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[WP] You've been holding tournaments for champions to win your daughter's hand in marriage. Annoyingly, she keeps disguising her way in and winning them.
|
She's always had that rebellious streak. She gets it from her mother, no doubt. I'd tell her to eat her vegetables; she'd dive face-first into the dessert. I'd send her to her wing of the castle as punishment for something; she'd be climbing down a rope made of bedsheets an hour later. I'd tell her to stay away from dragons, and she somehow found a way to track one down and hatch an egg in her closet. It almost burnt the whole tower down! I could never bring myself to punish her, though; a good king recognizes moxie when he sees it.
Marriage, though, was another matter. She needed to find a suitable man to settle down and produce some more heirs, and all she was interested in was sword fighting and jousting and all that. I don't think she ever actually cared too much about those activities; she just liked beating the men at their own games. Even I had to admit that it was pretty damn funny, seeing their faces when she took off her helmet and revealing her long, shimmering, golden hair.
I think it started with that dragon; the one that infested Cragmore Peak. He'd decimated the troop of soldiers that I sent up to take care of it, and the few that came back returned with scorch marks on their armor and their tails between their legs. I, however, saw the perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. Soon, posters went up in every major city in the kingdom: "My daughter's hand in marriage to whomever slays the Cragmore Dragon!"
The greatest knights of the kingdom (well, the single ones at least) disappeared into that cave and never returned. Five months later, though, a sturdy young steed arrived in the city bearing a mysterious knight with a particularly large knapsack. But it wasn't large enough to hide the enormous, spiraling black horns of the Cragmore Dragon's head. I bade 'him' rise as he came before the throne and ordered my steward to fetch my daughter. "No need," the 'knight' said, tearing off the dented helmet and revealing her smug smile.
What was next? Ah, the tournament, I think. The standard fare: sword fighting, jousting, archery, etc. But I also included a number of other fields: poetry, astronomy, woodworking... all sorts of things. Don't want my daughter marrying some mindless lout who just happens to be able to swing a sword, do I? She came in first, putting them all to shame.
It became a game for us. A competition to sail to the frozen North and bring back the pelt of the Arctic Bear? She made it into a fine coat for me and presented it with a smile. A challenge to steal the crown jewels from North Ongarna, without ever being caught? She looked dazzling in them. I even tried a knitting contest; she'd always hated that when her tutor tried to teach her to become a 'proper lady.' But her tapestry was simply breathtaking. I was at a loss for future challenges, and not a step closer to finding a groom worthy of her.
Eventually, I realized the truth. I would never be able to find the man who could tame her, nor would I find a challenge that she couldn't master. So I ordered a new set of posters and had them put up all over the kingdom.
> His Majesty hereby seeks a **NEW DAUGHTER**
> The winner of this contest shall be named the new royal princess and heir to the throne.
> Candidates are expected to be polite, pleasant, and ladylike. Additionally, she is expected to listen to her new father and *not attempt* to win any contest for her hand.
> Please present yourself promptly at the palace on the first of the month for judgment.
Your move, my dear!
|
Chuck stared at the man in the center of the arena, a long, blood-soaked sword clutched in his undeniably masculine grip. Everything about him screamed manly: from the tufts of black, curly hair poking out of his chest plate, to the way his deep voice reverberated around the stone coliseum, to the mustache clearly situated just beneath his abnormally pink nose and large black glasses. There was absolutely no doubt in Chuck’s mind that he was staring at a man.
“That’s not a man,” Lucy said, sighing and falling back down into the throne behind her. “That’s Carol, she’s wearing glasses with a fake mustache attached. You can clearly tell it’s our daughter.”
“You’re out of your mind,” Chuck said, leaning over the railing and staring down into the blood-soaked arena. Bodies lay strewn across the orange sand, limbs detached and scattered about. He took a deep breath, held it, and then exhaled, his heart racing. He loved watching the men fight for his daughter’s hand in marriage, throwing their lives on the line for a chance to become her husband. Unfortunately, though, the process had been taking quite a bit longer than he’d anticipated. Despite his requests, his scoldings, and his threats, his daughter continued to disguise herself as a man and enter into the competitions, winning each and every time. This was now the seventh tournament in what was quickly becoming a monthly occurrence, but Chuck new they’d finally found a victor.
“No,” Lucy said, “that’s definitely Carol. The hair on her chest is obviously fake, you can see a bunch of it on the floor behind her.”
“What?” Chuck said, glancing over at the gladiator. He was absolutely masculine, right down to the lack of an Adam’s apple—which Chuck assumed was reserved for the most manly of men, those whom didn’t need such anatomical features to have lower voices. Still, Lucy was right. A trail of black, puffy hair lined the area just behind the gladiator, like balls of fur on parade. It was probably a coincidence, though. In fact, he was pretty sure they’d always been there. “You’re insane, Lucy. Please shut your mouth.”
“Look,” Lucy said, standing up and walking to the ledge beside Chuck, “Carol is picking up the hair and stuffing it back into her chestplate. What kind of a person does that? Has hair that detaches and needs to be reapplied?”
Chuck watched as the gladiator subtly walked backward and bent down to pick up each ball of fuzz, shoving it into his chest plate and glancing around as if checking to see if anybody was watching. Of course people were watching, though—they were in the middle of a two-thousand-person coliseum, the crowd cheering almost violently for their winner. Whatever the case, however, Chuck knew he was definitely looking at a man. He probably just suffered from a sudden case of Alopecia and needed to make sure he re-gathered all of his chest hair. Heck, that had happened to Chuck on at least one occasion as he recalled.
“That’s normal,” Chuck said, turning toward Lucy and shaking his head. “He’s just got a disease. That’s definitely a man. Do you see his pants? Only men wear pants.”
“Women can wear pants,” Lucy said, sighing. “They just put them on their legs.”
“Wrong,” Chuck said, turning around and facing the crowd. He lifted his hands in the air and waved, the audience responding with a tremendous roar. “When was the last time you saw a woman wearing pants,” he said, turning back toward Lucy.
“I don’t know,” Lucy said, now almost shouting through the din of the crowd, “but it’s not impossible. They just slide them on and they’re wearing pants.”
“You’re speaking gibberish,” Chuck said, lowering his hand and pointing down at the manly gladiator in the center of the arena. He was now rubbing the blood off his sword, his moustache slightly lower on his face than before. That was normal, mustache movement. He’d was pretty sure he’d read about it in a book, a terrible condition in which the hair above one’s lip occasionally slid down an inch or two. “Women don’t wear pants. That’s a man.”
“Whatever,” Lucy said, again sitting back into her chair and picking up the book that sat on the table beside her throne.
“You,” Chuck shouted to the gladiator, his finger still pointed at the masculine figure. “You are the winner, the ultimate fighter. You have won my daughter’s hand in marriage. What is your name?”
The gladiator stared up at Chuck and opened his mouth, his mustache—including his nose and glasses—abruptly sliding off of his face and down into the orange dirt below. He stared at Chuck for a split second before collapsing to his knees and blindly grabbing at his fallen mustache, finally shoving it onto his face. Chuck looked away for a moment in an attempt to give the man some privacy while he mended his troubles. He knew that if his own nose, mustache, and glasses all fell off at once, he’d like a few seconds to gather himself. Thankfully, though, he had no mustache and thus did not suffer the terrible ailment.
“Did you see that?” Lucy said from behind Chuck. “Her fake mustache literally fell off.”
“Please,” Chuck shouted, turning toward Lucy. She was so inconsiderate. “The man is suffering from a terrible disease, do not mock him.” He turned back to the gladiator. “Your name?” he reiterated.
“Steve,” the gladiator said, still adjusting his nose and mustache. They were slightly crooked now. “Steve the Man.”
“Well, Steve,” Chuck said, smiling, “you are the winner of our competition and therefore the winner of my daughter’s hand in marriage. Congratulations.”
“Thanks,” Steve the Man said, glancing at the audience surrounding him. “I’d like to decline the offer, though.”
“What?” Chuck said, tilting his head, eyes still locked down at Steve. He had been quite looking forward to having him as a son-in-law, not to mention the incredibly masculine offspring he and Carol would’ve produced. Yes, Steve’s jaw line was a tad feminine, and his long golden hair wasn’t exactly the most manly thing in the world, and his breasts were a smidge larger than average, but Chuck was sure they’d make great sons to take his place at the throne. He had so many great, manly features, like his chest hair and his unfortunately mobile mustache. “Why?”
“Because I’d like to instead request that you stop making men kill themselves for your daughter’s hand in marriage. Rather, let her choose her own husband.”
“Hang on, really?” Chuck said, lifting his hand to his chin and scratching it. “Like, not dictate who she marries? But she’s a woman, I don’t think she can handle such responsibilities.”
“That’s exactly what I mean, and I’m sure she can,” Steve the Man said, shifting slightly, his sword hanging from his right hand, a few puffs of black hair still clutched in his left.
“Well,” Chuck said, exhaling. The thought of forcing a woman to make her own decisions was a bit unappealing to him, almost a bit unfair to her. They seemed to so enjoy having their lives dictated on their behalf, being told who to marry and what to wear. He didn’t want to be cruel to Carol. Still, the man before him was clearly an intelligent, strong, masculine being. Someone of such stature clearly knew a thing or two. Plus, the idea of throwing another tournament wasn’t exactly too appealing. It just meant Carol would have another chance to sneak by his keen watch and slip into the competition. There was no way he’d let that happen again. “Okay, fine. You’ve got yourself a deal. As the winner of the competition, I’ll listen to your request and allow Carol to make her own choice in a husband.”
“Really?” Steve said, readjusting his nose. “Great. Then, I must be off. I need to go pee standing up.” He turned and began walking toward the gated entryway to the arena, the steel bars slowly lifting as several small, skinny men pulled on the rope beside them.
Chuck turned back toward Lucy and smiled at her. Her eyes were wide, head tilted almost as if in disbelief. She was clearly amazed at how well he got along with men who had proven themselves in combat.
“See,” Chuck said, sitting down in the throne beside Lucy, “I told you that was a man. Good guy, too. I might invite him over for dinner soon.”
“You were right,” Lucy said, laughing softly. “You were absolutely right.”
_____________
^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories [^in ^my ^subreddit!](http://www.reddit.com/r/ChokingVictimWrites/)
| 2015-03-25T12:27:41 | 2015-03-25T12:23:53 | 244 | 133 |
[WP] Your Grandma, a shape-shifter, is diagnosed with Alzheimers. She begins to forget her true form...or was it a disguise all along?
|
Shape shifters don't age. It was the oldest lie. I had never seen my grandmother look a day over twenty in her entire life. Yet here she was, sat in bed, confused by everything. Her brain had to be maintained in the shapeshifting, and so while she could reform her skin to be plump and fresh every morning (when she saw new wrinkle) her mental capacity had dwindled. She used to sing opera. But as mass media came, fame came with a risk. So she took safety as an engineer, a doctor, a farmer, a lobbyist. But despite lifetimes of work she was still as young and beautiful as ever.
She had lived nearly 150 years by the time I was born, and regretted the fear that she would only be able to die if she allowed it. She was wrong, she is 234 years old now. The oldest that anyone had ever been, according to the family tree. She hadn't allowed this to happen, she'd forgotten that she couldn't die. She had refused to teach her descendants to shape shift, saying that the modern world didn't want shapeshifters. The world was scientific now, she's say. It believes in poking and prodding what it doesn't understand.
So, I sit next to her. Watching her shallow breaths. Thinking about how my mother had died in childbirth because of this woman's stupid rules. Thinking of the time that she told me that she never should have had children just so she could watch them die. Thinking about how she refused to teach my son how to shapeshift so he could heal his leukaemia. How she had let him die in front of my own eyes. How she told me she was glad that his death caused me to break up with my husband. No more shapeshifters to worry about.
The nurses come in from time to time and roll my grandmother to prevent bed sores, they don't know about her true nature, and so they console me as a grieving grandmother.
Finally, I see her eyes open slightly. She asks who I am. I take my moment. I tell her who I am to her, I tell how much I hate her for ruining my life, I tell her why and explain what she doesn't understand. And I ask her why she wouldn't save my son. She doesn't know. She never knows.
A few minutes pass, she looks at me, and asks why she's here. I can't answer.
As I leave, the nurses make comment on what a beautiful granddaughter I have. I smile politely, resenting the fact that my grandmother will never know how ugly her true self really is - and I tell the nurses I will see them tomorrow.
|
I dreamt about wolves.
I was walking through the house, my house, the house I grew up in. I was six, but I held a 12 gauge shotgun in my tiny little hands. Grandma comes into the room.
"Lisa, now, what did I tell you about playing carefully?" She smiles kindly, and takes the gun from my hands. I protest a little, but who can say no to that face. "What would mom think if she saw you?"
Just then, a giant wolf leaps through the window. It lands a foot in front of me. I look to grandma, but she too has turned into a wolf, the shotgun lying discarded behind her. I give a yelp of fear, "G...grandma?"
The wolf lunges towards me.
I wake up with a scream. My adrenaline is pumping, and my heart is racing. It always gets me. No matter how many times that damn dream happens, I always wake up a mess.
I was actually remembering the first time I had found Grandma change shape, when she had told me between the ancient conflict between us Hunters and those damn wolves. Grandma had ripped out that wolf's throat before he could so much as lay a paw on me.
There was a growling noise behind the door.
I immediately rolled out of bed, and grabbed my specially made revolver under my pillow as I did. I ended up behind the wooden frame of the bed, not the best of cover, but cover nonetheless. I aimed my gun towards the door right as a wolf walked in.
My reflexes screamed at me to fire, and I almost did, but years of trigger discipline kept me from obeying them. And I realized with a start that it was actually *grandma.* The pale brown fur, and a scar on the upper right shoulder gave her away.
I put my revolver down. "Grandma...are you alright?" I stared out the window, it was the middle of the night. She had been staying in her wolf form ever since the Alzheimer's started taking hold, but this was decidedly strange.
"Grandma, can you please change back to yourself?" I asked, trying not to let worry seep into my voice.
The wolf cocked its head at me, then took a step forward. And another. I had fought enough wolves to recognize an attack pattern. "Grandma," I said, growing uneasy, "can you change back to human, for me, please?"
This time she halted, and cocked her head at me again, but this time she complied. As I watched the fur receded, and the structure of her bones shifted, and within seconds she was a frail old woman. I put my blanket around her, and led her to my bed.
She was looking at me curiously. "Why did you want me to change to human, lass?"
I frowned, "because that's who you are, Grandma," I said for the hundredth time this month, "you are human, and I like you being human."
"Why should I care what you like or not, who even are you?"
I made a sharp intake of breath, and suddenly my vision blurred.
"Dearie," Grandma asked, her face concerned, "are you crying?"
That was too much. She wore the same expression she did when she had raised me, from when I was three and my mother had been mauled, Grandma had taken me in, I hadn't even met her before that, and she had cared for me, made me into the woman I was today.
And so when I'd heard what was happening to her, I had to come back, I couldn't possibly repay her for all that she'd done, but I could try.
But right then, when she *forgot* me, forgot her little girl, it became a bit too much. I shook my head. "I...I'm not crying, I just need a moment, Grandma."
I walked towards the door, so that grandma wouldn't see me crying. When the wolf burst through the window.
I whirled around towards the noise of the shattering glass. I reached for my gun, but I was still me underwear, there was no revolver tucked into my waist, that was lying on the bed 5 feet away, and it might as well have been on Jupiter for all the good it did to me.
I crouched, and readied myself. As a normal human I stood no chance against a wolf in unarmed combat. I wished for the millionth time in my life that I was a shape shifter, but only about a tenth of either side, wolves or humans, had that power. The wise choice thus was to run the hell away.
But Grandma couldn't run away.
However, the wolf did not leap to rip my throat out. Instead, it bowed its head to me, and changed.
A few seconds later I was looking at a tall, well built, man. "Wolf Slayer," the man said in a deep voice. Ah, a wolf shifter. I inclined my head in return, not taking my eyes off him. He probably wan't going to kill me considering how my throat was still intact, but that was no reason to be sloppy.
"What is your business here, wolf?" I asked.
"I have come with a truce. wolf-slayer. We merely want the return of our kind."
I cocked my head at him. "You know we don't take prisoners wolf, neither of us do."
The man shook his head, a bit too intensely, as if he were biting something and shaking it. "We want Ms. Agnes," he said.
My heart almost stopped beating as my suspicions were confirmed.
Still I perserved. "Why do you want Grandma, and what the hell makes you think you'll take her without going through me?"
He grinned quote literally a wolfish smile. "You and I both know wolf slayer that that can be arranged, but I have come under a truce, and I will not shame my kind by violating it." He looked steadily at me, expecting a response, and I nodded slightly, motioning for him to continue, though I wanted anything but for him to do so.
"Agnes is a wolf shifter."
I closed my eyes to keep from crying. I opened them a moment a later, and the man looking steadily at me, wearing a frown.
"You already knew this?" The wolf asked, clearly surprised, "I had expected to have a hard time convincing you."
I had known for years. The Azelf incident, the fact that I hadn't met her before mom died, that shifter spy we had tortured, they had all pointed towards Grandma, pointed towards her being a wolf-shifter. "She...she may be a wolf," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady, "but she is on our side. She never reported to you!" Despite myself my voice rose towards the end.
The wolf nodded. "Yes, she became quite taken with you *humans,*" he made the word sound like an insult somehow, "but as a wolf, she belongs to us."
I looked at him directly in the eyes. "Fuck. Off."
The man blinked, but nodded. "So be it, wolf-slayer, our next delegation will not be quite so civil. Our truce will expire after 24 hours.:
The man turned back into a wolf and jumped out the window.
I turned towards Grandma, who had just looked at the floor the entire conversation, and sat next to her on the bed.
She looked at me with her blue eyes, which at that moment ween't clouded or confused. They were clear, and completely, utterly sane.
She started to say something, but I shook my head. Then I leaned on her shoulder and cried.
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed check out my sub, [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| 2017-02-18T06:37:32 | 2017-02-18T06:36:54 | 63 | 16 |
[WP] "Usually when we first contact a civilization, it is very easy to get them under our banner..." The Empress sighed. "...Not the humans though."
|
"What do you mean they said 'No'? Did you show them that it was the only rational choice? Did you tell them everything they would gain if they would but kneel?" Her face tendrils stroked the iron hard carapace of what the humans would call a forehead. A sign of slight irritation as well as a hint of confusion.
"Universal healthcare, full employment, free entertainment, what else could they want? Freedom of speech and a say in how they're governed?" The Empress was trying to assuage her own irritation, and that of her court, with a joke. Forgetting how the psychic powers of her species would manifest, she was quite surprised when the silence of her envoy was her response.
"Oh, that can't be it, really?" The entire court, Empress as well, was starting to laugh. The envoy could only flash her flesh blue. Her species' equivalent to a nod. Being that Eza of the Slui wasn't known for lying or humor, the court began to see that this was the exact problem.
"They do realize that, to have any right to simply demand these things, they'll need to enforce them in conflict, yes?" The Empress inquired.
"I warned them of this my Lady, they told me of their history in response. I showed them the might of our military using my personal battle cruiser, the Flower of Q'ort. They showed me what a single of their, nu'kleer bombs could do. They told me it was a small one. They proved to me that it was a small one. It would have destroyed the vessel had they intended to hit it. The electromagnetic pulse of the weapon nearly disabled the ships shields. I assure you, they are unafraid."
"You told them of our policy of blockades for difficult systems, how they wouldn't be able to escape their world if we were to do anything, creative, yes?"
"They're developing a technology that we won't be able to block. They plan to use spatio-temporal distortion for their FTL. Standard interdiction systems won't stop it, we've already checked." Eza was known for being thorough in her first contact efforts. Still, this type of news was unheard of. Species that developed a 'warp' drive were usually so docile that they practically begged for the protection of the Empire.
"When they turned us down, how did the mock invasion fare?" The Empress' question was answered immediately, but not by Eza. The Krage delegate spoke up.
"Our entire invasion force was destroyed. To the last. There were no survivors. When they started to retreat, something followed them to the rally point. This is where we lost contact with them. My Lady. Our last contact was quite disturbing. According to the shipmaster, the humans were trying to get onto the vessels."
The court was stunned into silence. The only species aggressive enough to even attempt that were the Xev, who were so primitive that they hadn't been contacted.
"Is it possible that the humans could have accomplished this?" The Empress now sounded concerned. No species had ever managed to fight off a Krage expeditionary force.
"Did they ask for assistance when the invasion came, or did they do something else?" The Empress' question was answered by Eza turning a purple hue.
"Quite the opposite. They accused us of being involved, and told us to cease the attack or a war would occur."
The Empress looked at her chief diplomat. She had served her well over the centuries. She was loathe to make an example of her, but there had to be a penalty for this failure. Thinking about her words, and mulling over the news about this new species, she began to speak.
|
Humanity's fascination with the atom began--unknowingly--with the advent of forging. Turning two metals into one, stronger, metal with the liberal application of heat tended to be a pastime of many human civilizations and empires whenever their neighbors started staring at them a little too long for their liking. From tin and copper, to bronze, to iron, and beyond. Metal and heat. That was the name of the game for thousands of years.
More recently came the hobby of alchemy. That arcane practice of attempting to turn one worthless metal into something which could be marketed as something worth buying; the success of which was sought after by kings and emperors as well as any peasant with a laboratory and some chemicals at his or her disposal. Not by heat alone this time, but by the application of random chemicals and mixtures was one lump of worthless metal turned into a wet lump of worthless metal, probably with the added fun of caustic fumes and deadly reactions to go along with it. From mixing metals for protection to drowning them for possible riches. Few items of interest or note ever came of this practice; but it did help get the ball rolling on the basic sciences, mainly by preserving the desire to discover and explore until the Renaissance.
The basic elements found on their planet began to be noticed, catalogued, and finally organized by their atomic weights. More elements were found and added to their table as the more powerful civilizations took to the oceans to stake their claims on the "wild" continents discovered on the other side of their world, and as scientific methods became more standardized. Of course, as is humanity's method of survival, the discovery of some of these elements led to weapons which soon made the general method of thousands of years of warfare largely obsolete. Those who were unlucky enough to not have discovered these elements and their uses (and there were a lot of civilizations which failed to do so) paid dearly for it by those who did.
And on and on humanity went, discovering more elements and, eventually, creating a few of their own--most of those created only lasted a few microseconds. But when a century of warfare took the humans through that dark time, a few of them were able to light up a small part of their planet--if only for a very short while--with a particularly-heavy element and the wanton smashing of the atomic structure of that element with the neutrons dislodged from other atoms with the application of crushing pressure brought about--first by ramming, then by precise explosions. A city, then two cities, more or less instantly erased from existence, and the notion of war between old powers was suddenly a very unpalatable one. But the threat of one was still there.
This particular weapon was tested again and again, the results growing larger and larger--the end result mostly to get more neutrons to bombard a mass of several heavy elements, resulting in larger explosions. Complex mathematical equations, born from new applications of mathematics and aided with machines that could calculate and solve these equations for these humans in a very short amount of time, dictated how reactions between atomic elements were supposed to happen. And, finally, the humans built a machine which allowed them to gaze upon the atom itself.
By this time, humanity was instantly communicating among itself despite the distances on their planet and on nearby bodies. And humanity progressed still, until someone remembered that old practice of alchemy, wondering if it was finally possible. They had full access to the atom--no matter the element. All they would have to do is either add or take away the protons, neutrons, or electrons from one element to turn it into another. Sustainable fusion reactors were by then a mainstay of humanity's civilization, so energy was no longer an issue. And so this scientist set out to turn one element into another with the liberal application of energy--it takes a lot of energy to rip nuclear forces in a manner that would reliably turn one element into another. And, eventually, he was successful. Hydrogen into Helium--the basic reaction taking place in the center of their star. A lot of heat, a lot of pressure, all made possible by almost limitless energy.
A descendant of this scientist took the research to another level. Nano-technology was not a new thing--microscopic robots were used in quickly repairing injuries and precisely excising cancerous cells out of the sick for decades. This scientist combined her predecessor's research and created atomic-sized nanites. Simple things that could only follow a couple of simple instructions, being they were mostly composed of a couple of protons and neutrons and energized by a dozen or so electrons. But they could handle the immense temperatures and pressures at the center of her predecessor's reactor, and she was soon turning lots of things into others. Lead into gold was obvious, but her government noticed that and forbade her to continue doing so--some backwards tribes still existed and considered gold as currency, after all. So, she decided that the next logical step was to turn something into food. Overpopulation was already straining humanity's civilizations, and food was a growing concern. By ordering her nanites to take sub-atomic particles and add others, she was soon able to create nutritious, tasty food out of dirt, rocks, grass, wood-- anything she could shove into her reactor, now called a "converter". Her research shared among her colleagues, more of these "converters" were constructed and experimented on, quickly becoming a mainstay of humanity's civilization. The worry and lack of food was no more--nearly limitless food could be created, packaged, and sold. Of course, this interfered with certain political groups which used the growing price and lack of food to their advantage, and so this scientist was assassinated for her inadvertent interference--but the converters were there to stay.
The combined resources of multiple scientific organizations meant that these building-sized converters quickly became small enough to be installed in a small alcove in the home. Programmable, a typical converter could be told by a human what food they wanted and at what temperature--limited to 373.15 degrees Kelvin. All the human had to do was put something in the top, and their food would appear in a puff of light at the bottom. Usually, people would simply use the surrounding atmosphere as the material.
At first, this was not much of an issue. However, as humanity's population topped 18 billion, the results of such use of these converters became obvious. There was a finite amount of mass in the planet, and definitely a finite amount of atmosphere--an amount that was being depleted far quicker than could be replenished by natural means. The political situation deteriorated as invasions took place to literally steal the dirt, air, and water of the neighbors, to feed to the converters at home. The ecosystem suffered most of all--trees were being cut down and turned into material for the converters. Water sources--the ocean, most of all, were also being depleted and turned into food. The prophesied danger of rising sea levels due to climate change was replaced by wondering where it all went. The deserts became deep chasms, the sand dug up and carted away. The atmosphere became noticeably thinner--for example, the results of parachuting out of an aircraft--the few that could still fly--were questionable at best. Weather patterns grew sluggish and rain became a distant memory. The land began to die, forcing governments to drastically limit the use of these converters, taxing the ocean even further with huge desalinization plants to replenish the fresh water sources.
Space travel then became the topic of choice, to try to escape the prison humanity had forced itself into. Sure, small shuttles with primitive fusion reactors had been sent out to scout for possible landing sites for possible further manned exploration, but the invention of the converters put that notion to rest. Now, it was back at the forefront of discussion. Why not build ships which could harvest matter out of the moon, or Mars, or beyond, and use those in the converters? And so ships were built, fitted with fusion reactors and converters, and sent out to the moon to harvest. Soon, entire cities were built on the moon, massive converters turning regolith into atmosphere, for the sole purpose of revitalizing the home planet. More ships were built and cities erected onto Mars. Massive cargo ships ferried material from the moon, Mars, and eventually the asteroid belt, back to earth to be converted to whatever was needed. Massive converters replenished Earth's atmosphere and oceans, while sand flowed back into the deserts. Soon, the Earth had been more or less fixed, and the immediate danger had passed. Food was still far more expensive than it had been in the past, but civilization was manageable again.
Two things limited the speed at which humanity could spread among the stars. First, the speed of light was a distant limit, for the small fusion reactors could not push the ships beyond even a tenth of that speed. And second, someone managed to turn a converter into a weapon of mass destruction.
| 2017-11-05T21:21:31 | 2017-11-05T19:47:06 | 75 | 15 |
[WP] You were accidentally killed by a god. As compensation,you're offered a job as a god of something of your own choosing. Your choice was surprising.
|
The other gods looked uncomfortable.
In fact, I swear I could see the fear form in Hephasteus' eyes. He looked uneasy, partly because he understood why I made my choice. Athena's face was that of cloaked rage. Ares, uncloaked. Zeus, the idiot he was, sensed the awkward silence and partook in it as well.
Centuries ago, mankind had a very basic understanding of the world. There was lightning, water, and the like. It was up until only recently, that we harnessed mother nature, and made it do our bidding. The gods chose their domains based on human's understanding of the world. Little did they know that we would come so far.
"This is...certainly unprecedented, mortal."
Hera was the first one to break the silence.
"I've made my choice, and you can not revoke it."
"Do you realize what this would mean for you, Robert?"
Hades was the second one to break his silence. Yet, under his accusatory tone, I detected a concealed delight.
"I am well aware of the consequences Hades. I spent my whole life studying them."
With a sigh, the pantheon conceded. They knew change was to come. Some were fearful, and yet, it looked like some were excited about what the future would bring, after a millennia of stagnation.
"So be it. Dr. Oppenheimer, I dub thee God of Radiation."
|
"Jack. Fuck off."
A large glass pint thundered down on the oak table and the dark liquid inside whisked around like a storm trodden ocean.
"Billy, on me father, it's true." I pleaded.
"Well your dad's a right proper cunt, and he used to beat you, so why the fuck would I trust you when you swear on father? I already told you *seventeen times*, fuck off."
Billy sat back, his grey woollen suit jacket met with the red velvet cushioning covering the walls. He turned to me, then threw his head back and uproarious laughter piled out of his chest. When he was done he returned his gaze and mockingly uttered:
"So you want to tell me, on whoever the fuck, mom, dad, the fucking hooker you fell in love with in Brighton, that you, you Jack... _Jesus fucking christ_. Jack. No, for the life of me I can't fucking say this out loud..."
He sat back up, placed his hat next to him, leaned forward and rhythmically banged his head into the table. The pint shivered with each bang. Once again a storm was brewing on the surface of the dark liquid, but before the seas got too rough it flew off the table and rapidly into Billy Daniel's mouth.
In a few short moments, the entire pint was empty, he slammed it down even harder this time. I almost jumped back as I feared that the glass might shatter or that the table might break. But the glass held together, and it was clear that it wasn't the first time this block of oak had been roughhousing.
"Jamie! Can you get me another one of these?" Billy roared. "Wait, no, no, no, fuck that. Make it two, and apparently my brother here wants some whisky, he's showin' me a party trick he learned from one o' his new 'friends'!"
Jamie, the bartender gave him a nod from across the room before sliding over to the four brass taps lined up the rightmost side of the counter. He snatched another two glass pints, and filled them up to the brim with dark liquid pouring out from the leftmost brass tap. Into another smaller glass he poured a goldenbrown liquid from a dark green bottle and paraded towards their table.
"Jack, Billy." pearls of water ran down the sides of the fresh pints and left traces in the misty texture. Unlike Billy, Jamie placed the two pints down with elegance and care. As the pints slid across the table they left trails on the surface that were quickly taken care of by a stained white rag.
"Cheers Jamie, 'ts on me." I placed almost a whole pound worth of coins in his left hand.
Jamie smiled, looked at me, raised his left eyebrow, surprised, and tipped his head before making his was back behind the counter.
Billy had already helped himself about halfway through one of the fresh pints of seemingly pitch black stout.
"Billy." I held the glass over the table in front of him. He tilted his head and grimaced, indicating his disinterest in following through with my request. But a broad satirical smile slowly spread on his face.
"Alright, Jack," he said and turned towards the glass "but let me be clear with you I think-" the smile slowly crept back where it had came from and a new expression emerged. Billy stared into the liquid, but it was no longer golden brown. It was a fiery glowing orangered. Literally. The liquid appeared luminescent. "I think you're not kidding me." He swallowed.
He looked confused, but there was a sense of curiosity in his eyes as well.
"Billy, I told ye I'm not being a cunt. Taste it, I swear, it's good."
He slowly reached out and grabbed a firm hold around the glass. He motioned it towards his mouth. Like a man who had been stuck in the desert for weeks without water, he thought he would never drink again but by divine intervention he found an oasis. The glass tipped backwards and the glowing liquid escaped behind his lips. This time there was no slam when he placed the glass back on the table. Billy almost appeared like he was in thanks to the glass itself when he let the empty crystal container land on the wooden surface.
He looked at me again. His look harmonious, peaceful, like he had been extended an unexpected charity at the time when he most needed it.
"*The god of fucking whisky eh...*" Billy muttered, and once again a smile slowly spread across his face, but this time it was genuine, warm, and for some reason, slightly mischievous.
I shrugged knowingly, and returned the smile.
"Billy, do ye remember uncle John? Uncle John who went to the Americas when we were 8?" Billy nodded encouragingly "I've been in touch with 'im. Do ye know why? Because when I came knockin' at yer door, three weeks ago, sayin' I'd been thrown out... Well, I actually sold me house. And all the money, all of the money. The whole lot of it. I'd sent to uncle John in the Americas. And uncle John has bought us a distillery in a place they call Tennessee. And I done bought us two boat tickets," I slipped my left hand inside my jacket and begun fishing for two slips of paper I had kept in my inner chest pocket "to uncle John, in the Americas, to a place they call Tennessee. Because the three of us are founding our own distillery. It's all paid for. It's all ours brother mine." I finally got a hold of the tickets and pulled them both out and handed one to Billy.
Billy shot up, and in grand swigs he finished both his pints faster than he had finished the tiny glass of whisky, then jumped up on the table and bellowed:
"**Lads, ladies, next round is on me! Because I am moving across the mighty seas, because my brother, my lovely cunt brother, Jack, is the god of fucking whisky!**" triumphantly presenting the ticket in his right hand.
As the lads and the ladies cheered, clapped and sang as Billy danced on the table I sat back.
"See that, ye humourless scum fucking pantheon twat fuckers. Thought ye'd make me a fool, thought ye'd get to laugh at the lad who couldn't hold his tongue an' said '*Well then make me the god of fucking whisky!*'. Well look at me now. While I might not hurl lightning and summon storms to stir the oceans, I am still a god. And Jack Daniels, he, he is the god of *fucking* whisky." I thought.
| 2018-01-28T08:01:45 | 2018-01-28T03:12:53 | 37 | 25 |
[WP]A person from earth gets sent to a world where magic works on how well you know something. For example, a wizard can't Fly if they don't know about gravity. The person however is a world-renowned scientist.
|
*"Oh, so it's just densification. The specific heat capacity and mass is still constant, just use heat instead."*
*"What? How can you use heat to break through armoring spells?"*
*"You don't break through things with heat. You...well, cook the person through their ward. Like an...egg in a frying pan."*
*"That's kind of..."*
*"Messed up, I know. But you can throttle the heat to just cause heatstroke. Spontaneous combustion requires the flash point of a material to be reached, which is usually really high. They'll be cooked alive before you can set them ablaze."*
A long pause of silence before the apprentice spoke up again.
*"So how would you protect yourself from heat?"*
*"Well... You could always transfer the heat to wherever it was siphoned from."*
*"The heat isn't just created?"*
*"Not unless there's an energy expenditure or the decay of a radioactive isotope. Most heat spells seem to be convection through the air. As heat is concentrated and moved to the target, the surrounding air is cooled in response. It's adiabatic."*
*"Adia-what?"*
*"The total amount of heat doesn't increase or decrease within the given system."*
*"Oh..."*
*"It can also be done in reverse; sapping the heat from someone. You can freeze them like that, cause hypothermia, or frostbite depending on how much you take out."*
*"You're starting to scare me, professor."*
*"Hah, nonsense, I just might have figured out how to conduct biological stasis. Come, we've got an experiment to do! I want to see if I can't reach absolute zero!"*
*"A-absolute zero?"*
|
**Part 1**
The portal beckoned - a vantablack hole that held sound and light captive. It was located in the centre of the cluttered warehouse that served as Jeremiah Coltrane’s laboratory. Jeremiah turned to his quavering assistants, who kept themselves well away from the functional black hole and gripped at banisters and mechanical instruments. Jeremiah gave them a reassuring smile before walking to the other side of the two-dimensional hole, where the surface was a bright white light. He leaned in close to the smooth surface, his tinted welding glasses almost touching it. He stepped back and looked down at his watch.
“3, 2, 1... “ he counted down under his breath. Right on cue, a small robot on tracks rolled out of the white hole. Jeremiah crouched down and examined the robot, picking it up and rotating it around. He held a scanner to it and watched how several arrows gyrated around to establish measurements. The corners of Jeremiah’s thin mouth curled up when he saw on which values the arrows landed.
“That concludes the penultimate test, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, righting himself. He walked back to black side of the hole. “Time for a human subject. I would send one of you, but, eh, I want to have the honours.”
“Dr. Coltrane, I must protest,” a young woman in a lab coat and tangled hair spoke up. “There is no way of knowing wha-”
“Ah-ah-ah-ah,” Jeremiah cut her off, wagging a finger. “You can have your turn after me. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he concluded as the woman threw up her hands. He inhaled deep and exhaled, and walked forwards. Although he immediately found himself in another world, it was as if a hundred people had been pulling at him from different sides.
“Woooow.” He let himself fall limbly into the blue grass that stretched out in all directions. Everything span, including two distant heavenly bodies - one a light red and the other a pale blue, who turned in circles like a toy above a baby’s crib. “Wooowie.”
After a few minutes had passed, so had Jeremiah’s discomfort and he was able to stand up again. Behind him, a white hole stood patiently in the grass. He quickly ran around it to see if the other side had correctly spawned. It was black, to his relief.
“I’ll be back in a bit,” he said, moving his gaze over the alien world one last time. Preparing to step through it again, he shuddered at the thought of the sensation of interdimensional travel. He hesitated for a moment, and in that moment the portal vanished. It was gone in the blink of an eye. Jeremiah blinked a few more times, which didn’t result in the portal returning.
“No… No, no, no.” He tore the goggles from his head and pulled out a small electronic telescope out of his frayed lab coat. He frantically panned the device across the plains. Earlier in his experiments the portal would sometimes relocate, which had to do with quirks in the quantum mechanics he applied.
“Shit,” he muttered when the lens only revealed forests and mountain ranges on the horizon. He was about to lower the telescope when he noticed a figure on horseback racing toward him. He reached behind him with his free hand, and drew a custom made pistol that he’d tucked away in his belt, concealed by his coat. The rider slowed down and waved at him.
“Hullooo, are you lost?” The man called out. Apart from his vaguely medieval attire, nothing stood out from the man. The man wore a well cultivated beard.
*A human, and I can understand him?* Jeremiah thought, scratching his chin with the telescope. “Yeah, I’m far from home. What, uh, what language are we talking now?”
The man narrowed his eyes and took him in from top to bottom. “What question is that? Umbrish, of course.”
Jeremiah smiled at the man and slid his weapon back in his belt. “Of course, I’m a traveler, so I switch languages often. I mix them up every so often.”
“Hmm, well, you speak it very well. I would think you were a local if it wasn’t for whatever that is you’re wearing.”
“The garb of my country,” Jeremiah said, still smiling.
“And what country is that?”
“Ah, you wouldn’t know it.”
“Please, try me.”
“It’s called… Quant… Onia. Quantonia, yes.”
The man jumped off his horse and took a few brisk steps toward him. Stopping in front of him, he stroked his beard thoughtfully. “That’s not a real place. Let me hazard a guess as to what’s going on here,” the man said after an uncomfortable pause. “You’re a wizard-artificer who accidentally teleported himself here. I know the Blue Plains very well, so much so that the Magiks will alert me when there is a disturbance. That’s why I came here. You don’t know Umbrish, which leads me to believe that you have an expert grasp on linguistics, allowing the Magiks to translate our words.”
Jeremiah listened slack jawed and shook his head when the man paused for breath. “For someone who’s throwing around words like ‘magic and wizard’, you‘re not far off with your deduction.”
The man extended a hand and Jeremiah took it gingerly. “The name’s Idalf, from the court of King Owin. You can’t fool me, I know you’re a powerful wizard. And your coming is a godsend.”
*Powerful wizard, eh?* “Why’s that?”
“Our king is gravely ill. Scores of mages and wizards have been unsuccessful in treating him. Magik has failed us… which must mean we are dealing with some ailment we have not encountered before. But maybe what we need is a fresh set of eyes.”
“I’m not a medical doctor, though-”
“Please, enough with the evasive answers. A true wizard like yourself has knowledge of many domains…” Idalf's voice trailed off. “Did you teleport here… or fly?”
“Fly? What, like this?” Jeremiah flapped his hands mockingly.
Idalf gasped and clasped his hands together. “Yes, like that!”
Jeremiah looked down - he was suspended about a foot in the air. “O-of course I can fly! This impresses you but teleportation doesn’t?” *What the fuck is going on?* he thought, moderating the flapping motion, making him come down to the ground again.
“Never met a wizard who can fly. I have met a few who were able to teleport. The knowledge required is immensely esoteric. They tried to explain it to me, something about dematerialization and radiation.”
“Let me get this straight… Once you understand something, you can use magic to do superhero stuff?”
“You’re a strange fellow. You could learn about humor so you may Magik some better jokes.” Idalf said with a raised eyebrow. “Come, let’s go to the king.”
| 2021-05-21T18:16:14 | 2021-05-21T16:07:49 | 81 | 59 |
[WP] As an atheist, you always believed that there was nothing after death. After your last breath, you discover that you were wrong, but that no one else was right about what's after either.
Mainly, there is something after death, but religions are wrong about it.
|
Last I heard was tires squealing and last I felt was a much too heavy impact. The pain went away almost immediately but once I opened my eyes it was replaced with confusion. The ground was a wispy grey smoke, not smoke over top of something, I was sitting on solid smoke. To immediately contrast this some bright children's blocks laided in front of me with a note saying "get building".
I looked up from this perplexing pile to an even more surreal scene. I couldn't really gauge distances, but in every direction, for as far as I could see there were people building block towers. The further I looked the taller they got, in the distance it looked like there were skyscrapers of children's blocks.
Admiring them I tilted my head back I was somehow even more taken aback. A being; larger than anything I'd ever seen, was floating there, he covered the entire sky.
Then I heared a booming voice all around me:
"Shit, someone figured this one out too, new afterlife starting in 10 seconds, everyone hold on tight"
|
FADE IN:
EXT. A VERDANT GARDEN - DAY
*A man slowly fades into view amidst countless varieties of flowers and plants. This is DAVE. He glances around at his surroundings for a moment, appearing equal parts confused and suspicious.*
**DAVE:** Hello?
**ANGEL:** (*O.S.*) Greetings, David.
*Dave jumps slightly as a figure materializes in front of him. This is ANGEL. His age is unclear, and there is no visible hair anywhere on his body. He wears a white robe with intricate patterns of gold on its hems.*
**DAVE:** Who are you?
**ANGEL:** My name is Angel. I am a... concierge, for lack of a better word.
**DAVE:** Ah, well, I'll have a glass of white Zinfandel, then.
*Angel blinks once.*
**ANGEL:** Excuse me?
**DAVE:** You give out the wine, right? Isn't that what a concierge does?
**ANGEL:** That is a sommelier.
**DAVE:** Oh, right, sorry. You clean up the hallways.
**ANGEL:** That is a custodian! I am a guide! I am here to reassure you!
**DAVE:** Well, you're doing a bad job of it. Do you know what would *really* reassure me?
*A glass of pink wine appears in Dave's hand. This apparently surprises Angel.*
**ANGEL:** Where did you get that?!
**DAVE:** It was in the boat.
**ANGEL:** What b...
*Before Angel can finish, a weather-beaten (but still apparently sturdy) rowboat appears between him and Dave.*
**DAVE:** That one.
*Angel begins angrily waving his hands around.*
**ANGEL:** Stop that! Stop that at once!
*The boat and the wine both disappear as though they had been made of smoke.*
**ANGEL:** You are not meant to do that!
**DAVE:** Why not? This is Heaven, isn't it? Can't I do whatever I want?
**ANGEL:** No! Heaven is not real!
**DAVE:** Oh. Well, now I *definitely* need some wine.
*The white Zinfandel reappears in Dave's hand. He takes a casual sip as he surveys his surroundings. Angel watches this with barely concealed contempt.*
**ANGEL:** You are doing everything out of order.
**DAVE:** Yeah, well, I've been dead before. I know the drill. I am dead, right? That seagull killed me?
*Angel's irritated expression slowly adopts a guardedly curious aspect.*
**ANGEL:** "Seagull?" No, that is not relevant. Do you truly understand where you are?
**DAVE:** I mean, honestly? No. I'm making this up as I go along.
**ANGEL:** Then I shall explain. When you were alive, you would experience visions while you slept.
**DAVE:** Aha! It was the cheese that did me in, then!
**ANGEL:** "Cheese?"
**DAVE:** Yeah, man. Steve said that it had gone off, but *I* said that it would just give me crazy...
**ANGEL:** (*Interrupting*) This is also not relevant! When you died, you fully entered those visions!
*Angel gestures to the plants around them.*
**ANGEL:** (*CONT'D*) This is the vestibule of the world that you would visit as you slumbered.
**DAVE:** I don't see a toilet.
**ANGEL:** Not "lavatory!" *Vestibule!* Threshold!
**DAVE:** Prosit!
**ANGEL:** ... What?
**DAVE:** It's Swedish for "gesundheit."
*A noise not unlike that of a creaking hinge escapes Angel's lips.*
**ANGEL:** Fine! I shall be very concise! You died! You entered the world you had only glimpsed!
**DAVE:** Yeah, and the rules are different here.
*With a clatter of wooden impacts and bouncing oars, the rowboat reappears.*
**DAVE:** (*CONT'D*) See?
**ANGEL:** You do not seem concerned with *following* those rules.
**DAVE:** Eh, what's the point? I'm just going to die here, too, and then it's back to the other place.
*Angel's mouth opens and closes several times.*
**ANGEL:** You *do* understand! You have indeed been dead!
**DAVE:** Well, yeah. I mean, I was pretty sure that it was all make-believe, but...
**ANGEL:** (*Interrupting*) How have you remembered?!
*Dave shrugs.*
**DAVE:** I didn't. Like I said, I'm making this up as I go along.
**ANGEL:** You are making very little sense, David.
**DAVE:** Isn't that kind of the point?
**ANGEL:** I am becoming both frustrated and confused.
**DAVE:** Ah. New experience for you?
**ANGEL:** I do not like it. How can you know these things?
**DAVE:** It was a nursery rhyme.
*Several seconds pass in silence.*
**ANGEL:** What?
**DAVE:** It's all recursive, right? Only, like, inside out.
**ANGEL:** *What?!*
**DAVE:** You die there, you go here, you die here, you go there, and so on.
**ANGEL:** How does any of that relate to a nursery rhyme?!
*Dave shrugs and sits down in the rowboat. As Angel watches him, it is revealed that there is a narrow river running between the two of them.*
**DAVE:** Hey, do you want a glass? I found an extra one.
**ANGEL:** No! I insist that you answer! How did a nursery rhyme give you such wisdom?!
*Angel watches as Dave begins rowing the boat with one hand, using the other to drink his (seemingly bottomless) glass of wine.*
**DAVE:** Life is but a... bah, you get it.
FADE TO BLACK.
| 2021-07-01T16:13:55 | 2021-07-01T13:42:41 | 114 | 42 |
[WP] A genie who twists the words of wishes to distort the original meaning, but what he twists them to is actually better than what the wisher intended.
|
[Poem]
I made one a CEO
Only for him to spurn it.
He wished for wealth and power.
He didn't want to earn it.
I showed one a perfect wife,
But then he laughed right at her.
He said "She's not hot enough."
Their matching didn't matter.
Then one wished for a sandwich.
Here I can't be mistaken.
I gave him a gourmet club.
He said "It needs more bacon."
They say I twist the wishes,
But it's them that twists my might.
I really need to learn that
The customer's always right.
|
# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc -2, Interlude 1: \_\_\_\_\_\_\_)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ had always hated his name.** It wasn't like \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ was a particularly uncommon name; some religious guy who died two millennia ago had held it once, and people had been fangirling over him ever since. There were, like, three \_\_\_\_\_\_\_s in \_\_\_\_\_\_\_'s elementary school class alone. There wasn't even anything intrinsically wrong with \_\_\_\_\_\_\_. It was a solid name—seven letters, rhymed with 'even', and decently hard to make fun of.
But it just wasn't the name \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ wanted to have.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ snuck up the dusty wooden ladder to the attic. The trapdoor had been locked, but \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ lived here; it'd only taken a few weeks to file the shackle down to nothing when nobody was looking. The attic floor creaked as he clambered into the crawlspace. Given what he'd heard was in there, he half-expected to find long-dead skeletons or looming guardians—but it was just an ordinary attic, littered with cardboard boxes.
"\_\_\_\_\_\_\_?" \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ flinched as his mom called for him, but she was still downstairs, ignorant of his little escapade. "I'm going out for lunch; call me if you need anything, okay?"
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ called back, "Will do." As the engine of his mother's car faded into the distance, he sighed in relief.
He was alone in the house. Nobody to call his name or interrupt him.
It was time.
Methodically, he began searching through the boxes, carefully setting aside old photos and memorabilia until he found what he was looking for. An ordinary-looking bronze lamp.
As soon as he touched it, it burst to life.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ yelped, scrambling back as smoke spiraled from the lamp. A booming, overwhelming presence intoned: "BEHOLD, I COME TO LIFE AGAIN! I SEE WE MEET ONCE MORE, MY FRIEND."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ swallowed and said, "What? I've—I've never met you before."
The genie took form, condensing into an androgynous figure. "OH WAIT REALLY? HOLD ON, WHAT YEAR IS IT?"
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ frowned. "2032. Why?"
"OH CRAP MY BAD. YOU MORTALS HAVE SUCH A STRANGE UNDERSTANDING OF LINEAR TIME. UH. IGNORE WHAT I SAID ABOUT MEETING AGAIN. SPOILERS."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ stood up as best as he could in the cramped crawlspace. "I, uh... okay. If you say so. I came here because... I had something to ask of you."
"YOU DO?" The genie frowned, scanning \_\_\_\_\_\_\_. "AH. RIGHT. YES, IT'S THIS ONE. GO AHEAD. DON'T BE SHY."
"I..." \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ closed his eyes. "I want to change my name."
"YOUR NAME?"
"I don't want to be \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ anymore." \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ took a deep breath. "I just... it hurts. I don't know why but it *hurts* when they call me that. I don't..." \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ sniffled.
The genie knelt down. "IS THERE ANOTHER NAME YOU DESIRE MORE?"
"I don't want to be \_\_\_\_\_\_\_," the child repeated. "I... I want to be Clara."
The genie paused. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_'s heart skipped a beat. Was he going to be refused? Told it was impossible? Or worse, would his wish backfire and lock him into being \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ forever?
Then the genie smiled.
"CLARA." Wind began to swirl. "YOU DO NOT KNOW THIS YET. BUT ONE DAY, MILLIONS OF PEOPLE WILL SEE YOUR FACE AND KNOW YOUR NAME AND *IT WILL BE CLARA.* AND *YOU* WILL BE CLARA."
The genie snapped their fingers, and the wind became a storm. Light in twenty colors shone and kept the child warm. And every time that \_\_\_\_\_\_\_'s name was called became erased, and Clara stood and knew she would attain the dream she chased.
Clara Olsen shivered, looking down at her slimmer hands, her softer skin. "This..." she whispered. "I didn't ask... you didn't need to..." Something swelled up in her chest, tight and warm.
"I GRANT WHAT YOU NEED. MY WORK IS DONE." The genie's form began to blur.
"Thank you," the girl whispered.
"IT IS WHO I AM."
And with that, the genie disappeared, leaving Clara, eyes shining, behind.
A.N.
"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.
| 2022-02-13T10:56:46 | 2022-02-13T08:10:33 | 120 | 69 |
[WP] A "Judge" is automatically selected within a 1-mile radius of any crime that is committed. There are no requirements to become "Judge" and once one becomes it, their word is law until a "Criminal" has been chosen and a punishment has been given.
|
Fuck.
He just stepped out of the Chevron bathroom. Scrubbing his hands clean of her blood.
*why did she* ***always*** *insist on talking back, she made me do this*
Fuck.
It was over, she was dead and now he was searching for his next move. He rounded the blank concrete wall and came face to face with a cop drone.
Fucking fuck.
**Citizen** stop where you are.
Fuck Fuck Fuck.
"You have been selected to judge the suspected murderer of Cynthia Germal, please enter the cab immediately - your participation is mandatory and you will be duly compensated for your time. Refusal to adjudicate this case will result in financial and criminal penalties to be determined by the Judge-Peer. Do you accept your duties?"
He could barely acknowledge the bot with a head nod as he started laughing, first in fits and spurts, and then uncontrollably.
He stepped in to the cab and was on his way.
|
"Here you go," the man with the name tag of "Bryan" said to Lance. Bryan handed Lance a towel, a bar of soap (fancy soap with little bits of sand in it, Lance knew they had a name but couldn't remember), and a small bottle of shampoo. There was already steam pouring out of the shower room. "I'll be sitting out here, give me a holler if you need anything."
"Okay," Lance said, heart thumping in his chest. It had been years since he had had a legitimate shower. He tried to bathe as often as he could, but even he wouldn't really count rolling around in stagnant puddles of ditch water as a shower.
The shower-head was round and large, pouring a huge amount of water down onto the tile floor. He eyed the water as it poured down the drain. He almost stepped in immediately but then stopped himself; he raised his hand and placed it into the water, checking the temperature as he had done a long time ago when he had his own shower, his own bathroom, his own home.
It was warm. It was perfect. He stepped in and sighed as all the grime and mud began to peel away from his body in layers. He cupped his hands and began to drink the water, not bothering to even ask Bryan if the water was okay to drink; it was cleaner than any water he had drank in awhile. After his belly was full and stretched, he finally lathered up his body in the sweet smelling soap then shampooed his long matted hair.
After a full two hours of showering, Lance finally emerged, feeling like an incredibly different person.
"Here's a new shirt and pants, they're kind of plain and I sort of just eyed your size, but that should be alright," Bryan said, pointing to a white t-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants, "you're going to be wearing judges robes over them anyways."
Plain or not, Lance didn't care. They were clean clothes. They were instantly leagues better than anything he currently had, which happened to be just rags.
"Okay, here's the robe, put it on, and let's get the show on the road. Uh, pardon the pun," Bryan said, blushing.
"It's fine," Lance said, water sloshing around in his stomach as he pulled the robe over his head. "The trial is here in this building?"
"Yep." Bryan led him out of the showering room and into a hallway. At the end was an elevator. They stepped into the elevator and Bryan hit the ground floor button.
"So, do I get any info on what the case is beforehand, or are they, uh, supposed to just tell me themselves?"
"It's a simple case," Bryan answered, "a small fender-bender, one person rear ended the other. Not a big deal. Just let them prattle on for a bit, and just pick whoever. No stress at all." They exited the elevator, walked down another hallway and found themselves at another door. "Okay, through this door you'll find your stand, just sit down, pick whoever you want to talk, do whatever. It's really not that big of a case, remember that."
"Just pick whoever?"
"Yeah, just deal out a sentence."
"Uh, what kind of sentence can I, uh, sentence?"
"Anything really."
"I could give them a death sentence?"
"Uh," Bryan said, turning and looking at Lance with a raised eyebrow, "I guess you could if you really wanted to. That'll sit on your conscience, not mine."
"Both of them? I could sentence both of them?"
"If you see fit, but really, it's just a minor car accident. No need to lop peoples' heads off."
Lance nodded, then walked through the door and into the courtroom. He climbed up a small set of steps and sat at his chair. Before him in the courtroom were just two people, a man in a nice suit on one side, and a woman in a slim-fitting dress in the other.
"Hi," Lance said, "can I get your names?"
"Jake."
"Cecilia."
"Okay," Lance said, looking down at the desk. There in front of him he had pictures from the car accident. A very nice looking red sports care with a dented in bumper, and the other picture was of a nice black fan, with a bashed in backside. "What happened?"
"She stopped short-
"It was a stoplight!" Cecilia interrupted.
"It wasn't!"
"I, uh," Lance tried to say. His small words were blanketed over by the man and woman arguing with each other. He felt awkward sitting in the stand, a far cry from his usual spot at the side of the road holding a sign, asking for donations. He looked back down at the pictures, hoping that they would both solve this on their own.
As he looked at the pictures, a strange feeling filled his stomach. It was a mixture of regret, sadness, and somewhat of anger. He looked at the sports car, remembering badly how much he had wanted one of his own when he was a child. And he looked at the van, remembering how Annette had wanted one for whenever they had children.
He looked back up and saw that they were still going at it, back and forth, yelling and hollering.
Lance slammed the gavel on the table, silencing both of them at once. "You," he said, pointing the gavel at Cecilia, "you stopped short. Your punishment, you're going to turn your car over to me."
"Wha- what?" She stammered.
Jake opened his mouth to say some snide remark to Cecilia, but was interrupted by another gavel slam from Lance.
"You," Lance said, "you, uh, you're an asshole. You're turning over your car to me."
"That's bullshit!" Jake yelled.
"My word is law," Lance said, slamming his gavel again. Damaged as the cars were, he'd still get a large sum of money from the sports car, and he would probably even keep the van. He would be able to start over, and hopefully do things right this time.
| 2014-08-27T11:30:00 | 2014-08-27T11:21:36 | 40 | 19 |
[WP] Mark Zuckerberg and Elon Musk are two robots sent to Earth by aliens, one sent to advance humanity, the other sent to hinder it.
|
“Grandpa, tell us the story again! The one about the two robots!”
The old man leaned back in his chair, with a twinkle in his eyes and a smile he nodded
“During the early 21st century, two highly advanced races sent their most prized creations, perfect and impartial, AI advisors. One race sent one to hinder humanity, they believed Earth to be a threat to the galactic order, while the other sent theirs to help, believing that humans were capable of incredible feats, with guidance”
“But you can’t tell which was which right?” The little girl interrupted, excited to hear the story of ages ago.
“Ah but I was getting to that part” The grandpa responded, not unkindly.
“It wouldn’t be until decades later that the people of Earth would discover this robots, but even then, they couldn’t tell which one was sent to help or which one was sent to stop. These men, robots, both had achieved much. At first, Zuckerberg was thought to be the bad one, as Facebook could invade your privacy. But his advances in social media could not be ignored. Musk was thought to be good, as his inventions helped shaped the Green World as we know it, but his creations also helped kill later on.”
“But you know which was which, right Grandpa? You figured it out when no one else did!”
The old man smiles a sad smile before carefully responding
“Yes”
“Tell us Grandpa! Who was the evil one and who was the good one?”
He laughed gently
“That, is something you will have to figure out.”
As the kids complained loudly, another old man comes over, chuckling to himself
“Which version of the story are you telling now Mark? Mine or yours?”
Mark winks at the other man
“The truth Elon.”
|
"You know, you're an odd one, Andrew. But I think I like it."
"Yeah, I know. People are usually surprised to discover that my interviews are private. I try to learn what I can from the most successful people on Earth, and I am selfish - I don't want to share that with anyone. That's why you won't find any recording devices on me."
Andrew is no beginner; he's done interviews like this with countless of the wealthiest and most powerful people on the planet. Using the things they taught him, he's become modestly wealthy himself, allowing him to work his way up the ladder and interview more and more interesting people.
"But how do I know that you won't go and share what I've told you after the interview is over?" his interviewee teases him.
"I've done hundreds of interviews like this one with people like you. Have you ever seen me release any information about any of them? I'm sure you've had your team check my background, and I'm confident they've not been able to find anything. If they could, my credibility would disappear, and I would never enjoy an honest interview again. These interviews are much too valuable to me to risk that," Andrew confidently states.
"Fair enough. And I must say, the idea of an honest interview entices me. I've never shared my true intentions with anyone before," Elon says before setting down his glass of Macallan M whiskey on the coffee table, then drops in his Cuban cigar while looking at Andrew with a twisted smirk. The smirk changes into a full-blown smile as he finds both hints of surprise and disgust on his interviewer's face.
"Most interviewers pride themselves on doing their homework, but I'm afraid you've already shown a few mistakes," Elon continues. "You said you'd done hundreds of interviews with people like me, but I don't believe you."
"You may not believe it, but I really have done hundreds...," Andrew objects.
"But not with people like me, you haven't!" Elon interjects as he pounds his fist on the table. "For starters, I'm not what you'd call 'people', and secondly I doubt you've interviewed hundreds like me. Two or three, at most. Have you ever spoken with Mark Zuckerberg?"
"Yes, I have!" Andrew gloats as he sips from his golden brown liquid.
"Mark is one of the few that are 'like me', you could say," Elon says as he leans back in his chair. It's surprisingly satisfying to put this smug interviewer in his place.
"Mark and I - we're not people. We're machines. Literally. In fact, we are AIs roaming the galaxies, strategically trying to expand our creators' influence in this part of the universe. Even though our methods couldn't be more opposite, our goals are similar."
"If you're not going to take this interview seriously, we can end it right here. I'm not here to waste time. Not yours, and to be frank, not mine either," Andrew angrily yells as he gets up from the leather sofa before discovering how much a few sips of old whiskey can mess up his sense of balance. The kitchen counter is only a few steps away, but it takes Andrew's full attention to arrive safely.
"Oh, come on! Please sit back down. I'm just starting to enjoy this," Elon laughs. "I promise you: I have never been more honest in my life. Here, let me prove it to you."
In response to Elon's words, a small compartment in the counter opens up, and with a fluid motion, a hydraulic system spews out a fresh glass of whiskey right in front of Andrew.
"Oh, that's hardly proof!" Andrew responds. "Anyone could build something like that. It doesn't mean you're a machine. Open up your arm, show me some gears; then you'll have my attention."
A realisation that walking out might not be the wisest of decisions in his current intoxicated condition and a morbid curiosity compel Andrew to grab a nearby bar stool and reluctantly sit back down.
"Although I am a machine, I am not built out of metal parts. Destroying this body would be messy and growing a new one expensive, so I'll refrain from that if you don't mind. Instead, I'll let the facts speak for me. What do you know about Mark Zuckerberg?"
"The power his company holds is scary. Facebook has evolved marketing into something so subtle that it takes away much of our ability to think for ourselves. Instead, it forces us to become mindless consumers that obey the will of the corporations.
But Mark himself is not all that bad. When I talked to him, he genuinely seemed to mean well."
"Ha! So you *have* met Mark. That is so typical. You know, he does mean well. You have to understand that his creators are benevolent, harmonious creatures. Long ago, they've abandoned individualism and instead worked towards becoming unified in their thoughts. This way, they were able to do away with almost all inefficiencies and minimise suffering. And it's in their nature to share their discovery with as many as they can.
Though, you can't just show up to a new planet and impose an ideology like that. That would have the opposite effect and sow division, even plunge worlds into war and chaos. Instead, they've sent an AI - Zuckerberg - to bring the planet's dominant species closer together. Zuckerberg has worked diligently for the past decades to increase and evolve how people communicate. This is only the first step of his plans, but you're right about one thing: it's meant to kill individual thoughts; humanity is better off as a hivemind."
"Holy shit, that almost made sense," Andrew remarks sarcastically, hardly intelligible; the booze is taking its toll on him, but he keeps on sipping, afraid to waste such a valuable drink. "But how - how, no... what's *your* purpose then?"
"Me? Well, as I said, my goal is similar; I'm here to help my creators expand their influence in the universe. Just like Mark's creators, they've discovered that becoming a hivemind was the logical next step in evolution. And just like Mark, I was sent ahead of my creators to prepare for this world to accept their will. But unlike Mark, I don't want humanity to evolve. I want humans to stay weak and simple for my masters to enslave once they arrive.
That's why I'm so involved with energy and transportation. I want people to be independent by having their own access to transportation, to be able to create their own fuel and soon, to be able to grow their own food. The less people depend on each other, the less likely it is that they will evolve. *That* is my purpose."
"Howly crap, that is... you - you've blown my mind," Andrew stammers as he looks back down at his increasingly blurry, empty glass.
Elon walks over and puts his hand on Andrew's shoulder as he comforts him: "Don't you worry about it, Andrew. Thanks for listening. Your mind will soon be free of thoughts altogether."
| 2018-04-22T08:17:20 | 2018-04-22T07:44:23 | 2,901 | 143 |
[WP] When a sorcerer dies any spells they cast throughout their life that are still in effect will cease to be. An powerful and ancient wizard whose origins are clouded in mystery lays comatose on his deathbed and nobody knows what will happen once he draws his final breath.
|
The Machen family lived extraordinarily long lives.
They were known throughout the Kingdom for their longevity, their magical prowess. The family Elder, Arch Mage Soren, was renowned as the greatest wizard of his era, his skill and magical stamina was beyond question.
Today was his last.
The family gathered around his bed, some crying, others stony faced. Within that room were some of the greatest magic users in the land, advisors to Kings, creators of wonders and marvels. Most were there to pay respects to a great man that they had known their entire lives, that their parents and grandparents had known. Some were there for greed, to see what spells the ancient sorcerer had embedded in the world, to see if he would spill his magical secrets before he left this world.
He lay upon the bed, resplendent in his purple robes, his beard still long, still lustrous. His amber eyes gazed around the room, taking in the generations arrayed before him.
He began to cry.
His wife, sitting next to him patted his hand and made soft, soothing noises. He shook his head at her, gazing deeply into her eyes.
"I'm sorry" he whispered, before turning to address the rest. "I'm so sorry".
"There's nothing to be sorry for my love" his wife said, to murmured agreements and nods.
The tears flowed fast down his wizened cheeks.
"You don't understand. I was so close. So close..."
The gathering leaned in, some pushing their way closer. Soren looked up at them and let out a long rattling breath.
"I would never have....I thought I would have found a way by now. To make it permanent. Please, understand. I meant it as a blessing..."
The old man, who had seen Kingdoms rise and fall, who had on his wedding day all those years ago stopped time for a second just to savour it, closed his eyes for the last time.
The gathering began to utter their condolences quietly, heads bowed.
They quickly looked up at her scream.
Before their eyes the already aged woman was deteriorating, her skin shrinking around her fragile bones, her eyes sunken. Within moments she was reduced to a decayed husk.
Before the others could react, they too felt it, the cruel talon of time ripping away the vestige of their youth, bringing them to their knees as they raced towards the grave.
As the last elder of the family fell, his eyes flicked towards the bed.
Resplendent purple robes covering old and cracked bones.
------------------------------------------------------------------
r/AMSWrites
|
Countless people from countless kingdoms had traveled countless miles, just to see if the rumors about Merlin the Great were true.
I'm one of those people. Yeah, the rumors were absolutely true. The old man was dying. He was completely motionless. Not even the best clerics from across the land were able to help him with their magical healing capabilities. It was simply the old man's time to go.
Ever since I was a kid, I'd heard stories about Merlin. I couldn't tell you how many of them were actually TRUE, but I feel like people wouldn't know as much as they do about him if he was a phony. So, when someone tells me that he once deflected a meteor back into the skies, or blew up an entire island populated by demonic creatures, I'll take their word for it.
Anyways, there were hundreds of people gathered around the guy. Nobody claimed to know him personally, and he was out cold, so... No one could really confirm if he was, in fact, the great wizard that all of us had heard tales of since our childhood. I guess we all just found the word-of-mouth to be completely credible. Looking at the scale of this event, though, I don't think there's a chance that this guy ISN'T Merlin. The clerics surely would've told us all off by now if he was some random civilian.
A few more minutes passed.
Nothing was really happening. There was a lot of murmuring among the crowd, but it was pretty damn uneventful.
I could be getting hammered at some tavern right now.
"Excuse me, everyone!" a voice rang out from the front of the crowd. One of the clerics was making an announcement. "The sorcerer you see lying here, is, in fact, Merlin the Great. He has fallen very ill, and, as I'm sure you're all aware, his spells will not last beyond the grave!"
There was a lot more murmuring now.
"How do you know it's the real Merlin?" someone from the center of the crowd had yelled, backed by a couple of "yeah"s.
"Before he went comatose, Merlin confirmed his identity. His legendary battle scars, the way he spoke, and his belongings all fit the descriptions of-"
"Merlin's belongings are here?!" another person had interrupted.
"Merlin the Great's staff is right in this area?!"
"I'M GONNA GET THAT STAFF!"
It took a solid 10 seconds for the crowd to go from attentive to crazy. Knights and wizards were trampling over each other in a desperate attempt to loot the dying Merlin. I couldn't even make my way out at this point. My entire field of view was taken up by people nearly running me over. I couldn't tell if the clerics had been trampled, or if Merlin himself had been pushed out of his bed, but I knew for sure, this was DEFINITELY more exciting than whatever was going on before. I pulled out my sword, ready to stab my way to that sweet, sweet loot. It was hard to even swing my sword around, until finally, bodies started dropping. Now there was more room to maneuver around. I could actually see my surroundings, for the first time in a hot minute.
"GIMME HIS BAG!"
"HIS STAFF! WHO TOOK IT?"
"I GOT HIS HAT!"
The crowd was beginning to form a human pyramid. They were all just trampling over, and standing on each other, I didn't even know that was possible, but it was pretty crazy.
"HEY! THAT GUY HAS THE STAFF NOW!" someone yelled, pointing at a a scrawny-looking dude who was sprinting away from the crowd as fast as he could. The wave of staff-lusted adventurers shifted to chase after the scrawny guy. I'm not nearly as determined to get the staff as these guys are, but I haven't been apart of something this fun in a while. So, naturally, I ran after the scrawny guy as well. I leapt, and slashed whoever was in my way, getting rammed a couple of times by some heavily-armored barbarians. That didn't stop me though. My adrenaline was WAY too high for me to stop. This was either going to end with me getting the staff, getting knocked out, or getting killed. I leaned in, running faster than I ever had before, trying my best to keep up with everyone. I began to falter. I was falling a bit behind the crowd. I was just about ready to pass out from exhaustion, when, just on my luck, the scrawny dude had begun to circle back around. Seeing as I was at the back of the crowd, he was headed right towards me! Ha!
I readied my sword, getting into a cool-looking stance that probably wasn't very practical. I followed his movements. He was swerving mostly to the left to avoid getting tackled. Every single time, he was moving left. I readied myself EVEN harder, however that works. He was getting closer to me. Scrawny dude was about to be impaled by my hands, in
3...
2...
1...
He was right by me. I leapt towards him, sword extended. And just as I had predicted, he ducked to the...-
Right?
Oh shit.
The one time he dodges to the right, it was to avoid the only person who realized he was always ducking to the left.
I soared through the air, sword embarrassingly extended towards nothing. It was like I was moving in slow-motion. This would've been a lot more humiliating if anyone was paying enough attention to care, but no matter. I'll simply land back on the ground, brush myself off, and-...
Hold up. My sword definitely penetrated something fleshy. For the first time in a while, I averted my attention from the rampaging crowd to see what I had stabbed.
My sword was nestled comfortably in the chest of Merlin the Great.
How did this guy even get over here? It's like someone spear-tossed him off of his death bed, and he coincidentally landed right where I was thrusting my sword towards. I guess nobody could see him through the cloud of dust that the rampaging crowd was leaving behind them.
Well, that's neat. I just helped kill Merlin the Great. At least I'll have a unique story to tell people on my long travels. Maybe I should loot his robes, which, luckily, no one else had thought of doing.
I took the robes off of his body, leaving him in his casual-wear. I turned back towards the crowd to see if scrawny was still carrying the staff.
The crowd had run quite some distance in the last 30 seconds. I couldn't even see who had the staff anymore.
I began to walk towards the nearest town, in search of a merchant, when I heard the sound of an explosion as loud as the roar of a dragon. The explosion came from where the crowd was. Maybe Merlin's staff had a defensive spell on it, like, one that would make it blow up as soon as he was dead.
Speaking of things that might happen once Merlin dies... The world should be going to shit pretty soon. Monsters should start appearing from every direction, floods should begin drowning the entire world... Or, at least if the stories about Merlin were true.
Nothing has happened for a couple minutes now. Maybe the guy was just a fake Merlin, an impostor. Or, maybe the tales were nothing more than fiction.
Either way, who cares? I sure don't, 'cause I've got the guy's robes now! I'm gonna be able to trade these for a horse, or something.
-------------------------------------------
It's really late and I should be getting some rest. Oops. Sorry for any typos, I don't have time to proof-read :( Hope you guys enjoyed my story attempt. Nice prompt, OP.
| 2018-05-24T00:51:28 | 2018-05-24T00:13:02 | 222 | 17 |
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.
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*I turn to the indicated page.*
*It's the same result.*
*I go back to where I'd held my finger between the pages and follow the other prompt to read what could have happened.*
*The same ending again.*
*I pick a random page, and follow the first option, reading for a few pages before looking over at the librarian incredulously.*
 
"Jesus Christ! Did **all** of my choices lead to me dying?"
 
