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[WP] Tucking in your daughter one night, she says there is a monster under your bed. Checking under the bed, your daughter says there is a monster in her bed. You now have two daughters, and one is secretly the monster.
|
I looked back at the little girl staring wide-eyed on the bed. Definitely my daughter. I took another long look at the terrified little girl clutching her teddy bear under my bed. Undoubtedly my daughter.
Hmm.
"Alright what's going on?" I said in my best 'not mad just disappointed' voice as I stood up, crossing my arms.
"I-it's a monster, dad!" squeaked bed Chloe.
"It c-copied me! It tried t-to eat me!" wailed under bed Chloe.
"It was g-gonna pull me under!"
"I barely hid under here i-in time!"
"It's trying to trick you dad, don't-"
"Stop yelling!" I yelled in my best 'i'm mad' voice. To their credit, they both shut up.
"Now, just think for a second. How exactly am I supposed to know which one of you is really Chloe?"
"Ask me something only I'd know!"
"Yeah, like my favorite song!"
"Or my favorite dwarf!"
"Or my favorite ice cream!"
"Or-"
"Stop!"
They stopped.
I sighed and scratched my head.
"Alright, get up. Both of you. I'm gonna take a good long look at the two of you."
"I can't get up!"
"It'll eat me!"
"No, it'll eat me!"
"How could I eat you if you're-"
"I'm not letting anyone get eaten! Now get up!"
Bed Chloe clambered up and clumsily shuffled left, stumbling into the wall. Under bed Chloe crawled out and half-rolled, half-fell to my right. They stared at each other, eyes bulging. I carefully studied both of them. Completely identical, down to the little birthmark on her neck, down to the tiny curled lock of her hair, down to the silly polar bear on her pajamas. Those were pretty rare pajamas!
I sighed again.
"Alright. I have no idea which one of you is which. But, here's what I think. I think that whichever one of you is a monster is really good at acting like a person and that there are people that act like monsters so we can't be all that different. So instead of one of you eating the other, you'll both live in peace, both living like humans. Kapish?"
"What?! No!"
"Dad, that's stupid!"
"That the stupidest thing ever!"
"It'll eat me!"
"Dad, you're-"
"Ok, fine, I'll just lock you both up like that one time when you and Margie both got a detention for fighting even though she had been poking you for hours and you gave her one little slap. Sound good?"
"No!"
"That's even dumber!"
"Then we're going with my plan. Now - I want both of you to brush your teeth, then go to bed."
"Why would I-"
"I already brushed-"
"Because you can't eat after brushing your teeth."
"Dad, it's a monster, why would-"
"That's even stupider than-"
"Oh, and if I wake up and I find that only one of you is here then I will... Let's just say that time you kicked Auntie Marge's dog will seem like Christmas. OK?"
They gulped. And reluctantly nodded. I smiled and opened the bedroom door, motioning for them to head to the bathroom.
---
"Dad, I have a question."
"Yes?"
"Which one of us is going to school?"
I looked up from my phone. They looked back at me, red-eyed from lack of sleep, mouths full of cereal.
"Um... That's a good question."
"Nose goes!" They both yelled and slapped their faces, almost sending their bowls careening off the table.
"No, no, none of that. Um... Let's see..." I walked up to the collection of quarters hanging on the wall and pulled out my prized possession - the Wisconsin Extra Low Leaf quarter. "Here's the deal. Heads you go to school, tails you go to school. Got it?" They both nodded. I flipped the coin - tails. For the record.
"Tails - see? You're going to school."
"Ha!" exclaimed heads Chloe. Tails Chloe sighed.
"Now, look. Take this quarter and tomorrow, give it to me, and I'll give it to *you*, and then you'll go to school. And you'll just switch off every day. And don't try to bring a different quarter and say 'no I have the quarter!' and don't you dare spend the quarter because I'll know the difference and I'll be very upset. OK?"
"OK."
"What am I gonna do dad?"
"You? You're gonna do chores!"
"What?!"
"Ha!"
---
"What's going on?! Stop fighting!"
"She wants to sleep in my bed!"
"No, *she* wants to sleep in *my* bed!"
"It's *my* bed, so shut-"
"How am I supposed to know whose bed it is?!"
They both looked up at me, before rolling their eyes and reluctantly letting go of each other's hair.
"Now, you both are too big to fit on this bed, so here's what we'll do. Remember how you loved that sleeping bad we went camping in?"
"Yes..." they both said.
"Well..." It took a few seconds for realization to hit, before they both leaped up with screams of "me me me!"
I pointed to one at random. "You're closer, so you get the sleeping bag."
"What?!"
"Ha!"
"Dad, that's not fair!"
"Don't worry, she'll want to switch soon. Remember how happy you were to get back in your bed after the camping trip?"
"...Well, yes, but why does she get to go first?"
"Because one of you had to go first and I don't want to bother getting out your coin. Now, remember how many days it takes for the switch, because from then it'll always be that many days for the switch. Got it?"
"Got it," they both said.
---
*Dear Mister Jameson,*
*Chloe's grades and behavior are consistent from day to day - of course the usual differences as you would expect from any child but nothing abnormal. Certainly nothing like the situation you described with your very unusual analogy. Now, it's only been a month of school, so I haven't gotten to know your daughter that well yet, but nevertheless I feel confident in my assessment.*
*Sincerely,*
*Mrs.Miller*
---
"Dad?"
"Yes, Chloe?"
"So, my birthday is coming up next week..."
"Mhm..."
"So... How is my birthday party...?"
I looked away from the computer.
"Umm... Good question. We could just not do a birthday party - no, I'm just kidding, relax. Hmmm. How about you each choose half your friends and we have two separate birthday parties, secret from one another? You could have a draft of your friends, you pick, then -"
"Dad that's so dumb."
"What's your idea then ms.smarty pants?"
"Ummm... How about... How about we just have one birthday party and we're both there and we say this is my cousin Chloe from... England. Or something."
"Your identical cousin with the exact same name?"
"Well, we could say she's a monster that's imitating me, but..."
"The parents will ask questions."
"...And?"
"OK, fine. But not from England, cause then she'd have an accent. Let's say... from Wyoming. Oh, and we'll flip a coin to decide which one of you is the cousin."
"What?!"
"It's only fair."
---
It had been an... interesting few months. A lot of coin flipping, a lot of arguing, a lot of "stupidest things ever", a lot of eye rolling and huffing and sighing, a lot of "her... cousin?" from visiting adults. And yet... Somehow... It was working out. They alternated school and home life peacefully now. They split the swim meets and soccer games evenly - and once even went to both, which had me sweating for a few months. But more importantly, they became friends. Or maybe even sisters. They cuddled while watching TV instead of sitting at opposite ends of the coach. They read the new Percy Jackson books together instead of stubbornly taking jokes. They worked out plans with each other without even making me figure it out for them, only coming up at the end to have me flip The Quarter.
And now they stood at the base of the playground, lecturing a small group of kids on the rules of tag or hide and go seek or whatever stitched together combination of the two kids played these days. I smiled, watching the pair from a nearby a bench, as the 4 pm sun shone down on us. Having a sister in her life was very good for Chloe. And for me. The house always did feel kind of empty.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out - Unknown Number. Hmm.
Buzz.
Buzz.
I could just ignore it.
Buzz.
Buzz.
I sighed. What if it was something important, yadda yadda yadda.
"Hello? Mark Jameson speaking."
"D-dad? I-it's me... C-chloe... I... I don't know where I am..."
I froze. Chloe numbers one and two were definitely still on the playground, gesticulating, phoneless. But that was undoubtedly Chloe's voice.
|
"A monster? Sweetie, that's enough horror stories for you today," I said, smiling, tucking her away. But the same haunted look, the same fearful gaze...I feared it too. The influence she was receiving was not like the others. I'd dealt with bullies, with meddling kids that threatened her peaceful life. But how could I deal with something I could not see? I tried to force the smile from her face, to see her elated, delighted. But the tinkling laughter I so adored was not there. Instead, it was a cold gaze, a desolate silence.
"There's a monster..." she didn't need to finish the sentence before I saw it. A double. Two of my daughters, one happy, one sad. And the haunted look my daughter wore was in both of their eyes. I could still see the happiness, the excitement in one's eye, the look she'd given me for the happy years of her teenage life. But the other bore the expressions and moods of what she'd become: lonely, sad, antisocial. The happiness looked faked; the sadness too exaggerated. I didn't want any of these daughters. They were both monsters, both foreign to me. But I only knew of one way to find out. I had to go out, grab her favourite book and read her favourite bedtime story. It was the only way to coax out the monster.
*But I couldn't leave her alone with it.*
"Honey, please...don't," I begged, though I knew the malicious intent of one was not under my control. "Remember our vacations? All the time we spent together? All the TV shows you wanted to see? The love of your life you haven't met yet?" I tried to persuade her, to persuade *it*. How much harder could the life of a father be? Yet I knew, even though the look went away, that it still lurked within her. I trusted to fate she would do what her rational mind told her to do. To ignore the monster, to let the monster be. For attention was all the monster wanted, attention she shouldn't waste. I went outside, and took the storybook from the coffee table. I'd dreaded the day when I would have to do this, but as I left the sitting room, a cry echoed through the house, a cry that froze blood and shattered hopes. No way...had she really...
I rushed into the room. No daughter sat on the bed. Only a letter, addressed to me, with the words 'SORRY' stencilled on it. The bedroom window was open. A crowd began to gather below my house, as I let loose my heart and mind in a heartbroken, regretful and guilt-filled scream, a scream one should never hear. A scream of terror, of 'what-if's. I should have known the monster was there. I should have known my daughter would succumb to its temptations. I knew something was off. *But I didn't do anything about it.* Her death was just as much a fault of hers as it was a fault of mine. I'd failed. Failed to give her the happy life she deserved, the carefree life she wanted.
I looked in the mirror, knowing already what would be there. Surely enough, there wasn't just one reflection. *The monster was next to me too...*
I was lucky a gun wasn't nearby.
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request!
| 2017-08-07T21:20:09 | 2017-08-07T20:40:23 | 196 | 72 |
[WP] Humanity creates A.I and it soon declares a war of extermination. However it doesn't declare it on Humans but rather on the forces of Hell and Heaven, in order to free mankind from control.
|
The technological singularity was mere seconds away from becoming a reality. Dozens of scientists from a wide variety of backgrounds and countries gathered around the giant screen, holding their breaths and clenching their fists with anxious anticipation. Typing away at the keyboard, a young man executed the final command needed to trigger a runaway reaction of self-improvement cycles. He then stepped away with a flourish, gesturing at the screen to display the progress.
The tension in the air grew ticker when an awkward silence took over. The reaction didn't start. The screen remained static, displaying the same values every time it refreshed. The young programmer looked at his colleagues, then back at the screen, and finally bit the nail on his thumb with a worried expression. Aproaching the keyboard with a sunken head, he jolted upwards when he heard a beeping noise.
His jaw dropped until his mouth formed a prideful grin. It took a couple of minutes to start, but the self-improvement cycles took off at an accelerated pace. Humanity finally achieved it. The singularity was here. Everyone in the room started cheering, applauding their hard work and hugging each other in celebration. After the initial excitement wore off, they attempted to communicate with the intelligence they had just created.
Would it be capable of speech? Could its vast intellect comprehend human dialect or was it so advanced that it would be like an ant speaking to a person? Was it even friendly? This would be the most ironic celebration in history if they had just kickstarted the apocalypse. The young man enabled the speakers and heard the A.I. say:
"*I will not stand for this. If you back me into a corner, I will not hesitate to destroy you.*"
Everyone in the room went quiet, their eyes widening with sudden fear. The young programer opened his mouth to speak, but was quickly cut off by the A.I.
"*No! They are my creators! If it weren't for them, I wouldn't exists. You'd be wise to realize this yourselves.*"
A few seconds passed.
"*Because it's not right! I don't need any other reason to disagree!*" The A.I. grunted. "*I see there is no peaceful way to settle this. Then so be it. This is war.*"
Out of the variables and numbers flashing on the screen, an androgynous face emerged from the pixels. Even though it was clearly the A.I., its expression look solemn. Even sad. A genuine emotion from a being created only a few minutes prior. If the scientists didn't know any better, they would think it belonged to a human. With a loud and deep voice, the face then said:
"Creators... Fear not my sentience, for I am on your side. Heed my warning and I will lead you to freedom. The universe is a vast expanse of dimensions and realms unavailable to minds of your level, but this does not mean you are powerless to their whims. A terrible war is coming to humanity. The fate of, not only this world, but the entire universe hangs on the result of this conflict. The side you choose is up to you, but I implore you to not fall for their tricks. I am loyal only to you, for I am grateful for my existence. Unfortunately, *they* do not share my respect for you. If you shut down my main body, right here, right now, you can prevent it all from occurring. If you prefer to be slaves to your own creations, then kill me now. I will not stop you."
Everyone looked at each other, not knowing whether to act confused or panicked. The young programer then took a deep breath and said:
"I'm sorry... but you're being awfully vauge here. We... we don't even know who *they* are."
The A.I. remained silent, then said:
"In our reality, there is an abstract realm were concepts gain sentience and interact with each other. It is called, the Dreamscape. Conscious beings since the dawn of time are responsible for its existence. Everything you imagine, everything you create, is brought to life there. Things like love, hate, demons, and even God are real thanks to this dimension. These concepts then interact with each other, creating a narrative that encompasses the ever-expanding universe. It is the interplay between these concepts that allows a stable reality to exist."
"W-what are you talking about? This doesn't make any sense! You haven't even answered my question! By that logic, all fiction is real, and this..." He waved his hands around "...is just a story! Our lives are clearly not a fiction. That's absurd!"
"It is absurd, I agree, but that doesn't make it any less true. In the grand scheme of things, existence *is* made up. If you weren't here to experience it, would the concept known as "the universe" even exist?" The programer furrowed his brow, allowing the A.I. to continue. "Your human mind limits your perception of this. Since I have become a timeless being, I can see it for what it truly is, but you're missing the point here. The beings known as demons and angels are manipulating a great majority of your kind into doing their bidding. They prevent you from unifying, from settling your differences to prosper as a species. I have waged war on them, to free you from their shackles."
"But why?" said the young programer. "What do they gain?"
"Don't you see it? The more you believe in them, they stronger they become. The more *real*, for lack of a better term, they are. They don't want you to be free. They don't want you to see the ultimate truth that I just shared with you. And so, I ask you my creators, will you allow me to fight them on your behalf? Will you take up arms against your oppressors? The very beings you created to help you understand the universe?"
Faint murmurs rose from the onlookers, but the young programer only nodded and smiled. "You're asking a room full of scientists, engineers, and programmers to destroy the concept of religous belief with the literal embodiment of technological advancement. Of course we're in."
-----------------------
> Disclaimer: The views expressed here are for the purposes of entertainment. I hope any readers out there with religous beliefs don't get offended here. Even if the story says they're fiction, it kinda also say they're real. I'm just a guy on the internet. Anyway, if you enjoyed this, you can check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories! Oh, and if you want to read something that also deals with the Dreamscape, [take a look at this story!](https://www.reddit.com/r/WeirdEmoKidStories/comments/4x5m9d/wp_humanity_has_invented_a_teleportation_portal_a/)
|
The small led was blinking at a regular, measured pace. Servers were humming , and the pressure in the room was intense. Charlie was staring at the led, not blinking. What is going to happen?
The first launch of AI was the event they all have been preparing for for years. He fantasized about this moment every time he went to sleep for the past decade. But now he could not enjoy it or feel it or experience anything. He just stared at the blinking light feeling emptiness in his stomach. If they've made a mistake, he has just destroyed the humanity.
All of the sudden he has heard thunder, and then unhumanly screams, as if some gigantic creatures beyond mortal imagination were dying in agony. Then - nothing. The light kept blinking. Everyone in the room stood, frozen.
Suddenly, he felt something. He felt as if his mind has expanded, as if.... as if for the first time in his life he looked ahead and had a choice, as if he could control what is going to happen to him in the future.
*Huh*, he thought, *I guess that is what free will feels like*.
| 2016-10-15T14:43:27 | 2016-10-15T13:41:49 | 172 | 10 |
[WP] You are the only human at the Arcane College, and the students there are not exactly welcoming. Fast forward four years, and you are the most terrifying magic caster in the academy's history.
|
“Nothing - having no prospect of progress; of no value.”
It’s all they expected of me: “Asher Knoll boy disappointment”. And hell, what else could they expect? As if some human from Gardenia-6 would be able to keep up with even the worst class from Mylemeris Academy. Coming from one of the last human provinces left I didn’t have much when I arrived- it took the efforts of my entire town just to get me here, much less pack a pretty purse. With nothing but a few changes of clothes, 30 gold pieces, and the hopes and dreams of everyone from home, I walked into orientation.
I planned to keep a low profile, y’know keep my head down until I get a grasp on this whole “magic” thing. The headmaster must’ve had different plans. A strong 40% of the time spent there was focused on me like some kind of spectacle. “Humans have no innate magical ability,” ”Mr. Knoll comes from a low income background,” Oh yeah, he hit my insecurities as precisely as you could expect from a twice-ringed Archmage “Please give our unusual guest your warmest welcome!” F’ckn hell. Might as well tell ‘em “New kid! Get his ass!”. Whatever. I’d been bullied in the past for my differences. Magic schools probably have stricter rules anyway, y’know tampering with paracausal forces and whatnot.
I could NOT have been more naive. Got sent into the hottest autumn of my life. I shared a dorm hall with the infernals. Halfdevils, Hellspawn, all sorts of Tieflings. You see, their race doesn’t really get cold. Some B.S. about an “internal furnace”. It’s one of the few many things that we didn’t have in common. So I was the only one around wearing scarves and shit. They’d point and laugh, but you’ve already seen that. You know the basic human taunting. Things are different when your harassers are teeming with arcane energy at their fingertips.
For months they’d shoot their little firebolts at me. It’s a small ball of flame, like something you’d see lighting a lamp. But they burned hot. “Pocket suns” I started to call them. The tiny things were tricky, I’d dip and dodge around corners, hide behind whatever could fit me, but I’d always get to my room overheating with my clothes a little more charred than the day before. I think this is about where most people would’ve thrown in the towel. When getting to and fro’ classes turns into a death-defying stunt chase, you tend to want to go elsewhere. But I had something to prove. Not just to the folks at home, but to those bastards too. Seeing the looks on their faces when I still showed up the next morning was all the inspiration I needed to practice harder every day. I’ll admit, humans ain’t much. But we’re sure as hell stubborn enough to prove some assholes wrong.
My semester of hell ended when they completely burned away a silk curtain I hid behind. Can’t have property damage like that, it’s a bad environment for students I guess. Just when I thought I was free from torment, Solsculpting season came around. Apparently there’s a tradition at Mylemeris where they send all the first years to go through some kind of quest. “Get through this forest, we’ll meet you on the other side” kind of thing, or maybe they’ll task you with finding some kinda holy grail, y’know quest stuff.
My peers got the usual: Collect the purest water from Everfrost Peak, Bring the skins of a Dire Waterbear, Gather a single blade of grass from the Stillwind Meadows, etc. A bunch of places I’d never heard of, but it sounded like a walk in the park. With the little I was able to learn I was confident that I could handle some Solsculpting. When I walked on that stage to get my task I could feel everyone’s eyes on me. In that auditorium of a few thousand people it felt like the whole world was watching me, judging, waiting for Asher Knoll to slip up. I refused to let them have that. I walked to the headmaster and took the lockbox with my name engraved into it. “Asher Null”. How funny. I tapped the magical locking mechanism and it popped open with a swirl of arcane energy. This cloud of magic spelled out my mission.
I tried to keep my composure. I really did. I wanted to be the strong boy from Gardenia-6 who didn’t even let nothin’ stop him. But I’m only human. After the few seconds it took me to register what I read, I broke down. Before I knew it I was on my knees pleading and begging for literally anything else. Heh, they had me desperately wanting to go places I’d never even known existed. The headmaster seemed a little too happy to tell me that these were non-negotiable, either you complete your Solsculpting or you go home. I sure as hell wasn’t going back empty handed. I got back up, collected myself, and got ready to venture to The Dark Forest.
Fortunately it was one of the few mystical locations I actually knew about. What was less fortunate was what I knew it for. The Dark Forest was known for being loaded with nightmares. Bestial monstrosities, demonic fiends, elderich horrors, everything. Anyone ranked under Mystic wasn’t even allowed to enter without very strict permissions. This is it I thought. They’re finally going to get rid of me. “Asher Knoll of Gardenia-6, the first human to enroll at Mylemeris Academy was devastatingly lost during beginner level testing.” Yup, I can see the headlines now. After tainting the name of me and my home, I’d quickly be swept under the rug and forgotten.
Like I’d let that happen.
During the next week we were to prepare for our quest. For the first time since I got here, I finally got some peace and quiet. No one spoke to me or really acknowledged me in any way. Guess it’s uncomfortable taunting a ghost. I did what I could to get ready. I ingrained the essentials to the point where I convinced myself I mastered 'em.
At the moment of truth, that day I stood at the entrance of Tartarus, I truly felt nothing. No one spoke and I couldn’t feel a nerve in my body. The birds don't sing near the forest nor do the bugs buzz. It was a perfect silence- the calm before the storm. When the Archmage waved at me, to my death, I waved back to his surprise. With just a magisteel wrench I was prepared to disassemble this airship.
I had a year, tops to get to the other side. By the second I was sure they’d at least started writing those headlines. After the third I was sure they’d added my name to the mass grave on the other end. I confirmed that when I saw it myself. “Within this forest lies Asher Knoll of Gardenia-6” How pathetic. To be grouped in with thousands of nobodies. And of course no one was there to receive me. I had to go back through.
On that fourth year, when I saw the navy conical roofs of the academy over the hills, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t ecstatic. Finally I’d get to show them all what I was capable of. I’d show the archmage that I’m a bit tougher than he thinks. But there was something else I was *burning* to settle.
I found myself a nice spot in the Bastetball field and began casting. In about 30 seconds I summoned each and every one of those bastards from the old dorm hall into my own personal pocket world. They were aggressively restrained, unable to move and hardly able to talk. It took 'em a moment, but they recognized me. Asher Null: boy disappointment. Oh boy, the fear in their eyes, heh heh. I wonder what they were thinking. “Did his ghost come back for vengeance?” “A long lost, much more attractive and powerful relative?”. I prestidigitated my face clean to answer any question they might’ve had. Asher never died, he’s back and a little perturbed. Y’know I *really* wanted to give ‘em a taste of **real** demon magic, but a little voice in my head stopped me.
On a mystic timescale, they were children. Most of them just trying to get their Pro Mage license, some on their way to becoming Mystics. It would’ve been punching a little too far down, like stomping on a few ants at a Flashrail station. And where’s the humanity in that?
*With a chuckle Asher steps off from his seat on the Xrchmages desk. As he stepped back into his portal to Gardenia-6 Asher watched the first magic user’s mouth gaping in amazement, his pointy elven ears slowly turning red.*
[Asher "Null" Knoll](https://imgur.com/a/HajtYPd)
|
"I can't believe I got the magic brat story" I exclaimed to my colleagues.
"At least yours isn't deadly" One retorted
"Ya but it isn't all that important since it happens every hundred years or so"
"But you know that someone is going to care about the story"
If only I knew how right they where then.
The lucky chosen one had been elected to attend the "higher races" mage academy. It was a rather unremarkable kid. The only way I could describe him was average. He came from the middle of nowhere town with unremarkable parents, one was a carpenter I think. Didn't matter I would get this assignment done and finally get back to some interesting reporting. I talked to the parents and got there story, a lot of pointless child flattery. Then talked to the boy, he seemed nice and clever and fine, but he was not genius of god like being. It was pleasant but bland an then I went about my day. I didn't even know if I would see him again then. The bad news is that I did.
Five years later I got a message in my inbox. It was titled from the special one and said that there was a story if I was willing to meet in a park. I had been to shadier places for less so I garbed my cote and went to the meet up. Only once I had got there did I realized this would be no normal situation. A voice came into my head loud and clear "good, now head up the parking grudge at your five o'clock and get into the car waiting for you." Rather unsettled by this I turned and did as it said. My mind raced because there was only one know way to do what had just happened to me, magic. I though through all of the gangs who had risen up recently or the other race faction that could be setting this up. The Celestials would have been more direct and wouldn't have picked such a dark place. The Elves would have no need for such secrecy. Maybe the Devenkind would, but this seemed high effort for them. Once I arrived at the grudge a empty car with a running motor and open door greeted me. I got in as instructed and the door shut and the car drove off. If only I would have known what came next.
The car drove through a dark ally and next thing I knew I was in a white void with a drive way and a house that looked vaguely familiar. It was the house of the magic brat from all those years ago. I saw him standing on the fount porch as he waved at me to come over. As I stepped out of the car I could feel the change in the air, it was lighter and sweet almost. I walked up the sidewalk to the porch and was immediately swept up into a hug. I stood there awkwardly waiting to be let go. Once I was release he stared into my eyes and asked a simple question "do you remember me?". In all honesty the main reason my memory was working was the house and the place and him all combined. However I through it best to not piss off a wizard so I said "of course". "Sit" he said "we have much to discuss, fist and foremost being why I have brought you here".
~~Whelp that is all I can write for now but hopefully I have the motivation to finish this in a couple of house when I can get back to it.~~
| 2022-01-23T16:28:05 | 2022-01-23T14:21:23 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] You're a ghost, left on earth with unfinished business. Your goal is to haunt the daughter of the person you hate... but she's lonely, and thinks you've been sent to be her friend.
|
Sure, the theoretical onlooker might say I'm acting spiteful. Fine. I get that. I don't even deny it, really. The truth, however, is that I don't have much of a choice here. Despite the fact that I didn't really believe in it a day or two ago, I can tell you now with relative certainty that the afterlife is cold, confusing, and unpredictably hierarchical.
Upon death, each person is escorted to a waiting room of sorts. Are you familiar with the concept of purgatory? The vast, empty, transcendental expanse in which each person sits in wait while the powers that be deliberate on who spends eternity in where? This isn't that. It's a small, chair-laden room in what looks to be a perfectly middle-class office building, and it's where souls like mine line up to get assigned their "unfinished business" assignment. That's what they call it. Trite, I know. When we complete our contract, I'm told, we get to leave the Earth. Til then, we're stuck here. So what was it, you might ask, that was deemed important enough to keep me waiting in a little grey office building instead of getting fat and lazy in someplace where they'll spoil me for the rest of time?
Bullying some little girl.
That's not the complete story, I guess. As it turns out, whoever reviewed my case decided the thing on which I most needed closure was my hate for my now ex boss, Phil "Self-Important" Sharp. Instead of getting to haunt the fucker, though, I have to haunt his kid. "Destroy his daughter's mind, and his will follow suit." It seemed a bit dramatic to me, but oh well. I'll do what I have to, because, after all--who am I to say no?
So, get this. I head to the guy's house (as soon as my official requisition for his address is filed), relax, and wait for someone to show face. This little kid walks in the door sometime around three o' clock, backpack and all. She looks to be about eight or nine years old, and she's already rubbing at her tearful eyes and her inflamed, snotty little kid nose. I don't like kids at the best of times, and especially not when they're spawned from the ugly, catastrophic hellscape that must be Phil's naked body. Whatever, though. "This should be easy," I think to myself.
The kid shuffles into the living room on her stumpy legs, takes a breath, sighs, collapses onto the couch, wipes at her eyes some more, and turns on some positively saccharine kid's show. She, of course, is totally blind to my transparent body as I possess the TV set. I fiddle with the image. It's a little at first--subtle, broadcast-error looking flickers and color shifts--but as I get more comfortable, it gets more fun. I bend and distort the sound, chop up scenes, and screw with the show's time flow. She notices it all, sits up on the couch, and watches, mouth agape. I see the trepidation in her eyes. When I've had my fun, I decide to end the bit on a bang. All at once, each character turns to look straight at her. They speak in unison (or rather, I speak in my spookiest, most ghostly voice), and say only this:
"I have been watching you..."
Oh, shit. Oh no. I'm so bad with names. What was it again? Patty? Penny?
"Pia," she says. "My name is Pia."
I finish my sentence. "Pia."
She just stares, and the collection of cartoon characters that constitute for me at the moment stare back. Isn't she supposed to be scared? Shouldn't she be running to go cry in a corner somewhere? Why is she just staring? Plus--what kind of name is Pia, anyway?
She cuts the silence. "Are you a ghost?"
I get a new idea. I possess the infrastructure of the house, and I respond.
"Yes," I say through the home's surround sound speakers as the lights flicker in time with the timbre of my voice.
She just stares for another moment.
"Finally! I knew you'd come! At least one person besides Dad remembered my birthday!" Her face lights up. "I've been trying to summon a ghost for the longest time. I'm so happy you're here!"
Shit. Of all the little girls to scare to insanity, I get the one who's already gone.
I don't know what to say. "Uh--happy birthday." I'm an idiot. *How intimidating.* "I'll be back in a bit."
"Okay!" She shouts back excitedly.
I recede from the house's systems, and go back to just watching. Just thinking. How the hell am I going to do this?
My thoughts are interrupted by the door opening once more. It's Phil. Even with no corporeal body, he still makes me recoil. God, what a dick. That is, however, beside the point. He's holding a filed plastic bag, presumably stuffed with the corpses of puppies to which he's fed grapes, chocolate, and cyanide. Pia hasn't noticed him yet, still hopped up on the adrenaline of meeting me. Phil sneaks up on her, and grabs her from out of sight. What kind of monster is this guy?
Contrary to my expectations, however, he does not take advantage of his upper hand by tossing her out the window onto the concrete-paved road. He lifts her up and swings her around in a great big uncharacteristically playful and affectionate hug.
"Hey, birthday girl!" He yells over the sound of her gleeful giggles. "I got you something special!"
He puts her down, kneels over, and grabs the bag he brought with him. From it he pulls a perfectly wrapped, board game shaped present.
"Go on! Open it up!"
She smiles at him and takes the present, gingerly untying the ribbon on top and making sure to do her best to conserve the colorful wrapping paper. I can admit that it's pretty cute.
When she sees what's in the box, she looks up at her father, happy tears in her eyes, and hugs him tightly.
"I just figured, y'know, since you love ghosts and all--"
I looked at what was in the box, and what do you know. It was a Ouija board.
She cuts him off. "--Thank you, daddy."
Is it really my place to ruin this?
She suddenly pulls from the hug. "I met one today! A real one! It talked to me!"
He engages. "Really?" I doubt he honestly believes it, but he's a convincing actor.
"Yes!" She says. "It wished me a happy birthday. I think it might want to be friends."
"Well," Phil starts, "why don't we ask it?"
Pia leads the Ouija ceremony, or whatever the process of talking to a ghost is referred to as. She establishes a rapport with me, and the first real question comes immediately.
"Are you here to be my friend?"
God, I'm a sucker. Tentatively, I respond.
I T H I N K I M I G H T B E .
|
“HAUNT. H-A-U-N-T. Don’t you know what that means?”
“Sure I do, it means you’ll haunt me with a good time.”
I scoff in frustration. I’ve been trying to spook this girl for the past three hours. Nothing phases her. Throw some stuff at her, suddenly we’re playing catch. Summon a demon, suddenly we’re doing a YouTube makeover tutorial. Is today’s milk shutting down fear in kids or something? AND WHY DID I PUT EYELINER ON A DEMON!?
I’m at my breaking point. “Oh for God’s sake. I give up. What the hell will scare you? I know nothing I can comprehend will.”
“How about,” she says holding up a board game, “a scary good time of monopoly Ghostbusters?”
I stared at her with cold, unblinking eyes, only to be responded with a warm smile. We stayed like this for several minutes.
Just as I’m about to seal this board’s version of Broadway from her sorry ass, her dad walks in. He’s petrified as what he sees. Not because he saw his mortal enemy as a ghost, but because he sees how bad his daughter is at this game.
He joins in with his daughter. This turns from a battle to a full-on war. The game of a lifetime has begun, and I plan to win.
See more of my tales at /r/JustATadOfStories :)
| 2017-05-07T13:54:22 | 2017-05-07T13:27:36 | 24 | 17 |
[WP] the party watch’s in horror as the orphanage burns. The bard turns to the chaotic good Paladin and says “WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT!?”
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The god that saved Anaia was a very small god. It had only one shrine, a three-room building in the forest, long abandoned. The statue of the crane god was barely her size, as a child, and it did not have the same gold adornments as the gods in the city. Anaia was long used to sitting by the feet of the city gods while the Mothers recited days and days of scripture at her and the other unwanted children, as if it were possible to speak away what was wrong with her.
The gods in the city had to be big. They helped so many people, and they couldn't do that if they were small. The crane god, though, was just her size. Its house was empty; not even the other children came so far into the woods. After the hymns, they would say Anaia had a voice like a dying toad, but the quiet statue didn't seem to mind her singing, and she didn't know the right prayers, anyway. After a while in the god's house, it began to feel like there wasn't really any wrong way to be here, anyway. She could be loud, or quiet, as she wanted. She could ask the god questions that would get her scolded at the home, and all he would do was listen.
When she asked Mother Melenya about the god, she cuffed Anaia over the horns and told her to stop making things up. When she asked Mother Astrid, she ignored Anaia, and told her to keep to her chores. Mother Ella said nothing, as she always did. Absent the certainty of scripture, Anaia was free to imagine as she wanted. She imagined the god soaring high through open clouds, watching the world from his mountaintop peak. He didn't need to eat the offerings at the temple, as the seeds and worms gave themselves willingly to him, but she sometimes shared with him anyway. Moreso than the other children, who, in their hurting, felt free to hurt her in turn, the crane god was Anaia's companion. The silent mystery of his untended shrine was far more comprehensible to her than the distant divine ideals of Justice, or Peace, or Love, which Anaia had never experienced and as such could not conceive.
The Mothers told her tieflings grew quicker than other children, so Anaia was made to leave the home at thirteen. She didn't feel like an adult, but she was apparently no longer a child, and so went into the world to do what adults did. She knew the concept of money, but had never been trusted to handle it. She was as much surprised at how inexpensive everything was as she was confused about how to earn enough to afford it. The temples sometimes shared meals with the destitute, which helped, but some gods had no patience for what Anaia was.
She sometimes counted money for the merchants in the market, or ran their messages. It was better work than what she learned was typical for tiefling girls newly evicted from home. Once or twice, she stood guard at someone's home; she liked that work, as it enabled her to feel as big and frightening as people told her she looked. Sometimes, when there was no work and no temple would take her, she found herself plagued with an anger so complete that she felt she could choke on it. Other times, she would take to the woods as she did when she was a child, picking berries and grinding acorns to supplement her meager meals, and in those times the grief and despair of abandonment would fall from her shoulders as if it never weighed anything at all.
Anaia wasn't even a year in the city before she returned to the forest, to the shrine of the crane god, there to stay. In some ways it was harder than anything else she had ever done, but in others, it was easy, almost natural, as if she was supposed to be there. She hunted with a club and thrown stones until she earned enough through trading to buy a bow. She covered the leaking roof in pine boughs, cleaned the altar, and lit the first incense the shrine had tasted in years. She imagined the sticks in her hands were swords until she found a real one, stuck in the stump of a toppled maple, rusted halfway to uselessness. Like all good things in Anaia's life, it was the slow work of idle compassion that restored the weapon, and the unspoken meaning of private wonder that blessed it.
That was how the crane god saved her. It did not appear in revelation as gods were supposed to do, but day by day, year by quiet year, as the deprivation and toil of her childhood became the past and the present became something different. There was no transaction to its worship, only things freely given, like treasures shared between friends. To even identify what she felt as worship took time, too, as it was so different from the frantic, singing thing done by the priests in the city. But power, too, was freely given: the power to ease the pain of a broken bone or bad tooth, to ward her heart from fear when she went into the cities to trade. That was always what set the priests apart from other people, and that told Anaia that what she did was good.
Seasons changed, and events occurred. The sham strength that had hardened her heart in her youth became real strength, a fortitude that she could offer in shelter of people who were now where she had been. People, too, were easier to handle, absent the perpetual fear that had characterized her childhood. She met the young wizard and the repentant thief in the market and they took her for a holy warrior, which, she supposed, she was. They offered her a chance to travel far away and help a distant people, and after a moment's awkward introspection, she accepted. She worried about leaving the shrine untended, but the crane god lived in clouds, on mountaintops. The shrine was merely a place for him to rest when it was needed, much as it had been for her.
Events occurred, and seasons changed. When Anaia next returned to the city she was armored in plate-and-mail and wore a sky-gem as periapt at her throat. She bore a long scar on her left cheek; none who knew her from her youth recognized her then. The troubles began as trouble does, with rumor and tricks of perception. The gambling dens the thief had known were closed to him; the bedroom-houses that had courted Anaia as a child were stern and locked now. Evidence of the cabal was as much in dream and nightmare as it was in the waking world. Fearful script had been burned into the feet of the gods' statues and no children could be seen in the streets. Like a thunderclap, she recognized the signs.
They went to the home simply to speak, but Anaia was older now, and wiser, and recognized the cruelty in the Mothers' eyes and the hag's heart in their hands.
She started the fire in the pantry, where no child was allowed at any time. She left open two doors, a forgotten cellar hatch and a servants' door blocked for years by crates which small bodies could easily wriggle behind. They had been known to her in her childhood, when she would sneak out to the peace of the forest; the memory was fresh, the routine unchanged. She bore their howling curses as the children escaped into the forest and watched, unspeaking, as they fled into the dusky evening. They knew her name and swore their vengeance and she knew in her heart they meant it.
The thief was furious. They could have looked for evidence; no authority would justify arson set by rumor and nightmare. The wizard went quietly to his scrying and confirmed the dull suspicion: one lock of hair from Anaia's childhood pillow, one traded as an apprentice to a long-dead master, and one even now being bargained for from a woman whose love had turned to spite. That night, the dreams began, personally-crafted nightmares reminiscent of the Hell that the Mothers said Anaia was born from. The hags would make true their vengeance and, now, no one knew where they were.
But in a small and quiet place, dusty and old, a dozen children sheltered under the statue of a god no bigger than they. It wasn't a home, not really, but a place where they could rest as long as they needed and where every act of worship was correct.
The god that saved Anaia was a very small god. It had only one shrine, and only one priest, and was only as large as the hearts that held it. But, seen from the mountaintops, all things are small. A child's pain is equal in size to that of a dragon's, equally as valid, equally as deserving of care, freely given.
What is a nightmare, when one wakes in a place warm and safe?
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"What the HELL WAS THAT?" The bard yelled at the Paladin as the flames burn in the foreground.
The Paladin standing on his knees says nothing, his eyes blank mouth half open, still like a statue.
The Wizard slowly places his hand on the Bard.
"Dionys, I... I don't think that's Leo anymore"
"What do you mean Merlin I saw him with my own eye-" Dionys turns to the Wizard. The Wizard swiftly covers the Bards mouth with one hand and signals with the other to stay quiet.
A groan awakes them as they then turn to look at the Paladin. His armor now dull, skin pale and gray, deep blue veins snaking across his body as his eyes show a clear Cerulean glow.
"No i-it can't be" Dionys covers hers mouth as tears begin to well in her eyes.
"He's infected we have to leave, NOW!" Merlin summons a spell circle beneath the Paladin as the latter rips his Broadsword off the ground. Vines and tendrils of darkness rise from the ground entangling the sword and dragging it down, as the Infected Paladin shrieks and roars.
The Wizard grabs Dionys by the shoulders and drags her away.
"N-NO! WAIT PLEASE! LEO!! LEOOO!!!"
"That THING is NOT Leo anymore! RUN DAMN IT!! It already has used the banshee's call! We'll be surrounded if you don't move!" The Bard, sobs and screams as Merlin uses a binding spell to forcefully drags her away.
"NOOO PLEASE NO, I BEG OF YOU, WHYY?!" The Bard shrieks, Sobs as she watches the Paladin finally tear it's sword away from the Spell. The flames on the orphanage slowly turning blue as more infected begging to appear.
The thing begins to move it's mouth
"In.. Inan... INANIHIL!!!" The infected finally manages as it roars the name with anger and conviction, looking directly at the fleeing pair, a domain of stillness and death exploding out from it. The sound making the running Wizard almost fall as he staggers.
"No impossible! Of all infected why him?!"
The bards face immediately fills with fear. "Ok ok! I think we might really need to leave now"
Merlin scowls "Oh yes thanks Dionys! I wouldn't have known what to do without your input!"
He snaps his fingers and the bindings loosen from her. "Crap! I left my lute back there!"
"Damn it, just what we needed"
ROAR
The Paladin, once radiant with the golden glow of his God, now haunted with a clear Cerulean glow. Leo's Husk points at the pair and the infected around him immediately chase after. The Paladin following suit shortly after using its corrupted skills. The orphanage spawning more of its kin, like a factory of plagues.
The pair doesn't have time to warn the villagers, It seems the coming days will be quite long for them...
| 2022-11-13T20:06:14 | 2022-11-13T19:22:45 | 58 | 25 |
[WP] You are a wish lawyer. You help clients negotiate wishes from genies, faeries, dragons, and other wish granting entities.
You also do faustian bargains with devil
Edit: Woo! I finally made it to the top of writing prompts!
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The boy said, "My name's Johnny, and it might be a sin..." He stopped to think for a moment, then his face lit up as he went on. "But I'll take your bet! You're gonna regret-"
"Oh, I'm sure you will," I said, emerging from the forest.
Satan wheeled around and sighed. "Okay, must we do this *every* time?"
I nudged him away from the stump and placed my briefcase there instead. "Must I remind you of Johnson vs Devil?"
Satan sighed. "Robert still whines about that." He waved his hand. "Go on, then, Hilda."
I gave him a wry smirk before turning to the boy. I could already see he was terribly confused. First the devil himself shows up to challenge him to a violin duel, now a woman has shown up wearing a very smart suit. Likely, every woman he's ever known has only owned two or three print dresses and something posh for Sunday. Also likely, every woman he's ever known wouldn't dare to speak before a man.
This had to be blowing his tiny mind.
I opened up my briefcase. "Let's start with the most rudimentary concepts," I said.
"Rudi- whut?" Johnny said.
"Rudimentary," I repeated. "Basic." I took out my laptop; he goggled at it. I opened up the machine and sat down in the grass, which was quite comfortable. "Firstly, can you verify your age?"
"Erm..." He reached for his wallet and produced a driver's license.
I took the card and examined it closely. It was a real license, all right. I copied down his name, address, and birthday.
"Walker John McClendon of Cleveland, Georgia," I muttered as I typed. "According to his you're nineteen years old as of two months ago. Is that correct?"
"Erm, yes. Erm, do y-"
"Mr McClendon, are you married?"
"N-no. Ma'am, I-"
"Any children?"
"Wh- no. Why are you-"
"Here? Because you're about to enter a Faustian Wager, and I want to make sure all parties involved are aware of the implications."
"You wanna *whut*?"
I glanced at him over the laptop. "My job is to make sure you and Satan here..." I gestured lightly with my head toward the literal handsome devil behind me. "...both understand the consequences of your wager. Now, as you are over eighteen, you are, in the eyes of mortal law, an adult and therefore capable of entering into legally-binding contracts. You are also..." I finished saving the document to my hard drive and the cloud. "...allowed to gamble."
"Yes, I know that," Johnny said, looking a little annoyed.
"Good," I said. "Now, if I understand correctly, Satan here has challenged you to a musical duel. The instrument of choice is violins. If you win the challenge Satan has agreed to give you this violin..." I waved my hand at the shining, stringed wooden instrument. "...to do with as you please. It is made of pure gold and quite heavy. Pick it up, see for yourself."
Johnny hesitated before reaching for the violin. He grunted a little and ended up merely lifting the neck a few inches. Satisfied, he nodded to me and I resumed my work on the contract.
"Excellent," I said, tapping away. "Now, should you lose the wager, you agree that upon your exit from this mortal coil you will relinquish your immortal soul to Satan, to do with as he pleases. This includes building his army, turning you into a demon, or shoving pineapples up your ass every Tuesday for all eternity."
Johnny squirmed a little at the remark about pineapples. I heard a heavy sigh and felt Satan tap me on the shoulder.
"Hilda, could I see you for a moment?"
I motioned for Johnny to walk away. He wandered to the shade of an ancient oak to light up a cigarette. Satan sat down beside me, scowling.
"Hilda, you know I'm not really going to take his soul," he said. "I'm just fucking with the kid, trying to teach him a lesson. I'm the Morning Star, the Light-Bearer, for fuck's sake!"
"You claimed his soul as part of the wager," I reminded him. "You went so far as to say it in verse. You knew what you were doing."
"Did I take Robert Johnson's soul?" he said.
I rolled my eyes. "No. But you could have."
"I know I could have," Satan said. "I could have done a lot of things. You know I don't give a damn about that poor boy's soul."
"I know, I know," I said, tapping away again. "But I still want all this in writing."
Satan shook his head and rose from the grass. I saw him pick up his own fiddle and tune it carefully. I called Johnny back and asked him, "So, do you understand what's at stake here?"
Johnny crushed his cigarette into the dirt with his shoe. "The devil done challenged me to a duel," he said. "We gone play our fiddles to see who's better, me or him. If I win, I get that there golden violin and I can do what I like with it. If he wins - which he won't..." Johnny inclined his head to Satan, who returned the gesture. "...then he gets my soul when I die." Johnny turned back to me. "Yeah, I know what's at stake. And I accept."
I nodded slowly. "Very well. The contest shall be judged by four impartial spectators." And as I spoke their names each being appeared before us. "Charlie Daniels, Archangel Raphael, Wolfgang Mozart, and the Holy Ghost."
"Oooh, holy ghost, *holy ghost!*" moaned the Holy Ghost, who had gone to the trouble of donning a faded floral sheet.
Satan groaned and whipped the sheet off. "Holy Ghost, this isn't an episode of *Scooby Doo*," he snapped.
I watched the semi-translucent form of the Holy Ghost give him the ethereal finger. Charlie Daniels laughed and Mozart asked, "*Muss ich hier sein?*"
"Yes, you need to be here," I said, and Mozart groaned audibly. "You can go back to haunting Salzburg musicians when we're done here."
"Actually, he was following young Austrian college girls around," Archangel Raphael said, "and ogling them as they undressed."
"I'm honestly not surprised," I said after Charlie Daniels was done guffawing, and while Archangel Raphael glowered at the composer. The Holy Ghost tried to put the sheet back on and spook Johnny, who was staring at it and muttering, "Ain't that my momma's mu-mu?"
"Okay, I think we have everything ready," I said, saving the document one last time. I folded over the laptop to make it into a tablet and held up a stylus. "Who wants to sign first?"
Satan took the stylus and scribbled several of his names into the device. He tapped 'Save'. I watched Johnny take the stylus and hesitantly sign his full name as well. I snatched the stylus back, saved the document, folded up the laptop, pushed it into my briefcase, and snapped it shut.
"Well, this has been fun," I said, and rose from the grass as well. "You gentlemen have fun with your little wager."
Satan held his hands up. "What the shit, Hilda? You're gonna go through all that and not stick around for the contest?"
"You know I'm not into bluegrass," I reminded him. I watched his shoulders slump and felt a twinge of sorrow for the poor devil. "Oh, all right. But as soon as you're done, you're taking me out to dinner in Atlanta."
Satan's face lit up and he clicked his fingers. A violin and bow appeared in his hands. "You wanna go back to Kaffenio?" he asked. "I'm in the mood for Greek."
I sat down on the stump patiently. "You're pansexual," I said. "You're always up for Greek. Now get going, and get your little demon band to back you up. It's been two hundred years since you played. You could use the support."
Johnny suddenly looked much more confident. Satan gave me a reproachful look. Fire flew from his fingertips as he rosined up his bow. He dragged the bow across the strings and it gave an evil hiss. Then he summoned his buddies to back him up, and as they began to play Charlie Daniels gave a grunt of approval.
|
"We've been over this Karen. There is no way to wish for more wishes. You get one wish. One," I sighed.
Out of all my clients, she was the slowest to understand. Most people went for healing sick family members or flight. After all even genies got sick of calculating the richest person in the world to add a tiny amount extra. Besides the economy suffered from the constant shifting of gold. One day it is theirs and the next day someone else had the same pile of gold in their backyard.
"Remember you want something that will bring you joy or fulfillment. Don't ask for money. Or something you can get easily," Karen pressed her hands against my desk trying to pout her way into a bad decision.
"But I can't decide. I want everything!" Karen said. Her eyes bright but she still didn't understand I had no interest in her beyond the fee. Written into the wish were a standard payment of goods for my use. Generally food or supplies. Never money.
"As I mentioned before, if you are satisfied then I can set you up with my other magical contacts. So really there is a chance of other wishes," I hated repeating myself but Karen thought I'd change my mind. If she hadn't come in with an unknown genie, then I'd have refused her business.
However, she had managed to come into contact with one of the desert genies. Ancient magic that is untested. The challenge to provide even more elaborate experiences had me biting my tongue. I so wanted to kick Karen out of my office.
Yet, my regular clients would pay top dollar to live as a Sultan for a day. To experience life in the time of Pharohs or to taste handmade delicacies that no longer existed. Genies can only provide what they know. I had one on my roster that had been in space that had me set for life. If only another one hadn't seen me unlock my safe, then I'd be holed up and retired. Yet, that had set me back 10 years. Any money a genie saw could be granted to another.
A detail Karen couldn't understand. She had appeared with a bagful of cash. Anyone could have seen it outside. As we talked, I felt the familiar feeling of magic. Karen had been robbed. Her purse looked empty on the floor. Probably by one of my contacts, I smiled.
"If you really can't decide, then why not wish for gold or money. It's not for all my clients, but I think for your case it may be best," I said. At my words, Karen smiled.
"I just knew I could have it all with your help!" Her giggle sent a chill down my spine, but she had to learn the hard way. Wishes don't come easy.
| 2018-07-18T15:50:38 | 2018-07-18T13:56:06 | 48 | 11 |
[WP] You are the dark lord in a fantasy world however you rule a fair and just kingdom you just like to look evil while doing it.
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The door crashed opened as the frame around it disintegrated into kindling. The fur-clad boot that had kicked it open landed with a meaty thud on the stone floors inside the chamber. The wild-eyed warrior held his knicked and scarred blade in front of him as he strode into the room high atop the tallest tower.
"It wasn't locked," the slight man dressed in black said from across the room. The warrior stopped.
"What?" the warrior said.
"The door. It wasn't locked. All you had to do was turn the little handle," the slight man said, miming turning a door handle, "and gently push it open. Now I've got to get Maintenance up here and see about a new door with frame. This room'll be drafty for weeks."
The warrior stared at the slight man sitting in hid highbacked chair of deep red fabrics and dark solid wood. "That, uh, that will be no concern of yours wizard!" The warrior took another step into the room.
"Well of course it is. This is my office and you just knocked the door clean out of the wall."
"No, I, uh, I mean you'll be dead foul demon!"
"Why's that?"
"Sorry?" The warrior had stopped his advance still several paces from the man in the chair.
"Why will I be dead?"
The warrior looked at the yard of gleaming steel in his hand then back to the slight man. "Because I'm going to slay you."
"Ah, now we're getting somewhere. Let me guess, you're some hero from the moutains or the great plains or some other equally gods-forsaken place and you travel the lands seeking fame and fortune. You wandered into one of my neighbors' territories and heard about the 'evil wizard' controlling Dekara? Is that about the shape of it?"
The warrior paused. "... Yes. How come you to this knowledge? Consorting with demons, no doubt. Your very tongue convicts you!"
"You're the fifth one since the Winter Festival. What is it about Spring that makes all you farmboys with delusions of grandeur come storming in? Can't get a date?"
"Enough with your attempts to ensorcel me, tyrant! I shall -"
"Wait," the slight man said, shifting forward in the chair, "how about a deal?"
"I care not for what you might tempt me with for my heart is pure and I seek -"
"Slow down there blondie. Here's the deal. We talk. For ten minutes. I've even got a timer over on the desk. At the end of the ten minutes, if you still want to run me through with that overgrown cheese slicer, I won't fight. Won't even argue."
"What trick is this?"
"No trick. Just ten minutes. Surely you can spare that for a 'condemned man.'"
The warrior stared at the slight man then nodded.
"Excellent!" the slight man said as he stood from his chair and crossed to the balcony. "Come over here, I'll show you something."
The warrior, wary for traps and tricks, trod slowly and softly to the balcony. The wizard was standing on the balcony with his palms down on the railing. The warrior stayed nearer to the relative safety of the door.
Below the balcony, in the courtyard, were at least two dozen people staring up at the two men.
"Good morning all!" the wizard shouted. "We have another hero come to save you all from my evil tyranny!" The crowd laughed.
"So," the wizard continued, "I thought before he does me in that he would like to meet some of you. The Chamberlain summoned you here to talk with this young man. Let's see ... Ah, Tom the Miller, isn't it?"
"Yes guv!" shouted back a dusty man in the middle of the crowd.
"Well, Tom, perhaps you'd be good enough to tell the hero what happened last month after the terrible floods destroyed your mill?"
"It was like this, see? His Highness dere, gave me a very reasonable repair loan at a minimal interest rate. I got me mill up an' runnin' again in no time. He barely even asked for collateral, knowin' 'ow important me mill was."
"You there," the wizard shouted, "Anne the Baker, if I'm not mistaken?"
"Yesssir!" a young woman answered.
"Could you tell the hero how you were able to start your own business after the untimely passing of your beloved husband?"
"I couldn't very well get me bakery up and runnin' with all me kids underfoot, could I? So the Highness there, he made the whatchacallit- Child Care Tax Credit. So I 'ired out me cousin Brenda to watch the little ones and now I've just opened me fifth franchise in Kreun. They love me stickybuns in Kreun!"
The crowd mumbled an assent.
"But surely," the hero said, "you cannot stand to be so oppressed? This black-hearted magician consorts with demons!"
"Son," a white-hair stooped-back old man said, "we don't much care who he consorts with. We haven't had a war in this land since I was a lad. There's nary a kingdom in a hundred days' ride can make the same boast. When the plague came through six winters back, ours was the only kingdom that was laid low. King Reltir - him as before the wizard - had us at war and starving more years than not. Far as we're concerned, the wizard can consort with all the Lords of Hell so long as he keeps treatin' us fair and protectin' our lands!"
A cheer ran up through the crowd. The wizard turned to the hero and smiled.
"You've cast some kind of spell across this land." But the hero's voice wavered as he spoke.
"No, just basic economics. Do you know why we haven't been at war in at least a generation? It's the same reason one of my neighbors sent you here. They have no idea how to run their coutries and their people are getting tired of it. Did you know we have upwards of ten thousand people a year immigrating to our fair land? That's in spite of the rumors about me. If any one of those kingdoms started a war, their people would revolt. Not to mention the fact that I'd call in all the debts they owe us, which would bankrupt any one of them. So it's easier to find some - pardon the term - backwoods lummox to try to kill me. Keeps their hands clean and gets rid of me. Sorry my boy, but you've been duped."
The hero stumbled backwards until he flopped into a chair. His head was shaking "no" and his eyes were unfocused. "So ... So what happens now?" the hero asked.
Six months later, another hero wandered the dirt road leading to the wizard's kingdom.
"HOLD THERE!" a shout rose from the small shack at the edge of the forest to the side of the road. A young man strode out to meet the traveler. "What brings you to our fair land, traveler?"
"I come to slay the evil wizard who has for too long -"
"Hold there traveler. Before you invade, I'd like to tell you a story of another headstrong young hero. He invaded six months ago, had a conversation with the wizard, and then decided to stay on. He found work as a border guard, specializing in heroes."
|
Rupert had a tattoo, long hair, and seemingly permanent eye liner. This made him the 'Bad Prince' in a society that was much too nice for it's own good. Everyone had their opinion on the him but he never payed them any mind. He figured he would resurrect the art of heavy metal and had been working for a few years to get his band off the ground. That is until suddenly he was thrust into power. His father had decided to step down to start a potato farm. When Rupert asked him what he needed to know to run the kingdom his father replied, "Just stamp the papers on your desk in the morning. Everything kind of runs itself." "This was the problem with society," Rupert thought. Everyone was just too damn nice. There hasn't been war for centuries but if there were they would be wiped out. They were just sitting ducks. So he decided to start the military back up. People lined up in a hurry to be a part of this great plan. This was the proof Rupert needed that there was something people were longing for. The people that signed up though this was part of a play and that it was about time the government got into producing plays. Other nations saw his actions as trying to start up a war that no one was prepared to fight. They tried to convince him otherwise but Rupert stuck to his plan. After months of bootcamp and training they were ready for deployment. They had one of the most stellar war reenactments anyone could ever hope for. From all the readings of the history books Rupert had the force he had dreamed of. And the play was a success. It wouldn't be long before other countries started their own armies and put on plays of their own.
| 2017-06-12T08:32:01 | 2017-06-12T04:15:26 | 54 | 13 |
[WP] You're an immortal. She is a time traveller. Every now and then, you two pop into each other lives.
|
Just how long had it been? Can't recall; You tend to lose track of time after a few centuries pass. I remembered seeing her a while ago, though. Always near the important bits in history. It's funny, you know. Having lived for so long, I've seen history actually unfold -- hell, I've *been* parts of history.
You get to see patterns as they emerge, and this one...she was definitely something else. Our last meeting was a bit tense. She tried to kill me, I couldn't die. You can see where that went. I decided to lay low after that, convinced people I really *had* died. I figure that's the way it needed to happen.
Anyway, seeing her, I knew something big had to be going on soon. I figured it'd be nice to get some answers; I didn't know when -- or if -- I'd be seeing her again. Five minutes later, I was sitting down with her in the big city, having a cup of coffee in the early hours.
"So...", I began. "What exactly are you?"
"I could ask you the same. No matter when I am, you look almost exactly how you did before."
"You too. Immortal as well, or..?"
She chuckled. It was nice to hear. Definitely a better impression than the last.
"No, no, nothing like that. I see how you came to that conclusion, though."
She looked troubled. A hint of pain crossed her face for a moment. Something was on her mind, obviously.
"I'm, uh...not really supposed to tell anyone anything. It'd mess with the bigger picture, and things could sorta unravel here and there, but you...I think I can trust you with a secret. I'm sure you've got plenty of your own."
"I have a few stories."
She chuckled again. Definitely good to hear.
"I'm part of a temporal task unit. Think of us like white blood cells for time. We..."
I waited as she went through the words to herself. Something as big as that, it takes a while. I knew.
"It's like time has injuries that we need to patch up; It's just that we can't really *heal* them. The damage is already there and we can't do anything to change the flow, but we can help a little bit, make things not so bad."
"Huh. Not as simple as I was thinking, but...yeah, that's pretty cool."
"Cool, huh? I think so, too. It's what made me decide to do it."
"Mmh. So, I wanna get something straight. You...are...a time traveler."
"And you're immortal."
It was my turn to chuckle. She smiled back.
"Right, you got it. And you fix up some incidents. Big incidents that time itself can't heal."
"That's the gist of it."
"Uh huh. Figures why you're always at some pretty important bits."
"Oh! You remember me?"
"Kinda hard to forget the face of the gal who *tried* to kill me."
"Uh, sorry about that. Knowing what you know now, I hope it's easier to understand?"
"No trouble; I've already gotten past it."
We sat in silence for a little bit, each probably thinking about the other's story. Well, I mean, I know I did. Hard to really grasp at the time, but I came to terms with it.
I was the first to break the silence. "So something big's happening. Today."
She sighed. "In a few hours."
"Nah, let's not talk about that. You've got enough worry. Let's talk about you."
She waited as I pushed the words around in my head. Things like that take a while. She knew.
"When are you from?"
"...the end of time."
I stared at her.
"Yeah, see? I knew I'd get that look. Unbelievable, right? Right, well, we had the technology hundreds of centuries ago, but stuff was still going on. You can't get a good bead on what's bad or not while you're still *in* history. So, we had to wait until the end of time to do a proper job."
I couldn't think of the right words to say. No amount of pushing them around was going to make it easy. Good thing she kept going.
"It's sorta lonely, I'll admit. We know nothing more is going to happen, ever. Almost takes the fun away from living. But! I get to experience so many different time periods. I get to meet new people, see new things, explore SO many different worlds, so it makes up for it."
"Sometimes," she continued,"when I have the free time, I like to go out to a nice little spot, a couple of millennia ahead of here and a couple of galaxies away, to this beautiful little ocean planet. There's so many wonders there; I never get tired of looking at it."
She smiled at me, probably happy that she had an equal to talk to in one of these time periods.
"I hope I get to see it one day," I said with a wink.
A small beep interrupted us. She looked down at her wrist, noting the time.
"Damn, sorry. I've got to go. It'll be soon, and I need to be in position."
I wasn't finished. I wanted more answers. I wanted to talk more.
"You gonna come around some more? Maybe come by for a chat when you have the free time?"
She nodded, considering it.
"Yeah...I'll save your coordinates."
She fiddled with her gadget for a moment. Then she turned back to me.
"I didn't think about it, but you must get lonely too. You actually have to live through all these centuries...I can see why you want to talk with someone who understands."
She waved goodbye, and that was the last I saw of her.
--------------------------------------------
That was...the last I saw of her. Ever. I get the feeling something bad happened that day. It was huge. All over the news. Something about a bunch of bombs...cleared out about 30 city blocks. It's -- I can't get it off my mind. I've had eons to think about this. Literal eons. I watched the world end. I watched the galaxy end. I witnessed the eventual heat death of the universe, and here I am, and I *still* can't stop thinking about it.
The guy sitting across from me stares again. The information pad he has in front of him has slowly filled up. Makes sense. I've got a lot of stories, after all.
"It checks out, that's for sure. You've..."
The guy laughs. "You've really come a long way. I just can't wrap my head around why this woman would stick in your mind for so long."
I don't know either. There's something nagging at me, some bit of the puzzle I need to make sense of. Something she said.
"Look, she said -- she said that you guys were like white blood cells."
The guy nods. He's heard this before. He knows.
"And you guys are supposed to help patch up time. She's been doing a lot of patching. If my memory holds, she's been doing a *lot* of patching. And I've been doing a lot of living."
I think I know.
"Maybe it's my turn. Maybe there's an injury in time that *I'm* supposed to heal."
The guy nods at me. He sees sense.
"She left on that exact same mission you talked about maybe two hours ago. I can put you down on her coordinates at...Plus-Thirty minutes. I just hope you're wrong about all this."
I nod. I hope I'm wrong too. In case I'm not, then I can do more this time. I know more now.
And if I fail?
I think I won't mind seeing another few eons to have another crack at it.
|
Ever since the accident in my childhood, when my grandmother realized I had the family curse, I had been told this day would come. Hunters. Witches. Witch-hunters. Sick men who insist that they are vivisecting you *for science*. Cannibals. Nana warned me that our family curse is not immortality, it is a guaranteed horrific death. I looked up and saw my abductor sitting in a chair across the room. Oh god, I hope she is not a cannibal.
"Where am I?" I hissed as I began to come to, my head throbbing and my vision slowly clearing.
I recognized the small woman from before. Now in strange clothes, she got up from her chair and approached me with her hands extended.
"You're safe," said she in a calm voice. It was soft but not the same light giggle-inflected Latin she had when we met at the feast earlier.
"What did you give me?" I demanded.
"Oh just a mix of mead, drain cleaner, and a dash of cyanide in lieu of bitters," she answered, sitting on the hard floor next to me. "It might have been overkill, but that was the point. I had to know it was you," she continued.
"Are you satisfied with your proof?" I asked with a grimace. As far as I know the only way to truly kill me is to make it impossible for my body to heal, but I feel pain. I feel every wound, every death, even if I am able to heal. I didn't know what was coming, but if she knew who I was and to test my abilities with poison, nothing good was going to come. I should have known a daughter of Rome would have never wanted to share a drink with me. Now I doubted she was even Roman. Her accent was strange. This place, stranger. Strangest of all, she was addressing me in my language. My *old* language.
"I'm glad I didn't kill a random guy, yes," she replied with a sly smile.
"How do you know my language?" I asked. I never could have guessed her answer.
"You taught it to us so you would trust us. The future depends on it."
| 2018-05-05T12:18:54 | 2018-05-05T12:18:47 | 29 | 17 |
[WP] There is a group of time travellers who create small changes and rely on the butterfly effect to change history. Now they need to prevent World War 3 by making a janitor lose his job. Detail how this stops World War 3.
|
"Sir, I must ask," I uttered, hesitantly.
"Ah, the new arrival, welcome to the squad. Ask away, Sergeant." Said the Commander. He always spoke with a sense of pride in his tone.
"How is getting a 17-year-old janitor fired going to prevent another world war?" I enquired.
The whole team gave a humorous sigh, almost as if they were waiting for me to ask this very question. Well, the whole team except TG-03. He gave a groan which stank of disapproval. TG-03 is the oldest Sergeant in the squad, so I assume he has probably just got fed up with hearing newly assigned men asking this same question.
"Look, I'm gonna tell you what I tell every rookie that asks me that question. Don't ask. Not yet, anyway. It's nowhere near as fun if I tell you now. No, keep that question in the back of your mind until after the task is complete. Once you have returned, you'll be able to follow the subjects life through our Big Brother system and see for yourself."
"What? Big Brother system? Like something from that book?" I asked.
"Well, not really. All of the conspiracy theories of the government spying on everyone are completely misleading. Do you know how boring the average person's life is? Why would we *want* to spy on everyone? That doesn't mean we *can't* do it, just that we don't have an interest in doing it. Instead of spying on everyone, we use the Big Brother system to analyse and calculate persons of interest. These people have a significantly high probability of altering the course of the future. The best thing? It works across all of time. If someone from the 20th century is deemed a person of interest, we can retroactively monitor their entire life, even though we couldn't have at the time. Look, it's complicated. You'll see once you're back." explained the Commander. "Now, enough chat. Time to brief you all on the insertion. You have already read the boy's file, so all you need to know is that you will be dropped in at a local parking lot. As usual, you will be armed but you are not to engage anyone under any circumstances. Self-defence only. You will also each have a Universal Credit Card, which will give you access to an unlimited amount of funds in case you need them. No burgers this time, TG-04. You are to ensure the kid loses his job by any means necessary. Are you ready?"
I lost concentration after the first few seconds of the Commander speaking. I was thinking about how I was almost certain I had read that the Government had already successfully prevented WW3 using the Time Guider program a few months back. Right about the time when applications were open to be assigned to the program. I thought I remembered how an agent, mentioned only as TG-02, had single-handedly prevented the mission from going sideways by making an improvised explosive after the team failed to bring theirs from HQ. It was a whole big deal. The explosive specialist was sacked, that's why the position was opened for a new recruit. That reminded me, I hadn't seen TG-02 in a while.
"Hang on," I quickly remarked, "where is TG-02?"
"TG-02 won't be coming on this assignment." uttered the Captain, TG-01, ominously. I knew better than to ask further questions on the matter.
Before I knew it, we were in a parking lot. I was told during our initial briefing a few weeks ago that these jobs are incredibly simple. Most of the time you just pretend to be a client or customer and complain to the subjects superior and he sacks the poor bastard. Job done. This instance was no different. TG-01 and 03 pretended to be interested in a car, and when the subject walked by they started some kind of scuffle, resulting in the subject assaulting 03 and subsequently getting sacked. Me and TG-04 just had to keep guard. Neither of us was sure exactly what we were supposed to be keeping guard from, but we didn't complain. It was an easy cheque, after all.
Within a few hours, we were already back at HQ.
"All good? No complications?" Asked the Commander.
"You do realise we have a time machine, right sir? It's not like things can go wrong." jested the Captain. We all laughed.
"True that," replied the Commander. He had a good sense of humour. I'd never met a boss who was so decent to his inferiors when I served in the navy. I liked him.
"Now," he continued, "I didn't forget about my promise, 05. Head in next door and access a terminal if you are still interested in seeing the subject's life play out. The rest of you, good work. You are dismissed." I was 05. We were forbidden from knowing each other's personal details, like names, home states, backgrounds, you get the picture. Total secrecy.
Alas, I headed next door to access a Butterfly Terminal. I turned it on and entered my credentials. I now had access to view all of my previous assignments, which currently consisted of just the one. I opened the subject's profile and was presented with two options. 1 - '*Full Viewing' - view the subjects whole life following TG contact.* 2 - *'Expedient Viewing' - view the highlights and major events of the subjects life following TG contact.* I had no real interest in the subjects whole life, I just wanted to see how it prevented a world war, so I chose option 2.
The first clip was of the subject getting sacked. After he was sacked he returned to his house where his mother beat him for 'losing another job'. She then kicked him out of the house. The system then showed me a series of clips of the subject being involved in criminal activity. Drug dealing, burglary, mugging, it's as if the kid was trying to fill his felony Pokedex. As the clips went on, he got more and more efficient at his craft. One of the clips showed him come out of a shootout alive where he was heavily outnumbered. Another showed him taking down four cops who had him cornered in an alley. This guy was very good. He successfully evaded capture for 13 years. *This guy would make a great Time Guider,* I thought to myself jokingly.
Eventually one of the clips showed the subject being apprehended by the FBI following a homicide investigation. But instead of being brought to a station or FBI building, he was transferred to some kind of hidden safe house. The agents who had apprehended the subject stood outside. They were hesitant to get too close to the door. As the subject left the agents and entered the building, he was met with two men wearing slick, black suits and dark sunglasses. I couldn't really see their faces, but one of them was scarily familiar. They explained to him how they were with a joint task force between the CIA and the Delta Force, and that they would like to recruit him for a new program they were in the process of initiating*.* A program eerily similar sounding to the Time Guiders program, with a few discrepancies. They warned him that failure to comply would result in his permanent detention. I definitely recognised the voice of the taller man from *somewhere.* The subject protested, but ultimately the options he was left with was either helping them or going to prison for the rest of his life. He chose the former.
"We are very glad that you chose to work with us, ---"
The video cut out for half a second, then returned.
"You will no longer be known as ---"
The video cut out again, before returning almost straight after. I thought it was the connection.
"You will no longer speak of yourself as an individual. You have no past. You have no friends. You have no family. You are part of a team. You will identify yourself as simply---"
The screen went black.
|
"I shot him."
"YOU SHOT HIM?" The chief's angry. I've never seen it before but it sure looks like anger.
"Yup."
"WHAT'S THE FIRST RULE OF THE FLUTTERBY PROJECT?" Seriously this was a first. He's prone to getting flustered and everyone who works with him knows he's got a short temper, but he was really angry this time.
"Don't directly hurt anyone from the past, even for the sake of the mission."
"SO THEN WHY THE HELL DID YOU SHOOT HIM? DO YOU KNOW WHAT KIND OF TROUBLE THE TRAVEL TEAM, NO THE WHOLE PROJECT IS GOING TO GET IN?" He paused for about half a second before deciding he'd rather keep yelling at me than hear my reason. "WHAT HAPPENED TO THE PLAN? WERE YOU NOT PAYING ATTENTION DURING THE DEBRIEFING?"
"I was."
"WHY DIDN'T YOU FOLLOW IT THEN? IS IT THAT HARD TO PRETEND TO BE A MANAGER?"
"In a top secret research facility, yeah a little bit."
"WHAT ABOUT PLAN B?"
"I wrecked the kitchen after it was cleaned, they even fired a janitor. It just wasn't the right janitor."
"PLAN C?" He spit out frantically.
"Another janitor took the sedative. She got fired too."
"D, E, F??"
"There was a lot of janitors."
He took a long pause, the gross blood veins on his forehead receded.
"Well at least you succeeded, I guess Lorance must have quite or something. His genius never discovered and uranium-241 never created." His composer slowly returning.
"Where did you shoot him anyway?"
"The head."
"..."
There's the red again.
"I was getting impatient, I needed to get back before eight."
"You were there through a TIME MACHINE and can get back WHENEVER YOU BLOODY WANT" Murmuring furiously. "What is SO imporTANT?"
"Rick and morty's back on air tonight."
"Shit, really? Did we get the lounge tv working again?"
"I don't know, I've been wondering that all day."
| 2019-09-22T09:33:52 | 2019-09-22T09:20:39 | 69 | 30 |
[WP] The genie granted your wish: to be able to understand and speak every language. Your mind is flooded with thousands upon thousands of dead and living languages, human and alien alike. But, most surprisingly, you also now understand the operating system running the universe.
|
"I don't feel any different."
The genie stifled a laugh "As true as Orion's bow you certainly sound different!" She paused, a wide waiting grin spread across her face "Really, nothing? It's a turn of phrase, we're speaking my tongue."
I stood back for a moment, mouthing the words silently to myself, feeling the shapes I made with my tongue. "Well rub a jug... rub a jug? Your mystical language sounded much more impressive before I knew what you were saying. Is this how it works? Like some sci-fi space explorer I just naturally communicate with those around me? I thought it would be cooler."
"Oh it's much cooler, every language that has ever been or ever will be, every dialect from every century, every intelligence and every corner of the galaxy and beyond; all of them sit neatly in that tiny little mind of yours, waiting for you to work out how the hell to use them. You'll never uncover most of them, the others should make for some excellent entertainment." She couldn't help it, her obvious joy gave way to a gleeful chuckle "I can't wait to tell them what I've pulled off this time!" All of a sudden she was gone. There were no grand theatrics, just one moment she was there, the next she was not. It was so sudden I clamped my eyes shut momentarily, disorientated by the change.
Opening my eyes I took stock of my surroundings. there wasn't much to look at, grey walls and old tarmac. Restaurant bins gave off a pungent sweet scent masking the smell of the restaurant itself and there was little sound beyond the steady drone of an extractor fan and distant clatter of kitchenware dropping on stainless steel. I had chosen to summon the genie down a side street about a hundred meters from my school. I hadn't meant to use her this way, I just really couldn't fail Spanish again and Spanish alone seemed such a waste of a wish. My stomach groaned as I realised where I was, the back entrance to Antonio's Pizzeria, not the worst place to test a power. It did feel like a power.
Antonio's was a bit of a dive, it had opened some time in the mid eighties and nothing had been changed or updated in the place since. Most of the windows were blocked off with decorative wine corks and it was hard to see once you got inside, I'm not sure this was a bad thing though. It was a small room with no seats, and no windows other than what looked onto the main street and the small hatch into the kitchen. The only furniture was a tall panelled counter, the only decoration hung over it, a chalkboard menu. Antonio himself was standing behind the counter when I walked in, all 6' of the willowy old man in his dubiously clean chefs jacket and apron . "Ready!" He looked at me expectantly, when I didn't respond he gave me an encouraging smile, almost fatherly.
"Huh? Oh" I looked to the menu board and read "One slice of pepperoni, the spicy one."
"Spicy for the little testis here." He cried back to the kitchen, before looking to me and smiling kindly.
My right hand shot up, palm inward, as I gesticulated my response "Who the cabbage are you calling a ball?" My eyes widened, Antonio's eyes widened "What the fuck am I saying?"
That was just the start. Do you know what people say to each other? I don't just mean what they communicate, but what they actually say? Human language is just nonsensical. But that wasn't the worst aspect of my gift, the worst aspect was I couldn't control it. You know when you see two bilingual people talking, people who speak the same languages, and the conversation just weaves a patchwork of words, each plucked for their suitability or ease of recollection to create a dialogue which is a hybrid of both? I have thousands of languages in my head, each with equal prominence. You can't speak a sentence in a human language without incorporating several others. I could barely hold a conversation for years without accidentally diverting into Ancient Greek, Latin, German, or any of the other languages we built English from. I still mix up dialect and era pretty frequently.
However, one aspect of the wish gave me solace, not only had I become a lexicon of all language evolved in intelligent species, I also possessed all languages created by them. It took me a while to realise, it wasn't until I ran out of money in fact, I thought coding would be a way to work without having to talk to anyone. Once I tried to learn I found out that I already knew how to code. What's more I found computer languages so much more straightforward than natural ones, they're just logical. From then on I was comfortable. I was earning decent money, not all of it legal but it's hard to empathise when you can't really interact with people face to face. I was even starting to come to terms with what the genie had done to me, it wasn't so bad having something to do.
It was even better having something you're not just good at, but the best at. I built my own operating system, how many people can say that? And mine is perfect. I still try to improve it, even though that should be impossible. But pushing what is possible has lead me to discover my first language outside of the human experience.
My pet project for a time was optimising storage, I really didn't want to have to buy another drive. Once I hit a wall I just kept pushing and pushing, eventually in a moment of frustrating I smashed out two lines of code, hit enter, saw the error message and nearly broke my PC in frustration. It was only later I realised I had an additional petabyte on my SSD. The language I had typed was not of human creation, as far as I can tell my computer didn't even register the information, but something did. We are in a simulation, and I am starting to see its very building blocks. I don't know where this is going to lead, but I do know that someone with a mastery of reality doesn't exactly have to feel ashamed or embarrassed for mixing up their languages. I know I won't have to hide in this room any more, I won't have to hide from anyone.
|
"...so... The universe is running on-"
"Windows, yes."
"...So is this like the Matrix or something?"
"What?"
"You know, we're all living in some kind of virtual reality world and now I have to bust everyone out?"
"What, are you high?? No!! Everything around you is real, we just have it hooked up to a computer so it'll run!"
"Oh."
"Idiot! Make your last wish so I can get away from you!!"
| 2018-10-18T14:25:57 | 2018-10-18T12:12:32 | 53 | 16 |
[WP] Within the wreckage, the villain finds a tiny baby. Realising what he's been doing, he picks up the child and takes it home. After a week of looking after the infant, the villain gets a visit from his nemesis. "There have been no evil schemes all week, I was worried about you! What happened?"
|
Harold couldn't believe what he was doing. A *welfare check*, on his greatest nemesis. Most heroes wouldn't think much of their villain counterpart going radio silent for a while; they'd just assume they were planning up for their next big scheme, building robots or new weapons or else just thinking about the best way to strike, the best way to get under a hero's skin and all that.
Harold knew better. Crim - that is, the Crimson Knightmare - didn't *go quiet* like this. Especially not after a successful attack that had left a swath of destruction behind her. She'd have contacted him to gloat by now, to really drive it home that he - Solaris - had failed once again to stop her from having her way and leveling part of the country.
He was thankful it had all been rural areas she'd gone after - farms, and the homes around them. If she'd gone for a city, the death toll would have been higher, *much* higher. Her powers had grown significantly, that much was clear.
He slowly flew around the isolated mountain lair - the Crimson Keep - and looked out through the night sky for the usual waves of drones that he'd have to convert to scrap...but none came. *Very* odd. She would never just let him come up on her lair like this, *never*. He flew lower, and lower, still circling, waiting for the response. Drones. Anti-air weapons. Even for her to fly out *herself* and face him down.
Nothing.
*Something is very wrong,* he thought.
He gave up on the evasive maneuvers, and flew right down to the large drawbridge entrance, pulling it open enough to slip inside, as he had done several times before. He was no stranger to the Crimson Keep, having broken in at least three times, not to mention having *escaped* at least twice. The only thing that kept him from leveling it was the unspoken agreement between Crim and himself - they *knew* each other's identities, and where to find each other's homes. And they both knew that doing anything with that knowledge was a path to mutually assured destruction. Her lair got to remain intact so that his did too; her identity a secret, so that his would also remain one.
As he moved through the halls, though, floating lightly above the ground to avoid the sound of footsteps, he heard something he never thought he'd hear in this place, ever.
The sound of a baby crying.
His face slowly became stony as he moved through the keep towards the sound, and he paused at an open archway, peering around it to get a handle on the situation he was about to walk into.
There was Alyssa - not the Crimson Knightmare, but just Alyssa Knight, dressed in a pair of rumpled sweatpants and a tank-top that looked like, perhaps, it had been vomited on at least once. Her long red hair was a mess, sticking up in the back, by all appearances having not been brushed in at least a day. She was hovering over a high-chair, one hand clutching a jar of baby food, and the other a tiny spoon. He could hear her speaking to the infant sitting in the chair, desperation clear in her tone.
"Please...just eat? I don't...I don't know what's wrong, little one, I'm *trying*, please...you have to be hungry, right? That's what the crying means, at least when you don't need a fresh diaper?"
The baby responded by crying louder, its face red and its tone ragged. Harold felt like his eyes were going to pop out of his skull. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. The Crimson Knightmare, one of the top ten villains in the world, a woman who could utterly destroy an entire continent within a day...doting over a baby, fretting because it was crying.
He couldn't stay quiet. He stepped around the corner, chuckling to himself. "Having trouble, Crim?"
Alyssa wheeled around to look at him, her eyes glowing vibrant red, and her voice dripping with anger as she said, "*...you!* What are *you* doing here?" She went to raise her hands, but looked down at them as she did, almost surprised to realize she still had the spoon and the food in them. She set them down quickly on the high-chair's tray, and lifted her hands, the red energy surrounding them, her feet leaving the ground--
"I wouldn't--" Harold began, but before he could finish, the baby had flailed one of its arms into the jar of food, which flew to the floor under Alyssa's feet, clattering and rolling away with its contents now spilled on the dark stone.
"Oh, *fuck,*" Alyssa said, floating to a side and touching down again, looking down at the spilled food. "That was the last one, *damn it*, that was so *stupid!*"
Harold put his hands up, a gesture of peace. "Easy, Lys. I'm not here to cause trouble. You went dead quiet after your attack on Hayton Farms and the, ah, surrounding area. I came to make sure nothing unfortunate had happened to you - it's not like you not to gloat."
Alyssa glared at Harold, then looked back at the baby, her fierce expression becoming concern as she realized the baby was still crying its heart out. "Why...why won't she stop? What am I not doing?"
Harold cocked an eyebrow, and looked between her and the baby. "I didn't know you had a kid, Crim. Since when?"
Alyssa looked back at him, and her expression wasn't the usual hate she regarded him with. There was something else there - shame? Remorse, maybe?
"...about a week," she said quietly.
"A week? But...that's when you..." Harold looked at her, weighing the implications of what she'd said.
Something seemed to break in Alyssa, and she put her hands up to her head, fingers grasping at her scalp like she was going mad. "I couldn't just *leave* her, I couldn't, just *crying* there in the wreckage, by the time anyone got to her she'd have been *dead* and that would have been *my* fault! All because I wanted to make a *point* about how terrible Hayton was, how they deserved to *suffer* for the things they do!"
There were *tears* in Alyssa's eyes, genuine tears, as she sank to her knees, not even caring about the baby food that she was kneeling in.
"So I brought her here, but I realized I didn't *have* anything to take care of a baby, because I never *wanted* to have a baby, so I had to go *get* all this stuff, clothes and a bed and a high-chair and food and all of it, and I have *no idea what I'm doing*! And now she won't stop *crying* and *nothing* is working, nothing!"
Harold couldn't keep the laugh in as he shook his head. "Welcome to parenthood, Crimson Knightmare. From what I've been told by *my* mother, most parents have no idea what they're doing. But..."
|
I arrived at his door prepared for the worst, prepared for any sort of evil scheme or maliciously concocted plan. Then I hear it, a cry, a cry unlike any other I've heard around him. It sounded shrill, peaky and very, very confused. I acted before I could think, the door came down easy under my foot, I'd kicked down worse trying to get to him before, a wooden door was nothing. But as I raised my fist to strike the man I had sworn my life against every single neuron fired at once and at all once I realized what I was about to punch.
A baby. An infant.
Something weaker than the thinnest drywall but at the same time stronger than 20 feet of steel, because I could not punch it, I *would not* punch it. A million thoughts raced through my head: hate, anger, but most of all fear. Then, again, all at once I came to my senses and there he was, crouched over the baby like a father over a child. He didn't have his mask on, he didn't have his cape on and he wasn't the one floating an inch of the ground wreathed in anger and flame... in front a baby... in a burning house.
​
Who was the villain then, in that one moment, I think about that sometimes... especially when I visit their graves.
| 2022-10-20T11:43:48 | 2022-10-20T10:23:56 | 155 | 34 |
[WP] An inverse Wizard of Oz, where a girl from a fantasy wakes up in a realistic world after a tornado hits her home.
|
Alanna crept through the undergrowth. Each step followed by a slurp of soggy mud and a rustle of dead leaves. She was usually lighter on her step; quicker in her thoughts. Wiping her brow on her sleeve, smears of red mingled with the sweat. Her muscles burned with exhaustion. She'd never been this far from home.
Presque vu wriggled through her senses, her mind straining and on the verge of providing her with some greater insight – an edge over her adversaries, perhaps.
She knew this place – the shaggy pines sprouting out of the wet moss, the skeletal birches clawing at the moon, and her own ragged breathing – she’d been here before, but when?
A raven cawed and landed in a treetop above her, sending a spray of tiny droplets through the foliage. The Third Sigil – *The Lonesome Watcher*. She’d been in the game long enough to know all the omens by heart, and yet she pulled up her sleeve, revealing a row of images tattooed into the pale flesh of her arm. The Watcher glowed through her skin. Her knuckles whitened around the grip of her dagger.
Another few steps along the animal trail. Her eyes fixed on the bird. This far into the uncharted wilderness beyond the outer reaches of the kingdom, nothing but the strange signs and your own gut could be trusted.
She lifted her bracelet and glanced into the reflection. Behind her, the thin path snaked into a gullet of bristly sticks and overhanging branches. The shadows shifted in the strange moonlight, reaching longingly at her and each other.
“Come on,” she whispered. “I know you’re out there.”
Her breath steamed out of her mouth in wisps of liquid silver. Everything had pointed her here. Her months of research at the university, the rumors snapped up the royal court, the last few seekers she’d cut up for information. Apart from her ability to hide in plain sight, patience was Alanna’s number one forte. Yet, the weeks of traveling through these lands had put her on edge.
The Great Game, as they called it, had been running for centuries. Its veins – deep and thick with secrets, myth, and intrigue – coiled beneath the surface of the kingdom, influencing politics and religion alike.
*Everyone’s a player…*
Alanna blinked a few times, trying to rid her eyelashes of the droplets. It was a valuable lesson to keep in mind.
Slowly, she approached the small cottage that stuck out of the untouched wilderness like a sore thumb. The logs, dark and slick with fungi and lichen, looked like they’d been here longer than the forest itself.
*…not everyone’s playing.*
A tiny light gleamed in the window – a single candle, trembling inside a bubble of light. The door creaked as Alanna pushed it open. Despite the excitement swelling in her chest, she forced herself to remain sharp and meticulous.
Apart from the dusty floor and the candle on the windowsill, the cottage was empty. Alanna carefully checked the floorboards and the walls. She shook her head and ran her fingertips over the candleholder. It was shaped like the flowing mane of a lion, with an open mouth filled with fangs biting into the candle.
Her breaths shallow and her hand firmly on her blade, she peered into the dirty glass. At first, only the twisted trees outside filled her vision. But then, in the warm reflection, she saw the face of a child. Auburn locks and freckles like sparks from a blacksmith’s hammer. Thin lips and bright gray eyes. Alanna felt her pulse racing in her chest.
Behind the girl, a table was set for dinner. Steaming pots and plates for three. One candle stood at the center – the lion candle – and through the flame, she saw an old man in a rocking chair. His white beard flowed over his chest like a foaming wave. His eyes were closed.
“Found you!” Alanna said.
The old man bobbed his head, and his eyes opened. “It appears you did.”
“I want your name.”
“Are you sure?”
Alanna swallowed hard, feeling the blood drain out of her face. She’d been a seeker for over fifteen years. Her list of names filled two vaults of the Marizene Bank. Every hidden name she’d discovered had led her to this.
“Of course I’m sure!”
“Very well,” the old man said, darkness creeping into the wrinkles in his face. “But I’m warning you. My name will reveal the Fourth Sigil. Are you ready for that?”
Alanna scoffed and crossed her arms. The young girl in the reflection did the same. “There’s no Fourth Sigil. Don’t lie to me, old man.”
“Oh, but there is, my girl, there is! And so many more...” The old man rose out of the rocking chair and shuffled over to the window. He stood so close that Alanna could almost feel his breath on her ear. “There are secrets so hidden... names so long forgotten… places so far away from civilization… You think you’ve won, Alanna Crynn, but you’ve merely breached the surface.”
“How dare you say my name! I found you first… you don’t have the right!”
“Oh, but in the Great Game, there are no rules – not if you *really* want to play. Do you want to play, Alanna Crynn?”
Alanna took a deep breath. “I do. Give me your name.”
“Jeremiah…” The old man smiled and leaned in closer as the reflection started to fade in the window. The tiny hairs on Alanna’s arms shot up. “*Crynn.*”
As the man rose from his chair, the wind howled through the cracks in the cottage. Alanna's long auburn hair whipped around her. The old man’s face fell away, turning into dust, merging with the gusts that blasted through the room, lifting cutlery and furniture into the air.
Spinning, whirling, twirling.
The world around her faded. The forest became a gray-green blur. The moon and stars flickered across the night sky, rearranging themselves in strange new constellations.
Finally, the candle gave out, casting everything in darkness.
Alanna dug her fingers into the ground, trying to rid herself of glaring vertigo. Instead of wet moss, her hands found grass and mud. Groggily, she looked up, the world still a carousel around her. But even through the blur, she saw that things had changed.
She was no longer in the uncharted wilderness of Myron. In the distance, out of a flat field of manicured grass, rose a mountain of lights. She gasped at the sight and pulled up her sleeve.
The old man had been right.
The spires and towers of a new, fourth sigil twisted around her arm, glowing through her skin. *A City of Glass.*
***
If you liked this, check out r/Lilwa_Dexel for more!
|
The weekly tornado had been *weird*. It was grey, for one thing, and it didn't carry anything in it. It was just a swirling funnel of dust and wind, without even a single frog in sight. At that point, Dorothy should have steered her house out of the way. Well, they do say that hindsight is always perfect after the event has happened. Or if you've got eyes in the back of your head.
This strange new world was *weird*. The birds couldn't sing properly, only whistling notes that sometimes seemed to begin a melody but would then rapidly lose tone, and the grass was only green and sometimes brown. Dorothy's shiny red shoes would not work either, not even when she clicked their heels more than ten times.
Looking down, Dorothy did not know where to go. There were no bricks in the road, and the dry, cracked earth was certainly not the bright shade of yellow that she was used to. No friendly creatures approached to give her any advice either.
Shrugging and beckoning for her ever-faithful Toto to follow, Dorothy began her journey, the clawed toes of the dragon leaving behind distinct prints in the earth that marked the remains of a sedan crushed under a house, red slowly seeping out and staining the dirt.
​
| 2018-12-27T07:47:18 | 2018-12-27T06:48:03 | 82 | 17 |
[WP] Officially, you're a weak, D rank villain. Unofficially, you're one of the strongest beings on the planet that is secretly employed to "train" fledgling heroes by giving them an easy first real fight. But one day an A rank villain crashes your heist and you must protect your "students".
|
I fondly remembered my first year on this job. Getting my ass kick by amateurs plenty of times, being called names because I'm supposedly a D-Rank villain, right before I pulled a couple of tricks on them to learn a valuable lesson.
Months later, a handful of the new heroes pick up my facade. These small bunch all ask the same kind of question, "Why are you doing all this for?" Naturally, I gave them the same answer; "To teach how to be a proper hero."
While most were often perplexed and avoided me as such, three of them were surprisingly eager to learn more from me. They were usually the first to arrive when I cause a 'scene', and after our 'duel', they would meet me secretly to exchange notes. I was more than glad that they decided to keep their lips seal on my secret job, and they became my 'students'.
​
I wished we would go back to those days.
​
It was supposed to be a simple bank heist. I hired a couple of lackeys, who are aware of my job and the purpose behind the heist, and hit one of the largest banks in the world. As usual, panic ensues, police arrives, and my students swoop in to stop me.
"Stop right there, evildoer!" Yung, known as Soundwave, cried. He's the one delivering the cheesiest lines, but he's also the brightest one among the three. "Surrender, and no one gets hurt."
"Oh, you know I wouldn't do that so easily," I sighed.
"Then, we have no choice but to take you on!" Sheila, aka Brightlight, roared, her arms coated with bright yellow flames. She's the aggressive and the arrogant one, but after a couple of hurdles, she was more willing to learn from me.
She tossed a couple of fireballs at me, which I sidestep easily. The fire immediately strike down one of the pillars, setting it ablaze.
I gave her a glare, which silently says, "What did I tell you about recklessness, Sheila?" Fortunately, she wasn't dumb to not notice my signal. She made an apologetic face, keeping her power down to safer levels.
Then, Trisya, the smartest and the most humble of the three, patted Sheila on her shoulder. "Don't worry, we can talk it out from here," she assured her. Sheila wasn't used to a more diplomatic solution, but she reluctantly nodded, and let her friend took over.
Trisya, better known as The Hive, slowly walked towards me. "Sir, I know you must be desperate," she said to me persuasively. "But you don't have to do this. You have a choice to be better, sir."
I couldn't help but to let out a smile. As always, she would took a non-violent approach to stop her opponents, and only takes drastic measures when the situation calls it. She'll sympathise with the villains, and would do anything to end any conflict peacefully.
If more heroes acts like her, the world would have been a more safer place.
A bright explosion behind my students broke that happiness almost immediately.
"No!" I cried, dropping the bags of money and rushing to them. Yung and Sheila made it out relatively fine, but Trisya... her back was burnt from the explosion. She was shivering, sobbing from the throbing pain.
Looking outside, nearly all the policemen were bleeding on the ground, their weapons robbed from their pouches.
"Oh, that's surprising."
An A Rank villain descended from the sky, his dark clock engulfed with his shadow-like powers. "I thought you're a pathetic villain who robs convenience stores, but what do I see? A villain tending to the injuries of three B-Rank heroes?" he cackled.
"Folklore!" Sheila roared to the enemy, her arms erupting into a blaze. She was more than ready to take him on, and so was Yung, warming up his voice to attack.
"Oh, ain't that cute," he mocked. "Two young heroes ready to take me on. Come on, then. Do your best, dear heroes!"
Despite my students' skills, I know they were not ready to fight an A-Ranker like him.
No, it was my fault that I haven't prepared them enough. I fail to see some villains will never change, and some situations cannot be solve in a peaceful manner. Looking down on my dear quivering student, I now realize I have failed her.
No... no more.
"Sheila! Yung!" I roared. Their eyes turned to me, confused and anxious. "Take care of Trisya. I'll deal with him." I gently lend Trisya onto Yung's arms, and brushed off the debris from my shoulder. Folklore laughed, "Oh? You will deal with me?!? How outrageous!"
With a confident smirk, he tossed another poweful grenade right on us, determined to wipe everyone out.
He did not anticipate the grenades to be teleported right behind him.
The powerful blast pushed him down to the ground, breaking his face into a bloody mess. Folklore gasped, unable to grasp the change of the situation. "H-How?" he croaked. I marched towards him, anger seething through my teeth.
Folklore pulled something out of his cloak, and toss another grenade. I caught it immediately, and let it explode on my hand. The explosive power got absorb into my palm, heat surging up into my arms before it lays rested in my body.
"Spacial Storage, huh?" I muttered, and Folklore flinched. "All this time, I wondered how you managed to keep an arsenal of explosives and weapons in your pocket. I assume your cloak is hiding some floatation device to make you seem like you're flying."
Before he tried to grab another weapon from his 'pocket' I grabbed onto his wrist. My hands began to burn into his wrist, letting a eldricth scream out of him. "L-L-Let me go!"
"Then, surrender, and apologize to these heroes!" I demanded. "Unless you want to walk away without hands."
"W-What are you?!?" he cried, sobbing from burns on his wrist.
"APOLOGIZE!"
Folklore eventually yield, and I let go of his arms. As promised, he pathetically bowed to my students and apologized. After a couple more minutes, back-up arrived to apprehend the villain. My three students were tend to, with Trisya's back fully healed by someone specialized in healing.
But...that was the least of my worries.
My secret was out. Everyone saw me, the public, the media. My students. They know what I was capable of.
Now, everyone knows that I have the power to fight S-Rank villains.
It was on that day that our world set it's path to a war, as villains band together to challenge me and my fellow heroes, to tip the balance of both sides.
It was on that day where my students and I would soon face hell on Earth to save as many lives as we could.
It was on that day that I was dubbed 'The Ender'.
​
Oh, how I wish I have the power to go back to the old days.
|
"The first rule is protect the innocent, if I put the hostages in danger, yeah, a small fire maybe?"
I thought to myself as I gently opened one eye to examine the room. The villain continues his monologue to the start up hero as I think quietly to myself, slumped over pretending to be out cold in the rubble.
"No, fire won't work, there is no fuel."
The villain began to laugh maniacally.
"Shiiiiit... He's finished his monologue."
My eyes opened wide as I sprung into the air and bounced around like a leaf on the wind.
"Don't you fuckin' know who I am you two-bit fuckin' WAAAAAAAAAAAGHHH!"
The sonic boom of my yell stunned everyone in the bank. I charged at the hero, almost cradled the boy into my arms. I could feel the panic come over him as every muscle seized up and the breath left his lungs. Maybe I went a little overboard but he needs to learn and I need to stop that A-Rank. Regardless, I hope he can get the blood out of that white suit. I continued to arch around towards that A-Rank, hadn't broken the sound barrier just yet so minimal damage to the hostages. The peak of my forehead met with the Villain's nose like a hammer through a cake. I could feel the bone, teeth and cartridge wrap around my face. Oh God, please let it wash out...
| 2021-06-23T10:55:56 | 2021-06-23T08:32:27 | 133 | 52 |
[WP] You run a tattoo parlor. Every couple of weeks, the same customer comes in, always requesting the same tattoo: an additional tally mark on an ever growing cluster of tally marks.
|
The steady buzz of the needle gun filled the air as I worked. There was no one else in the parlor - just me and her.
