purity of my heart. I will honour you, and bring your worship to pass for my reign as king. I will honour you, or I will die trying. This I swear.' His voice was faltering, slow. 'This I swear,' he tried again, forcing the words to come out stronger.
Silence. After a few moments, the crowd started to murmur quietly, but Morran didn't need to hear to know what was being said. It would be the same words that had followed him his whole life - Weak, Useless, Pathetic. Well, if the Gods wouldn't have him, he would just have to fight on his own merit. He braced to stand up, tears starting to form in his eyes. His hands balled into fists, ready to proclaim he would fight for his own sake, ready to curse down the people who were judging him. He rose. . . and the world blurred. The priest's scarlet robes, the silver engravings, the muted tones of the crowd, all blurred into one smokey grey mass. Morran blinked and scrubbed at his eyes, but the world stayed grey, swirling and twisting but never relenting.
Panic was rising in his eyes as he spun around, looking frantically for... Anything. The smoke and fog was everywhere.
'I've never been worshipped before'. Despite the fog, the words were clear, sharp and precise. Morran spun around, but there was no-one there. 'Usually I'm just feared. For good reason.' The voice was right by Morran's ear, and he jumped forward.
'Who's there?,' Morran squealed, his head still searching for the source.
'Your patron, of course.'
'Y-yeah? Then show yourself!'
There was a chuckle, dark and humourless. 'Youll regret that.'
It was like wind swept through, pulling the fog to one point, where it swirled and undulated and started to form a figure. When the figure stepped out from the last tendrils of fog, Morran gasped and recoiled. His 'patron' was clad almost entirely in a grey robe up to his neck. His head was bare, revealing a skull, pieces of rotting flesh still clinging to the bone, and maggots writhing over the surface. In the empty eye sockets, red glows flickered slightly. Morran shuddered when the gaze met his eyes, but tried to force himself to straighten up.
'See. You poor weak mortals can never look upon the face of Death. Your fragile sense of mo-'
'So you'll sponsor me? Really?'
The red flickers blazed brightly for a moment, though Morran could not tell if it was amusement or anger. 'Absolutely. I claim you, as I claim my protégé every generation. I should warn you though, they never accept.' Death moved closer, gliding through the fog, until he was a mere foot from Morran, towering over the young prince. So close, the smell of rot made Morran's nose curl.
'Why not?'
This time the chuckle had more mirth. 'Can you not guess?' Death leaned in, and Morran was certain he felt a maggot brush against his cheek as Death whispered in his ear, 'because I'm too good. Because you will kill them all. And because if you don't, you're mine anyway. Because I don't lose.' Death straightened up. 'Humans seem to hate the idea of me winning.'
Morran felt his teeth chattering, and clenched his jaw down. After a few deep breaths, he managed 'fine. So be it.'
Death's head tilted to one side, and his eyes shone brighter. 'Truly? Well. This will be fun. Brace yourself.'
Before Morran had a chance to react, Death reached out and touched his chest. Morran gasped as icy coldness speared through his heart, and out to his limbs. He closed his eyes, stifling a scream, but by the time it encompassed his body, it just felt. . . Right.
He breathed out, and opened his eyes. The temple was back. The crowd's chattered died down, and then rose again, more urgent. The priest was rushing forward, and grabbed Morran by the arm.
'What have you done?'
'Bonded with my patron.' For the first time ever, Morran's words were calm, confident. His voice was lower too, filled with strength.
'But. . . You cannot bond with Him. It is forbidden.' The priest's voice was panicky, and his hand was gripping Morran's arm tighter and tighter. 'No-one has dared bring this evil upon the world for hundreds of years. Do you even know what He might do to us?'
Morran raised his hand to stop the priest's babble. The priest flinched, but stood his ground. 'I do not know what Death might do, no. But look at it this way - you wanted my brothers and I to fight to the death. . . Why don't you join in?'
'Wha-?' The priest's last words came out as a yelp. Morran's hand darted out, grabbing his neck. The priest's eyes widened for a moment, his hand clawing at Morran, until a cracking sound marked the man's death. Morran slowly released his grip, letting the body slump to the floor. Blood dropped from Morran's hand, and as he turned his face to look out on the crowds, his eyes glowed blood red to match.
'Where are my brothers? Shall we proceed? If there are no further objections, that is.'
The screams started at the front, but soon the whole crowd was trampling their way to the doors.
Twelve figures remained. Slowly, very slowly, one of the princes drew his sword.
--
Never done a post here before. I hope it's okay. I've got a few more prompts saved so if anyone likes my writing style I'll try to do more.
Also I wrote this on phone so please excuse (or point out) typos. My phone thinks dog is a better word than fog every time haha
Edit: Part 2 is posted as a reply to this :) Thanks for the lovely comments everyone, it's so lovely because I'm very self conscious about my writing.
Edit: change wriggling to writhing from feedback - many thanks :)
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[P1-ctd in comments]
Soon, would be the contests for the crown. The small Kingdom of Arnkael played a unique role in the world, that it was the peaceful bulwark between humanity and the indiscriminate wrath of the gods themselves.
Each generation, as the old king died, his several children would be pressed to the arena to challenge each other for the crown. This tradition began long ago, with the great Cataclysm that set Man against itself and tore asunder many mountains and plains, the time the gods granted their awesome power to many mortal men in a bid for their own supremacy. The surviving few of the world raised great protest against the needless devastation that their patrons had wrought, and humbled by their followers the gods wrought a compromise with mankind.
The first of the new human kingdoms was formed, headed by one of the last of those demigods who had fought in service of the heavens. To settle their scores, the gods would delegate to only one champion each among his sons and daughters, and to each champion, one God. Thus the new order would be determined through patience and skill, and humanity over time took great interest in these battles, even as they rebuilt and the other kingdoms grew larger and greater. As each king died Arnkael became a site of pilgrimage for the faithful and the powerful, to know which God would gain their support.
Central to this was the Choosing, an event held behind closed doors within Arkael's lone cathedral, where the children forced to slay their kin would receive the power and knowledge that would serve them in battle and kingship, the power of the old demigods that stood to protect Arnkael as it continued to serve it's high purpose.
The 'young king' Ather, beloved by Demeter, had passed this spring from an ailment of his breath, leaving seven princes and princesses to follow his footsteps, and today at high summer they came down from the palace to know their maker.
| 2018-11-14T08:14:35 | 2018-11-14T07:58:09 | 1,522 | 54 |
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