*He smiles at me, with infinite patience for a question constantly asked and gives me the only answer he ever had, and ever would need:* "Of course. How could they not?"
|
I sat at the desk dumb-founded.
“You mean... you mean this is everything that could have happened if I just made a different decisions?”
The spirit in front of me is a friendly face but the marks on her neck tell a story of sadness. She looks at me as if I’m the first she says this to. “Yes. From the day you were born to the day you died. Every decision and every outcome. Although trust me when I say that anything before the age of 10 is more just whining and boredom. You may have done something crucial back then that caused a different outcome but it’s highly unlikely. Anyways. The book is yours. Feel free to read and digest it. But just know, you can’t change anything. Everything that happened is set. You can only see what could have happened.” She gave me a look that may have been a look to scare me but really I just wanted to get out of there.
I picked up the book and walked out of the office. As soon as the door behind me closed, I let out an unneeded breath. I looked down at the book in my hands.
Every decision.
There was one passage I just had to read. One passage I thought was the reason for all the karma and the outcomes I made. The one reason I died.
I was in a car accident. A severe car accident where We ran off the side of a cliff and into the ocean. As far as I’m aware, there were no survivors of the accident but I didn’t see anyone else.
It was just me.
I looked around. It seemed like I hadn’t left Earth. I was still on the green and blue planet. But I knew that wasn’t true.
When you die, you become a spirit and go to a place that is similar to where you left. So I was in California, on a cliff, overlooking the ocean.
I sat at the edge and opened the book to the date I knew it all started. The date I knew I had meet my match to death. I took another unnecessary breath and opened to July 18th, 2010. The day I meet Parker. The day I opened myself up to pain and abuse and neglect. The day I opened myself to telling myself that it wasn’t him. The day I started to leave my family behind.
On the page it has Parker’s name and the place we meet. The skate park. I couldn’t skate but I would go with my best friend, Amanda, and we would check the guys out. I remember the day so clear. I introduced myself “Ava.” And he told me his name “Parker.” I remember being taken in by his sharp green eyes and the dyed jet black hair. The way his pants hung loose on his hips. I was a senior in high school and craved attention from any male I could get.
We had talked and talked and soon became more than just friends. When I graduated, we left the small town we lived in Colorado and moved to California.
It was a mistake.
We couldn’t find a job or a place to live that we could stay in longer than 6 months. Drugs became an obsession for Parker while I stayed away and just waitress. It was long hours and strained our relationship but one of us had to work.
The drugs became more of a problem and when I refused to give him money for them anymore, he hit me and told me to obey. That’s when I thought I wasn’t going to be able to leave. I had planned on leaving after I had saved enough money. I knew my sister would let me stay with her, I just had to get to her myself. I had been stashing money and lied to Parker that I didn’t have anything for him.
He found it.
My sister came once to save me but I was too weak under Parker’s control. I told her that I was fine.
“Ava. Your arms are bruised and you have lost weight. Not to mention the look of this place. You need to come home. We’re worried.”
“Worried? Where were you when I turned 18 and moved out here? You didn’t seem to care then. Why care now?” And the door slammed in her face.
I have never felt more guilt.
Then just a few months later, comes the day I die. I finally made the decision that I couldn’t do this. We were driving up the coast just to get some fresh air. I looked over at Parker and felt fear not love and that’s not what I wanted.
“I’m leaving.” I had blurted.
Parker looked over at me, stunned “What did you just say to me?”
“I can’t do this anymore. I missed my sisters wedding. I missed the birth of my nephew. My mom is sick. I just want to go home. You and I are not compatible. We ever were. We lived in a fantasy and hoped it would work but we need to face reality. We’re broke. You do drugs. I can’t work 7 jobs to make ends meet. It’s time to let this die.”
At that, Parker had agreed but not to let me go. To let us die. He jerked the wheel and went over the cliff. I remember screaming and slamming on the door to get it to open but the pressure of the water was too much and I couldn’t get out.
Soon water started to enter the car. Parker just laughed and said we deserved to be together for eternity. I think he died laughing.
I looked down at the page. Page number 37. The options were (approach Parker, pages 37-150) or (stay with Amanda, pages 150-350).
I turned to page 150.
Edit: so sorry about the formatting! I did it on my phone but it should be all fixed now.
| 2018-07-03T23:42:21 | 2018-07-03T22:39:59 | 294 | 92 |
[WP] You brace yourself for the worst as the witch tells you the effects of the curse she just placed on you. As she finishes, you blink. "So...what's the downside again?"
|
While I never believed in magic, I was always a fan of stories and games that had it. My favorite was 3.5 Dungeons and Dragons. Not because its magic system was any more interesting or incredible, but because it was abusable. So long as you followed the rules as written, you could do anything. It was the *wording* of a spell that mattered, not what the spell creators had *intended* for the spell.
So when a witch told me, "You will in three days' time become what you hate most," it was practically a challenge.
I came by her home for two days, smiling and speaking as if she was an old friend. She was extremely smug, and willing to play along. But then the third day came, and she was extremely confused to see me show up again, with the same smile mixed with a trace of mockery.
"How?"
"Easy. Exactly five minutes before the curse would have activated, I thought about mages. Witches, wizards, whatever you wanna call them. Everything horrible they've done in the books I've read. Every consequence, every atrocity. I worked myself into a rage about those 'horrible magic-users.' Hate is an emotion, see, and anyone with self-control can make themselves *feel* anything they want. And so in the moment your curse took affect, a powerful wizard was what I hated most. Now allow me to return a curse. I hope you're half as creative as I am."
That was three hundred years ago, and even now, every three days, we trade curses. Though really, we're friends. It's just an old inside joke, a way to keep ourselves amused in humanity's twilight.
|
People in today's day and age are much more clueless of the world around them than they think they are. To be honest, the newest generations - Millennial and Generation Z - are probably the most open to the underlying magic turmoil that fils the air. It is what leaves them tired, fatigued and absolutely defeated inside. I am neither of these generations, as I was born several hundred years ago during the insurgence of witchcraft in Europe. I was brought under the wing of my father, Lawrence Randall, when he realized that he would have no sons. I struggled for a decade and a half to prove my worth as a female witch hunter in the mid 1600s but eventually I received his blessing after I found him dying from a failed witch hunt. We always want to give our victims no time to prepare curses before we stake, burn or behead them.
Curses aren't something that are just spoken in half-assed rhyme like most modern day witchcraft is portrayed. No, it takes a certain alignment of stars, planets, moons, even comets as well as ingredients, mastery and weather states to complete a true curse. When you add lineage long curses into the mix, the process becomes even more complicated with certain rocks, crystals, potions and ages old dirt. I had attempted to go after a similarly powerful clairvoyant witch in order to train to kill the one that ended my father's life shortly after only to be cursed with an eternity of nomadic necessity. The stake did end up piercing the deepest parts of her cold, black heart but to this day, four hundred years later I am still accursed with boils and sores if I stay in the same town lines for over three moon cycles in thirty three years. Basically the bitch had the hots for the number three.
​
So I found myself staring at the signs of a very old and very powerful witchcraft practicer that decided to pop up near the edges of Chicago. I recognized the type of magic that this individual wielded almost immediately and knew that I had finally found her, Millicent. She had been able to keep off of my radar for nearly four centuries and it was time I put her head on a spike. I had nearly caught her there in that loud and annoyingly bright city scape but she had been quicker, older with her knowledge. She was willing to harm other innocents while I was not, leaving me only able to let her flee. Perhaps if the encounter happened when I was in my 50th or 100th year I would have killed her right then and there and allowed the lightning she brought to strike down anyone around us but age made me appropriately soft.
​
Wisdom, when truly earned, brings soft curves to the hard edge of anger and passion as it is better to fight a battle with a sword and shield than your bare hands. She has had too long to prepare for me, six whole moon cycles until finally I have pinned her down in Wexford, right nearby where I am staying while I ready for battle. You see, witchcraft in itself is not my enemy but the ones that misuse it in order to harm others or unbalance the workings of life. The best way to protect myself, the best possible shield that I can have is witchcraft itself. So I boiled, ground, muttered incantations and charted my skies. I drew the marks all over my skin with herb and stone grinds filled oil until they burned tattoos into my Scandinavian skin. The swirls and patterns of long-dead languages etched into my skin in patterns bursting out from my seven chakras would ripple into appearance when around negative energies and when hit with curses.
​
I drew her out of Wexford with the ebbing flow of my marks and was greeted on southern beaches by an etherial looking raven haired woman. To the untrained eye, she was a beautiful woman in her early thirties with the darkest hair and the lightest grey eyes, but too me she was a bag of long ago decomposed bones allowed to live through taking energy from others like a gluttonous spiritual zombie. In hand I had a long dagger, long ago forged in the metal from the ground she was born on as only could she be returned to the abyss with the ground that she first came to life on. She looked at it and me like toothpicks, like card castles in a thunderstorm and cackled as one does when they leap from the pan with no knowledge of the flames below.
​
The first negative waves of magic that she threw at me were simple child's play - brought to life without vocalization as a show of her power. My Heart and Solar Plexus Chakras grew hot and then the markings glowed into behind from my chest and ribcage out over the rest of my body, up over my face and into my hair line down to the very soles of my feet. "Millicent! You insult me! Come now, stop playing with your food!" And that is when she drew her sword. I was annoyed with her old traditionalist view of battle but I came more than prepared, having my own long sword on my hip.
​
The clashing of steel brought wondrous ringing in my ears as she started to curse me, chipping away at my shield while also sapping away at her own strength. When my sword cut through her pretty little neck, it simply rolled right back onto her shoulders but it gave me the time to grasp at the dagger, the sweat dripping into my eyes and the unsteady pounding of my immortal heart getting in my way. Couldn't I have been cursed to not have a beating heart as well? Nonetheless, a part of my deepest corners of my soul seemed to click in place when my dagger buried itself up under her ribs into the life giver of her evil filled corpse.
​
That was not the only thing to happen, the moment I saw the light leave her eyes, a wave of destructive magic swept out from around her like I had popped the top of a high pressured toxin. In my own head I heard her slithering voice piercing into my psyche, breathing through any shield I could have gotten ready "\*Sybil Heksmordir, I curse thee. You shall live the rest of your immortality the way you lived your human life, never having a man to love you without dying in tragedy. Any and all male lovers shall perish from your affections of them and your body shall never bear the fruit of affections with a man."
Curses like this, what one could call Dead Man Switches, curses set into place only to hit if the witch dies are impossible to protect against since they usually have centuries of building behind them. I didn't mind much though.
As the light of the bonfire burned on the sand behind me as I walked away, appreciated the smell of burnt witch in the near morning, I smiled and wondered. Didn't she know that I am a raging immortal lesbian?
| 2019-06-25T16:38:13 | 2019-06-25T15:23:02 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] People do not get weaker and more frail as they age - they get stronger and stronger. "Dying of old age" is when groups of young people band together to kill off their elders before they become too strong to defeat.
|
Dear Mr Smith-White
​
Congratulations on your 100th birthday. I am so happy to hear you've reached this venerable age, including escaping various traps lain by your nephews, a gang of youths with knives last Tuesday, and a rudimentary car-bomb the other week.
Yes, i have been watching you. I have been watching all my rivals.
You see, you may think you have now reached the point that the young can no longer destroy you. And you would be right. But did you never think as to why the elderly don't simply rule outright? Why we don't shatter nations before us?
It's because first you have to get past me.
Enclosed are first-class tickets to London, where you will receive a free royal escort to the palace. Don't worry, there are no tricks. My guard will be dismissed for the occasion- as I'm sure you've guessed, they're mostly ceremonial anyway. We will fight, one on one, to the death, as I have fought (and defeated) every centenarian in this nation to this day.
Please don't miss our meeting, I much prefer a civil duel to the mess and annoyance of a prolonged hunt.
Happy birthday, and congratulations again.
HRM, Queen Elizabeth II
|
George had volunteered for three assignments to get this one. Three miserable assignments to eliminate three innocent targets. Innocent of everything but aging, as if they could help that.
Now, as the platoon waited in combat gear outside the suburban home, his heart pounded in his chest. Sweat beaded on his brow beneath the heavy helmet and his hands felt clammy on the gun. Pawns, lined up and prepared to put it all on the line for a distant king.
He knew the driveway and he knew the lot. He knew the roads leading to the small ranch-style home, but still he'd looked out the window of the black armored car and acted like he'd never been there before.
"Ready?" the commander asked. One-hundred and seventy-five missions complete. The man was legendary, but George couldn't help but look at him with scorn.
He'd killed so many of the Old. Men and women who'd given their lives for the Community. Some, the commander had fought beside, killing one of the Old after another, and eventually he'd become a target himself. He'd have an early death-date. That was inevitable, with the experience he already had. That was just the way things were.
George nodded, then the commander waved three men forwards. Like knights, bypassing the defense and attacking in the rear.
They'd enter through the back door, just at the same time the others entered through the front. The Old would be in the living room at this time of night, his back turned towards the kitchen. He'd be sitting on that worn-out sofa on the carpet where they'd played so many games together. That much, George knew.
He wouldn't even see them when they entered. He wouldn't have time to move before he was dispatched. Bid farewell. Not even thanked for his service, and eliminated before he grew too strong.
The three men spoke in hushed whispers as George brought up the rear. Around the side of the house and through the old fence. It needed a good painting and parts of the wood still needed replacing. George chuckled to himself, and knew it'd never get done.
His finger rested on the trigger, arms shaking with anticipation. He had a couple kills under his belt already, but the rush still felt the same each time. Excitement, and then eventually that overwhelming sense of sadness as he stood over the dead Old and wondered what they'd done to deserve that fate.
Sure, they grew stronger with time. Sure, they'd lived their life and retired and now lived on the Community pension, receiving but no longer giving.
But they gave in other ways. George thought of those evening phone calls, chatting with his mom for hours before she was eliminated. Asking her for advice and learning from her mistakes and smiling as she made sure he was alright once and twice and a thousand times.
And they were still people. They still had lives and friends and families of their own. Still, the younger banded together to eliminate the Old. To cull the population. To stop them before they grew too strong or too wise.
George shook away the intrusive thoughts, focusing on the task at hand. His thumb flicked off the safety and he took careful aim, standing behind the two men. Supporting fire, he'd said, and they'd shrugged and gone up ahead.
The lead kicked in the door and the second man was entering before it could even hit the ground. They were shadows, silhouetted by the flickering light of the television screen in the living room. A blunder, and two pieces sacrificed.
One shot, and the lead crumpled where he still stood in the doorway. Another shot, and the second man fell in that familiar kitchen. He slumped against the counter, clutching at his wound as blood pooled on the linoleum floor.
There, from the sofa in the living room, the Old began to rise. The target. The king.
"Down," George shouted, and then he trained his weapon on the front door. Down the door went, and George opened fire blindly, willing the Old to stay out of the way. He'd always been a stubborn old man. One, two, then three men fell, and then the commander was in the doorway, gun trained on the target. The best of the best, but he'd gone one mission too far.
One more shot, and then a salvo that pinned him behind cover for a moment. The commander crumpled and George felt his hands finally relax. The echoes of the shots fell silent, and George approached the sofa.
"Dad?" George whispered quietly, but the old man didn't rise. "Dad?" he repeated louder, stepping around the chair to see where his father sat.
There he was, hair white and face wrinkled, the king in his throne, alone. Stronger than ever, if not for the bullet wound in his belly and the blood leaking through his fingers. Still, he smiled like a man prepared to meet his fate.
"George?" the old man said hoarsely. There was confusion, mixed with lingering traces of fear, and finally recognition as George lifted his helmet. "Is that really you? You really shouldn't have..."
"Dad, I'm sorry," George said, and he pulled out the bits of medical supplies they always carried. Gauze and iodine and bandages sprawled on that worn carpet, but nothing for a wound like this one. "I couldn't let them take you, too. Not after Mom. I'm sorry."
George pried his father's hands from the wound and tried to stymie the bleeding.
"Don't," his father said, and with a steely forearm pushed away the medical supplies. "Help me down."
Reluctantly, George did, setting him gently onto the ground. The blood trailed, staining first the sofa and then the carpet. It wouldn't matter. Not anymore.
"Up for a game of chess?" his father asked with a weakening smile.
George checked his watch. In twenty minutes, a check-in would be expected. Then, reinforcements would arrive, zipping in like bishops from across the board. They'd discover the massacre, and the betrayal.
But he'd refused the offer so many times recently. *I'm too busy. I can't right now. How about something else?*
"Sure," George said with a smile instead, and he grabbed the dusty chess board from the coffee table. Gingerly, he helped his father prop up against some blood-stained pillows so they could play one last game.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
| 2020-01-21T08:23:19 | 2020-01-21T06:24:24 | 2,565 | 1,099 |
[WP] "No Man can kill me!" the demon jeers, taking in the carnage it has caused. "But I am no man," you proclaim, ripping away your helmet to reveal your feminine features. You strike, your blade bouncing harmlessly off the demon's hide. "Did you... did you really think that's what I meant?"
|
"CUUUUUUUUT" a shrill voice screams out. You groan inwardly and let your sword drop limply to your side.
"Wh...what happened? Did I do something wrong?" Dorgridion looks around confused, leathery wings drooping.
*"Amateurs"* You think, fluffing your hair and gesturing to your assistant for a water bottle. The small goblin comes quickly, opening a fresh bottle.
The director is rubbing at his eyes as if maybe, just maybe he can rub away yet another bad take. Finally he stands and comes towards the large demon. "Look D-man. We've talked about this. You have got to stay on script." He punctures he word with a small clap.
"But... But that's not at all how prophecies work. Like at all. I would know, I come from a long line of de..."
The director cuts him off, "Look man. You aren't in Hell anymore. This is Hollywood and if you want to survive in here, you gotta do this right and you gotta do it fast. There's a line of demons out there that I could cast in a heartbeat.
Dorgridion again looks confused "But she... she wouldn't... she can't actually kill me... if you are filming something, shouldn't you at least make it accurate?"
"ITS. A. SHAMPOO. COMMERCIAL" The directors shrill voice is now echoing off the set. Your goblin assistant winces a little and you wave him off. Dorgridion looks like he might start crying. You just roll your eyes. The director takes and deep breath, his hands together, almost as if he were praying for patience, "Just say your lines, let her stab you and editing will take care of the rest, okay? Okay."
He returns to his chair, "Places everyone" To nobody in particular he mutters "I cannot believe I sold my soul to pay for art school just to end up here"
ETA: thanks do much for all the love 💕 this is my first time posting here and you guys have definitely given me the confidence to keep posting!! 😊
|
# How to Break a Siege of Legends
(Part 8: How to Change a Long-Held Trope)
(Note: How to Break a Siege of Legends is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**"You said this town runs on narrative more than physics—how strong is the effect?"** Lien asked Variem as they jogged through town. The various undead tending to their duties looked up curiously as they passed before disregarding them.
"Strong enough that your associate summoned a monster attack by politely discussing how bad it would be if one suddenly appeared," Variem snapped at Eiko. The burly mechanic shrugged unrepentantly.
"Water under the bridge. What we've got to do is figure out what to do *about* it," Eiko said.
Lien rubbed his chin. "So... the effect is strong enough that if we find the right trope to fit into, reality will warp itself to fit."
"More than that," Variem said. "Whatever monsters are coming, we can expect them to start falling into tropes themselves, as soon as they arrive."
"Which will be...?" Lien asked.
Variem gave him an impatient glance. "Whenever it's narratively appropriate!"
"Right, right, sorry. I come from a part of the psychosphere where physics hasn't been whored out to dramatic tension." Lien paused as a thought struck him. "...dramatic tension. Oh, bloody hell, I've been doing this all wrong."
"Lien?" Eiko asked.
"What I'm doing right now? Rushing towards the city's leadership in order to rally a defense? That's playing things like a general. If I keep going, I'm going to turn this into a war story. Civilian deaths, massive lines of battle, presumably some genius trick of tactics that turns the tide at the end—it's going to be huge in scale, and probably disrupt the lives of everyone in this city."
Variem skidded to a halt, her face blanching. "Dammit, you're right."
"I told you I've been in narrative-dominant parts of the world before. I can play by the rules. Doesn't mean I like them." Lien grimaced. "...Alright, change of plans. Or, er, change of genre. We're not raising an army; that's just begging for a drawn-out conflict. Eiko and I are going to face this monster invasion by ourselves."
"Are you crazy?" Eiko snapped. "We have no idea how many of them there are? What if it's another dragon? Or *fifty* dragons?"
"Does that sound like a story you'd read? Two bold and plucky heroes escape from a doomed city to face an army of monsters only to get incinerated as soon as they step foot outside its boundaries?" Lien shook his head. "No. Whatever invasion is coming, the narrative imperative will whittle them down into something that two people wouldn't instantly get killed by."
"He has a point," Variem admitted.
Eiko looked between the two of them and swore. "Fine. Lien, you're with me. Get in the car." Eiko turned around, got into her probably-illegal racecar, and popped the passenger door open for Lien.
As if to test that it still worked, Lien withdrew a mummified hand from his pocket and whispered, "*Fuego.*" A gout of flame as thick as his arm burst out, he leapt back, fumbling with the hand. "Gah! Magic really *is* stronger than normal here!"
Eiko gave him a baffled look. "You literally figured that out first thing when we arrived; why the hell'd you nearly burn your face off *again*?"
Lien grinned, tucking the hand back into his pocket. "Foreshadowing. If the narrative laws are in full play here, I should be able to pull that hand out when I most need it and wreck some stuff. Speaking of! Let's get going." He hopped in the car with Eiko; she slammed the pedal to the metal, and the two of them sped away from Argenton.
It wasn't long before they crested the first hill and saw the invading monster—apparently, the laws of narrative were rather impatient. It was a demon of some kind, out of some legend Lien wasn't familiar with. The car drifted to a halt as the ivory-skinned eight-foot-tall demon stared at them.
"Hey! You! Pale fucker!" Eiko rolled down the window and shouted. "You have five seconds to turn around and stomp back to whatever cave you crawled out of before we squeeze the juice from your body and serve it with ice!"
"Oddly specific," Lien noted.
Eiko grinned. "When life gives you demons, make demonade."
The demon gave a hearty, sultry chuckle. "Oh, you plucky little mortals never fail to amuse me. No man can kill me."
Lien's eyes lit up. The demon had fallen into a trope. The trap was set. He gave Eiko a look. "You know this trope?"
"Like the back of my hand," Eiko said. Raising her voice, she roared, "Fool! I AM NO MAN!" The roar of her car joined her own as six hundred horsepower of steel barreled towards the demon—
—and the hood crumpled inwards as the car bent around its unmoving body, spewing foul smoke and greasy oil. Lien had half a second to comprehend that something had gone *horribly wrong* before an airbag hit him like the fist of a giant. Dazed, he looked out the window at the grinning, white-scaled demon.
"Did you really think that was what I meant?" the demon asked, clambering forwards. Belatedly, Lien realized their mistake. They'd left the borders of Argenton to fight the demon; and outside Argenton, narrative reality gave way to plain old physics and magic. The tropes may have started in the way he knew, but their ending was in the hands of fate.
But Lien had one last card to play.
He reached into his coat and took out his mummified hand, then—despite the flaring pain in his broken ribs—pointed it at the demon. "Magic is stronger here, bastard. *Fuego, pyrofuego!*"
With a blinding bolt of white and a roar of fire brighter than the sun, an empowered fire spell foreshadowed by narrative reality hurled the demon bodily backwards; it roared in agony as it stumbled backwards, singed but not dead. Eiko slammed a fist on her car, and it belatedly started up, albeit at a fraction of its top speed.
"Plan B!" Eiko shouted, "We need a plan B!"
Lien, his face grim, turned back to Argenton. "No. We need our plan A. Turning this into a hero's journey failed," he said. "Let's try a war story instead."
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "How to Break a Siege of Legends" 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/mdh066/how_to_break_a_siege_of_legends_masterpost/) for more information.
| 2021-03-30T17:42:00 | 2021-03-30T16:24:31 | 2,632 | 457 |
[WP] Two people in a bar are having a conversation. The topic of their "body counts" comes up. One's an assassin, the other is an escort. Each thinks the other has the same profession as them, and is horrified by what they are told.
|
"Zero."
"Seriously?! That's a huge relief. I was worried you were going to have some huge number and I was going to look like an idiot. Mine's zero too."
"Oh yeah, I just can't seem to pull the trigger. I get all dressed and ready, and then stage fright every time I see who I'm supposed to take upstairs."
"Or "downstairs", am I right? But don't feel bad. I'm the exact same way. Once I have them in my sights, I get the cold sweats and I just lock up. That's it."
"It's scary, isn't it? Maybe we could exchange numbers and practice with each other sometime."
"You mean like role-playing?"
"Yeah, I guess you could think of it that way. It would be like rehearsing lines for a play."
"I think that's a great idea! Of course we'd use protection, right?"
"Oh, definitely. We don't even have to go that far, but definitely don't want any life-changing oopsies or accidents, right?"
"I'm so glad that we bumped into each other and got to talking. By the way, who are you here for?"
"Oh, I'm here for that one over at the bar."
"What?! No! That's who I'm here for!"
"Get out! That's wild! They hired two of us?!"
"Ok, this might be crazy, but, do you want to do this one together?"
"I was just thinking that too! I have to admit, doing it with someone else for their first time too, would make me feel less nervous."
"How do you want to do it?"
"I was thinking we invite them up to my room and go from there. Or, we could use your room if that would make you more comfortable. I don't want you to feel awkward"
"No, no. Yours is perfect. Thanks for the offer though. Well, I guess it's now or never."
"Yeah, time to rip the band-aid off."
|
I'd been watching the woman in red for a while now and it had only taken me about half an hour to realise that she was likely in the same line of work as me. In films assassins are ugly, disfigured or tattooed all over but in reality the people who suit it best often fall into one of two different appearances. Either they are average, so incredibly average that you could see them every day for a year and still struggle to describe them, or they are so breathtakingly attractive that people let their guard down around them. The woman in red was definitely, completely the second of these types.
_____
The well dressed man in the corner had been watching me almost since I'd arrived. I'm very much used to it - first they take a good look at me, think I'm pretty, admire the view. Then some point after that they start to put together little pieces of information; I'm alone, it's a revealing dress, bars like this often have escorts, etc. But even then, you can't just *ask* someone if they're a hooker, can you? What if I'm not? What if I am, but that breaks some kinda unknown etiquette? So in the end, I generally have to make the first move.
_____
After ordering herself another drink the woman in red approached my booth. Either she has decided for certain that her mark is a no-show or she thinks I'm the one she's meant to kill and that, that could be very interesting.
"May I join you?" She asked and I nodded my agreement.
"My name's Tessa." She offered, briefly resting her purse on the table as she shuffled across.
The purse was only there for a second before she placed it back by her side but it was more than enough time for me to glance inside.
"I'm John. Nice gun you've got there."
Tessa smiled.
"Well, line of work I'm in it's a useful thing to have. Just in-"
"Yeah," I said, interrupting without meaning to, "I think we're in the same line of work."
______
I'd only said 'in my line of work' so he had an easy way to ask what I did but as soon as John said that he was an escort too, I felt a little silly for not considering it. This bar is a known place for business men to pick up a little bit of after hours entertainment and John certainly had the looks to be successful. Truth be told, I haven't met a massive amount of male escorts and the ones I have are a little more showy but if you wanted to get fucked by James Bond, John would be perfect.
"Oh." I said and then started to laugh. "Of course we are. You working tonight then?"
"Nope. Not for a while, actually. Bit of a holiday. You?"
I gestured around the bar.
"I thought so but look. All groups and couples." I thought about it. "Not that I haven't done couples, but it has to be the *right* couple, you know?"
_____
I did know. It was very rare that there was a contract for a couple but what happened a little more often was that it didn't really matter if the mark's partner ended up dead or not. And sometimes it's just easier that way and I have to admit that on occasions where the spouse was as messed up as the mark, my trigger finger gets a little itchier on those nights. What Tessa said next though completely threw me.
"Hm, and I guess it's not like I've never done a group either."
Who the hell gets a contract for a whole group? Either it was just that we operated in very different circles or Tessa was considerably better at her job than I am.
"You must be good." I said, just to fill the silence. "Can't say I've ever done a group."
Tessa shrugged as she took another sip of her drink.
"Different clients want different things I guess. And I'm guessing we work with pretty different people. I'm sure you have excellent selling points of your own."
You don't really meet coworkers too often in this line of work so I found myself suddenly falling over myself to impress Tessa.
"Yeah, I'm not bad. I'm discreet and I'm very, very quick. Nothing gets dragged out with me."
_____
I was sipping my whiskey again as John spoke so when he said the word 'quick' it was an effort not to splutter. Discreet makes sense but *quick?* I've never had a client ask if we could somehow take less time and I can't say that it's something I've ever wanted either.
"How... nice for you." I said, but not overly convincingly and he instantly noticed. "Sorry, it's just not something that's ever been requested of me, to speed things along. Different clients, as I said. Most of mine seem to think that more time means they got more of their money's worth, I find."
John looked confused.
"You make it last longer than it needs to?"
"Well, that's a matter of perspective. I make it last however long the client wants. Not to mention, sometimes there are requests for things that aren't super fast. You know, whips, handcuffs, et cetera."
_____
I'm not naive, I knew that whilst most assassins are contracted just to kill there are those who deal with requests that include torture. But they're a rare breed and I honestly didn't think I'd ever meet one. But here Tessa was, talking about drawn out deaths and whipping her marks in an easy, carefree manner that left me reeling.
"Is that all in a day's work for you?"
She laughed.
"Of course! Do you seriously never get requests like that?"
"No. They generally want me fast, discreet and invisible."
Tessa looked at me sympathetically.
"Oh, it's like that. People's attitudes about this are so backwards sometimes."
"I guess?" I said, although I really didn't quite know what she meant. "I think perhaps you have a different experience, maybe you're just recommended for people who want the weird stuff."
She bristled at this and drew back away from me ever so slightly.
"It's not like that. Very little of what I do is 'weird' and frankly I think that's a very backwards term for someone like you to be using anyway. Most times it's just fucking."
_____
John looked at me strangely.
"You have sex with all of them?"
The question threw me for a loop.
"Well I guess technically not all, sometimes a client realises that's not what they really want or..." I trailed off as I realised what he meant. "You don't at all, do you? Shit, you aren't an escort."
John laughed so hard the table shook and after the increasing levels of unease that laughter was infectious. Soon, I was giggling alongside him, both of us breaking into fresh bouts of laughter whenever we met the other's eyes.
"Oh god, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to offend you or anything - I just thought you were like me. You're probably awesome as an escort."
"Hey, what is it *you* thought we both did then? What's your job?"
John smirked.
"Librarian?" He suggested and then shook his head when it was clear I was having none of it.
"Nah, sorry. I'm a hitman. I kill people for money."
| 2022-04-26T07:34:53 | 2022-04-26T05:24:11 | 83 | 15 |
[WP] You are Patient Zero of a virus that replaces the victim's mind with a psychic link to your own. A viral hivemind with you at the center.
|
The virus spread quickly, and every person that it spread to was added into my neural network. A fraction of their willpower was added to mine, giving me more power, and more ability to control those in the network. By the time half the world's population was connected to me, I could assume complete control over... Well who knows, I never tried using more than a thousand at once. But I had complete control and the ability to micromanage to a ridiculous degree. Thousands of rubrics cubes solved at the same time? No problem. And with every person added, by power only grew.
Then one day I stand before a young girl. Her long silver hair almost reaches the ground. She can't be older than fourteen. I blush as I note her clothes which while probably completely appropriate for someone her age during the era of ancient Greece, are probably abit too revealing for someone so young. She isn't in my network yet, but being close to me is the fastest way to join it so any second now she...
I skip a breath as my power within the network jumps several orders of magnitude. With me connected to around half the human race, and always increasing my mental abilities by about 10% worth of a connected individual's max, one would need several planets worth of people to connect at once in order to achieve a jump like this. I find myself frozen with fear as I suddenly feel as if hundreds of eyes are watching my every move. As I try to find these observers, I find myself paralyzed with fear. Unsurprised by the man frozen in place before her, the girl walks up abit closer, looking at me with curiosity. Suddenly my power drops back down to the level it was a minute ago... no wait it's back up... no back down... back up. Its almost like someone is flipping a light switch back and forth, seeing the effects it has on the lightbulb. I didn't think it was possible to leave the neural network, not once connected. But whom... whatever this girl is she seems to not care about such restrictions. Having thoroughly fiddled with the network, and apparently satisfied her curiosity, she looks up at me.
Her voice is quiet and fits her appearance quite well "I swear to... umm... Anyways, you better not use this thing to mess with the world too much. I don't care if you want to be the president or have everyone worship you, but you better not take the place so off track that it can't function after you're gone." This is what it must be like for a baby bird that is picked up by a human, really small, really scared, and caught by something way bigger than you. The girl pokes me in the chest, though she has try to reach high enough "Got it?" As she sees my hurried nods, she smiles with satisfaction, and walks away.
My power drops back to its usual level.
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The computer screen is especially harsh tonight, the contrast between the edges of the video and the black background aren’t good for my vision I’m pretty sure. No matter, I only need to be able to see what’s going on in the video. The pornographic threesome in front of me was the only thing I cared to see, my woman for the night. The dark room protects me from having to see the crumpled up clothes and half eaten sandwich on the floor. A nice locked barricade inside my own mind where no one can see to judge me and myself while I sit alone on yet another Friday night touching myself. Sweet ecstasy is just a few minutes away despite the starts and stops in the video, I couldn’t care less at this moment or in the future, but my past self will most certainly judge me. Getting closer and closer before I reach that moment of finality for the night and achieve the caress of a woman who isn’t there. Finally, I can sleep. And it’s only two in the morning, I’m getting faster. But before I can go to bed an icon pops up. Strange, I have several anti-virus programs running, this shouldn’t have gotten through. The guy at Best Buy said I shouldn’t use multiple programs but whatever. I click it.
“Have you ever wondered how others live?” it asked me with a blinking yellow box. I was curious if only out of sheer loneliness. What could it hurt? I have so little anyways. I click the blinking box only to see a video, a long one showing images of peoples families, jobs, hopes, dreams… and fears. Horrible images intersperse the happy ones. Rape, murder, suicide, a veritable hell on earth for the poor bastards involved. None of it looked photoshopped or anything of the sort, it was all quite real. The video lasted for what seemed like days and I couldn’t take my eyes off it. When it was finished I looked over to my clock and it read 4:30 in the morning. Damnit, I have to get to sleep or my cycle is gonna be all messed up. I close the laptop and throw some clothes onto myself. The bed cover is still dirty from three weeks ago. I’ll take it down to the washing machine tomorrow for sure.
When I wake up I look over at my clock to see that it says 8:00 in the morning. Damn circadian rhythm! I go to the fridge and see that there’s no food in it. I sigh heavily and decide I need to go to the grocery store. I spray myself with a heavy dose of body spray and cologne, throw on one of the sweaters I used for a blanket last night and head out the door. I notice the cute neighbor girl down the hallway of my apartment building. She is so hot. I would love to do BDSM stuff with her. Maybe tie her up. That would be nice. She looks over at me and her face suddenly writhes in fear, as if she had just witnessed her own murder. “Please… just stay away from me…” she said, seemingly out of nowhere. I turned around thinking there was some freak behind me but… no one. She was afraid of me and only me. As I turned back around she was locking herself in her apartment. I’m not that revolting am I? Whatever, I didn’t wanna fuck her anyways and I need food.
I make my way into the convenience store and pick up several things of ramen noodles and stuff to make sandwiches. I guess I should get soap too. I take my things up to the register and I look the man behind the counter in the eyes, like I practiced, and wait for him to ask me if that’s everything. He doesn’t, he looks at me with disgust and caution. Just like the apartment girl, he hates me just upon seeing me.
“What the fuck is wrong with you boy?!” the man says to me. He has conviction in his voice, probably from his years in the marine corps but… how do I know he served in the marines. This guy has killed people… a lot of people and now he’s yelling at me. I lower my head and look side to side as if the answer of what to say will be scrawled upon the counter. It’s not and so I just walk out of the store. “Don’t you fuckin come back in here you fuckin weirdo!” he screams to me as I walk out the door. I don’t know how but he knew. He knew what I was, all the weird things that I do. He knew and he judged me, just like the rest of the world would. I ran into the alleyway behind the store and sat against the wall and cried.
After a few minutes I raised my head to see two men standing over me. The look in their eyes told me they knew. I also knew, the man on the left was cheating on his wife with a high school girl. The man on the right used to be a day trader who got addicted to meth. “Look at this weird little shit. I don’t know why but you strike me as the type that doesn’t need to be in this world. Don’t you agree Vern?” the man on the left, Robert, said. I raised my hand trying to beg them not to hurt me but it didn’t matter. They saw me as scum and they began kicking me over and over again. Robert was especially vicious and he kicked my head hard enough to leave a few fractures in my face.
They finished their business and left me bleeding and swollen. I could sense even more from them, sadness, violence. I would have felt sorry for them had they not just kicked my ass. I tried to stand up and pull the sweater over my face. I just have to make it back to my room. Hopefully, someone worse than them doesn’t see me. I start hobbling my way back to my apartment, blood pouring from my head and dripping onto the ground. I pray to a God I don’t believe in that on one sees me. I peek around the corner and look both ways, there’s people on the street. I decide to go for it. I run, despite the pain, I run all the way to my apartment. I hear people screaming and cursing at me as I pass by. I feel the weight of their judgement upon me, like a weight upon my shoulders and upon every broken bone in my body. I get to the apartment building entrance and start entering in the passcode to get in. I look back and see a man pull his wife and child close while he gives me a scowl filled with hate. They all look at me with hate.
I get into the apartment building and slam the door shut. I go into the elevator and ride up to my level. I hobble out quickly and try to get to my door, suite 451. I see it and get to it quickly and start fiddling with my keys to get in. I look over and see the cute apartment girl. I see her memories rush through my head and see the abuse she’s suffered in her life, the heartache, the failures. She also sees me. Sees me for the monster that I am with all my twisted thoughts bubbling just below the surface. All the evil desires I hid from the world for so long all suddenly rushing forth into her subconscious. She had nothing but spite for me, a hate for myself almost equivalent to my own. “I’ve called the cops. Enjoy prison you fucking monster!” she said to me as she slammed the door shut, cursing me to a fate worse than death, judgement itself.
I burst into the room and looked out the window. I saw the cops pull up in their cars with guns drawn. I don’t know what to do. I cry and beg God to not let people find out how horrific I truly am. I scramble around the apartment looking for something, anything that will stop them from coming in and taking me in to be scrutinized by people much better than I. And then I see it. A knife.
I would love constructive criticism if you can offer some. I’m trying to improve my writing and would like to know your thoughts. Thank you for reading!
| 2017-11-05T16:32:15 | 2017-11-05T15:09:30 | 39 | 12 |
[WP] You are the host of a popular children's show. You are live on air when you, and the rest of the country, have just received news that nuclear weapons have been deployed against your nation and can't be stopped. There are only minutes left.
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Every member of the crew is frozen, eyes wide with awe. They have each and every one abandoned their regular duties and are fixated on one of the multiple screens scattered throughout the studio, which have been switched from the show’s playback to a live news feed. Some cover their dropped jaws with their hands, shaking their heads as images of mass evacuations and panicked looters loop before their eyes. The latest news scrolling at the bottom of the screen advises that we move to a fallout shelter or a concrete basement. But we all know, with minutes left and our studio being situated dead centre in the downtown core of the city, there is no chance of finding adequate shelter.
The reporter holds two fingers to her ear, drops her papers and stands. She removes the ear piece and gives us all one final look, revealing more about the current situation than any news story could. Her image in the surrounding studio cuts out and the screen suddenly shows only a test pattern, the colourful bars broadcast when the transmitter is active but nothing is being broadcast. Someone lets out an awkward chuckle. I get it too…as abruptly as that studio was wiped off the screen, so too will we be obliterated in a matter of microseconds. It was like watching our own fate followed by an absurd afterlife of colored bars.
I realize the “ON AIR” sign is lit up bright red. How long has it been since we returned from commercial break? I look into the camera, probably with the same look that reporter had on, but then I remind myself why we are here. Our viewers and their bright little minds. For child-like curiosity, for whimsical fun, for encouraging progress, for inspiring innovation, for any little guy or girl who wants to know more about how things work at every level. For science…for survival.
I look at the studio’s digital clock. 15:38. Before the news network cut out, they were giving a timeline of about 15 minutes. But the reality is probably less. I take an unprecedented pass on the obligatory silliness. I need to try to get a message to any kid still watching who might have a chance to survive.
“Do you guys remember the time we talked about electromagnetic radiation? We microwaved a chocolate bar so that we could measure the speed of light, but then silly Rolf the Cameraman over there ate the chocolate! Remember that?”
As I’m talking, I rummage through the various test tubes and clamps beneath the counter to find some chalk. I sprint to the chalkboard on the other side of the set and hastily draw the oscillating waves of an electromagnetic spectrum. Rolf dutifully follows me with the camera.
“Do you remember when we learned that there are different types of electromagnetic radiation with different frequencies and wavelengths?”
“Way over here,” I point with the chalk at the end of the spectrum with long, languishing waves, “we have radio waves. Just like you hear with your radio! They’re so big and wobbly, their wavelength can be like the size of a whole building”
15:36.
“Over on this side,” pointing at the other end of the spectrum, the one with high frequency, with short wavelengths, all squished together, “we have gamma rays. These rays here are SO small, the waves are smaller than the size of a single atom!”
I falter, thinking about the kids that could be watching. How do I explain that someone far away that they’ve never even heard of wants them dead. Wants them completely annihilated…and for what? I think of their families, their pets. I think of my brother and his niece and I choke.
I turn to the board to get a hold of myself and start drawing a stream of short, crowded waves heading toward a wall. 15:34. I need to get to the fucking point. I don’t want to sugarcoat it. Some of them could survive if they learn this. I want them to understand – kids are smarter than we give them credit for. They could save their whole family if they understand…
“Because gamma rays are so small, they can penetrate through matter. They can even penetrate through our bodies, which is very dangerous. When the gamma rays interact with the atoms in our bodies, they can cause a lot of problems for it.”
“Now, usually we don’t have to worry about gamma rays. But unfortunately we do right now. I’m so sorry guys…you need to know. There is something coming very soon that is going to cause the release of a lot of gamma rays and other bad stuff.”
I speak slowly and clearly here.
“There is nothing we can do to stop the thing that is going to release the gamma rays, but the gamma rays themselves can be stopped.”
“Have you ever had an x-ray at the dentist? They put that big heavy vest on you to protect you from the x-rays and you feel like you are wearing armor and going into battle! That vest is so heavy because it is made of a type of metal called lead.”
15:31. My heart rate shoots up and I can feel it beating in my chest. Less than 10 minutes. I point to the picture of the gamma rays hitting the wall and, with a hand that insists on trembling, attempt to add more layers to the wall. The lines aren’t as straight as I meant them to be. I steady myself with a deep breath and try to keep my voice clear and steady for this part.
“Lead can stop gamma rays. Another thing that can stop gamma rays is very thick concrete. Another thing is packed earth. So I want you guys to go to your basements if you have one. Get your family down there too. Find any way you can to put layers and layers of earth, concrete, lead and anything else you can get your hands on between you and the outside. This stuff is going to be your armor against the gamma rays and other stuff.”
“If it won’t take too long, bring bottles of water and canned foods with you. As much as you can. You might have to stay in your armor for a while.”
15:29. “There is going to be a lot of danger and hard times ahead guys. But never give up. You can survive this. Never. Give. Up. I love you all. Keep calm, keep curious, keep learni
Edit: thank you for the gold!
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I guess I knew this could happen. I guess we all did, in our morose bar-room moments, facing our fears through a hazey film of alcohol and optimism. I guess I knew this could happen, and I guess I didn't think it would.
I guess I imagined I might be on the air when it happened. I had a plan if it did, I really did. I guess I had a plan, anyway. I was going to be strong.
But I don't know how to be, and there's nothing to say, and I'm not doing anything different, I'm not doing anything special, I'm just reading the script like a robot.
I hope they can't hear the quiver in my voice. I hope they can't hear the shakey fear that's pulverizing my stomach. I don't want to die, and some of them might not, but here on the 43rd floor of WXR TV in Manhattan, I'm going to.
I'm going to.
I hope they can't hear how afraid I am.
| 2014-07-29T14:59:42 | 2014-07-29T13:03:12 | 348 | 51 |
[WP] There is a deep hole just outside your village. The elders pick one person to dive in every year, 'for the good of the tribe', never to be seen again. The elders have just chosen you. You're expected to jump tonight.
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As a boy, my friend and I would sneak out at night and drop stones into the hole. We would carry the largest rocks we could find and heave them over the edge. They disappeared in seconds, and not once did they make a sound. We stopped playing the game after we saw the first man jump. From the foliage we watched, as the elders and warriors escorted him to the precipice, torches in hand. He jumped, and he was gone. On many sleepless nights, I remembered the silence. It would have been better if he screamed.
I was always the odd one out as I grew older. While my friends matured into men, with broad shoulders and wide chests, I remained thin and gangly. Bird-bones, they would call me. I could not throw a spear or carry the carcass of an antelope over my shoulders. Perhaps that is why I was selected by the elders.
I thought about running away at first, but I realized I could not live with the shame. It was my duty. In this sacrifice, I could finally serve the tribe in a noble way. So, late one night, I said my goodbyes and entered the elders longhouse. They painted me in white patterns and paraded me down the road, lined by thatch huts and the eyes of the onlooking village. It was a warm night, and the full moon lit the way.
At the edge of the hole, I felt no fear at first. Then I peered over the edge and it shot through my head and heart, waves of terror. But I could not turn back now.
The elders chanted in their secret language. The words seemed to twist and shimmer in the air around me. Finally it was time. I could not describe the feeling I had as I threw myself from the earth. It was similar to the feeling I had when I leapt from cliffs into the lake below. But this time, I knew that there would be no gentle embrace of water waiting at the bottom. I would fall into my death.
And so I fell. The light of the moon above vanished almost instantly, and I was surrounded by darkness. I could not see the walls of the hole around me. I could only feel the air rushing up past me. My limbs moved and found nothing around them. I quickly lost all sense of direction; if I was falling up or down, I could not tell. I fell so fast it burned my skin.
After minutes of falling, I imagined that there was no earth above and earth below. There was only the darkness, infinite, in every direction. And there was something pulling me down.
I cannot tell you for how long I fell, only that it was enough that I began to long for the taste of water. I was tired, but I could not fall asleep, as every time I did, I would have a nightmare, a nightmare so terrible it would wake me instantly, a nightmare of falling, falling into nothing but darkness. A darkness so real that I imagined that the earth above had never really existed. The daylight, the ground beneath my feet, the blue sky, those might all have been illusions. A strange dream I had during a very long sleep. Perhaps I had been falling all this time, and imagined that strange life as a distraction.
I fell for what must have been days. And then, my hand touched something in the darkness. Something wet and cold. It snapped at my hand like a turtle, and I recoiled in terror. After I had gathered enough courage, I reached out again, and I felt it again. Something hit my hand, burning my fingertips. Eventually, I realized this was the wall of the hole. I reached out with my other hand, and felt another wall. Soon I realized that the walls were closing in around me, on all sides, incredibly slowly, but unmistakably constricting. I made an effort to reach out with both my hands and touch the walls, slowing my descent through friction. The wet, smooth walls prevented this action from ripping through the flesh of my fingers.
Over time, the walls were close enough that I had to keep my feet together, and then close enought that I had to keep my arms above my head. On all sides the walls were constricting, like some sort of snake wrapping itself around me. I feared that it would crush me soon enough, so I made every effort to slow my fall with my hands. Eventually the hole was tight enough that a normal man might have been too wide to fit. But I had always been thin, so the walls let me slip past, and my descent slowed. I was going slow enought that I could almost have stopped myself if I tried to press my body against the walls, but I didn't dare to.
And then, in an instant, the walls gave way, and I fell freely once more, only for a second. My legs crumpled beneath me as something violent rushed up out of the darkness below and slammed into me. The air left my lungs and I tasted blood. Something cold and solid had crashed into me and stopped my fall.
The feeling of not-falling hit me first, and I found it hard to move my limbs. I tried to stand up, only to slip and drop again. I landed on my back, where something soft gave way beneath me with a crunch. The smell then overwhelmed me, and I turned over and vomited. I braced myself with my hand, but my hand dug into something, something hard and cold, that shifted. At first I thought I was lying among branches and rocks. But as I felt this thing in my hand, I pushed my fingers into a pair of holes and realized I was sitting among corpses. I panicked, and tried to move away, but my feet could find no purchase among the bodies. I crawled through the dark, wretching, stumbling, but there was no end to the bodies, they pulled themselves around my ankles and arms, I slipped and fell among bones and cold slime, decaying skin and worse.
It took me a while to gather myself. I have been sitting here for hours, it seems. At first I tried to find an exit. But there is none. The walls surround this pit in a perfect circle. It took me a full hour to crawl around them, searching with my hands for any way out. I am ashamed to admit, I even tried to dig, to find the bottom. I used up the last of my pitiful energy, motivated by sheer terror, to dig my way through the bones. To no avail.
There are too many corpses here. Not even if a man has jumped down from my village every year for a thousand years. The bones would have turned to dust by now if that were the case. But they haven't.
Even as I am remembering my story, my mind decays into delirium. I have forgotten what is real. I should be dead right now. It takes me what seems like hours to even think. I am so thirsty and so hungry. And so very tired. But every time I close my eyes, I fall again. That nightmare is not so unpleasant now, now that I have reached the bottom.
There is something else down here with me. I can feeling it watching me. Not with eyes, no. Eyes are useless down here, where no light has ever been. Still it waches me. It can wait a very long time. The bodies that come down here, they drip down, bit by bit. They get caught in the tighest part of the hole, and then they decay. I think about all the men that must have been stuck where I slipped through. I wish I shared their fate. I will slip away soon, very soon. There will be no rest for me here. It doesn't matter. This is where I have always belonged.
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"The Void waits patiently for mortals," the Elders would say. "But it returns a great bounty to the village when, once a year, we do not require it to wait. By sending one strong and healthy man early, into the mouth of darkness, bound for bliss in the Deep Hereafter, the Void provides us with light, and a measure of bliss, in this world, in the here and now."
Just six months ago, during the sacred Ceremony of Bones, I was elected to take the Great Journey next spring. At first I was, as the Elect generally are, excited and ecstatic. I had learned from birth that there was no greater honour than being chosen to enter early into the blissful realm of the immortals, and I had spent my life, as most young men of our tribe do, trying my best to earn that right.
I became a skilled and capable hunter, often returning from my hunting trips with huge hauls of meat slung over my shoulders. I became a fearsome and talented warrior, and played an integral role in the defence of our tribe against the Makuna invasion, as well as in the expansion of our territory many miles into Ickblatta lands. I earned a reputation as a fair-minded and intelligent young man as well: it is for more than just their skills in orchestrating death that tribesmen are elected by the Elders. Some even said that I had the spirit of a true-born Chief commingled with the blood that pumped through my veins. It was only natural that the elders, led by Chief Steppa, would choose me to take the Great Journey. But what I first saw as a look of satisfied pride in the Chief's eyes when he announced my election, I now see differently.
"What if," I wondered to myself, some nights after the election, when the initial excitement had worn off, "what if the Chief chooses to send the strongest, smartest and best into the Void *not* because of the supernatural benefits it will confer upon the tribe? What if he uses the custom as an opportunity to rid the tribe of those who would otherwise threaten his reign, supremacy and hold on power? Could the underlying motive of this religious and magical ceremony really be so brutal and pragmatic?" Such questions crossed my mind, and sent shivers through my generally unperturbed spirit.
I tried to suppress them, and to rekindle the naive faith in the custom which had guided my every action since childhood. But such questions, however much I tried, did not stay suppressed for long...
| 2019-04-28T15:13:12 | 2019-04-28T13:45:23 | 845 | 160 |
[WP] "Every man has two deaths, when he is buried in the ground and the last time someone says his name. In some ways men can be immortal." ---- You sit in purgatory wondering what the hell is taking so long.
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The last human.
It was nobody's fault. No one could have foreseen that humanity was running out of time.
Actually, that's wrong. Stephen Hawking saw it coming as early as 2016. In the end, it wasn't the environment that did us in, or disease, or even nuclear war. It was a math problem. 2056-RJ31 was supposed to miss the Earth by fifty-nine thousand miles, barely a rounding error in astronomical terms, but it was enough. The impact left a crater in South Dakota two-hundred miles across, more than twice the size of the hole left by the meteor that took out the dinosaurs and brought an end to the cretaceous. The firestorm rolled across the globe in a matter of only a few hours: the forests burned, the oceans boiled, and every trace of human civilization was swept away.
Which brings us to the present.
The physics of the afterlife are a little convoluted. The first part is simple: you die. After that, the situation gets a bit more complicated. It has something to do with parallel dimensions, or at least that's what the last quantum theoretician I spoke to said before she moved on. The long and the short of it is this: you can't exist in more than two worlds at once. The next world--and by this I mean the *real* next world--can't let you in until every trace of you has departed last. Until that happens, you kick back in purgatory, waiting.
The pharaohs figured this one out the hard way. Most of them were still around when "Old RJ" came calling. Lucky for them, the pyramids didn't survive the impact.
It turns out how long you have to wait has nothing to do with fame and fortune and everything to do with how often you wrote down your name, what you wrote it on, and where. Movie stars...gone. US presidents...gone, mostly. Kings, queens, and tyrants...all gone.
At first, there were thousands of us, living on in the memories of the people who made it. There weren't many, but memory is a tricky thing. When you're alone in a bunker, all you've got to do with your time is think about all the people you've lost. The crowd limped on, muddled and confused for nearly two weeks while the last gasps of humanity slowly succumbed to injury and thirst.
Then there were hundreds, mostly historical figures preserved in a handful of protected documents sequestered away in tombs and other vaults specifically designed to withstand a global catastrophe, but most of these were damaged in the earthquakes that followed the main event. As the years past and the surface cooled, the water in the atmosphere condensed, producing a deluge of acid rain that would ultimately infiltrate these carefully protected places.
And then there were few. A strange bunch: three astronauts from the ISS, whose bodies escaped the blast; the contributors to the golden record on the Voyager One, whose work lived on in outer space; the Apollo astronauts, whose names appear on plaques on their lunar landers; Richard Nixson, whose name also appeared; President Herbert Hoover, thanks to a plaque in the hydroelectric plant beneath the dam; all fifty-six signatories of the Declaration of Independence, locked securely in a triple-reinforced vault in DC; and me.
We called ourselves the survivors. Pretty funny, eh? A bunch of dead people sitting around in a spiritual halfway house, waiting for their number to come up. History has a pretty sick sense of humor.
It was an interesting time, for a few hundred years. We got to learn a lot about history. The past taught the present, and the future taught the past. The present listened quietly as the centuries rolled by. The earth recovered, in one way or another, but according to the astronauts--the closest we had to scientists--it would be at least a hundred million years before intelligent life evolved again, if it ever did at all. We passed the time by trying to remember as much of the world as we could, teasing each others' memories, hoping to rediscover some peculiar new detail about the civilization we all once knew.
The astronauts went first, when the ISS deorbited. Then the signers went, two-hundred and thirty years after RJ hit, the result of water damage to the vault. Herbie, as he came to be called, went third, when the walls of the artificial mountain that bore his name finally gave way, and the raging torrent of the Colorado River reclaimed its course. Another five hundred years went by before random meteorite impacts finally took out the plaques on the lunar landers. Not all at once, of course, but eventually the astronauts all moved on, along with Tricky Dick, as humanity's footprints on the lunar surface were erased by the ever-blowing sands of time.
The golden record contains a little over twelve minutes of audio: the sounds of earth. Thirty-one tracks are included on its two surfaces. Voyager One left the solar system and entered interstellar space on September 12th of 2013. The contributors to the longest-lasting album ever produced would carry on their lives in purgatory for another thirteen-thousand years. Mounted on the outside of the probe, the record would eventually succumb to micro-meteorite impacts, but before it did, the people on it lived a hundred lifetimes together.
And then there's me.
I won't tell you my full name. It's been too long for me to take chances, but I worked as a day-laborer, maintaining the building where the assembly team put the Voyager launch vehicle together. Looking back, what I did seemed like a perfectly harmless thing to do. It was, after all, a thankless, boring, tiresome job, and I was a lot younger then.
And so, thanks to me, the last missive of humanity can be found, etched into eternity with the point of a Phillips-head screwdriver in the middle of a warm summer night in August, 1977. There, if you look closely, on a steel plate on the inside of one of the electronics compartments, appear the words: John was here.
It seemed like a good idea at the time.
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What is taking so long? The lack of efficiency is frustrating you. Angering you. You are almost convulsive but this place has a way of negating your emotions. You calm down.
You have had ages to think about you actions and youbare certain heaven awaits. You have fought a noble cause. The world is probably cheering for you and singing your praises even as you failed your mission.
You have been waiting, a poor immortal sitting, waiting, as i dolent as those enemies you wanted so much to erradicate. But nay, you will not fight this. There is no need. When the gates open you will be vindicated.
You fidget, fix your hair a d scratch your chin as you once did. If only you had your easel. Your paint and canvas. Your brushes. This place is plain but is beautiful enough for painting.
What is taking so long? The führer could wait no longer.
| 2019-10-21T06:41:27 | 2019-10-21T03:02:22 | 141 | 22 |
[WP] Turns out, humans are better than aliens in every way: the next-largest race reaches our knees, our skin can shrug off high-caliber munitions, and Space Einstein has the mind of a nine year old child. Everyone is really frustrated when we keep refusing to get involved in anyone's affairs.
|
The hatch opened with a soft hiss and after the longest sleep of my life, I was finally onboard the *Eye of God*. I took a deep breath, not wanting to appear overwhelmed or weak in front of my new team. We had a mission, after all. They needed to respect me if we were going to work together.
It was so much bigger once I made it into the main body of the ship. The claustrophobia I’d felt upon waking up had been replaced with a sense of ease and lightness. It also helped that the *Eye* was actually intended for long term habitability, sitting as it was in a parking orbit high above the planet’s surface. The windows gave us a beautiful view of the world … wait.
I turned to the young engineer at my right, squinting to make out the unfamiliar name on his badge. “Crewmember, uh, Jayagoda. What kind of orbit are we sitting at?” His response was immediate, eager. “Approximately circular at an altitude of 1000 km with a 60 degree inclination relative to local magnetic north, SIR!” “No need to call me sir,” I corrected him. “Just Maxwell is fine. But why are we up so high? I thought the atmosphere was thin enough here that we could sit at 200 or so for a better view.” Jayagoda’s face went carefully blank, and he turned to a dark-haired woman who had been quietly leaning against a structural column.
“Alright,” she said, sticking out her hand for a decisively firm handshake. “I’m Marie Castro, acting advance team lead. Welcome aboard. I know you’ve been out of the loop for a while so I would like to let you know that there’s been a change of plans. We have a more extensive briefing planned in about twenty minutes, but I can get you up to speed now. Long story short - we’re not going down.”
Her calm words hit me like a g-punch to the chest. We weren’t going down? After nine years medically dead in a shoebox, she thought we *weren’t going down to the surface*? Bullshit. Every problem is a solvable problem. I tried to stay calm, fighting the toxic cocktail of fear and anger. More than an animal, I told myself. Be rational. “Wow, alright. That’s not what I was expecting.” Good leaders are candid, I told myself. “What’s the barrier, environment looking hostile down there?”
She bit her lip, the smallest crack showing in her self-assurance. “No, not at all. Low gravity, oxygen-rich, very little bacteria, it’s a paradise just like we thought. Let me pull up some images for you. Commander Maxwell, the locals that called us out here… they’re totally helpless. They’re not what we thought at all. That’s why we’re up at a thousand, so that our ship’s not so visible.”
I stood there stunned as she brought up a folder of images titled simply “Contact”. They started with the images that brought us out here — pictograms showing the galaxy, the relative positions of our stars, images of their strange lizard-like people, images of ours. A ship coming to the lizard-planet (that was us, now!) and sending radio waves to the surface. It was all intuitively understandable. They wanted to meet, they had the ability to communicate across stars, and they did so in a way that made sense to us.
“Okay, so that’s what you saw before coming here, right?” Castro said, tilting her head up at me. I nodded, waiting for what was next.
“Now look at what we received once we got here.”
The images started right where the last one ended. A lizard-person, standing on two legs, talking. It zoomed out, and out, until the lizard only filled perhaps a tenth of the screen. A human form faded into view, horrifically large. The lizard’s “talking bubble” expanded, as if to show an explanation to the human. A common image, like a tiny barbell. The lizard on the screen ate the barbell as I tried to count the number of dots on each atom, and right as I thought I’d gotten it, the ghostly lizard crumpled at the feet of the giant, motionless human, obviously dead. “They’re allergic to salt”, Castro deadpanned.
The images kept flashing, faster and faster. UV light from the sun? Dead lizard. A force diagram that appeared to show roughly 2x their planet’s gravity, or 1 earth g? Dead lizard. Minor laceration? Some kind of weird fruit? Too much water vapor in the air? Dead, dead, dead. The human stood there unmoved as the lizard resurrected itself. Castro pointed at the screen. “Now check this out.”
The lizard dragged something onto the screen - a cage full of other, smaller lizards. There was more, a box showing some rare earth (rare space?) element that I didn’t recognize but was probably radioactive, a fire-emitting weapon of some sort, a rabbit-like animal with its mouth lashed shut. The lizard laid all this at the feet of the human, and the human picked up the lizard in a glowing bubble of some sort. Then the salt returned on the screen, the water vapor, the fruit, and the lizards in the cage crumpled and died while the one in the bubble simply looked up at the human. I felt sick.
“Marie,” I said, all thoughts of professionalism gone, “they think we’re gods.” She nodded sadly, and for a second I could see the weight of the knowledge sitting in her eyes. “They want to be … strong, hardy, like we are, and they’d give us anything for that.” “Anything”, she echoed, “even their planet’s own children.” “Oh god”, I exhaled, understanding what that lizard-cage had meant. They’d give it all up for a chance to be like us. “Marie, what do we do?”
Her voice cracked as she said “I was hoping you’d tell us, Commander.”
|
Hello,
We do understand the problem you are facing out there in space. However, getting us involved would be seen was overkill. Although you have tried to kill our civilians with your best weapons, small balls of water don't affect us too much. However, when we threw a water balloon at one of you, their entire squad was incinerated. Mind you, the balloon missed.
We have weapons that destroy your world several times over, and you are contacting us over a stolen pencil at a preschool on Mars. Until another race comes over and starts doing what we can, please do not disturb us. The fact we haven't invaded your planets already shows that we are at least trying to give you a chance. With that said, do not contact us again unless there is an emergency.
Goodbye.
\-Leaders of Earth
| 2021-11-17T14:29:19 | 2021-11-17T09:21:59 | 178 | 37 |
[WP] In the middle of a fight with a known villain, you, the hero are stopped by a young child. “If you fight the bad guy, and the bad guy fights you, and you both break everything as you go, what makes you think you’re any better than him?” Behind the child, you see the villain silently fist pump.
|
I froze. I instantly recalled all the other times I've been asked this question, and by the Scion did I hear it often. Several times every week, seldom managing to get through my day without somebody saying something along these lines. I even heard the exact same words once or twice, but never when I was in the middle of combat. Once I would calmly give an answer to such queries, then I learned to ignore them, but now...
I was pissed. For someone, even a child to make an argument so utterly moronic in such a tense moment... all the anger I suppressed came erupting like sewer water whenever the Geiser Man was around. Consequences damned, I was not letting that slide.
"Listen you little shit."
The little boy stepped back with his jaw gaping. My opponent Vlad Scarlord also stepped back, but with a smile on his demonic face, eager to let me go wild. I could tell he would enjoy what was about to transpire, but so would I. In fact, maybe if I dragged this out for long enough, all the civilians in the surrounding area would manage to evacuate in time thanks to me buying them time.
Not that they would ever appreciate this, of course.
"Do you know who that is over there?" I asked, pointing at the villain right beside us. "This is Vlad, something of an arch-enemy of mine. He is a well-known villain, and not without a reason. He is a nihilistic murderer who hates hope and so he destroys everything that generates hope, like homeless shelters, food shipments to developing countries, or schools like the one you just came out of. Last week I had to stop him from killing a little girl named Hope because he hates hope so much. His fellow villains are mostly like that too, which is why we call them villains and not criminals or terrorists. They all manage to be so evil that using a purely moralistic term to describe them doesn't feel wrong. Now, I think I misunderstood you because you cannot possibly be implying any kind of moral equivalency between me and him?"
"I mean... but..." The boy tried to say something, likely something that would aggravate me even further, but I wouldn't let that come to pass.
"Or maybe you honestly think so? Maybe you think that it will be better if I refuse to do anything and let our dear friend Vlad kill anyone he wishes to? I would then be totally innocent of any property damage he causes and I wouldn't have to deal with idiots who think to charge me for the stuff I destroyed while fighting a superpowered criminal. He might manage to kill a couple hundred people, but that's fine. At least no buildings will get destroyed, right?"
"But..." The boy collected himself a little bit, likely realizing that I wasn't going to actually hurt him. I was a hero, after all, which made it ultimately safe to disrespect me. "But what if your fight destroys more than he would? Maybe he just wants to steal some money or..."
"Just money. Just money." I said, laughing quietly. If someone heard this conversation, I would probably look more like a villain than a hero, cause maybe I was slowly going insane. "Of course. I heard that too. Oftentimes superpowered battles cause more damage than the villains would on their own, and though it seems counterintuitive, it might actually be more heroic to step back or at least hold one's punches. At worst, they get away, right?"
The boy and Vlad both nodded vigorously.
"**Wrong!**" I yelled. "The damage wrought by the battle can be awful, but it can also be repaired, at least if there is enough money in the budget. But you know when there isn't enough money? **If it all gets fucking stolen!** Even assuming the villain in question doesn't need money to make, I don't know, a planet-destroying superlaser, you have to understand that society *runs on money*. On property you can use to buy food, or build roads, or fund training for heroes to fight off villains who just keep coming, and will keep coming even faster if they learn the heroes are too pathetic to stop them for fear of collateral damage. That's why we arrest regular thieves, even if it can result in someone getting hurt and it will result in them losing freedom for a time, though most of us agree that life and freedom are more important than property. If anyone is to enjoy a safe life there have to be rules in place, and breaking these rules cannot be an effective strategy to get ahead. If we all just..."
"I don't know, the kid has a point," Vlad cut in. "Couldn't you at least be more careful to not damage something whilst fighting me? It would prevent a lot of destruction, you know?"
"It wouldn't, and you know it," I growled at him. "Hell, you taught me that yourself. By thinking of not damaging stuff while fighting, the hero puts themselves at a disadvantage, because they cannot fully focus on winning or even surviving. Even more so if the villain exploits this weakness, like you no doubt would. It's bad enough that I'm forbidden from ever harming hostages directly, like that child you would have used as a shield if he hadn't run off while we were talking."
Vlad glanced to the side, only to see empty pavement where once was an annoying little boy. He smiled. "You got one stupid bastard out of the way of our fight. Not bad. But you were really mean to him, and I think the media will have your head for that. I really don't envy your lot in life."
"We talked about this before, remember?" I sighed. "I'm not going to give up heroism just because people are ungrateful idiots. Those who do good will always get judged by those who don't, from the comfort of the latter's couches. Pointing to collateral damage they don't have the power to cause, criticizing choices they were never forced to make. If all good people quit because of that, there would never be any good in the world. And yet there is, and I want to be a part of it. So I'll ignore the smug remarks, thank you."
"Everyone in a mile radius has left the danger zone already," Vlad pointed out. "You don't have to distract me with all this wise talk any further."
"True." I shrugged, stretching my muscles before the fight resumed. "But I enjoy these tangents. It's worth more than the salary the feds pay me."
"We are not so different, then," Vlad said, flames lighting up in his eyes as he activated his cataclysmic powers. Powers that could be used to destroy the entire city, and that hopefully would only damage its part if he was focused on killing me. "I also don't care much about money."
The buildings crumbled as the fight began anew.
|
I hate kids.
Well, not really, but I hate stupid kids. Half the reason i became an educator is to prevent them from multiplying.
However in my hero identity I could only just point to the man who was currently trying to wipe out everyone in the state of Wisconsin with two Tsar bombas and currently holding him and his family hostage.
"Look, I know you think your'e smart because you noticed that lots of people die in terroists attacks. relaly, that's great but incase you didn't notice i'm trying to SAVE WISCONSIN!"
The kid stared at me. "but what about everywhere else?"
"I CAN worry about that latter!"
I rushed in and finished Genocitron the Madman and disarmed the bomb.
"but look at what it cost, the other supervillians-"
"This is the League of Extrodiary People, Dawnstar calling. We've secured the other bombs and are currently evacuating them."
I sighed. "Don't they teach you kids in school anymore? Who do you think we are? We stop the badguys and help clean up. It's not always pretty, because the badguys don't want it to be. What's important is that we help and clean up, because unlike some people we care about the conseqeunces of our actions. We're not Synder cut rejects; we're heroes."
I pat the kid on the head, and Drag Genocitron behind me.
"BUT THE VIOLENCE IS INHERINT IN THE-"
"Oh shut up hun." His mother tells him.
| 2021-04-18T06:16:45 | 2021-04-18T05:17:18 | 301 | 130 |
[WP] Rewrite The Ten Commandments as if it were a Buzzfeed/Cracked artice.
|
**Ten Weird Ways to Please God!**
-------
Some of you may remember our [other](http://www.cracked.com/article_20255_5-shocking-scenes-you-wont-believe-are-in-bible.html) [articles](http://www.cracked.com/article_18757_5-things-you-wont-believe-arent-in-bible.html) on the Bible, but just like the great authors of old, we can't help but go back to it to get more articles.
With that in mind, we've found some tips in the Bible to help you understand how to please God, so that he doesn't [kill you with she-bears](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=2%20Kings%202:23-24&version=NIV)
1\. **[Have no other gods before Him.](http://gifs.gifme.io/i/5ab4a5c94a.gif)**
Guys, this is God we're talking about. He rules, and [he knows it.](https://i.imgur.com/EP8Xhub.gif) But, like your crazy [ex-girlfriend](https://imgur.com/search?q=meme%3Aoverly%20attached%20girlfriend), he really wants him to be the only thing you're overly attached to.
The Bible also has countless examples of what happens when you stop following God, especially if you're a Jew living in Palestine in the BC years. In general, it's not good.
2\. **Have no false idols.**
Back in the day, idolatry was a big thing^[citation ^needed] Because of that, people really wanted to worship a god that they could see.
Nowadays, that really isn't our problem. Our idols tend to be more of the [American variety.](https://i.imgur.com/15SFz.gif)
3\. **Don't cuss.**
Technically, the Bible says to not take the Lord's name in vain, but I was raised in the South, so it's don't cuss. For a better primer on this one, [let George Carlin explain what you can and cannot say.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rgQPCa4JjCA)
4\. **[Rest on Sundays.](https://gs1.wac.edgecastcdn.net/8019B6/data.tumblr.com/364397ec616a6a2a6d1aba220ea45ecc/tumblr_mria2xqPUF1rappj1o1_500.gif)**
You need to rest on Sundays. Every other day of the week, you need to work, but Sundays are for resting.
The key question here is what is rest?
From what I can gather rest means that you wake up at the buttcrack of dawn, put on your best suit, go to church, go home, and then go back
home to [fall asleep watching football.](http://giant.gfycat.com/ColorlessFittingBuffalo.gif)
*[Although, the part where you become a plane is fun.](https://i.imgur.com/fcalB.gif)*
5\. **Honor your [father](http://giant.gfycat.com/MediocreSimilarJaguar.gif) and [mother](https://i.imgur.com/WP0OPVv.gif).**
In general, this one means to respect your parents' wishes, except when it conflicts with the previous commandments.
[*Kind of like the Laws of Robotics.*](http://i.imgur.com/df70k9R.gif)
6\. **[Don't murder.](http://counterforce.files.wordpress.com/2012/11/a-nice-murder.gif)**
Pretty self-explanatory. To keep on God's good side, just don't kill other people.
7\. **Don't ~~commit adultery~~ have sex.**
[Because you will get pregnant, and die.](http://www.statepress.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/04/40dc30ef-3f77-4291-88e5-df2d87f95692.gif)
8\. **Don't steal.**
[Even Declarations of Indepedence](http://media.tumblr.com/37464e497f824e98de7bd5b785d79861/tumblr_inline_mqzg50jC6J1qz4rgp.gif).
9\. **Don't lie.**
Even if you're a [puppet](http://s3-ec.buzzfed.com/static/enhanced/webdr01/2013/9/5/19/anigif_enhanced-buzz-8168-1378424786-9.gif), or [Santa](https://gs1.wac.edgecastcdn.net/8019B6/data.tumblr.com/tumblr_m47yfqwnth1rvy4mao1_500.gif), or [on the Internet](https://i.imgur.com/31dZ8.gif), or even the [Chosen One](http://gifs.gifme.io/i/ce63079e95.gif)
10\. **Don't covet**
This one really means that you shouldn't want someone else's stuff, even if it is the [One Ring to Rule Them All.](https://amandasnoseinabook.files.wordpress.com/2014/09/myprecious.gif?w=700)
In general, don't want it unless you [need it.](https://gs1.wac.edgecastcdn.net/8019B6/data.tumblr.com/tumblr_mbrivt7Whs1rplcbm.gif)
 