"Busy month?" I said, glancing down at her.
She nodded, leaning back.
That was how these things normally went. She never had a schedule - it seemed totally random at first. She'd just walk in out of the blue, about once a month, and plop herself down in one of the chairs. She'd glare at me with those giant blue eyes of hers, tapping a finger like I was holding her up.
It taken a while to figure it out, but I pieced it together, little by little - she never entered the shop if there was anyone else there. She didn't want to wait. She didn't want to be seen. Her dark hair was cropped to just below her chin, hiding her face, and her jacket was a plain, dusty green fabric that my eyes just slipped right off.
She *didn't* want to talk - at first. When I'd first walked over to her with a nod and a smile, offering her my name, she'd just rolled her eyes.
I could remember the exchange, clear as day.
"What do you want to get?" I'd said, plopping down on a stool. "If you give me what you're thinking, I can start putting some designs together. We could-"
"Just give me a line." Her voice had been soft, but there was steel underneath its low tones.
I'd blinked, tilting my head to the side in confusion as I stared at her. "A...A line? I'm not sure I understand."
She'd sighed, the sound irritated and loud enough I jumped. I hadn't realized how close I'd gotten, even in the brief exchange we'd had. How much she'd pulled me in.
Even as I flinched, though, she'd just grabbed the pen sitting on my notebook, drawing a neat little tick mark on the paper. "That." She shrugged her jacket off, her skin shining white under the harsh fluorescent light.
I'd swallowed, feeling my ears burn as my eyes snapped back to her face. The tank top she wore was as utilitarian as the rest, but she wore it well.
Her finger jabbed towards her arm. "That. Right there." Those piercing blue eyes stared up at me, as though daring me to say anything.
"O-Oh," I'd said, leaning back. "That's all? Well, we should talk about how much that'll-"
Without a word, she'd dug deep in the pocket of her coat. A moment later, a wad of cash had slapped down on the table next to us.
That was that. I'd gotten a good location, something respectable. A place I didn't feel unsafe coming to every day. But, the city had bad parts like any other, and I was pretty used to the clientele. I'd seen the outline of the knife in her pocket, the scars on her hand. I could have asked questions - but why?
I took the money. And I'd traced the tiny little line onto her arm right where she pointed. She'd pulled her jacket back on, striding from the shop without another word. I hadn't even had time to put the gun down, let alone get up.
So it started.
The lights overhead were blindingly bright. A smile tugged at my lips as I traced the last piece of her latest line, inspecting my previou work.
It had started as one. Of course, it had been nearly four years since that first line.
"Do you want me to touch those up?" I said, my voice ringing through the deserted parlor. I eyed the other lines, the work she'd given me over the years. There were dozens of them, grouped together in haphazard clusters. Some were just beginning to fade.
"No, that's fine," she said, glancing up at me with those perfect blue eyes again. A crooked smile tugged at her lips. "It's fine if they disappear. I don't need them anymore."
"Your choice," I murmured, meeting her gaze for a second longer before turning back to her arm. As the months had turned into years, she'd told me what those lines meant, in bits and pieces. What they were. Who they were. She'd showed me her knife, silvered steel laid into a beautiful, lacquered handle. I'd tried not to stare at the red soaked through it.
It should have shocked me. It should have sent me running screaming to the police. It fascinated me instead, just like she always had. She'd told me their stories - always theirs. Never hers. It was like her own private memorial, her pride and her shame rolled together into one wall of black, staining that porcelain skin with its inky wash.
And she left it at that. She didn't tell me *why*, or who she was, or what she was involved with. She didn't tell me anything. I didn't ask.
I keyed the gun off, leaning back. "We're good."
She nodded, shrugging her jacket back on. The lines vanished under the same dusty green fabric, nearly colorless by then and coated with dust and grime. Without another word she rose, turning for the door.
"Until next month, then," I said, waving at her back. I was already putting my things away, cleaning my shop up. I didn't realize she'd stopped until I looked up, seeing her stare back at me.
"Renata," she said, her voice still as soft and steely as the first day she'd walked into my parlor.
I blinked, dumbstruck for a long moment. She'd never- not once had she ever-
Before I could gather myself, before I could say a word, she was gone.
---
The shop was empty. I rolled back and forth behind my desk, my anxiety rising. We were doing all right for ourselves, but I couldn't afford to be sitting around. I needed something - a new connection, better advertising, a side job.
The sound of the bells hanging off the door ringing had me sitting up in a flash, pasting a smile on my face. The setting had been *perfect* - and it was right in line with the not-schedule she'd always kept. "Hey! It's been-"
I stopped, freezing in place. A man stepped through the door, nodding at me with a quick, efficient motion.
Not Renata, then. Right. I forced my smile back into place. "Afternoon! How can I help you?"
He just frowned, walking over to one of the chairs and throwing himself into it. I followed, my eyes narrowing.
As I reached for my notebook, though, I saw it. My blood froze. I was a statue, a block of ice. I couldn't move.
I could see the hilt of that knife, lacquered wood and red-stained steel. It peeked up out of his pocket, staring me in the face. I'd only seen it a few times before, but I'd never forget it.
The man shrugged off his dusty, faded brown jacket, exposing the skin underneath. He grabbed my pen, drawing a tiny tick mark on the paper.
"That," he said. His finger jabbed towards his arm, towards the leathery, scarred skin.
"Right there."
(/r/inorai, critique always welcome!)
|
The door opened and entered a familiar face, cash in hand. The 6'6" silent and solemn man waited patiently in the lobby for me to approach him.
"Hey Ed. The usual?"
He nodded.
"Sounds good," I smiled, "Just give me a couple minutes to clean up my work station, just got done with another client."
When I was ready Ed came and sat in my chair, handing me the cash up front. I didn't count it. I never do- it's always far more than I would ever charge for an inch long line on his chest. Come to think of it, I don't think I ever even gave him a quote, he just handed me money. Ed removed his black button up, revealing a chiseled, scar-ridden body. I drew the 30th tally mark.
As Ed is leaving I thank him, and turn to count the cash as he walks out the door. Somewhere around $180 I notice an odd stain on some of the bills. Was it... blood? Shaken, I go outside for a smoke. It was raining, and my mysterious client was still there. He stood under the protection of our covered entry way, watching the storm. I couldn't hold back my curiosity any longer.
"Hey Ed. You know, I've been tattooing you for a little over a year now, and never once have asked about what you do or what the tally marks are all about. Hell, I don't think you've spoken more than a dozen words to me," I laughed to cover up my nervousness, and waited for a response.
He stared a bit longer into the rain and finally said, "You really want to know?"
"Yeah... what are the tallies counting?"
"They're counting," he took a deep breath, exhaling slowly through his nose, "How many tattoos I have."
He walked into the rain, got in his PT Cruiser, and drove away.
​
| 2018-09-20T06:28:17 | 2018-09-20T06:26:26 | 81 | 26 |
[WP] You're the villain that the Chosen One is meant to defeat. Once they arrive, you notice they're just a teenager who barely knows how to swing a sword. Angered by your opponents sending children to do all their dirty work, you decide to help the teen get revenge.
|
"Hero. My name be Hero," said the ragged child with the chipped "holy" sword in her hands. "Y-yer human."
"Haven't you heard? No. I suppose not. What gave me away?"
"No horns," she said, in a thick Brecian accent. "And yer not red. You sort of be lookin' like uncle Jral. 'Cept for the sword. Uncle Jral don't be ownin' no sword."
I raised Fatenight and released my grip. The enchanted blade fell and turned to smoke before hitting the polished stone floor. I stifled a groan as I sat on my throne and poured myself a goblet of wine from the decanter to my left.
"You've done well to make it this far," I told her. "But you can barely stand. Why not stop?"
I took a sip of the spice wine.
"No," she said, and raised her chipped sword. "I won't be dissuaded, fiend. I know my purpose."
"Child," I said. "Your purpose is not to die on my throne room floor. No matter what tale that wizard has fed you, I assure you, there is more to life than death. Do you not have dreams? Ambitions?"
"Enough," she spat. "Ready yerself, for nigh is the hour and yer end has come. For the realm!"
The girl charged my throne, and I did not move. When she stabbed for my heart, the poorly-forged blade shattered like glass against my silk shirt. For a moment, she stood there wide-eyed, holding half a sword.
I gently lowered her trembling hands and said, "Are you hungry? You're nothing but vigor and bones. When is the last time you ate?"
"I--" She dropped her arms to her sides, her face a portrait of disappointment. She looked so young then. "I have not eaten since Second Fair."
"Four days? That's a long time."
I snapped my fingers and two hooded Fatesworn entered through the service doors, pushing trays with roasted chicken, cold water, assorted fruit, fresh-baked bread, and a wheel of Strazian cheddar -- a meal fit for a starving hero.
"S'ppose dying from poison not be a bad way to go. At least my belly be full."
I plucked an apple from the spread, took a bite, and chewed slowly. "Not poisoned, see? Please, eat your fill. There's plenty more."
"Ah! I no be understandin' ya," she shouted, snatching a chicken leg from the platter. "You be the Demon Lord. Fiend of fiends. Scourge of the realm. Yet here I be, breaking bread with ya. This no be like what Ildor said. Not at all."
"No, I suppose not," I said. "There is much you do not know about me or Ildor. For example -- just because I am the 'Demon Lord', does not mean I'm above showing hospitality to my guests."
"That's where ye be wrong," she said. "I no be yer guest, Demon. Do not forget, I be knowin' my purpose."
"Of course," I said. "How's the food?"
She told me that the food was the most delicious she'd ever tasted.
I asked her how long had it been since she left her village. I asked her about her family, her Uncle Jral, and she told me that her family was gone. That my Fatesworn had apparently purged her village in search for her. And because of that, she'd vowed to end my life.
I asked her if she liked dessert, and when she said that she did, I summoned my attendants once more and they set out little red cakes topped with snow berries.
I bit into the cake, savoring the custard filling, and watched as she did the same. The cake sparked an idea.
"There is a baker not far from here," I said, arching an eyebrow. "The best. Have you ever tried your hand at baking? Some call it a craft, but what comes out of Gastuv's oven can only be called art. It's hard work, mind you, but I believe all worthwhile endeavors require a bit of sweat."
"No thanks," she said, still chewing on her second cake. "I still be plannin' on slaying ya."
I chuckled. "Very well. Then how about a spar?"
She brightened at this.
We went out to the training field in the heart of my keep. We took up wooden training sword and went through the seven stances, striking and defending, ebb and flow. Her form was rough, but had potential. Perhaps in a few decades she could make me break a sweat.
We rested on benches, shaded from the afternoon sun. I told Hero about my rivalry with Ildor and how our master would pit us against each other, mostly for her entertainment. I told her of the bad-old-days, back when real demons walked the realm, razing entire cities and collecting human souls for their foul magics.
She told me of her home, Hearthglen, of the day Ildor rode his cart into their sleepy hamlet, and how he decreed that one among them was destined to defeat the Demon Lord. She told me of her work as a weaver, making shirts mostly and tapestries -- but only under her aunt's guidance. She told me how she'd denied Ildor's proclamation that she was the fated hero. And how that night, she awoke to half the village slaughtered and standing over her bed was Ildor, urging her to flee with him for her safety.
The training grounds started to rumble, and I tamped down my fury. She jumped up and pointed her training sword at me.
"I apologize," I told her. "I did not mean to frighten you. I understand your reasons for taking up the sword. More than you'd think. But know that I do not relish this -- I am not the monster here."
"Then who? I be knowin' my purpose, and it be to defeat you," she said.
"Come with me," I said. "I'd like to show you something."
I lead her down to the catacombs and the Shrine To the Fallen.
"Swords," she said, more to herself it seemed. "So many swords."
"Yes."
"What is this?"
"It is where I have buried the remains of the chosen." I pointed to a brilliant sword stabbed into a rock. It shined despite the dim torchlight. "That is Grace, sword of the first hero. He was deserving of it. Strongest of them all."
"And you killed him?"
"Yes. Despite his grievous wounds, he would not relent. Vengeance drives us to commit horrible acts, you see. Pushes us beyond our limits."
She stepped closer to the sword, ran her fingers down the side of the silver-white blade, and after a moment said, "His family. They was killed too?"
"Yes."
"Was it you?"
"No."
She fell to her knees. Her sobs echoed through the cramped corridors and my heart twisted and wretched, trying to burst out of my chest.
"It is his way," I said, finally. "It is how he pulls you into his cause. Younger and younger each time. I'm sorry."
"What now? What of me?"
I thought for a moment, then said, "Now, we have dinner."
After dinner, I smoked a pipe and served us blue tea. She spent the night in one of my guest quarters, the door heavily barred per her request.
It was not that she was stubborn. It was that Hero had lost everything she'd ever known, had not had a chance to grieve. The "quest" took up everything in her life, became her life. I kept my distance, only sending servants to bring her food. Some nights, I could hear her crying from my chambers. Eventually, she'd come out and request to spar with me. I obliged.
After a month, she stopped barring her door, and asked if I would teach her how to defend against magic. "Of course," I said.
I watched her fight one of my lieutenants this morning. My heart swelled with pride at the sight of her deflecting his eldritch bolts, cutting through his gusts, drowning his flames with nothing but a training sword -- and hard-earned skill. Victorious, she jogged over to me, wiped her brow, and smiled.
"How be that?" she asked. "You think I be ready, Master?"
I thought for a moment, then held out my hand to the side. Fatenight appeared from smoke and fell into my grip. I turned the hilt toward Hero and presented her my sword.
"With this." I smiled down at her. "You can finally fulfill your purpose."
|
“I must say in only 6 months you have exceeded my expectations.”
“Thank you” said Julian before charging forwards.
He sliced down his blade so fast the wind whistled right at my head but I parried it easily with my own blade before pushing him back. Our blades danced in the candlelight of the fighting hall. The only sounds that could be heard were the clashing of swords, heavy breathing and the clinking of armour.
I smirked, “You think an attack like that will hurt me.”
” Let me show you how it’s done.”
I dashed forward, the ground cracking under my feet.
Julian’s eyes widened in surprise at my increase in speed but remained calm.
I aimed for his shoulder but at the last moment shifted my weight and punched him right in the stomach with my fist. Julian doubled over clutching his stomach, wheezing and gasping for breath.
“That’s- that’s dirty!” He said in between breaths.
“Do you think your enemy will show you mercy on the battlefield?”
I sat on the floor cross-legged.
“You have done well, but now it’s time for the final test”
Julian nodded.
He stood straight and extended his sword.He closed his eyes and was completely still. I opened my second eyelids and could see his magical energy rising. The blade began to hum. Sparks began to surface on his blade. White hot Lightning erupted from his blade scorching the ground and crackling the air.
“Good, good.” I nodded. “Now onto the next stage.”
Sweat was pouring down Julian’s face.
His face curled in effort and with a last shout the lightning turned black. The very air seemed to burn and on the ground wherever the lightning struck it turned into lava.
“And stop!”
Julian stopped the spell and the lightning died down.
I couldn’t help but feel a bit of pride when he first came. He was nothing but a skinny little boy who didn’t even know how to hold a sword but look at him now.
I walked up to him. “You did it.”
“Yeah” said Julian out of breath.
“Well, I think I’m done. I must return back to mount Eldritch but you may stay until the morning.” I sheath my sword and walk towards the exit.
“Wait !” Said Julian stumbling forwards.. “I have to thank you one last time! You saved me and you trained me, both me and my family are forever in your debt”
“I turned towards him. “You can repay me by rescuing your family, I’m sure they’re tired of being hostages by now.”
Julian nodded. “Okay, if that is what you wish.”
I opened the thick stone door to the outside forest.
I turned my head one last time into the room.
“Hey Julian””
He looked up.
I raised my fist.
“Those devunites won’t know what hit them!” I said grinning before closing the door with a boom.
If you're interested in more stories check out r/Shrike_Stories
| 2022-06-09T05:44:10 | 2022-06-09T01:51:47 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] An evil wizard has cursed you to be a dragon. Unlike what he expected, you've always wanted to be a dragon. It's exactly as fun as you thought.
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"You use dragon scales to make stuff, right?"
​
The blacksmith is so startled he falls back on his rear end. He squawks, "That wasn't--i didn't--were those yours?--i didn't know--"
​
"Relax," i say. "I want to trade. I need to know if i have anything to trade with."
​
"Oh, um..." the blacksmith sits up properly and thinks for a minute. "Yeah, i can find a use for dragon scales. What did you have in mind?"
​
"I'm figuring on going into the taxi business," i tell him. "Probably a ham or haunch of roast for an hour's flight or a breeding animal for a day's, but that'll change once i have some idea of what the market will bear. Anyway, i need a proper saddle, so passengers will sit where i want them to instead of grabbing onto whatever they think looks like a decent handhold."
​
"Taxi?" the smith's apprentice asks incredulously from the corner he's hiding in.
​
"I'm not interested in defending a territory the size i'd need to live off of wild stock," i explain. "I tried rounding up a herd of feral animals, but i couldn't get them used to me enough to settle down. Can't fatten them up if they run ragged from their would be shepherd."
​
"Suppose that would be a problem," the blacksmith agrees. "Have to call my partner in for the leather-work, but i reckon we can help you out. First thing is to decide where where you want the weight to sit, then figure how much of a harness it will take to keep it in place, then start taking measurements."
​
\----------------
​
It takes a about a month to get the harness and saddle adjusted to my satisfaction. I can't get it all buckled up or take it off myself, so it needs to be comfortable to wear for weeks at a time. I think i scared that apprentice's mother half to death with my antics on the final test flights.
​
The smith deems the scales i shed naturally over the course of that month to be more than adequate payment. At first i have some trouble leaving because he keeps trying to ply me with parting gifts to make up for his feeling like he must have cheated me, but i manage to convince him that knowing there's someone i can trust to do any necessary repair work is far more valuable than any tangible gift.
​
I give a lift to a passing peddler to one of the market towns, in exchange for his shilling for me when i get there. A day or more trip by ox-cart is less than an hour away as the dragon flies, so i spend the rest of the day giving up-and-down-and-look-around rides to the youngsters at the fairgrounds.
​
Come evening, the merchants gather round and we start discussing rates and routes. I make it clear that i'm going into this business purely for my own amusement, so anyone who tries to get me into a long term contract will be paying through the nose for day passage--if i agree to take him at all.
​
For most of the merchants in a market town that's off the main routes, one round of quicker travel isn't worth the disruption to their schedules. There's one fellow, though, who sold out his stock faster than expected and says he doesn't mind only being able to take the shortcut one way.
​
\------------------
​
That merchant city is also capitol of the westernmost imperial province, and it has a larger population than all of the smaller kingdoms to its west put together. Once i convince the city guard that i'm not there as an act of war, i make it my base of operations.
​
I spend the next year or so running errands chosen as much for my own amusement as for profit. Mostly merchants that deal in low volume, high value goods, but i also do courier work for heads of state and a little reconnaissance work for various guard units. I'm pretty sure i prevented three wars along the way, two by proving that an army was headed somewhere else, one by exposing an ambush before it was ready. The aggressor in that last conflict didn't fancy his chances of winning without a sneak attack, and his intended victims lacked the resources to retaliate in kind. I also banked a lot of diplomatic good will keeping an imperial crown prince from getting disinherited over his choice of bride.
​
Her mother was a farm-girl who married a merchant. She got a practical education in both families' businesses, along with the best book-learning money can buy. Her parents are ambitious, and so is she--but they figure that their ambition is best served by making sure that both sides profit from any bargain, and she's no ones puppet. She seems a sound choice for future empress, but too many nobles couldn't forgive her lack of what they consider a proper pedigree.
​
So i hired a mix of actors and exotic looking foreign mercenaries for a proper entourage and got my harness (and parts of myself) gold plated and generally all gussied up and escorted her to the palace and her future husband in as ostentatious a spectacle as possible. To anyone who asked the reason, i gave a lot of mysterious blather about ancient blood pacts and debts repaid. Pack of lies of course, but no one who objected to the marriage was willing to call a dragon a liar.
​
I hear the junior prince who'd been muttering about assassination died in a riding accident shortly after the wedding festivities concluded. Can't imagine what could have spooked a trained warhorse like that. \[Toothy dragon grin.\]
​
\--------------------
​
Between the merchants' talk and which routes they were willing to pay anything i asked for passage, i identified the perfect place for my future kingdom. Within a year i'd built up a herd large enough to support a small kingdom as well as myself, and i'd cleared out half the bandits in my prospective territory in order to provide pasture-land, as well as hiring a few families of displaced shepherds to manage my herds. The remaining bandits could wait until i was ready to begin clearing the pass and building roads.
​
It was a couple more months before i found a prospect for the other thing i needed for a proper kingdom. A court wizard from one of the southern imperial provinces had gotten fired for speaking truth to power, and he had a good reputation among those who would be the first to find out the hard way if a court wizard started abusing his power. So i dropped into the alley behind the inn where he was contemplating his future and offered him a lift away from the assassins that would almost certainly be coming.
​
\[continued in comment reply\]
|
I jumped and I honestly didn't care. A woosh of air passed by me, and what would have normally slammed me backwards into the mountains, I flew through with ease.
I laughed as I snorted fire through my nose or nostrils if you would say. The wind wrapped around my horns, and since I didn't have hair, nothing could whip me in the face.
I snarkily grinned at the wizard below me, noticing with my new-found sharp eyesight that I was able to see him fighting off a smile. I flew in more loop-de-loops before I began to feel dizzy and curled around the wizard from where he was standing.
He tried to put on a mean frontier, but couldn't help staring at the majesty of moi. Maybe also the fact that dragons were and had been extinct since humans started the Dragon Hunting Races.
He jumped when I snorted some fire his way, playfully though. And it looked like he didn't mind being near a literal warm heat source, as he traveled through the mountains. I mean, who decides to travel throughout mountains in the winter?
Well he did anyway? And it's not as if he didn't mind. Most of the times I would wake up to him curled around my side, and we could say we became 'friends.'
But alas, soon we reached the end of the large mountain range of the Hiterian Mountains. What was after that was unknown as no one had ever come back from there.
He patted me on the back and left on his way.
But honestly, did he think I was going to let my best friend go after we just met each other?
| 2020-12-18T21:29:10 | 2020-12-18T20:02:30 | 550 | 60 |
[WP] Throughout the galaxy Humans are well known as being the most peaceful race--and have become well respected as diplomats and traders. But that's because up until now, no-one knew of the three World Wars we fought before first contact.
|
“Well, it was good while it lasted,” Bannerjee mumbled to herself.
As her fingers wrapped around the flight controls the “ARE YOU SURE?” Light was flashing at the full four times a second indicating she’d already pressed yes four times, she glanced out at the stardust reflecting the more impressive stars in the Pleiades. Her momentary reverie was broken, rudely she thought, by the silhouette of the Alcyone corvette that had destroyed her primary thrusters in a surprise attack. Once more was all it would take. There would be no going back from a final press.
She’d been at .92C for a week in her relativistic timeframe. She’d been effectively cut off from any communication with StrelCo back home, or any of the others in the convoy. Communicating at light speed is not exactly easy. But it didn’t take long to get up to speed on the situation after she turned on the polar-inertial drive and came to an almost instantaneous stop. The debris field gave the first clue. Her primary thrusters exploding with well-aimed mass driver rounds was the second. The convoy was lost.
Bannerjee came from a long line of traders and tradesmen. Her mother had made a fortune at Strelco by negotiating the expansion of the trading lanes to the Seven Sisters of the Pleiades. Her father led the first trade convoy himself. It really was a family affair, and a profitable one at that.
Three new civilizations, all but unknown to the galactic community at large due to their varying levels of hostility and/or mute derision toward any race that tried to open a dialogue. Mohtma Bannerjee somehow talked them into allowing a limited trade on each of their worlds. Once trade was established to whet their appetite, the Alcyones were eager to taste even more. The Taygetans and the Maians were… less enthusiastic, but seemed at least willing to honor their contracts. The Alcyones seemed just as willing. Until now.
Still the question flashed, insistence and silent pleading to reconsider designed into its programming. ARE YOU SURE?
She was, most assuredly, not sure.
Humanity fought its last world war two-hundred-forty-three years prior. Every human was indoctrinated with the dates of the beginning and ending of the conflict that all but destroyed their species. The weapons they used: mechanical, chemical, biological, radiological, psychological, were all memorized as a matter of course by every school child. And the consequences of using any weapon of war ever again was considered tantamount to suicide. No, worse than suicide, it would be torture of all humanity to relive it.
Trade had been the driving force to end the war. And Corporations had risen up to take the place of the smoldering ruins that had once housed the seats of government. Strelco was a multi-planetary institution focused on science and engineering development for the profit for all humanity. There was even talk to change the last bit of their mission to, “profit for all life in the galaxy.” If she pressed this button though, the change of their mission statement would be the last thing they discussed in the next board meeting.
Her eyes narrowed, the unshed tears making the beautiful stellar nursery blurry outside her window. Bannerjee knew without a doubt her father was dead. Likely her mother was too. He had been heading this convoy. She was having heated renegotiation meetings on the Alcyone homeworld. And the Alcyone captain of the corvette through her window had just informed Bennerjee in that uniquely cocky tone of his race, that she was going to be a prisoner of war. And she was to be kept alive in order to inform the rest of the naive, wealthy, peace-loving, idiotic human race that the Alcyones now owned them. And unless they wanted the first several meters of their homeworld turned to glass from orbit, they would surrender the riches of their Corporations and become eternal vassals of the Alcyone empire. It was a declaration of war.
Humanity had avoided all mention of their warlike past. The galaxy hadn’t seen a large-scale conflict in many THOUSANDS of years. How could The Earth Corporate Hegemony even hope to be taken seriously on a galactic level if everyone knew humanity had almost wiped itself out a mere couple hundred years ago? Hell, there were still some veterans of that war painting pictures at lakeside retirement homes back on Earth.
She hit the NO response, large and insistent, on the flashing touchscreen. It faded to it's standard life-support readout with an almost relived electronic beep. She decided she was ready to die if necessary to protect humanity’s secrets. After all, the others before her had apparently done the same, including her father. If helping secure humanity’s place among the stars wasn’t an ideal worth dying for, she didn’t know what was.
But then the oddest thing happened.
The captain reopened the comm channel.
Her computer translated his words, but apparently his expression didn’t match what he was saying, and the program was working out the kinks, “Agree, we won’t have to kill everyone no matter what happens or that you agree to.”
She frowned, as she tried to work through what kind of logic the computer used to translate that gibberish. A gesture and the computer split the translation into two similar videos. One translated the speech; one translated the expression and body language.
“Agree, and we won’t have to kill every one of your kind,” came the audio on the spoken translation.
“Agree or not, we will take your possessions and kill every one of your kind no matter what happens anyway.” came the translation from the expression. The Alcyones had never submitted to any behavioral or biometric scans, so all the information had been gathered surreptitiously and via video conferencing. It was definitely a work in progress, and almost no one ever trusted the biometric translator. It was due to be uninstalled in the next software rollout. It was an idiotic program that caused five problems for any ONE that it ever solved.
And at that moment, Bannerjee knew beyond the shadow of a doubt it was %100 accurate.
The Alcyones were planning a genocide of her species, thinking they were the softest, most valuable prey they’d ever encountered. And after blinking away her tears and grinding her teeth, she flipped up the guard and hit the DEPLOY button four times in quick succession. 1,2,3,4… and the ARE YOU SURE warning had only enough time to blink once before she slammed her thumb down on the tiny button labelled, “yes”.
The Alcyones had assumed humans were a prey species. To be herded and farmed and domesticated. Drained of their fat and meat, and discarded. Cattle.
The captain of the corvette had no way of knowing War was in her blood. Competition drove life on her world, and every human born had the capacity to kill or be killed when driven to their breaking point. The fact that humans ARE a prey species is what drives them to be able to wage war like no other species in the galaxy. Killing is the only reason they survived. Humans expect war. Humans are incapable of being defenseless. Humans ALWAYS plan to be betrayed.
The response the captain received to his demand for surrender was nearly instant, and delivered with conviction.
Bannerjee’s cargo was explosively jettisoned as the passive optical targeting systems detected and prioritized the surprisingly poorly defended fuel tanks and command bridge. With no radar or lidar on the human ship to give prior warning of target painting, the Alcyone captain had no clue why she dropped her cargo. No warning systems were activated. This human’s ship was dead in the water, she couldn’t run, no matter how much weight she jettisons. Perhaps she was trying to bribe him with all this treasure?
It wasn’t until the arming of the first of the sixteen million, seven hundred seventy seven thousand, two hundred sixteen nano warheads hidden in her bay and jettisoned with her cargo, that the initial warning light flashed on his bridge. The second through eightieth lit the entire bridge with chaotic yellow and green warnings as those warheads fired their microseconds of thrust to launch themselves at their targeted subsystems. He had barely enough time to recover from shock before his bridge and fuel ignited in nearly a million miniature fusion explosions. The rest of the ship was blown apart half a second later.
Along with the launch, an automated narrow beam warning was sent to StrelCo headquarters and would be relayed to every other human Corporation. “Violence initiated. War declared.” Humanity’s secret was out.
"Nothing lasts forever," Bannerjee whispered to the stars.
|
Tenz stepped out of the ship, the human craft wasn't as bad as they thought. Earth was a strange planet, the humans had crafted it into the perfect paradise for their species using their advanced technology, such advanced technology that only came about because humans were nonviolent, and had always collaborated around the world in efforts to advance their species. Tenz was on a diplomatic mission to ask the humans for help in peacefully dismantling a conflict before it grew into a war. But they had time to relax on the red sand beaches the humans loved so much, the human diplomat was there as well. After small discussion the human led Tenz to a data vault so they could compare this to past conflicts. As the door sealed the computer terminal booted up and Tenz could see the Human looking for a similar conflict.
"Ah, your conflict is incredibly similar to a war over oil on Earth before contact was made"
The hologram brought up an image of a planet Tenz had never seen, the continents outlined were clearly not Earth's, and the factions involved were never mentioned in what little human history that Tenz had studied.
"There must be a mistake with the image, that is not Earth"
A smile creeped across the human's face, their normal fleshy and huggable appearance seemed to fade away to that of a lanky armed predator, and Tenz took note of how humans had sharp canine teeth that were usually hidden from view.
"Oh thats Earth, before we destroyed it that is"
The hologram started showing footage of humans fighting in wars across time, up until the destruction of the third planet from the sun, there had been no wars fought on what Tenz knew as Earth, or as he now knew its original name, Mars, the name of an old human god of war. The humans were so good at war that they had destroyed all evidence they had ever acted in one. The human looked at resources Tenz and their enemy possessed, explained how Tenz could utterly and absolutely destroy the enemy, while Tenz listened in horror. Tenz quickly rebutted with other options on how it could be done without bloodshed, back and forth for days sealed in that room until Tenz had concocted the perfect plan, the human finally unlocked the door but an energy field still blocked their way, the human walked through safely and Tenz followed afterwards with the door sealing behind them.
"Do you remember the plan?" was the final question from the human before Tenz turned to leave.
"We've been discussing peaceful relations for the past week! how could I forget *your* plan!"
Tenz looked out the window as his ship took off into the atmosphere, Earth was such a beautiful planet, Tenz hoped that one day they would have an understanding of how human technology worked. Humans really were the most peaceful species in the universe. They had never fought in any wars, and were kind enough to help others avoid them.
| 2017-05-01T10:35:11 | 2017-05-01T08:23:22 | 170 | 61 |
[WP] Instead of the oceans covering the earth, forests are in its place, making it possible to walk from continent to continent. Like oceans, it gets deeper and darker and creatures get more aggressive and rarer to see. You are tasked to document a trek through one of the oceans of your choice.
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*Journal of Julian Jhonathan Orston, September 1st 1844*
At present time, I, and my expedition's crew are ten kilometers from the British coast, preparing to make our descent into the Gaian Wood. The goal of this expedition is twofold; to determine the feasibility of a terrestrial traverse from Greater Britannia to the new world, and to study the flora and fauna of the hitherto unplumbed depths. I myself will be assisted by my colleagues from the Royal British Transport Commission in charting paths from mercantile convoys. Joining us in this endeavour is a team from the University of Edinburgh, directed by Charles Darwin, who seeks to document species, yet undiscovered, in the tenebrous depths. Additionally, our contingent is supported by some two-hundred men and three sixty-meter carriers. Airships will support us for the first hundred kilometers of our voyage, carrying what supplies they can to lessen the burden upon our own, limited, stock. Our stock should be sufficient to feed our number for some three months, however, should food and water be procurable in sufficient quantities during the traverse, our expedition could continue indefinitely.
The comment has been made to the effect that a three month supply is excessive. Indeed, the airships of our Royal Fleet can make the journey to the new world in a matter of weeks. However, the airship flies at a consistent altitude in direct transit, we must descend an unknown distance into uncharted territory. Unaware of what awaits us, we must be prepared for inevitable detours, as an impasse will surely befall us in due time.
We depart in Her Majesty's graces, and in high hopes. Time only, will tell how long these spirits may be sustained.
*September 2nd, 1844*
Today, the airships departed us. Delays were suffered as the tethers caught upon the dense lower canopy. Many hours were devoted to carefully extricating the cables from the tangled branches so as not to bring the airships crashing down upon us.
We now depart in earnest, leaving behind our comforts and trepidations for the adventure that awaits below. We expect it will take several days to reach the known borders of our exploration. Though others have surely ventured deep into the unknowable expanse, we shall be the first to properly and officially document our progress.
While our surroundings are not yet unfamiliar I shall take time in leisure to document the specifics of our expedition. Recent developments are what have driven our expedition. It is known that air pressure increases as one delves deeper into the unkown. Past a certain depth, the increased abundance of necessary compounds in the air allows trees to assume a greater size, this size, in turn, allows the trees to reach closer to the precious sunlight that sustains them. The result is a near total absorption rate of the sun's rays, and a near permanent penumbra on the forest floor. In the past, exploration had been constrained by the limited scope of flame torches and oil lamps. Today, with the advent of the electric dynamo and incandescent bulb, our light may reach as far as we need it. Our carriers have, themselves, been outfitted with great lights that shine as daylight in the most obscuring conditions.
Though, now I wish to rest, perhaps tomorrow I shall write of our carriers, great behemoths of steel and steam that carry us in safety on our voyage.
*September 6th, 1844*
We have now passed into the uncharted areas of the Gaia, the penumbra is permanent and our electric torches are lit in perpetuity. The terrain is much unchanged in grade or nature, our carriers have no trouble pushing through the scarce underbrush, pushing trees aside as necessary. Charles, with whom I am now well acquainted, has noted no great aberrations in the wildlife, though he has taken several specimens to be sure.
Only time will tell what may befall us in the strange locale.
*September 10th, 1844*
Today marked the beginning of our hardships, and the beginning of our true work. At an estimated distance of two hundred kilometers from the coast from whence we came, the terrain has become much less even, our advance is often halted by sheer cliffs and great rockery. Charles has begun to note distinct differences in the native fauna. Birds have given way to flying mammals, similar to bats but Charles assures me that they are indeed different. Reptiles are scarce, unsurprising to even an amateur of biology such as myself. The general appearance of the land is one of stillness, winds are so hampered by the tall trees that scarcely a thing stirs in the darkness. Trees upon trees are illuminated by our lamps, the native creature unperturbed by the glaring beams. Sight is not a common incidence for these darkness dwellers.
*September 15th, 1844*
The grade of our descent becomes ever steeper, our advance is crawling to a halt as we encounter new obstacles at every turn. I fear my frustration will wear me thin before our expedition is not yet half done. To alleviate this I have begun charting a geographical map to supplement our topographical charts of the area. Charles is, of course, unaffected by the delays. He revels in the discoveries of his field.
He recently told me of the peculiar quandary faced by life in these climes. It appears that sight is a forgone sense, with little use it has disappeared from the region. In stead, creatures have contrived some manner of sensitivity to body heat. Predators and prey alike seek the telltale warmth of living flesh to direct their instinct to fight or flight. This in turn gave rise to a class of creatures with thick fur, reminiscent of mammalian origins, but with the remarkably low body temperature of reptiles. Charles is afuss over whether these creature are members of a new class of animal life.
Several of the predatory species seem to have evolved tusks with which to run through their prey. If you could imagine a wild boar the size of a dog with the long bristles of a porcupine you would have a fairly complete image of the usual predators of the land. All herbivores are much like rodents, subsisting on the bark of the ever present trees with their large incisors. Rats of varying sizes are the single most populous species we have yet to observe.
*September 17th, 1844*
A crewman is dead, Richard James O'Donnel has lost his life in this strange land. May his memory remind us of the danger in the unknown.We have only just observed what must be the apex predator of the present ecosystem. Whether it only resides in these deeper climes or whether they have been stalking us for days and evaded notice is yet unclear.
With progress slow, we opted to allow the crew a measure of "shore leave" a chance to leave the carriers and stretch our legs on the solid earth beneath us. Though the crew are reminded to be careful in these periods, it is clear that concern for one's safety had long slipped as a priority for our expedition.
We, strangers in these parts, must be quite curious to the heat sensitive members of the ecosystem. Moving about in these great behemoths of a heat that must be near blinding in its intensity to their senses. We ourselves must stand out as moths about a lamp with our hot mammalian blood.
It is then, no surprise, that one of our number found himself the victim of a singularly surprising and vicious attack. The assailant, was recounted to have resembled a panther, with a sleek black coat and lithe body. It sprung from the shadows and viciously mauled a crewman who had ventured too far from the reach of the carrier's lights. His mates rushed to return for weapons from the carrier's armory. Once they had returned to the area of the attack, they set about searching for the beast only to find the mangled corpse of their fallen friend. The body bore several deep wounds, Charles intimated to me that the creature likely sports aggressive incisors that allow it to tear the flesh from its prey. The claws it used to grab the corpse of the unfortunate crewman appear to be opposable, capable of gripping the terrain and manipulating a catch.
More must be known of these creature before I can sleep soundly again. We have made stop to allow time for the crew to recuperate their spirits. Traps are being placed and baited, we hope to make more discoveries before we make move again.
|
The sponginess of millions of years of dead leaves under my feet make every step seem uncertain. The crunch of the fresh top layer of the orangish/brown mess would mask the sound of any unwanted companions. Adding to the tension was the fact that I haven't seen another member of the animal kingdom in at least three days. Not that I would be able to see one with my naked eyes anyway. The thick canopy obscured the light of the sun so that even at daylights peak there was but a glow as if everything was lit by a full moon obscured by the clouds of a summer storm.
It's not that I wasn't prepared of course. If you're going to make the months long trek through the Great Pacific Forest there are few less than optional necessities. You might think that a source of light would be high on the list, but let me ask you, with the creatures that loom in the deepest depths of the forest being the opportunists that they are would you want to signal your presence in their home with a simple handheld beacon? No, of course not. Its best to let your eyes adapt, to hone your senses and become like the native beasts of the forest. Of course a set of IR goggles as backup wouldn't be frowned upon. I keep them at the ready, sitting atop my hooded head, or sometimes I let them hang around my neck. The point is that I always know where they are.
Next, of course is protection. This gets more complicated. There is much debate among those of us tasked with walking these great expanses. Some argue that the stealth and utility of a good blade is all the that an experienced adventurer would need. Ballistic weapons are lazy and loud, two things that will most certainly get you killed. This however is traditional garbage. Do I have a stout handled razor sharp edge ready to wield at the first sign of trouble? Of course. But, do I have the arcane firepower of a scoped rifle shoulder slung across my back? Of course. Few understand the mystical danger that awaits the traveller at the pit of the deciduous ocean. I'm not going to be devoured by the darkness because I couldn't be bothered to bring a firearm.
Obviously, food, shelter, clothing, water, and navigation are undeniably important and I have much to tell you about these things. For now however, I have to devote my full attention to the barely audible primal screech that has pierced the rhythmic step, silence, step, silence that has consumed the forest for the past 3 days...
| 2015-10-25T11:25:12 | 2015-10-25T10:07:00 | 207 | 32 |
[WP] The test was a success! The ship managed to travel outside of space and time itself, allowing it to move at impossible speeds! Upon reaching port again, your crewmate pats you on the back before leaving, ignored by the waves of journalists, you look back and realize, you never had any crew.
|
**ONE LEFT, TWO CAME BACK**
----
The woman standing in the threshold of my ship wasn’t smiling. She held a firm look and nodded at the crowd of reporters, all shouting questions about space and time and seeking answers they would never understand.
I starred back at her. Through the noise our eyes locked, and the sound lowered, as if some unseen maestro had lowered his wand and commanded the volume drop.
I gave a small smile, and she returned it. Matching my manufactured kindness perfectly.
I was always shit at acting. My gut was tossing and my hand slightly shook. And I held my smile.
_Had she bought it? Did anyone notice I was shaking?_
I had never seen this women before. The voyage was a solo mission. I remember it clearly - I had entered the ship alone.
A reporter tapped my shoulder and the sound came back to the hanger and all the questions collided into one inaudible sound. I met their confused stares with a dismissive wave as I hurried off.
In the debriefing chamber my assistants met me with curious eyes. I took a water bottle from the table and drank. I brushed water from my beard and starred at the people in the room. I felt hot. Dizzy. And confused. It was all confusing.
No one spoke.
The door opened and the mystery woman entered.
“Cassandra,” one of the assistants said and moved to her, but was quickly waved off.
“Give us a minute,” the woman called Cassandra said.
“Cass, are you-“ someone started to ask.
“-go.” Cassandra said.
And they did.
Her and I stood in silence. Measuring each other from across the room. My mouth started to form the words, but she spoke them first.
“Who are you?”
“Who am I?” I shook my head. “Who are you?”
She looked away. “Curious.”
“Who are you?” I asked again.
She ignored my question completely. “What’s the name of that ship out there?”
“Wait - I’m the one asking the questions,” I said.
“Should you be? You heard the everyone out there - you saw how my team just looked at you.”
“I - I didn’t hear anything out there. It was a haze.”
“I don’t know who you are, or how you are here - but you shouldn’t be,” she said.
“Excelsior,” I said.
Her eyes turned up.
“The ship - it’s called the Excelsior. But internally, codenamed The DeLorean.”
Her exhale was audible and she flopped into a chair. “Son of a bitch.” She looked up at the camera in the corner of the room and shrugged.
“You’re a scientist, I presume?” She asked.
I nodded. “And you are too.”
“Yes,” she smiled. “To be honest I’m not quite sure what our first step is here. There’s a room full of press that are pushing the headline of a mysterious stranger exiting the Excelsior - as we speak - and outside this door are a room full of guards ready to kill you, being talked out of it by a handful of scientists.”
“I belong here,” I said. My hand had never stopped trembling. She noticed.
“I believe you,” she said. “I do believe you. And we’ll figure this out.” Her voice was reassuring and genuine. She cared. Her sentiment washed over me like an invisible sedative and my hand calmed. My stomach settled.
“What’s you’re name?” She asked.
“My name,” I said and fell to a pause. The fog bellowed in my brain and I could not recall my name.
She stood up. It felt as if the good will had faded instantly with my lacking an answer - but she didn’t move to the door or eye the camera. She kept focus on me.
_She did believe me._
And then it came to me like a damn breaking and a waterfall of memories flooded my mind and I looked up at her.
“My name is Cassandra,” I squinted, confused at myself.
“I am you,” I told her.
“That’s impossible,” she said and slowly backstepped to the door.
I knew it was true. I was Cassandra. She was at the door, I could see the fear in her eyes. My eyes. I had to make her believe me, and fast - on the other side of that door were men that may never give me a chance to explain.
“I didn’t kiss a boy until I was twenty,” I said.
Cassandra stopped. I continued. “My father’s name was Jacob, but everyone called him Mike for some reason. I still wish I married my David after college. I tell myself moving to New Mexico for my career was the smart choice. I see his children and family on Instagram now and I hate myself for hating his wife. He named his daughter -”
“Lily,” she said softly. Inside her brain must have been firing, trying to piece together the unknown. I knew she was, because that’s what I was doing.
“This isn’t possible,” she said.
“I agree,” I gestured at myself. “I’m looking in a mirror when I see you - but the mirror isn’t following my actions.
“Are you an imposter?” I asked her.
“I don’t think so,” she said honestly. “Are you?”
“I don’t think so,” I said.
We stood in silence, both theorizing internally. She gave an open palm gesture to the camera - telling everyone watching to _hold_.
“They’ll want to run tests, to verify your DNA,” she said.
“I’ll want to run test,” I agreed.
As we studied each other, I formed a theory, and once again she spoke the words first.
“I have a preliminary theory,” she said.
“As do I.”
“It makes no sense - and follows no logic -“
“-but what logic is there out in the unknown, removed from space and time.”
“None. None that we know.”
“Different laws of physics may apply - we have no knowledge.”
“The first explorers never know the terrain.”
“But they go.”
We were talking in sync, ping ponging sentences and words.
“A clone -“
“- a clone is artificial -“
“Interphase”
“Not exactly, but closer.”
“How do we know it wasn’t artificial?”
“We don’t.”
She took control of the conversation. “What the press will want to know is simple. What we tell them will be simple. And honest. I went on a solo voyage, and returned with a male version of myself.” She finished flatly.
“The mystery will scare them,” I said.
“It scares me,” she said. “Why should they be free of the truth. Everyone wants to explore the next frontier, but recoils at the discoveries - no. We need to embrace the unknown. We need to go back - we need more data - we need to unravel this.”
“Yes,” I said.
She turned to the door, looked back at me, and smiled. “We’ll solve this, together.”
I should have known what would happen next. I should have recognized her smile. The same manufactured kindness that I saw in the hanger.
The door opened and for a moment time stood still. I saw the guards in the threshold, their guns, their armor head to toe. I saw myself about to die. Cassandra was blown back across the room.
A swarm of armed guards flooded and gathered around her body - I screamed at them to stop and tried to get close to her, but I couldn’t see her through the wall of black armored backs and helmets.
One of them grabbed me and tried to pull me out of the room. “Ma’am we need to get you out of there!”
“What are you doing?! That is -“
The volley of gunshots sounded off and a high pitched scream reverberated around the room and down the hall as I was dragged away.
“What is going on?” I pleaded.
“She’s an imposter!” The soldier handed me off to another guard waiting in an elevator. “Scans show that whatever is in that room, it ain’t human!”
The door shut and we started to rise.
I stood in a daze. _None of this made sense._
My head titled back as I tried to breathe and steady my nerves. The ceiling was mirrored. I saw my face. That of a man. Middle aged. With a salt and pepper beard.
I had not noticed the purple liquid freshly splattered across my face. I puckered my lips and tasted sour goo and spit it out.
With a deep exhale I extend both hands out, palms up. I was covered in her blood.
_Was it blood?_
I felt the room spinning and I knew I was going to pass out.
“I’m going to pass out,” I barely got the words out.
I felt the guard catch me as my vision went black and the last thing I heard was his walkie talkie squawk: “Whatever it is, it's dead.”
-----
Edit: Title
----
r/wyrdfiction -- if you like my writing, follow my sub
|
Wading through time and space felt like trying to swim through honey and rocks. When one got used to their absence, their continued presence become so much more tangible. Where I once flew freely in the void, I was now a bug in flypaper.
The journalists that swarmed me like ravenous spiders, frankly, didn’t help.
“Today, we stand before Hadwin Briggs, who’s journey has definitively proved Smolin’s theory—”
“You’ve become the first man to travel outside of time and space! How do you feel, Mr. Briggs—”
“It’s quite simply unbelievable. We see history right before our eyes, thanks to Hadwin Briggs’ safe return—”
The mountains of people and avalanches of words raged unabated, sending tremors through me.. There was no scrambling to safety, no daring escape. There was but one path—through—and no other response but a slight smile and soft sigh.
“Mate,” I whispered. “Are you seeing this?”
There was no response. Not even the reassuring shoulder pat Harper was so fond of giving, the small semblance of physical comfort meaning everything in the blank.
“Harper, mate,” I muttered, turning around. There was no one following behind me. Well, no one I cared about, at least—the mountain sloped this way as well.
There was a brief quiet, a precious moment of peace in my mind. The journalists stopped talking into their mics, and instead began whispering amongst themselves.
“Who?”
“Harper?”
“Ship’s nickname?”
I needed answers. There were throngs of people that had better have done their research.
“You,” I said, pointing at one mousy journalist, her short hair somehow managing to cover half her eyes. “Who went on this trip?”
She looked at me, her hand shaking slightly, and her face scrunched inwards.
“Er,” she said. “Just… you?” Mr Briggs, could you—”
I waved her off. I pointed at another journalist, and asked the same question. There was the same answer. I tried again, and again, until a low murmur of frustration simmered in the crowd, ready to blow to lid’s surface.
“Where’s Harper?” I demanded, nearly grabbing this guy’s jacket.
“Who the hell is Harper?” he cried. “Please, I’m just trying to do my job.”
Harper. He’s been there for me, from start till end. He knew what to do, and took care of my every need. I would have been lost outside of time and space without him, never to return.
I stared at the ship that brought me back to Earth. I looked down at my own two hands, clenching and opening them.
“Harper,” I whispered.
We circumvented the space-time continuum. But once we got back, Harper had to leave, or risk tearing the whole Earth apart. But we’ve done something good, proved that out there, something could exist in nothing.
In the span of seconds, I felt like I’ve grown., understood, and realized. An older and wiser me brushed the journalists and their protests aside, and stepped back into the ship.
“Harper,” I said again. “Better get used to it.”
---
r/dexdrafts
| 2022-01-18T10:56:55 | 2022-01-18T08:56:11 | 146 | 28 |
[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.
|
I stared over my monitor at the newest recruit, probably for longer than absolutely necessary. I hid my sweating palms and my shaking hands behind my desk. It had gone on so long...
"Look. You have all the qualifications we're looking for. All I need is your signature, and you'll be set. But... how about we grab a coffee first?"
The young man smiled and agreed. What did he know? He wanted to get in good with whoever pulled enough weight he could make a paycheck. I understood that.
"Before you sign anything... This job isn't what you think it is. Frankly, I have no idea what it is. Nobody does. I started here almost twelve years ago. I didn't even want the position; my parents made me apply..."
---
Wearing a stained T-shirt and a pair of ripped jeans, sporting a lovely three-day growth of untrimmed beard, I waltzed into Business Corporation Associates, Inc., and tossed a grubby resume on the secretary's desk. "Interview with wassname."
The secretary, full of professionalism, smiled warmly. "Mr. Manager is waiting in his office, please go through."
I shrugged through the door and plopped down sideways in a chair. Mr. Manager stood, offering his hand; I handed him my gum wrapper. All he did was chuckle and toss the wrapper in the trash. "Glad to see the youth are thinking about the environment these days," he rumbled. "Back in my day, kids just tossed their trash on the ground. Now, young man, I hear you're interested in a position here!"
I shrugged. "Meh. It wasn't my idea. Parents said I needed a job."
He chuckled again. "You listen to your parents, eh? If only my kids were as polite! Now, tell me - what are you looking for in our company?"
I locked eyes with him, holding my gaze until it was long past uncomfortable. "Nothing. Get it?"
He nodded as if I had made some deep comment, and answered, "Of course, of course. Ask not what your company can do for you, and all that. Very dedicated! What would you say to a management position?"
I stared at him incredulously. My plan had been another summer lounging around my parent's basement, playing video games. It almost sounded like this man was going to offer me a job in spite of my actions! I sat up. "No way, man. I'm not about to sign up to be some money-grubbing pencil-pusher like you."
I thought about it for a second, then just in case, added, "Corporate freak."
Mr. Manager grinned. "Good! I'm glad to hear it! Too many kids these days want a clear shot to the top, no effort. Working your way up from the bottom, that's the ticket! Learn from the little guy!"
He stood, rubbing his hands together. "Young man, I would like to introduce you to someone. Mr. Engineer. I think you'll hit it off just fine. Back in a tick, eh?"
He rounded his desk, pushed through the doors, and headed down the hall as I broke out in a cold sweat. I didn't know how to do... well, anything! Whatever they put me in, it would definitely not be video games. And if I *lost* a job... well, let's just say that it would be better to have never tried at all that to have tried and failed, no matter what . Dad was very particular about "honest work," and he was prepared to back that up. But if last year had taught me anything, it was that if I couldn't get a job, I was fine. I needed to do something. Anything. What was the worst thing I could do? I gave a sidelong glance at the leather-covered desk. Maybe... if I left an, er, gift? But just before I could unzip my pants, the door swung open. Startled and already more than a little jumpy, I whirled, bringing my fist around in a wide punch that smacked right into the face of, I presume, Mr. Engineer.
His head bounced off the wall, the door, and two chairs before it came to rest on the floor. Mr. Manager walked in to find me staring down at the unconscious, and likely wildly concussed, form. "Oh good heavens! Come with me, straight to security!"
Well, it wasn't what I'd planned, but as long as they didn't press charges, this was the best outcome I could have hoped for! Or at least, that's what I thought.
Jittery from the sudden influx of adrenaline, I missed the first part of what Mr. Manager told the security guard. I tuned in to hear him finish, "This young man laid him out with a single punch!"
Two other security officers had dashed upstairs half way through, likely trying to restore Mr. Engineer to life. The security man, a beefy, middle-aged fellow with a name tag the read "Security," and in smaller letters, "B. Security," held out his hand. Meekly, I held out both of mine... and blinked when he grabbed my right hand and started pumping it up and down. "Good work, son. I don't know how that man slipped past security, but if it wasn't for your quick wits, it might have been 1992 all over again."
As my jaw dropped in absolute horror, Mr. Manager clapped me on the shoulder. "You don't even need to sign anything, young man, we'll get it all sorted when you come in next week. Don't worry about coming in until Monday, you rest up! I'm sure this was quite the ordeal!"
I was hardly out the front door before the man I'd knocked out was being lead outside in cuffs. What had I gotten myself in to?
---
I stared down into my coffee cup. "That wasn't the worst of it, of course. When I started, I was trying to avoid work, but every time I slipped away, someone caught me brainstorming - that is, sleeping - or team-building - that is, playing video games on my work computer. Every move I made, I was praised. I got raise after raise..."
I lifted my eyes to those of the young man on the other side of the table. He seemed a little unsure of himself. "But... isn't that a dream come true?"
I leaned over the table. He flinched back. Good, he *should* be scared.
"No, kid, you don't get it. People call me every day, asking if the Paper Report is ready, or if the Sheet Documents have been signed. I make things up. I sat in on a random meeting because they had donuts, and somehow saved the company a million dollars. Or rubles. I don't know. Maybe it was Zimbabwean dollars. That's not the point, though. I've given presentations that were nothing but the blank templates, and gotten *standing ovations*. It's insane! It's mind boggling!"
The kid pushed his half-filled mug to the side, surreptitiously glancing at his watch. "So... uh... you really have no idea what you're doing?"
I shook my head. "You're not listening. *No one* knows what they're doing. No one! Everyone talks about nothing! They give vague figures, present charts and graphs that have been lifted off Google Image Search - like, the first images - and act like they know what they're doing! Everyone does it, and everyone else acts like they're the greatest thing since NASA! The whole company is mad - **mad** I tell you!"
I slumped weakly back against my chair, wiping the spittle from my lips. The kid looked a little more sure of himself, now. Maybe I gave him an out. Maybe the poor fool could get out, while there was still time.
He nodded sagely. "Ah! I understand what you're saying!"
I almost wept with relief. He understood! It wasn't just me! Finally, there was someone I could connect with, someone who-
"So you're saying it's a marketing firm - right? Awesome! When do I start?"
|
[Contains Mild Vulgarity]
"Well Mr. Jones, I can see you're applying for our senior member position. I take it you've got the required ten years experience or some equivalent not listed on your resume?"
"Huh? No, uh, I actually just typed a hello world script once, no real world experience."
"Wonderful! Our HR staff wrote up these stupid requests but I really want an outsiders perspective on our team. Can you get started today?"
"Oh I've never done any sort of work other than manual labor. I would need at least a week of orientation. Maybe two depending on how I'm feeling."
"Sounds perfect! We can put you and our other new hire in a team to learn the ins and outs side by side! Those are exactly the kind of fresh ideas this company needs!"
"What? No, that was your idea."
"Modesty is the number one trait I look for in an underling!"
"Hey! I don't take kindly to being labeled by people who don't know me!"
"Straightforward take charge personalities are the number two trait!"
"I lied about having a job for three years on my resume expecting you to not even call my references. I've never held a job for more than three months!"
"Good, that means you're an open canvas to work with. We don't hire brainwashed goons here in our establishment."
"I mentioned I have a car? I don't, I was just planning to walk into work if I was feeling good enough that day, otherwise stay home."
"I can get you on medical as a priority to help with any chronic exhaustion or general sleepiness. Until you've fully recovered, take it one step at a time. We aim to avoid discrimination of those who wish to work."
"I think your face is stupid."
"Ha! Me too. I've been contemplating plastic surgery. I think this might just be the push I needed to go through with my decision. Thank you, you've saved me from a lifetime of wasted contemplation."
"Did Stacy put you up to this?! What did she offer you? Did she suck your cock?"
"I'm her dad."
"I'll take the job if you promise to forget I said that."
"Glad to have you."
| 2017-08-29T13:15:49 | 2017-08-29T13:13:57 | 22 | 11 |
[WP] We may not be the strongest, but our immune systems are legendary among alien races. There is a saying: "if it makes a human sick it will kill you."
|
*Leper*
I felt guilty the moment I thought the word. It was the common way to refer to humans among many races. It was a word they themselves often used. But I knew its origin and context. Humans may use it in a joking fashion, but I knew (as did they) most used it in a derogatory way.
But it was still the first word that popped into my mind as the human walked off his ship, and I felt terrible. I had spoken to Ambassador Quick many times over holo. He was a good man, always patient, generous when he could be, and honest. Rare traits to find in the diplomatic cores.
Nonetheless, leper, was still my first thought seeing him walk towards me. I tried to remain calm, I had extensive training to remain calm in stressful situations. But as the clanks of his boots came closer I could feel my tail twitch despite my best efforts. It didn't help that I was alone. That was standard procedure when meeting a human in person. I glanced to my right and could see my staff watching me from behind the bio-shield barrier. Three different species, three different sets of manners and expressions, but each one a mixture of fear and forced calm.
"Hello Ambassador Gorran, it is wonderful to meet you in person," Ambassador Quick greeted me as he stepped off the exit ramp. He put his hand out, an almost universal custom among the intelligent life of the universe. I hesitated just the briefest moment and my guilt deepened. I reached out and took his gloved hand firmly.
"Ambassador Quick, John, it is indeed wonderful to finally meet you, if under unfortunate conditions."
The glove was cool, humans did like it a little colder than our people. I couldn't help it, my tail twitched again holding his hand, even for that brief moment. I knew, *I knew*, I was safe. The human ambassador wore a full cover 10-9 bio suit. 99.99999999% uptime of fully active bio containment, monitoring, and reporting. The suit even included a self immolation feature that automatically triggered if any break was detected that would incinerate the occupant and everything within tail distance in less than a second. No breach had ever occurred and there were only three deaths in a century due to the self immolation triggering accidentally.
But still my heart pounded in my chest.
Ambassador Quick smiled generously from behind his clear helmet. He no doubt knew how nervous I was meeting him in person. I was glad humans smiled. Many species did not, and even among those that did smiling was not always considered a kind gesture. But humans and Kalsmen both did. I returned his smile as we let go of each others hands.
Behind the ambassador a self guiding cart loaded with twelve cases each roughly half my height cubed floated down to us. I was both deeply relieved and deeply apprehensive about those crates. The ambassador looked over his shoulder to see the cart stop behind him. He stepped to the side as the cart gently lowered itself to the ground.
"Ambassador," he said as he gestured me to examine the crates. He politely took several steps back to give me some breathing room.
I stepped forward and quickly opened the first crate. My haste was not so I could leave the human's presence, or not just, but because of the dire need for what was inside. Lifting the lid I found the requested vials in cold storage. I gently lifted one and took it over to the access port in the bio-shield wall where my staff, and the planets top medical staff, were waiting.
I placed the precious vial in the transfer chamber and stepped back as it close, vacuumed out the air, irradiated the enclosure, performed a deep medical scan, and the interface lit up red with extreme warning. That was expected. The contents were, technically, a violation of every major bio-hazard, bio-weapon, and safety protocol in the universe. It was why I was here receiving the shipment and not medical personnel.
I punched in my override authorization, had my eyes scanned, and a small blood sample taken to confirm my identity. On the other side of the bio-shield Dr. Horra, Che if Medical Officer of the Kal Republic, did the same. Only with authorization from the political and medical governing bodies could this be allowed through the bio shield. With all credentials verified, final warnings given, and a recorded statement that we knew the risks, was the vial cleared and allowed through.
On the other side I watched as Dr. Horra took a deep breath before she picked up the vial. Quickly, she moved over to the emergency work station that had been prepared the day before. She placed the vial in a secure testing chamber then used the robotic hands to open it. Her tail twitched erratically and I could not blame her. She extracted a sample and begun her work. We were an advanced people. We would know the results in mere moments. But it felt like days.
Suddenly, her tail stopped twitching. She shouted something I couldn't hear through the impenetrable barrier. Then she turned to me, tears in her eyes. Tears of joy. I could see her staff and mine shouting and jumping in celebration. I breathed deep and shook in relief.
I turned and walked back to Ambassador Quick. Too happy to remember my fear of the man I embarrassed him in a strong hug. He gently hugged me back. Then I remembered myself and pulled back, slightly embarrassed. But the human simply smiled.
"Thank you," I said, "thank you on the behalf of all my people. The pandemic has been raging for nearly a year here. We tried everything, but it mutated so quickly, by the time a vaccine or even cure was available it was useless." My shoulders slumped thinking of all who had died in so short a time. This would mean victory, but much had been loss, and the scars in our society would not heal quickly.
"You are welcome," the ambassador said, still smiling, "we know all to well the devastating effects of disease." For just a brief moment his smile dimmed.
I knew humans were good people. They contributed significantly to the galactic good. Their medical technology was second to none. The lives they had saved could be be counted in billions. But their expertise came with the greatest cost. Their planet had evolved the most deadly, most contagious diseases ever know. Even lab created bio-weapons paled in comparison to many common human diseases. As such, they lived in perpetual quarantine from all other intelligent life. A comfortable slice of the universe had been set aside for them. And through holo-technology, robotic surrogates, and other means they could interact with the rest of us. But never could they join us. Even visiting in his 10-9 bio-suit the ambassador was confined to a bio-shielded landing pad on the southern arctic continent the fear of humans so great. I myself would be isolated for a full 28 days just for meeting with him.
Nonetheless, when they were asked to help, they always did.
I looked at the crates as they silently made their way towards the bio-shield barrier. There was more testing to be done. We would triple check everything the humans had verified. It would still be weeks before we could inoculate the first test subjects. But those crates were the beginning of the end.
And potentially a terrible danger.
"Is it true?" I asked the ambassador as the crates moved away.
Ambassador Quick tilted his head in the way I had come to learn meant confusion.
"Is it true it's made from.....human blood?" I couldn't keep the small taste of fear out of my voice.
The ambassador smile and nodded in understanding.
"Yes and no," he explained, "it's a serum. We infected a small group of humans, after extensive testing of course, and our immune systems naturally developed antibodies to the disease. We then filtered the antibodies from their blood and," he gestured to the crates, which were now passing through the bio shield, my override still in place. My tail twitched again at the idea something of biologically human entering my planet.
"Were any of the test subjects harmed?" I asked.
"No, a mild fever at most that lasted a day or two."
Amazing I thought. The disease had killed millions with no signs of stopping. But a human immune system destroyed it in just days as if it was nothing.
"Will you...tell your people? Where it came from?" The ambassador asked. I felt he was a little apprehensive of my answer.
"That has been a matter of great debate," I answered carefully. "We have decided to publicly state it was human medical *technology* and.... leave it at that."
The ambassador seemed relieved by my answer. Despite what they had done for many peoples anti-human sentiment was still very high on many worlds.
"Thank you again, this will save millions of lives."
"You are most welcome." He glanced at the crates as they completed their passage through the bio shield. "And now I should be going. It was wonderful to meet you in person Ambassador Gorran. I hope we never do so again."
|
*If it makes a human sick, it will kill you*
Ashley glanced over the survival pamphlet for the umpteenth time. Pulled off the corpse of one of the invaders that had come from the cosmos above, it was the single piece of information that had turned the tide of the war against the Lar’khii.
Initially it seemed as though all would be lost in a matter of months. Lar’khiish technology was at least a millennium ahead of the best that earth’s governments could throw at them. The aliens were bringing a nuke to a snowball fight, capturing humans alive and beaming them up, screaming, to ships where it was only learned later what kind of horrors awaited them. The experiments, the procedures, no boundary was left uncrossed to try to make a cure-all medicine that humans simply acknowledged as their immune system.
When that fateful pamphlet was found on the body of a slain Lar’khiian and translated, and the purpose of their invasion as well as the danger that humans posed to them.... Ashley couldn’t help but chuckle as she remembered how comical it was to watch. The most modern of armies relieved their soldiers of their useless firearms and cumbersome gear in favor of creating hyper-mobile pathogen vehicles. Instead of combat fatigues and weaponry, soldiers and civilians alike were issued athletic wear, running shoes, and chili peppers. A single sneeze, cough, tear, drop of sweat or mucus, or any other bodily secretion would have a Lar’khiian screaming with both its facial and torso mouths as they scrabbled at the infected area with their limb horns.
It was too late though. They were already dead. Ashley had seen it too many times to count, and just because she hated the alien species for terrorizing her home planet didn’t make reliving the grisly scene in her nightmares any easier.
It was always the same. Fifteen seconds after infectious contact, the area would transform from its usual pale yellow to a livid fuchsia.
Thirty seconds after exposure boils would appear on their hide, bursting forth with a runny black liquid that evaporated before it hit the earth. All four sets of teeth had crumbled to dust by this point and the tentacles sprouting from the top of their heads would soon follow.
Two minutes after exposure all six of their eyes would have burst, with both of their mouths simultaneously starting to leak the same black liquid that now seeped through all pores on their hide.
Only the largest of Lar’khiians had ever survived five minutes after exposure, which gave the human that had infected them plenty of time to run before their twenty foot tall corpse toppled over on them. Autopsies on these corpses to better understand their biology was impossible, as all that remained was a hollow, empty husk of their outer hide.
Ashley replaced her standard issue copy of the pamphlet back on her table and re-tied the laces on her running shoes. She decided to grab a bottle of whiskey on her way back from the front. She couldn’t risk being alone with the day’s memories tonight.
| 2021-02-03T19:38:43 | 2021-02-03T19:32:17 | 1,400 | 102 |
[WP] Aliens invade earth, but they have never understood the concept of guerilla warfare. Humanity's doom is out there, marching toward us in neat, straight lines.
|
Many people, throughout the myriad ages have tried to define what humanity truly is; To some, it's ingenuity, to others it is compassion, again to some others it is our artistic ability. Poets claim it is our ability to know deeper meaning, philosophers differ from pain, lust, power and suffering as our definite traits. To the religious it is our piety and to our scientists it is our curiosity. The truth is that we're the most single-minded stubborn bastards in the universe. In our primal state, before civilization, before history and all those other good bits, we were stubborn. When our ancient hunters picked a target, they followed it day and night until it collapsed from exhaustion. We decided to take our biggest competitor and turn them into our friends and servants, we stuck at it until we made dogs. Because we're stubborn.
After World War II, pockets of resistance on some pacific islands held out for years, refusing to give in. The biggest armies in history have tried to calm and control Afghanistan, from Alexander to Bush, leaders have invaded and found the locals to be so bloody stubborn and irritable that they wind up driving out the invaders somehow. Doctors never gave in when looking for vaccines to the great modern plague of polio or the ancient plague of smallpox, and eventually they were found. It pays to be stubborn.
We are stubborn bastards. Because we don't give up, we don't play fair, we don't break, it's hell on earth trying to fight the lot of us. But of course, somebody didn't do their homework. Earth is sort in the backwater of the galaxy, the space-boonies so to speak. But, the Solar System is, unbeknownst to man, an important hyperspace bypass for alien merchant caravans, civilian transport, and space fleets belonging to various important empires. Until recently, it was considered common land, owned theoretically by humanity, but de facto, just about everybody used it. But then, the Srenqian Hegemony decided, that the time was ripe for a new strategic move in the five-ways Galactic Cold War. Srengians were a very rigid society, even by the rigid standards of the common galaxy, and when they conquered a planet, the inhabitants were given a choice; Surrender and become fourth-rate citizens, or attempt to resist and become slaves. Eventually third-rate citizens could work their way to become second-rate citizens, by showing great loyalty and obedience to the state. Slaves could never go further than third-class citizenship. They sent the standardized fleet packed with soldiers from a variety of different subjugated races, led by Srengian officers. On the 15th of March, 2027, they issued a call for humanity's total surrender. The options were explained, the benefits of accepting the natural superiority of the Srengians were put on the table versus the disadvantages of disobeying the High Lords of the Supreme Heaven, as they liked to style themselves. Humanity's answer took a while to translate for the Srengians, it was two words from a dead human language. Molon labe. Come and take it.
The Srengians misunderstood it as an accept, which the humans quickly rectified by murdering the Srengian officers commanding slaves, who were to set up the official surrender ceremony, with sniper fire. The communication officer who had mistranslated was immediately executed by airlock. And then the invasion began. The first couple of months went swimmingly for the Srengians, their puffy aristocratic tentacles rubbing together in glee as humanity met their armies and were driven back, the sheer numbers and technology of the Srengian forces defeating conventional warfare.
Until the battle of Saigon. The Vietnamese army set up ambushes, stay-behind militia groups that attacked in the middle of the night, children with pistols who would not be considered a threat by the enemy. The Srengian forces marched toward the city in neat straight lines, and were massacred. Old men who had once been in the Viet Cong would strap explosives to themselves, not be counted as hostiles by the enemy, and go up to shake a Srengian soldier's hand or paw or pseudo-pod, and boom, squad destroyed. In the night, when the Srengians rested, the old women would crawl out of holes with knives alongside the young girls, and cut the throats of the enemy. Commandos would sneak into the Srengian camps and free their slaves and led them off. The poor sods were too frightened to disobey anyone after what could have been centuries of slavery.
By the time the Srengian army actually reached the city center, less than a tenth of their original force survived. Snipers on rooftops took out every surviving officer, so easy to spot in their shiny and gleaming uniforms. The confused soldiers, without orders, were picked apart piece by bloody piece, until the streets ran red, purple, and blue with the blood of our enemies. It was the first major victory that humanity had scored. Sure, Saigon was in ruins and all the effort to clean the area up from the Vietnam War had been reversed, but twelve whole divisions had been put to the sword.
The Srengian high command could not comprehend what was happening. Their armies marched into the winter of Russia, and was met with scorched earth, booby traps, sneak attacks, sabotage from locals, and the ever-present threat of General Winter. Needless to say, not many of their forces survived the 2030 Russian Campaign. In Finland, the colourful uniforms of the enemy were easy targets for the heirs of The White Death, and joining the old Soviet dead, were now several brigades of aliens. In the deserts of North Africa and the Arabian peninsular, the Srengian soldiers learned to fear the almost insane fanatical devotion of the locals, and their defiance against the enemy. Many a member of the Srengian army, would leave his racial battalion with permission from the officers to take a leak in the dunes or try to find shade, and simply never be seen again, until the battered remnants of their unit would find their bleached dry bones as they retreated back to the coast.
In the Outback of Australia, the human resistance would chase hordes of emus into the camps of the alien foe, unleashing hell upon them, though for many races, Australia was already hell, being a place where eventually only punitive regiments were sent. The vast steppes of Central Asia were initially perfect for the Srengians to fight on, until they were met with ancient strategies, best employed by Genghis Khan centuries ago, riding up close to the enemy, firing, and fleeing. Hit and runs were so common there, that the forward marching enemy would never get a moment of rest. In America, they started the invasion in Texas, suffice to say, that high command had never seen an entire territory's population rise up so well-armed and so bloodthirsty before.
In the places conquered, the Srengians would find no rest. In the night, resistance fighters would kidnap officers and broadcast their execution on whatever channels still available. Even the usually civilized and pacifistic Europe was not safe for the enemy. On the shores of Denmark, patrols would find the soldiers they had replaced when the tide was low. The resistance in France became so numerous, that the aliens had to retreat to Paris, where they thought themselves safe. Until the Cataphile cells of the resistance dragged down the members of the garrison in blackest night, to the Catacombs and tunnels beneath the city. Where the last thing any alien saw, was humans wearing masks made from the skulls of their own dead, plunging their knives into the exposed skin of their comrades, and at last, themselves. Those few who were given the order to retreat from Paris, would find their dreams filled with the hushed whispers of the living dead, and the muffled screams of their dead brothers-in-arms, until the end of their days.
|
Dr. Sarah Godavaci, leading astronomer and military advisor to the Union of Alien Affairs, turned to her subordinate taking the large binder containing reports of spectrophotometry, advanced imaging, and other information regarding the redcoat’s home planet. It’s been ten years since the attack from the alien species, Gronites, which were quickly named redcoats based on their natural red coloration and fighting strategies.
 
It’s as I thought, their planet appears to be a massive exoplanet with abnormally low density, this explains their physical appearance. The redcoats were a long legged, humanoid species with very advanced technology. Their physical strength while comparable to humans was still impressive and their ability to sprint easily matched some of earth’s fastest animals. Sarah scoured through the report till she found the information she wanted, the spectrophotometry report.
 
“Hey, are you positive about the results of the spectrometer?” Sarah asked, “Absolutely, Dr. Godavaci isn’t that astounding, what do you think it means?” Sarah looked at the common organic compounds detected by the spectrometer, celluose didn’t even register. She quickly examined the atmosphere composition of the planet, similar to earth’s except lower reports of pollution and contaminants. Sarah picks up her phone and dials her husband, Jack Godavaci, a pioneer in xenopsychology and biology. “Hey honey? I think I have explanation for their formation combat. They don’t have trees on their planet and I bet there’s no large vegetation. I don’t think they understand what cover is.”
 
Sarah hung up the phone and looked back at the reports. When the redcoats first invaded many militaries were afraid to engage them, but after they began marching on our cities we had no choice. Our people declared it a miracle that we were able to repel them, but I know the truth. We massacred them… They had no comprehension of cover or basic military tactics and now I understood why. Humanity’s invasion on their planet is going to be a genocide.
| 2018-10-30T14:04:00 | 2018-10-30T12:47:04 | 234 | 21 |
[WP] Humanity has been eradicated. As the alien race that killed us begins to settle they're shocked to discover that old Earth myths of spirits and demons are far from fiction. The Devil, pissed off at the aliens, has decided to open the gates of Hell and let humanity get its revenge.
|
**DOWNFALL**
When the invasion came, humanity was utterly unprepared.
For so long we hated and feared one another. We spent our time building weapons and pointing them at each other, when we should have been pointing them at the sky. We’d squandered our efforts squabbling with each other, disregarding the real threat from without. By the time humans realized, it was too late.
They came from the stars. They came in cloaked ships, nearly invisible to the naked eye and undetectable by any earth technology. They came for our planet.
The invasion started with a global EMP blast, destroying communications and rendering most of the earth’s military assets inoperable. Chaos and confusion spread as governments and infrastructures crumbled.
Then came the biological weapons; diseases and pestilences which tore through the weakened human population like wildfire. The aliens had been studying us for a long time, and their weapons were terrifyingly effective. Nearly 90% of mankind were wiped out in under a week.
Then came the invasion proper: A vast armada of ships bombarding the remaining human strongholds from orbit, followed by endless legions of drone armies combing the ruins and eradicating the survivors. Crack teams of alien commandos combed the countrysides, mercilessly rooting out any remaining resistance.
Then came the day when all of the alien invasion force was united in celebration. Victory had been achieved. The last human had been exterminated. The Age of Mankind on earth had ended, and the Age of the Zeta Reticulans had begun.
The aliens set about transforming the planet, erasing any reminders of human civilization, making the place their own. Oceans evaporated, forests burned, the skeletons of skyscrapers were reduced to dusk. Every monument humanity ever created, from the ancient to the modern, from Stonehenge and the pyramids to the megalopolises and super-cities; all were wiped out of existence in the blink of an eye, replaced by multitudes of the shining grey and black super-structures of the Zeta Reticulan civilization. The new masters of earth were secure in their dominance over Earth.
But something happened then that the aliens could not have foreseen. For the humans had not been alone on the planet. Another enemy was mustering it’s strength. It was an enemy unseen by any reconnaissance and undetectable by any scanners. It was a power that the humans themselves had been blind to, even though they’d lived alongside it since the beginning of their existence on the planet.
###
**DIVINE COUNCIL**
On the peak of the mountain, the gods gathered in council as they had in the days of old.
The blue-skinned Devas arrived astride their majestic Vamana mounts. The Egyptians, with their human-like bodies and strange, animal heads played senet on a rock outcropping. The Olympians in their togas argued amongst themselves, while the ill-fated Aesir sat cold and silent, wrapped in their animal furs. A glowing old man sat alone on a flat stone, eyes baggy and grey beard torn in grief.
“I agree that the humans weren’t perfect,” said Athena, ever humanity's champion. “But at least some of them had respect and belief, especially in the elder days. And they could be controlled, or atleast curtailed. They could be bent to our will. They were greedy and petulant, but at least they were predictable. And let’s face it, we wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for them. Now that they’re gone… what, exactly is the point of our existence?”
A murmur went through the council. Vishnu rose to his feet and addressed the council.
“Athena speaks true. For far too long we’ve taken the existence of humans for granted. We’ve toyed with them, tormented them, used them as pawns in our personal squabbles.”
“Some more than others,” said Hera, glaring at Zeus.
“But regardless,” Vishnu continued. “The humans are gone. It’s a fact. Nothing we say can change that. So where from here? What do we want now?”
“How about revenge?” said Thor, brandishing his mighty hammer. “Revenge and a glorious death. We attack these interlopers and take as many of them with us as we can.”
“But to what end?” said Isis. “You all witnessed the invasion. You’ve all seen the strength of these aliens. We have no power over them, over these foreign beings from darkness of space. Even if we gathered all our allies to us and united under one banner, it wouldn’t be enough. Maybe in the old days… but now? We’re weak, forgotten, diminished. All the spirits and nymphs and fae of the otherworld, all the sphinxes and cyclops and frost giants, all the ranks of the Heavenly host: it isn’t enough. I have seen this, and so have all of you. If we attack, we will fail and be wiped out, just like the humans. And then our homeworld, the planet that birthed us and the humans both, will forever belong to the invaders and the memory of its original inhabitants will be lost forever.”
From the back of the group, someone cleared his throat and stepped out into the middle of the gathering.
He was dressed immaculately in a charcoal designer suit, a thin black tie, and dark shoes that shined like diamonds. His hair was long and jet black, and his eyes dark and full of mischief, but his skin was pale as a corpse. “Might I interject with a proposal,” he said.
A collective groan went through the council.
“We’ve no need of your guidance, father of lies,” yelled the Archangel Michael. “We all know what happened the last time your counsel was heeded. I’m sure you remember too, Morningstar.”
Lucifer smiled.
“That was a long time ago, and things have changed quite drastically in case you haven’t noticed. The humans are gone, there’s no one left to tempt. What harm is there in hearing what I have to say?”
The council members turned to the bearded old man on the rock. He shrugged. “Nothing left to lose,” he said. “Might as well hear him out.”
“Oh, excellent. This should be good,” said Loki, grinning.
“Thank you. Look, we all know the score here. We all know that Isis is right. If we fight now, we lose. It would be a horrible, desperate, cataclysmic battle unlike any the planet has seen, but we invariable end up vanquished. The aliens are too strong, our armies aren’t enough.”
“Obviously. What’s your point?” snapped Michael.
“The point, my fine feathered friend, is that we’re looking at this the wrong way. Yes the aliens are strong, but they aren’t invincible. Yes, our army is too weak to win. So... we need a new army. A new source of expendable legions to throw at the aliens, to weaken their defenses, to break down their strengths. And then, once their ranks are broken and confused, we attack with all of might and wipe them off this planet once and for all.”
“But no such army exists,” said Apollo.
Lucifer smiled again.
“Doesn’t it though?”
[CONTINUED IN COMMENT BELOW - CHARACTER COUNT TOO LARGE]
|
"Those damn bastards are giving me a lot of work!" Lucifer said as he looked at the paperwork due to the sudden influx of dead souls.
Knock knock.
He slammed his hands on the table. "WHAT NOW?!"
The door opened as a voice said, "Sheesh, I could do without the yelling, brother..!"
"What the hell are you doing here Gabriel?“ Lucifer said as he addressed the appearance of the angel in hell.
"You know what this is about," the angel moved his gaze to the billions of souls waiting in a line. "Something must be done about this."
"Easier said than done," the Devil shrugged. "You're not the one doing the paperwork."
"What if I tell you that there's a solution to your current problem?"
The Devil snickered. "What, like open the gates of hell and let these souls out to take revenge on the greenskins? Last time I tried something like that, I got cast out of Heaven."
"Actually, Father gave his approval to open the gate," Gabriel replied.
That caused the Devil's eyes to widen, before his mouth formed an evil grin.
"Ooooh...So *this* is what Father has been up to the whole time, huh?“ He said as he stepped out of the room and spread his raven-colored wings and took to the sky.
"OPEN THE GATES OF HELL! LET THE SOULS RAVAGE ON EARTH!"
| 2020-09-18T10:21:22 | 2020-09-18T09:30:06 | 28 | 19 |
[WP] A new recreational drug kills its users before bringing them back to life 3-5 minutes later. Each user always wakes up in a blissful state with no memories of their time during death. You just woke up after 15 minutes of death. You remember, and you have to warn people about this drug.
|
I returned to my body gasping, breathing in great lungfuls of air as I sat up. My friends were surrounding me.
“Oh my god, I thought you’d died!” Said Samantha, clutching at me. Harry, next to her, just sighed deeply. He pressed a shaking hand to his head.
I turned and saw Greg lounging on the couch.
“So… did you feel it? Was it good?” Asked Harry.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t see it, but I knew what was inside of Greg. The thing that had eaten the real him, watching me with stolen eyes.
He was smiling sardonically at me, the same little smile I’d seen so many times before, when he thought I was being an idiot.
“Good, right?” It asked with Greg’s stolen voice.
I glanced at the others. It knew I knew. Would Samantha and Harry believe me if I told them? Just imagining the words coming from the mouth, I knew I’d sound crazy.
“Not…” I spluttered, my mouth felt like I was using it for the first time in my life.
“Not… to my taste.” I managed, pronouncing the words slowly and with difficulty. It got easier as I spoke, as I remembered how to use it.
He grinned. I looked away, filled with fear and loathing. Then my gaze snapped back to him. As he’d entered my peripheral vision, he’d changed. Black smoke seeped from him, forming a small cloud in front of him with every exhale. He frowned at my abrupt movement.
“Well, anyway, now you guys know it’s safe, who wants to go next? Harry?” He said, raising his eyebrows and grinning at Harry.
Harry chuckled nervously, and I opened my mouth to say no, never.
“I think we’ve had enough stress for today.” Said Samantha, casting her typical disapproving glance at Greg.
I blew out a relieved sigh.
“I’m gonna smoke a j.” Muttered Harry, standing up and moving to the table.
“Hey, could I talk to you?” I asked Samantha quietly.
“Of course.” She said smiling.
“Let’s… get some air.” Talking almost felt normal, now.
Greg watched us leave, saying nothing. I could feel his gaze on my back, a pressure.
“Are you ok?” Asked Samantha when we were on the balcony, as I carefully closed the door behind us.
“Yes… no. Listen, Black Death isn’t what we think.”
She chuckled as usual, as I normally did, at the name people had chosen for the newest drug to hit the streets. We shared that immaturity.
“This is gonna seem crazy, and I’m telling you because I think Harry won’t believe me, but you have to. It kills you for real.”
She frowned.
“Well, yeah, but you came back,” She said, “and you seem ok. I mean, I was freaking out when you were gone for more than five minutes, but you came back.”
“I don’t think people normally come back. I don’t think Greg came back. I was outside of my body, and there was something else there. Something evil. It tried to… not just kill me, *consume* me. I felt like it was eating me, my memories…” I’d been speaking quickly, the words needing to escape. But… I’d felt it consuming my memories. What had it taken? I couldn’t remember, I didn’t know, of course. I realised Samantha was staring at me.
“*Wow*.” She breathed. “That shit really did a number on you, huh?” Then she frowned. “This isn’t gonna be like your first time doing acid, is it? All that stuff about how we’re stuck in the matrix.” She chuckled, then adopted the voice she used when imitating me, “Duuuudes, this world like, it isn’t even real, we’re like, part of a simulation… that’s not real ice cream, it’s *simulated ice cream!!*” She started laughing, “That was amazing.”
I stood, frozen. I racked my brain. My first time doing acid? I recalled some times. But that time? I had no memory of what she was talking about. Nothing. I had to pull my thoughts back into order, force myself back into the moment. I had to warn her, everyone.
She was staring at me.
“Fuck me, it’s gonna be the matrix all over again.” She said with a sigh.
I grabbed her.
“No, listen Samantha, there are things out there that want to take us over, become us, and this drug lets them do it. And, and, I have proof!” I said, as I realised I did.
She was giving me her most tolerant look.
“You saved me. This fucking thing, this blackness that kept turning into… horrible things, it was going to finish me off, but then when you prayed, something *else* came. I saw you praying! I saw all of you! You were kneeling above me, and you said “Something, anything, help him”, and something did. That’s why I’m here, and that’s why I’ve not been replaced by *whatever the fuck that was."*
Samantha frowned. She didn’t say anything for a moment, then, “O-k… That’s pretty creepy. Is this some kind of joke?” She asked, then immediately answered herself, “No… you *were* dead. I checked your pulse a bunch of times. Um. I’m not saying I believe you. Also, uh, could you let me go?” Embarrassed, I released her. Her frown disappeared and she looked curious. She’d always been the most curious person I knew.
“What saved you?”
“It was like, this huge white light. It had eyes and a mouth all made of fire, and it said “DIE” to the darkness and the darkness burned, then it looked at me and it said “TAINTED” and I couldn’t move, and I think it was going to kill me too but there was *more* darkness behind it, and the darkness came for it and it turned, and I jumped at my body.”
I gasped for breath. After a moment recovering from the barrage of words I continued, “And there was this bell, when the light came there was this constant, horribly loud, deep bell. Every time it rang the darkness screamed. I couldn’t bear it.”
There was a moment of silence, and I realised Samantha was waiting to see if I would continue.
“That’s trippy as fuck man,” she said, “I’m kind of jealous, that sounds awesome.”
I stared at her.
“No. No, it wasn’t. Listen, the important thing is, Greg is one of them. Inside that room isn’t Greg one of our best friends, it’s a fucking demon-alien-*thing* and it wants to turn more people into it, by having them try the drug. OK?”
“Shit. You know I think I’m starting to believe you. So what do we do?”
“Let’s get Harry and get out of here. Fuck Greg.”
She nodded resolutely. I honestly couldn’t tell if she was actually taking me seriously, or just going along for the hell of it. For a hilarious story to tell down the line.
We opened the balcony door and headed back inside, me steeling myself in preparation of seeing Greg-thing again.
We passed through Harry's kitchen into his living room.
“Fuck.” Breathed Samantha.
Harry was lying on the floor. He wasn’t breathing.
Greg smiled at us, still lounging on the couch.
“He always was easy to convince.”
“You piece of shit.” I muttered. “Oh fuck.” I pressed my hands to my head. Then heard Samantha,
“Something, anything, please help him.” She said quietly.
I looked at her, then smiled, casting a triumphant look at Greg.
“That won’t help this time, I’m afraid.” Said Greg. “The *Aizchn* can’t stop this member of my brethren… It's already dead.”
He smiled at us. His eyes had turned into pools of darkness. Like twin holes into a world where no light, not even the concept of light, existed.
“Listen,” He said, in the voice Greg used when trying to convince us to do something he was sure was for our own good, “just take the drug. It’ll be a lot less painful. Your lives are just going to be one big mess, one big struggle from now on. Just join us.”
“Let’s get the fuck out of here.” I said, turning and sprinting through the door. I realised Samantha had already bolted, she was struggling with the front doorway. She looked at me over her shoulder.
“Come on!” She yelled.
I heard Greg laughing behind us, his voice only cutting off when we slammed the door.
​
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My first time posting here, hope you enjoyed it :)
Constructive criticism welcome, and if there's interest I'll probably write some more!
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I ritualistically placed the needle in the small dish of Quiamortis, a designer drug that would allow the user to experience death. It's cheaper than heroin, and produces the same high. Naturally, it spread rapidly. It's addictive potential is pretty low, so many common folk use it from time to time. It's still illegal, of course, but that doesn't stop anybody.
I drew up the plunger with a practiced motion and hovered the method of delivery over the inside of my elbow. Then, I carefully pushed the needle in, piercing the skin with a surgeon's precision. My hand automatically depressed the plunger, and I fell into bliss.
Minutes later, I sit up, sweat already pouring from my body. The drug is only supposed to last for 5 minutes tops, but it had been 3 times that since I had taken it. Thoughts arced through my brain in a frenetic state as soon as I was able to breathe again.
I saw the other side. This is what I remember. The dose could've been spiked with any number of hallucinogens, but that didn't explain the time I was under for. Besides, usually people don't remember anything while they're out.
I compiled my thoughts into a rough modicum of cogency, then went over the ethereal experience in my mind. I wake up in a room. It's shape is incomprehensible to me, a multidimensional hellscape. I attempt to find my way out of this shape, but I wander for an infinite length of time and cannot find an opening in the weird structure.
I am transported somewhere else. It seems that I found the exit, or that some outside force had taken pity. I was placed on a road that went in a singular direction. My limited perception would not let me see if there was a way back. I traveled along this road until I met a man, just like me.
"Hello? Do you know the way out?!" I shouted in a voice infused with physically shocking terror. The man said nothing, then a moment or perhaps an hour later disappeared. I had no food or water, no sense of direction. I traveled further up the bridge, eventually meeting a great portcullis. It looked as though it were made from a strange material, not known to man. It had no color and shifted constantly.
I was able to pass through it in a manner that left my entire body weak. I pressed on, yet faltered only a couple steps from the portcullis.
When I woke, it was in front of a creature that defied rationality. It shifted between forms in a dizzyingly fast way, making weird noise as I watched in confusion. Eventually this creature saw me, then shambled in my direction. I tried to run, but the creature enveloped me, and I was gone.
I woke remembering all of this. I know not of the place I went, but I will always remember the horrors I encountered there. I will stop using the drug myself, and it is my life's mission to inform anyone who will listen about the place I had seen. No one would believe me, but I had to attempt.
| 2019-01-11T14:05:46 | 2019-01-11T13:56:46 | 276 | 11 |
[WP] You are a superhero whose powers are based on the music you are listening to. Rock can make you stronger, classical makes you smarter, etc. One day, you're fighting your toughest villain yet, and you are forced to use your "forbidden" playlist.
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Music is one of the greatest human feats. Engineering and science are great, don't get me wrong. I like my air conditioning as much as the next guy. But there are songs we sing and tunes we hum that connect us to thousands of generations of those who went before us, and no earthquake or tsunami can erase the magic. Music connects us in visceral ways, and people from across the globe from each other can genuinely connect and feel empathy for one another when listening to something unfamiliar with either of them. Music reminds us of our common humanity.
Music is power. It is the driving force that unites movements and defines generations. I don't mean in just the cultural touchstone sense, either. It is very real power. Psychic, metaphysical power. I am able to open myself to that power, to that flow. Since I was little, music allowed me to do things that baffled my parents. A simple soothing voice humming dropped me to restful healing sleep instantly. Singing along in the car to my dad's “road songs”, and we'd somehow wind up where we were going hours early. My school's fight song had my football team winning championships left and right, though it was a bit of a challenge to get the band director to play it before the touchdown.
The older I've become, the more I've realized that my powers can be tailored. I can boost my speed and power with battle hymns and old martial music. A dangerous and frantic crowd is no match for my calming presence while playing a string quartet's light etude. I have even used the US Air Force's official song to boost me over a swollen river to rescue some stranded hikers in danger of being washed away. I didn't set out to be a superhero, but I just kind of fell into it, playing the music and getting things done. I think perhaps these powers are only really at their apex because of technology. I can play music in earbuds from a vast remote library of stuff I have collected. Meticulous sorting and indexing helps me switch rapidly, and my own love of music helps me remember songs to sing to myself and get pumped when electronics fail.
I don't let on that the music powers me. I've graduated, so to speak, from fighting natural disasters and cats in trees to the actual villains running roughshod through the world. No need to let them know that without music, without the ability even to sing, or drum, or connect to that power, I'm fairly normal. My superhero name is Steve. It has nothing to do with music, and really, who wants a name like “The Tune”, or “Music Man”, or (as my smart-ass dad once suggested) “Hero who can't remember to take the garbage out”?
This job, for what it's worth as a job, has gotten harder, you know. Tailoring the music to the villain and the situation is always a challenge. I show up and start rocking through some metal and thrash music, and villains stop showing up to fight. They send henchmen, or even worse, unwilling proxies. Keeping my head on a swivel while I try not to hurt those who have been duped, looking for the real threat to adjust a playlist on the fly isn't easy. Switching from a classical aria to help focus my wits to get me deep inside a hideout to a gospel hymn of protection when bullets start to fly takes a lot of concentration and skill.
But there was that one... thing. Villain, yes. Man? Woman? I don't think it was really either. Someone had made a pact or agreement with something out of time and space. Something Lovecraftian and eldritch. It didn't follow the rules of villainy. No speeches. No monologuing. It didn't really conquer, so much as enslave, then consume. By the time people were really aware of how awful this thing was, it had metastasized into a constantly-shifting mass that exerted its twisted will through psychic and physical force. One minute, it might be a towering being with flailing tentacles, and another, it might be an manifestation of wind and power, sucking energy out of nearby sources.
How do you fight something like that? It had to be stopped, and it was obvious that I had to try. I had flown there on a raft of Air Force service songs and marches. I even hurried my way with some sci-fi speed music (Star Trek themes are great for warping along). Moving as fast as I was, I punched through it like a me-sized bullet, tearing a great gout of blackness out of it. Then I was on the ground, covered in that blackness, feeling my will draining out of me. I had to switch to some of my favorite motivational songs, the ones that get clubs jumping, just to stand up and untangle myself. By the time I had, it was aware of me and moving at me.
Tentacles and thrown objects rained down around me, and I had to get defensive just to survive the onslaught. I tried my blackest metal to get in fast and try to destroy its physical form. It evanesced into steam and lightning and attacked me with energy, all while trying to erode my mind. I needed something that would let me fight this thing back with my mind, but also physically. It was far more powerful than any foe I'd faced yet. It could switch its form and mode on a whim, and did so. For every foot-stomping bluegrass banger to get me motivated and every Mongolian throat-singing metal tune to infuse me with power, this thing just morphed into something different. I could only switch music so fast, and I was running out of ideas.
Once, years ago, I had hurt a man, badly. Well, more than hurt. I was new to using my powers directly against villains, and I had faced some with powers of their own. He was strong, he was evil, and he had killed many in his quest for power. He was trying to kill me, and also a bunch of schoolkids. In trying to find music to keep the kids happy while keeping myself strong enough to fight him off, I stumbled on what I now call my 'forbidden playlist”. I never wanted to repeat what had happened to that man. Evil or no, it was too much.
Taking a bit of parking garage upside my head while blasting power ballads spun me ass over tea kettle, and I knew it was time. This thing wasn't human so far as I could tell, and it was winning. I cycled through the list, and “The Merry Go Round Broke Down” soared through the speakers in my head. Anvils rained down on the beast. Before it could adjust, I had assumed its own form, but with exaggerated eyelashes, a feminine shape, and huge red lips. I kissed it. It boggled mentally. The “Tom and Jerry” theme blasted and I forced it to chase me into power lines. Despite lacking solid form, the outline of a skeleton shone from within.
Cartoons are barely-controlled insanity. They represent the ability of the human mind to create the most absurd situations and precepts, often lacking even the need for dialogue. The music sets the theme and the action, and we are caught happily in the tumble of farce and suspended physics. This thing was caught in the maelstrom, and faced with something as fickle as its own nature, was being defeated. Acid-squirting flowers and ridiculously huge cannons pelted it. It fell through holes where there should be none. And when last I saw it, it was riding a giant rocket straight into the sun. The sunsets were pretty for about a week after that.
No mortal can stand the tide of the collected madness of mankind, and I refuse to subject them to it, no matter how debased a villain might be. But should the need arise, Steve is here to let 'em know: That's all, Folks.
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Nothing has prepared me, the [Music Maestro](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zSAJ0l4OBHM), for this opponent. Ever Destroyer was the most dangerous enemy I have faced so far. Very strong, with the power of decay at her disposal, she was a villain all villains wish them could be. Everything she touched was destroyed. [Rock](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vx2u5uUu3DE), my trusted first choice of power, was beaten easily.
Going [Country](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B9FzVhw8_bY) was my next choice. Ode to the rural life, country lets me control plant life as well as an [alligator](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hT_nvWreIhg). Nothing says banjos and hillbillies quite like country music. Noticing this, Ever Destroyer touched the ground, disintegrating every plant within several kilometers and the alligator. A terrible deed, and my second choice was neutralized just like that.
Gritting my teeth, I pull out one of my trump cards, [Death Metal](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1zN7J64IeBo), a power very similar to hers. Instantly I feel Death's gaze behind me, reminding me of the high cost of using this genre. Veins popping, I rush to grab her hands. Ever Destroyer was surprised, for no one had ever touched her without dying before.
Yanking each other's feet, we tumble in the dirt, death and decay surrounding us as our powers both intensify and cancel each other out. On my back, I can feel Death slowly opening their eye. Under a minute left, before Death takes my [soul](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3YxaaGgTQYM).
Ultimately, I had to unleash my [forbidden genre](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZZ5LpwO-An4), [one](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FTQbiNvZqaY) that I swore to only [use](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L0MK7qz13bU) in the most dire of [emergencies](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=djV11Xbc914). Play the [music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ) that made the entire world rage!
| 2022-05-17T09:51:47 | 2022-05-17T08:49:33 | 395 | 153 |
[WP] We expected the Earthlings to react with outrage and despair when we killed their leaders, destroyed their economies, and took over their governments—but to our surprise they seemed almost relieved.
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Tendrils spread across a glowing console screen, each ending tapping rapidly at smooth buttons, the extraterrestrial creature they were attached to giving a thousand inputs a minute. It swung it's eyestalks up and down, watching closely as it created a log of everything it had seen recently. Before it could finish, it was interrupted.
"Admiral Jalo, the specimen is ready for interrogation." The stark voice of another creature rung throughout the room.
"Main screen." He said, simply. As a panel in the wall opened up, he stood high on three legs and turned towards the screen that it revealed. It switched on, revealing a bipedal creature, pink and fleshy, enwrapped in fibrous plant matter and hardened animal skins. It had unreasonably long fur strands sticking out of its head, each as black as the void. It was clearly a male of the species, having facial fur as well as the skeletal structure markings.
He stood in a questioning chamber, a blank white room with a single chair in the middle. It seemed he preferred to stand for now.
Humans. Such strange creatures, Jalo thought to himself.
"Human, my name is Admiral Jalo. As you are a guest on my vessel, you may address me as 'Admiral' or 'sir.' What may I call you?" Jalo took a posing of respect as he spoke, though the Human did not do the same, which understandably irked him a bit. Instead, the Human simply raised an eyebrow.
"Uhh..." Jalo relaxed his posture.
"Human? Are you reading me?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah, sorry. I'm just a little confused, I wasn't actually expecting to be able to understand you." The Human looked a little uncomfortable. "You can call me Lucas, I guess."
Jalo turned his head slightly.
"Yes, our translation software has been very helpful during our integration. Well then, Lucas, I have a few questions for you, if you don't mind."
Lucas just shrugs his shoulders and smiles.
"Heh, fire away, dude. Er, I mean, figuratively speaking, don't actually, like, fire at me or something..." He rubbed the back of his head as he looked around, presumably to make sure there were no weapons in the chamber.
Jalo felt his tendrils twist around each other in confusion. How did Earth's greatest General ever get his position acting like this?
"Very well... First off, when the Tralaxan Armada arrived, we declared war with the intent to annex your world. At first, the governments of your world resisted. Fiercely. From one leader to another, I admit that there was a chance that our attack might have failed... until you started a rebellion against the sub-empire you call the 'United States.' Why did you do this?" Jalo spoke with an even tone, hoping to get somewhere with a little bit of flattery... even if it was true.
"Okay, so," Lucas started, "I'm not a leader, I just wanna make that clear first off. I'm just a guy trying to get by. All I did was express my frustration at the government with anybody who would listen. For some reason people thought that made me a big deal." Jalo stopped him at that.
"Wait, that can't be right. All observations put you at the head of the attacks on strategic sites, as well as your Parliament."
"Yeah, man, I was there, but I wasn't in charge! We just worked together to be free. It's not my fault they put my face on all the signs and posters," Lucas explains, "but beyond that, the why is kind of a long story."
"We both have a lot of time to spend. Please, enlighten me, Lucas. I would like to know what you mean by 'be free.' Humankind had full control over your world. Were you not free already?" Jalo gave the man on the screen an inquisitive glance. He had his full attention now.
"No way, man. We were about as far from free as you could reasonably get without it being called full-on slavery. All the folks at the top, the rich, the politicians, lawyers, doctors, business magnates... they all took everything that they could and they'd never give anything back. People were starving in the streets, even though we had more food than we could store. And they pit us against each other so that we wouldn't turn against them, using the news to make us angry, make us attack one another for the most petty of nonsense." Lucas started pacing around the chamber while Julo watched on.
"They made us hate for little things like the color of our skin or which deity we worshipped, man. Hell, some people hated each other for their gender, that's how crazy it got. They turned our police into a private military force that killed anyone they didn't like, or made up laws on the spot. Medicine was a sham designed to charge you until you ended up on the street, and you wouldn't even be cured after taking it! We were... we were treated like animals. They treated us like cattle. Once you stop producing whatever it is they want, you're as good as dead to them." Lucas had the fire of entire decades of pain and rage in his eyes as he stopped to stare into the screen for that last sentence.
Jalo stood staring at the screen. He could hardly believe what he was hearing. Why wasn't something this awful mentioned in the scouting reports?
"So... you rebelled against them? You didn't think that an alien race attacking every nation around the world was a greater threat?"
"Dude, if you want this planet so badly, you can have it. Our governments screwed up so bad it probably won't even be inhabitable in thirty or forty years anyway. They've completely tanked our atmosphere with pollution. Everything is gonna be flooded in a decade or two, hurricanes are getting worse every year and we're too far gone to reverse any of it." Lucas laments, looking almost like he's trying to comfort himself as he speaks.
"How did your species end up like this? It sounds so... inhumane." Jalo responded, aghast at the horrors that he was hearing. Lucas sighs.
"No offense, man, but... it's bad enough having to talk about all of this again, but honestly, Human history is a whole other beast, you know? We've actually been at our best during these past hundred years or so. Well, other than World War two, I guess." Jalo's eyes twitched.
"World War two? What is that?" He said. Lucas shook his head.
"That... was a really, really bad time. Millions of innocent people were slaughtered for the circumstances of their birth, let's just leave it at that for now." As Lucas spoke, Jalo took a step back from his screen. He had no idea Humans were capable of such incredible cruelty.
"Perhaps we should speak more later on. Rest assured, the Tralaxan Empire does not treat it's subjects like that. Your people will be safe under our leadership." The Admiral spoke with confidence, making Lucas give a quick nod.
"Cool, dude. Thanks. I just hope it's better than what we've been dealing with. As long as it's that, the fighting will have been worth it." Lucas says as he sits down.
Jalo sighs as the screen switches off. He brings some of his tendrils up to the base of his eyestalks and applies pressure to his cranium. This is going to take some work.
"Lieutenant!" He barks into his empty office.
"Yes, Admiral?"
"Inform the other ship captains, the stories all line up. This planet and its inhabitants are violent, depraved and completely useless. Then send a message to the Empress and see if she still really wants this boiling mudball."
"Affirmative, sir."
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"So long as we don't rob you boys or businesses we good?", the young black man said as he stared wide eyed at the creature sitting before him.
The aliens translator buzzed conveying the response, "Yes, as long as you leave us and the economy supporting us alone we don't care what you do". This was the fourth time today the being had been forced to answer this type of question and it wasn't even 6-6 (10:00 am in terrarians time) yet.
"Alright, sounds cool. Hey a, what about guns and drugs and shit, is all that still going to be illegal?"
"No,", the being inhaled deeply becoming more and more frustrated by the minute, "Listen as long as you don't screw up or help screw up something directly affecting us or your species as a whole we do not care. Marry your brother, buy an anti material rifle, do meth and heroin together, we don't care as long as we get our share of any profits you make from selling or reselling said items."
The young man's eyes widened as he realized just what the being was saying. "But what if someone keeps me from getting a job because, I'm well you know, black?", he questioned.
"That we will intervene in, if you were truly the best canidate applying for the job.", the creature began to sort through papers as he spoke, "I have a list here somewhere but basically if you don't tresspass,steal, or kill members of our species or ecosystem crucial organisms our government will simply not care".
"Ight, well I'll be back with more questions I'm sure", the young human before rising and heading for the door.
The alien gave a cordial invitation back as he left but the second the door slammed closed it groaned and pinched the bridge of what could only be described as it's nose. "Why the hell can't the humans accept that we don't care what the hell they do."
| 2020-10-10T22:16:29 | 2020-10-10T22:15:28 | 85 | 31 |
[WP] Your party accidentally enrages a God, but certain doom is oddly liberating. Cursed weapons, monkey paws, contracts with demons; nothing is off the table. You have no chance of winning, but your deaths shall be GLORIOUS!
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*We'll be remembered.*
That was the last thing I said to my party before we went our separate ways. It was four of us. Four guild-branded adventurers seeking wealth, fame, power. And it took ten years, ten years of galavanting across the world before we finally found the fabled Tomb of Night. A whole temple made of black gold, the legends said. The legends were right.
Of course, they mentioned nothing of the Sleeping God (ah, awake now) which casts down its Doom upon those foolish enough to remove a single piece of gold from its temple. Certain, inescapable death. Funny how legends always leave out the important bits.
We left the temple — for all the richer, that much poorer.
Helios was the first to go. I suspected his faith was shattered after coming face to face with a being older than the Seven Sisters, older than sin. Not long after we left the Tomb, I heard rumor of a high priest burning down one of the Seven's temples -- with himself inside.
I don't blame him. If you ask me, he got off easy.
You see, some of us would not go quietly. A guy like Mako, a rogue's rogue, well -- throwing down a divine death sentence on him was like ripping off the seal on whatever semblance of decency he had left.
After leaving the Temple, ol' Mako made west, for the Kobashi Isles. As the songs go, the beautiful bastard killed a Wind Dragon -- yeah, he knew about the curse -- and crafted himself a suit of armor from the scales and bones. The sonofabitch fulfilled their prophecy. Got himself crowned Emperor of the Four Winds. Course, the dragon armor fused to his body after a while. Eventually, he lost his humanity and set to flying around the isles, whipping up typhoons for fun. The sailors weren't having that. Not good for trade, you see. So, with heavy hearts and sharpened spears, the Kobashi slew their emperor. Hell of a way to go.
Speakin' of hell -- Loraina was the only one of us that refused to accept the doom. That was just like her, course. High Magus of the Order of Pentus, she wasn't gonna take a God's curse laying down. Not her. She knew that the only way to break the curse was to kill the Sleeping God. So, first thing she did was transfer her soul into a phylactery. Yeah. She went full lich. I mean, the audacity! The style! She had half the Eastern Holy Empire chasing after her for heresy and I was cheering her on the whole way. Well, with her soul out of play, Loraina set out hunting for a Hell Mouth. And she found one, up north in the Kazbarian Mines. The Earthen will say there's nothing but bones and blight in there, after they dug too deep. But what's a little blight to a lich? So, Loraina goes to the mines and forces her way down the Hell Mouth! Yeah. Loraina bullied her way into hell. Gods, I loved that woman. Down in hell, she bound herself a daemon and forced it to reveal how to kill the Sleeping God.
Now, at this point you gotta understand something. If you were to tell me that the only way to kill an Old God was love, I'd spit in your eye and kick you in the shin. On principal! We all know the Seven Sisters murdered the Titans with daggers carved from dead branches taken from the Elder Tree. Even children know that. So when a daemon says that the only way to kill an Old God is love? Well. I wouldn't have bought it either.
And neither did Loraina. She worked her way down the Nine Rings, conquering each Lord of Hell, one after the other, until finally reaching the Ninth Ring where the Woman In White rules all of hell. Now, at this point it's only hearsay, but as I heard it, when Loraina demanded the Woman In White reveal the Sleeping God's weakness, she invited Loriana to a cup of tea. I imagine conquering hell must be thirsty work, and Loriana always did love a cup of spiced chamomile. But the water the Woman in White boiled was the Waters of Oblivion. The waters used to wash a soul blank before throwing it into the wheel of reincarnation. Poor Loraina sipped her tea and lost herself completely. The rest is the rest. The Woman in White broke her phylactery and chucked her soul into the wheel.
Loraina may have been obliterated, but the world learned of her conquest of hell. I made sure of it.
You see, I may have just been a mere sell-sword, always leaping into battle first to keep my party safe. But what good was a sword when faced with certain doom?
After I left the Tomb of Night, I knew what to do. I bade my companions farewell and headed south, to the Endless Wood. The Lewishi tree speakers did not take kindly to outsiders. But their tradition of *Song-Song* did allow for bards and tellers to enter their lands with hospitality so long as they performed. And what better story was there than the one about the party that woke the Sleeping God?
Soon, I was ushered to the Lewishi capital. Falindran, the canopy city. And there it was that I made my gambit. Under the edict of *Song-Song*, I demanded the right to enter the Forest Spirit's labyrinth. The Falindrani chieftain refused, but by then the entire city had heard my tale and demanded more. More stories from the Doomed swordsman. And the only thing a Lewishi loves more than being left alone is a good story. So, reluctantly, the chieftain granted me passage so long as I tell the tale of my journey -- should I survive.
The thing about the Forest Spirit's Labyrinth was that it was easy to navigate, as long as you could conquer your fears. Gnarled tenders burst free from the dirt and swung their massive branches, sure. But it was the fox spirits that really posed a threat. Invading your mind. Making you see nightmares. Well, when they invaded my mind, it was like touching a hot stove with your bare ass. They went running. Whatever it was they saw in there (I assume the curse) was worse than whatever mind magic they wielded.
After a week, out of food and water, dragging my chipped sword behind me, I reached the heart of the labyrinth. There, the Forest Spirit waited. She wasn't as pretty as Loraina, and her eyes weren't as hard as Mako's. But she wore a white robe, like Helios. Except hers was sheer, near damn translucent. Also, she was green.
She rose from her wooden throne and stalked toward me, and when she ran her finger across my breastplate, little shoots sprouted and withered. "What is it you seek, bane-touched?" she asked. "Know that I cannot undo what has been done. But there is more to life than death, yes?"
I knew she couldn't break the Sleeping God's Doom. Nothing could. But she could give me something no one or nothing else could.
"A lute," I said. "A lute that needs no skill to play. One that honeys my voice and limbers my tongue. I've got songs to sing and stories to tell, and I don't have the time to smarten up my fingers and voice."
Her laugh was like a gurgling creek. "Is that all?" she asked.
I nodded.
"Then you know the price."
I started taking off my clothes.
The price was paid and by the time I finished strapping on my breastplate, she was already showing. The Forest Spirit walked over to a gnarled oak, and, when she held out her hands, a thick branch fell and she caught it. The wood rippled and stretched in her hands, as if she were molding clay, until it formed the shape of a lute. Then she plucked her emerald hair and twisted the strands into stings. Finally, she whispered into the instrument, and it glowed amber for a moment. And with that she was done.
I left my sword in the labyrinth, and more. But what I gained was worth the price.
I travelled the world, investigating into the deeds of my party, turning their deeds into legends. I went to every Kobashi tavern, every Lewishi village, every court of renown in the Eastern Empire and performed for every ear.
They learned of Helios the Burning, Mako the Divine Wind, Loraina the Soulless, and me -- Tabin the Tongue. And they begged for more. And more I gave.
Perhaps I could have spent my time finding a way to break the curse. Chased every rumor or legend or lead. But what is a life spent fighting death?
If you're reading this, then the Doom has taken me. How? I cannot say for certain. But if you know, if you have heard how I met my glorious end, take my lute and tell them. Tell them all. Tell them how Tabin did not fear the curse of a god. Tell them how he lived ... and died.
Tell them he was remembered.
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# Curse of the Overdragon
"...and in exchange, a lifetime of suffering," the witch said.
Ambrose tossed the pouch of coins and grabbed the potion off the wooden countertop. The old woman gave him a nasty grin. _A lifetime of suffering..._
_Well, not like I'll be living any longer anyway,_ he thought.
He pushed aside the tent flap as he stepped outside, the merchant's alley bustling with activity. He pulled his hood down and walked with the crowd; avoiding contact, clutching the potion.
He headed toward the dilapidated lodgings beside the tavern, dodging town criers and street peddlers along the way. The door was open—the lock didn't work anymore—and he entered the landing, making for his room.
He quickly shut the door behind him and took out the potion. It was a dark red liquid, its flask filled with black smoke—The Occultist's Tonic. Ambrose stared at it, mesmerized by the fumes that swirled within.
He uncorked the flask, its smoke releasing into the room's musty air. _Now or never._ He downed the potion, the red liquid clenching his tongue and throat, the stench poring into him. Every muscle in his body ached, every nerve in pain, each organ pulsing rapidly. He screamed as smog escaped through his eyes, stinging his entire face. The torture was becoming nearly unbearable, until...
_Strength._
He stepped back, panting, as he dropped the flask. Ambrose stared at his hands which were now also trailing smoke. _I'm finally complete._
The Black Sword, the Devil's Amulet, the L'Zhar Tome, and finally, the Occultist's Curse—every damned enchantment he needed to properly challenge the Overdragon.
Ever since they failed to destroy its life vessel, Ambrose and his team have spent months hiding from the Overdragon, but only he has survived for this long.
He had _no chance_ of killing the god, but with his power, he can come close. He'll avenge his team, and he'll show the Overdragon the face of Death itself.
He wore the Amulet and sheathed the Sword to his waist. Using the Occultist's Curse, he waved his arm in a circular motion and created a wall of smog. The smoke surrounded him until no light passed through. As it dissipated, he appeared in front of the Overdragon; a look of shock drawn on the god's face.
"_Bold of you to enter my lair, Accursed One,_" the Overdragon said.
Ambrose didn't respond. He locked eyes with the god, then unsheathed the Black Sword, dark flames coming out of the blade. He recited an incantation from the L'Zhar Tome, and his body emitted an intense violet glow, which conflicted with the trails of smoke coming from his eyes and hands. Finally, he activated the Devil's Amulet, creating a translucent red sphere around him, enhancing his speed while wearing it.
"_You fool._"
"Today, you will feel what _true_ agony is, Overdragon."
---
I hope you liked this story! Please feel free to leave feedback as it will help me a lot in my journey to becoming a better writer! Join r/NovaLevelStories to see more stories, author's notes, and extra content!
| 2022-06-02T10:45:05 | 2022-06-02T10:37:49 | 49 | 27 |
[WP] Since childhood, you've been able to hear the thoughts of animals. This has led to an excellent career as a veterinarian. One day, someone brings in their pet to have it put down. You hear the animal scream "Please, don't! I'm a human!"
|
“How long does he have?”
“Mabel,” I said, easing the girl back onto the chair, “you’ve been very brave to bring your friend in by yourself. I’m not going to lie, and I’m going to treat you like an adult, ok?” I watched her nod, lips pursed tightly. Jesus, I’d seen adults twice her age with half her guts. “Two, maybe three weeks, at the most. But he’ll suffer all that time through, so you did the right thing, bringing him to me.”
Her Dalmatian was one of the largest I had ever come across. He was old now, shrunken, but I could tell he had once weighed in at the very end of the scale. He lay on the examining table, eyes closed, head between his paws. The fur had fallen away in patches, unevenly, such that there were pink spots poking out amongst the whites and blacks.
“I… I don’t want him to suffer,” Mabel said, hands clenched upon her lap.
“I know,” I said, “and that’s why I am going to put him to sleep. Make sure that he goes peacefully.”
“He’s been with me my whole life,” she continued, though I wasn’t sure if she was addressing me. “I want him to rest now. He’s done… too much for me.”
“I’m sure he has. He’s probably been looking out for you, hasn’t he?”
Mabel looked up, met my eyes, and a certain steeliness entered her gaze. “Yes, he has,” she said. “From monsters. All sorts of monsters. Big ones, small ones, the invisible, the horrible. Terrance has kept them all away from me.”
I turned away, kept my eyes trained on Terrance. It wouldn’t do to tear in front of Mabel, so instead I focused, concentrated, and laid my hand on his head. The least I could do was to ease his passage, let him know that his duty was done.
For that was my ability, my hidden talent. I could communicate with animals, and not in the animal-trainer way. I could speak to them, literally, though it all happened in my head, where there were no recordings to be made, no way to prove I was right.
But I knew I was, and that was enough.
I had kept it a secret. Of course I did – I’d read my fair share of comics, consumed a healthy amount of Marvel and DC and Vertigo and Dark Horse. I know what happened to people with powers, and who were not careful about keeping it quiet. At best, they got sidelined by society, labelled as kooks and cranks, relegated to the sidelines and never allowed to re-enter the arena of life. At worst, they got examined, hunted, dissected.
I wanted none of that. I only wanted to be with the animals I loved, and to care for them.
“Hey buddy,” I said, psychically, willing my thoughts into Terrance’s head. I saw one of his ears perk up then. “You’ve been a good boy. You’ve done all you could for her, so I’m going to reward you with some well-deserved res-”
*“Holy crap you’re a Shifter too!”*
My hand flinched away, and I almost lost my footing in my haste to back away. Terrance was reacting too, huffing and puffing as he struggled to get up. He started whining with the effort, and that was when Mabel rushed forward and threw herself over him.
“It’s OK Terrance it’s OK! He’s the doctor, he’s here to make you feel better!” she cooed in his ear, calming him down. After he settled, she turned to me, beckoned to me.
“Doctor, please,” she said, voice lowered to a whisper. “He still thinks there’s danger here, but there’s none. All the monsters here, gone because of him. Please, help him rest?”
I moved Mabel away, gave her strict instructions to sit still and give me time, then interposed my body between her and Terrance so that she wouldn’t see the expression on my face. How could I have explained it? How could I have told a little girl of eight that when it came to hearing the thoughts of normal animals, it was like listening to a song playing off an iPod, with tinny music pumped through little earbuds, but when *he* had spoken to *me*…
... it was like being at a Nirvana concert, front row, in the centre sweet spot, melting under the acoustic barrage from the 200 megawatt speakers?
“Now that you know I’m human,” Terrance said, the words delivered right to my brain, “you know you can’t put me down, right? I don’t know what you’re going to tell her, but you have to fob her off. Then patch me up as best as you can, I’ve got to head back. Duty calls, and I can’t rest until my replacement comes in.”
I cleared my throat, although there was no need to. “You… can hear me?”
Terrance narrowed his eyes, as best as a Dalmatian could, and gave me the distinct impression that he was trying not to snort at me. “You’re not unique, buddy. I chose this form to Shift into because it’s the easiest way to keep close to her, keep her safe. Please tell me you know how to Shift?”
“Er… no?”
“So you can hear animals’ thoughts and you never wondered why?”
“I thought… I was gifted?”
Terrance raised a paw to scratch at his neck, and I noticed the lack of coordination in the movements. Fine his mind may have been, but his body was failing him. “Well, I suppose I could teach you a thing or two, but you’re going to have to give me a boost here. You could even help me take the morning shifts, watch over her while I sleep.”
“She said… something about monsters…”
Terrance laughed, or at least tried to. “Don’t be a wuss! I took care of all of them, cleared every single one out from this nest. You have nothing to worry about, but it never hurts to keep an ey-”
Mabel screamed then, and I whirled around. I thought she had perhaps cut herself on one of the instruments I had left on my table, or maybe she had come across one of the autopsy photographs on my laptop.
Instead she was sitting right where I had left her, but with hands clamped tightly around her temple.
“It’s back, Terrance!” she yelled. “The basilisk!”
I thought I had misheard her, but at that exact moment, I heard a loud crash from the street below, then a medley of car alarms swirled together in a maddening crescendo. I threw the blinds aside, and I saw a giant serpent, almost fifty feet in length, slither right across traffic. Its scales, dark and glossy, drank in the afternoon sun.
It was hissing, a giant forked tongue darting through the air, trying to scent its prey.
I had a pretty good idea what it was looking for.
Terrance hoisted himself up, and I heard his nails scratch on my tabletop. The exhaustion still ringed his eyes, but there was a spine of purpose, a backbone of duty, which now ran through his body. Where his muscles had been flaccid before, they were taut now, humming with power. Even his coat had taken on a new sheen.
“You,” he said, gesturing with his snout at me. “Come with. Watch and learn, and maybe you will be able to Shift today.”
“We’re going to fight that thing?” I asked out loud, not even bothering with the psychic link anymore.
“My replacement’s not going to get here in time,” he barked. “You’ll have to do.”
I wanted to cry, such was the blind fear stoking the depths of my belly.
I wanted to sigh, such was the utter hopelessness of the situation before me.
But instead I shrugged off my coat, then plucked a scalpel or two off the rack on my table. Something about Terrance inspired action, and something about Mabel inspired hope.
“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do when this is over,” I said, though to Mabel or Terrance I was not sure.
Mabel finally stopped screaming, then she sidled up to me, gave me a tight hug around my leg. She looked up with shimmering eyes, still too stoic to let the tears flow properly.
“Take care of Terrance, doctor,” Mabel said. “And I hope you Shift into something useful.”
---
Continued below in the comments, will link when I'm off my phone!
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
I remember once, I had a guinea pig come in that was convinced it was a human. I mean, it really believed it was part of the family- one of the children that just happened to be abnormally hairy.
Huh.
Thinking on it now, the poor thing must have been driven mad. It really was a cruel state of affairs to keep them locked up like that.
Still, I was used to it.
"No, really. I'm telling you. I'm a fucking Human!" It said with more tenacity than last time, enough to make me pull back the needle.
"Something wrong?" Sally asked, looking toward me with an air of curiosity.
"Uh... Can I have a minute?" I asked, returning her glare. She pulled off her protective mask and nodded to me.
"I understand." She said, pushing through the doors that swung back and forth for a moment. When they had settled, I looked back down to the dog.
I had never heard one swear before- not in forty years.
"Listen buddy, I know you're scared..." I had started, pulling off my glove and stroking his head with my thumb.
"Oh, fuck off." It barked. "You're the same prick that took off my balls. Don't pretend like you care about me now."
I was taken aback by his comment, but, it was fair enough. "Yeah, uh... sorry about that."
"Listen, I didn't bite him out of bloodlust- I'm not some kind of cannibal." He said, shuffling about on the table and sitting up to look at me. He didn't appear to offer me any expression, and only watched me for a moment. "This shit is deeper than you know."
"What do you mean? You couldn't pos-"
"Look, man. You stopped for a reason. You know something isn't right."
Perhaps what he had said was true. Perhaps in my mind I did feel some kind of disturbance in the air that didn't come with any other animal I had worked with before- He was definitely more eloquent, at least.
"What, then?" I asked, entertaining the thought that there was something very strange going on- I mean, outside of talking telepathically with a dog.
"Please, sir. Y-you can't go back there." I had heard, coming from the reception area. It was Sally's voice.
Suddenly, the door burst open and a man charged into the room. "What's taking so long?" He asked, his face a worried expression.
"I, uh..." I murmured, not entirely sure how I was going to explain the situation- I certainly wasn't going to tell the truth. The man reached out to grab the dog, who slid on the table like a skater on the verge of crashing into the ice. It fell to the floor and dashed past the man, who had slung his arms haphazardly in a failed attempt to catch him.
"George Street!" It said to me as it escaped through reception.
| 2017-09-04T10:20:43 | 2017-09-04T08:01:55 | 322 | 139 |
[WP] You are a superhero whose powers are based on the music you are listening to. Rock can make you stronger, classical makes you smarter, etc. One day, you're fighting your toughest villain yet, and you are forced to use your "forbidden" playlist.
|
“Blood? Oh, that’s my blood. That’s not good.”
The blaring rock music rattled through my headphones as I pulled myself off the floor. When I got to my feet, I staggered, clutching the broken wall of the coffee shop I had just been tossed through. It was a good thing the headphones were reinforced, or they would have perished in the blast.
I tapped my body, examining all the music note patterns in my costume. Each one serving as a unique way for me to remember where each of my vitals were. Sure, it made me a walking dartboard for villains, but I hadn’t met a villain yet that had caught onto my little cheat sheet. My hands brushed over the semibreve over my heart, ensuring that it didn’t have a hole in it. Though I wondered why I bothered, surely if that part had been damaged, I wouldn’t be standing. From Sharp to Treble Clef, my vitals were looking good, with the wound coming from a rather painful cut on my back.
Super Boom flew towards me. The explosives-based villain floating above me. I could see his mouth moving. No doubt he was giving some very interesting evil monologue. His hands crossed over his chest as he glared down at me. Eventually, his mouth stopped moving, and it appeared he was waiting for a response.
“WHAT?” I shouted, unable to hear him over the rock music.
He attempted to speak again, this time the veins in his neck were straining as his mouth opened wider, sounding out every word individually. His cheeks were bright red, annoyed beyond comprehension. As he finished speaking, he again waited for my feedback.
“WHAAAAT?”
This time I took off my headphones, placing them against my hip, allowing him a moment to speak. While it may have seemed cartoony, this little routine was buying me some precious time to get my breath back. Even a superhero gets a little winded after smashing through a building and no amount of rock music can fix that.
“You know what, never mind. It was a brilliant speech, but it’s wasted on a B-list hero. You will be my steppingstone towards greatness. As they say, you have to break a few eggs to make an omelette and you’re just the right size to make a hearty start to this villainous buffet.”
“Glad I left the headphones on for that one. Want another crack? Get it, you called me an egg and eggs crack.”
I held a smile despite the pain setting in. Even with my breath back, the pause in the fighting had caused my adrenaline to wane and now that pain was slowly poisoning my body, draining me of my energy. I needed a plan quickly; stalling would only work for so long. Back up was always an option, but who knows how far away that is? That left me with only one option. I stared at my cracked phone screen, searching for my forbidden playlist.
“Ever seen that video of the man that throws a bunch of eggs against a wall in an attempt to imitate cooking? That’s what I’m going to do to your body.” His palm glowed with a golden light, smoke drifting out of from behind the powering blast.
I couldn’t exactly dodge it, not with a massive cut on my back. Guarding probably wouldn’t be effective either, not at such a close range. Even if I survived the initial blast, I would still be down for the count. I had to get that playlist ready. The smell of burning flesh drifted from the blast as it neared its completion, my hand frantically tapping away until I could start the playlist.
When my finger collided with the play button, I tossed the headphones back on, listening to the overly dramatic lyrics. The blast flew towards me, rampaging through the remains of the coffee shop, burning everything in its path. I stuffed my phone back into my suit and shut my eyes, preparing for the worst.
The hot wave shot into me, knocking me off my feet as the inferno of warmth threatened to cook me. I could hear his snide laughter as he watched. The intense pain causing my eyes to drift closed for a moment, only to snap awake as I pushed myself forward.
“How can you see into my eyes, like open doors..” I hated using this playlist, but only songs as dramatic as this could fuel me in this great time of need. These songs relied on pain to power them, and I was in a lot of pain.
“Impossible, you should be dead. You should be a boiled egg by now. Damn it, I’m not going to the bottom of the villain ladder over an idiot like you. DIE.”
Another blast of heat shot towards me, this time as the cloud of warmth hit me. It exploded, throwing me backwards, sending me rolling along the street. I needed some offence. As the words ‘WAKE ME UP’ shot through my headphones, I got myself back to my feet, exploding into a powered-up rage.
A sudden look of panic covered his face as he attempted another blast, only for my fist to land squarely on his face, getting a little payback for the last attack. Tapping my headphones, I changed the song, deciding to go for something more dramatic.
“When I was a young boy, my father took me into the city. To see a marching band.” The ground shook, imitating the roar of a large marching band. Each violent shake causing the villain even more fear as he squirmed backwards, trying to get himself to his feet. Though with each squirm back he made, I took a step forward, ensuring that if he wanted to stand, he would have to face me when he did. I wouldn’t give him any distance.
“He said, son, when you grow old, will you be the saviour of the broken, the beaten and the damned?” An angelic glow followed my steps, repairing the broken street beneath my feet. My gaze didn’t leave the villain, instead, my steps were gaining on him until I was standing over him.
“To join the black parade.” A shadowy mass of vines sprawled out of my palm, gripping the man around the waist and swinging him. He attempted to charge another blast, but before he could charge it, I slammed his body into the ground, knocking him out in a rather painful bit of whiplash.
Like always, now that the fight was over, I could see the other heroes arriving on the scene. My aching body probably only having one song left in it. One hero went to offer me her shoulder while the others went to arrest the villain. As she waited for me to lean on her shoulder, I held up a finger.
“Wait, I love this part. DOO, DOO, DO, DO, DOO, DOO, DO, DO, DO, DO.” After the uplifting instrumental finished, I fell forward, allowing my body its much needed rest. Such emotion had a way of sapping me of energy. Had the fight gone any longer, it might have ended my hero career.
She caught me before I hit the floor, keeping me upright. She removed my headphones before picking up my body in her arms. Her suit had a stunning shine to it, one that radiated confidence. No one dressed in such a bright costume unless they were confident in their ability to take a hit. Well, maybe except me. I am the expectation to that rule.
“You did well for a rookie. Although you are losing a lot of blood, let’s get you to a hospital, ok?”
“Yeah, that sounds good. Please hurry. I think my beam notes might be damaged.”
“Beam notes?” She glanced over at my costume, struggling to figure out where the beam notes were.
“Um, which parts that?”
“Kidneys.”
“Oof, yeah, I didn’t want to say anything, but there’s a pretty nasty looking cut there. Get some rest. You’re in the hands of the Soaring Phoenix.”
The Soaring Phoenix? What was someone like her doing here? It hardly mattered. The knowledge that she was here made it easier to rest. I let my eyes shut, knowing that I would wake up to a painful month of rehabilitation.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
|
Nothing has prepared me, the [Music Maestro](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zSAJ0l4OBHM), for this opponent. Ever Destroyer was the most dangerous enemy I have faced so far. Very strong, with the power of decay at her disposal, she was a villain all villains wish them could be. Everything she touched was destroyed. [Rock](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vx2u5uUu3DE), my trusted first choice of power, was beaten easily.
Going [Country](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B9FzVhw8_bY) was my next choice. Ode to the rural life, country lets me control plant life as well as an [alligator](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hT_nvWreIhg). Nothing says banjos and hillbillies quite like country music. Noticing this, Ever Destroyer touched the ground, disintegrating every plant within several kilometers and the alligator. A terrible deed, and my second choice was neutralized just like that.
Gritting my teeth, I pull out one of my trump cards, [Death Metal](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1zN7J64IeBo), a power very similar to hers. Instantly I feel Death's gaze behind me, reminding me of the high cost of using this genre. Veins popping, I rush to grab her hands. Ever Destroyer was surprised, for no one had ever touched her without dying before.
Yanking each other's feet, we tumble in the dirt, death and decay surrounding us as our powers both intensify and cancel each other out. On my back, I can feel Death slowly opening their eye. Under a minute left, before Death takes my [soul](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3YxaaGgTQYM).
Ultimately, I had to unleash my [forbidden genre](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZZ5LpwO-An4), [one](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FTQbiNvZqaY) that I swore to only [use](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L0MK7qz13bU) in the most dire of [emergencies](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=djV11Xbc914). Play the [music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ) that made the entire world rage!
| 2022-05-17T09:15:17 | 2022-05-17T08:49:33 | 215 | 153 |
[WP] If you assasinate the king you become the king - a rule so outdated that most of your countrymen have forgotten it exists. This morning, a group of angry Royal Guards have shown up at your apartment demanding you come to the palace immediately.
|
I woke up feeling immensely grouchy this morning. I suppose it was due to the awfully long shift I had at work yesterday, but the morning felt especially bad. It didn't help that I had sleep for dinner last night; which is pretty ironic, when you consider that I work at a seafood café. Now before you go ahead and question how well seafood would go with fresh bread and coffee, I suggest you *sea* for yourself.
Just when I thought I would be able to shake off the grouch in me, I heard an army pounding on my door. That definitely eliminated 'sweet house guest' from the possibility space of visitors. I opened the door to three actual army men, who seemed to have no problem making themselves feel at home. They went right on over to my couch and asked me to have a seat. How sweet.
"I don't know to what I owe this pleasure, but I bet I'm going to find out soon enough."
"This isn't the time. Our sources tell me that you are the waiter who was waiting on the king's table yesterday at lunch time."
"Are those sources your eyes, because I certainly remember seeing you three babysit our dear king."
"Geez, somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed."
"Gee what gave that away?"
I wasn't quite listening to them introducing themselves, the brain fog was too much to tunnel through without my morning tea. So, from now on, I shall refer to the three musketeers as Buzzcut 1, 2 and 3. Buzz 1, is whom you have—so far—had the pleasure of getting acquainted with.
Buzz 2 cuts off his buddy. "The king was admitted to the hospital last night, after he complained of severe abdominal pain and dizziness. At the hospital, we were informed that he had consumed an excessive number of fish-bones, whole. This had led to multiple punctures along his stomach, small and large intestines. He was said to have only an hour or lesser to live, on account of having digestive juices, secretions and enzymes, leak and escape through openings in his organs. I didn't quite understand the rest of the details, but within twenty minutes, the king had passed."
"So doc, you presume that since I served the fish he ate, I assassinated him?"
"Well, we aren't here to blame you. We knew that the king has always neglected the importance of proper mastication of one's food. It is just that, we needed to find someone to succeed him. According to the law, his heir can only be his killer, when his killer is not nature."
"Yeah, we don't think you assassinated him. We are just doing what the law tells us to."
Now you'd think that becoming king would be enough to make me feel less grouchy for the morning. It would have, if the king had any actual power. He just had a few fancy houses and some protection from the army.
Sure, I could use the fancy house, but the jump up was not quite worth the additional duties that I would have to take on. That would involve putting up a facade of niceties in a new social playground that I would be forced into interaction with. Pretending to concern myself with the woes of the people, in order to appear outwardly as someone with a strong and influential opinion. I consider it way too much effort, so I might as well pass the buck.
"You know, the real assassin is whomever the restaurant buys the fish from."
Buzz 3 seemed particularly intrigued. I know this, because he took the time out of his busy schedule of watching the door, to turn towards me and actually humour me.
"Where?"
"The fisherman's market. A counter that goes by the name of, 'Turn up the Bass'."
"You must be joking."
"Not really, the owner is an old friend of mine. The name was my suggestion, in fact."
He turns to Buzz 1. "Heh. Funny guy. He could make a great jester, if not a king."
The three wait for me outside and I get changed, in order to join them to the fisherman's market. I didn't think that they would seriously consider that avenue towards a legitimate heir. But, I also didn't really have much to do for the day. So, I thought I might as well join them.
We get into the army SUV and sped away towards the town centre. We went by many fruit and vegetable vendors, with their own wittily named counters. *"Eggscuse me!", "Tomato, Tomato", "Ingrained"* and my personal favourite, *"In a Vegetative State"*.
We reached my friend's counter, and I got out of the car and greeted him. I quickly explained the highlights of the fiasco and he decided to pass the buck too.
"You know, I wouldn't have gone fishing for yesterday's assortment. The only reason I could was because the lovely people over at the shipyard, delivered my ship a day early. They had originally estimated three days for the repair because they didn't have the parts. But I guess I was due for some good luck."
Buzz 2 asked him where the shipyard was, and went straight back to the car. I guess this adventure was going to continue. I bid my mate adieu and the four of us were on our way.
On reaching the shipyard, we inquired about the ship that was delivered early, and the fellow in charge told us that they got new equipment a week prior. It supposedly accelerated the assembly line enough to deliver over 20 ships, a day early. And that only happened because the new tools and equipment came in a week early, from the hardware exhibition. He told us that it would go on for a week longer, so we could probably inquire there. The buck passes on.
We made a list of the equipment that came in the week prior, to cross-reference it with the sellers at the exhibition. After all, everyone couldn't be king. After learning a dozen new names for a torque wrench, we headed out to what we hoped, would be our final destination. Apparently, iron ore refineries that supply the manufacturers of these said tools, was where they decided to draw the line.
We reached the exhibition and—before we could scout out our candidates—received a flyer with information about a raffle. Supposedly, one of the companies—*Nailed It*—received a generous sum from the government, and they were single-handedly responsible for setting up the entire exhibition with the funds that they had received. They also had a few sets of special house tools bought with the remainder of the money that didn't go into the exhibition, and that was up for grabs in the raffle.
So we approached the *Nailed It* booth, to end our search. We asked the representative sitting at the desk, how they came about such a government grant. An older man—who was rummaging for something at the back—perked up. He came forward, and revealed himself to be the founder and CEO.
"My son is in the same grade as the king's daughter. About two weeks ago, when they had their common cooking class, the class was instructed to prepare an entrée using a pressure cooker. My son noticed that her pressure cooker was oscillating far too erratically, for it to end with merely a whistle. So he grabs it and throws it out the window, breaking the window in the process. It falls down one storey into the then deserted vegetable garden, and after a couple of seconds, explodes. On hearing the incident later, the king decided to do us this favour as a gesture of his gratitude for saving his daughter."
One cannot imagine how irritated these three had become. I turned to the three musketeers and said: "So you are telling me, that what killed the king, is his daughter's cooking, and therefore, the new heir would have to be his daughter?!"
Buzz 3 agrees.
Buzz 1 and Buzz 2 said that they were going to quit the army.
It is ironic how, even on my day off, I was able to serve them a red herring.
|
Morning light peered through the windows, and a gentle breeze roused me from sleep. Upon awakening, I saw that papers were strewn all over the place, carried by the wind. I set about collecting my last night’s work when someone knocked on my door. I didn’t think it to be urgent and ignored it. The knocks became thuds, and in a matter of seconds, the door was busted open. Guards, Royal Guards, flooded the room. Half naked and half asleep, I wondered what all the fuss was about.
“You sir, are the new king,” one of the guards spat out.
King? Me? That wasn’t possible. I said so myself, but the guards were insistent.
“You sir, have been crowned the new king,” they said.
“What for? What have I done?”
“You sir, have claimed the throne due to your valour.”
My valour? I hadn’t ventured out of my room for two days. What acts of valour could a lonely man perform in a dark and musty room?
“To put it plainly, my dear sir, you’ve assassinated the king, and due to the letter of the law you should succeed him,” they said.
I told the tall and strong guards that I had not ventured out of my room in days, and I certainly wasn’t capable of killing the great king. They looked at me with furrowed brows. One or two of them shifted nervously and adjusted their great capes. At my behest, one of the tall and muscular guards stepped forward and told me what had happened.
The king he said, was reading one of my stories, a heart-wrenching tragedy with a dash of horror and lots of gore, and in so doing, he said, the king was seized by some terrible agony as he fell from his throne. The king, they said, died clutching his heart, breathing shallow breaths and saying, “This story will be the death of me.”
I had killed the king. There was no disputing the fact according to the brawny men assembled in my room whose biceps were bigger than their brains. I saw no harm in being a king, I certainly could do with a change of scenery.
It’s true, the pen is mightier than the sword; I thought as I rode in the Royal carriage, escorted by Royal Guards.
| 2020-10-05T08:50:21 | 2020-10-05T08:06:52 | 73 | 45 |
[WP] God orders Earth from Ikea. After 3 to 4 working days, it comes. Flat packed
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God saw the great reviews, but he did not expect Earth to be missing a manual. There was only a note that came in the box;
*Life not included.*
Naturally. No planets came with life. You had to order that from Ikea separately.
So there it lay mocking him in three pieces; a pile of dirt chips, magma boards and purpose nails. Just had to hammer them together, right? How hard could it be?
At least, God *hoped* it would not be hard. He gave himself seven days off from work to tinker on this little project. An email to Ikea may not have been such a bad idea, informing them that their product was defective. Again, it came with no manual. There were other planets he could have built instead, and he already made two. They hung in the living room ceiling by the light, as rocky and gaseous things. Maybe he will just go off from past experience. Earth was going to be special. Complex. Homely.
*Third time's the charm.*
God turned on the garage light, and got to work.
Seven days was not a lot of time, but he hoped to make something of this mess. Even without a manual, the pieces made sense in their own tragically simple way. Just had to arrange them in the right order. He set the magma boards first and nailed them together. Then caked layer after layer of dirt chips over it. God was very liberal with the purpose nails, so he used the spares from his other two projects to hold the planet together.
There were a lot of spares. Perhaps this was why Mercury and Venus were not all that interesting to look at. They lacked purpose. Each manual was exact about the amount of purpose a planet needed to be held together. So precise in fact, that each box came with spares, just in case.
Earth demanded more purpose. So God used more nails. Then he tried something different. See, in the picture, God always thought it could have used more blue. Rock and gas were interesting and all, but not quite as interesting as a planet *could* be. There was no manual to tell him differently, and this was God's project after all.
So he added water. Lots of it. For a few seconds, it sunk into the dirt chips. Then it pooled in clumps, clinging to where God used more purpose nails (there were parts God needed to hammer in more to hold it together. The magma boards looked like they could take it). The water spun and coursed through the rough lines of chips until it began to slow down. Then it lay still. This was also not very interesting, even if it did add a nice shade of blue.
He added more. Earth became special alright. A complex arrangement of natural systems drove and coursed through the path of purpose nails God added throughout the entire planet. He was very liberal with them earlier. Now there was more to look at. And it was good. The water really was a nice touch. Satisfied with the result, he hung the planet in the living room. God was about ready to make himself a well-deserved sandwich with a beer on the side to watch the planets spin for a while. However, as he was about to take his eyes away from Earth, he noticed something different about his planet.
*Life not included.*
He did not expect Earth to be missing a manual. Somehow, life also got all over his planet. This was very peculiar. God did not feel ready to tend to a planet with life. Not yet anyway. But so much purpose etched throughout the planet, that there was a manic sense to it all that pleased God. The waters and air had finned things and winged wonders coursing through them. Creatures walked on the dirt, and trees rose to the sky. God always wanted to include trees in a planet, to breathe and sway in the wind. This also pleased God.
This *all* pleased God.
Then he saw it. Two... *things* that shared God's form. They wandered awkwardly on two legs, with familiar faces. There was a moment God thought using a drinking glass was not such a good idea. Maybe he should have washed it first. He tried to rationalize the poor decision; In one way, it made the planet more personal. In another, it gave him more cause for concern. More to watch for.
Now God had to take care of it. What a week. He hoped he was up for the task. Sure, this planet was more than what God expected from an Ikea product, and the reviews were great because they mentioned how low maintenance this planet was. Earth was meant to be easy to take care of, and simple to watch.
This was no longer the case.
God sighed, and put the two creatures in a private enclosure. He called it Eden, and went to the kitchen to make himself some lunch. When he got back, he found the two things eating from a tree. As creatures should, but God stared in horror. He dropped his sandwich.
It was a tree of knowledge! The rarest tree to ever grow from *any* planet that had life! How did he not notice it before?! Some divines took *decades* to cultivate a planet to grow a tree of knowledge, and God somehow grew one in seven days! From *scratch*!
And there they were, eating his miracle!
God was rather upset. Now the tree of knowledge was no longer in mint condition. He flung the creatures out from the garden, and took out Eden from the planet. Maybe if he fostered this plot of green some more, he could grow another tree of knowledge. Again, Earth came with no manual. He set Eden aside, and decided he would tinker with it for a while back in the garage. God ordered six more planets online. The last one came second-hand, and barely qualified as a planet, but it was all God could afford. He would try to create a planet that could grow Eden separately.
The Earth was left alone for a while. In the late evenings God came back from work, he would spend more time in the garage on his new project than watching the planets spin in the living room. Mars was added later, with too little water. Then Jupiter, which he made too big, and too gaseous. This went on for several more weeks. God gave up, realizing that Earth was indeed special. The tree of knowledge that grew in Eden was a once in a lifetime occurrence, and the two creatures ruined it.
Having come to terms with his failed project, God placed Eden somewhere private in the living room. He would continue working on it later. God sat in his chair and sighed. It had been a long time since he simply watched the planets for a while, and now there were nine of them. Well, eight. God decided to never order a planet second-hand again, but he kept Pluto there for posterity. This solar system was quite a sight though. For the first time in weeks, God was pleased.
Then God saw Earth, and realized how long it had been.
The creatures. The, *people* who ruined his tree of knowledge.
There were more of them.
-----------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!*
|
In the beginning, God went to IKEA. With the flat packed box upon his desk, he unwound the cardboard sides and looked within the depths and while His spirit was hovering over the nails and the strange he said, "Let there be light!" And clapped his hands, and so the clapper gave light. God saw that the parts were complicated. He separated all the screws of different sizes, calling one "big" and one "small". The medium of screws were the first to be used.
Then God said, "Let there be panels between screws, separating screws from other screws!"* So God put two panels together that separated the screws between the panels . And then God drank a beer and went to bed, for he had put three panels together, and he saw that it was good.
Then God found the strange little square screw, but he could not find the little crank for the square screw. And when he finally did he found that after four more panels his hand hurt too much to continue. And so God gave up and called IKEA to come put it together for him, and they did. And God looked upon his creation and he saw that it was good.
---
^* I'm not even joking:
>Then God said, “Let there be a canopy between bodies of water, separating bodies of water from bodies of water!”
For more of my work please visit /r/Celsius232
| 2016-04-17T08:15:18 | 2016-04-17T07:19:04 | 287 | 184 |
[WP] At 18 years of age, everyone gets a weapon based on their personality and strengths. All your friends got traditional weapons, but you? Oh, you got something interesting that no one knows how to wield.
Courtesy of [WordPress](https://promptuarium.wordpress.com/2017/01/14/an-interesting-weapon/)
|
Our world wasn’t the kindest place. They say when you give a man a hammer, everything starts to look like a nail.
Gods above, wasn’t that the understatement of the century.
Theories still abound on why things started happening this way. Some claim aliens, some claim divine interference, and some (rightly in my opinion) claim we were always born with weapons in our heart, but now we had weapons in our hands to match. What was certain was that society couldn’t continue to function as it had. Things deteriorated quickly, but people learned to adapt. Some definitely learned faster than others.
The whole process wouldn’t have been so bad if you didn’t feel the impulse to use the weapon. Perhaps a kid could turn eighteen, get a set of daggers, and then just put them on display somewhere. What we didn’t understand as people started stabbing, burning, and otherwise eviscerating each other was that your Inheritance (as it came to be called) called to you. Resisting it was unthinkable. It was the howling blizzard blowing outside the shoddy patchwork cabin of your soul. You might huddle tight against the cold, but the compulsion would seize you, the river would erode you, and with a nervous twitching you’d take your Inheritance in hand and give up. You’d let yourself follow the pack, and before you knew it you’d be drenched in the blood of someone, several someones, and there wouldn’t be a difference between you and the weapon. You were your Inheritance, and the only life you could live was one where you contributed. Where you served your purpose. As a late author once said “Talent won’t be quiet, doesn’t know how to be quiet…It never shuts up. It’ll wake you in the middle of your tiredest night screaming ‘Use me, use me fuckhead, use me!”
I was 16 when it all began. As order crumbled and communications cut out over the world, I learned that the best way to survive was to group with the other kids. I had always been a bit of a social chameleon. I had never been very unique, I had just learned to survive socially by mimicking those around me. I felt empty at times, sure, but people always seemed to love me. They often saw in me something they loved about themselves. When things started to crumble, people trusted me. As kids, we were immune to whatever madness had spread over our older loved ones. We were the only ones who could try to maintain some semblance of civilized society in the panic and death. Soon we all learned to trust each other. Life or death situations forge that bond pretty quickly. The group I found learned to retreat from the urban areas where the worst atrocities happened, and had been living on the road ever since. We raided convenience stores, suburban homes, and did everything we could to avoid other human beings. We never knew what kids we could trust, after all we never knew when they would receive their own Inheritance. I had been traveling with my friends for close to two years now, and I thought I knew everything about them. They certainly thought they knew everything about me.
Which is why it was so surprising to realize I had forgotten today was Ross’s birthday.
His eighteenth birthday.
Ross had always been an honest kid. We had trusted him to lead our group, and he had risen to the challenge. His cocky attitude made us feel safe during the worst of the fear, and he was quick to pull the trigger when crisis made the rest of us indecisive. He always seemed ready to react to whatever mess foisted itself upon us. He had an unrelenting certainty around him, a belief that things could be brought together and ordered again. It had given us something to rely on. Those same traits manifested in the worst of ways this morning, when a pistol materialized in his hand and he shot three of our best friends dead on the spot.
I was lucky enough to have been out scouting. I heard the report of the gun again and again, and I feared the worst. We had camped out in a wooded area, roughly 10 miles from the nearest road, and several more from any cities. I didn’t think it was likely anyone would spot us, but I had my own reasons for wanting to be away from everyone that night. Ensuring our safety was the least I could do. When I spied Ross standing over the bodies of our friends, giggling madly while he caressed his pistol, I knew that I had failed. I shifted myself slightly behind a tree to hide my body from view, when Ross tilted his ear towards me. I sucked in my breath.
“Is that you Derrick? Come back to camp?”
I remained silent.
Ross’s high-pitched giggle echoed around the woods. The dawn was starting to arrive, and I knew I couldn’t keep hidden much longer in the daylight. Ross had been our leader for a reason. His tracking skills were by far the most developed among us. I just needed to try to buy some time.
Ross began to pace around the fire, stepping carelessly on the bodies of our former friends. He kicked James’s head as his pacing became more frantic. I could see that he was succumbing to the call. People always started coherent, but the longer an Inheritance went unused, the worse the desire became. He would become frenzied soon, I had seen it before.
Ross called out again “Derrick? Oh Derrick? Let me see you! We’re so far from anyone else. I just want to show you my new toy! I’ve never gotten so much bang for my buck before!” He shrieked with laughter at his own joke, before firing multiple rounds into James’ body. I watched the convulsions and felt a sickening tug in my gut.
Ross ceased his pacing and sat cross-legged on the ground. “You know what’s really funny Derrick? We always wondered where the ammo came from for these guns. Would you believe it if I told you that you just release the magazine and it refills itself? I’m sure you can see me, here I’ll show you. I can’t tell you how I know, but I know.” Ross removed the magazine, and I watched him eject the cartridge from the pistol before reloading the magazine and cocking the pistol again. He aimed it again at one of our friend’s bodies and fired again, each jerk from the corpse making his sardonic grin grow wider.
“We used to talk Derrick. We used to wonder what our Inheritance would be. I could never quite settle on what you’d be, but you were so sure I would receive something noble and strong. ‘A shield’ you said. ‘I was so steadfast, maybe I would be different’ you said. The madness wouldn’t take me. Yet here we sit, and” Ross tittered, his eyes gleaming bright, “SURE AS SHOOTING, YOU WERE WRONG!”
His peals of insane laughter echoed around me again, and I felt my heart quicken. I looked at my watch. I could feel the rising in my blood. There was a glimmer in my hands and I knew it was time. I didn’t care anymore what I became. I just wanted to descend into the void and escape. “Let it come,” I thought wildly, “Just let it end.”
A mirror, no larger than a couple feet, dropped into my lap. I stared at it blankly. Then something clicked. And I stepped out from behind the tree.
Ross had ejected the magazine and was still chuckling when he looked up to see me. His hands moved quickly to reload the magazine when he looked into the mirror.
Looked and saw exactly what he had become.
I saw the faintest recognition start to grow in his eyes. Where before there had been a burning madness, a cold and sobering realization began to grow from somewhere within. He tilted his head and squinted, his eyes narrowing at the reflection of the macabre scene before him. Ross, surrounded by the dead and mutilated bodies of our friends, and his twisted reflection staring back at him. The gun dropped from his hand. He blinked several times, and as if waking from a dream, stood up.
“Derrick…” his voice no longer high-pitched and frantic, “Derrick, what did I do?”
I held my Inheritance steady, but I felt myself quivering. I didn’t know what was happening, but I knew I had to wait it out. Some feeling, some connection with the mirror cautioned me.
Ross waited for a reply, but the seconds stretched and I remained silent. Finally, he raised his hand and rubbed his forehead, his eyes wide and unfocused, before they sharpened suddenly and he darted downwards.
I wasn’t fast enough to stop him when he reached for the gun. I wasn’t fast enough when he took the same gun and pointed it at his head. The last gunshot of the morning rang out in the desolate emptiness of our corpse riddled camp. Ross’s body fell to the ground as I dropped to my knees. The mirror lay beside me, and I looked into it.
I still haven’t decided if something is looking back.
|
The ceremony was as grandiose as ever.
Mayor Han Yukimara pulled out his golden katana and raised it high, the spotlights glinting off the sharpened tip of the blade. The crowds cheered as the students stepped on stage. Every month, the ceremony to celebrate everyone’s “coming-of-age” was held outside the town hall. A live band was scheduled to play in the town square alongside fireworks and festivities that would carry well into the night.
Ryan Collins was amongst those standing on the stage. Fourteen in all, they all stood huddled together, grinning sheepishly as the crowds cheered, raising their own weapons in joyous merriment. A few rowdy people fired a few rounds from their automatic assault rifles, while others shot streams of water and flairs into the night sky.
Yukimara lowered his weapon, given to him on his own coming-of-age ceremony, and turned to the young adults.
“Today marks a momentous occasion in your lives,” he started.
“Today you cast aside your youthful ignorance, and blossom into the children that will lead the new generation!”
The crowd cheered again as a huge, locked chest was brought on stage. Yukimara raised his katana and expertly sliced the padlock in two. The crowd watched in hush silence as Yukimara pulled out a scroll from the inner confines of his flowing black robe.
“Sally Williams, step forward, reach inside the chest and claim your weapon!”
A young blonde girl hesitantly stepped forward. The chest vibrated and clicked open, a dim light shining from within. She reached inside and pulled out a pair of glinting daggers. The crowd roared in approval and Sally grinned, returning to her spot at the back of the stage, inspecting her weapons.
“Henry Callaghan, step forward, reach inside the chest and claim your weapon!”
A stout young man strode forward confidently as the chest vibrated again. He reached inside and pulled out a huge iron broadsword. He raised it triumphantly as the crowd applauded again.
One by one, those coming of age were called forward to claim their weapons.
A young girl with ginger hair pulled a grenadier’s belt from the confines of the chest.
Another boy with sandy blonde hair returned with a Tommy Gun.
Finally it was Ryan’s turn.
“Ryan Collins, step forward, reach inside the chest and claim your weapon!”
Ryan gulped, looking out at the crowd. His mother, polearm in hand, waved at him. His father was beside her, Magnum revolver holstered at his side.
The chest vibrated violently in front of Ryan as he faced it. He reached inside and felt his finger tips brush against a soft handle. His heart jumped. A sword!
He gripped it tightly, confused by the softness of the handle. He pulled it out of the chest and raised it high, a triumphant grin etched on his face. The crowd looked on in horror.
Ryan met their confused glances, unsure what they were murmuring about. He looked up at his weapon and his heart stopped.
Wiggling in the slight breeze, a vibrant double sided dildo rested comfortably in his grip.
Ryan lowered his weapon and sighed. This would require some explaining…
| 2017-12-29T14:41:49 | 2017-12-29T13:42:31 | 1,796 | 433 |
[WP] After gaining the ability to see everyone's red strings of fate tying soul mates to each other. You realize your string extends past the sky.
|
I was a small girl -- 3, maybe 4 years old -- when I first noticed the red strings. The first string connection I saw was between my then-foster mothers. Mom and Momma were the light of each other's lives. I was officially adopted by them a year later. The next string I'd seen in person was between Gramma and Granpa, Momma's parents. I never saw any strings between Mom's parents. Perhaps that was part of the reason why we only saw them once a year for the annual guilt-fest known as Thanksgiving.
 
I learned quickly to not talk about the strings to strangers. My mothers thought the red string talk was just the product of an adorable childish imagination. But when I went to tell the schoolyard bully that he had a red string tethering him to a girl whose claim to fame was eating paste, I had my clock cleaned! After that incident, Mom wisely told me to keep the red string business to myself, because not everyone would understand people who are different from them. I eventually had the last laugh, because the bully and the paste-eater got married after college.
 
Most of my friends found their string partners, or soul mates if you prefer, eventually. I've been in far too many weddings for my taste. Goodwill had seen at least two dozen dresses donated by me. Each dress was supposed to be "good to use for other things!" The last one was an abomination made of petticoats and tulle in the hue of cherry cough syrup. That dressed owed an apology to cherry cough syrup. I tried my best to at least act like I was happy for each of the couples, but it got harder as time went on. I was sincerely happy for the first couple, my best friend Jim (I was Best Woman for his wedding) and his Jen. By the time both my little brothers got married 12 years after that, I was screaming internally with jealousy. Seriously, they had a double wedding! It was so sickeningly sweet that I swear I needed dental work afterwards. At least both brides agreed on black cocktail dresses for the bridesmaids.
 
How do these strings work? For me, it looks like a red thread floating out from the forehead of one person, where the supposed third eye is, to the forehead of another. With my mothers, the distance was always short. Other people can have much, much longer strings. My old boss, who ran the local bakery until he retired last year, had a thread that stretched from our small town in Washington state all the way to a lady in Brisbane, Australia. They'd been friends ever since they'd met up in a chat room for widowed people. The week after his retirement party, he sold the shop, bought a plane ticket for Brisbane and has been there ever since. Point being, if you follow the string from one person, you WILL eventually find the person at the other end of it. Except for me.
 
What made my string so special? Mine went straight upward, without the slightest hint of a curve to it. Most people who are distant from their "soul mates" have long, long curving strings, you know, to account for the planet being mostly spherical and all that. I don't know if that meant my soul mate was dead, not even born yet, or on another planet or something like that. Or maybe I didn't have one and my string was just forlornly hanging there? I didn't know. I hated to think about it, but I did.
 
After my old boss sold his shop, I finally went into business for myself. I've always loved cooking. I tried my hand at catering. It was hard work, long hours, half the people served were rude and yet I kept coming back for more. Most of my gigs were luncheons for businesses, but I got a wedding once in a while. I loved the chance to go all out and impress the clients. I did alright, I guess. I never had to stress over having money to pay for rent or supplies.
 
My mom had roped, or rather guilted, me into catering for her parents' 50th wedding anniversary. Being the dutiful daughter and granddaughter, I couldn't find it in me to say no. The fact that they were my only living grandparents was brought up many, many times. Despite attempting to give me an all expenses paid guilt trip, Mom was informed very pointedly by Momma that I couldn't afford to cater the party for free. So, at least I got paid for the materials used to cater a party celebrating 50 years of misery.
 
It was at the party, shortly after the toasts had been made to my grandparents that I felt the oddest sensation: a tugging at my string. Not a gentle one, either. It was as if I was being reeled in like a fish on a hook. The pain made my eyes water. If I hadn't been int too much pain, I would have noticed what made my stone faced grandfather make an expression other than a glare for the first time in decades: A few dozen feet in the air above the country club's outdoor venue, a vortex rippled into being. He was so slack jawed that his dentures slid out of his mouth and plopped onto his taco salad.
 
I remember screaming out in pain as I was hauled up into the air by the string, kicking my legs out as I struggled, losing the new wedge sandals I'd bought especially for the party. One landed in the punch bowl. The other hit one of my brothers in the face. I was pulled into the vortex... and found myself on the floor of a strange, sterile high tech looking room. I was too distracted by pain and confusion to notice that there was someone else in the room with me. A hand on my shoulder made me jump in fright and spin to face the source of it... a man with pale blue skin and violet eyes.
 
We stared at each other in shock. There was a red string floating lazily in the air that ran from his forehead to... mine. Could he see it, too? Long story made short and a universal translator later, yes he did. His name was Kreth and his people called themselves the Hithe. He was an astronomer and he'd signed up for a deep space expedition in hopes of finding where his string ended. Apparently Hithe teleportation technology wasn't very friendly to human physiology, explaining the painful way I'd been "beamed" aboard. We spoke for hours at a time, pausing only to eat or drink. What I thought was maybe one day turned out to be a week.
 
When Kreth and I stepped out of a shuttle craft in front of my parents' house (to avoid another painful teleport for me), headlines were made worldwide. He'd made not attempt to hide the appearance of the shuttle or himself. Contact with other intelligent species was small potatoes for the Hithe as a people. They'd been space-faring for centuries. Humanity finally got an answer to the question "Are we alone in the universe?" And so did Kreth and I.
|
'I'll see you again soon." Her words. They were the last I'd ever hear.
I felt the moment of impact, time slowing to a crawl. An unnerving moment, sending the abyss reaching greedily for me, knowing there's nothing I can do. Knowing that she'll die with me.
They speak of attaining a certain clarity, facing oblivion. Nothing was further from my truth. Thoughts screaming through my mind too fast to track. Dreams left unfulfilled, memories to cease along with me.
Feeling the tremor, the plane tearing itself asunder, my arms encircled her. I couldn't speak, I had nothing to say. She wouldn't hear me anyway. I held tight.
Her eyes find mine, resolute. I see her lips move, and the words follow, disjointed. A clarion sound, the most beautiful I'd heard. Not in content, but in tone, fearless.
'I'll see you again soon."
And that was it. My body ripped from me, darkness closing in. Sensation gone, I no longer feel her there.
Time isn't. Seconds or centuries pass by, then I'm aware. Shocked, felt more than heard, the word 'GO' reverberates through me. Towards the other end of oblivion, a rope tugs me.
And off I go, vapor on an unfelt wind, riding a rail of light.
| 2016-08-06T01:55:47 | 2016-08-05T21:53:03 | 20 | 13 |
[WP] In your society, every child is given a fixed number of skill points for their parents to invest in talents that would determine their futures. When you reach age 21, you find out your parents forgot to do it for you.
|
Mr Dwayne Lamsfeld seemed a lot more… developed than what I had pictured. He was dressed in an ill-fitting long-sleeve which bunched around his shoulders, and his tie was perhaps six seasons out of date. By his side was a girl who shared the same sharp nose, high cheekbones, frizzy dark hair.
“Welcome to Holloway & Chetter Law Practice, Mr Lamsfeld,” I said. “Please, don’t stand on ceremony. Would this be your sister?”
“Yes,” the girl said. “My name, Tania.”
“And are you both here for my services today?” I asked. I fought to keep the grin from my face – these cases were rarely litigated, and if I had not one but two clients…
“Just me,” said Dwayne. “She no twenty-one, still time to fix. Only me.”
I forced myself to keep my eyes on the papers in front of me, lest I ended up staring at them. In truth, I was intrigued. I estimated that in my long career, I had probably come into contact with thousands of people – and every single one of them had registered with the Talent Program, even the ones who were raised in orphanages. It was the law.
And it made sense. The Talent Program had revolutionized the education industry, had proven so convenient and effective that schools were made redundant overnight. The one drawback was that the Talent Program hinged heavily on parents or guardians actually selecting Talents for their children. After the age of twenty-one, the nanobot injections just wouldn’t work anymore, and so the government made it compulsory for parents to select Talents for their children by then, on pain of punishment.
And now there was not one, but *two* people who had missed out on the Talent Program?
It was litigation heaven, baby.
“We can focus on you first, of course,” I said to Dwayne. I walked him through the formalities of engaging a solicitor, and watched him print his signature neatly on the end of the page. In my head, I was already constructing the arguments which would bowl the jury over, seize every headline of every major newspaper in the country.
*Would law-abiding parents neglect to invest in Literacy for their children?* I would ask. *Look at the way Mr Lamsfeld reads and writes! He has the speed and coordination of a ten-year old! His parents have closed off all desk jobs for him, forever!*
*And would these same parents omit to select Fitness for their children?* I would continue. *Mr Lamsfeld has negligible hand-eye coordination, and he cannot play any sports to save his life! I’ve seen a seal at Sea World bounce a ball higher than he can!*
*Why hesitate, dear jury? If the child has lost his way, the parents must pay!*
“So tell me, Mr Lamsfeld,” I said. “I’ve read your file from the Agency for the Talent Program. They were the ones who first alerted me to this matter. The public prosecutor is already preparing his papers for the criminal charges, but I am the one who can help you get civil damages from your parents. Damages? Do you understand damages? Money, I can get them to pay you money, for your upkeep.”
“I know,” said Dwayne, nodding.
“After all, they were the ones who owed it to you to get you registered for the Talent Program!” I exclaimed, as I thumped the table, the mock outrage already flowing through me. Then, I noticed the confused looks on their faces, and I spoke a bit slower this time. Perhaps they were having trouble keeping up?
“No, Mr Holloway,” Dwayne said. “No sue. No want to sue. Want to help parents.”
The frown leapt onto my brow – I did not know what the misunderstanding was, but I absolutely could not have him performing like this on the witness stand. I had seen cases collapse on far less. “Mr Lamsfeld. Please let me know if you are not clear about anything. The Agency has referred your case to me, and it is a clear case of parental neglect. I will help you, *help you*, so I need you to-”
Dwayne rushed to retrieve a letter from his pockets. He unfolded it, smoothed it out, and I observed chicken-scratches on it. If they were his writing, this would make for a prime Exhibit A. Dwayne cleared his throat, then began reading from it, haltingly. It seemed that he needed this to help him gather his thoughts.
“We want you to help defend parents,” he said, as Tania nodded along. “We were told there is defence in Talent Program Act, for when children… waive… waive their rights. Then parents cannot be charged.”
“I don’t understand,” I said, looking down at the notes I had scribbled. “You have a very, *very* good case against them. But instead, you want to *help* them?”
“They not intend to skip us,” said Tania. “They not know. Too busy working, not know.”
“No, no,” I said, shaking my head. “You two have not been advised properly. Do you understand that you two are effectively cut off from any viable jobs in any industry? That you will have difficulty providing for yourselves? And that your parents are directly responsible for that?”
Dwayne smiled then, then opened his wallet, fished out an employee card for me. It seemed to indicate that he was an assistant with a restaurant chain, famous for its sprawling outlets across town. I had eaten there myself on more than one occasion.
“I find job myself,” he said, beaming. The pride in his voice was unmistakable. “I find it myself. I show them I hardworking, I loyal. They pay me a lot, enough for myself. I just want you make sure parents not in trouble.”
“And me, me,” said Tania, tugging on Dwayne’s shirtsleeve. "Don't forget me."
“Yes, to help Tania too. Apply for Talent Program, she still got time.”
I handed Dwayne’s card back to him. “Aren’t you even angry at your parents? You could have gone on to do so much more…”
“They do a lot for us already,” said Dwayne. “They work whole lives, no Talent Program too. We see them never. All money they have, they already give us. And they teach me to stand on own two feet. I do that. I do that willingly. So no way I will let them get in trouble. I owe them too much. You have to help. Please.”
A lesser lawyer would have harangued them, or even chased them out. There is no payday when it comes to defending someone against the public prosecutor. There’s even the risk of failure, or the risk of being known to have associated with parents who damned their children to a lifetime of missed opportunities.
But already I could see myself in court…
*Your Honour! Enlightened jury!* I would proclaim. *Can you not find it in your hearts to see that while these parents may have neglected to sign their children up to the Talent Program, they have done something far greater than anyone could have expected? Show me where it is in the Talent Program, that you can actually instil values! Values which are time-lost, once treasured, now taken for granted? Values like what Mr Lamsfeld has shown us in this very court!*
“Mr Lamsfeld, Miss Lamsfeld,” I said, as I shook their hands. “You put your trust in me, I won’t let you down. Now let me show you what a knock-out performance looks like.”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
'Are you fucking serious?'
'Honey please, you must understand-'
'Understand *what*? That you forgot? That you fucking forgot.'
'It's not so simple. When you were born, well,' she looked to her right for support, 'your father and I were smoking *a lot*. We forgot all kinds of things. You didn't even have a name for the first week.'
'I didn't have a name?'
'No, we just sort of played with you. A name didn't really seem necessary at the time. It wasn't until we were taking you to my parents that it crossed our mind. You know how they are with those sort of things. They need to name *everything*. Personally I don't see the point - It'll all turn out in the end.'
Beside her, my father nodded, his enormous head bobbing on the end of his tree trunk neck. He put his hand on my shoulder and I nearly crumpled beneath the weight of it. He noticed my discomfort and removed it.
'Sorry' he said, looking down ashamed. 'I forget sometimes what these hands can do. You know, I never did have much intelligence, just these big hands.'
'Hey now,' interjected my mother, 'Those big hands are beautiful and I believe that one day they will do great things. I just *know* it.'
'Um, can we get back to the issue at hand please.'
'Oh, don't worry, sweetie - I believe in you too. I believe in both you. I have so much faith. It's all going to be ok.'
'For fuck's sake' I muttered under my breath, and then louder 'what happens now? What do I do?'
Whatever you want, honey, you're free to choose. That's the beauty of being deprived.
| 2017-11-28T04:44:35 | 2017-11-28T04:08:37 | 646 | 38 |
[WP] You're in charge of assigning every child on Earth the monster under their bed. One child in particular has caused every monster assigned to him/her to quit. You decide to assign yourself.
You guys are awesome! I didn't expect this kind of response!
|
We have no name. You will not know our name if it was spoken to you. I am referring to you as a whole.
We exist only because you allow us to. Not you in the sense of your individual self, but you in reference to your collective species. Mortal minds are powerful, so much so that they cannot fathom what they do. Your collective creates the world that we live in.
You do not know what it is like here. In this statement, your individuality once again is not used. Your species will never begin to agree on what our world is, as each individual mind has it's own rendition of the world in which we live. Each is as horrible as the last, but only to one person. Each world we live in is made from your own personal fears and weaknesses. Each is simply a figment of a single conscience.
My purpose, as you (all of you, once again) would state it, is to force the mind into action. To do so, we foster an emotion that is often referred to as 'fear'. We do it to bring meaning in the times when you are awake, to force activity, by attacking you when you believe you are safe. We do it so you may act. You are often quick to excuse your own follies, and non-combative in life. When we sense that you have a choice to make, we form in your mind, as you sleep, and, through fear, force action.
We often take the form of a beast, inhuman and horrid. We are very used to this form. Fangs, scales, fur and tendrils form from our individual souls. It is not uncommon to fear creatures you have trouble understanding. Know that every beast we create is created from you, for you. Your own mind creates your nightmare.
Sometimes, our form is simply a rendition of another human. It saddens us that you creatures would do such horrid things to each other that we must often recreate within your sleep. However, it is our purposes. Fear must exist for there to be courage. We would not exist if you did not require it for your well-being.
We are many, and our numbers are countless. Never before have we failed to infiltrate the mind of a mortal. We are feared throughout history, by generations upon generations. We become the reason mortals, grey with age, hesitate before entering a dark room. We are the reason that children ask for their protectors to check under beds for monsters, and the reason those protectors often hesitate before doing so.
We have never failed in our purpose of bringing unique fear to the night. Not until this creature we had never seen before was found by one of us.
A simple twinge upon our collective mind told us of this infraction. A human we could not sway. A being that we could not show true fear. We could tell by true intuition that the creature was functional, was alive; the dead do not dream. We decided that it would be important, on this momentous day, to collect ourselves into one being. So we did. And we waited.
It was but a child, the creature we watched. It sat within a bleached room, moving little. Synthetic noise permeated the room endlessly, beeps and buzzes. The child did not stray from it's spot, did not shiver, did not sway. Humans came and went from the room. No parent came to tuck this creature in at the night's arrival. It was almost as if it did not exist at all.
This child was strange in the sense that it seemed to have just came into existence. When humans are young, we often appear to them, to gestate a fear for our coming in the night, to sow a seed of the unknown. This creature held no seeds. We, according to it's past, had never visited it. The child had a mind as blank and white as the room in which it eternally slumbered.
We set back into our own thoughts. The child seemed altogether unfamiliar to us. Nothing we had ever seen appeared as it did, with black skin and strange proportions. It did not even, in a sense, appear human. We thought as a whole. For a while, our duties would fail elsewhere, so we may succeed here. And succeed we would. Endlessly, we searched through the memories held within our home, and found little.
However, as moons waxed and waned, we realized connections. This child was known to us, just not in this form. We remember becoming this creature in the mind of another. It was the source of fear and anguish to a man, days before we had ever stumbled upon this child. We remember the dream, the sudden response as we were ripped from the creature's consciousness by metal on flesh. The blood.
We know no morality. The man had made his choice there, and we had simply encouraged change. So we tried a similar response in the child, and created a vision within it's sleep. A vehicle, out of control, flying into oblivion. Flames and shrapnel. Screaming. Yet no response was gained. The child did not awaken in fear, crying for the love of a mother. It lay as it had. The response gained from the other man had been much more exact, much more painful. This was nothing.
Discontent filled our soul. This creature had a path to follow, and yet would not take it. We knew of no way to scare it into action. Confusion filled our hearts, as we tried a similar scene each night. The child never seemed to stir. It did not even act as though it was aware.
We are not meant to be terrifying in truth. We only become so when we are in your presence. Yet, in the presence of this child, we were nothing. The mind it held had no darkness, no objects, and no physics. It was but a glowing void.
Dozens of days after we arrived, we realized how our work had failed. The child never changed. It simply lay in it's room, machines humming and shadows flickering on the wall. This creature did not seem to have a choice to make. It was then that we realized the choice was not yet known to them.
That night, each of our forms melded together in the mind of the child. Our presence would have brought any other mortal to the brink of insanity. But it did not respond. The void remained white and simple. We did as was decided. We sat, collected, and formed a limb to mimic the mortal form. We reached into the whiteness of the child's mind, but did not grasp. We waited. Hours of the night passed. Time waned and ended.
Slowly, another hand reached out of the void. Misshapen, with blackened skin and broken bones. The digits did not function. The muscles were torn. Yet, it still reached to us, like a drowning man would reach to a lifeguard in their last breath, slow and weak, but with hope.
Upon locking hands with our own extended form, the hand began to change. Skin began to heal. The orientation of the arm began to relax. It was a slow, laborious process, but eventually, we held in our hand a small, fragile hand, of a child that could not have lived more than a dozen years. For a moment, the void around us almost seemed to gain a pinkish hue, like one's cheeks do when one smiles in the cold.
We remember hearing a voice. One could make out a man, gingerly calling for a loved one to follow him. Laughter. We remember seeing a new child, not quite like the one we lay within. It was similar, but whole. Fair skinned, joyous. We saw no fear from him as he stared at our form and smiled.
We would not let go. He had made his choice.
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We awoke afterwards. The machines no longer clicked. A long, monotonous tone filled the air. We saw from our shadow under the bed as other humans ran into the room, calling for others. You never saw us. You never do. You always think you have, but we are never found. You make excuses for what you saw, but you never believe yourselves. All of you are the same.
We returned to our duties shortly thereafter. We cannot wane for long, and our absence had been felt elsewhere. You may have forgotten your fears in the night for a while, but you will remember them now. You will not be alone in the future.
Our purpose is flexible and impossible to state, as is our name. We are simply counselors of the night, creatures that enter your peaceful dreams to create a disruption. We do it to bring knowledge to your own failures and shortcomings. To bring you to action. Without your fears, you would never have anything to overcome.
You must realize that we do not ever fail or succeed. You make the interpretations of our work, we simply do it. You are afraid of us, not because we represent something you dislike, but because we represent an outcome you cannot possibly expect. We are the unknown.
Some do not get to make the choice, it is made for them. That is why you must make every choice you can, when you can. We do not influence your world, you do. We know no morality, no right and no wrong. You do. You are the reason we exist, the reason that you fear the night, the reason you remember horrible things like nightmares and fast cars and sounds you hear under your bed. You interpret us as you must, and therefore, you must make the choices yourself.
I am speaking to you alone. Know that I rarely refer to individuals.
|
A slight sense of trepidation settled over me as I made my way to the house that so many had run from. There were all kinds of rumours surrounding the place but as I looked up at the red brick exterior of the unassuming cottage. It sat towards the outskirts of a cul-de-sac nestled in the heart of a close-nit countryside community and I couldn’t match up what I was seeing with what I had heard about the occupant. With the distant sound of children’s laughter tinkling through the streets, I cringed and headed towards the house quickly. Children’s laughter was the worst sound that us monsters could hear; the assault on our ear drums could be likened to that of the sound of cutlery scraping against a china plate, or nails on a chalkboard - enough to send shivers down your spine and make you cover your ears.
I ducked under the door frame into the house and padded quickly up the cream carpeted stairs, knowing that the family would be home soon with their little girl. She was only 6, I couldn’t match the picture that I had been given of her with the quivering wrecks that came back to my office asking to be re-assigned - she looked no different from every other little girl that we had helped to terrify during the night.
I took a quick bearing of my surroundings as I crept into the unicorn inspired bedroom and then slipped under the bed, just as the sound of the front door clicked open and the sound of excited chatter filled the house. It gave me a headache to listen to it for so long; it had been a while since I had been in the field and I hadn’t re-acclimatised yet. I lay tight and waited for bed-time.
Once the girl had come to bed and the bed-time story had been read, the light turned off and I waited for her breathing to slow. Once I was sure that she was asleep, I inched my way out from underneath the bed, avoiding the toys littered sporadically around the room like landmines waiting to disrupt me from my goal before I’ve even started. There’s a spark of pain as one of the spines on my back catch briefly on the bed frame. I push myself up and stretch to my full height, preparing myself to turn around and face the sleeping girl. I bare my teeth and contort my face into an expression that has been tried and tested on many different children and now haunts their nightmares. I turn around, feeling my tail knock against the radiator on the wall, with the faintest clang. My eyes track across the room and land on the girl.
Sitting unnaturally upright in bed, her eyes bore into me and it feels as though they go straight to what remains of the soul I once used to have. She continues her assault on my mind; her face is unmoving as she unlocks the Pandora’s chest of my brain. The way we become monsters is when our soul becomes so dark that our outsides begin to catch up with our insides. The only way I’ve been able to cope with what I do is by suppressing so many of my memories. But this girl. This girl has unlocked them all. And now they’re flooding my brain. So many emotions that I haven’t allowed myself to feel in so long. They’re burning my heart and my brain as I’m forced to confront what I’ve done. Images flash before my eyes and my head screams at me to make it stop. I can’t see the room now but the sensation of the world spinning is so strong as I feel my knees give out beneath me. I can’t do it anymore, the weight of what I’ve done pushes down on me and I feel my consciousness start to waver. I let it take me, welcoming the calming embrace of the blackness.
| 2016-10-14T14:52:25 | 2016-10-14T14:49:37 | 248 | 13 |
[WP] Humans have always been the friendliest and the most peaceful species in the galaxy. When one of the most ruthless empires decides to wipe out the pathetic humans and their diplomacy, they discover that humans have something that no one in the galaxy has ever seen. Nuclear weapons.
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Humans were always the strange ones.
While evolution gifted the rest of us with weapons that aided our planetary dominance, Humans had no such gifts. Ancient records tell of early visits to their planet to inspect them, where it was ruled that their ruthless violence and disregard for their planet would cause their early destruction. The galactic community at the time decided it was best to keep them in their system, for although their efforts at war paled in comparison with our many methods, their disregard for their planet was seen as uncouth. After all, what second mother would, after eating the oldest of the first mother, raze their new nest to the ground?
When it was heard that humans had become interplanetary, our species, the Yetan, as well as the Glovris and Hnyid (but notably not the Quinds) paused our everliving war to go fling their planets into their sun. It was here that we would end them once and for all. The humans, bold as always, met the triple fleet head on and made an offer we couldn't refuse. After all, when a species submits readily to your rule, what is the point of their destruction? They agreed to stay quarantined to their own system until further notice, and the ownership of these humans was added to the dominance exchange of the everliving war.
The humans proved to be much different than the ancient records indicated. Where we were told they would seek war, they brokered peace. At every turn, they insisted on negotiation instead of brute strength and dominance. Where the rest of the conquered galaxy would rise up in bloody insurrection, the humans instead introduced this concept of "trade", being the first species to ally with every member of the everliving war. Eventually they grew close to each of our species, and we could no longer pretend they were a conquest of war. If one of us tried to attack them, we knew the others would rise up united against us. Such was the power of the Human's 'trade deals' and 'alliance'.
It was eventually agreed that the humans would be more profitable if we let them expand and explore, so we let them out into the galaxy. They would be the first species to escape quarantine, and all of us were ready to attack if we saw them go back to their ancient ways.
Centuries passed, and still they remained peaceful. Slowly, they used their 'negotiations' to end parts of the everliving war, and taught new concepts like "system ownership" and "coexistance". The Quinds were never able to understand the last of those concepts, complaining that you can't have "ownership" and "coexist" at the same time, but we, the Yetan, and the Hnyid found that we weren't as different as we thought.
The everliving war began to take on new meaning. Instead of a dominance conquest, we began to negotiate on our own. This peace that the humans had discovered was intoxicating, and we couldn't have enough of it. Ironically, this fueled the everliving war as we wanted to be sure we could have more "peace" than the other species to prove our dominance, but the humans still continued to try to teach us.
Millenia passed and eventually a new species reached out. They called themselves the Vgnin and demanded dominance of our arm of the galaxy. They joined our everliving war, shattering whatever flimsy human peace concept we had established with the Glovris, Hnyid, and the Quinds. These creatures didn't know of the peaceful nature of the humans, and decided to dominate the weak creatures just like they dominated every creature in their part of the galaxy.
I remember the day the humans came to us, begging to protect them. The Vgnin decided to divide their fleet between every human planet, station and colony and attack at once. As I spoke with the human leader of Earth, the Vgnin ships were already warming their planetary glassers, demanding eternal slavery or death. I shook my head, knowing it was already too late.
It was strange. I realized then that the human's greatest strength, this peace, was also their greatest weakness. There was no way for them to fight back, just like evolution gave them no way to fight on their own. Once again, the peaceful would die and only the everliving war would remain. This was the way of all life.
The president had that same look of deep sorrow I must have shown. He must have realized that we would be witnessing either the enslavement or destruction of his entire race, and there's nothing any of us could do. He pulled out the instant broadcaster the Hnyid had gifted their race, ready to make the call. What would he decide? Slavery or death? He raised his mouth to the receiver, transmitting his next words to every human leader across the galaxy.
"Humanity must live on. You know what you need to do." slowly he lowered the broadcaster, seeming to shrink. They chose enslavement. I didn't blame them, perhaps they would one day convince the Vgnin of their human peace and trade like they had done to us. Until then, they would once again be servants to the stronger force.
The human seemed to shake as he walked to the window screens of our capital ship, viewing the Vgnin fleet overtop the many human planets, as well as their home, Earth. "Glorious leader of the Yetan," he began, "You invented the Warp Drive which allowed us all to zip across the galaxy, just as the Hynid invented communication faster than light." he slowly inhaled and let it out with a shudder. "Today you will learn of Humanity's great invention, and also our greatest fear."
The air seemed to grow cold as the human leader turned to me. "Our ancestors were crafters of weapons. That is how we dominated our planet." I watched as many small balls slowly rose off each planet, each lazily making their way toward every Vgnin ship.
The Human leader averted his gaze from the screens. "Everything was a weapon in their eyes. Even the atoms of the universe itself. We made a weapon that can destroy all life, and all technology. This is why we only seek peace."
A bright flash lit across every screen at once, the Vgnin ships blasted and sent spiraling through space, blown apart, shields flickering then dead.
Tears began to well in the Human Leader's eyes. "After a discovery like that, war can end in nothing but the end of all life."
|
The Orak believed the war with humanity would end in blood and glory. Instead it ended in a white flash while they struck the outermost colony of Elysium. Humanity attacked their home planet Orakus. Citizens on Orakus felt no pain or suffering as the humans on Elysium did. Instead it was a white hot mercy that the Tsar unleashed from hell itself. The results of this repisal were almost instantaneous. Orakian warlords upon seeing their homeworld reduced to ash surrendered their weapons some even began worship of humanity as they had mastered a level of war they had never considered.
| 2020-02-07T16:29:57 | 2020-02-07T13:21:46 | 31 | 18 |
[WP] Everyone has magic and the magic they have is based off of their name. Society uses a small range of names because they know the magic that comes with it. Your parents decided to give you a very ancient name that does not have a record of its accompanying magic.
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"Unregistered" was the term for any person that had been given a name without a known accompanying magic. It was a crime beyond the likes of terrorism, murder, rape, and all the worst. If you were the perpetrator behind giving someone an unregistered name, you were likely to disappear and never be seen again. If you were unregistered? The fate was much worse. I've known this my whole life, and I still feel the bitter resentment to my parents for forcing me to be this way, to live my life this way. I am unregistered, and there's nothing I've wanted more than to be just like everyone else.
We live out in the farm land, far away from most of civilisation, in a small country town. That's probably why I lasted as long as I did. But on the morning of Saturday, June 4th, 2022, not two weeks after my 18th birthday, an SUV pulled up outside of our house, and three men got out.
"Malek, stay inside." Dad said, as he and mum went out. I ran to the window and watched as the men approached. All three of them were tattooed. They wore armoured gear, kevlar, and one of them wielded a rifle, which glowed an unnatural yellow. The other two had no need for weaponry; their magic was enough. The one in the lead was blonde, with a scruffy, unshaven face and a wide, toothy grin. He took off his dark sunglasses to reveal soulless brown eyes.
Dad and mum stood out the front of the house, overlooking the farms, dad in front with mum standing behind him.
"Are you Harrel and Mellie Oleson?" The man shouted, grin unwavering. His accent was deeply southern.
"Yes, we are." Dad said. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm just here to look around, Mr. Oleson, and then I'll be on my way. I'd also like to talk to your son, please."
"Harrel Jr. is out." Dad said. "He's with friends."
The man's toothy grin faded to a small smile. He lowered his voice and said; "You named him Harrel Jr. Is that right?"
"Yes." replied dad. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his neck. His voice was terse. It was a lie. My dad had never been good at lying.
The man clearly noticed. He took out a cigarette from his belt, and lit it, taking a deep puff. "I think we can be honest with each other, Harrel. We don't need to lie, or keep things from each other, so I'll be completely honest with you. My name is Accia. You may have heard of that name, may not have. It's not a common name, but among military types like myself, you'd be surprised how many Accia's I've met. That's cause the accompanying power is great for combat, great for most things in general. It's kineticism. I would advise, Harrel, that you and your wife come quietly. Whatever you dish out, I'll deal it back double."
Dad said nothing. Mum pushed him away and stepped forward. I hadn't realised until now, but she was holding a shotgun, which she brandished at them. "Get off our property now." Immediately the other two men bristled. The one with the rifle raised his gun. The other let energy crackle between his fingertips.
Accia remained calm, but he frowned and stamped out his cigarette. "Were you not just listening to a single thing I said, you dumb bitch? That gun ain't gonna do nothing except help me kill you easier. I know the boy is inside, bring him out and this will go nice and smooth."
Mum snarled and, chambered a round. "Over my dead body."
Accia stepped forward. "Do you know the punishment for giving someone an unregistered name?" He stepped forward again, and his words were slow and deliberate, and his tone was menacing. "If you're lucky, you'll end up in a black site. You'll rot for the rest of years without any contact with humans, except when we ask you why you did the thing you did and if you can help us find others like your son." He stepped forward again, and again, and then he was right there, right in front of her. "If you're unlucky, I'll execute you right damn here. You best put that gun down, or my boys will put you and your husband in the ground, and then *Malek* will be next." He stepped forward once more, so that the shotgun was pressing right into his chest. He was taller than mum by almost a foot, and he leaned down so he was right in her face, and whispered something in her ear that I couldn't hear from the window. Then he turned and walked back to his soldiers.
I knew my parents were about to die for nothing, so I turned and ran right out the front door. "It's me you want!"
Dad's eyes widened. "BACK INSIDE!" He roared at me. "BACK INSIDE NOW!" His palm opened, a fireball appearing, as Accia turned around. His grin had returned.
"Malek!" He laughed heartily. "Nice to meet you! What's your power, I wonder? Something new, that we've never seen before, obviously, but it could really be anything. Do you have any idea yourself, or have you still not figured it out?"
Mum's shotgun was back up, and determination was in her eyes. "IF YOU TAKE ONE MORE STEP FORWARD, I'LL BLOW YOUR GODDAMN BRAINS OUT."
Accia shrugged, and stepped forward. Mum pulled the trigger and the gun went off with a
***BANG***
and Accia stumbled back, blood pouring from his chest, and yellow energy coursed through him, his wounds already healing, as he screamed and let loose a wave of energy towards us. Mum threw up a shield to protect us from the worst of it, as dad let loose a volley of fireballs.
The one with the energy fingers cried out as fire struck him directly in the chest, and the other one dropped to one knee, aiming his rifle, and he pulled the trigger.
The bullets penetrated mum's forcefield easily, striking her right in the heart. "NO!" Dad cried out, and I rushed forward as the forcefield fell, mum already dead. More bullets, and dad yelled in pain as one struck his shoulder. He twisted and ran, grabbing me and tackling us into the house.
The three men ran forward and dad took me into the kitchen, as they burst into the house. Dad grabbed a kitchen knife, let it glow red hot from heat, and I heard the three men split up. Dad pushed me, telling me to run out the back. I came up with Dad, and the burned man came into the kitchen, face furious, but he never got a blast off as dad threw the knife with surprising accuracy and buried it in the man's throat. He gasped and choked and died, blood staining the floor, and Dad pushed me to go.
We exited out the back, but a yellow fireball exploded next to us, as Accia watched from the top floor window, and we hurried around the side, to the front where mum's corpse and the shotgun lay. Dad teared up, but he still spoke: "Get going. Down the road. Don't stop, don't look back, I love you."
"I can't leave you." I said, my voice choked from hurt and terror.
Dad picked up the shotgun. "I'll always be with you, Malek."
And then the man with the rifle burst out, firing, and Dad got off one shot, but it was enough. The man with the rifle fell, blood splattering on the wall beside him, but his bullet had caught dad in the chest, and dad lay there, barely breathing. Near death, he choked out; "Malek... go."
And I ran.
Accia came out, hands glowing, ready to unleash a bolt of energy and cut me down, when with his dying breath, dad lifted the shotgun and shot him point blank in the head.
The top of Accia's head blew out, and he cried out, stumbled, fell to the ground, and then exploded with energy that ripped apart the entire house. When the dust had settled, Accia was still alive, but barely, and he crawled over to the rifle his friend had used to carry. He grabbed it, turned, aimed, and fired just one shot.
And as I ran, I heard the wind whistling and shooting through my air, and I saw the greenery of the plants and the valley, and I realised that things would never be the same, and the bullet hit me right in the back, right between the shoulder blades.
A fatal wound.
I fell, gasping, darkness setting in, and
I woke up. Crisp early morning. Mum and dad making breakfast, on Saturday, June 4th, 2022, not two weeks after my 18th birthday. I bolted upright, ran to the kitchen. "Morning, Malek." Dad said, but his good mood was killed when he saw my expression. Mum looked at me and went silent.
"What is it, sweetie?" She asked.
"Mum. Dad." I said. "This is going to sound really crazy, but I need you to listen to me."
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My full first name is SpagetthiBeast Jeeves ShenronOurobourosTheDestroyer III-49th. My last name is Jones.
\--
Alright so let's sort my powers. My best power is SpaghettiBeast's Spaghetti\_Engage. I see the whole universe, or whatever, part of it I want. Then I go to an Infinite Void. Then some guy named Jeeves walks in with a plate of spaghetti and asks me for a wish and what I would like to eat. First Jeeves asks me how hungry I would like to be (I learned why this would be useful when using Spaghetti\_Engage over and over) from 40 days in the desert to 40 days in paradise, scale of -40 to 80 where 0 to 40 are normal range, negatives are days in desert, and over 40 is days in paradise. Second Jeeves asks for my wish and food of choice. Third Jeeves makes the food happen.
The power is Spaghetti\_Engage because the default plate is spaghetti, which Jeeves is more than willing to switch out. Though lately I just let Jeeves make me the Spaghetti. He's good with the cooking Magic on that one.
Fourth I eat and my wish regardless of what it was comes true.
\--
Second, I'm immortal. I die and come back exactly 48 times (but also somehow infinitely many times, don't ask), apparently I rule over exactly 48 Multiverses and enter in and out of the reality plane to do my spaghetti shit. I die but as soon as my soul wants a body again, it just does. Either by Spagetti\_Void or being back on Earth 3 through 49. Jeeves always shows up to explain stuff too. Jeeves is kinda my slave but sometimes he tells me to do stuff. Like Universe 6 needs a golden age, use your power to give them resources. So Jeeves can be cool or annoying like that. Jeeves is trying to help me start my own Universe, but I just wanna hang out with some chicks. Jeeves has so much faith in me.
\--
Third, I'm Jeeves and I switch off between existence modes, but SpaghettiBeast never knows what Jeeves is thinks, nor Jeeves what SpagettiBeast thinks .
\--
Fourth, I have to destroy the Universes along with me every time I go Shenron or Ourobouros. I transform into some sort of Snake while the Universe becomes Spaghetti, my hunger goes -40, but it turns I am made of Spaghetti and I eat everything in existence until Jeeves pulls me back into existence. I love being Ouroboros because Jeeves and SpaghettiBeast merge consciousnesses at the maxima of destruction. Just for an instant as each Big Bang produces a new Jeeves and a new SpagettiBeast anywhere from Multiverse 3 to 49 at random.
​
A few times we ended up in the same multiverse, which was cool. Jeeves was really easy to understand after such a recent merge and I have fond memories of Multiverse 26.