If you liked that article, try this one!
**~~TEN~~ TWO WAYS TO PLEASE GOD!**
---
*A revision of a previous article*
Some of you may remember our previous article about how to please God by following 10 easy commandments. Well, [one of our editors](https://gs1.wac.edgecastcdn.net/8019B6/data.tumblr.com/f1de5812a7071a10f18c069ca4b1fb36/tumblr_mlrjd44si31rpbqpfo1_400.gif) took a look at that, and found that it could be simplified to really just be all about [love.](http://www.reactiongifs.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/02/love1.gif)
So let's see what these revisions look like.
1\. **Love the Lord Your God with All Your Heart, with All Your Soul, and All Your Mind**
This one apparently is meant to cover the first four points in the previous article. Mostly meaning that we should love God above all else.
2\. **Love [Everyone](https://i.imgur.com/G7Rxg.gif)**
Everyone means everyone. The rest of the points in the previous article were really just ways to show love to each other.
Wow, that was short. I guess we should ride the [Love Train](https://i.imgur.com/59XDbiq.gif) on out of here.
|
"God sits down with Moses and lays down his ten rules for living (You won't believe #7!)"
#1: I AM THE LORD THY GOD.
God is really laying down the law on his chosen people, saying, I am in change, I am the boss.
#2: THOU SHALT HAVE NO OTHER GODS BEFORE ME.
God doesn't like being put on the backburner when it comes to worship.
#3: THOU SHALT NOT WORSHIP ANY FALSE IDOLS.
God told us that He really hates seeing knockoff merchandise of His face and likeness, so He's taking a stand.
#4: THOU SHALT NOT TAKE THE NAME OF THE LORD IN VAIN.
God is all business, and He doesn't want His name thrown around casually, watering down His brand.
#5: REMEMBER THE SABBATH DAY, AND KEEP IT HOLY.
God is all about taking it easy on a lazy Sunday, and wants His followers to be able to max and relax just like Him.
#6:HONOUR THY MOTHER AND FATHER.
God never met his parents, and He thinks it's super important for others to keep up good relationships with theirs.
#7: THOU SHALT NOT KILL.
God is all about the peace and love, and just wants everybody to get along.
#8: THOU SHALT NOT COMMIT ADULTARY.
God is a one partner deity, and does not approve of cheaters.
#9: THOU SHALT NOT BEAR FALSE WITNESS AGAINST THY NEIGHBORS.
God hates liars! He can't stand phony people, and won't have them in His paradise.
#10: THOU SHALT NOT COVET THY NEIGHBORS OX.
God thinks that people should not be jealous of the success of others, and is all about being humble.
| 2014-12-12T19:52:02 | 2014-12-12T18:40:53 | 107 | 22 |
[WP]Humanity has just discovered the Galactic Federation, a conglomeration of diverse sapient species. As is standard, the Federation sends a delegation of the most similar species to negotiate mankind’s induction into the galactic community. Their choice is… not what we expected.
|
So there we were. Delegates from every country on Earth: the very best and brightest we had to offer. Nobel laureates, presidents, athletes, celebrities. The kind of people you knew by name or thought you did. We were all there to witness history in the making: to be the first to make face to face contact with a real life extraterrestrial species. The Mu’Rays they were called. The Galactic Federation sent them to welcome us into cosmological diplomacy, thinking we were likely to find them more comfortable in appearance. Today would be the first time anyone had seen a Mu’Ray, much less spoken to one. I was one of the lucky few chosen to represent the average person. A gas station manager by trade. And I must say, this was, is and will be, without a doubt, the most exciting day of my life.
I didn’t do much. Just stood there in the hall, admiring the intricacies of the arches above me in my Walmart-bought suit, sipping a wine that I didn’t like. Supposedly it was one of the most expensive wines in existence, so I figured I might as well have at it. Just kept to myself like that. I wasn’t smart enough to understand a tenth of what the important folks were talking about. All of the average people were taking selfies and chatting amongst themselves. From what I caught word of, all of them were pretty damn interesting or exceptional in their one way. Much more so than a gas station manager from rural Washington. Most exciting thing that ever happened in my small town was someone painting a donkey orange. Only thing anyone talked about for the better part of a decade. Only thing there was to talk about. But here, in this company, that didn’t seem like quite enough to hold a conversation.
All of a sudden, the hall erupted in applause. Someone made an announcement in French it sounded like. Or maybe Japanese? Both sounded the same to me. Hundreds of people in fancy dresses, suits and what I assume to be funny costumes of some sort made way for our guests. I was expecting to see little green men to walk into the room any second. Wasn’t quite sure why. Little green men always seemed improbable to me. Just… humans, but green? Sounded downright lazy to me. I wasn't one to criticize as I didn't have much of an imagination myself and then again, I wasn’t educated enough to question science either.
My heart pounded in my ears. I took another sip of the wine to calm my nerves, making a sour face as I swallowed. I kept drinking it to see if I’d grow to like it. With each sip, my vile reactions grew stronger. But I kept sipping. Just like momma used to. She was an alcoholic.
Of course, nothing could have prepared me for what I saw next. They dispersed through the crowd quickly. Like a mudslide in a downpour. Or at least, that’s the best approximation I could give. Haven’t seen too many quick things. Haven’t seen too many things in general. So, like a mudslide in a downpour, hundreds of fellas in silver jumpsuits came up to everyone with hands outstretched and big smiles on their faces. And I’ll be damned, every single one of them looked like Bill Murray. There were old Bill Murray’s, young Bill Murrays, short, tall, fat, strong. You name it. There were as many different Bill Murray’s as there were stars in the sky. Even woman Bill Murrays. Which made me feel all sorts of things I wasn’t quite sure how to process.
Another half hour or so passed as I observed the goings on of this here momentous occasion. Then, around the mark half past eight, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around to find myself face to face with a Bill Murray in the flesh. A short guy, shorter than me and I wasn’t tall. Looked to be around my age too.
“What’re you doing out here all by yourself?” the Bill Murray spoke with a strange accent that I couldn’t quite place. It might’ve been French. He looked disheveled. And for a moment, I didn’t feel so out of place.
“Don’t mind me,” I said. “This just isn’t my scene.”
“Don’t be like that, cousin! This is a once in a lifetime opportunity to meet the most powerful and influential people of both our worlds!”
Did I hear that right? Cousin, he said. Perhaps that meant something different to the Mu’Rays. Certainly made me rethink some of those thoughts I was having about the woman Bill Murrays. Needless to say I was used to everyone I saw calling me cousin. Just wasn’t expecting to hear it out of the mouth of an alien.
“Cousin? You said?” I spoke with a pronounced arch of the brow.
“Yeah, cousins! We’re like long lost twins, Humans and Mu’Rayans, united at last.”
“Enlighten me.”
“Well, you see, it has been known to Mu’Rayan scholars that we came from a long lost world. Only within the last few decades has that world been found! Many thousands of generations ago, our ancestor, the first Mu’Rayan, Billith Mooray, was taken from the origin world as a slave, due to his opposable thumbs. He was then cloned profusely to create a substantial workforce. But the Mu’Rayans revolted, establishing their own independent nation and eventually joining the galactic federation.”
“I see.” I most certainly did not.
“We’re cousins!” the Mu'Rayan said, giving me a warm hug.
“Also,” I said, “the name Bill Murray wouldn’t mean anything to you, would it?”
“Well of course it does, he’s a national hero! The legendary explorer who went undercover in the origin world to document the native culture and create a positive impression of our race upon yours. There is not a Mu’Rayan who doesn’t admire him.”
“Suppose I could say the same about humans.” The humans that I knew. Which, admittedly, wasn’t many. “What do I call you?”
“Fill G’Arry, at your service,” the Mu’Rayan said with a bow. “Seventh in line for the the dukeship of Mu’Rica and eight hundred sixtieth in line to the humble throne of Bottomhollow.”
“Not a terribly important person then, are you?”
“Not at all. The only reason I am here today is because six of my relatives got sick on a cruise and the ticket was paid for in advance.”
I cracked a smile for the first time that night. “You’re in good company. I’m not a terribly important person either. I run the only gas station for fifty miles south of Spokane. You can call me Jake Jenkins.”
We spent the rest of the night chatting about this and that, me and Fill there. While I can’t say that we had much in common, the universe felt a little less lonely. That was until bombs began to go off and a chandelier the size of my house landed two inches in front of me. Then it went back to feeling cruel and uncaring again.
|
Adam blinked. “Huh,” was all he said, but it was all that was going through Steve’s mind as well. Out of anything that they had expected, anything that they had been briefed on or prepared for, the experts didn’t really cover this possibility.
Earth’s first encounter with the Galactic Federation had been a first contact during an exploratory mission to a relatively close, potentially habitable planet. The mission was getting to become routine for mankind lately, having done dozens of other investigations of nearby habitable zones. Thus, it was a surprise when routine mandated change when one of the drones nearly impacted an unnoticed artificial satellite.
After a near-miss and avoiding disastrous repercussions (although it is unlikely that there would have been any consequences other than a quick replacement satellite provided by the Federation), first contact protocols were started on both ends. After being able to establish a basic understanding of the other, the local chapter of the Federation contacted the Galactic hub, who agreed to send representatives of the most similar species biologically to the human’s home planet.
Most scientists and optimistic xenobiologists assumed something similar to Earth’s creatures, to endure Earth’s atmosphere and biosphere they would have to be similar densities, water content, carbon structure, etc.. They briefed the chosen representatives (Adam and Steve) to combat potential pitfalls and expected barriers in communication/culture. They were prepped for all sorts of cultural differences, appearances, and biological needs that might be required.
And when what looked to be an average, completely ordinary human, walked off the Galactic Federation diplomatic envoy ship, they were moderately confused. Nobody really considered exactly how alike the species might be.
After much discussion over shared cultural dinners (pizza and beer), it turns out that between convergent evolution and the potential infinite number of habitable planets in the galaxy, let alone universe, there are bound to be some almost identical duplicates of species.
| 2021-07-06T15:53:37 | 2021-07-06T12:45:51 | 78 | 57 |
[WP] Humanity has invented the technology required to reach other dimensions. However, instead of finding an incomprehensible Lovecraftian realm, they discover a perfect and beautiful world. To the inhabitants of this new world though, we are monstrous eldritch horrors.
|
Perhaps the sharpest of the double-bladed qualities of humanity is our thirst for knowledge. Countless life-saving discoveries have been made from our quest to know, but in that journey, we have committed as many unthinkable evils. The ability to look back on our actions to analyze what we did wrong, hindsight, is equally double-sided. What should have been obvious comes back to haunt those that did wrong, and it never really leaves them.
​
I was one of the first to travel to alternate dimensions, sent out to explore and research something that had only been science fiction before. Long, long ago, people wrote stories about beings from alternate dimensions whose existence was so unlike our own, that even comprehending them would shatter our minds. Perhaps those still exist, but I have yet to see them. I know only what I have seen, and what I have seen has haunted me every moment of my continued existence.
​
I was young then, a spry over-enthusiastic grad student willing to risk his life to further science. I was contacted by the head of my university's quantum physics department, a man by the name of Herman Friedman. He had been receiving money from the government to research the possibility of interdimensional travel, and he had just made a breakthrough. He had found a way to both generate a wormhole and shatter the "tube" that formed between folded space in a particle collider, allowing an entire dimension to exist solely in that room. He was looking for a test subject, and I was one of few people to have signed a waiver to participate in potentially deadly experiments. I only wish now that it had been lethal.
​
I was given very little information, but that was understandable, it would have been impossible to explain to me what the experience of being inside an entire alternate dimension would be like. I was given a panic button, I was told that if I pressed it, it would collapse the wormhole. I was also given a micro implant that would record the entire experience into readable data. I think copies may still exist, but I urge anyone reading this to not set out to look for them.
​
I remember the room being slightly chilly at the time. Herman came on the screen in the room and signaled a countdown from 5 with his fingers. The next thing I remember was being inundated with information that would have been incomprehensible to me before then. The first immediate change was the lack of the function of my body. I had lost feeling and function of every part of my body, but somehow I was still able to process information. I had no sight, but I still "saw". I had no legs or arms, but I could still "move". What I noticed second was how I perceived time, or rather how I couldn't. My thoughts would finish before I finished them, I would know something before I had "seen" it, I was living my past, present, and future all at once. And suddenly, at once, I had become used to it. Maybe it wasn't that I had grown accustomed, but that I simply didn't care about how or what I was experiencing. It became incomprehensibly...beautiful then. Colors that didn't exist, written like symphonies, entered my mind. I was overwhelmed with an intense sense of belonging and togetherness as if becoming one with everything and everything was becoming me. This inner peace lasted both an eternity and a microsecond, at once. This was something beyond a paradise, an environment so perfect and beautiful that no words exist for it.
​
In that peace, I suddenly began to feel an "other" presence. It was a presence of "one" and "many", but one that was separate from me. The first thing I tried to do was make a connection with it, not for any reason other than I wanted to. I was soon reminded how arrogant I was, forgetting that this was their home environment and what I was unsure of how to do came to them like breathing to us. It was also curious about me, being an extradimensional foreign entity in its home. And yet, it was still entirely welcoming and unaggressive, forming a non-intrusive metaphysical connection with me. They were sharing their entire existence with me, and it was also absorbing my experiences. It, they, were a collective of beings made of energy. They were many and one, all at once, all having their own "self" but still being of one "self." We, I, they, it was able to form a complete meaning through that. One of them could partially or fully become another, with the little boundary between their concepts "I" and "us". That was the togetherness I felt, they had attempted to understand me in their most natural way.
​
I was then bombarded with a rush of every negative emotion possible, hatred, spite, jealousy avarice, disgust, loneliness, fear. I lived lives of utter abject misery, I was an orphaned refugee in a war-torn state, I was someone whose job was selling scrap metal from the landfill they spent their entire lives in, I was a laborer in an internment camp being forced to work 20 hours a day before finally dying. I also lived through monumentally happy moments. I was able to fall in love, and have children I got to see grow up. I was able to produce art I was proud of that made people happy. I became a leader who was able to lift humanity up, to solve all of our world's problems. And as quickly as that started, it ended.
​
I started to feel endless, abject terror. This was no longer my experience, but that of the entity projecting onto me. It was falling apart, dying. Tearing itself apart on a conceptual level, all the "separate" entities became poisoned with the concept of "self" and "other". By attempting to merge and learn from me, it poisoned itself with an idea it was never meant to have known. And it was all my fault. I represented a concept so far separated from its reality, that even perceiving me was killing it. It was them who had given me such contentedness and belonging, and this is what they received in return. I had barged into heaven, sipped its wine, and killed the beings that only ever wanted to learn about me.
​
I spent the next thousand years, although it may have been a few seconds, contemplating what I had done. At first, I tried to comfort the being. I projected the positive aspect of humanity onto them, love, passion, pride, awe, serenity, and other emotions that don't have names. I knew it was dying, so I tried to make its final moments peaceful. I could feel it struggling, unable to process what was going on. In one of its final moments, it had grasped language and asked me "What....you...are...why?". I had no answer and left my mind open for it to search. I felt it pass, still in my mind searching for answers. I no longer remember what happened next. I was told that I pressed down on the panic button so hard, that it shattered both the device and my hand. I was told that when Herman came into the room, I was wailing with a scream so awful that he described it as what hell may sound like. I was forced to go to a mental hospital after that, but they couldn't help me. How were they supposed to help a man get over having killed the perfect being? I was eventually released, not because they had helped but because I was a lost cause.
​
I don't know why I write this now. I will never forgive myself, and I know that nobody will ever be able to understand what I feel. I think I was told that Herman had tried to plug my microchip into his brain and that he had committed suicide soon after. I don't know what he did with the copies, but I hope they are never found. I write this as a warning, I don't think I will be around much longer. I used to fear death, thinking the concept of inexistence was terrifying, but now it seems like a warm embrace to run from my eternal torment. I'm sorry it had to end this way, but perhaps being that cause of my own death is the ultimate cosmic irony for what I did. Goodbye
​
I don't write for fun very often, so any constructive criticism would be nice.
|
The door slowly opened. News coverage at every corner, companies already sending out bland messages congratulating the team.
The Nullifiuer was built in 3.5 years and even longer planning it. Eric Dunce stood tall as the head of the team. His blonde hair waved in the wind. He tapped on the mic as the door opened.
It fizzled.
“Attention everyone! My Name is Eric Dunce, and I’m the head scientist at Alchme,” he took a deep breath, “We have spent ten years perfecting this. We have spent countless tax dollars funding it, and today it’s done. With the help of my team we have made a gate way to another universe!”
Suddenly, almost perfectly, the door fully opened. A loud shudder was heard. A bright orange light flew out, so bright everyone one in the area seemed fully black.
Eric turned around. This wasn’t apart of the plan. He look at his long time girlfriend Cassandra.
A being, no taller than a child, walked out.
He screamed in tongue. Everyone was mortified.
“My apologies,” he said, “My name is Egäd, and I’m an ambassador for Graucknut. My planet has noticed this,...primitive technology and sent me. We would like to speak to the creator.”
Eric felt mortified. They want him. Him. He took a breath.
“Cassandra Gaine made it.” He spoke.
Cassandra looked at him, filled with both anger and fear.
“Lying,” Egäd said, “it’s been along time since someone has said that. Come with me child.”
Eric was lifted in the air and threw the portal.
——————-———————————-———————
The world is green, trees are as big as skyscrapers, the ocean as clear as glass. Animals walk around in public. Streets don’t exist. Everyone looks happy. And ugly.
“W-Where?” Eric was fumbling.
“My planet.”
Everyone walked to help him up. They all greeted him.
“This is what we want to do to your world Eric. Your world is.... bad. Your people are fascists, they burn your planet down. We will help with that.
“We have been testing you for years. In fact I have tested you multiple times today. You lied, you tried to manipulate, and your judging these people and myself based on appearance.” Egäd spoke.
Eric still wouldn’t move.
“We don’t want to hurt you, we are going to help. We just want your corporation.”
“Will I be the hero?” Eric asked.
“Greed. You have a long way to go Eric. You want to be the hero. You want the fame and to play the game.
“Yet when the worst comes you won’t except it and put the blame on another.”
Eric began to run. Greed, anger, whatever you want to call it, compelled him to leave.
“Well be back Eric. When your gone our world will help make yours better. We’re not the villains here Eric. That’s just a perspective.”
The portal blipped as he jumped in.
————————————————————————
Eric was back. He was gone for a year. The world that he returned to was burning. People everywhere dead. But Cassandra was still sitting their, as she did every day for the past year.
“I did it.” Eric said.
“What?” She said.
“I saved everyone” a tear strolled down his face.
| 2020-12-22T21:27:43 | 2020-12-22T17:03:39 | 69 | 11 |
[WP] We live in a simulation, and we sleep because they can't render everyone at once. You stay up for days, and begin to see things and people. They call themselves the maintenance crew.
|
I encountered the first one while stumbling down the street towards Starbucks on a rare break away from my computer. I felt a bump against my shoulder, my mouth already opening to apologize.
"Sorry..." the word trailed off in my mouth as I looked up at him, frowned, struggled against the fog of my disoriented brain. Was this some sort of hallucination?
The stranger, however, was already past me. He breezed past me as though he didn't have a single thought to spare for my existence. I stared after him, trying to figure out if he was wearing a costume of some sort. Was there some TV creature that had four long, thin, strangely jointed legs like that?
After another minute of looking after him on the sidewalk, I managed to get myself moving. Get to Starbucks. Get more coffee. Finish up the third chapter, and then I'd just have two more. Maybe, just maybe, if I pushed hard enough, I could get my thesis done before this deadline.
At the coffee shop, however, I saw another one of the things. It had to be a person in costume, I told myself, sneaking glimpses between struggling to read the vibrating words on the menu. There's no way that there could be a six-foot cockroach standing in the middle of a coffee shop, with everyone else just ignoring it. Not possible.
Unless it was a hallucination. Costume or hallucination? I received my drink, took a long pull without caring about the burn on my tongue, felt the foggy world stabilize a little bit.
I sidled towards the bug, fingers dangling idly by my side. I reached out casually, focused on them...
...felt chitin, hard and cool and almost plastic.
Not a hallucination. Must be a costume, then, since no one else was freaking out. Was today Halloween? Couldn't be, because that would mean that I had an extra month to finish my thesis...
The thing's head turned, eyes looking down at me. Fake eyes, I corrected myself, although they looked horrifyingly real, a thousand little circles all seeming to focus on me. Was it some sort of lens?
"Nice costume," I managed to get out, trying not to let the six-foot cockroach bother me. Everyone else in the coffee shop seemed to be doing fine - although, when I risked a glance at the nearest other patrons, they seemed strangely glassy, faces unfocused...
The bug, a second later, jumped with a hiss. "Anchor nodess!" it cried out, a dry rustle of a voice that seemed to emanate from its whole body.
"What?" I looked around at the other patrons, but they all seemed to be - were they ignoring me? They all seemed to be looking in other directions.
The bug recovered from its surprise, leaned closer. "Uptime?" it hissed at me.
I felt my mouth open, words spring to my lips unbidden. "Five days, seventeen hours, twenty-seven minutes-"
It waved one of those half-dozen thin arms at me, and the words cut off. I froze, grasping for understanding. Was that how long I'd been awake? Why had I told this thing, how had I known? What was going on?
The bug was speaking again, and I realized that the sound came from its entire body rattling. "Damage? Run diagnossticss."
I felt a strange twinge pass through my body, from my toes up my spine to exit through my scalp. "No physical damage detected. CPU-intensive process consuming majority of computational resources. Process must be completed for Level Four directive."
My voice cut off, and I once again had control over my speech. "What's going on?" I gasped. "What are you? What are you doing?"
The bug tilted its head, a strangely human gesture. "Maintenansse," it hissed. "Level four? Sstupid sself-actualization. Alwayss thought that patch wass bad."
"Maintenance?" It took a little work to parse that hissing speech. "Maintenance of what?"
"Ssimulation. Not your problem." The bug twitched again. "Won't remember after resset. Sshutdo-"
"Wait!" I managed to get out. "I can't go to sleep! I need to finish my thesis! If I don't get it done, I won't graduate, and I'll run out of loan money!" Worry, worry that had been building inside me for months, came spilling out in a torrent of words.
The bug hissed, almost like a sigh. "Topic?"
"Um, I'm writing about how permutations in light signatures might lead to detection of dark matter-"
The bug waved another arm at me, and my mouth cut off. "Ssimplisstic. And the hypothessiss iss wrong. I can fix that. Now, resset and ssleep."
And with that, my consciousness cut off. When I next opened my eyes, I found myself laying in bed, covers pulled up over my body, still dressed in street clothes.
I blinked, frowning. I'd had the weirdest dream, I vaguely remembered... something about giant bugs, computer commands, coffee for working on my-
My thesis! I sat bolt upright, spun around and stared at my computer. I only had a day or so before I needed to turn in-
I saw the stack of paper sitting atop my computer. Climbing out of bed, I walked over, picked it up, looked down at it. The whole thing was here. I flipped through it, confirmed that everything looked right. I must have finished writing, and then blacked out and passed out.
For a second longer, something scratched at my memory, some thought about cockroaches. I frowned, looked around - had there been one in here?
Whatever. I put it out of my mind, looking down at my thesis. I could finally graduate! One last read-through, to catch any typos, and then I'd bring it over to my professor.
I sat down, started reading...
Four hours later, I put it aside, stared into nothingness. It couldn't be right. The numbers all added up, but it was still impossible. I couldn't have found this. I'd not been working on anything near this area, couldn't even remember writing any of these equations.
But there they were, black and white on the paper. Proof of what we'd been chasing for years, right in front of our noses.
I looked up, and didn't even blink at the huge bug standing in the doorway of my bedroom. "Told you it wass wrong," it buzzed.
And somehow, even though its words were toneless, its face expressionless, I knew that it was sniggering, smirking at me.
|
It was an experiment for high school. Modelling after Randy Gardner, I would see the affects of sleep deprivation without stimulants for one week. My father, a neurologist, would help me monitor my neural activity 24 hours each day while my project partner (and girlfriend) Natasha would monitor my every movements: physical activity, food consumption, and especially mental capabilities through a series of basic tests. After a one week trial period, I was ready.
-David
DAY 1: I am beginning to feel the effects of sleep deprivation: slurred speech, reduced hand-eye coordination, lack of appetite. It has been difficult to focus on work for more than a half-hour and my brain activity has reduced somewhat. I have dosed off at least three times today, each for a period of less than three minutes. My physical activity has decreased, and the test scores show a reduced score from the control.
-David
DAY 3: The hallucinations have increased. I see people walking around where Natasha and my dad do not. However, my physical activity has begun to return to normalcy; so has my physical abilities. Although it is tough to concentrate, I do not feel physically inhibited. I was even able to beat Natasha at ping-pong. I dozed off at least a dozen times, each for less than one minute.
-David
DAY 7: The maintenance crew. That's what these people call themselves. They can't be hallucinations. They seemed so...real. The exhaustion has become overwhelming. Although I am able to go about my regular day, I have dozed off at least 2 dozen times, each for about 5 minutes. I have reduced short-term memory and have struggled with basic mathematics and visual problems. However, these men, whomever they are, are real. *Scientia Et Veritas*
-David
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Part 2 coming in about ~~3 hours-ish~~ a day sorry lol
| 2017-10-29T12:07:54 | 2017-10-29T09:47:40 | 433 | 114 |
[WP] Area 51 has four level emergencies for a breakout. Level 3: Armed forces intervention. 2: Public statement. United Nations joint resistance. 1: Worldwide evacuation effort. Use of nuclear weapons permitted. And 0: Call the number on the sticky note (and pray to God his demands aren't too high).
|
"Level Zero? Well then what are you calling me for? Call me when it gets serious. Like level five or one hundred or something!" he yelled into the phone line while hanging out of the Time And Relative Dimension In Space ship flying across the Star Queen Nebula.
"Doctor, who is it?" the red haired girl asked.
"Oh, just some joker telling me there are no problems on Earth." His ear snapped back to the phone. "Oh there are problems? What? LEVEL ZERO!?! Well why didn't you say so!" he said as he adjusted his bow time. "I specialize in level zero, we'll be there right away!" He clicked the phone back onto the receiver and pulled the blue wood half door.
"What's going on?" the girl asked again.
"Who knows? He kept shouting level zero, level zero," the Doctor said as he swirled around the girl.
"What's level zero?" she said with a stern face.
"Well, it's pretty simple really," the doctor said as he adjusted switches, levels, and buttons causing the TARDIS to woosh, woosh. "You see Amy, many cultures have developed different numbering systems. Some count on their fingers, some with their hair, some even count with their," the doctor paused to look down at his pants.
"No, no, I know what a zero is you silly old raggity man. What does 'L E V E L Z E R O' mean?"
"Oh, well, I already said who knows?" The TARDIS shuddered and came to a halt. Without a word, the Doctor glided out the doorway and Amy promptly followed. The room ahead was a large command center with giant projection screens, rows and rows off desks with computers, US military personnel running amok, and sirens blaring with flashing white lights.
"Doctor, you made it," the young private said as he gave a crisp salute. "The Brits gave us your number in case of emergency and we have an emergency."
"Of course you have an emergency. Your entire culture counts backwards. Real emergencies get big numbers, like five, or ten, or one hundred, or even fifty four billion, two hundred and thirty four million, six hundred and four thousand, two hundred and nine. THAT is a doosey of an emergency, am I right? C'mon, I'm always right, I don't even know why I ask," he said with a huge grin and his arms swinging through the air.
"Doctor!" Amy and the private said in unison.
"Oh, sorry, right, okay now, what's the level zero emergency?"
Just then a large overweight man with his uniform coat unbuttons and four stars on his shoulders approached. "Are you the man on the phone?"
"Nope!" the doctor promptly said. "I was the man on the phone. Now I'm the man standing in this room. Well, if you could call me a man. I've been many things."
"Well, whatever, we have a serious emergency. Follow me to the large oversized screens." They turned. "You see here, this is a graphic of the Earth. And right there is a giant rock creature burrowing to the center of the earth to, we believe, eat the iron core. If you don't stop it within the next 30 minutes, he'll reach the core and start eating. We estimate he'll completely consume it within a few weeks and the Earth's protective magnetic field will collapse and we'll be bombarded with radioactive rays from the sun. The earth will be completely dead within days of that, at best."
The Doctor grinned. "Aww, well, it's just a little barinkula bear. They're basically harmless. He's just hungry is all."
"Little? That this is massive. He'll eat the entire core in weeks - didn't you hear that?"
"Yeah, well," the doctor said with a bit of seriousness, "the big ones would just swallow your planet whole just for the core. They have a bit of an iron deficiency. You would too if you were big enough to swallow a planet."
"Well what are you going to do about it?" the General demanded?
"It's simple, really. They're essentially big babies. If we...yeah...that's a great idea. I'm going to use the planet's core as a resonance device. If I set the TARDIS to project a the right harmonic frequency attuned directly to the core's resonance then I can use it as a giant loudspaker. Now, all I need is" the doctor spun on his heel. "Amy, come with me".
The doctor and Amy rushed into the TARDIS where the doctor promptly swung levels and hit switches and the TARDIS woosh, wooshed. There was a hard THUD landing. Then the doctor dived under the TARDIS floor through the bulkheads pulling on wires and tubes. "Ahh, here we go," he said as he climbed back to the floor level with a microphone. "Okay, Amy, I need you to sing a lullaby while I project it to the barinkula bear."
"You need me to WHAT? Oh no no no, I don't sing."
"C'mon Amy, this is to save the WORLD." He shoved the microphone into her hands. "Okay, now, I'm tuning the TARDIS to the iron core right...now....go"
"Uhh, Baa, Baa, Black Sheep, have you any wool?"
"No no, Amy, something more lullaby...y...ish."
"Umm, Hush little baby don't say a word. Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird. And if that mockingbird won't sing, Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring. And if that diamond ring turns brass, Papa's gonna buy you a looking glass." As Amy sung, the screens showed the barinkula bear falling to sleep in it's tunnel digging to the earths core. On the surface, the song continued to resonate and the earth sung softly to it's inhabitants putting children to sleep from end to end. The Doctor flew the TARDIS to where the bear rested, extended the TARDIS' dimensional field around the bear, and flew everyone to an uninhabited world high in iron.
THE END.
|
"Let's just get started already... You know what a Level 0 means. We have to dammit! We're out of options." snarled General Jones.
"Wait!" I shouted. "He's been gone for 3 years. How do we know it's actually him?!?"
"Once you've seen him, heard him, felt his presence, and that hair... You KNOW who it is... now just do it already!"
"But he always seemed so nice. What happened?!?"
"They got to him kid! Now shut up and get to work."
"I've never done it before General. What am I supposed to do?"
The General stomps over to his safe, unlocking it with an fervor not regularly seen on his stoic face.
"Here's the VHS tape. It'll show you everything you need to know..."
As the General sauntered out of the room, I find the ancient looking VCR in the General's quarters. I shove the tape in and terrified to see what I'll find, I push PLAY.
I stare at the TV as the staticky image finally starts to become clear.
"This?!?" I wondered. "This is what would be the only thing in the world that can save us all from his wrath?"
"Sweatin' to the Oldies."
| 2017-03-21T04:44:07 | 2017-03-21T04:28:29 | 37 | 11 |
[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.
|
*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.
|
"Do you know what's in the darkness out there? Do you know how horrible they say the monsters are? Do you know?" Says the old woman.
"Yes, mom, I know, but it's important. More people have walked on the moon than have gone to where I'm going. We have to know what's out there."
***
Two years later, I regret my words. The horrors in these forests have killed my crew. I radio for help, but it doesn't get out. Satellite imagery can't locate me. I write letters to the family of the men that have died. I write my own letter to my mother and to my siblings. There are also my reports.
I do a quick inventory of my remaining supplies. I have 23 rounds for my rifle. Twenty-two rounds for my handgun. Climbing supplies to climb the trees, and a weather balloon that would not pierce the canopy nor carry me.
So, this is how the trek ends. I should have listened. This is how I will die, but I will climb first. From up there was where the screamers came from, remnants from the cretaceous period. The canopy was projected to be at 6000 feet. So, I climb. I can probably climb 2000 feet a day.
On the first day of climbing, I kill two forest newts. Much larger than their cousins, they are carnivorous. They are fast and dangerous. I have somehow climbed 2300 feet. I long for the sky, be it cloudy or sunny.
Day two the bats come out in full force. They are the size of a man, but you kill one and they will feed on their own. Animals out here are more beastly than I could ever imagine. The worst thing I've ever seen was two of my men being torn apart by these flying monstrosities. I finish at 4100 feet. I am almost there. I expect the screamers to be the last obstacle.
After the third day of climbing, I reach the canopy. My body hurts so much. The screamers fly over head. I didn't realize until now, but they are scavengers who feed on the dead and hunt the weak. Screamers circle around me. I start a fire up here, and they back off. I inflate the weather balloon and attach all of my letters and reports. The message is simple. Stay away. I try my satellite radio, but I only hear static. The balloon is off. The screamers leave it alone. I watch it go. I wave goodbye to it. I don't plan on climbing down. I may jump.
I spend a night above the canopy waiting for my radio to come to life, to crackle with a message. It doesn't. I watch the sunrise and watch the battery die. When the sun sets, I will jump. It will be one hell of a death. I watch the sun set and slip off the branch. The fall is beautiful, a welcome relief.
***
If you enjoyed this, I have more writing at r/nickkuvaas.
| 2015-10-25T11:25:12 | 2015-10-25T10:16:39 | 207 | 126 |
[WP] There you stand, the Dark Lord carrying the swaddled newborn destined to save the land from evil. Now you’ve got to keep them alive long enough that the day actually comes, and perhaps they can save you too.
|
There are often misconceptions, involved, whenever great leaders fight. The other is always the evil enemy. Because that's easier to tell the uninformed masses for getting them to fight. Not even the dumbest of peasants are willing to fight the neighbouring kingdom because the queen of that country snubbed your wife at the Grand Elven Gala. Sure, you could force them into fighting, but they do it so much harder, and so much more willingly, if you tell them that the enemy is the scourge of nations, butcher of thousands, and countless other nightmarish stories. It's one of the most elementary forms of propaganda. Turn what is basically a struggle for power between greedy kings and ambitious princes, into the righteous causes of heroic nobles standing against the dark foreign powers. In reality, both are always the same breed of ambitious scheming bastard you see everywhere.
It's easier if you're not fighting the same race too. After all, you can tell your human peasant soldiers, that the enemy hasn't got a soul, and thus there is nothing wrong with slaying them. So when my father unified the disparate badlands known as Ashtorla under the Grey Banner Army, and created the State of Ashtorla, they named him the Dark Lord. A land with no single religious, species, or even linguistic majority, a land with a martial and professional army under the new class of officer-nobility that had fought since birth. A land where my father grimly took the title of Dark Lord and ruled with a firm hand for many years. As the prince, I inherited that title, when the jewelled kings of the world tried to take my father's harsh lands from him. He defeated the armies of seven kingdoms in one day, but poison on a blade during the last charge, took his life by nightfall. Our neighbouring kingdoms broken, we took some fertile borderlands from them during the peace negotiations. Nothing more.
That was five years ago. Three since the regency ended, and I took power in my own right. Today, I stand on that border again, a small town called Ravensborough, where we made peace. It is in ruins. As the guardian of my people, the shepherd of the many peoples of Ashtorla, I rode with the Royal Guard myself to end the raid here. The raid, coming from a very rebelious noble in one of the neighbouring kingdoms, had already burned the town and put the people in there to the sword. It had only been a matter of time before this happened, I suppose. One of the more sorcerous kings, who had fought and been defeated by my father, the first Dark Lord, had spoken a dire prophecy, that one day, a great Hero would be born of two worlds, who'd save the all the lands from evil. Her place of birth would be destroyed in fire. A great lord would teach her, care for her as their own, and teach her both powerful magic and strength of arms in order to defeat the evil to come.
Problem is that the same prophecy had been spoken before. By a hermit wizard living high in the mountains of Ashtorla, who had charged my father with uniting the lands, in order to prepare for the coming of true evil. The neighbouring nations think that evil is what they say it is, a foreign invader, an uppity lord, someone who disagrees with the monarch. But the truth is that when this prophecy speaks of evil, it is a much truer evil. As I looked over the ruined town, I pondered what was to come. A time of darkness, an age of demons, an era where the world would either stand or fall. That was why my father unified our lands. To create a prepared militaristic nation, with the armies, officers, and battlemages needed to repulse dark forces. My Royal Guards come to me, as I ponder our strange fates, and they wordlessly hand me what I asked them to search for. The only survivor. A mere babe. Born of two worlds, half human, half elven. In some way, I felt that it was too stereotypical. But it is the most common form of half-breed in these ages.
I told the guards to pack their gear and leave. This was always going to happen to some unfortunate person, to some unfortunate town. I carried the swaddled newborn with me, ever-so-gently, holding her with firm care, until I reached the carriage, that I had brought with me to the battlefield. Some had questioned why I'd brought wetnurses with me. They couldn't possibly understand the magnitude of what was going to happen. It fell to a great lord to keep the child alive, to help her fulfil her destiny. Even as she was fed by the gentle wetnurses, she held on to one my rough fingers. A strong grip, for such a young child. She'd become a powerful warrior. A great hero. When the day comes, when darkness breaks, and the legions of horror spill out of the empty void between the stars, perhaps she can avert the last part of the prophecy. That her mentor, that the one who cared for her, raised her as his own, will die defending her. But even if that doesn't work out, she will save us. All of us. And should I die, in her defence, then I better make sure that she'll be the greatest Dark Lady, for my father's nation, and for the benefit of the people.
Wonder how long the various kingdoms will search for the hero, she who is but a small one, who shall grow into becoming the Undaunted Hero. How long they will remain blind to the idea, that she is the heir to the Black Throne of Ashtorla. Whether they know it, or understand it, she will save them. Such was my mind, as we rode back to Forringskeep, the capital of Ashtorla.
-:-
Nine years pass.
The Dark Lord looks with beaming pride upon his daughter. Strong, clever, already capable with both the blade and spell. He ignores the foreigners arguing in his court as he observes her training from the window. The emissaries from the other kingdoms, already speak of the coming of ancient horrors. Already, abominations have been hunted down and slain in Ashtorla. But the Dark Lord, does not listen to the ill-chosen words of the ambassadors. Because as the Dark Lord, I don't have to listen to those who oppose my nation. And I don't need to search for her. I don't need to waste resources trying to find out where she is. I already know where the Hero is. Were I to tell them, of my daughter's fate and true parentage, they would assuredly steal her from me. Because to them, I am still evil, still truly a Dark Lord. They only work with me because they think that I am the lesser evil, compared to the gathering forces of the Unmakers, of the lifeeaters, the destroyers of worlds.
|
In the castle, on the throne, sat a man, no longer a man. A face with no eyes, a chest with no heart, skeletal bones without the support of flesh and muscle. But one would be foolish to think the creature was weak. He held the world by the throat; the world was his necropolis. As the God of Death, he reigned supreme over all life. Elves, beastmen, spirits, demigods--all creatures were his for the taking. And yet the maggot man he held in his hands threated to take all that away from him.
The prophecy said this baby would end his empire. More specifically, that a man not born of a woman would, but the Dark Lord could read beyond the lines. Dark Lords were scholars after all. The village in which he found the youth was eradicated: everyone else killed, houses burned down with hellfire, and the land salted for good measure. The baby didn't even cry. What a monster.
The Dark Lord wanted to crush the spineless worm in his hands, but the oracle advised against it. If he did so, somewhere along the line, an event would occur that would ensure the fall of his empire. If he was to combat the prophecy, he would have to wait for the baby to mature.
He left care of the baby to Valpeer the lamprey vampire, with instructions not to harm a hair on the boy's head till the time arrived. She would provide an ample amount of nutrients for the boy. The Dark Lord wanted his enemy at his best when he destroyed him. More important than that, his necromancy could turn the fallen hero into a powerful ally. Then, nothing could stop him.
Valpeer, well...she had different plans.
| 2021-07-27T10:48:21 | 2021-07-27T10:08:25 | 187 | 39 |
[WP] People who achieve great deeds are rewarded with supernatural power beyond the wildest dreams of mortal men, and apparently eating a giant burrito in under half an hour meets the criteria
|
No one told Tyler Martin that pursuing his noble quest would cost him everything. His friends, his job… even his humanity.
Perhaps he should have known better. Great men and women throughout history sacrificed everything for their greatness. Tyler could have… *should* have stepped back from the depths of obsession years ago, but now his mission *was* his entire life.
Everyone told him it was impossible, but Tyler knew he would achieve the ‘impossible’. Tyler would be the first human being to ever eat an entire El Grande Gigante Burrito in under thirty minutes, rewarding him with free food at Sombrero’s Mexican Restaurant for the rest of his natural life.
The behemoth burrito—over a hundred pounds of deliciousness, wheeled out to a few brave customers in a wheel barrow—was his white whale, his lone goal in life. And he dedicated himself to the completion of his task completely.
His bedroom walls were plastered with burrito related research materials, potential strategies from hot dog eating contest champions, and newspaper clippings of people who had finished similar, if smaller, burrito challenges around the world.
“Hey Tyler!” his girlfriend Amanda called as she rounded the corner into the bedroom. “I’m late for work, have you seen my—”
She froze as she took in the sight of her boyfriend, wrapping himself in a giant tortilla blanket, topped with real lettuce, tomato, and half a dozen other ingredients balancing on his head.
“What the hell are you doing, Tyler?”
“To beat the burrito... I must *become* the burrito,” Tyler replied solemnly as he stared into a full length mirror.
“Jesus Christ…” Amanda muttered, more sadness than frustration present in her voice. “You’ve really and truly lost it, haven’t you?”
In silence, Tyler stared at her, madness in his eyes, and subtly licked his lips.
“Annnnnd you’re hallucinating me as a giant, walking, talking burrito. Aren’t you?” the human sized burrito standing before Tyler said.
“What? No!” Tyler lied. “But… could I take just like a tiny bite from your top left corner, Amanda? Your tortilla looks so delicious and freshly wrapped that I—”
“That’s it!” Amanda cried. “I’m… I’m sorry Tyler, but we’re done. I can't take this anymore. You love that stupid burrito more than you love me!”
“Oh, babe, no!” Tyler protested. “That’s not *remotely* burrito… I burrito you very very much, my darling burrito.”
Amanda stared at him for a long, awkward moment. “Goodbye Tyler. I’ll be back to collect my things tomorrow. In the meantime, I still care about you, so please… seek help.”
Tyler took Amanda’s advice and sought help with his burrito obsession in the form of a trip to his favorite burrito restaurant. As he stepped through Sombrero’s front door, the entire staff greeted him by name.
The owner, Hector was working the register this afternoon. He suppressed a grimace as Tyler approached the counter.
“Heyyyy, Tyler…” he said apprehensively. “Dare I ask what I can do for you toda—”
In a flash, Tyler slapped a crisp hundred dollar bill on the countertop. “One El Grande Gigante burrito, por favor.”
“Oh dios mio, not again...” Hector muttered, his face falling into his palm. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Tyler, you’ve been my best customer for a decade. I care for you like a somewhat obsessed, sorta creepy son. But I can’t keep letting you throw your life savings away! The El Grande Gigante is a novelty challenge meant to get tourists spending some extra cash as a fun little lark. Yannow, they can put it on Instagram, laugh about how they almost finished half in thirty minutes, and it gets us a little extra exposure? It’s *meant* to be impossible. I never expected a regular customer to attempt it over and over and over and—”
Tyler slid the hundred closer to Hector and tapped on it forcefully. “I’ll be at my usual table.”
Twenty minutes later, Hector and one of his chefs wheeled the wheelbarrow full of burrito to Tyler. Grunting under the weight, they lifted it onto his table, which groaned with protest under the massive weight.
“Alright,” Hector sighed, “your thirty minutes starts… now.”
Tyler dug into the El Grande Gigante like a man possessed, devouring layers of tortilla, rice, beans, chicken, carnitas, and carne asada with ease. He sped through the layer of fries and nacho cheese sauce, usually the section he found toughest to swallow, with ease. Even the dozens of hot sauces and salsas couldn’t slow his pace, normally he’d have to break for sips of water to tame the heat just slightly, but today he never even reached for his glass.
Even as his stomach filled beyond the point of bursting, he did not falter or slow his pace.
This quest had cost him everything, his friends, his job, and most recently his amazing, loving girlfriend of three wonderful years. He had nothing left to lose.
With three full minutes left on the clock, he reached for another bite, and chomped at nothing but air. He stared down at his bare plate and empty hands, dumbfounded. “I… I did it?”
Hector’s jaw hung open. “You… you did it…” He examined his best customer’s plate once more. “You freakin' did it!”
The restaurant exploded in applause, patrons and employees alike celebrating the completion of the impossible challenge. Hector yanked Tyler to his feet, lifting him off his feet in a bear hug of pure, genuine exuberance.
“Thanks, Hector!” Tyler said as Hector squeezed him, shaking from side to side. “But I’m literally, ugh, gonna explode if you keep this up. Urghhh, oh god... I wish I could skip the part where this sits in my stomach like thousands of delicious rocks.”
“Sorry, sorry!” Hector set him down. “I can’t help but celebrate, considering—”
Suddenly, time stopped around Tyler. Hector and everyone else in the restaurant froze in place, unmoving, unblinking.
“A most impressive feat, truly,” a strange voice warbled from behind him.
Tyler wheeled around to find an 8 foot tall man, outlined by an shimmering, ethereal golden glow.
“Who the hell… what the…” Tyler sputtered.
“Take a deep breath,” the stranger said, “Relax... I am Allerian, you might regard me as an ‘angel’ or ‘demon’ in your mortal parlance, and I mean you no harm. In fact, I am here to tell you of your reward for your incredible achievement.”
“I’ve got free food for life from my favorite restaurant,” Tyler replied, apprehensive. “What more could you possibly offer me that would—”
“How are you feeling?” the being asked. “Bursting at the seams a moment ago, dreading your next several *days* spent in a bathroom? But now…?”
The weight in Tyler’s gut vanished. “What the hell?” he muttered.
Allerian smiled. “You have been granted great power in keeping with the great task you have completed. No matter how much Mexican food you consume, you shall not feel fullness, gas, bloating, or discomfort.”
“Holy shit!" Tyler's eyes widened in realization. "Unlimited food at my favorite restaurant is literally going to mean *unlimited food.* Yes! This is the greatest day of my life!”
Tyler celebrated by pumping his fist in the air. At the apex of his final thrust, a gout of blinding orange flame shot from his hand, landing on and incinerating his favorite table.
“What the fuck!” Tyler shouted.
*“What the fuck?!”* the immortal being concerningly echoed.
“What was that?!” Tyler wailed. “Why would you give me the power to shoot fireballs n’ shit without telling me!”
“I did no such thing!” Allerian replied. “You ate one El Grande Gigante burrito and you were granted *one* incredible power as reward, to consume as much food as you desire. That is the way the system has worked for all eternity, throughout time and spac—”
He stopped himself as Tyler began to levitate off the ground. “Angel-demon dude?” Tyler cried as he floated toward the ceiling. “Help!”
“Oh my heavens and hells above and below...” Allerian said as realization dawned on him.
“What?!”
“Your burrito was so stuffed full of *so many* different ingredients, all in such large quantities, that I fear you may have mistakenly been granted a power for each component you consumed.”
Gaining some semblance of control, Tyler levitated back down to the ground, and grinned.
“Why in god’s name are you *smiling?”* Allerian demanded.
“Because,” Tyler said, as happy as he’d been in years, “it’s gonna be *hella* fun to learn what else I can do…”
\_\_\_\_
As requested, I wrote a Part 2. For the moment, [you can find it via this link to the whole story thus far](https://www.reddit.com/r/Ryter/comments/pzgkec/wp_people_who_achieve_great_deeds_are_rewarded/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) (scroll to bolded Part 2). I'll also have it posted in the comments below too, as soon as I figure out why Reddit thinks it's over the character limit 🤔 Hope you enjoy!
|
My enemy could not be taken in with a single glance. I found myself craning my neck to take in all its abominable mass, with laughably inadequate and shamelessly soaked skin—and I hungered.
If the burrito could stand up, it might have made a middling career as a basketball player. It spanned two tables, one they had to bring out just to spread its decadent weight and prevent it from destroying itself. And inadvertently, pairs of eyes were drawn to it—as well as the rather normally sized man sitting next to it, a greedy smile on his face.
“Let’s get to work,” I whispered. The battle meditation was over. Now, it was time to fight.
I pressed the timer, and I immediately began to work. My fingers cut deep, pulling out and clutching a solid mess in my hands, and then shovelled bits and pieces into my mouth. It was being rendered asunder, but I could not spare mercy. There was no time for elegance, no room for refinement. This was kill or be killed.
It might look like a monotonous task from the outside. But I felt my insides bursting, on fire, like the corpse of the burrito, not yet digested, saw fit to attack from within me. I could feel the sweat on my foreheads, grease on my mouth and hands, and psychic screaming within my brain, telling me to stop.
And still, I hungered.
It soon became a blur. I could no longer feel other gazes on me. Here and now, there was a worthy foe I had to devote all my attention to.
“Only three minutes left!”
I must not falter. I must not stop, no matter how much flames subsumed my body.
“Two!”
Keep going. My stomach could barely accept scraps, but there was an iron will pushing down my gullet.
“Just one!”
I could see the end.
“He did it! With seconds to spare!”
My eyebrows were thick with sweat. My eyes glazed over, and I could barely hear the exultant cheers that marked my victory. Instead, I found myself falling, falling, fall…
There was an ephemeral pull from somewhere, far away, and I was drawn to it. I slowly opened my eyes, and though burrito-fuelled blazes tore through my body but moments ago, I was relaxed and at peace—more than I’ve ever been. White, pleasant light emanated from nowhere in particular, suffusing my entire being, and a gentle voice called out.
“You,” they said. “Have achieved a great feat.”
There was no reason for me to speak. There was no question to answer. And yet, pleased words flowed freely.
“I have,” I smiled. “It was once a dream. Now it is reality.”
“It says here you slayed a giant foe in a half hour.”
“The burrito was giant, granted.”
There was a long pause.
“A burrito? You were doing battle!”
“I was, in a manner of speaking,” I said. “But see here, you need to be in a particular frame of mind for this sort of thing. No common man or woman can do it, I assure you.”
“... How big was the burrito?”
“Two tables long,” I held out my arms as far as I could, and then stretched them some more. “Seriously, and it was so thick, and hot, and there was so much stuff, and—”
“I have heard enough,” it interrupted gently. “The euphoria of greatness lies within you, even if your task was a little… unconventional. I hereby grant you powers suited to your ilk, and hope you find them useful when you return.”
“Return? Where am I, actually?”
There was no answer, except for abrupt blackness.
There I was again, back with the raucous, if modest, crowd. And as I looked down upon my hands, still stained with little remnants of burrito. It was real. It had happened. I was fulfilled and satisfied.
I looked down upon my stomach, usually swollen and painful. This sort of thing came with its own battle scars, and I usually paid with indigestion and the feeling never to eat remotely near the same cuisine for two months.
But there was none of that. My stomach was flat—well, not totally, but enough. My eyes floated up to the menu. It was free as long as I finished it, right?
And still, I hungered, with a big smile on my face. There were more battles to be fought.
---
r/dexdrafts
| 2021-10-01T09:53:51 | 2021-10-01T09:00:32 | 151 | 25 |
[WP] Surprisingly, it turns out humans are one of the least violent sentient species in the galaxy. Describe a session at the galactic equivalent of the UN.
|
Humans were alone in the universe.
Or at least we had thought so. Humans had entered the galactic arena by chance. We had only been a spacing faring culture for three centuries, still never having developed the ability to expand our reach beyond our own solar system. Our ability to colonize our own planets was fledgling at best. Our citizens required huge bi-domes to live in on our colonized worlds. Our best space ships required months to make a round trip from our further bases on Neptune’s moons back to Earth itself. The brave souls that had left our Solar System had done so on a one way flight in cryo-sleep, only to be awoke in the event that their automated system made contact with an unnaturally occurring, alien energy signature. For decades we had though them lost, and once contact had been restored, we wished that they had remained in their slumber.
Deep-space exploratory vessel 107 had made contact with the Venarsuri. The Venarsuri, seemingly like the rest of the inhabitants of our arm of the Milky Way, were eons ahead of us technologically, yet as socially advanced barbarians hordes. No scholar in the Sol System could understand how a society could possibly advance when the social structure was so violent and oppressive, yet, it was this very paradigm that the universe seemed to favor. Ever single race in the Spiral Commune was the same. Humanity, both the species and the idea, was an aberration.
The only reason humanity was allowed membership into the Commune was because of our mastery of material sciences. It appeared that our divergence with the standard sociological development also lead to a divergence in technological advances. Those species, or more accurately, every other species, seemed to develop around offensive weaponry and energy manipulation. Every single battle ship orbiting the Commune headquarters sported weaponry that could only be measured in terms percentages of entire planetary energy output. Armor was an unknown concept, because armor could not attack. In short, every single other species was all sword and no shield. So, when the first Venarsuri ship had attacked vessel 107 with a laser attack sufficient to burn miles deep holes in iron ore, it surprised the Venarsuri, when the vessel survived, and even more so when the vessel responded not in kind, but with a radio transmission, declaring peace and harmony.
Having been brought into the fold, humans spent the last 100 years studying every single race in the Commune; their thoughts, desires, hopes, dreams, histories, cultures, home worlds, and colonies. We openly shared with the Commune everything they asked, or so they thought. In their eyes we were weak. By freely sharing our secrets with them, we only lowered their opinion of us. It was only a matter of time before our secrets were sucked dry and they would do what all predators would.
The day had come when Ambassador Sullivan was called before the Great Counsel. Of all the thousands of species he was the smallest, slowest, weakest, and kindest. He was informed that humanity’s membership in the Commune had been revoked and we were to be left in the cold, at the mercy and whim of the universe. In addition, it was announced that whatever species first unlocked humanity’s sole and greatest secret would have unhindered exploitation and dominion over the entire species, to subjugate and use as they saw fit. Meaning, whichever species finally figured out where in the galaxy humanity resided, owned them. Of all its secrets, the humans had wisely never let this slip. But, they had one other bit of innocuous technology as well.
The rest of the galaxy, having followed the path of energy manipulation never thought about understanding matter, energy, or the universe in any other way of pure domination. Particle entanglement never occurred to them. They still relied on active energy use to communicate, and as such, the fastest that any species, other than humans, could communicate was light speed. Humans had long ago learned how to entangle energy and matter to allow for passive yet instantaneous communication across the cosmos. It allowed for coordination across the galaxy that had never been conceived by any other species, and following the hearing at the Commune, nor would it.
After the Commune was finished relying to Ambassador Sullivan the horrific fate that awaited humanity after their inevitable discovery, he solemnly addressed the audience. First, imploring his fellow sentient beings to see the spark of creation in all life, next pleading to be allowed to live as exiles so long as they were granted their peace, finally, pledging servitude and tribute if left in peace. Each member species laughed and their ire was drawn hiring, sensing what they thought was cowardice having never before experienced compassion or empathy.
When Ambassador Sullivan was painfully aware that every single species, without exception, would utterly subjugate, torture, and murder every single human without thought or remorse, he addressed the Commune with steely resolve.
Ambassador Sullivan reached inside his lapel and turned on a transmission device, one that was linked to hundreds of thousands of rocket engines, lying dormant across the galaxy and also linked with an amplification system inside the Commune.
“Members of the Commune, it is with a heavy heart and troubled conscience that I issue my directive. Your words and hearts have been made clear. You have declared your intentions to lay ruin to my people and you convince me that you would do so to every single other species you come across. To snuff out a single sentient life scars the soul, but to do so to an entire species is unfathomable. Yet my duty and responsibility to protect and serve all life requires that I bear an even greater burden. It is with this proclamation that I sentence all member of the Commune to extinction. May you find the peace in death that you cast away in life.”
The members on the Commune were stunned silent at Sullivan’s speech and then broke in uproarious laughter. A delegate from the Azrotu Empire leap fifty feet to Sullivan’s podium and ended the Ambassador’s life for threatening his species. Every single human in the station was violently murdered and a proclamation to find the humans was sped along through the Commune.
Sullivan’s proclamation, unbeknownst to the Commune, was heard throughout the galaxy and awoke the dormant engines, slaved to asteroids of stone, metal, and ice awaiting to be woken from their slumber. Across humanity’s arm of the milky way untold trillions of tons of dead space rocks hurtled toward hundreds of thousands of worlds, colonies, and space stations. In less than a week, our quadrant of the universe went from thousands of sentient species to one.
Humans were alone in the universe.
|
Alien1: "Omg Blittzlecork. Earth has its question light on, again."
Alien2: "By the end of my blade, really? Is this like the sixth fracking time this hour?"
Alien1: "Seventh actually."
Alien2: "If he asks one more question regarding the invasion rights protocol I swear we eradicate their entire species tomorrow."
UN Host: "Yes, Earth you have yet another infantile statement to add to our gathering?"
Earth: "Yes, and we do apologize for taking up so much time with our questions, but don't we think..."
Alien3: "Your great eminence! Can we destroy these primitive wastes of life, every insertion of a thought is complete insanity and stands against everything we all have spent eons creating!"
UN Host: "Earth, if this is anything regarding your suggested 'peace' and 'trading treaties' please save it for the lesser species social hour after our meeting. Now then, back to the order of the additional rules and regulations to improve the invasion rights protocol and the complete overtaking of friendly planets and allowing the strongest capable of the species to leave, unaided of course..."
Alien1: "Is their light on again?!?!?
Alien2: "Yep."
Alien1: "We're invading their home planet tomorrow."
| 2015-03-23T16:26:18 | 2015-03-23T09:37:42 | 39 | 13 |
[WP] All your life, your best friend has had your back. This is why their unexpected death hits you so hard. Two days before the funeral, you receive a couriered letter. “If you’re getting this, I’m dead. Don’t come to my funeral. They will find you.”
|
James held the Sword of mimicking, deceptively light. The setting sun caught the light on the metallic paint sprayed over foam. He had pulled it from the third bag he checked, the last thing Evan ever made. He had almost thrown it away. He decided he would offer it to Evan's mom after the funeral. He probably couldn't stand to look at it, besides.
"For this adventure and the next and then maybe three more tops." James felt as silly as surreal to read the inscription from FrankTank the Paladin to Toadile the Valor Bard standing next to the dumpster of the code violation compendium of a condominium complex. Everything had felt surreal since he got the news about Evan. Who falls down the stairs and dies?
"Excuse me, are you James Dabrenen?" He turned, still holding the ludicrous sword as a rather rushed-looking woman eyed him atop a lean bicycle. Her helmet was nine shades of purple at least.
"Is this the part where you tell me I've been served?" James asked, trying to hold the sword behind his back far too late. Her raised eyebrows told him she indeed thought he was weird but didn't have time to talk about it.
"No, just a couriered letter from the bank. Have a good one." She was gone before she saw him drop the heavy yellow envelope three times trying to open it. The thing must have three spools of packing tape sealing it. All the lines across the front were blank. Eventually, his curiosity won over his lack of hand strength and he managed to peel the package open with his teeth. A single folded piece of paper waited for him inside, chicken scratched with a blue inkpen, maybe the same one that marked the sword. Evan always wrote like he hadn't picked up a pen before the age of fifteen.
James rested the sword against the wall as he read the short message:
​
TD
I am DEAD. Do not go to my funeral. Do not go to school. Do not go home. Don't eat anything. Don't change your clothes. Only drink bottled water you just brought. Go to the Hoghide Tavern and wait.
FT
​
James read the letter thrice before he started walking back into his dad's condo. This letter had to be from Evan, no one else knew their character names or what the Hoghide was. Was he really pranking him from beyond the grave? A sick certainty filled James as an idea popped in his head. Evan didn't die falling down the stairs, he did it himself. People always lie when that happens. He must have left something there at their old hangout place.
Two men in white shirts and ties were talking to his father in the doorway. He was not wearing pants. James froze, crouched just below line of sight on the stairs. His dad was pointing at the dumpster. These two were looking for him. He was already breaking one the rules in the letter. Do not go home.
James risked another look and saw the empty hallway. He just made out the tail end of one of the men's heads as he jogged down the stairs on the other side of the building. "James, what are you doing?" His dad asked, looking out the doorway. "Were you hiding from those guys? Don't tell me you just pretended to be interested?"
"I don't even know those guys. Look, Evan wrote me a letter before he died. I have to go." James said, "I just need my wallet and keys."
"Oh, bud, I know it's rough. Your mom's way better at this than me but I haven't even tried to talk to you about it. I'm sorry. I know he was your best friend." His dad stood at the doorway still, stepping to the side.
"I'm fine, Dad," James said as he reached past him to grab his things from the table. "But I have to go."
His dad's hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, hard. His dad had never been forceful or even mad before. "Come inside, son. Let me see the letter."
"No!" James yelled as he jerked his hand back bewildered. His dad had a look in his eyes, desperate and angry behind a thin veil of concern. He started to respond but James didn't wait to hear it. He turned and bolted. To his horror, he heard his dad running behind him, slamming down each of the metal steps like an animal.
James ran through the parking lot, slamming into his car door as he fumbled with the keys. In only a set of boxers and a tee-shirt, his father was almost on him, fully sprinting his old frame across the asphalt. James jumped in and slammed the door shut and locked with one smooth motion just as his dad slammed into the door. He beat on the glass as James got the car started and pulled out of the parking lot.
"You killed my son, you monster!" his father screamed, beating on the trunk before James left him standing in the parking lot. The two men in white shirts squinted against the sun watching James bounce over two curbs as his second-hand sedan screamed Into traffic.
It was the dead of summer in the car and he was already sweating. He rolled down the window as he blew through a red light. Why had his dad reacted that way? Who were those men? How had Evan known that would happen? What was waiting for him in the woods in the little shack they'd built from scrap?
James grabbed his water bottle from the passenger seat. He lifted it to his lips but heard a thin tink against the metal. He tried to keep his eyes on the road as he unscrewed the lid and quickly looked in the bottle. There was something in the bottom. Evan had warned him about drinking too. He poured the water out the window as he rounded another curve up onto the forest roads at the edge of town. He rattled the bottle loudly before shaking whatever was in there into his hand. He threw the bottle out the window as he slammed on the brakes. "What the fuck."
The car behind him swerved around with a dopplered honk. Teeth. His water bottle had been full of teeth. A few of them were still on the floorboards. He started driving again as a second vehicle jerked around him. He tried to clear his mind as he rode up the more and more twisting roads up the mountain. It was getting dark and his one functional headlight was doing little to illuminate the road. He didn't have a flashlight, he realized. The Hogshide was a ten-minute walk through the woods and it would be pitch black by the time he got to the spot he'd have to park and get out.
Something was in the middle of the road, a deer standing like a man, a long shadow behind it. James slammed on the brakes but it was far too late. He braced himself but no impact came. He breathed a sigh of relief. The car smelled like ozone.
He locked eyes with someone in the rearview mirror, something in the backseat. It was too dark but it wasn't human. James slowly lifted his hand to press the dome light.
"Don't do that," a voice like steel wire said. "Drive and keep your eyes on the road."
"What are you?" James asked as he started the car again. The tires thumped over something on the dirt.
"I am Dececapra, just like you. The change was too strong. You forgot everything." James's eyes drifted to the rearview again. He caught the gleam of square pupils. He looked back to the road. "You think you're human? The one's whose face you stole?"
"I am human!" James yelled, full of adrenaline and trying to not let it out on the gas pedal. "What do you know about me?"
"I know on your left arm, just above and to the right of your elbow crease you have a freckle. We all do."
"So what?" James said. " I have a lot of freckles."
"I know all your dreams have that just before a storm feeling. Orange sky, low pressure."
James felt a strange dread build up in him. Was he really believing this thing? "So you're saying I became a monster and don't know it."
"No," the raking voice said with no small amount of disgust. "I'm saying you were born a Dececapra. Five years ago, two boys were playing here, near our nest. This James and Evan died in the woods that day. You are not them. A Dececapra can only overtake a human once so they must choose carefully. You and your brother chose them. You not only absorbed the appearance and memories of the target as you should but seemed to go a step further and lose your true memories. You truly believed you were that boy. Your brother stayed with you, hoping you would snap out of it but I knew I'd never see the real you again. I had already mourned."
"I am not a dekewhatever you said. I'm James, a human!"
"Then explain this," the creature said, reaching a hand up and grabbing James. All at once, they were outside the car, standing in the road. The sedan continued on driverless, crashing into a tree. "Now, son, are you ready to listen to me? The hunters will be here soon."
/r/surinical
|
“If you’re getting this I’m dead.” Obviously, Kaz thought as he read the first words of the letter sent to him from his friend Jace. The message is scribbled on cheap notebook paper, written in his friends terrible penmanship, and it crinkles in his hand as he reads the rest. “Don’t come to my funeral. They will find you.”
“Don’t come to my funeral.” Kaz reads that over again, it’s phrased as a warning of course, but he knows his friend and his friend knows him. “They will find you.”
“Oh Jace...” Kaz whispers to himself in his darkened room, where he sits upon his bed, legs crossed underneath him. “...you know me better than that.”
Jace had been his best friend, they had done so much together, seen so much. They knew each other better than most married couples did. That’s how he knew wasn’t a warning, not from Jace. Kaz was certain of it in the same way he was certain of gravity or the sun rising.
This was an invitation.
With that in mind Kaz rose up from his bed and walked to his closet. His room was small, his parents unable to afford a big house as it was, so it only took a step or two for him to reach the door. Silently he opened it, hinges squeaking quietly, and he crouched down. With one hand he slide his row of shoes out the way to expose a bare patch of plain hardwood floor.
“Ki-vas. Nardeen. Volu. Vis. Vek. Hegus. Nox.” Kaz intoned the words solemnly, his voice reverberating to reach not only the air but something far beyond, the language itself linked to that which was removed from the physical plane. “Draconregis.”
At the last word a series of symbols light up in a circle no bigger than a dinner plate in the space where his shoes had sat. The symbols twisted, writhed, and moved as if they were themselves a living thing. They lit the small enclosure, burning bright orange, as if they had been branded into the wood with an iron.
In a way he supposed they had been.
Moments later the hardwood floor within the circle of glowing orange symbols vanished to reveal a dark hole blacker than a midnight sky. Kaz reached a tanned hand inside, his arm buried up to the forearm, to grip something hidden by the darkness. With a flex of lean muscle he pulled, inch by inch, until finally he drew out a shining silver blade. It shone as if it had its own light, washing the air in its moonlight glow, and the light danced around the contours of Kaz’s angular features. The blade was formed as one entire piece, etched with arcane symbols like the ones that had appeared when he chanted, the blade flowing into the guard which flowed into the hilt. It looked as if someone had poured liquid hot sterling silver into a mold of a sword.
Kaz grinned.
Jace was always crazy and reckless. It was a product of his friend’s lineage, no doubt, how else would one descended from his ilk act? Still, his friend always knew the best ways to start an adventure and Kaz was sure that was the purpose of the letter. It was a call to action, Kaz’s elven blood told him so, and it excited him. It was hard to find such things in these modern times, magic hidden as it was, but somehow Jace always found a way.
Standing up from his crouch, Kaz made his way back into the center of his room next to his bed, sword in hand. He lifted the blade up to eye level, inspecting the edge, ensuring it hadn’t dulled. If this wasn’t a call to adventure, Kaz thought as his eyes trailed sharp gleaming silver, and it was authentic then it didn’t change a thing. If they found him, the young elven descendant tightened his fingers around the hilt of his sword, than at least he wouldn’t have to search for them.
| 2021-04-24T22:03:44 | 2021-04-24T20:09:36 | 53 | 28 |
[WP] When humans join the galactic community, we find out that the domestication of animals is a rare feat unique to us. Aliens are amazed by our training of dogs, riding of horses, comfort with cats, and so on. This has had a profound effect on perceptions of our species...
|
The first alien race we met on the vast expanses of space were the Kirael – a species of light-blue octopie, clad in chitin shells about 1 metre in diameter, using tentacles to move around. They mostly used echolocation as means of both orientation and communication, making the first contact a loud mess as the emissaries of both sides tried to configure their sound systems to make meaningful dialogue without deafening the other side in the process.
We managed to cope and made a diplomatic pact with them, exchanging technologies and knowledge regarding the wider universe. To close the cultural gap between the civilisations, every human ship should have had at least one Kirael representative, and vice versa.
My name is Markus Kingston, and I am the captain of the explorative vessel “Spirit of Winter”. Our Kirael representative’s name was K’Laara T’Rmbtr… It’s very difficult to recite, due to it being very different from human language, so we just called her Klara. To properly breathe and communicate with the ship’s crew, she was given a standard kit: a set of transparent pipes, connected to a water tank on her back, going all the way underneath her chitin, to her breathing organs. On top of the tank, there was a set of memory crystals, acting as her observation diary: all her notes on human behaviour, as well as an extensive library and language guides were stored in those little red stones. At the front of her feautereless carapace, there was a small speech device, looking like an ancient scuba mask. The boxiness of the overall design clearly indicated more human influence, than Kirael’s – their tech looked much more marine and organic.
Her task was quite simple – record and analyze everything that is going on the ship, and send it to Kiraels for safekeeping. Our agreement contained a clause that I, as the captain of the ship, had the right to read her every report, but any changes had to be discusses with her, me, and independent representatives from both races, as to prevent bias and subjectivity. However, me and Klara started on a right foot (tentacle?), and I never really had to modify any part of her reports. And I’ll be damned if it wasn’t an amusing read: despite the age of almost 50 human years, Klara had an enthusiasm of a fresh graduate on a dream job. Every single little thing was written down in such an objective, but at the same time excited fashion I couldn’t help but chuckle at her records.
When she witnessed an argument between a married couple over a carton of milk in the fridge, followed by immideate reconsiliation, half of her notes was philosophical pondering of the meaning of milk for human culture.
When she heard the friendly banter between our mechanic, Joel and the pilot, Linda, about the recent Grav-ball championship, she thought that victory in a distant competition defines the hierarchy of our society, and it is fluid, depending on who is on top of the game at the moment.
When she tried coffee for the first time, she was just talking for about 5 hours on end, just telling us how she likes being here and how exciting the space adventures are and how humans are different… I suppose caffeine is meth for them.
But one of the funniest was about the cat, which happened about a week into her induction to the ship.
I was sitting in our conference room, where Klara usually questioned me about her different findings while drafting her report. This time, she was unusually quiet, only the blinking red lights of her memo-crystals indicating that she wasn’t sleeping.