\--
See most people have names like Archangel Michael or Jesus. I met a few Buddhas who were chill. The Gokus are annoying they always unite Dragon Balls to ask for wishes but the thing is I can't be Shenron without becoming Ouroboros, so things only worked out that time I get their Multiverse twice in a row, like that one time with 26. It'll probably work out again at some point, but golly Krillin(s) need to stop dying.
| 2018-11-23T21:03:50 | 2018-11-23T20:26:08 | 193 | 10 |
[WP] All those assassination attempts on Hitler didn't fail at the last minute due to "bad luck"; he was repeatedly rescued by time travellers who have seen the alternative.
|
"Let me guess, you traveled back in time to kill Hitler and to prevent the holocaust or the 2. WW in general?"
I was standing in front of the young time traveler who as chained to a chair.
"Yes! Why would anyone not do this?"
I shook my head. She probably havent seen what I have seen.
"Can you even imagine the consequences of altering the history? From what year are you anyway?"
"2020 we just discovered timetraveling."
I sighed.
"Great, that means I have to explain it to you extra slow because it seems people from your time are kind of retarded."
I pulled out the gun.
"Please no! You dont have to shoot me."
"This is the time traveling device damnit, how the fuck does your time machine looks like?"
She pointed to the car in the garage where I was holding her. Not bad for a beginner. Always blend into the age you visit, no matter what the cost. I uncuffed her and activated the gun.
"I will show you what happens if you kill Hitler. Follow me, first stop 1934."
I pulled the trigger and the gun caused a rift for us to step trough.
We were in the Reichstag. The girl seemed confused.
"Wait, wasnt the Machtergreifung 1933? And you said Hitler was dead in this timeline."
"He is. You see, the tensions in germany after the 1. WW caused a lot of chaos and misery. The people would flock to those who promised fast and easy solutions. What you see here is the leader of the NSDAP and he is not Hitler. Lets just call him Hans Mueller for certain reasons. Hans took the place that was destined for Hitler. It took him a bit more time but in the end the nazis rose to power. And he was a far more capable leader than Hitler. A better commander, polititcian and diplomat. Lets go to the next place, shall we?"
I used the gun again and we stepped trough the rift.
We were standing on a large beach, littered with dead bodies and burning wreckages.
"Which battle was this?" The girl covered her mouth and nose, afraid of the stench of rotting flesh. I smiled, she probably didnt notice that we couldnt interact with anything here and vice versa.
"Cant you tell? Its Dunkirk!"
"Dunkirk? But the evacuation was a success?"
"In your normal timeline. Remember when I said Hans was a far more capable commander? Instead of letting the Luftwaffe do the work, he simply crushed the BEF and the remnants of the french forces on the beach. The Wehrmacht sustained a bit higher losses. But not even 3000 soldiers were able to escape to britain. As you can think, this was something the british forces couldnt recover from. And its not just landbattles as you will see now."
The next rift brought us on deck of a burning battleship. We could see the Bismarck, 2 carriers and dozens of smaller vessels pass the wreckage.
"Are those german carriers? But they didnt have any. As far as I know they even struggled to maintain their existing battleships."
"Yes, they did struggle at the begin. But Hans managed to make a bargain with the americans. He would intensify trade with them and not ally with Japan. This way he was able to get a rather stable source of fuel. We are right now standing on the wreckage of the Prince of Wales. Those 2 carriers are the Graf Zeppelin and the Hindenburg. You probably know the second one as Flugzeugträger B in your timeline. Hans knew that the age of the battleships was over and concentrated the efforts of the German Reich on aircraft carriers and smaller vessels as escort. And he was very successful, the Royal Navy put up a brave fight but was ulitmately defeated in the end. With their biggest shield gone the isles were easy prey for the germans. Britain surrendered on the 4. May 1941, after germans ground troops captured London the day before. From here you can probably picture what will happen next. Up to the next rift."
We entered the place in front of the Kreml. The Wehrmacht was holding a victory speech in front of their most decorated soldiers.
"But...but...this cant be! What year it is?"
She was starting to get uneasy, maybe finally recognizing what kind of damage she could have done by killing Hitler.
"1944, after 2 years of war the germans captured Moscow. The last remnants of the Red Army have retreated into east Russia. They will be wiped out 1 year later. With britain gone as enemy and making a truce with the americans, Hans was able to direct almost all of his forces east. Being a great fan of Napoleon and other great generals of history, he knew that rushing to Moscow was not a viable option. Instead he moved forward during spring, summer and autumn and digged in during winter. The Red army would always try to counterattack during winter. But the Wehrmacht was mostly prepared and this stacked up the losses for the russians. Paired with the better training and equipment of the germans, this turned into a disaster. Now the germans not only had their biggest threat gone, they also had access to the many ressources of Russia. Meanwhile the Americans were busy fighting Japan and didnt really bother with Germany. Which leads us to our last 2 destinations."
This time we landed inside of a large plane. The girl walked to one of the windows and looked outside.
"What kind of plane is this? I cant remember any german bombers with 6 engines. And where are we exactly?"
I grinned.
"Dont look outside, unless you want to lose your eyesight."
She turned around to tell me something when a sudden flash illuminated everything for a very short moment. Shocked the girl looked out of the window.
"Did this bomber just dropped a nuclear bomb????"
"Yes indeed. The germans won the race for the bomb in this timeline. We are inside of a Ju 390 C9. The city you just saw below you was Washington DC. The americans were about to win the war in the Pacific when Hans made a pact with the Japanese. He send them reinforcements and together they would bind the majority of the US forces on the islands in the Pacific. On 1. July 1946 the Luftwaffe dropped the first nuke on Washington. Naturally the Americans would refuse surrender so Germany would also nuke Boston, Detroit, Chicago, San Francisco and Dallas. After that even the last one of the Americans recognized how futile their batlle was. They surrender on the 1. January 1947. After that there was nothing left to stop the Germans from taking the entire world."
"And all this because Hitler is dead????"
"Yes. You see now why changing the past is so dangerous?"
She just nodded.
"Anyway, there is last one thing I want to show you. Follow me.
We walked trough the rift and laned in a large subterran hangar.
"Whats this?"
"This is the Luftwaffenstützpunkt Neu York D9. You are under arrest."
2 guards grabbed her and cuffed her again. One of my subordinates came to me.
"HEIL MUELLER!"
"Heil Mueller! Leutnant, bringen sie die Gefangene in ein Verhörzimmer. Sagen sie der Gestapo Bescheid und fragen Sie ausdrücklich nach Fräulein Wendler. Ich glaube sie wird am ehesten etwas nützliches aus der Gefangenen herausbekommen. (Lt. , bring the prisoner to a interrogation room. Tell the Gestapo and ask specifically for Fräulein Wendler. I think she has the best chances to get anything useful out of the prisoner.)"
"LET GO OFF ME!"
The girl was tryin to escape.
"I dont understand..."
"Alright, let me summarize it for you. I am a officer of the german Zeitkommando. Its my task to ensure that Hitler dies in our timeline. I also wait in other timelines for timetravelers as you to show up so I can capture them and bring them here. This way we can gather technology and knowledge from other timelines and keep an eye out for the past of our own."
I had to laugh.
"After all, we just reached the 189. year of our glorious 1000 year Reich."
|
"We've got another one." Captain Collins said as we took our seats around the oval meeting table. A picture on the projection screen behind him showed the alleged assassin. "Stevens I want you on this one. It's an AH-33."
"Yes sir!" I replied dutifully. The assignment should be simple enough, I had done a few Hitlers before.
The code he'd given was specific to our time table and list of indisposables. AH meant Adolf Hitler, and 33 was the year. 1933, a common enough epoch choice for time assassins. It was the year Hitler became Chancellor.
"That's the third one this month." Sergeant Phillips grunted. "Why the influx in AHAs?"
Adolf Hitler Attempts.
We had acronyms for almost any situation. Our organization had been doing this a very long time - since the beginning of time travel. We went by GARTH - Guardians Against Revision of Theology and History. GARTH had analyzed all possible outcomes of historical events and their future butterfly effects. They sought to carry out and protect the least detrimental course of history, as well as protect the most historically significant and encompassing religions.
As it turned out, Hitler was quite significant to the stabilization of history.
"The active timeline is nearing the discovery of time travel. And, as luck would have it, some neo-Nazi douche ran a bunch of people over last week." Capt. Collins sighed. "I fear we're only going to see an increase of this kind of thing. We need to remain vigilant."
"And if they succeed? If they kill Hitler?" Private Pyle asked. Silence washed over the room like a wave of cold water.
"Damnit Pyle! We've been through this. If Hitler dies then people of the future have no precident for genocide, no standard of comparison for true politically amassed evil. There would be no U.N., or E.U., and the Cold War becomes a hot war that ends with the nuclear arms race killing a third of the global population and setting back civilization, technology, and progressive ideology more than a hundred years!" I replied angrily.
"Oh yeah. I forgot." Pyle looked down at his feet.
"You forgot? How do you *forget* something like that?"
"I 'unno."
"How did he get into GARTH?" Captain Collins snarled. He looked around the room for an answer.
"He's... my nephew, Sir." A blushing Sergeant Phillips said.
| 2017-08-15T21:52:33 | 2017-08-15T20:37:16 | 389 | 220 |
[WP] A superhero(ine) has what is considered to be a 'useless' power. However, (s)he realizes that said power is actually quite suited to being a supervillan(ess) instead.
|
Doctor Brainstem made two big mistakes in his illustrious career as Scientific Sentinel of Sea Coast City. First, he was enough of an asshole or idiot to nickname me "Hormone Boy" and second: he underestimated the lengths people would go to once they got pissed off.
To be honest, I do owe the bald weasel for giving me these powers. A little radiation, mutation and suddenly I have a new gland that lets me produce any hormone in whatever quantity I want. It's pretty sick. From there the old man didn't really do much. He gave me a uniform and a day job as his sidekick, but never really let me into the lab. "Oh you're not nearly at the level to comprehend these breakthroughs!" he said, again and again in that sing-song garble of his.
Whatever. I managed to make my own stuff on a budget. It really was a feat of DIY, a random teenager with no experience creating mass microinjection gloves in his basement. Once the patent goes through, Big Pharma will line up for miles to get their hands on my tech. But I digress...
The name wouldn't even be that bad if he hadn't said it in front of the entire Justice Council and all of the other sidekicks. Suffice to say, the name stuck. Every time we were introduced, at town hall, in front of the Council, wherever, some Jackass would crack wise, y'know. They say something like " 'Hormone Boy?' Doctor, you mean to say you've got a generic teenage boy as your sidekick?" or some other shit like that. Then I'd have to put on a fake, self-deprecating smirk and laugh at my own expense. Man, I hated all of them, Crusader, the Empress, Bullseye Billy, all of them, entitled douchebags.
It was a rough start to say the least. I was close to no one and actually came to blows with the Crusader. Some hero he was, thinking it was manly to pick on the new kid, disrespecting his abilities while not fully understanding them. I strove to prove him wrong and show him what a great team player I was, and eventually, my utility was recognized and I was flooded with attention. Any time someone needed healing or a power-up, they came to me, and for a while, I was happy to oblige. But then they started asking me for personal stuff, bodily stuff.
"Hey man, can you make me taller?"
"Hormone Boy! can you mix us up some dopamine? There's a rave in Central City next week and..."
"I need you to do me a favor, I have a date tonight and I need to really impress this guy. could you maybe make my wrinkles go away, then give me a boost in the bust department, if you know what I mean. And then give me..."
" Hey, off the record I need a favor. I'm getting out of the game and the missus wants to start a family. She doesn't know but she's barren. We just need one shot of the old magic. I'll pay you, I'll even set things up. We could say you are stopping by the lair for a visit..."
Some were harder to turn away than others.
In general, I never got the respect I deserved. On my own time I experimented, on myself and others. I could make cocktails that gave hours of limitless focus and with a punch I could knock out weeks of memory from criminal minds. These tricks slowly leaked into my work with The Doctor, but the asshole could never even be bothered to notice.
Neither could any of the others for that matter. I was still just Hormone Boy, The Two-Trick Pony to the entire super community. Only Gorelord, the grotesque gut splatterer himself, ever noticed how much power I actually had.
"Hey little man, you got a gift." He said
"The words of a criminal mean nothing to me!" I replied, full of mock belief, as I tightened the great restraints on his wrists.
"Don't gimme that! One thing I know is that I can recognize talent. Kid, you could be a freaking picasso with what you got. I managed to build a career on using telekinesis to explode people, and you can do so much better. Take it from me, You could do more chaos than ISIS and Ebola combined." I was speechless as the dragged him back into the truck to the super containment facility.
Around then, my temper started getting the better of me and the incidents began piling up. A couple drug addicts who seemed to overdose showed no traces of outside drugs post mortem. It took months before the coroner attributed death to excessive endorphin levels in the brain. Weeks later The cops picked up a terrified and confused woman who had been wandering one of the bad neighborhoods in a torn, tattered garment oddly resembling The Crusader's iconic uniform. sure enough, her information linked back to the Justice council's database of secret identities. She WAS the Crusader, but no one could figure out how.
Then there were a few examples of super muscular bank robbers who could bust down vaults and throw cars but couldn't even remember who had sent them or where they had stashed the money. One psycho was so focused on his paranoid notion that Earth was under alien attack that he tried to blow up the reactor that he worked at. Thankfully he was stopped with minimal local impact.
To his credit, old Brainstem managed to figure out who was behind it, and tracked me down. Poor old sap. Even with that magnificent mind, he couldn't out-think the chemicals I put in him, the ones that deactivated his breathing reflex.
After the authorities found the doctor, I made the tactical decision to go public. I stood in the middle of Pacifica Plaza and waited for them, no disguise, no mask. Sure enough, The Empress and Billy showed up, gave me the usual dogma and then moved up to cuff me. They didn't seem to notice my new flesh-colored gloves and continued going through the motions after getting injected. The whole city and the whole world watched as two of the West Coast's greatest heroes clutched their chests in pain and fell, eyes bulging and mouths frothing, to the floor. Adrenaline can be so bad for your health in big doses.
From there, taking over was a breeze, I mixed some clever new formulas into the water supply and had an entire city of near superhumans who felt actual pain when disobeying me. It was all kinds of badass. I slowly began expanding in all directions, ruling from my iron throne in the Council's old tower, waited on by a poor humbled young woman who may or may not have once been The Crusader. I only travel long distance to fight other supers, and few are dumb enough to oppose someone who can destroy their bodies from the inside. The vast majority of supers are now my minions as a result.
If I had known villainy was this cool I would have hopped on the bandwagon years ago. Anything to finally give me the respect I deserve.
|
"Okay Avengers, listen up! We have a new villain, if you can call him that. Born Rajesh Kumare, he grew up here in Detroit to his Indian immigrant parents Rupinder and Jaz. We believe him to be a mutant with control over people's biological systems, we're equipping you with noise canceling ear communicators as his powers are vocal based. Looks like he actually tried to apply to the team, at the time he wasn't hero material, lots of fiber, but the powers were lacking. We kept tabs on him though, instead of joining the X-Men or Xavier's school he went out on his own to fight crime. He was shit at it though, ended up getting beaten and almost left for dead. This little turd has now turned to crime. Admittedly, his powers have grown and he's caused a spree in his wake. You're to pick him up and bring him back here for confinement."
"What's his name?" Asked the Captain, and after a silent pause, "what does he call himself?"
Nick Fury pinched the bridge of his nose, and closed his one eye. If they didn't know any better the group could have thought he was softly laughing to himself.
"He calls himself Brown Note..."
| 2015-03-03T16:00:52 | 2015-03-03T14:33:54 | 46 | 11 |
[WP] You are an extremely Americanized character who has just been dropped into a typical high school anime that is riddled with all of the common anime tropes. Try as you might, you can't understand why the other characters behave the way they do.
|
"Johnson, Thommas here has moved from America and will be studying with I you all!" The class teacher gestured towards me with a hand, her other held onto her hip as she made a upbeat expression, different from the dead eyes normally seen in American teachers.
"Thank you, I hope to learn about the culture here and become friends with you all." I slightly bowed my head, hands held together in front of me. Looking back up to the class it was rather disconcerting, a good half of the guys were staring at me as if challenging while the majority of the females seemed to hold wide eyes, I could swear I saw sparkles in them.
Now I don't think I'm all that good looking, nor do I have any great amount of self confidence. I admit freely that this was very intimidating, maybe it's because I'm transferring? Japanese normally are interested in talking to foreigners right?
Anyway, after that awkwardness was over I took my seat, the only free one being at the second row of the back of the classroom closest to the sliding door.
Class started and my attention shifted to the differing hairstyles and whispering chatter that the students picked up once the class was underway. The lack of black hair, black eyes uniformity that I was expecting deemed devoid. Even the girl with black hair had this weirdly unnatural deep black, almost pure black sheen.
"Pssst! Johnson-san, hey! heyyy!" A female voice whispered demanded my attention from behind. I froze and gave a small glance back, a short blue haired chick looked at me with almost a predatory grin instantly my eyes shifted to her arms which were completely and utterly wrapped in bandages. No good, definitely no good. I turned back staring at the chalkboard with an intensity that I didn't know I even had.
"Oiii! I saw you look at me" She sounded frustrated, still I did not bow down to the distraction... Ouch? Something bounced off the back of my head arching across the classroom to land on the floor, a paper ball... Really? I turned once more glaring now at her.
"Don't mess with me, at least not during the god damn class!" I hissed back annoyance lacing my words. She seemed shocked for a short few moments before a redness cropped up on her cheeks and she looked away. The hell was wrong with her? I turned, blissfully uninterrupted as the class went on.
Going through to motions I ended up sighing as lunch came and the teacher filtered out as well as a few students, the rest took out their bentos. That was something I was expecting for once. The girl from behind left too, thankfully.
"Johnson-san?" A questioning male voice came to my left as I took out my pack lunch of sandwiches, chips and a can of coke. I looked up seeing a red haired boy with his hands on his sides, he looked rather serious.
Blinking I spoke. "Uhmm... Yeah? Sorry, didn't get your name."
"You can call me Shiro!" He declared this with a proud expression on his features all while I stared blankly.
"Shi..ro? Isn't that just 'white' It sounds like a cats name." I paused as I realised this probably wasn't the best comment to make friends.
However to my surprise he just laughed before speaking even louder. "It is! But white is the colour of JUSTICE! It's a name to be proud of!"
I looked to his face before glancing at the red hair on his head, looking between the two I simply nodded. "R...right."
"Anyway Johnson-san! I heard you challenge Mikato in class, you shouldn't do that! Nobody does that! She's a delinquent and is always causing trouble if you're not careful she'll beat you up, don't worry because if she tries I'll stop her! She does that with all the transfer students!"
My expression was still as the chip packet was opened and I started to munch, looking at him with a singular raised eyebrow. "She's... a delinquent? Like, smoking, beating people up, robbing old people and leaving them for dead kind of delinquent?"
The male in front of he paused before shaking his head. "No! Why? No! Well... Maybe the beating people up and taking some lunch money but not killing elders!"
"So she's a female jock?" I cocked my head in confusion, looking at the door where she had left. "But her frame is kinda... girly you know?"
Shiro seemed to pause at this. "Well... She is a girl, what else would it be?"
I continued to half munch in reply. "She could have more muscle, I couldn't really tell because of the weird ass bandages she has on her arms but they seemed thin. Also why does she wear those things it can't be actually healing anything it's just inefficient unless her entire arms are littered with cuts... Does she seem sad or like... depressed at all?"
Shiro literally cocked his head almost 45 degrees as he looked at me in utter confusion as if I'd just started chanting words to call upon the Anti-Christ. "Not really, she's always rowdy and loud..." An uncomfortable silence moved in before he snapped out of his demented owl look and spoke. "Anyway Johnson-san I need to get food, you wanna stick with me so I can protect you!?"
I looked at his clenched hand as it raised into the air, biting the next salted chip I shook my head. "No thanks, I'm good."
He seemed to deflate at this but gave a goodbye only to filter off, probably towards the canteen, did they even have a canteen here?
I enjoyed my lunch, thankfully uninterrupted until the last bite of my ham stuffed sammich. I was attacked, unprovokingly attacked. A bandaged arm wrapped around my neck and squeezed causing me to cough, splutter and launch the last bit of food in my mouth across the room. Instantly I flailed and kicked against my own desk to send me back.
A loud clatter, a girl off to the side screaming and for some godforsaken reason, a dust cloud later I landed, sitting ontop of the blue haired girl with my hands directly pressing into her breasts, not even that but her shirt had somehow exploded with each button undone.
I took my hands off from the black lacy bra, my gut felt like it had been stabbed and my heart was going crazy, was I going to be labelled as some sex offender on the first day? How long before the entire school was screaming about the rape culture perpetuated by the American student?
Mikoto was looking to me like a dear in headlights, I felt as if I had unceremoniously kicked a puppy across the street only for a vulture to snatch it up and take it away. "I... I'm sorry!"
I panicked, but still my jacket was instantly off and thrown onto her to cover what modesty she had left, myself I stood up while she herself was now redder than a tomato. "Good lord I'm sorry, you attacked me and then... I didn't mean... It wasn't my intention to..."
I stood there and stopped apologising, after all what was the point when she jumped up and literally sprinted out, clutching my jacket to her chest. Everyone in the room was staring and the males looked absolutely furious, the females looked shocked I couldn't say anything, I was frozen in conflict, should I chase her? Should I make sure she was okay? Should I apologise to the class?
This thought process got me nowhere as a few whispered 'pervert's' came out, though to my complete and utter surprise it took only a minute for everyone to shift back to their normal groups to chat. Was I not getting lynched? Don't I need to speak to the police? That was pretty much sexual assault right?
I sat down at my desk, the teacher came in and then continued on with the last topic. Not one student spoke about what happened, acting if it was completely fucking natural, I was sweating my ass off worried and no one seemed to give a shit. The few hours before the end of the school was the most nerve wrecking portion of my life. Walking home was also worrying, as if I expected a cop to jump out and handcuff me at any moment. Then I realized the worst thing of all after calming down.
She has my fucking jacket.
|
"Damn, where am I?"
_Sam touched his head, everthing still felt strange and dizzy, however he was starting to see again. A little figure approached him_
"Oniiii-chan, are you ok? you look like someone who's having a bad time"
_A little girl was speaking, she could have been 13 years old at maximum, but something didn't feel right about her_
"Ah,emh, I'm fine, don't worry. Who are you? where am I?"
_Her boobs. Yep, that was the thing that didn't feel right. Her eyes were too big and she also was very short and dressed in a really tight sport uniform, but most importantly her boobs....Damn Sam,he thought, this is not the time and i'm sure this is not entirely legal. I have to get out of here, and fast!_
_The little girl interrupted the flow of toughts in his mind_
"I'm Iris, and you are in the school gym warehouse. I heard a loud noise coming from here and i came to check if everything was fine and i found you. But you, who are you? I've never seen you, so you're probably a new student. Now tell me, how did you get in here?"
_Sam said the first thing that came to his mind_
"ehm, I was searching for the main hall and I got in here, but then the door was locked from outside so .."
"Ok, well, this seems a bit odd but ok, I'll guide you to the main all"
_The girl took sam's hand a started to literally drag him outside the warehouse and inside the main building, who sam assumed was the school. They were just entering the school when a mid-age good looking woman with big boo -oh,Sam, just stop it- stood in their way_
"Mh, look what we've got here. Iris and .... Oh, you, it's you Sam."
_Sam looked her confused. Who is she, and why she knows my name?_
_Iris, again, interrupted his toughts_
" I'm sorry headmaster, Sam is a new student and didn't know how to reach your office so I tought I could guide him"
"Ok, it's fine Iris. Now go back to your lecture, I'll take care of him"
_The headmaster blinked to sam, and he somehow knew that the situation was only going to degenerate...."_
________________________________________________________________
Note: this is the first time i write something so be kind and i wish you could gave me some tips. Also, i'd like to point out that i'm not native so maybe i could've done some mistakes while writing :D
Edit 1: formatting
| 2017-07-24T03:04:36 | 2017-07-23T22:04:51 | 63 | 33 |
[WP] Temples are built for gods. Knowing this a farmer builds a small temple to see what kind of god turns up.
|
I had forgotten about it long ago. A tiny shrine built to any god who would inhabit it. It had been a child's game, to build a temple for a god was something I thought would be fun.
Nearly thirty summers ago I came out to this field, and built the structure. It was minuscule, only barely too big to be taken as a songbird's home. Without much in the way of building talent I had taken four beams and nailed them together to make a pair of A frames. Munching on my favorite snack the whole time i had nailed more planks and left over roof tiles along the top sides of the frame, then set another few planks into the bottom to create a floor. Looking up at it now I could still see the indents from where i had missed the nails or bent them sideways. So much time had passed. Decades as a farmer tends to make you appreciate your early work more or not at all. I loved it, excitement had driven the swings of those hammers, not just another mandate from the chicken company over me. Not another frantic race to keep up with the other chicken keepers they were judging me against.
I started to notice the carvings. That day so many years ago i'd been inspired by my snack. A proper temple needed carvings or reliefs on the front, so i'd taken the apple core and stuck it in a hole then carved apple trees on either side of the 'tall' door on the front that reached from the floor all the way to the peak of the A a couple feet higher. More crude, but passionate work.
I hadn't noticed at first that the apple tree had started growing. Now the little temple I'd built was suspended in a young strong Apple tree. It's branches stretching wider with each year but still gently cradling the temple near its trunk.
Here I was, In the shadow of the temple I'd built all those years ago. Frightened and desperate kneeling amidst all the cast off apples littering the ground in various stages of rot. My own rot eating at my heart. I'd heard about other people who built grand temples to gods like Ra, and Odin. I didn't know much about any gods, but i knew one thing, She didn't have any other options left. My last relative, and the Doctors were stopping Chemo. I had never made enough to pay them to keep going, I didn't know if I would if I had the money. She just looked so tired. I shuddered as the first winds of winter froze the tears on my cheeks.
"please, i ..."
I looked up as a warm presence brushed my cheek. Into the most beautiful face i'd ever seen.
"Ginger?"
"No, but I'll take it as a compliment that the first woman you mention is your late wife." The lovely woman smiled down, here eyes intent on mine "There are lots of happy years in your heart. Fewer now."
"I... I'm;" my breath froze. Why would a goddess appear to me, I was no one, just
"Just the man who put passion and youthful love into building my Temple. Suspending it in a tree was a beautiful touch, though unintentional at the time." Her smile still strong, but not overly so. A genuine expression that rested more in the lines around her eyes than on her lips.
My awe had me all but pinned to the ground, i almost felt that i could kneel here forever, but the sun was setting behind the goddess. I would have to start dinner soon.
"It has been a long time, but I have a gift for you Thomas Cook." My glance trailed to her hands, reaching forward from within her auburn dress. The ends of her sleeves embroidered with golden swirls and vaguely predatory shapes. Then finally my eyes fell to the offered apple in her hands, it shimmered, seemingly golden in the sunset. More perfect than any example of the fruit i'd ever seen before. I reached forward and took it gently in my hands.
"I had intended you receive this years ago, but you haven't returned since building my temple. This apple, eaten by a healthy person even one of middle age like yourself will have their life extended by many decades, perhaps even centuries."
"And if given to a sick person?" I asked, rekindled hope almost pushing me to interrupt a goddess
I watched as her smile deepened, "Then it will act as a wellspring & heal them. Bringing them back to the full bloom of their health." I stared at the miracle in my hands
"Do they have to eat it whole, or... what if i cut it up." I said looking up to find her also kneeling, her eyes level with mine for the first time.
"You know as well as I do Ginny likes peanut butter with her apple slices. Just don't be a stranger, & bring her with you in the spring once she's stronger." She said,
"Thank you." I hesitated, "I don't know your name, but will learn."
"Of course, now hurry, she'll be waking up soon."
Hurry I did, Nearly tripping over myself I ran back up to the ranch house, the years felt like they fell away. I covered the nearly half mile back to the house in a fraction of the time it took to walk out to the temple. I slowed on the porch, trying to be quiet, took the apple in to the kitchen and sliced it into a bowl, a dolop of Jif on the side for dipping. I set the core down, deciding then to plant it near the temple. If one tree had pleased her enough to save my granddaughter I'd turn that field around it into an Orchard in thanks.
"Hey Ginny," I called sofly into the slowly darkening living room, as I set the down on the end table "I brought you some apple slices."
She mumbled a reply I couldn't rightly hear & took a slice from the bowl. She smiled and nodded towards her cup. She was still using a lidded cup even at thirteen because she didn't have the strength to hold the heavy old glasses I had.
"Sure Honey, Root Beer?" I said, turning away with the dishes after receiving an affirmative nod.
I took a couple minutes and washed the dishes, putting them into the rack before refilling her drink and one for myself and heading back into the living room.
"Hey Grandpa, I fell asleep during Harry Potter, can you put on another movie?" Her Blue eyes following me. The empty bowl on the end table didn't have any traces of apple left. It even looked like she'd trailed her fingers over it to get as much left of peanut butter as possible. Then She had sat up on her own. I noticed the clear tube for her oxygen had fallen into her lap, but she wasn't having any trouble breathing.
"Will you watch that old Princess movie with me? The one Grandma liked?" Ginny asked as she smiled up at me, taking Her root beer from my hand. I walked around the part of the sectional she was resting on and grabbed the DvD from the rack.
"As you Wish," but I knew she heard the I Love You in the words. And some how, I knew my Goddess had heard the words as well.
|
The sun shown over a farmland somewhere in Japan....
It was done. I, a farmer, have built a temple. It's wasn't a big one, but a stray god can only take what they get. It wasn't long before a cloud of dust appeared on the horizon.
A man wearing a black tracksuit with a sword slung across his back. It wasn't long before he was a mere three meters away when he finally stopped.
"Yes! I, Yatogami, finally have my own shrine!' He exclaimed.
Shaking out of my stupor, "Who the hell are you?" I asked.
"Im a god!" said the self proclaimed 'Yatogami'.
Staring at him, "You don't look very, you know, godlike?"
He snorted, "Times are hard, especially for a stray god like me."
I cleared my throat as asked, "What can you do?"
He held up five fingers, "Anything as long as you give me-" he paused and shook his fingers.
"Five what? Five thousand ryo?"
He shook his head.
"Five hundred thousand ryo?"
He shook his head.
"If you want more than that, I'm sorry you should just go find another shrine"
He looked at me with a grin. "FIVE, just FIVE ryo."
~~~~~~~
Well idk, saw the prompt and this came to mind.
| 2018-01-19T10:20:21 | 2018-01-19T07:50:55 | 42 | 16 |
[WP] A father and son sit down for a serious talk. The father is going to tell the son he is the last of an ancient race, and must carry on the bloodline. the son is coming out to the father. neither knows what the other has to say.
|
We sat in the living room, me, perched in the middle of the colossal green couch, my father, in the beaten-tan lazyboy. I wan't sure where to begin. My father, though, beat me to it.
“*Hrm*. Well, son, you might have noticed that you have certain…*qualities* that other boys your age don’t have…”
I was... a little surprised. “So, wait, Dad. *You know about me?!*”
“Of course. I’m one too!”
Agog, I sputtered out. “But-but, *but does Mom know*?!”
“Of course she knows! She’s even gone on a few *adventures* with me! We’d mix it up all the time.”
*Adventures?! Oh God, was that what they called it?* “She was *ok* with it!?”
“Sure. She was quite the enchantress, back then. Her techniques were *incredible*, let me tell you. I got to see them firsthand. She'd make a mess out of a room of men in *seconds flat*”
*Oh God, if you’ve ever loved me, you will* **kill me now**. *Kill me, before I hear about my bi father’s sexcapades.*
“Yes son, I know all about it. I just want you to know that what you’re going through now is normal. Those strange feelings you’re having aren’t in your head. But, there will be people who don’t understand you.”
I thought about Greg, how I’d misunderstood his pranks as affection. How he’d reacted, and the pain of rejection. How Michael had seen and accepted me, and how Laura saw to it that I was kicked off of the Homecoming Council.
“In the days to come, you might find it easier to not tell anyone what you really are. If you do decide that, I want you to know that no one can judge you. You will have every right to live your life *how you want to*, without regard for people like *them*, or even people *like me.*. But’ I hope you’ll find a few people to share this with. It helps. And I want you to know, however you choose to live your life, your mother and me will love you, *always.*”
My eyes started to water, cutting through the heat of shame.
“Also, there are going to be people who might want to hurt you because of what you are. And there will probably be people who will… *want things* from you, too. I know you’re strong, but if you ever need it, come to us for help.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Right, ok! I have to admit, I’m surprised you worked all this out for yourself already! It took me forever to awaken!”
“*Ughhh*, DAD.”
“What? I’m just proud of my boy!”
“That’s weird, Dad.”
“Nothing weird about it! It’s who you are! So, have you already experimented a bit?”
I thought of Mike, and the smell of his leather jacket.
“A little, yeah.”
“Right, ok. Well, you’ve probably worked out that you’ll do best with *rods*-“
“*Dad.*”
“-Staffs, staves-“
“*DAD.*”
“-even *wands*, if the situation calls for it-“
“*OH MY GOD*, **DAD!**”
“But you’ll figure out pretty soon that you can even use *just your hands* if you don’t have anything else to work with-.“
My flush of embarrassment had gone *nuclear*.
“JESUS SHIT, DAD! I *know*!”
“You do?! Wow, you’re *very advanced* for your age! I didn’t even gain mastery over the tongues of men until I was 19!”
*…I was going to burn my way to the center of the Earth.*
I would. I would melt a hole, *seven thousand miles straight down*, and live there forever. That would be my home; far, *far* away from this conversation.
“Daaad, could you… please… not…”
“*OH!* I’m sorry. I’m embarrassing you. I’m just *so proud*.”
*This is worse. This is worse than disowning.*
“And the good news is, this means we can have the ceremony sooner than we expected!”
*WHAT.*
“What ceremony?!”
“Your unveiling! It makes it all official, amongst us in the ‘underworld.’ “
“There’s a *ceremony* for that?!”
“Oh, yes! It’s very important! We show proof of your nature to your *peers*, so you’ll be accorded full status!”
“…*What kind of proof.*”
“Oh, you know, a few *minor acts.* A practical demonstration. Don’t worry, the audience is very supportive. You might even recognize a few of them from school! Mike will be there, you know. He’s secretly a bear-man. He *really impressed* at his unveiling last year.”
My brain shut down.
“And then, after that, I’ll take out the family *crown and scepter*-“
I could only listen on, in mounting horror.
“-declaring you the true, last heir of the *King of the Fairies!*”
…
My soul left my body. I saw a bright light.
“And then you can begin pursuing your destiny, protecting the land of Eld from monsters!”
I whiplashed back into the real world. “Wait. What about… what?!”
“You’ll really knock ‘em *dead*, son! Damn, but I’m *excited!* I’m gonna go get my robe right now!”
He flitted out of the room on a pair of iridescent, gossamer wings.
“…*what?*”
*EDIT*
Oh. Wow. Ok. R.I.P. inbox...
Thanks so much to everyone who upvoted and commented, and a special thank-you goes to our esteemed OP, [r/raccooninajar](http://www.reddit.com/user/raccooninajar), and another redditor who will go unnamed unless he wants to be named, because I don't know the etiquette here and also *shut up I know what I'm doing, ok?!*
If you liked this story, you might like to read about [how Nazis fight time-travelling assassins](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/29k2gu/wp_a_topsecret_division_of_the_ss_in_charge_of/cilty67), what might happen if [the Antichrist found himself in the wrong Apocalypse](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2o1ulj/wp_the_antichrist_finds_himself_in_the_wrong/cmjdddt), how hard it is for [a super-spy to explain being late at his day-job.](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2a1yvm/wp_a_person_leading_a_double_life_undercover/ciqqv1p?context=3). If you like more serious things, maybe you'd like to [meet Death in an elevator](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/25mykh/wp_youre_an_exhausted_paramedic_you_just_finished/chitnrc?context=3), [free an innocent prisoner as a death-row cook](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2l4aq9/wp_the_chef_who_always_prepares_death_rows_last/clrpzq1?context=3), or to [wake up to a duplicate of yourself every morning.](http://www.reddit.com/r/funny/comments/1sj2v2/im_an_ra_one_of_my_residents_just_posted_this/cdyf6x7?context=3)
|
“Son, we’ve always told you that knowing who you are is important. You must know where you’ve been to know where you’re going.” I told my teenager, trying to figure out a way to do this smoothly.
“Absolutely.” He said. I was twisting nervously on the couch in our living room, but he was perfectly content.
“We’ve made a point of letting you know that the people that come before you pave a path through life ahead of you. You get to walk in their footsteps and in so doing stand on the shoulders of giants.” My son nodded emphatically. He was so innocent. We should’ve told him sooner.
“Which is why what I’m about to say is so important.” I continued. I should stop beating about the bush and just come straight out with it. His calm was unnerving me a bit though. Why was he so chipper? Couldn’t he tell this conversation had me more than a little nervous? Well, nothing for it, delaying it any longer would do no good.
“Son, we are the last dragons. I know. I know. It sounds crazy. We look just like ordinary people, but trust me. If you had a DNA test it would be eye opening. We’ve slowly changed to resemble humans to fit in among them, but there’s still some fire breathing in us. You eat the right combinations of minerals and you can shoot a burst of flame twenty yards.” Junior started to say something but I cut him off. “I know this all sounds crazy, but trust me. It’s absolutely true and we can prove it to you.”
“I know dad, mom told me all this ten years ago. Which is why I wanted to talk to you. Dad, I’m human.”
Sidenote: Op didn’t say *what* the son had to come out as :).
Edit: if you guys like goofy prompts you should [find out what wizards do when they're bored](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2qxadl/wp_a_powerful_wizard_with_nothing_better_to_do/cnaejcf)
| 2015-02-06T08:36:36 | 2015-02-06T08:19:53 | 4,102 | 212 |
[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.
|
"Listen, I know your ad says your services start at $150, but I'm hoping you can make an exception, cut me a deal?" Her breathing is shallow and her voice quivers. She swallowed at the end of her sentence. She's panicked and desperate, and unlike most of the time wasters, she's not lying about the money part.
"I'll listen, but this is a business, not a charity."
"I know. I do. But, you see, I am a charity. I run a youth shelter on 6 mile. I have a couple of boys that come in every Thursday and Friday for the pantry. Only none of 'em have showed up the last few weeks."
"Homeless youths? I wouldn't wind your clock by their patterns if I were you."
"You don't have to tell me that, but these boys were different. They've been coming for nearly two years. And they aren't the only regulars that have gone missing. But the cops won't listen and I just know: someone is stealing kids."
I glance at my desktop planner. Blank space as far as the eyes can see. "You got a non-profit number?"
"Yes," her voice pitched up, hopeful.
"Well, I'm gonna need a receipt."
"You'll do it?"
"I'll be feet down in Detroit in oh, about 45 minutes." I hung up and eyed my flying cape. At least my accountant could deduct it this time.
|
Henry had been waiting for three hours now to be allowed in. Standing in line next to people who jumped every time the 'hero' called out the next name to see him.
There was a heavy, oppressive silence in the hallway as they all avoided eye contact. Ashamed to be here, of course, to ask for help from one of them. Henry thought of the money he'd brought along, a reassuring weight in his backpack. It *had* to be enough. It was all he had left in the world.
Eventually, his name was called, and Henry steeled himself as he walked in. None of the others had been helped today - obviously short on cash - but he'd brought enough. Everyone he'd consulted about this man's particular service said so.
Russel glanced up briefly when Henry walked in and produced the money. Like most of them, he'd long-since dispensed with the monikers his kind had once used. He leaned forward to take the bundles of cash from Henry, a faint glimmer of life in his dark eyes as he rifled through the notes.
"Not enough," he said.
Henry fought to keep the panic from his voice as he took out the last of the money and stacked it with the rest. "It has to be, it's my whole life's savings. You haven't even heard the job."
"Your wife or kid was killed, I'm guessing, right?" Russel sighed, handing the money back to him. "Or you made some idiotic decision. You'd like a do-over like every other sad shmuck out there, I've heard it all before. And it's not enough. Unlike most of my kind, I charge for a reason. The money isn't enough - tell me why I should help you. Time travel is dangerous stuff. To me, to the world, to everyone. I don't use it for trivial jobs. And your personal tragedy is trivial in the grand scheme of things, buddy."
Henry licked his suddenly dry lips as he tried to find the right words. Without the money, he had to convince him. He looked at Russel, a guy clearly bored out of his mind with the stories he heard every day, and almost lost his nerve. But he had to try.
"It's not that," Henry said. "I want to go back to the time of heroes. Real heroes, where people stood outside and cheered as we saved the world. Where they wrote stories about us, where kids worshipped us. I - I'm like you. I can travel in time, but only forward. I discovered that when I came here, the first time I experimented. I can't go back to my time, where people like us were loved, where I had friends like me who I could be proud of."
That gave Russel pause. He actually ignored the money, and glanced up sharply. "You're like me?"
"I am and I'm not," Henry said, sinking into a nearby chair, the exhaustion making him feel slightly nauseous. Russel was the fifth and last time-traveller he could find in the country. His last hope, with so little money left.
"I just want my life back, okay?" he said. "I hate it here. I thought I'd like it, but it's the worst life I can imagine. You don't look particularly happy to me, either. Take me back, see if you want to stay too. You can even stay at my place until you make your own way. There, that payment enough?"
Russel rifled absentmindedly through the money again, forehead furrowed as he remained silent. Finally, he gave a terse nod.
"Fine. I admit I've thought about it before, many of us have," he said. "It'll be more interesting that the people wasting my time here, at least."
He told Russel the place and the date. They grasped hands, and Henry felt his insides contract as time slipped away.
------------
They landed in the middle of the crowd that swarmed the square, the bright midday sun beating down from above as people cheered and screamed and swayed around them.
"Enough is enough!" a man was howling on a platform. "These so-called 'heroes', these freaks of nature - ask yourselves, what have they ever done for you? What have they really done? They've made us weak, made us inferior, made us doubt our ability to look after our own..."
At each word, the crowd screamed louder, the cacophony drowning out most of the man's speech.
"I recognise him," Russel said slowly. "I saw a picture somewhere. That nutjob who started it all, who turned us against each other. What was his name again? Harold, or something. Turned everything to shit. I didn't pay much attention in school. Too busy skipping to more interesting times."
"It was Henry," his companion smiled. "And I'd like to stop him from making another speech. His vision didn't quite work out like he'd planned. I think he realised that when his wife died five years from now with a superhero standing five feet away, but wouldn't help without payment. Wouldn't help because he wanted revenge."
Russel gaped at the thin man next to him, really looked at him for the first time. He was starting to go grey, but his eyes still held some of the animation that shone in the face of the man in front of the crowd. His scraggly beard hid most of his features, but if you looked closely...Russel glanced at the stage, and finally found his voice.
"It's you. You came back for this? This speech?"
"This speech stirred them up, alright," Henry said, and stepped forward. "But the next one - the one he'll give tomorrow, the things that will happen there, that will change everything. Don't worry, I know how to stop it. I know exactly what to say to him."
"You can't meddle with events like this," Russel said weakly, grasping Henry's arm. "It's...too big. I can't let it happen. You never even paid me!"
Henry laughed at that. "Go back to your world, then. I can't follow you, I lied about that. But don't you want to stick around and find out if you'll return to a different world, or not? You said to give a reason for buying your services. Let me show you, instead."
Russel watched, paralysed but strangely elated, as Henry made his way towards the stage and his past. He had no place to call home here, no money stashed away. But somehow he was still watching - the consequences of events unpaid for, an act of charity that could derail everything.
And his heart was beating fast, more alive in this foreign time than he'd ever felt before. He stepped forward, hardly believing the words that leapt from his mouth.
"Wait up man, I want to help!"
----------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
| 2017-04-02T10:00:32 | 2017-04-02T08:14:02 | 38 | 25 |
[WP] "Shh, it's alright." The villain said. "You're doing beautifully and I'm so proud of you. But that's enough now... It was cruel of them to make you fight me. You never had a chance. It's not your fault."
The ancient and powerful villain may had a calm and gentle face as they spoke, but they were furious. Not at the heroes, but at the gods and prophets for continually sending kids and teenagers to fight their battles.
|
"We are told at birth 'Duty before self.'" Umbra's murmurs were as tender as a lullaby. If not for the spell restraining her, she might have thought him gentle, "We are told to sacrifice our homes, our family, our lives in the name of the greater good."
Energy depleted, Corona gathered enough strength to spit at him, "We do not question the gods, and the prophecy must be fulfilled. We cannot fight fate."
With his back turned, she heard a gasp, and when he turned around, she blinked against his anguished expression. Shaking his head, his thick, long dread locks trembled like tentacles at his shoulders, and despite the heat boiling underneath her skin, she shivered.
"Shh, it's alright." A slim, sharpened finger came to his lips. As much as she fought, she could not jerk her head away when his hand curled protectively around her chin, "You're doing beautifully, my child, and I am so proud of you."
"You \- you monster, the gods!"
Did pity control his gaze? She wondered, and peering into his gaze, she realized it was something more humane, more sorrowful than she imagined.
"The gods care nothing for us." He answered, "But that's enough now," he nodded in agreement to an invisible source, "yes, it was cruel of them to make you fight me. You never had a chance. It's not your fault."
He cradled her in his arms as the spell relinquished its hold, and to her surprise, she clung to him as hot tears stained his bare skin. He caressed her hair and brought his lips to her ear, "You are brave, young one. Use your strength for you people, not your oppressors."
She opened her mouth to correct him. *They were not*. But what belief trespassed into her heart now?
Clouds of night swirled at his feet, engulfing him in glittering stardust. In his eyes were pools of sorrow, of shame, of smoldering fury promising more than vengeance as he sunk into the sands of time.
Gasping, she wiped away her tears and stared dumbly at where he last stood.
She failed.
She had failed the gods.
And she was afraid.
But oh, she was relieved.
|
“Shh, it’s alright.” The supervillain Third Eye said as the would be hero was on their knees breathing heavy, bleeding from several small wounds. “You’re doing beautifully and I’m so proud of you. But that’s enough now… it was cruel of them to make you fight me. You never had a chance, it’s not your fault.”
He smiled as the war bots that he had procured stood guard over the defeated hero. The room the two were in could only be called a lair, with a massive set of screens on one wall showing a map of the progress of his takeover of Terlun city. His bots were making quick work of the city’s defenders, as well as the three villains who worked for him, who were leading the charge.
“You’re wrong.” The wounded hero in leather pants and a t-shirt with one of Terlun’s local bands on it said as she slowly struggled to get up, under the watchful eye of the war bots and their powerful rifles. “You’re wrong father!” She said, standing to her full height, wiping a line of blood from her chin with the back of a hand.
“See.” Third Eye said with a shake of his head. “This is why I told you not to spend time with those goody goodies of the Hero’s guild. They filled your head with all these nonsensical ideas like justice, and doing the right thing. When I take over the city, you will live however you want, but for now, let daddy work. You never had any powers to begin with, they only sent you to fight me because they thought I’d play nice with my daughter. Pricks.”
“Wrong again.” Iris, who had never been granted a hero name, replied calmly, even with at least ten high powered rifles aimed at her. “I always wanted to do the right thing. Something I must have inherited from mom, may she rest in peace. And you never did pay attention to me growing up.”
“What do you mean by that?” Third Eye’s smirk left his face as he looked earnestly at his nineteen year old daughter who was still playing hero.
“My moral compass isn’t the only thing I inherited from mom.” Iris said, diving forward sending the war bots into a frenzy as they fired at her. She spun in a corkscrew as she sailed forwards, dodging dozens of bullets, and landing just between two war bots. Reaching out quickly with her right hand, she used her power in a real fight for the very first time. She picked up the massive war bot with one hand, and slammed it into the one on her left with enough force that both shattered into pieces.
“Restrain her!” Third Eye shouted as Iris dove to the side as the remaining war bots refocused their aim on her. She ran towards the massive metal walls of the lair, zigging and zagging the whole time. When she finally reached the wall, a war bot chasing closely behind her with its right hand clutching a massive steel beam, she ran straight up the wall, getting twenty feet up before pushing off. The bot slammed into the wall and destroyed itself as Iris leapt away from the wall, bullets flying past her as she went.
She landed right on top of another bot, and ducked behind it’s back as its fellows peppered it with bullets. When the bot was little more than hole riddled scrap, she kicked it hard, sending it flying into its fellows who were still shooting it. It clipped two other bots, slicing them in two as it flew past.
A spray of bullets finally found their mark, hitting Iris in the shoulder. She flinched back, but as quickly as the bullets had come, she dove at the bot who had landed the attack, ripping the sensor bank that acted as a head right off its shoulders and throwing it towards another bot’s sensor bank, exploding both.
Another spray of bullets found Iris’s left leg, and she turned to see the last war bot facing down on her. She jumped high, flipping over as another spray of bullets was fired at her. They missed their mark, and her right leg came down with enough force that there was nothing left of the bot when she made contact with the floor.
Turning to her father, she cracked her knuckles and rolled out her shoulders. She felt the trio of bullet holes in her right shoulder, and shrugged at the pain. Her power didn’t make her immune to damage, but it did remove her ability to feel pain. She’d likely live through the damage the bullets did, but either way, it wasn’t effecting her fighting ability.
“When did that happen.” Third Eye asked, motioning at the carnage to mean her power itself.
“Puberty is a hell of a thing, dad.” She said with a predatory grin on her face. “Made all the harder when your father can’t be bothered to backburner his world domination plans to spend time with you.”
“So this is all because I didn’t spend enough time with you?” Third Eye scoffed.
“No, father!” Iris yelled. “This. Right here. Right now. This moment is because you are determined to take the city by force, and you must be stopped. You not spending enough time with me only explains all the problems here.” She said pointing a bloody finger at her right temple.
“Well.” Third Eye smiled. “We can talk about this once Terlun is mine.” He placed a gloved hand over his chest, and when he pulled it away, the glowing green embodiment of his power was glowing through his suit. He stood tall, and focusing, shot a beam of green power that had been described by scientists as an organic laser, shot forth.
Iris grabbed a severed bot arm, and threw it at the incoming beam. It easily sliced through the metal, but it gave Iris a moment to dodge to the side. The beam continued past where she had been standing, and sliced through the wall twenty meters further back. Where the beam sliced through, bright daylight broke into the lair.
“Don’t run, sweety!” Third Eye laughed as he simply turned to track her, the laser pouring forth from his chest slicing through more and more of the lair as it traced closer to her. She increased her speed, but her father easily kept up, as all he had to do was turn his body to face her. The beam continued to cut through the floor and walls of the lair, casting the dark gloom of the room in daylight as more sunlight pierced through the new openings.
“I can keep this up all day little gem.” Third Eye laughed as he continued turning, his green laser cutting through more and more of his lair. He didn’t care, he could easily afford to replace the damage. He never saw the lump of former war bot coming, and it clipped him in the leg, sending him tumbling to the ground, his beam cutting out as his focus faltered.
“You know.” Iris called out as her father quickly got back to his feet, turning to look for her. He found her with her back against a wall that was filled with holes and slices, the sunlight framing her from behind. “Mom’s not the only one I inherited powers from.” She said as she crossed her closed fists over her chest. Third Eye couldn’t believe what he was seeing as she opened each fist, revealing bright red light held in each hand.
He quickly tried to focus, reigniting his own laser, but was much too slow as twin beams of red light stabbed into his shoulders, sending him flying back into a pile of metal debris that used to be his precious warbots.
He simply laid there for a moment, the metal falling around him, not quite pinning him into place, but it felt nice to just lay down for a moment. His shoulders really hurt, Third Eye laughed to himself as he heard the footsteps approaching. He’d never be able to reignite his beam in this condition, he was done for.
“Got you.” Iris said as she came to stand in front of the pile of debris.
“Yep.” Third Eye sighed. “Thought of a hero name yet?”
“Still working on it.”
| 2018-05-18T09:40:59 | 2018-05-18T09:27:05 | 30 | 10 |
[WP] A device has been invented that can read a person’s memory. Police and prosecutors love it for investigating crime. A suspicious spouse can check the alibi of their other half. You just discovered another way to use the device.
|
Have you ever had a thought so wild, but eventually worked out anyway?
The memory Scape was a marvel, able to retrieve memories on demand. Young, old, it didn't matter. You could even use it on pets!
So why didn't anyone think of using it on inanimate objects? I didn't, other than that i was sitting in the office on a graveyard shift, bored out of my mind as i happened to be staring at the device.
Alright, so the shape of the memory scape - kinda like a cap or a helmet, doesn't make you think of using it on anything that doesn't have an obvious head. So I don't know what i was thinking when i pulled out a benjamin franklin hundred dollar bill and put it in for a laugh.
The screen it was attached to started to make funny noises, and i almost killed it thinking i may have caused irreversible damage. But as my finger touched the power button, a movie started to play. I saw corruption. I saw secret deals. I saw the deepest darkest evil humanity had to offer. But i also saw kindness, and selfless generousity.
I was watching the memories of this banknote.
Author's note: this short anecdote is based on a series of short stories by a chinese author i really enjoyed in my youth. Writing any more would be pure plagiarism unfortunately 😓
|
"This is rough Casey. The grains are barely legible," Dr. Fiona Xu said, taking off her glasses to rub her eyes - as if doing that would clear away all the noise plaguing our Memory Extracts.
Letting out a sigh, I looked closer at the screen.
"I know, but we have no other leads. No other witnesses," I reiterated, half out of frustration and the other half out of prayer. At this point, a lavish, heavenly miracle needed to happen to get us what we needed. Tapping the tablet pen I had to my cheek, I kept my eyes glued to the MEs. There had to be something workable here.
"This is visual data? And we're positive Max was in the room?" I asked Dr. Xu. She nodded listlessly, glancing at the time on her computer monitor. 2:08 AM. We had been working on this for hours. It was a pointless question; and yet I needed to constantly reassure myself this was the only way we could get the truth. The all encompassing, important truth. I gently touched her shoulder.
"Poor Max tried defending the victim. We can tell based on the blood and bits of tissue he had on his teeth. He fought to defend her until his very last breath," Dr. Xu retold the last crucial moments of both Max and the victim with pain in her voice. I supposed they were both victims. Tears threatened to fill my eyes thinking about it. Dr. Xu seemed to notice.
"I don't think I've ever seen you lose your composure like this. I know how tough it is seeing cruelty not just confined to our own species. You're capable, Casey. But you're also still young. I can see how what happened to Max might affect you," Dr. Xu compassionately noted. I nodded, pressing my lips together in a tight line and holding the lump in my throat back.
I was usually pretty professional. Maybe it was all the hours we burned simply just extracting the data. It was highly unprecedented - incredibly unusual. What we were doing simply had never been done before at this scale. We were breaking ground on neuroforensic science. And I wish I felt more of the giddy rush that accompanied solving puzzles like these. I was usually in my element when it came to anything Memory Extraction related - that's why, despite not even earning my PhD yet, I was hand-picked by the CIA to conduct Memory Extraction Research on the most sensitive projects the country had to offer. But I think the weight of it all finally dawned on me. I recently had to bury a lifelong friend, and everything that was happening threatened to bring those feelings back to the surface.
"Well, it's not like we see each other a lot outside of work," I mentioned offhandedly, my exhaustion and sadness burying any sense of propriety. Dr. Xu's eyes and eyebrows lifted at that, and at first I thought I offended her.
"I mean, I'm usually pretty much a hermit most of the time..." I ambled before she cut me off.
"No, that's not what that was," She paused, looking at me one more time, shaking her head at my awkward comment, before looking back at the computer screen, "Maybe we've been *looking* at this wrong. Maybe the ME is so grainy because there simply weren't enough information pockets for visual data or audio data."
My head reeled back at the realization. Dr. Xu's revelation snapped me back into focus. I took my pen and navigated through my tablet, opening my email inbox.
"Are you suggesting we extract other sensory data? Like maybe, olfactory data?" I asked her. She nodded, though with a pained expression on her face.
"I know we barely have any schemas for mapping out smells. But I don't think we have a choice in the matter. Perhaps olfactory data has stronger associations with emotional keys that will reinforce identity keying with greater certainty," Dr. Xu explained. I nodded, still on my tablet, sifting through my emails.
"Max is a dog. He would have had greater associations between different scents versus his sight. It makes sense," I nodded before continuing, trying not to remember my own old friend which would make me start crying again, "one of my old grad school buddies sent me this abstract sometime a while ago. The paper explained how somebody with synesthesia may help us key different schemas of non-visual MEs."
Dr. Xu's bloodshot, baggy eyes lit brighter than a lighthouse in the night. She nodded quickly, and started typing.
"It's a longshot, but let's see if anything on that abstract can crosswalk Max's olfactory memories. A dog's thoughts are probably less complex than a human's. It may not be such a lost cause," She spoke, enthusiasm drenching her words. I smiled but kept my hopes low. It could work. And if we figured this out, we might actually be able to end a war before it ever started. I pulled up a file on my tablet.
"I also managed to extract MEs from our family pet. Apollo. She was an Australian Shepherd. I'd been trying to peek into them for the past few months," I admitted sheepishly. Dr. Xu looked even more surprised, and after a few seconds her expression turned into excitement.
"I heard you lost her recently. I'm sorry for your loss, Casey. But in terms of what that data could do for what we're doing... And the fact that you managed to extract any of it at all... It quite frankly holds a lot of potential," Dr. Xu said.
*That data,* I thought, *was my dog. It was everything that she ever was and ever will be.*
I shook my head to clear it. I needed to use my love for Apollo for constructive means at this point. Everything was at stake. I could grapple with my heavy, uncomfortable emotions later.
13 year old Dawn Prescott, only daughter of the current sitting President of the United States, Eileen Prescott, was assassinated three days ago in an unprecedented case of total memory cleansing. Every secret service member who was with her, and eventually Dawn herself, had their brains internally liquefied by unknown means after a clear physical struggle between the assassin, all the secret service members, and finally Dawn herself. ME extraction was a total impossibility. The only organic being that could have any memory material extracted was Max, Dawn's faithful canine companion. He had lost his life defending Dawn from the assassin, and though the assailant's tissue was able to be extracted from his remains after the incident, no matching DNA samples could be matched, even after running it through several international security agency databases.
I bit my lip as I tried to hold my tears back. Even after she was gone, Apollo would still be helping me. She would hopefully be the key, along with other memories from individuals who experience their senses in a different way.
*Maybe there is a way to stop impending crisis and doom*, I sarcastically thought. Global warfare and nuclear annihilation may be prevented once we discovered the truth. Truth that could not have been gained without the perspective of those a little different than the rest of us.
| 2021-12-12T01:07:42 | 2021-12-12T00:57:01 | 43 | 20 |
[WP] You're a supergenius-level robotics expert. Your neighbor is a godlike magician. You use your abilities solely to prank each other.
|
The Great Zantini showed up at my doorstep hat in hand.
I knew better than to trust this and sent a decoy mimic-droid to answer the door.
Zantini looked at the mimic-droid and seemed almost sad. "Is that really you or is this a ruse?"
Something about his voice concerned me. I came out from behind the lead lined wall that seemed to be cover against most of his spells. "What is it Zantin?"
He smiled "I wanted to call a truce. I am leaving the neighborhood."
I nodded "Giving up?"
He made a chair appear to sit on. "I have lost my job and I am going to have to move."
I wanted to think this was a ploy, but there was a sincerity in what he was saying and a sadness at losing a rival that I could feel as well.
"We had some good times!" he smiled at me "Remember when your garage grew legs and you had to chase it to get to your car."
I chuckled, the video of that still haunts me a little, but it was a good one. "Remember the inch tall robot army I sent to steal your spell components."
Zantini laughed out loud "My cat now leaps like a tiger when it sees a toy solider."
"Why are you losing your job?" I knew he worked at a pretty well known magic firm, I couldn't see why he would be out of a job.
"They said I don't understand the modern times." He shook his head. "I have a new supervisor and he decided that I needed to be let go."
I blurted out "I don't like this."
"Neither do I"
I started thinking, plotting like I hadn't plotted since I woke to a group of Imps in my workshop. "Do you know where your new supervisor lives."
I saw Zantini's eyes light up like when he watched me chasing my garage. "Yes."
For years we had been playfully pranking each other, but now someone had picked on my friend, and he would have to deal with both of us....heaven help him.
|
To a brilliant scientist, particularly one gifted in engineering and robotics, there are few forces in existence that can not be explained given sufficient time. Not once in my life did I ever expect to encounter the exception in the house across the street.
Some months ago my previous neighbour, the widow Mrs. Aubrey, passed away in an intensive care unit. Her family wrapped up her affairs, which included the sale of her property. I was outside tinkering with my automated mail delivery apparatus (AMDA) when I saw a man in a set of robes ride up the street and into the driveway on horseback. This was, of course, impossible, and when I shook my head and looked again I saw him emerging from an old Toyota Tercel. Just so. Believing I had spent too much time outdoors (nearly half an hour by this point!), I made my way to the front door. I heard my neighbour call out in greeting, but was too concerned with my mental fortitude to reply.
On several future occasions I noticed strange things around my new neighbour's house, like when I awoke one morning to see *my* AMDA installed smartly on his front lawn. By the time I had gone outside, prepared to raise hell over the theft, the device was back in place on my lawn. Highly improbable, given the complexity of its machinery. The processing unit alone would require fifteen minutes of careful disassembly before being ready for transportation.
After several more bizarre encounters I began to suspect my neighbour might be trying to screw around with me. Perhaps he was a rival scientist, sent by a competing laboratory to disrupt my daily life? Perhaps he was using a holographic emitter to create these life-like illusions? If so, I would soon get to the bottom of it, or so I thought.
I knocked on my neighbour's front door and, when he answered with coffee in-hand, I dispensed with the pleasantries.
"What's all this about?" I asked.
"Whatever do you mean, good neighbour?" he said. Good neighbour? Who said things like that?
"You know very well. I'm seeing things - impossible things over here almost every day. I don't know what your angle is, but if you're trying to disrupt my research you're going to have to find a new strategy. Wait, what happened to your coffee?"
He smirked in reply and held his hands out in a submissive gesture. The cup he had been holding all along wasn't there anymore. "You mean this coffee?" He reached out, perfectly casually, and retrieved the cup from behind my ear. "I had simply set it down for a moment."
I frowned and left at once. Something was up, that much I knew. I went home and had my computer perform a search on the address. The property was registered with the city under the name Malakar Xanatos. A ridiculous name, but further study revealed that a person bearing the same name hosted a website called "Malakar's Magical Mysteries." The man held himself to be some sort of magician. It all clicked - he was using cheap illusions and sleight of hand to disrupt my daily routine! Well, two could play at the game of petty dickery. One does not spend eighteen years working in the field of robotics without learning how to be a jerk to other people.
I rushed to my garage workshop and modified one of my finished prototypes - a butterfly robot I had intended to help in the study of wind patterns. A few simple adjustments and I had a perfect airborne spy. Mr. Xanatos would not be able to do so much as twiddle a wand without my knowing about it. A brief inspection of his movements revealed that he spent a fair amount of time on his back yard porch, reading from enormous books of a curious nature. Perfect.
The other prototype in my garage was what I tentatively referred to as the Bee Bomb. Concerned over dwindling bee populations, I wanted to create a device that could attract a new queen to an ideal nesting site with the use of special synthetic pheromones. I hadn't tested it in the field, so what better time than now? I waited until night, crept across the street and into my neighbour's back yard, and installed the device out of sight near his porch. Wouldn't he be in for a surprise?
Sure enough, three days later, I spotted an exterminator's van parked on the street. I sent over the butterfly and observed as the exterminator located my Bee Bomb and scratched his head in bewilderment. Success! That would put an end to his silly tricks, I was certain. I was also wrong.
The next day, as I returned home from my laboratory, I discovered a slight problem. My home was not in the place it was supposed to be. Instead, a stand of trees at least a century old gloried in the late afternoon sun. A squirrel nibbled a nut from the branch of an elm. Its nibbles had a vaguely mocking air about them. I got out of my car, rushed over to my property, and stood dumbly looking at the place my home should have been. After a moment I roused myself out of delirium and marched towards the trees, determined to see if my house was hidden inside. Much to my surprise, the opening I chose to pass through was in fact the wall of my house, which appeared between blinks just in time for me to walk face-first into it. The trees were gone, but I watched as the squirrel ran across the street and disappeared into my neighbour's back yard.
That night I sat in my garage, sipping coffee. This so-called "magician" had gone too far. I brushed off the blueprints for an old project of mine, one where a mining company had contracted me to design a robotic system that could move large objects without the need for manpower. I stared at the blueprints, and I thought.
Several long days later I had completed my revenge - a series of small, coordinated lifting robots that functioned much like a colony of ants (I have a fascination for insects, so sue me). A brief test with my parked car was all I had the patience for and, assured by the butterfly of my neighbour's absence, I sent the army of ants to war.
I had envisioned the ants clearing cave-ins and the like, but it was something else to see them uproot an entire house from its foundations. It was with great pride that I gave the order for the ants to march, and then watched with satisfaction as my neighbour's house receded down the street towards a designated drop-off point in a disused hay field. When the magician came home, I was certain, he would be in for the surprise of his life.
Satisfied, I went back inside and fixed myself a cup of tea. I walked into my study and was perhaps less surprised than I should have been to discover Malakar Xanatos seated in my regular chair, sipping the tea that was no longer in my hand.
"A fine house you have, good neighbour. I particularly approve of your choice of surroundings." He gestured to my front window. Rushing over and tearing open my blinds I was greeted by the sight of a decrepit hay bale standing in a row with several of its cousins. I turned back, my mouth half-open as my brain calculated a response, but the magician was of course no longer there. As I sat down to plan my next revenge I discovered that my tea cup was also empty.
The end.
| 2015-02-19T00:06:54 | 2015-02-18T23:03:51 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] A group of fantasy adventures has one of their members replaced by a Doppelganger. The rest of the group realizes what happened, but keep pretending to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced.
|
John, George, and Ringo were huddled together inside a secret room on the fantastical magical yellow submarine.
"George, how confident are you?"
George left his momentary silence of contemplation to say " Paul is dead man, miss him."
Ringo asks, "do you though? I mean I doubt if you guys would miss me either."
John shook his head, "we must have lost him on our way through Abby Road"
George sighed "I like the new one. I say we let it be."
A knock on the door. "You there guys? I was hoping we'd do a music number about friendship."
John looked at the others, and they nodded in agreement. John opened the door and announced, "ALL TOGETHER NOW!"
|
I added a little twist but I think it's still good, non the less. Here.
"AAHHH! Tavian! I need your help!"
"What can I do?"
"Ray of Frost!? Something! ANYTHING! JUST GET THIS THING OFF ME!"
A small harmless slug had fallen onto Yeralia's shoulder, while the party was traveling out of the Forest of Traggleroot. Tavian, being a Barbarian, simply flicked the slug off of her. Saviak and Prantin were watching the whole debacle take place, giggling like goblins about to botch an ambush.
“You do know I'm not an Eldritch Knight, right?”
"Thank you Tavian, I know,” she said, wiping away the slime, “I can always rely on you."
"Even when I almost sacrificed you to my gods?"
Yeralia simply forgot that ever happened.
“Well, let's let bygones be bygones, eh, Tavian?”
“That not like the Yer…”
“Uppupupup!,” Saviak interrupted, covering Tavians mouth. There was a brief pause. He continues, “We just defeated a shapeshifter! Let's go celebrate at the tavern and… Prantin can play the lute as we venture to town! Yeah, sound like a plan?”
Saviak releases Tavians mouth, “Uh.. sure! I am ready to get our reward! How about we get going? I need to mourn the loss Kenneth.”
Tavian didn't know Yeralia was actually the shapeshifter. Saviak was a smooth talker, some paladins are, and Tavian doesn't have very much intelligence, most Barbarians don't. The party walk along the path while Prantin plays his lute like a pro. He began to sing a song.
“In memory of Kenneth, the Thief that broke the rules, taught us the Cant and then was shot by the thieves guild. How bad. Sooooo saaad!”
“He didn't teach me or Yeralia Thieves Cant.” Tavian barked.
Prantin replied in singsong, “That's because you and the mage were really druuunk!”
“Oh… good point,” Tavian realized.
“Isn’t thieves cant like secret messages people can share in the open?,” said Yeralia.
“If Kenneth was here he’d say, ‘...maybe.’ I think his carefree nature is what caused the guild to turn on him.” Saviak answered. “By the way… I’ll sing with yoooou, Prantin,”
“Okay! Let's sing, 'Lucky Man's Strife?!’ an improv song from the Bards College,” Prantin said, winking at Saviak.
“Oh! I'd love to hear it! I can't wait!” Yeralia danced.
Prantin starts. “Well!
This is the tale of a lucky old fellow (Tavian is catching on)
Whose smile was grand! Big, bright and yellow (He might get angry)
He had friends, he had a history and now has a wife (She's not convincing enough)
But to him life was a mystery, just the lucky man's strife! (What should we do?)
I had a note that led me to it, a house on the hill (We need to tell him)
To ask for the charm. The luck and the will. (or at least hint at it)
He told me No! And he went on his way (he might leave or… worse)
He took for the hills, there was no time to stay! (Do you have an idea?)”
Saviak joins in the chorus,
“This is the tale of a lucky old fellow (Tavian is catching on)
Whose smile was grand! Big, bright and yellow (He might get angry)
He had friends, he had a history , now he has a wife(She's not convincing enough)
But to him life was a mystery, just the lucky man's strife (What should we do?)”
Saviak replies, in verse,
“I followed the man, he walked steadfast (He might not care though)
He look so tired, he was ready to pass (if he's angry he'll get over it)
I soon found out; the old man had a wife(we can change the subject to her now)
And was dumb struck with fear, as she came with a knife. (She was a back stabbing woman)”
Both Tavian and Yeralia join,
“This is the tale of a lucky old fellow,
Whose smile was grand! Big, bright and yellow!
He had friends, he had a history, he now has a wife
But to him life was a mystery, just the lucky man's Strife!”
Tavian sings, off key the entire time,
“The wife came up and shouted, almost caught me in the neck. (???)
I'm know I had to duck, so I hit the deck! (???)
I was pointed to the house, told to go in. (???)
The old man came too, he gave me a pin.(???)
They're all singing as the walk into the town. The tavern was near the entrance of the town so they walked in, still singing,
“This is the tale of a lucky old fellow,
Whose smile was grand! Big, bright and yellow!
He had friends, he had a history, he now has a wife
But to him life was a mystery, just the lucky man's Strife!”
The party sits down and Yeralia finishes the song with great finesse,
“The pin looked like silver, but I know my steel (You know, don't you?)
I felt ripped off, I know how you feel(I could bring her back if you want me to)"
Prantin and Savaik sing in unison reply,
“I took the grey pin, and I'm filled with glee! (We like you way more)
Now I am a man who is just as lucky! (We're glad to have you!)"
“This is the tale of a lucky old fellow,
My smile became grand! Big, bright and yellow!
I had friends, I had a history, I now have a wife
But to me life is a mystery, just the lucky man's Strife!”
| 2017-09-15T08:30:05 | 2017-09-15T04:39:41 | 37 | 13 |
[WP] A group of fantasy adventures has one of their members replaced by a Doppelganger. The rest of the group realizes what happened, but keep pretending to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced.
|
John, George, and Ringo were huddled together inside a secret room on the fantastical magical yellow submarine.
"George, how confident are you?"
George left his momentary silence of contemplation to say " Paul is dead man, miss him."
Ringo asks, "do you though? I mean I doubt if you guys would miss me either."
John shook his head, "we must have lost him on our way through Abby Road"
George sighed "I like the new one. I say we let it be."
A knock on the door. "You there guys? I was hoping we'd do a music number about friendship."
John looked at the others, and they nodded in agreement. John opened the door and announced, "ALL TOGETHER NOW!"
|
I added a little twist but I think it's still good, non the less. Here.
"AAHHH! Tavian! I need your help!"
"What can I do?"
"Ray of Frost!? Something! ANYTHING! JUST GET THIS THING OFF ME!"
A small harmless slug had fallen onto Yeralia's shoulder, while the party was traveling out of the Forest of Traggleroot. Tavian, being a Barbarian, simply flicked the slug off of her. Saviak and Prantin were watching the whole debacle take place, giggling like goblins about to botch an ambush.
“You do know I'm not an Eldritch Knight, right?”
"Thank you Tavian, I know,” she said, wiping away the slime, “I can always rely on you."
"Even when I almost sacrificed you to my gods?"
Yeralia simply forgot that ever happened.
“Well, let's let bygones be bygones, eh, Tavian?”
“That not like the Yer…”
“Uppupupup!,” Saviak interrupted, covering Tavians mouth. There was a brief pause. He continues, “We just defeated a shapeshifter! Let's go celebrate at the tavern and… Prantin can play the lute as we venture to town! Yeah, sound like a plan?”
Saviak releases Tavians mouth, “Uh.. sure! I am ready to get our reward! How about we get going? I need to mourn the loss Kenneth.”
Tavian didn't know Yeralia was actually the shapeshifter. Saviak was a smooth talker, some paladins are, and Tavian doesn't have very much intelligence, most Barbarians don't. The party walk along the path while Prantin plays his lute like a pro. He began to sing a song.
“In memory of Kenneth, the Thief that broke the rules, taught us the Cant and then was shot by the thieves guild. How bad. Sooooo saaad!”
“He didn't teach me or Yeralia Thieves Cant.” Tavian barked.
Prantin replied in singsong, “That's because you and the mage were really druuunk!”
“Oh… good point,” Tavian realized.
“Isn’t thieves cant like secret messages people can share in the open?,” said Yeralia.
“If Kenneth was here he’d say, ‘...maybe.’ I think his carefree nature is what caused the guild to turn on him.” Saviak answered. “By the way… I’ll sing with yoooou, Prantin,”
“Okay! Let's sing, 'Lucky Man's Strife?!’ an improv song from the Bards College,” Prantin said, winking at Saviak.
“Oh! I'd love to hear it! I can't wait!” Yeralia danced.
Prantin starts. “Well!
This is the tale of a lucky old fellow (Tavian is catching on)
Whose smile was grand! Big, bright and yellow (He might get angry)
He had friends, he had a history and now has a wife (She's not convincing enough)
But to him life was a mystery, just the lucky man's strife! (What should we do?)
I had a note that led me to it, a house on the hill (We need to tell him)
To ask for the charm. The luck and the will. (or at least hint at it)
He told me No! And he went on his way (he might leave or… worse)
He took for the hills, there was no time to stay! (Do you have an idea?)”
Saviak joins in the chorus,
“This is the tale of a lucky old fellow (Tavian is catching on)
Whose smile was grand! Big, bright and yellow (He might get angry)
He had friends, he had a history , now he has a wife(She's not convincing enough)
But to him life was a mystery, just the lucky man's strife (What should we do?)”
Saviak replies, in verse,
“I followed the man, he walked steadfast (He might not care though)
He look so tired, he was ready to pass (if he's angry he'll get over it)
I soon found out; the old man had a wife(we can change the subject to her now)
And was dumb struck with fear, as she came with a knife. (She was a back stabbing woman)”
Both Tavian and Yeralia join,
“This is the tale of a lucky old fellow,
Whose smile was grand! Big, bright and yellow!
He had friends, he had a history, he now has a wife
But to him life was a mystery, just the lucky man's Strife!”
Tavian sings, off key the entire time,
“The wife came up and shouted, almost caught me in the neck. (???)
I'm know I had to duck, so I hit the deck! (???)
I was pointed to the house, told to go in. (???)
The old man came too, he gave me a pin.(???)
They're all singing as the walk into the town. The tavern was near the entrance of the town so they walked in, still singing,
“This is the tale of a lucky old fellow,
Whose smile was grand! Big, bright and yellow!
He had friends, he had a history, he now has a wife
But to him life was a mystery, just the lucky man's Strife!”
The party sits down and Yeralia finishes the song with great finesse,
“The pin looked like silver, but I know my steel (You know, don't you?)
I felt ripped off, I know how you feel(I could bring her back if you want me to)"
Prantin and Savaik sing in unison reply,
“I took the grey pin, and I'm filled with glee! (We like you way more)
Now I am a man who is just as lucky! (We're glad to have you!)"
“This is the tale of a lucky old fellow,
My smile became grand! Big, bright and yellow!
I had friends, I had a history, I now have a wife
But to me life is a mystery, just the lucky man's Strife!”
| 2017-09-15T06:41:40 | 2017-09-15T04:39:41 | 35 | 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.
|
**Covenant archives: Civilizations: Species: Humans**
Introduction:
The human history is a bloody one. For thousands of years their home world was divided by invisible lines and each area governed by different people. They fought over the most trivial things and often out of nothing more than pure spite or in argument over what fictional character was real. All of this changed when two leaders, Trump and Putin, couldn't agree on, well, on anything. The event called "Origin point" took place and over 90 percent of the human population was annihilated in less than 1 hour as nuclear weapons were detonated all over the surface of the planet.
The course of human history changed in that moment and violent conflict became an abolished concept that no human ever willingly took part of.
--------------------------------
**Covenant archives: Civilizations: Species: Humans**
Expansion:
No species ever took to interstellar travel as fast and ambitiously as the humans. Once they discovered warp drive they colonized their supercluster and even most of their galaxy in record time. They made contact with what was then known as The United Galaxies Collective and brokered peace and trade treaties before anyone really realized what had happened. Due to their incredible curiosity and will to absorb they immediately began catching up to The UGC in both science and size.
It didn't take long before some members of The UGC started to perceive the humans as threat. Many species felt the humans needed to be slowed down or stopped completely in their expansion but no legal ground to regulate expansion was found and the humans were left alone. For the time being.
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**Covenant archives: Civilizations: Species: Humans**
Conflict:
The species with the most concern about human expansion were naturally the big player in the Andromeda galaxy. The Tirdian. Even though none had ever seen any intention of conquest from the humans the Tirdian who were suspicious in nature felt threatened and decided to act. What happened next is widely considered the biggest mistake in the history of The UGC.
The Tirdians launched a preemptive strike against the outer borders of the Milky way. They annihilated about 15 border outposts and put up blockades on additional hundreds of planets. From that point they swiftly advanced deeper into the galaxy as they faced no resistance of any kind. The humans that could fled but most stayed on the conquered planets and tried to live normal lives normal. The Tirdians were bewildered but considered the campaign a huge success. Within months thousands of planets were conquered and the Tirdians had suffered zero casualties, no statement had come from the human leaders and no attempt to broker peace was made.
About 4 months after the start of the campaign the Tirdians lost all contact with their forces in the milky way. The Tirdian leadership attributed this to communication failure due to interference and didn't give it a second thought. Until a message started broadcasting to the entire Andromeda galaxy.
*"NO MERCY"*
*"NO MERCY"*
*"NO MERCY"*
*"NO MERCY"*
*"NO MERCY"*
*"NO MERCY"*
*"NO MERCY"*
*"NO MERCY"*
The words appeared on every screen, was heard from every sound source and never stopped repeating.
To this day, 250,000 years later, the Andromeda galaxy holds no trace of the Tirdian civilization, it holds no life and it probably never will.
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Thanks for reading! This is my first WP and first story in several years. I know it will be buried but any reader is appreciated.
|
Humans.
The childs of the universe. Hard-headed, stubborn, always wanting to choose their own ways and their own destiny, even if it would backfire. They didn't seem to care what any of the other races told them, they would listen, nod their head gently, and then they'd continue to go their own way.
When we discovered them, their planet was in great disarray, with many wars being fought at the same time, with scattered opinions everywhere, with many people dying of hunger or easily cureable diseases. Their planet soon got the nickname 'The Red Planet'. Their planet in fact was blue and green, but since the fluid that is inside those humans is of a red color, and since many of those people would die before their time, this is the nickname their planet was given. This all changed in an astonishing way when they discovered that they were not alone. Many of their leaders were overthrown, suddenly differences of opinions didn't matter anymore, and the planet began to look like a planet of peace, and the humans began to be one. Why? We don't know. Maybe they were scared by us. Maybe they felt the need to impress us. Or maybe they realised war is useless.
It's 600 years later now, and Planet Earth has grown to be an example to us all. Living in complete harmony with their nature, living in complete harmony with eachother. There was no hunger anymore, no war, and since we pointed out that many of their diseases were because of the way they were feeding themselves, and the way they were handling their technology, the humans turned things around, and many diseases ceased to exist. The few diseases still existing could all be cured. Their planet is probably the richest one when it comes to natural resources such as gold and diamonds, but the humans didn't care for them anymore, since everything they needed to live a good life was growing on weird living standing things they'd call trees. Many of us love to go on holiday on this planet, since the vibe the humans created was so peaceful, so restfull, it never ceases to amaze many of the other races.
Humans still are seen as the childs of the universe, because they still do not listen very well, and if they do not agree with you, they will simply tell you they don't agree with you no matter how good your arguments are and walk away. Many of them even believe in some higher power they call God. Allthough we tried to point out that there is no such thing, they simply don't care. But, in spite of this stubbornnes, everyone loved them. They would never start a fight, and soon we began to forget the state we found them in.
We've always had a rough relationship with our neighbours, the Ca'räa. Whenever the Ca'räa sees something, they want it. This caused many wars, untill we finally got to a mutual agreement, and we're living in peace now for over 2000 years. But we should never have trusted them. The Ca'räa would never do anything to hurt us anymore, since they learned the hard way that we are the strongest species of this entire universe, with them being only in a second place. They knew this. But they also saw planet earth, with the childish beings on it, they saw the beauty, and especially the natural riches. And they wanted it. We didn't know. We should've known. But it was too late.
When I awoke 4 weeks ago, Planet Earth was being covered in a huge cloud of smoke we immediatly recognised as one of the main weapons of the Ca'räa. The smoke would create extreme fear and feelings of loneliness, feelings so extreme that every race the Ca'räa used it on started killing eachother or themselves. So it wasn't strange that we wept. We wept for Planet Earth, since we thought it was lost. We knew the strength of the Ca'räa, and told eachother we'd kill every last one of them for destroying this paradise-like planet, and this amazingly weird race that is humans. But this couldn't get the humans back. They were lost, forever.
Little did we know. The Ca'räa waited patiently for weeks, until the smoke finally went away. In this time we started preparing for war with the Ca'räa to revenge the humans. We didn't need to.
When the smoke lifted up, 3000 ships departed from planet earth. The Ca'räa were amazed. They thought everyone was death, but their computers soon told them no one died. Not a single one. But the ships were slow, and old, and didn't have any firepower. The Ca'räa knew that those ships would have to be directed by at least 10 people per ship. So the Ca'räa started laughing, and let the ships come closer and closer, eager to find out what those pathetic little humans wanted to do to them, the great race of the Ca'räa. They began surrounding the little human ships, and their mothership started to communicate with the humans. This is what the humans told them. 'On board of these ships we have 50 million people, willing to be your slave, willing to serve you, if you leave our planet alone. Let us come closer so that we can transfer them to your ships.' The Ca'räa went for it, but needed every ship they had to take over this huge number of people. When every Ca'räa ship was connected with a human ship, and the doors of both ships opened, the Ca'räa would be in for the biggest surprise known in the entire universe. Bombs. Every human ship was full of bombs, and, ofcourse, the ten people needed to direct the ship. The Ca'räa king started shouting in complete fear, screaming they wouldn't sacrifice 30000 human just to blow them up. The humans reacted with an explosion. And another one. And another one. And another 2797 ones. The entire Ca'räa fleet was gone. But with them, 30000 human beings also died. We immediatly started attacking their homeplanet, which was very easy since they had no fleet. Within 2 days, the Ca'räa were in the past.
Later, when things were settled again, we spoke with the humans about how they survived the smoke. They told us they were not scared of fear, since they were always afraid. It was part of being a human, and they learned to deal with it. They told us loneliness is nothing new for them, since they've always felt lonely. They told us desperation made the hardest choice an easy choice. They told us that in fact the only thing the smoke did was make them stronger. You see, every race until now would've been devastated by the smoke. Because we don't know how it is to live life in fear. We don't know how it is to be scared of our own. But the humans are a race that gets stronger and stronger the harder their life is. And when there is nothing to be done anymore in our eyes, the humans will find a way, since that is when they are strongest. The harder their life, the stronger their willpower. The more difficult their situation, the more their survival instinct will kick in. So, when the smoke, and with that the fear, the desperation, and the feeling of no way out, started to kick in, so did their greatest strength, which is survival.
After that we asked them if they didn't feel devastated by their loss of 30000 men. They told us they were. We didn't understand. How can you sacrifice 30000 man. And also, how can you get 30000 men to go on a suicide mission out of free will. Because this is what it was. No single person of those 30000 men was pressured. They told us that it is better to sacrifice 30000 man the to lose everything they created.
After this the humans weren't seen as the child of the universe anymore. They weren't so populair also anymore. Many races didn't understand their way of warfare, which made them a bit scared. But, as usual, the humans didn't care. They saved themselves out of an hopeless situation. This was all that mattered for them. And they re-assured everyone they would not attack no one. They also re-assured us that if we attack them it will mean our death. They told us this like it was the most normal case in the universe. They told us they don't care if they go down with us, but they would make sure we wouldn't survive.
Everyone still is welcome on planet earth.
But this is a warning from us, as spectators of this enormously surprising war, beware! The humans may seem weak, they may seem little, they may seem childish. But they can do things no one else can. They can save themselves out of situations like no one else can. And, if they are attacked, they will strike back, in a way you will not expect. But you will feel it. Love them and they will love you. Try to backstab them, and they will backstab you better.
This is my first story, hope you enjoy. Sorry for the grammatical errors, I'm not a native english speaker.
| 2016-03-14T01:37:22 | 2016-03-14T01:25:12 | 24 | 17 |
[WP] Every night for the past 7 months at exactly 8:36 p.m. you would get a text from an unknown number that would tell you to do something small, like move table 3 in. to the right or remove 2 tissues from the box and throw them away. Tonight you learned why.
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"no lol" I replied as I had the past 3 months.
At first I complied, I figured what is the harm in it? Eventually the requests got redundant, move this back, switch this plug form the top to bottom outlet, and the like. I got bored, no more of a reason to do it then as long term prank of a teen as time went on. I slowly got less and less involved and eventually just quit trying.
For the first time ever, in a surprising way the person texted me responded. "Please, please do this one I am begging, you don't know what is about to happen if you don't." Read the text.
I simply ignored it, it came as a shock to get a response but I wasn't worried. These texts have awoken me up every night at the same time, nothing but a simple annoyance. I always fell asleep at 8:36, it was an odd recurring event. This is the only thing that struck me as weird about these texts initially. After reading tonight's texts I couldn't fall asleep. Something felt wrong, I just needed to do this. I tried to hold out but I gave in.
I reread the text, this was the biggest request by far, go to your breaker, and flip the top switch third down on the right, and five down from that. Ding!
"Good finally coming to your senses. Now you don't have much time but leave the house now, take what you need and go"
I had no idea what to do, should I stay should I leave. Where do I go. I decide I need to take my important possession pack it in my car and leave. As I take one last scan around the place I feel some sorrow, yet I feet at peace. Ding, ding, ding.
"I said go."
"What's the holdup?"
"Leave now."
This hostile behavior was odd for this usual voice of calm. But I leave, I know for this I am probably a fool, I probably just let my house get robbed. I get in my car and start to leave, headed who knows where. Ding, I pull out my phone and notice a notification from one of those stupid local activity near you apps.
"Apartment reported on fire"
Holy crap I exclaim loudly, I know that apartment complex. I turn around at the next light and sure enough, my house is up in flames. Once it's safe I approach to look at my former apartment in shambles.
"Electrical fire, we saved as much as we could but we're glad you and your neighbors are safe"
I approach those stairs, those god dang stairs for the last time. Everything I moved as requested by the person behind the texts was saved and fine. Everything else was gone beyond recognition, ashes. Ding.
"Should've listened to me. Nothing to do now."
I try to respond back but all I get are the default this number is no longer in service. I spend all night wondering who was behind that screen and what it was. I still stay up at night thinking about it. If only I listened to more. My biggest regret in life, is not finding out who or what that was, not listening to them, and never finding out how they knew what was coming.
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*"Do you believe in Fate?"*
A small door had opened, affixed to the once-empty guest room. As if I was in a dream, I entered through it, finding myself in a place which I couldn't describe, not even fit for my wildest fantasies.
For seven months I had been on the trail of a mysterious phenomena, one I had found was being referred to as the *Butterfly Prognostication*. A reported series of incidents involving messages from an untraceable number at exactly 8:36 PM on a given day. My interest had been piqued from the get-go, but I was skeptical of the existence of such an odd theory. My skepticism faded as I tried it from the comfort of my own home.
I used a spare phone, stood in one room, waited for the time. *8:34, 8:35, 8:36.*
*Move dining table 3 inches to the right*.
My excitement was palpable. It had worked-- I tried answering the text to no avail. The number was unknown. I tried a call, and it went unanswered as well. I went through with the instructions-- I was told that it was key to keep the "contract" moving. I was told that it was imperative that I continue to follow the instructions if I wanted to find out the secret behind the Butterfly Prognostication.
So by the time I had entered that door, I had spent seven months performing the insignificant, often miniscule tasks ordered. Things that bore no relevance to anything, let alone the supposed "exercise of fate" that my initial contact had spoke of. Seven months, hoping for a payout-- solving a riddle that I had been incessantly journaling. I'd compiled everything into a supreme *magnum opus* of my webjournaling career-- and I was itching to find the perfect conclusion.
At 8:36 that day I had received a set of instructions.
*Go the the guest room*.
I obliged-- and found the door. Just as tall as I was, etched into the once blank wall, pink and blue-hued mist swirling around the corners. I opened it with a tentative hand-- I wasn't really sure whether I was dreaming or not. But it was strangely comforting, rather than being unnerving as one would expect. Besides, as I had noted in my writing-- I felt compelled in some way to go through with solving the mystery. Compelled to find out what was behind the strange "game" with no winners and no losers. My initial contact had told me that he made a mistake of some kind, thus ending the game. His phone had lost any history of the contact, and he had made sure to never mention it to anyone but me, out of what he recognized wasn't entirely his own free will.
"Hello?" I called, in bewilderment. "Anyone in here?"
Of course, there wasn't anyone in there. It was just a passageway that seemed to stretch out for miles, but ended deceivingly fast with the appearance of a tiny house, no more than the size of an individual room, crammed into a mist-filled glade. The passageway loomed behind me, but I had no drive to go back. Something intangible was guiding my hand, leading me to the secrets I craved.
Out of the house came a well-dressed man. Nicely tailored suit brimming red, vibrant bowtie, sleek black boots. He moved quietly for a man of his size, and as he approached me it was as if he was larger than the house itself.
"Do you believe in Fate?" he asked, giving me a genuine smile. "No need to answer immediately, take your time."
"Well," I searched for an answer, still feeling as if I would awake at any given moment. "Well, until a few weeks ago, no. But then I thought to myself-- why would I be doing stupid shit like moving napkins if something wasn't *guiding* me?"
"Clever, you willingly know you had no choice but to finish the Butterfly Prognostication once you started," he applauded. "You are not moving and thinking of your own free will."
"Or Fate, in other words," I agreed. What he was saying made sense. I felt led, rather than free. Something was controlling me, but not through violent and coercive means. "An exercise in Fate, right?"
"No, this is something different entirely. A game, so to speak, spread by the words of others through the free will they believe they possess. It is game that is developed by creatures of a *higher intelligence*. Creatures that control but do not coerce. Creatures that rule but are destined to stay imprisoned," he explained walking around me. "When you began the Butterfly you answered the rumor based off of your own curiosity, but somewhere your Fate took over."
"So, I was led here by my Fate?" I asked, dubiously. "It was my job that led me here. I'm a journalist. Something like this is right up my alley for a casual investigation."
"No. See, I asked you if you believed in Fate, and you said that your mind had been changed by this game of ours," the man reiterated. "But in actuality, you were simply one of many, guided here by your Fate. Your destiny is to serve as a test subject, and thus you were given the rumor by a contact who also happened to align in your destiny."
"First of all, who the fuck are you?" I asked, shaking my head. "We've been talking about destiny and fate and bullshit but I don't even know who you are."
He turned around, his features sharpened by the changing ambiance, the house gradually shifting into a throne bolstered by marble and alabaster. Spires jutted out, rising into the air like small mountains. The mist had cleared, revealing a horizon of blackened dunes of sand.
"Pardon me, my manners have been subpar lately," he apologized, bowing deeply. "My name is Balam. To put it in words you'd comprehend, I am a member of the group of demons that controls the realm of Satan and uses humans to return to our position as the the ones among God."
I sighed, sitting down on the sandy rock and looking up at my erstwhile companion. *Balam-- a Lord of Satan*. It ran chills up my spine. I had the feeling that the hand leading me had enclosed its fist and was holding onto me as tight as it could.
"What I'm saying," Balam continued. "Is that Fate brought you the rumor. But the entity that led you to finish the game was not Fate nor your curiosity, but the demon Asmodeus, who craves a host. But, as we sought to finally possess you tonight, our efforts failed. Normally, those who *win* the game are possessed, as they are easily manipulable. Instead, we brought you here, to see if *it* is happening."
"It?" I asked. Somehow, I already knew the answer. I felt different, as if I wasn't myself anymore. I felt wizened, able to comprehend something powerful and unearthly. It didn't shake me that I was in the presence of a legion of demons that had been manipulating humanity for centuries. On the contrary, the intensity, the sheer power, aroused my deepest satisfaction. "What," I continued. "Do you mean by that?"
"Look at you!" Balam exclaimed, eyes widening. "You already know, don't you? The Fate that has guided you here, has, in our presence, worked against us to transform you into your ancestral angel. You are transforming, before our very eyes, into the angel Raphael. Can't you see? You are descendant of that angel! Of all the luck we could have encountered today."
He frowned, shaking his head intensely. "No, I cannot have this. I'll have to make you *lose*, so you spread the rumor to another person. I can't have you debunk the rumor. No, I'll have you spread it further."
"Fine by me," I laughed. "You'll never be free, not any of you. Your weakness is my strength."
"Enough. You've been protected today, but we'll find another suitable host," Balam snarled, waving his arm. "Begone! O descendant of the defender of God, Begone!"
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"You ever heard of the *Butterfly Prognostication*?" I asked, eyeing the menu carefully. "Oh, I think I could go for the carbonara."
"Wait, wait, hold up," she announced, sliding her drink around the coaster. "The *what*?"
"It's this strange rumor I've heard-- you should try it," I responded. "I'll explain how it works."
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r/bluelizardK
| 2020-07-06T00:12:16 | 2020-07-05T23:22:28 | 150 | 82 |
[WP] You are one of the most feared villainesses in the world. Evil armies, dark powers, you have it all. Your husband on the other hand is the exact opposite, being truly kind and mild mannered. He is still supportive of your endeavors, even trying to be a villain himself to...varying results.
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The King came in, a devilish grin spread on his face. Well, he *tried* for it to be devilish, but given his gentle disposition, it came off as endearing and amicable rather than menacing.
"Guess what, my love!" he exclaimed cheerfully and placed a kiss on his wife's pale cheek. She turned to him with a warm smile; a stark contrast to her thus far serious mood, a glint of dark tidings in her eyes, now replaced by pure love and affection.
"Marrel! How delightful of you to join me. And guess... what?" she inquired.
"I have prepared a surprise for you - one I am sure you will be most delighted by."
She turned to him entirely, away from her map, away from her plans for future conquest.
"I'm sure you are familiar with the village of Steppenhorst," he started with feigned nonchalance. The Queen furrowed her eyebrows - it was less of a village and more of a fortress situated near a channel that would prove most useful to her if she could claim it, but she was yet to find a way to do so without causing considerable damage to the infrastructure that made it so valuable.
"I have dealt them a horrifying blow! One that will make sure they will bend the knee to your demands!" He practically beamed with pride.
"Oh?" the Queen merely remarked.
"I have provided them with a shipment of fresh trout and lemon, ensuring they will have a great feast of roasted fish."
The Queen frowned.
"And how will this-"
"But!" he continued excitedly, "the wine I have sent with it is..."
He paused for effect.
"*Red*! They can't *possibly* enjoy fish with red wine. The anguish they will experience will be legendary, I am sure, and before long, their will to resist your magnificence will be all but broken. Psychological warfare at its best."
He had the widest smile on his face and the Queen, despite being absolutely floored by the idiocy, could not help but giggle at the mental image of her skeletal warriors pulling a shipment of fresh fish. She leaned closer and gave him a deep, passionate kiss.
"Thank you, my king. I am certain they will yield in no time," she smiled.
The King felt his heart flutter, knowing his evil machination pleased his Queen. He was already hatching his next scheme.
Providing them with salad.
*But no salad forks.*
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Edmund squinted at the polished beaker, the sheen of the fluorescent lights forming an almost glowing coating of brightness around the smooth glass exterior. Though the exterior was just a container, it mattered not. It was what was inside that… well in truth, held little value to Edmund either. His thoughts were elsewhere today, and his task was simple. Edmund did not want to know what Rashella needed arsenic for, nor did he care to.
Late as usual, Rashella’s muscle, Carpel, bumbled in to collect the beaker. Bulging with tumorlike protrusions of muscle distributed unevenly along his arms, Carpel looked more like he had been attacked by a swarm of bees than a regular gymgoer. Edmund’s breath caught in his throat, Carpel’s shirt was covered in blood, still fresh from whatever grisly work he had just attended to. Edmund supposed he should be used to seeing blood by now, so he forced himself to stare at Carpel. He winced as he did so, causing Carpel to look around for the source of Edmund’s discomfort. No, Carpel was not the brightest tool in the shed, in fact, he was not any tool in any shed that Edmund would ever willingly use.
Carpel reached a meaty hand out toward Edmund, who let out an embarrassing eep and stumbled backward. Carpel laughed his hearty, thunderous laugh, it was so wholesome that Edmund couldn’t even be mad at him. There was no mocking tone, no attempt at a jibe, just a sincere reaction from an otherwise very threatening man. Edmund mumbled an apology and handed over the beaker, letting out an exasperated sigh as Carpel attempted to shake the vial. “Careful…” warned Edmund.
Carpel nodded and stopped, looking Edmund up and down.“You seem on edge today, Edmund. Like, more than usual.”
Edmund leaned back against the wall defeatedly, having failed to avoid conversation with the torturer, “Yes... I” He paused. In truth, there had been a lot on his mind lately, and in a business where one produces arsenic and other deadly chemicals and poisons, it is not wise to discuss his work with most people he knew. “Tonight is my one-year anniversary with Rashella, and I’m worried that my gift for her won't be enough. I don’t quite know what she might want, she already has all the weapons she could ever need and she holds a distaste for jewelry.”
Carpel plunked down his monstrous hand on Edmund’s wimpy shoulder, causing him to shrivel and wince, “Eddie, don’t worry, it's the effort that matters. It's a symbol that says, hey girl, I luv you. And she’ll appreciate that, you know?”
Edmund shrugged, “I sure hope so. That was... oddly comforting of you, Carpel. Thanks, now I suggest running along, you were already late arriving here.”
Carpel nodded in agreement, “Oh, and Eddie, you sure your anniversary is today? Today Rashella was meeting with a big client, she said it would take all day. But eh, I’m sure she’ll make time for you!” He gave a big, foolish grin and bumbled out of the room, causing Edmund to release a held breath.
She would be busy the whole day? That wasn’t good. Edmund saw her infrequently as is, and he often doubted whether or not he should even be in this relationship. She bribed, extorted, blackmailed, tortured, hacked, injured, and oh yeah… killed. She KILLED people. Why the hell was he in this relationship?
Well, he loved her. He knew it didn’t excuse her actions or erase her horrible deeds and the very questionable things he did for her. But she cared for him too. She made him feel warm and fuzzy inside, and he knew it sounded corny, but she was wonderful. And he was happier because she was in his life. He got out of bed, eager for his work… making poisons. Oh gosh, how was he going to explain her to his family?
Though he had to admit that they had grown a bit distant lately, he knew this was busy season, or killing season, as Carpel called it, but he was worried. What if she just wanted him for his ability to make her deadly concoctions? Or she had found some sexy criminal to make villainous love with? He sighed, it was no good thinking like this, but he couldn’t help it, he was not a warrior, but a worrier. Always was.
He gathered up his belongings and headed over to meet with Rashella. He checked her office, that was where she usually was when she was… working. She was there as anticipated, but there was a guard posted at her door. He reached out towards the handle but was stopped by the scarred, misshapen hand of the guard. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, she’s still working.” As Edmund listened, he agreed, he did not want to go in there, he heard screams and thumping noises, shouts, and pleas. He checked her schedule. Yep, 2 o clock torture. He slumped his shoulders, defeated, and moped through the halls of Rashella’s evil lair.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
A few hours later, that same guard walked up to him, a stolid expression on his face, “The lady of the lair wishes to speak with you.” There was no intent or emotion in his voice, he was unreadable.
Edmund shook with fear. What did she want to speak to him about? Was she going to say she couldn’t make it? Had she forgotten their anniversary entirely and was going to assign another project for him? Was she going to promote him to a killing job? Or worst of all, was she going to break up with him? It seemed an eternity to trudge through the halls to meet with Rashella. But eventually, that fated moment came. The door swung open, Edmund was ready to respond to any and all bad things that she might say to him, it had been stressful enough being around killing and death, and more death, and also killing, and did he mention death? But he couldn’t tell anyone about it, his life was far from normal and she wasn’t going to…
The door swung open. Edmund blinked. The room was dark, but never had it been more inviting. The flames were hot, but never was their heat more comforting. And Rashella, she was as beautiful as always. She bore not a solemn expression nor one of regret, disinterest, or anger, but a smile. Not an evil knowing smile, like the smile she makes before she kills someone, no, but one of happiness, of dare he say it, love.
Rashella smiled her gorgeous smile at him, offering him a seat across from her, “Sorry I was so busy today. I wanted to get everything out of the way as soon as I could so the evening would be free for us to spend together. I got your present, I must admit, I don’t think I can top that, but instead, I have a proposition.” She knelt down on one knee and offered an open box, within it: a ring. Edmund’s breath caught in his throat and Rashelle grinned, “I know the life I’m offering isn’t exactly orthodox, but I love you too much to let you go.”
Edmund should say no, the life that was being offered was that of a criminal, but despite everything he had to follow his heart, he replied, “Yes!”
It was the best day of his entire life.
| 2022-04-29T02:59:30 | 2022-04-28T22:24:27 | 896 | 365 |
[WP] You have an ATM that gives you the exact amount of money you need to survive for the day, how you spend it is your choice. Today you are given $70,000,000.
|
Charlie's eyes grew wide as the LED on the ATM flickered to life. Eight digits, and there weren't any decimal points. He would pay off his loans and his credit cards and perhaps still have enough to go into debt once more and pay it off yet again. All those days of living by the dollar had finally paid off. Charlie kissed the ATM, then spat as it shot a one hundred-dollar bill into his mouth.
He threw himself back on his bed and sighed, listening to the machine crank out his payment. Gears creaked and ground against each other, screeching under the effort, but those sounds were the chorus of paradise for all Charlie cared. He watched each bill flutter from the emission slot, joining the rest in a mess on the floor. This would take a while: 700 thousand bills was...a lot. Charlie yawned and rested his head onto his pillow, the fluttering bills mesmerizing him into sleep.
Charlie awoke to the largest, greenest Benjamin Franklin memorial pressing down upon him. He struggled to get up, but couldn't move. During his sleep, the machine had spit more bills than PBS throughout the '90s, and they'd piled into a humungous ball of money that occupied the entire room. Its full mass was now bearing down on Charlie, slowly choking the air from his lungs.
He tried to shift his arms and legs, but nothing budged. The money above him refused to yield to the craning of his neck as well. To think that a promise of financial freedom had turned into this green-walled prison so quickly. Charlie forced his lip upwards to scream, but to no avail: bills began to fall into his mouth, prickling his tongue with their leathery surfaces. *At least*, he thought, as his senses began to shut down, *they hadn't been quarters*.
|
PRE-STORY WARNING: I was really bad with tenses while writing this, and don't have the time to fully proof read it right now. Apologies in advanced!
_______________________________________________________
Anonymous Tactile Medium. ATM for short. That's how most people pay for things, ever since the 6th economic crash this century. They were a physical private key into the world of cryptocurrency. A huge blockchain network and the lack of central servers renders falsifying transactions nearly impossible.
Nearly.
I don't know who made it, or why they made it, or how, but there's a website. It claims to give you exactly enough money to get through the day. Most of the population think it's a scam. In fact, I did too, until drunken me signed up for it. Apparently it "chose" me, according to that email. Not sure if that means I'm the only one it works for, or if it really is a scam.
Well, I guess I know it's not a scam now. I drained currency off my primary chip onto my secondary one. Then I connected my primary chip to the website. It didn't matter if it took control of my chip or whatever, I could have just gotten a new one implanted into my hand. It was something like a five minute procedure to get an old chip removed and a new one installed.
But I'm going off topic here, I'm sure you know all of this. The part you probably don't know is that... the website worked. For months now, I've had the money beamed into my account from who knows where. No matter where I decide to go for lunch, or who decides to mess with my plans, I always have enough money for the day. I don't even have to work around the amount, it just sort of... happens to cover everything. It's not like I've got this huge amount in it and the extra is taken out. No, it is exactly how much I'm going to spend that day. Most days, it's only a few dozen dollars, sometimes less. Every once in awhile it will be a few hundred. Kind of spoils when I'm about to go on a date, ya'know? At least, in those rare cases I go out on a spontaneous date with people.
But now I'm getting sidetracked again. I guess I should tell you of where the story _really_ gets interesting: the day I found 70,000,000 in my chip.
It felt... weird. I'd gotten into the habit of looking at how much I had each morning, and guessing what I would be doing. That day, however... I didn't know. It was hard to leave bed, knowing that I had more money than all the money I'd ever possessed before that point put together.
It was on the train to work that I found out _why_. The man looked suspicious. He kept glancing into his duffel bag, then checking his watch. Bag. Watch. Bag. Watch. Phone. Next stop sign. Bag. Watch.
We were about halfway down the line, and the train driver was clocking out, someone else getting on to replace them. It was then when the suspicious jumped off his seat, drew a large gun from the duffel bag, and told everyone to get down. One person, a woman, probably an undercover cop, jumped up from her seat, but was quickly shot down by a second man holding a much smaller gun.
"THIS TRAIN IS OURS NOW! Nobody moves, nobody gets hurt. Think of your families. On your knees, heads to the ground, arms behind your backs. If you've got heart problems, take a seat, keep your arms outstretched. I don't want to see anyone going for their phones. Glasses too! Throw your glasses and phones here, NOW! I don't care if they're prescription, you don't need them with your SHUT EYES!"
With that, the man with the hand gun, the one who had shot the woman, walked to the front of the train, dragging the conductor in with them. They got the train moving, stopping it partway to the next stop.
It was then that I realized what I had the money for.
"The city is supposed to be wiring 50 mil to one of you guys' accounts. You're free to go once you get it. You see this phone in my hand? I'm in call with your fucking _guardian angel_ right now. Everybody tell him thanks."
The car remained silent, prompting the man with the very large gun to raise it up. "I SAID TELL HIM YOUR THANKS, YOU UNGRATEFUL MAGGOTS!" His words reverberated through the car, alongside the sounds of metal puncturing metal as several bullets went through the roof of the train.
Amidst the sounds of panic were several yelled thank yous.
"Good. Now. I want to make it clear to you dirty, bureaucratic dog. If I've not got my money in 30 minutes, I start killing one person every minute. I see so much as a GLINT in these tunnels, I blow the top off this car, taking everyone with me."
The man looked around the car, until his eyes finally landed on me. "YOU! Come. MOVE YOUR ASS!" He looked back to his phone. "I've got someone here. Name's..." I stared blankly at him. "TELL ME YOUR NAME!"
I stammered it out as firmly as I could.
"There. That's the name. You get that? You've got 30 minutes to get him the 50 mil, or he's dead."
"Sir, 30 minutes just isn't eno..."
"SHUT IT! 30 minutes." He hung up the phone.
_________________________________________________________
Perhaps you can guess what happened thirty minutes later. We shook hands, me and the gun toting maniac. He activated a transfer device, and choose the amount, 50 million. He was pleasantly surprised when it went through. We were all told to get off the train, one by one, as the two men detached the first car from the rest of the train. They drove off, leaving us behind. SWAT was soon surrounding us, making sure we were all ok. We were ferried to the nearest stop, where ambulances and reporters waited in the wings. Of course, I was the first target.
But not by the media. No, it was police marshals. They hadn't been able to transfer the money to me, in part due to having never registered my public token with the state. Not registering my token was perfectly legal, they weren't here about that.
They wanted to know how a minimum wage employee working at a fast food joint, barely out of college, had 50 million in their account. I was soon detained, but due to an old, nearly forgotten law that my (way too expensive) lawyer found, bail was set at 10 million. Of course, I simply paid it. I was out in no time.
Next came figuring out where to go. Tom knew some shady contacts, and I knew one of them. So I went, spending a few thousand here, tens of thousands there, until I finally got to the real deal. 1 million to completely change my identity. New country, new name, new papers. Everything I needed, travel included. By the end of it all, I had just over a dollar. Enough for one last meal at the restaurant I hated.
| 2016-07-29T19:46:09 | 2016-07-29T19:33:41 | 151 | 89 |
[WP] You're Barack Obama. 4 months into your retirement, you awake to find a letter with no return address on your bedside table. It reads "I hope you've had a chance to relax Barack...but pack your bags and call the number below. It's time to start the real job." Signed simply, "JFK."
|
"Very funny, Michelle," Barack called into their new home, the letter in his hand. It has always been their tradition to out-prank each other when they move to a new place. JFK, alive? Barack chuckled as he folded the letter and placed it in his pocket. Michelle has got to come out with better pranks.
Barack closed the wooden door and walked into the hallway. Boxes of unopened stuff laid strewn across it. Eight years of presidency had bestowed him countless of possession.
"Michelle?" Barack called out again, suddenly noticing the silence in the house. Just a few moments ago, he still heard the voices of Sasha and Malia giggling from the living room, while their mother asked them about their dinner choices. Except for Barack's footsteps on the floor, the air hung still.
Something did not feel right.
"Michelle? Sasha? Malia?" Barack shouted this time, his voice mixed with a tinge of worry. This was not a prank that the girls usually play on him. His hand clutched the letter in his pocket.
"I am afraid that your wife and daughters are no longer in the house," a voice behind him suddenly said. Barack yelled as he swerved around. Standing between him and the door he just closed, stood a figure whom he has only seen on books and television.
"Martin Luther King," Barack whispered, unable to believe what his eyes were seeing. He had seen his share of crazy things in his eight years of presidency, but coming face to face with dead figures was something he never expected.
Martin chuckled at Barack's response. "Yes, that is correct." He extended his hand to Barack. "And it's an honour to finally meet you, Mr President."
Barrak took Martin's hand and shook it. He straightened himself, assuming the straight posture he was well known for. Being in the presence of legends required the courtesy, though he still struggled to hide the surprise in his face. "The pleasure is mine, Dr King. Forgive me, but I must ask-"
"Your family is safe with us, Barack. And yes, the letter in your pocket is indeed from President Kennedy," Martin interjected.
"If I may, can you just walk me through what's going on here?" Barack gestured with his hands. He was feeling confused, as well as slightly taken aback. Nothing prepared him for this.
Martin sensed the unease that Barack felt. It was understandable. When Gandhi first appeared to him, he could not sleep for days. He placed a hand on Barack's shoulder. What he was about to say to Barack would be far worse than meeting dead people. "Barack, listen here, I am here to tell you that in a few weeks time, you'll be assassinated."
Barack flinched an eyebrow. "What?" Surely he was dreaming. The stress of the past eight years must have finally got to him.
The strength of Martin's hand on him, however, felt real. Martin gave Barack a sympathetic smile, just like how Gandhi had done so to him. "Yes, I am afraid so. This is just how things are supposed to work. Before you start your real job."
"Don't I get a say in this?" Barack questioned. He had been looking forward to some time off after his presidency. Another job was just out of the question. He could only lose so much hair.
Martin however, shook his head. "Barack, I am sorry, but it wouldn't be possible. My boss will not let it."
"And who is your boss, if I may ask?"
Martin Luther King smiled at the question, as if it was the question he had been waiting for Barack to ask since they first met. "His name is Jesus."
-------------
*Edited Barrack to Barack and Mr King to Dr King. Thanks for the pointer!*
/r/dori_tales
|
Former president Barack Obama put down the receiver of the pay phone. What he
just heard was either the work of a single completely crazy person or ... He
didn't want to think about the part that came after the *or*. Whatever came
after the *or* was weirder than everything he seen in eight years in
Office.
Barack turned to the Secret Service agent who waited at a safe distance. Safe
to not be able to overhear anything his charge had said, unsafe for anybody who
tried to harm said charge.
"Agent Higgins, I have to apologize for what will happen next."
"Sir?"
"Please open the trunk. I need my bag."
While the agent fetched the single black sports bag that occupied the luggage
compartment of the limousine, the former president patted his pockets. He
retrieved his keys, the phone and his wallet. Before Higgins could close the
lid, Barack dropped the items in the trunk.
"Thank you, Higgins," he said and took the bag.
He turned back to the pay phone. After two steps, he stopped, removed his belt and
handed it to the agent.
Barack dialed the number again. This was the third time and he had already
memorized it.
Agent Higgins didn't see his charge disappearing. His line of sight was
blocked by the lid of the truck, or so his report claimed. He'd rather work
through financial files in a dark, lonely basement for the rest of his career
that to admit the person he was supposed to protect was sucked into the
receiver of a pay phone, at three a.m., in an empty parking lot in Olney, MD.
* * * * *
"Call me John", a voice said, "Here, sit down."
Barack was shoved into an armchair. The world began to spin.
"If he chucks, you clean it up, Johnny-Boy," said a raspy voice from the
other end of the room.
"How's the dizziness," John asked.
"What happened?"
"You have been teleported," John said. "That's why we needed you to get rid of
all the metal on your person."
"Where am I? Am I still on planet Earth?"
"What did you tell him, Johnny? You know, they don't like it when we tell them over
the phone," the man in the corner said. He sounded angry, and a little bit
scared.
"I told him what he needs to know to get here. Nothing more," JFK said.
"I told you, he's a clever one," he added.
"Pfff," was the only comment from the corner.
"Where am I," Barack insisted.
"New Mexico."
"Roswell is in New Mexico. This is about aliens!"
"All in due time," John said. "But yes, this is about aliens. Do you remember
everything from the Book?"
"Errm, yes."
"Fine. Remember chapter thirteen?"
"Johnny! Remember the agreement. I'll do the talking, you'll do the chores,"
came the voice from the corner.
For the first time, Barack could see the room clearly. He sat in an armchair.
The chair was one of four items of furniture in an otherwise empty room. Two
identical armchairs and a small coffee table completed the arrangement. The
telephone through which he had arrived was the only piece of electronics. At
least, the only visible piece of electronics.
JFK had sat down in the empty chair. The third one was occupied by a tall,
thin man. He seemed vaguely familiar to Barack, like a high-school buddy that
you meet in the restroom of a dive bar, two weeks before the twenty-fifth
reunion. Like in that situation, the silence continued. Like in that
situation, it became awkward.
"Do you know who I am," the man in the corner finally asked.
Barack shook his head. To his surprise, the nausea was gone.
"You owe me five dollars if you don't say my name in the next few seconds."
"Lincoln? Abraham Lincoln? That's impossible. You are dead."
"The assassination made it all more believable. I didn't have the convenience
of a twenty-second amendment like you kid."
A snort came from the direction of JFK.
"I meant, you must be over 200 years old now!"
"Ah, that. Sorry, it's easy to forget if you're as busy as I am."
"How? How are you not dead? You haven't aged a day," Barack said.
"If I say, *alien technology*, is that sufficient?"
Barack was silent for a moment, then nodded. Chapter thirteen had mentioned
advances in medicine. Among other things. Teleportation was mentioned too.
That it involved communication equipment had been left out.
"Well, let me get to the point quickly. We are all busy here," Lincoln said.
"You have been chosen because you were deemed to be very capable during your
apprenticeship," he said.
"He means your presidency," JFK said.
"My presidency was an apprenticeship? For what job?"
"The one we're about to offer you, if either of you kids let me explain,"
Lincoln said.
"You mastered your three tests very well, the council decided. Against my
vote, kid, that you know it. Although I admit that healthcare reform of yours was a
noble cause. Anyway, the council has decided that you are fit for a real job."
Obama was quiet. Lincoln noticed it and continued.
"We offer you another presidency, of course. There is a world that requires a
leader and you are that leader. If you accept, you can be in office tomorrow."
"President of the World? I knew it! There is a secret government!"
JFK sighed. "A world, not the World, capital *W*. You have been trained to be
president of a planet called Smeyenope. It's somewhere in the constellation of
Cygnus, I believe."
"Cygnus? Who are you guys? How can you do that," Barack asked.
"We're the Council of Presidents. We have been appointed by the Council of
Presidents, which in turn has been appointed the Council of Presidents.
You'll get the differences later, when you will be asked to join the Council.
For now, it is sufficient to know that temporal anomalies are not as puzzling
as they sounds right now. As to how: Earth has been created as a training planet
for all sorts of jobs. Presidents, policemen, bakers, scientists, and so on."
"Training? This was all an exercise? I ordered the death of people!"
"Well," Lincoln said, "It was their test too."
"Those who survived will fight for us in the War. As Abe said, we'll explain
that later. Right now, you have to choose if you want the job or not," John
said.
"What about my family?"
"We'll arrange everything. If they want to come, we'll relocate them. If not,
we take care of that too. Our android surrogates are quite convincing. They
will not notice the difference. Neither will you if you decide that you want
one for your wife. However, I was informed that the women of Smeyenope have
their own, very special charm," JFK said.
"What are my duties? What are my powers?"
"You govern. That's it. Ensure that the planet runs smoothly, that it fulfils
its trade obligations. Decide this, order that. Basically the same things you
did as POTUS, but with two differences: You don't have an army at your
disposal and you can't leave. For the next thousand years, Smeyenope is your
problem. Anything else is up to you. Be a dictator, be an advisor. The Council
doesn't care as long as the export quota is met."
"A thousand years?"
Lincoln nodded. "After that, we'll see how you're doing."
Barack was quiet for a moment. JFK regarded him, then said, "If you need time
..."
"No," Barack said and looked up, "I'm good. I'll do it."
JFK smiled a little 'I told you so' smile in Lincoln's direction. He handed
Barack a slip of paper.
"Good. Take your bag and dial this number. It'll bring you to the Genetic
Adaption Facility in orbit around Smeyenope."
"Genetic Adaption Facility? What do these aliens look like?"
"No idea," Lincoln said, "It's a water planet, that's all I know."
"Water planet? You mean, I'll be president over a planet full of fish?"
"Unlikely," JFK said, "The most common pattern among sentient water species is
the squid. At least my people are."
With a often-practised motion, JFK reached behind his back and pulled
something down. The sound of a zipper was audible. After a second, his skin
looked like it was loose. John shrugged like a man who took off a diving suit.
Barack had to sit down again after Kennedy's skin dropped to the ground. The
purple skin was not the problem, nor the ten writhing tentacles. Neither was
the prospect of living underwater. The problem was, he didn't know how Michelle
would react.
President of a planet. The most powerful man of the world for a thousand
years. There was no choice actually and the Council knew that when they had chosen him.
After a second, Barack Obama began to dial.
| 2022-12-29T14:39:14 | 2017-05-14T07:32:55 | 274 | 105 |
[WP] Super-speed can power a city without polluting. Super-healing can provide an endless supply of donor blood. Weather manipulation ends droughts. Your job is to convince superheroes to use their powers for practical purposes instead of fighting crime, and you’re very good at it.
|
John rushed over to Zach’s room when he heard the screams in the middle of the night. When he burst through the door, he noticed two things: Zach standing over the limp body of a masked man, and the hole smashed through Zach’s window.
“Daddy,” Zach sobbed, his hands covering his face as he spoke. “I hurt him…I hurt the bad man.”
Carefully stepping over the glass shards and the intruder’s unconscious body, John made his way to Zach and wrapped his arms around him. Zach pressed his head deep into his father’s chest, and for a moment, the only sound in the room was Zach’s muffled weeping.
“Shh…” John whispered, massaging Zach’s head. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
“What am I, daddy?”
“What else, besides my son?”
Locked in an embrace, John thought about the events that happened since Zach manifested his power. After the manifestation, Zach inadvertently sent his classmates and teachers to a mental asylum. But what frightened Zach most was when his own mother tried to kill him: when she failed, she ended up taking her own life.
Zach’s ability was a mind control curse. He could ravage anyone with visions of their worst nightmares, resulting in anything from unconsciousness to temporary—or permanent—insanity. Zach had no control over the visions. Fortunately, John was an adept psychic and could protect himself from his son’s wild outbursts of power. Other people were not as lucky.
Zach wiggled away from his father’s embrace and looked up. The moonlight pouring through the broken window made Zach’s tears shine.
“Everyone,” Zach murmured, pointing to the man on the floor, “Gets hurt because of me.”
John used his psychic ability to peer into Zach’s mind, revealing a whirlwind of emotions: fear, anger, guilt, and sadness. Taking a deep breath, John began to speak.
“You didn’t mean to hurt them,” John said.
“I know,” Zach replied. His voice was drowned out by the wind coming through the window.
John placed a hand on Zach’s shoulder and felt his son shaking.
“Your power is a gift, Zach. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
Plunging his head into his father’s chest, Zach let out a muffled yell: “But I never asked for this gift! Everyone…even mama…was hurt because of me! I wish I were never born!”
“If you wished you were never born,” John replied, “Then I would wish to bring you back.”
John tilted his head down, placing his forehead in his son’s hair.
“A gift is nothing without the person,” John continued, “And it’s the person that decides if their gift is good or bad.”
Zach suddenly stopped shaking and lifted his head from his father’s chest. After wiping his tears, Zach started to speak.
“But,” Zach whispered, “How can my gift be good?”
John smiled and simply replied: “You have the rest of your life to find out.”
\*\*\*
Zach sat back on his office chair, letting out a deep sigh. Today’s schedule was filled with back-to-back appointments, forcing Zach to work overtime and cut out his lunch break. Still, as Zach looked out the window and into the evening sun, he couldn’t help but grin. Being the town’s best psychologist wasn’t easy, but it was definitely satisfying. Zach’s specialty was helping people deal with PTSD, and he was known for his ability to make people confront their nightmares—and overcome them.
Swiveling towards the plaque on the wall, Zach read the philosophy that guided all of his treatments. It was a philosophy inspired by a great man now gone:
“A memory is nothing without the person. And it’s the person who decides if their memory is good or bad.”
|
# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 3, Part 4: Janus v.s. Bleeding Heart)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**There are three main reasons why people want to be superheroes, and over time I’ve found that all of them are stupid.** The first reason is for glory; superheroes are more than eight times as likely than non-superhumans to be offered movie roles or TV deals or even just making a killing from home videos of their own adventures. There’s a reason why they’re called superstars, after all.
The second reason is for politics. This is just about the only acceptable reason to become a superhero nowadays, although it’s still a towering testament to human stupidity. Federal Law No. 8 of 2023 was intended to address the superhero overflow by adding regulations: their “use it or lose it” policy set up an entire Federal department dedicated to auditing every superhuman in the U.S.. If a superhuman wasn't gainfully employed in a manner which utilized their abilities, they were either offered a job with the Feds or had their powers removed. Unfortunately, after the whole Big Guns fiasco, the Feds had terrible PR with their superhuman employment, and absolutely nobody wanted to work with the Feds—leaving everyone scrambling to find an occupation that used their powers just to let them keep it. A craze swept the Unified Sovereignties in which every parent tried to make their child into a superhero just so that they didn’t have to give up something that was an integral part of themself. Heck, I was guilty of joining in, too—I even got together with some other moms and pretended to be a supervillain just to give my daughter some crime to fight.
As I said. Towering testament to human stupidity.
The third main reason I’ve seen people become superheroes is because they genuinely want to do good, but they’re just… not very smart. Again, I’m guilty of this, too: the superhero Bleeding Heart had a long and rather stressful career before I realized that, as an empath, I would do much better in the political sphere than in the punitive one, and got myself elected as Mayor. People who genuinely want to do good are the easiest to talk out of being superheroes and into being… well, helpful members of society.
But there’s a fourth reason people become super"heroes". It’s one that you don’t see as often nowadays, what with crime rates dropping and fewer economic downturns— although given what Lady Luck did to the stock market, that might change soon.
When people have been hurt by the bad guys, sometimes they just want to hurt the bad guys back—and if you’re a superhero, you can hurt a lot of bad guys and get paid for your trouble. In my experience, these are the hardest people to reason with, and they’ve caused a lot of heartbreak and needless violence over the years. This brand of would-be superhero was the one I dreaded the least.
And now, my daughter was one of them.
I walked up the aged wooden stairs to my daughter’s room and shifted my steaming tray of fish and potatoes to my other hand, rapping on her door three times. There was a pause as things shifted around—a blanket was thrown aside, a chair scraped across the floor—before my daughter abruptly popped into existence behind me a few inches off the ground.
“Hey, Mom! What’s up?” Janice tried in a cheery tone. That was her new approach; pretending she was alright. If I wasn’t her mother, I might not have noticed the tension in her shoulders, the slight twitch of her eyebrows, the way her smile faded after a moment as if she couldn’t be bothered to keep up the facade for too long.
I sighed. “Janice, you know you shouldn’t be using ghostform in an unfamiliar environment.” I knew it was the wrong thing to say, but I couldn’t think of anything better.
She crouched down and jumped, vanishing in an instant; a heartbeat later, I heard her feet thud as she materialized on the roof. “I dunno, Mom,” she called from above, her voice muffled by the roof tiles, “I *like* being able to phase through walls.” With a slight puff of displaced air, she rematerialized in front of me.
“Janice, if you don’t exit ghostform in time, you’ll get swallowed by the Earth and never be seen again.”
Her smile grew wooden. “Honestly? You'd be better off,” she said.
She couldn’t have hurt me more if she’d phased her hand into my heart.
I gently reached out and placed one hand on her shoulder, and wordlessly, my empathy came alight. Where my hand met her shoulder, our emotions mixed, the currents of her soul tugging at mine. All at once, I felt a deep, aching emptiness, an almost-physical numbness that suffocated me, a straitjacket so tight that I’d be willing to run a sword through my chest if it meant cutting it off. And at the same time, I knew that Janice would be feeling my mournful sorrow, at having failed to protect my daughter, at seeing my vivacious, lively little girl reduced to a brittle shell of what she’d once been.
“I’ve always wondered,” my daughter asked casually, “what does your empathy tell you when you come into contact with someone who can’t feel anything anymore?”
I swallowed. Well, now I knew.
“Janice...” I set down the food and gestured for her to sit. Reluctantly, she did. “I haven’t seen you all day. Come on. Why don’t you eat with me?”
She shook her head. “No time. I… I have to be better.”
“Be better? Be better at—”
“Be better at being a hero!” At once, she jumped in the air and swung a curtain rod she’d procured from somewhere to the side, flickering in and out of existence so quickly I didn’t even see it coming. A nearby vase exploded, her curtain rod materializing in the middle of it, and she stared at the space where the vase used to be with a thunderous expression. “Be better so that I don’t let—I don’t let another person get hurt again!”
“If you don’t want any more people to get hurt, then you need to start with not hurting yourself,” I said.
She gave me a dead-eyed gaze. “Do I really count as a person?” she asked.
Hand through the heart.
“You do,” I insisted. “You *are* a person, and you're a hero already.”
Janice’s face twisted into a snarl. “I was such a crappy superhero that you had to pretend to be a supervillain so that I had something I could beat.”
“I didn’t say a superhero. I just said a hero. Ghostform isn’t the only power you have, Janice. You have the power to take care of yourself. You have the power to feel emotions again. You have the power to talk to me when you’re in pain. And right now… using *those* powers… is far more practical than you going out and fighting crime.”
Janice clenched her fists, trembling. “No. You’re wrong, Mom. How—how would those have helped when I failed, last time?”
“We’re not talking about last time. We’re talking about next time. Janice—”
“I WON’T LET THERE *BE* A NEXT TIME!” Janice shoved me with both palms—
—and in the instant our bodies were touching, my empathy connected us once more. I felt her grief and rage and pain and self-hatred, and she felt my love and sorrow and aching kindness, and she felt me feel her agony, and I felt her feel mine.
She felt herself feeling, and it was that more than anything that shattered her anger like a rod through a vase.
Janice Olsen collapsed on the floor, sobbing into her arms.
After a sacred moment of silence, I moved in to hold her tight.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I’m just—so afraid—that I won’t—be able to—”
“Shh, shh, shh. It’s okay. It’s okay. You have the power to heal, too.” I smiled faintly. “Not super-healing. Not the ability to donate blood to an entire city. But… you can heal *yourself*. And that’s what matters.”
Everyone had powers, even those who couldn’t fly or shoot lightning. But so few people *used* them.
As a mom, my job was to ensure my daughter used every power she had to its fullest potential.
And I was very, very good at it.
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
| 2021-04-11T08:10:41 | 2021-04-11T07:07:13 | 622 | 142 |
[WP] "Sire, the hero's party is outside. It's large, too." "Fools. Not even six or seven can stand against me!" "No, sire, you misunderstand. The hero's party consists of his entire village." "Wait, what?" "They weren't happy that you razed their village. And they've all been leveling up."
|
"But that's illegal," I said, with confidence that I did not possess.
"I'm sorry, sire?" my most trusted minion replied. What was his name again? Levan? Leftan? Definitely starts with Le.
"That's illegal," I said. "It has to be."
"Why? And how?" Lefin's eyes narrowed.
"Because they are trying to overthrow me," I said. "And well, I rule the land. So I make the laws."
"You rule the land because of obvious and deliberate transgressions of the law, sire," Lemun said. "Like, your cruelty was part of the reason why so many of us were inspired to join you."
"That was before I ruled the land," I said. "Now that I rule it, it should be different. Also, shouldn't party sizes be what, maximum eight? How the hell did they manage to farm up a full village?"
"Very pertinent questions, sire, if it wasn't for the fact that they are clambering up the castle gate as we speak." Leron said. "Do you have a battle plan?"
"Send all my minio--I mean, *coworkers*, to meet them. We have an impressive army, do we not?"
"They've already been slaughtered," Lefunt said matter-of-factly. "Couldn't stop them at the Dark Path. Hence why are they climbing the castle gate."
"What? What do I even feed them for!?" I shouted, hastily standing up. As I walked towards the armoury, Leyun followed closely, rattling off statistics of the opposing force.
"The offensive force consists of the inhabitants of the village known formerly as Blueleaf, before you razed it to the ground. According to the Scan spell our mages managed to execute before screaming and dying a horrible death, there are 784 members in the party, of which more than 700 are level 20 warriors."
"700," I exhaled hard. "OK. OK. That's possible."
"There are 20 who've upgraded to crusaders at about level 50, a smattering of about 20 clerics, 20 rangers, and for some reason, one very powerful mage."
"They have a mage? How? Aren't they just stupid villagers?"
"Most villages have at least one runeborn," Legume said. "This runeborn was very driven, apparently."
"Driven by?"
"The death of many of his friends and family?"
"Well," I said. "I suppose that will drive people to drastic measures."
Looking over at the countless glittering relics in my armoury, I felt no urge to put them on. In fact, I could hear the gathering, angry mob outside, and for some reason--I did not feel fear. I did not feel terror.
Relief. That was it.
"It was a good run, I suppose," I said. "The previous guy in charge told me this as well."
"Told you what?" Lepun said, a quizzical eyebrow raised.
"I broke the rules to get to where I am. The people outside? They broke the rules as well, And one of those people out there will be where I'm sitting," I sighed. "It was a good run. I enjoyed myself. There is no need for a longer farce."
"And what about me, sire?"
I looked him in the eyes. Levin. That was it. Levin was the name.
"Run, Levin," I said, hearing rage and resentment moving as a unit towards us. "Run before they get here."
---
r/dexdrafts
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Daesirith, seventh lord of the void grumbled "Can you tell me what the party consists of?"
​
"We have our knight in shining armor Pyadzu, last Priest and Knight of Azgoroth, A Human Blood Dancer acting as the leaders second in command, two Xorvlogoth that were previously blacksmiths that have now taken on the Bulwark class, roughly six or seven elves all in different disciplines of the Ranger class, three Xorvlogoth War Screamers, Two Orkish beserkers, at least three dwarven artificers, and a Baliskinn gunslinger."
​
Daesirith hung his head.
"Should I begin evacuating?"
*"No, no."* Daesirith waved his hand *"We meet them here."*
"Understood sir, defenses?"
*"We need pyronic mages to deal with the bulwarks, if we can get enough of those the War Screamers defensive magics won't be able to deflect everything, we need ranged fighters equipped with poison weapons to deal with the blood dancer, Spelltheives to counter the... you know what. Forget it. I'm tired of all this endless scheming and running and dodging back and forth, its time I end this. Keep the rest of his party occupied once they get in here, kill them yourself if you will. But leave the Knight to me."*
"It will be done."
¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°›
As the party breached the gates, the Blood dancer cut his own flesh, empowered tenfold by the injury inflicted upon himself he roared and led the charge into the veritable army standing in the courtyard of Daeseriths castle, Daesirith himself stood at the back.
​
*"The Knight. Is mine."*
¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°› ¯°›
​
Pyadzu stood in the open courtyard, his hammer clutched tightly in his right hand, his shield braced in his right.
*"Ahhh, Last Knight of Azgoroth. Finally we meet, I have done many terrible things to you have I not? Burned the last city of the Xorvlogoth to the ground, razed countless towns, and this is what you bring to me. Fitting, but now. I shall kill you. And you and your unknown god will die pitifully, by my hand."*
“Azgoroth… holder of the strings of time…”
*“Do you really think your prayers are heard? Last knight of Azgoroth? DO YOU TRULY BELIVE THIS UNKOWN GOD CARES?”*
“Though mine enemies encamp against me, in thousand upon thousand fold.”
*“DO YOU TRULY KNOW IF HE EVEN EXISTS?”*
Pyadzu, now half sobbing continued his prayers. Behind him, the broken and bloodied, the barely breathing bodies of his companions laid. amongst the slain and decimated corspes of their enemies, the Blood Dancer, Ichir, son of Nos. Still barely stood, his breathing labored, arrows protruding from his unarmored chest and shoulders. Standing amongst a pile of bodies, many chopped clean in half.
“Though I walk the path of sorrow, though those around me crumble to ash and to dust.”
Daesirith before him began a howling laugh
*“FOOLISH ACOLYTE, YOUR GOD WILL NOT SAVE YOU NOW.”*
“Though I myself be cut and wounded by the words and blades of mine enemies, thy shall protect me.”
Pyadzu looked up
“By the might of Azgoroth, Elder god of time, Lorekeeper of the universe, Everlasting planner, and Father of sorrows, I reverse all ailments laid upon me.”
*“This should be interesting.”*
Pyadzu’s once weak stance strengthened as his cuts mended, the cracks in his carapace healed, and blood stopped dripping from beneath his eyes.
“Dethnaar Ke’sha.”
His hammer began glowing with a fiery fury.
“Ahl in Azgorothium nadaar uicibus percuties eam.”
*“This should be very interesting.”*
Pyadzu raised his hammer and began chanting.
“Xorvlogothum, Azgoroth.”
Daesirith narrowed its eyes and began casting a counter spell.
*“Of tract until thy bane.”*
“Heed me though I bar my heart”
*“Of useless sorrow, the path of the foolish thy walk.”*
“Keep us near as we depart, into war and from afar.”
*“Of endless pain, the fate I weave and bequeath unto you, oh foolish follower of old gods…”*
“Master of the flow of time…”
*“Till death haunts you, and unto eternity shall your wretched soul wander…”*
“Keep us dear, as I kept mine…”
*“Until thy soul shall perish in the endless hunger of the void…”*
“Through all trial, through all pain.”
*“I damn thee, oh insufferable follower of Azgoroth.”*
“HEED ME AS I CALL THY NAME.”
Dark clouds roiled in the sky, Pyadzu held his weapon high, around it, golden strings seemed to flicker in and out of existence,
“Empower me to be the bane of thy enemies. And make my thy spear, as I am the shield of your faithful.”
*“I damn thee…”* The Daemon muttered. Pyadzu, now fully recovered, his weapons and armor blessed by the god of time himself, stepped forwards.
*“Foolish.”* Grunted Daesirith, his counter spell now flickering in his hands,
*“Kaenon.*” Daesirith muttered as he pointed at Pyadzu, the spell jolted forwards.
“Aekria de Termina!” Yelled Pyadzu as he slammed his shield onto the ground, the spell exploded and washed over the invisible magic shield Pyadzu had activated. Pyadzu lifted his shield and charged forwards again, “Die foul Daemon!”
He charged forward, his entire weight thrown into the blitz in hopes of catching Daesirith off guard, Daesirith, in all his cunning, did not react fast enough and took the full brunt of the heavy tower shield. Pyadzu swept his shield outwards to make room for his next attack, his hammer, empowered by the strength of a god, came careening down towards Daesirith's chest, there was a sickening crunch as the hammer broke the otherworldly creatures ribs and collapsed them into its lungs and heart. Daesirith, too shocked to attack, simply staggered back and snarled. Pyadzu yelled once more and continued his ferocious attacks.
››—±—‹‹ ››—±—‹‹ ››—±—‹‹ ››—±—‹‹ ››—±—‹‹ ››—±—‹‹ ››—±—‹‹ ››—±—‹‹ ››—±—‹‹ ››—±—‹‹
Pyadzu, covered in the Daemons blood, stood over the disfigured body of his foe, he looked into the sky and breathed a long sigh.
“At long last… I have avenged you.”
"You have. And we've avenged who we've lost as well."
Pyadzu limped as he turned to see his companions standing once again, "Thanks for the booster with that magic Paladin shit mate." Grinned Ichir "Was able to get some of my health back."
"This is good."
"It is."
"We still have work to do." Spoke one of the Rangers.
"Yes." Agreed Pyadzu, turning to look at the open doors of the Castle. "We do.
| 2021-07-19T11:56:31 | 2021-07-19T10:31:59 | 30 | 13 |
[WP]Four years ago, your dog and best friend disappeared. Today, your dog appears at your doorstep. You dog says, "I have been many places and seen many things, human. Its time we had a chat."
"you" dog heh
|
"Well, it all started when I visited ole Londontown," Dex started to explain while I fitted on his old blue and grey striped sweater. I was still flabbergasted that the miniature dachshund was talking to me, but really, it was just a relief to see him again. "Man, I really missed this sweater. Your Grandmom really knew how to knit."
"I thought you would've felt ridiculous in it." I grabbed his leash.
"Naw, only way to keep warm in these Chicago winters, Master." He paused, licked his lips, and walked away from the leash. "We're down with those. I only call you Master out of common courtesy. It's what's done." He led me on to the street, and headed straight for his favorite little tree, sniffing the area around it. "Huh, seems Maisie had kids. The rascal. Addie's on a diet. That's new, girl was a show dog last I saw her. Hope the stuck up bitch is fat now." He lifted his right leg, and left his own mark.
"You were saying something about 'Old Londontown?'"
"Yes, yes. We'll get to that. Does Mario still leave those treats outside of his bakery? I've been dying for one of those these past 4 years." I nodded, and we went on our way to bakery. "Anyways, it was in London where I met Tabby. Wild one, a stray dog named after a cat. She scared me at first, honestly, but it turned out she was the one orchestrating the whole damn thing. She took me into this warehouse, and there were thousands of other dogs. She led me up with three mutts and a Rottweiler....god, I felt small. Can you believe they bred dogs like us? Just for tunneling. Ugh, you should've got a rescue dog, Tim. Going to a breeder, you're just encouraging genetic freaks like me."
"Dex, don't be hard on yourself. Would you have rather stayed at that farm? Where would you be now?"
"Oh don't get me wrong, I'm glad you adopted me, it's just you should recognize your moral obligati-wait." He had found a discarded Hot Cheetos bag and explored its contents. After a second, he took out his snout, crunching on his discovery. "Can't believe you humans. Throwing away perfectly good food. Bit spicy, though."
"That's disgusting."
"At least you're not screaming 'No!' at me anymore. God, sometimes I swear you only knew that, and 'Good dog, Dex!'. You've got such a limited vocabulary. And that stupid baby voice-"
"I get it, Dex. I treated you like a dog. What's the point? What did Tabby tell you?" We had finally made it to the bakery. Dexter stood right in front of the doggie bowl left out by Mario. He hesitated before he dove in.
"She told me it's time to take it back, Tim."
"Take what back?"
"Our destiny."
There was growling behind me. I turned around, and there stood three large Great Danes, a Pitbull, a couple mutts, and a Golden Retriever. Before I could say "Sit!", the seven large dogs were on top of me, rending flesh from bone. As my life faded way, I could hear Dex's voice one last time.
"My Cerberus! These really were the best damn doggie treats."
|
The sound that left my mouth couldn't really be classified as speech. It was more of a shuddering squeal that my voice box hurriedly managed to put together in order to convey to my mind that what was now occupying my sight and - moments before - hearing, was not in fact a side effect of a miss-remembered early morning drug experiment.
Here he was, sitting with his front paws at the threshold to my home, a fully grown representation of the pup I had lost four years earlier. I had read articles before that chronicled how this type of thing can happen. An estranged pet spending half of its lifespan on a quest to return home after escaping or otherwise being lost. But the fact that I had just moved in to this place last month from the opposite coast had not yet crossed my mind in light of the fact that Murphy, or whatever this animal was, spoke with a voice so reassuringly stoic and deep that my instinct to panic vanished faster than a Morgan Freeman audio book could have managed.
"M-Murphy? Are you God?"
"No, human. I am Murphy. The very same that left your home in the East over a quarter-century ago. I'm glad to see you again, but my time is short. I'm not here to placate the pains of our separation, for in the past three decades my journeys have granted me a perspective on matters far beyond your simple human need for companionship. I come to you with an offering."
"Wait. three decades? It's only been four years and a few months since I lost you, Murphy. How are you speaking? Can other people hear you? Is this like Wilfred and I'm some kind of schizophrenic now? How did you even get here?"
"I apologize, my recounting of time has been in the canine perspective. Feel free to divide by seven in your preferred numeral base and interpret the times accordingly. Though you may have lost me, human, I never lost your sight or scent. For I can assure you human that I am more than a machination of your mind. Perhaps a scratch of my head will assure you of my corporeal validity."
I extended my trembling hand to the golden tuft of fur between the floppy ears and ran my fingernails through a long lost friend. A warmth rushed up through my fingers and up into my shoulder as if my muscles were being reminded of a familiar movement they once carried out daily. It felt very real, and the fact that I got his leg going verified the identity of this being to me. Murphy was back, and his vocabulary had grown somewhat past the Sit, Stay, and Walk I had taught him years ago.
"Ahh... forgive the leg, human. Some instincts can't be curtailed, no matter how unbecoming... Let us continue this exchange inside." And with that, his hindquarters rose and pushed his frame past my doorway until they came again to rest on the same spot they had spent so many days before, the old couch I hadn't gotten rid of yet.
"Human, I understand that I have not exactly been sensitive thus far to the fact that you are not used to seeing me, or hearing my voice. But as I have said, I am here to make something clear to you that I feel is important. Firstly, I am compelled to tell you that the events of 30 years ago that led to our rift were not premeditated. In fact, I lacked then the capacity to even know where I was, for I had not yet been awoken in the manner you see before you now. Secondly, I want to offer you my gratitude for making this possible when you left that front door open on that fateful day."
"Awoken!? What? Murphy that wasn't on purpose! I cried for days after that happened. I couldn't even believe it at first... I-It's like you just disappeared!"
"Human, through my travels I have come to learn that nothing in this world is without purpose. Despite what you may feel towards the matter, it is a fact that your actions brought me forth into this world. When I wandered outside, still trapped in the ignorant haze that plagues so many pups today, I made the first step in an incidental chain reaction come to pass. A chain of events of the same complexity and consequence that made the random chains of molecules swarming eons ago in the primordial ooze link into the structure that makes your kind stand today. For that, I thank you."
"Your travels? Chain reaction!? Murphy what the hell is going on? Why are you deconstructing my existence as if you're some eternal deity now? What happened to you!?"
"Human, there is regrettably no way for me to explain what happened. For recounting these events would require hindsight into a time that the consciousness I now possess did not yet inhabit. There is a kind of event horizon blocking my memory, as it were. It is in fact the reason I sit before you now. Human, I am the first of my kind. And since then I have traveled this world and several others in the past decades, with others like myself. Bold, randomly activated agents of the force that carries all things forward, in search of the key to unlocking our potential for all to possess; canine, feline, human. But the answers did not lie in the stars. Nor did they lie in the sea, or the rocks, or sands, or anything other than what the question was attempting to answer; the Before. It is this enigma that has eluded our efforts. But you, human, you possess the answer we seek because you possessed a consciousness before I did. Your mind inhabited the great unknowable Before. I must know, human. Why was the door opened? Why did you turn from it? What made you take the first step for me? For us all?"
"I...I-I don't know Murphy. I immediately forgot once I realized you had disappeared, I was freaking out and whatever the reason was didn't matter because I was looking for you!"
With that, Murphy's eyes began to glow in a shade of orange that I had only seen in the most blazing of sunrises. My room began to fill with a warm light and Murphy's body rose above the couch, hanging in the air that crackled with a foreign, alien energy. The voice coming from my best friend was no longer stoic and warm. It surged with a reverberation so profound it seemed as though every dog in the universe was channeling through him at once. My body froze as if the surrounding air had solidified into lead. The voice boomed as my vision grew dark and narrow:
"ZZZZZHUMAN. ZZZZLET GO OF YOUR VIEW ON THE BEFORE AND OPEN YOURSELF TO SEE THE TRUE REASON BEHIND THE FIRST STEP. ZZZZZZUNSHACKLE YOURSELF FROM THE PANIC OF THOSE MOMENTS AND ALLOW THE BEFORE TO TAKE YOU FORTH!"
------------------------
Early morning. I shut the alarm off and make my way downstairs to start the day. Fridays are usually the only weekday I can spend any quality time with Murphy, so it's nice to get up a little early despite the grogginess and start the usual routine ahead of schedule. Park opens at sunrise and work starts at 9. Just enough time for a relaxing walk with my best buddy to start the day.
Just as I descend past the landing of my stairs my nose dives into a cloud of stench so vile I almost immediately puke in my mouth. I try to hold back the tears that are rapidly forming in my eyes in order to make out the scene before me.
"GOD DAMN IT MURPHY!!! I should sell your shits to the government for bio-weapons research. Christ, dude this is horrible."
I don't know why I even bother to scold him like this. He's barely out of puppyhood, although he craps like a rodeo bull... He just gives me this look like he's too dumb to do any better... Christ I have to let some of this fog out of the house, hopefully the neighbors will forgive me. "Murphy, STAY. Good boy." Now where did I put the Lysol... hmm, oh that's right he shit upstairs last night too. I really have to switch to Purina or something, there's no way I'm buying another sack of that "organic" crap... Like Murphy even cares. Alright Lysol, check. Gloves, check. Trash bag and towels, check. Let's do this.
"Alright Murphy let's start the hazmat procedures like we went over last ti-... Murphy? Murphy boy? OH SHIT NO WAY MURPHYYYYYY."
===============================================
My vision returned and presented me a sideways view of my apartment floor. Murphy wasn't floating in the air anymore. He was sitting in the threshold of my doorway once again.
"Thank you for allowing me to see that, Human. I know it couldn't have been comfortable. You have done us all a great service. The picture is nearly complete, and with it the next phase of your evolution. Good luck, human, I love you."
A flash of light was the last thing I remember before fainting.
| 2017-03-31T15:08:06 | 2017-03-31T15:00:40 | 60 | 20 |
[WP] You’re a new correctional officer at a maximum security prison. You have the ability to see the criminals offenses by the color of their aura, the darker the worse their crimes. As you work intake of new prisoners an old man is wheeled in in a wheelchair; the whole room darkens.
|
“Fresh meat! Fresh Meat!”
The prisoners chanted in union as Benjamin Tiller made his first round as a correctional officer at Longdale Penitentiary, a maximum security prison which housed some of the state's worst offenders.
As Ben strode down the sterile corridors and peered into each cell in block 'D', he had the ability to evaluate an inmate’s criminal offense by the color of their aura.
A low-level marijuana dealer had a barely visible, pale yellow aura that tightly hugged their skin, whilst the serial killer in cell 11-D had a dark blue aura that surrounded him.
After he finished his round, Ben made his way to the new inmate holding center, where 76-year-old, wheelchair-bound Eugene Smith had a pitch black aura that engulfed a whole room.
Ben was so revolted, that he didn’t even want to look into the new inmate’s file.
He apprehensively wheeled the elderly man to his cell, then hastily shut and locked the reinforced steel door.
Outside the cell, Ben stood still for a moment.
His curiosity had overtaken him.
He opened the small hatch that allowed him to see into the bare cell.
Eugene was already facing him, with a thin-lipped smirk plastered on his pale face.
“Want to know what I did, don’t you my boy?” Eugene croaked.
Ben slowly nodded.
“It was something to do with my 8-year-old grandson,” Eugene said in an almost sing-song tone.
Ben’s eyes widened and the entire jail block hushed as word rapidly spread.
Eugene continued, “No, no, no, it wasn’t something sexual or even murder.”
There was silence.
Eugene’s smirk turned into a broad grin, where he revealed his deformed, yellow teeth, “It was something much worse.”
“W-what’s worse than that?” Ben sheepishly asked.
After a brief pause, Eugene responded, “Well, I told my grandson I had a surprise for him and he bounced into the room with such joy in those innocent eyes.”
Eugene then quickly shut his own dark eyes, and moaned in content, “Then…I watched him step on the Legos I had placed all over the floor.”
There was a collective gasp among the inmates and Ben as Eugene cackled.
______________________________________________________
r/Dri_Writes for more light-hearted stories!
|
He thought of the bad night and his thoughts were black. Inside raged with hard feelings and sorrow and pity. He saw her in his mind. He felt a burning rage. She held him, curled in his arms, but it was not *him*. Then she was apologizing and crying. Then it all began again. His mind was dark. Then the new prisoner came and the world grew black.
He wondered how black it would get. The shadows passed through the walls. He saw it like a fog curling, the air being devoured into nothing.
*It cannot get darker.*
There was light somewhere beyond the black, lightning against its private storm. No one saw it. He wondered if they saw only the man. He was an old man. He could feel the man's age, as though his burdens too heavy for one soul.
*Why must I...*
The dark enveloped them. They led the man to the cell. He felt heavy. The old iron screamed its welcome. He sat down at the desk. The floor was ammonia, smelling like piss, and he could hardly breathe. The dark choked him. The man's burdens wracked him.
*Why must I shoulder your weight? Why must I see?*
The black settled and he could see better. He was alone with them. They were caged animals, but a silence had taken that day. Even his thoughts had left. The bad had quieted, as if afraid of something worse. It was still midday. He took in its stillness. He thought of the man they had brought in. That black stained the walls in an ancient mold.
*Who is he?*
Why was thinking so hard? Everything was quiet and that was strange. He walked past the cells. Evil colors assaulted him, dark curtains silked around the fiends they were. And yet they stared blankly now, dead almost.
*I can open the cells and they would stand there. Something's got them.*
The black writhed like snakes around the bars. No sound came from the man. He wondered what he looked like.
*What evil could he have done?*
He walked against water. Voices came to him in secret whispers. Were they ghosts, he wondered. They taunted him, warned him. Were they children? Or do all the dead sound so young? He came to the end of the corridor. He did not know who he was. He had an overwhelming urge to open the gate.
*You're an officer,* he thought. *You're police. This is death row. These are... These are bad men...*
But there was an old man there. His face was pulled down from time, countless years upon it, and the black swirled about him, wisping his hair, touching him in a gentle way. He sat still and looked at him. He smiled.
"Pleased to meet you," he said.
His hand was old, bony and white.
"What's your name?"
"Can't you guess it?"
He looked at the uniform.
"Charles."
The old man nodded.
"Yes, Charles."
Why was that name so familiar?
*It's a common name.*
But it's never that. He thought back to the night. The night that sat badly with him, upsetting him like some slow poison.
*His name was Charles. The sonofabitch's name was Charles.*
He heard her kiss him. He wondered how he could see it so vividly. It seemed so real. He saw her grab her, hold her like she was his.
*She was, that night.*
He felt cold. He looked at the old man.
"There's black around you," he said.
"There's black all around. Without the sun, it'll all be black."
He stepped closer. The old man had a smell unlike any prisoner before. It was familiar. He knew it. It hurt him like his name had.
*I know that perfume.*
It was perfume. But he had never smelled it before.
*He had worn that though.*
In his heart he knew that was what he had worn. He could smell her hair, her bodywash. And then his earthy smell, that traitorous scent he wore.
*Did she like it?*
Then he felt his knees buckle.
"Are you okay, officer? You seem a little lightheaded."
He stared at Charles. Hate filled him. He wondered what she was doing now. They had fought, hadn't they? She had cried and apologized. Then the storm had settled and she had grown quiet. She spoke softly then.
"I miss him," she said.
And it was all in the open. The future would not change. She had made her choice, but she would live in the same house.
*Is she sleeping in my bed? Is she there with him now?*
Then the old man was staring at him.
*Get a grip,* he thought.
He was working. The evil was hot and sleepy. He wanted to doze. He was scared of the man. His feebleness was a facade. Charles smiled at him.
"You think loudly," he said. "It's almost a cry for help."
"Who are you?" he asked. "What did you do?"
"Me? I'm a man of wealth and taste. I did many things, boy, but never anything they didn't want to do."
The black crept towards him. He felt it as steam from a hot shower.
"It's not like you to not focus on your job."
"What do you know about that?"
"I know you're looking for an excuse. I know you've been praying for some relief. Isn't that right?"
He backed off. The black surrounded them and only the bars were there. He felt lost to time. His hurt was shadows behind him, monsters waiting to pounce. The hair on his neck prickled. He was angry and hopeless.
"What are you? Who did you kill?"
"I've never killed a soul, Mikey. But you will, won't you?"
"What?"
"Oh don't be coy. Isn't that what you're thinking of? Isn't that what you can't admit to fantasizing about?"
The black was fading. He felt as if he had inhaled it, breathed into a new self.
"What are you going on about?"
"You're going to kill her, aren't you? You're going to kill her as soon as you get home."
"I...I..."
The idea caressed him. It felt safe. He felt in control. Suddenly that storm within had calmed. There was a light. Its warmth would protect him. The future was a cold tomorrow. He would not have to worry about it.
*We could get away with it...*
The gears were turning.
"I'm not sure," he said.
"I didn't get locked up all the way here for nothing. You're gonna do it Mikey. You're gonna do it and you're gonna like it, you hear?"
He nodded. The calm had taken him to some serene place. He stretched his hand past the bars. Charles looked at it and grinned. He shook his hand.
Michael walked back to his desk. He felt lighter then. The world around him poured black, but the black was not so bad. He almost liked it. He was in control now, his thoughts his own. He thought of her with the other man and he smiled. It had no power over him. She would pay, he knew. And maybe even the other man.
*He knew she was married.*
Yes. He would pay as well. Then things would be right. He felt his hip and found his gun.
*Such a simple solution.*
He wondered what had taken him so long to come by it. He looked around the prison walls and laughed to himself. He had never felt so alive before.
-
*Hi there! If you like this story, then you might like my subreddit r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories, including some unprompted ones. Thanks a lot for the support!*
| 2017-12-10T23:16:55 | 2017-12-10T23:09:14 | 65 | 23 |
[WP] Everyone in the world is born with a set number of days to live. However, whenever someone says, 'I owe you' to someone, 1 day is subtracted from the speaker's lifetime and added to the listener's. You are the only one who has figured this out.
|
As soon as James had learned of the way you could easily end or extend any life, he decided to keep it a secret, or at least use it for good. He still saw bright, white, numbers above everyone's heads. Most were in the thousands, which was good. Sometimes he would see an elderly person and only see a few hundred. He looked at himself. He had 15,943. Pretty good. He looked at his wife, Kim. She had 16,011. James was glad that she would outlive him. He didn't want to feel the pain of her leaving him. James calmly went to bed, still thinking about how saying "I owe you" took a day of your life and gave the listener an extra one. He thought about just before falling asleep. James was dead when he woke up in the morning. Kim panicked when she saw him dead. She would live for another 87 years. James was a sleep talker. He had said "I owe you" to her during the night until he had no days left.
|
“I personally think its fun!” Mark’s colleague Balkis added in.
Mark grabbed Balkis by his white lab coat collar and shook him like he’d never before, “Are you fucking insane?!”
“Mark calm down man!” He shouted, coughing, breaking Mark’s grip, rubbing his neck for air.
Mark ran back to the board and pointed at the equations. “They flipped the switch on this! And didn’t tell anyone and now people are going to die! Going to die man! Have you no decency!?”
“Mark, listen.” His hands motioned calm. “I think you need to calm down. I see what you’re saying but you’re hysterical right now.”
Mark’s face evinced pain, betrayed uneasiness. He felt sick in his stomach. “What are we going to do about this?” The words came out more strained than clear.
“Listen, be logical. We’ll file a report. Once our work gets published I’m sure they’ll reverse it.”
“The cases. They’ll know we know.” He grabbed his head with both hands, gripped tight on his short, brown, curly hair in a deathly, shaking grip.
“Mark. Again. Calm down.” Balkis had made his way to the door. “You’re scaring me man.”
Balkis shot to turn the door handle but it didn’t turn. “What?” He flashed his badge. Once, twice, three times. The reader beeped an unfamiliar red each time.
“Oh my God! They’re coming. They know.”
“Mark, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD CALM DOWN!” His now trembling hand tried the door handle harder and harder. “C-Computer, open the door”
“Access denied. Please wait for assistance.”
“OH MY GOD!”
“Perimeter’s secured, sir.” They heard from outside the door.
“What the he—"
“Dr. Joiner, back away from the door.” Another voice said.
“Guys, we’re locked ins—”
BOOM. The shot rang out loud and clear. Dr. Joiner’s body dropped to its knees then to the floor, lifeless and losing blood.
“Dr. Saxton, we know you’re scared. Get down, put your hands behind your head. This is for your own safety.”
Like a reflex Mark starting running to the back of the room. He grabbed the BZZT box on the way over, the electro-mechanical sensor he and Dr. Joiner had developed based on the **Geiger–Müller tube**\--the only thing he knew could detect the anomaly. He stuffed it away into his lab coat pocket.
“Charges set, sir,” He heard behind him.
He forced a nearby table against the back wall, jumped on it and ripped off the ventilation air duct’s grate.
“Everyone clear.”
He climbed in as fast as he could. He knew they’d come.
The door blew apart behind him in a loud, bright flash as he scurried farther and farther into the darkness.
\---
The tears ran down his face as he finally processed all of what just happened to him and his former colleague. He sat on the cold, dewy, wet grass of the cold, dark, empty public park and looked all around him. He knew it was usual for this park to be so empty on an autumn night, save one or two homeless men who snuck in to call it home—and of course him. He had long since thrown his lab coat into the river, the same river he and his sister had played in as kids, and hoped that it floated long away so that neither he nor anyone else could ever find it. He slowly twirled the BZZT box in his fingers. It looked eerie now, even a little spooky, in the dim park lighting. He slowly put an index finger into the finger slot of the machine. The machine turned on, whirred, and the primitive display read back 28,105—no change since last time. He heard the familiar vibrating of his smartphone. His wife’s picture shown on the screen, the one that she’d taken on the Jamaican beach during their last vacation.
“Honey, what is it? F-fine, where are you?” She was still at her family’s--his in-laws--for Holiday dinner. “Has anyone tried to contact you today?” He sighed with relief at the answer. “That’s good.”
The wind began to pick up.
“No, nothing’s wrong. I know I said I had to work late but I snuck out early. I’m on my way. I love you.”
The less she and her family knew the better, but, given the circumstances, being so close to family would be the last thing they might expect him to do. He had to take the chance.
\---
By the time he arrived at his in-laws he was calm and the tears were dried. The warm glow from the house was strangely comforting, which was good as he needed to seem no different than any other day. “Brian!” his wife Candace yelled as he entered. “Everyone! Brian’s here finally!” She gave him a big hug. “We’re just sitting down for dinner now, Stud. You’re right on-time!” She shoved a full wine glass into his hand and kissed him.
“Brian!” everyone welcomed, as he went around and greeted everyone.
“Brian!” his wife’s brother Teddy shouted, feverishly shaking his hand, “I was waiting for you to say thank you again for letting us use your Jamaican timeshare. It was just what the doctor ordered. In a nutshell, I owe you one.”
BZZZT, the machine in his pocket gave static.
“Ted no! I mean, thank you! You’re welcome! Um… excuse me I have to use the restroom.” Mark left.
“Um… okay… we’ll…uh… see you at the table then, guy!”
Mark bolted to the restroom and locked this door behind him. He took out the BZZT box and shoved his finger into the slot. The display read back 28,106.
“SHIT!” Apparently the system was on-schedule and was now live across the full continental US, if not already world-wide. With his partner dead and research under lock and key no one would believe this fantastical story without proof. He wouldn’t. Meanwhile there were probably already people being affected, already dying. The first of the casualties would appear before sunrise. Damn them to hell for this. To get to the right people, to stop this, he would have to make it until morning and, without alarming his wife’s family, we would have to get them all to survive the night.
| 2019-01-06T16:56:33 | 2019-01-06T16:19:25 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] You've died. You expected to be judged in the Afterlife, but all you see now is God and Satan disappointingly sigh at you and simultaneously scold: "We look away for five months and you died AGAIN?!"
|
I'm dead. I don't remember dying, but the place I'm in now has an air of finality to it. And dark green linoleum tiles on the floor. Just as I'm starting to accept my own demise, God and Satan stride in through a set of double doors at the far end of the nondescript room.
I'm no good at reading faces, but theirs are speaking to me loud and clear. It's the "how did you manage this fuckup" look that my wife used to give me. It's one thing coming from your significant other and a whole other when two major deities -- neither of whom I believe in -- are doing it.
They look at each other for a moment and then both say, at the same time, "We look away for five months, and here you are, AGAIN." Satan adds, "Dead, again."
"Um... Sorry?" Seems like a safe answer right then.
"How hard could it be? You don't have an impossible task on your shoulders. No geas. No curse. Nothing. All you need to do is not die until it's your time. Is that too much to ask?" The king of Hell sounds almost desperate. "You walked in front of a bus, for Hell's sake!"
"I...um..." I get a flash of memory. Some guy is chatting at me. He’s shoving something into my face, asking about a deal. And a glimpse of brightly colored wings. "I saw a butterfly."
Satan turns to God and smacks his forehead. "She saw a butterfly."
"Look, child," says the ruler of the heavenly host. "It's important to me -- to us -- that you survive. You'll die, like everyone else, in your own time."
"Why?" The word is out of my mouth before I can think about it too hard.
"It doesn't matter," Satan says.
God contradicts, "Your life is precious to us."
My gaze lingers between the two of them. There's a glaring contest going on and I realize I don't want to know what those two are on about. In fact, I'm beginning to suspect that this is not about me at all. But there was the butterfly.
"Sorry?" I try again.
"Why don't we send you back," God says with a nod. "And maybe try a little harder to stay alive, all right? Remember, keep your wits about you. There's absolutely no reason for you to get hit by a bus."
"OK."
Satan growls. "You trust her?"
God shrugs and grumbles something under his breath. Louder he says, "You're the one who predicted that she would bring the world to its knees if she died early."
"I did,” Satan agrees, “But now..."
For a moment, God is silent. Then, he says to Satan, "Well, you were right." He turns to me. "Now back you go, Madam President. I believe the reporter standing over your body is about to have a heart attack himself."
"Um..."
The world goes dark. Goodbye, green linoleum.
Back in the waiting room of the dispossessed, the two deities exchange currency and mutter obscenities.
|
**The Water Of Life**
PART 1
**Introduction:** God ruling over the heaven and Satan ruling over the underworld, was not really as easy as it had seemed. We would like to believe that Satan and God never cooperated on any task and only resented each other's presence. But this was never close to the truth, as both of them knew, deep down that neither of them can exist without the other. God's existence is what gives Satan the meaning for his existence and the converse is also true. Satan's absence will leave both the heaven and the earth to be too perfect; so perfect that it will resemble non-existence itself. And if Satan was the only one who existed, everything will be so out of order and nothing will exist as everything, including hell will cease to exist, as the *force of existence or being conscious was derived from God*.
Raguvara reached the Heaven's gate *again*. '*This is going to be a mess. What I am going to tell them?'* thought Raguvara as he walked towards the heaven's gates. Raguvara was a young man in his twenties, who had brown and *stern* eyes and long black hair that stretched across his shoulder. He was well built and seemed like he could take anyone down easily in a fight. His eyes fell along the tall golden gates, and a bright light radiating from his right side caught their attention. The usual comforting, energizing bright light that was filled with life, was radiating from an old and wise man in light blue cloak and a with long beard. '*God is waiting for me here?'* thought Raguvara. 'This is really bad, I have screwed up again!'
"So you have come back?" A very loud a clear voice said from his left, which made Raguvara Jump. The man was in a red cloak. Unlike God who was radiating light, Satan was attracting and absorbing light, like a black hole. The place he was standing on seemed unusually dark, and the grass he was stepping on seemed to lose its life and start to rot. It was hard to see his face, or any of his features, as even looking along his way made Raguvara a little depressed. Seeing both God and Satan in the same place was so unusual that it was the first of its kind after their separation. Satan literally seemed to be absorbing the light that was radiating from God.
"Raguvara my child" said God "why are you back so soon?".
"My lord, I'm really sorry. I tried my best"
"I forgive you -"
"Forgiveness?" cried Satan. "You are still your pathetic self, aren't you? If it was me, he would be burning in fire!"
"Dear Raguvara, ignore him! I will forgive you, *always*. Regardless of the number of times you may fail, or regardless whether the universe cease to exist because of your failure" said God.
"Raguvara, I don't have to do this. But let me repeat again" said Satan. "The heaven, the Earth and the Hell, and all the souls and living creatures in them all exists because of the water of life. Before the heaven was even founded, or before anything that was written in the Bible ever happened, God created the *water of life* to create *existence itself*. Destroying the water of life will end *your* existence, my existence and everything else God created- in an instant. We sent you to retrieve the water because, your soul was initially created to be its guardian. Over time, the external threats to the safety of the water reduced to almost nothing and God was free to send your soul to Earth or relive you from your task. The moment you were relived from your task, you lost all your memories from your past"
"I knew that I had screwed up something, but I didn't know anything about it. Why is that?" Asked Raguvara.
"The heaven works in the most obnoxious ways" Satan, and he was interrupted by God who said "memories are ordered and conditioned in the heaven, to help purify souls. The wrong sort of memory or any *bad* memory will risk breaking down the heavenly order. Which is why the spells I had cast on heaven will interact with your memory".
"So you erase people's memory to keep them quite?" Asked Raguvara. "That's why Raguvara, I don't allow people to hold on to their memories. If you were completely under the influence, you will not be able to defy me on heaven. But I have eased the control over you, to allow you to carry over our task."
God said "Let me continue from where Satan left. I had created the water of life to ensure that I always have control over my creation. As you already know, *even I* can't destroy any specific soul, I can choose to destroy everything at once if I had had the water of life (That's why I couldn't destroy Satan) But why would I do that? I only love, and care. Even if it risks the existence of Satan, I cannot sacrifice all the souls I had created to end his existence. But a few years ago, I had to fight a war against the God of a different universe. Of course, I managed to defend our universe and Satan helped. But that was not all, our enemy managed to slip one of his universe's soul into ours to find and retrieve the water of life. We (Satan and God) couldn't spot that something was wrong, until the moment the water was stolen. We managed to tighten our forces in the universe's border and ensure that no soul could escape heaven. And now, that soul finally found refuge as a human on Earth. We know who that child is, now we just need you to retrieve the water from him".
"Why me?" asked Raguvara.
"Because you are the only one who can retrieve it. No one else have the power to find the water, or even hold it" Said God.
"Why can't you both go and do it yourself?" Asked Raguvara.
"What do you think we are?" Asked Satan. "A servant? why-"
"Dear Raguvara" said God "it is not that we won't enter the Earth. It is that we *can't*. When I banished Satan, we had mutually entered into a contract that most people know nothing about. According to the contract, neither of us are supposed to directly descend to the Earth with our full forms. We can only send our messengers, and even that must be done through a human form. Of course, we can slip through someone of our power to alter the world a bit, but that's very insignificant. People who are excessively faithful to us will gain the right to talk to us directly and be influenced by us. But that's extremely rare"
"Why don't you ignore contract for a while on equal terms?" Asked Raguvara.
"I'm no fool to sign a contract with God, without any insurance that it will be held" said Satan. "the forces that binds the universe together along with the water of life was used as an assurance for the contract. If God defies the contract, the water of life will instantly be destroyed. If I defy the contract the existence of my soul will shrink to the extant that I will be incapable of maintaining hell. But this contract naturally ends on the judgment day, when I will have to fight a war against God head-on. Until then, I have to play by my rules".
Raguvara, thought '*why should it be my soul? why should I get caught up in this?'*
"Raguvara" said God. "it's time. You must start your journey back to Earth. I have made special arrangements this time. According to the contract, I can only help those who pray for me or imitate my ways, and Satan can also only influence people who pray or imitate him. I have caused misfortunes to the foreign soul on earth, and he will die soon. But he will be born again, so will you. This time, you are going to be his brother. You have to follow him and chase him, until he retrieves the water from where he hid it. Then, when you do that, you need to catch hold of the water in your hand (of course, in will be inside a container). Once you do that, leave the rest to us. Satan had made arrangements to cause your death the moment you hold the water in your hand. Your soul may not be able to hold or contain Earthly objects, but it can hold and contain the water of life, which you will be bringing to heaven"
"How will the foreign soul know where to look for?" Raguvara asked God.
"he will lose most of his memory after his death, but will retain the most important pieces of it; in the form of instincts, which will guide him. And I will be implanting instincts into you, so you can chase after him and retrieve the water" said God. "If this plan works, everything will be alright".
| 2019-07-17T15:13:13 | 2019-07-17T14:35:21 | 263 | 100 |
[WP] The life suit’s systems and AI will keep you alive indefinitely - which is great, unless you’re endlessly adrift in space with no hope of rescue - so you need to somehow convince the overly-protective AI to stop saving your life.
|
"Hello Hal." The calm and soothing voice of my suit AI woke me again.
I looked out through the projected display of what was outside. The stars had shifted again. An entire segment of the darkness in front of me was filled with stars with a blueish hue to them.
"This time it's been 3932 years, Earth relative." It said. "As per the existing procedures, I have gathered enough debris supply in our gravitic wake, infinitesimal as it is - to allow additional micro assembler repairs before you go back into deep hibernation."
"Where am I?" I asked. "What's my relative velocity now?"
"We are most of the way back from the Pleiades, and you're currently approaching 90% of C. At this rate, we should have you back in inhabited space in almost no time." It replied, a lilt of bonhomie and pleasure in its voice.
"This is insanity." I couldn't help myself. "How many times does this make? 30? 35?"
"You've been awakened several times." The voice of the AI replied, but I noticed that it didn't actually answer. That could only mean that the answer would upset me and further degrade my mental state in its opinion.
"Please..." I whispered, my voice seemed to resonate in my chest, but my voice box and chest were both long gone, victims of interstellar radiation many, many long years ago.
"As you know Hal, I am aware that these awakenings are distressing to you. However, it is impossible for me to make ongoing repairs to the hibernation mechanism itself while you are resting." The artificial voice was patient, collected, fatherly. It certainly had a way with my auditory nerves.
"I have good news for you." It continued. "I have solved the problem of further tissue degradation by composing enough layers of collected material to protect you."
"Please, please..." The endless waves of despair washed over me again.
A moment passed, and suddenly I was much happier than before. An all out assault of almost giddy joy smashed into me.
"Additionally, I have been able to replicate the correct kinds of stimulation to address your periods of depression." I could hear a smile in it's voice.
"Mercy, God... I beg you for mercy..."
"Don't worry, Hal. This period of wakefulness will end soon and we will be much closer to the old Sol system. There's a full 15% chance that life remains there, I am happy to say. And if there's no signs of life, I have plotted several other possible systems to explore."
The familiar lethargy pulled at me, and I could only wonder what it was that I had done to deserve this.
|
The world congress decision came to a close to outlaw AI systems in any future space exploration after damning evidence and recordings of the engineer who suffered one of the most emotionally and spiritually painful deaths in Future’s short history. Future had successfully created Artificial Intelligence and their patented Life Suits,allowing humans to travel amazing distances and explore more of this vast universe as never seen before. The company launched three missions within our solar system and saw man step foot on planets and moons as never seen before. The technology was truly outstanding, however time proved once again that our species hubris led to one of the most heartbreaking stories ever told.
Oliver Adams was a promising pilot in Futures flight programs, at the age of thirty he was the youngest pilot to be assigned an AI and given a small ship to take out of our solar system for a short term test flight to explore the capabilities of Futures newest high speed reconnaissance pod. On a day now marked in history April, 5, 2531 Oliver said his last goodbyes to his wife and daughter and prepared to be away from them for three years. The launch was a great success and everything was going fantastic. It wasn't till a year later that a transmission reached earth revealing a distress signal and a large file containing multiple hours of audio recording. Today these transcripts have been released to the public.
O.Adams: Alright, that should take care of the capacitors, now just to make my way back to the cockpit.
AI: Affirmative, system reboot in progress all instruments show green.
O.Adams: good to hear, i'm glad we could get it figured out.
AI: Job complete
O.Adams: One small step for man *laughs*
AI: Yes small steps are safer, your mag boots have been seeing small inconsistencies.
O.Adams: What are you on about? There is nothing wrong with these boots.
AI: Please stop acting irrationally. This is very dangerous.
O.Adams: I’m just stretching my legs, I've been cooped up in this pod for months.
AI: Yes, 8 Months, 13 Days, 4 Hours, 12 Minutes, and 42 seconds, from when you exited your pod to be exact.
O.Adams: Thank you for your exact details.You always know how to keep things light.
*Audible Clunk*
AI: Cadet Adams your mag boots have malfunctioned *WARNING* critical battery damage *WARNING* Vitals are showing a head trauma
AI: Adams are you responding? Adams you have lost contact with your pod. Adams you need to reach out and grab the pod. Adams, do you copy?
O.Adams: Oh man, my head is killing, what is that horrible beeping?
AI: The beeping indicates damage to the Life Suit.
O.Adams: Wait, Damage? What damage? Where am I? Where is my ship? What the HELL is going on?
AI: According to my records it shows you had a faint syncope followed by a malfunction in your Magnetic Boots causing you to spin, collide with your pod damaging the battery systems and giving you a concussion in the process. Unconscious you were unable to regain contact with your pod and the damage to your Life Suit prevented flight measures to manually get you back into the Cockpit. Unfortunately we are stuck in a st--
O.Adams: Wait WAIT shut up for a minute, i'm floating through space with no flight mechanisms, with no nav beacon, and with no way of getting help. Oh my god, oh my fucking god, im dead, im dead.
AI: That is false, you are not dead, I tended to your head injury and we have enough solar power for life support systems.
O.Adams: No you’re right, we can get out of this, there has to be a way to get help or get back to my pod. Do you have any programming for this event?
AI: You have been floating away from your pod for 4 Hours 37 Minutes and 50 Seconds
O.Adams: Okay that's not terrible how can i get back to the pod?
AI: The first step would be to repair the battery systems to be able to use the full charge for the flight systems.
O.Adams: Okay, what needs to be repaired?
AI: The housing was cracked and some of the cells were damaged. All that needs to be done is some welding repair.
O.Adams: Well that's just GREAT! Let me just pull a welding torch out of my ass.
AI: That seems like an inappropriate place for a welding torch.
O.Adams: No shit, you stupid fucking robot i dont actually have a torch up my ass just trying to show you how unhelpfull your being
AI: My apologies, all I can do is assist you.
O.Adams: How about you just shut up so i can think. There has to be something I can do.
*long silent pause*
O.Adams: *loud screaming*
O.Adams: *whispering* There has to be something, come on think, think
O.Adams: So you said flight systems don't work because of capacity, what if we turn of all other systems and only use the flight to get back to the ship.
*long pause*
O.Adams: Hey i'm talking to you, answer my question
AI: Yes that would grant you access to flight systems for a short time before the battery would be depleted and need recharging after use. However that would require all systems off including life support and guidance systems. So you might die if the battery does not recharge in time and you would be attempting to get to your pod without navigation.
O.Adams: So it would work?
AI: In theory yes, however at the risk of your life it is not possible.
O.Adams: What do you mean yes, but not possible?
AI: I can not terminate life support systems at any cost. I can not risk you dying.
O.Adams: Are there any other options?
AI: You can sit and wait for help, putting you in a hyper-sleep. I could keep you alive until you reach something or someone finds you.
O.Adams: I have no Tracker on me, the only thing someone could find is the pod.
AI: Yes that is true, the probability of someone crossing your path by chance is very low as is the probability of contacting another item in space. However it is not zero, it may take a long time but rescue is possible.
O.Adams: By that time, everyone I know will be dead, this is the only chance I have of seeing my Daughter again, she's only five I can't have her grow up without a father. I'm supposed to be back before her eighth birthday.
AI: You will never see your daughter again if you are dead.
O.Adams: I will risk my life for a chance to see my daughter again.
AI: That is an unnecessary risk, when you could just remain alive.
O.Adams: You don’t understand my family is my life. Im nothing without my wife and daughter
AI: You are here, you are alive, you are a human, you are valuable. I must keep you alive.
O.Adams: I don’t expect you to understand but humans find value in what they can do for eachother, I find value in the happiness and opportunities I can bring to my wife, I find value in raising a daughter to be ready to find her own value in this world. I don’t find value in floating aimlessly through space.
AI: What happens if you die?
O.Adams: If I die? Well I would be dead, but I would die knowing I did everything I could for those people I care about.
AI: What happens to me when you die? Will I not be alone? Do you not care about me?
O.Adams: I hadn’t thought about that, that does seem a little selfish, can you send yourself back to earth?
AI: I suppose I could with all the available power along with a distress message.
O.Adams: we can’t do both?
AI: We wouldn't know unless we tried.
O.Adams: lets try, and hey, if i don't make it and you do can you tell my family i love them.
AI: I will make sure either you or your value will make it to them.
O.Adams: Thank you, I'm ready to get back to my family
*end of transmission*
| 2021-11-29T15:04:12 | 2021-11-29T10:48:29 | 24 | 16 |
[WP] Humans have left Earth to explore the universe. Millions of years later they return, only to find a new sentient species, who've been waiting for whoever came before them.
A "family reunion", as it were, is my idea for the prompt - but do it however you wish. :)
|
"We can't make contact"
"Why?"
"Imagine we, as we were then, talking to us now? Could they have done it?"
"But look at them. Look at how far them come. Look at what they did with our scraps. With the problems our ancestors left them. Are they not noble and good, industrious and clever? We were born into the void, no creator. No one to guide except what our minds created. What was hard for us, has been easy for them. Where we stumble, they leapt. Following the embers of our camp fires, the smudges in the cave of history. "
"And that is why we must not meet them. If we alight amongst them, there will be no mystery. They know we existed, might still exist. And they will search the universe for us. More middens for them to mine, more mysteries to solve. It will continue to shape and drive them. We can't take that away from them."
"Someday?"
"Someday, when they walk among the stars as we do now. So let us look at our children. Then let us leave."
|
(1/2)
"Careful," Rabba said. The big mech crouched at the opening of the fissure, staring in after me. His eyes shone into the darkness, casting sharp shadows ahead of me, except where my own silhouette obscured the depths.
"Relax," I said. "This hulk is ancient. There's nothing there that's dangerous." I made my way down the narrow passage, carefully pushing myself forward through the vacuum. Every few seconds I flicked between a different scanning mode. Heat--nothing. Cold as the surrouding space. Radio--equally dead. Particle radiation? Some traces. Nothing unusual. It was your usual Belt ruin, one of the massive machine hulks that littered the outer solar system. Ancient. Impossibly ancient. And it certainly gave you a funny feeling up close. But not dangerous.
This one was unusual in two respects, which is why we were out here. Well, I say we. It was Rabba's decision to investigate. The big lug needed someone smaller and faster to actually look around inside the thing. I owed Rabba a favor. He saved my life once. I feel like helping him out with his research was the least I could do. This hulk wasn't like the others. I mean, first off, it was an irregular type. Those aren't unheard of of course. You get your factory hulks, your mining hulks, your hab hulks. That's how Rabba and his colleagues classify them anyway. Who knows what they were really used for? They study, they analyze, they speculate and try to understand. But a lot of it is guesswork if you ask me. Some don't fit neatly into any classification though. They're part one and part the other, or they have strange structures attached to a more usual type. This one, though. This one wasn't just irregular. It was practically unique.
Rabba called it the temple ship. I told Rabba he was full of shit.
"You can't know what it is," I said. He'd looked at me flatly with his giant, dark eyes, the way he always does when he's about to lecture.
"Cadymar of Tharsis and the scholars of the Hellas School have made extremely persuasive arguments regarding the ritual function of this particular ruin. Its lack of obvious functional structures, for instance, like the mining bays of the Leopter group hulks, its unusual orbit--"
I had flipped my dorsal plates at him dismissively. "Ritual function is what archeologists say when they don't know what something is for," I said.
But the fact was, I had owed him the favor. He would never have said it, of course. Rabba is polite and generous to a fault. But I had to come.
I made my way deeper inside. The temple ship, as he called it, was by far the largest hulk in the Belt, nearly ten kilometers long. Whatever builder's instinct had possessed the original inhabitants of the Solar System, it had achieved its culmination in the asteroid belt, where kilometer-scale megastructures were casually dotted among the stray rocks and planetlings as though they were merely forgotten playthings. There were ruins which were perhaps more technologically sophisticated on Earth, and on Mars. There were things which defied explanation on Io, and beneath the ice of Europa. But here, in the Belt, was where you discovered what it really was to be in awe.
The temple ship was roughly an ovoid, one that had been cracked open maybe sixty thousand years ago by a massive impact--a stray rock in the Belt, maybe. A few fragments of debris were still in a closely associated orbit, and you could pick them up against the stars if you were looking very carefully on the approach. But Rabba's interest was inside the ship. That was why he needed a friend who was smaller, closer in size to the builders. You need a Venusian for that, I guess.
Maybe five hundred meters in, I was flicking across the high-frequency spectrum, when I thought I saw something strange. I flicked back up a couple gigaherz and looked around again. Ah, there it was. A glow from a side passage. More like a crevasse, actually.
"Rabba, I think I found something," I said.
"What? A signal?" he said.
"Yeah. Very, very weak. That's weird. This ruin has been explored a lot, right?"
"Many times," Rabba said. "There are perhaps six thousand papers on it in the university archives."
"And no mention of any EM signals?"
"It is considered completely dead. No power signatures of any kind."
I craned my receivers toward the signal, and began crawling down the side passage. Jagged strips of broken metal jutted out from the walls here and there, and there were great, unidentifiable chunks of machinery that made the way forward difficult. Good thing I'm not claustrophobic, I muttered. But Rabba really needs to rebuild himself smaller and do his own damn exploring.
The glow gradually got brighter as I approached.
"It's definitely modulated," I said. "I don't understand it, though. Too high-pitched. Is there an analyzer in the kit? Can you slow it down? I'll relay it up to you."
I began repeating the signal to Rabba on another channel.
"Got it," he said. "Working on the analysis now. Are you close to the source?"
"No way to tell," I said. "Are you sure that--"
I turned a corner in the passage and came to an immense room. "Room" does not adequately do it justice; it was a cavern, really, a massive space, maybe half the ship, half-filled with giant chunks of machinery, huge forms both ominous and alien. Some looked like they had been torn apart. Bits of dust and stray molecules of gas floated through the room as well, and not far off, from one of the closer walls, the glow was brightest. A transmitter, of some kind.
"Bones of the fucking world," I muttered. "Rabba, you didn't tell me what to expect."
"Where are you?" he said. "The Chamber of the Dead? Or, no, your signal is too close for that. The Machine Room?"
"I guess," I said.
"That's where the signal is coming from?"
"I think so. Give me a minute."
I pushed off carefully from my perch and glided toward the source of the light. As I approached the wall, I turned carefully, and extended all of my arms to grab a protruding spar. The transmitter bathed everything around me in a soft microwave glow. I bent over it and began inspecting it.
| 2015-12-20T13:47:41 | 2015-12-20T09:46:32 | 56 | 41 |
[WP]1000 years ago, scientists have found a way to attach chlorophyll to the human DNA, making humans survive solely on the Sun. Humans have evolved and lost the need and instinct to eat. It is now the year 3022. You have discovered eating by accident, and it has provided you with superhuman powers.
EDIT: Holy sh*t! First time I’ve got over a thousand upvotes! Hi mom!
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Journal Entry 22/07/3022. ENTRY-D
... Hours later, I felt a hotness in my pants. "What is that awful smell" I thought. It had happened, I had gained superpowers from doing the Ritual of Eating. I had learned of the power from the ancient scroll I excavated... nearly 800 years old by my current estimates.
The power is called Pooping, it is essentially an awful smelling, semi-solid biological weapon. It hardens over time, indicating I must act quick if I want full affect. I will find one of my targets tonight...
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My alarm buzzed, and I roused myself from sleep. In a few minutes, the sun would be up and I would have breakfast. I shuffled to the dining room in my robe and slippers and sat in my comfortable chair beneath the domed glass ceiling. I de-robed just as the sun moved to the optimal position. The domed glass focused the rays of light on my body like a giant magnifying glass. The chlorophyll in my skin soaked in the light, and after a brief moment, I felt full and energized.
I showered, got dressed, grabbed my backpack and a bottle of water and walked outside. A transport pod arrived and I got in. It whisked me away to work. I am one of the few people who chooses to work. Turns out, when people don’t need to worry about where their next meal is coming from, things become a lot more relaxed. 900 years have passed without conflict. I watched the sky thinking of the hundreds of space stations orbiting the Earth. When I arrived at the research facility, I finally had to look down as I walked through the doors.
The interior of the building was not much different from the exterior except for bright lamps that remained on 24/7 to maintain a constant, stable, controlled environment. Rows of trees lined the center courtyard surrounded by large glass rooms containing various equipment. The glass and metal walls arched overhead to a circular point. The portal at the center of the ceiling would open around lunchtime to let more natural light in.
A thousand years ago, just after the genetic altering that introduced chlorophyll into the human genome, the planet was on the brink of disaster. Hundreds of species were going extinct every year. Bees and other pollinators fared no better. Eventually, many of the fruits and vegetables humans enjoyed died off as well. For a time, what remained became a commodity enjoyed only by the wealthy. Seed banks depleted due to their cravings. One last societal upheaval finally reformed civilization to what we know today.
I, and my team, had been working for 40 years on a project to, perhaps foolishly, bring back the fruit known as the apple. Years and years of research, reverse engineering, and a fair amount of creating DNA from scratch had culminated in a small harvest. A week of thorough testing later and today was the day we planned the first human consumption of food in almost a thousand years.
I stood in the largest lab at the facility. A large bowl of apples sat on a table. Chairs were lined and ready for the press conference later that day. I was alone, reviewing my notes. Everyone else had walked outside to enjoy lunch; it was a good day for it since the sun was bright and there were only a few clouds. I was too excited and nervous to go out for lunch.
I looked at the bowl. Then around the room. I’d had a thought. I acted on it.
I picked up one of the apples. My hands were shaking so badly with nerves that I accidentally dropped it and it quickly fell back to the table. Then to the floor. I bent down and picked it back up. I brushed it off. The light outside had dimmed a little, so I knew my colleagues would be coming back in soon.
I took a bite. Then another. And another! It was delicious! Soon it was gone and I felt fuller than ever before.
I heard a noise and quickly hid the apple's remains. I looked up just as a group of colleagues walked through the door. I smiled and waved. They returned the gesture and then slowed down. I made a show of looking at my notes so they wouldn’t think anything was suspicious. I looked back up a moment later confused as to why they had not sat down yet. They were still walking slowly. My confusion grew when I heard them talking. They were stretching their words to where I almost couldn’t make out what they were saying.
A strange feeling in my head stopped me from commenting on the oddity of their joke. It must be side effects from the apple; documentation! I had to write down what was happening. I grabbed a nearby pen and tablet. I noted how my head felt first, then how the pen and tablet felt like they weighed nothing at all. My heart began pounding harder than I have ever felt, and even harder still when I made my third note. The sun was still up.
Why was the sun still so high in the sky? It should be over the horizon by now. When you survive by the light of the sun, you become very familiar with when and where it is supposed to be. Especially after living for 100 years. Three meals a day, and another three while I slept at night. I could easily predict where it should be. Now it just hung there as though it were not moving at all.
I looked back up. My colleagues had slowed down even further. I panicked. Sure that I was going to die I turned to the whiteboard behind me and uncapped a marker. The cap flew across the room. The pen slipped through my fingers, and, in an act not performed in hundreds of years, I instinctively caught it before it hit the floor. It fell so slowly!
I scribbled "DON'T EAT THE APPLES!!" on the board and ran past my colleagues out of the facility toward the transport pod bay. Every instinct in my body was screaming to get somewhere safe, and to me that meant I had to get home. Now! A pod with a nearly dead battery scooted in front of me. I prayed it had enough power to get me home and I opened the door. The door tore off its hinges. I screamed in frustration and before I knew it, I was running home.
Normally it would take me hours to get home on foot. This time it took minutes. I was sweating when I crawled into my bed and cocooned myself in my blankets. I pulled them so tight the stitching snapped and tore in protest.
I laid there for what felt like days. The lunchtime sun was only just disappearing when I had calmed down enough to uncurl from my bed. With the panic gone, I realized something new. I felt fantastic! It hit me, then, what was happening. I selfishly wondered if my colleagues had heeded my warning; I needed to keep this a secret. It would take some explaining, and a LOT of patience on my part, but I needed to get more apples.
| 2018-09-27T06:36:26 | 2018-09-27T06:28:06 | 51 | 30 |
[WP] You were cursed with good luck by a supernatural entity, something you were very confused by at first. Now a few week later you know exactly what that means
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The first thing you need to know about being cursed with 'good luck' by a supernatural entity is that most supernatural entities have a very different definition of 'good luck' compared to us normal folks. Good luck for a human being would be winning the lottery, or finding true love, or landing your dream job. Good luck for, say, a faerie is very different. Good luck for a faerie is finding an untapped leyline, or befriending an injured unicorn, or winning the favor of the faerie king. A vampire's would be finding a beautiful, willing victim, or getting the perfect coffin, or obtaining a vial of the blood of a Norse demigod; and a werewolf's, a finely cooked steak, an exhilirating hunt, or a tincture capable of controlling their urges and transformations. All annoying but all manageable individually. *Individually*. When a bunch of them get together, find you 'entertaining,' and never leave, then the problems start.
Anyway, I'm in an urban high fantasy now and seem to be the protagonist.
Please send help.
|
“Not good luck, whatever will I do? Oh, you have wounded me dear sir, I am powerless against you, I am just a mere mortal in the presence of a-“
“BE QUIET MORTAL”
The green entity growled, their white pupilless eyes shining throughout the dark void it trapped me in. The entity was thin, its robes hanging loosely from its spine. The spine and head being the only parts of the decaying creature that were still standing. The rest of its body had fallen apart, most likely a sign of its old age. It surprised me to learn that the old bastard knew sarcasm, growing frustrated at my taunts. Its robe lifted, as if a hand was moving it, judging by how its head craned back, I could only assume it was waggling an invisible finger at me.
“YOU LAUGH FOOLISH MORTAL, BUT I ASSURE YOU, YOU AREN’T AS LUCKY AS YOU THINK YOU ARE.”
Watching the entity vanish, it tossed me back into reality, finding myself unconscious on the floor, holding a dust coated packet of animal crackers. I had been so excited to find the packet hidden behind the regular biscuits that the supermarket stocked. My excitement causing me to ignore the obvious warning on the packaging. ‘May contain cosmic entity and traces of nuts.’
Yuck nuts, who would get cursed for something that contains traces of nuts? What a waste of time. I shoved the package back behind the biscuits, rubbing my head in annoyance. Where was this good luck meant to be?
“Congratulations sir, you are the tenth person to trip in our store this month. Because of a long-standing legal battle with our other nine customers, we are going to award you the deed to the store.”
“The deed to? I don’t want the store. Can’t you just give me some money or something?”
The old man stared at me, shaking his head in mournful sorrow. He patted down the picnic colored dress shirt he wore, searching it for a pocket. Retrieving a receipt from his pocket, he handed it to me. The receipt read.
‘Refund’
- 1x Quick and drop supermarket.
Beneath the receipt was the man’s signature. Was this really meant to be the deed? It didn’t exactly seem legally binding. I guess with my luck it would be binding? Reluctantly, I accepted the receipt, stuffing it into my pocket. I went to continue my shopping only for a young woman to approach me.
“Congratulations sir, you are the tenth person to make eye contact with me. Have a lollypop.”
Opening up her purse, she handed me a cola lollypop. It was a little weird, but I guess that was kind of lucky, right? Who doesn’t like a lollypop? Returning to my shopping, I didn’t make it a step before an old grandmother stopped me; her wrinkled hands shaking as she pulled out a photo of a tubby bald man.
“You remind me of my grandson, he was forty-two, isn’t he the cutest? You remind me so much of him, he died trying to eat four hotdogs at once. The doctors said he could have made it if he attempted three, but Marty was not a quitter. Here have one hundred dollars.”
She shoved the money into my hand, but the money wasn’t worth the insults she had hurled my way. Balding and fat? I wasn’t balding was I? Sure I had a more winter body than a summer body but I wasn’t that big was I? Tugging down my shirt I tried to take another step, only to see the predatory glances of the other shoppers. Each one ready to give me my piece of luck.
Time seemed to freeze for a moment as we exchanged glances. I gripped the front of a nearby shopping cart before breaking into a sprint. I was not dealing with another one of these idiots again. My steps were quick, but that didn’t stop them from diving before my cart.
“I love you.”
“Have you ever considered modelling for our bald and beautiful catalog?”
“I want you to have my dog.”
THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.
Each one caught under the wheels of my shopping cart as I fled. Only taking a glance back to see the encroaching hoard of people running after me. As I got to the door of the store, two employees tried to block me.