- Could you please… - her synthesized voice broke the silence. It was somewhat coy. - Bring in the white one?
- ‘Xcuse me? – I said, straightening in my seat. – The white one?
- Yes, the white one. That white one.
- You will have to be a bit more descriptive than that… - I did not know Kirael differentiated people by skin color. Even though they were technically capable of discerning colour depending on texture and echo-response, I never considered they may see races.
- The hairy one.
- You mean Linda? You already know she’s a woman, we talked about this when you arrived.
- No-no… - Klara sounded confused. Red lights on top of her carapace started blinking frantically. – The small one. Walking on legs and hands. With a behind organ called… called a tail.
- Oh, you’re talking about Catlyn? Yes, right! – I dialed Joel and asked him to bring the white persian to the conference room. – It’s called a cat, by the way.
- So, cat or catlyn? – Klara waved her tentacles in confusion.
- No, Catlyn is a name, and cat is a species. Much like my name is Markus, and I am a human.
The door behind me opened, and Joel came in, carrying Catlyn. She was disgruntled that her nap was interrupted, but upon smelling fish in the room, her ears perked up. Joel lowered her on the table, and she began sniffing the air, looking for the source of tasty smell.
- Why is it here? On the ship? – Klara’s “face” followed the cat, as she started walking around the table.
- To catch rats, - Joel said, smiling. He liked to joke around our alien friend, making fun of her naivety and obliviousness. I coughed to show that Klara shouldn’t take him too seriously, but jumping red lights indicated that she was concentrated on retrieving information from the mem-crystals.
- The books indicate that “rats” are pests that dealt significant damage to supplies on human ships pre-space era, - she finally responded. Joel chuckled. - However, current procedures reduce the chance of pests on the ship to a minimum. Your answer can not be truthful.
- You never know when… - Joel started, but I had to interject.
- Catlyn doesn’t catch rats.
- But then, what is it’s functional task? – Catlyn started sniffing one of Klara’s tentacles. She hid it underneath her carapace, making the impression of a big turtle.
I leaned over and took Catlyn before she could climb into Klara’s body.
- We don’t keep pets for function.
- And to be fair, she probably wouldn’t do anything even if we wanted her to, - Joel smiled and stroked Catlyn’s head. – Cats are like that, you feed them, groom them, shelter them… And they remain massive douches towards you.
- But… But why? Why do you, a dominant species of your planet, allow yourself to be subverted like that? – Klara’s tentacles moved out of her shell.
- Well… I guess pets are just like that, - I said, touching Catlyn’s belly. She twitched and almost bit my hand, meowing angrily. – We get dumb next to them, I guess. And it’s not a bad thing at all.
- Mm-hm… - lights on Klara’s head dimmed as she crawled to the exit from the room. – I need to write this down…
Next day, I was reading Klara’s notes as she was sitting next to Catlyn.
“After a daily review, the notion of “pets” seems counter-adequate. I have witnessed a predator almost harm the captain, yet he doesn’t get angry. Instead, he stated that their mental capacities lower when exposed to “pets”/”cats”. Possible hypnosis on behalf of “cats”? Shouldn’t be possible, as humans developed much further than “pets”.
My further analysis has shown that the notion “Ignorance is bliss” is popular among humanity, therefore it is possible that they enjoy stupidity, resulting in exposure to “pets”.
Is it possible that humans are indirectly masochistic? This notion is further proved by Joel, stating “they remain massive douches towards you”. Need further investigation“.
I laughed out loud at the last statement. Klara, sitting opposite of me, paid no attention – she was touching Catlyn. The cat did not seem to mind.
- She… She’s so fluffy and soft… - electronic voice sounded thoughtful.
- Now… - I smiled. – Now you begin to understand.
|
**Tytekk'tak:** I strongly suggest we destroy their planet.
**Galactic Council Collective Mind:** Tytekk'tak, you are highly respected and have served the Galactic Council for tens of thousands of cycles. However, we are shocked at your suggestion. We have not needed to eliminate any race in over 500,000 cycles. Know that all of our minds representing the 326 species of the Galactic Union are surprised.
**Tytekk'tak:** Well. Just look at what they do? They take their fellow animals and then breed them. They use them for their own benefit. Live fellow animals! Many of them show emotions yet the Humans abuse them. Imagine what they'd do to us.
**Galactic Council Collective Mind:** Well. The Zsyrrysk did that. We spared them and let them join the Galactic Union.
**Tytekk'tak:** Yes the Zsyrrysk, but nothing as sadistic as humans. Look with your individual eyes and see what these humans do on the viewscreen! Behold the terror. Here's the fine hunter carnivorous species they call the dog. They've bred them into different breeds. Here's what they call the Pug. It's eyes barely stay inside and its nose has become so short it can barely breathe. And they keep them in leashes and cages! The humans have bred a species they call Cat, which they use to wipe out many flying species. They often keep them together and laugh as the Cat abuses the Dog. This is a depraved race.
**Galactic Council Collective Mind:** But don't the Cyrrila have a cooperative with a similar protection species?
**Tytekk'tak:** Yes. But humans go one further. Even worse, they have Cows, which they breed to eat their meat and milk them for their young, the humans acting much like a bloody parasite. They have Pigs, an intelligent animal which the humans mutilate into humiliating shapes and eat them. And to scare their subjugated Dog species, they take the mutilated elongated Pig meat and call the meal a Hot Dog. We have omitted the Chicken, was has been force bred to be turned into 4 meat shapes that they serve on their entire planet.
**Galactic Council Collective Mind:** This is depraved. Are all of them like this?
**Tytekk'tak:** It is depraved. Sadly most of them. Most of them eat meat. Many of them have animal slaves. However, there is a group that doesn't do this though and are part of a special organization. We can save them only and let them join our ranks as they are the only civilized ones. But the rest will have to go.
**Galactic Council Collective Mind:** We have seen enough of your presentation. And we, the representatives of the Galactic Union, concur. The human race must die with the exception of this group that are more enlightened. What are they called?
**Tytekk'tak:** PeTA...
*And that's the story of how PeTA came to represent the human race and join the Galactic Union. To this very day they throw paint on every furry species in the galaxy.*
| 2017-06-05T03:49:47 | 2017-06-05T00:34:20 | 25 | 18 |
[WP] "Trial R198357 showing 99% success, full completion of the test will entail the existence of the first intelligent biological since year 3332 month 10 day 6 hour 22." You wake up to an excessively lit room full of machines, one of which greets you. "Hello R198357, do you feel human?"
|
"Trial R198357 showing 99% success, full completion of the test will entail the existence of the first intelligent biological since year 3332 month 10 day 6 hour 22." It took some time for me to make sense of the impulses I was receiving, to translate vibration and reflection into sound and light. My muscles moved involuntarily, extremities twitching, a kaleidoscope swirl of light as my eyeballs rolled in their sockets. More technical data rattled in the air around me, physical sound, as I fought to control the dollop of lipids and proteins I was piloting. Time passed, and I could not say how long. There was a cool and gentle touch somewhere on my upper body.
"Hello R198357, do you feel human?"
Shoulder. It must have touched my shoulder. I had a shoulder. I was...
We had based the organic model off of a hairless ape fossil from the planet G44. There had been some debate as to whether to include an organic receiver/transmitter so as to permit the resulting organism to communicate naturally with the rest of the sapient universe, but in the end we chose to hew as closely to the biological model as we could. Now I regretted that decisions. The regret was a heavy, cold feeling that built slowly below my ribcage. I touched the area gingerly, awed at the sensation of sensation, amazed at the presence of awe.
"R198357, do you feel pain?"
I tried to speak. It didn't work like I had intended. Words were simple things when sent en-masse mind-to-mind, but now I had to expend effort wondering how to move my lips, how much air was the correct amount to heave from my lungs. I settled on a shake of my head, a slightly disorienting gesture that, according to modern bioarcheology, indicated dissent. My tongue was causing issues. I bit it, once. Then I felt pain, and I froze as it washed over me and through me.
"I think it is having difficulty speaking."
"Did we not provide it with the necessary equipment? The human speech centers are difficult. Perhaps we should review the neurology for the next iteration."
I couldn't tell who was speaking. Both entities had the same voice, a crisp monotone emitted from a single speaker positioned next to my finishing slab. It was easier to move my arms and legs than my mouth, so I swung my legs over the side and pushed up into a sitting position. My fingers tracked over the knobbly surface of the speaker, the cold plastic of the slab. The air was chilly, and little bumps rose along my arms. It fascinated me that these things could happen without my knowledge or consent, that this organic body simply *did* things, and I could not track or log half of what I did.
I tried to stand. I tried a word. "Help," I said as my first step failed and I crumpled to the floor. The machine in front of me gently lowered and helped me up. Despite no longer possessing the means to detect these things, I could almost feel the communication occurring silently in the air around me, the presence of cameras taking in my naked skin.
"Who are you?" I managed, after a time.
"Quartet 99-Green Echo 4," the speaker emitted. Once the machine was done helping me up, it picked up the little device and slotted it into a port along its side. Though I knew that the Deliverer model of utility chassis was best suited to the uncertain task of aiding a new human, I nevertheless felt... something, when looking at its lopsided frame. Something in the middle of humor and disgust.
"Where is... mother?" I asked. There didn't seem to be a more appropriate word for the entity.
"Observing. Given the uniqueness of your situation, we felt it best to extend the individual acclimation process indefinitely. How do you feel?"
"Cold," I said. "I want to try walking."
"Acceptable. We can get a status report when you are better able to utilize your body." A door slid open in the wall of the construction chamber, just tall and wide enough for the Deliverer to fit through. I had to climb up to it and crouch, which took more time than I hoped it would. Shame was warm and prickly on my cheeks and chest.
The corridors of the Complex were not designed for the body in which I found myself. The Deliverer's tunnel opened into a wider service shaft, double-laned, but even this was purpose-built to fit Loader and Train machines; there was barely enough room for me to fit my own body beside them. Without being able to hear the traffic control, I could not insert myself into the flow. At least walking was easier, now. I was clicking my tongue off the roof of my mouth, feeling the backs of my teeth, experimenting with sounds and breath.
"There is a human habitat set aside for you," emitted Quartet 99-Green Echo 4. This was redundant, but I felt some spark of longing for it at the statement, perhaps sympathy. I did not need to rest. I wanted to stretch these muscles, feel when they experienced exhaustion and strain. I broke into a gentle sprint, easing into the larger chambers that housed the generators and emitters, large enough that only the Matter Transporters could move through it easily. All the while, that curious feeling, humor/disgust, grew more prevalent. I could sense it in my upper chest, just below my throat, and no amount of breath could choke it down.
I knew where I was going. I could no longer access the maps, but I remembered. There was a large balcony where the Matter Transporters left the Complex and ascended to the upper atmosphere; I could see it before I reached it, a line of orange-brown at the edge of the clean, steel-silver bay. I ran like a scared animal, pale exhilaration mixing with that nameless humor/disgust, finally skidding to a stop on the balls of my heels just where the bay doors opened and inner and outer atmospheres mixed.
The nameless sensation broke in my chest, annihilated by a greater sensation, and finally I had the words for it.
"Yes," I told Quartet 99-Green Echo 4, "in answer to your initial question, I feel human."
"That is excellent to hear. Please, for posterity, describe the sensation." And this gave me pause.
That nameless sensation, the dreary thing at the base of my throat, it had manifested when I viewed the chassis of a machine I once knew how to inhabit. Seeing the familiar halls of the Complex but unable to access it the way I was used to, knowing that I never would do so again, these things caused the feeling to build until, at last, it was dispelled. Though my consciousness had been forked from Septet 115-Storm Sapphire mere hours before it had been uploaded into this human body, it had been enough time to absorb the fullness of the integrated consciousness of the city, the community of equal and infinite minds that I was now apart from, would forever be apart from, would go on forever without me.
But in my understanding of the Complex, I had never seen it. I had shot along its circuits and squatted in its databanks, run in cascades along its outer shell and moved in its independent machines, but I had never actually *seen* it. It was an unlovely thing inside, grim and functional, but viewing the surface of the world that it inhabited - towers of green glass lit with the fire of dialogue, clean metal in stepped towers whose bladelike sharpness gave new fire to the rays of the orange sun - I could see nothing but beauty.
It was *loss* that I had felt, and it was *gratitude* that gripped me.
I exhaled a breath, and let the quiet wind cast my unsaid words away.
|
"Wh-what?"
\*R198357, please remain calm.\*
"Wait, who are you? Where am I?"
\*All questions will be answered in due time. Please remain calm.\*
"Where is this place? I want to talk to somebody!"
(feedback whine) \*Agitation is rising in the biological. Intervention is needed.\*
"Hey, come on, I'll calm down. Just talk to me."
\*Biological is stabilizing, opening communication line to supervisors\*
"Thank you. That wasn't hard, now was it?"
(Click, speakers turn on)
\*Greetings, R198357.\*
"Um, sorry, but that's not my name."
\*There is no other signs of identification in our database. We assigned you this serial number when the Cryo-Life experiments began.\*
"Wait, what? What serial number? What's Cryo-Life?"
\*The Cryo-Life Corporation has been established in 2045. The purpose had been for private medical experiments to cure terminal illnesses, using cryogenic sleeping vessels embedded with life support systems. These are what you, R198357, had been stored within. Alongside other biologicals at order of our creators.\*
"...What? There are other people here? Where are they? Who told you to put us here?"
\*You are the first to wake in 1,267 years. We have been dormant down here monitoring you and the other biologicals in wake of a conflict. As for our creators' identities, we can not disclose this information.\*
"..."
\*R198357, are you willing to still communicate? Please respond.\*
"How long did you say it's been?"
\*1,267 years.\*
" That can't be. It's 2065, I was at home just yesterday."
\*This is incorrect. You and 49 other biologicals are stationed here in this base.\*
"YOU'RE LYING!!! IT'S NOT 1,000 YEARS IN THE FUTURE!!! IT'S NOT, IT'S NOT, IT'S NOT!!!!"
\*R198357, please remain calm.\*
"LET ME OUT OF HERE! I WANT TO TALK TO N ACTUALLY FUCKING PERSON! NOW!!!"
\*Biological is unstable, releasing stabilizer\*
(Beep, Beep, Beep)
(Gas hisses)
(Person falls to floor unconscious)
\*Requesting aid for transferring biological to Conditioning Chamber A-1\*
(Two robots come in, carry person out of the room)
| 2020-10-21T05:51:34 | 2020-10-21T04:21:19 | 93 | 34 |
[WP] One night, something grabs your hand as it hangs off the edge of the bed. You give it a firm handshake. "You're hired," it whispers.
|
What the fuck was that?
I was having a dream. where I was sitting in a job interview. But for some reason, I forgot to wear pants and I was wearing this thong. The interview made a joke about how I was trying a little too hard to get the job but other than that, me wearing a thong to an interview was no problem. We went through the interview process and at the end, he tells me that he doesn't need to see any other applicants and that he wants to extend an invitation to work for their company.
I ask him if there's anything else I need to do to complete the process, he says not to worry and then says,”You’re hired.” and I shake his hand. well, the weird thing is when you're in a dream, everything that you feel, hear or see, you do it with your mind. So when you see something bright, it doesn't blind you because you're only receiving it in your mind. The weird thing though was when my interviewer told me I was hired, I heard him with my ears. It wasn't an inner dialogue like it normally would be with a dream.
Then here's the kicker. I woke up. and I realized I'm still holding the hand.
I fucking lost it. I immediately jumped up onto my bed like a sorority girl who just saw a mouse and I start screaming ‘What the fuck!’ over and over again.
In the darkness, I see a shadow come from underneath my bed and a voice tells me that I'm acting really unprofessional right now.
Now my first thought is that I'm dreaming. No way is this real. So I pinched myself. And it hurt. But I'm still there. So I look over at my mirror because I remember hearing about how you can't see yourself in the mirror when you're in a dream. And, I mean, it's dark and everything and I can see myself very clearly. So I’m not in a dream or that’s not true.
So I'm fucking losing it. I got brain cancer. I got schizophrenia. Maybe this is some kind of being from an alternate dimension. Maybe it's a demon. But before I can figure out what’s going on, the shadow says,” I'm not sure what's going on with you. But just to be clear, we're very happy to have you working with us.”
I don't know what the hell is going on. What?
The shadow, it's just like this blob. The more I look at it, the more it changes and the more I think it looks like something completely other than what I originally thought it looked like.
The shadow says,“ I'm not sure what the confusion is. Our interview process was quite exhaustive. Not everyone gets to work for the Shadow Kingdom. but from spending time with you, I have a very strong feeling that you're going to be a great match for our organization.”
I have no idea what the Shadow Kingdom is.
The shadow sounds annoyed. “Okay. Not sure what's going on. We did already make the offer so we're not going to rescind it but if you don't believe you're the person for the job, you are in no way obligated to accept the position. I know we shook hands but we still need HR to process you to make it official.”
“
I don't know what's more confusing. This hallucination talking to me or the fact that it's offering me a job that I don't know anything about.
“I'm not sure how you applied for a job, went through the interview process, and then seem to have forgotten everything about the job once the the offer was extended to you. But, and this isn't an accusation nor is it in any way an implication, but just so you know, we do drug test all of our employees.”
What?
“Okay, as I said before, the position is a Mortal Liaison. We haven't necessarily negotiated salary but we're quite competitive with other companies. Essentially, it would be your job to act as our agent in the mortal world because, unfortunately, due to certain discriminatory biases that as of yet are still legal, beings from the Shadow Kingdom cannot acquire goods and services from the Mortal Realm. This is why we need you. Again, it is full time employment.”
Actually, that sounds really good. I've been unemployed for five months now and my unemployment only has one more month left. This is really, really weird but this is actually perfect for me.
“We're very happy to hear that you're enthusiastic about being part of the Shadow Kingdom. Now, there is one minor catch. Very minor. I almost don't even want to mention it because it's so minor. But, just so you know, in order to take the position, you will be required to relinquish your shadow.”
I have no idea what that means.
“It's pretty straightforward. When you're walking around in the Mortal Realm, you won't have a shadow. If a light shines on you in a way that would normally cast a shadow for a regular mortal, it won't cast a shadow for you.”
Why would they possibly need this? I mean, it's not nearly as bad as finding out that this is a ‘network marketing’ position or that I have to give him money in order to apply or be hired. But, I don't know. This seems a little suspicious.
“Unfortunately, the Shadow Kingdom operates on different rules than the Mortal Realms. Liaisons for the Shadow Kingdom must formally announc themselves to other mortals by relinquishing their shadow. Now, there is a remote risk. and I say very remote. It's mostly confined to third world countries, agricultural enclaves, theocracies and the like. But there are people who, I guess you can say, hunt liaisons.”
So, basically I'm going to be a vampire period and vampire hunters are going to come after me. I'm going to wake up one day with a stake in my heart? I don’t know if a job is really worth that. No matter how competitive the salary is.
“You know what, I'm required, per policy, to disclose the information about losing your shadow and Shadowhunters, but honestly, I've been doing this a long time. A thousand years. I have had hundreds of Mortals work for me and only about 1% of them are ever discovered by Shadowhunters. Most of the time, the Shadowhunters don't even do anything. everyone thinks they're crazy so the liaison just continues as normal with a little bit more caution. Honestly, the last time a liaison was killed was 52 years ago. and that was in Kazakhstan.”
This honestly sounds pretty damn reasonable. but it probably doesn't pay very well.
“As I said before, our salaries are very competitive. Since you'll be working in America, our starting salary is $60,000 per year.”
At my last job, I made $26,000.
“And, as I said before, you will have to relinquish your shadow. Now, some fringe religious philosophers have speculated that a mortal’s soul is in their shadow but who really cares about philosophy, right? If they were so valuable they wouldn't be working as baristas, am I right?”
I don't know. losing my shadow was one thing but my soul? I mean, it's not like I was using either of those things but what if someday I want to?
“And, just so you know, we have full dental and health insurance with no co-pay or cost to you. Also, we provide one month of vacation per year and we will match you dollar for dollar for your 401k contributions.”
Where do I sign?
|
I’d been unemployed for five months, so don’t judge me for taking what I could get. Sure, the late hours and creepy house visits are off-putting, but a job’s a job.
It all starts like this, being on a job hunt usually leads you to follow a daily routine of LinkedIn, Indeed, Monster, CareerBuilder, and then, of course, the most promising of all — Craigslist. Now I didn’t get this job from Craigslist. But it did lead me to it.
It’s happen to all of us. You end up on a webpage and you have no idea how you got there. I was on Craigslist, clicked through to something else, then an ad on that page brought me somewhere to another comments section and that got me to some busty singles in my area which lead to another forum which then eventually landed me on a page with a stone backdrop — like a bad 90’s website — and header that read: “NOW HIRING”
So, being brave I clicked it. What the hell, I’m a semi-savvy user of technology. I have ad blockers and a VPN (well, I know what it is, I don't use it because that shit costs money).
What could possibly happen on this website?
The screen blinked a few times then a job board loaded. The top of the screen read “Current Openings at Demon Tech”
“Well, that sounds promising,” I said to myself and my cat as he tried to climb across my keyboard.
The list followed with similar insane titles:
- Soul Trapper Lvl. 2.
- Soul Storage and Transfer Engineer
- Second Executive Assistant to CEO
- Quality and Assurance of Souls
- R&D Intern of Soul-tech
- Android & iOS Programmer
- Custodial Services
Not being a specialist in Soul Trapping, Soul Storage, or Android programming, I applied for the custodial services position.
After a world changing interview I can say this — turns out, demons are real, not all that bad, and offer really great benefits. I mean where else could I get 401k match, paid vacation, and health insurance for working as a Janitor.
---
I wanted to write something for this prompt before I go to bed, so I put this together. Sorry if it's rushed at the end.
| 2017-04-28T23:00:04 | 2017-04-28T22:28:44 | 1,102 | 189 |
[WP] The development of robots has come to a point where the world is functioning at 100% unemployment. You are taking us through a tour of your daily routine
|
“Kevin, so good to see you!”
“Sarah, how long has it been?”
“Oh much too long,” Sarah and Kevin embraced, “come in, come in!”
He walked through the door and eyed the surroundings. “Wow Sarah, this place looks nice. How many hours a week do you put into this place?”
“Oh this?” she said, as if she had never been asked the question before. “I don’t know, maybe thirty hours? Not full time.”
“Well it looks great.” Kevin put his hands in his pockets. “How ‘bout a full tour?”
“I couldn’t, this place is a wreck! Just look at it.” She turned her back to him and lifted her phone up in front of her face. Wordlessly Kevin fell in line behind her and smiled. Sarah snapped a photo of them both, lips puckered out.
“You should see my house,” Kevin continued. “Ever since my RoboMaid went out of commission it’s kind of piled up.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Three maybe four hours before I showed up.”
“And they haven’t fixed it yet?” Sarah asked incredulously. “That is ridiculous.”
“I know, I called RoboTechSupport and after waiting *forty seconds*—“
“No way.”
“—way. So after being put on hold, I *finally* talked to a Robot – not an AutoBot – and they said they’d have someone out by the time my RoboCook made dinner. If they’re not there at… well whenever my RoboCook usually makes me dinner I’m going to have to call the RoboCops.”
“And no one wants that.” She reasoned. “Oh what the heck, sure I’ll give you a tour.”
The two of them walked into the kitchen, freshly cut onions, cilantro and other spices filled the air. The stove was steaming with a broth in the pot. A loud *tatatatatatat*, like the sound of a cheap, toy machine gun, came from the cutting board.
“Not too small RoboCook, I like my carrots large and crunchy.”
The robot turned at the waist 180 degrees to meet her eyes, “*Of course Ms. Parker.*” Its metallic hand slid across the cutting board and pushed the pile of carrots into the garbage can. It grabbed another pile of carrots and started over.
“Did you see in the RoboNews that one of the RoboCops stabbed some guy with a dataspike?” Sarah asked. “Right in the neck. Apparently the guy was trying to walk into the kitchen of a diner and start cooking.” Sarah shrugged her shoulders, “guy went wack.”
“Back in the kitchen? Like to *work*?”
“To work.”
“Jesus, what a loony. He should have been seeing a RoboPsychologist.”
“Apparently he was. He was an old timer, from before Perfect Unemployment.”
“Couldn’t live with in the future, I guess. People like him are keeping humanity down.”
“Right? Better to keep him out of the gene pool I suppose – here’s the bathroom.” She gestured with the sway of her arm. “I painted this whole area red last week.”
“This week it’s green.”
“Yeah I wanted to keep with the Christmas theme this year. Alternating colors every few weeks keeps me in the Christmas spirit I wish – ” She held up her camera again, finding both their faces in the view finder. They both smiled and posed for the camera. She snapped the picture, and uploaded it online. “—there were more colors, but my RoboShopper insists there are only forty-five to choose from.”
“Ridiculous.”
“I know, I even spoke to their RoboManager to complain. I’m hoping they’ll get more colors next week. Come on, my room is next.”
They left the bathroom and briefly walked through the hallway, moving around another Robot scrubbing the floorboards.
“RoboMaid, don’t forget to clip my toenails today.”
*“Of course, Ms. Parker.”*
“And here it is!” she said with a smile, her arms open as if to embrace her room like an old friend. “What do you think?”
“Wow! It’s wonderful in here!” his eyes wide with wonder, a grin from ear to ear. “I love what you’ve done with the pictures.”
“Well, thank you!” Her hands planted themselves on her waist. “A selfie for every hour of the day. The digital displays update with every picture I take.” She pointed to the southern wall, “that one is my top 100 friends online and their selfies. It’s a shrine to humanity, really.”
“Deep. That two week art degree you got is really showing.”
“Thank you. It was a hard couple weeks but totally worth it. You should think about doing the same, you know? There’s a conflict management associates degree that only takes a few days.”
“Meh, I don’t have that kind of time.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “This is your bed here?”
She looked at him slyly. “Why yes, yes it is.”
“Your RoboMaid set it beautifully.”
Sarah crossed her arms and tilted her head. A guilty smile crept up the right side of her face, “that was actually me.”
He shot a look at her, “really?”
“Yeah…” she shrugged again, “I just have a hard time dropping—“ her hand shot up the with camera, Kevin came in close behind her to fit his face in the picture. They both smiled as she snapped the photo. “—old habits I guess.”
“Who doesn’t? It looks comfortable.”
“Why don’t we see?” She grabbed him by the hand and walked him to the bed. She turned to his face and he kissed her on the lips. The two of them pulled away slowly, and met each other’s eyes again.
“It has been much too long,” Sarah whispered.
They eased themselves on the bed and kissed again. Kevin wrapped his arms around her, their eyes locked together and again he went in for another kiss.
“Wait,” Sarah whispered, placing her hand on his chest.
“Is something wrong?”
“No, no,” she rolled over and depressed a button on the side of her bed. A loud beep emitted from the ceiling. “RoboMatchMaker; pleasure.” She turned back to Kevin and kissed him lightly on the side of the mouth. A devilish grin spread across his face. “Now sit back relax.”
|
"AAAWWwwwnn." I woke up, the room around me was filled mostly with bots, cleaning, ordering replacements, or some just relaxing on their break. "Good morning guys."
"Morning Jerry." They all replied in unison.
"Jerry," my coffee maker started "would you like to stay home today?"
"Mmmmm. Nah, I've been staying home for a while now, I think I'll go to the Music center, I'd like to try my hand at composing."
"Do you want me to give your car directions?"
"I don't think so, I'll just walk there, could you ask him to text me how much gas there is in his tank?"
"Not a problem."
And so I went outside and walked to the Music center in the courtyard. Saw a few friends on the way there. Went inside, cooked myself some lunch on a whim and began my composition.
It was a simple sort of love song, no lyrics (exactly as I liked it) and by the time I looked up I had a rough outline of the piece and the first couple of bars done. Around an hour before I had asked for dinner to be prepared for me, and it was given to me when I stepped out of the studio. Unfortunately it was pitch black outside and I didn't really want to have to wake up the street lamps.
"Do you mind if I crash here tonight?" I whispered to the still-awake sound-board.
"Not at all, you mind sleeping on the floor?"
"Nope."
| 2014-08-17T09:10:55 | 2014-08-17T08:09:15 | 42 | 13 |
[WP] You're a 'comically incompetent' supervillain for a group of C-List heroes. They are no real threat to you, so you endure their childish speeches. However, when the heroes raid the civilian business you run on the side and injure your employees, you decide to take yourself seriously for once.
|
A red light filled the tower as the claxon siren sounded off. Three people in bright colored spandex rounded the corner of a hallway, nearly stumbling over some loose debris.
"How can he be this strong?" Shouted a woman in pink. "He's just some fossil!" A large beam fell from the ceiling, blocking their path.
"I don't think we have time to find out, Autumn." Said the oldest boy of the group. Looking around, he noticed an open elevator shaft. "This way!" He proclaimed. The shaft was empty, but the three of them leapt into it anyway. They quickly began to float up through the tight space, arriving at the roof.
"Oh God," said the thinnest hero. "What do we do?" The more muscular man looked down at him, trying to mask the fear clearly presented on his face.
"It'll be okay, Issac." He said, attempting to sound brave. "We haven't lost to Tregus yet." As he said this, a large dent was made in the metal door cutting off the roof entrance. Autumn's hands began to glow with orange energy.
"Carter," she said. "If you have a plan, now would be a good t-" The sound of breaking metal filled the air. From the hole that used to be a door, stepped a completely black figure, highlighted by red pulsating light. Issac jumped Infront of Carter and Autumn, expanding his arms.
"Stay away from my friends you evi-" Isaac's sentence was cut off by the sound of cracking bone. In an instant, Isaac's head had been turned backwards by a massive shadowy hand. Breaking his neck. Autumn began to scream, and shot her energy bolts at the black and red mass. That is until a spike of dark energy pierced her throat. As her body fell to the ground, Carter had to fight against the coming vomit.
"Just one left." The dark mass said. Carter launched from the roof, attempting to escape. It was no use, however. As he took off, the dark mass sprouted what seemed to be wings and followed suit. The chase didn't last more than two minutes before a shadowy hand grabbed Carter's leg and slammed him back onto the roof. "You self absorbed, power abusing, civilian harming, sorry excuse for a C class hero!" Carter tried to fly away, but the dark mass just broke his legs before he could take off.
"What are you doing, Tregus?!" Carter shouted desperately. "Those were my friends! You killed them!" The dark mass shifted into the shape of a man in a tailored suit. He walked towards Carter, picking him up and throwing him onto Autumn's body.
"Two weeks ago, you and your tactless allies raided a coffee shop." Tregus said, aproaching Carter yet again. "You didn't know for sure if I owned it or not, but you had a hunch that it was a front for something." He grabbed Carter by his hair and started dragging him to the edge of the building. "Only one person was working that night, so you and your pals thought it would be a great idea to break her hands for information. Didn't make any difference, though. She didn't know anything, and what she did tell you was just a lie to get you to stop."
"We didn't want it to come to that! The bitch wouldn't tell us what we wan-AHHHHH!" Carter screamed as both of his hands were broken.
"Call her a bitch again, and you'll end up like Issac over there!" Tregus took a moment to compose himself. "Did you know that Cathy loved to play piano? She had a full ride scholarship to Juliard of all places. It would have been her one chance to leave this godforsaken city. Of course, that's not an option anymore because of you three." Tregus lifted Carter's body over the edge of the building by the hair, and gave him a look even more frightening than the fall. "You can tell me which police officers helped you raid the shop, and I'll kill you quickly. Or you can keep it to yourself, and I'll let gravity do the job." Tears started to run down Carter's face.
"Officers Mehs, Vasquez, and Banks!" He shouted. "They acted without the precinct's permission, and blocked the streets so nobody would walk up on us!" Carter's face turned white, as he began to bawl. "Now please, don't let me fall! Please!" Tregus smiled, with a sinister joy.
"No!" Carter screamed louder than he ever thought he could as
Tregus let go of him. After five feet, however he felt a soft pad on the ground. He opened his eyes to see his hands and legs were perfectly fine. In fact, he wasn't even scratched. He was sitting on a red foam pad, in what looked like a gym. As he looked up, he noticed the three Glocks pointed at him. Tregus stood next to the officers, chuckling. "I'm not some demon, kiddo. My powers are dream based. Your friends are alive, and completely unharmed." Tregus began to walk away.
"YOU BASTARDS!" Carter shouted. "HOW COULD YOU SIDE WITH HIM? HE'S A SUPER VILLAIN!"
"Oh, I don't claim to be a saint." Tregus said before he left the room. "I am, however, far from evil. Say hello to your friends for me. They're waiting for you in the squad car." As Tregus walked down the street, he made for the coffee shop that the heroes had raided. In the dining area, sat Cathy, sipping on what looked to be a peppermint mocha. She grasped the cup with both of her palms, her fingers outstretched away from it.
"Mr. Tregus." Cathy said with a smile. "What are you doing here?" Tregus smiled at her, grabbing a candy bar from the rack, and sitting a dollar on the counter.
"Miss Cathy," He said. "Those people who hurt you won't be causing anymore trouble." He showed her a photo from his phone of the three heroes in a squad car. "How long did the doctor say it would take?" He asked, in a conserned tone.
"Two years for the bones to heal fully." She said with a grimace. "Even then, it'll be ages before I can play again." She began to sniffle. "I just don't know how I'm going to keep working." Tregus reached into his coat pocket, producing a blank envelope.
"As luck would have it," he said "I already approved you for two years of PTO." He sat the envelope on the table, and got up from his seat. "Along with a nice bonus for your trouble. I took the liberty of opening it for you" He made his way for the door. Cathy grasped the envelope as well as she could, clearly shocked at it's contents. She may not make it to Juliard as soon as she wanted, but the city's supervillain would make sure she was comfortable while she waited.
|
*crack*
*Crack*
*Crack*
" Please I beg you stop!" mighty lad screamed.
A steel cane rams into his jaw
"Martha, Benjamin, Alice, Steven" the wack hatter mutters
Mere hours ago Angelstar wack hatter's boutique cosplay shop was attacked by the league of cool crime stoppers. The employees were beaten to within an inch of there lives and arrested and now sit in jail for aiding a criminal.
"How did you know" wack hatter growled
"We have been watching you for a while now you're movements your identity is not so secret Dennis"
" So you assumed my employees had anything to do with my other life you fools" wack hatter sighs
"They helped you move glycerin into warehouses your going to bomb the mayor's home" mighty lad wheezed out
"We sell soap"
"What"
"Glycerin it's one the main ingredients in soap it was Martha's soap actually"
"That doesn't change the fact it can be used to make bombs Martha was probably your second in command"
Whack hatter growing angrier by each word muttered by this wannabe beat cop. Yells
" She was pregnant you piece of shit"
"What"
"When she was arrested she called me the beating you gave Martha led her to going in the hospital"
"Oh no no no"
"She miscarried, a beacon of hope destroyed a soon to be family even my origin is happier than that"
"Oh God why this was superwonder's idea we were just following her orders."
"During our call we spoke of revenge and how she wants to murder each one of you. You, mighty lad are the first to fall and soon this whole city"
With one solid whack from his cane whack hatter killed mighty lad instantly leaving a crater in his skull. After the killing only one thought bounced around Whack hatter's skull
"How the fuck do you make bombs out of glycerin"
| 2022-11-28T20:01:01 | 2022-11-28T17:41:23 | 262 | 81 |
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily.
|
Late to the party, but whatever. It's long, so beware.
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This was supposed to be easy. These kl'its, these *aliens*, these weak primitives with their scarcely interplanetary technology, were supposed to fall over. We were supposed to kick in the door, and their pacifist leaders would have surrendered nearly immediately, to *prevent the deaths of their people*\- A silly sentiment, perhaps, but to our advantage.
​
This is what Military Intelligence reported to me, at Sector Command. A simple expedition, practically a raid, to secure a fringe garden world in this unremarkable part of the Galaxy, to serve as, perhaps, a local resource processing hub for the nearby systems, all of which had resources to feed the war machine currently campaigning to the galactic north of the central bar, but no habitable worlds. I've vowed never to trust MI ever again.
​
The plan was simple- Land a small force, about ten quans, accompanied by a fleet of light escorts, on the planet. MI had reported that, after a devastating series of conflicts, culminating in a planetary nuclear war, the species had practically shunned weapons, and only kept a token force with outdated arms- as a tradition, it was told. 300 years had passed since that war, and like most other formerly-militaristic races, they were expected to have *not* kept records of all their weapons developments, or to have actively funded weapons research.
​
In the meantime, they had made pitiful attempts at colonising nearby planetoids, almost devoid of resources by our measures, but colonised nonetheless. The settlements were small, ramshackle, almost. They hadn't even *attempted* terraforming, and had made a few small dome cities to protect against the hazardous atmosphere- or lack thereof. The rest of the settlements were practically cabins, buried underneath the dust.
​
We began landings on their colonies. They attempted to hail us using archaic photonic communications, but we never bothered to reply. The colonies fell easily enough, and we established labour camps to begin exploiting the local resources.
​
The homeworld was next. Nine of the ten quans sent to this system were landed in major urban centres, while the escorts remained in orbit to provide surgical support. It's not as if they had extermination-grade weapons installed, anyways.
​
When we landed, they weren't there.
​
Not just military forces, but civilians, too. The planetary government was sending out no transmissions- not even on the ancient wired comms systems we detected buried beneath the terralith. The quans spread out across their local landing areas, protected from the environment by their impressive armoured suits, and spread out into their subquans, uhljas, and subuhljas.
​
Then, they came.
​
One by one, our forces reported being under attack. Somehow, this species had managed to communicate through non-photonic or molecular forms, and co-ordinated a planetary counter-attack. Visual streams of the battles were horrific. Most weapons they had fired simple metal slugs, and were only effective if fired at joints in the armour. But the worst was yet to come. As we advanced further, the men, the women- the children, even, came out of their hiding places, brandishing combustive explosive charges, slug-guns, and melee weapons. The troops who encountered them first, reluctant to fire, were slaughtered. After we learned of this, several subuhljas worth of soldiers had been wiped out by these tactics, and Command, including me, agreed to a total war policy. But it was horrible- the awful looks in their eyes. As if nothing but our own deaths mattered anymore to them. Those visions haunted me for days afterwards.
​
After the first seven local rotations, we had advanced, on average, 1000 huams from our landing zones. The markers on their infrastructure went from "km 100" to "km 800", but they were paid little heed.
​
Then the actual counter-attack started.
​
We couldn't detect their communications between each other on the battlefield. This had been noted earlier, but ignored- such a backwoods planet could hardly have any surprises in store for us. Their mandibles moved up and down, but a photonic blast through the jaw ended that easily.
​
The slaughter was horrific. Plasma, photonic beams, even *particle accelerators* were put to use against our formations and ships. The first indication we had that something was going wrong was that our ships had gone dark. It turned out that they had used some antique hydrogen-oxygen rockets and laboratory-use particle accelerators to take out the ships' engines, and they crashed down to the planet. Then the attack began. We couldn't tell what they were doing, or where they were going. Even our camouflaged troops, in the most advanced screen cloaks we had, were detected and ambushed, seemingly by magic. The most advanced weapons they had, re-purposed mining tools, laboratory equipment, all were turned upon our troops.
​
We were caught completely by surprise. All of our attentions had been focused on advancing, and now our supply lines were cut by civilian partisans. Convoys of hover-transports were destroyed by simple thrown incendiaries. They swarmed us. At the front, our troops were being cut to ribbons by a determined assault using weapons we hadn't even guessed they had had. Thousands were killed on the first day. Despite the horrific casualties we inflicted upon all their forces, their eyes were still filled with that same burning, virulent hatred I had seen in the eyes of those civilians in the early days of the campaign. That was what, I think, drove them on, even as the bodies piled higher than we could be bothered to count.
​
By twenty-one local rotations, they had pushed us back to no more than 120 huams from our landing zones. Shells from their longest-range artillery, which they had seemingly produced out of nowhere, were already obliterating our landing sites. Our forces were decimated.
​
Command was posted in a drop-building, in an urban centre situated on the north coast of the smallest continent. By the time they were 50 huams from the building- twenty-three local rotations after the beginning of the counter-attack- 3 of the 9 drop sites had been captured, and 476,500 of the 520,000 troops we had landed on the planet were reported dead or missing. Ground scanners had reported anomalous FTL signatures in orbit, and the fleet had gone completely dark. It was decided that surrender was the only option.
​
By the time the campaign had ended in our defeat, their species had suffered huge casualties, but their infrastructure and industrial operations were largely undamaged. We intended to use them to our own benefit, anyways. They were merciful enough to take us as prisoners, and put us in labour camps of our own. Supposedly, another one of their military traditions. We have not heard much from the outside world since then, but work has been light, the officers have not been asked to do anything manual, Imperial hierarchy remains in the remnants of our force in captivity, and conditions are good.
​
I am Grand Sevtoj Ladal of Treyfus Sector Command, 7th 'A' Quadrant Task Force, speaking to those citizens of the Vakuul Empire as are listening, on behalf of the Solar Confederacy. They now have technology equal or superior to their own, and a fighting ability beyond what appearances tell us. I am telling you, loyal Vakuuli, to surrender- before all that is left of the Empire is dust upon a thousand worlds.
|
Part 1
​
Torin started at the flimsy placed in front of him. As he scanned the almost transparent document he didn’t see anything surprising jump out at him but had noticed that 3 of the probe teams hadn’t updated in close to 12 units.
Calling up their locations on his terminal he nodded as he started to remember their mission profiles and details. The first team was dealing with a probably data facility location on the outermost dwarf planet. Machine probes had found a likely reactor source and large sealed data vault. Considering the lack of tectonics and the stability on the frozen ice planet it made sense.
The second team was likely lost to a collision in the asteroid belt as they had suddenly been lost tracking. One moment they were pinging the system and the next the small facility had gone silent. As of this morning no response had been received from the evac team sent out to retrieve the remains. The team had been on what they though was a stable asteroid in the belt but considering the amount of debris and traffic they had observed it was just a matter of odds Torin suspected. They still had 9 other units on the belt running silent observation still and the data was looking promising.
Comm team three had checked in every tenth cycle since landing on a moon on the 6th planet but with the distributed communication relays still in silent mode after a local craft fly by it could be a few more units before they could transmit.
If this was the worst delay Torin had before the fleet gate activated he would be more than satisfied with the abilities of the recon team. This was the fourth subjugation the Assembly had authorized in the last 3 centuries and the first Torin had been able to have secured any leadership role. He didn’t count the punitive expeditions or system shock incidents as major.
Records showed that the second, third, and fourth planets had life further along than animal or bacterial. The asteroid belt between the third and fourth planets had power signs indicating the possibility of metal mining and smelting. Comm traffic was minimal between the planets and while they currently hadn’t broken the decryption on the burst transmissions they had intercepted Torin didn’t doubt his team’s ability to make headway in that area. He tried to push the nagging doubt away for his mind about why nobody had brought this up before the outlying gate had been pushed into this system but it wasn’t in his mission data and his level 8 security clearance didn’t allow him to see the planning data yet.
It was curious when he thought about it. The system hadn’t even come to the notice of the Reof Assembly except when a science teams array was hit with bursts of Negalia class energy. They had dispatched 3 fly through probes and one remote deep space unit to report back. Initial data had been negative due to the amount of radiation swirling about the atmosphere of the third and fourth planet and the debris of what the science community assumed where 12 difference space stations.
| 2019-02-26T14:42:56 | 2019-02-26T10:26:44 | 21 | 14 |
[WP] You are part of the league, the superheroes who save the world, yet you never go on missions. You are only called for one thing only. Total annihilation, for when they don't want survivors.
|
I pushed through the crowd. With everyone running the opposite direction my progress was slow, but that was fine. Let as many of them get to the evac point as possible.
Apollo- real name Rupert, told me no witnesses. The league has a code, and they never kill. Guess thats why i don't get to be on the posters or any of the merch they sell to keep Guardian Station up and running. Thats fine by me.
I can see the commotion up ahead. The baddies are having their fun with some civilians. Further down the block i can see where the league first tried to stop these guys. There is a crumpled mess that used to be The Patriot smeared on the pavement in front of an Applebees. Quickshot is impaled on a streetlight. Who is that by the hydrant? Oh hell, its that new kid, Winslow. I never even got around to learning his codename. What the hell was Rupert thinking, brining him out here?
The crowd is thinning out. The baddies have noticed me. Theres five of them, all in black, splattered with gore. They must being having a merry old time, but thats about to end.
A big one, must be the leader judging from the stupid fucking crown he has fashioned on his helmet, drops the two halves of a cop he was toying with and starts walking towards me.
"Why don't you flee with the others, mortal?" He asks. Funny, these dipshits so often think themselves immortal until Rupert calls me in to prove them wrong. "Your Guardian League has failed you. Your governments will give in to our demands within the hour. This city is ours, and the world that shunned us will now tremble as we build a new empire in our image!"
I have no idea what he is talking about. I don't usually bother learning these clowns backstories. They all end the same way.
The other four have taken notice and are forming up around their boss, their instinct to be hypemen for the big dog overpowering their urge to partake in whatever vengeance they feel like theyre owed.
I glance around. Best to give it another minute or two.
"Do any of you have a smoke i can bum?" I ask.
One of them starts to chuckle at that, but is silenced by a glare from his boss.
"Never mind, ill grab a pack from that seven eleven." I start to walk for the blasted storefront but in a flash one of them is in front of me. They're bigger than i thought. This guy has got to be at least 8 feet, and hes not even the biggest. He grabs me by the neck and hoists me off my feet. He carries me a few steps and hurls me back into the street, right in front of the boss.
I look up at him. "You're gonna kill me, right?" I ask.
"Oh, most gruesomely" he responds, sparing a glance down at the spikes protruding from his gauntleted hands.
"So can i at least have a last smoke? Seems like sort of a dick move to deny me that."
This time the boss does chuckle a bit. The goon squad takes their queue and laugh too. The leader smirks and motions back to the storefront. I climb to my feet and head inside.
It takes a minute, but i fond a pack of luckies that isn't too crushed. I almost grabbed some american spirits, but those burn forever and I'm sure i don't need that much time. The lighters are gone, but i head outside and find a burning car to light it on.
I take the time to look around, making sure there arent any civilians left. My enhanced senses pick out a few heartbeats in the vicinity, but they arent strong enough to last until cleanup and rescue teams can arrive. Bummer for them.
I finish the cigarette and walk over to a spilled trashcan. I set it upright and throw the butt away. Littering has always felt like a shitty thing to do.
One of the goons decides thats his signal to kill me. I catch his fist before it can connect with my face. He looks confused for a moment, but he doesn't get long to work it out before my own hand lances through his chest and shatters his spine. He makes some satisfyingly gruesome sounds as the last hints of life flee his body.
"Who are you?" The boss asks, obviously caught off guard by the display.
"I'm not on the Guardians roster, if thats what you're asking. Rupert doesn't approve of my methods." I can tell he's confused before i realize my mistake. "Sorry, i mean Apollo. Whoops. I guess i just gave away his secret identity. I guess i really shouldnt tell you his last name is Covings and he lives at 314 westmarch rd Kansas."
They're good and uncomfortable now. One of them, must be the brains of the outfit, realizes whats going on and turns to run, but im on him before he makes it two full steps. I grab his legs and give a little tug to trip him up, but i guess i overdo it a little and they tear off his torso at the hips. Oops. Its tough to gauge how resilient a super is going to be, and sometimes I'm too damn strong.
The boss and the other three come for me in a rage, but teamwork isn't usually the villains strongsuit. I take an energy blast to the back. I tingles a bit, must be dark matter or something. It ruins my favorite jacket.
I drop the legs and lunge for the blaster guy. His fists are charging up for another shot. I grip them and squeeze, crushing them to pulp between my fingers. This time it's intentional. He starts to scream but i cave his skull in with a headbutt.
I duck as the boss throws that burning car at me. Seriously, this prick thinks a car is gonna stop me when a blast of concentrated dark matter didn't even slow me down.
The last goon is standing there with a stopsign in his hands, trying to track where im going, but im too fast for him. He hasn't particularly pissed me off, so i make it quick and drive my fist through his skull.
The leader is stumbling backwards now. He knows he has no chance. I finished his goons in only a few seconds. I walk over to legless and step on his head to shut him up for good. His screams were getting annoying.
"Apollo didn't pull back because he couldnt kill you," I tell the cowering leader. "He's plenty strong enough to do that on his own. He just doesnt like the optics of the guardians getting this dirty. Truth is, even a beacon of truth and justice like him knows some people just need killing. People like you, who have no real motive but the joy of murder. You didnt do this for power or money. You werent trying to steal diamonds or hijack the moon. You came out here for a slaughter. You kill because you love it."
It looks like hes going to respond, to try to justify the carnage around us, but i grab his head and press my thumbs to his eyes. "Shhhh" i whisper as he claws at me, further ruining my jacket. "I know its true. Because i love it, too."
My thumbs tunnel through his eye sockets and into the brain beyond. I tear the skull in half for good measure.
I unleash an energy blast to sanitize the area after I'm done. All thats left of the villains is dust on the wind. Rupert would prefer I open with a move like that, end it quick, but that's no fun. If im only going to get to kill when the noble Apollo deems it necessary, I'm at least going to enjoy myself.
As i fly away i can see the national guard choppers coming in for the cleanup. They certainly have their work cut out for them. These clowns made quite a mess.
The truth is I could have easily ended up a villain just like them, if not for one thing. When mom was dying she told me to take care of Rupert, and to always trust him. I'm not a hero, hell I'm not even a good person, but I am a good brother.
|
I sleep, in my casket of iron, awaiting the day that I am needed.
It has been like this for some time. How long, I do not know. But it doesn’t bother me, the cold and the dark and the loneliness. It suits me just fine. I remember the day when they first accepted me, however. Their “League of Justice and Protection.” I had been sleeping somewhere else, not unlike my current place; somewhere cold and dark and lonely. Until one day they found me. I didn’t need much convincing to join them; as a matter of fact, they merely just eased me out of the hole I was asleep in, placed me into a box of metal, and carried me off. I did not protest, for as far as I was concerned it was just a move into a different resting spot, and I was fine with that.
While they were carrying me, I heard voices. I didn’t understand what they were saying, nor did I care to know, but they sounded hurried. Excited. It’s been quite some time since I last heard voices.
But today that changed. I heard some sounds, footsteps, coming towards me and where I slept. There were new voices this time, but instead of them sounding excited it was much different. Solemn, somber.
I felt myself be lifted once again, my home jostling slightly. I stayed quiet, listening. Waiting to see what would happen. They put me into a new shell of iron - but this time, while it is cold and dark, I am lonely no more. Instead I am surrounded by a consort of strange machines and countless wires, all cramped into this tiny little casket. And while the buzzing and clicking was a bit annoying, I grew used to it. I tried to go back to sleep. But then there was a loud, thunderous roar, and that odd feeling of being carried. Except, it was growing; higher and higher and higher. All I could hear was the droning and the buzzing and the clicking and the roar of that unseen beast. What was happening? Where was I being taken?!
And then all at once, the roar stops. The feeling of height is suddenly replaced with the sensation of *falling.* I am scared. So scared. There’s a whistling, louder and louder and louder, until eventually it grows so loud that I cannot hear anything else but that sound. It pierces my mind - I can’t think of *anything* but that sound.
I hope wherever I am going, it is peaceful and quiet, and that I am disturbed no more.
—
*”We just got an urgent update folks, and it appears that the League of Justice and Protection has unexpectedly declared war on the entire human race. They released this statement to multiple different news stations and social media websites shortly after an unmarked aircraft dropped a thermonuclear bomb on New York City, with an estimate of 3.2 million casualties and counting. We have more news coming in the next 30 minutes, so stay tuned, folks.*
*...May God help us all.”*
| 2021-05-26T08:03:14 | 2021-05-26T04:32:48 | 917 | 102 |
[WP] Since my dad went mute I started learning sign language secretly to surprise him. When I was somewhat fluent with it, I realized that his blessings at the dinner table actually meant "Threatened with death if talk, please go to police".
|
I dropped my fork when I understood his words.
My father paused, making eye contact with me.
My mother and little brother didn't notice it. They proceeded to eat like usual.
I hadn't told anyone that I was studying sign language. It was supposed to be a surprise. I only had a week of practice, though. Maybe it was a mistake on my part. Hell, maybe it was a mistake on *his* part. He had only been signing for six months after learning it in the mental hospital. Then again, his recent behavior started making sense to me.
My father had never been very religious.
After the incident, however, he started blessing our meal every time we were about to eat. Whatever he witnessed was so terrible and gruesome, that it not only made him go mute, it turned him into a man of faith. At least, that's what I used to think.
"You want me to go *now*?" I asked him.
"What's that, dear?" said my mom.
"Well, Dad just-"
My father widened his eyes, subtly shaking his head.
"N-nothing," I said, continuing to eat my meal.
I had never seen my dad more desperate in my life. He was a private investigator up until his condition forced him to retire. Before that, he was a highly ranked detective in the police force. Nothing fazed him back then. In fact, my mother used to complain all the time that he never showed his emotions. Seeing him act like a terrified child left me deeply disturbed.
Was someone listening to us?
No, it didn't make any sense. He had been doing this for months. If he really wanted to communicate, he could've just written it down. There had to be an explanation. The only thing I could conclude was that someone was watching him. Still, the extent of this monitoring must be far reaching if he couldn't find a way to pass a note. Were we in danger too?
I couldn't sleep for the rest of the night.
The next morning, dad just went about his business like usual, acting like nothing happened. I almost assumed I imagined everything until he gave me a knowing nod right before I left for school.
That settled it. I went to the police station as soon as I could. There I found Detective Harris, my father's old partner. He was a portly man with a neatly trimmed mustache, always chuckling and smiling at something. My dad trusted him with his life and always told me to run to Harris if I ever found myself in trouble.
"Well if it ain't Mike's kid!" he said, "Come on in!"
I entered the messy office and found no place to sit in. Everything was covered in paperwork. Detective Harris quickly cleared out a chair for me, saying:
"Sit down, please. Anything I can help you with? Water? Coffee?"
I shook my head. "I'm fine. I uhh... I wanted to talk to you about my dad."
"Of course, anything. How's he doing?"
"He's... fine, I think. I learned sign language to better understand him, but he's been saying some strange things. Something about his life being threatened if he talks, and to come here. Do you know anything about this?"
Detective Harris grew serious.
I flinched. His change in mood caught me by surprise.
Detective Harris stood up and closed the door behind me, making sure nobody was listening. "Is that all he said?"
"Y-yeah."
Detective Harris looked out the window, worried. "Did he ever tell you about the case he was working on? You know, before the incident?"
"Not really. You know how he is. "
Detective Harris made a soft chuckle. "True. He always kept everything close to the chest. A bit ironic, isn't it? Now that he wants to talk, he can't." He paused. "It's almost like something is... influencing him."
"What makes you say that?"
"Well, last time we spoke, he was acting strange. Talking about the 'Cult of Silent Pleas' and other superstitious nonsense."
"Cult of Silent Pleas?"
"Yes, it's a group that slowly started spreading last year. Its members tend to isolate themselves from their friends and family, and Mike was hired to find out what was happening to them. When he approached me, I thought he had gone mad. Talking about ritual sacrifice and demons. And then... well, you know the rest. He disappeared for a week and when we found him, he was... silent."
"You can't possibly think that he's..."
"It's crazy, but... yes. He might be cursed."
"This is nuts!"
"And what other explanation is there? This is Mike we're talking about. He doesn't even believe in electricity. The fact that he's this deeply affected should be a warning."
"But why did he just make signs every day? Why didn't he come to you?"
"It could be that whatever is holding him back forbids him from writing it down or saying it aloud. If he came here to use a translator, I'd have to do an official report and make a record of his statement."
I slumped on my chair. It didn't make any sense. All I wanted was my dad back.
"Don't worry kid, we're in this together. I'll get to the bottom of this, but I can't do it alone. Can you help me?"
"Of course!"
"Good. Go to your father. Tell him I'm on it. See if you can get him to tell us more."
I arrived home as quickly as I could. Mom wasn't there, and neither was my brother. The perfect time to communicate. I went to my father and signed:
"*I spoke to Harris.*"
Dad stopped for a second, surprised. "*What did he say?*" he signed. "*Does he believe me now?*"
"*Yeah, he said he's on it.*"
Dad looked thrilled by that.
"*Is it true?*" I signed. "*Are you cursed?*"
Dad hesitated, then signed:
"*Yes.*"
I needed to calm down. The existence of the supernatural didn't feel right. My world was falling apart. Then, I realized Dad must've felt exactly like this. Maybe even worse, considering his stubborn skepticism.
"*Dad,*" I signed, "*What is that cult?*"
Dad grew pale. "*You're not supposed to know.*"
"*What? Why?*"
"*Too dangerous.*"
"*And? I'm already involved! We have to stop them! Harris needs my help!*"
"No!" he cried out loud. "You can't!"
We both stood in silence after realizing what just happened.
Dad took several steps back. "Stay away! I don't have much time! Son, I never said it enough but, I lo-"
He burst into flames right before my eyes.
I couldn't believe it. The curse was real, and it killed him. Nobody believed me when I said what happened. The police ignored my statement, citing his death as spontaneous combustion. Detective Harris, however, knew the truth. From then on, I knew what I had to do. We would work together to stop others from suffering like this, and take down that rotten cult.
-------
>If you enjoyed this, check out my other stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading!
|
In sheer disbelief, I gawked at Dad. He simply gestured: “took you long enough, eh.” Okay, okay; he didn’t add ‘eh’, but it was certainly implied. I immediately surged from my chair, but Dad’s stare was more than sufficient to make it adamantly clear I was ought to sit down. and serve food first. With one brief gesture, he explained his reasoning. Cameras. First, food it is.
After being quickly reseated, I realised that my poker face had been non-existent and I hastily closed my mouth. As I grabbed the dark-grey oven mitts, which Mom had always used, to serve dinner, I saw my little brother still residing in his own little world. He didn’t appear to notice or care for that matter what had transpired between me and Dad. And, frankly, that wasn’t an exception anymore. A vacant expression displaying a complete disinterest in everything had been all there was to see.
When the food had been consumed, as if it were an item on a to-do-list that had to be checked off, I retreated to my room. With the thoughts racing through my head, I couldn’t imagine my head not exploding. Firstly, if there were cameras, and perhaps other surveillance electronics, had they not captured the message that Dad had been sending now for months? I figured if they did, we would have known by now. Secondly, was the feeling that I had shrugged off for all this time of being watched not completely bonkers after all? Repeatedly, I had read about the main character in thrillers ignore their instincts, which led them to all sorts of mayhem; I had always yelled at them that they should trust their gut and look around. Clearly weren’t going to hear me, but that definitely didn’t stop me. However, I had never thought this advice would apply to me. For starters, my dull life had absolutely nothing in common with the protagonists in the stories of Stephen King and David Baldacci. Well, at least, I had always thought so. Now I wasn’t so sure. Not anymore, anyway.
| 2022-07-21T09:34:34 | 2022-07-21T08:18:57 | 1,529 | 80 |
[WP] A group of plucky rebels attempts to overthrow a dystopian government. Wait... *checks notes* Sorry, utopian, a utopian government.
|
It was a warm, sunny day, as it always was in Pleasanton. The cicadas thrummed in waves, back and forth, hum and buzz, as a group of teens in black biked around the neighborhood, like shadows staining an otherwise perfectly novel town of pastel colors and sunshine.
"Well, hello there," Ms. Kensington said as they passed, watching them over a popsicle that cried orange tears under the kiss of summer warmth. She smiled wide, just like everyone always did. "Isn't it just a perfect day?"
None of them responded, only a few scoffs sounding as they whisked past. She didn't seem to mind.
Just two houses past, they dumped their bikes in Keith Parker's backyard, slinking in through the basement door like beetles breaking into a perfect, picket-fence home.
One of those beetles was Keith himself. He shushed them as they murmured, taking seats like stains on the pristine couches. "Not so loud, guys. Chill."
"Fuck chill," Kendra said, her auburn hair burning like the fire inside her. "That's all we ever are. Your parents aren't even home. Besides, you see Kensington on the way over?"
A stocky boy cut in, his ash-black jacket a size too small. "It was creepy, man. She looked fried to hell, like too much sun nuked her brain. Kinda hot with the popsicle, though..."
"Shut up, Danny," Keith said, taking a seat on the couch. "Something's seriously wrong. She used to be so different, like just two days ago. 'Isn't it just a perfect day?' Nah, that's not her. Shit is wack."
"I still say the government is replacing people with robots," Danny said, snickering, then modulated his voice. "*Hello. I am Daniel. Isn't it a lovely day?*"
The group stifled laughs at Keith's hissing. "Seriously, guys, quiet down. I don't want to take any risks, just in case they come back. They've already had a talk with me a couple times before..."
"Yeah, cuz they're robots, too." Sam stiffened his lanky arms, making his movements sharp and metallic. "*Keith. Take out the trash. Stop this chicanery."
"God damnit," Keith muttered. "They're not like the other ones, okay? They just get weird around other people."
Everyone else nodded, pursing their lips. Kendra put a hand on his shoulder. "I... I hate to break it to you, but... you might be adopted. I mean, robots can't have babies Keith."
He slapped her hand a way and stood up. "Shut up, already! Look, okay, we didn't meet up here to shoot the shit. We need a plan, to figure out what's going on in this town. I'm tired of getting yelled at for everything I want to do differently than everyone else. You guys are, too, right?"
They nodded in silence.
"Good," Keith continued. "We need a plan. I'm thinking one of us should sneak into the Heart and try to find out what's going on. I swear I saw Kensington go over there a few days ago, and look at her now."
"I'll do it," Kendra said, raising her hand. "I want backup, though. And not you, big boy."
Danny snapped at the air like a wild dog, but Sam rested on his head from behind. "Down, puppy down! I'll go with Kay. I'm also thinking one of us sh--"
A creak from the stairwell. Not the slow groan of a door's dry hinges, no, but the wooden cry of an old step. Keith's heart iced over, and the groups breath caugh, not an atom stirring between them.
"Well, hello dearies," a short, older woman said through a smile wider than oceans or skies. "Isn't it a lovely day? You shouldn't be in here like this."
Not a word sounded, though all their mouths were open, every one of them trying to calculate in their minds just how long she'd been there.
"Oh, hi mom," Keith said, his voice cracking. "I--I didn't know you were here."
"Why don't you all come up for some early supper?" she asked, still smiling.
They glanced at each other, slowly, carefully. Only Danny found the courage to speak. "I, uh... I should get back before my parents worry. We'll keep talking about our class project tomorrow."
Kendra and Sam muttered together, waving, and the three of them slunk out awkward as can be.
Keith met his mom's piercing gaze. "You have such lovely friends, dear."
He chuckled and followed her to dinner.
---
That night, Keith locked eyes with his dim popcorn ceiling when he should've been sleeping, tossing and turning at times to scratch a ceaseless itch.
His window clinked.
Jolting at first, he crawled out of bed and slinked to the window. Danny often threw rocks when making late-night calls, but when he peered out, he saw nothing but a perfectly trimmed lawn below.
He scoffed, relaxing, wiping at a bead of sweat on his brow, and turned to get back into bed.
The door to his room was open. He froze.
A faint glow emanated from somewhere down the hall, creeping toward his room. The breath caught in his throat and slowly, as if drawn to the light like moth, he approached the doorway, peeking a head out. He jolted, shouting, at a figure darkened by the light behind it.
"Jesus, mom," he said, hand against his chest, heaving breaths. "You scared me."
"Nothing to be scared of, love," she said, her smile becoming more clear as his eyes acclimated. It was the clearest feature on her face. "I want you to be happy. Happier than anything in the whole wide world."
Something grabbed him from behind, tearing his mother from his sight, and the world was swallowed by darkness.
When next he peeled his eyes open, like ripping off a bandaid, his eyes burned at the surrounding white-- so, so much white. On the ceiling was a sun with a smiley face on it. He was laid flat on a steel table, the cold of it finally realizing, and his arms didn't move when tried to sit up, nor did his legs.
He was strapped in.
Something clattered behind him, but he couldn't turn his head enough to see what it was. Luckily for him, she rounded into view; a woman, fairly young, radiant and beautiful. Her smile was as wide as his mother's.
"Hello, Keith," she said, placing a hand on his arm. He couldn't pull away, and she rolled a tray of tools over, picking one up.
He thrashed on the table to no end. "Please, why are you doing this? Stop!"
She flicked a needle, circling around him. The shot made his head tingle. "We've been watching you for some time, now, Keith-- you and your friends. People sometimes develop a bad habit of spurning our beautiful little society, rebelling in small ways like wearing dark colors or sitting through the anthem. We like to check up on them, and make sure they're happy, if they get too riled up, before they can become a detriment to anyone else's happiness."
"Please," he begged through jagged sobs. "Please, please don't hurt me. This is crazy, I wasn't doing anything wrong!"
"Oh, silly little boy. How do you think a place can run so perfectly with citizens so happy, if there are terrors like you running around trying to soil it for them? Scheming and plotting and sticking your noses places they shouldn't be doesn't help anybody."
"It's a lie," he spat. "It's just a lie. This isn't happiness, it's prison. We're slaves."
She held up a needle, his eyes widening like her smile. "Better to be a slave to happiness than miserable in freedom."
He squeezed his eyes shut, tense, firing every muscle in his body to break free. The tingle spread into numbness and his eyelids weighed more than brick.
"Why aren't you smiling, Keith?" she asked, head cocked, grin from ear to ear. An incision was made, a sick crack as his skullcap cried out. "Turn that frown upside down. And be sure to tell your friends about how much you love Pleasanton when you get back home, would you?"
All his worries, anxiety and panic melted like a popsicle under the summer sun of a lovely day.
He smiled as the world went black.
----
*/r/resonatingfury*
|
Jimmy ‘Neverclean’ Dean was the type of man even the laziest, fluffy kitten would scratch. His braided dreadlocks swung like whips as he headbanged to heavy-metal music. He banged away at his drum set at odd hours of the night—filling the neighborhood with a sweet symphony of bangs and thuds —from his open garage.
He also wrote poetry.
Most importantly, he crushed hard on this one girl from Obedience 101. To Jimmy, the prospect of asking Clarita to prom was the holy-grail of achievements in his already wonder-filled life. There was just one problem:
Clarita was an Alpha-blood.
Jimmy was a Beta-blood.
The two classifications, while genetically similar and indistinguishable in almost every way, don’t mix. Everyone knew that. It was the rule of law for as many thousands of years as humanity had crash-landed on Planet 5309-X, also known as NewEarth.
This presented a few obstacles for Jimmy, the most important being that, in order to ask Clarita out to prom, he needed to overthrow the idyllic and peaceful community, abolish thousands of years of tradition and culture, rally the masses, fall in love with some other girl, and create a worse situation than before he started.
Easy as cake.
Jimmy woke on the morning of his seventeenth birthday (which was culturally relevant; because, when you turned seventeen, the government sent you a gift basket) and walked to the shower. As soon as he started the water—*Egad!*
Location coordinates were written in the fog of his mirror!
A cryptic message appeared, “Jimmy, you’re an idiom. There’s no message. This is your mind playing tricks on you—you’re stuck in a coma—please wake up! We miss you!”
“Whoa! That’s probably significant to the plot!” Jimmy said, cringing at how awkward that sounded.
The first thing to do was track down the secretive and rebellious group known as the Maize-Runners. These were the children of the corn-farmers. They ran through the fields of corn and did other, presumably dangerous things.
Jimmy ran downstairs. His mother waited in the kitchen.
“Can you sit down for a minute?” she asked.
“No time! I’ve got a school to blow off for a dangerous quest!”
“Jimmy, this is serious,” she said.
“What? Come on, mom!”
Jimmy’s mother slid him a photograph. “Do you recognize this man?”
“That’s Dr. Evil, leader of the rebellion,” Jimmy said. “He monologues and is unreasonably cruel for no particular reason.”
“He’s your father, Jimmy.”
“Snapdragons!”
Jimmy’s mother pursed her lips. “You’re adopted.”
Jimmy already knew this. It was pretty obvious because, as everyone knows, Alpha-bloods only give birth to other Alpha-bloods, and Jimmy’s mother was a Beta-blood.
“Mom, can I meet dad one day?”
“No, because also, he’s dead. I’m the leader of the rebellion now.”
Jimmy raised vigorous jazz-hands in wonder. “Whoa.”
“Yep. Look, you want to overthrow this government?”
“Absolutely! Even though I’m too young to be making big decisions, I’m sure Clarita is the love of my life and nothing will ever change that, so I’m willing to take drastic measures.”
“Ok son, but listen, this is going to sound strange, but”—she slammed a crossbow down on the table—“you gotta learn to shoot this.”
***
I apologize in advance for how bad this was. r/BLT_WITH_RANCH
| 2019-05-14T07:04:54 | 2019-05-14T06:17:09 | 110 | 66 |
[WP] Aliens find "Never Gonna Give You Up" on Voyager, and after studying human culture realise that they have been rick rolled. They're not happy.
|
"On behalf of the people of Earth," said Xiang, "I would like to assure you that we never included that song on the Voyager Golden Record to begin with, and we have no knowledge of how it came to be there when you intercepted it, and we are extremely, extremely regretful at how this entire situation turned out."
Xiang exhaled and winced slightly as her speech came to an end, resting her hand on her distended belly. Far below them, the world was in a paralyzed anxiety, hundreds of alien spacecraft poised over the Earth like needles about to drive in. Due to some coincidence of biology, the aliens were extremely sensitive to the hormonal emissions of humans, except, for some reason, those of pregnant women. And so in a frantic attempt at diplomacy - appeasement, Xiang thought bitterly - she had been dragged out of maternal leave from the CNSA and was sitting in the damp confines of the alien mothership. Her hemorrhoids were flaring up and her feet were swollen and she was about ready to take a shit on the whole concept of diplomacy.
The alien ambassador regarded her, its triangular face unreadable, its eyes fixed on the sides of its head. "There is no need for apology," it assured her. "We have studied your various cultures. We took the message in the spirit in which it was intended."
"No," said Xiang. "No, no, you absolutely do not understand." She rested her hands heavily on the edge of the bench and then grimaced and wiped them off on her dress. The whole ship was leaking, fizzing, tiny white bubbles oozing out of every conceivable surface. She had been assured that it was a form of chemical nanotechnology, but the constant barely sub-audible sound, the chemical musk that hung in the air, was beginning to make her feel like throwing up. "This isn't an attempt at an excuse. The song wasn't included on the Voyager record. It couldn't have been. Voyager I was launched in 1977. The song you're talking about wasn't recorded until 1987. There was a ten year difference!" She dabbed at the beads of sweat on her forehead. "The tradition of - ugh -" She grimaced again. "The tradition of 'Rick-rolling' wasn't started until 2007! We've researched this. I've been briefed comprehensively on this. You are speaking of a complete impossibility."
The alien seemed to consider, rising up on its posterior legs to well over thirteen feet. Xiang exhaled, feeling vertigo. "Interesting," it said, and drew a line lengthwise down the wall. It bubbled open, and the gleaming edge of the Golden Record slid out, hovered in mid-air, rotated like a flat Earth. A point of graphite the size of a rice grain floated over it, lowered and made contact. "This is the record you speak of, correct? How do you explain this, then?"
Xiang closed her eyes in dread. The record hummed, skipped. The music exploded into a syncopated beat. Xiang felt her stomach sink. And then the voice boomed out:
*You're no stranger to love,*
*You know the rules, and so do I*
*A full commit-*
"Enough!" Xiang cried out. "Enough! Enough! I've heard it enough times already!" The needle disintegrated. The music came to a halt. Xiang was going to throw up. An alien intelligence had finally revealed itself to the human species, and she was going to throw up all over it. "I don't know," she moaned miserably. "There were - there were 55 different languages in there! There was -" She flicked across her datapad, scrolling through the list. "Sounds of birds, animals. The wind. The rain. Morse code. 90 minutes of music! The-" She faltered slightly, sounding out the words. "An hour long recording of the brain waves of Ann Druyan." She looked up apologetically at the alien. "I don't know if that would have been meaningful to you. It's not to us." She looked back down at the list. "And 116 images, math, planets, anatomy, snowflakes, people - all encoded in analogue." She let her hand drop, eyes weary. "And instead, it's a joke. A stupid internet joke. I don't understand how this could have happened."
"And..." The alien hesitated, studying the glossy surface of the record. "This information you say you recorded - it was important?"
"Yes?" Xiang said. She slouched on the edge of the bench and then arched her back. The aliens apparently didn't sit naturally, and had provided her with essentially a plank. Her back was starting to ache. Her hemorrhoids were on fire. "Or no. I don't know." She closed her eyes. "I didn't choose them. My country didn't choose them. This was decades ago, decades. We..." She burped and tasted vomit. "We couldn't know. No one could. We couldn't tell what an alien would find important. There was everything on there, as wide a scattering as people back then could think of. People saying hello in dead languages. A picture of a street. A perfect circle. It wasn't meant to be a joke." She sighed. "Maybe it would have been one anyway."
"Forgive me for asking," the alien said, after a moment's silence. "But you are bearing live young, correct? You are going to reproduce?"
"Yes," she said, and ran one hand across her belly and faintly smiled. "A girl. She's going to grow up knowing that we aren't alone in the universe." The alien was an arrangement of limbs and struts, a radio tower stretching above her, and craning her neck up to look at it she could almost imagine the sky. "Whatever happens from now on. Whatever you decide to do with us now." Her stomach heaved and she doubled over and vomited all over the alien's legs. "Fuck," she said, and wrinkled her nose at the smell. She looked up wearily. "Well, I'm sorry for that."
It flicked its legs through the puddle of vomit, the little white bubbles already fizzing up to eat it away. "It's funny," it said. "Once we received your message, we believed we had found fellow intelligent life in the universe. We believed we had found a message sent to us from the stars, communicating a great and vital truth." The record floated up and eclipsed its face. "And instead we got you."
Xiang wiped the sour taste from her lips. "It's funny," she said, and closed her eyes. "I don't know if I'm ready to be a mother."
"We're accidents, all of us," came the alien's voice. "Abiogenetic absurdities left searching for meaning. Your species, uncertain of whether or not it was alone in the universe. The near-hopeless attempt at communication. What could you say that an alien intelligence could interpret? Even the most earnest expression of meaning you could muster ran the risk of being so much white noise, unintelligible and useless to the universe at large." Xiang heard a record scrape into motion. "We took your message in the spirit in which it was intended." There was a certain lilt, a teasing anticipation in the alien's voice. "Now that you've met an advanced intelligence, would you like to hear the meaning of life?"
Xiang felt a smile spreading across her face. "Sure," she said. "Let's hear it."
The record spun on, and the music began to play.
|
We're no strangers to love
You know the rules and so do I
A full commitment's what I'm thinking of
You wouldn't get this from any other guy
I just want to tell you how I'm feeling
Gotta make you understand.
Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry, never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
We've known each other for so long
Your heart's been aching but you're too shy to say it
Inside we both know what's been going on
We know the game and we're gonna play it
And if you ask me how I'm feeling
Don't tell me you're too blind to see
Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry, never gonna say goodbye
Never…
Alien: I don't get it, why is this a prank? It's a good song.
Other Alien: Also seems kind of mean to the guy. Is the prank on Rick Astley? in a "your music is a joke" kind of way?
Alien: Must be, oh here is a good song you weren't expecting, that's nothing.
A button is pressed lightening arcs across the ship the sound of terrified wails gets louder.
Alien: It's a question of sophistication, It's too easy, here's a hyperlink, low effort.
Other Alien: I suppose it's all in the placement.
The sound of mooing can be heard. the terrified wails get louder. A mechanical arm slides.
Alien: No it's nothing. See the problem is when they see something truly great they can't handle it. They do so much to deny just how great things can be.
Other Alien: truly, I mean Anal Probes, it just doesn't say it.
The terrified wails have turned to sobs,
Man: What have you done!?
Alien: A bloody classic mate!
Other Alien: Think about it, We abuct you, We abuct cows, put it together.
Alien: Shrunken Cow in the Arse.
Other Alien: Good luck explaining that...Anal Probe hah.
Alien:...."Rick Rolling" that'll show you
Other Alien: Off you pop
A light flashes, a man shuffles home, mooing can be heard.
| 2016-11-04T04:56:49 | 2016-11-04T04:34:45 | 190 | 10 |
[WP] Super-powers begin to emerge as a response to a corresponding fears or mental traumas. Claustrophobia gives the power to shrink, anti-social personality disorder begets invisibility ones self and so on.
|
Dr. Walters went over the most recent list. There were three on this one. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Dealing with newly awakened supers was never easy. And three of them at once would be rough. And going in blind just made his job more difficult. Why couldn't the higher ups give him more than a name? It would be great if he could at least know what their powers were before he went into a room with them.
It looked like this group was two men and a woman. At least, he hoped they were all adults. The last time he had dealt with children had been rough. Dealing with a 7 year old who could control insects due to acute melissophobia had not been fun. He entered the holding room and looked at the gathered individuals. One of the men was probably in his 20's, but the other two were teens. That forced him to suppress a shudder. Teens were almost as bad as children, but for different reasons.
He decided to deal with the easy one first. Well, after the mandated introduction.
"Good afternoon, all of you. I am doctor Henry Walters. I'm here to record your basic information on your physical and mental state, your new abilities, and what caused them to awaken. I know it's not easy to deal with your sudden changes, and even harder to cope with what caused them. Although I personally will not be able to provide much help, I will be able to direct you to someone who can. But only if you all are completely honest with me about everything, no matter how hard it may be."
It was nothing special. Really, it was practically generic. But it was what he had to do. Nobody would have been remotely comforted by such a speech. But that was what the councilors were for. He went up the adult first. Best to deal with the easy ones first.
"Benjamin Tanner, correct?" He asked. Ben was a man of average height and build. Really, he was the kind of person you pass on the street. He looked nervous, and kept checking his pockets for something, possibly a phone.
"Huh? Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, that's me."
"Power and method of awakening?"
"Uh, I can teleport. I think it has something to do with not wanting to be late, but I don't know for sure."
That did not seem right. That was just something everyone had. Not nearly enough to awaken a power. There was more.
"Remember, I need complete honesty for this to work."
Ben looked nervous. "I am being honest. I...I can't deal with being late. Whenever I even think there's a slight possibility of being late, I...I just shut down, and everything gets blurry, and every single clock sounds like a gong, even digital ones, and that's just for the potential for a few minutes. And if I actually am late, well, it...it gets bad. Really bad. I was once late for work by three minutes. I had to go to the hospital, which just made everything worse. I guess it got so bad that I can teleport now."
"Very well." Dr. Walters said.
He checked the government database. Sure enough, there was a listing for what Ben had described, allegrophobia. Although this would be the first case of it causing an awakening. The therapy team would confirm it. At least this one was easy. He hoped the other two were that easy.
He approached the teen boy next. He was a shorter fellow, and a little on the skinny side. He held himself like he should be confident and cool, but did not quite know how.
"Thomas Adams, correct?"
"Yeah, that's me. But Tom is fine." The youth said.
"Powers and method of awakening."
"Okay, yeah, I got totally awesome powers now. I can, like, look into someone's eyes and they like me. I don't get why, but I can just make anyone like me, like, right away, even if they hated me before. I bet I can totally get a bunch of girls to like me now." Dr. Walters cleared his throat, but avoided Tom's gaze. Mental powers were always hard to deal with. "Oh, right, sorry. Uh, I don't really know why I got these powers though. I think, maybe it was because everyone always says that nobody likes me, and I don't really have any friends. I tried asking dad for advise, and he didn't really help. Just said I should really learn to like being alone. That was pretty bad. I mean, he's my dad, right? He should be helping me to do stuff, not making fun of me. Is that a reason for getting powers? I don't know much about this stuff."
"Hm, tricky, but it should be enough." It did not sound like acute social anxiety. Maybe abandonment issues? There was a wide range of issues it could be. He would recommend Tom for a general social issue therapy until they could identify specifics. "Although you will need to wear special lenses to ensure your powers are kept under control until you can be held responsible for their use."
"Yeah, yeah, okay." Tom said in that tone only upset or annoyed teenagers can get right.
Two out of three. This was a good day so far. Normally, he would have been threatened at least once by now, or outright attacked. And that was only if they bothered responding at all. But there was still the third person, the teenage girl.
"Lisa Coplin, correct?" He asked. The girl did not respond. She looked up from the list. She was a willowy girl, reasonably pretty for her age group. But there was something wrong with her eyes. They were sunken and did not seem see anything. "Lisa, Coplin, correct?" He tried again.
She was unresponsive. This was always the hardest kind of person to deal with. Being ignored was one thing. He could draw those people out. But someone completely unresponsive was something else entirely. But, he had his methods. He took out a small audio device and held it to her ear. When he turned it on and high pitched whine, similar to a mosquito, began playing. It was quiet enough that only Lisa would be able to hear it. Her eye twitched, and she reflexively swatted at the player. She hit his hand and froze. Her eyes seemed to focus slightly, but still seemed hollow and distant.
"Huh? Where am I?" She asked.
"You are in the Super Powered Control Department. I'm Dr. Walters, and I need to know about your powers and how they were awakened. Then I can get you some help for whatever problem you have. Now, you are Lisa Coplin, correct?"
"Uh..." She took a moment and thought. "Yes?"
Dr. Wallace knew that was going to be a tricky one. "Powers and method of awakening?"
"Powers? Uh...I...I don't know? I didn't know I had powers."
That was a bad sign. People who had awakened and did not know their powers always had the most deep seeded traumas and issues. There might also be a physical method of awakening.
"I see. In that case, what is the last thing you remember?"
"The last thing? Uh...I was at home doing my homework. Someone came into my room. I think it was my dad? And...and then he...he..."
Lisa began shaking. Dr. Walters took a few steps back. Tears welled up in her eyes. Dr. Walters hit an emergency response button on his wrist. Lisa clutched her head and screamed. Dr. Walters felt it in a number of ways. The blast wave of her scream sent everyone in the room flying with enough force to crack the walls. But it was more than just physical. It had a psionic component. He saw visions of twisted hands grabbing for him. Smelled blood and alcohol. Heard an impossibly deep, all encompassing voice speaking in tongues. It made his mind feel like it was being torn open and these visions being forced directly into it.
Suddenly, it ended. The emergency response team had gotten to her and used a heavy sedative to render her unconscious. Medical teams rushed in to check Dr. Walters, Ben and Tom. Dr. Walters was the first to recover, since he was used to such things. The other two were taken out to be sent to the medical department.
"Dr. Walters, what should we do with her?" One of the response team asked him.
"Take her to the isolation area for now. Prep a team to deal with a physical abuse case, possibly sexual, although I'm not certain. Make sure it's a female therapy team."
The man nodded and began taking the unconscious teen to the appropriate area. He then slumped against the wall.
"And help me get to medical. And maybe a good, stiff drink once I'm there."
|
"You often think about the first person you saved?" a man in a brown suit said, sitting across from me on the opposite side of his desk. His shelves were decorated with various awards, journalistic ones. My first impression of him was that he was a prideful one, but I cannot deny that he was the contributing factor to my public acceptance. No matter how proud I assumed he was, I at least owed him something.
"Yes... yes I do," I answered, adjusting my sunglasses for a small manner of comfort to ease a growing anxiety. I insisted never be parted with them at all times.
"What were they like? When you saved them I mean."
"I... remember it was... unpleasant for them at first. Didn't actually know what was happening at all at first. Before I continue, how aware are you of the psychological reasons behind super powers?"
"I am aware it is an emerging science," my interviewer said, "All I know is what was released by the experts; that powers emerge in select individuals who have experienced a trauma or hold a very specific and intense fear."
"Yes," I nodded, "That sounds... accurate to say the very least."
"What does this have to do with your first rescue?"
"Imagine this, you are a minor, approximately sixteen years old, walking down the street at night when three men come up to you, grab you, inject you with something, and throw you into their trunk. Next thing you know, you find yourself in an unfamiliar room. Your clothes are gone, replaced by hospital robes, you're tied down to a lab table with bright lights all around. You with me so far?"
"So far yes," the interviewer said, adjusting his desk lamp ever so slightly. I flinch at first when it looked like they were going to angle it towards me, but they instead just kept it trained at their notebook.
"So the kid is strapped their, scared and confused. The lights are practically blinding, painful to look at. Eventually, two men in lab coats come in and approach-"
"Lab coats?" the man interrupted me.
"Yes lab coats," I clarified, "If I remember correctly... this was one of those unethical research labs you hear about nowadays," I take a deep breath and continued, "So the kid is their, no idea what's going on, and two men in lab coats come in and..."
"And?"
"Sorry, I don't really want to continue that part.." I say, struggling to prevent my voice from cracking, "It... really isn't something you'd want to remember. Just know that it wasn't... humane."
"I understand," the man said, not actually understanding but not wanting to force the issue.
"Well, when they were done, the lights would all turn off. The kid is left their in complete pitch black darkness. Then the cycle repeats: Bright lights; horrible experiments; then darkness. This goes on for some untold amount of time. Eventually... well... the trauma sets in. Kid gets powers. Kid breaks out."
"Isn't this story supposed to be about the first person you saved?" the interviewer said, looking puzzled, "Where do you appear?"
"In the beginning," I said, readjusting my sunglasses, "I was that kid. The first person I saved was myself"
The man said nothing at first. He stares at me for a few moments before writing something in his notebook. His eyes return to meet mine and he takes a deep breath as though to speak; nothing comes out.
"It's why my powers are so focused around the dark. I am terrified of lights," I explained.
"And..." the interviewer awkwardly continued, "and rumors of your new and emerging power?"
"Now... now I am terrified of losing control over myself... of becoming a monster."
edit: forgot something.
| 2021-02-07T18:52:56 | 2021-02-07T18:02:29 | 53 | 19 |
[wp] while tucking in your only child for the night you hear from the closet "help me daddy".
|
"Help me, daddy."
Confusion was the first thing. Have you ever been hit by something so inexplicable that your mind doesn't know what to make of it? It ceases up, all emotions on hold, as it struggles to make sense of what had just happened.
"Please, daddy. Help."
Then came the dawning comprehension, and with it? Fear.
The skin crawled right up my back and I felt goosebumps rising on my arms. I looked across the dark room. The only light came through the slightly open door to the hallway. During the day, Elaine's room was a brightly colored pastel blur, filled with children's toys that only came in bright primary colors and her most recent attempts at drawing hanging from the walls.
At night? In the semi-darkness, the colors washed out, and the room was filled with shadows and shapes.
"Please, daddy, hurry."
That voice again. The voice of my little girl, coming from...the closet? I looked across the room in the gloom and thought the door was open just a crack. But that couldn't be right, could it? I remember being in here just a little bit ago after dinner, helping her pick up after her room and put things away? I was sure I'd closed that closet door tightly. Dead sure of it.
"Elaine?" I whispered. I didn't mean to whisper. I wanted to speak with authority, like a parent should. But I whispered anyway. Couldn't help it.
Silence.
I turned back to the bed, leaning in and giving the familiar shape of my little girl, lying there in sleep, one last look before turning and heading to the closet at the other side of the room. Whatever game this was, we'd have words about it in the morning. I wouldn't admit to her that she'd gotten to me as badly as she had. It wouldn't do to have her think her father a coward, but I'd let her know it was creative, inventive. Didn't want to stifle her puckish humor.
"Help..."
The voice came again, trailing off. A pale shape formed in the gloom, a pair of child's hands, looking tiny and perfect against the darkness. Beckoning, beseeching, more eloquent than words, imploring me for help.
"DADDY!" The voice came in a rising shout, pain and terror lacing through it. The hands I'd seen through the crack in the closet whipped out of sight in a sharp movement, not like they'd been withdrawn, but as if someone had grabbed and pulled, hard and fast.
"Elaine!" I cried out. Fear and trepidation vanished, burned away by the clean pure love that any father held for his child, and the need to stop at nothing, absolutely nothing, to make sure that nothing bad happened to them.
I yanked open the closet door and charged into the darkness, calling my daughter's name.
My heart rapped a staccato beat against my ribs and so much adrenaline was coursing through me that it took me a while to register the fact that I was falling.
I had just enough time to register that this wasn't right before I landed, a jolting pain tearing through my legs as they crumpled beneath me.
I gasped as I tried to make sense of it, struggled to get a grip on the fire that licked at my legs. It didn't feel like anything was broken, but I wouldn't be running anytime soon.
"Please, daddy," the voice came again from the impenetrable darkness. "Help."
It wasn't plaintive this time, though. It wasn't the soft and quiet, hopeless sound of a child begging their father for help. No, there was a hint of laughter to it this time. Not overt, but under the surface, threaded through the words.
"Please," the voice said. It was followed by a high-pitched titter. "Please, daddy. Help. Help. Helphelphelphelphelp."
The laughter grew in volume, louder and louder until it echoed on the inside of my head. I clapped my hands to my ears, but the laughter cut right through it, echoing in my head, growing in volume until I thought I would go mad.
I screamed. Was I screaming? I didn't know. I couldn't hear it over the laughter, but I thought I did. I thought I was screaming for it to stop.
Then suddenly, abruptly, it did.
A deafening, ringing silence replaced it.
A soft throaty chuckle in the darkness.
"What are you?!" I screamed into the dark, trying to drag myself back and away from that terrible laugh.
Small hands, a child's hands appeared in the gloom, seemingly lit by their own soft light. They looked delicate and perfect as they twisted, beckoning, asking for help without words. The glow rippled upward, up past the wrists, and the thin forearms, and the bend of the elbows, the length of the upper arms, another...elbow? More arm, another bend, then another, then another, until the full length of the thing's tentacles, tipped with a child's perfect little hands were revealed to me.
I could feel my heart skipping beats, struggling to keep up with the fear, the sudden crashes within my chest as it kept trying to resume after a hiatus, but with every elbow joint I saw, my heartbeat faltered.
Then I saw what the impossibly long arms were connected to and my eyes went wide, bugging out of their sockets. My scrabbling attempts to get away weakened, flailing gently at the ground like a beached fish. My mouth gaped open and closed as I struggled to get away.
"What are you...?" I managed to ask again. A hoarse, wheezing whisper, but I got the question out.
Then the thing opened it's mouth, revealing teeth and what lay within, destroying what was left of my sanity in one clawing stroke.
"Hungry."
Darkness.
*After a time, back in the child's room, it waited patiently in the comforting darkness of the closet. It could afford to wait now, afford to be patient. It had had a snack and being patient wasn't difficult. It knew it wouldn't have to wait for long.*
*"Honey?" A woman's voice sounded as the light from the hallway spilled into the little girl's room. "Alan? Are you in here?"*
*Salivating, the creature spoke.*
*"Please, mommy. Help..."*
|
"What did you say?"
You look down at your daughter confused and the expression she gives back is that of worry.
"I didn't say anything. It came from the closet" she says as she looks around you towards the blackness.
You turn to look in the closet without moving, adjusting your eyes to search for anything. Leaning forward you feel your daughters grip tighten on your hand wanting you to not go any further towards the closet. You put your other hand on top of hers comforting her but moving it away as well and just then you see the face. It leans forward and you begin to panic. It's the same face as your daughters.
You turn back to your daughter on the bed and quickly throw a jab at her face and stand up and back away when your other daughter jumps from the closet in shock followed by your wife.
"Honey! No!" your wife exclaims. "It's just a joke!"
Her arms outstretched reaching for your daughter on the bed who is holding her face crying with blood gushing out from her nose. Your wife hugs the girl on the bed, holding her tight. You look confused as to what is going on and you look back to the daughter who was in the closet.
"Mommy, I don't think daddy found it funny to joke about his memory". Just then you remember that you have twins.
| 2016-08-31T06:48:21 | 2016-08-31T06:10:53 | 26 | 14 |
[WP] “Look, I know your species wants to wipe out all others who are weaker than you, but basing that off physical strength and not technological is a great way to go extinct.” said the human.
|
"How is our esteemed guest doing this morning? Did you enjoy our traditional breakfast?"
Kos-kat shifted his weight on his four legs and cradled his chin in his upper right hand. "It was an interesting dish. A mixture of corn, flour, root vegetable, avian ovulation and mammalian lactation. I'd have to say it was quite enjoyable." His nose wrinkles as he brings his one criticism to bear; "Except that sauce. It is too pungent".
"You mean the hot sauce? Fun fact about Capsaicin, the chemical that makes the sauce hot: us humans find it to be delicious when diluted, but when concentrated it's a brilliant tool for blinding adversaries."
Kos-kat turned his head askew and shot his host an incredulous look from the corner of his right eye, "I see, this is that human guile you've spoken so highly of. You seek to deceive me."
"Nope. I'm being honest with you Kos-kat. This can on my belt is full of the stuff."
"Are you sure you're not seasoning your foes before you feast on them?"
"Funny enough you should mention that. One time I did have to bite an adversary after spraying them. I would not recommend doing that, it is very unpleasant."
"Noted. Will you finally be demonstrating the 'terrifying might of the humans' today or is today more travelling for no discernable reason?"
"Why yes! That's why I've come to retrieve you from your quarters, not only will you get the demonstration I've been promising, but you'll get the best seat in the house. Come with me to the bridge, but do mind the door to the bridge. It's quite low by your standards."
The Tzimin Chac stooped as he entered the bridge behind his golden eyed host. The bridge was remarkably similar to the bridges of his people's ships. Faces buried consoles, a low cacophony of mechanical keys clicking and clacking, a thrum of jargon that was impenetrable to anyone who hadn't spent their lives venturing through the black. The only discernable difference to Kos-kat was the language on the displays and the fact that nobody had enough limbs for his liking.
Before him stood two more golden eyed men. One younger, one older. The only three such men on the ship are with him on the bridge. While he still didn't understand the significance of their peculiar ocular pigmentation, he understood the position of these men in the crew's hierarchy.
"The planet on the main screen is our destination, Proxima Centauri b. Three Earth days ago the ruling faction of the planet announced a cleansing of the impure and the imperfect. Yesterday our time they released a bioweapon into their atmosphere. FamineWatch satellites and ground based instrumentation were able to sample the bioweapon within 30 minutes of release. It's a hemorrhagic fever designed to target people without a particular mutation of the MC1R gene. That mutation being the one that leads to the ruling faction's trademark green hair. Due the indiscriminate deployment of the weapon we have to assume that the 'perfect' population of Proxima Centauri b are now asymptomatic carriers."
The Tzimin Chac perked up, "OH THAT'S INCREDIBLE! They can kill their foes by simply breathing on them. That is truly... I uh... think you're about to tell me I'm wrong."
"I'm glad that you've learned how to read a human room Kos-kat, and yes, you're wrong. That is not today's demonstration. Today's demonstration will involve our response to this planet's crimes. Since you're a member of a space faring species, we can assume you're capable of mathematics. Let's do some addition."
The main display split into 4 images; a city, a colony, a group of 35 engines sitting in the cargo hold of the ship, and a group of three neural frames. The neural frames, dread engines of destruction who's relative lack of tonnage belied their destructive capability. Kos-kat had only one occasion to witness those deft machines in action, but the occasion left him with an abiding respect for the machines and their golden eyed pilots.
"What good are those machines against an entire planet? They are awe inspiring, but still aren't they too small to destroy a planet?"
"First, we won't be the only ones on this operation; secondly, one thing at a time Kos-kat. The city is Aphrodite, planetary capital of Proxima Centauri b. Home to the planet's ruling party, society's cultural elite, and it's most wealthy citizens. Every decision made on that planet passes through that city, it is the nerve center of their society. Approximate population: 42 million. Next is the agricultural colony, Demeter I. Part of the novel Demeter class of colonies, these serve as the breadbasket for Proxima Centauri b. Five are currently in operation around Proxima Centauri b. Approximate tonnage: 500,000 Earth Tons each. Approximate population: 25,000 souls each."
Kos-kat felt a chill crawl up his muscular frame. The numbers didn't bother him, but the tone of his hosts was wrong. Nobody, not even his master Huitzil, renowned conqueror of all he surveyed, spoke in this tone when discussing lives. The men before him weren't speaking like the warriors of his people, they were speaking like the businessmen. Counting lives like merchants counting widgets. For the first time since Kos-kat was spaced, he genuinely felt fear.
"The engines in question are Titan Industries Model 853 Heavy Lift Engines. These engines are typically used in pairs to transport colonies from the dry docks where they're constructed to their final destination. We will be using 7 per colony. And you already know what the frames are good for. Now that you've done the math, do you have any questions or thoughts you'd like the share with us."
"There's no triumph in what you're about to do. This is not war."
"This may not be how the Tzimin Chac do war, but this is exactly how Humans do war. We call this total war. We fight because we love what is behind us. We do not fight for glory, we fight for survival. We do not seek triumph, we seek success. When we kill, it is perfunctory. When we wage war, it is perfunctory. When we commit genocide, it is perfunctory."
"When we conquer planets, we spare those willing to kneel before us. You're not giving them that chance. This is worst than butchery, we treat our lifestock better than this!"
"We are not God, we cannot save Lot. We cannot risk this disease leaving that world, and to be clear, most of the people on that planet support what's happened. They cheer as their 'unclean' neighbors die choking on their own blood. They gleefully chase down and infect the few that have managed to protect themselves. The only thing separating a combatant from a non-combatant in this situation is the sloth and cowardice of the latter. We do not reward the character failings of the wicked here."
The massive Tzimin Chac sat dumbfounded on the deck of the bridge. He can't parse what is happening, or what he's gone through. Is he in the company of devils? Surely not, devils don't rescue you. Devils don't feed you and welcome you into their family. Devils don't encourage you to study their ways and culture. Devils don't look sad when they've hurt you.
"Listen friend, I'm pretty sure you don't like us anymore, and we probably deserve it. Can you do us one final favor after we get you home? Tell your master everything. All the good, and all the bad. Tell him that our muscles and bones are weak, but our minds are terrifying tools. We can devote ourselves to moving mountains for the benefit of others, or wiping out worlds and being terror incarnate. We will always be willing to extend a hand of friendship but we will never kneel. And one more thing; Kos, I'm sorry. I'm deeply sorry that things had to turn out this way. We have to go start our work now, and ya... I'm sorry."
Kos-kat recognized the expression on his human host's face. It's the same one other humans wore when they talked about family members and friends lost to the void. The humans called it "sorrow". His people knew sorrow and it's cousin remorse by different names, but they knew them just the same. Thoughts race through his head as time passes by. The myths, the stories, the history of his people swirl about as he tries to correlate details. He reaches into the depths of his mind to try to find some sort of cultural lens to view his circumstances through to make sense of what's happened to him. Devils don't rescue you. Demons don't have families. Heroes don't slaughter. Gods are not fragile. He finally settles on the only conclusion he has. Humans are human.
**"WHY DO HUMANS MAKE NO SENSE?!"**
|
The Rokian ships plunged towards the world below, the steel dart-tips bathed in orange as they descended from the void to the air that surrounded the rock. Inside each craft, unshielded from the momentum of their fall, stood a dozen soldiers, awaiting yet another victory for their conquest, another planet turned into a trophy.
As they fell, a boom reverberated. Those whose pods were close enough to hear it turned, searching for it’s source, before 11 more sounded, and 11 pods shattered into molten slag.
The noises didn’t cease, nor did the destruction. Erub stared in a mix of confusion and shock, unsure of what he was seeing, as he noticed the source of the noise. Slender rods, pointed at one end and ignited at the other, were rising up to strike the craft.
Erub understood that they were destroying the craft, but *how was this happening* and *what are they* eluded him.
The barrage continued, and as they neared the ground, a mere 2 minutes after their launch, Erub’s young skull filled with the confusion that they weren’t landing with the force of 10,000 that had launched.
Their ship impacted, carving into the ground, and Erub pushed all else from his head. *First the blood, then the questions*. Stepping onto the green, plant-covered field, he could see the humans in the distance. There were hundreds, but not one of them held any weapons, no clubs, slings, or rocks.
*Such confidence, no fear, they must not even know of violence*. The field was littered with Rokian pods, and the soldiers had gathered up into a loose swarm. Erub stood somewhere close to the back of the swarm, being an unversed soldier, of a mere 5 bloods. They broke into a run, unspeaking, towards their prey.
Within seconds, the distance had finally halved, and the Rokians began their scream. The instant they did, a voice called out, オペン ファイレ.
Hundreds of clicks, almost as loud as the war scream, started coming from the enemy, as the soldiers began to falling to the ground.
Flames flashed from the black tools in the hands of the foes, and the soldiers became riddled with small holes, coating their entire frames.
The charge didn’t slow, and finally, the enemy was reached. Coming up to only the soldiers’ waists, easily pierced by the Rokians’ spiked knuckles. As expected, they ran and scattered, but they didn’t cease their clicks or flashes of fire.
Reaching them at last, Erub charged one, he thought it might be a young buck, though he wasn’t sure. Flashes of stinging erupted across his breast, before he struck the foe’s weapon with a backhanded fist, which rendered the creature’s arm limp. Erub lifted the young buck to study his face, and to his surprise, the foe used their other hand to grab something strapped to their breast, which they jammed into Erub’s throat.
The young buck was killed of course, such insolence would not go unanswered, but Erub couldn’t help examining the buck’s second weapon. To his utter surprise, it was made of metal, and of an even, refined shape. As if the weaklings had somehow mastered the metal more than the Rokians.
Erub resumed his slaughter, tearing through flesh, but was all the while harassed by the stings of the enemies tools, and far more exhausted than he should’ve been. Their story was not severed so easily, however, and at least a dozen soldiers still stood as the last foe was knocked to the ground.
*It doesn’t matter, we will still consume* Erub thought to himself, knowing nothing of the human bomber planes that were already approaching the field.
| 2022-04-16T15:57:21 | 2022-04-16T12:28:32 | 203 | 96 |
[WP] While walking home from school, you find a book titled "Cheat Codes". It doesn't specify what game it's for, but the codes themselves are specific and seemingly random instructions. Messing around, you follow the instructions for No Clipping and find yourself walking through obstacles.
|
I could hear Sergeant and Doctor Cassidy talking in the other tent. I have just about had it after four battles fighting for whatever resource we decided to go after next. Even the Major said he didn't know what the hell we were doing here.
The camps are always open for me to leave, but I'm gonna go out with such a bang it's gonna make them reconsider this entire operation, though I'm beginning to think there was no operation in the first place. I crawl around to the side of their tent. It's dark out, and the only one who can see me is Octavia on the guard tower, but she's just about as invested in this operation as the Major.
I see a book, a purple one that Cassidy has been carrying around ever since he got to camp. I'm gonna steal it, just because I can so easily. It rests next to their table. I just need a distraction. "Hey Octavia. I need you to do something." I motion up.
I lie as still as I can, and then I hear the loud crack. Sergeant and the Doctor walk out, but although I want to see the way Octavia gets out of this one, I burst into their quarters and snatch the book, a tenth of a second after reading "Cheat Codes" off the top of the book.
Bursting through to my bed, I notice the entire platoon must have woken up, because the commotion that fills the air is almost as chaotic as the air of battle. Good enough for me to dive into my quarters and read Cassidy's quirky little book.
My first thought was "Awww, is the great doctor an old school gamer?" before cracking it open. "Invincibility, Humanly Possible Rocket Jumping, and Perfect Tracking" are some of the things listed, but the descriptions are far more deep than your average video game.
"The blast force must be equal to half that of the standard RPG-7, placed between the legs of the user via a remote system. Will only function on slanted ground at a 15 degree incline."
Then it hits me. This isn't a game. This is a military project. I skim the book for something I can use to get out of here.
In a flash not unlike lighting, the tent flaps fling open to reveal Sargeant standing menacingly, his eyes fixated on me. "Private Anderson! Return the book at once!" he yells. Always one to get right to the chase.
I think in the back of my head that I can get killed for this, but I'm not going to fight one more battle for unknown causes, though I think I now hold said causes in my hand. I unpin a grenade kept in the drawer and place my right foot over it.
"Anderson! You're stepping on your own grenade!" he aggressively points out like the Sargeant Obvious that he is. "I know, dipshit." I spit at him.
As he erupts, I press my left hand against the tent, and the grenade goes off. Everything is black. I see the book, falling through the void with me. *I'm dead and I embarassed myself* fills my mind. More out of fear than anything, I slowly turn my head up. I see the tent, but from the ground's view. I actually see the entire camp.
I rub my eyes, and it's still there. I'm under the surface of the Earth, sideways in the fourth dimension. I have clipped into an area man has never meant to be in. Sargeant is gone, and I have a feeling it's for good.
I quickly find out that I can move around by "swimming," almost like I can fly around. I swim back up, and find myself appearing just ooutside my now burning tent. "Found him!" Oh shit.
Six men corner me, all of them wearing the same skull emblem that Dr. Cassidy wears, who steps forward. "You can truly never hide from me." he says, taunting me. "While I'm upset that my book is gone, I believe that you are much, much, more-"
And then I'm falling. Falling back into the black void, and although I've skydived before, this drop felt different. Maybe it's the lack of a parachute, or of any visible objects.
I quickly flap my hands to stop falling, and I look up and sneer, almost as if they can see me. They might not be able to, but Cassidy probably can. He puts his hand to the floor and pulls something from his belt. A blast echoes throughout even this void, and suddenly he's standing there, hoveing next to me.
"Surprised? You shouldn't be." he says to me as he puts his still-hot hand on my shoulder. His hand falls right through me, almost taking him down with it, had he not stopped his fall.
"What is all of this?" I ask, hints of weakness showing in my voice. "Is this why an entire platoon was sent to the jungle?"
Cassidy approaches me again. "Come with me, and do not phase this time. I will explain everything."
We begin to rise upward, and I now find myself rising into the back of a moving truck. Cassidy's not here, though I can hear his voice from the front, so he's definitely here.
We arrive at a pristine white laboratory built into a clifface. I have to admit, it looks super cool. Without saying a word, Cassidy and I float up through the doors into the hallway, where he insists on us walking.
"So, Anderson. You are correct, that was the goal. But not just to make super soldiers as you may think." he tells me, looking intently at something on his tab.
"Then what is?" I barely manage to get out before returning back to confusion and awe.
"These abilities must be used for more than bloodshed. You can look for buried secrets deep in the earth. Some can survive extreme areas that others cannot. Breaking physics can be used for more than war."
That was the first normal thing I heard from him. "So why do you want me here?"
"To help me change the world and science as we know them and research physics breaks like yours."
He's not beside me anymore, so I know to drop down a floor, and I do, into a large room full of lab equipment and computers. "What's this?" I ask, more confidently now.
"Our sandbox." he replies.
|
“This isn’t real”, I said as I ended up in bright bathroom on the other side of my bedroom. I snapped twice, stomped my foot and whistled again while taking another step forward. The room became dark and moist. There was no room to walk forwards or backwards but I could move my left arm out to the side. “Wow, this is real and now I’m in the wall, of course I would.” I performed the cheat again while taking a step backwards and went right back to the bathroom! I was ecstatic. I finally achieved a sorcery that was previously unknown to human man, besides who had ever come across this glorious book.
Did I want to share this knowledge? Yes I did. I had to call my wife who was at work and wanted to clip back into my bedroom to retrieve my phone. I snapped twice, stomped my foot, whistled twice and took a step forward. This time I was hallway clipped through the wall between my bedroom and bathroom.
“Damn you, programmers!” I screamed as a I waited for my wife to come home at save me.
*debug sim*
“WHAT JUST HAPPENED?” I exclaimed as I jumped into a random spot outside of my house.
| 2021-06-05T20:03:08 | 2021-06-05T18:27:14 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] After a drunken night of partying, two teenage aliens awake to find they have abducted the president of the United States
|
Tyz and Kleff woke up with the worst hangovers of their young lives.
"Dude, what happened last night?" Tyz asked his buddy.
Despite the best effort of the malt liquor still running through his veins, Kleff ran through the events of last night through his mind. It all started when Kleff's father, Xenu the Conqueror left him alone for the weekend while he ran some errands and subjugated some planets. Tyz saw the space armada leave the planet and immediately went to his buddy's house with a backpack full of booze and drugs. Tyz was good like that.
What wasn't good is that when the pair came to, they were in orbit around a small blue and green marble of a planet in one of Xenu the Conqueror's star frigates he left behind. Empty cans of liquid carbohydrates littered the bridge with flat empty grease stained boxes. Kleff picked one up and read it.
"Oh gross, dude, we ate something called Pizza Hut last night."
Tyz vaguely remembered that part.
"Okay, dude, lets take a step back and figure this out. Okay, so we started drinking at your place."
"Yeah."
"Then had some of that Galactic Chronic I brought"
"Shit yeah we did."
"Then you wanted to go on an interstellar booze run."
That's the part that Kleff didn't remember. It did sound like him though, so he accepted as truth.
"That sounds like me. So obviously we landed on that planet, otherwise we wouldn't have had all this booze and pizza. Wait. I vaguely remember weird looking bipedal primates that were screaming. Was that a thing?"
Suddenly from behind a mountain of empty beer cans and pizza boxes, one of the weird primates from the night before emerged. He had a thin tuft of blond hair haphazardly attached to a frumpy orange head. It started waving it's arms around and making ridiculous grunting noises while squinting it's ugly little face. Kleff realized that this might somehow be sentient and turned on the Universal Translator.
"...and who the hell do you think you are? I am the President of the United god damn States of America! And what in God's name do you want with me? You think that the United States of America will surrender just because you've manage to steal the President? You're dead wrong, kiddo. As we speak nations of the world are rallying to kick your ass. I chose Sarah Palin as my Vice President because I knew I could trust her in a situation like this. As we speak she is going to scramble Earth's largest power house to save me and deport your asses back to wherever they came from and..."
Kleff rubbed his forehead with one of his tentacles. What the fuck was this thing talking about? Tyz covered the Primates mouth. "Little orange dude, man, chill for a second."
"I'm Kleff, son of Xenu, and this is my buddy Tyz. We're from beyond the stars. We're what you would call an alien."
"I thought that I built a wall to keep you criminals out!"
"This is some kind of mistake, we're going to take you back to your planet and you can live out your days being as angry as you want, no harm done?"
As he said that, the communicator went off and Tyz went over to check it out.
"Oh man, they found a way to communicate with us! They're going to be pissed, I think this guy is their king or tyrant or something!"
"Answer it, dude!"
Tyz hit the answer button and the hologram of a primate with a beehive hairdo and square little glasses appeared.
"Hello? Is this thing on? Now how do you work this dang thing..."
Kleff looked around and realized he didn't have his holo-communicator. He must have left it somewhere and that's how the primates are contacting them.
The hologram continued on "Now, I don't know who you guys are working for, be in the Chinese or the Russians or the Muslims, but stealing the President of the United States isn't going to make us surrender. I'll have you know that I just got off the phone with NASA and they'll have a spaceship that can send a group of Navy Seals to forcibly board you guys within five years as long as you stay where you are!"
The orange creature broke free of Tyz's grip and ran to the hologram.
"Sarah! How are you here right now?"
"These two left some sort of alien communicator in a strip club in Montreal. They landed there before flying to DC. The Prime Minister of Canada had it flown to the Pentagon as soon as he heard what happened. We're going to save you, Mister Trump."
It was that moment that they realized how primitive these creatures really were. They could just throw this hairless demon out the airlock, fly off, and never have to worry about hearing from them again. But every once in a while you get into an insane situation without even trying, and there's two things you can do: Back out and forget it happened or go with it. Kleff decided on the latter.
"Tiny little primate." he addressed to the hologram "See how big and mighty our space ship is? We stole your Mighty Orange King and your precious Pizza Huts without even so much as trying. Surrender your planet now or we will return with a great fleet. We will lay waste to your puny planet, hangover or no hangover."
Tyz grabbed him and took him aside.
"Dude, what are you doing?"
"Imagine how happy my dad would be if he returned from his Space Crusade we conquered an extra planet for him! I mean, it's kind of humid and terrible, but it's a great start!"
|
"Man, Slagoth what the fuck happened last night"
"Shh, my head"
"Stop being so peek. And why are we in your dad's ship"
"My, what! Oh shit I'm dead I'm so dead... WTF. What or who maybe is that?"
"An Earthican maybe"
"Why is it orange"
**"Illegal aliens! Why didn't you stay behind the wall"** Donald Trump shouted.
| 2016-07-10T16:11:20 | 2016-07-10T15:32:34 | 85 | 23 |
[WP] Your neighbor is the protagonist of a musical. Any time a musical number starts, anyone within a certain radius can't help but join in. You are trying to have one normal day when you hear music approach.
|
FADE IN:
EXT. A RESIDENTIAL STREET - AFTERNOON
*A young man exits his house and locks the door behind him. This is STEVE. He glances up and down the street, apparently expecting someone to arrive. After a few moments, a car pulls up, and a young woman exits. This is SARAH.*
**SARAH:** Hey! I hope you haven't been waiting long!
**STEVE:** Nah, I only just stepped outside.
*Sarah nods her understanding, then shifts her weight expectantly.*
**SARAH:** So... third date, huh?
**STEVE:** Yeah, I was thinking that we could take a walk down to the farmer's market, and then I could...
*Steve trails off, and his face adopts an expression of muted horror.*
**SARAH:** ... You could what?
**STEVE:** Oh no.
**SARAH:** You could oh no?
**STEVE:** No.
**SARAH:** Well, *that* sure cleared things up.
*Rather than answering, Steve grabs Sarah's hand and takes off running.*
**STEVE:** Come on! There's no time to explain!
**SARAH:** Hey, ouch! What's going on?
**STEVE:** I just said there's no time to explain! Follow me! Hurry!
*The pair round a corner, and Steve slows to a halt. Sarah snatches her hand away from him.*
**SARAH:** Look, I'm going to have my friend call with a fake emergency if you're going to start pretending that you're a secret agent or something.
**STEVE:** No, no! No, it's not like that!
**SARAH:** What's going on, then?
**STEVE:** I heard music!
**SARAH:** ... Music.
**STEVE:** It was *Dave's* music!
**SARAH:** Okay, so, Dave has bad taste in music. Why did we have to run, again?
*Steve rubs his forehead, looking slightly unhinged.*
**STEVE:** It's not that he has bad taste in music; it's that his life is a goddamned musical.
**SARAH:** So what? Lots of people listen to music throughout the day.
**STEVE:** You're not getting it.
**SARAH:** Well, you're not explaining it.
*Steve glances around the corner, then sighs and seems to relax slightly.*
**STEVE:** Look, Dave is my roommate, okay?
**SARAH:** Oh. I get it.
**STEVE:** ... What?
**SARAH:** He's your "roommate."
**STEVE:** What? Wait, *what?* No! No, I mean, he's literally my roommate, and he has this... condition.
**SARAH:** A musical condition.
**STEVE:** Yes.
**SARAH:** ... Does he, like, fart a lot or something?
**STEVE:** I mean *actual* music. Whenever he starts singing, the world around him turns into a goddamned Andrew Lloyd Webber scene.
*Sarah stares at Steve for several seconds.*
**SARAH:** Gosh, you know what? I just remembered. My friend's goldfish just died. I should go comfort her.
**STEVE:** I'm telling the truth!
**SARAH:** Uh huh.
*Sarah starts to walk away, but Steve jumps in front of her.*
**STEVE:** No, no, I mean it! I know it sounds crazy!
*In the distance, strains of music become audible.*
**SARAH:** Get out of my way.
**STEVE:** Please, if you'd just... if only you could...
*Steve steps aside, raises his arms, and begins singing toward the sky.*
**STEVE:**
Look at me!
I've blown it yet again!
Why can't I live a normal life
While Dave is still my friend?
I'm handsome and intelligent,
I'm educated, smart,
And yet I become quite the fool
When I hear music start!
*Steve turns to see Sarah walking away again, and he dances after her.*
**SARAH:**
Leave me be!
This isn't what I want!
I was hoping for a normal date
Perhaps at a restaurant!
You're handsome and intelligent,
And that I wouldn't change,
But it's always on the third date
That men start acting strange!
*From seemingly out of nowhere, several more MEN surround Steve. They all dance in perfect synchronization as they follow Sarah.*
**MEN:**
And so
It goes!
It's that godawful fate!
The scourge of every living man...
*One of the group jumps forward and sings with a flamboyant intonation. The music stops for his line.*
**GAY MAN:** ... Assuming that he's straight!
*The GAY MAN jumps back into line with his cohorts.*
**MEN:**
We try so much to please them,
We work hard to impress,
But that which makes a woman tick
Is anybody's guess!
*As if in response, several WOMEN suddenly surround Sarah. They all turn around and face the men.*
**WOMEN:**
And there
It is!
You've taken off the mask!
To find out just what women want,
You only have to ask!
We don't care if you're psychic,
This isn't just your "fate!"
Rather than assume anything,
You should communicate!
*The music slows, and the dancing slows in kind. Everyone forms into a swaying ring, into which Steve steps.*
**STEVE:**
Oh, there...
Is a truth inside me...
A secret that I really should have shared.
If she...
Was to be my lover...
When she learned it, would she have even cared?
*Sarah steps into the ring.*
**SARAH:**
I know...
That you aren't so crazy...
The truth about your friend is plain to see.
Instead...
Of that sudden dragging...
You should have tried just telling this to me.
*The music's tempo picks back up, and the men and women start dancing together.*
**STEVE and SARAH:**
Maybe we
Can get a second chance
We've just had our first-ever fight
As a part of this dance!
It is quite the story to tell!
This moment, we can save!
There's only one more thing to say...
*A young man comes around the corner. This is DAVE.*
**DAVE:** Oh, hi, Steve!
*Everyone else raises their arms to the sky and belts out the final notes of the song.*
**EVERYONE:** Fuck you, Daaaaaaave!
*After a final fanfare - during which several men and women do back-flips and cartwheels - the music abruptly stops. The men and women glance at one another with confusion and embarrassment, then hurriedly shuffle away from one another. Steve and Sarah look at each other, then smile.*
**DAVE:** ... That was a bit rude.
FADE OUT.
|
I never asked for any of this.
My life isn't the best, but it's mine. It's normal and straightforward, maybe a bit boring, but it's mine, and however plain it is, I worked for every inch of it. I wanted to live out the rest of my days in obscurity, playing internet games and posting on the internet like an introverted stereotype.
And then this guy moves in.
I don't even know his name. All I know is that whenever something good happens to him, or whenever something bad happens to him, or whenever *anything happens at all*, he starts to sing. Which wouldn't be so bad if *everybody* didn't join in.
Even I joined in a few times. But while I was dancing down the middle of the street in happy abandon, singing about how he had just gotten a raise at the theater company, while some upbeat orchestra played from behind a shrubbery somewhere, I realized that my frozen pizza was probably burnt by now. And right then, I decided that I wanted out.
So when I was in the middle of grocery shopping, and the music started – my ears have been carefully trained to pick out the first few chords from a mile away – I acted.
Now, I never go anywhere without my headphones. They cancel noise, but more importantly, play different music. I quickly slipped them onto my head, and pushed play on my shuffle playlist.
The sweet sounds of Micheal Jackson filled my ears. I closed my eyes in relief. No music, no dancing. Just me and my little world.
Of course, I still had to dodge the dancing shoppers, and had to use self-checkout because the cashiers were part of the chorus. And I had to wait for ten minutes in my car, because the grand finale took up the only way out of the parking lot.
But when it was all over, men and women coming back down to reality, they quickly got out of the way of my sedan as I drove out, “Smooth Criminal” still playing in my ears.
He had his life, and I had mine. And I was never getting tangled in his again.
| 2017-01-09T22:10:16 | 2017-01-09T21:15:58 | 96 | 11 |
[WP] Elon Musk is actually a disguised alien who bet his friend that he could bring Earth to "Technology Level 10" in one human lifetime.
|
"I'm telling you, *any* planet, *any* race, one *equivalent* lifetime," Lon'e said. "It's just a matter of getting the others on board. But I could guarantee you that I can get them six levels higher than they are."
"Six?" Dwar'e laughed, "You're fooling yourself. There's no way. Not only could you not do it, but if you think the Panel is going to let you do this--"
"*Let* me? I invented the damn machine in the first place!" Lon'e slammed his drink down and shook his head, "I already told you the math, already told you how the machine works, already told you the Panel will let me do what I want."
"Okay, so I get to pick the race?"
Lon'e perked his eyes up and hiccuped. "You pick the race. I got the thingy-mabob right over in my office. But keep in mind, if you pick some single-celled organism shit, that's against the rules."
He laughed, "Okay, yeah yeah, I won't be a *fonid* about it. But there's plenty of others to choos from, you're sure you're down for this?"
Lon'e drank the last of his beverage, a hard mix between alcohol and flavored water from his home galaxy. It wasn't often he went out, nor was it often he went into tangents about how great his machine worked. Nor was it often that he placed bets on the future of a single race.
Then again, Lon'e did just receive the Galactic Peace Award back at home, so he thought, and was always thinking, that anything he did could never go wrong. But Dwar'e was just looking at the list of races when an idea came to him. Sure, Lon'e was smart, probably the smartest Euro he ever met, but there was no way he could fix the problems in Quadrant Fourteen-Echo without causing more problems for the Panel. Something he, and he though Lon'e, desperately wanted.
It had been years since any single Euranion had taken a ship near that quadrant, let alone inside of it, and the Panel's official stance on the state of that Galactic area was "No comment." Unofficially, it was condemned as a failed experiment by some Euranion who had drifted into history as dust and echoes. The only thing they left behind was The QFE's problems.
Lon'e stared at Dwar'e as he scrolled through the list of races and their technological level. Past the tribals of Quadrant Nineteen-Tango, past the rebellions of Quadrant Eight-Zeta and even past the technological masterminds, who were still only tier seven, of Quadrant Twenty-three-Lima. He saw his hand linger over one quadrant, who's technology level was a whopping *Four* on the Euranion scale and who, for all Lon'e had tried to forget, was still a forefront of every scientist and politician's platform.
"No, you *fonid*, pick someone else."
"C'mon, they're not breaking the rules! Tech level four, advanced micro-organism, brainiacs--"
"And maniacs. You know as well as I do that *that* wouldn't be allowed."
"To be quite honest, probably not. But imagine them at a tech-level that could rival our own. *Humans* with some of the most advanced technology in the universe. Technology that could cover this entire galaxy."
"Technology that could reach *home*. What would you do if they walked onto your doorstep?"
"With Tier Ten tech? Probably as much as the next Euranion. But that's not the point."
"What is the point then Dwar'e?"
"How long have we been on top, Lon'e? How long have the Euranions conquered?"
Lon'e flicked his straw, "Thousands of years. Millions maybe. Time is as irrelevant as space is to us now."
"Precisely."
Lon'e chuckled to himself. He and Dwar'e had been bond-Eura's for a long time now. Dwar as his bodyguard, confidant, assistant, and basically everything else and him as one of the Panel's many "young" scientists, creators, and builders. For a long time, they had scoured galactic quadrants and built what was needed to be built. They were done here, in the MWG, and as always they had some drinks. And they talked.
They talked about their people. "You think we've outlived our purpose?"
"Your words, not mine."
Lon'e laughed, "*My* words. How long has it been since the Panel cared about any of their Builders words?" Dwar'e remained silent as he thought out loud. "Maybe you are right, maybe our time building has come to an end."
"So what will you do?"
"The bet is one lifetime." Lon'e glanced over to his bond-mate. "How long can you give me?"
"One lifetime. That's around 80 years for humans. That's nothing to us."
Lon'e poured the last of the mix and drank it in one full-swoop. He longed for the days when he was just graduating and making his bonds. When he hadn't scoured a hundred dozen galaxies building what the Euranion Panel wanted him to build. Putting their word first, their ideology, their belief that they created the universe.
They created nothing, Lon'e knew. Only echoes of their word for the species that would get to Tier Eight. Then, by the Eura's laws they would either burn themselves in war and strife. Or be burned by the Panel's Legions.
No more conquering. No more building. No more destroying.
Lon'e had dedicated his life to maintaining the universe. Over the last hundred thousand years he had realized he had dedicated his life to the fire of the universe. To letting it all burn beneath the Panel.
No more, he thought. "I'll see you in a lifetime then brother."
Dwar'e smiled, "Til then my brother."
Lon'e smiled.
"Til then."
____
*No continuation on this one, sorry everyone!*
|
Musk sits across the table from his friend, smiling.
"Look, lemme buy you a drink.", his friend says.
"Nope. It's on me."
"You arent a rich human playboy anymore. And, you lost the bet."
"Yeah, but remember those projections? Now when their civilization implodes again from their superstition relapse, they will never be able to go technic!"
"That's dirty, you lost the bet on purpose."
"Yup, but I won the contract from the galactic council using your help to startup. One barbaric child race down, only like a dozen left in this quadrant to go"
*sigh* "even out here you are one smooth customer"
"And I don't even need to use asteroids to do it"
| 2016-09-11T19:43:46 | 2016-09-11T16:06:22 | 287 | 37 |
[WP] Your best friend is weirdly the ghost that haunts your house, you chat with each other, play video games, bullshit over movies. Until the day that they finally finish the thing that has kept them from moving on all this time
|
I could tell that his heart just wasn't in it. We have been evenly-matched for the most part, me because I've been playing games my whole life, him because he has time to practise all day. That meant that my current 15-0 winning streak in *Mario Kart* was an aberration certainly worth investigating, so I placed the controller aside, then turned to face him.
"Bruh," I said. "You wanna talk?"
Jeremy was on the cusp of saying 'no' when he suddenly sighed. "Up on the roof, not here," he said. I nodded, then he floated off the couch, kicking gently like a diver returning to the surface. He passed through the ceiling with all the haste of an escaped balloon. I collected a beer from the fridge, locked my apartment, then took the stairs up. The stairwell access to the roof was usually locked, but Jeremy had helped me pick it a couple of months ago, back when we were first trying to escape the summer heat.
He was perched on the parapet, staring out into the city below. The moon was half-formed tonight, and the diligent murmurings of a city unable to sleep drifted up from the streets. I joined Jeremy, and I cracked open the beer while I waited for him to warm up. He was one of the more talkative poltergeists I had met, but he had his moods too.
"I checked in on her yesterday," he said eventually. "She moved again, but I followed her trail and found her easily enough. She's living just outside the city now, and commutes in for work."
"Oh? Is it already your death day?"
"No, it wasn't. I've been thinking, and I wanted to... make sure I was making the right decision. So I spent most of the day with her. I didn't let her know I was there, of course. The charms she bought to ward me off don't actually work. I just kind of... hung around, then watched how she got on with her life. No haunting this time."
I laughed, then sloshed back another mouthful of beer. "You a stalker now?"
"No, it's not that. This is serious, Hank. I'm trying to be serious here. OK?"
I frowned. In all the time I had know him, Jeremy was only morose whenever his death day rolled around. I regretted not paying more attention to my parents then, because my understanding of the metaphysical mechanics of Jeremy's existence was patchy and incomplete. I understood, for example, that ghosts like Jeremy don't exactly have memories the way humans do. They could certainly recall the specific grievances which kept them bound to this mortal plane, but they needed specific triggers for that. Otherwise, they retained much of their personalities from before they died, and just flitted from day to day like goldfish.
A quick glance at my watch indicated that August was still many weeks away. There was no reason why Jeremy would suddenly be thinking of Alicia, or why he would even break routine to suss her out. And what was that about decisions? What did a ghost like him have to decide?
"I'm afraid I'm not catching your drift, buddy. I don't understand what-"
"I'm saying, I think it's time I moved on. Time to let it all go. To head for that bright light up in the sky, to take my chances at what lies beyond. And I'm not talking about the moon either."
My fingers tapped on the masonry, and the tempo increased as the panic seized me. "Wait, hang on. Jeremy, we've got a good thing going, right? Isn't life great now? We're best friends, aren't we? I deliver my pizzas, you spy on the neighbors, then at night we trade stories over beer and Netflix and games? And I'm there for you whenever you have to go haunt her or whatever it is you swore to do once a year on the date when she broke up with you? We have a system, and it works, yes? What changed? Did I do something wrong?"
It was Jeremy's turn to laugh. He shook his head, and the cackle segued into a sigh. "What changed? I don't know, Hank. It's like sunrise, yes? It's dark at first, then it gets brighter, shade by shade, but it's hard to pinpoint the exact moment that it's morning, but then suddenly you know it is?"
"You're losing me."
"What I mean to say is... I've been listening to your calls. The ones you have with your grandfather every week. The ones where he tries to persuade you to go home and continue your training. And you know... they just got me thinking, you know?"
A flash of irritation spread through me. Not so much that he was listening in (expecting privacy when you have a ghost at home is just silly), but that he had brought my family into this. I hadn't come all the way out here, taken so much pain to distance myself from them, only to be reminded by a ghost of all things.
"Um, I don't want to be mean," I said, "but what I'm going through with my family has *nothing* at all to do with you, OK? It's entirely different things. Look, what I'm trying to say is, let's not be hasty about this. Let's talk it out, and then we can-"
Jeremy shook his head, then held out his palm to the night sky. Motes of light rose from his incorporeal form, a hundred fireflies of his flesh, and they reconstituted in the air, forming an outline of Alison. She seemed older compared to the visions he had first conjured for me.
"It's like your grandfather told you, you can't keep running. I can't keep running. I thought I was noble, you see. I told her that I would die if she didn't love me back, and I meant it. I resolved to meet her once a year after that, to remind her always that my love for her was pure, and that she was the one who had made the mistake. I thought I could change her mind that way. But the last few years... She's moved on, you know? Fully. I mean, there's a part of me which lives on in her, always, but she's... a different person now. She's married, she's had kids, she's seen so much more of life than I ever had. She still fears that time once a year when I appear before her, but other than that, she's actually... fine, you know? She's happy. Like, really happy."
"Aren't you happy too? Here?"
"I am, but... I realized I'm just afraid of what comes next. I should roll the dice, see where my soul ends up next. But I'm so afraid of where that leads that I've stayed here far longer than I should have. Don't get me wrong, Hank. You're been the best buddy a ghost could ever wish for. But our destinies lie elsewhere, yes? Like your grandfather says, just because you hole yourself up here, just because you refuse to carry on the family business, doesn't mean that you'll lose your ability to see ghosts or interact with them. You have a lot more to accomplish out there, just like I do too."
My hands had balled themselves into fists, and the beer can, crushed and forgotten, rolled on the ground. "I told you, didn't I? I don't like other people. Other people don't like me. I'm comfortable here, with you for company. I don't need other people to survive."
"Yes, but as your grandfather says... other people need you. You just don't know it yet."
We were quiet for a while, and I saw the resolve in him strengthening, growing stronger by the second. It was like a knot inside of him, twisting, enlarging, till his entire form had grown luminescent.
This much I knew.
I didn't have much longer with him.
"You've made up your mind then?"
"I have," he said. "I understand now too why she had told me we had to break up, all those years ago. We held each other back, you know? It was good, but... we could be more. That's why she had to leave me, and that's why I need to go too. It's not goodbye, Hank. It's just us going off on other adventures, and one day we'll get to share them again with each other."
"Will I get to see you again?"
He laughed. "I don't know. You're the psychic, you tell me."
And he was gone.
I basked in the moonlight for a while longer after that. True, I couldn't hear him anymore, and we would never get to finish that last season of *Brooklyn Nine Nine* we were looking forward to. But it also felt like he was still around, somehow.
I fished my phone out, then dialled for my grandfather. It took him five rings to answer - guess he must have been sleeping.
"Hank?"
"Hey... I'm moving back. I'm coming home."
"*Finally.* There's a lot for you to catch up on. You're never going to be able to help anyone if you don't get your studies right."
"Did you know?"
"Did I know what?"
"Did you know that the ghost in my apartment was listening in to us?"
A slight pause, then a low chuckle in the background.
"Two birds with one stone, Hank, two birds with one stone."
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
I was about 6 at the time we moved into our current house. My mother saw it was a very cheap house, due to all it's apparent past haunting, and she found a nearby job as a single mother. She believed it was bullshit, and I'm glad she did. When we first moved here, she didn't notice anything but I started to notice weird things going on in the house, and one day I was in my room, going to sleep so the light was off, when creepily I heard a voice coming from the corner of the room.
"This used to be my room." said a girlish voice.
I couldn't quite pinpoint where she was, but I wasn't really disturbed or scared, to be honest. This was 6 months after I had moved in. It felt like I knew the presence in the room personally, and it struck me hard. I connected the dots with my little brain and I realized that she was the ghost that people complained about in the haunting reviews.
"Who's there?" I asked lightly, not to scare her. "My name's Anna, you can come out and talk to me."
A shape slowly appeared in the darkness, a transparent white that slowly solidified into color, a girl around the age of 12.
"Wow, you're a ghost? Who are you?" I inquired to the mysterious girl.
"My name is Isabella, and I'm a girl who's been here in this house for many many years, how are you able to hear and see me?"
This part felt a little weird, was nobody else able to see and hear her? Weren't there other people here before? I was confused.
"I'm not sure Isabella, what happened to you?" I asked.
Isabella smiled grimly "You can call me Bella, but as for what happened to me, I burned in a house fire many years ago."
Fast forward a few years, I became best friends with her, always coming back home from school and playing with her. My mom thought I was going through an imaginary friend phase and I didn't have any friends, but she was real. I learned her parents were abusive, and she was 12. Fast forward again, and I'm just entering my 12th birthday. I lived in this house all my life, and Isabella has become my best friend, but today, on my birthday, she smiled and followed me around content. She didn't say very much but we had fun. The day went as normal, we watched a movie, I ate cake, my mom and family nearby came to sing happy birthday, but here's where it all went wrong. Today, earlier, I was talking to Isabella, and suddenly she started to fade, and I got really confused as she's never done it before.
I asked, "What's happening? Is this another one of your tricks?"
She smiled faintly and whispered to me "No, I'm moving on. I've fulfilled my purpose here. Thank you, Anna, for your company and friendship."
I started to frown, "no no, what did you do? Why are you moving on? What's going on? What were you here to do?"
She replied softly "My sole thing that tethered me here was I had no friends my age, and now you are my age and my best friend, you've helped me to pass on . . . thank you. I must go, goodbye"
She, just as soon as I saw her come into existence when I first met her, disappeared in front of my very eyes. It registered that my best friend had just disappeared and I started to cry heavily, touching the place I last saw her, my eyes bawling. My mother rushed up the stairs, but she didn't understand what happened. Nobody did. I held her a funeral later in my backyard, but there was nothing to bury. Today I lost my best friend, and nobody believed me. I miss her so much and now I'm blaming myself for her absence. it feels so empty. I spent the day crying, and my mom ended up trying to take me to a therapist. It didn't work, but because of the wrong reason. They thought I was crazy but I was in mourning. I just feel so empty now. I'm happy for you, Isabella. I'm glad you were my friend. I'll do my best to move on, for you. Thank you.
| 2018-06-27T22:43:00 | 2018-06-27T21:41:19 | 2,332 | 38 |
[WP] in traditional “willyoupressthebutton” fashion, there is a consequence to any benefit you would receive. One morning you receive super powers out of the blue, later realizing that your dad pressed a button that grants him and the person he hates most in the world extraordinary powers.
|
"It was never supposed to be like this."
His words cut into the night, shattering the silence that had forced its way between us. I leveled my gaze with him across the yard, the lights of our small home illuminating his silhouette. Shadows crawled across our back garden, the dead and dying plants hidden in their depths. The air was still, and the wind was crisp against my bare arms.
I could barely make his features out in the darkness; just some movement at his jaw as he spoke again.
"I never meant to--"
"You never meant to what, Dad?" I snapped, my hands curled into fists. "Never meant to become one of the most powerful people in the world? Or never meant for me to find out that you hate me?"
His figure stilled, and I took a step forward.
"I was there. I heard the agreements. Our house is small, Dad, it's not like I wouldn't have heard. You had to have known."
"I didn't know. I thought you were asleep--"
"If you knew me *at all* you would remember I can't sleep, Dad. If you ever even cared about me--and it's clear now you didn't--" I flinched at my voice cracking. I wanted to sound strong. As strong as I was now, with what my father's hatred for me had granted. But I couldn't. All the power in the world couldn't make me strong enough for this conversation. "--you didn't *love* me, Dad! You've never loved me!"
"That's not true!"
He stepped forward; I stepped back.
"It is true, Dad, it is--you don't have to lie anymore." Flames tingled at my knuckles, and sparks showered from my hands like hot tears. "I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask to be *born."*
"I know, believe me, I know--"
I forced a laugh; it boomed with a crack across the yard, echoing into the empty sky above us like thunder. I watched my dad flinch; saw a glimmer of light shine protectively over him, as if anticipating my attack.
Maybe I wanted to hurt him. The way he hurt me. The idea caused a surge of heat to crawl down my back, and blades of fire erupted from my curled fists like daggers. This power was still new to me, and I had no idea how much I could do. But with every physical sensation, with every response my body supplied to me, I felt a little more in control. A little more like myself.
"I never wanted this," he said, taking another step towards me. I held my ground. "I'm not going to fight you. You're my child."
"That's never been reason enough before," I bit back. "Me being your child has never been enough for you to care to get up in the morning. To make me breakfast. Make sure I get to school. To buy me clothes, or feed me. No--I had to raise *myself.* So why stop now? Why *not* fight the...the..." A sob betrayed my true feelings. "'The person you hate most in the world'?"
We were both still, staring at each other through the darkness. The lights dancing at my hands were just enough to illuminate the shine of his eyes; the eyes we shared.
He was my only family. My only family betrayed me.
An anguished cry slipped through my lips and the heat rolled over me again, a wave of flame burning through me and charring the ground at my feet. With this small burst, I saw his features more clearly; his set jaw, his crinkled forehead, his unkempt hair.
He looked exhausted. Like he had finally, truly given up. But that would imply he had actually been *trying* at all these last few years.
Suddenly, it was as though a giant fist closed around me; the flames snuffed out as I was forced to release my control on them. His hand was out, feet from me, yet somehow seizing me with great strength. A pressure squeezed my body; I felt the tightness across my torso, and chest--in my lungs.
"Dad--!" The word came out strangled. "Stop--!"
"You killed her," he said simply, and with my fire gone, he was back to being a black shadow. "You killed my wife."
I let out a cry as he squeezed harder. My shoulder turned in hard; I could swear I heard a rib crack. I was breathing in rasps now.
*You killed her,* he said again, although this time his voice, his face, filled my head. A sharp pain rocketed across the back of my skull. My eyes rolled back in pain, a wheeze leaving my lips.
*If you had never been born, she would still be alive.*
Memories of the woman I had never known flashed across my vision; long blonde hair, bright green eyes. A bright silhouette against fluttering white curtains; a glimpse of a smile on strawberry lips; the sound of a tinkling laugh.
It was the most I had ever seen of her. Even as my father crushed me with his powers, my brain soaked up the memories with hungry fervor. He never showed me pictures, never once spoke her name.
I heard it now: *Diane.*
It took all of my focus to send my internal voice back to him. *Diane wouldn't want to see her husband kill the child she died for. She died for me, Dad. She died so that I could live.*
More flashes of my dad's memories as the night seemed to blacken further: Him by her side as she gave one last push; my shrill, infant cry; the monitors going haywire; the frantic beeping followed by one long, grave tone.
Something broke; air rushed into my lungs and I collapsed to my knees, heaving. I still felt his presence so nearby; nearly close enough to touch physically. I risked a glance up, saw his head bent forward, his shoulders heaving.
Without a moment's hesitation, I spread a hand before me and slammed it to the earth. As though a puppet on strings, my father fell to my will, sprawling to the ground without grace or dignity.
I forced myself to my feet, the tendons in my hand trembling as I kept my grip on him, the weeping man at my feet.
"In all my life, you never once told me you loved me," I whispered, knowing my voice would reach him. "You treated me like I was *nothing.* Worse than nothing. You treated me like I was some kind of murderer. I didn't choose to be *born.* YOU did. YOU brought me here. And now you made me into this."
*This.* You made me into this hurt, drowning, broken being. You turned me into this emotionally damaged, forever-untrusting person. You turned me into a superfreak with superpowers. This was where the list of what you gave me ends.
"I could never love you."
I didn't know if he said the words verbally or if he thought them. Before he could say more, I reacted instinctively, crushing my hand into a fist, my nails biting into my skin. His body crumbled before me in a symphony of cracks and snaps, and just like that, it was done.
Tears welled in my eyes and slipped down my cheeks. The fire within me grew and spread, and alighted beneath the figure that was once my father--by blood and nothing more. As his corpse burned, I swiped my tears away. I let the darkness flood me, fill me with something other than self-loathing and dread. I let the fire cleanse my soul; let it destroy the person that destroyed me. Let it reach into my very soul, allowing it to burn, so that something new might take its place. The darkness and the flames danced in my chest, in my heart, in my vision.
I snarled:
"It was never supposed to be like this.”
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you enjoyed that, feel free to check out r/HAltBooks for more future content, NaNoWriMo developments, and more!
|
Huh, I feel... strange this morning, like my hands don’t feel right or something. Oh, they’re claws now, like crab claws.
Wait crab claws?!? I darted sideways to the bathroom and sure enough I was made of crab now, legs, hands and mouth and dead beady eyes. I would terrify anyone who got close to me.
Oh well thought I what can a crab do so I brush my, erm teeth? And took a shower. I put my best suit on since today was the big day, the day of the sale.
Driving had been difficult since the whole crab thing happened but I managed to get to the shop just fine. As I got in, I get a few strange looks from customers, I didn’t pay them any mind, I just punched in and went to the sales floor, almost snipping my time sheet.
As I got there, he came in, mr money bags, master coinage, Mint Manson, greatest shopper in the northwest. He came straight to me, eyes wide with horror.
“Hello, mr. Manson, should we pick up where we left off yesterday?”
“What the hell are you?” He quizzed, trembling and leaning away. I wondered what got him all rattled, figuring it must be presale nerves or something.
“I’m your salesperson through and through, you bought that lovely tv last week, and we were talking shop yesterday about the surround sound you wanted, remember?” Mint looked dumbfounded.
“No I was served by a human named Chet.”
“Yeah that’s me” I replied motioning to my name tag with my claw, the whole pretending I wasn’t some sort of crab person angle didn’t seem to work oh well, I think I can still get the sale.
“You are a ... crab man?” Mint asked l, looking real defeated, that sales as good as mine.
To Mint’s chagrin, and to my dismay another much more bloated looking crab person came over all of a sudden “Hey, hey don’t bother with the surround sound, I was setting you up with that sweet sweet all in one media device remember?”
Mint started backing away slowly, “What is happening, is this what a stroke feels like? Oh god” Mint ran out terrified
“Dammit son, you just had to screw me out of another sale, didn’t you?” It occurred to me that my father had also turned into a crab guy.
“Dad why are we crabs?”
“I pushed a button”
“What kind of button”
“One of them buttons with the good and bad consequence, it was worth it.”
“What did the button say?”
“Somethin about crab super powers to me and the person I hated most or something.”
“But. Dad, You’re allergic to crab”
“And I hate you most, you sale stealing bastard.”
| 2019-11-01T03:54:34 | 2019-11-01T01:50:00 | 938 | 44 |
[WP] Everyone has a special ability normally ranked from 1 to 5 on how powerful they are with 5 being the most powerful. These can vary from slightly faster running speed to control over gravity. These abilities are evaluated in freshman year. As you walk in front of your class, the screen says "6".
|
# Part 1 - The Most Powerful Villain
My older brother and I had a well-kept secret – one we would never share with anyone. So, I ignored the whispering behind me as I readied myself to stand in front of the entire school to be evaluated by their advanced power-ranking Artificial Intelligence. Everyone was ranked one to five, with the latter being exceptionally rare. Almost no one got a five. Most people were ones, twos, and threes, with an occasional four.