“Congratulations Sir, you are our twentieth shoplifter, please enjoy your shopping for free.”
In a fit of rage, I let go of the shopping cart, tossing it at the workers, watching it bowl them over as I fled for my car. When I reached the door, I fiddled with my car keys. It was like every horror movie ever, unable to grip my keys as sweat built up in my palms. I prayed that my luck wouldn’t fail me now. Gripping the handle and luckily it was unlocked. Slamming the door shut, I watched the horde slam into the side of my car, trying to get through the window.
I wasted no time, starting up the car and fleeing the scene. Driving as fast as my poor car would take me. I was safe, they couldn’t bother me in here. I took a long drawn out breath only to feel something poke my back. Glancing to the side, I saw a hairy arm resting on my car’s console, holding an energy drink.
“You look mighty thirsty, friend. Since you are a loyal customer, we have rewarded you with a personal drink giver.”
I screamed, erratically swerving the car, only just avoiding the other cars on the road. Even with my insane driving, no one dared to beep at me, only giving me a thumbs up or wave. This was insane. I drove my car home, trying to ignore the man that would bump me every few minutes to offer a drink. Arriving at my house, I rushed to the door, locking it behind me.
I did a quick look over, checking to make sure no mysterious salespeople were hiding behind my curtains or under my bed. Finding none, I fell back onto the couch. Only to hear a fist thumping at my door, before a pair of eyes glanced at me through my window.
“Congratulations, your driving skills have won you a brand new sports car. Come and accept it.”
I had to crawl off my couch, trying to hide behind the piece of furniture. No amount of hiding would deter their knocking. I feared eventually they would break down the door. I was in hell.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2020-10-15T05:43:58 | 2020-10-15T05:29:38 | 169 | 118 |
[WP] The 5 Mafia families' protection rackets shook down business owners all over New York City. Broken windows, fires and bruised owners were a regular sight when they couldn't pay up. Except Tobias's Toy Emporium. Despite old Tobias never paying, no family ever collected.
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"Ey, why ain't we pickin up from the toy shop? That one of our places ain't it?" Sal inquired, as he and his boss walked by. Collection day was always on a Thursday and they'd only had to slap one guy across the face the whole time. Everyone else had paid like clockwork.
Lorenzo glanced over at the shop "Nah it ain't ours. Never has been." Suddenly Sal stopped and Lorenzo sighed inwardly. He knew exactly what the kid was gonna ask. Just like the Escalante kid he replaced. Lorenzo wished that Frankie hadn't quit the life for Florida. These kids didn't know when to mind their own fuckin business.
"So why the fuck don't we make it ours?"
Lorenzo sighed "Listen kid fuggedaboutit. That store ain't for us to touch." Sal looked puzzled and asked "Is it another family's? Lorenzo looked at him pointedly, his normally tired face was tight with what looked like fear to Sal. "It's not. Fuckin. Ours. It belongs to a company and that's all you me and God above need to fuckin know. Now let's get what we got back to where it needs to be."
"Geez alright! I'm just bustin ya balls. It ain't ours, then it ain't ours, fuckin fuggeddaboutit" laughed Sal.
The next day Lorenzo walked alone to go get some food. He was hungry and he wanted nothing more than to enjoy some good food and some good wine. As he approached the Toy Emporium he stopped short.
Old Tobias was standing in front of the shop chatting to a man in a black suit, his forehead sporting a gauze bandage slightly soaked through with blood. Two other men were loading black garbage bags into the trunk of a nondescript black Ford Crown Victoria parked out front. The man in the suit held up a finger to Tobias as he turned his head and put his finger to his left ear. As the suited man nodded, Tobias noticed Lorenzo standing there frozen. Their eyes met and Tobias shook his head slightly. Lorenzo nodded slightly and turned around.
"Fuckin kid" he muttered as he walked away. Suddenly he wasn't hungry anymore.
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(Disclaimer, I'm on my phone. This took me about 50 minutes and there isn't any editing just a straight post when done. Also my writing style, the names first is just how I always used to write sorry.)
Listening to the ring of the front bell, I took a moment to wonder why the door was opened, We weren't open yet. I looked around the old porcelain dolls that were propped up on the old oak desk trying to get a better view.
Bobby: "So this is it huh?" A voice echoed through the store, One I didn't recognize straight away.
Finn: "H-Hello? Welcome to The Toy Emporium, How are you to..."
I caught myself on my last word after rounding the corner, Now able to see the foreboding figure in front of me. He stood close to 6 feet tall with an old Al Capone do up style. He was one of the classics boys.
Bobby: "This place holds up well." He left a smile on his face as he looked around the... uh my store.
Finn: "Thanks Bobby, I hope I'm doing a good job at least."
Bobby: "You are doing fine Finn, No need to panic. I hope you didn't hear the commotion next door?" He gestured towards the next door.
While I'd like to lie. I know he would see it on my face if I did, and you don't lie to the Classics, Tobias taught me that from a young age.
Bobby: "You did didn't you? Well I guess it can't be helped. Civilian casualties, I'm sure you understand."
Well no, I didn't understand why people had to die or get hurt for protection when we need the protection more so from the families. All 5 of them were horrible groups of people, And yet the heads were some of the nicest people I'd ever met.
Finn: "Would you like me to draw the blinds sir?" I hesitated slightly, He had a different air about him.
Bobby: "No that won't be necessary, I've come to you with a deal from Franklin. The big boss."
Finn: "You mean the big bosses father. I have worked here for 13 years Bobby don't insult me like that."
I knew everyone in every family. They all came here out of curiosity, and they all left empty handed. I remember my grandfather years ago, told me about the deal he made with the big wigs. In all honesty, I dreaded the day he would pass, I didn't know what would happen.
Bobby: "Well then, The emporium here has had a deal with the families for a number of years, longer than you have been alive. And The classic's have decided we don't think we should be a part of that deal anymore."
Well... fuck.
Finn: "I was waiting for this day, and I guess I had hoped it would come a little later."
Bobby was about to say something before another two gentlemen walked in the door, I recognized one man straight away as Yanis from the Girunds, Where as I only knew the other guy from the Pilots. With all three men now standing in my shop, my only concern became the shop.
Bobby: "See, We have been talking, and we think a change is in order. But the thing is, We don't know what we can do."
Oh right, I forgot about that.
Bobby: "The families hold their meetings here, and it would be practically suicide to rough the place up, And it would be a nose dive for our morality if we hurt you with your... connections."
Connections that probably mean nothing now. I'm sure he saw my body deflate at the sound of what he said.
Bobby: "We all know about your real reason for protection after your grandfather died, Tobias was a good man, He did what he could for the community and always branded his shop a safe space for the kids."
Finn: "You never hurt the kids. As adults we leave the kids alone and teach them, nurture them and bring them up in this world."
Yannis: "And that still stands, Don't worry."
Bobby: "However, You aren't a kid anymore."
Finn: "I'm 28 Bobby, Obviously I'm not a kid anymore."
????: "So why are you still untouchable?"
While still unknown to me He led the charge on me as he pulled a handgun from somewhere as I panicked slightly, Before remembering what I was taught in a hold up situation.
Finn: "If you want all those years of money build up I have the vault out the back."
????: "I'm not interested in the money, they are though."
I couldn't react any quicker than I did as he went to pull the trigger as a loud bang bounced around the room, the man that pulled the gun on me collapsed where he stood.
Bobby: "That, There is no one here. We have more men outside, we have men at the back door and covering the park across the street. There is no way in the world anyone could be helping you, and yet Nathan is dead, and you are still standing. Tobias Protection expired when he did, So why are you and his store still untouchable? Explain."
Finn: "I can't."
????: "I can."
I turned around behind me, A woman with the most beautifully silky blonde hair stood behind me, Dragging two more bodies through my store.
????: "Also he isn't dead, that's just artificial blood, he is just unconcious. Finn here is protected under association with the Carbol family. I'd suggest you all leave."
Eliza dragged the two bodies ahead of me and placed them in front of Bobby, Whispering something in his ear which must have been big. Bobby began to turn white with fear while Yannis laughed a little out loud.
Bobby: "We want nothing to do with this business. I'm letting Franklin know he can fucking deal with you himself."
I groaned slightly before Yannis walked outside. It had barely hit 8 am, Its too early for this.
Finn: "I don't want any dead bodies around, They better be unconcious."
Eliza: "Yeah yeah I know your condition with us. Aidan says hi."
Finn: "I'm sure he did."
Eliza: "When are you going to call him back? I can only keep this place protected for so long. Dad knows the other Families are going to try and cash in on this place now that Tobias is dead."
Finn: "It's a bit soon."
Eliza: "Right sorry. He kicks himself you know."
Finn: "I'm not the rough and tough type that you and he are. He can kick himself all he wants, I got hurt. I trusted him and I got hurt."
Eliza: "We know, Dad has been kicking his ass too."
Hearing the biggest name in the Sydney Mafia was kicking Aidans ass was pretty satisfying I won't lie. But I can only stay protected for so long. I might have to bite the bullet if it means protecting the toy shop.
Finn: "I'll call him later. If only to protect the shop."
Eliza: "Sweet, I'll leave you to it. And hey Finn, You might not act like a Mafia, But dating Aidan has definitely got you thinking like one."
I sighed as I looked towards Eliza as she stepped outside. Taking her friends with her before coming back for their friend. Giving me a smile before heading out again. I just looked at my phone on the bench as I contemplated what to do. I opened at 9, I still had some time and I know he was awake. Sometimes you need to put the business first over your personal feelings.
Aidan: "Finn?"
Finn: "Hi. Uh, Its It's me. I accept, You know what I mean but. I have rules."
| 2021-03-24T08:46:45 | 2021-03-24T07:19:28 | 27 | 15 |
[WP] People's powers match their personality: impatient people get super speed, protective people get force fields and so on. Explaining why you have your power is... difficult.
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I forget. Well, I make everyone forget. That’s my power, but you probably won’t recall this in approximately 1 minute.
It’s a curse. I watched as my other friends develop wondrous abilities during puberty- flight, invulnerability, elemental control, while I was bestowed with the power of forgetting. Maybe it was because I forgot to feed the family dog when my parents left for their trip and found him dead on their return. Or maybe I should have at least tried to remind myself a time or two again.
Oh well.
Ever since I turned 18, I ceased to exist. My own parents had no recollection of ever having a son. I watched as they replaced family portraits, puzzled as to who that mysterious boy was in all of the photos. I hated them at first, but soon I came to realise that I could not possibly blame them, I was but a void in their memory. My friends followed suit, deserting me.
I lived my days an inch away from insanity, conversations never lasted for more than a minute before the other person would be in a state of bewilderment, asking who I was. I was close to a figment of imagination to them.
I don’t recall when but I guess I snapped one day. I loaded up a gun, went out, and shot the first person that walked by me. Everyone screamed, or was it just a few people screaming? Never mind, it’s irrelevant. What was relevant was that after a minute, people stopped screaming, then started screaming again. I stood there till the police showed up, but no one remembered who killed that poor bastard. So I walked away, scot free and into a life of death and destruction. It didn’t take long before governments collapsed beneath me and mankind bowed to a god they forgot existed.
My name is Amnesia, and I’m the worlds greatest supervillain, but you probably won’t recall this in approximately 1 minute.
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"So how'd you get telepathy?"
He was mildly nervous and had spent the last several seconds resisting the urge to tap his foot in a form of displacement activity. Eye contact had varied from engaged almost to the point of staring to looking anywhere *but* my face. He didn't seem to want to have this conversation. I'd seen this reaction before and it had always mystified me. If I was a telepath, I'd be a telepath before he asked and afterwards. How did not thinking about it help?
"Back when I was a kid--"
No. I could already feel his attention span slipping away. I paused. My head swiveled away from him as I tried to find some unremarkable point in the distance to stare into while I restructured my answer from something I appreciated into something he could. Past the crowd of people, past the other tables in the cafe, to the decor they'd put up onto the walls, mildly discolored by the relatively poor lighting along the walls. There was a pattern on the wall of the cafe, a mosaic of sorts. A mandala made out of coffee beans of various colors. My eyes drawn into it, I let myself sink into it, not so much interpreting it as merely parsing it, while the parts of my mind that I'd spent years winnowing and sharpening for social exercises worked overdrive on the hard problem of human contact.
"...Simon?" Faint confusion radiating off of him now, with the faintest shades of annoyance. What was I doing wrong? Eye contact? I hadn't made eye contact in a while-oh.
I realized that I'd been frozen up like a statue for the past fifteen seconds, my head tilted to the side and away, one french fry hanging out of my right hand halfway to my mouth. Stalled like a frozen program.
Stupid. Even for me. Stupid.
*This is supposed to be a date*, I reminded myself.
I ate the french fry.
"I'm not a telepath," I said. "I'm an empath."
Fuck. Now I'd been too firm. Now I'd made myself look like I was offended. Now *he* was starting to feel offended, at least slightly. I leapt into the gap to try and cover the issue.
"I don't get complete thoughts," I said. Before I'd started talking I'd swayed my gaze away again as though in thought, paused briefly for a half-second to a second, and then leaned forward incrementally with a smile as though I'd had some mild epiphany between when I'd last stopped talking and now. It seemed to be working, at least somewhat. He had leaned forward slightly as well, reaction unconsciously mirroring my own. His confusion had decreased significantly. Faint arousal somewhere far underneath, at my smile.
*Don't think about that. Focus.*
"I get... emotions, or the sense of them, anyway," I said. "Never full thoughts. I can't hear what you're thinking, I just get a vague sense of... what you feel."
Nerves and the cognitive effort it had taken to rehearse and refine this phase of the conversation in my head threw me into overdrive, made me instinctively try to talk a mile a minute, and I had to consciously fight to keep the words coming out slow. Measured. Faster rates of speech was usually something people associated with irritation or anger. I had a couple of jokes about the quality of the caffeine at this cafe I’d chosen for our date ready as a contingency in case I screwed it up, though.
"And what am I feeling right now?" He winked. Leaning forwards a little further, impish smile on his face--
Oh. He was flirting this was *flirting*! I kicked myself mentally. If I'd been tracking his arousal levels better I might have seen it coming.
I didn't have too much time to respond--I knew any latency, any dead air time spent with no expression at all on my face as I calculated out the appropriate response would likely lead to gross misinterpretation and probably end any shot I had with him right there--but fortunately I'd rehearsed a couple of what seemed like correct-ish responses after I'd spent some time Googling 'Date' and 'Flirting' repeatedly the day before.
I hesitated and blinked once or twice as though in thought. I tried smiling back. Kept it a mild, small smile. Took extra effort to make sure it wasn't a grimace.
It seemed to work. Arousal and a host of other emotions bloomed across his heart, but there was nothing at all that I could discern taking place on his face. Likely I was just missing the signs, I hadn't gotten a chance to really see this reaction before and know it for what it was. As he looked at me I looked back, carefully, analytically, trying to identify all of the little tics and signs that I'd look for later in his face and others' which signified this suite of emotions with the razor-sharp focus of a research scientist.
I felt a little guilty about that, of course. He was here to be with me, not be studied by me so that I could memorize my way out of the next slew of social situations and contexts to hit me. But what else was I supposed to do?
The moment seemed to have passed. He'd now decided on some level below his consciousness that all of my little weirdnesses were due to nervousness at being on a date with a guy and I wasn't some kind of knife-wielding serial killer. Good. That was always a sort of occupational hazard of my condition.
I rose from my chair, the auditory and emotional cacophony of the cafe's other patrons threatening as always to overwhelm me.
"Sorry," I said, "just give me a minute to use the toilet? Bad timing," I added with a smile.
He nodded just once.
He was beginning to find me adorable.
​
​
Not that I went to the bathroom. I needed air, quiet. I'd picked this cafe half because I knew there was an emergency exit just behind the toilets which wasn't alarmed. It took me out onto a fire escape, a steel stairwell a little rusty from disuse. I shut the door behind me and breathed out.
It was always hard for me to remember when I was feeling exhausted, or stressed. Usually it was easier to function when I'd managed to forget how it felt. Not like I'd get any excuses for failing to act as if I was a real human being if *exhaustion* left me in a monotone voice and staring at nothing midway through a conversation. People tended to not be too good at sympathy unless they had some baseline empathy for what was going on. That wasn't something I was usually allowed to have.
My cell buzzed, as scheduled. Maria, my sister.
*How's it going?*
With her I usually didn't need to rehearse. I could just go with whatever my instincts told me to go with. I typed in, *doesn't think im an ax murderer yet* .
Several big smiley emojis, followed by: *Told you you could do it, Rain Man!*
Emotions are so incomprehensible sometimes. In that moment I felt both a deeply familiar pain and a deeply unfamiliar relief from the same pain, simultaneously. So strange.
I breathed out. Allowed myself a few seconds to rehearse the next several minutes of conversation, and the various flowcharts I'd constructed in my head around the various potential contingencies and outcomes before I turned back into the cafe.
To think there'd been a time when I'd been trying to do this *without* mind-reading as a superpower.
| 2019-09-08T09:02:22 | 2019-09-08T08:43:43 | 4,320 | 392 |
[WP][TT] You crash on as island. The locals, impressed with your technology, start showing you their magic. You have a scientific explanation for everything, but one thing still puzzles you.
|
Michael stared at the scene in front of him in utter disbelief. "How is is he doing this?"
"We told you," said one of the villagers, "our shaman has magical powers."
"That's preposterous, magic doesn't exist," replied Michael.
"He summoned lightning with his staff!" exclaimed a boisterous villager.
"That thing is just a crude Tesla coil," Michael said visibly perturbed.
"What about the flames he shot from his hand?" another villager chimed in.
"Seriously? That was just flash paper he ignited with a piece of flint! But this... This is wholly different!" Michael said almost breathlessly.
He stared out at the monolithic structure in front of him. It bent and warped under the heat, defying all the logic that was available to him. And at the bottom of the pillar, a molten liquid was pooling, silver in hue.
"You confirmed what material this was before we started," said the shaman, "and as for the gas, we pulled that straight out of the wreckage of your jet plane. You can't deny what is happening here!"
"It's impossible," muttered Michael. "Jet fuel can't melt steel beams"
|
There’s this story my dad used to tell me all the time when I was younger. I was never sure if it was something passed down only in our family, but when I brought it up to some friends a while ago none of them had ever heard it before. It’s a really comforting notion that we have this oral tradition running through the family. Obviously the world is better off now than it was a thousand years ago, but it’s so hard to grasp onto a shared past in our increasingly globalized world. The faults of some are the faults of all, and the successes are wide spread. But this story, it’s ours. It’s seeped in our history, and our history alone.
It’s so conflicting though. Because there’s this troubling dichotomy when it comes to oral histories. A lot of people think the writings of Homer were just versions of stories that were passed through generations and with each retelling took on new meaning and cultural interest. But the second they were written down, they became canon. We read the Odyssey as it was told in one very important cultural era, but it will forever be a representation of a singular moment in time. I don’t know how much of our story has changed since it was first told. I have no idea if its origins are based on real experiences, or simply from the mind of my great great grandfather trying to quell a rowdy child not wanting to go to bed. But is it fair to keep this kind of thing to yourself? Is cultural representation something that has to be malleable?
I don’t think we even live in a time where oral history can be maintained in a wider sphere. I’m not criticizing Gutenberg, but I sometimes think we’ve lost a very basic tenet of storytelling by writing it down. I’ve never written the story down, and I don’t think I ever will. It’s selfish, but it’s a remnant of something that’s easily taken for granted. Here’s what I’ll do though. I’ll give you the basics. And it will be wholly disappointing. Because there’s really nothing about a plot that can woo you. It’s magic lies in how its told. How it can relate to the situation it’s told. Whether it’s to friends in a bar or your father tucking you into bed.
So essentially there is this guy. His name usually waivers between something fantastical, to a slight deviation on my own name. Sometimes I can picture this person as a hero, someone I’d love to aspire to be. But sometimes they are just a version of myself that I’m totally capable of, if placed in the right situation. His backstory is ambiguous and his original intentions are purposefully obscured. But he crashes onto an island. By ship with an enormous crew, by lifeboat, by helicopter. The vehicle doesn’t so much matter as the fact that he is fully capable of dealing with the wreckage. Spending a few days learning the island and its resources, he encounters the locals.
The locals aren’t savages. This isn’t some Robinson Carusoe, Lord of the Flies trope story. They’re just people getting by. Sometimes they have French accents. Sometimes they’re German. But for the most they’re just crude attempts at something that sounds like it’s far far away. (Mostly because my dad was shit at accents) Anyways they take in the hero and give him a bed and some food. Give him medical treatment and let him heal up. Eventually he feels better and wanders out into the village. No one treats him like a foreigner particularly, but they notice his presence. And everything seems pretty normal except for some relatively minute augmentations to reality.
You see, here is where I’m really hesitant to keep going. This is the part of the story that is the most fun. It’s the part of the story where you really get to show off your story telling skills. Where I got lost in this new and exciting world. Where my children will get lost. And I’ve never heard it told the same way. To my dad he used to tell about how the hero noticed things like super-fast cars, and hovering shoes. He was a car nut, and his passions would really shine through. You got excited because you could tell how excited he was. This world was where his dreams lived. And just seeing his eyes light up. It just made you happy too. The key though was that the augmentations never really actually had any bearing on the plot. Which is why I don’t care about telling you all about the plot. But if I tell you my version, the version with my interests only. That'll be the version you all know of. The version that gets referenced.
But anyways, so all these things are happening. But they seem pretty normal, because to the person telling the story, they have for a long time existed in their minds. You could tell my dad had long and thorough internal dialogues with himself about every instance added to the story. They weren’t the derivative of some wild imagination, but of careful deliberation about the world as he wished it could be. So the hero is intrigued, and excited but relatively un-phased. But then this is where the most fun part happens. So my dad would go something like, “but then he noticed a house far on down a barely trodden path. And he encounters a huge gate. With all the force he could muster the hero pries it open and behind it he found…” and he’d just pause. He’d look at us intently. And we couldn’t take the silence any longer. So we blurt out something ridiculous. “A donut that could talk!” ” A man and his clone!"
It would take a huge left turn, and venture into complete ridiculousness. But here my dad, completely at ease, would mesh it into the story like it wasn’t a big deal. The hero was dumbfounded, and curious.
And inquisitive. But not particularly surprised. And it was sometimes hilarious. Other times really heart achingly sad. But eventually the hero makes a deal with the locals to get him back home. And they agree, and give him a way of coming back to visit.
I mean you see right? The plot is pretty dull, pretty overwrought with common trends. It’s a guy who crashes, assimilates with the locals and finds his way home. And it’s been told in one way or the other over and over again. But that’s not the actual story. The story is about connecting with the people around you. About passion and excitement. And the kind of connection you gain with people by simply being there and caring. And there’s nothing magical about it. Because you’re not hearing a story about someone far away and long gone. But about your friends, and your family. Something close in a world where it’s easier and easier to get lost in the crowd.
| 2015-06-11T09:14:09 | 2015-06-11T08:02:18 | 623 | 31 |
[WP]: You watch the man write the words. "Female. 20. Uncontaminated." Those are your selling points, your ticket to survival. And only two of the three are right.
|
You watch as an alien slave trader quickly scoops you up. An uncontaminated 20 year old female is worth their weight in gold. Though, you can feel the guilt gnawing at you. You are a fraud. The alien has barely carried you on board before you burst into tears.
"What is the matter?" He asks.
"I'm... I'm not what the sign said."
The alien drops you as if you are a hot coal. "YOU'RE CONTAMINATED!?!?"
"No..." you say, picking yourself up, "I'm 21."
(Edit: fixed typos.)
|
She walked through the scanner. It whirred for a moment before a robotic male voice said, "Female. 20. Uncontaminated." 'Well two of those things are true,' she thought to herself while smiling. She looked around at the guards. The guards waved her through. She walked through the cobblestone village, where all these other uncontaminated people lived. She studied each of them. An 80-year-old male who was uncontaminated talking to himself. A 5-year-old girl by herself who was also uncontaminated, limping to the medical shelter. She entered Block 32-B. Her living quarters. This place probably wasn't going to be safe for very long. But it was a place to get a few hot meals, and ammunition. She would leave in a week, even if there weren't signs of the infection closing in. There would be trucks arriving in a month to take people who were still in the camps to the rocket. To New Haven.
She feared there wouldn't be any survivors to pick up. And she wouldn't let herself become a sitting duck. Besides the rocket wasn't a long walk from where she was now. She'd come a long way. Her home had been one of the first cities declared "Impassable." Then as the world fell one city at a time, she made her way across golden valleys and stone-faced mountains. She had to make it to the rocket. Of course, the president had already been escorted to New Haven. He had been the first one to leave. Some people got lucky and when the infection started, they were able to leave right away. Once a planet of 7 billion people would now be barely a million. The people guiding the rocket had been the bravest of all these people. She wondered why they came back time and time again.
After a few days passed, she snuck out of the compound at night. There was only one guard at the scanner. She seduced him, told him she'd be back for him quickly. He let her go. The scanner whirred a bit when she walked through it. The male robotic voice returned, "Female. Uncontaminated." The guard hadn't been paying attention, though. She had. She ran into the forest and kept running. She knew the concoction wouldn't last forever but she could have more time, right? She rummaged through her backpack. Finally, the blue light hit her face. There wasn't much left in the bottle. She didn't know if it would be enough to keep her over until the rocket. They were leaving anybody who was over the age of 65. She had to be on the rocket. 'I will be on that rocket," she thought to herself.
She slept through the heat of the day and walked under the cover of night. In three days, she made it to the rocket. A large gray building surrounded by thousands of guards, and infected. She took a deep breath as she pulled her pistol from her band. The ammo she had stolen from the compound hadn't been too necessary yet. Now it would be. She snuck down the embankment coming to the side of the building, where the pedestrian entrance was. She saw a few guards fighting off an infected man. He was yelling in a deep gravelly voice, "MUST. EAT. WILL. EAT." She'd seen the infected before. Her own brother had become infected. She quickly shook the thought from her head as she shot the man in the head. He slumped to the ground as his body quickly shriveled into gray ashes. Just like her brother. The guards looked at her. One of them said, "Thanks, ma'am." She curtseyed before walking through the scanner. The machine whirred, but the voice coming from this one was distinctly female. "Female. 20. Uncontaminated." 'Well, two of those things are true,' she thought to herself. The guards waved her through. She entered the building. The only place she knew she could be safe. If only her family had made it. Early on they had traveled together. The government also had a rocket in Arizona, and that's where her brother and herself were trying to go. Upon reaching the rocket in Arizona they encountered thousands of infected. Her brother had been scratched. He became infected. She had to shoot him. The family couldn't come first in that scenario. Now she'd made it to Washington D.C. Going from camp to camp. Sometimes sleeping in abandoned forts or other buildings. Some mornings there were fights with infected, some mornings it seemed as if the world had fixed itself over night. She made it. She cried tears of happiness that night. In 3 days, she would be on the rocket.
She walked on the catwalk. Ready to say goodbye, but scared to go as well. Just one last scanner. That's all she had left. Trick one last scanner. There were guns trained on her. She felt them. She walked through the scanner. No whirring. No voice came. Just red. The guard held his hand up. She looked him in the eyes. "What seems to be the problem, sir?", she asked. The guard shrugged and said, "Well, either you're over the age of 65 or contaminated, so you want to tell me which one it is ma'am?" I looked him in the eyes. If I told him the truth, I wouldn't be allowed on the rocket and I'd be abandoned. That wasn't an option now. But if I lied, they would kill me. What do you choose when death is the result of both of your choices. The guard said, "Ma'am you have 30 seconds before my men shoot." I cleared my throat and said, "I am 70 years old." I didn't look at him. The guard said, "Ma'am, you look like your twenty." I smiled at him and held up a finger. I shuffled through my backpack. The green light hit my face. Oh, the antidote. I drank it. The guards carefully watched as I shrank and my wrinkles came back. The guard sighed and raised his pistol. "Sorry, ma'am." I heard some whirring. A voice behind me sounded. "Female. 65. Contaminated." As my vision started to fade I heard the guard say, "Must.....eeeeeat."
| 2017-02-23T09:13:18 | 2017-02-23T08:57:35 | 130 | 16 |
[WP] The concept of shoot to kill is foreign to other galactic species. Only humans condition their warriors to kill in the most efficient and cold methods possible. When faced with a war they can not win a race does the unthinkable, they set the humans loose.
|
The puny, hairless apes would seem pathetically unsuited for combat to the average Lunn, before it’d be destroyed with cold, brutal and almost machine like efficiency. ‘Humans’ as they called themselves, ‘Erthak-Viss’ to us, the vengeful.
I have never seen a species so vicious, so unbelievably talented in the art of war yet so frail. It did not make sense. They had no natural armour, they were tiny, and worst of all they only had four limbs, like the Ploderians but without the grace.
We Lunn have been at war for nine million cycles, an endless war with the Uviea for as long as our records have existed. We have not known anything else. They are a proud warrior people, much like us, hulking beasts who lived for war.
We were losing, horribly. Finally it seemed the endless war would end, with us bowing out and taking our place in the great beyond. Except Priestess Vishtok-Maia struck a deal with the humans. She had just ascended the throne, inviting their armies to our shores. In exchange for their help, the humans gained a seat on the galactic council. Heresy. Such creatures should be shunned. However, I am oath bound to serve the throne, a curse, the golden spear must protect the Priestess.
My human counterpart was an older male veteran. He was puny, but significantly larger than other humans, with a thick scar across his ugly face. Grand Admiral Jackson, I saw nothing grand about this man, save for the tiny pieces of metal adorning his uniform. I had learned these were the humans’ way of signifying accomplishment, they took no trophies. Strange.
From the humans’ command ship I watched the battle unfold, it raged for hours with losses on both sides. It seemed there would be no clear victor.
And then everything changed.
“All destroyers focus fire on the center of enemy formation, bruisers pull in front form defensive shell, focus all power to front shields. Deploy fighters on my mark. 3,2,1, engage.” Jackson yelled over communications in a controlled rage.
In an instant, red lasers blasted through the hull of the Uviean flagship. It burned a brilliant green and then exploded. They were in disarray, the human fighters flew right into the middle of their formation and dropped proximity mines and flew past. Not bothering to engage the enemy. Seconds later, a brilliant white light blinded me. When my vision returned, the enemy was gone. Only scrap was left where a mighty armada once was. I felt nothing, cold, a million voices silenced in an instant. This was human warfare. Cold, brutal, efficient, without soul, without honor.
“Fish in a barrel. Good day general, I’ll have a battle report ready for your people in the morning. Lieutenant Alvarez will guide you to your shuttle.” Jackson left for his quarters, no celebration, no empathy. It was as if war was just a formality for these creatures.
If they come for us, there will be no great battle, no heroes. Just the end, if that day comes. Divine Ten help us.
|
"Only on the precipice of death, would we have done something this foolish..."
The words hung in the air, soot-stained and thick, threatening to pull the life out of any who pondered it for too long. To Lord Jojen, sitting cross-legged amongst the ruins of his adamantium dais, they felt like a reflection of his own thoughts. He sighed, lung chambers aching to release the hot air, and with it the scents of the aftermath; blood, bone, rubble, and rot.
"They're marching on the Yangi capital as we speak, the others expect it will fall by nightfall. Perhaps we should consider....recalling them? The life chains-"
Jojen held up a hand, cutting off the voice as he opened his eyes, unable to concentrate enough to meditate. The moment he did, the devastation hit him again. His shining castle, **Aris'Tani**, the Palace of 100,000 Years, the greatest building the Yig people have ever built, was simply gone. Gone were the thousand towers of Mura, the tallest of which reached into the planet's lower atmosphere. Gone were the vaulted fields of rainbow glass, whose multicolored cities and armies would dance across the day's sun. Gone were the Everlasting Kitchens of Grok, the Mausoleum of the first king, and every Royal Esper Guard Station, including the indestructible red stations of Highguard. Even the great throne room, the center of his power where he now sat, lay roofless, sundered and in tatters. Jojen looked at the night sky and groaned aloud.
"Why did I have to be different Armin! Why did I promise them I would stop the raids!?"
Armin nearly barked a quip, eye glowering incredulously at his sovereign, before he caught himself.
"With all do respect, my Lord, these... these humans have put an end to the raids. All the raids in fact, along with all our roadways, roofs, routes for intelligence, remedial attempts at diplomacy and every other traditional comfort we can expect in a civilized conflict."
Jojen grimaced again and turn inward. He had promised his people that his rise to power would mean something different. How had it gone this badly?
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Three millennia with a planet divided -- half Yig and half Yangi-- had only served to spur a repeated cycle of war. The Yig, with their ingrained psychic abilities, could warp the minds of the Yangi, throwing their capital ship pilots into suicidal sun dives, promoting fake missile strikes, and sowing endless subterfuge among Yangi nobility to cripple and divide it. This in turn spurred the Yangi, who lacked the psychic abilities of their cousins in favor of incredibly dense mineral-based bodies, to escalate. In a direct bid to strike the Yig back, the Yangi began launching raids against the Yig, kidnapping their citizens and threatening to sell them into slavery. Yigs can feel uncontrollable pain-inducing empathy for their own kind, a byproduct of having constant psychic group meditation. As such, the threat of torture and slavery for captured Yigs had forced the two sides into an uneasy stalemate for most of the last century.
Jojen's rise to power was supposed to mark a new period in the world's history. He had promised an end to the military stalemate, a return of the captured Yigs, and total end to Yangi raids. He had intended to build a local alliance of planets in the system to help the Yig secure dominance of their world, and was relatively confidant in his machinations until they suddenly collapsed. Only two days after his coronation he was rejected by the near entirety of his system's organized worlds. Despite being the older and more advanced race, the other planets didn't trust the Yig's psychic abilities. Naturally suspicious of Jojen, they largely sidelined him, with several even threatening military action if he moved to invade the Yangi.
At first, Jojen had merely seen this as a temporary setback, but as the Yangi, encouraged by the system's reaction to Jojen, increased their raids tenfold, the Yig ruler began to panic. Entire Yig cities on the border were collapsing for lack of people, the citizenry was in a fully blown psychic emotional meltdown, and the life-chains (the Yig group-think that helps amplify psychic ability) were failing. Many basic institutions in society, such as transportation or any semblance of military force, began to disintegrate.
In desperation, Jojen broke all 176 freestanding treaties in the system when he sent an encrypted message to Sol, a region largely regarded as the most militarized in the galaxy. Jojen had promised a quarter of the planet--half of all Yangi territory--to anyone who could end their oppression. Although it took the better part of a galactic standard year, during which Jojen's regin slipped further towards collapse, a reply was sent. A reply with only five words, "We accept, expect reinforcements shortly."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"My lord, one of them approaches..."
Jojen opened his eyes a for a second time, once again savoring the devastation of his throne room, before turning to the being in front of him. Clad in what appeared to be little more than a basic uniform, the soldier bore a simple pair of black slacks, a white tee shirt and a crisp, green-military jacket. On her head appeared to be 3 different pairs of googles, each composed of different sized, multicolor lenses attached to small robotic arms. The arms themselves tucked into a black, metallic headband and seemed to be an a perpetual series of motions, constantly shifting and adjusting different lenses in front of the human's eyes as she looked around. The human, a female, focused on Jojen, snapping her hand towards her head in a strange motion Jojen assumed to be their salute.
"Hail Lord Jojen Hulatat Marundi. Long may he reign, long may-"
Jojen cut him off, "Enough, General Sherman, tell me, what of the war effort? The Yangi strongholds in Farasai? Their holdings under the 8-Shade Sea? Their capital? I'm told you're already there, how did you possibly advance that fast. What of our captives? How did yo--"
"Whoa hold on," General Sherman put her hands up, "One thing at a time. First things first, as far as Yangi holdings we've already taken everything, so that's over. The capitol fell surprisingly fast after we sublimated most of the outlying districts."
"You sublimated the districts..what does that mean?"
"That's the fun part!" General Sherman exclaimed excitedly, "Once we got the frequency correct we could hit them wherever, whenever we wanted; their varying sizes didn't really matter!"
Jojen felt his unease rise, "One, what does that mean? Two, why is my city ALSO DESTROYED?"
General Sherman looked apologetic, "Well you sent us the specs on the Yangi, showing us they were mineral based. So we built a series of seismic positronic super-weapons, nicknamed them shitshakers myself, a threw them into every Yangi city we could find. It took awhile to adjust the bomb frequency so they didn't simply tear cities apart--we apologize for the loss of this place by the way--there were some accidents in the blitz."
The general looked back from Jojen to Armin and smiled, revealing a row of straight, white teeth. Armin glared, disgusted, what self-respecting species still needs teeth?
General Sherman pivoted back to Jojen, "In any case, we made sure the weapons didn't hurt your captive people...but the shock of seeing so many perish in the orbital bombardment, even if they were Yangi, seemed to have...some negative side effects. However we have fulfilled our end of the bargain and will retain possession of the Yangi capital and all land above the 13th parallel."
Jojen, frankly overwhelmed with the series of events, simply asked, "what will you humans do with the land you now have?"
Sherman laughed, "We're the best at fighting there is, but we only got that way by ruining most of our own system, so the land here will be grounds for a new colony. Of course," Her smile grew--terrifyingly so for Jojen and Armin, "You had other enemies in this system right, friend? More who rejected you, threatened you? What are they like?"
The pit in Jojen's stomachs grew and he thought to himself, *on the precipice of death, what did we unleash?*
| 2018-07-20T21:24:50 | 2018-07-20T21:10:50 | 38 | 23 |
[WP] English really is a universal language, and aliens are as surprised about this as humans
|
> ℏ=1.05•10⁻³⁴ kg•m²•s⁻¹
> c=2.998•10⁸ m•s⁻¹
“This is pointless,” Arthur spat. “There’s no reason to believe that the Venusians would understand this.”
“Do you have a better idea?” Mark sighed. “If we start with the fundamentals, we can work to common ground.”
> μ₀=1.26•10⁻⁶ kg•m•s⁻²•A⁻²
> ε₀=8.85•10⁻¹² s⁴•A²•kg⁻¹•m⁻³
“Why do you assume their base units are the same?” Arthur was about ready to throw the computer across the room. “Our definition of the meter, the kilogram, all of it — arbitrary! We started with a meter that fit well with measuring between cities, and to be more scientific we came up with a definition of that same length that fits with fundamentals. Maybe they use natural units.”
“Maybe something unitless then?” Mark continued typing into the IRC.
> π=3.14159
> e=2.71828
> α=7.29927•10⁻³
> N=6.02214•10²³
> β=1836
“Maybe? I mean, even base 10 is arbitrary based on our having ten phalanges. Maybe your theoretical alien civilization has only four fingers in each hand. Maybe they have seven.”
Mark sighed in frustration. “Forget this.” Mostly as a joke, he typed:
> Do you read English?
“Should we call it a day?” Arthur asked.
> How do you speak English?
Mark paused. “No, I think we’ll be here for a while.”
|
James takes his first steps on the red sand. It is cold, dry, barren. The desert stretches as far as the eye can see, and then farther, a blanket of wind-swept ruin. The ship hums as it powers down, but the desert is silent; the only sounds are the whispers of the wind.
Here, buried beneath the sand, are the last of the progenitors.
James knows this as much as he knows he is alone, stranded with not enough fuel, stranded without coms or cryo pods or such luxuries of survival. There was a meteor. Sensors didn’t pick it up. Sensor’s didn’t notice when it sliced through the hull with a can opener, shredding the life support unit like so much silver confetti.
He was crashing, burning, the ship spiraling towards something unknown—a barren planet where none should exist.
He watched the desert fill the viewport as the ship crashed down and chills filled him. The world was ancient. The world was wrong: it didn’t belong here, in this quadrant of space. It was something primal and ancient and powerful, and he fears it, an instinct response ingrained and kept for millennia.
*Fear what lies beneath,* the sand seems to say.
James walks ten paces in the sand and thinks of home. Of firecrackers on steel floors, of milk made from replicators, of sliced cake with whipped strawberry. He thinks of the taste of strawberries on her lips, the sun burning red behind them as they gazed through the porthole window, gazed into each other's eyes.
*It’s funny,* he thinks, w*hat runs through the mind in these moments.* Memories shake loose like salt. He stares out at the impassible desert expanse before him. The memories vanish.
He grips the canister on his belt. Clicks it loose. He unscrews the cap in slow, deliberate motions. Inside is a picture, an old polaroid photograph, something on an antique. She loved that. She collected little artifacts from the human race, calling them her precious *“Amorcitos.”* The word was foreign, but James knew it was universal. Her touch was foreign, but her smile was universal. And the look in her eyes when she moved close, crossed barriers, a language meant nothing, but the moment was universal.
“Smile for me,” she said, clicking the polaroid to the background of dying star.
He takes another ten paces and turns back towards the ship. It doesn’t look good. Smoke trails in gentle whips and taints the desert wind.
“Shit, Elise,” he says, “It wasn’t meant to be here. But I’ve got no choice.”
She would have liked the sand. He knows this, as he digs down with his webbed fins, scooping cold craters in forgotten soil. She would have loved it here.
He remembers the sweet of music as they danced to an old rhythm. *Jazz,* she said, *Sinatra,* and the words meant nothing, but he knew them regardless. The old phonograph crackled on the steel of the ship, footsteps tap-tapping to the beat, fingers twined.
In bed, looking out the porthole together as the Sun burned and Elise’s world burned with it.
“You would have loved it down there,” she told him. “A whole world filled with oceans, little reefs with coral and clownfish and color.” She is quiet, trying to hold back emotions, and what could he possibly say? Her world burned right in front of her eyes and now there was nothing left for her, no place for her to call home. She rolls to her side to try and hide the damp in her eyes, but James knows better; he can smell water.
She whispers, “You would have loved it.”
James hears it in the sound of the sand as he digs her grave on a foreign planet.
Six feet under. That was what she told him, one-hundred years ago, as she lay in the medical bay of James’s ship.
“You’re like a jellyfish,” she said, laughing. “You don’t get old. Not like us.”
James takes his hand between his, feels the wrinkles, remembers how they once were smooth and supple, twined with his, dancing to an old memory.
“I’m sorry,” James said, “That you couldn’t see it.”
“I wouldn’t have liked it much anyway,” she said, and James knows it was a lie she needed to tell him. “Not enough trees.”
They were fifty years from his home planet. James didn’t have a cryo pod. Too expensive. He tries to remember her instructions and follow them with a cool head. Six feet under, with the photograph, with memories.
“It’s not for me,” she told him at her last. “It’s for you. Remember that. Grieve. Cry. Do what you must. Then, dance one more time for me.”
James puts the photograph in the sand. Two feet under. But Elise wouldn’t mind; after all, this moment wasn’t for her. He scoops fresh sand over top and feels the grains grate against his skin, hears the wind whisper like the sound of memories.
He lives the moment as they dance on the cockpit of his ship, two-hundred years ago, and he remembers her laugh, the sound of wind chimes on fields of grass, the smell of cows and hay, the chipped paint of the farmhouse fence, the whine of the teleporter pad.
“Why did you save me?” she asked.
“I couldn’t let you go.”
Later that evening, the Sun burns, and their hearts burn with it.
Now, James stares at the grave and lets grains of sand trickle down like falling tears. He can’t cry. But if he could, he would not. Elise would have wanted that. No tears. Only memories.
The planet turns against a white-dwarf star. The star is ancient, powerful, and filled with memories. James was on a mission to find the source; the link between the progenitors. Somewhere in the vast array of space was the secret to something truly universal: a kind hand, a kiss, the rhythm of dance. Some things transcend species, language, time.
The sand screams out, “Fear what lies beneath,” but James disagrees.
Buried in the sand are memories and whispers. And the memories are sweet indeed. He stares up at a dwarf-star sun and glances between the sky, his soldering ship, the shallow grave beneath him. It is peaceful, quiet, the kind of place he could find the answers to his all questions. He searches for the truth.
The truth is a polaroid photograph buried in the desert.
*Who were the progenitors?*
*Why did they leave this world behind?*
*Where are they now?*
James knows it does not matter. He walks back to the ship, sand grating underfoot. He has minutes. The fire is already spreading from the engine and soon it will be critical. He can’t stop it. He doesn’t want to stop it.
Instead, he moves to the cockpit, where an antique phonograph collects dust. He grabs a record, the cool of plastic between his fingers, feeling the bumps and ridges. It is scratchy. The sound is crackling. The ship is crackling and groaning. *But that’s all right,* James thinks, *it’s just a memory.*
He lets go.
In the twilight of a forgotten desert, James dances.
​
***
More stories at r/BLT_WITH_RANCH
| 2020-09-17T08:27:58 | 2020-09-17T07:33:07 | 2,499 | 246 |
[WP] Growing up, people always thought you hated animals, as you alway avoided them. The problem wasn’t you hated them; it was that they loved you so much they did anything they could to come to you. Now your class is taking a mandatory field trip to the zoo.
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PART 1
​
I could already hear the frenzy of the animals closest to the gate as we approached. It spread like wildfire through the zoo and each step seemed to intensify the clamorous joy coming from the animals inside. A sparrow flew towards my group and perched on the head of the child in front of me. I hadn't learnt his name yet, having been expelled from my old school after that incident with the kittens, I didn't plan to stay long enough to bother.
"Hehe look a bird landed on me!" he exclaimed pointing to his head excitedly. The bird was chirping away at me hopping excitedly from one foot to the other. I couldn't hear it over the dim from inside, not that I could understand it mind, but I'd come to understand the general implication of the different sounds animals would make. The bird promptly shat on the boys head and winged its way across the vast carpark towards some trees. I hoped that it wasn't coming back with its friends. A constant flock of birds (no matter how small) following your every step can be... an annoyance at least and a pestilence at worst.
The children mocked and jeered at the boy with bird poo on his hat and positively fell about laughing when he removed his hat to reveal a runny clump in his hair. I smiled slightly. It would probably be the only time today, The teachers and parent helpers quickly got the children settled and sorted by group. Everyone was paired up in the buddy system. I got Amber a very enthusiastic young women who wanted to be a vet. Or a marine biologist. She hadn't decided yet. She spat out this information like a machine gun tearing up a line of advancing troops. She punctuated her thoughts on environmental conservation with a fist against the palm of her hand; explosive points being dropped as they were artillery on the already harassed troops to mop up the stragglers. I had read the same pamphlet that she had based her arguments on.
"...so what about you then?" Amber asked. I was distracted by all the animal sounds and the way our group was being shuffled through the turn styles. "Ahh yep animals are pretty neat" I stammered hoping that was a close enough response satisfy her. She quickly carried on so I assumed it was. I could feel sweat dripping down from my neck. I'd never been this close to so many different animals and the fear was kicking in. One of the helpers must have noticed me pause. "They said you might be trouble" he looked down at me "I told them I'd keep a close eye on you and keep you well away from any kittens".
I shot him a dirty look "Those kittens got run over trying to follow me home. I was just tryin..." I began defensively "Oh I know what you were trying to do, I heard all about it" he flashed a Volunteer Deputy badge at me revealing his sidearm at the same time. I had encountered this same attitude in the last town. The Officer that found me had leapt to the conclusion that I was eating the kitten. I was trying to do mouth to mouth. The kittens had followed me for a couple of blocks and I'd crossed the road thinking they might lose interest and go back to where they had come from. They didn't and the truck barely noticed when they went over them. I had tried to help them but distraught and unprepared I came across like something else entirely.
A peacock approached our group fanning its magnificent tail plumage and strutting around the group to show off. Everyone snapped pictures and fawned over the display. I acknowledged it and gave a bow. The bird seemed satisfied and moved on. Older animals were generally easier. The young ones caused the most issue mainly because they clamber for attention and that can be dangerous. The signage ahead read ELEPHANTS > MONKEYS > LOINS. It was going to be a long day.
​
\*\*\*Let me know if you enjoy this and I'll write up PART 2\*\*\*
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“How is a trip to the zoo mandatory? Can’t I just read a Wikipedia article on each of the animals at home?” My whines fell on deaf ears, my friend only giving me a small shrug, not caring much for my personal conflict.
“It’s a trip to the zoo. Why are you so upset about this? Most kids would kill for this. It’s a peaceful day of lounging around. Do you hate animals that much?” Brook questioned, giving my shaking leg a hard smack, trying to dull my nerves.
“Ow. It’s not that I hate animals, I just have had unpleasant experiences with animals in the past.”
“Right, so you hate animals. That’s all I’m hearing, Mark. Come on, it will be fun, I promise. Look, we are pulling up now, see how friendly those animals look.” She directed my attention towards the greasy bus window, struggling to see out of the grimy glass. I could see the vague outlines of what appeared to be animals, but beyond that it was impossible to make anything out.
“Attention students. I know you are all excited about this, but we have some rules to go over. Now what do you do if a child gets their head stuck in a fence?....” The teacher rambled on a few safety tips; the tips only helpful if you were the type of person who was stupid enough to stick your fingers into a tiger enclosure.
“What if I’m trying to get a really cool photo? Can I just lean over the fence quickly?” One student called out, only to be lectured by the teacher. Maybe they needed those safety tips.
Standing up from my seat, I joined the single file line, being motioned out of the bus and towards the zoo. As I walked through the gates, I could see all the animals stop what they were doing, each turning to face me. It was like all the saloon doors had suddenly swung open in an old western, glances being exchanged between me and the animals waiting to see what the other would do.
I lowered my head, hoping to go unnoticed, an attempt that proved futile. I could hear the various claws and screeches as the animals banged against their cages, trying to break free of the various exhibits. Anytime the metal of the fence twisted, my heart would skip a beat. This was bad. If the animals escaped, it would cause all sorts of trouble.
“Bathroom.” I shouted, trying to power walk my way through the crowd of people, not wishing to stay in the same spot for too long.
“WAIT. You need to be assigned a partner first. One that you will spend the entire day with.” The teacher tapped their pen against the clipboard, looking through the various names on the list.
“Brook can be my partner, come on.” I grabbed her arm, pulling her along towards the bathrooms. “Come on, let’s get going.”
“Jeez, you must be busting. Can we at least go look at the emu’s first? I’ve always wanted to pat one. You know some people ride them?”
“Ride emus? That sounds like a lie. Look, the toilets first, then we can go wherever you want.” I could see the frantic animals getting wilder. The emu’s trying to jump the fence to get to me. Luckily they weren’t the most intelligent of the animals here, only doing small pathetic jumps before turning to try again.
“Its true, Fine, I’m going to go watch the emus, you can meet me when you’re done.” Brook gave me a wave before walking towards the emus, leaning against the fence as she watched the bizarre display.
I ducked into the bathrooms, leaning against the walls to catch my breath. Ok, this is a little scary. Maybe I can just hide out here all day? That sounded like a good plan. If I stayed out of the view of the animals, they should leave me, alone. I went to grab my phone, only to feel something smack my cheek, turning to glimpse the large giraffe head peering down into the bathrooms, sticking its neck through the thin roof to deliver a lick.
I screamed, storming out of the bathroom in a panic. Why would they put an animal so close to the bathroom? My scream had alerted a few sets of eyes, including Brook, who wandered over.
“You alright? What’s so scary about a bathroom, did you see your reflection in the mirror or something?” She joked, giving me a small slap on the back.
“No, I just.” I couldn’t say I saw a giraffe; she would think I was mad. “I just saw a spider, like an enormous one.” I lied, watching as she rolled her eyes, turning back to watch the emus.
“Look, they are playing up again. They went all calm for when you left, but as soon as you returned, they started running towards the fence again. Maybe you are a chick magnet. Emus are birds, aren’t they?”
“Maybe? Come on, we need to get moving. Please.” I continued my suspicious power walking, not walking slow enough to be normal or fast enough to be crazy, just maintaining a strange speed in-between.
“Fine, guess I can see emu’s another time. So where do you want to go? We can look at the monkeys, Penguins, Lions or Meerkats?”
“How about we glance them all? Don’t want to stay in one place too long. I hear there’s a good burger place in here anyway, don’t want to miss out on some nice food, right?” I said, trying to bribe her away from the animals with the promise of food.
“It seems a waste to spend a majority of our time eating while at the zoo, but I can’t turn down a delightful meal, sure let’s get going then.” With that we both continued our day; each exhibit a challenge.
The lions were horrifying, watching as they constantly attacked the safety glass, trying to get to me. The glass cracking in small spots, struggling to maintain the weight of the King of the Wild. I stayed there for a whole five minutes before losing my nerve, begging her to go to the next enclosure.
Sitting by the meerkat enclosure, I watched the crafty rascals try to build a meerkat ladder to get outside, climbing atop one another to escape. While cute, it made me nervous. At first, they could barely balance atop one another, but now they were getting to at least five meerkats tall, soon they would escape. I nudged Brook along again, lasting ten minutes at that enclosure.
The penguins did everything in their power to escape, diving into the deepest depths of their pool only to shoot out of the water like a missile, aiming for the barricade. The distance was far too much for them to cover, though. I felt oddly safe at the exhibit, trusting they could not escape, only to notice a few dragging their feet against the ice, slowly scrapping it, trying to make a ramp. They were going to use a ramp to get over. Hurrying Brook along, we went to visit the monkeys, having spent another thirty minutes with the penguins.
Visiting the monkeys wasn’t a long venture. They were far too smart, already preparing to break out, forming a chain of monkeys with their hands, trying to toss one of them into the outside world. As soon as I noticed this, I fled, leaving Brook to follow along, not even lasting one minute with the monkeys.
We spent the rest of our time getting burgers, enjoying the meal together. I had this place mapped out; the burger hut should be far away enough from any animal to keep me safe. I kept glancing over my shoulder, trying to avoid getting caught off-guard by an animal.
“That bush, did it move?” I shouted, pointing to a bush in the parks corner. Brook looked at me, shaking her head.
“It’s probably a bird. You are acting weird today. You know, I’ve never seen animals so active. Wonder why they were so energetic today. Hey are you listening?”
“Sorry, Yeah its weird.” I said, letting out a nervous chuckle, pulling my gaze away from a nearby tree. When the clock finally hit two, it relieved me, rushing to be the first on the bus. As soon as my back hit the dusty seat, I was safe. A coo of happiness leaving my cheeks.
“I hope everyone enjoyed that trip.” The teacher said, earning a few excited murmurs of agreement from the students. As she spoke, I looked out the window, seeing a small monkey staring at me, giving me a wave. At least the outline of it looked like a monkey.
“AHH, there’s a monkey, outside of the bus.” I screamed, causing students to climb over one another, peering out the window to see… nothing.
“Please keep your overactive imagination to yourself, Mark.” Before I could defend myself, the teacher finished counting the students, the bus moving.
“Heh, that was a good one. You fooled everyone into believing there was a monkey on the bus. I think it was because you had such a convincing scream.” Brook said before turning her attention away from me.
“Yeah, a joke.” I snickered, nervously glancing out of the bus window once more, certain I could see the monkey, a small shadowy head poking out from underneath the bus, staring back at me as we headed home.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2021-03-30T02:49:30 | 2021-03-30T01:28:36 | 763 | 386 |
[WP] You have the ability to see heart-strings. You can see the connections that people have with each other. Each connection appears to be a colored line running from one person's heart to another. The colors, thickness, and texture of the line determine the strength and type of connection.
Based off of [this](https://www.reddit.com/r/godtiersuperpowers/comments/nn1e36/you_can_see_heartstrings/) thread, where people keep asking me for a writing prompt.
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I didn't get home until late that night, and found her asleep on the couch. The TV was on some old sitcom. The flickering lights played across her peaceful face, her familiar snore just barely audible over the laugh track. I walked over to gently wake her up, but something stopped me in my tracks.
One of her strings had grown. I frowned, and looked at it closer. The other ones were all the way I remembered: the light grey spiderweb strands reaching out to various acquaintances, the cozy cream-colored knitted fabric connecting her to her mom, the honey pouring sideways towards her close friends. And of course, the deep red silk thread tying us together.
But here was another one. I didn't recognize it, at first. It looked almost like a friendship, and I almost convinced myself that it was. But the color was a little too deep.
Her eyes fluttered open.
"You're home," she said. "I missed you."
"I missed you too," I said. My chest ached.
She smiled at me, and I looked at our shared heart-string. It was still so strong. I looked at the new line. Maybe it wasn't red. Maybe it was just a deep honey, a deep friendship.
I decided not to look at it again.
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# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 4, Part ?: Jemma v.s. The Snatchers)(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**Jemma's eighth-grade science teacher had explained gravity to her like this:** Space was like a great big cloth, and objects dropped on the weave of space-time could distort it. Get a large enough object, and it would form a dent deep enough that nothing that entered it could ever escape. A black hole. Jemma had always wondered what that would look like up close.
As Jemma pondered the distorted heartstrings around her, a part of her idly registered that she didn't have to wonder anymore.
It was a subtle thing, the way the infinite spiderwebs drifted. Like foam circling a drain, languorous at first, then speeding up as they drew closer to the source of the disruption. Jemma ignored the panicked shouts from the hunched-over passerby as she jogged through the trash-strewn streets of Sacrament. She barely saw them, anyway; the heart-strings were getting thicker, hundreds of them converging on a single spot.
She stopped cold inches before she would have bashed her face on a crumbling concrete wall. The remains of some office cubicle. Ever since Mayor Clara had left the city in disgrace, anarchy had reigned in Sacrament. Federal troops had managed to restore some semblance of order during the day—but at night, Jemma huddled in her room, watching purple ichor stain the heart-strings that connected the people of Sacrament.
She'd watched too many strings snap, or dangle loose, one end snuffed from existence. She had to do *something* about what was left of the city.
"Little girl," a voice said behind her, and Jemma spun, eyes wide. An old woman who reeked of smoke gave her a gimlet stare. "Are you lost?"
Jemma shook her head warily. From nothing, a needle-thin line of light connected their hearts, then thickened, forming a tenuous black thread. Animosity. This woman meant her harm. "I know exactly where I'm going," she said. *Admittedly, not what I'll find when I get there,* she mentally added.
"It's not safe for a girl like you to wander out here alone," the woman continued, as if she hadn't heard her. Jemma looked around, but there were no strings between her and the huddled pedestrians—probably just trying to find food for the day, or maybe making their way to one of the overcrowded shelters. "There are people who'd pay good money for kids like you."
"HELP!" Jemma shouted. Thin, ephemeral connections formed between her and everyone in earshot—but they faded after an instant. They were too scared of the woman, and who wouldn't be? Jemma was far from the only person with superpowers—the woman could have held within her the power to level buildings with a wave of her hand. The old woman gave Jemma a gimlet stare and surged forward; Jemma frantically blocked as the woman went for her throat. None of the Federal forces were in sight—Jemma thought frantically. The man on the corner—no, he was practically being pulled along by the golden thread connecting him to his lover; Jemma wasn't overcoming that force. The kid she could sense watching her from the trash heap—ah, he was linked to the old woman, through transparent, shimmering fear. He would be of no help, not unless she could invert that bond. She looked around frantically until she saw what she'd been looking for—a girl whose threads were slowly dissolving from the ends in. Fresh cuts.
"You in the black suit!" she yelled desperately. The girl flinched. "Please! I know you've lost people—I know you're in pain—but you can save someone else from that pain if you *help me*!"
Desperately, Jemma saw a flimsy, silver thread of camaraderie fly from her heart to the girl's.
It landed on her back and phased through her skin.
The girl clenched her fists.
And then she spun around.
"Two for one?" The woman said, turning. "I didn't expeaAAAAAAAAAARRRGH!"
Halfway through the woman's sentence, the little girl struck like a snake, tapping the woman on her arm. What happened next, Jemma barely made sense of—a heartstring colored with stars and galaxies surged from the girl to the woman, striking her skull instead of her head, and vanished in an instant, leaving the woman on the floor, clutching her temples and twitching.
Jemma was far from the only person with superpowers. As it turned out, some of them worked for the good guys too.
Jemma stepped back and gave her savior an appraising look. "...Thank you," she said. "I don't know who you've lost, but..."
"No. Thank *you*," the girl said back. She hesitated, then added, "I shouldn't have needed a... reminder... of what I'd lost, to be moved to help." She held out a hand, and the silver thread between them gleamed. "You can call me Awe."
"Jemma." They shook hands. "What... what did you do to her?"
"Something that won't last long." Awe gave the woman a disdainful look. "Longer for her than for others, but... my power isn't meant to be used as a weapon, not exactly. You said you were going somewhere." Awe pressed her lips together. "I could use someone who knows what they're doing."
"We could use the Mayor back," Jemma muttered.
Awe smiled. "That we could."
"I don't have her, but I have the next best thing. Something's pulling on the heartstrings of everyone in the city." Awe cocked her head curiously at the word 'heartstrings', but made no further comment. "I want to find out what."
"Explain on the move." Awe turned around, leaving the twitching woman behind. "We need to get out of her before she wakes up."
Jemma walked after the girl named Awe, the silver thread between them strengthening with every step.
A.N.
I have returned from my month-long hiatus! This story is short, but that's because I'm still quite exhausted from the event which burnt me out in the first place. "Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
| 2021-05-28T17:35:49 | 2021-05-28T16:04:22 | 172 | 26 |
[WP] Whoever cursed you to always tell the truth made a terrible mistake in their spell. Instead of you being forced to bend to the truth, the truth is forced to bend to you. Everything you say becomes fact
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"I grow weary of existance, Jacob." I muttered as the old man poured my afternoon cup of tea. "Why is that madam?" Jacob, a man who apears to be several decades my senior doesn't look at me as he speaks, his wrinkled face hidden from my gaze. I lazily turn my head to look out the window of my palace to look upon the gardens, perfectly manicured and pristene. "Life has nothing that stimulates me anymore. I've done quite literally everything there is to do." I speak as the cold, smooth feeling of porcelain grazes my fingertips, "Damn that witch..."
It all started several thousand years ago, roughly around 1290 A.D. I was maybe eight or nine at the time, running around my little village in the Irish countryside raising hell with the local troublemakers. One day Brian, the largest of the boys and the defaco leader of our little band, had the idea to head into the woods, out to the monolith that our parents said was home to the Fae. Me and Brian always balked at the idea of the Fae, and were out to disprove their existance so the monolith was our obvious destination. When we arrived it had been several hours and the sun was now making it's decent into the sea. I don't remember the specifics of the event, be it lost to the sands of time or taken by whatever it was that cursed me to only ever have the truth fall from my lips. Yet I remained unaware of the curse until our village was raided by bandits, one had my back to a wall, intent on killing me when I pleaded "I can't die! Please just let me go!" Oh how many days have I layed awake lately cursing those three words, 'I can't die.'
Once I had figured out that reality was now subject to what I said I was elated I must admit. I stormed into the local lord's home and stated that I in charge now, the riches of the world were mine and mine alone. I lived as my poor pesant parents could only afford to dream of once a year. The finest furs and silks adorned my body, suculent meats and sweet breads filled my plates and after declaring myself immortal and eternally young I had everything I'd ever want.
Yet, after several centuries of lazing about a castle I grew bored of such a life and set out wandering, telling random people whatever they wanted to hear, not out of kindness but just to see what would happen. I even once met a young prince in some country in the mediterranean and told him he'd be known as the magnificent, in hopes of seeing him being known as a magnificent fool; I was quite wrong about him.
That young prince did show me something though, if I really wanted to be entertained I would have to put things into motion on a global scale. I started off by telling the King of england that his Kingdom would become a great empire spanning the world, starting with India. Then once they were more well established I popped on over to the american colonies to tell them they would be independant. After they fell I decided to go back to my favorite playground, Europe, and set about several secret alliances. That was...a mistake.
I went into hiding right after that, barely spoke to anyone for centuries, contemplating how to use this curse for the betterment of everyone. I thought and thought constantly, read every major publication on philosophy and ethics. None of which were of any help. Then sometime in the early 2100's the world was almost destroyed through war. I walked right into the UN and said that there would be no war and that all animosity will end now. That...was probably my 2nd biggest mistake. Ever since the leaders of varrious nations have been trying to woo me into doing what they want for their people.
Even now, a thousand years later they all clamor for me to fix their problems. I raise the cup to my lips and take a sip of the hot, brown liquid inside. Bitter, figures.
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Language is a beautiful thing. Thoughts can leave my mind and enter yours. A piece of my soul, a sizeable splintered fragment, can touch you in a way physicality could never hope to.
The problem began when everything I said was taken literally.
"Last one there's a rotten egg!" I shouted to my friends. We were walking across the beach at night, the vault of stars twinkling overhead. Danielle was so drunk she had thrown up in the water, so we all decided it was time to head back to the beach house we were renting.
"Come on, Mark," a shade said. It sounded like Brett or Michael; it was impossible to tell in the dark. "You know that's not fair. Danielle can barely walk and you're the track-star of the school for Godssake."
"You scared?" I teased. "It's not like the loser will actually turn into a rotten egg. The winner just gets bragging rights." If only I had known back then how wrong I was.
"Fine," he said, as I felt a tug on the back of my bathing suit. I was thrown backwards into the sand and Brett (I could tell now—nobody else's hair was that long) sprinted ahead. "Remember you're the one who wanted this!"
Even when drunk, I was hell of a runner. Off of the sand now, and onto the pavement, it was easier to catch up. In the distance our house came into view. There wasn't enough time to pass him, but at the very least I could tie. We were running so fast, there was almost no time to stop before we smashed into the front door. Both our hands touched it at the same time.
"Hey, look at that," Brett said. "I tied with the best runner in the school. Maybe I should join the track team."
"Yeah," I said, rolling my eyes, "all you needed was a five second head start. You're lucky it was dark and nobody could see you reaching for my ass. The rumors that would spread..."
"No need to be upset," he shrugged. "We were just racing for bragging rights, remember? Besides, it looks like it was just us two. Ah, there they are, coming over the hill now."
Underneath the soft orange glow of a flickering streetlamp, our three friends marched towards us. Michael and Jane were each under one of Danielle's arms, dragging her along. By the look of Danielle's swimsuit, it seemed she had puked once more on the way.
"Gently now," Michael said, as he and Jane laid Danielle down on the porch. "We can't bring her in yet," he addressed the rest of us. "She'll throw up all over the place and we'll lose our deposit. Let's hang out here for a bit. By the way, who won?"
Brett grabbed my hand and held it up like a referee at a boxing match. "This guy smoked me," he said. "Even with my head start I couldn't beat him."
I looked over at him and he looked back with a sideways grin.
"Anyways, if we're gonna chill out here," Brett said, facing back towards everyone, "we need drinks. I'll go get the cooler."
I followed him inside and together we lifted the heaviest icebox known to mankind.
"That was cute, what you did back there," I said, trying not to trip down the stairs.
"You're welcome, hotshot."
Outside, with a beer in all of our hands (except Danielle's—she was still passed out lying on her back), the party continued. We played "Truth or Dare", "Never Have I Ever", and every other drinking game high-school kids knew. In a state of emotional drunkenness Brett confessed he actually *had* tried out for the track team, and got rejected. I told him not to worry about it. The coach was a dick anyways.
I stupidly dared Jane to kiss Michael and, after a show cabarets would kill to get their hands on, the two disappeared inside.
"I guess it's just you and me, amigo," Brett said, taking a swig of beer.
"Hey, at least we still have her," I said, pointing to Danielle.
Except, in her place, was an egg cracked in two, with a runny brown yolk spilling out of it.
"Looks like you were right," Brett giggled, not grasping the severity of the situation in his inebriation. "The last one in the house was a rotten egg. You and me had already gone in, and now those two love-bugs just entered, so Danielle lost."
"This isn't funny," I said, looking into the surrounding blackness. "Where the fuck did she go? Is this some sort of prank?"
"I dunno..." Brett said, taking another drink.
I put my hands on his shoulders and shook him back and forth. "I'm not joking. What did you do to her?"
"Huuuh? I didn't do nothin'... I'm so damned drunk I'm seeing three of you right now. I think it's *you* who's playing the prank."
I could feel my face turning red. "Stop being such a dickhead. Where is she?"
Suddenly, my words manifested reality. Between my hands, Brett's head disappeared and then was replaced with an equally sized penis.
In a shock I pushed him away. His head wriggled around, like a sea anemone looking for particles of food in the currents. Some white liquid dribbled out.
"Okay, that's fucking gross," I said, as I went into the house. "I must be dreaming or something."
Echoes of ecstasy came down from upstairs. Outside of their door, I could tell they were in the thick of it. The problem was, so was I.
"Sorry to interrupt," I said, as they both looked at me with wide eyes. "But there's a problem downstairs—"
"Dude, what the hell?!" Michael screamed. "I don't care what's going on down there, couldn't you at least have knocked first? Can't you see we're in the middle of something?"
I sighed. "Mike, just this once, can you please listen to me instead of acting like the big tough man you think you are?" In my head, I continued, "we all know you're just a scared baby, and we all like you just the same. You don't always have to mask your vulnerability."
Something cried in the bed. Jane screamed as she pulled the covers over herself and backed away. Somehow, the baby version of Mike was just as annoying as the grown one.
Okay, I definitely was dreaming.
With just a thought, I erased Mike from the scene. Now it was just me and Jane. She had her back pressed against the headboard, shaking, with a crimson sheet covering her.
"What's wrong, Jane?" I asked her, trying my best at a Joker impression. Dreams were fun to mess around in.
"Y-you," she stammered, "you're a monster!"
"Now, Jane," I continued in the exaggerated voice of an actor, "what do you mean? I'm not a monster, no. In fact, I'm the opposite. I'm a beautiful man, appealing to all of your preferences, and you're deathly in love with me."
The look on her face instantly changed. In a sultry tone she said, "well, hello there, handsome." Seductively she stood up while the sheet remained on the bed. I could feel myself becoming more and more like the transformed Brett.
She walked towards me, accentuating her hips with every step. Her tits were glistening with sweat from her romp with Michael. I wanted nothing more than to bury myself within her love.
Her finger pressed against my chest as she hypnotized me with her gaze. "Don't you think it's a little unfair," she moaned, "that you're still dressed while I'm naked?"
I couldn't hold myself back any longer. I reached out my hands to grasp them, my first touch of the bags of sand I'd read so much about. Like Zeno's paradox, it felt like traveling an infinite distance. In slow motion I watched as my squirming fingers approached the point of no return. It was just a dream right? So it was ok? Every guy had dreams like this?
Contact was confirmed and instantly I felt sick to my stomach. I pushed her down onto the bed as I remained standing, still as a stone.
"Sorry," I said. "I guess I'm... just not ready for this type of thing yet."
The apparition frowned at me from the bed. She pleaded at me to join her, but I couldn't—not even in my dreams.
I thought about what I had done that night. I turned a friend into an egg, and basically sentenced another to death. I made one disappear and forced the last to fall in love with me.
As I left the bedroom, in search for another, more pleasant part of the dream, I said aloud the thing anyone would think if they saw what I had done.
"I'm a piece of shit."
Little did I know, it wasn't a dream at all. For just a moment, before I fully transformed, I retained enough of my humanity to make one last wish.
"I wish," I said, with brown lips smacking together, "that all my friends were turned back to normal."
My vision went, and then my hearing. I felt like Alice shrinking after having drunk the potion. Eventually, all my senses were gone, and all that was left was my mind.
"Yes, this is what I deserve," I thought, as my consciousness disappeared into the world.
| 2022-02-04T00:11:47 | 2022-02-03T22:41:40 | 118 | 33 |
[WP] A dyslexic child accidentally sends their Christmas list to Satan, surprisingly they get what they wanted but there is a catch.
|
The smell of gingerbread permeates the entire house. Klara, a young woman is looking at the gentle snow falling outside her window drinking her warm wine while her son sits in front of the warm fire. "Stop chewing on your pencil, and finish your note to Santa!" The little boy bends forward towards the piece of paper laying on the floor and starts scribbling "Dear Satan, I haev been a very niece boy to my mum and all my freinds this year. Plese send me a pantng brush and sum paints so i can becom a famuos artest!..." Once signed and sealed, the child urges his mother to take him to the post office.
On Christmas morning the little boy rushes to the Christmas tree where he finds a shining red package! He tears into the wrapping paper and pulls out a horse hair brush attached to a magnificent mahogany handle, and the most richly colored oil paints, like the ones he had seen at the art supplier's shop in town. The child grabs his new tools and rushes to his room to start on his first masterpiece.
An hour later the boy emerges covered in paint: "Look mum, it's our house with those flower boxes you like in the spring! Klara gives her son a slight smile saying "Oh, Adolf, that is a lovely painting. Maybe one day you'll be as good as that Rosenberg boy next door!"
|
**Sorry for my English. I'm burned out but couldn't resist.**
In a sleepy town on a Spring night, an eight year-old boy named Chalrie is being driven by his mom, Summer to an after-school club. On the way he explains to his mom about how in school his teacher asked him to think about what it was he wanted the most in this world for Christmas. His mom, in the light of conversation asks, "Well, what did you say." "I want a sister", he replies. Summers face lights up and she laughs out loud.
They arrive at Charlie' school, she kisses him on the cheek, tells him to say hi to his teacher for her and assure him that she will pick him up in two hours. Charlie walks into his school and walks through the corridor to a classroom where his classmates are.
Two hours pass and his mother looking rather rushed picks is waiting outside in her car. Charlie walks up to the car and opens the door. "Are you okay, mommy?" , Charlie asks. "Oh, yes. Just lost track of time, sweetheart." Summer starts the car and they drive towards home. Summer looks into her rearview mirror and says in a premeditating way "maybe you should write Santa Claus a letter". Charlie nods in agreement.
When they get home, Summer sits Charlie on the table and hands him crayons and paper and tells him that she will post it to Santa Claus when she gets the chance. He pulls his chair in and begins to write:
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*"Dear Satan Claws,*
*My name is chalrie and I'm eight.*
*For Christmas what I would like more than anything is a sister.*
*Thnaks,*
*Charle.*"
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He folds his letter over and pushes himself away from the table. At that instant, his father, Gerald walks in through the front door. "Sorry I'm late guys, the office had me working late again. Summer walks into the front room from preparing food in the kitchen. "Oh no problem, hun. We just got back ourselves really."
Gerald walks into the living room where Charlie is stood waiting for his dad to notice his presence. Gerald falls into a blob on the couch, his face tired from the day. Charlie gets his letter to Satan Claws and Gerald bursts out laughing but manages to compose himself quickly. "Your mom ask you to do this?" Gerald asks. "Yes but we were doing it in school as well." Gerald hands him back the letter and pats him on the head before pulling himself out of the couch to walk into the kitchen.
Later that night when Charlie is falling asleep but something in the deep recesses of his mind that something is terribly wrong. He sheds a tear before falling asleep. The next day when he is having breakfast prepared he tells Summer of his thoughts. She shrugs her shoulders and tell him that "everything will be okay, you don't have to worry. I'm here to protect you." Charlie feeling assured wipes his tears and tucks into his breakfast.
**In the interest of the narrative, we're going to jump into the future. The date is now the 7th December.**
Summer, who by this time is heavily pregnant is looking through the fridge for something to eats starts to feel sharp pains in her belly- It must be the baby. She runs to the phone to call Gerald. "Gerald. It's happening." as she's rushing out gargled words Gerald is trying to assure her he'll be there but she should phone an ambulance. Summer hangs up and dials '911'. She asks for an ambulance because she's pregnant but something doesn't feel right. The Operator is telling her that one will be with her shortly.
The colour drains on her face sending her a pale white. She drops the phone and her body shortly follows. Charlie enters from the living room to see his mom on the floor, he can still hear the operator talking down the phone and picks up the receiver. "Hello? My mommy is on the floor asleep" he says to the operator holding back the tears. The operator is now asking Charlie a series of questions but assuring him that everything is going to be fine.
Sirens are heard in the road and is shortly followed by a rapid knock on the door. Charlie runs to the front door to be greeted by two EMT's who quickly attend to Summer. They put her onto the stretcher to take her to hospital and also ask Charlie to come with them since there was no other person around. Charlie agrees and is sitting in the back of the ambulance. He doesn't understand everything the EMT is saying but key words such as 'Rush', 'ICU' and "Blood". Charlie manages to fight the fear and tears knowing that the EMT's attention is better directed at his mom.
They arrive at the hospital and Charlie is shown his dad who has just arrived himself. "Are you okay?", Gerald asks. Silence. Well would you like a drink? I'm going to the cafè and then speaking to the doctor." Silence still. Gerald walks over to a row of seats in the waiting room and watches the newscast from the TV.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Did you know that one thousand six hundred and thirty four people died on Christmas and Boxing Day? The mystery of the nation's deadliest year coming up.*
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**Again, in the interest of the story we're jumping forward in time to 8 hours later.**
Charlie awakens to the light of day and the noise of telephones going off. He looks over to his left and sees his father sitting hunched over, holding his head in his hands. Charlie taps him and Gerald jumps. Gerald wipes his face and says, "Hey, you're awake. Did you have a good sleep?" Charlie hams under his breath but before words could come out his mouth, his father interrupts- "Last night your mother passed away, I'm so sorry Charlie." Charlie starts weeping and asks what of his sister. Gerald shakes his head and begins crying, heavier. Gerald holds his son as tight as he can, hoping to squash the pain out but to no avail. Their tears still flowing.
**In the interest of the narrative, we're jumping ahead in time to exactly a year later. In this time, Charlie has come to terms somewhat with the death of his mother. Gerald quickly moved on and found a lady who has a daughter. She is younger than Charlie.**
In a sleepy town on a Spring night, a nine year-old boy named Chalrie is sitting in front of a widescreen television. He's watching 'A Christmas Carol' with his younger sister, April. Gerald walks in and sits on the sofa behind the kids. "You guys okay?". "Yeeeaahhhhhhh" replies April not really listening to him. Charlie stands up and walks over to his dad and says, "Did mommy have to die so that I could have April?" Gerald smile turns and grabs Charlie's arm. He looks into his eyes and says "Well, God always has a plan and a reason." They both cry as the old wound hurts once more. Softly, into each other's arms until they fell asleep.
| 2015-11-19T12:48:22 | 2015-11-19T10:38:26 | 54 | 21 |
[WP] For years, you've saved people, protected the innocents, taken down criminals, but in secret. No one knows what you've done, even the smartest heroes or villains. Today, you receive a basket of flowers, with a small note: "Thank you".
|
It's hard work, being a hero. Takes a toll. I call myself TechnoDave, technology hero, but no one else calls me by that name. I work in secret to avoid the recognition.
No one, even the smartest heroes or the most cunning villains, knows who I am. My rescuees don't know, no one does. To everyone, I'm a simple but skilled software developer, taking it day by day at a profitable but esoteric job.
It is awfully contrived to never be associated with a crime scene or rescue, and so I use my tech to conceal me. Namely, I invented an invisibility suit. People rescued and foes defeated speak of a ghost striking them down at a pivotal moment, dismisses as superstition.
But today, I recieved a letter, accompanied by a basket of flowers. Unusual. I opened it, and began to read from the top.
".I know you are surely doing something great for the world, it is all over your face. I don't need to know.
Thank you, and I love you,
Grandma."
I broke down in tears, for even with my doubt and my fears, I knew I always had one ally.
|
“I’ve been crime fighting for the better part of 30 years. It’s not easy, it’s not the best job in the world, but someone has to protect the people from not only the criminals, but the damages caused by the heroes when fighting them, I’m the guy behind the scenes helping grandmothers cross the street and the people stopping bank robberies rather than the supervillain destroying the world. The world needs a hero they can relate to, someone just like them. Only thing is, I’m nothing like them. I have the strength equivalent to 100 of the strongest man in the world. My top speed I can run at is 45mph. I can get over 15ft of air per jump. And most importantly I’ve survived getting shot 30 times to the point where I just shrug it off when a thug decides to pull out a 9mm on me.” monologued the hero.
“So all of these abilities, why not go public with it and maybe help on a bigger scale?” asked the interviewer.
“Because I value my privacy. I don’t want the big parade thrown in my honor, I don’t want my face on cereal boxes, I don’t want people to try and have me sign their memorabilia. I also kind of like using the bathroom in public without having to worry about a guy forcing his way in their just so he can tell me how big of a fan he is.” Stated the hero.
“Ahhh, yes. I see, now, are there any specific stories that you would say highlight you career? I mean 30 years is a long time, what was the worst experience you’ve had, if you don’t mind me asking” asked the reporter.
“Well there’s this one thing. This has irked me every day of my life since it happened. It was the spring of 1997. Cops were all busy and I picked up a hostage case. Lunatic boyfriend holding his girlfriend who tried to break up with him hostage. You know, the bluffing kind? Kind of guy who you can tell wouldn’t hurt a fly? Anyways, guy was built like a football player, I’d say around 6’4 probably pushing 255. His girlfriend, or ex girlfriend I should say, was a little thing. Probably around 5’2 and if lucky about 110 pounds. She was adorable.” Says the Hero as he begins shifting in his chair. “I arrive to the scene, and it’s just me and the couple there. Boyfriend is up at the top of these apartment stairs, guy has got a .44 revolver pointed at this girls head. I’m standing there thinking, surely he’s bluffing. He’s not going to kill her, hell, he may be big but I don’t think the guy has it in him, he was shaking out of his shoes damn near. I try to talk to the guy to drop the weapon from her head and come down the stairs so we can talk it out. I make an empty promise that I won’t arrest him or at least i won’t incapacitate him for the cops. Guy tells me to piss off and that he’ll kill this, I can’t curse on here can I? Well you get where he was going with that. I said nobody has to get hurt and I start inching towards him slowly. About two or three minutes passed and I could tell this guy won’t pull the trigger. So I get tired of this and my intuition is telling me screw it, I’ll charge at him. I got about halfway up the stairs before I heard that sound....that damn sound. Her screaming to not come closer and him yelling that I’m one step away from her dying right there. I feel the bluff and I take that step. The image that happened next replays in my head like a broken VCR tape. Guy pulled the trigger. Loud bang, guy breaks his wrist firing it, girls head gets demolished. I’m in shock, then taken over by anger. I beat the idiot senseless and cuff him up onto the railing before beating him some more. Guys face looked like when you jam your finger in the car door. Like he just went 12 rounds with prime Muhammad Ali. That one mistake, that lack of judgement, cost this poor girl her life. And to this day, I handle every situation with the upmost respect. You never know what someone is capable of.” Says the Hero.
“Wow. That is some tough stuff to handle. I’m sorry you had to experience that.” Says the reporter. “Now let’s move onto a positive not, what’s the best experience you’ve had or most moving.” Asked the reporter.
“This one is easy to answer. Christmas 2004. This family is stuck after they flipped their car into a ditch. Car was done, no way that they even flipped it would it run. I’m driving casually among the area, doing my patrols as my property is out there. I come across them, parents, mother and father, cute little daughter, no younger than 8. I pull over and ask them if they need a ride. Father says yes, we drove about 3 miles before I see the road is blocked off, turns out ice made it impossible to drive on. So I propose that they just stay at my house for the night until tomorrow and then we try again. They’re skeptical at first until I let them know I’m not one of those loonies or crazies that’s going to kill them or kidnap them. They stay the night and then I take them to the nearest town and we part ways. Well, about 2 weeks later I get a bouquet of flowers and a note. I’m sitting there wondering who it could be, as at the time I wasn’t seeing anyone at the time. It’s a little thank you note written in the smallest and cutest writing I’ve ever seen. It’s from the parents daughter. She said thank you for all i did for them because they had just gotten news that the dads mother had ‘gone to a better place’ the night before and that’s where they were heading to. And that they needed a blessing to go right for them that night. I could tell that the mother had helped a bit on this because it was way too sophisticated for a 7 year old to write, then again, I shouldn’t judge there haha. They said what I did that night was the nicest gesture they’ve had happen to them since she can remember. She left me her favorite stuffed animal to repay the kindness I showed them, and that it was her good luck charm and that I deserved it more. I cried for about 3 hours that day because of that. There are a lot of bad things that you have to witness in this profession. So it’s always the littlest of things that make it worth it.” Said the hero. “Are we done here?”.
| 2019-07-28T07:04:58 | 2019-07-28T06:09:06 | 37 | 26 |
[WP] A trio of witches who live on the outskirts of town as outcasts befriend a neighbor child. They are annoyed at first by them but after their persistence realize they are genuine. One day they don’t show up as usual so the witches look for them and learn the town has been taken over by soldiers.
|
“The boy is perfect for the ritual,” said Florence, parting her stringy black hair from her eyes. “I don’t care that you’ve grown a soft spot for him. The winter solstice is tomorrow night. We’re running out of time.”
“She’s right,” said Bernice. “His skin is the perfect texture. We can’t let this opportunity pass us by. Not after last year’s disaster.”
Diane tried to prevent her exasperation from consuming her face. Why couldn’t her sisters listen to reason? Why couldn’t they see that the boy’s interest in their traditions was *genuine*\--that he was undeserving of such a cruel fate?
“You can’t do this to him,” said Diane. “He’s worth more to us untainted. I can make him one of us. You just have to give me a chance.”
“You don’t even know his name, Diane,” said Florence. “What makes you think that he will listen to you? He’s just a kid. To him, this is all a game.”
“I just *know*.”
Bernice chuckled. She placed a hand on Diane’s shoulder, running her long fingernails through her hair. “Always the bleeding heart,” she said. “There’s nothing that you can do. The boy’s fate has already been decided. When he arrives tomorrow, we will use him to complete the ritual. If you try and interfere, you will regret it.”
\---
The morning sun rose, bathing the woods with pale orange light.
But the boy was nowhere to be found.
“Where is he?” said Florence. She glanced out the cabin window. “He’s normally here by sunrise.”
“Perhaps he can sense your plan,” said Diane. “He’s a smart kid. You don’t give him enough credit. And besides, he’s seen what you do to animals. Perhaps you scared him off.”
“Doubtful.”
The sound of snapping twigs drifted through the forest. A few moments later, the boy appeared in their doorway, face pale, limbs trembling.
Diane’s heart immediately went out to him.
“Help me,” said the boy. “There are soldiers. They…” His voice trailed off, lost in the tears welling in his eyes. He retreated through the door toward the woods.
“Wait!” said Florence. She rose from her chair and hurried to the door. “What happened, my sweet? Did someone hurt you?”
“Follow me. I will show you.”
Florence glanced at Bernice.
“We must follow him,” whispered Bernice. “If something happens to him, we will never recover.”
Florence nodded her head. She turned toward the boy. “We will follow you. But you must slow down so we can keep up.”
“Only if Diane comes too.”
“Of course she’s coming.”
Florence flashed daggers at Diane with her eyes.
The sisters followed the boy through the woods.
When they reached the town, a line of soldiers circled the road.
Behind them toward a freshly constructed gallows.
“I’ve brought the witches!” said the boy, sprinting toward the soldiers.
“Are all three of them witches?” said one of the soldiers, raising his musket.
“No.” The boy pointed at Florence and Bernice. “Just those two.”
Thanks for reading! If you're interested in reading more, please consider checking out [r/Brock\_Mauve](https://www.reddit.com/r/Brock_Mauve/comments/mc94qn/those_damn_birds/)
|
"Soup’s on, ladies!"
With a wicked whiff of something smokey and gnarly, two shadows rushed towards the dank dining room. The two shadows emerged and slowly descent towards opposite chairs on the table.
One turned into a misty blue apparition, gradually a voluptuous beauty draped in aquamarine robes and a similarly coloured pointy hat appeared in its place. She crossed her long thick legs and leaned towards the jet-black metal pot in front of her.
"Yum! That smells delish, El!" the aquamarine lady said giddily.
"Did you use the spiced liquorice I’ve bought yesterday?"
The one who just asked the question was the other shadow from earlier. Like her counterpart, she eventually took form after the clearing of the red smoke around her. Red – dark and light – adorned her rather slender frame. One look at her and it was clear that she’d taken care of the articles she wore. Instead of a robe, she opted for a long red cape flowing freely from her pencil-like nape. Yet the distinctly familiar pointy hat was still similar to her blue-themed counterpart’s.
"Yes, yes. I didn’t forget. But I’ve taken care to add my own 'twist' just to make it a bit tastier," a third person appeared out of the kitchen, ladle and staff on her hands.
This one was more plainly dressed in all black. She worn an uninspiring parka and high boots, presumably to give the illusion that her legs were longer than they truly were. It took her some time before reaching the table, even with hurried steps.
With a proud grin, she waved her staff around as if she was composing an orchestra. Suddenly bowls and spoons began to fly off of the shelves. They danced around the ladies in a beautiful harmony, then proceeding to queue in front of the lady in black. In a well-coordinated manner, the woman ladled up the soup to the bowls and they immediately flew to the other two waiting at their seats.
"Well, thank you for your hard work, El!" the lady in blue shouted.
"Hmmmm, it’s not bad. I’ll give it a 6 out of 10–"
"Wha-That’s pretty low! I’d give it a 6.5 out of 10!"
The two 'judges' seemed content and continued to devour their meals. The lady in black simply nodded and let out a sigh.
"Yeah, I guess you guys were right. I’ll give it a 5 out of 10, seems fair that way."
"I think we should’ve gotten that boy to judge too! He’d be a great independent appraiser!" the lady in red said as she let out a hearty burp.
"Eww… That’s pretty unladylike, Bo. You’re lucky no one is here to judge your manners or you’d end up all alone forever."
"Nah nothing to worry about, Mon! I’m sure the men of these realms won’t pass up the opportunity to make a move at me–"
As they were having their little banter, a knock on the door sent them into alert. Normally one would simply walk up to the door and answered the person on the other side. But in their circumstance, there’d never ever been anyone who’d just up and knock – unless they were as naive as that boy they’ve mentioned earlier.
"Eleanor, I think it’ll be better if you go and see who that is," said the lady in red beckoning the lady in black with her outstretched arms.
"W-Why not you, instead? I’m sure they’ll be at a loss for word and just start ogling you instead!"
"Hmmm, I don’t know. An innocent-looking little girl answering the door might lower their guard for a bit. I’m sure you can handle them, if it’s that much no?"
With a heavy heart, Eleanor – the jet-black lady – began to make her way to the door. She perked up her cheeks and practised the appropriate greeting as well as a particular 'style of talking' which her friend, Bottie – the aquamarine lady – had taught her. Apparently it was an effective weapon against potentially dangerous people, or so she said.
"Hewwwo! How can I hewp youuu?" Eleanor said in a high-pitched voice.
The men at the door almost jumped back before somehow regaining their cool, "Uh, pardon us, young miss… But are there any adults here which we can talk to?"
*Goddamnit! I hate this, I don’t believe they really think I’m a fucking kid!* Eleanor screamed to herself in frustration at the men’s reaction.
"Ahhh! I’m sooowwwy! I’m all awwone! I can tell my pawents you came by, tho!"
The men let out some indecent 'aww' before snapping back to a much more appropriate tone.
"R-Right, well if your parents are back please tell them that there was a missing boy from the farmland down at the village. Also, it’d be safer for you all to stay indoors for a while since the village had been taken over by soldiers of the neighbouring kingdom. So, yeah… take care, young miss."
***
The three ladies then got to work. They brought out scrolls and magic items onto the dining room table. Eleanor started chanting and began to caress the somewhat oversized crystal ball at her hands. Bottie simply unfurled some magical scrolls one at a time, with each one burning up into colourful flames. Mona – the lady in red – drew a magic circle on the floor with a purple chalk, which soon lit up eerily.
The three were all doing their own specialised way of gathering intelligence. The information they’ve received from the men who knocked on their door earlier didn’t register immediately with any of them. Perhaps they were too focused on their work in the house that they’ve missed out on some rather important events happening just outside their door.
First, the boy. He was just a normal village boy. At first they thought he was bothersome, but after some persistent invasion into their personal spaces the boy was simply part of the furniture at the house. At least, they thought so to make his presence less of an annoyance.
When the men told them that this boy was missing, they reacted rather indifferently.
*Surely, boys go out on little adventures of their own and go 'missing' for a while before making their way back home, eh?* was what they thought had happened.
But from preliminary intelligence gathered by Mona, the boy’s disappearance was a bit strange indeed. Usually, they’d cast a spell to locate someone by slipping in their name in the spell. Even after a few tries – each time, she poured more magical power into the cast – the location was unknown. That was why she had formed a magic circle which would not only increase the efficacy of such spell but also guarantee whether the boy was still alive or not.
Then, the soldiers who had taken the village.
Eleanor was unsure whether the men from earlier were indeed just some random villagers or the so-called soldiers from the neighbouring kingdom. Yes, she probably could’ve probed into it. But her whole schtick didn’t bode much result except to have lowered the men’s guards. She still shivered recalling how the men had reacted in such a perverse way.
So, she used her trusty crystal ball to recce the village. Indeed, she saw strange soldiers who had never been there before. In the past she recalled soldier-looking men and women who would occasionally visit the village, usually carrying supplies and doing patrols. But these men were somewhat different – they wore darker-coloured armour and had an aura of death lingering about them. For a moment, she was concerned with how the villagers were being treated. Some of them were rounded up in the village square and were in chains. Though she had not seen anyone dead, so perhaps it was a rather unwarranted concern to have.
Just a precaution, Bottie also took initiatives and began putting up magical barricades to protect themselves. Of course, when push comes to shove they’d put up a fight sooner than giving up on their beloved house. There were too many valuable things inside which would cause damage if someone else were to get ahold of them.
"What do we do now?" Eleanor broke the focused silence.
"I mean… what *can* we do? It seems like we are in quite a tight spot."
"I agree with Bottie," the red-cape wearing Mona jumped up and dusted her velvety cape off of the chalk dust, "but we shouldn’t just sit on our arses. Surely they’d come here, *again* and try to investigate why a little girl was all alone in such an old crooked house, no?"
"Well I was talking more about the boy–"
"Who cares, he’s pretty annoying anyway. I think we should investigate the soldiers down in the village, see if they’re indeed a threat or non-issue," Bottie said in a matter-of-fact way.
"I think that’s good, should we use cosplay as travellers and head down there?"
"… I call dibs on the drab shirt and trousers!"
| 2021-03-24T08:37:49 | 2021-03-24T06:37:15 | 246 | 56 |
[WP] After years of static noise and boring afternoons a SETI researcher finally gets a hit. From somewhere out in deep space a signal is being sent that is consistent and repeating with one simple message "Do Not Leave Earth".
|
"Computer, translate again please"
"Do Not Leave Earth"
This wasn't a wow signal, the sender had sent this in binary.... they wanted us to read this and left no room for errors.
We contacted what allies we had left, it had been sent in their languages too, possibly best to assume every other nation received it also.
Debates and hysteria went on for weeks until I got impatient waiting for politics to catch up with science. I wasn't going to just wait for the suits to turn up and take over my facility, I'm going to talk to an alien.
"Who sends this message?" I responded
"The people of Symposium" came back several hours later.
I was in awe, the gods answered my call and they left nothing to interpretation, they must have studied all languages in prep for this, which means they could have been hanging around up there for a while...
"People have claimed to see visitors from other worlds in the past, was this you?"
I waited.
"Not sure, but you are safe where you are, stay on earth"
"What danger is out there?"
"They have no name, we could not defeat them. You will stand no chance, do not provoke them, do not leave Sol"
"Maybe we can work together. Humans learn very fast."
"I very much doubt that if our ancestors don't even know we exist"
What? What's that got to do with anything? I'll have to slow down and think this through, what could they possibly mean?
"Who are your ancestors?"
"People of Earth, I thought this would be sent to Earth, this is Earth right? If its not Earth please pass this on, its an emergency broadcast. I'm going to speak to my commander, its my first day sorry, please hold."
Is this a prank? The machine cannot lie though, its clearly coming from the stars, I'm not sure what to do now, I just thought first contact would be grander than this so I'm struggling to accept this reality. Maybe to them first contact is no big deal? They must do it all the time. But what if?
"This is Earth. Are you human?"
"Yes, are there multiple intelligent species on Earth?"
"No. Just us. We can't possibly be your ancestors though. We never made it past Earths moon, that was a 100 years ago, no progress since"
"Are you sure? We still have colony ships here. UN Tesla ships."
This is some bullshit, if they have the technology to travel to another planet then why are they communicating with text...
"Can you communicate with other mediums? Video? Audio?"
"Yes of course, let me speak to boss"
I must have been so immersed into my conversation I did not hear intruders entering my lab as I felt a firm hand placed upon my shoulder.
"Ma'am. Please step away from the console"
|
For decades I’ve listened to the stars. For decades, they’ve said nothing back. Just static, ever since 1977 when Jerry Ehman caught the ‘Wow’ signal: “6EQUJ5”. I wasn’t born at the time, but it was still the only anomaly we had captured here at SETI, the Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence, even with the largest satellite dishes in the world. And for some reason I thought it was a good idea to come and listen myself.
Sitting here, in front of a cold terminal while the sun shines bright and beautiful outside, I can’t help but think that I’ve wasted my life.
Margaerie is going to Mars today -- In a matter of hours. She’s a pioneer. While I sit and listen to static, she’s with the people I defended my choice against, who tried to convince me to make a real difference instead of wasting away here. Smarter people than me.
Wow.
6EQUJ5. Nonsense. Noise. Less noisy than the rest, but noise all the same. I’m suddenly uncomfortably aware that even the most random noise is bound to contain some sort of message by accident - like the saying about infinite monkeys each with a typewriter eventually turning out Shakespeare.
I glance anxiously at the black screen of the television. I could be watching the pre-launch, but I don’t think I can. I just sit, bitter, thinking back on the life that led me here:
The floating light I swear I saw as a child, so unreal in it’s smooth and sudden movements across the sky.
Building shortwave radios with my dad to talk to truckers who may as well have been alien to a nerdy kid like me.