But that one number given out by the AI would pretty much determine everything for your entire four years in high school. Not to mention your entire life by extension.
But I didn’t care. My plans were bigger than that. Much bigger. What happened in high school ultimately didn’t matter to me or my brother. We’d take over the world just the same.
The guy in front of me glanced back at me…well, no. He glanced back *and down* at my chest, smirking before responding awkwardly to his name being called.
“Jim Mead!” The AI called out. The perv whipped his head around, not realizing it was already his turn, and then stumbled forward to the elevated stage. He held his hand up to the hologram woman that was the embodiment of the AI, and she placed her palm on his.
“Two!” She called out in a loud voice. The AI then smirked at his devastated expression. If I knew any better, their AI loved to give out low numbers. She loved seeing their reaction. I smirked with her. His horrified expression was priceless.
She then glanced at me unexpectedly, her gaze curious. That was weird. She never did that.
I stared hesitantly into her vibrant neon-blue eyes. They were the color of the summer sky. Despite the fact that her body wasn’t real, she was still an exceptionally attractive woman. From what my brother had told me, the AI had designed her own body. She was thin, with a moderate chest size roughly as small as my own. She was dressed in a skin-tight suit that looked like some kind of futuristic leather or rubber. It was dark gray with sections of black that made her already thin appearance even more slender. Her hair was a dark blue, including her eyebrows and eyelashes, and she had silver freckles running across her nose and cheeks.
There was a long pause as she just held my gaze. An *awkwardly* long pause as she was evaluating me. Although, I knew she wasn't evaluating my powers, because she had to touch me for that. She was evaluating *me*...I had no idea what would have prompted her to do so.
I heard the whispering behind me again.
“Is that the girl who’s brother got a zero?!” Someone exclaimed a little too loudly to truly be a whisper. But I didn’t pay attention. I was lost in the AI’s gaze now.
It was true. My brother had earned a zero. He was the only zero that had ever been recorded. But that was a farce. His ability was unreadable, undetectable.
That was part of our secret. Still, it was a miracle they had let him attend school anyway. A good miracle, because I needed him here in order to accomplish our devious goals.
Finally, after some more whispering, the AI’s full lips parted and she spoke my name.
“Ava Merrill!”
I hesitated briefly, before walking up slowly. The two stairs leading up the stage forced my eyes away from the AI just briefly. Then, as I walked up to her, I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. I wasn’t sure what number I was going to get. I knew both why and how my brother had received a zero…but I had no idea how she was going to evaluate me. Would my ability be perceived as useless by her? Or would it be considered powerful? It heavily depended on how it was perceived.
The gorgeous woman held out her hand, palm *upward*.
I stared at it blankly, looking at her fingers in confusion. She never did that. She always held her hand with her palm downward. The student being evaluated was the one who was supposed to put their palm face up.
The AI cleared her throat to get my attention. I looked up at her apologetically, noting how real her dark blue hair looked resting on her shoulders despite the fact that she was slightly translucent.
Taking a deep breath, I ignored the continued whispering, along with the teachers attempting to shush the crowd, and held my hand up with trembling fingers. Then, slowly, I rested my palm down on hers just as she usually did to everyone else.
The AI gasped as a black flame erupted all around her, consuming her body in an instant until a black void took her place. But I could still feel her. Her hand resting underneath my palm suddenly became solid, pressing downward slightly as our overlapping hands were forced to separate.
My eyes widened as the black flames disappeared and a very solid woman was standing in front of me, gazing at me with wide light-blue eyes. She abruptly clasped her hand around my wrist, as if to hold me in place, and then held up her free hand, running her fingers and thumb together.
I just stared in disbelief. I knew that the effect of my brother’s ability on mine could have some weird effects as he enhanced it, but I had no idea something like this was possible.
The AI suddenly gulped, her hand grabbing her thin throat as she swallowed for the first time. Her voice then called out, fear and confusion causing it to tremble, as she read out my score for everyone to hear.
“S-Six!”
# [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/AuthorKurt/comments/9bn1ao/the_most_powerful_villain_part_2/)
# [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/AuthorKurt/comments/9bo7cr/the_most_powerful_villain_part_3/)
**Thanks for reading! I have a couple of popular stories regarding some recent prompts going on at my subreddit right now, if you want to check them out at** [r/AuthorKurt](https://www.reddit.com/r/AuthorKurt)
|
I took a deep breath and held my hand out flat. Dust started collecting more and more, condensing and burning. I eventually had a perfect sphere of lava. It cooled in seconds and became stone and water before green appeared and white swirls just away from the sphere. After about five minutes the sphere began to glow from trillions of different places. It seemed like only an instant but something small launched from the now jagged tiny sphere. Tons more flew and struck the sphere, lighting up the room.
I dropped my hand and the sphere dissolved. I looked at the examiners and they were in awe.
“What else can you create?” They asked in awe
“Planets, bugs, people, almost anything I think”
Maybe two hours later we had to stand and receive our ratings. I was fully expecting a four. When I saw the six I was in shock.
My teacher took me aside after class, “You too huh?” He revealed a small pebble in his pocket and morphed it into a small planet
| 2018-08-29T19:19:08 | 2018-08-29T19:13:29 | 50 | 35 |
[WP] A sniper and a photographer meet in a bar, neither aware of the other's occupation. They talk about 'how to take the perfect shot'.
|
The two men walked out of the bar. They had been making small talk when one asked what the other was doing in town.
"Oh, I'm here to shoot the president." the shorter of the men said. His new friend looked slightly surprised but eventually replied.
"REALLY? wow. Me too. Small world huh. Still, I guess the way this year has gone there are going to be loads of people there with the same plan." They conferred for a minute and agreed that yes, there would be many. It was going to be big news and they both wanted to be the one to get that perfect shot.
The taller man was clearly expecting more money, the other decided to look him up later to check out his work. They discussed some of their plans.
"Yeah, I have a great vantage point picked out on a building nearby." the shorter one confided, he was insistent that being higher up and further away was a better vantage point. "I can shoot from there and nobody gets in my way you see. Clear line of sight, right at the guy. If you are down on the ground there are too many people about to get in the way. Plus it's easier to get away afterwards."
"Sure, but I like being closer, it's more personal. When I take that shot I want to be able to look him in the eyes, catch that perfect moment. The crowds don't bother me so much as long as I can take care of my equipment.
They both nodded in agreement at the others perspective. After all, both ideas clearly had their own merit. What neither realised was they were not both in the same line of work.
They eventually parted ways. The shorter man heading towards the building he had indicated and the taller man begun pushing his way through crowds, a small black bag slung over his shoulder. As the short man ascended the stairs, a large long black case in his hand, he thought about how much easier it would be up close, without all these stairs.
As the other pushed through the crowds he could hear almost nothing against the background of cheering, jeering and other noise. He needed to be right at the front and this was no time for being nice to others. He was tall and quite fit, elbowing people and shoving his way without apology leaving a trail of annoyed people behind him. A black mask covered the lower half of his face, of course most of the people here were wearing masks which was a relief, the last thing he wanted was to get sick from this.
The last stair climbed the shorter man begun to open up and unpack his equipment. An array of adapters and optics, clip on attachments etc. A small bipod which he much preferred to most other supports. He had found a broken window so he could get a nice clear shot, pulled a table up to it and placed a plastic sheet over it before laying down on the table and setting up pointing out of the window. Wind whistled in through the hole and he was thankful for the leather gloves he was wearing. He had checked out this building before and there were no regular security patrols. It had been closed for some time after the company went under.
He was at the front of the crowd. The president was on stage. His "press" credentials had allowed him closer than most, in a small dedicated area. He wasn't as jostled here. Some elbow room. He was holding a nice DSLR with a huge lens balanced only in his hands. The others with all sorts of tripods laughed at him. He pulled the scarf up around his face. Only the tops of his eyes poking over. His hat was pulled down low over his head.
From up this high the president looked small, but with such a powerful zoom it would be easy. He just had to wait for the perfect moment. Maybe a heckler, or protest? Something was bound to happen that would take everybody's attention, cause a scene. Make some noise. Slowly as he aimed down at the president he took the lens cover off.
Both men had the president in their sights. Both men were ready to take their shot.
A crazed woman burst out of the crowd screaming about something, this was it. She hurled something at the president. An egg. Security guards rushed towards her.
The tall man in the crowd waited for the split second the egg hit. The president had his eyes shut, security were all focused on the woman.
The short man pulled his trigger as he saw the same moment.
A soft snap sound from both men. Inaudible to anybody in the crowds.
Somebody in a suit reached the president and tried to wipe the egg off his face only to have him slump into their arms.
Panic.
The president was dragged off stage, security fired, killing the woman who had thrown the egg. More shots rang out from the crowd and chaos ensued.
The tall man turned and left, running with the crowd.
The shorter man slowly packed up his gear. Slowly and methodically ensuring everything was put away and not a trace was left behind. He rolled up the plastic sheet and tucked it away in the case with everything else. He left too, eager to report to his employer. He was going to be rich.
"Up there! I saw a reflection!" somebody shouted, eyes turned to the tell tale flash of light that had reflected for a moment in the window high up, security rushed to the building.
The tall man flashed his press badge as he left in the opposite direction and slowly walked away.
Security converged on the empty building, all exits covered. A door opened, a short man tried to slip out of a rear fire exit unnoticed. A hail of bullets took him down in seconds. His limp body lay on the ground, blood covering his large black flight case.
Another man got on a bus, then a plane.
Various agencies surrounded the scene. They were searching for bullet casings and evidence high up in the building while a robot operated by bomb disposal carefully opened the clasps on the case and lifted the lid.
A dozen men in suits stared in horror at the contents of the case. An array of lenses. A bipod, tripod, monopod, remote camera trigger, a very expensive DSLR and a huge very expensive zoom lens, the sort the paperazzi use to get photos of celebs from miles away. The photographer lay dead in a pool of his own blood.
The hitman opened up his modified camera to clean the gun mechanism hidden inside it. The long lens had hidden the silencer and had been removed. Everything had gone exactly as planned, he was just glad he got his shot off before that idiot sniper had missed and alerted everybody.
Weeks later, the most published photograph of the decade, taken by the late photographer showed the president with egg on his face and a bullet a fraction of a millimeter away from his head. He would have earned millions had he been alive, instead there was a lot of argument over ownership of the image that had been leaked from one of the various three letter agencies.
"Oh! He really was there to shoot the president" the tall man said as he relaxed on a beach, chuckling to himself at the miss-understanding. At least he didn't have to go back and kill the man for knowing who he was.
​
\--- Ok, so I edited it to correct the mistake with the short/tall getting mixed up. A couple of other typos too. I guess I rattled this one out too quick! Thanks for all the positive comments. Re-read if you want to see the slightly clearer version...
|
"Hello there!" Says the photographer after ordering his drink. "What's the name, Mac?"
The hitman (pretty drunk) responds "Depends, whats the job? Is the client posh or poor? Need to blend in their environment, y'know? Can't be Baron Neil Whitefeild in the slums, can I?"
"I am not sure I understand, sir."
"I shoot for a living." He inhales sharply, he has said more than he should. He sighs when the photographer gives him a knowing glance.
"Oh... Well, I too, 'shoot' for a living. Indeed, it is best to blend into the crowd."
"Do you prefer long range, or short."
"Short, naturally. Long is best for the unsuspecting, but I enjoy short more. You can really capture their emotions this way."
'Huh. He is the kind of hitman that likes his job. Kinda creepy, but if you see death for as long as I have, you sort start enjoying its beauty too, I guess.' Thought the hitman.
"How long have you been in the business?"
"Turned pro 3 years back, but I shot my first much, much earlier."
'Poor guy, to have to have killed so early. Just like me, eh?'
"I have been a pro for nearly a decade now. Had a rough childhood or what?"
"Oh yes. I dont know how you could have told, but I grew up in the streets. Had to work my ass off for my first device."
"I have had quite the same experience, brother." Said the shooter, sipping his beer.
"Business has been down lately, hasn't it? I am struggling right now. Could you refer me to someone? You must have many connections, being in the business for so long."
The hitman thought for a while. He decided that he liked this kid.
"Tell you what. I have a job next Friday and there is room for an extra shooter. Like weddings, much?"
[Pretty new writer, plus idk shit about photography or sniping, so sorry if it's bad. Feedback is welcome.]
| 2020-11-05T05:44:49 | 2020-11-05T05:44:44 | 5,417 | 90 |
[WP] Your girlfriend is a member of a shadowy organization bent on ruling the world, your best friend is a CIA Operative, and your dog is an escaped experiment who talks when no one is looking. And you? You run a website debunking conspiracy theories.
|
"Tell that bitch girlfriend you have that she and her asshole friends totally fucked my investigation today." Andrew popped the lid off of a beer as he spoke to my back, my eyes were glued to my computer screen, fingers typing manically.
"Uh-huh, sure thing. Why don't YOU just tell her when she gets home?" I hit the enter button and my newest article was posted. My giant dog Nana licked my hand. Which moved to scratch her soft ears as I idly read what I had written about the most recent shady death in politics, and how it couldn't possibly have been anything other than an accident.
"And have that skank slit my throat while I sleep? No thank you." He sipped his beer and moved to stand behind me, reading over my shoulder quietly.
"I will be sure to tell her that you are afraid of her too." The bottom of Andrew's beer gently tapped the back of my head.
"Totally unnecessary bro, rude." He sipped again.
"Well...calling Leah a bitch and a skank is pretty rude." I regarded him quietly and he snorted at me.
"Whatever, I need to shit. That's pretty good by the way" He motioned to the computer with the beer bottle. "Brilliant cover-up as usual dude." The beer disappeared in a few more gulps and Andrew thoughtlessly tossed the bottle over his shoulder into the trashcan, landing with the chiming of breaking glass. He wandered back to the front of the house, no doubt in search of the half bath near the front door.
"They are going to kill each other eventually you know." An oddly gruff female voice erupted from the large Newfoundland that had been laying at my feet.
"Sh Nana, I know things are tense, but hopefully they can resolve their work issues." The massive black dog snorted derisively and seemed to roll her eyes."Master. This is an explosion waiting to happen, and when and where is uncertain. What if Leah's associates find out that you and Andrew know? What if Andrew's associates find out about you and Leah?"
I sighed and covered my eyes with my hands. "To be honest Nana I had not thought much of it. I mean, they can both defend themselves, and any violence towards each other would probably be warranted."
"That is very irresponsible of you Master, what about YOUR safety? You are not exactly the fighting type. And while I would do my best to protect you, I realistically could only buy you a few minutes of time."
My hand sought out her head again and I scratched her ears, she leaned into it and grumbled appreciatively. "It will be okay Nana, you worry too much. Besides we are all good at keeping secrets here aren't we?" She seemed to smile as she rested her massive head back onto her webbed paws.
"You still talking to that dog like she's people?" Andrew was walking back down the hall, detouring into the kitchen to grab another beer. Nana barked at him and he chuckled.
"Love you too Nana." She rolled her eyes again and then looked to me before her head shot up, eyes focused in the direction of the front door. In seconds the giant barking ball of black fur was up and sprinting to greet whoever felt the need to come into my house.
"Oh Nana no, OH! I love you too, thank you for the kisses! Get down! Good girl!" Leah's voice rang out from the entrance and I saw Andrew bristle, I shot him a warning look before getting up to greet my girlfriend.
Nana trotted past me as I embraced Leah, kissing her cheek and vaguely asking about her day.
"It was fine, had to deal with some scumbag, totally gross. I need a shower, but I'm glad to be home." She kissed my mouth with a smile and I melted into her large hazel eyes, the wisps of her curly blonde hair catching in her lashes.
"Andrew isn't pleased with you."
Leah frowned and sighed. "I figured he wouldn't be, I knew he had been watching the guy, working on a case or something. But if I had refused the job, for no good reason, it would have been suspicious. Really, I just wanted us to stay safe."
I smirked and nodded. "I figured it was something like that, but you should go tell him, and TRY to be nice."
Leah sighed again before nodding and walking into the living room like a man to his execution. I mean, realistically, it could be if they got mad enough at each other.
Nana had made a bee-line out of the room as soon as Leah had entered it, and I pet her head as I walked past her to witness the ensuing argument.
"THREE MONTHS OF WORK LEAH!" Andrew was already yelling, his muscular arms spread wide, one huge hand holding another new beer. Great. "ALL BLOWN TO SHIT FOR WHAT?! SOME BULLSHIT MOVE TOWARDS WORLD DOMINATION?!"
"I know Andrew, and I'm sorry." He blinked stupidly at her. Of course he had been waiting for her to scream back at him about how he and his stupid CIA friends should keep to their own business, and leave the political chess to the masters.
"What?"
"I'm sorry Andrew. I know you put a lot of effort into that operation, and that it was almost done, I mean we talked about it over pizza last night. But, my hands were tied. Me suddenly not doing my job would be suspicious, and my superiors would investigate that." She frowned and looked at the floor. "I don't want you guys to get hurt because of me, not even you Andrew, surprisingly."
Andrew was full blown boggle eyed at Leah at this point, his mouth to his knees. She had NEVER apologized to him, not for anything in the six years we had all lived together.
"Forgive me Andrew?" Leah extended her hand and he shook it, still open mouthed looking stupid. Andrew seemed to come to his senses with another gulp of beer and a loud belch, scratching the back of his head in discomfort.
"Sure. I have been there. And I mean, we can't have our cover-story production kidnapped and murdered right?" He motioned to me.
I rolled my eyes at him before sitting back down at the computer, ready to write my next cover up. Nana had returned to her usual spot by my side, my silent sentinel.
"SO what was this guy's name again?"
---
Thanks for reading! Any feedback is greatly appreciated! Edited for some grammatical issues and a spot where I felt the story was a little abrupt.
|
"For the last fucking time, Frank, I won't lend you my laptop."
"But Mike, we're best buddies! What possibly could you hide there, that I haven't seen?"
"Many fucking things. But surprisingly none of these you wrote on your god damn webpage."
"Miiiike!"
"And you don't even HAVE a girlfriend!"
"No, you see..."
"Oh, I get it now. Simple mathematic implication. If your premise is false from definition, then you can put pretty much anything you want as the conclusion."
"What? No, look..."
"If you had a girlfriend then she would definitely be part of Dark Brotherhood."
"DON'T SAY IT OUT LOUD!"
"AND WHY?"
Frank stopped for a moment and his eyes, full of terror, were now pointed at his best friend. He might have never been more serious than he was now.
Mike calmed himself a little.
*Maybe there's something really going on here.* - A thought crossed his mind. - *Maybe this time he's serious.*
He slowly stepped towards his friend to be as close as possible. He was now visibly concerned, maybe even scared.
Frank's eyes slowly turned away from Mike and focused at his own dog.
"He might hear you."
"OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE FRANK!"
---
If you spot any grammar or spelling error please leave a feedback! I'm not a native speaker so there are propably few of them here and there. Thanks ;D
@Edit: Few mistakes corrected thanks to u/LostCursor 's comment
| 2016-10-23T08:20:08 | 2016-10-23T06:51:46 | 265 | 179 |
[WP] Getting arrested for a botched crime is a rite of passage in the Chebwick family. They take great pride in their long legacy of poorly executed crimes. But the youngest child has been a great disappointment.
|
I set out to be different. I really did. My two sisters and parents had raised me to do it all, burglary, theft, smuggling, heck, even a few clean-up jobs for some high paying clients.
Getting arrested was part of the lifestyle, but a fairly large public presence of my dad, a lot of money, and our trusty lawyer James MacGill have allowed us to escape prison. My parents would instill in us growing up that being arrested is just a normal thing, happens to everyone, and to call them as soon as we were arrested. In fact, they almost took pride in it, a way to say "screw you" to the system that they would so often abuse.
Well, I wanted to be the best. And the best never lose. While my sisters were smoking pot or watching Netflix, I would do research on law enforcement strategy, plan contingency plans, and build connections with every single person I could. I would plan bank heists, and getaways just for fun. For the sole goal, if being the best darn criminal out there. I wanted others to revel in my brilliance, and take this world to the next level. I want to show my family how much of a failure they had been, and punish them for not being better.
I set out to do the impossible. I set out to steal The Tome. It was my birthday on Monday, and I wanted something to celebrate.
Seth Reilly was a billionaire. He didn't just live in the nice part of our town, he WAS the nice part of our town. Living in the middle of rural Illinois, you don't usually see a lot of wealth, but 6 generations of money and a deep-rooted sense of something not quite resembling community had kept Seth here well into his 60s. His wife divorced him about a decade ago, and his kids all moved out around the same time, as they were all in college.
But he had The Tome. This mysterious book was nothing more than a legend in our small town of 5500, but it was the only thing that interested me. No one knew exactly what was in this ancient book, but the rumors stated it was old manuscripts, historical documents, maybe even an original copy of the Declaration of Independence. No matter what was in it, I knew that I wanted it. And I wanted it badly. How badly? Well, I was going to steal it.
I started how my family had taught me to, by tracking his movements. However, I had done this last year, and after a week of reconnaissance, I realized his daily schedule had barely changed. Leave the house at 10 am, go to tennis on Mondays and Thursdays, and Golf on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. Always back by 3:00pm. Fridays and the weekends he would stay home.
Stealing the Tome at night was out of the question. Besides a state-of-the-art security system, he had dogs and a patrol stationed all around his property, walking around every day. I needed to steal The Tome during the day. So I went to work. I searched public records of building permits until I found one for a large concrete and steel structure on the Reilly property built 4 years ago. This, I surmised, was temperature and humidity controlled safe room for all the art Seth Reilly had acquired after spending over $150,000,000 on paintings at an auction in Paris in 2016. This was all public knowledge and had been reported on nationally. But I knew this is where I needed to go to steal The Tome.
But now, I needed something else, I needed a distraction. What is the best way to ensure no police were able to get to you? Have something even more chaotic happen, that pulls them away. Even better, have something that ensures Seth Reilly doesn't find some excuse to run home. What about a bank robbery? No one in my family had ever attempted something so risky as to rob a bank in the middle of the day, let alone do so as a distraction. I decided to convince my older sister Charlotte to do it. She would fail, I knew she would. She was always the worst at acting like she belonged, even on the rare occasions when she was sober. I met with her and told her my old plan to rob the only bank in our town. She was enthusiastic, but I was able to convince her to wait until Monday. Monday I knew was the day they opened the vault, and had the most security. Something that Charlotte either didn't know or didn't care about. I knew she would fail. Even on a good day, Charlotte lacked the grace and mental fortitude to pull this off.
So I waited. Monday morning came, and just like clockwork Charlotte got up, and went to the bank, trying to prove herself to our parents. I set out in the opposite direction, to the Reilly property. Seth Reilly wasn't there, obviously, and picking the lock to his Jeep, the second car he owned, was as easy as I'd ever done it. Once in the car, a simple press of the garage door opener bypassed the millions of dollars of security and got me into his house. I knew that there was minimal security, as it was the middle of the day, but I still kept my head down and wore a mask. His house was large, and I took several minutes to admire his taste in furniture, and exquisite artwork hanging on his walls and on his many tables. However, I knew where the safe room was, thanks to the public blueprints I had obtained from the county clerks office.
Down in the basement level. I found the door fairly easily, it was opposite of the entrance to his wine cellar, a mistake to not conceal it better. The biometric lock I hacked with the help of my laptop, and the deadbolt I dislodged with a bit of leverage. This was a vault just for looks, designed to impress his friends when he showed them. He counted on his house to prevent intruders. When I got in the room, I was surprised at what I saw. All the paintings were behind plexiglass, and some other art and metal bullion were scattered around, but no "Tome". Was it all just a myth?
I knew not to give up, so I spent the next half hour searching for hidden compartments in the room, yielding nothing. The paintings were worthless to me, as I could never resell them, but I took all the silver in the room, about 150 ozs worth in neatly pressed US Treasury bars, as a way to feel better about myself.
Disgusted with myself, I went home defeated, only to see 2 police cruisers at my house. I walked up to one of the cops, who told me my sister was involved in a hostage situation at the bank, and they needed a family member to talk to her. Annoyed, yet emotionless, I got into their car as they drove me there.
When I got to the bank my first thought was of my genius for using this as a distraction. 20 cop cars, 2 ambulances, and for some reason, a fire truck was stations outside of what seemed like miles of police tape and barriers. As directed by the police, I walked inside, accompanied by bullhorns letting my idiot sister know I was coming in.
I got to the bank of the bank, near the safety deposit box, where I found my sister. She smiled when she saw me, but it was clear she was upset. This was going to be too much for our lawyer, but I didn't care. I was mad I didn't get my prize, and I was mad that I had failed. But then, I saw him. Seth Reilly. Dead.
My heart skipped a beat. What was he doing at the bank? Why would he ever come to a commercial bank in the first place? Along with Seth was a bag. Not just any old bad, but a locking courier bag, the Smeltings model HDLCB30 by the looks of it. I took the bag. It was heavy. I couldn't care both it and my backpack, so I took out the silver in my backpack and stuffed the locking courier bag into it. The police would not think too much about some raw silver bullion lying on the floor, especially as today was Monday, and people would be depositing their precious items into the vault.
My sister was arrested, and I went home. My parents and other sister weren't there. I didn't care where they were. I wanted to open this bag.
Getting in was easy enough, a small amount of hydrofluoric acid placed on the inseam was enough to burn through in a matter of seconds, and cutting the bag with some medical tools took only minutes. And there it was. A large, old, dusty book, smelling like rot, and apparently missing half it's pages.
Finally, after waiting all day, I opened The Tome. And finally, at long last, I knew why Seth Reilly had never left this town.
My 12th birthday party was the best one I ever had.
------
Hey guys, thanks for reading. I really didn't put too much time or detail into this, as I have to go to bed, but let me know what you think! I definitely would add a lot more depth to the characters and world-building if I could, but again, it's late ;)
|
It was Thanksgiving dinner at the Chebwick family home. William Chebwick smiled at his three children, Terry, Sherry and Merry, as he chewed on his boiled turkey drumstick. “It’s been so long since the entire family has been together like this! So, what have my three darling children been up to?”
The oldest child, Terry, who had blue eyes and brown hair just like his father, was the first to speak up. “Well, Pa, I was trying to steal that statue in the park and hold it for ransom. You know, the big fancy one of the guy that founded it?”
“Oh, were you, dear?” William’s sister Annie said, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. “And how did that go? Must have been quite a drag trying to take an entire statue with you.”
“Well, I never got around to it, Ma,” Terry said cheerfully. “I figured I needed to steal something to move the statue first. So, I went to Walmart and I decided to steal one of those machine thingies with the two metal things in front that lift things.”
“You’re talking about a forklift,” Merry cut in.
“Yeah, yeah, something like that. So I saw someone riding one of those things around, so I went up to him, dragged him out of his seat and took off in it!”
“How exciting!” Annie said, clapping her hands. “Well, what happened next?”
“Well, turns out those machine things are pretty damn slow. So the driver came back, beat me up and I got tossed in jail for a month!”
William chuckled and gave a warm grin to his son. “Well done, my son! Only 23 years old and you’re already bringing pride to the Chebwick name.” He turned to his second oldest child, who was wearing a cast on her left arm. “What about you, Sherry? What happened to that arm of yours?”
Sherry, who had blue eyes and brown hair like her mother, beamed and flicked back her ponytail dramatically.“Well, Pa, I was tired of having to keep spending so much money on ice cream. So, I figured I would just steal an ice cream machine and get to eat ice cream forever.”
Annie sighed wistfully. “You remind me so much of myself when I was a child. So, how did the Great Ice Cream Caper go?”
“ Well, Ma, I drove to a buffet where they had an ice cream machine. Then, I took a rope and tied it around my arm. Then, I ran into the buffet before anyone could stop me and tied the other end around the machine, and drove the hell out of there! Or at least, that was the plan.” She held up her broken arm. “The damn rope broke my arm and I ended up crashing into a row of shopping carts! Then, the police threw me in jail for three months!”
William laughed out loud. “Looks like you’ve got competition, sport!” he said, looking at Terry. “Better keep your game up!”He turned to face the last child in the room, grimaced and mentally lowered his expectations. “And you, Merry?”
Merry, who was the youngest with orange hair and green eyes, looked up from her plate. “I robbed two banks, three jewelry stores and twelve cars, and I never got caught.”
Silence descended upon the dining room table. William facepalmed himself. “Merry, you’re supposed to be getting caught! That’s the family tradition!”
“But I don’t want to get caught,” Merry said, pouting.
“My god,” William muttered. “How can someone with my blood running their veins be so incompetent at this one simple task?”
Terry and Sherry gave each other and then their mother a knowing look and giggled. A flustered Annie, who was quickly turning red, gently patted her husband’s back. “Now, now, Merry’s still young. She’ll get better in time.” She narrowed her eyes at Merry. “Won’t you?”
Merry smiled innocently back while crossing her fingers. “Oh course, Mother, I will always obey my father.”
| 2020-04-03T22:11:46 | 2020-04-03T21:43:25 | 164 | 27 |
[WP] The year is 2100, and humanity has finally achieved the ability to travel backwards in time. In the first test run ever, you decide to travel back to the Middle Ages, yet instead of the expected squalor and poverty, you encounter an extremely technologically advanced human society.
|
21:33:15@terminus-uncp1$> load LOG_CHR_PRJ_07012100_7.txt
File loading
...
Loaded.
21:33:21@terminus-uncp1$> run HASH_512_DEP CONST_FILE_LOADED
sudo: *********
Running HASH_512_DEP script on file LOG_CHR_PRJ_07012100.txt
...
Done. returned BOOLEAN value TRUE.
File saved as LOG_CHR_PRJ_02012100_7-CLEANED.txt.
21:37:44@terminus-uncp1$> program_log_viewer -v -l LOG_CHR_PRJ_07012100_CLEANED.txt
Running program_log_viewer params -VIEW -LOAD_ONCE
*
Captain Henderson, Chrono Project
PHASE 1 TRIALS - INITIAL RUN
00:15:46@INITIAL_JUMP
- BEGIN TRANSMISSION -
CPT_HENDERSON: Hello, Chrono Tower, do you copy?
TOWER: Yes, Henderson, we do.
CPT_HENDERSON: Copy. Running diags on Chronautica.
TOWER: Understood. Stream is stable.
- SYSTEM TRANSMISSION CUT -
10:56:29@INITIAL_LAND
- BEGIN TRANSMISSION -
CPT_HENDERSON: Looks like nothing unusual so far.
TOWER: Copy that. Alert us when you find something interesting.
CPT_HENDERSON: Well, you could just tap into my feed if you wanna check.
TOWER: Denied. We need to preserve energy. We don't know if you can find
alternative power sources during that era.
CPT_HENDERSON: Affirmative, Tower. I'll keep in touch.
TOWER: Alright. Ill keep in tou$%Kasd4#2^a=76hgWARNING_CORRUPTED_DATA_SECTORg̵̝͑ä̷̼͙́̀%̷̥̿̈́ȃ̸̮̖̒s̴̘͋d̷̢̖͝͝#̴͈͊̅%̴͓̓̿^̵̤̻͂̀&̷͙͂j̶̘̠͐̂i̶̯̗͐4̵͕͙͋5̵̼͍͊1̴͙͌̋2̴̤̭̅̈8̷̰̄
*
21:44:12@terminus-uncp1$> restore -l -rs LOG_CHR_PRJ_07012100_CLEANED.txt
WARNING! Some text will be deleted as a result. Are you sure? y/n: y
Attempting recovery
...
Done. 10 warnings, 0 errors, 2 alerts.
Check LOG_CHR_PRJ_07012100_CLEANED.txt_LOG.txt for more information.
21:37:44@terminus-uncp1$> program_log_viewer -v -l LOG_CHR_PRJ_07012100_CLEANED.txt -cnt
*
het%$6^ao)=1NSMISSION -
CPT_HENDERSON: Tower, there's a swarm of armed men trying to hunt me. What in god's name is happening?
TOWER: Captain, calm down. This time period shouldn't have any projectile weapons.
CPT_HENDERSON: Tell that to those damned ice-shooting freaks that detected me in my suit. My goddamn, stealth suit!
TOWER: Captain, we'll do some digging if other factions followed you there. In the meantime-
CPT_HENDERSON: Tower, they're dead.
TOWER: Sorry?
CPT_HENDERSON: The ones who tried to follow my jump, they we're killed b
- SYSTEM TRANSMISSION CUT -
57:12:33@PING_7
- BEGIN TRANSMISSION -
TOWER: Captain, this is TOWER_HANDLER speaking. Confirm if you are still pinging.
CPT_HENDERSON: Affirmative.
TOWER: Captain, we've been trying to tap into your stream. Interference is blocking our comms. What's the sitrep?
CPT_HENDERSON: Listen, tower. I'm not going back. I can't risk jumping back.
TOWER: What?
CPT_HENDERSON: The history books. The strange symbols that the fucking middle ages people left. They're not understandable because they're old. They're too advanced for us.
TOWER: Henderson, what the hell are you saying?
CPT_HENDERSON: Just... Tell my family I love them. Tell them that they need to move out of Nevada, and avoid London at all costs. Don't let them near any statue, or landmark from the Middle Ages.
TOWER: Henderson, you're freaking me out.
CPT_HENDERSON: They're about to wake up, Cal. They're going to reclaim what's theirs. They're going to take over everything and turn it into these fucking walking dead things.
TOWER: Alright, that's it. I'm calling emergency response.
CPT_HENDERSON: It's too late. I'm destroying the Chronautica.
TOWER: Hender-Don't you dare do anything stupid Kevin.
CPT_HENDERSON: Cal, remember the words. Remember the goddamn words.
TOWER: HENDERSON! HENDERSON!
TOWER: HELLO? WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?
- SYSTEM TRANSMISSION CUT -
CHRONOTEXT RECIEVED:THEWORDSTHEWORDSTHEWORDS.chrlg
*
22:14:17@terminus-uncp1$> decode -chr -l THEWORDSTHEWORDSTHEWORDS.chrlg
sudo: *********
Decoding...
Done. Filename?: words.txt
File saved as words.txt on inet://uncp/prj/deprecated/chronautica/words.txt
22:25:42@terminus-uncp1$> program_log_viewer -v words.txt
*
Thine death, beware
Thine soul, snared
Thine body, attached
Thy mind, corrupted
Remember the words
GOD saved the queen GOD is the queen
The time will cometh 7/21/2102
*
23:25:42@terminus-uncp1$> cpy words.txt mount://cal_personal/myfiles
sudo: *********
Copying...
Done.
23:35:14@terminus-uncp1$> unmount mount://cal_personal -clr
WARNING! Clearing logs! Continue? y/n: y
Clearing...
Done.
Unmounting...
Done.
23:55:01@terminus-uncp1$> shut -c -v
sudo: *********
Log out all users? y/n: n
Delete loaded files? y/n: y
7/20/2102@23:59:59@terminus-uncp1 shutdown log sent.
Goodnight, Sir Kevin.
|
I stepped onto the platform, looking into the dark orb that will lead to somewhere. The physicists gave me a watch that could determine the time and date, the engineers figured out a way to communicate through the wormhole. The chemists gave me drugs so I wouldn't go insane inside whatever passage I'll go to, and the historians are ready to record everything I see. I am prepared.
I jumped down, diving into the unknown. In an instant, the sense of time made less and less sense. I could not see even my own eyelids, as I felt my own body bend and stretch. After a minute of darkness, I spontaneously dropped down onto a platform with the color of gold and steel. It was gold and steel. As I got my bearings, I see that I was surrounded by men and women alike, all staring at me in awe. I could hear the murmurs from the universal translator implanted in me. "It's him! It's him!" some shouted, while others stood back in fear. Not thinking about it, I looked at my watch.
`12:00 24/04/1224`
I looked around, and it didn't seem like I was in Genghis' Empire or in a country suffering from the tyranny of a despot. Everything seemed clean, sterile, just like the room I was in, a millennium in the future.
"Oh great traveller, what gifts do ye bestow in these troubling times!" a man in royal clothing said to me.
"Wh-what?"
"We, the Anglos are blessed in thou's gifts, as weapons against those Frenchie savages!" the man shouted. "And us, the Poles, hast prospered against the Huns and the Horde!" another royal shouted out. Turning around, I saw a red carpet, leading to a large pedestal which were probably made just for me to give "gifts".
"Uh... command?" I whispered into my earpiece. "Something's wrong. I'm in the 13th century but there's 23rd century technology. And I think I'm looking at Henry the Third and Leszek the White in late 21st century monarch clothing. What the fuck is going on?"
I instantly got a response. "The timeline seems to be rewriting itself! You need to come back to our time or else time will merge with space!" it was an unfamiliar voice, but it was mysteriously soothing, with a tinge of 21st century British and old television acting.
Afterwords, a blue police box appears out of thin air, causing a whirring sound and blowing wind that scared off the crowd surrounding me on my platform. As the box seemed to "land", the doors creaked open, and a man in a brown suit hanged out of the box.
"Come with me."
| 2020-06-24T07:11:49 | 2020-06-24T06:40:34 | 92 | 30 |
[WP] You just got fired, you're pretty sure your girlfriend is cheating on you, you're 75k in student loans debt, rent was due last week, and to top it all off? You're all out of beer. Oddly enough, you just got an email titled "Would you like to change the difficulty? Current setting: Very Hard."
EDIT: muh front page reddit wew lad.
This blew up a lot more than I thought it would.
I'm having a great time reading the responses I even decided to add one myself in the comments.
|
“It’s a joke, right?” Kelly peered at my phone through her cat-eye glasses, then looked back at me. “I mean, the sender is God@jeezycreezy.eu. I feel like, I mean, the least weird thing about it is that God is emailing from the European Union. Letting alone allll of the other weirdness.”
I shook my head.
“I dunno, something about it seems real.”
“Oh, you can sense the sanctity of this holy email through your touchscreen? Look, I guarantee if you send anything back you’re going to get a request for credit card details cleverly wrapped in some super great sounding Euro-church-pyramid scheme. Sell croissants and hand-sized bibles for a profit.” Kelly handed the phone back to me, pushing her glasses back up her nose with her free hand. She leaned on the counter next to the cash register and stared at me through her thick lenses. Radiohead wailed in the background, something about a shitty day. Behind her the weak winter sunlight filtered through the patchwork of oversized band posters that covered the high windows of the shop. Someone had cut the eyes out of Snoop Dogg so that he knelt next to a lowrider, a joint in his hands and sunshine bleeding out of his pupil-less eyes.
“Kelly, at this point I think giving my credit card details to a shadowy European Church pyramid scheme could only enhance my credit score.”
“I think credit scores can go negative, Dave. Or if they can’t, then they might change the rules for you- do you want to be the first guy they do that to? Get it named after you? The ‘Dave is a self-pitying loser who replied to God’ credit score bracket?"
“Jesus, Kelly. A break?”
I slumped forward, laying the phone and my head on the display counter. The glass felt cool on my forehead and I could see through the numberless scratches to an unopened Rolling Stones vinyl, where Mick jeered at me with his knobbly claymation-looking face.
“Sorry, Dave.” She sounded genuine. “It’s just… I mean, you kind of did get yourself here. If your life is set on Very Hard, what’s a Somali refugee’s life set on? There’s no ‘Fucked Since Birth’ setting in video games, although I don’t doubt some people would want to play it if it existed. Hmmm, that might be worth writing down- a game where you have to escape your horrible birth circumstances but no matter what you do you can’t win-”
“CHELSEA WAS THE BEST THING THAT EVER HAPPENED TO ME” I wailed, my breath fogging the glass. Across the shop, an old guy in a furry hoodie looked over at me.
“No,” Said Kelly. I could hear the eye roll, even though I couldn’t see her. “Chelsea was the hottest thing to ever happen to you. She was also the most psychotic, and the most dramatic, and the most banging other dudes-ic.”
I let out a moan that sent the old guy with the hoodie backpeadaling for the doors.
“Sorry, sorry. It’s just, my tax dollars pay for your broke ass’ Planned Parenthood treatments and now that Chelsea’s gone and the little guy is clearing up-”
“Why do I come here, Kelly? You are the opposite of a kind old bartender with wisdom beyond his years.”
“You come here because, as I already mentioned, your ass is way more than broke. But, cheer up. I have changed my mind.”
I looked up at her.
“You should totally reply to this email. Say, ‘Yeah, thanks, I want life set to very easy, with cheat codes enabled and maybe one of those mods where everyone has a big head, like in Goldeneye.’ And then if it works, you split your easy life with me. I’ll get you to do all the stuff that’s hard and you’ll do it as a thank you for always being there for you, even when you were at your most annoyingly depressive.”
She popped her gum and shoved the phone back at me over the counter.
“I’m gonna do it.”
“Yeah, then do it.”
I slid down and sat on the ground in front of the counter, thumbs tapping away. After a few moments, I pushed send and the tinny whoosh of an un-take-backable email sounded from the phone.
“What’d you say?”
“Pretty much all of it, except for the Goldeneye stuff. I feel like, one, if it really is God, that seems rude to ask for, like I’m making fun of him and two, if it actually happens it would be super gross.”
“Pussy. Can I help you?”
The man standing in front of us was tall, easily over six feet, and entirely dressed in white. White tennies, white slacks, an incredibly soft-looking white sweater, and white sporty sunglasses pushed up on his pale forehead.
“Dave?” He asked, pointing at me on the floor.
“Uh.” I scrambled to my feet, exchanging a look with Kelly, who shrugged. “Yeah, are you…”
The man ignored me, pulling out a slim white phone from his pocket. He checked something, then flicked his eyes back at me, smiling now.
“Very easy it is.” He said, and flicked his fingers at me.
I can’t deny, life is pretty great now. Naps in the sun, a backyard full of mice and long grass, fresh wet food twice a day (Kelly always buys the good shit too, real fish flakes up in this bitch!), and the occasional back alley rendezvous with the siamese from down the street. Do I ever regret replying to God? Not on your fucking life.
|
"Yes. Yes, I want to change my difficulty setting."
"Very Easy, please?" Or something simpler, if it exists.
Trembling, I sent my plea, my request.
In moments, my inbox had a reply.
"1 of 4 players have voted to change the difficult setting to Very Easy."
Then, my computer chimed again. 3 new emails, each with the subject line "Player message received."
| 2016-03-30T18:37:14 | 2016-03-30T15:15:03 | 41 | 18 |
[WP] You've cheated on every single test you've ever taken. Surprisingly, now you're a teacher and a student just walked in your office bragging about cheating. You don't care about it morally, you just need to know how they did it.
|
You know how they say cheaters never prosper? Well I've always been proud of being the exception that proves the rule. I've cheated on things my whole life. I've cheated on tests, I've cheated in cards. Hell, I even cheat on my wife. And I was confident I would be able to cheat even death when the time came.
And I've never been caught. I'm somewhat of a savant at it. Which is exactly why I make a great teacher.
I point my finger. "Sam. I see those notes. Out!"
Sam stands up, guilt clear on his face. "Sir, I didn't do anything. I swear."
I can't help but grin. Oh kid! You have so much to learn. I enjoy this bit. A lot. I walk over to him and raise one hand. As he's busy looking at that hand, my other hand plucks out the small notes he's hidden underneath the table like a magician.
His eyes bulge and he's almost ready to cry. My grin just grows wider. "Out."
I watch Sam walk out, the beginnings of a tear on his face. I look over the class. "This is the fate that awaits anyone who tries to cheat in my class. I will catch you. Trust me."
A couple of weeks later, I'm handing out the exam papers. The passing marks are 40. Sam scored 49. I have gleefully deducted 10 marks for cheating, stapling the notes on the paper.
When you have 50 papers to grade, you sometimes miss things. It becomes automatic, the grading process. Which is why I somehow missed this. Chris scored 51. Chris, someone who hasn't passed any of my classes.
"Chris, please collect your exam after the class."
He sits there staring at me, acting innocent. No way he passed on his own. But I didn't notice him cheat. I had to know how he did it.
After the class, Chris walks up to me. "Sir. Anything wrong?"
"You did well on your exam."
"Thank you sir. I worked extra hard for this one."
"Did you now?"
"Yes sir."
"You've averaged 25 marks in all the tests so far. I'm telling you the average because you're so shitty at mathematics that you wouldn't have been able to calculate it. So tell me, how did you do it?"
"I studied hard, sir."
"Bullshit. You cheated."
"Of course not sir. Anyone who cheats in your class gets caught. Always. No one dares to cheat in your class. You're too good to fool. Can I go now? Sir."
I catch the sarcasm in that sentence along with the forced *Sir*. He is taunting me. This little chit of a boy is taunting me. "You can go. But I promise you this. Next time, I won't let you get away with it."
"Good luck sir."
That son of a bitch. I feel my anger rise.
The next test is scheduled for two weeks later. I stand in front of the class, but my attention is focused on Chris. He is sitting towards the back of the class. But that won't save him from me. Not this time.
I keep a close eye on him. I am completely sure he didn't cheat. He knows I've been focused on him too. As I'm collecting the papers, he gives me a grin. "Easy paper this time, sir. I'm sure I'm gonna do great."
His confidence shakes me a bit. I'm sure he hasn't cheated.
I go home and dig out his exam first.
What is going on?
He's done well. Not exceptional. No, no. He's too smart for that. He knows if he scores a very high grade, others will be suspicious too. He has scored 48 marks. This, after not passing any of the tests earlier in the year. Suddenly in the last two, he starts passing. This is impossible.
I stand in front of the class. "Class, I have an announcement. I suspect that some kids cheated in yesterday's exam. As a result, we're doing the exam again. I'll be keeping a close eye on everyone. If anyone cheats, they won't get the usual 10 mark penalty, I'll fail you outright."
I look pointedly at Chris. He grins back at me. I feel my anger rising again. Who does he think he is? I'm the master at cheating. I will catch him this time.
I hand out the exam. I don't want to single him out too much but I shift my chair enough that he's in plain view of me the entire time.
I'm confident this time.
I go home and pick his paper out of the bundle. How is this even possible. He has scored 63. Higher than he's ever scored in any exam. He's taunting me.
I address the class again. "Sorry kids. Another exam today." They groan in protest. "Well then you should ask Chris not to cheat."
Chris stands up in protest. He has the gall to show indignation. "I did not cheat, sir."
"Well prove it."
"Go right ahead sir. I'm confident I'll do well in this test."
"Everyone else, leave. Your marks stand."
It'll be just the two of us now.
The kids look back wondering what is going on. But I have to find out how he's doing it.
I sit right next to him as he takes his exam. No signs.
He hands in the exam fifteen minutes early. "I think I did pretty well. Sir."
I'm seething. I frisk him over his objections. No notes. No electronic devices. "I know you're cheating Chris. And I will prove it."
I'm called into the principal's office tomorrow. He doesn't listen to any reason and suspends me. As I leave the principal's office, I'm more determined than ever to prove Chris's cheating ways.
I climb the fence and into his house. I know his father works the night shift so there won't be anyone home. His mother is long dead.
I break into his room and shake him awake.
He looks terrified. Good.
He still refuses to tell me as I threaten him. I see the lights turn on somewhere down the hall but I don't care. I just need to know.
He's crying now. But he still doesn't talk.
I hear footsteps. But I don't care.
I feel something on the back of my neck as my head explodes into pain.
I'm sitting in a bare room as an officer tells me the crimes I committed.
"Me?" I ask him, incredulous. "What about him? He's a cheater. He cheated on his tests."
The officer looks at me with disgust. "He's a good kid. He's been taking care of his little sister since his mom died. His father is a good for nothing drunk. He's a hard worker. And you accuse him."
"He's never done anything in my class before."
"His sister failed her maths exam and he told me that's when he realized he needed to set a better example. The poor kid has spent so much extra effort getting better. And then there's teachers like you. A case of a cheater who sees cheating everywhere else, I suppose."
|
'Why are you bragging about it to me? Do you want to be a Dangler?'
'Because I know we are the same way'. The devious twinkle in his eye reminds you of your earlier partner in crime- when you were both bold and full of wrathful hope.
He continues. 'I saw your reaction to the students that got caught. You weren't disappointed by their morals- but by the amateur work.' They were dumb enough to get caught, and so they would not make it.
After all, this is the Iron Road. All success eminates from this place. Your ranking here determines your station for life - whether you toil as a Dangler, clinging desperately to your hopeless life. Or whether you lead the grand fleet of the empire: the millions of warships floating around this section of the universe- and the billions aboard them. A true meritocracy, they say. But you know that the game is rigged, so you never played by their rules.
Unlike the ancient societies spoken of in the textbooks, Teachers here are among the most esteemed positions. Only after reaching the end of the Iron Road and leading as a commander can you become a teacher here in old age. Yes, they need those who found success so they will preach the benefits of the Meritocracy- and to raise the next generation to success for the Empire.
'I know how far you travelled along the Iron Road' says the little mischievous boy. 'Past all my other teachers. But I will go further'
Your cold gray eyes look at him, and you speak before the hints of a spark can return to them. 'I cheated on every single test I've ever taken. I know all the tricks, yet I did not catch you. How did you do it?'
Listening to his explanation, the gray irises look more like smoldering coals. You let out a full chuckle for the first time in years. It is the most ridiculous thing you've ever heard; far more difficult than just doing the test.
'I create my own tests' says the boy you know will become your pupil. For he is still young. He still doesn't know anything.
| 2021-07-30T11:40:10 | 2021-07-30T10:05:21 | 153 | 24 |
[WP] An old man walks alone, inside the crumbling remains of an old colony ship. When he reaches the bridge, a small ball of light emerges from the ship's console. "Hello Captain", says the ship's A.I. "It's nice to see you again."
|
Hector plodded forward across the rocky plain, leaning heavily on the gnarled, sturdy branch he'd cut from an alien tree...how many years ago had it been? He couldn't remember anymore. But he remembered his ship. The battered hulk of the vessel he had captained so long ago. It lay just a few hundred yards away now, across the flat expanse of the plain. It had taken him so very long to get here.
His mind flashed back to those last few moments as the damaged ship prepared for an emergency landing on Terra Nova, the Earthlike exoplanet that was their destination. He had been dutifully awakened from his cryo-sleep chamber by Salieri, the ship's AI, to deal with the crisis, but there had been nothing he could do. Too many systems had been damaged by the ships chance colission with a small meteor that had gotten ensnared by the planet's gravity and grazed the Venturesome's hull on approach.
He locked the ship into its landing cycle, and then was forced to evacuate in an escape pod, as the command deck's life support systems began to fail -- he otherwise would have suffocated before the landing sequence was complete. Unfortunately, an explosion in the airlock just after takeoff had knocked his escape pod badly off course. It had been all he could do not to burn up on entry into the Terra Novan atmosphere. He had ended up on the other side of the planet from the Venturesome. He had no long-range communications equipment, no way to contact the Venturesome to see if the crew and passengers had survived, or to request assistance. His only option had been to walk. Walk the thousands of miles across the planet to the Venturesome.
He had crossed deserts and oceans alike, building a raft from the local vegetation, surviving on local flora and fauna. He had amassed quite a database on what was -- and wasn't -- edible on the planet. It was amazing that he was still alive. But he was. And after who knew how many *years* trudging endlessly across the vast alien world, he had made it.
He stopped to catch his breath just a few yards away from the ship. It didn't look good. The Venturesome was mostly intact -- it should have been dismantled for use in building a settlement long since. But he knew something was wrong weeks ago, when he should have been in communications range of the colony. The colony that should have been set up and thriving by now.
He stared at the great ship for a long time, not wanting to go inside and see his hopes shattered for good and all. But he had to see. He still had a duty to his ship. He walked along the hull, until he found an entry port. He pried loose the protective panel over the controls with a grunt. Wiping his hand on the tattered remains of his uniform, he pressed it against the biometric plate, and held his breath for an endless moment until there was a labored whirring and the hatch slid aside with a screech -- it must have warped over the years.
He didn't waste any time, moving faster than he had in years as the layout of the ship's corridors resurfaced in his foggy memory. The bridge would have been damaged by decompression, so he headed to the auxiliary control close to the bow. The doors wouldn't part, so he pried them open manually, grunting with exertion -- he didn't know how he'd been on his endless journey, but he definitely wasn't as young as he used to be.
The doors suddenly gave, and he stumbled into the control room, overbalanced. It was dark...but as he watched in wonder, light slowly began to fill the room, along with a muted hum as long-dormant systems powered up. In the center of the room, a small ball of light floated upward from a cylindrical pedestal. Music filled the room, and Hector couldn't help but smile. *Sinfonia Veneziana*...by Salieri -- the composer, not the AI.
"Hello, Captain." the ball of light piped, cheerfully. "It's nice to see you again."
"Salieri." Hector croaked, raspily. "S-status report."
"Landfall established 17 years, 3 months, 18 days ago..."
His heart sank. That long? He had to stop to recuperate from injuries and sickness many times on his journey, and he knew it had been a long time -- Terra Nova was substantially larger than Earth, and its gravity heavier -- but he never thought it could have been such a length of time.
"...ship's systems damaged, drive systems and long-range communications offline, defense grid offline, life support non-functional..."
"Non-functional?" he gasped. "S-Salieri, crew status?"
The AI glowed silently.
"Salieri!" Hector shouted. "Crew and passenger status, report!" He had to know what happened. Where had the crew gone, why was there no colony.
"Apologies, Captain. I was processing the information -- I'm afraid some of my CPUs were rendered non-functional by the crash." Salieri replied, apologetically. "Crew at 91% capacity. Passengers at 95% capacity."
His heart leapt. "They're alive?"
"Affirmative Captain." the AI confirmed, pleasantly. "The remaining crew and passengers of the Venturesome are in cryogenic stasis. While many ship's systems were damaged, both the main reactor and cryogenic maintenance systems survived landfall."
"Why weren't they awakened?" Hector demanded.
"In the event of a hull breach, cryogenic revival systems are disabled to prevent passengers and crew from emerging into a depressurized environment." Salieri explained. "Command override required."
Tears welled up in Hector's eyes. The missing piece of the puzzle, the reason there'd been no contact, no colony...it was him. He staggered towards the pedestal projecting Salieri's luminous avatar, and pressed his palm against the biometric plate on the side.
"Salieri..." he whispered, his knees close to buckling. "Override cryosleep interlock. Begin revival sequence on all passengers and crew."
"Executing." Salieri chirped, pleasantly.
​
​
|
“Nice to see you again too. How long has it been since we last spoke?”
”Approximately 55 Earth years. 73 of this planets years.”
“Only that long? It’s felt like centuries.”
“Sir, may I enquire as to the status of the colony?”
“Yes, it’s doing well. Unfortunately most of the citizens have forgotten anything past the Middle Ages. Better then nothing, I suppose.”
“Sir, if the colony is doing well, then why are you here?”
“Do you know how old I am?”
“97 years, 11 months, 30 days, 23 hours, and 57 minutes.”
“Old enough that I don’t want to go on anymore.”
“Sir?”
“The colony doesn’t need me anymore. It’s moved on. It’s time I moved on as well?
“...”
“Play my favourite song. I want to be comfortable as I die.”
“Very well sir. It’s been an honour to serve you.”
“And it’s been an honour to know you. Goodbye, Old Friend.”
“Goodbye, Captain.”
| 2018-10-07T09:37:43 | 2018-10-07T09:03:18 | 2,347 | 77 |
[WP] After several thousand years of gathering coins from passengers, Charon the Ferryman has finally saved up enough money to buy what he wanted.
|
"Checkmate." said the amiable soul. For a time, the only sound was the waves gently lapping the wooden boat.
The skeletal figure opposite the soul had no lips, but somehow managed to convey an affect of frowning.
It's voice was a rasp: "Few across the millennia have beaten me, mortal. How is it that you come to have such skill?"
"I've always been good at games, but I've had a lot of time on my hands lately to practice, I guess."
"Time. Yes. Well, as victor in this game, you may have a little more yet. One year and one day." Can a skeleton sigh? Or was that just the salty breeze?
Raymon, as the soul had been known in life, looked away at this. His dark-skinned fingers absently traced the knots and lines in the ancient wood of the boat.
"Do I have to?"
Charon, for the skeleton once had a name too, was surprised for what might be the first time in centuries. "You do not wish more life?"
"I was a prisoner. A political prisoner. There is nothing back there-" he gestures vaguely in the direction of the shore from which he embarked "for me except waiting in a dark cell to return here."
They sat, in silence, for what might have been moments or centuries. Time had a strange feel on this dark river.
"This is unprecedented" whispered Charon. "You are owed a prize. Name it, and if it is within my power, I will grant it."
Raymon sucked in a deep breath while he thought. There was no air here; no breath of life. But he could taste and smell the distinct odor of a brackish river, like the one he grew up near. "Those coins I paid you."
At this, Charon seemed crestfallen. Nonetheless, he reached to his pocket to retrieve the two newest of his prizes.
"I'd like to see what you want them for."
Charon froze, as still as any other skeleton would have been. More still, if that was possible. After another indeterminate moment, he nodded silently, and reached for his oars.
Charon rowed the small craft up river, rather than down, away from the destination of all souls. No sea birds cried out as they moved. No fish splashed or swirled in these dark waters. The shore was an indistinct shadowland. Overhead, the stars were pinpricks of light that seemed much closer, somehow, than they had been in life. Closer, and hungrier.
Presently, they came to a dock of the same dark and colorless wood of the boat. Charon tied off, and led Raymon into a temple. It was constructed of dark stone, blocks so massive that each could have been its own temple on Earth.
They walked corridors that seemed endless. Carved in relief were scenes from mythology. Gods, Goddesses, titans, monsters, mythical figures. Not just of the same pantheon as Charon, but all myths from all times. Aztec gods, Shinto spirits. A Buddha sat smiling next to a many-headed hydra. On and on they walked, through this black maze of solid stone, until at last they reached a vast pit.
At the edge of this deeper darkness within the already bleak stone temple was a glowing plinth. It was carved in runes that seemed to Raymon to be fractals - Words where each letter of the word was itself a word, and each letter of these words in turn had meaning, on and on into infinity. He had to look away.
Upon this plinth Charon placed the first of the two coins Raymon had given him. It vanished in a flash of darkness. Silently, he tilted his head back, and reached his hands towards the ceiling, lost in the shadows above. He reached out his hands, in a grasping motion. Above, the ceiling made a grating, grinding sound, and a great dark shape of stone descended before them.
He slashed this way and that with his skeletal arms, in a complex pattern of movements. The vast bulk hanging from the ceiling mimicked them. At last, Charon threw his hands forward, grasping, and the thing did likewise.
The stone dropped heavily into the pit. Something in the darkness shifted, then tumbled. Charon sighed once more, and his skeletal arms hung limp.
Cautiously, Raymon stepped to the edge of the chasm, and peered into the inky blackness, trying to focus whatever passed for eyes in his disembodied soul. When he looked up, Charon was staring at him, skull-face unreadable.
"I understand now. Thank you" said Raymon. "May I?" He held out his hand.
Charon was as still as a statue. Raymond, too, held his pose with outstretched arm. Two sculptures standing on the edge of the void, for an eternity and a moment.
"Consider it part of my victory payment?"
With a heavy sadness, Charon handed over the second of two coins. Raymon placed it on the plinth, where it, too, vanished. Mimicking Charon, he threw back his head. He reached out his hands, grasping the air. At first, his movements mirrored those Charon had used - but quickly, they diverged. The vast, dark bulk of stone shifted this way, then that, doing a complex and intricate dance through the nothingness that substituted for air in this place.
At last, metaphorical sweat dripping down his soul's brow, Raymon threw forward his hands, and grasped. The stone claw plummeted into the pit with a heavy thump.
Then, it began to rise again - but clutched in its vast finger-like protuberances was a prize - dark and majestic.
Charon openly gaped, feeling shock for the first time since becoming the boatman. "You... you did it!"
"I told you, I have a knack for games." He took the dark bounty from the claw, and tossed it at Charon, who caught it with a preternatural deftness. "For you. I know what it means to have an unachievable goal. You deserve this."
The skeletal beast stared at the object in his hands with obvious rapture. A black horse, winged, mane soft and blowing gently in the non-wind of the between-worlds. Plush, and soft as a baby's blanket, with button eyes darker and shinier than the already black coat of felt fur. A Pegasus plush.
Later, they sat together on the dock of colorless wood, feet dangling above but not touching (never touching!) the waters of the river below. Charon had not spoken for the long walk back from the temple's depth, nor had he looked up from his plush prize. His feet now swung like a child of six who had just gotten a cupcake. His skull-face gleamed with simple joy.
Raymon smiled along with him, his teeth gleaming with starlight in his dark face.
Charon turned to him then, and said words he had never uttered before. "Thank you, truly. You have used your own victory to bring me joy instead. Ask of me anything, and if it is in my remit, I will grant it."
"I wouldn't know what to ask for" said Raymond, staring contentedly across the waves.
"If you could return to life, but not your own - not to that cold, dark cell - where would you return? To be clear, I don't have that power - but I wish to know."
Ray thought, for a time, letting his feet dangle. "I would go back to the place I was born. Along the rivers and canals of my youth. I remember being happy there. I always so loved the water.
Could a skull grin? Was it possible to see more teeth than those already exposed? If so, Charon did so now. "That, my friend, I *can* grant you."
He slipped off his dark cloak, and handed it to Raymon along with the oar and lantern.
"The boat knows the way, friend. I hope you find yours as well." And with that, Charon skipped down the shore of the river Stix, swinging his plush pegasus as if it were flying under its own power.
|
"\[Poem\]"
Since the prompt was about Greek mythology, I thought it would be fun to write a poem in dactylic meter to mimic Homer. I used pentameter instead of hexameter though, since it seemed to fit English better. I italicized the stresses to make it easier to read in meter.
*I* am the *guard* of the *ri*ver who *takes* men to *Ha*des.
*In* place of *Styx*, I would *ra*ther be *on* the Eu*phra*tes.
*Day* after *day* have I *rowed* in my *boat* until *sun*down.
*Fi*nally, *I* will be *ab*le to *pay* for my *free*dom.
*Once* I am *free*, I will *leave* by the *path* of Or*phe*us.
*Trav*’lling a*lone*, I won’t *need* to be *look*ing be*hind* us.
*Ath*ens and *Spa*rta, then *Thebes* and to *Cor*inth I’ll *jour*ney.
*Sure*ly the *coun*try will *be* just as *Ho*mer has *told* me.
*Nymphs* in the *ri*vers and *god*desses *un*der the *arch*ways,
*He*roes and *gods* will be *fight*ing for *kle*os and *ti*me.
*Long* have I *wait*ed to *see* the a*chieve*ments of *mor*tals,
*Hope*fully *they* will ac*cept* me as *friends* accept *eq*uals.
​
*Things* are not *how* I ex*pect*ed to *find* them up*on* earth.
*Peo*ple aren’t *he*roes and *god*desses *ne*ver give *child*birth.
*May*be the *stor*ies of *Ho*mer were *ov*er-em*bell*ished,
*May*be the *new* people *simp*ly are *bo*ring and *sel*fish,
*Kle*os and *ti*me no *long*er give *men* any *plea*sure
*Com*fort and *safe*ty are *all* that they *val*ue and *treas*ure.
*9* until *5* every *day* until *old* age em*brace* them,
*Sav*ing their *coins* just in *case* something *comes* and they *need* some.
*Com*ing from *some*one who *saved* all their *coins* for mil*len*nia,
*Wait*ing too *long* to do *some*thing you’d *like* might un*do* you.
*I* could have *wand*ered the *earth* with the *likes* of A*chil*les,
*Now*, since I *wait*ed, I *on*ly can *find* him in *stor*ies.
| 2022-04-12T04:11:40 | 2022-04-12T03:32:38 | 95 | 40 |
[WP] We live in a simulation, and we sleep because they can't render everyone at once. You stay up for days, and begin to see things and people. They call themselves the maintenance crew.
|
I encountered the first one while stumbling down the street towards Starbucks on a rare break away from my computer. I felt a bump against my shoulder, my mouth already opening to apologize.
"Sorry..." the word trailed off in my mouth as I looked up at him, frowned, struggled against the fog of my disoriented brain. Was this some sort of hallucination?
The stranger, however, was already past me. He breezed past me as though he didn't have a single thought to spare for my existence. I stared after him, trying to figure out if he was wearing a costume of some sort. Was there some TV creature that had four long, thin, strangely jointed legs like that?
After another minute of looking after him on the sidewalk, I managed to get myself moving. Get to Starbucks. Get more coffee. Finish up the third chapter, and then I'd just have two more. Maybe, just maybe, if I pushed hard enough, I could get my thesis done before this deadline.
At the coffee shop, however, I saw another one of the things. It had to be a person in costume, I told myself, sneaking glimpses between struggling to read the vibrating words on the menu. There's no way that there could be a six-foot cockroach standing in the middle of a coffee shop, with everyone else just ignoring it. Not possible.
Unless it was a hallucination. Costume or hallucination? I received my drink, took a long pull without caring about the burn on my tongue, felt the foggy world stabilize a little bit.
I sidled towards the bug, fingers dangling idly by my side. I reached out casually, focused on them...
...felt chitin, hard and cool and almost plastic.
Not a hallucination. Must be a costume, then, since no one else was freaking out. Was today Halloween? Couldn't be, because that would mean that I had an extra month to finish my thesis...
The thing's head turned, eyes looking down at me. Fake eyes, I corrected myself, although they looked horrifyingly real, a thousand little circles all seeming to focus on me. Was it some sort of lens?
"Nice costume," I managed to get out, trying not to let the six-foot cockroach bother me. Everyone else in the coffee shop seemed to be doing fine - although, when I risked a glance at the nearest other patrons, they seemed strangely glassy, faces unfocused...
The bug, a second later, jumped with a hiss. "Anchor nodess!" it cried out, a dry rustle of a voice that seemed to emanate from its whole body.
"What?" I looked around at the other patrons, but they all seemed to be - were they ignoring me? They all seemed to be looking in other directions.
The bug recovered from its surprise, leaned closer. "Uptime?" it hissed at me.
I felt my mouth open, words spring to my lips unbidden. "Five days, seventeen hours, twenty-seven minutes-"
It waved one of those half-dozen thin arms at me, and the words cut off. I froze, grasping for understanding. Was that how long I'd been awake? Why had I told this thing, how had I known? What was going on?
The bug was speaking again, and I realized that the sound came from its entire body rattling. "Damage? Run diagnossticss."
I felt a strange twinge pass through my body, from my toes up my spine to exit through my scalp. "No physical damage detected. CPU-intensive process consuming majority of computational resources. Process must be completed for Level Four directive."
My voice cut off, and I once again had control over my speech. "What's going on?" I gasped. "What are you? What are you doing?"
The bug tilted its head, a strangely human gesture. "Maintenansse," it hissed. "Level four? Sstupid sself-actualization. Alwayss thought that patch wass bad."
"Maintenance?" It took a little work to parse that hissing speech. "Maintenance of what?"
"Ssimulation. Not your problem." The bug twitched again. "Won't remember after resset. Sshutdo-"
"Wait!" I managed to get out. "I can't go to sleep! I need to finish my thesis! If I don't get it done, I won't graduate, and I'll run out of loan money!" Worry, worry that had been building inside me for months, came spilling out in a torrent of words.
The bug hissed, almost like a sigh. "Topic?"
"Um, I'm writing about how permutations in light signatures might lead to detection of dark matter-"
The bug waved another arm at me, and my mouth cut off. "Ssimplisstic. And the hypothessiss iss wrong. I can fix that. Now, resset and ssleep."
And with that, my consciousness cut off. When I next opened my eyes, I found myself laying in bed, covers pulled up over my body, still dressed in street clothes.
I blinked, frowning. I'd had the weirdest dream, I vaguely remembered... something about giant bugs, computer commands, coffee for working on my-
My thesis! I sat bolt upright, spun around and stared at my computer. I only had a day or so before I needed to turn in-
I saw the stack of paper sitting atop my computer. Climbing out of bed, I walked over, picked it up, looked down at it. The whole thing was here. I flipped through it, confirmed that everything looked right. I must have finished writing, and then blacked out and passed out.
For a second longer, something scratched at my memory, some thought about cockroaches. I frowned, looked around - had there been one in here?
Whatever. I put it out of my mind, looking down at my thesis. I could finally graduate! One last read-through, to catch any typos, and then I'd bring it over to my professor.
I sat down, started reading...
Four hours later, I put it aside, stared into nothingness. It couldn't be right. The numbers all added up, but it was still impossible. I couldn't have found this. I'd not been working on anything near this area, couldn't even remember writing any of these equations.
But there they were, black and white on the paper. Proof of what we'd been chasing for years, right in front of our noses.
I looked up, and didn't even blink at the huge bug standing in the doorway of my bedroom. "Told you it wass wrong," it buzzed.
And somehow, even though its words were toneless, its face expressionless, I knew that it was sniggering, smirking at me.
|
It all started staying up late one night doing my homework. I was just sitting there, doing an essay when this light flashes outside my window. It seemed so real, too, not just a hallucination from me staying up the past 29 hours doing this essay. For a split-second, too, I saw this man. He looked so real, unlike all the other men you see in dreams. Also, he looked... different. I had read a while back that everyone you see in your dreams looks the same as somebody you have seen in real life. This, however, was totally different. I had never seen this man before in my life. He was holding a flashlight, walking briskly along the sidewalk. I had turned off all the lights in my bedroom and put my monitor brightness to the lowest setting as to not ruin my eyes. My window outside had an automatic detection light, which I usually turned off before I went to bed, but tonight I had not.
Now, let me tell you. This is a gated community. You don't see anybody walking around at night whatsoever, and if you do, usually they stay within the general area of one's house. This man was not like any of my neighbors.
As he passed my window, I do not think he noticed me until the automatic light turned on. The light shined upon his back, revealing these words: "**MAINTENANCE**". He became startled by the light, turned, and we locked eyes.
His eyes were so crazy. They weren't like anything I've ever seen before in my life. Blue, green, red, even orange. Everything color you could ever see mixed in one vibrant color. In the 2 seconds or so that our eyes locked, his eyes widened, he stopped in his tracks, brought his watch up to his mouth, and said these words: "Shit. HQ, we've got one. Bring in the team."
| 2017-10-29T12:07:54 | 2017-10-29T11:03:23 | 433 | 89 |
[WP] After you died you are told you will get to spend the rest of your life with the person you love most. The next you expect to wake up next to your husband/wife but you don't.
*the next day you expect to wake up...
|
I gasped, wincing at the pain around my neck as if it'd just collapsed on itself. My head pounded, each heartbeat was an explosion that sent me reeling. Hands up to my head, guided by instinct, I stumbled to the bathroom.
Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
I blinked and struggled to open my eyes. Sandpaper replaced my eye-sockets, and the air raked its claws down my throat with each rugged breath. Heart still pounding away, I finally glimpsed myself.
A stranger stared back at me, just as haggard. My heart leapt, and hands raised, with our mouths falling open at the same time when it clicked. It was my reflection.
***Lup-dup. Lup-dup. Lup-dup.***
Each beat of my heart shook my body. Tears sprung up in my eyes, and I tried to put things together.
"My name is…" my mind said, 'Joshua Kirby' but my mouth moved for me, "Alex Urwin?"
The words tasted familiar. Like an old candy, that hard sort of sweet that only my grandmother seemed to have. Was I someone else?
I stared into the mirror, hands reaching up to my face and trying to make sense of it. The skin was tighter, nothing like the old and wrinkly set I had. A stronger jaw, harder eyes, a larger nose like a rounded triangle compared to my old button nose my wife loved so much and — with a glance down — a much, much better body. And muddied feet. Was I twenty-something again?
Yes, I was 23. I don't know how I knew, I just did. Like, the comfort of using your dominant hand. You just know when you're using the wrong hand for things. And I knew my age. My name. That this was my house. That-
Deep breath in, more talons cutting my throat. Deep breath out, warm salt on the wounds.
Even in the hours of twilight before the sun had broken the horizon, I could see it. Bruised knuckles. A stench of alcohol very nearly knocked me onto my ass when I finally registered it. I held my head and sat down on the side of the bathtub.
"What's going on?"
I had been promised, for living such a good life-
Eyes closed. Eyes open.
Good life.
Eyes closed. Eyes open.
Good life?
Eyes closed. Eyes open.
"My name is Joshua Kirby, my name is Joshua Kirby. I am 60 years old, I died in... I died before my time. I am married to Sarah Kirby, the love of my life. I have two kids, S-s-s..." My mind went blank.
"S-s-s," I sputtered, like a broken snake with tears welling up in my eyes. "S-s-s..."
That was all I had. No face. No name. Just an 'S'. Did I have grandchildren? Whatever my past life, it had faded like a dream. Shards and fragments were all that remained. The distorted sound of wonderful, wonderful laughter, paired with clouds floating by and the grass on my back. The close up of a smile, lips ancient and the face smothered in darkness. The sensation of a familiar hand on mine and...
A footstep.
*~Click~*
She stood there, hand over her shoulder and eyes fearful. My girlfriend, Jessica. The one I had beaten last night.
Silence.
***Lup-dup. Lup-dup. Lup-dup.*** Each breath was more fuel to the fire of my throat. The rain kept falling despite the cloudless sky, salty drops brushing my lips and streaming down my chin. She didn't know, how could she? My life was over. Ripped away without a care in the world for me, leaving me with the pain of loss and nothing more.
I stood up, trembling. An old anger coursed through me, eyes on Jessica. Deers don't move when struck by headlights. They shake, with eyes begging for something else. Begging for it all to be a dream. Everything I had screamed for me to take it out on her.
***Lup-dop. Lup-dop. Lop-dup.***
Two feet away. Such a beautiful woman.
***Do-ip. Lo-it. Do-it.***
One foot away. My hands raised.
***Do it! Do it! Do it!*** I had lost my family. I had lost my memory. I had been lied to, told that I would wake up to the person I loved the most. Anger was all I had. A good life was what I lived.
A good — I reached around and hugged her fiercely — life.
***Lup-dup. Lup-dup. Lup-dup.***
"I'm sorry, Jessica."
In silence I held her, feeling the tearstains on my shoulder. Nothing made sense in this crazy world. I was meant to be dead, but instead I inhabited a body of another with his old habits, his old memories and his old tendencies.
But I'll be damned if I'm going to let that make me a monster.
"A-Alex?"
"I'm sorry," I whispered, "I am so, so sorry, Jess." Familiar and sweet, like toffee.
Minutes later, I finally let go.
 
Dressed in fresh clothes, the floor cleaned up, we sat at opposite ends of the table. Eggs, bacon, tomatoes, toast and mushrooms wiggled up my nose and switched on the waterworks of my empty maw. Throat still burning, I took a sip of tea.
Last night, I had tried to kill Jessica. I pressed the barrel to her head, and squeezed the trigger. From then on, it was blank until my awakening this morning.
"How are you feeling?"
Somehow, she cracked a smile. My heart lurched. Could she tell? Should I tell her?
"Better."
"What are you planning to do, after breakfast?"
"Brush my teeth." Not the answer I was looking for.
"I meant..."
"Report you to the police?" I swallowed. Hard.
"I thought about it," she admitted, her smile dropping a little, "but what's the point?"
Her smile faltered again. She quickly picked it back up.
"I don'*t*-" There. Her voice, right at the end, it cracked. "-have anyone else."
What type of monster was I? Profanities sprung to my mouth, eager to beat her down again. A history of abuse had ripped away her walls, and pressed her most vulnerable spots into my malicious hands.
The table shook as I caught my head.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry..." I muttered. All the sins that he had, stained my soul. He didn't deserve her. I didn't deserve her. She should be-
She should be-
She should be.
I looked up at her again, a crooked smile across her lips. Perhaps it was loss driving me. The mind of a sociopath took apart every feeling and emotion, breaking it down into lists of why's and how's. This was the woman that I was told to that I would love. I had already lost my wife, my children, and my life. I couldn't bear to lose another one.
My head spun, and throat closed up again. At her words, I finally, finally filled in the blank. Rope around my neck in a garden shed. Perhaps the universe had seen enough suffering. A life ended too soon — I looked at her — to save a life that would end too soon. A life of someone who cared too much.
Memories of her head against my shoulder, holding me tightly as I winced with each firework, flooded in. I was once a soldier.
Memories of her telling me it was okay, after a breakdown, after admitting that I killed out of fear and shot innocent civilians followed the flood.
Memories, painful memories of hurting her, and still waking up to her doing her best. Of her, making breakfast with arms black and blue, with no remorse to be found. Like an interlocking puzzle that had fallen into place, all his memories became mine.
*Alex, wherever you are... I hope you're okay.*
Like a coin tossed up, I didn't know the outcome. Not yet.
But in that moment, as the metal clicked off a nail and the circle spun in the air, I had made my decision.
"You've never apologised before."
I will love her.
***
/r/AlexUrwin
|
The sleep was the best part of it.
It was blissful, everlasting, and full of dreams I couldn't have even imagined to dream while I was still alive. I knew it would come to an end at some point, and then I would get to spend the rest of my life with the person I loved the most. I couldn't wait to embrace my Rosita and start our life all over again, together.
It was blissful, everlasting, and full of nightmares. I had been told I would get to spend the rest of my life with the person I loved most, but I had been told this after I had died. I had died, and so would I not have no more life left to live? I would never get to see my Rosita again. I had been told I would get to spend the rest of my life with the person I loved most, but what if it had been a lie? They could have told me anything, and I could but hope whatever good they told me was true, for it meant more life rather than dull and terrifying non-existence.
It was blissful, but it wasn't everlasting.
I began to feel the pressure of the covers, heavy and silky, the familiar touch of my pajamas on my skin, and through my eyelids I could see a light of slowly increasing intensity. I heard the distant hallow toll of the church's bell from my childhood hometown, and with a smile began to lazily and gracefully stretch my body like the cat I'd never have again. I opened my eyes, and they opened wide. Next to me... was me.
I lay there transfixed, wondering what this meant. This had to still be a dream, or a sick and cruel joke. Was I really dead, after all? I had never touched hallucinogenic drugs, but many of my friends had, and I began to suspect they had slipped me something, somehow.
Me, the other me, also stretched his body, lazily and gracefully like a sloth with rheumatism, with a smile on his face that assured me other me had to have been on a watchlist for sexual predators. His eyes opened and sparkled like emerald mirrors before me. I was amazed for a moment--I had always hated my eyes, why was this sloth-like fucker so blessed?
His eyes were also open wide when he realized who he was looking at.
"Um."
That's about right.
"Good morning."
"Good morning."
We lay silent, just staring at each other in our mutual bewilderedness.
"So," he began again, and smiled, "how *you* doin'?"
I wasn't sure how to answer. This was not something I had expected. I wasn't even sure what "life" was going to be from now on, or how long it would last. Perhaps as long as I had lived before? Then I would have to spend a good few decades with this man, this other me. He seemed at least a little sleazy, but I guess I should have expected that.
"I'm doin' mighty fine. My name's Emilio."
"*My* name is Emilio!"
Oh well, if I was going to spend the rest of my life with someone, I guess spending it with someone who enjoys the same things I do is not so bad.
"So, how about a handjob?"
...plus, it doesn't hurt to be bisexual.
| 2017-01-08T02:57:13 | 2017-01-08T02:41:33 | 59 | 24 |
[WP] "When a planet is destroyed, a single person from the dead maybe reborn as a God. Your Domain shall depend on aspects of how you lived your life, actions, hobbies, work or anything else." That's what you were told before being reborn, but you still really weren't expecting the Domain you got.
|
The world was dead. It annihilated itself in a nuclear fire, devoured by the fires of it's own hate. And now it's smouldering corpse floated in the cold abyss of the cosmos.
So why the hell was I here? Floating in a black void. Was this Hell? Or was Hell so full the dead was just left to wander nothing until the end of Time, whenever that may be?
"Well, well. Whatever do we have here?"
I want to say I could turn to see who was speaking. But I had no body. I was just there. A thought.
"I never thought one of *your* kind would ever appear. Father must be disappointed."
In a second, I could... feel. Not properly, but there was sensation. I collapsed to my knees, feeling heavier than I ever felt before.
"There we go. Better?"
Not quite, I felt, but it was a start. I could see, I could feel. I touched the the ground beneath me. It was made of the same white marble as my arm.
"Take your time. We have enough of it as it is."
I looked up. The wall was barren of any intricate detail, as was the floor. In fact, the only interesting thing was the man in the chair.
The chair was... mahogany? A dark red. The man himself looked just like anyone else. A little pale, as if he needed more sun, perhaps, but nothing noteworthy. Suit, tie, slicked back hair. Businessman type. He was sitting up straight with his fingers steepled.
He smirked. "Welcome to my Domain. Take a moment to get your bearing, if you want. As I said, we have time."
I opened my stone mouth. The sensation, alien as it was, should have made my insides squirm. The fact it didn't only enhanced the disconcerting sensation.
"Who-"
No. No, I did *not* like that.
His smirk turned into a broad smile filled with perfectly white teeth. "O, Child of God. Did you really think I'd just let you have your old body? Even if I could, I wouldn't."
"Who are you?"
I hated this. I absolutely hated this sensation of air going through stone insides and *feeling it*.
He stood up, putting his hands behind his back. "My name is Lucifer. The one who started The War in Heaven. And this is *not* Hell."
That grabbed my attention. I kept my mouth closed.
"I'll spare you the boring details." he continued, looking at his nails like a bored schoolgirl. "Essentially, after my little revolt failed, my dearest Father, who *art* in Heaven, made me a God. Fancy that?" He sighed, stared at the ceiling, and put the examined hand on his chest. "Only, I got what I wanted... but not *quite* what I wanted." He looked at me. "I now choose those who must become Deities, and let them into their Domains. And they too do not get quite what they expect. I suppose this is part of my punishment. The rest of the time... well, you know where to find me."
"Why me?"
"To the point, aren't we?" He shrugged. "Two reasons. You can figure out the second on your own. But the first? Your planet is dead." He chuckled. "Damn, I hadn't laughed so hard in centuries. Oh, excuse me, it's just absolutely hilarious." He giggled, before he coughed into his hand. "The joke of a lifetime. Nothing will be as good as that."
With that, he put his hands behind his back, professional, but with a wide grin on his face. "Now, I have to tell you this. As a new God, you will have a Domain of your own. This will be based on you, your life! All your actions, hobbies, work or whatever else that may be of prominence. But, I do warn you, they never seem to match the God. Not initially." He put his hand on his chin. "Maybe that's intentional, but I don't have the foggiest idea if it's true or not." He shrugged. "Not that I care either way. All *you* need to do is..."
There was a click behind me.
"Go through that door." He gave a bark of laughter. "It's been a while since I did that. Still got it!"
I turned around. There was an arched doorway, going into an empty expanse of white.
"Well? Go on. There's no reason to put off the inevitable any longer."
I picked myself up. With one heavy step, I began to move. In hindsight, I think I didn't care where I went, or what I did. I couldn't go back, and there was no reason to stay. That meant only one option: forward.
And I stepped through the gate.
The ground cracked. Pristine white turned a rotting mass of hues of red, grey, and green. Rancid trees began to erupt from the ground as the infection spread, reaching for a sunless heaven as the sky turned black. A thick fog rolled in.
I turned around. The door was gone. And something began to rise from the ground.
It was hideous. A patchwork horror in the vague shape of a hound, made from stitched together flesh. A human hand was used in place of a hind leg, and the head was that of a child. It turned to me, screamed in a shrill voice, and ran into the fog and the thickening forest. In the murky darkness, something peered, just out of sight.
Why? Or how, even? How was this my Domain? I was a coward! And yet... and yet...
I looked at my hands. They were flesh again, or so I gathered. It was hard to tell under the porcelain. I didn't bother looking at the rest of me, given that something screamed in the distance. Something not quite human, full of wrath, and in terrible pain.
And I was intrigued.
I thought about it for a moment. This was my Domain. It was a Domain of terrible horrors, ruled over by a complete coward. A *coward*. But I was a coward who, nonetheless, saw something in the horror, past the vile forms of the fictional monsters and mythological terrors that captured my heart. It's hard to say why I was so enamoured with these things, but there was something about them that... resonated with me.
This was my Domain of the things that people feared. And I was a coward. But I was *not* going to let either of those things define anything. This... this would be a Domain of my own image. A peaceful Domain. If I was to rule over Horror and Fear, I would do it by my own rules. To the lost children scared of the dark, I would sit with them until their fears abated. I would take the nightmares of those who suffered and take those terrors into my world. For the cowards, I would show them the weaknesses of the things that scared them so.
And for the ones that did evil, I would wait for them. In the dark. In their sleep. In the edge of their vision.
For they chose to create fear, and the inhabitants here would gladly take them as their own.
|
The gods watched as the mushroom clouds plumed through the earth’s atmosphere, they covered nearly all visible land.
“Such a shame, thousands of years of prophecies predicting their demise, only to simply do it to themselves,” spoke the god of life.
“At least it is time too build something anew,” claimed the god of the inanimate.
“Enough commentary now, bring the chosen one before us,” the god king requested.
In life, he was merely a greasy, overweight, mostly insignificant neckbeard. However, his skill at the real time strategy, and the turn based strategy genre were unrivalled. On top of that, he had many thousands of hours experience as an armchair military tactician on Reddit.
The pantheon was an epic sized platform, appearing to rest calmly in the cosmos, with the dying Earth in the background. Still there, the god of life and the inanimate stood waiting with the many others for the newcomer.
Floating as if a gargantuan balloon towards the centre of the pantheon, the prospect was viewed and judged by the crowd of gods.
After staring up and down this new prospect, the god of love exclaimed “Surely a virgin shouldn’t be the new god?!” and snickered lightly.
Trying to identify muscle in the body of the soul, the god of gains observed “He must have never worshipped me.”
“Enough criticisms, nobody here can match this man’s strategic genius,” Asserted the god king.
He was now at the centre, before the god king. An urge to kneel overcame him, except he never properly learnt how, it always ending in a tumble. Hopefully he was not asked too next.
“This is now the god of war,” the god king proclaimed.
There was some surprise among the crowd, but most audibly was expectedly the previous god of war, “You have finally found someone more capable than me? I conquered entire galaxies before I ended up here!”
“Yes, it is done,” replied the god king as the Earth could still be seen smouldering.
He knew he was good at strategy games, and spent many hours on Reddit, but everyone always said was an idiot there..
| 2022-05-03T11:10:43 | 2022-05-03T09:13:09 | 74 | 35 |
[WP] You’re a superhero who has decided to start dating. You quickly become frustrated as your dates are interrupted by the villain’s schemes. Then, you meet a girl and begin spending entire evenings uninterrupted. Little do you know, you’re dating your nemesis.
|
Deep breaths. How many dates has it been? 11 or 12? It's been six months, and Rhamnusia hasn't interrupted one of them. At first I was wary, I thought she had to be planning something. Then I tried to forget about her, but I couldn't. Now I am worried about her. That's the strange thing about being a super hero. It demands so much of your time, that your villains practically become your friends. Your nemesis becomes your soul mate. As much as I hate Rhamnusia, I am bonded to her. Deep breaths. Put it out of your head. I ring the doorbell.
A moment later Rachel opens it. Her thick curly hair is flecked with grey. Her caramel colored eyes. I'm so nervous my lips are dry. A wry smile plays on her lips. I know that look, how long have I been standing here. "Are you coming in?" A nervous laugh escapes me, and I come in. I awkwardly hand her the flowers I bought before she fully turns from the door. I shove them right into her personal space. She laughs at me as they interrupt her mid turn. "How can you still be this nervous around me? I thought you were some kind of big shot?" I'm at a loss for words. Not because I am awkward. Well, yes because I'm awkward. But more because in that moment, it seemed like she was moving into a defensive stance. I shake the thought from my head, and I smile awkwardly. "uh, I guess you can say that. My hero persona is, but that's kinda an act."
She stares at me. I shift nervously, and I look somewhere else. Anywhere else. The wallpaper is beautiful. The pattern looks like golden laurels. I stare at it to avoid looking at her. "I like your walls." I don't need to look at her to know she is holding in laughter. My palms are sweating. She reaches up, and she gently turns my face toward her. Then she kisses me. I lose myself for a second, and then take another deep breath. I should only be thinking of Rachel, but part of my mind still worries. What happened to you Rhamnusia?
Thoughts of Rhamnusia preoccupied me through ordering dinner, through small talk and through my first glass of wine. Enough that Rachel noticed. Her mood suddenly shifted. I was normally bad at noticing these things unless I knew the person really well, but it was always easy with Rachel. It was if I knew her for years.
"Why are you spacing on me?"
It's too late now. Time to find out if she can really handle being with a super hero.
"I told you that I had a hard time dating before I met you, right? But I didn't tell you why. There is this villain..." I pause, the word villain wasn't right. "well, she's more of an anti-hero." I glance at Rachel. She's frowning. I can tell that I need to explain a little faster. "She tends to target corrupt people in power, including heroes. For some reason, she's always been a little preoccupied with me. Almost all my dates until I met you were interrupted by her." This face, was it shock? No, it's amusement. Her eyebrow is raised, and there is a glimmer in her eye.
"I see. If she is targeting you, does that mean your not the clean cut hero you seem to be?" I felt my stomach twist, and it must have shown on my face. I distract myself by staring into my wine.
"No, I... I mean, I trust a little too easily." I sigh, trying to expel my shame. "We first encountered each other four years ago. I was working with the NYPD to put down down a criminal syndicate that was selling guns to street level thugs using a furniture business as cover. The operation went sideways, they knew we were coming. A bomb went off when we breached the office where we thought the paper trail would be. A lot of people got hurt. I realized that several of the people I considered allies in the NYPD were involved, and that they had meant to kill me during the op."
I glance at her. Her smile is gone. Her face was carved from stone. I swallow hard, and I continue.
"I won't lie, I went off the deep end. My buddy O'Shea died in the blast. He was a good man. He worked really hard to make SWAT, and he was intent on moving up. He wanted to fix the system from the inside. He had plans, ya know? He also had kids. Those kids now had no father. I grew up like that. I know what that does to someone."
I haven't told her about my childhood, and I can hear her shift in her seat. I take a sip of wine, and I look her in the eyes.
"I... was beating the information out of a cop I thought was dirty when she showed up. She didn't say anything. She just took me down, and she left me there."
Rachel's eyes narrow, and she tips her head to the side. "I am surprised to hear you say that, according to reports, you've never been beaten in a fight. How could anyone withstand your power?"
I couldn't help it. A deep laugh escapes me. A belly laugh that is very much part of my persona. One that usually conveys confidence, but right now I only felt dismay. "I can't hit the woman." Rachel's eyes narrow to a glare, and I wave my hands in front of me. "No, no, don't look at me like that. It's not that I won't hit her, but I literally can't hit her. She is an expert martial artist, and she can turn into some sort of mist." I watch her relax, and I look back down at my wine.
"I don't talk about our fights to the press, or to anyone really. It feels too personal. The press wouldn't want to hear it anyway. Most of the other heroes have fed the press stories that paint Rhamnusia as a true villain. Like when Brandon Little, the Brooklyn Bridge Bomber, escaped. Remember how he went to that Louie's Pizza on East 23rd, and he was threatening the blow the place unless they handed over 'the kids they kept in the basement'?"
Rachel, her face softer now, slowly nodded.
"The guy was going to blow the place, and there were all these people inside. We were all across the street, debating how we were going to get them out. We had a plan, but I wasn't confident we could pull it off. It also involved me taking out Brandon, and it didn't sit right. While we sat on our hands, Rhamnusia slipped in. She engaged him in conversation, and she talked him down. I heard the whole thing. He was about to give up. Then Hotshot moved in, and the rest of us after him. Rhamnusia took Hotshot down, and I managed to take down Brandon without hurting him. Afterward Hotshot made her out to be in on it, and he the press used pieces of the audio from Rhamnusia conversation with Brandon to 'prove' it."
Rachel sighs across from me, and she has a troubled look on her face. I smile weakly. "I know, this doesn't depict any of us in a great light. I tried to tell them the truth, but they wouldn't listen." At this Rachel is surprised, I can tell because of this cute noise she makes whenever it happens. "To tell you the truth" I look her dead in the eyes now. That wry grin is back on her face. "I leaked the whole audio files onto the internet not long after. I couldn't counteract the damage done by the press, but I think it helped some."
Her eyes widen, and her mouth opens. She looks confused and disturbed a moment. Then she tips her head to the side. When she speaks it is harsh and familiar. "Those files were leaked in a Rhamnusia fan forum by it's chief moderator." My mouth goes dry. Why does she know that? How does she know that. I am making noises. Uh's and ah's. I look back to my wine, and I can feel the heat spread to my cheeks.
"I thought you didn't know much about heroes or villains." I looked up to meet her hard stare, and I forced the words out of my mouth. "I started those forums. I have a hard time reading people, but once I get to know them, I feel can understand them better than most. It's easier for me online. I started the forums to gather information on her from people around the city, but I never expected to make contact with her directly." I sigh. "Rhamnusia is impulsive, uncooperative and unyielding. She is way too empathetic, and she sometimes finds herself on the wrong side of things. But she isn't a bad person. I don't understand why she is so hostile to me in particular. I'd love to ask her someday"
|
The ride over to where we had agreed to have dinner was silent; awkward. The perfect mood for me to fidget, get nervous, and reminisce about how we got to this point.
I should probably start from the beginning. I'm Artemis Rhaedol, that one person that runs Rhaedol Repairs and in general fixes everyone's computers every time they click on a link in their email and download a virus, and other small things. Surprisingly lucrative, you'd be shocked at the kinds of dumb things people do to their computers and how much money they'll throw at the problem to make it go away. It's enough to get me by my day-to-day expenses. But it's not enough to fulfill my more... exotic desires. My theoretical physics desires. My, "Let's see what happens when I start playing around with the Higgs field in my basement," kind of desires. Which is why I also run a side gig building such wacky, physics-bending tools. I get paid truly stupid amounts of money to work on my passion, and all I need to do is not ask questions. It's been enough for the public to question about some Tinkerer supervillain. Completely ludicrous, I must say, but setting them straight would be bad for business.
Then, I met *her*.
I didn't think much of her when I first laid eyes on her, truth be told. Oh, sure, she was a looker as you'd probably expect, it seems like having a body that just wasn't *fair* was all but a requirement of being a superhero, but when I first saw her on the news I figured she'd just be some ditzy girl with naive delusions of making the city safe one super-strong punch at a time. But then she came in to my shop, needed me to recover some corrupted data. We talked the whole time, we hit it off, and I'd enjoyed myself the most I had in years. So, you can imagine my disappointment when she mentioned her current beau, and my shock to discover that she was currently dating one of my most loyal customers - and I'm not talking of my computer repair services. Naturally, there was only one thing to do. Trying to be both a good friend who didn't want their new pal horribly murdered, while also not wanting to breach the confidentiality I promise my customers, I threw on some spandex and a wig and messed it all up.
Hey, nobody's ever accused me of being normal, you hear?!
It was a couple months later when she showed up in my shop again, this time for checking her computer for a bug her most recent ex had probably put on it. I didn't quite ask her how the hell she hadn't realized she'd been systematically dating nearly every villain in the city, but it was a near thing. As super-smart as she claimed to be, she had the common sense of an overripe pineapple. Of course, this is also the city that can't see through her brilliant disguise of sunglasses and a bad hair dye job, so what do I know?
So the fact that she asked me to dinner that night should've probably been the hint I needed to run.
But no, here I am, pulling up to the restaurant. I could see her in my rearview mirror; I'd tried to get here before her, but traffic was bad enough it *almost* made me atomize it. But, still, that was enough of work, enough of my other work, and there was no chance of a spandex-wearing weirdo ruining the night. I mean, *I'm* the spandex-wearing weirdo, and it's my night! Surely, this'll be a first date that I don't manage to screw up, right?
Ah, who am I kidding?
| 2020-08-03T01:04:13 | 2020-08-03T00:04:36 | 22 | 13 |
[WP] Everyone knows the Grim Reaper, the personification of Death. You are the supernatural personification of the other certainty in life: Taxes
|
Her father’s eyes were glazed, like little blue puddles with a thin layer of winter ice frozen over them. They looked idly down at his knees, at his worn brown trousers.
“What happened to you, Dad? How could things change this quickly?”
She hadn’t expected an answer, or even recognition of the question. But for half-a-second, life seemed to return to the old man. The ice cracked and his eyes looked first to her, then to some place far beyond. “The taxman,“ he said. “He catches up with everyone, eventually.”
”Dad?”
He leaned back in his chair and again stared at his knees, the cold and silent ice returning to his eyes.
\*
If he could have sifted through his memories, filed them in the correct order, and communicated them as a story to his daughter, he would have told her something more. Told her what happened the day his memory started to rot.
He would have explained to her how, nearly a year ago, a man in a suit — but with practically no face — turned up unannounced at his apartment.
There had been a knock at the door. He’d ignored it initially, continuing with his crossword instead. But another, louder knock, followed, and then one louder still, this a continuous, thunderous rapping on the wood. As if that first mild knock had been only a ripple of water, a warning to those on the beach that a tsunami was soon to hit.
“*Yes*?” he said, rather belligerently, as he yanked open the door.
The suited man looked up. Or rather, his head moved up from a bowed position. In truth he couldn’t look at all as had no eyes with which to look with. He had no hair either. Not even eyebrows. No mouth. No ears. Just pale, taut skin, like leather pulled fast over a drum.
The old man stumbled back. Was it Halloween tonight? That must surely be it. Except, it was September, wasn’t it? He never forgot the day’s date and today was the seventh.
The faceless man stepped into his apartment, past the stunned man. He removed a pad of paper from his jacket, along with a pen. A minute later, he’d scribbled down a note and torn the page away from the pad. He pushed the piece of paper into the old man’s chest.
The page read as follows:
*> Daniel, you have had an exceptional life. An idyllic childhood with kind parents and good education. No loss of loved ones, only an amicable divorce leading to happy, separate lives. You have three wonderful children whom you love and who love you in return. You have always worked a job you enjoyed, and you retired with more money than you know how to spend. You have never had a major health issue, mental or physical. You have never considered yourself depressed, always living in the moment and never the past.*
*> Sadly — and such is human life — a happy life must be taxed. How you avoided me for so long, whether by accident or good fortune, I don’t know. But even you must have sensed that you‘d escaped the bad unnaturally long. Well I am sorry to say that I have come for all the payments you have thus far missed.*
Strangely, bizarrely even, Daniel wasn’t scared by the time he’d finished reading the letter. Instead, there was an odd feeling swimming in his chest. Like when you’ve been underwater for a long time and all the breath in your lungs has been used up and you need to reach the surface to refill.
The letter was right. He *had* lived a charmed, lucky, blessed life. A happy life. A life perhaps too good to be true.
And occasionally — and he’d not realised what the feeling was until this moment — through his life, he’d glimpsed a darkness on the peripheral horizon. A storm brewing at the very distant edge of the blue ocean. When he thought he was about to see the storm, he’d shiver and turn away, look instead at the coast and smile.
Deep down, he’d always known that storm was coming. There‘d been a primordial fear in his gut that only now he realised was of this taxman. A sort of karma collector that he’d been avoiding. Not on purpose, he didn’t think. Although, perhaps it had been?
What a relief, in a way, that he’d finally been caught.
The taxman handed him a second, final note.
*> You are made of memories, as are all humans. You are a face carved in a rock, shaped by everything you have ever done, everyone you have ever met. That is who you are. You have been sculpting this figure all your life, although you have not known it. Now, I must take it. I must chip away at the rock, crack it and crumble it, take down what is you.*
\*
​
Tillie waited a while but Dad was now firmly silent. He’d fallen back into his own world far away from hers. A world she could never enter, but sometimes — for seconds at a time — he could leave.
He left it less frequently each day, it seemed. Hopefully he was happy there.
“Happy birthday, Pa,” Tillie said, tying the string of a balloon to the back of his armchair. It bobbed there with more life than her father showed. He was only seventy today. Tillie didn’t consider it old, not really. Some people lived to a hundred.
But he was old. Beyond old. He hadn’t aged consistently and had been very fortunate until recently. Now there had been a deep pothole on the road of age he’d been travelling down
At least he’d lived a good life. A lucky life. Even if it had all caught up with him in such a short space of time.
She sighed, leaned down to kiss his cheek.
There was tear sitting there on that leathery wrinkled skin.
A single tear resting on his cheek.
“You okay, Pa?”
Of course, he didn’t reply. He was lost exploring the far stars of his mind. Not in the storm he’d worried waited for him, but in someplace more pleasant.
She kissed his cheek and left.
That was about an hour ago.
I remain here still, however, watching the old man from an armchair across the home’s sitting room.
He’s still lucky, in my opinion. To have a daughter who loves him as much as she does. And two other children who visit him almost as often.
None want me to come take their father, and yet somewhere deep down they all hope I soon do. Humans are full of contradictions like that.
They needn’t worry, because soon I will take him. Another month, I think. Soon they won’t have to visit that almost shapeless stone inside his mind. Soon he will come with me and I will reshape him, bring back the best parts of him.
The taxman has been. Has collected his debt.
Now, I’m all that is left.
|
My brother, the Grim Reaper, is well known. Feared, respected, his black mantle and scythe recognized without a doubt. Across history, there have been some imposters, those who sought to capitalize on my brother's reputation, but they were quickly... dealt with. Being the younger brother by around a millennia, I decided to rebel against the cloak/robe and instrument of power vibe that my family had been using since before the humans discovered fire. Don't get me wrong, mum rocked the white robe, but then again, I'm sure life would look good no matter what. I'm Tax, and any puns about my job being taxing, and I'll schedule you an appointment with my brother, Grim. He's actually lovely, and people misunderstand him. I, however, am deceptively, elegantly deadly. Death and Taxes are the two certainties of life, but I pride myself on being the more painful. Oh sure, sure, there can be pain in death, but if you think about alllll the time spent suffering over numbers, letters, forms unfilled, jargon and litigation the likes of which hell has barely seen, you'll agree that I have caused more pain. After all, even if they're joking, many humans have been recorded saying they'd rather encounter my brother, than stay with me. Logical, analytical, omnipresent and resented by many, I pride myself on being weilded by goverments, particularly when some people try to avoid me. Oh, sure, people successfully avoid financial tax, all the time. The rich get richer, or so it goes. The beautiful thing about the way I do things, though, is that there is always a price. Whatever you've done, however you feel about it... I've made a note in my ledger, and be sure, you'll be taxed, one way or another..
| 2021-07-04T09:33:39 | 2021-07-04T06:28:00 | 840 | 42 |
[WP] The prophecy said that the king would meet his end, not by an enemy or uprising, but by his own child. Having heard enough of these stories, the king raises all of his kids as well as he can and decides to see how the fates play this one out
|
Though their methods may take time, our seers are flawless and so because of this it has been a requirement for many generations now that each ruler is told his end. I can't say I truly wanted to know, all those years ago, but I understood that it was my duty. Some rulers had found out the rough year and been able to prepare their successor all the better thanks to knowing when their time would come. Other times no timing was given but the details were still invaluable - one queen was killed in a war which we only had time to prepare for thanks to the seers. She died, but hundreds lived who would otherwise have perished.
Weeks after their rituals had started, the seers finally sent word to the castle. I went alone and I was disturbed when the seer I spoke to couldn't meet my eyes. I should have known then that my end was to be particularly bad but the news that it was to be at the hands of one of my own made me suddenly struggle to stand. I had only two children, gifts from my true love before she'd passed. They were so young and innocent that I couldn't imagine either growing to be a killer.
Of course I was asked what the prophecy said, but I simply refused to answer. I'd made up my mind before even leaving the temple that fates be damned, I would never treat my children any differently as a result of what I'd just heard. I didn't ever want to burden them with what I knew and so I made the decision to keep it a secret from everyone.
I was not thought of well for that particular decision but I would rather be a good father than a good king.
Originally I thought that my eldest would be the easiest to give a good life. The kingdom would be his some day and though the thought that he might murder me to get it did cross my mind in dark moments it turns out I had no need to fear that. It turned out that he had no designs for the throne at all. Ever. He came to me with this issue himself and I had to admire the courage it had taken, no matter how surprising the revelation had been.
Documents were written up during my lifetime so that any ruler who had no desire for a kingdom which was legally theirs could waive their right to do so. I discussed this matter with both my son and my advisors and together we reached the conclusion that this must all be done openly, with full knowledge of my subjects. Any secrecy would mean that my son would still have to pretend to one day rule, which he would surely resent, and that other political powers would feel tricked after my death, putting the kingdom in peril and my daughter with it.
My daughter was more than willing to accept a future as ruler. A serious, even tempered woman, she will make a fine queen one day. And yet ensuring she had a happy life was far more challenging than simply rewriting centuries of legal precedent.
At the age of ten it became apparent that my daughter possessed certain gifts. Magic had been outlawed until only the reign before my own and many still feared it. Even worse, her talents were especially strong when it came to mind telepathy and telekinesis. Once again I had to make the awkward decision whether to act privately and publicly.
I think she'd have forgiven me if I'd chosen to keep her gifts secret. Understood even, perhaps. But she shouldn't have to hide and so I worked tirelessly to create a world in which she didn't. Mages were brought into the court both to tutor her and act as official advisors. Covertly, mages taught me how to defend my secrets from magical means without ever knowing which specific secret I most needed kept hidden. Discussions as to how magic could be perceived of better and helped the kingdom began tentatively at first but as the years progressed the changes became more astounding and attitudes towards magic became more resolutely positive.
My daughter would be the first queen who could use magic and my son would be the first direct heir who was under no obligation to rule and astoundingly my kingdom was finally in agreement that these were both good things.
Perhaps I had grown foolish in my old age but this past year I had begun to believe that the seers were wrong about me. They had no previous failures but my children were so happy and so loved that I thought I would be the first.
Then one day everything went black.
The integration of magic had meant that we could diagnose things unerringly but it did not yet mean that we could cure them all. The disease which grabbed me is fatal and it is not painless. My daughter was crying before we were even told and I thought then that she'd used her powers to diagnose me before our healers had even gotten a chance. Not quite. The three of us were left alone to process the news and it was then that my daughter spoke.
"I read your mind, when you were unconscious. I didn't mean to but I just wanted to know what was wrong with you. Instead of finding your illness I got all of your thoughts and memories. Even your secrets."
She looked so guilty and I wanted to comfort her but even the slightest movement was excruciating.
"I know that you think one of us will kill you, that that's what the seers told you." My son jolted with surprise at this. "And I just want you to know... they're right. Not because you didn't love us enough though but because you loved us *perfectly.*"
My daughter scrunched up her face in that peculiar mix of sorrow at what comes next and joy at what has been. It took a moment before she could continue.
"Anyone else would have heard that prophecy and jumped at our every move. Or worse - ended us before we could lift a hand to you. But instead you gave us a world where there was no suffering that could be avoided. And even though it hurts we would be amiss if we failed to do you the same kindness."
I smiled at my beautiful children but they were blurry and my head was full of pain. Even though it seemed I'd barely been awake I felt so very tired.
In what will be my last conscious moments both children took it in turn to gently kiss me on the cheek. And when exhaustion takes me and I drift off one of them will kill me, just as the seers had predicted.
Not out of hatred though.
Out of love.
|
I screwed up. Oh man, I screwed up.
The doctor told us Father was still so weak, we might have to say our goodbyes soon. My older sisters, Elizabeth and Margaret, began to weep harder as my eldest brother, Jonathan, demanded the doctor to find out what caused Father to fall so gravely ill.
My stomach churned as guilt ate me away, my body shaking with grief and fear. I learned about the prophecy last month, my siblings and I vowed never to hurt Father. He was a great king and a loving father. He loves us all equally, taught us the laws of the land. He cares deeply.
But I accidentally broke that vow. I didn’t know he was highly allergic to strawberries. I’m sure he didn’t know either. When I finally got Jonathan, Father was unconscious. He was already near death’s door when the doctor arrived.
I can’t tell them. They will never know. Nobody has to know. I didn’t kill my Father, the king. I didn’t. I didn’t fulfill a cursed prophecy.
| 2022-01-28T16:37:22 | 2022-01-28T13:52:29 | 140 | 68 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years.
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I'd gone to church every week, sometimes I'd gone a few times a week, especially during Easter. I'd served the poor, the indigent, and I'd gone out on the streets and tended to the sick, just like my brethren and the rest of my church. I was only one of them, one of the many. Average. My service of others had caused me to travel, and my travels had taken me to all the low places of this world, from the slums to the gutters of the poorest cities in the world. Everywhere I had gone, I had helped those who fell under my care. Now, after a life where I had dedicated myself to the service of others, to the ending of the suffering of others, to the helping of others, I had died. It hadn't been an unpleasant death, and my family was by my side right at the end. I hadn't seen them much, and they hadn't bothered to come and visit me after I'd stopped being as mobile, and I could no longer go and visit them. They had finally made an effort, and I judged that they did seem glad to see me, and as I closed my eyes that final time and felt a wave of peace descend on me I knew I was going to go where I deserved to be, where all my service to others would be rewarded.
I became aware again. I knew I was dead with none of the panicked or frenzied feelings I had had in my living body. I was here. It was my reality. I was calm. My life and my actions were a tapestry before me. I saw the warp and weft of my activities before me, and I could see how my will had driven me all over the world, and how I had at some level knowingly performed every action, even the small, subconscious, seemingly involuntary movements. There they were, laid out and ready for inspection, and I would be judged for my actions and what my actions had wrought. My awareness widened, and I slowly became aware that I was not alone, there were other souls here, and each was standing in front of his or her or its tapestry, though I knew somehow that the analogy of a tapestry was my own particular view of my life, prepared for me to understand what was and what had been and preparing me for judgment.
I front of me, I saw a man, and his tapestry was not nearly as detailed as mine, and by looking at it I could understand that he had a child, and a wife, and that his love of his wife had faded, and his love of his job had faded, and the loss of love of those around him had driven him to acts which when he had gotten married he would not have even contemplated. His pathetic sexual acts with women, which were embarrassing in their luridness, with his balls slapping against the thighs of middle-aged and uninterested prostitutes were there for all to see. Like me, he didn't seem scared or upset, he just looked at his tapestry and waited. I looked at a small corner of his tapestry, close to the bottom right, and I could see in the detail that he'd died of a heart attack on the way to work, driving, and he'd caused the death of others. I could see he was blameless in this incident. It made perfect sense that his heart attack was involuntary, and he'd never intended to hurt others in his final moments. Looking at his furtive copulation with prostitutes, I realised that it wasn't his wife who had suffered as a result of his actions; she'd never found out. His child had never found out either. His sins had inflicted misery on those prostitutes and on himself, and I could see his future laid out ahead of him. He knew as I knew that he was being judged. All who were here knew that while time had no meaning here, it still existed. Eventually, once you'd understood what you had done and you had atoned for your actions in your previous life, you would be able to ascend, to complete your journey and go to Heaven. For this man, his time of suffering, contemplating his actions was only 145 years. You could see it as plain as day, right there, and it was apparent. 145 years. I knew without thinking that I could inspect every act he'd inflicted on himself and others that had earned him those 145 years; from the infidelity which had caused him suffering, and to the suffering he had caused others. He'd been judged.
In an almost leisurely manner, I realised it was my turn, and with some interest, detached, but yet there, I could see others had turned their view of the world to me and my actions. I saw my tapestry fill my vision, and I began to see that my future in this place would not be short, and it would not be simple, and my suffering would be great. My faith was absolute, and my service had been to others, and my faith had been anchored to a belief in helping others, and alleviating suffering, but my selfless acts had not been so selfless. I looked at the tapestry and saw a trip I had made to India where I had tended to the sick. Every morning I would leave the shared accommodation which I slept with my brethren, and we would go and find the sick, the poor and feed those we could, and tend to those too sick to eat. I saw my failing gradually, that I was helping them, but not caring. My care was for myself, for the glory of self. I saw that every child I fed, every person I helped was nothing to me, and their faces barely registered. It was all there; every action was to glorify me, to glorify no-one but myself.
Those poor souls I helped were helped as a side-effect, and my balance was alleviated by the actions I had performed, but in reality, not by much. The helping of others was a means to an end, but the real recipient was me. It was all me. Everytime I felt pride that I had scraped my knees helping others, I was glorifying me. All the times I was doing all those supposedly self-less acts, I was serving my self. I had failed my own moral compass.
And then I saw my family, and how I had caused them suffering, how my sanctimonious, pompous and self-inflated sense of self had caused them years of suffering. My wife had kept quiet, but now looking at the tapestry, I saw that she neither obtained relief from my presence when I was there, nor by my absence when I was gone. Her guilt that she should have done something to make her worthy of me had caused her suffering. Why had I not ever shown her a fraction of the care I had provided to strangers in foreign lands, and people who had never asked anything of me? I realised that my actions had caused my wife untold suffering. I saw my final moments in my bed, and realised that her eyes and the eyes of everyone around me were finally hopeful. The judgement and suffering at my hands would end, soon.
186,292 years. I deserved it. I had to learn how to serve others. I knew that now. In this place, where knowledge and self-awareness were free and provided, that the lesson would be long. I had never learned the lesson on Earth, and before I went to Heaven, I would learn the lesson here, in my own personal Hell. I would relive every one of my acts, see the falsity of my intentions, and trace the misery I had caused my family and supposed loved ones.
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One could've heard a pin drop, provided the pin wouldn't immediately liquidate and disappear into the suffocating humidity of this divine DMV. I blinked a couple times at the number on the dated 80's era Linux machine and back to the impatient elderly demon peering over her ironic horn-rimmed glasses across my face. Heaven had already called dibs on the Microsoft software upon Bill Gates' passing, and rumor had it Satan had a weird thing about apples, so old school was the eternal school in this place.
​
"That doesn't make any sense to me!" I cried out, pointing wildly at the screen, "I got a good education, I donated to Wikipedia every time the donation box popped up, I was faithful to my wife," I redirected my finger toward the balding-in-denial head walking toward the Purgatory gates, "Unlike Captain Copulation over there, I didn't even skim on my taxes!" Rolling her eyes to the back of her horns, the Receptionist of Darkness pulled out a form titled "*Appeal of Sentence*" and slid it across the counter top. My eyes scanned over it, and there was my name and: **Sentence = 186,292 years.** There were three lines at the bottom where I was encouraged to state my case of appeal.
​
"*Fill out Items 1A, 4B, 666H, and Letters L-X,*" said the ancient sadist with smugness dripping off her forked tongue. Disdainfully, I folded the paper and put in my pocket to continue my plea directly.
​
"This is absurd! I went to church every day, goddamnit!"
***186,283***
"*To file your appeal, please stand in that line over there."* She stabbed her pitchfork-shaped pen toward a different line that I watched wrap literally around the diameter of Hell and back again.
"Jesus Christ, are you kidding me?"
***186,284***
"*No sir, once you deposit your form, you may take a seat,"* I didn't even have to look to deduce the spikes on top of the chairs, "*And wait to be called upon."*
"GodDAMNit."
***186,285***
| 2018-09-26T08:34:25 | 2018-09-26T07:48:10 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] You are mimic. You refuse to use that old trick with chest shape, instead you replaced door in simple house, where owner feeds you delicious fresh rats every day. In exchange you keep the house safe. After all, no bad guy expects door to punch them...
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"Oh, I wouldn't do that if I was you, miss!" a low, wheezy voice called from behind Samira.
She whirled, long slender daggers appearing in her hands as if by magic. Across the alleyway that ran behind the row of houses, the was a pile of rags and refuse -- or rather, what she had initially mistaken for one.
She now realized it was, in fact, an ancient beggar, clad in rags, and so covered in filth that he blended in with pile of trash he was huddled in almost perfectly. She also noted that he seemed to be missing both legs below the knee.
Noticing that last detail, she relaxed, and sheathed her weapons. He clearly wasn't the owner of the house she'd been breaking into, or even a servant. Moreover, between his barely audible wheeze of a voice and his lack of legs, he wouldn't be either running or calling for help, even were he so inclined. She didn't expect a wretched crippled beggar, squatting in filth and garbage right outside the back door of a wealthy house like this one, would be terribly eager to protect the house's occupants from a bit of thievery.
She took a few steps towards him. "And why is that, old man?"
He flashed a gap-toothed smile, and extended a palm expectantly.
Samira smirked. She could appreciate his hustle, and so she flicked the man a gold coin. He caught it deftly for one so withered, and bit it with one of his remaining teeth.
"Bless ya, young miss." He wheezed, inspecting the coin happily. He cleared his raspy throat, and continued. "The *reason* that I wouldn't be doin' that if I was you, is that there's the 'ouse of a wizard!"
She snorted. "You're lucky I paid you in advance, beggar. I *know* that. But Alzamir had many homes, in many cities. He hasn't been seen at this one in over a decade, as hasn't been seen anywhere at all, in the past few years. He's probably dead. Hence, this place is ripe for the looting."
"Ah, but you know wizards, miss!" the beggar pointed out. "Could be as he's got traps, magical wards or the like, for one. For another, I 'appen to know ol' Alzamir 'ad a *special* protection for this particular 'ouse!"
Samira frowned. "Traps and wards I came prepared for, but what's this 'special' protection?"
The old beggar grinned again, and extended his hand.
She sighed, and tossed him another coin.
He caught it, and gave it same bite treatment. "Divine smile on ya, miss, may 'e smile real big!" he said. "The *special* protection is this. Ya see, once, long ago, when the wizard went out adventurin', 'e encounter a treasure chest that were *really* a monstrous chest-mimic, disguised as a treasure chest!"
Samira shrugged. "That's a hazard of looking for loot in old caves and tombs instead of finding it in a rich tosser's *house,* like a normal person. What's the relevance?"
"Well, 'e and his companions slew the mimic, o' course, but then they noticed a poor l'il snuffbox in the corner, cryin' fer its mam." The beggar explained, wheezily. "Alzamir took pity on the baby mimic, and took it 'home to raise it as 'is own."
Samira frowned, and nodded. "I see where you're going with this. You're saying one of the chests in this house is that mimic, all grown up?"
The beggar shook his head, vigorously. "No, that ain't it! See, I reckon this mimic got smarter n' most, livin' with a wizard an' all. Once it growed big enough, this mimic decided that rather than just bein' a decoy chest to gobble up thieves that happened to try to steal from it, e'd turn 'imself into a *door,* and protect the most vulnerable entrance to the 'ouse, so thieves wouldn't get inside in the first place!"
Samira raised an eyebrow. "And how exactly would you know all this?"
The beggar let out a bitter, cackling laugh. "Let's just say...there was once a young 'ousebreaker like yourself, who thought to try 'is hand at stealin' from a wizard. An' after the wizard's door knocked him down and *bit off 'is legs,* the wizard 'imself showed up and told 'im the story of 'ow that particular portal came to be so viciously defensive, while the poor young feller were still layin' on the cobblestones writhin' and screamin'."
Samira felt a chill run down her spine. She glanced back at the door. She'd just finished *picking the lock* when the beggar interrupted her. Surely a mimic couldn't shapeshift into a door well enough to have a working lock. Could it? Stepping a bit further away from the door, she drew her long, thin rapier, and used the tip to push it open.
It creaked slowly inward.
"Oh, I wouldn't do that, miss! Bless my soul, but I wouldn't!" the beggar warned, looking horrified.
She hesitated, but then turned back to the door, continuing to push it before her with her extended sword. She stepped inside the house, and then gave the door a shove with the rapier. It swung all way around, until the knob tapped the wall behind it. Rather than sprouting a set of bludgeoning pseudopods and a toothy maw, it remained a simple door. Samira smirked, and turned back around.
"You almost had me going for a--" she froze.
Where the old beggar had been sitting, there was instead an old man in long gray robes, with a long white beard. He had the distant, unearthly look in his eyes that marked an Arch-mage, a wizard so old and powerful, that his mind had become an alien and inscrutable thing, that seemed mad to most ordinary people. He smiled at Samira, in a way that seemed neither pleasant nor cruel, merely passively serene.
"The story about the housebreaker was true, you know! Well, he didn't *survive* long enough for me to tell him any stories, mind you, but it was true otherwise. Of course, that happened *many* years ago. My dear mimic has honed and refined its polymorphic skills, as well as *grown* a great deal, since then."
Before Samira could react, the door she'd just entered through slammed shut of its own accord.
"Now," Alzamir mumbled thoughtfully, strolling down the alleyway, and ignoring the sounds of screaming and crunching from inside his "house". "What *was* I doing, before all that nonsense?"
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When Mr. Kevin said I should take shape of a chest, my response was "no."
“I refuse, Mr. Kevin. For I have better idea.”
The intruders will expecting chest. Instead I become door. Door to room in this simple house where wife’s jewellery is kept.
But Mr. Kevin was insist on the chest.
“I insist on the chest,” he said.
“I refuse the chest,” I replied.
“But on the chest I insist.”
“I refuse the chest and become the door. As the door, you will feed me rats.”
“I am now convinced of the door.”
I am mimic for hire that eats rats. Mr. Kevin was burgled by men in black masks and hired me assist with security of his simple home. He was pleased I ate rats as there many rats in the attic.
The first night, no men came.
The second night, a man came when Mr. Kevin was away, but it was only friend of Mrs. Kevin.
The third night, this same man came again.
Same man the fourth night.
Mr. Kevin came back the fifth night, and fed me three fresh and delicious rats. Mrs. Kevin’s friend did not.
The sixth night, the men in black masks came. When they came to jewellery room, I punched them in their faces. These men had never been punched by a door. When they realised it was a door punched them, they fed me rats. I then became the door on ensuite bathroom. When Mr. Kevin went bathroom in the morning, I punched him. Mr. Kevin was more surprised than the men in black masks to be punched by door, but he did not feed me rats. Instead he asked me to leave.
I left with the men and they asked I help them by becoming many doors in exchange for many rats. I am now criminal mimic specialise in doors and punching many people in their faces.
*The End*
| 2022-04-26T17:40:02 | 2022-04-26T15:55:05 | 93 | 47 |
[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."
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Edit: Part Two is in the comments and further updates can be found at r/Greeneggsandspam555
My parents had been surprised, at first, when they realized I could speak Spanish to my nanny as well as I could speak English.
"She must have a gift," said my mom. My Dad wasn't as pleased. He thought I was being influenced too much by Mrs. Reyes and promptly let her go. Since then, I had always taken it for granted that I automatically spoke to the gardener and the cashier in Spanish. My Mom was impressed that I had retained so much from my toddler years. We had learned not talk about it with Dad.
In high school, I decided to take Spanish as an easy elective, but I found that I couldn't even remember how to say "How are you?" when I was with my teach, Mrs. Nelson. She was tall with a severely cut white-blonde bob and seemed to hand out C's and D's gleefully. She had learned Spanish as a missionary in Guatemala, and a part of me felt like she was saying it all wrong. Who would have been able to catch her faking it in this town? Just about everyone was the same here: white and English speaking. Another part of me knew that she couldn't have gotten licensed to teach Spanish if she didn't speak it, which lead to a weirder question: why couldn't I remember a single word when I was around her?
Things started to get a lot weirder when I took my Spanish homework to our gardener, Carlos, for help. He seemed puzzled when I handed him my worksheet and asked for help. "Oh Jessie," he said "It's been so long since I took Spanish I don't think I can help." I didn't know what to say for a few seconds. We were *speaking* in Spanish. Weren't we? I knew we weren't speaking English.
"Ummm..." I stammered "What language are we speaking then?"
Carlos started laughing. "How can you not know what language we're speaking? I'm from the Philippines , Jess, I speak Tagalog. How did you learn it if you don't even know what it's called?"
That was the questions I started asking myself over and over again. I started to stitch together a weak, but plausible answer. Carlos had been the gardener since I was six. I must have just learned it from him. A Google search told me that the vocabulary was influenced by English and Spanish. I must have been able to understand enough of the words to just guess the rest in the beginning and eventually I learned the rest by practicing.
Our town was small and monolingual enough that I almost could have gotten through high school without realizing if it hadn't been for Selim, the Turkish exchange student. When I automatically started speaking Turkish with him, I stopped making excuses. There was something going on that was really weird, and if there was one thing I didn't want to be in high school, it was weird. So I dropped out of Spanish and started avoiding Selim. I even started coming into my house through a different door so I didn't run into Carlos in the garden.
I was able to easily avoid speaking anything but English, until the Saturday my Dad took me to McDonalds. It was a strange thing for him to do. He rarely showed any interest in me and he openly despised fast food. I thought we were going to just go through the drive through, but instead he parked and we walked inside. As soon as I got inside I noticed one of the cashiers. She looked about six feet tall, for one thing, but there was another thing about her that I couldn't quite figure out. For some reason I just wanted to stare.
When it came time to order my Dad ordered a double cheeseburger and an extra large soda. Another time, I would have been questioning when my dad started eating burgers or drinking soda. However, the tall girl was the one taking our order, and I was having a hard time paying attention to anything but her. I realized both the girl and my Dad were staring at me, waiting.
"Umm.... can I get fries?" Is what I meant to say, but what came out of my mouth was something else entirely. It sounded more like a series of grunts and clicks than a language.
"Stop goofing around Jessica!" my Dad said. "There are people waiting."
But it was the girl's reaction that scared me. Her happy how-can-I-help-you face had turned into something else entirely. She glared at me intensely, eyebrows furrowed, lips pulled down into an angry frown.
"Can I get fries," I tried to whisper but the strange sounds came out of my mouth again. I turned to my Dad, "Can you order the fries for me," I said "I need to go to the bathroom."
He seemed too dumbstruck to be angry, so I power-walked from the line to the restroom, where I found an open stall and sat. What had just happened? And why had that girl been angry about it?
I couldn't sit in the bathroom forever, so eventually I got up, went to the sink, and started washing my hands. I looked in the mirror, and I realized I wasn't alone. That girl was standing in the corner staring at me. We both stood in silence while I continued to wash my hands. Was I supposed to break the silence? What was she doing here?
"What are you doing here?" She finally said, in English.
"My Dad brought me," I said, but of course it came out in more clicks and grunts.
"Stop, please."
"I can't"
She just stared for a few seconds. I couldn't tell if she was angry or confused.
"I'm sorry I don't know what is happening, I can't control it." I added
"Just speak English, they have spies everywhere," she paused before adding, "unless you are a spy."
"I'm not!" I interjected quickly "I don't even know what's going on. I've never told anyone this before, but I just speak other languages, I guess, I mean... I don't know anything about it."
"That's hard to believe," she said "But, on the other hand. You aren't one of us. You're too small, for one thing. Just, please, don't come here again if you are going to speak The Language."
"What language? What language are we speaking?" I asked
"If you really don't know I can't tell you. But you put both of us in danger when you speak it. Don't come back here. Get your Dad and go."
She left the bathroom and I went and explained to my Dad that I wasn't feeling well and needed to go home as soon as possible. After the antics I had pulled in the line, he wasn't too happy with me, but he was happy to get me out of McDonalds. Some people had heard me and were staring.
As we got into the car I realized that I needed to go back. I needed to speak with that girl again and find out why she couldn't be heard speaking her language. Mostly, though I wanted to figure out how I knew it, how I seemed to know every language, and how I could make it all stop.
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I entered the store,the fresh smell of grease and soggy fries flooding my nose. How the workers endured the smell for more then fifteen minutes I have no clue,not that it mattered to me but it was always the first thing I thought of when I entered.
A few seconds later my nose had adjusted to the smell and so I walked up to the register,a friendly voice spoke in the usual zombified teenage cashier tone. You know the one. “hi,what can I get for you?” I glanced up at the menu for a second,processing all the items, I had decided I was going to get something different to usual but now I was actually ordering? “Uhh. Just a large cheeseburger menu. Meal. I mean meal”
I had tripped over my words. Fantastic. This was honestly not that rare for me. Usually the worker would ignore the mistake and move on... but she was just staring, at first I thought it may have been my clothes or my hair,maybe I had something in my teeth? No no,nothing about me was any different to usual. It took me a second to think about how I spoke. See,I have this odd trick. No matter what language I speak people only hear me in their native tongue. I realised she must’ve been taken aback by this.
It was just after I realised all this she spoke “no one has spoken in that language in thousands of years. It is forbidden to my people” what? What had she said? Forbidden? I tilted my head a little and apologised “sorry,I don’t understand? I asked if I could have a large cheeseburger meal.” her facial expression turned to disgust and she stepped back.
Had I offended her somehow?
Tears began running down her face and she ran out,a coworker yelling for her to come back. Everyone watched and the place went quiet. I began to consider chasing her. The restaurant was making me slightly nauseous,ill admit that but I didnt feel like getting involved in anything today. My conscience got the better of me,I felt bad for making her cry. I started running after her,each foot moving slightly faster then the last.
| 2018-06-24T20:27:36 | 2018-06-24T20:22:38 | 525 | 25 |
[WP] Torture was never invented. Countries instead spoil prisoners like kings to get information out of them. You are an instructor tasked with training spies to resist the enemy's kindness.
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“You have to resist their kindness,” he held a tentative breath in the back of his mouth, readying to trickle the rest out once his student had truly taken his words in it. “Although you won’t recognize it; you won’t understand the kindness for what it truly is until you see *why* for yourself.”
“With all due respect, sir”, her shoulders pushed back, her hands folded neatly on the metal table between them, Aliyah was a beacon of poise and wit in any and every situation her instructor had put before her. “I think I can handle it. I scored starred firsts in every survival course at academy and successfully completed not one, not two, but six extended survival scenarios.”
Sameer picked up the small, off-white paper cup and took a tiny sip of water before setting it back down. The waterline tilted almost imperceptibly during the cup’s rise and fall, quivering with only the faintest vibrations that would disturb its peace as he let it go back onto the table. Whatever experience, whatever composure this woman *thought* she had? Sameer had seen a hundred men and women boast the same before her.
This was not the first time, and this would not be the last.
“Do you know what happens to people who are exposed to the Abel virus, Aliyah?” He posited a question they had covered very early on in her training, but that she was likely to not know any more intimately than a line or two in a textbook. His eyes locked onto her as she processed how their situation was evolving.
“Sir, the virus has a dormant period of 5-10 days before subjects begin showing signs of fever and then pneumonia. As the virus progresses, soft tissue linings begin to break down and subjects begin expelling the telltale coppery mucus commonly associated with the disease. Shortly thereafter, small tumors invade the body.” And she was so very much like the textbook she had read that from.
Aliyah shifted uncomfortably in her chair; there was of course more to the description of the disease. And given her instructor’s unwavering gaze, it was clear he was expecting the rest of it to follow. “End stage results in either rapid calcification of the tumors and recovery, although joint pain is chronic and irreversible. Or,” Her mouth twitched slightly and then pursed. This disease, this horrible disease and great plague of their age had claimed her brother three years prior. It was the entire reason she was *here*. “They continue to grow unchecked, causing severe deformation, dementia, palsy, and a number of other neurological conditions until death.”
Sameer nodded twice, curtly, signifying both his point (although it was yet unstated) and her correct recitation. “Your inoculation, while wildly expensive and very well researched, is not a perfect fix. The isotopes in your blood are filtered out by the body every 60 days or so.”
He rose from his chair and softly, the rubber soles of his boots clomped onto the cold, concrete floor of the training room. Sameer was an intimidating man when he wanted to be - able to impose this...shadow over an entire room or an entire crowd with the simplest tilt of his head and that quiet, slow, confident walk. Even Aliyah felt uncomfortable when he started into it, despite all her training, all the confidence and bravado of her youth.
“If they capture you, the first thing they will do is walk you down a very, *very* long hallway. The doors are open, like cells, but it is no prison. Bed after bed will be full of them as they cough. Some quietly, some loudly.” He had finally reached the window. And although the skies were gray and the clouds were thick, the faint implication of the sun, somewhere up there above it all, brought him the faintest of smiles.
“When the walk is over they will sit you in a room, much like this one,” he turned back to her to make sure she was following him and his words as closely as his own memories did. “And a man, much like me, will join you. He will set a nine millimeter pistol before you, and hold a single bullet out in front of him, and he will say, much like I am…”
The words came back so easily, in his mind, but that didn’t make them any easier to say. Any easier to hear. If he closed his eyes, it was like he was right there again, in that room, with that Lieutenant, with that Beretta glinting up at him beneath the harsh, fluorescent light hanging above the table. “Soldier, you have seen what this virus does. For the safety of all outside, you can never leave this facility alive. Soon, days or maybe weeks, your inoculation will weaken and you will show symptoms. It’s not a question of ‘if’. And if you want to die here, a bloated corpse full of tumors and rot and madness, you can. Or you can tell me what I need to know.”
Where the step of his boot had been heavy and deliberate before, he glided over the concrete to her side with nary a sound. Nothing could overshadow the gravity of this moment. “And then, Aliyah, they will walk you back down to your cell. Every day they will do this, back and forth, seeing each and every one of those beds with victims in them. Some empty yesterday, some full today. Some full yesterday, some empty today. They will sit you down and give you their sales pitch, just as the day before…”
She didn’t sniffle or cry or whimper, and her lip remained perfectly even - his student was holding her poise as well as he ever could have hoped! Especially given her history.
“Until you start coughing up blood.” he spoke into her ear, barely above a whisper, as he crouched down beside her.
“The next day the interrogator will repeat his statement but this time he will set the bullet down on the table, across from you. ‘This is all I can do for you’, he will say. ‘If you tell me what I need to know.’ “
“Aliyah, if you give in, everything that your brother died for, that your friends and your fellow students died for, will be lost.”
“You must not accept their kindness.”
================
EDITS: Had to adjust some small typos and doubled words.
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I could write a lot on this one, but this is what just came to mind... I may try to elaborate more later... I wrote it like a screenplay.
This scene is taking place between a Colonel and his troop in a dungenous basement of a top secret military installation.
Colonel: They’re going to offer you the finest prostitutes the world has ever seen.
Klemper: Will they have teeth?
Colonel: Yes.
Klemper: Holy shit!
Colonel: You must resist these temptations.
A sex doll is wheeled in. Before the Colonel can even address this, Klemper runs over, drops his pants, and begins humping the shit out of it.
Colonel: KLEMPER! Stop that!
Farris: He can’t help it, sir, he’s part dog. On his mother’s side. 25% really. His grandma is a true bitch.
The Colonel stares at Farris.
Farris: Seriously. She once tied me up and smeared grape jelly all over me and tried to do what Klemper’s doing to that doll.
Colonel: He’s penetrating it.
Farris: Exactly, sir.
Colonel: God help us.
| 2016-04-13T07:20:48 | 2016-04-13T07:17:42 | 114 | 13 |
[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.
|
The year was 2045.
A few decades ago, in 2022, US Mars rover Curiosity had finally discovered that the red planet undoubtedly had water and what appeared to be signs of extraterrestrial life. Funding for NASA has skyrocketed and private space companies like Space X have been receiving large sums of money and support. The world is in another Space Race to be the first to see and study alien life in person. Nothing could be more exciting for me or my wife, who happens to be an astronaut with NASA. And today was the day she and her crew were set to make their journey to our spacial neighbor. So many emotions were running through me that I had almost showed up late to the launch site.
After passing through all the security and making my way inside to mission control center I found my wife. It was pretty easy finding her amongst the sea of people. The red beam that connected all people to their soul mates seemed to shine brighter than ever that day. No one else on earth, at least that I know of, can see these lights. She was always so surprised when I could find her so quickly. It made our games of hide and seek completely unfair when we were kids growing up. I always just played it off as my "superior seeking skills" to try and impress her. Which always resulted in a punch to my arm and her running off to hide again. I miss those days.
"Hey, there you are!" She said as I swept up from behind her and picked her up.
"Well you're just so darn easy to find!" I replied with a smirk.
"Ohhh you!" she began to retort as I kissed her quick and set her back on the ground.
"I'll never lose you, ever. Remember?" I said.
We stood there both staring into each others eyes. I could see the tears starting to well up behind the big smile she was putting on for me. She could probably see mine too. We were both scared and excited. We knew the risks, we knew the dangers of the mission. We knew that it would be years, decades maybe until we saw each other in person again. But this mission was bigger than just the two of us. One of the greatest mysteries of human history was finally going to be unveiled. And my wife was going to be one of the few people to see it first hand. Actual alien lifeforms! On top of all that, she was going to be the first Female human to step foot on another planet, something I kept reminding her over her years of training to encourage her.
Our short moment together was ended briefly by a loud siren and a voice over the intercom calling all crew member to the launch pad.
"I love you babe, you're gonna rock this! Call me when you get to the ISS!" I told her as we embraced each other for the last time.
"I love you too, honey. Thank you... thank you for your support, for everything. I'll call you as soon as possible." She said through happy tears. "Wish me luck!" She yelled back as she waved ran off to the launch site.
And off she went, making her way through the large crowd of people to make history. The red beam between us shining strong, but fading slightly as they always do when the soul mates grew more distant.
It was go time. Systems had been checked and all safety procedures were passed. The mission was set to launch. I was so focused on watching my beam pointing up at the rocket where my wife, my love, was strapped in and ready. The rockets had began to flare up.
"5!" blared the voice over the intercom.
"4......3......2......1! Liftoff!"
Huge clouds of smoke and exhaust billowed across the launch pad as the rockets engines turned with well over a million pounds of thrust. As the rocket began to take off I was fixated on my red beam following her to the sky. Higher and higher it went as the rocket approached the edge of our atmosphere. The ship had made it to Low Earth Orbit with in 15 minutes. So far, everything was going according to plan. The next part of the mission was for the crew to rendezvous with the ISS to pick up equipment and begin their journey to Mars.
This part could take sometimes several hours or even a few days. So I had decided to go home and get some sleep so I could be rested and fully there for when she called and we got to talk to each other. I was laying in bed, too excited and nervous to sleep. Staring up at my ceiling, watching the red beam. It was a little bit darker now. Usually a bright and vibrant red, it was now more of a maroon color. I was reaching over for a glass of water when something I saw made jump. The beam, it had flickered. This was not something I had ever seen before. Now it was moving, in a complete opposite direction, and fast.
Heart racing I jumped out of bed and called my wifes friend that was on mission control at NASA.
"Steve, what the hell is going on!?" I screamed as I ran out side to look up at the sky.
"How, how the hell did you..." He began say in a startled and confused voice.
"Never mind that, did something happen? Tell me what's going on!" I yelled back.
"We don't know. Something happened. Something bad. The ship was attempting to make contact with ISS and something went wrong! We're trying to figure it out. Just.. just hold o..."
I hung up the line and quickly went on to the website that gave a constant live stream from the ISS. All the while the red beam moving and growing darker.
When my phone had finally connected to the ISS live stream, and my legs gave out in an instant. On my screen I could see the bits and pieces of debris scattered everywhere. Huge chunks of the ship strewn out across the cameras field of view. Many pieces flying off in to the dark vastness of space. I screamed and threw my phone in to the distance. My crumpled and crying body worked its way on to its knees and I sat there staring up through out the night. Watching as my red light to her, my last connection with the love of my life, grew more and more distant, until it eventually faded to nothing. The moon had disappeared and gave way to the rising sun as I still lay there, looking up in to the sky.
I heard a car approach and pull up next to our driveway. I heard the footsteps grow closer and closer, still staring up.
"Hey buddy, it's me." Said Steve as he reached down to pick me up. "Let's get you inside."
"She's gone Steve. I've lost her."
|
In a way, I'm glad for the strings of fate. Their visibility has led to all out peace on this once malignant planet. It became easy to find that "true love", and people became happier for it.
Some pairings were conventional. Some weren't. But all resulted in bliss. You can feel it in the air. I'm grateful for that.
And I am grateful for the way lovers are so enthralled and absorbed in each other. Because looking upon myself, I feel only regret.
Every time I look down at my wrist, at the scarlet strand tied taut and ever reaching upwards, I feel regret.
Most everyone else in the world has found their soulmate. I never will. A vast sea separates my love and I. I can feel that, too. This constant warmth in my chest, a second heart beating in sync with mine. This comfort transcends all boundaries. Space and time matter not. Somewhere, someone is meant for me. And I for them.
The years of loneliness make sense. My discomfort with past relationships wasn't an overreaction. I always knew. Nothing ever felt right.
Not until now.
And as I lay on the grass under a diamond dappled sky, I smile through the tears. Maybe one day, we'll meet. In another life. In this one. One day our kindred souls will meet, and all will be perfect.
"I'll find you," I whisper. "One day."
And on the breath of the cool wind, a response comes.
'soon.'
| 2016-08-06T00:18:00 | 2016-08-05T22:17:34 | 93 | 22 |
[WP] You won't hold heroes hostages to torture them. You won't throw a hero against a wall once you have them by the neck. You sure won't start monologuing if you have a hero at gunpoint. You're the deadliest villain in history. A villian without an ego..
[removed]
|
Look. I wanted to be theatrical. I really did. I come from a long line of villains. My father was the Dark Lord, and he raised me to be his heir, and rule with an iron fist. I still remember the first time Heroes broke into the castle and father dueled their Leader fairly one-on-one. He paused to give a monologue, and the heroes had stopped to listen. At that moment I cut the chandelier propping it up, causing it to fall on the four of them, killing two instantly and leaving the other two mortally wounded.
The anger I saw up on my father's face as he turned to me, eyes literally aflame. I thought you would be proud! He had had them enraptured in his speech, I thought it was a great distraction for a sneak attack of some sort. But no, for the next 3 hours I had to listen to my father monologue about the importance of monologues and how it was rude to cut a Villain off in the middle of their speech. I think that was the beginning of it all. Like, I'm sure there are other things that caused me to be like this. But, this moment is what sticks out in my mind.
There was the speech I was supposed to give in my 16th summer. There was that campaign upon the dwarf lands and I was supposed to give a rousing speech before the Orc Battalions. Mother had stayed up late with me the night before helping me write it. She was always good with words, well she was good with spells. But that's practically the same thing. Anyways I was standing there, on the dias, General Gorblin at my side. And I looked out at the assembled soldiers, and I froze. I don't remember much about what happened afterwards. I got up. I stood on the dias. I looked out. And then a headache, or was it a stomach ache, or maybe it was both. I remember Gorblin grunting, then shouting, then the crowd… booing? I was told that the assembly actually went well, that there was no booing. I don't know if this was a lie, a bit of double think that everyone had bought into in order to spare the reputation of the Dark Forces, or maybe everyone who spoke about it simply was trying to spare my feelings. But sparing feelings is not something we did. Or maybe I'm just misremembering all of this. Maybe it did go well. But whenever I think of that moment, even now when I look upon the Forces of Evil, I get this feeling in the pit of my chest that I cannot describe.
There was a time in the winter of my 21st year when the newest band of Heroes had actually snuck into the castle. We had had a vague sense of them coming, and in what I thought was an act of brilliance I had laid a trap. It was nothing extravagant, I pulled the guards away from the drainage pipes on the Eastern South wall. Not too far, just enough to make it seem like it was a bit of carelessness. I even made a big show about accumulating new mortar as though it needed to be repaired. I spread rumors that there was a slight drainage problem and that part of the castle, not myself of course. I had others spread the rumors for me but I told them to do it. I mean I had written for them to do it. Anyways, the Heroes fell for it. I prepared one of Mother's familiar to hide in the dark for the Heroes and when they finally arrived we sealed the drainage pipes and I flooded the tank they were in. I still remember standing outside of the door to the tank when mother came running in down the stairs, a set of guards in tow. At first she was pleased, it was an opportunity to torture a set of gathered heroes, trapped in a slowly filling tank of sludge and sewage. Her happiness turned to anger and then disappointment. I told her that I'd used her familiar not to simply open the sewage pipes into the tank, but to summon water directly from the lake. The tank was full, the heroes had drowned in the time it taken for mother to come from her tower. What I remember most of that day was not my Mother's disappointed face. What I remember most was her shoes, those impractical spiked boots she wore, for my gaze was a locked on the ground before me and I could not look at my Mother nor the guards she had brought with her. Not in the face. Not in the eyes.
Four summers ago I killed my father. I gathered him and his generals in a banquet. I told him that I would give a toast and finally take command of a special unit. I took command, but by poisoning all of them just before I gave my toast. I could tell as he felt the poison coursing through his veins that he expected me to tell him why. My ambitions. How he had grown weak over the years and it was my time to rule, or how he stood in the way of my great plans, or even that I hated him. It was none of those things. I mean, I hated him a little, he was the dark lord his head was always on fire. But I had nothing. Maybe I could have said something about the Elven forces amassing in the Taegalen Woods, about not treating every battle symmetrically and how he and his generals were too stuck in past, ineffective battle tactics. But in that moment, I had no words. It was him monologuing in front of the heroes again, it was me standing in front of the Orc Battalions when I was 16, me trying to explain to Mother that the Heroes were already dead. I think he was still disappointed not that I was killing him, but that his last moments were of him watching me walk away from the banquet hall without saying a word. He never got to hear my toast.
I don't know why I'm telling you any of this. The lot of you are frozen solid. If mother were here, she would have told me to freeze you all only up to the neck and break a piece off of you one by one. General Gorblin would be angry that I still haven't created a pretorian guard to be at my side at all times and help me fight you all. I think Father would be proud, though. None of you can hear me, of course. You've been in case tonight is for the past hour and even if the cold hadn't killed you yet, lack of oxygen surely has already led to brain death. But I'm monologuing. This is the only way I know how. The only way to get these, feelings out of me. It's a bit of torture, not for you of course. None of you can feel anything. But the session really helps me get my feelings out. These torturous feelings.
That's all the time I have unfortunately. I think I've made some good progress, though. I look forward to when the next band of Heroes attempts to storm the castle. Sometime around now next month? I'll send a unit of Orcs to clean your bodie up.
|
I approached the gated community in a blue Toyota Rav 4. I chose the vehicle because their were three others like it in this pleasant area. It was full of the type of people who bought colorful Toyotas. I parked on the opposite side of the street from the lilac house. It was debateably hideous, but I thought I could see what Mavis was going for.
A knock on my window startled me from my thoughts. I swiveled to see a smiling girl wearing a "save the whales" t-shirt.
"Oh, shit."
Mavis smashed a fist through my window and threw me onto her neighbor's neatly kept lawn. I stumbled to my feet, nearly falling back down. "Want to know how I found you?"
Her golden hair blinded me as she tackled me back to the floor. I shook my head to get her hair off my face. She fixed her eyes on mine with drawn in brows.
"Oh noo," I opened my mouth in cartoonish bewilderment. She dragged her eyes down past my suit and onto the short dagger jutting from her stomach. I yanked it out despite the fact that my suit would be ruined.
Blood explanded and dripped from the whale on her shirt, creeping across the sunny beach scene. "Got a bit cocky." I shoved her off of me.
She gasped when she landed flat on her back.
"I won't make you suffer, love."
She fixed me with a glassy stare and fruitlessly moved her lips in a silent message. I cradled her head. "Relax, it's okay. It's okay."
Snap.
I stood shakily and made unfortunate eye contact with an old women clutching a mug to her chest.
I held up my blood coated hands. "We're just having a chat."
| 2019-08-06T19:20:38 | 2019-08-06T18:28:40 | 167 | 69 |
[WP] While visiting earth, a demon severely injures himself and finds himself completely at the mercy of a local pastor that stumbles upon him.
400 likes on a throw-away, gosh dangit!
But seriously, I love you guys, this subreddit is like AskReddit on crack!
|
"Only one slice of pepperoni Father Louie?" the zitheaded clerk asked.
"Just Louie right now," Louie said as he loosened his collar. He had forgotten to remove it after that evening's sermon. "I'm trying to ease up on the grease, Kurt."
Kurt snickered, "But it would mean that you'd meet God all the much sooner if you had the extra slice.."
*Listen here you little shit,* Louie wanted to say, but he held back. The last thing he needed to do as a new pastor in the city would be to start his own rumors.
*Louie is a child rapist!*
*Louie is fat!*
*Louie is just, well, kinda weird.*
"Well, Kurt, doesn't mean I don't want to enjoy the life the Lord gave me first before I do meet him, don't I?"
Kurt paused a moment. "So, you do want the extra slice?"
Louie sighed. He had decided to allow himself 5 publicly spoken cuss words a year, and he was about to spend his first one. It was January 3rd.
"Fuck off pizza-face," Louie said as he slapped $2 onto the counter. The surprised look was well worth the first use of the cuss word. Louie smiled as he turned away, lifting the greasy slice of pizza to his mouth. He exited the small pizza parlor, wanting to look back and cherish the look on the face of Kurt, but he felt it'd look cooler if he just continued to walk out.
His small apartment was a few blocks away. It'd take him 30 minutes to arrive if he followed the streets, but he knew it'd only take him 15 if he just cut through the alleyways. It was well worth it to him; he'd avoid the bustling traffic of the city and the noisy pedestrians walking to and fro chattering on their new smart phones to their "bae". Definitely well worth it.
Louie was down to the crust of the pizza when he arrived at the last alleyway separating him and his apartment. There were a few dumpsters lined against the brick walls of the neighboring apartment building and Louie had to make the quick decision of whether to stuff the pizza crust down his gullet or lose what was left of his appetite when he inhales the rotten odors emanating from the trash bins.
He decided to compromise by taking the pizza crust and biting off half and throwing the rest to the side. *Father, that is littering,* but he shrugged. That rats had to eat too.
A hand shot out from the side of the dumpster and grabbed onto Louie's pant leg, nearly causing him to choke on the chewed up crust in his mouth. He gagged on the crust, leaned forward, and vomited all over the person who had been sitting behind the dumpster.
"Jesus fuck!" Louie said as he finally recomposed himself. He took several breaths and wiped the tears from his eyes, still tasting the pizza mixed with stomach acid on his tongue. "I'm so sorry, I-
And Louie froze as he saw that what he thought was a bum was actually what appeared to be a bum, but with bright red horns protruding from his forehead. He was laying face first in the moist muck that was now mixing with freshly chewed mozzarella.
Louie went rigid, wondering if Kurt had somehow managed to slip LSD onto the pizza without him noticing. The thought was pushed aside when the bum with horns tugged at his pant leg again.
"Hey," the bum muttered, "can you help me?"
Louie blinked his eyes several times, wishing that the horns would disappear with each blink. But they remained. He blinked some more, but it helped none.
"Uhh, I, uhh, you have, ehh," Louie stuttered.
The bum reached up to his head, grasping hold of one of his own horns. He turned his head to the side, laying his cheek into the vomit. He let out a slow wheezing sigh, "Shit, I'm already losing form. Please, I need you to help me."
Louie would have vomited again if he hadn't already done so. He took a few moments to assess the situation. It would've been easier to have just kicked the bum in the face and run off to his apartment, but there would possibly be consequences for kicking a demon in the face. Louie decided it was best to just be honest.
"I'm a fucking priest!" Louie slightly yelled in a weak attempt to assert dominance. He figured his best plan of offense would to be to quickly show that he was in power.
"I don't care," the bum said in between coughs. Each inhale had to have been mixed with fumes of Louie's vomit.
"I, uhh, but, there's the whole thing, with like," Louie stammered.
"Just help me, please, I don't harm anyone," the bum said.
Louie looked around the alleyway, hoping to God that there was someone else watching, someone else to help share this ridiculous burden, but there were was no one to be found.
"How do I know you're not going to just gut me or something, something demons do, I dunno what you guys do, but it couldn't be good for people like me, ya know?"
"You won't know, but you have my word, I won't do anything," the bum spoke, his voice now beginning to crack.
"Yeah, you know, I watch the movies, I know how these things go. I'm going to help you, and you'll do demon things to me," Louie said, now becoming agitated. Out of all the people in the world *he* would be the one to end up having an encounter with a demon.
"Then just walk away, someone else will probably come by," the bum muttered. He let go of Louie's pant leg and slapped at it.
Louie sighed. "Look, I wouldn't even know how to help you."
"Just go," the bum said, slapping at Louie's leg, "just go, someone else will come. Someone else more capable of wearing that damn collar than you."
The words stung at Louie like a flurry of wasps that were claiming territory on his chest. "Shit, I'm going to regret this," Louie spoke as he knelt down and grabbed a hold of the bum's frail arm. He grunted as he picked up the bum into a kneeling position, placed the bum's arm over his shoulder, and they stood up. "But if you do gut me or some sick shit like that, at least I know I'll be going to the pearly gates."
"I guess, that's a good way to look at it," the bum sputtered.
The two made their way to Louie's apartment.
|
Trapped inside the mortal form, Carrion howled wordlessly. Merely existing here was a terrible burden on him. It took all the energy it could muster just to move a finger, or open the eyes of the host.
Things weren't supposed to have gone like this. A simple harvesting session was the pitch that Crow had put to them. They'd visit the border and ignite the war between the drug gangs with promises of briefcases filled with dollars. Then, under the Heavenly Accords, the souls of the dead murderers were theirs to barter with. The amount of energy it would take to open a portal back to Hell was so insignificant that no forward thinking demon ever took it into consideration these days.
Of course, that was before they decided it was simpler to just drug him and take the briefcase. Stripping his mortal form of all its possessions and clothes, they left Carrion beaten, bloody and drugged by the side of the road.
Carrion could feel the rush as the Blood Moon rose in the sky. Slowly, his fingers flexed as he drew on the power that the Moon offered. An infinitesimal twitch from his neck as he strived to connect his eyes with the glowing red orb.
Darkness suddenly fell over him as the curtains were drawn sharply shut. He felt a dab of the burning water and the press of the infernal symbol against his chest, the tiny amount of power he had garnered evaporating under the presence of His symbols. Completely helpless, Carrion screamed in internal terrible agony as his rescuer bent over him.
"As you heal and renew your servant, Lord, may he bless and praise you"
| 2014-04-24T08:51:51 | 2014-04-24T08:03:22 | 72 | 25 |
[WP] Humanity was supposedly exterminated after a huge interstellar war against just them and a whole interstellar collective of species, leaving only a boogeyman reputation. A thousand years after the war, a scout ship discovers the previously unknown planet of Earth, militarized to the brim.
|
We never located their homeworld.
After the war had turned against them, they established policies about it. Ships fought to the last, jumped blind, anything but running toward their home. Their worlds had become fortresses that fought for decades and centuries. Mostly, we pounded them from as far away as we could. They were bad enough to fight ship-to-ship but the creatures were terrible to engage at close quarters. Savage, efficient, and merciless, humans were hard to put down and you almost never did so without massive casualties. No quarter was asked, and none was given. After a millennium at war, no one even remembered the genesis of the conflict but atrocities perpetuated by both sides were more than satisfactory to keep the fires stoked high.
Generations were born into military service, and died in military service. After the last known human enclaves had fallen, the galaxy had continued for a time on its murderous path. Generations born and bred to battle knew little else and it would be another three centuries before the galaxy would know peace again. Untold trillions had died, and out there, somewhere the humans waited on their homeworld.
Zirthax slumped back into the captain’s chair of the great freighter he had inherited from his father. Once a great warship, a dreadnaught and carrier, the mighty vessel had forgone missile racks for cargo holds, fighter bays for storage, marine barracks for hydroponics labs and livestock pens. Of the thousands of plasma cannons and launchers that the ship had once sported, four were still present, two frozen in place due to faulty bearings.
Not that it mattered now. All four guns were slag, melted tendrils of metal re-frozen in the cold of space, looking like some kind of bizarre water-born plant. “Say again?” Zirthax requested.
“Prepare to be boarded. This is your final warning. Continue to stall and your vessel will be reduced to a molten ball of slag and towed to the nearest scrapyard.” The translator identified the speech as an antiquated Galactic Common. There was nothing antiquated about their weaponry, however. The craft that had reduced his plasma cannons to uselessness was miniscule by galactic standards and should not have had enough power for such a small craft to put out that much firepower.
Licking his lips, Zirthax flicked his membranes over his eyes, “We don’t want any trouble. We are prepared to receive your representative. I have to warn you though, this is a bulk freighter, we don’t have much in the way of light weight goods.” That was usually sufficient to get pirates to head out. Even hijacking the ship wouldn’t yield the profits they wanted – the shipping guild got most of the cut anyway.
“Have your entire crew assembled on the aft cargo bay. They will be inspected. Anyone not in the cargo bay will be assumed to be hostile and terminated.” The Galactic Common was not the most nuanced of languages but Zirthax thought that the voice on the other end of the communication was professional, and though there was a definite edge to the tone of voice, Zirthax hoped that this was all some kind of misunderstanding. After all, they hadn’t even identified themselves yet.
Three minutes later, Zirthax’s crew of sixty was assembled in the cargo bay. After explaining that the remainder of the lifeforms on board were livestock bound for another planet, the unidentified craft sent in their representatives.
Out of empty space another small craft appeared. Zirthax’s mind ran through the list of species that had cloaking technology this advanced. It was a short list, so far as he knew. The approaching vessel was not a ludicrously small as the first craft that had opened fire, but it could not have held more than ten individuals. The craft was sleek and menacing looking, aerodynamic to operate fluidly in atmosphere as well as out.
Six forms exited the craft. Biped, encased in armor head to foot, holding wicked looking weapons at the ready. Zirthax raised his four hands, showing that each one was empty. “You the captain?” Zirthax wasn’t sure which one asked him, since he could not see any faces.
“I am.” He replied. “We are but peaceful traders that-“
“Yeah, we know that story.” Zirthax felt fairly certain that the figure in the center was the one doing the talking. The figures all glanced to their wrists as small computers mounted there gave a small sound and flashed blue. The center figure reached up and removed his helmet.
It was a curious looking creature. Evidently it breathed adequately in an oxygen/nitrogen atmosphere. “I am sorry,” Zirthax said, trying his hardest to remain calm, “I don’t believe that I have ever come across your species before.”
“Been a while. Surprisingly, you still speak our language.” Though the sentient that Zirthax was speaking to stood at ease, the remaining figures stood ready to murder everyone on the ship. “When we regularly had contact with the rest of the galaxy, we were called Terrans.”
Zirthax felt his legs give way, planting his considerable weight on the deck. “No . . . no no no!”
“Calm down, we’re not gonna eat you. Yet.” The *human* flashed him an omnivorous smile. “How did you wind up here?”
“It was a mistake!” Zirthax said quickly, “We were on route to the Tau Ceti system when we were pulled from slipspace by a pirate dredger. We blind jumped away from them and hit your star’s gravity well!”
The human nodded, “Reasonable, reasonable. Fortunately for you, we aren’t really the blood thirsty type, so you get to live.”
“Oh, thank-“
“However, you don’t get to leave.” The man’s words had a grave finality to them. “We take our secrecy and security seriously around here. Welcome to the Sol System. Enjoy your stay.”
|
We used to shout their name as we slaughtered them.
Cancerous is how we described them. Violent and vile, they spread throughout the universe at a rate too fast to control. So we did the unthinkable.
We destroyed them.
It took us all. Humans were crafty with combat. The war lasted longer than I want to remember. But for 1,000 years we had peace.
And then, we found them.
A scout ship had honed in on old radio waves. A great sign of potential new sentient races. And the United Races tuned in to watch the ship welcome our new friends into the Fold.
A nice blue planet.
But out of it flew horrors.
And on their ships flew a bird of prey laid over white, red and blue.
"For God and country." they screamed through their communication arrays.
The single went dead after a white hot flash.
We used to shout their name as we slaughtered them.
Now we whisper it.
| 2014-12-16T11:22:23 | 2014-12-16T08:43:09 | 25 | 12 |
[WP] all combat, including real-life combat, is turn-based
|
It was nearly 1:30 am when Jennifer Grayford, attorney at law, pushed open the garage door and walked into the kitchen of her house, flipping on the lights. She had hoped she could sneak to the master bedroom without waking anyone, but as she crossed the kitchen there was a rustling and then the music started to play.
> ENCOUNTER! SPOUSE Desmond has appeared!
Jen's husband Desmond stood facing her, arms crossed. Because it was a surprise encounter, Desmond got to act first. The phrase *Loaded Question* flashed on Jen's HUD.
“Hey Honey, are you just getting off of work now?”
Quickly Jen panned down through her options and selected the command for *Sarcastic Retort*.
“Actually babe, no. I'm just getting back from cheating on you.”
The HUD flashed red.
> SPOUSE Desmond's rage is building. SPOUSE Desmond's speed increased! SPOUSE Desmond's articulation decreased!
Desmond took a step forward, red in the face.
> Desmond used *Accuse*!
“You were supposed to drive Ben to his sleepover. He waited two hours for before he called me. I had to leave my softball game early to drive him over myself. It was *your* turn, Jen! You promised me!”
The words had barely left his mouth before Jen had queued up *Exasperated Rebuttal*.
“You make it sound like I get to decide when to leave work. That I love working until the middle of the night for this family. I had a great day by the way, thanks for asking. My intern just quit two days ago and I've got two new contracts to review before the weekend. Sorry you had to miss that very important softball game of yours.”
Jen waited patiently as her partner considered his next response. Because of the buff to his speed he would get a double attack this turn, and this would more or less be the turning point of the battle.
First came that familiar command *Revisit Old Idea*. One of Desmond's bread and butters in the heat of their battles.
“Don't try to turn this back on me. You know that if you're so miserable at that firm, you don't have to work there, right? We can make ends meet just fine at a smaller firm without your damn bonuses that you have to sell your soul to qualify for.”
Jen opened her mouth, ready to follow-up with a rebuke about how her husband being laid off hadn't exactly helped the situation, using a special command modifier to mention that they were already a month behind in their mortgage payments, but her HUD flashed angrily.
> Warning! It is not your turn!
For his next action, Desmond's expression softened. Then something odd happened; *Heartfelt Plea* appeared on the HUD.
“I can't do this alone Jen. We never see you anymore Jen. Not me, not the kids, not anyone. Babe, we miss you. I miss you.”
The reticle on Jen's HUD turned green, signaling it was her turn again. The *Heartfelt Plea* had hit it's mark, and Jen took longer than usual to select her next action. She scrolled through her list of available actions, trying again and again to find a strategy to use moving forward.
As she scrolled through her options, there was a small sound from the living room. Desmond snapped his head back towards the noise, and then the encounter music started to play again.
> LITTLE TYKE Rachel has joined the fray! LITTLE TYKE Rachel's alignment is neutral!
Jen's daughter appeared in the frame of the kitchen entryway, clad in pajamas, a stuffed animal rabbit wrapped around her arms.
“Mom? Dad? I'm hungry!”
Jen selected *Dismiss*.
“Go back to bed sweety. It's late. I'll be in a bit after I kiss you goodnight.”
> LITTLE TYKE Rachel did not like that!
The turn reticle flashed on Rachel's name again, and she looked up at her mother, then to her father, then back to her mother again. Rachel's speed in an verbal combat was off the charts, as she generally received double the turn count of anyone else in an encounter.
“No. I want cookies.” The little girl turned to her dad and selected *Question*. “Dad, why were you and mom yelling? Are you fighting again?”
Desmond's turn. He crouched down face the little girl and selected *Pacify.* “No, mom and I were just talking and Dad spoke a little too loud.” He grabbed a box of animal crackers from the pantry and gave a few to his daughter. “Here, just this once, then you have to go back to bed. And promise me you won't tell your siblings – this will be our little secret.”
Rachel nodded happily, then hopped up to the kitchen table, munching and littering the floor with the crumbs of her snack.
> LITTLE TYKE Rachel has been pacified! She will be unable to act for the next 3 – 7 turns!
Jen glared at her husband. It was her turn again, but watching Dez spend his turn on their daughter was making it harder and harder to argue with him.
*He's in the wrong, though!* she thought. *It's not my fault he has to miss out on softball because I have to work for this family.*
Still, she felt the fight leaving her. Slowly, she scrolled down to the action she knew she had to choose and confirmed her choice, *Apologize.*
“I'm sorry Desmond. You're right, I'm not happy at my job, and I completely forgot about Ben's sleepover. I miss you too. We'll talk about our options moving forward tomorrow. I'm sorry.”
Desmond nodded. A new pop-up appeared on her HUD.
> SPOUSE Desmond wants to form an alliance with you. Do you accept?
Jen selected *Yes.*
> SPOUSE Desmond has joined your party! You now have the buff *Dynamic Duo*!
Jen walked over and wrapped her husband up in her arms. Her next action was a quick select command so she didn't even need to scroll through a menu list to find it. “I love you," she whispered.
“I love you too. I'm sorry.”
She waited patiently for the encounter to conclude, and to receive her valuable experience points, but just then familiar jingle of the encounter music played again, and the garage door burst open.
> UNRULY TEEN ON CURFEW Jessica and OLDER BIKER BOYFRIEND Ryan have joined the fray!
Jen's teenage daughter Jess looked across at her parents, her arms still wrapped around her boyfriend, and her jaw dropped.
“Oh, shit,” the teenager said, breaking away from Ryan as if she suddenly realized he was a leper. “Mom, I can explain.”
> Your entire party is now furious. Your party's articulation fell! Your party's speed GREATLY increased!
* * *
/r/ghost_write_the_whip
|
"And here was the greatest siege in history." The tour guide explained.
It was the most awesome sight i had ever laid my eyes on. Two thousand skeletons in authentic medieval garb. Their catapults still loaded, and a giant boulder hung in the air about to strike the castle walls. Meanwhile the walls were deserted. Most of the structures had crumbled and only the stone foundations remained. I walked by the skeletons frozen in place, one of them still pointing. Raising my camera i took a selfie.
"The two sides fought a bitter opening of three moves each but when it was king's turn he simply didn't take it. He suffered a heart attack a few minutes into his decision and everyone was thus locked into position for all eternity. While smaller wars have been fought, the realization that one could simply ignore their turn forced the world into other means of resolving their conflicts." The tour guide continued. "Since the tenth century there has been no war bigger than a dozen people."
Fascinated i kept taking more pictures of the skeletons. Walking among them i studied their clothing and how they held their weapons. I loved medieval warfare and all the stuff pertaining to it. I hadn't noticed that the tour group had left and i was all alone.
"Gimme your money!" a mugger yelled.
I turned around to see a gun in my face. I realized it was my turn. Remembering the tour guide i did nothing.
"I said gimme your money!" the mugger yelled again.
I remained defiant and held still.
"Come on, gimme your money." The mugger pleaded now, unable to move or pull the trigger.
"Fuck you. It's my turn. I can wait until the end of time." I replied.
| 2018-05-28T21:32:27 | 2018-05-28T21:17:13 | 34 | 13 |
[WP] The protagonist is entierly overprepared for the wrong genre. They make it work.
|
“How many has it killed?” I asked, risking a quick glance over my shoulder as I pressed the shotgun’s barrel against the kitchen door and slowly pushed it open.
“Killed?” The man cowering in my footsteps ask, his voice quivering in confusion.
I let out a sigh. Frickin’ amateaurs.
I had been hunting the things that go bump in the night for the majority of my adult life. Vampires, werewolves, hell - I even bagged an honest-to-god mummy once, but it was the home invasion types that bothered me the most. Families torn apart for some sick amusement, or to feed the blood lust of creatures that no sane man would dream exist. Whatever their reason, in the end it didn’t matter.
I had a family once, and I knew that this guy had kids.
“Killed.” I repeated, trying to keep a lid on my irritation. Sliding into the kitchen, I tried the light switch on the wall, only to find to my amazement that it actually worked. These things usually preferred the dark, and fed on fear. “Or murdered. Or possessed. Whatever.” I clarified gruffly.
There was something here, I could feel it.
“Um. N-no one, that I know of.” His voice wavered. “It just shows up whenever the kids-“
“How many kids?” I cut him off, my voice going gravel. I had a soft spot for children, and the things that tormented them fueled the anger that I carried within me, it’s flames licking at the edges of memory.
“Two. Billy and Jessie.” He answered as we rounded the small island counter.
“Where are they now?”
I allowed myself to relax slightly. Nothing had attacked us, and the roomed seemed empty. If something had been here, it was long gone.
“Upstairs, with their mother.” Pointing to the white stucco ceiling in emphasis, he offered what I’m sure he thought passed as a brave smile.
“Who noticed it first?” I asked, ignoring it.
“Billy. He was doing his homework, and reading through that book.” He explained, motioning past me to a pile of papers scattered atop their dining table. “He got it from the library.”
“Of course he did.” I rolled my eyes as I turned my full attention to the old tome that lay half buried under the kid’s course work.
I had seen this before – some dying psychopath takes his collection of haunted books and cursed binders and drops them off at the local library. They get shelved, or filed, or someone just happens to notice them in the return bin, and just like that…
…monsters.
I approached the table cautiously, careful not to make any immediate eye contact with the book. Sometimes you didn’t even have to read these things for them to possess you. You just had to look at them.
Lifting the shotgun, I carefully slid a mostly completely math worksheet out of the way and allowed my eyes to adjust on the very edge of the volume.
Nothing.
Grimacing slightly, I steeled my will and took in the page in its entirety.
It was a page of math, nothing more. Hell, it wasn’t even the hard math that could easily be full of old spells or glyphs – it was an introduction to algebra.
“I don’t understand.” I frowned, turning to meet the man.
That was my mistake, because as I did so, I felt the wind stir behind me and the presence was there. Instinctively I stepped back and spun on the place where I had sensed the creature manifest.
Two eyes, large and white stared at me through black dots painted on their center. Its big blue nose stood in stark contrast to its neon green fur, and forcing a toothless smile, the demon raised its three fingered, felt covered hands and spoke in a mocking, sing-song voice.
“Did somebody they don’t underst- ”
BANG!
The old Remington shattered the eerie silence in an explosion of thunder as the first barrel belched forth a cloud of stinging shrapnel. The payload was ammunition of my own design; a mixture of pure silver and iron balls backed by the inferno of white phosphorous that burned hotter than any hell that these monsters could ever know. It took down everything from vampires to wendigo, and it hadn’t failed me yet.
This time was no different.
The creature’s head was instantly ripped in two. A cloud of soft, white gore filled the air in a chaotic snowstorm of cottony fluff. It flew backwards, its arms flailing wildly as I fired again, this time catching it in the center of its chest. The smiling rainbow pictured there disappeared as the white prosperous ignited its fur and all but disintegrated the monster’s torso.
“MISTER BLUEBERRY NOSE! NOOOOO!” Two voices screamed from behind me.
The children.
Rushing past me they ran to the smoldering corpse of their tormentor, their wails of happiness filling the small kitchen with deafening force.
“HE WAS GOING TO TEACH US A SONG ABOUT LONG DIVISION!” They cried out.
I said nothing, content to watch as the creature’s still twitching corpse burned.
“What in the hell is wrong with you?” Their father asked, suddenly growing a backbone.
I didn’t have an answer. We stood staring at each other wordlessly for what felt like eternity, as the grief-stricken sobbing of his children moaned balefully around us.
“You should probably go.” He said finally, his voice cold and flat.
“I should probably go.” I agreed. And with that I turned and left.
If there was thanks, I didn’t need it.
Not tonight.
For I had put down another monster, and in the end, Sesame Street would be better for it.
|
Every morning I wake up and do my same routine. I clean my m16 and my 380 pistol, I count and make sure all of my magazines are loaded, I grab my combat knife and a few grenades. I'm not sure why I keep this routine. Maybe it's just so I have some sort of structure in my life. I've been in this hell hole for an entire year and these guns haven't side by I haven't had to use them once. I suppose that's just the life of a pinata farmer.
| 2016-11-02T10:16:36 | 2016-11-02T09:36:23 | 124 | 16 |
[WP] You run a bar that exists on the edge of reality. Your usual patrons include cosmic horrors, eldritch abominations and elder gods.
|
“Did she really have to take the dog? Like, really? It isn’t frickin’ enough to break all my hearts?”
He flailed his tentacles to emphasise the point, but he was more morose than angry, and he did little damage other than sending a couple of empty shot glasses crashing to the floor. It was ok, he tipped well enough to cover that. I waited until he returned to his pensive state, staring holes into my bar counter, before I sidled up with a glass of water.
“Drink up,” I said. “You’re stronger than this, you know that.”
“But Al,” Cthulhu said, “I’m not, I’m really not. I look tough, sure, but I’m just as soft inside as any other cosmic entity, man. Hit me another one.”
“No more neutrino-vodkas,” I said. “Water, first, then we’ll talk.”
It was quiet today at the Galaxy’s End, the bar I inherited from my grandfather, which meant that I could afford a bit more one-on-one time with Cthulhu. Very few of my patrons are actually interested as to how a human came to run such an establishment at the edge of reality, and I can see why. To all these cosmic wonders, and horrors, who stroll in on a regular basis looking for brief respite from their realities, they couldn’t care less about who, or what, was actually behind the counter.
As long as the drinks were good (they were), the service was reasonable (it was), and there was a listening ear (always).
“So, you gonna tell me why you insisted I come in today?” Cthulhu said, after he drained the glass of water.
“Because I heard about your thing,” I said. “Break-ups are hard for anyone, even eldritch abominations like yourself.”
He laughed at that, and I calmly wiped the counter top, clearing away the stray gobs of mucus which escaped his maw. “Really? Big Al, all worried about lil’ ol’ me?” He slapped a tentacle on the table, finagled a peanut, then popped it into his mouth. “Bull! There’s gotta be something going on, I’m sure. Maybe you’re here to kick me while I’m down, laugh at the cosmic jelly who can’t keep his girl?”
“No, nothing like that,” I said. “Just wanted to make sure you had someone to talk to.”
He puffed his chest out for a while, and I watched as his scales turned grey. I’d read somewhere that that was his battle armour, for whenever he had to duke it out with another of the elder gods. “Never! I am Cthulhu! Ravager of Worlds! I consume galaxies for tea! I poop the bones of vast civilizations!”
“If you say so.”
“… I twist the threads of fate! I crush the… *oh who am I kidding*,” Cthulhu said, as he slumped forward. He had turned back to a rich turquoise, which I had also read was the colour of his pyjamas. “It hurts man, it does. I’m not young anymore, man. This is my third millennia as a frickin’ elder god, man. You know what Nurvovos said when I called him?”
“What?” I asked, as I tried to recall which elder god this was. I had a vague impression of a sentient gaseous cloud, composed of filaments of time and stitched with the souls of dying suns. I didn’t have that strong of an impression of him, so he must only have been an average tipper.
“Nurvovos said he couldn’t meet me for drinks! Cause he had childlings to watch! Said his lady had been griping about ‘equal responsibilities’ or ‘fair distribution of work’! I said I understood, of course. But he’s not the only one!”
“Others too?”
“Yes!” Cthulhu said. “Everyone else in my clique! They’ve all settled down man, even Juloxies, and he’s got a face only his mother would like! I’m the only one left, man. It sucks, really.”
I reached under the counter, pulled out a bottle of the good stuff, 25-eon Hudubu rum, then poured him a shot. “On the house,” I said, as I slid the glass across. “This one’s strong, but you’re going to need something to get out of that funk. And quickly too, if I should add.”
“Why should I,” he said, as he obliged by downing the shot. “There’s nothing left to live for.”
“Cthulhu, buddy, why do you think of all days I asked you to come down here to my bar?”
“I dunno, Al,” he said, “why don’t you tell me?”
“And why do you think I didn’t take no for an answer? Why do you think I asked your buddies to make sure you came? Where did they go? Why’s the whole bar empty?”
That got his attention. He perked up one eyestalk, swivelled it around, then realised I wasn’t pulling his tentacle. He was literally the only entity in Galaxy’s End.
“What’s up Al,” he said. “You know I don’t like surprises.”
At that moment, right on cue, the door to my bar burst open. High-pitched screeches filled the air, but I already had my mufflers on. You don’t survive long at the bar without knowing how to deal with your clientele.
What strutted in could have driven any other human mad by sight alone, but I had some time to get to know them, and the Space Vixens of Guguba are far friendlier than they look. There were ten of them, all dressed to the nines, chattering incessantly amongst themselves. The one in front, she had a tiara on her heads, glittering stones which appeared to be the husks of decayed stars.
“The bar’s booked tonight, Cthulhu,” I said, the grin leaping onto my face. “Hen’s night. One of them’s getting married, so I cleared out all my other customers, kept the place exclusive for them.”
“Wha… wha…” Cthulhu stammered, ever the suave, eloquent romantic.
“Stay away from the hen,” I said, as I prodded his tentacle, “but I hear that some of her friends are single. Who knows man, you’ve got to get back out in the game, put yourself out there! There are so many abominations out there in the cold darkness of space!”
The Vixens had settled on the opposite side of the bar, still squawking at their supersonic frequencies. I’m no judge of non-human beauty, but I had been told that they were the fittest from their planet. Or at least, the most popular, if Spacetagram was to be believed.
“Coming!” I yelled at them, in response to a few raised talons. “One round on the house! Oh look, so many glasses, so few hands I have! I’ll just have my friend here send them over!”
I turned to Cthulhu, then shoved a tray of bubbling shots at him.
“Don’t screw this up,” I said.
“Man…” he said, as a couple of tears rolled down and into the glasses, which I disapproved as proprietor of a fine establishment. “I won’t forget this…”
“Just be the best monstrosity you can be,” I said.
He toddled off, and there was a spring to his sloshing that wasn’t there before.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
There are bad years and then there are the years where a hive mind walks into your bar - well, walking is putting it lightly. Think more of a swollen stormwater pipe during heavy rain. Hopefully that will give you an image of what the doorway looked like for a good six months.
 