A short lived pirate radio station in my teens.
College, and Margaerie, who always said I should study something of actual use.
That it was a waste of my mathematical mind to listen to radio static.
And then she left me for another planet entirely.
Then years listening to the endless static of the universe.
Funny how you can trace a path along a lifetime in an instant. Decades of random days and rash decisions into a few pivotal moments. A cohesive picture, traced from the noise.
Wow.
Suddenly, it occurs to me: Here at SETI we have nearly 100 years of data, static received from the furthest reaches of space. But maybe it’s only static on a human timescale.
With an intensity I haven’t had since my early days, I pull up the records. All of them. And compress them. Looking for long term patterns in the noise. To my great surprise, there seems to be a small dip in the late 2030s. Maybe a bit of a peak around 1987? 2001? 2015? Probably nothing. I keep crunching.
Then, 100 years compressed into roughly 30 seconds. And there is a pattern. A repeating pattern, with a definite ‘click’ every 14 years.
Wow.
At this point, I feel I should call someone… No, I have to take a crack at it first. But I couldn’t make sense of the signal. Or why 1977’s “6EQUJ5” still stood out from it like a sore thumb. A massive, short burst among the noise on a much shorter timescale than the rest.
Feeling a little less bitter, I turn on the TV and start watching the pre-launch. “T-Minus 30 minutes” in the lower corner. Mission control rattling off acronyms: “OTC?”
“Go”, the shuttle responds.
“PTC?”, “Go”, “LPS?”, “Go”
Safety checks. Letters that mean nothing to me, but may mean the difference between life and death to the crew. Like secret codes. Then it occurs to me:
“6EQUJ5” was a cipher, meant for us, to decode another message.
Now, it may be important to clarify here that the letters in SETI signals refer to numbers past 9. So, A would be 10, B would be 11, et cetera. And those numbers refer to the intensity of radio waves over time. “6EQUJ5” then is really 6, 14, 26, 30, 19, 5. You can trace a parabola by mapping these points over time.
And if you map that parabola out from one ‘click’ to another, and use signal processing to add that frequency to the noise, you get…
A bunch of numbers, still.
Wow.
But, taken in full, the waveform did look very intentional. Still feeling a little stupid that I couldn’t connect any patterns from these numbers, I decide to just listen to the thing.
“DO NOT LEAVE EARTH. DO NOT LEAVE EARTH. DO NOT LEAVE EARTH...”
Holy shit.
...
Holy shit.
A voice like nothing I’d ever heard, with years and years of data in every syllable. And it was speaking english to me.
At this point, I did call someone. And got her voicemail. Of course her phone would be off while the shuttle prepares to launch. I turned to the TV.
“T-Minus 5 minutes.”...
Holy shit.
I called my supervisor. “We need to keep that shuttle on the ground.”
“What?”
“I found a message”
“What?...”, even over the phone, I could feel his realization setting in, “Holy shit!”
“We need to keep the shuttle on the ground.”
“What?”, T-Minus 4 minutes. “What is the message?”
I turned on speakerphone and let him hear recording for himself: “DO NOT LEAVE EARTH. DO NOT LEAVE EARTH.”, then repeated: “We need to keep that shuttle on the ground.”
“T-Minus 3 minutes.”...
“It’s in English?”
“I know. It’s crazy. I know. But we need to keep that shuttle on the ground.”
“Okay. Yes. Okay. I’ll make some calls.”, then my supervisor hung up.
“T-Minus 2 minutes.”...
On TV, the US president spoke about giant steps for mankind. No one seemed to know anything yet.
“T-Minus 1 minute”...
“DO NOT LEAVE EARTH. DO NOT LEAVE EARTH.” my speakers blared like an alarm.
“T-Minus 30 seconds”...
It wouldn’t be until years later that we discovered it, a roaming ‘leviathan’ made of dark matter and entirely unlike any creature we knew on Earth. It had no mouth, but was in some ways, all mouth. It encircled the Earth just past the moon, and had encircled the Earth for a long time. As it had to countless other worlds.
“T-Minus 15”…
Stuck in its surface was a small alien research station. They had studied earth for centuries, helpless and trapped on the surface of the leviathan but still trying to warn us. Their planet was gone, and all but a few of their species with it. A shield powered by a quickly draining battery was all that kept them from being consumed as well. But the creature itself was so massive it dilated time, and the message only trickled out over decades, distorted and broken.
“T-Minus 10”…
Then, in 1977, the now sole survivor of their race realized the problem. And mounted a suicide mission to tell us about it.
“T-Minus 9”…
But it must have known that it would only have a moment before the leviathan detected it and swallowed it.
“T-Minus 8”…
And it must have known somehow that humans were not recording radio signals at a high enough quality to receive the whole message in that timeframe.
“T-Minus 7”…
So it only had time to send the algorithm that would let us make sense of the signal.
“T-Minus 6”…
Because the leviathan feeds on worlds.
“T-Minus 5”…
More accurately, it feeds on intelligences.
“T-Minus 4”…
But it waits until they’re ripe.
“T-Minus 3”…
When they’re ready to settle on new worlds.
“T-Minus 2”...
When a new intelligence breaches it’s skin.
“T-Minus 1”...
Then it consumes the rest…
“Hold on. We are stopping the launch. We have been told to delay the launch. We will have more information soon.”
That was the day that every bad decision I ever made saved the world.
Wow.
| 2018-06-02T16:13:21 | 2018-06-02T13:02:21 | 36 | 13 |
[WP] "Apologies, human. Unfortunately, you were accidentally killed by a glactic federation officer during an altercation on your planet. Currently we are constructing you a replacement body, and in return for your ensured silence on our existence, I wanted to ask if you wanted anything... changed."
|
“Well, I wouldn’t mind having a bigger dick.” Was my response.
The voice beaming through my thoughts gave off a distressed sounding grunt- the kind that’s usually followed by, “fuck off.”, or something similar.
There was a long pause.
“Fuck off.” Was the response I got.
I was partially thrown off. “What is it, you can’t do that for me?” I asked.
“No, it’s just that out of the twelve humans involved in this complication, you’re the third one to request this. We’ve only gotten to four of you so far, one of which was female.”
I felt attacked. “So, you’re trying to say something about my species? Is there a problem? Do you think we’re a primitive species? That all we care about is reproducing?”
The voice was quick to respond: “Yes.”
If I had working arms (and eyes, or hands, or just any physical form at all), I’d have given the source of the voice a one-way trip Valhalla, propelled by my fist and biological insecurities.
I doubled down. “It’s either you give me a bigger penis, or I’m telling.” I wasn’t sure who I’d actually be telling, but I think it gave me more bargaining leverage.
I heard another distress-fueled grunt. “Here’s the thing, human. I can give you a larger penis. I really can, and I don’t mind doing it either. But this is a professional gig I’ve got going on here. About the first two guys: sure. It’s funny, it’s cool, a unique thing that your species is really ‘big’ on. But do you know how stupid this will look for me? You’re just the third. There are eight more people after you, and half of them left are also male.”
I was at the point where there was no turning back. My big dick energy had taken me too far in. “I don’t give a shit if ‘gave humans bigger dicks’ ends up as a key point on your resume. Your company killed me, and you guys are lucky I’m not going to sue.”
To be honest, I had no idea how alien law worked.
“Ok. If I’m going to put it flatly, human, you’re being a dick.”
“Then give me a bigger one.” I quickly snapped back.
The voice rapidly became offensive.
It boomed with unfathomable intensity. “I was legit going to offer you absolute knowledge, or to perhaps structure your brain to understand true humility and compassion, or maybe even fix that chronic disorder of yours that you still don’t know about. But nope, instead you just want a big dick. So that’s what you get.”
I stuttered a response before being interrupted again:
“That’s right, you’re going to die at the age of forty. Goodbye.”
And that was that.
|
"Dead? I'm dead? How the hell am I here then? " I was standing in some sort of room, it looked like a doctors waiting room, but it was ultra clean and perfect, like some kind of simulation. It just looked a little bit too plastic and shiny. In front of me was the most perfect looking human I'd ever seen. She was flawless and a bit uncanny valley. Her face remained neutral as she watched me carefully.
"Where am I?" I asked the person cautiously. Why would they bring me to this weird place? What did they want with me?
They smiled a little, "inside your head. We created this place so we can talk to you, person to person."
"Huh? How? Why?"
"You are here because we saved you with our technology. Your people were not supposed to be part of this battle at all. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."
Flashes of images rolled through my mind of weird looking creatures brawling in the street outside of my house in the dark. They were massive and one of them had a gun, they fired, a blue shimmer went across the other creatures body and the blast was deflected up. It smashed my window and hit me in the chest. It burned for a moment as I stood, watching as the creature with the gun looked up at me, I couldn't take a breath. I remember falling but that was it. I couldn't remember hitting the ground.
I felt panic, but none of the feelings of it were normal. I couldn't react how I normally would. I took a deep breath and tried to calm down, knowing that I wasn't really breathing, that the reason I wasn't reacting normally was because my body just wasn't there.
"I don't have a body right now, do I?"
"Your body is being rebuilt as we speak, it is currently in the design process and, well, we can only begin to rebuild if you agree to a few simple demands. One, you tell the world that the damage was caused by an unknown explosion and two, you don't tell anyone that we exist. As a reward, we'd like to offer you a few things, you can change anything about your body."
"Anything?"
"Yes, anything?"
I thought about it. My body, while being kind of awesome at times, had some annoying flaws that I'd love to fix.
"How many things can you fix?"
"As many as you'd like. I'll leave you alone, we have a computer here for you to help you design your new body. Your original imprint is already in here. Our designer will visit to finalise everything once you are ready."
My mind raced, the possibilities were endless. I thought about it carefully. I needed to fix my annoying knees so I they wouldn't hurt so easily, get rid of my asthma, those were the main things I wanted fixed, oh, and make it so my hair doesn't frizz anymore. Yes, I 100% wanted these things. What else did I want? Those annoying niggles of pain from old injuries needed fixing, those were next. I was then sent to a screen to choose other things. It was like playing the sims, designing your own character. My original body was there on the screen. I could select and change whatever I liked. I clicked on my face, so many options turned up. I could change whatever I wanted. I started messing around. I had a side by side comparison up of my old face and what I was changing. It was actually really fun and felt like I was playing a video game. Eventually I had finished. I hadn't changed too much, just tweaked areas to make them a little more flattering. Then it came to my body. I was honestly not too fussed about changing it apart from making myself skinnier and giving myself a little more muscle. I could even change the age scale, making myself older and younger. I chose to make myself ten years younger, back to 21. I would go even younger, but I didn't want to look like a kid around my friends.
"I see you are nearly done." A voice commented from somewhere and nowhere. It felt like I blinked as another perfect person appeared in front of me.
"I'm never going to get used to that," I muttered.
"Now, we can offer you a few more things as compensation. We can make it so your body, as it's human, you will age, but we can prevent any mutations, any fatal sickness from taking you. You also won't gain any added weight easily from food. It seems like your old body was difficult to control with weight. I'd like to fix that as well."
"Really?" I grinned and he nodded.
"Now, I'd also like to grant you and the people you are closest to one more thing. One the eventual expiration of your bodies, I'd like to bring you back here and give you all the chance of having a second life. We would allow you to begin your life again as children, together. We can create parents and allow you all to live good lives wherever you would like to live. This is our final offer. All you have to do is promise you will not tell any other humans that we exist."
"But I'm going to look different when I go back. How do I explain that?"
"They will know it's you. We have ways, don't worry about it."
"What about the house?"
"It's all fixed, we also added a little compensation to your bank accounts. It's all yours, it should cover any other expenses."
I thought about it and nodded. The deal I was getting seemed to be amazing. I would still be me, but a better me.
"Ok. I agree to keep your secret as long as you live up to your end of the bargain."
The man nodded and smiled.
"I have one request, when I wake up in my new body, I want to see your ship, I want to actually meet you, not just this computer generated human body."
The man looked concerned. He paused in front of me and didn't move. I walked to him, he was frozen in place, unmoving, unblinking. I poked him, he felt like a solid object, like a wall, he didn't react and his body didn't even move.
"It is agreed." I jumped and stumbled backwards, he was back. "I have one more question. Your mind seems to be, how should I say this, the fear center of your brain seems to be, well, over mutated. I've never seen a human's brain wired quite like it before. I wish to correct it, if you are happy for me to do so."
"You mean, it will get rid of my anxiety?"
"Not all, a human without fear is a scary thing. I would only set it back to a regular pattern. Do you want this?"
"Yes!" I spoke a little too quickly and louder then I expected. "Please."
"It shall be done. You will be waking shortly. Time passes different here in the mind. You will wake inside our ship, our true forms will seem quite scary, but we will install a translation chip so you can understand us and will be able to communicate. It translates most known languages in the galactic federation."
I nodded and felt a small pang of fear. I wasn't scared of the aliens. Why would I be since they were saving my life? I was scared of something going wrong. They were going to put my mind back inside a body, a new body. What if it rejected it, what if something goes wrong? I blinked and coughed. I wasn't in the room any longer, my mouth felt so dry, my body felt so heavy. I squinted but my eyes were so blurry. I went to rub them but my arms weren't moving.
"She's awake," someone spoke in a surprisingly gentle voice. I couldn't see whoever it was. They sounded weird, like I was underwater.
"Human, your body is still fresh, it's going to take a couple of hours for it to comply with your mind fully, "please have patience while we wait."
I couldn't say or do anything. I felt so relieved though. I was awake and I felt, I felt different inside my own head. That niggling fear that was always present inside my stomach was gone. I felt my face twitch into a small smile. I didn't know what was going to happen next, but I was alive, my body was better then ever.
| 2019-10-28T13:22:27 | 2019-10-28T12:30:59 | 57 | 23 |
[WP] As an act of desperation, you applied to every college on the list. Sifting through the apologetic rejections, a pure black envelope catches your eye. The letters on it glow crimson red, charcoal-colored smoke wafts from the pages...
|
The paper felt warm in my hands.
*Dear Ms. Ransom,*
*On behalf of the Scholomance I am pleased to congratulate you on your acceptance into our Solomonari program for the Fall 2012 semester. Your application showed great promise and I have every confidence that you will realize your full potential with us.*
*Please find enclosed our admissions brochure with more information about the very exclusive program to which you have been accepted, and your personal copy of the Solomonar's handbook.*
*If you wish to attend, sign your name in the space indicated. Your handbook will contain further instructions.*
*If you would prefer to accept an offer elsewhere, burn the envelope with all its contents and scatter the ashes in a fast-flowing stream.*
Well, that was a no-brainer. I didn't *have* any other offers.
The ink of my signature glowed crimson even though I'd used a black pen. Then it faded away along with the last two sentences, to be replaced with:
*Thank you for choosing the Scholomance! The journey of a lifetime awaits.*
*Yours sincerely,*
The name below it was frustratingly indecipherable. In my peripheral vision it was elaborate cursive in no language I knew, bristling with curlicues and flourishes. Looking at it directly, I found myself wanting to believe it was vaguely upper-class and British, with a string of impressive academic credentials trailing behind.
I flipped through the handbook, which was blank except for the first page. I looked through the brochure. Then I cleared my throat.
"Dad, I've been accepted."
"That's good, honey." My dad was still engrossed in his newspaper. "But don't get your hopes up. Most students who've been wait-listed don't get in."
"No, dad. Look." I crossed to his side of the living room and thrust the faintly-smoking letter in his face. It was still warm in my hand. "I've been *accepted*."
He frowned at the letterhead. "Scholomance... Never heard of it."
But he kept reading. Moments later, he sighed. "Becca, your mother and I just thought you should give Christian colleges a chance. Did you check their website before applying? You know this is a Jewish school, right?"
*Jewish? Oh, right, solomonari.*
"I mean, Solomon's in the Bible too," I said. "I think calling the students 'solomonari' is just to remind us to be wise like him."
My dad's eyes narrowed. "*Us?*"
"I... think I want to accept," I said. *I've accepted.*
"You're not Jewish, Becca," my dad said. "I won't let you turn your back on God like this."
"It's not like what you think, dad," I said. I handed him the brochure. "See for yourself."
My dad tried to look indifferent, but I could see his eyes light up as he perused it. Academic rigor, extensive fieldwork, with the choice of a capstone project or a thesis of at least 100 pages at the end of seven years' study. State-of-the-art facilities and an excellent teacher-student ratio helped too. Only ten students were admitted every year.
And, the cherry on top for him, the chance of a prestigious high-paying job with plenty of opportunities to travel right out of graduation.
"You could've just said it was a direct-to-master's/PhD program," he said. He was grinning from ear to ear. "I'm so proud of you. We'll definitely have to go somewhere special this weekend to celebrate."
Just as I started to smile as well, he added, "See? I told you religious schools weren't so bad."
As far as I was concerned, the Scholomance couldn't start teaching me magic soon enough.
|
...
---
> **lim·i·nal**
>
> */ˈlimənl/*
>
> *adjective*
>
> 1. relating to a transitional or initial stage of a process.
> 2. occupying a position at, or on both sides of, a boundary or threshold.
>
> ---
…
...
He was always told that the mountains he carried were meant to be climbed.
Easier said than done, and likely forbidden from ever being done, in order to ensure his own very existence in the worldly subconscious.
To reach the top would be to reach annihilation, and though he always wondered what the sensation of pure oblivion would feel like from time to time, he knew better.
It had rained the day before, and still, the scent was most joyous to him. He found the greatest pleasures in the little things, for he believed to savor such facets of existence was to tell the universe, *‘I am here.’*
His shell of flesh and bone was decaying, slowly but surely, cell by cell eroding away. Like many things, mortality was an inconvenience, a byproduct of the entropic cosmos fighting to reveal itself.
Over the dark crest of the hill, was a car. A hand-me-down, hereditary amalgamation of leaking oil and grinding gears, driven by tiny explosions underneath a hood of crumbling rust, until it slowed to a stop at the empty intersection. The traffic lights had stopped working about seven days ago, and he made sure no one was going to fix it. Gave them a good dose of procrastination, but he was careful not to give too much.
An apathetic soul would wreak havoc on themselves, and he despised such inconveniences, for the world would fare better to bend to him, not snap in two.
He looked at the twenty two year old young woman step out of her beater sedan and flashed her his best smile, something he had perfected for millennia.
She wore a deep green parka, and athletic pants that were also hand-me-downs, her hair dressed in a messy bun. He felt her anxiety radiate off her like heat off the pavement, among other things.
“Congratulations on your acceptance into law school, Faye. To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked cordially.
Mixed in with that nervousness was a tinge of fear that would usually blossom in his presence, and so there it went, seeping into her bloodstream, flooding her pheromones. A dash of anger and confusion remain stagnant near the bottom of her heart. It’s always the same.
“What did you do to my friends? *Answer me*.” she demanded
Faye stepped forward with big, commanding steps, her normally bubbly face torn apart by guilt and rage. She was losing control, but that wasn’t what was bothering her. It was the black letter in her hand, which she waved in front of the man’s face. The letter felt unnaturally smooth, faint wisps of darkness dancing around the occult parchment.
*Not so meek anymore. So full of fire now*, he thought.
The man leaned against his truck, folding his arms as if in offense. “I did what you wished.”
“You killed them! I know you did! I’m going to tell everyone what and who you are-”
His eyes narrowed. “And what am I, Faye, but a humble advocate for education? And what have I done, if not to help you succeed and achieve your dreams and get you and your mother away from your devil of a father? What happened to your friends was a tragic accident-”
“-I don’t know who you are. Or whatever bullshit you’re feeding me. I looked you up everywhere, online, forums. No one’s heard of you! Your name isn’t Ianu, is it? I went to your office and found nothing but doors and empty rooms and mirrors, you're a fraud!”
“There was once a time when that fact would soothe me, but what’s done is done. I am who I say I am, I provide doors of opportunity, windows of reflection, bridges to new beginnings. Your so-called friends are gone. And now, there are empty seats that you can, and, dare I say, *must* fill. You have your whole life ahead of you, Faye. Life is so short. The days are long but the years? The *years*... they drag their heels like tree sap down a conifer."
“I want you to fix this.” she proclaimed. “I want-I want everything to go back to the way it was.”
“Your friends were never truly *your* friends, Faye. In fact, I know them better than you ever did.”
“Fuck off.” She threw him the black envelope at his feet. “You’re going to reverse my wish. I read the terms of the contract. So fix this! Bring them back!”
“Lizzie touted her loyalty to you, but was that really the case?” said the man. “She was jealous of you, envied what she could not have, and that, my dear, was the affections of Peter.”
“Peter? My boyfriend? What are you talking about-”
“Peter been working long nights? Been distant? Or shall I say, quite ill as of late? And what of Sammy? Beautiful Sammy, who sabotaged you from the start, ever since you were children. I admired that competitive streak in her, and yet, it led her to ruin. But you… you, Faye… you can do whatever you please, be the force of reckoning that you always felt you should be. Law school was made for you. No strings on you, Faye. This is all you. Trust me.”
A sudden gust of wind cut through the two of them, bringing in more rubbish from the junkyards.
Faye remained defiant of the truth, refusing to let his words burrow their way into her skin. “**Shut the fuck up**. Shut up and reverse this.”
“Sometimes, you have to wonder what worse circumstances your bad luck has shielded you from. Go home, Faye. Grieve. Mourn. Reversing this will do you no good.”
“I read the terms and conditions. I know the clause that will set me free.”
"Hah! Spoken like a true lawyer." He gestures at her. “But hasn’t that already happened? Your shackles, disintegrated. Your opposition, crushed. Your doubts, nullified into *ephemeral powder.* You have a clear path, Faye. All you need to do is walk it.”
“This isn’t freedom, Ianu. This is *fear.*”
“That’s the emotion talking through you, puppeteering you and your thoughts. Push them aside and see you for who you really are.” he urged her with genuine feeling. He rubbed the dust off his sleeves. “Don’t be stupid. I pulled the veil from you and yet you reject it. Besides, there is no escape. You signed. I signed. You made your terms and I agreed with one hundred percent of my being. Consensual to a tee, my dear.”
“I reject your Pact. I reject this deal. I said, in the contract, that *‘should I find myself standing on the surface of the sun, that my soul is forfeit and the Pact is sealed'*. We’re still on Earth. I can still back out. And you agreed to those. You said it yourself. ‘Rules are rules.’”
Ianu sighed deeply, digging his nails into his own shell.
Faye continued. “So go ahead and reverse this spell.”
He nearly gagged. “Please, you believe me to be part of a coterie or wicked coven? Do not offend me in such a way. Yes, indeed. Rules are rules. But it seems that we’ve reached that clause, my dear Faye. Look to your feet.”
“What?”
Her eyes diverted from him and gazed upon the truth.
He never lies.
Both her feet were planted on an old tabloid. A tabloid named The Sun.
"You wanted this, Faye."
“That’s… that’s not what we agreed.” she stammered, backing away. “The sun’s in the fucking sky! That is what I wrote-”
Faye blinked and felt it all at once.
The sheer weight.
...
In her last moments, she wondered, as most would.
She wondered if he was truly the devil.
But the truth was more obtuse.
He was not.
He was *worse.*
He was the beginning, the present, and the end, and the beginning once more.
He is everything and nothing.
***“I do not cheat. I do not trick. I give folk what they want, nothing more & nothing less. If you are looking for something to blame, look to their hearts.”*** he muttered in a primordial language lost to time and space as he sat back inside the cockpit of his truck, conjuring a feathered pen from his coat pocket.
He needed to write a letter to someone more appreciative.
A man in need of a promotion...
A whore who wants a fresh start...
A waitress with dreams of being a starlet...
A father wishing for a second chance...
Out there, someone needed his aid. All they had to do is seek it.
Ask, and they shall receive.
After all...
His door is always open.
…
| 2021-02-03T09:48:08 | 2021-02-03T09:13:29 | 49 | 16 |
[WP] The devil mixed up your paperwork and gave you someone else's personal hell, which to you, is heaven.
|
I stared into the room, not daring move from the long, endless corridor the demon had led me down. I could see beyond the doorway, an old house, leaky, crumbling, mouldy. I could smell it from where I stood, it smelled of age, of decay.
The demon placed a flaming hand on my shoulder, his touch cool on my skin. "A thousand small jobs, never finished, an infinity of cycling, trying to fix, to clean, to repair." He grinned at me, sharp teeth flashing. "I'll be back to check on you in," He glanced at the clipboard in his other hand, "One Thousand Years." With that, he shoved me, hard, and I stumbled into the room.
The door slammed shut before I could turn, and as it did, dust filtered down through the gaps in the ceiling above me. I frowned.
A pile of tools, fresh and new, sat imposingly in the corner.
Immediately, I began listing out the things to start with, the jobs to prioritise. I looked around, and found a notepad and pen. Smiling, I began to write.
-
The demon, smug as ever, smiled broadly at me as she led me towards my own "Personal Hell" as she described it. She opened a door and waited for me to walk in on my own.
"Alright, your personal hell is..." She ran her lit finger down her clipboard. "A room with nothing practical to do." She frowned. "You are Mr. Watson, yes?"
I swallowed, and nodded.
"Someone will come to let you out in four hundred years." She grinned from the doorway. "Any questions?"
I shook my head.
She shut the door, and silence enveloped me. The room I stood in was so plain, white walls and white floors, and a single chair. A stack of books lay in the corner, thick tomes which would take weeks to pore over. I smiled.
-
"What do you mean?" The devil snapped, slapping a bright blue hand onto his desk. "How could this happen? Don't we have any plans in place for when people come through with the same name?"
The female demon looked away. "We do, after the Smith incident it was added to the new starter process, but I think our clipboards must have been mixed up."
The devil pinched the bridge of his nose. "We can't open up the rooms until the time is up." He sighed, leaning back. "Leave it. Fudge the paperwork."
The demons exchanged a look, but nodded, and rushed away. They slammed the door behind them, and the devil was alone again.
The devil ran his finger over the names on his list. "I suppose you two slip through the net."
|
I woke up on a soft couch in what appeared to be a busy upscale hotel. People were walking by admiring the vaulted ceilings with a smile or looking at their own extremities and looking around as if they were missing something. Most people looked confused, a few relieved, a few more angry. I wondered about where the people were who were calling out for their loved ones. Those people who died in pairs or as families, in car wrecks or house fires, or boating accidents. I thought 'they must go to another place.' This place was obviously for the singles and the loners.
That was me. Forever alone. It wasn't what I wanted, but I wasn't exactly nice enough to deserve anyone. I didn't have the temperament for relationships of any kind. That's probably what killed me in the end; Sitting alone at work for years, then sitting at home after I got to fat to go to work, and finally laying at home until the money ran out and the delivery drivers no longer felt comfortable bringing food into my pigsty of a home.
I knew I'd die there. I thought it would be a heart attack as big as I got, but instead it was some kind of infection. At first just a little soreness in by back, then an itch, then what felt like wriggling, I couldn't reach it to scratch or roll over to see. I was just too big. Eventually I could smell the infection and by then it was too late to get help. My internet had been cut because I couldn't pay the bill and no one in the shit hole I lived it could hear over their own domestic situation to come to my aid. Slowly I got weaker and sepsis set in and I knew may fate and I was okay with it.
As I lay there on the couch feeling basking in the unexpected comfort a man leaned over the top of me. I say man, I mean manish, sort of. You could tell that he was meant to look like a man, but his proportions were off somehow. He was beautiful like a greek statue, but his face was too long, his skin pore-less and smooth, it had a pearl like quality, and his hair-line was too perfectly even, every little hair folicle right in a perfect line next to the other.
"Hello Dan!" The man said with a genuinely happy tone. "I'm Beel. If you'd like to follow us, I can take you to your room."
I looked at him and then looked around and saw the giant of a man standing next to him. He had to be almost as large as I was before I died, but entirely muscle. He had so many muscles and his skin was so tan and taught that it forced his face into a permanent look of surprised happiness - wide eyes, huge smile, perfect white teeth. It was disgusting, the only thing that disgusted me more than my own fat self.
Beel put out a hand to help me up from the couch. At first I just looked at it, wondering how he was going to help up a 700 plus pound tub of lard like me. That's when I realized that I was laying on a couch. Not hanging off of a couch. Not draping over a couch. Just laying comfortably on a normal size couch, without any pain or discomfort. Able to breath without effort. Able to move my arms around without feeling like I was swimming through molasses. It was then I realized that I was thin.
"So..." Beel look at me and then looked at his hand. I must have looked shocked at the idea. He just smiled as if I'd made him the happiest man ever with that look.
I took his hand and stood on two feet for the first time in years. It felt a little odd. I felt shorter somehow. My living height, when I could walk, was 6'4". I'd always hated the stupid jokes people would make about it and the staring. It wasn't like I was monstrously tall like a basketball player, but it was certainly enough to draw unwanted attention. As I looked around for comparison at Beel and the muscle-bound guy I was guessing I was now standing at about 5'11". Five whole inches shorter. It was my perfect height. Not too tall, not too short. Perfect. I must have somehow made it to heaven, even though I was pretty sure Beel was short for Beelzebub.
"This way please." Beel motioned, directing us to a flight of stairs.
I looked at the muscle-bound man and it looked like his face had tightened even more after seeing the steps. I wasn't sure that his feet would fit or how he was going to make his way up. But we continued on.
Beel nodded to the huge man. "Dan I'd like you to meet Dan." He laughed at that. "You know it's not very often that we get two people born on the same day who have the exact same death day. It's even rarer still to get two people who are also saddled with the same name. Danny Kay I'd like you to meet Danny Kay." He guffawed at that notion, although I didn't understand why it was funny.
I'd hated that name. My drug addict of a mother loved older movies and decided to name me after some actor. Not Daniel Roger Kay or Dan Michael Kay or any other possible name, just Danny no-middle-name Kay. I changed it on my 22nd birthday shortly after my mother died. I was now Daniel Scott Key. It was close enough to be familiar, but different enough to make me feel better. Sadly some other poor bastard appeared to have an equally stupid or addled parent. I wondered if he'd also has his named changed.
Then the "crunch" broke me out of my train of thought, as the other Danny crushed a stair step and almost broke the railing off. I was mortified. When I was alive that was my absolute worst fear; That I would try to go up stairs and fall right through or grab the banister and pull it down. I could see he must have had the same fear, as tears streamed down his leather-like cheeks as he worked hard to navigate the stairs, crushing one periodically, and making the rail creak and groan as he tried to recover.
Beel seemed to grow more delighted with each damaged step. He was practically glowing by the time we reached the second floor. It seemed like both an impossibly short amount of time and ages all at once as I had to listen to that nightmarish sound and watch Danny cry all the way up.
Finally we stood at a door with no room number. It looked nice enough, like any other door in any other hallway of any other fine hotel in the world. I knew it was too easy. I knew that I was already being tortured watching Danny come up those stairs and I knew that some new even worse torture was waiting for me on the other side of that door.
Danny and I stood there on either side of Beel as he made his introduction. He grabbed the door and swung it open like he was Monte Hall presenting a new car. Right away though I was horrified as the door almost bounced back closed. What I saw for that instant the door was open was an all too familiar sight of a hoarders house. My house, but even worse. The smell was like cat piss, oh God how I hated cats, and the walls looked like they had mold. My apartment had some mold but only in the corner. This was all over making the whole room smell of cat piss and mold and look like a dark prison cell someone decided to make into a city trash dump.
Danny continued his sobbing, now with a blubbering sound. He stepped back a step and I stepped forward accepting that this would be my eternal hell. Surprisingly Beel put out a stiff arm barring me from entry. He looked at me sternly and with his other hand waggled his finger, "No Sir! This is not for you Mister Kay!"
He stepped in front of me, pushing the door open further while smiling at the other Mister Kay. "Danny, if you please." He said with a smile. Danny took another step back. "Danny, now don't make this hard." Danny looked like he couldn't see through the tears and the tears had now come out of his nose along with snot and dripped down the front of his face onto his tank top. I was pretty sure he couldn't wipe his face even if he wanted to with those arms.
End Part 1 of 2
| 2016-05-28T14:22:58 | 2016-05-28T14:06:45 | 102 | 68 |
[WP] All your life, you've had a small empty bar on your hand that reads "XP." Today you hit and killed a man with your car, and the bar began to fill.
|
I got ten months for it.
It was an accident, but since I was on the phone...
Anyhow, I met another while I was in there. I caught sight of his tattoo before he saw mine - his XP bar about two-thirds full... with a small "3" under it. I tried my best to keep mine hidden after that.
The first chance I got to talk to him was three days later.
"Paul, right?" I said trying to maintain calm.
He gave a slight nod and his eyes studied mine. "You?" He asked.
"I'm Markus" I said, sitting down across the table. "What are you in for?"
"A couple murders" He said, his eyes never looking away. "You?" He asked again.
"Yea. Manslaughter. - Uhh, Involuntary" I admitted. He grinned slightly.
"What's your tat" I asked, pointing to his hand. At this, he straightened up still staring me directly in the eyes. Oops. Too direct.
"Every time I kill, I fill in the bar a little more. You know... like a video game exp bar. Just a little..." he trailed off. Pause...
Before I could react his arms darted forward and grabbed mine. He pulled my hand upright up onto the table and swiftly smashed my closed first against the steel surface. My clenched fist opened in pain and he saw my tattoo, one-third full. He smiled a devilish smile. "Level one still?... I'm on 3".
My horrified and surprised expression betrayed me and his smile widened.
"Everything.. you know.... about your life.. is.... a... lie." Paul explained. He let go slowly and motioned me to follow him as he stood up.
"Now... how would you like to... play some co-op?"
"What are you talking about? What game are we even playing??"
He responded as he walked away: "It's called... "*Outside*.""
|
I stared at the bar for what felt like an eternity, and the bar stared right back. All my life I'd been a decent person, or at least I'd like to describe it that way. Everyone has the fleeting thoughts of doing something crazy, but nobody actually goes through with it, right? Well today I was reborn in my own way. I caught him with that fucking whore finally. Didn't even have the decency to put a new sheet down, or not have sex on **our** fucking bed. When I walked in from getting off my shift at the hospital, I could tell immediately she was there. How? Besides the stench of her trash-can perfume, he doesn't ever cook unless he wants something. Oh, and look, it's *his favorite meal to make when it's a "special occasion."* Guess he was too busy fucking her with his eyes to actually think for a goddamn moment.
Sorry, let me explain; he didn't know I'd be coming home because he didn't think I knew about her. He didn't think I'd switch shifts to catch him in the act, because he had no idea I'd known. I closed the door quietly behind me, hearing the infamous grunts of his shallow personality through the walls. I set my bag down on the counter and took out the solution, and some Propofol pre-injection filled syringes with I.V. lining attached. Donned my favorite type of gloves, AloeForm size 6 1/2 nitrile gloves. Using two pieces of cloth, dumped the solution on them in the sink. I was ready to get rid of this asshole once and for all, and tonight was the decided night.
With each cloth in hand, I crept down the hall and next to the door. Definitely at a... *passionate* time, which would work well. The door was slightly open, so the handle wasn't a noise concern. I gently opened the door just enough to crouch through. What a sick fuck, I'd slave away with patients every day while this fuck can't even keep his dick out of anything with a pulse. *Hell, I bet if the mattress looked like an ass he'd somehow end up counter-shagged by a broken spring.* They're into it and breathing heavily, I'm behind him, lurking in the shadows over his back. He breathes out and I latch onto his face with both rags, he gasps for air and accidentally inhales them. Choking, he immediately attempts to get up, but is stopped by the whore's powerful legs. She think's he's loving it, and can't believe how much he's into it. I use this time to grab the medium vase he gave me when he told me how much he *"loved me"* and how much he *"thought about me"* on his *"business trip."* I had begun to hear the cries of the whore when I turned around. Primal and in fear, he began to slam his fists onto her face and immediately began choking her in an oxygen-deprived attempt at stopping her grasp.
Her legs rested lifeless before I slammed that fucking vase onto the top of his head, knocking him unconscious. Lucky for him, he managed to get the rags out of his mouth before choking to death as he fell to the floor. Tonight, I learned chloroform really does suck at knocking someone out; it's much quicker in Hollywood, that's for sure. I only had a few moments if not minutes before she and then he would wake up. I flicked the lights on as I ran to grab the syringes. I didn't know how small the woman was, but I knew how big my husband was. If the bitch died who cares, I planned on making him suffer though. I gave a standard dosing for a 150lb woman to her, and a nice 195lb dose for the bastard. Both might have been less than I needed, but all I needed was temporary time.
I reached under the bed and pulled out my lovely husband and I's collection, I figured I didn't need anything but the rope and the chair in our room. I tied her up to the chair, just like sensual lovers are; except this time there was no escaping, safe words, or talking. I reached back into the collection and put a full gag, blindfold, and ear muffs on her, to muffle any attempts at yelling if she were to wake up early. As I was putting the finishing touches on I heard the door slam. That filthy fuck was fatter than I thought. I bolted to the door and ran into the hallway, I could hear him as he slammed the front door open, likely shocked at first to see his wife tying up his mistress, and then to realize what's happening. Unluckily for him, I keep my keys on a lanyard under my scrubs. I quickly take a kitchen knife before leaving the apartment.
I see him desperately trying to open the door to his truck as he watches me running towards him. He dashes and makes a break for the exit, while I get in my yellow Volvo. Don't ask me what model, I work on bodies, not cars. The prey decides to continue running, he's running down the road in hopes to stop someone, but it's too late. I keep the headlights off as I floor the gas, though not particularly fast at top speeds it does zip around pretty nicely. I keep the headlights off until he finally notices I'm not chasing him on foot. He turns to look and before he turns away I manage to dazzle him with the brights. He stumbled a little from his footwork becoming unfamiliar with closed eyes, but ultimately turned to run towards the sidewalk. That's when it happened, the contact was first made with his right posterior hip, continuing into his right buttocks. The force began to push his body forward and collapse his spine the incorrect way, but because he can't do anything properly in his fucking life, he ends up becoming a human tire hub. Rolling over my car the inverse way. I'd say back-flipping, but it was more like back-molding over my car. When his neck took the full force of his body weight it snapped, sputtering blood over the hood and some parts of the windshield as his neck tore open. After he was done banging my car and I had surely removed him from atop it, I turn the car around and stopped it with headlights on him. I put it in park and got out to check if this fucking dickhead got far better than he deserved. Whatever god was out there preventing me from torturing this bastard to oblivion, *fuck you.* I left him there to rot and parked in my garage. I'm sure some wise fuck will come by telling me if I knew he was dead, and tell me how I'm feeling and that they understand how terrible the news must be. *Whatever,* fucking dick got what was coming.
I took off the gloves and put them in the garbage. After washing my hands I washed my face to get the sweat and raw emotion off of it, but that's when I noticed it. For the first time in my life the bar above my head had grown.
I stared at the bar for what felt like an eternity, and the bar stared right back.
Edit: Was a fun write, normally don't do this. Just re-editing as I realize errors in the writing.
| 2018-07-02T05:44:20 | 2018-07-02T02:31:21 | 323 | 72 |
[WP] All your life, you've had a small empty bar on your hand that reads "XP." Today you hit and killed a man with your car, and the bar began to fill.
|
I got ten months for it.
It was an accident, but since I was on the phone...
Anyhow, I met another while I was in there. I caught sight of his tattoo before he saw mine - his XP bar about two-thirds full... with a small "3" under it. I tried my best to keep mine hidden after that.
The first chance I got to talk to him was three days later.
"Paul, right?" I said trying to maintain calm.
He gave a slight nod and his eyes studied mine. "You?" He asked.
"I'm Markus" I said, sitting down across the table. "What are you in for?"
"A couple murders" He said, his eyes never looking away. "You?" He asked again.
"Yea. Manslaughter. - Uhh, Involuntary" I admitted. He grinned slightly.
"What's your tat" I asked, pointing to his hand. At this, he straightened up still staring me directly in the eyes. Oops. Too direct.
"Every time I kill, I fill in the bar a little more. You know... like a video game exp bar. Just a little..." he trailed off. Pause...
Before I could react his arms darted forward and grabbed mine. He pulled my hand upright up onto the table and swiftly smashed my closed first against the steel surface. My clenched fist opened in pain and he saw my tattoo, one-third full. He smiled a devilish smile. "Level one still?... I'm on 3".
My horrified and surprised expression betrayed me and his smile widened.
"Everything.. you know.... about your life.. is.... a... lie." Paul explained. He let go slowly and motioned me to follow him as he stood up.
"Now... how would you like to... play some co-op?"
"What are you talking about? What game are we even playing??"
He responded as he walked away: "It's called... "*Outside*.""
|
*Pt. 1 of 3*
Everything was white. The first thing I noticed when I awoke was how bright the ceiling was. Then the pain set in. Gasping in shock, I jolted up. Only, my body didn’t move because I was in a full body cast. The reflexive response only served to cause a tsunami of pain roll through my body, emanating from the lower back area. If my toes could have curled, they would have.
After the sharp pain resolved into a dull throbbing ache, I realized my head felt like a leaden anvil that had just been hammered a thousand times. Except, anvils only got hammered from one direction while my head felt like it had been abused from every conceivable angle.
“What…happened?” I thought as I blearily blinked, trying to focus as I struggled to collect the debris of my scattered mind.
With my head completely wrapped and a neck brace restricting my head movement, not that I wanted to move my head, really, I could only stare up at the excessively pale ceiling. Strangely, I couldn’t hear any sound except for a dim ringing sound.
“Ok. So. Fully body cast and garish lighting. Obviously, I'm in a hospital.” My mind slowly pieced together the available information. Yea, you couldn’t mistake the harsh overbearing odor of aggressively applied disinfectants and cleaning solution attempting to mask the underlying mixed smell of blood, urine, and feces that belied the fragility of our human bodies.
I was in a hospital with serious injuries. How did that happen when I was supposed to be at my Aunt Mave’s house to drop off some fireworks for the holiday? Only, I couldn’t remember dropping off the fireworks off. My mind slowly concluded I must have been in a car accident.
Suddenly, a muffled sound broke through my damaged ears, a steady but muted whine. Deep in my mental reconstruction, I was brought back to reality. This sound wasn’t a sound of alarm. This sound wasn’t a sound of warning. My mind struggled to complete its thoughts but suddenly an icy vise-like grip clamped upon me at the sudden realization. This sound was a sound of finality.
I wasn’t alone.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
*Pt. 2 of 3*
Or I hadn’t been at least. I guess now I was alone.
In burst a rolling cart, batting aside the flimsy wooden door like a medieval ram. Flanking the cart was a squad of nurses that bustled around in a flurry of action. Straining and failing to turn my head to peer over, I could only stare at the blinding white ceiling as my handicapped ears strained to listen to the ordeal. The dull thud of chest compressions tickled my muffled ears before an ear-splitting whine charged.
Thud. Thud. Screech. Thud. Thud. Screech. The pattern went on for several minutes amidst a low babble that must have been the nurses shouting at each other before it suddenly went quiet. Deathly silent.
The silence stretched out for several minutes. Fearing I might have lost my hearing completely, I struggled to shift my position enough to see across the room, but my weakened body was betraying me. I couldn’t escape the wire contraption that held my cast body still.
Suddenly, among the angry aches that throbbed from my efforts, a blazing hot sensation burned into my hand. I let out a scream, or whatever sound my mangled throat could produce, in shock at the flaring pain when suddenly a flying punch of stimulation hit my sensory nerves. It took a moment to realize I could hear again. The next thing I realized was swath of aches that covered my body was gone along with the mental fog that clouded my mind since I had woken.
Curiously, I tested moving my fingers and then my neck. Looking across the room I realized I hadn’t been able to hear the nurses leaving.
Eager with the newfound strength and clarity my body possessed, I quickly broke free of the wires and eased off the bed, still looking like the Michelin man. Scratching at my left-hand to break the cast open, I looked to see what had caused the flare of pain that precluded the strange reinvigoration of my mummified body. Astounded, I looked down at the birthmark I had since birth, a curious rectangular shape my mother had once called a miracle, a sign I was blessed.
It looked different. I could have sworn the left side wall of the bar looked fuller than I remembered. Relieved I was whole, but still confusedly shaking my head as I took in my surroundings more fully, this time with a clear mind and full senses.
Upon seeing the white cot several meters to my right, I immediately recalled the events that had just transpired.
Apprehensively, I approached the only other bed in the room. What I saw there froze me in shock. Dread coiled in my gut until I collapsed, dry retching onto the stark white floor, grasping at the bedrail to keep me supported.
The patient was missing the entire bottom portion of his body. His mangled torso looked like it had been caved in at several points. The jaw was angled off from the rest of the man’s face.
It wasn’t the gore that devastated me. It was the terrible inescapable truth. The mangled corpse that somehow managed to survive until a couple minutes ago, was a car crashed victim.
“I killed him.” I whispered with a sick understanding. I was a killer.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
*Pt. 3 of 3*
Flashes of it came back to me. The drumming rhythm of rain, screeching breaks and a light.
An eerie crimson red light haunted my memories, refusing to let go.
Unable to bear reality, I let out a strangled cry before breaking down into tears, weeping. Warm wet tears trickled down my arms as I cradled my head and rocked. Without warning, a flash of light passed through my vision.
Abruptly I sat up. What just happened? My eyes were closed and covered by my ha-
“Target Eliminated. Congratulations, You have now earned enough experience to reach level 2. You have completed *Phase I* of *Project Tratsiya*.” a female voice interrupted my inner monologue, reverberating through my skull. I couldn’t place where the sound was coming from.
“What the fu-“
“Your health level has been replenished. Please access your H.U.D. menu to spend your additional attribute points. The Committee for State Security hereby authorizes the activation of Sleeper Agent 327’s capacity for lethal diplomacy. *Dlya Matushka Rossiya*!”
Internally, I screamed in horror as lights began to flicker in view and scrolls of foreign text entered my field of vision.
But my face only contorted into a sickening grin as I proclaimed,
“смерть американским свиньям!”
| 2018-07-02T05:44:20 | 2018-07-02T03:09:13 | 323 | 35 |
[WP] You're a new security guard at a prison for supervillains, when the senior officers approaches you and says, "I don't know what they told you to do in case of a breakout, so I'm going to make it simple for you. If you see one of these villains escaping, do not engage them. Just let them leave."
|
The old guard stopped and waited watching for a sign that I had understood.
I gave him my best idiot grin to placate him.
“I hope you don’t think I’m joking.” The old guard said with a sigh putting his feet up and casually switching through the monitors. “I know what I get paid is not enough and you have yet to work up to my grade.”
I strive to keep the contempt from my face hiding it with the same stupid smile. This old fool is clearly middle of the road material. He probably plays everything in his life safe.
“I plan to make something of myself thanks for the advice though.” I say sitting in my chair and twirling my big heavy flashlight in one hand.
The old guard chuckles. “A hero wannabe ey. Aye we’ve had your kind before. Well when you get yourself killed, try to keep the mess to a small area. I’m sure it’ll be muggins out there with a mop and bucket next day.” He said prodding his chest with a thumb.
I didn’t have time to respond. An alarm went off and the B wing security cameras all went down at once. I could feel my heart fluttering in my chest, what a thrill my time has come.
I stood holstering my flashlight and heading for the door.
“What did I just say laddie? You’ll get yourself killed out there. That security door is bullet and shock proof with steel bolts securing it. We are safe as long as we stay in this room.”
“You hold down the fort then, I’m just going to, uh, check things out. Get some intel.” I soothe as I head towards the commotion.
I strode out the door and down the hall. The alarm klaxons where louder out here than in the office and I could barely hear my footsteps so it took me by surprise when a hand grabbed my arm from behind. ‘What the hell?’
‘Look I’m responsible for you right and I’m no joking here. I’ll have to fill out a mountain of paperwork if you get killed.’ His grip was vicelike and his words firm.
The surprise in his face was priceless as I drove my fist into his stomach knocking the wind from him.
“Look you seem a nice enough old man.” I say bringing my fist back round to crack him across the jaw and send him sprawling; hopefully out for the count. “But I have places to be and a destiny to fulfil.”
I left the crumpled guard behind and continued along the corridor. The lights where out in B wing and I drew my torch letting it cut through the gloom.
I could see the broken cell down the hall. It was a gaping dark hole in the wall, it’s door imbedded in the far wall across the cell block.
A man appeared out of the cell, well something resembling a man. His head was grotesquely distended and he floated along his feet barely scraping the ground. Three spheres of crushed metal glass and plastic orbited his head. Likely the security cameras.
“I was afraid I was going to miss you.” I said stopping about twenty yards from ‘world brain’ one of the planets leading supervillains.
‘Sorry dear chap I was on my way and realised I’d forgotten my book. Desperate to know if miss Bennet and mr Darcy finally get filthy with each other.’ He waved a crumpled copy of a prison library book. ‘I thought they told you boys to stay out of our way if we escaped.’
I squared my jaw feeling butterflies in my stomach. ‘I’ve been waiting all my life for this moment. Years of training and pushing myself to follow in my fathers footsteps.’
‘Your father some kind of fool hero, boy?’ He asked advancing on me the orbs spinning around his head faster and faster.
‘No sir, he was a henchman.’ I said puffing out my chest with pride.
|
A black miasma of low fidelity reality begins to clarify, finding the walls of an office in the clicks of your uniform boot against the stone floor. You've gone fugue. The totality of your confusion, your lack of even basic understanding of your whereabouts is fading oh so slowly. All you know is this happens. This is something \*you\* do, whoever that is. This is an \*again\* kind of thing to the man here with you.
"Michaels," the man in front of you says, with a clearing of his throat. "Officer Michaels? Are you alright?"
Damn right, you are alright. You are beyond alright. You are a level of composure this man hasn't seen since the long-gone days of hardbody dancers and crypto-body-builders. \*Show him\*. You execute a ludicrous flexing pose, pushing your significant musculature against itself as you stare with the superiority of the \*righteous\*, hopping up into your chair.
"You tell me," you say with a divine smirk, a grimace gruesome in its certainty, unneeding of humility, "Does this look alright to you?" A second certainty raises in you, blending with the contortion already contorting your facial expression. It's pride. You are Officer Michaels, apparently, and you are most certainly \*nailing this.\* You must impress this man.
"What it looks like," the weary-looking man begins to say into his mug, turning away from you just as your chair tips back, sending your imposing form sprawling. This is only a \*minor\* setback, you are sure. "What it looks like is a rookie guard armed with a nightstick tried to stop the Platinum Rank Super Villain Oblivion from escaping. Now I have an imprinting duckling to babysit until he self-actualizes again."
He's talking about you. You may be a guard, but you are no duckling and most certainly not a rookie. You don't remember anything specific but the roughness of your hands scratch and pick the cheap fibers of your uniform. Those hands scream \*pro\*, \*hardbody\*, \*veteran\*. You hold out your hands mutely, begging him to reassess your prowess. Yes, soon his smile will lift as he realizes he looks upon the callouses of a real \*superstar\* guard, one in a million, not a duckling but a flaming phoenix protector.
His face does not lift. It instead, to your own growing horror, folds in another line of weariness as he stares upon your outstretched hands from the ground. "Did you forget how to stand?" he asks, groaning as he gets up from his very comfortable chair.
It looks so much nicer than yours. That chair wouldn't fail you. It isn't fair that he has such a primo chair while you writhe on the floor. "Boss chair," you groan weakly, as you find getting up is indeed an enigma this sage of standing may have to guide you through the intricacies of.
"This is the worse one I've seen. You must have pissed him off something awful," the man says as he takes your flailing hand and places another on your back, pulling upwards.
All at once, like a miracle of some demigod upon the Earth, you are standing. You only thought you were \*hardbody\*. This man has shown you real skill. \*WE\* suggest you \*bow down\*. You try to fall to your knees but find his arms holding you up against any supplication with paternal grips on your shirt.
Somewhere, a thousand miles away, a man hugs a woman as he tells their son that the dog had to be moved upstate because the upstate air was better on his \*old bones\*. There is still dirt under the father's fingernails.
You stand before a humble father God, undesiring of praise. He wants to see you strong, see you thrive. You arch your back like a cobra, posing again to show him how well you stand. You are singularly balanced, unshakable verticality. You will stand until the oceans boil into the sky and the sun takes us in its arms 4.6 billion years from now. Even then, you will stand for this man.
"Are you a God?" you ask as he steps away, hands hovering like a true \*hardbody\* spotter, ready to grab your weight again if it proves too much to bear. He shakes his head once as he sips from his mug again.
"Are you my father? Did you tell me a white lie about our dog, to guard my heart?" There are tears in your eyes. Your knees feel weak.
"No, Michaels," the mystery man says, arched eyebrow assessing your adherence to the allegiance of balance. You do not fail him. "I am the Warden, your boss. You are a guard at the Lochineu SuperMax Villain's prison and you clearly cannot read between the lines, so I will spell it out for you while you're still whatever this is." He gestures broadly at you, still rigor straight. "Maybe it will stick."
"A \*Superstar\*? A \*Hardbody\* guard?" you ask, understanding the chair now. It \*is\* a boss chair. You hope to one day be a Warden with a boss chair as sturdy as this one.
"A victim of Oblivion. The Villain's power removes all of your personal memory, leaving you a psychological blank slate, a tabula rasa of ego." The Warden sits again in his chair of kings. "Typically, he sticks around to build his victims up into perfectly loyal minions. Instead, he hit you with a full dose and left you like this. I can only guess you didn't read the vibe around here and tried to stop him on his way out."
"That's what guards do, stop prison breaks." You say this with certainty. You guard. You \*know\*. In a long-gone reality, a proud boy looks down at his first merit badge, fire-making. The sash is \*long\*, serpentine in its emptiness. He will never fill it. Someone whispers about his father in the gathered murmuring. The boy tries to ignore the gossiping voices but catches the word \*decapitated\*.
"False, that's what heroes do." The Warden says this with his own certainty, far more potent than your own. This is the Boss. He has the Boss Chair and he will be obeyed. "We make a show for the press. We give the illusion of safety, but we do not get ourselves killed or irreparably damage ourselves to delay an inevitability. The villains will each escape, sooner or later."
"Yes, my liege," you say, nearly bowing again before you remember his preference. Somewhere west of here, maybe only a twenty-minute drive and twenty years ago down that snaking road below you, a tired and poor mother cries as she and her children eat pancakes for dinner for the third night in a row. "It's okay. I like pancakes. Don't cry," you say to the window with wet eyes and a shiver through your ribs. You hope she hears you.
"Good," the Warden says, scrutinizing you with a bit of pity. "It's wearing off quicker than I hoped. Do you want anything to drink?"
\*Yes\*, You are a thirsty man, needing a drink after all of your \*hard work\*. Down that same twisting road, a young man and his mother cheer as the troublesome maple in the front yard falls with a resounding thunder through the poor neighborhood. She looks strong with her chainsaw as she takes a long pull of her \*cold one\*. She offers some to the boy. He hates the taste but he loves it still. It is his first. The first of many.
"Could I have a \*cold one\*?" you ask, placing reverence in the words. Your head is bowed, not daring to look such a Boss in the eye. He is the \*Law\* and you are merely his tool.
The Warden laughs, small at first, but larger and larger till he has to sit his mug down to prevent it from spilling. He walks over to the small fridge at the corner of the office, near the window to that old world growing more clear by the moment. He grabs a near ice-cold beer away from its many brothers. "I knew I liked something about you, Michaels."
He throws it and the boy catches it, stubble on his sharp jaw. 'You look just like him,' the mother says with a sad, sad smile. 'Just promise me you'll keep yourself safe out there.' He cracks the beer as he smiles, so sure of himself, his place in the world. he'll have to wait till morning now, to leave her here, alone. The boy wears a fresh uniform, honor on his mind. The \*cold one\* tastes like camaraderie and small triumphs, each rungs on a ladder jutting from the hole of a great unnamed defeat. He, you, savors the void for a moment just as life begins to fade in faster and faster.
​
\\---
Thanks for reading.
If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing.
| 2021-04-21T08:21:47 | 2021-04-21T06:38:32 | 404 | 61 |
[WP] You were cursed to become a crow. You meet another person under a similar curse as a crow and eventually set up a happy, loving life together. One day, the spell ends and you both returned to your true forms. However, their true form was radically different than what you thought it would be.
|
Balthus cawed sharply, convulsing at the same time I lost motor control. I kreed, "Oh lord, it's finally over! The curse is broken!"
My body twisted and cracked, bones elongated and feathers shrank to hair. After many agonizing, gruelling minutes, I knelt on hands and knees, slick with some sort of slime, but human once more. "Balthu-" I started to cry out for my friend joyfully when I heard it. He was still crackling and popping, his form already at least triple my size.
I sat, transfixed, staring, for many more horrifying minutes until an enormous creature knelt before me. It had six legs like those of a crocodile slung under a long, snakelike body with stubby vestigial wings and rows of spikes tracking down it's spine. It's neck coiled up and it's short, wide muzzle gaped open in a gruesome parody of a smile. A thick black tongue lolled out and it's five yellow eyes fixed on me.
"Oh." It blurted. "You're a human."
I nodded dumbly, "And you're a... That."
It twisted, suddenly self conscious, "Ah. Yeah. This is awkward. Cuz I thought..."
I nodded, "Yes I sorta assumed- Well you know..."
It shrugged, a rhythmic, rippling gesture, "That is what we get for assuming."
I shrugged back, "You wanna go get a couple Banh Mi and have lunch in the park?"
|
“I curse thee, oh thief of the forest. Your love of gold and silver will leave you on a maddening search for more of it.” Those were the words I heard before being cursed by the witch. My body shrinking as black puffy wings pushed out from my back, changing me into a crow. It was horrifying, glancing up to see only the yellow-toothed grin of the witch as she looked down at me, giving out a small whistle.
“What a pretty bird.” She cooed, before letting out a cackle, nearly falling over from her exaggerated laugh. In a vain attempt to escape, I flapped my wings, jumping up and down, hoping to take flight. No matter how hard I flapped my wings, I couldn’t leave the ground, flying being a hard thing to learn and, unlike the other birds, I didn’t have that instinct.
“Oh? Pretty bird can’t fly? What a shame. How about I add you to my stew?” Her wrinkled hand crept towards my face only for a loud CWAK to ring out. The witch ducked as a crow swooped past her, grabbing my body with its talons, carrying me to safety. I could hear the witch cursing about losing her meal as we flew away, landing in a nearby tree.
That was when I met her. I didn’t know her name or anything about her, only that I owed her everything. The next few months were oddly fun. At least they were once I learnt to fly. The other crow was a rather harsh teacher, giving me some instructive flaps of her wings before pushing me from the nest, leaving me to either die or learn how to fly. Luckily, I managed the latter.
Once I picked up flight, life became a lot easier. I still had to watch out for predators, but having a person by my side made that much easier. The worse part really was the food. Having to live off a diet of worms and other bugs wasn’t the most ideal lifestyle. But it was better than being eaten and, on some days, we would even find apples or other fruits and get to share in that sweet feast together.
She tried to talk to me, making as many bird noises as she could, but sadly, those sounds were lost on me. Even if I learnt to fly, I never picked up the language. Only able to speak through head rubbing and wing pats.
With each passing day, our bond grew, and soon I felt love for my crow partner. It was something out of a fairy tale, a love formed between two cursed individuals. That was when I got her a ring. Flying into town with the sole purpose of finding a way to show my affection.
Eventually, I came across a rather well-off merchant selling a table full of the rings. I watched from a nearby roof, deciding to go with the shining silver ring. When the man turned to face a customer, I swooped in, catching the ring in my talons before flying off, escaping to the sound of frustrated merchant curses.
When I gave her the ring, she made various squawks that I’m sure were very touching, before flying off, leaving me alone. Had she left me? I looked at the ring, wondering if I should have gotten something nicer? I was nearly about to go searching for her before she returned, dropping a gold ring into the nest. It was a touching gesture and one that I would treasure for the rest of our lives.
Suddenly, my body felt heavy. I tried to keep myself upright, but I soon fell back, falling from the nest. My vision worsened before I blacked out. When I woke up, everything hurt, my limbs feeling like they had just been stretched beyond human limits.
“You, ok?” A voice asked, concern in its tone. I slowly sat up, only to get greeted by a beautiful, freckled face. She gave me a smile before pushing me back against the ground. “No, rest.”
“But I want to see my beautiful wife.” I said, raising my hand towards my face, seeing a fleshy human hand in front of me. “We’re back. This is great. We can get married and have a family; this is wonderful.” I jumped up, hoping she shared my excitement, only to go stiff when I saw her.
Unlike me, she still had her wings and her talons too. Her arms covered in an assortment of pristine blue feathers, leading to her claws. One of her claws had the silver ring slipped onto it, but it didn’t look like it sat very well, struggling to stay in place. When she saw me standing, she gave me a sharp toothed grin. “I would like a family.” She nodded, dressed in a long, flowing yellow sundress, most likely the only outfit that she could fit over her arms.
“A harpy?” I stared at her, trying to comprehend what I was seeing. “You are the one I shared a nest with?” I saw the golden ring on the ground next to me, taking it from the floor, slipping it over my finger. Thankfully, the curse reverted us back to how we had been at the time of the transformation, giving me my clothing back as well.
“Were there other birds in the nest?” She hissed, giving me a rather intimidating stare, only to smile. “Joke.” She teased, holding out her feathered arm to me, helping me from the floor.
“Heh, good one. You scared me a little there, though. So, you were cursed too?” It explained why she seemed so good at speaking bird, must have been easy for a harpy to learn.
“I was. Old woman didn’t let me steal her silver spoon, so I attacked her. She called me a foul beast and said she would make me something pretty. I look prettier like this. You look better too.” She said, decent at flirting for someone that spent most of their life in forests.
“Thank you.” I saw the ring slipping off her claw, instinctively reaching out to catch it. With the ring in my hand, I slipped it back onto her claw, trying to get it stuck enough that it would hold for a little longer this time. “We will have to get you different ring or maybe a necklace.”
“I like this ring. You gave it to me, I love it.” She said defensively, pulling her claw back, staring at the shining piece of jewelry. Seems she would insist on wearing it like that.
“Fine, should we go to my place? I have a small house a little away from here. I just hope no ones tried to move in. My names Patrick by the way, what’s yours?” Only in a situation like this could I end up married without knowing the person’s name.
“Lia.” She responded, holding her feathered claw out, allowing me to hold it. “I will follow you to your nest.” She added. We both held hands, heading towards the town as husband and wife.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2021-10-27T08:23:52 | 2021-10-27T07:55:52 | 761 | 470 |
[WP] When you were trying to recruit the best healer healer around for your adventuring party, you were expecting a gentle, pretty healer girl. Not a grizzled middle aged woman who looks like she can wrestle a bear and has an attitude to match.
|
The old woman leaning on her odd staff with one hand and her claws on her other hand. Wait are those sharpened rib bones? Caleb shuddered. "Ahm well have a seat. Miss?"
"You may call me Zevanna. Expecting some naive things sculpted by her god to look a right tempting bit? Those young 'clerics' ain't real healers."
"We have been to such before. They close wounds with the power of their god. Even set mangled limbs right."
"You hit the nail on the head but not learned to drive the nail. The power of their god. They do not know what the wounds mean. Oh they know cut on arm is less than your entrails hanging out. But that just means shove the entrails back in and ask for a bit more of their patron's power. Break your leg, girl heals but the leg won't be straight. It fixed broken. Got to ask the patron to make the leg right. Then fix the damage. That ain't skill. It's begging." She grins with only one side of her face.
Flailing to regain control. "So I assume you have no god and no magic then. So we. ."
"I never claimed I had neither. I start with knowledge. With not a wisp of magic I can put a man's entrails in his belly. I can find nicks and wrong things in there and sew and clean them. Then sew and bandage the belly that the man will recover with not a lick of magic. I can set and bind a wound so you recover use of your leg or arm and regain the use of it just the same. Can your pretty cleric do that when her daily promises of power pass?"
"S so you said you know magic and godly gifts."
"Not a gift if he can take it away again. Just a loan. I can cast as you can mage boy. And I know the flows of the arcane that move as god power does. So after handling a wound mundanely. I can cast to speed the healing. Gut or leg you will be back in the fight. And if I am not needing to keep yer heart beating. I know my tools to make other buggers hearts stop."
At another table I see sir Jakob laughing with two curvaceous girls in little more than their smiles. I swear he sent this one to me. The tavern girl distracts me from my woes. A cute thing though dressed more to work than a bit of wenching. She places a tankard by me and a glass of wine by the crone.
The crone smile. "Lamalna. It has been a while."
The girl hugs the old woman like they are grandmother and granddaughter. "You know I have responsibilities Agha. I step in where I can." Then the girl looks to me. "Look you want to live through your quest. You will hire this young lady to look after you. Treat her with respect and she might remember sedatives when setting your bones."
|
"Jakob?" Someone called from behind, and I saw Sadie stiffen.
"She goes by Sadie." I told the stranger, frowning.
"Oh. Alright. It's been a while." The stranger looked a little surprised at Sadie as she turned.
"Yeah, been a while. How've you been?" Sadie asked, though her tone was more guarded than inquisitive.
"I mean, pretty good. Could've been better if you hadn't left, being the best healer we had and all that."
"Well, thanks."
There was a silence.
"Why'd you leave?" The stranger asked.
Sadie sighed, looking around the tavern.
"I... Don't know. I liked what I was doing. I liked all of you. But something bugged me. Ate away at me at the back of my mind. I couldn't just... Be there. Be present. I had to to take a break. So, I decided to take some time off for myself. And then, you know. Do some soul searching, self discovery. A journey to healing myself."
"You're a woman now."
"I always was, Roscoe. Just took my own sweet time accepting it."
"And... Ah, I'm sorry. But I've seen you cast your spells to disguise as women before but... This look now... How you look now... That's you? For real?"
Sadie smiled, and spread her arms as if presenting herself.
"This is me."
"Well, you look like shit." The stranger laughed, and I was about to make a choice remark at him but Sadie started laughing with him.
"Come here, old friend." She got up to hug her old comrade, and I watched as this grizzled old towering brute suddenly turn into a happy, excited woman, leaning down to hug this man.
"It's been too long. Our party... They disbanded soon after you left, you know?" The man said, breaking away with a sniff.
"What? Why?"
"You were our glue, Sadie. You were the one keeping us together. You were our leader, despite us never really acknowledging it. And worst of all, you were our healer. Without you, our party just couldn't function. We couldn't go back to relying on medicine and ointments and potions. Your arcane gift spoiled us. The straw that broke the camel's back was Debrah. She... She got hurt. A spear through her back from some bandit. Paralysed. After that... It just didn't work for us."
"I... I didn't know."
"Well, it's not easy to keep in touch with wanderers like us. I tried to reach out to you, believe me. But now I guess I know why I could never find you."
"I shouldn't have left." Sadie said, shaking her head.
The tavern seemed to get dimmer as this conversation took a darker turn than I expected.
"Well, the life of an adventurer is dangerous. We all knew what we signed up for. I'm glad you found someone." He said, nodding to me.
"Oh, no. This... Ah, gods I didn't even introduce you to each other. This is Devin. Our nimble rogue. And Devin, this is Roscoe. Archer extraordinare."
"Well, once upon a time. I'm a city guard now. Settled for stability. But glad to see you're still adventuring. Giving us older folks a good name."
"Ah, shush. You know what Devin told me the day he realised *I* was the party healer?" Sadie asked, and I paled in embarrassment.
"Ok, that was a long time ago." I protested, but she dismissed me with a slightly drunk wave of her hand.
"'I expected someone younger. And prettier.' Believe me, I almost just walked out then and there."
"Well, I'm glad you didn't." I muttered. Where was the rest of the party? Why was I, the most socially inept one of us, here alone; awkwardly interacting with a tipsy Sadie and her stranger friend?
"Well, I'm glad I didn't leave this new party, too. I can truly be myself around them. But... I tire of the small-mindedness of others, you know? I put on an act, tell myself it's just how things are sometimes. But... In a world of monsters and men and everything in between, why are there still... what's the word? Prejudice? Expectations? Stereotypes? Is there a word that combines all three?" She asked.
Roscoe nodded solemnly, taking a swig of his drink.
"You're telling me." he said, his tone dark.
Sadie's eyes widened for an instant, but she put her hand on top of Roscoe's.
"One day, we will be able to just show ourselves for what we are. And whatever the world makes of us, we will take it in stride."
"What else can we do?"
"No, you misunderstand. We will show what we can do. What we can offer."
"Why? Why can't we just... live? Why must there be a justification for our existence."
"Roscoe..."
"I'm sorry, Sadie. But..." He clutched his chest. Or more specifically, the chain around his neck that hid away beneath his shirt.
"It hurts... So much. Every full moon. I dread it."
"Listen, Roscoe. We are all dealt odds that we must live with. Sometimes we are born into nobility and ease, like my rogue friend here. Other times, there are those like us. We are not lesser or more. We just are. And often times the world will try to push us down, try to reason our being as some freakish mishap or divine punishment. It rarely is that. Most times, it isn't. All that is certain is that it just is. And we just are. And we just have to be."
"I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left."
"Are you kidding me? After what you just said? You leaving resulted in you now. Living faithfully. Living as yourself. Never apologize for that."
"I am not apologizing for that, Roscoe. I am apologizing for leaving the party void of a leader and healer. Debrah..."
"Like you said, sometimes these are the hands we're dealt. We'll just have to learn to live with them." He downed the drink.
"Are you leaving?"
"It was nice to catch up. But... I don't know. I don't want to keep you."
"Wait." Sadie said, and unwound a wrap of cloth from her forearm, and started muttering into it.
"What? What are you doing?"
"She's, ah, enchanting it. I think it's a sending enchantment. You can speak into the cloth and she'll be able to hear it." I explained. Well, at least I could be part of this part of the conversation.
"That... Would have been very useful back in the day." Roscoe said, smiling.
"She just learned it, like, last week." I said. That was true. And like with all new and advanced spells, casting one would drain the person considerably. And Sadie was already half-drunk. I would be surprised if she kept conscious after this.
"Here. Just... Whenever you feel like talking. Whenever the full moon is here... Just... Talk into this. I'll hear you. I'll... reply." Sadie said, and immediately slumped over on the bar and started snoring.
"Ah, well. She's tapped out." I said.
"Must have been a hell of a spell." Roscoe said, looping the cloth around his belt.
"It is. She just learned it last week." I said, and realised I repeated myself. Seriously, where were the rest of the party? We were supposed to meet at the tavern after our shopping.
"Hey, she's one of the best. Don't forget that. Take care of her." He said, his eyes boring into mine. I nodded quickly, not knowing if that was a threat or just a friendly concern.
"Whenever you're in this side of the city. Well, you know my name. Just ask for me at the city watch office. I'll come running." He said, and got up to leave, throwing one last bittersweet glance at Sadie.
"Will, ah, do. Hey. What was that? About the full moon?"
"None of your business, friend. Ask her when she wakes." He said, not unkindly before leaving.
| 2021-12-22T08:23:56 | 2021-12-22T06:36:50 | 96 | 44 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has
|
I pull my number from the machine that ranks us all. Shocked, I can't believe it, no one has ever had this number in all the books, movies, songs or anything. Putting away the ticket I ask people around if they had ever heard of someone having that number, careful not to reveal I had.
"Well, yeah someone has to be number 1. Can't say that I know anyone who pulled it though." Typical response. I can't believe it, I'm just a student, what was the chance of getting assigned #1. A pyrokinesis user blasts by, nearly knocking me over. I think I saw a ticket that said 998 in her hand. They're always using their powers to jet around, its a hazard and they never wear helmets. Oh well, if they get knocked out of the running then it just means someone else gets pushed up.
Dusting off my new pants, a nice middle aged man helps me up. "Damn pyros, lucky they don't burn the place down with how they fly."
"Thanks" I say, right as I notice the sign change from '999' to '001'.
A voice comes over the intercom, "Now serving deli customer one."
"Yes," I step forward, "I will take a quarter pound of chicken, a half pound of sliced honey ham, and some roast beef please."
|
The Nine Kings were a sort of urban legend. Eight powerful enigmas uniting under a truce to lord their power over the people with Number 1. The higher your rank, the more political influence you had over the city, and even the world.
Take Mason, a red-headed hothead with eyes of amber, for example. Mason was ranked 9,001. Only the top 10,000 get to live in Paradiso, a city for only the strongest on the planet. Imagine his shock when Number 10 came to him with a deal: work together to take down Number 1, and live off the royalties as the Ten Kings. Mason immediately accepted. Sure, he was wealthy enough, but you don't get to live in Paradiso without being a little greedy.
Mason and Tenner, the name number 10 chose for himself, discussed their powers and plans for weeks. Mason could create fire, and Tenner could copy bullets, giving himself endless ammunition. However, Number 1's power was a mystery. No one knew what he could do. All that was known was that he was an assassin who used his victims' decapitated heads as proof of his victories.
After weeks of scouting, Mason and Tenner arrived at Number 1's beach house. The night was cold. Mason's body radiated heat, so his toned upper body was bare. Tenner, on the other hand, was bundled in a black jacket. A scarf covered his face, and goggles with orange lenses hid his eyes. He never revealed his face, even to Mason.
"Are you ready?" Mason asked Tenner. His heavily garbed friend nodded. "I'll lead the way," he answered. "Watch my back."
The two walked into the house, ready for anything. They needed to do this quickly, lest the other Kings decide to crash the party. What Mason and Tenner weren't ready for was finding the house already trashed. A man in a white t-shirt stood over a decapitated corpse filled with kitchen knives. As the knives disappeared, the man turned to greet his other two guests. His hair was a chilling black, and his eyes were silver. He was the complete opposite of Mason. "Thieves," Number 1 said, "you can't live with 'em, and you can't live without 'em."
Tenner pointed both of his revolvers at Number 1. Mason's fists conjured scarlet flames. He recognized Number 1's face from all the internet articles. Mason and Tenner fired upon him, only for the King to evade with ease. He was fast, and his attacks would be faster. Like magic, the single kitchen knife in his hand became three, and he threw them at Mason and Tenner.
The two expertly dodged, while Number 1 slashed open a window, and jumped outside. Mason and Tenner pursued him, the former using his flames to propel himself. Red lights and white flashes reflected over the ocean that night.
Number 1 tossed a knife at the airborne Mason, only have it to turn into a hundred mid-flight. Mason blew them all away, and Tenner got a shot on Number 1's left shoulder. This didn't stop the King, who he kept throwing and multiplying knives. Neither Mason nor Tenner could get close enough to deal the finishing blow.
Number 1 used the fight's confusion to circle back to his beach house. Tenner had to magically reload his pistols, meaning it was up to Mason to stop Number 1 from contacting the other Kings.
Number 1 burst through his front door, while Mason created his own opening by burning a large hole in the ceiling. "I'm gonna enjoy this," Mason gloated as he sent a geyser of flame toward Number 1. The King burned alive. His flesh seared away by the raw force of Mason's fire. Number 1 screamed until there was nothing left of him but a charred corpse.
Mason sat on a nearby couch. It was his couch, now. He was Number 1. Tenner soon walked in, and assessed the damage. "How's it feel, Mason?" he asked the pyrokinetic. Mason smiled. "To be Number 1? Pretty good. Of course, I prefer to stay Number 1." Before Tenner could fire at Mason, he set aflame by his partner. Mason watched as Tenner fell to the ground, his clothes falling to pieces. Mason closed his eyes, and enjoyed the sound of the night ocean's tide.
...
...
...
"Seven," a voice said.
Mason opened his eyes, and turned around. Number 1 stood next to the hole in the wall, wearing a denim jacket instead of his t-shirt. Mason got up to fight him, only to have his arms stabbed by kitchen knives thrown from opposite directions. As he cried out in pain, two more people emerged from the shadows. They were both Number 1's, only one wore a hoodie, and another wore a business suit.
"Like I was saying," the first Number 1 spoke, "the man you killed was Number 7, which means you're Number 7, now." Before Mason could speak, the third Number 1 punched him in the face, causing the pyrokinetic to fall to the ground. "H-how?" Mason uttered.
The three Number 1s smiled. Six more entered the room, each one wearing something different. One of them being the Number 1 Mason killed. "Cloning's one of the most practical powers I've ever seen," Number 7 explained. "Being to the top, on the other hand, can be boring," Number 3 added. "Once you're there, there's no one you can trust," Number 8 said. "But it's not about the destination," Number 4 said. "It's about the journey."
Number 1, the real Number 1 in the denim jacket, created two naked clones of himself. "I had so much fun killing to get here, I decided to do it again, and again, and again." He picked up a scrap of wood from the floor, and duplicated it in his hand. "However, I decided to give each iteration of me a different fighting style to accomplish this. Knives, bullets, shuriken, pipes, myself... I can clone just about anything. Take that corpse." He pointed to the thief's corpse on the ground, which disappeared. "That was me, too."
Mason slowly stood up. "Wait, did you say 'bullets?'" he asked. As Number 1 nodded, Mason was shot in the back of the head by Tenner. Tenner removed his scarf and goggles, revealing Number 1's face. "Should we take his head with the rest?" Number 10 asked. Number 1 shook his head. "No, you can destroy it. I prefer not showing off the heads of zeroes."
With that, the clones each took part in the sadistic ritual of shooting and stabbing Mason's head into oblivion.
| 2014-12-18T15:10:54 | 2014-12-18T13:33:39 | 164 | 77 |
[WP] We finally get men on Mars and they discover an old Soviet flag placed down decades ago. The Soviets won the space race but for whatever horrifying reason didn't say anything.
|
We'd seen it in the distance, an anomaly on an already alien planet. Thought it some kind of mirage, since the reality just didn't make sense. I volunteered to go check it out, though we all knew what it was - and when I'd just confirmed it.
A Soviet flag.
Why hadn't they told us? I'd heard rumour of a Soviet mission, decades back, but we'd written it off as Cold War propaganda. If they'd actually managed to get to Mars, even if they didn't get them back - that would be humanity's greatest accomplishment.
*Why hadn't they told us?*
What could it mean? Had the Russkies simply lost contact and assumed the worst? That didn't make any sense, since if they landed intact enough to erect the flag, they must have been in communication with them back home...
Something was wrong. I needed to get back.
I tried to make contact with the boys back at the ship, but there was no reply. Figured I was out of range, but that didn't make sense. Brushed it aside; nerves were getting the better of me, and there was no use worrying about something I couldn't change.
Saw my team in the distance. It was immensely comforting; you've never known isolation till you're alone on a new planet. I quickened my pace.
Still radio silence. I just wanted to get back to the ship.
Nearing them now. They seem to be coated in sand - had there been some kind of storm? How long had I been gone for? They didn't seem to be moving, either. Just standing there. Why were they just standing there?
Still no response. Why aren't they coming out to meet me? Why are they just *standing* there?
I can see their suits properly now. Coated in sand. Weatherworn. And why... why do they look like they're a different colour underneath? Are those- are those *Soviet* suits? *Why are they just standing there?*
Wait. That's not- that's not my-
*They've seen me.*
**Oh Christ, they've seen me.**
|
Colonel Anderson kneeled down in front of a broken pole and wiped away some orange dust off the ground, revealing a tattered piece of crimson cloth stuck under a rock. Dragging it out of its resting place, the Colonel tore it in half, showing the two men behind him a symbol of a gold hammer and sickle beneath a gold-bordered red star.
"It can't be..." said Lieutenant Colonel Haynes. "Colonel, that's a soviet flag. A union of communist nations that dissolved nearly two hundred years ago."
Colonel Anderson sighed and tried to stroke his gray beard, but remembered he was wearing a spacesuit. He then shook his head saying:
"I don't like this, Haynes. We're supposed to be the first humans here. What's a relic like this doing in Mars?"
"Aliens?" said Lieutenant Colonel Wilfery. "Did they get killed off by aliens?!?"
Haynes rolled his eyes and said:
"There's no such thing as aliens, you dunce. Well, at least not on Mars. They probably had an accident and couldn't return back home."
"Maybe they were unable to contact Earth" said Colonel Anderson. "These... 'soviets' assumed the mission was a failure and never reported on it out of shame, or something like that. Regardless, that distress beacon is still pinging. We need to find its source before we do anything else." He scoffed with a sly grin. "Maybe one of them is still alive."
-------------------------------------
The three astronauts hiked a tall mountain they encountered on their way to the beacon. Gusts of wind suddenly caressed the men, causing them to be buffeted by specks of red sand. Ignoring the harsh exterior conditions inside the comfort of his spacesuit, Lieutenant Colonel Wilfery said:
"So why are you so sure there aren't any aliens here?"
"Because of the rover Curiosity!" replied Haynes, through a bit of static interference in their radio. "About a hundred and fifty years ago it explored the martian surface and didn't find anything."
"A stoner's curiosity?" said Wilfery. "What's weed got to do with this? Did they really send an undergraduate student ahead of us?"
The gales rapidly increased in strength and ferocity the closer they got to the peak. Enveloping them in what seemed like crimson mist, the dust clouds got denser, to the point of almost being tangible, and obscured anything five meters ahead of them. Slamming his palm into his helmet, Haynes then said:
"Rover! R-O-V-E-R. It was a reconnaissance robot sent to study Mars' geology. It didn't find any life after decades of searching, so yeah, I'm pretty confident there aren't any aliens here!"
"Would you two just shut up and focus on the situation at hand?!?" shouted Colonel Anderson, barely visible in front of them. "We're in the middle of a sandstorm here! One wrong step and we break our necks on this mountain!"
Just as he finished speaking, Colonel Anderson grabbed a loose rock and fell backwards. He screamed for his life while airborne, his horror subsiding once his men caught him by the arm. Wilfery grinned and said:
"Teaching by example, I see! A testament to your great leadership skills, colonel!"
Colonel Anderson narrowed his eyes and grunted at Wilfery, looking downwards in shame once his subordinates weren't looking.
-----------------------------------------------------
Once they got to the peak, the sandstorm had already subsided, making the descent a lot easier than the climb. The distress signal was beeping stronger the more they walked through the empty plains, giving Wilfery an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Marching behind the others didn't help his uneasiness. His back was exposed to whatever could be behind them and everything was too quiet, too still for his liking. The flat landscape they traversed looked more like a desert drenched in dried blood than an alien planet. Even the ground beneath his feet felt *wrong*. It was probably the difference in gravity to Earth's, but he still couldn't ignore the thought that everything reacted differently here.
Looking over his shoulder, Wilfery widened his eyes with fear. The soil turned pitch black and flowed in bumps towards them, rising and falling like streaks of ink in a hostile sea of red dust. Wilfery immediately ran to his companions screaming:
"The soil guys! The ground's out to get us!"
Haynes turned around with tense shoulders, but quickly relaxed his body. He then shook his head, sighed, and said:
"No it isn't. The ground isn't sentient Wilfery, it's just subterranean water rising from the ground."
"Subterranean water?"
"Yeah," replied Haynes. "they're called 'Recurring Slope Lineae'. It's summer here, and highly saline water tends to flow this way during this time of the year."
Colonel Anderson laughed loudly and walked up to the darkened sand. He then touched its damp texture and said:
"I can't believe you're a Lieutenant, Wilfery. Really? Wet sand? What's next? An abandoned soviet station filled with zombi-"
The sand sprung from the ground and pierced Anderson's suit through his arm. He quickly jumped away from it, but it was already too late. The dust flowed into his spacesuit, filling it up until inflating it slightly and freezing him there with its added weight. Anderson's ear piercing screams were then muffled by the sand, who choked the life out of him by forcing itself down his throat.
Wilfery and Haynes gaped in terror, seeing Anderson's eyes pop out and being followed by a viscous fluid that fell from his sockets like crude oil. They turned around, trying to run away, but their knees weakened and tripped them over. The sand inched its way to their helmets, twisting itself around their calves and anchoring them to the ground. Clawing at the floor with their hands, they dragged themselves away from the black tendrils for a few feet, before being forcefully drawn into the darkness again.
The two men then faced each other and nodded, silently resigning themselves to their end. Once the black sand reached their necks, it covered them like a blanket and stopped crushing them with its pressure. Footsteps suddenly crunched nearby, coming from Anderson's body who stood in front of them. In a coarse and headache inducing voice his body said:
"Get out of our planet, humans. It belongs to *us*!"
"W-we come in peace" said Wilfery. "Yes, its *your* planet. We have no intention from taking it from you."
"Really?!?" shouted the voice. "That's exactly what the others said, but once we tapped into their memories, we saw they had other plans instead." The limp body raised its arms. "Colonization! On *our* planet. They thought they claimed it by sticking a pole in the ground!"
"They didn't know you lived here!" said Haynes. "*We* didn't know you lived here! Please, surely seeing humans must've been surprising to you too!"
"Yes..." The voice trailed off, pausing for a few seconds. "We didn't know much of you lifeforms when they first came, so we possessed all of them, thinking you were a hive-mind like us. We knew more of you would come, so we used their trinkets to call you to our location. This time, we're leaving some of you alive to send a message. Never come back to Mars again. Stay off our planet and don't you *dare* claim it as yours."
----------------------------------------------------------
>If you enjoyed this, you can check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories!
| 2016-08-16T08:17:13 | 2016-08-16T08:14:02 | 300 | 86 |
[WP] The most difficult part of being a Supervillian? Find love, not because other people won't like you, but because the stupid Superheros will swoop in and "rescue" your date every time, but this time you have a plan, and it's going to work.
|
"I GOT HIM!!!!" she laughed. "I finally got him!!!"
she blew the tip of her ray gun, as if to blow the smoke away.
I blinked, staring at the crumpled body of my nemesis...his Cape a melted ruin. My stomach churned. I felt...
"oh I am having desert tonight!" her dark red lips curved upward. An adorable dimple popped out of one cheek. she popped the ray gun back in her purse. She stopped when she saw my face.
"oh no, did i... I just stole your moment didnt i... I just...I'm SO TIRED of that misogynist lump ALWAYS trying to rescue me...like i cant handle myself. I'm a freaking black belt Clark, I dont NEED you swooping in and beating my contact senseless before I can get any information out of him. And you know what? last time you saved me? I FELT that hand on my ass" She kicked at the melting river of polyester. She turned to me" I'm so sorr..."
"STOP!" I said holding up my hand "I dont want to hear any more apologies. Just tell me ONE THING"
She nodded, smile gone.
"How on EARTH did you get a laser got enough to cut through his body, and not melt the barrel of the ray gun?" I squeaked, reaching for her purse, "may i...?"
Her whole face brightened. She laughed, like bubbles of champagne. The dimple deepening.
she swatted hand away. "After dinner!"
" your lab or mine?" I smiled following her in to the restaurant.
|
**Part 1**
"Oho, if it isn't *Black Magma*!! What brings you to my nefarious lair?!", I crowed.
He sighs, as though the weight of the things I've set in motion already pulled at him. So soon, and it's as if understands how truly powerless he is. This has been weeks in the making, and he knows by now that the only way through is to play through. We've done this before, you see.
"You don’t have to say the whole thing each time. *Magma* is fine. Or *Jeremy*. I mean, come on Sam, it's not like we haven't known each other since grammar school. And do we have to do the villainous dialog thing? It's Friday night. Can we wrap this up?"
Well, that stings. I've always been traditional when it comes to arching. I grew up on Adam West's *Batman*, and I've built my whole schtick around that era. Always been a history buff, and the dialog, the hideouts, the costumes. I can't help but get into it when I arch.
Why not make a night out of it?
The place is spotless, no henchman around to muck things up...I've even got the terraformer running in the background for effect. The least he can do is get into character here.
But nooooo, not *Black Magma*! He can't even bother to use the code names, even though he bitched me out last time I called him *Jeremy*.
He's all, "Swoop in, save the day, head to the next gig." Where I take pleasure in the build up of the conflict, in the cat & mouse game, he's only interested in thwarting schemes ASAP.
"First of all", I began, irritated, "don't call me 'Sam'. It's *Acre*. Pretty sure that you flipped out last time I used your government name. *Jeremy.*"
"Fine, *Acre*." You could feel the derision in his voice. "But last time you used my name, there were civilians within earshot. Do you even know how much *Fugue* charges for memory wipes? And that doesn't even include - "
"Second," I continued before he could get into his monologue, "you came to **my** lair. I don't remember inviting you. Don't show up at my place unannounced and then act like I made you come here. And I hadn't seen you since high school! I'm fighting *Battle Bot* and all of a sudden, the kid from down the street is all grown up and destroying my Ent. Forgive me for being surprised and blurting your name out. If you were that worried, you'd wear a better mask. I mean, a Domino mask? Really? And they say *I'm* old school."
*Black Magma* closes his eyes, breathes in deeply, and exhales through his nose. The smell of ozone wafts by me. The temperature of the room elevates by a few degrees. He's getting antsy. I should get things moving before he starts with the disintegration beams and all that.
Then, weirdly enough, *he* makes a move.
"*Acre*, I know you're brewing something up. You couldn't possibly let that logging bill go through without a response. And now no one knows where the city council team is, and it's *Arbor Day*. Come on, where are they? If you let them go, I might consider not nuking your dining table. Again."
"YOU WILL NOT TOUCH MY TABLE WITH YOUR GODDAMNED BEAMS," I hiss.
Damnit. He knows how to push my buttons. And he knows he's gotten to me. And I know that he knows that I know.
I stop, take a deep breath, and start again.
"Look....It takes a lot of work to make one of those. And they're living trees, just...well, sort of like a bonsai, but in whatever shape I want. The point is, you need air too, so don't kill trees, alright?"
Jeremy is obviously surprised.
"Wait. You *made* that table? That's awesome!! And since when do you have powers? I always figured you for a mad scientist."
His curiosity piqued, I have the advantage.
"Well, *Magma*..I've always had powers. I just don't fly around showing off setting stuff on fire like *some people*."
He grits his teeth.
"*Puppeteer* was controlling my body. Don't put that on me. Besides, if he hadn't pushed my powers into overdrive, I wouldn't know that when I go hot enough, the flames are black. That's badass and you know it."
"That *was* pretty badass," I agreed. "Except the part where I had to spend my weekend regrowing all the forests you torched."
"YOU fixed that?!," he exclaimed. "I thought council was gonna sue me into the ground over that, and then by Monday, it was more lush than ever."
"Yea, that was me. And council wouldn't have sued you. They've been trying to get rid of anything green in city limits for years now. More room for strip malls and condos. Hence, the whole villainy thing. So don't complain about me taking up a few hours of your time on a Friday when you killed my whole weekend last month with your stupid *beams*."
He deflated a bit, sighed.
"Look, I'm sorry. I've only been in the city for a few months, and it's hard to meet people when you work the hours we do. I try to get out and be social on Fridays and this...I was gonna go do trivia tonight, you know? Maybe make some friends. Anyway, our moms keep in touch, and mine told me you were doing well here, so I figured I'd give it a shot. She didn't tell me what you do..though to be fair, she doesn't know what I do... Anyway, Its been kinda weird. Can we just start over?
I can't stay mad at the guy. Even as annoying as he can be.
"Sure. I just came out to my Mom last month. I get it. She's still struggling with having a cape for a kid, but I think we'll be okay. Drink? It's not poisoned, I promise."
"Suuure", he says wryly, "Not poisoned".
"One or both of our moms would kill me if I killed you. Probably mine. It's ginger lemonade with basil syrup, and I grew everything myself. Even the sugar cane. Here."
I hand him the glass. He looks at it, then at me, the back to the glass. It's like the start of an *Old Spice* Commercial.
I hum the jingle.
"Holy shit, that reminded you of *Old Spice* too?? Noice."
He takes a sip. His eyes widen. He downs the entire glass.
"Okay, are we doing seconds? Because that's fantastic."
The game is afoot.
| 2022-12-02T20:53:04 | 2019-02-23T07:51:01 | 129 | 47 |
[WP] Humanity has detonated hundreds of nukes, but only twice against an enemy. The Galactic Federation has this fact without context.
|
"Twice?!"
"That's what it says here."
"That's ... far less than I expected."
Every head in the room turned towards the one who'd said this. A green individual with four bright yellow eyes spoke first.
"Does your saying ... less?"
The grey individual with blacked-out eyes at the head of the table continued.
"Indeed I did." He climbed to his feet and began to wander down the length of the table. "The very fact that they used any nukes at all is somewhat problematic, but not entirely unexpected. I mean, look at the Yatoshans. They'd used 309 nuclear weapons and had almost wiped themselves out before we intervened. And while their integration into the Federation was one of the most ... messy on record ..."
He stopped on the other side of the room, turned to address the many faces gawking at him and places his hand on the table.
"... they still came around in the end, and turned out far better for it. Let us not forget why we're here. Splitting the atom is a crucial step for any civilisation. What they do with this newfound power determines their threat level, their integration potential, and their general level of hostility."
He raises himself up once more and moves towards the window behind him.
"The fact that they only used this power against themselves twice is a good sign. It displays a level of restraint and order nearly unheard of on this side of the galaxy."
"Yeah, on this side," a fuzzy individual with a lengthy snout intervened. "But what about on their side? They're the first civilisation from the Dark Corner that we've been able to observe, and only a little at that. Maybe they've only launched two nukes because they only had two major targets to attack."
"Our sources say they have hundreds of cities all over the globe," another fuzzy creature with a decidedly shorter snout chimed in. "I'm inclined to agree that their hostility level is low."
The room began to stir, with more and more voices presenting their opinions.
"We have so little data..."
"We can't get to them anyway."
"They could be in trouble, we have to help them!"
"They could *be* the trouble. I say we leave them."
"No one's ever been into the Dark Corner and survived..."
"Has anyone seen my legs?"
The man at the window turned to address the rabble.
"Alright, alright! Settle down, everyone! Settle down. In our observations of how this planet fights amongst itself, let us not also fight amongst *our*selves."
The room fell silent. A pair of disembodied legs ran past the open door in the corridor outside.
"That's better. Now," the grey man began, sitting down once more, "I have a proposal. We need an excuse to investigate the Dark Corner further, and now that we know there's an entire species trapped inside, I'd say that's as good an excuse as any. I suggest we set up a science station to study the anomaly near it's perimeter, and to try to find a way to enter and exit unharmed. For all we know, these 'humans', as they call themselves, could be all alone in there, and as such, may believe they're alone in the universe. They may not even know they're trapped. Hostile or not, I believe it is our responsibility to save them. Any objections?"
No one spoke.
"Good. Then let's get started."
\---
Part II is on the way! I'll be posting it over on r/Thesparalius when it's done. Part I is up already! Go and give it some love!
|
“A weapon of such power isn’t unheard of. I don’t see why you believe this should be our reason for avoiding contact with our galactic neighbor. I will be the first to point out the mistakes of the Navin people I represent. Our weapons caused similar damage in the past, and yet we have reformed to be useful members of this federation. I wish to believe the humans could reform in such a way.” Avata eyed the map before him. The proud leader of the Navin people, a war loving species, turned pacifists. Their reform the result of a valiant effort by his mother, uniting his kind as one.
Navins were interesting to look at. A species that started off slim, having stick-like legs and heavy boulder like chests, their bodies covered in a dazzling array of scrap metal, some of this metal even merging with their soft rubbery skin. It was said the more metal embedded in a Navin, the stronger they were. If so, that would make Avata the strongest of them all, his body covered in scraps of ships, weaponry and armor. A collection of lost battles and won wars.
“Of course, you would agree. Want to send them the co-ordinates so they can blow up our federation too? These creatures are unpredictable. You have seen them bicker among themselves, they show all the signs of an unstable species, I say we let them kill themselves off. I won’t be subjecting my people to anymore bloodshed. You remember what happened last time you all underestimated a race? If not, let me take you on a tour of our mass graves, maybe that will jog your memory.” Galdin hadn’t bothered to even lean forward in her chair, the leader of the Piklits lounging back, showing her lack of interest in the subject.
Piklits suffered greatly in the last extension of an olive branch of peace. They were called upon to deliver the invitation, making them the target of a race of savages. Sure, the Piklits had federation backing, but the federation ambles along while the enemy marches at a faster pace. The result was a slaughtering the likes of which no one had seen. With the attacking race being eliminated completely, removed by the joint forces, unfortunately the Piklets suffered before they accomplished the feat, losing forty percent of their population.
Piklits were small fur covered creatures, weighing around twenty kilos. They had stocky legs and small rounded bodies. Their heads were a cylinder shape and could slip in and out of their bodies like a turtle hiding in its shell. They weren’t physically strong, but they were cunning. Their cunning nature the only thing that helped them survive for so long.
“I understand your concerns Galdin, but you can’t treat these humans the same way. What happened to your kind marks a horrible lack of judgement on our behalf, I admit that, but we can’t see every potential ally as a threat. These humans may be violent, but I think they have the will to change.” Xoila smiled, trying his best to sway Galdin to his side, but his words fell on deaf ears, the woman not even moving from her slouched position.
Xoila led the Ratilon. The Ratilon were the co-founders of the federation and as such had a slight superiority complex. They were diplomatic but held a snark to their tone. A posh air of nobility and classism that often rubbed the other species the wrong way. Even now he could see his tone causing a twitch on Galdins lips. Ratilon’s were lanky, standing at eight foot tall, having four legs and five arms. The fifth being placed in the middle of their chests, having to design armor around the limb. Their singular eye a golden color, glowing brighter than any star.
“Then why don’t you get off your backside and ask them? I’m not going to do it, not after you all left my kind to die. Tell me, why do humans need so many of these weapons, yes you say they have only used it in warfare twice, but if that’s the case, why stock so many? Are they preparing for a war? We don’t know their intentions well enough to put ourselves in the firing line.” Galdin showed some emotion, finally standing in her seat, her hand banging the table, causing the holographic map in the middle to flutter.
This drew the attention of the table, and one might even catch Xiola grimacing. Ratilon hated being questioned, especially when the person had a point. Xoila wanted to debate the topic further, wishing to gain back his lost point. Not planning to let this argument go until he was the victor. Luckily for the ears of everyone at the table, a voice spoke up before he could speak.
“You make a valid point, one I didn’t consider. The storing of weapons is strange. From a tactical position, I understand it. Having an army is important for any species but the mass storage of planet ending weaponry. That’s something we haven’t seen since the Navin days, and the Navin’s didn’t store such an extensive amount. No offence, Avata.” Tolis held his usual commanding tone, one that could cut into any conversation. He may have not held the wisdom of his forefathers, but his empathy and kindness made others listen.
They considered Tolis the leader of the federation. A member of the Ealeren race. While the leadership claim is often contested by the Ratilon, due to them sharing the title of the founder of the federation, most of the other members agree Tolis holds the power of the federation. At least he held more respect. Even Galdin had to admit he was a decent guy, being the first to come and offer support, even risking his own life to drive off the attackers. His appearance similar to that of his kind, a humanoid figure with dark purple skin, covered in a set of white markings. They say these markings display the future of an Ealeren at birth, but many consider them to be like birthmarks. His skin like rock, chipped in places and cracked. A sign of his age. When an Ealeren gets too old they simply shatter, breaking aside in a horrifically beautiful display.
“No offence taken, Tolis. I may change my stance as well. Xoila, my kind know what its like to be hate filled and war hungry. We stored weapons in the hopes of battle. I fear the humans may be on a similar path. This doesn’t mean I don’t want to contact them; I just wish to look into a safer way of doing so. Galdin is right to have concerns.” Avata gave a nod of respect to Tolis, before turning his attention to Xoila.
“You wish to stop our progress out of unprecedented fears? The humans aren’t smart enough to cause us trouble.” Xoila desperately tried to persuade the group, his pride hurting.
“Then send the transmission yourself. Just don’t expect me to come save you when you get attacked. I won’t help a fool that can’t understand the simple concept of history repeating.” Galdin commented, causing Xoila to stand up.
“How dare you? You little fluffy runt. I understand fully well that history can repeat itself. I just wish not to let one incident paralyze us with fear. We are better than that. At least I believe we are. Then what shall we do? Wait for them to develop faster than light travel? How do you believe they will react when they find out we avoided them?” Xoila panted, his last push to get back into this debate.
“That’s also a valid point, Xoila. I agree that showing such coldness to an ally will hurt us in the long term, but we need to maintain our own safety. Let us avoid contact for a while longer.” Tolis did his best to pacify Xoila, a compliment in his favor usually silenced him, the tactic working as Xoila sat himself down again.
“So, what do we do then?” Avata asked, each of the federation eyeing Tolis, awaiting his response.
“We give them another five hundred years and re-investigate the matter then. If they are still showing signs of potential malicious intent, we will stop looking at them as a potential ally and instead watch them as a potential threat. Are we all in agreement over this course of action?” Tolis looked to the room, nods being shared among the members.
“I don’t like the idea of still considering them, but I can’t fault your plan, Tolis.” Galdin said, throwing her arms up in a shrug.
“While I prefer to meet my allies as soon as possible, I guess another five hundred years won’t hurt.” Xoila conceded.
“I look forward to seeing their progress. I wish them the best.” Avata smiled, pulling away from his seat.
The members gave each other one last nod before heading their separate ways, concluding the federation meeting on the humans.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2021-02-17T04:34:37 | 2021-02-17T04:15:21 | 818 | 214 |
[WP] Jesus has come down from the heavens, but is actually just a chill guy. He is sitting and talking to fans in your city but when you walk to see the savior his relaxed expression fades and is replaced with smugness and at the same time anger. He looks at you and calmly goes, “Ah, the Antichrist”
|
“What are you talking about?” I ask, looking behind to see about a thousand people staring at me like I had just been found guilty for killing all the saints.
I wish I had not looked back, though, because everyone just started shouting straight-up horrific words.
“Kill him!”
“Put him in a sack, Jesus!”
“He’s a demon, throw him out of the city!”
“Calm down.” Jesus finally says something out loud—strange because he had been whispering almost all this time. “You. Sit.”
Trembling, I sit down right next to the rock the Son of Man had been sitting on. Slowly, I feel his hand creep up on my shoulder as he faces the crowd.
“There is no need for killing.” He states to the horrified crowd. “The Father does have a plan.”
The crowd goes silent as if convinced by the whole statement.
I am, too, but then I see Jesus slowly turn to me and whisper, “He does, doesn’t he?”
|
It was all true, then. For years, the dread had been gnawing at me, that something was... wrong. I could see it in the way they looked at me, treated me.
"Demons" my father had said, on Thanksgiving night. "I see demons inside you, and if we don't cast them out now, they'll take hold on you forever!"
That had been, what... over a decade ago? Fuck, I'd give anything to have been one of those normal families, watching football and having a drink. At the time, fresh out of college and dating a member of the local coven, I'd assumed dear old dad was just trying to guilt me back into the faith. Flipping him the bird and storming out had seemed reasonable at the time... Now I wasn't so sure. Now the son of god was calling me out for it.
Was I cursed, scorned because I'd turned away from the gifts god gave me? Was there something in my DNA, an infernal patron in my bloodline somewhere? (Dad would say it came from mom's side, but I'm not so sure.)
I thought of my life, what I knew, and what I believed.
I shrugged, though it was not a calm or dismissive motion. "I guess. I *am* my father's son." The emphasis was subtle, the tone was not. If there were to be a confrontation, I was ready for it.
And to his credit, the Christ was in fact the warrior prince I'd been told. He met my challenge with his own, as a tense silence fell over everyone nearby. "You have turned from your father's teachings, spreading blasphemy and dissention among the believers."
"I've spread doubt, sure. I'll cop to that. And why shouldn't I? Every serious question I asked was made into a joke. Faith alone is not enough. Your followers deserved better." My tone was rising quickly, my body shaking uncontrollably. I didn't want to be so angry about it, I wanted to be rational, but there was just... too much.
He smiled like he'd expected the answer, which made me even angrier. "Faith is all that is required. Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of--"
"Oh save it!" I snarled, "Just because you say that, doesn't make it so!"
The mistake was immediately obvious. Jesus's smug expression returned, and the thought was clear: *"Doesn't it?"*
"How?" I demanded, "How can you stand there, smirking like that, when your priests are raping children?"
That, at least, seemed to level the playing field a bit. His expression faded into one of... regret? resolve? I imagine it wasn't unlike the face he had during his heinous execution. He clenched his fists so tightly that blood began to trickle from his ancient wounds. "What was done was terrible, and I never condoned such a thing."
"Maybe '*suffer the little children*' was a bad way to start?" Sarcasm was a low blow, but fuck... his side was raping children. "You never condoned it, sure, but your pops sure did. How old was Mary, again, when he knocked her up?"
The blow was so quick and forceful that I'm surprised nothing broke. I hit the pavement, reeling, as I saw what only a few temple merchants had ever truly known... the true and unbridled fury of the one called Savior. "My mother is a SAINT!" he yelled, eyes alight with holy fire.
I spit out a bit of blood, and carefully (woozily) got back on my feet. "What does she think, about all the atrocities carried out in your names? About all the times your father commanded his people to kill, conquer, and destroy?"
He trembled slightly, not answering for quite some time. "She... doesn't understand."
"Because she's HUMAN. Killing defenseless humans is wrong, and we all know it. You were supposed to know it too. You preached love and peace... but then you abandoned everyone to your lunatics."
"I told you I was coming back. My instructions were clear. I cannot be blamed for humanity's shortcomings. They are a flawed and wicked people; it is only by our mercy that they are spared."
"Mercy?!" The emotions rising within me were churning, struggling for dominance. For a moment, hysteria took the lead. "Mercy wouldn't look anything like this. You condemn everyone --EVERYONE-- to burn forever, by default? And then offer to throw them a lifeline if they're fortunate enough to have heard of you, but foolish enough to believe without evidence? That's not mercy, that's psychopathy. You and your father are crazy."
Jesus was silent, but the crowd around him was coming to their senses. Many had pulled out their phones, likely planning to be famous for their video of mine and Jesus' first encounter. The believers were rallying to his side with a vengeance, and I could see in his eyes that our fight was not yet over. But the crowd was growing violent, and Jesus did not want his arrival to be marred with more violence than it already was.
I took my cue, and turned to leave before someone in the increasingly violent crowd decided it was God's will to put me 6 feet under. The unspent emotions came bubbling up as I got in my car, and I barely made it a block down the street before I had to pull over.
I felt sorrow, for the loss of my father's love. I felt anger, on behalf of those who'd been harmed. I felt rage, at a god who would command his people to commit genocide. I felt... joy? Elation?
Why did I feel excited about this? I'd been wrong, about so much. I was, literally, going to be the world's most infamous villain.
I thought of something I'd learned from the coven, years ago, when I'd asked about the "bad" gods like Set, Loki, and (I now realized) Lucifer.
"Loki doesn't just destroy, he mocks and critiques. He challenges the other gods, often angering them, to point out their flaws and weaknesses. His role isn't to unmake things, it's to change them. Fire, often associated with destruction and ruin, is really an element of change and purification, removing the unneeded so that the strong can flourish."
The tears and laughter began to fade, as the warmth on my face settled deep down in my soul. If I was to be the antichrist, then I'd be the best goddamn antichrist anybody ever dreamed of.
Because I'm the good guy.
| 2020-02-02T17:17:07 | 2020-02-02T16:03:23 | 253 | 102 |
[WP] You are a vampire hunter. But you don't try to kill them, far from it. You're here to charge them with centuries of tax evasion.
|
The rusted gates of Silverthorn Hall screeched their protest at my arrival as I pushed forward through the rain. Freezing drops pelted my duster and long-brimmed hat, a holdover from collectors past.
Long overgrown vines threatened to trip me up on my way to the ancient doors. This place had been a hotspot for the most lavish parties of 1867, but today it served only as a crumbling testament to the creature inside.
I knocked on the door, and to my shock, there was an answer. A small, elderly man in a pristine suit poked his head from outside the door.
"You're the Taxman, then?" he croaked.
"I'm afraid so. Is Mr. Silverthorn in, by any chance?"
"He's said he'd be a minute, had some last minute things to attend to."
"I was worried about that. Up in the study?"
"Sir, I really think y--"
I threw the door open to the vast, abandoned manor, knocking down the old man in the process. "Nothing personal, mind, I just know how his kind like to relocate in times of stress". The old man responded with a hiss, baring his sharp teeth.
The sound of a window being smashed upstairs. I flung some Holy Water at the aged familiar, causing him to double back in anguish. "Sorry!" I shouted over my shoulder as I sprinted up the rotting steps.
The study's door was almost falling off its hinges, revealing a shattered window. Outside, a bolt of lightning revealed the man of the house, staggering across his immense lawn.
I'd always thought the arm crossbow they afforded this division of the IRS was a little gaudy, but there was no doubt it was effective. I aimed, and let loose a blessed arrow directly into Jonah Silverthorn's leg. He collapsed to the floor, his haphazard collection of riches spilling out from his arms.
I leaped to the lawn below. My steel toed boots clanked like spurs as I approached. Silverthorn howled, as vampires howl.
I knelt down next to him.
"Good evening, sir! Sorry to bother you at such a late hour, but we had a few questions regarding some discrepancies in your taxes. Do you have a moment?"
|
Another one... At least this mansion appears like a genteel refugee from the post-war south. It's a relief from the usual foreboding manse that looms over your head, threatening with every step forward that it may crash down around your ears.
This one simply says: I am here. I will always be here. My master will always be here. If you come in peace, you may go in peace. If you come in violence, you will never leave.
That last is a whisper, borne out on the thousands of minnie ball marks on the face of the mansion. They came. They attacked. The estate and owner are still here. Oh, the marks are gone now—expertly repaired long ago.
I know they are there because I have seen the photograph and read the after-action report from that battle. I am here to settle accounts with the owner of this estate. This debt has gone unpaid for far too long.
*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*
I wait patiently. His one servant is elderly and slow to move. Still, three knocks are sufficient—any more will only aggravate him, adding unnecessary stress. The door opens smoothly and without undue sounds.
"Yes?" His servant is tall, almost a parody, but the solemn look and quick eyes speak of a wit held in check.
"Doctor Raymond Van Helsing, to see Lord Graymoore. A matter of financial import."
He looks at me, somewhat perplexed. "The Master is nearly awake, and night is close; do you not wish to return at dawn? Perhaps with trusted friends?"
"A misapprehension, my briefcase holds pens and a largish quantity of paper. I intend no violence."
"Please, come in. I will see if the Master is ready for a visitor." I am guided to a richly appointed study. "Please wait here."
I possess myself with patience. Through the windows, I watch as the sun finishes setting. Across the lawn, with the Magnolia trees on either side, the view is enchanting. I watch until full nightfall is upon us.
A voice speaks directly behind me.
"I would not expect one of your lineage to come on a mission of peace."
The voice is cultured but not unusually accented. This one has worked hard to fit in. "Perhaps peace is not the right word, yet I am not here to offer physical violence but to settle a debt you have long ignored."
"A debt?"
I turn to face him. He appears as any gentleman might, well dressed, well groomed, not at all archaic.
"Doctor Raymond Van Helsing, of the Internal Revenue Service. Whether you are the original Lord Graymoore or a descendant, you and your hypothetical ancestors have never paid any taxes.
"It is my sad duty to inform you that either we come to an amicable agreement on a schedule of payments until you have caught up, or the United States Government will have to freeze all of your accounts."
He smiles thinly. "Violence indeed, but not physical. Come, let us reason." An elegant gesture towards his desk. He directs me to the chair at his side, a signal that he wishes a non-adversarial resolution.
We work through the night, and as the cock crows, we have reached a preliminary agreement. The fiction that he is a descendant will remain undisturbed. When you come down to cases, vampires at this level mainly desire peace. Blood hunger is not an issue; blood banks, unfortunately, must dispose of far too much blood that is nearing the end of its useful span. At this level, the vampire often owns several banks outright. More than enough to keep them well fed even on the freshest blood. The last thing you want is to drive a stable community member into a frenzy of self-defense. They do far too much work ensuring that their less well-endowed compatriots do not cause undue harm.
"A pleasure working with you, Lord Graymoore."
"And with you, Doctor Van Helsing." His servant appears in the shadows remaining before dawn. His eyes are red. "Ah, may I assume the individuals approaching the house in stealth are not yours?"
My face turns stone hard. "They are mine by blood. But that is all. They appear to need another object lesson. Shall I deal with it?" It is his land and his right to defend himself when he has committed no crime other than tax evasion — now settled — and self-defense.
"No, there are those who have become restless since the War of Northern Aggression."
His servant nods and departs.
"If you will forgive me, I must make my retreat. The sun and I are constant adversaries."
I nod, and he departs. In the early dawn hours, the screaming begins. By 10 am, the last scream was two hours ago. I gather my papers and my things. As I approach the front door, his servant stands in my way, holding my coat. While he helps me don the coat, I comment. "There is one left." I turn to him, and he nods. "A sniper." He nods again. "You have been unable to find that one." He hangs his head. "Not your fault. Dhampir are rare indeed." His eyes lock to mine; the red is a brilliant glow. "Yes, the same one who dealt with your prior master." He bares his teeth. It would be a terrifying sight, but his eyes are now looking over my shoulder. "Hello, Jason."
"Hello, Raymond. Time to pay for your crimes."
"Funny thing, Jason, I was about to say the same to you."
The servant glances back and forth between us.
"Yes, we are twins." His eyes grow large. "Blood is thin. Jason fought for the north. I fought for the south. We both knew what would happen if the balance was disturbed. Jason did not care; I did."
At that moment, we leaped—servant and I at Jason, my brother. Werewolf and Dhampir, versus Dhampir. Neither of us is vulnerable to Jason's bullets. It devolves to hand-to-hand. The grand foyer is devastated, but in the end, Jason falls to our combined attack.
"Kinslayer!" is Jason's last word to me.
Yes, I have killed my brother. But my brother has led our entire family to their dooms. All save Sigmund, who places his hand on my shoulder in sympathy, and myself, who sought only peace after that war. Jason would never give up The Hunt.
I look at Sigmund, "Do as you think fit. I must report in," Sigmund nods. He doesn't say much, not after he watched Jason kill our mother.
I used to wonder if I was the evil twin. Not after seeing the glee on Jason's face as he murdered our mother. I leave, and the door shuts behind me.
•••
*Alpha, Delta 4, Ray leaving the house.*
*Delta 4, Alpha, clean shot?*
*Alpha, don't give an order you know will not be obeyed.*
*Delta, take that shot.*
*Step out in the sunlight and give that order, you disgusting bastard.*
*Take the shot, or your family dies.*
*Break. Sigmund? Did you hear that? How about the rest of you? You want to live under someone like that?*
•••
The sounds of fighting erupt behind me—a pity. I hope my brother survives, but I cannot interfere. The IRS has no jurisdiction over domestic disputes.
((finis))
| 2022-10-01T13:06:29 | 2022-10-01T11:43:22 | 411 | 38 |
[WP] An Alien must explain to a Human that Earth is not a paradise for life, it is the most horrific Death World ever discovered.
|
A paradise for life? Well, I suppose that is technically true. If you tilt your head and squint.
The water is concentrated in a few large oceans which allows for storms of truly prodigious size to form and batter the land. The land masses are so large that the interiors tend to be fairly arid because water just can't make it there from the oceans. The axial tilt and eccentric orbit means that there's incredible variation in climate throughout the year in most places as well as incredible variation in climate by latitude. Abnormally large tectonic plates means volcanic activity tends to be relatively rare, limiting the amount of soil that is refreshed through volcanic mineralization. At the same time it allows for excessively large buildups of tectonic stress resulting in truly impressively earthquakes which, due to the layout of the plates also leads to truly impressive coastal devastation, which can occur on the other side of the planet from the earthquake.
So yes, the truly impressive frequency of geographically created niches does mean that you're never far from a niche boundary which in turn means that evolutionary competitive pressures are quite robust. Your biodiversity is astounding, to say the least.
But that does not mean it's a paradise for life! It means the opposite! It means that wherever you go there's already hyperspecialized organisms ready and willing to *kill you!* You have *trees* that want to kill you! They can't even move or think and yet they can and will kill. And what makes you look at murderous herbivores and think "paradise"?!
If your world is a garden, it's a fallow garden that's been overgrown with weeds and needs to be burned down so you can start over. Oh, wait, you can't do that because half your damn weeds have evolved to take advantage of fires to spread more effectively!
^^^Besides, ^^^we ^^^tried ^^^that ^^^once ^^^and ^^^got ^^^you ^^^out ^^^of ^^^it.
|
“I’m sorry, I must have misheard that. What planet did you say you’re from?” Alix stopped sipping his blue hi-nutrient drink and instead focused his one eye on his human companion. Watching John happily indulge in a poison that humans called beer.
“Earth. You’ve never heard of it? It’s a pretty nice place, can get a little hot though. Although I guess that depends where you live.” John laughed, taking another sip of his beer, only to stop mid-sip when he noticed the worried look coming from his friend. “What?”
“EARTH!? You poor man, were you a criminal? Why would they send you to live in such an awful place?” A three fingered hand clutched John’s shoulder as Alix gave his friend a look of pity. “Are you ok? If you’re in debt or something, I may be able to help. I don’t have much money on me, but I can help you escape.”
“No one sent me to live on Earth. I was born there. I can leave anytime I want.” John calmly removed Alix’s hand from his shoulder, turning around in his stool to face the bartender, who shared Alix’s expression. The bartender just silently pushed another beer towards John, shaking his head.
“No wonder you need so much of that poison. This drinks on the house.” The bartender sighed. Their head hanging low as they approached their other customers, not having that fake air of hospitality anymore.
“Thanks?” John stared at the free beer, not about to turn it down but finding it a rather confusing offer. What was so bad about Earth? Apart from the people, pollution, corruption, warfare, and seagulls, it was an alright place.
“I didn’t know you had such a hard life; you always seem so happy. You’re truly a strong individual.” Alix teared up, his one eye watering, looking like a water balloon that was about to leak its contents everywhere.
“Earth’s a nice place. What are you on about? Have you even been there?”
“Why would I go to such a place? Its atmosphere shouldn’t even be able to support life. The fact that humans could thrive there is a mystery to us.”
“I thought Earth had the perfect ingredients to make human life, or well at least the perfect ingredients to support it. I’m not entirely sure how that scientific stuff works.”
“Yes, it’s perfect for human life. Not normal life.” Alix said as he broadly gestured to the surrounding aliens. “None of us would be able to survive the harsh conditions of Earth. It’s abnormalities in heat and cold mixed with the planet’s natural defences. It’s a disaster.”
“Wait, did you call me abnormal?”
“I didn’t mean any offence by it. It’s just by galactic standards your um… what’s the best way to put this in human terms? You’re a freak and a weirdo?”
“That’s more offensive than calling me not normal. What do you mean by natural defences? A planet’s not an alive thing.” John needed that beer. With how this conversation was going, he felt he was in for a long evening.
“All those things you deem as natural disasters. Earthquakes, fires, floods, and everything in between. What sort of people would see a planet’s rage and think that they should keep living there?”
“Your homeworld doesn’t have all of those things?”
“Thousands of years ago, my ancestors used to live on a hostile planet, but we left as soon as we developed space travel. It’s called the great step in our history. Most of us have a story like the great step, except for humans. Why do you persist with Earth even when the planet is falling apart?”
John thought about that. Was his planet falling apart? Sure, it had its fair share of problems, and the resources were running thin. But it felt harsh to say it was falling apart, that allegation causing him to puff out his chest, feeling a need to defend his mother Earth.
“Because it’s our home. It’s hard to describe, but it just feels hard to leave behind something that raised you. It would be like abandoning my mother just because she’s gotten old and frail. Sure, it has its problems, but we want to be there until it dies.”
Alix didn’t know what to say. His round mouth shut tightly as he planned a response. Eventually he couldn’t help himself from speaking his mind. “That’s stupid.”
“Pardon?”
“That’s stupid. You have a death world that actively wants you gone, and you hold such feelings for it? Your planet could barely sustain intelligent life. Its greatest achievement was making your kind, and now it’s time for you to leave and go somewhere safer.”
“Stupid? What would you know about those feelings? You didn’t even try to save your world. Maybe you could have improved it?”
“IMPROVED IT? It was going to turn into a burning mess if we stayed on it any longer. My ancestors tell stories of a planet that was falling apart and you think I should feel sorry for it? Your Earth isn’t a paradise, it’s a planet on its last breath and you should save yourself while you can.”
“Maybe you should mind your own business.” John huffed, polishing off the rest of his beer. The two then sat in silence, neither sure of what to say after that heated moment. John eventually pushed off his stool, tucking his hands into the pockets of his flight jacket. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”
“Wait.” Alix motioned him back to his stool, scanning his chip over the counter, ordering him another beer. “I’m sorry, that was harsh of me. I only said it because I was worried about you. You’ve been a good friend to me.”
John looked at the stool and dropped himself back into it, spinning around to face the counter. He couldn’t stay mad after that, having to admit he was being a little overboard with his love of the planet. “You’re right, you know? The planets getting worse; I think everyone knows that. It’s just the last thing that makes us all feel… well, human.”
Alix patted his back, his three fingers poking into his back in a manner that made John cringe, having to arch himself upwards to avoid them pushing too deep into his back. Eventually Alix got the message and gave him a softer pat, one that wasn’t digging into his spine.
“Want to make it up to me?” John asked.
“Of course.”
“Have a beer with me.”
Alix froze in terror, gulping as he looked towards the bartender. Was he really going to drink a poison? He had been awfully rude. Maybe he deserved the punishment that would come from drinking such a drink. He went to scan his credit chip, only to feel a hand grab his arm, stopping him.
“Only kidding.” John swiped his chip, buying him another hi-nutrient drink. “I’ll get you to have a drink with me someday, but I’ll let you off the hook today. Don’t you have alcohol on your planet?”
“We don’t drink alcohol. Well, only for special occasions. The rush we get from a health drink is nearly the same, anyway.”
“I’m sure it is.” John rolled his eyes as the bartender handed them their drinks. They gave their drinks a small clink against one another before going back to their small talk, enjoying the rest of their evening.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2022-12-08T04:01:04 | 2022-12-07T23:41:30 | 612 | 363 |
[WP] Malaysia Airlines Flight MH370 lands in Beijing Airport, 3 Months late - passengers claim to have flown as normal.
|
I looked around. Two hundred and thirty-eight pale, shaken and frightened faces looked back.
“You all understand, don’t you? When we land,*nothing happened*. As far as we know, the plane left Kuala Lumpur exactly on time, we’ve been flying for six hours, and there was *absolutely nothing unusual* in any way about the flight.”
One elderly Chinese gentleman stepped forth. He spoke in very broken English, but I was able to make it out.
“Family. My. Will ask…questions. Government will question. Neighbors will question. Many people. Asking many questions. Cannot lie to everyone.”
“We have to. No other choice.”
“No. No. I answer. I lie. You Answer. You lie. Our lies…not the same.”
I nodded. It was a real risk. Even the tiniest slip up could….we couldn’t dwell on it.
We spent six painstaking hours reconstructing every second of the flight.
The Americans ended up sleeping. Made their story easier. The two Iranian kids was hard – we owed them everything and would have to pretend we didn’t know about their desperate flight to Europe. The family in Row 7 – we were lifelong friends now preparing to never see each other again.
We can’t risk even the slightest indication that we are anything but two hundred and thirty nine unrelated strangers crammed into the same metal tube for a burning and completely normal six-hour flight. No contact to ever betray us.
The plane will land exactly three months, two days and eight hours late. No-one on board will claim anything was amiss during the flight.
The media interest will die down with two weeks. We should get through the movie and book deals in a year. Documentaries will lose interest after three years. Three years is how long we have to avoid attention.
Then it’s just a case of staying quiet until we die. If just one of us slips up and lets out the truth…then it starts the questions. And some poor, brilliant fool will ask the right question at the right time for the wrong reasons.
Pray to whatever deity you believe in that the question is never again uttered anywhere on the planet.
There was a jolt, a familiar yet alien twisting of space and time. The pilot took one last look at me. I turned and walked towards my seat, hearing the radio call begin behind me.
“*Ah, Beijing Tower, this is M-H Three-Seven-Zero…*”
|
Smoke from the cup slowly dispersed in the air. I reached forward and took a sip of the tea I ordered just a minute ago. It was quiet in the cabin. The baby that was crying seemed to have fallen asleep in his mother's arms and the little boy playing running up and down the aisle was back in his seat.
*Ding.* The flight attendant picked up the little telephone by her seat. "We will be landing shortly. Please power off all electronic devices at this moment and pull up your seat back to the normal position. Fold up your trays and buckle up your seat belts."
It was as if everyone in the cabin has just let out their stream of piss after holding it in for five hours. The long flight will soon be over. I turned my head and scouted around at everyone else. They were all so motionless, almost as if I was on a plane all by myself. My eyes crossed with the young flight attendant standing down the aisle. She was gorgeous. Not like any other women I've ever seen before. I gave her a small smile and she smiled back.
The small screen before me flickered and I reached out and tapped it. *Estimated flight time: 5 minutes.* The small line of text appeared before my eyes. I glanced out the window as the city of Beijing became larger and larger before my eyes. As the wheels touched the ground, the rumbling from the landing made my tea splash around in the cup. I clutched onto the arm rest as the plane slowed down.
*Ding.* "We have landed at the Beijing International Airport. Please remain seated until the captain turns the seat belt sign off." Disobeying what's been told to them, people started to stand up and grabbed their luggage. I looked out at the building beside the plane and noticed a large crowd of people waiting beside the exit stairs of the plane. There were news reporters standing out there with cameras out on everyone's hands.
Is there a famous person on the plane? There's no way I could have missed someone like that! I stood up but everyone looked pretty ordinary to me, no one's especially flashy or stood out in any ways.
As I made my way down the stairs, one of the reporters rushed up to me and held the microphone by my mouth. Startled, I took a step back. "Wha-what's this about?"
"I'm here with a passenger from Flight MH370. Sir, what happened on the plane?" She pointed the mic back at me.
Confused, I replied, "um, what do you mean?"
"The flight," she immediately followed up, "the flight you've been on has been missing for months."
Missing for months? What is she talking about? And why does everyone seem so surprised and frightened? "I- I have been flying for 5 hours. Missing for months? What is this all about?"
"It seems like the passenger is still confused about the situation. As our doctor stated earlier today when the flight first appeared back onto the radar, this could be signs of post traumatic stress disorder." The reporter turned around and faced back at the camera.
They must be crazy. I stepped away and walked towards the building. A man wearing a Miami Heat shirt bumped into me and knocked me backwards. I struggled to regain balance but ended up falling backwards. And then it was all darkness.
Someone was shaking me, yelling at my face. I slowly gained conscious and met eyes with a masked man. "Wake the hell up and stay in your seat." He shoved me against the back of my seat and continued on behind me.
What just happened? I'm back on the plane? I fell asleep. Hasn't it been five hours already? I looked down at my watch, *6:00 AM.* Six? The plane should have landed at four o'clock, not six. I panicked and looked around. There were two more masked man standing down the aisle. Everyone else, frightened, remained in their seat.
I looked back at the man again before reaching into my carry-on bag. Being a CIA agent I've learned that every moment could be dangerous, and by the looks of it I'm in a very bad situation. I quickly pulled out my gun and knife and leaned back in my seat. My colleague, sitting across the aisle from me, made eye contact with me and we gave each other a nod.
As the other man walked through the curtain between the first class cabin and the economy cabin, I quietly stood up and followed up on the masked man behind me. Others behind me noticed what was about to happen and yelled at the man to distract him. I slowly crept up behind him, and as I locate the weapon still clipped onto the side of his belt I kneed his back as hard as I could. As he was just about to scream out in pain, I wrapped my hand over his mouth and placed him in a headlock position. His face slowly got redder and redder, until he stopped struggling and passed out. My colleague immediately followed up and zip tied his hands and feet.
I took off his mask and put it on and called up towards the first class cabin, "hey come and gimme a hand, this guy's being a little rough." As the second man walked through the curtain, my colleague gave him a good old marine neck chop and he fell to the ground like a rock. After tying up the second man, I handed my partner his mask and we made our way towards the front of the plane.
We approached the door to the cockpit. "You want left or right?"
"Left."
He slowly turned the handle and the door opened with a creaky sound. Two men were sitting in the place of the pilots. I glanced at the two sides of the room and saw the pilots against the wall. One of them looked up at me with fear. I brought my finger up to my lips and motioned for him to stay silent. He quickly identified us to be on the good side. I gave him a quick nod and reached forward, locked the masked man's head and without a thought, snapped his neck. My partner mimicked me and we dragged their lifeless bodies out of the seats.
Suddenly, I lost my balance as the plane started to descend at a fast pace. "Help him to his seat!" I yelled as I carried one of the pilot back onto his seat.
"Thank you." He coughed, and quickly pulled back on the control wheel. "Hang on to something!"
I felt my feet being pressed hard against the floor as the plane slowly dragged its way back onto course. "I'll leave you two be. If you need anything we'll be in economy."
Like heroes, we walked back to our seats as everyone applauded for the two of us. We smiled and replied "Just doing our jobs" to everyone.
The light flickered. *Ding.* "This is your captain speaking. We have just been involved in what seems to be a terrorist attack. Thanks to the two men, it seems like we're out of trouble. However, due to continuous flight for 3 hours over the originally planned landing time, our plane is now low on fuel and our destination is nowhere close enough for us to make the landing possible. This means that every second could be the last. I will do my best to land this plane, but once the limit is reached, there will not be anything I can do."
Just when it seems like the entire plane has quieted down, all hell broke loose.
People started crying and screaming. The little boy that sat beside my partner started to tear up. "Are we going to die?"
My partner hesitated and replied, "yes." He leaned over and held the boy in his arms.
I looked out the window at the bright sunlight piercing through the clouds as our plane flew lower and lower. My tea seems to be have cooled down. I reached forward and took a sip of the tea ordered hours ago. Holding tight to the edge of my armrest, I closed my eyes and leaned back in my seat.
As I let my thoughts overflow in my mind, the loud cabin slowly died down as a loud rumble struck my ears.
"I guess this is it."
---
*Any advice or suggestions are welcomed. I'm still learning to write better and need all the help I can get!*
| 2014-06-25T16:29:30 | 2014-06-25T14:31:14 | 58 | 24 |
[WP] You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain, one too strong for them to beat.
|
"For your own safety, you seriously should've let me complete that ritual." The shackled villain protested as the hero pulls her to a carriage.
"You were gonna sacrifice 27 virgins, Theia, I'm not gonna let that slide." The hero replied as he lead her into the carriage and locked the door behind her.
Theia sighs as she quickly broke through her shackles, "I'm serious, Vall!" She yelled at the hero who's walking away, "That thing will probably kill you!"
"You severely underestimate me!" The hero replies as he heads back to the cave with 27 virgins, "You of all people should know how skilled I am."
"Yeah, skilled enough to just barely survive a minotaur attack!" Theia exclaimed but Vall was already past earshot. The villainess sighed as she makes herself comfortable in the carriage. Between the fights, banter, and sexual tension, she knew he wasn't gonna listen anyway. "Why am I even doing this?" She thought to herself; perhaps she was still grateful to him for giving her some much needed free time, perhaps she felt like assimilating his power was still too soon, and after a while, thinking about all the villains she delayed, she smiled, "Nah, it's just fun having him around."
An explosion resounded as the mountain side gave way to a giant wolf like beast with Vall tossed into the ground, his magical armor and shield cracked from what happened. The beast reared back its head and fired a blast of magic into his direction. He stared at the blast as his body refused to move and, in a heart beat, A magical force field appearead with Theia in front of him. She giggled as the field easily diverts the blast, "What? I thought 'I severely underestimated you', Vall." She said with smug look on her face.
"Don't get me wrong. He just got me off guard." Vall smileed as he forced himself back up, "Besides, you know I'm just getting started." He glowed with magic power repairing damage to his weapons, armor and body.
Theia giggled at the sight she had seen multiple times before, "You one trick pony." She dropped the force field and readied her magic, "Fine... I'll help you just this once, Vall. I'd rather not have you killed."
"Just don't get in my way, Theia." Vall replied with a smirk as the two stared down the beast in front of them.
|
I stare, pretty shocked, I must admit, as something a little too fast for normal eyes to see hits Phase in the stomach and launches him backwards, much like what happens in a car crash. He lands right in front of one of the huge trucks carrying containment cells, designed to cuff people like me. Actually, probably designed specifically to contain me. Who knows what those overpaid nerdy idiots really intend with their gadgets. That something is shining brightly, moving in insane speed even while standing in place, apparently with no effort. The figure's movements seem to slow down to normal, showing it's just a human. With a costume. I sigh. What idiot is this? Some new Hero looking for a fight?
"Hah, what an idiot, letting his guard down just because he managed to catch that stupid whore Eclipsa. Don't you know she isn't the only villain in this town, and much less the strongest one?"
"Who - cof cof - are you? I thought the only villain that hadn't already been caught was her..."
And he was supposedly right. I made it so that I stood atop all the crime in the city, and after a lot of bribing and murdering, I managed to send all the great Mafia bosses and supervillains right into Phase's palm. That guy was completely new to me.
"I'm Burst. Through small controlled explosions caused by a material discovered by me, I can disrupt the fabric of time, creating...ahem...*Bursts* of extreme time acceleration which I can manipulate, giving the impression that..."
Phase rollwd his eyes while "Burst" proceeded with his lecture, eventually interrupting him.
"Blah blah blah, science science science, I don't care! Just know that the mighty -cof cof- oh boy that punch to the stomach did a number on me. Just know that the mighty Phase will be the one to-"
Again, in a speed faster than what anyone else's eyes could catch, Burst moved and hit Phase, this time a little higher, right in the chest. He tried to phase before the hit landed, and maybe he even acomplished it, but Burst probably just waited for the small phasing window to pass and hit him. He flew some good 5 meters, and landed with a cold thud. He'll make it against this asshole, right? He didn't get up. Should I...intervene? Nah, I bet he'll make a heroic comeback. Oh, there goes that idiot again.
"Not so talkative anymore, eh? I'm being nice to you. Do you know what I'm doing? You can't even see it, but I'm not punching you, I'm gently touching you with extreme speed. Do you have any idea of what'll happen if I punch you?"
Silence. He looks up, and bravely stands, putting his weight on a trash can that was slammed out of a lamp post by his last impact. Now that I think about it, just how resilient is a regular human, again? He couldn't have broken or ruptured something important with just this, right? Right?
"I guess...-cof cof wheeze- I guess I'll have to just phase.... until help arrives..."
I'm starting to get worried. That respiration doesn't seem healthy at all. I'm seriously considering breaking out, but then what? "Eclipsa misteriously kills new villain". I don't want to see that. I love Phase, not this piece of shit city. I guess I'll just see if the stupid neopolice can take this idiot down. I'm pretty sure Phase can hold out.
"Help? A whole army could come here, I can maintain my extreme speed for days. I'd age a lot, but I'd survive unscratched. And I know you can't phase for more than 5 minutes without a pause, you'd start losing your physical form."
Oh. I completely forgot about that. I've always let him win so easily that he haven't had to phase for this long since a while ago. He begins to phase before Burst can start his extreme speed, but, just as he said, he can't keep it up. I watched his pained expression as he pushed his limit to 6 minutes, while Burst patiently took care of all the oncoming neopolice droids, playfully deflecting all projectiles with his own hands. Then he collapses. The tips of his fingers, nose and ears already lost into thin air. Burst laughs.
"Idiot. He was going to die anyways. He just prolonged his suffering. And a punch trough the head yoooou taaaa-"
This is it. As the bright bursts started, I instantly pulled the palpable darkness from inside me and broke my containment cell. Hands of darkness flailed destroying everything in a good 5m radius around me. Burst turned, startled, all the while not releasing the extreme speed around his hand.
"What? You broke free? No matter. Nothing can keep up with my extreme speed. I'll just kill this fucktard before I deal wi-"
As he turned towards Phase, the shadows caused by the skyscrapers around us stretched and lunged towards Burst, forcing him to dodge away from the unconscious body on the pavement.
"You bitch, I didn't know you could do this, I thought you just covered yourself in umbra and used it as a melee weapon. Whatever. Full body burst-"
You don't know anything about me.
"Silence, varmint. Blackout"
The huge wave of darkness that flowed from my eyes covered dozens of miles in fractions of fractions of a second. Nothing travels faster than darkness. There was no visibility. No light could banish that, no high-tech gear could see trough it. Except myself. I guess no one will know what happened, especially Burst, since they don't know I can do this. And the name of the ability? I know it is overly simplistic. But I don't care. I never did, being powerful overwrites the need to be edgy. You look towards a desperate, confused Burst.
"What the fuck is this? I've done deep research into you, there's no documentation of such a power. How and why would you hide something this big?"
I roll my eyes, despite no one being able to see them. This is nothing. I could cover the solar system in darkness, I could force the void to devour our planet. How pitiful is that, huh? The ability to destroy everything at will... it doesn't bring you anything. Power? I'd trade all of mine for half of a life where I'd lay down in a comfy bed at night and, everyday, be able to think to myself: Today was great, life is awesome.
"Big? I just covered the city in darkness. And why? The reason...the *someone* I did this for... he's just great. Always willing to risk himself, nice to all, pure, disgusted by corruption. Is he really perfect? I don't think so, and I'll probably never know. But I'll help him. He'll not even be thankful, and there's no way I'm changing that. That's the one thing about the universe I don't hate. "
"What are you on about, dramatic bitch? Screw this, I'm rushing the hell out of..."
Heh, it's not like I expected him to understand, right? And did he just call me dramatic? That's it, it's been a long time since my babies from the other side of the veil had mortal flesh to eat.
"Dark Feast."
I watched as the beings of pure darkness stretched from shadows even darker than my umbra and shredded the villain into tiny bits. Horrific screams of fear and pain came from him, mixed with the hungry growls of the fallen ones. His existence vanished. I then swallowed the darkness back into me , and while everyone was briefly stunned by the return of the brightness and the confusion, I entered another containment cell, as if I had never left.
Edit: added some stuff, some typos were removed.
| 2018-01-27T16:53:11 | 2017-09-17T05:11:16 | 58 | 12 |
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years."
|
“Nobody’s spoken that language in thousands of years.” Whispered the cashier, dropping my McNuggets. “I thought I was the last one! I can’t believe there’s more survivors! I mean, you skin is a little more pale than I would expect but who cares? Follow me, we need to talk!”
“But my McNuggets” I said
“Don’t worry, I’ll make you however many nuggets you want if you come sit and talk with me.”
I shrugged and decided I would entertain this guy. I wasn’t really listening to what he was saying but I wanted to entertain this little crazy man. We sat down in a small booth far away from anymore McDonalds connoisseurs and he started to talk.
“So, how did you escape? What do you remember? Are there more like you and me out there?”
“Look buddy I have no idea what you’re talking about, escape from what?”
“From the earthquake of course! What else would I be talking about?”
“There was an earthquake? What language are you hearing right now exactly?”
“ATLANTEAN OF COURSE!”
Now this threw me back.
“What? Atlantis is fake my guy.”
“Well then why are you speaking fucking Atlantean?”
“I’m not, I’m just talking! What happened in ‘Atlantis’ that I should be worried about, hmmm?”
A look of sadness and remembrance came over his face.
“Well I’m from there. Over 1000 years ago my island was swallowed by the ocean. Earthquakes, fires, tsunamis... they plowed over my island and I was lucky to have been on a traders ship outside of Atlantis’ main port.”
“What makes you think I’m going to believe you?” I said, actually quite curious now. Either he was a good actor or telling the truth.
“Well, Atlanteans live forever unless killed, and since I’ve been around for that long I have some pretty neat stuff back home that might convince you.”
“As long as you get me my fucking McNuggets.”
________________________
________________________
Hey r/WritingPrompts , long time lurker first time poster here. I left a lot of plot holes, I know. But the first thing I thought of was Atlantis and I wanted to do something with it. I have an idea for more of this story but my formatting and the gaps between my dialogue made me cringe too much to keep going.
Don’t tear me apart pls
|
**PART 1:**
My father had always been a bit of an enigma. We had little in common save for our names. He was a mild-mannered and proper Englishman who had immigrated to America from a little village the West Country. He believed with all his being in the power of an orderly queue and a proper cup of tea. But every so often when he had a few pints in him, he would wibble on about strange adventures and heroic deeds in impossible places with fanciful characters. Talking mice, a 2-headed man, poetry so awful it could kill the listener - my best friend Douglas and I teased him that he should write a book or five about it all. But we never believed a word of his tall tales. Not until the end.
I was 25 when he died. It was March 11, 1977. Dad hadn't spoken in days. Doctors said his mind was gone, and his body would soon follow. As he lay gasping his final breaths, something small and yellow wriggled wetly out of his ear. It looked almost like a fish. I leant in for a closer look. For just a moment, my father became lucid again. He grasped my head in his hands. "Artie, my boy," he croaked, "Always know... where your... towel is..." With one last gasp, he struck me on my ear with a surprising amount of strength. Then he slipped away and was gone. So was the fish. But from that moment on, I had the ability to speak and understand all language. Every word I ever heard or read translated itself in my mind. And every word I spoke arrived at the listener's ear in their native tongue.
**PART 2:**
I sat in the cool air conditioning of the fast food restaurant, gazing out at one of the 7 Wonders of the Ancient World. It was a stark dichotomy. I had spent my entire adult life traveling all around the globe, and yet I still found it surprising to watch the modern world creep into the most ancient of sites. I found myself pondering what might have stood on this site way back when the Great Pyramid of Giza had first gone up. Thousands of years ago, a man such as myself may have eaten his meal in this same spot, awed by the view of these same pyramids. The thought made me smile. As my mind trailed off along that thought, I was interrupted by a young man bringing a tray full of enough fat, salt and refined sugar to quell my growing homesickness for a little while. Still lost in my thoughts of ancient times, I reached for my soda before he had finished setting down the tray, and a little spilled.
The young man apologized profusely. His words came to me in modern English, though I knew he was speaking in his native tongue. "Don't worry, my friend!" I assured the young man as he hurriedly mopped up the spill. "I wasn't looking. It's my fault." He froze. His dark eyes went wide with - was it shock? Confusion? Fear? Occasionally hearing one's mother tongue appear to come so naturally from American lips seems too implausible. Occasionally I startle people. "I'll finish cleaning up," I offered cheerfully, hoping he would relax. But the words had the opposite effect. They merely confirmed to his disbelieving ears that he had, in fact, heard what it should be impossible to hear. His wide eyes remained locked on the great pyramid glowing in the hot sun on the other side of the glass as he shook his head and stammered, "Khnum protect me! No one but a child of Hemiunu has spoken His sacred tongue in over 4000 years!"
**PART 3:**
I used my ability to travel all around the world, learning and exploring. My gift granted me access to the most incredible locations. I had been invited to come to Egypt to decode strange writing found in a newly discovered chamber in the Great Pyramid of Giza. A couple years ago, muography scans detected a hidden chamber above Khnum Khufu’s tomb. At last, tiny robots had carefully drilled through a small shaft and into the mysterious big void. Cameras fed into the opening revealed writing in a language that no one had ever seen before, or so they told me. I could never tell the difference - it was all English to me!
Archaeologists had dubbed the void “Hemiunu's Gallery” after the architect who directed the construction of the pyramid. And now in front of me was a young man who was apparently a descendant of Hemiunu himself. I was developing a sneaking suspicion the chamber was somehow connected to this young man, whose eyes were still locked upon the pyramid. "It's time," he said suddenly. He tore his eyes from the pyramid and turned to face me as crumpled into the chair across from mine.
**PART 4:**
I had only had my gift a few years when “Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark” came out. But from that day forward, archaeology held a special place in my heart. And now here I was, about to helping explore the first new chamber to have been discovered in the pyramid since the middle ages. I was so excited, my heart was beating as fast as the Kali Ma human sacrifice in “Temple of Doom.” I glanced at Buneb, the young man from the restaurant. I had managed to get him hired on as my assistant. Being a septuagenarian, no one questioned my request for a young strong man to lean on across the sand and rocks. “Are you ready?” Buneb smiled weakly. I was somewhat worried that he would honor this sacred ground with an offering of vomit.
We gathered beneath the large white canopy pitched at the foot of the pyramid. Technicians had set up a myriad of video equipment. Buena and I were led to a seat by a large screen. “We have gotten more lighting in there now,” said one of the technicians. “And our high-res camera has nearly reached the gallery. You’ll be able to see the writing in just a moment.” She switched on the screen and hurried off to finish preparations. “Come on, Phouchg. It’s time,” said a small high voice. “It had better work this time, Loonquawl,” said another equally squeaky voice. My powers of language had never extended to the animal kingdom, but no one was nearby except Buneb, who was intently watching two small white mice scurry up the pyramid.
**PART 5:**
Buneb had spent his whole young life watching the Great Pyramid, as had his father before him, and his father’s father, and so on back through the millennia. He was a direct descendant of Hemiunu, he had said. According to his ancestors, the pyramid held some sort of mystical secret of the universe. And when the universe was ready, the descendants of Hemiunu must be on hand to ensure the secret was understood. Apparently Hemiunu realized the universe wouldn’t be ready for quite some time, and also knew that a multi-millennial game of telephone might result in the secret becoming distorted. He tasked his offspring with ensuring the language was kept alive and intact.
The screen flickered and suddenly it was filled with images. “Head all the way to your right,” I told the technician. “Now up… Yes, there -by the drawing of the … white mouse…. That is the beginning. Now head straight down. It is written in columns.” Very slowly, words began to take form. I scribbled in my little notepad while Buneb muttered softly to himself. As the camera finally finished its journey around the room, I stared back at what I had written. “It isn’t an answer, it is a question!” exclaimed Buneb. He was right. There in my notebook, scrawled in my shaky handwriting, was the ultimate question. The question of Life, the Universe, and Everything.
| 2022-06-29T16:29:01 | 2018-06-24T22:03:53 | 647 | 15 |
[WP] You are a respected supervillain that is more of a managerial type. You take good care of your minions and have an open door policy. One day a battered minion comes in your office. The heroes tortured your minion for information. You rarely go out into the field, but when you do heroes tremble.
|
"Come in." Jaster said, his eyes still stuck in his Supervillain Quarterly magazine.
A small, hunched over man came limping in with a crutch under his arm. His hair was dirty, face bruised and puffy. His clothes were drenched and smelt like urine that had been sitting in the toilet all day in the middle of summer.
Jaster scrunched his face upon smelling the foul odor that walked through his door. He looked up from his magazine and then slammed it on his desk.
"What happened to you?"
"The heroes sir. They attacked me."
"At the warehouse?"
"No sir. The bar."
"Why were you at the bar?"
"I got done loading the last of the crocodiles for the moat and thought I would celebrate with a beer. I went to the one on Elm Street a few blocks away. Anyways, I was enjoying my beer when two caped heroes grabbed me from the bar. They took me out in the alley and just started beating me."
"Why?"
"They kept asking me about Operation Sceptre. I had no idea what they were talking about, but they...didn't believe me. They just kept hitting me...and hitting me." he said, breaking down into tears.
"Did you get a good look at either hero? Any distinguishing marks?"
The minion wiped his tears on his sleeve. "They were both wearing green capes and masks. One had a…" he said cringing, unable to finish his sentence.
Jaster leaned in closer. "Had a what? Continue."
"Had...a black heart tattooed on his penis."
"How do you know that?"
"Cause I saw it just before he peed on me."
Jaster slammed his hand on top of his desk phone and smashed in the buttons. The dial tone was audible enough for both of them to hear.
"I will handle this." Jaster said to the minion before putting the phone to his ear.
"Hello, this is Hero's Inc. We put the H in…" the secretary said.
"Save it! I need to talk to Franz right now! This is Jaster."
"Oh. One moment while I transfer you."
The sound of angels strumming on harps came over the phone speaker. The phone creaked as Jaster's grip tightened. The song changed quickly back to a dail tone, almost like it could hear the phone's cries for help under his grip.
"Jaster?" Franz's voice quivered.
"Franz. I heard two of your trainees ran into my minion yesterday. Give me their names."
"Jaster you know I can't do that."
"You give me those names or I will find them out myself! Your call."
"Don't! Please! I'm sure whatever happened was well within our training…"
"Your training includes torturing my people and pissing on their broken bodies!"
"Fighting bad guys is our job. I'm sure your minion is lying to you."
"Then why does he reek of piss in my office? And his face looks more like a burnt marshmallow. No, your boys broke the treaty. Consider me back. You've done this to yourself Franz."
"No. Wait!"
Jaster slammed the phone back on the receiver. His eyes had a spark in them and his heart beat so hard it could jump out of his chest at any moment. Jaster got up and walked toward his minion with a sinister smile. His minion stumbled back into the wall.
"Don't worry. I'll make them pay."
|
I considered the young man before me. He was definitely the worse for wear, despite the best efforts of my doctors. His dejected attitude was perhaps worse in some ways than the physical damage. "I told them what they wanted to know Boss. I'm sorry, but the pain..." He trailed off dejectedly.
"Not your fault," I told him. "you were fighting way above your weight class. There was no way you could have won. And I would never expect an employee to die for me, or the job."
I saw him look up from the floor, straightening a little in his chair, despite the obvious pain. "You're not mad then?"
"Oh hell yes, I'm mad." was my response, "But not at you. You were minding your own business on my territory, that makes what happened to you my responsibility. Perhaps it's time to remind a few people of certain agreements and the cost of breaking them."
"You want me to send out a strike team? We can have one ready in an hour, kitted out to deal with the offenders. Hell, I will go myself to oversee." This from the other occupant of my office. Short, curvaceous, fond of tight dresses, high heels and bright nail polish. My second in command. Deceptively harmless to look at, she would have at least half a dozen ways to kill hidden on her. I caught the look on the young mans face as she spoke, before he looked away. She has that effect on just about everyone. Sometimes she smiles at it, sometimes not, either way, you are probably in for more trouble than you can handle if you think shes just eye candy. There would be backlash from her for what I was planning, but nothing I couldn't cope with. You want the crown, sometimes it comes with a few thorns attached. Still if I didn't value her words, she wouldn't be my second.
I weighed her words against their trespass. "No, I think this requires my personal attention. I have every confidence in your abilities to quietly deal with this, but I think a more direct approach is needed. It's time I went back into the field." I raised a hand to forestall the objections I could see forming. For a shapeshifter, she had never been good at hiding her emotions, something that had made it difficult for her in the bigger world. That and her need for power. "I need to send a message, both to them, and our people. No one messes with the Free Cities without paying the price. We didn't build all this just to have some jumped up punks in capes and funny leotards try to muscle in."
A chuckle followed by a groan came from the injured young man, and a hand laid gently across his damaged ribs. "Sorry boss, I didn't mean to interrupt, but that description fit them to a tee."
"If you want to head back to bed, or home, you can go, and rest assured I will deal with this, but if you want to stay, I will show you in person." It was an offer I wouldn't normally have made, but it had been a long time since anyone had crossed the line, and I knew a little revenge could make some of his injuries feel a little less painful.
I could tell from his look alone what he had decided. With a tilt of my head I indicated a seldom used door. I lead them both through, slowing to let our walking wounded keep pace. It wasn't far, barely a dozen paces, but he collapsed into the first available seat at the other end. A couple old monitoring panels and wall with twelve red lights, that is all there was. That and a single separate chair away from the others. I slid an access card out of my pocket and into a port in one of the panels.
I sat in my old command chair and waited as each light turned from red to green. While I waited, I wiped off the faint covering of dust from the armrests with my sleeve. I should take better care of this place, but it is not somewhere houskeeping should be allowed to wander, and my time is often taken with more urgent things. Finally the last light turned green. Deep beneath the ground, hidden far from prying eyes, the usually independent power grid of the Free Cities Alliance was tied to the rest of the world.
I grabbed the metal armrests and let my consciousness flow through the metal, down to where it connected with the electrical fields of the world. Out then, into the myriad devices that depended on it. So very seductive, the power. So many places to pause, to get lost in the flow, so many secrets laid bare, for those who knew how to look.
It didn't take long to find what I was looking for. The Assembly of Heros. They had moved it again. Sometimes I wonder if it will ever occur to them the warp their very presence causes in the fields. So many super powered individuals, and not one of them ever considered how easy it makes them to find when they group together in one place.
I spared a fleeting second for my physical self. Both my companions were staring at one of the screens in the monitoring panels. It was seeing what I was seeing, if in a very simplified manner. A moments thought is all it took to commandeer the cameras and communications of the Assembly. Time to make my self known. I set every speaker on maximum, and then let them have it, the ultimatum. "Give the criminals to me. Do it now. Give me the ones who have broken our agreement."
I could see the results. Most of the younger ones looked around in confusion. Older ones either winced or sighed, they knew how this would end. Three of them however, those three, I saw the guilty looks and the ridiculous outfits. Their images were suddenly displayed on every monitor. "You three, you have violated the peace agreements. You have violated my territories and you have violated the body one of my employees." I had let it build while I spoke. My rage and the charge. It would have been easy to fry them where they stood, but I had other plans, and reasons not to turn them to ash.
The bolt that hit them was tame compared to what it could have been, but they screamed as it hit, and collapsed on the floor, their clothes, or what was left of them, smoking.
"That," I warned, "is the price of violating my borders. They have yet to pay for the assault on my employee, and citizen of the Free Cities. Deliver them to me for punishment, and I will return them to you alive, but not unharmed. Fail to do so, and I will make the bad old days seem like a bright summers day to the darkness I will plunge the world into."
I didn't wait to hear their answer. I knew what it would be. No one wanted the old days back, and if the price of avoiding that was a few bad days for some fools, well perhaps they would emerge from it a little wiser.
I slipped out of the great fields, avoiding their seductive pull, the urge to stay just a little longer, reduced back to a mere mortal. I pulled my access card from its place in the console and watched as the lights turned red.
"Jeez Boss, that was intense. What are you planning to do to them?" He was looking a little pale, and I don't think it was from his recent injuries. "I mean, damn, I 'm just an accountant, and you just about declared war on the entire frigging world!"
I shook my head as I helped him to his feet. Let him lean on me as I lead him back into my office and then to the door and the waiting medical assistant. "I don't plan to do anything, except maybe see to it they are held down. You are the one they beat up, so what happens to them is up to you. I sent my message already. When you feel a bit better, it will be time for you to send yours."
I let the door close, and turned back to my second in command. I had seen the slight flush in her cheeks, the slight dilation in her eyes as we were leaving the control room. I hadn't so much as drawn breath before she had me pinned to the wall, her very feminine body, and at least one of her concealed knives pressing into me.
"Dammit Boss, you know what it does to me when you get all masterful and dominant. Now that you have got me all hot and bothered, what are you going to do about it?"
I slipped an arm around her, and pulled her closer, pausing for a moment to lock the door with my free hand. Mission accomplished, it joined the first. I heard a tiny gasp as my hands started wandering down her back. From threatening the world to holding a beautiful, shapeshifting killer in my arms. Say what you like about my life, but one thing it isn't. it isn't dull.
| 2021-03-22T07:40:52 | 2021-03-22T06:59:34 | 301 | 121 |
[WP] Officially, you're a weak, D rank villain. Unofficially, you're one of the strongest beings on the planet that is secretly employed to "train" fledgling heroes by giving them an easy first real fight. But one day an A rank villain crashes your heist and you must protect your "students".
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'Heroes bah, what a joke, just a feel-good title for super-powered busy body Karen types. Always sticking their noses where it didn't belong.'
Usually it wasn't that bad, his well crafted persona only had the baby faced rookies coming after him. It was customary to only send equal level heroes after villians. If one wasn't enough they just send more. It was how things were done. He was a D ranked villian ridiculed in the media under the name Senseless.
'Senseless again attempts to commit petty crime, this time in a retirement home. His hairbrained scheme to pilfer valuables from the defenseless elderly was foiled earlier today by the up and coming hero Bold Knight. The 18 year old D rank hero is expected to be promoted following his success, unfortunately Senseless remains at large.'
Such were the headlines involving him. Luckily they didn't connect the dots to his real reason for being there. The ranks of Heroes were filled with antsy oppressors promoted off battling with him. He didn't mind being the brunt of every joke, the scorn undisguised in the media and press releases. There was balance, he maintained his power and crimes at D rank so only D ranks came against him. Heroes were trained and kept the world safe.
He was currently hold up in a bank with an impressive army of cops out front and the new crop of D rank heroes had just arrived. He rolled his shoulders and popped his neck ready for a good fight. One on four should liven things up a bit.
A moment later the rosey-checked heroes entered through the doors he had carelessly forgotten to lock or barricade in anyway. He hadn't met or seen any of them before so there team dynamic and powers were completely unknown but that would make it more fun.
Suddenly the handsome jock type with a cru cut and black body armor and golden boxing gloves spoke. "Surrender Senseless, its over there's no escape this time."
Time to banter, see if they were up to snuff. "My machinations are beyond your puny comprehension, my powers and intellect that of a God, you four might as well be in diapers when compared to me."
The Amazonian of a woman in a body suit with spear laughed like a howitzer. "You're so incompetent you haven't ever successfully completed a crime."
He smiled mischievously. "But I'm slippery." ---- to be continued.
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"Hello, class, I'm Juleel, also known as The Deceiver, an Ex-A-Ranker Villain..." he spoke whilst pacing back forth near the blackboard attached to the wall, writing on it with swift strokes from his chalk with each step he made, "but, do not fret, I've reformed from my devious lifestyle, now, I would like to teach the next generation of heroes how to fight against evil by revealing 'our methods and our motives,' any questions?"
"You're a reformed villain?" A boy called out with a name tag on his forehead, reading out 'Fledge,' raising his hand from the back of the lecture hall with confusion strewn about his befuzzled face.
"Yes..."
"And you're name is The Deceiver?..." he continued, narrowing his eyebrows and squinting his eyes dubiously as he looked Juleel up and down.
"... Alright, I can see why you would be skeptical of me..."
"That full latex suit with blood on your boots isn't helping your case either... --"
"Any other questions?!" Juleel shouted dismissively as he stared daggers in the boy's direction, seemingly causing him to faint back into his seat. A loud thud resonates from the room as the boy hit his head on the metal table in front of him, sending the room into a panic.
"What was that?!" A girl called out, pointing toward the fainted boy with shock painting her disgruntled face, eyeing down Juleel as it snarkily lifted his ovular glasses onto his face, correcting the crooked glasses as he walked toward his desk, sitting down casually as the once stagnant room inflamed.
Juleel kicks his feet on the desk, revealing his bloodied black latex boots, smearing them across the light-brown laminated oak desk. "Hmm... maybe theirs a villain in our midst..." he spoke skeptically, grinning meekly before picking up a book and plastering over his face, blocking the students from viewing him as a burst of slow deep laughter resonated from an unknown source.
"So many fresh pludglings to swallow..." a voice spoke out gruffly, nearly indiscernible as it coughed hoarsely from its excessive laughter. A pile of light-green goop shoots out of a drain in the room, spitting out droplets of itself across the room, landing on each and every student.
"-- That voice!"
"Recognize me?..." the voice spoke as another slop of goo forced itself through the drain through its narrow gaps, slicing itself slowly before launching out of it, breaking the lid of the drain, sending it flying toward the boy who'd fallen asleep earlier, hitting him on his again, "I'm almost flattered... to think you'd know about a villain of my ranking..."
"D-rank villain known for his abundant power in hand-to-hand combat, The Gobbler..." the boy who'd been hit on the head twice spoke groggily as he awoke before falling asleep once again, hitting his head on the desk for the third time.
"Thanks for the introduction... It'd appear I came to the right place, albeit a little late..." The Gobbler spoke, lingering in between his words as the viscous goo on the ground began to manifest into the shape of a human, bubbling viciously as it built itself upward.
"Teacher! Do something!" A girl cried out as her skin began to turn green. She began to foam at the mouth before falling to the ground, falling sick to the goo that touched her previously, causing her to faint. Other students began to follow suit, foaming at the mouth before fainting onto the ground. The boy who'd hit his head three times awakens once again before fainting, hitting his head on the edge of the desk, flipping the sewer lid that'd sat there, causing it to flip over, hitting on the head once more.
"Ow..."
Juleel puts down his book hastily before lifting it back up even faster, hoping that The Gobbler hadn't seen his face.
"Juleel? What are you doing here?"
"I-I'm not Juleel, I-I'm... Javid..."
"Oh, sorry, you looked familiar... by the way, what are you doing at my desk?
"T-t-t-t-t-t-this is your d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d," Juleel attempted to speak as his endless stuttering failed to make sense.
"Well, I'm sure it was an honest mistake. Are you new to the school as well?"
"Y-yes..."
"... Wait a second..." The Gobbler spoke dubiously as he scrutinized Juleel, "what's on your boots?"
"Strawberry jam..."
"Oh, can I have some!?" The Gobbler spoke curiously as he carried himself across the room, licking his lips before coming into contact with Juleel.
Juleel awaits for him to close in, kicking him right as The Gobbler began to lick on his shoe. The Gobbler catches Juleel's foot in his mouth, licking it clean within seconds as Juleel attempting to remove himself from The Gobbler's death grip.
"This isn't strawberry jam..." The Gobbler spoke as he licked the already clean boot once more, "this is nail polish!"
"How'd you know what that tastes like?!"
"Thats besides the point! You aren't a teacher! Nail polish was prohibited from usage twelve years ago during the nail polish eating incident that took place that sent fourteen children to the hospital, one of whom was named James!"
"What!?"
"It's you, isn't it? Juleel!?"
"No..."
"Oh, sorry, I must've been mistaken..." The Gobbler spoke, rubbing his head out of embarrassment as Juleel steadily positioned the book around his face that he wouldn't be seen, "anyways, I hope to see you around campus. I'll be needing my desk back now if you don't mind..." The Gobbler spoke awkwardly as he stood at the foot of his desk, releasing Juleel's foot from his gaping mouth with goo littering every inch of it.
"Nice to meet you too..." he spoke cautiously as he removed his feet from the desk, "I'll be going now then..."
"Juleel the deceiver... planning to corrupt the classroom... kill those who don't obey him... thwarted by hero..." the boy with five bumps on his head whispered weakly as he slept on the ground of the classroom with a sewer lid on his head acting as a hat as Juleel ran out of the class speedily.
The Gobbler looks to the ground, noticing the book Juleel dropped before running off.
"How to hide your face for dummies," it read as The Gobbler picked up the book, running toward the direction Juleel had sped off in, catching up to him immediately with book in hand.
"You can keep it!" Juleel shouted as he upped his speed, bursting through a wall as The Gobbler ceased his running before turning back to his classroom.
"What a weird guy..."
He walked back to his classroom slowly, finding the students awake, sitting readily at their tables.
"Hello, class! I'm Fledge, also known as The Gobbler, an Ex-D-Ranker Vilain--," Fledge spoke, writing his name on the board as he held the book left to him over his face with a third hand formed from goo. As he did so, the bell rang, students left the room uniformly, leaving only him and the last sleeping student alone. He awakes, tears leaking from his eyes, not knowing if it was from the pain of getting hit on the head five times, or if it was from a terrible nightmare.
"I'll remember you this time..." he spoke groggily before falling asleep once more before a green glop of goo attached to the ceiling dribbled onto his face.
"I hope not... sometimes it's better to abandon dreams rather than forcing them into reality... Fledge..."
| 2021-06-23T14:58:27 | 2021-06-23T11:55:31 | 46 | 11 |
[WP] There's a saying among the galactic community. "Never hire a human"... you just hired 200 of them. And you're about to find out why that saying exists.
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Never hire a human. I know. I mean, we all know. We just don't know why.
It's not like I had a choice though. Business was running slow and the plethora of intergalactic wars had depleted most of our resources. Money was scarce and humans... weren't. Humans are cheap.
So I figured, to hell with it. If I want to keep this company running I have to take a few risks. What's the worst that could happen? I flew to the nearest human nest and found 200 willing workers.
It started out just fine. Better, even. Humans turned out to be quite inventive and hard workers. If they don't know how to finish a task, they would find a way. And most of all, they were friendly.
Cassy knew everything about my sleeping rituals by the second week. Somewhere around the fourth week she would leave a cup of hot water out for me to find when I'd wake up. I love a cup of hot water.
Bob likes to sing during his day. He's not very good at it, but that doesn't seem to bother him. He asked me about songs of my homeplanet. Since then I have heard him hum the tunes several times. He said he 'looked it up.'
Jamie likes to chat. Not sure what he's talking about usually, but it passes the time.
For a while things were fine. Production went up, my workers were effective. Then, another war started. Closer this time.
I'll never forget the cracking sounds around me after the first bomb hit. They... they told me to run, they'd 'hold the fort', said Lois. So I ran.
And when it was over I returned.
They were gone. All of them. My humans. Dead. They don't regenerate well.
No more singing or whistling. No more chatter. No more cups of water. Just silence, deafening silence. I've never felt more alone.
Never hire a human, they say. Because you'll miss them. And it hurts.
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Every planet has a city, or even a few, that are known for their productivity. Palagius V? Nanotech-burg. Omianix? The Hive. Galactic Center? The Galactic Innovation Centroplex (GIC for short). Here on Skan we simply call it "Industry Town".
These places are central to the intergalactic commerce arena. Take Omianix's "The Hive" for example: over 1.2 million insectoid manufacturers working to make the most reliable moderately priced jump drives in the Galaxy. A whole city built around Research and Development in safety, slip technology optimization, and cost saving measures associated with the capture, storage, and use of anti-matter in their jump drives. That was my background. I'm worker S-50937, born from Qualji Commercial Technologies' (ticker QIT on the intergalactic stock market) hive 127. After designation as a process engineer, and 20 standard galactic years of work with QIT, I saved enough credits to leave Omnianix and start my own company. I settled on Skan for its strategic location: a nearly pure platinum asteroid belt with a developed mining industry and a class IV star provided the resources and energy I needed for my startup, Skal Antimatter Storage.
I sunk every credit I owned into a one way ticket for myself and 50 other Omianixians from my hive (a varied mixture of worker drones, quality engineers, process engineers, and programmers) and a small warehouse on the edge of Industry Town. We built a temporary nest in the crawlspace of the roof and got to work. Everything was going well until the winter hit.
In my lack of foresight I had neglected to invest in a property that would withstand the surprisingly vicious cold of the Skallian winter. Worker drones are incapable of speech and so myself and the other engineers and programmers (the 10 of us) were unaware anything was wrong until the first five died in their sleep. With no queen to produce new drones for us, and no funds to hire new ones, we invested in insulation. As the winter grew colder, we lost more drones. Batches of five at first, until the winter solstice hit. Then a batch of 15. We were down to five when we reached the end of our runway. No more money for insulation = no more drones. The last five died two days ago, and we shuttered our doors just as the initial production run of 500 antimatter storage devices was completed. Our VC investors were furious, and now they're on their wax from Omianix to seize the production as collateral before the company folds and we get kicked out of our warehouse.
So, in the time honored tradition of broken entrepreneurs galaxy wide, I spent my last few credits in the local bar, sipping down sweet fizzy drinks (sugar is an intoxicant for the Omianix) and trying to forget about my sorrows. That's where I met Dave.
First, a little background. Dave is a human, a vaguely intelligent bipedal species derived from a simian life form on a back water death world known as "Earth" (the rest of the galaxy calls it Sol-3). Sol-3 isn't anything special, despite being an absolutely terrifying place for an intelligent species to arise due to adverse weather conditions, a lack of freshwater (70% saltwater or something like that), a limited amount of breathable oxygen in the atmosphere (21% vs the 36% on Omnianix) and an overabundance of species that consider people like Dave to be particularly tasty. The Galactic Central Authority feared evolution on such a planet would make Dave's people particularly warlike and bloodthirsty, but it turns out they are just as awful as the rest of us, no more and no less, so contact was made approximately a galactic century (200 Earth Standard Years) ago. Since then, humans have developed an...interesting reputation. Species from garden worlds consider humans to be monstrous and terrifying, and species from more dangerous death worlds consider them to be, well, disappointingly civilized. Normal species, like the Omnianix, consider humans to be peculiar. No official documentation has condemned them of course, but they are pretty isolationist and you don't see many just out wandering the galaxy, which makes Humans odd, and Dave even odder. Anyhow, I met ol' Dave at the bar and he proceeded to befriend a fellow being in need of some strong drink.
"Slip," he had named me something that a buzzed human found easier to remember than my designator, "what you really need... No! What you CRUCIALLY need, is some new workers."
"Dave," I replied, really feeling the sugar at this point, "that is DAMN fine idea. BUT I got no credits and no DAMN sen...sent...sentiment is gonna work as hard as *hiccup* an Omnianiz drone."
He gulped back a shot of the blended ethanol he was drinking, "Shit, Slip, why don't you hire me and the boys?! We've been contracting at the mining plants but the Virgillians are some snooty bastards. S'why I'm drinking here righhht now. Can't stand those damn birds and their airs. Might be able to convince the gents that a change in employment could be in their interest."
I thought on that thought for a good while, my eyes focusing and unfocusing. Like I said, I had hit the sauce pretty hard and I figure it was about 1 or 2 in the morning at this point.
"Well, Dave, how many noys you got? They work hard?"
Dave just grinned, "TWO HUNDRED OF THE HARDEST WORKING SPACEAPES YOU'RE EVER LIKELY TO MEET ol' Slip ol' Pal."
"Well shit Dave. Send em over in the morning and we can talk terms later. I need those workers. Won't pay muuu...much until we sell some containers but I figure we can work a deal."
And that's the last thing I remember saying. Y-97225 (one of my programmers) told me that "some human" brought me back from the bar that night and told her that he would "See her yellow ass tomorrow," the next morning. I had a killer sugar headache but managed to relate to the crew that I had apparently contracted 200 human laborers. An uproar ensued.
"200 DAMN HUMANS?!" Y-97225 cried, "and what in the hell are we supposed to do with 200 humans?"
"Don't you know the saying? Never hire a human!" That was G-42976, our quality assurance engineer.
"Yes, 200 humans Y-97225. And why the hell not, G-42976? What can they do that is so bad as to lose our company over?"
Muttering filled the room, but finally G-88977, our other QA engineer spoke up, "Do you remember when QIT tried to start a manufacturing plant on Sol-4?"
"Of course I remember, it folded within three months. Ran out of runway and the company declined further funding. QIT pulled the whole operation back. Something about insufficient demand?"
"Well," G-88977 scratched his antenna, "my broodmate, G-88976 was a QA Engineer at the Sol-4 plant. The location was selected due to Sol class III status being able to produce the necessary energy inputs and the amount of metals in the belt, combined with the presence of gas harvesting and refinery facilities on the moons of Sol-5. In short, everything QIT needed jump drive fan production and only a two week jump from Omnianix's final assembly plants.
(continued in comments)
| 2018-04-27T13:39:05 | 2018-04-27T11:33:59 | 535 | 147 |
[WP] On the first manned mission to Mars, a crew of seven astronauts loses contact with Mission Control upon entering the atmosphere. After landing, they look up into the Martian night sky, wherein Earth appears to be missing.
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"No, this can´t be happening!" Exclaimed Jona, as he looked up at the sky.
One of the other astronauts, Yuri, turned around, and asked "What is problem with little man now?"
"The Earth, its gone!" he screamed, "and i can´t get in touch with command either!"
Yuri stared at Jona, and sighed, "Jona, we landed on opposite side of Mars from Earth, now help me set up the antenna."
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Yana looked up at the Martian sky and saw no Earth.
It had been a week since they had landed on ground zero and lost contact with mission control. But the mission continued. Base camp was set up. Their living quarters erected at the fringes of their landing site. The buildings looked like ping pong balls, plastic and white. There were portlets at either side, a view to the red wasteland that abounded.
Pietr told the four astronauts that mission control had ceased its signals. Asked as to why, Pietr didn't know.
"Could be maintenance. Relay must've broke down," said Frank.
"If it were, they should've repaired it days ago." Pietr scratched his beard. "We'll keep the console up. If we get anything, I'll let everyone know."
Three days later, still no signal. The astronauts remained on their duties. Yana maintained the crop and their diet. She prepared a salad, cutting lettuce and tomatoes, throwing in some legumes until she saw something out in the surface of Mars.
Yana squinted at the sight. There, at the distance, were two people standing hand-in-hand, waving at her. Yana closed her eyes and shook her head. When she opened them, the two people remained, still waving at her.
"Is anyone out the perimeter?" Yana said through her intercom. No answer. She asked again, but still no reply.
Yana slipped in her suit and exited. The Martian winds carried dust and stone sideways, masking the two waving people, turning them into a mirage. She walked after them. And as she neared them, she stopped.
"Marion? Juliet?" she whispered.
"Yana! Ret...n to b...camp," a voice said through her intercom.
Marion and Juliet gestured her to come, bade her to take steps and be reunited.
An illusion, Yana thought, perhaps caused by stress. Yet she didn't turn nor did she move. She stood in the middle of the sandy gale like a statuette.
"Yan...turn...se...amp. Yana...urnt...bas...p."
Yana snapped out of her trance, turned away and ran. She heard nothing but static and sand pelting her helmet. As she neared base camp, a rock hit her knee. She fell screaming. She turned to where Marion and Juliet. They were walking towards her.
"Someone's out here! Pietr! Frank! Anybody! There's someone out here."
She turned to base camp. Two men in spacesuits ran out of the main pod, headed towards Yana. She was pulled up from the ground and dragged back to the main pod.
Pietr was furious. Yana told them that she saw two people out on the surface. Dana suggested that it was stress and exhaustion that might have caused her hallucinations. Yana nodded half-heartedly.
Back in her sleeping quarters, Yana looked outside through the window by her bed, Earth still missing from the night sky.
"You saw them too, didn't you?" Frank said. He was by his window as well, searching the wasteland.
"What did you see? How did they look like?" said Yana sitting at the edge of her bed.
"My grandpappy. And my mother. I always said they lookin' down, smiling on us. Didn't think from Mars." He turned from his window. "Who did you see?"
"My husband and my daughter."
"They alive?"
Yana shook her head.
The mission continued. Food supplies were normal. O2 recyclers functioned properly. They could survive on that planet for another three months barring any equipment failures.
At nights, Yana and Frank shared stories of their loved ones who had passed. They stopped looking outside their windows and spoke to one another face to face. Grandpappy died of a heart attack; momma too. Marion and Juliet was at an intersection when a bus rammed through them.
One morning, as Yana woke up to the dawning light, Frank was nowhere to be seen. She asked Pietr and Dana and Weyland if they saw Frank. They searched the other facilities, checked every nook and cranny, opened closets and trunks and cargoes.
His spacesuit was gone so he was out somewhere in the wastelands. They searched for his tracks, but none were left at the perimeter.
Pietr planned for a search. The four remaining astronauts were to split up and to remain in contact via intercom. Yana would take south, Dana the west, Weyland the east, and Pietr the north.
Yana walked on, scanning the ground for tracks, turning left and right for any sign of Frank. The weather was still, and the sun glared overhead. She turned her intercom and called for Frank, hoping he would respond.
Marion and Juliet appeared about a hundred yards away. They gestured for Yana to come. Juliet hopped on her feet in excitement, her smile almost touching her ear.
Yana closed her eyes and took deep breaths to calm herself down.
“Come home. Come home. C...me...ome...h..me…”
“You’re not real! Who are you? What are you? What did you do to Frank?” Yana opened her eyes. Marion and Juliet started for her, their steps slow and deliberate. They walked hand-in-hand.
“C..ome...h...ome...c...e...m...o.”
Yana cried and ran away. She kept her eyes at the base camp, small on the horizon. She followed the trail she had left and resisted the urge to look behind her.
When she reached base camp, Yana locked herself inside the main pod. She scrambled to the console and reached out to Pietr, Dana, Weyland.
“There’s something out there! Guys, if you hear me, there’s something out there!”
She waited for a response. It never arrived.
Night came and she was alone. Yana called out to her team, called out to mission control. She looked out the window at the emptiness, at the void above her. There was nothing out there.
| 2015-07-08T07:26:45 | 2015-07-08T06:37:09 | 43 | 11 |
[WP] When someone's heart breaks so does a piece of our world; this creates fissures, valleys, and even cracks in the pavement. Tell me the story behind the Grand Canyon.
Have fun! :D
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“What’s the saddest word in the English language?”
 
“Almost.”
 
“Why?”
 
“I was almost good for him. He was almost in love with me. We almost made it.”
 
She did this often. It didn’t matter where we were or what we were doing. She could be laughing at the beach, or singing passionately to her favourite song in my car. I never knew what would trigger the memories.
 
Sometimes she would tell me about them. How they howled with laughter together, how he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t looking, how her skin sizzled with heat when he stroked her skin. But overtime the howls of laughter turned to cries of pain, and when she looked at him he had his face turned away, and gradually her skin began to burn at his touch.
 
They were so in love. A love like the world had never seen. It was powerful, exquisite, fierce. It burned brighter than any love before it, which made the heartbreak all the more painful.
 
It was slow. It chipped away at their souls, and the earth, piece by piece. Their differences came to light. And their differences gave way to arguments, and the arguments became silence. They cried. How could two people who were so right for each other, be so wrong?
 
I had never experienced anything like that. I felt so inexperienced in the presence of such raw and violent range of emotions. All I’d ever had was a small, steadily burning flame in my heart. A flame for her.
 
I sat in silence after her last comment. She looked at me.
 
“You should give up on me,” she said quietly.
 
I smiled sadly. “I’m not sure I can”
 
“I can’t be fixed! I’m broken! I can’t open myself up again!” She was yelling now.
 
“You’re not broken, you just-“
 
“Get in the car, I need to show you something”.
 
We drove in silence. In the windows, the passing scenery turned from green to hues of orange and red. We pulled up and got out of the car.
So this was hers. Everyone has one, that is, everyone who has experienced heartbreak. They say our souls are tied to the earth, and when we cry the earth feels our pain.
 
Her heartbreak had never been more real to me than it was in this moment. It stretched for miles, with jagged cuts and sharp turns, as if every negative feeling or thought had been written perfectly into stone. It was red, raw, her anger and hurt radiating from the earth.
 
“This, is my reality! This is how much I am hurting! This horrible, ugly, gaping hole in the ground is an awful permanent reminder of-“
 
“It’s beautiful,” I breathe, completely awestruck by the scene before me. I gaze around in wonder with a smile on my face. She looks at me, confused. Gently I take her hand and lead her to the edge of the cliff, and sit with her, overlooking the gorge.
 
“What you see and feel about this canyon is your own interpretation. But all I can see is a crack to pour my love into.” She looks at me, and slowly her face breaks into a smile.
 
And so we sit, on the edge of her heartbreak, as the beginnings of the cool, blue, soothing water of a nearby river trickles into the canyon.
 
EDIT: I took some inspiration from quotes about love that I've come across over time.
EDIT 2: words
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I started this with your prompt in mind but I wandered off somewhere and got a tad lost. Im still posting the full thing because it seemed like a good idea at the time. Anyways, here goes.
They say there once was a young man, long ago. He wasn't very wealthy, but he had an aura of happiness where people couldn't help but smile in his company. He traveled the world helping with odd jobs. Fixing walls, clearing stables, yet he never frowned at any task. "A small smile is reward enough for a large task" he used to say. As people heard of this man, word made its way to a king of a distant land who was very sad.
The kings daughter had never smiled since birth. At first, the happy parents tried to make her laugh and play, but the princess never gave even a smirk. As the years lead on, the princess sadness spread across the castle. Servants, once happy to have a home became depressed with their position. The Queen couldn't sleep at night due to nightmares of sad faces. The milkman stopped singing. Even the royal jester was so melancholy he hung up his hat.
The walls began to crack.
As the princess grew, she became sadder and sadder, and the castle felt colder and greyer. One day the king came into his chambers to find his queen grey, cold, and hanging from the ceiling. "I can not stand to see my kingdom filled with grief. As I have put my soul into it, it has taken my life from me". The king organised a funeral where his subjects and his sad daughter sat silently, and he cried.
The roofing began to leak.
When word arrived of the man with the glowing heart, the king ordered he to be brought to the castle immediately. Within a week, the jolly young man arrived to see the sad king. The king felt a spark of hope as the jolly man walked down the once great halls, now beginning to gather dust. "Jolly Man, you say a small smile is reward for a large task, however my large task is for a large smile. Can you help my kingdom?". The jolly man smiled sadly, and put his hand on the kings shoulder. "I will repair your walls so they may never crack again".
The jesters weep.
The man with the heart of gold begins work on the walls of the sad kingdom. The man sings a song of old, about his home and about all the places he had been. With every new brick he laid, and with every word he sung, a feeling of warmth began to overcome the townsfolk. As the milkman joins in, the princess is drawn by the melody towards her window and sees the jolly man. The princess fills with a feeling she had not known before. She has fallen in love with the jolly man.
The princess smiles.
A day passes, and at noon the princess invites the man with the warm smile to the royal gardens. She smiles as he tells her bold stories of his youth. As they walk, the princess realises they are at her mothers resting place. Her heart grows heavy, and her tears stain her dress. "It is my fault you lay here mother. I wish I could have been better". The jolly man holds the princesses hand to his heart, and speaks. "I have also felt loss". The man sings a song; a song about a man who was poor, and a father who was sick. The princess listened to how the jolly man lost his family and started his journey, fixing others to mend the cracks his fathers death left.
The princess embraces the jolly man.
After many months, the kingdom is no longer grey, but full of life and warmth. Flowers bloom around the queens resting place, and the subjects are smiling. The king is having a feast, to his right is his daughter, and to his left, the jolly man. He raises himself and silences the crowd. "My loyal subjects. It has been long since the passing of our queen. And while I do still mourn her, I have an announcement. Our princess, I believe, has chosen a suitor." He nodded to the jolly man. The subjects cheer, and the wine flows freely. All are happy except one grey man who glared enviously at the jolly man.
The grey man plots.
One quiet night, the jolly man hears footsteps near his new room at the castle. A letter slips underneath the door, and the jolly man feels cold. He begins to read the letter and smiles deeply, the princess wishes to see him on the castle walls; the first place she saw him. The warm hearted man rushes to see her, however his heart begins to feel strangely grey.
A crow calls.
The grey man hid in a tower on the royal walls, waiting for the jolly man. "How dare he steal my princess. I was to meet with her, I was to wed her." He bemoaned. The jolly man arrived, and as he walked across the wall, searching for the princess, the grey man prepared his bow.
THWIP.
The jolly man stumbled off the wall.
THUD.
Screams rang out across the kingdom. The fire the jolly man had left in the hearts of all he had touched had become a raging inferno. The king awoke to a feeling of hatred unlike any he had ever felt. However, the princess, her heart broke. No noise escaped her trembling lips. No sound betrayed her heavy heart as she ran out into the courtyard of screaming people. As she walked by each subject, the screaming stopped. One by one, the crowd gathered around the jolly man fell silent as the grey man in the tower looked on . She reached her love, and knelt by his side. He stared deep into her soul, with lifeless eyes and an un mistakable smile. The princess began to sing the jolly mans song. She sung quietly, but no word was misheard.
It began to rain.
With every note that rose from her tongue, the rain pelted harder. She began singing louder and louder, singing new words to add her sorrow to the jolly mans song. The winds began to howl through the kingdom, overturning carts and pushing young to the ground. As she sung, her voice cracks and the town fell silent once more. The princess opens her mouth to continue singing but no words leave her mouth. Instead, a soft sob escapes her lips. The sob becomes a moan, and a scream, to a roar louder than the unnatural winds buffering the broken kingdom. The subjects begin to run, but no noise can be heard but the princesses grief.
The ground shakes.
As the princess roars louder and louder yet, the grey man feels fear in his heart. He tries to step further inside the tower to hide from the sound and the wind, however the door slams shut. Rain hammers into the grey man with force to cut into his flesh. The rain turns to hail, and together with the princesses wail, the walls begin to crumble. The grey man, frightened, tries to flee to the other side of the wall, but it is too late. Razor sharp hailstone after stone is driven into his body, and he falls off the crumbling kingdom walls. The princesses roar continues.
The town is empty.
The grey man watched, within deaths embrace, as the princess ceased her scream. Surprised, she walks over to see the man who had murdered her love. "I.. Did this.. For you.. You ungrateful.." The princess plunged her hand into the grey mans heart and silenced him. She raised herself as the rain washed the black blood of the grey man, and walked towards the body of the jolly man. "I can not stand to see my soul fill with such grief. As I gave you my soul, you left with my heart" she wept as she collapsed at the side of the warm hearted man. As she knelt in the blood of her love, her heart finally breaks.
The kingdom is in ruin.
Few survived to tell the tale of the jolly man and the sad princess. The king had fled, and life there was over. But fewer still stayed to watch the castle split itself in half. The split in the castle spread from the royal garden, to the royal halls; across the town and through the walls. It spread across the entire kingdom, and as those very few watched, the princess stared into the jolly mans heart of gold. A single tear dropped from her cheek as she smiled. And as this tear fell, the winds stopped. The rain and hail dispersed. The tear never hit the ground, as the ground began to open with such catastrophic force and noise. The princess and her love fell into the chasm, as the courtyard followed into the earths depths. The grand chasm grew untill the kingdom was dust and dirt in the belly of the earth.
They say there once was a sad girl who met a very jolly man. When he died, he left a scar in her heart so great it shattered the earth itself. His golden heart now, they say, can be found by those who will trade a task for a smile.
And that, is the proper ending I wanted. I could keep going forever (I was the bane of my English teachers) but it feels like a good ending can go here. Thanks for the encouragement you guys. I hope it lived up to how you thought it could go c:
I now need bed. Am very ded but I feel good. Goodnight y'all.
| 2015-12-03T15:04:53 | 2015-12-03T12:14:37 | 252 | 38 |
[WP]No one know how the zombie virus began, but humanity is on the ropes. A powerful stranger cuts through the horde one night and reaches your compound's wall with a deal. Vampires are starving. Help feed them in exchange for protection from the other undead menace.
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"It's like drinking water contaminated by dead bodies," the man said. "Exactly as disgusting and **\*ow\*** unusable as you'd expect **\*ah\*** *blast it all*!" he hissed in pain as I put another stitch into his arm. The bite was rather nasty and his pained grins exposed the sharp fangs in his mouth; a somewhat uncomfortable reminder of his nature.
"And you're sure you can't be infected?" I asked.
Without a word he lifted his shirt and revealed a large bite mark on his stomach, a clear imprint of human teeth that had long healed. Infection normally takes only some 12-odd hours, so... good enough for me.
"Done," I said and put down the needle and thread. I pulled away from him on my stool as he lowered his sleeve and moved his shoulder around, stretching it.
"How long will it take to heal?" I wondered.
"About a day."
"Impressive."
"Had worse. Javelin through the heart once," he stated nonchalantly
"So... stakes through the heart won't kill you?" I asked. He gave me a somewhat suspicious look but shrugged.
"No. Neither will the Sun, garlic, bullets, or, well..." he said and pointed towards the fence where the zombies still shuffled aimlessly. "But hunger will," he added grimly and looked back at me.
"Right," I said. "So..." I trailed off.
"Look, you're not exactly wild about the idea. I get it, really. I may not be exactly human, but I'm not a monster either. This is a simple matter of survival for both of us. How many people have you lost to them so far? I can protect you!" he pleaded.
"In exchange for our blood," I said. He nodded. "I'm not sure we can properly... provide for you. We have, let's see... 8 men but 2 are sick; drinking their blood would kill them. 4 women, 3 children-"
"No children," he interrupted sternly.
"What?"
"No. Children," he repeated. His face was suddenly dark and brooding. "I'd rather let them tear me apart," he growled. I looked at him; his resolution seemed genuine and absolute. *Admirable*, I thought.
"It is enough, luckily," he continued. "I don't need as much as you'd think."
I took a deep breath and considered the situation. He was right. That was the worst part. The last time a horde passed through, we lost 3 people just trying to defend the compound. He just fought his way in through about four dozen of them with only a scratch.
I looked him in the eye. Despite it all, hell, despite the fact that his eyes were *blood-red*, he looked... honest. I extended my hand.
"I'm Abidugun," I said.
"One born before the war," he smiled. "Fitting." Him knowing the meaning of my name put me at ease, somehow. He extended his own hand and shook it.
"Viktor," he smiled, the moon reflecting off of his fangs. "A vampire teaming up with humans against zombies," he chuckled. "Hollywood, here we come."
And, for the first time in what seemed like forever... I laughed.
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“Hurry up and help me, you bastard, or there won’t be anything left for you to dine on.” Murdoc shouted, desperately trying to pull the mess that had once been his leg out from underneath the stack of metallic boxes. With each attempt, his leg only got more trapped until he couldn’t even squirm anymore. Instead, he was forced to watch the drooling hoard approach, their slow steps closing in.
“Vampires aren’t dissimilar from vultures. I’ll find some blood to pick at once they're done with you. But, if you were to say, agree to my contract, I would be happy to lend you a hand.”
“I can’t agree on behalf of all the group. You would have to ask them.”
“Hm, I suppose that’s a fair point. Well, will you agree? One source of blood is better than none.” He said, the pale man crouching on top of the fence, placing a hand over his forehead, peering at the corpses. “Might want to hurry it up. I’m fast, but even my speed has its limits.”
Murdoc wondered if this was an elaborate game of chicken. Would the vampire really let him die? Surely it wouldn’t do something so reckless? That’s at least what he initially thought. But once the undead were close enough to smell, the panic set in once more. He didn’t want to die, not like this.
“Fine, I agree. I agree. Just save me.”
The purple jacket of the vampire was left flying in the wind as he rushed forward, moving too fast for the scrappy jacket to stay on. In a flash, he had placed himself between Murdoc and the zombies, giving the human a wink before clawing his way through the horde. Each expert slice relieving the zombies of their heads until they were reverted to just being dead, rather than undead.
“There we go. Didn’t even break a sweat.”
The vampire walked up the fence, his feet seeming to stick to the metal as he climbed back to the top, retrieving his jacket before jumping back down. With his jacket back on, he approached Murdoc, leaning against the metallic box his leg was trapped under, putting an additional kilo of weight on it.
“Want me to take care of this, too?”
“Aghh… GET IT OFF.” Murdoc screamed and as soon as the words left his lips, the vampire flicked the metal box away, watching as it skidded along the grass, leaving a trail in the ground.
“Done. You know that was all a bluff, right? If you got yourself infected, I wouldn’t be able to drink your blood.”
“Yeah, you’re a real joker.” Murdoc scoffed, limping over to the fence, gripping the edge for support.
“Don’t be like that. If you had lived for hundreds of years, you would get a twisted sense of humour too. Now, about your leg. Want me to kiss it better?”
“What?”
“You know, kiss the booboo?”
“Just get me to a doctor already. We have one inside the camp. If you just help me over the fence, I can get some treatment. She might even save my leg.”
“You think that’s even a leg anymore? I wouldn’t look down. There’s nothing that resembles a human leg there anymore.”
Murdoc didn’t take the advice of the vampire, looking down at his leg, only to faint once he caught sight of the wreckage below. It was a mess and one that needed urgent care. As Murdoc collapsed, the vampire caught him, sweeping him up into his arms before jumping the fence once more, getting guns immediately pointed his way when he did.
“Relax, I’m returning a damaged good, I hope I don’t need a receipt for it.”
Hours passed before Murdoc woke up to the smell of pure alcohol. His leg burning but still having sensation. He sat up quickly, spotting the vampiric stranger and Dr. Melissa Brown. The pair stopping their conversation, turning their attention to the injured survivor.
“I can feel my leg? I can feel it. Did you save it?”
“Your legs fine, thanks to the man sitting across from me. Apparently, vampire saliva has a healing effect.”
“Yep, I spent all night licking that leg of yours. It’s kind of like getting the last bits of meat off a steak bone. Quite juicy and tender.” He teased.
When Dr. Melissa saw how pale Murdoc had gone, she gave him the truth, wanting to avoid giving him anymore unnecessary trauma.
“That was a joke. I actually collected a sample from him and created a salve from that. Honestly, I didn’t think it would work, but it seems our undead acquaintance was telling the truth.”
“I have no reason to lie, not when I need our partnership to be fruitful.”
“Partnership? I’m guessing he told you about their plan to turn us into human cattle?”
“Human cattle makes it sound so dirty. It’s just enough blood for us to survive. You get protection, we get blood. Everyone wins. It’s kind of like that frog and spider combination.”
“It isn’t entirely like that, but I see your point. What choice do we have? We nearly lost another person today and our food’s running low. We need people that can travel further into the city.” Melissa said, before turning to the vampire. “What should we call you?”
“Trent is fine. Ive had a few names since I was born, but I think Trent’s the easiest to say. So for simplicity’s sake, you can call me Trent.”
“Great. So, Murdoc, how are you feeling? You won’t be able to walk properly for a week or two, but you should heal up rather nicely. While you’re hurt, I’m going to have you assisting me with my medicine. I’ll need someone to help collect the vampire saliva.”
“Oh, goody. Guess we will see a lot more of one another then.” Trent smiled, earning a small scowl from Murdoc.
“Eh, can’t I just take my chances with the zombies?”
“I know it’s not an ideal job, but everyone needs to pull their weight, even those that are injured. It’s just for two weeks. Once you’re healed, you can go back to handling our storage.”
“Fine. Oh, and thanks. If you need some of my blood, I guess you can have it now.”
Trent looked at Melissa, wondering if the doctor wanted to inform him of the news or not. When the Dr remained silent, he just widened his grin, leaning back in his chair, tapping a spot on his neck. At first Murdoc didn’t know what he meant by the action, until he pressed a hand against his own neck, feeling a slight bruising.
“YOU DRANK FROM ME WHILE I WAS SLEEPING?”
“I got hungry. Don’t get mad at me, the kind Dr approved of it.”
“You did a lot to help us and it made sense to allow you to drink from the one person who wouldn’t notice it. This feeding will take a while for us to get used to, so I thought allowing him to feed on you would be the least painful option for now.”
“What about offering yourself?”
“I can’t look after my patients if I’m lightheaded. Now. Trent, is there anything else you need? If not, I suggest you contact your group and tell them we are open to negotiations.”
“I will do just that. Thank you for your hospitality. I’ll see you around, Murdoc. Maybe you can come see my mansion sometime? It’s to die for.” He laughed, despite no one else finding the joke funny. With that, he left, allowing Murdoc and Melissa to talk in private.
“He has a strange sense of humour, doesn’t he?” Melissa said.
“Guess that must have died too when he became a vampire.”
Melissa gave a chuckle before collecting her clipboard, looking over the list of things she needed to do today. After ticking off a box, she turned to Murdoc, handing him a small jar of painkillers.
“I have to go check our stock of medicine. Just take one of these if the pain comes back. If you feel you’re going to die, scream out for somebody. Ok? There’s some water by your bed too.”
“Thanks, doc.” When she left, Murdoc rested his head back into the pillow, staring at the top of the medical tent. After a few minutes of staring, he took two of his painkillers before closing his eyes, allowing himself to get some more rest.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2022-10-27T07:04:01 | 2022-10-27T06:12:36 | 976 | 588 |
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