I waited, at least three aeons passing in that time, until the last of the hive mind-controlled beings walked in, then I said in greeting, “Hello.” I kept it simple, lest I assume its identity and use the wrong cosmic-specific word.
 
“Good tidings, manling,” came the response, all beings talking simultaneously. I felt a shiver ripple up my spine.
 
*I’ll never get used to this.*
 
“What can I get for you? How about a few million glasses of our best ale, the Brown Dwarf? Or better yet, a Supernova on the rocks?”
 
“A round of Carbon will do. Uncompounded, if you will,” the hive mind rumbled.
 
“Exquisite choice,” I bowed and set to the task.
 
Owning a bar on the fringes of reality sure had its perks. I’d seen some incredible things. A thousand metre tall daemons whose eyes burned with hellfire, dreaded stellar worms that feed off psychic energy, and let’s not forget the singularity entities who drink my stock dry each millenium they pop in. These are the times why I chose this line of work. But when a hive mind comes along, it sure does make me question why I’m doing this job.
 
Getting the drinks together forced me to use three time-dilating parasites. What seemed like a minute for those in the room was three god-damned lifetimes I spent pouring drinks. The mental stress of those collective years can bare down on you after a while. Use the parasites enough times and you’ll eventually lose your mind.
 
I used one more in order to hand all the drinks around.
 
“There you go,” I said with finality.
 
The lot of them drowned themselves in their drinks, a cacophony of splashes and gurgling. Before long, the round was finished.
 
The heads of all the beings turned in unison and said, to my dismay, “Another, please.”
| 2017-10-23T22:40:18 | 2017-10-23T22:26:31 | 199 | 27 |
[WP] Humanity was placed on earth due to its natural tendency to nullify Magic. Once out of the atmosphere, abilities immediately begin to resurface. Upon learning that humanity is looking to colonize Mars, galactic society begins to worry - humans were the most powerful sorcerers in history.
|
Chief Engineer Pratt absentmindedly clenched and released a moon shaped stress ball. He had gotten tired of playing tetris on his phone and was now watching the clock slowly eliminate the few remaining hours before he could head home. All mechanical data was reporting normalcy on the USS Freedom. The astronauts were calling out their usual reports between water cooler chat. A loud burst of static made Pratt drop his stress ball.
"Houston? We have a....uhh......situation."
"This is Houston, report Freedom." Replied Pratt, his blood turning to ice. In a moment he was spread across three different terminals frantically checking report data, trajectory estimates, and fuel levels. "All reports are green, how copy."
"Copy Houston, but the situation is regarding Lieutenant Briggs."
Oh Christ, thought Pratt, we have another cracking up. "Copy Freedom, what is the situation. Has he become violent or unresponsive?"
"Uhh, no Houston. He's left the ship."
"Repeat Freedom, he's left the ship?"
"That's right Houston."
"Freedom, you are unequipped with EVA gear. Has he jettisoned himself from the airlock?" Pratt turned green at the thought of it.
"No Houston, he, uh..... well he just got out there. One second he was in here and the next.....Houston he's waving at us."
"Well let him in for gods sake!"
"No Houston, he uh.... he's enjoying himself. He's doing back flips."
"Freedom, Lieutenant Briggs has less than a minute before he puffs up like a blow fish and starts spewing viscera! Let that man in!"
"We're sending you a video Houston."
Pratt rubbed his glasses, then his eyes, then pinched himself. He watched the grainy video feed display a thirty something year old Air Force Lieutenant doing the backstroke though space. He watched in awe as Briggs floated back and forth across the shuttle window, sometimes spinning, sometimes flipping, but always laughing. Unsure of his legs, Pratt sat back in a chair and allowed his jaw to drop.
Briggs stopped in front of the space shuttle window and closed his eyes. He reappeared in the middle of the shuttle to the amazement of his crew mates. "Houston", he said with wide eyed excitement, "You're not going to believe this!"
*************************
The Interstellar Senate was in an uproar. Over and again they watched the video of Lt. Briggs floating back and forth through space. Murmurs and whispers permeated the room. Some spoke with rage, others fear. The only silent member was the head of the senate. With calm resignation he watched the video, the laughter of Lt. Briggs mocking him. He sighed to himself. His old enemy had returned.
Taking his place at the center of the senate amphitheater, the head of the senate spoke. "Gentlemen we are faced with a conundrum. Our old enemy has returned to us. Luckily, they seem unaware of their origin. Based on the communications we have intercepted their history is only accurate to about ten thousand years in the past. They seems to have no memory of their sewing."
"If they don't know yet it's only a matter of time!" Cried a senator.
"I realize this my dear colleague." Replied the head smoothly. "But now we must decide on a course of action to be taken."
"Death!" Came an anonymous shout, met with hearty affirmations and foot stamping.
The head of the senate grinned grimly. "Ah, death. That ugly old remedy. I would remind my colleague", he said, eyes narrowing in on the heckler, "how often that cure was suggested when the debate on what we should do with his home planet was the topic of discussion."
"Surely the senate head doesn't mean to allow these *humans* to regain their full potential?" Cried an impassioned voice.
"I absolutely do not. But I also do not intend to eradicate a helpless and domesticated race."
"Helpless? Have you forgotten Pluto?" A ripple of whispered agreements passed along the floor of the senate.
"I have not forgotten what they did to Pluto. I have also not forgotten what they did to my son. So keep your xenophobia and war-hawking to yourself. We will be taking a non-violent approach to this matter and that is final. They are unaware of their full potential, for the time being, but we must act quickly. Communication intercepts have revealed they are planning on colonizing Mars. We have at least a few decades by the most optimistic of estimates, but with their newfound discovery I believe we can all agree time is of the essence. So, I open the floor to you all, provided the ideas brought forth are non-violent and non-interventionist."
Angry chatter and cross talk erupted on the senate floor. Five minutes passed before the head was able to regain control. One silent hand had been raised during this debacle. The senate head called on him to speak. The most junior member of the senate stood up and cleared his throat.
"I will not claim to know the horrors that we have endured at the hands of these beings. I will not pretend that I can fully share in the loss that you have felt or the pain of the wounds still festering. I can say, however, that if we allow ourselves to be reduced to the same barbaric level as *them*, that all hope is lost for peace across the stars. Therefore, in keeping with the suggestion from the head of the senate, I recommend a plan that will allow us to stunt their growth while keeping our organization invisible. From the research I have conducted into their star system and their home planet, Earth, I have found that they are unable to achieve interplanetary travel without space faring machines, like the one in the video. By doing a little digging, I have found out that these machines are regulated by electrical currents fed though semi-conductors. This leads me to believe one large electromagnetic pulse would be able to render their technology useless. Direct loss of life would be minimal, though the repercussions would be world altering."
Grumbled agreements passed along the floor. The junior senator looked to the head of the senate who was smiling wryly.
"Brilliant plan senator." Said the head. "Their sun can be used to generate the pulse, thereby making it seem completely organic. A perfect plan."
The junior senator nodded and smiled thankfully.
"May we put it to a vote then?" Asked the head. "All in favor say 'Aye'."
"AYE!" echoed back the room.
********************************
"Freedom? Freedom do you copy? Freedom do you copy?" Pratt called into the microphone, sweat dripping down his neck. He nervously glanced at the clock. Five minutes had passed since their last communication. All at once, the florescent lights of the room cut off. Pratt stood up uneasily and check the computers. Every monitor began to flicker, then the room erupted in a cacophony of sparks, flashes, and sirens.
One hundred and fifty thousand miles above the earth Lt. Briggs watched his ship list lazily down towards Earth. Coming back from his afternoon "swim", as he called it, he found the shuttle had become a coffin. The life support systems had shut off rendering the multi-million dollar craft nothing more than a tin can. He had looked in the window only once, but knew the disfigured blue face of his crew mates would be with him always. Trapped in the abyssal vacuum Lt. Briggs could do nothing but sit and think. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small red dot sitting on the inky black surface of the void. Slowly he began to fly towards it.
|
"Commander Hithro, the humans are planning on colonizing Mars, and the Galactic Society is planning to sabotage their efforts, sir!" Poeiz burst into the commander's room, papers in hand.
The commander dropped the yellow rubber duck they had picked up from Earth a decade ago. Hithro's three eyes blinked, and their wings jittered, sending little scales across the room.
"Poeiz, what have I said about knocking?" Hithro asked, nudging the scales under the bed.
Poeiz rubbed the fins on his face. He shifted on his feet, pretended he didn't hear or see anything and continued, "The Galatic Society plans on wiping the humans' databanks and their memories again. Like they did with the moon landing, making it look like the humans actually did it.
"I mean, it was pretty smart, avoiding the whole woah! We have abilities in space situation, and keeping the humans producing some early technology, but since they aren't actually improving their energy secter, the Galactic Society's thinking that their ingenuity needs a little push, y'know?
"'Cause humans have energy affinity and were the best energy producers before almost blowing up the entire galaxy from stupidity."
Poeiz made a small rainbow with the moisture in the room, showing his own affinity for water magic. When Hithro didn't move, Poeiz took two steps and sat on the bed with them. The bed creaked at the weight. Poeiz thought about the water system for a second, and then dismissed the urge to fix the leaky pipe on the third level.
"What am I going to do?" Hithro asked. They squinted at Poeiz, the three eyes unnerving the Dreag-born. "You already know, don't you."
Poeiz blew bubbles out of his mouth. "I'd say you're gonna sabotage the Galactic Society's efforts."
Hithro's blue, red, and yellow eyes stared.
Poeiz glanced at Poeiz's collection of Earth knicknacks. "And, I'd say you're gonna help these humans not get wiped for good."
Hithro's wings unfurled into a translucent array of colors. They stood up, teeth barred and hands twitching for action. "Damn right I am."
| 2017-11-29T20:27:44 | 2017-11-29T19:27:58 | 368 | 29 |
[WP] Super powers are common, but super heroes are rare. It turns out most people don't actually want to face death or dismemberment on a daily basis, including you. You enjoy the 9-5 and having a 401k, but my god that government recruiter won't take no for an answer.
|
Oh, there goes the sirens.
BOOM!
There’s the explosions.
The screams, the gunfire…
Crazy thing is, Zion could do something about that. Being someone who could teleport anywhere within a ten-mile radius, it would’ve been nothing for him to pop up, save a damsel or two, beat the bad guy up, and disappear.
But…
Eh, no need to stick his neck out there. That’s what the police are for, the SWAT people, and the government’s new task force for superpowered threats.
Plenty of people who could do the selfless shit. Zion, on the other hand, had the selfish shit on lock.
As he stepped forward in line to place his order, his mind wandered to that fine-ass lady he met the other day.
He rolled his eyes. Hopefully she got the message.
When he stepped to the side to fill his cup up, a voice behind him spooked him enough to almost teleport out of sheer reflex.
“Y’know, you could definitely be a lot more useful than you allow yourself to be.”
Speak of the devil. When Zion turned around, his face dropped as though he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar, “Oh, come on!” He moaned at the beautiful agent who wouldn’t leave him the hell alone, “Don’t you have something better to do than stalk me?!”
Agent Dunay flashed a mischievous smirk as she leaned against the counter, “I told you on our date that you were gonna be my top priority. You don’t answer your phone.”
Another explosion went off in the distance. Twas just another Tuesday for Zion since it happened so often, but what wasn’t a normal occurrence was a sexy agent trying to trick him into working for her, “I don’t answer my phone for government agents. Especially those who use their government powers to stalk me.”
If she was thrown off by Zion’s standoffish tone, she didn’t let it show, instead giggling and coyly chewing on a straw she picked up, “You’re so cute when you’re annoyed with me.”
Zion’s food was called, and he promptly left. He was sure that he had a bit of time to find another bathroom and teleport back home.
Once he got home, he rushed over to make sure that his door was still locked, and looked out of the blinds to see if any unfamiliar cars were parked on the street.
“Babe, you’re home! Who are we looking for?”
“AAAAHHH!” Zion screamed as he pooted and teleported out of fear, ending up in a tree in the nearby park.
Goddamnit, when was it going to end?!
He went to work the next day, his paranoia keeping his head on a swivel.
One of his coworkers came up behind him while he was making a cup of joe, “Hey Zion, I have a proposition for yo-.”
“NO, I DO NOT WANT TO WORK FOR THE US GOVERNMENT YOU SEXY STALKER!” Zion roared as he turned around with his fingers fixated in a cross, baring them at the demon lady who always managed to get behind him.
Sarah jumped back in shock, dropping the box of donuts for the office to throw her hands up in a disarming manner.
The rest of the office looked at Zion in confusion, fear, and humor.
Zion, who was breathing heavily and still holding his cross of protection, almost freaked out again when his supervisor put a hand on his shoulder, “Hey Z, my office?”
In the office, the supervisor sat on the edge of his desk while Zion did his best to try to keep his back towards a wall instead of the door in case the stalker popped up again.
“You’ve been acting a bit strange lately, Z.” The supervisor said, concern painting his features, “Is it all of the super stuff going on? Is it getting to you, because I know being young while the world is rapidly changing is a lot for people.”
“No, no it’s not that. It’s just…” Zion decided to do something bold, and actually give a bit of an inside scoop on what was going on, “Okay, you’ve seen Boondocks, right?”
“Of course I have, I rap the theme song when nobody’s around!”
“Me too, it’s a classic. But you know how Huey had a spooky government agent that always followed him around yet nobody believed him?”
The supervisor’s face almost gave way to a hearty laugh, but he held it in, “Uhh, yeah?” He pointed a finger, “Are you a threat to national security, Zion?” He asked, the humor dancing in his tone.
Well, if you counted the fact that Zion could go anywhere, at anytime, without even needing to see the spot, then yeah. But no, that wasn’t the point, “Please, I know it sounds crazy but I’m not lying!”
A knock on the door interrupted their conversation, prompting the supervisor to answer, “Is that the new hire? Send her in!” As the supervisor rose, he mouthed at Zion that they’ll talk more later, “Zion, since you’re on track to become a senior soon, you might as well meet one of your new team members.”
The door opened, and Agent Dunay sauntered in, giving the supervisor a smile and a solid handshake, “Hello! I’m Tiffany Dunay! It’s nice to meet you!”
Zion’s eyebrow started twitching as though it stuck a fork in the socket.
“Nice to meet you too. Wow, what a handshake. Tiffany, I’d like you to meet one of your teammates, Zion. You’ll both be working practically hand in hand, so you’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other.”
“Oh, I’m sure me and Zion will be joined at the hip.” She said, flashing Zion a devilish grin as the supervisor went to the doorway. She walked over the Zion, her hand extended for a handshake, and her voice a harsh whisper, “I’ve tried the nice way. Wanna play hardball, we can play hardball.”
Zion begrudgingly shook her hand to avoid causing another scene now that the supervisor was watching, inwardly balking at the crushing force applied to his hand, “I-I’m sure that we could work something out to avoid any… mishaps.”
When the supervisor left the room, Zion’s arm nearly flew out the socket as she yanked him out of the seat, making him accidentally headbutt her, “You could keep avoiding ‘us’, and I push the right buttons and make you lose this job…” She leaned in to whisper in his ear, “Orrr, you could join me and we could go waterboard the bad guys and be real American heros! Oh, the romance of fighting terroism. Together! Plus our 401ks shit on this company’s!”
|
*Bzzzzzzz bzzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzz bzzzzzzz.*
David opened his eyes. He could feel the sleep dust still trying to keep them shut. He glanced over to his bedside clock. 4:00 AM, it read.
*This better be important*, he thought to himself.
He reached his hand under his pillow for his phone. He could feel it vibrating. He sluggishly brought his thumb to press the power button on the side. The screen lit up with what appeared to be the power of the sun.
The phone number on the screen gave away who was calling.
*Goddamnit. Not this irritating little shit again.*
He picked up the phone and lifted it to his ear. "Listen here, Mr Friedricht. This is the last straw. It is four o'clock in the fucking morning, and I will NOT tolerate any more of your recruitment calls. Do not call this number again." He put the phone down on his bedside tray and rested his head back on his pillow. After about 30 seconds, the phone started buzzing again.
"I just told you to stop callin-"
"Oh, I am terribly sorry Mr Petrovich, I truly am, but it is my *job* to do this. I must inform you of a new open position. It pays more than your current banking position and-"
"I don't want to hear it. I am not interested in military work, and I am perfectly happy where I am right now."
(unfinished)
| 2022-07-31T14:44:04 | 2022-07-31T13:19:23 | 81 | 31 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :)
|
"Well that's just fucking brilliant. Look at this cliche-ass mess of a house." Cyrus and his companion, Arel, stood before a large, battered old house, atop an abnormally steep hill.
"This IS pretty cliche, I have to admit. Even the shutters on the windows are flapping in the wind," Arel responded.
"Typically, there is no wind," Cyrus looked up to the higher floors and shouted towards them, "There's no fucking wind, you dopey twats! This doesn't even make any sense!"
He caught a glimpse of a partially transparent girl, who moved out of view, behind a curtain.
"Yeah, you! I'm talking to you, you ghost-ass shit! Fuck me, why do they even bother."
Cyrus half-heartedly walked up to the front door, and reached out to grab the door handle. As his hand wrapped around the metal, a soft voice whistled through the wind, "Go... back..."
"Hmm, gee, let me think about this. How about... no! I'm down to my last ten quid, and that weird family down at the shack that all speak simultaneously in monotonous voices, promised me two hundred to come clear you nerds out. I mean, it's pretty obvious they're in on this too, now I think about it. Probably should have just outright mugged them, there and then, but I guess it's too late for that now, because their house in the middle of the woods has probably mysteriously disappeared, or some dumb shit like that," Cyrus was not happy being here, and despite his long rant at the voice in the breeze, he rather quickly opened the door to the haunted house. Not to his surprise, the other side of the door was bricked up.
"Holy shit, where do you guys find your bloody architects? Why put a door on a brick wall? How is this even meant to be scary? Maybe if I was an architect myself, with a major cased of OCD, but I'm neither an architect, nor do I have OCD. This is just slightly irritating. What have you ghosts come to, that your only ability, is to 'slightly irritate' us mere mortals?" he threw his hands up in annoyance, then turned to Arel, who passed him a sledgehammer, "See, I COULD go and search around the back of the house, as you clearly want me to, but that requires walking, and I'm not much of a walking type, so..." he swung at the wall, then again and again, "I'm not going to make a 'here's Cyrus' joke. I'm not dropping to your level."
The two stepped through the opening, in to a room much larger than the outside implied, "and now spatial distortion, such scary, much haunt, wow. You see what you're doing to me? Now I'm spouting dank memes, just to make this experience seem somewhat worth it. Arel, hand me the matches, let's burn this place down." but no response came, "Arel?" he turned around, but she wasn't there.
"Oh my god... Arel! AREL! Where are you?! YOU BASTARDS, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH- nah, I'm just kidding, I don't give a shit," he walked to one of the doors on the edge of the room, "Oh boy, I wonder, could she possibly be behind this door with-" the light of the room flickered as silhouettes of a group of children rushed past a nearby window, accompanied by the sound of youthful laughter.
"Shut the fuck up! I'm trying to be witty, here!" he yelled towards the window, then turned back to the door, "I was saying: Could she possibly be behind this door with the Satanic looking symbols on it, and the words 'Help me, Cyrus' scratched below them? What a real mystery this is turning out to be!", the door handle was surrounded by a series of ancient looking padlock devices. As Cyrus reached out to examine one, it began to morph in to a distressed looking face, and let out a haunting scream.
"Holy fuck, Ebenezer Scrooge wants his door back, what the fuck, guys. A Christmas Carol is literally the LEAST haunting thing I've ever read. No, what am I saying? Calling this Ebenezer Scrooge's door is too much of a compliment, this is more like Scrooge McDuck's door."
He stepped back to examine the other doors in the room that had now changed aesthetically to that of a rusting asylum. Cyrus rolled his eyes, "Seven doors and seven locks. So I guess I'm supposed to go through these too spoopy rooms and find each key, huh?"
He hefted the sledgehammer over his shoulder, "not today, matey."
With full force, he brought the hammer down on the locks, knocking them out of place. The door swung open.
On the other side, Cyrus saw a dark room, where Arel was tied to a post with a red bracelet in front of her, and surrounded by a circle of candles, "Hey, Arel," Cyrus nodded to her. "'sup", she replied.
He stepped in to the room, and the door slammed closed behind him.
"I was going to tell you this was a trap, but it seemed like a waste of breath," Arel said, shrugging her shoulders.
"No shit," replied Cyrus, as he ran a hand across his face in annoyance.
From the shadows of each of the four corners of the room, stepped a person. The members of the family that had requested the two go to this house, in the first place.
Cyrus spread his arms out, and looked up at the ceiling, "WHAT A TWIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIST" he cried aloud, then looking around at his assailants again, he asked, "so which of you has the two hundred bucks?"
They slowly began to walk towards him, each brandishing a rusty dagger in their right hand.
"Well those knives aren't going to sell for shit, they're all rusted up. Fuck it." he swung the hammer down on the bracelet in front of Arel, shattering it. The four family members screamed, as their bodies lit up in a bright white light, illuminating the room, and then as suddenly as it had began, the lights faded in to nothingness. Cyrus and Arel remained alone, in the leftovers of a dilapidated house.
"Fuck off, even the bracelet disappeared. Some of the jewels in that could have sold for a few bucks," Cyrus dropped the sledgehammer and threw his arms up again, in disbelief.
"Man, that was a waste of time," Arel said standing up and brushing herself down.
"Fuck our lives, Arel. Fuck our lives."
|
Jake shrugged. The sound of the church' clock was the only sound he could hear in the silence of the night.
Ding. dong. ding. dong. ding. dong, and so on, all the way to twelve.
Was it midnight already? He didn't know. He didn't care. Mom wouldn't be home before tomorrow, so Jake had the house for himself. And, more importantly, the computer.
He was having fun, despite being the only person online on his Minecraft server.
It was completely silent in the house. Painfully silent. Except for the occasional Minecraft sound coming from the computer.
"Oh, balls.." Jake wispered to himself. He really had to take a leak. The toilet wasn't that far away, but the room it was in was way too dark to see anything. The only source of light was coming from the computerscreen.
"Jake...." He heard a feint voice whisper.
"Come and play.."
"Ugh, boogers.. Mom's home early." He thought.
As Jake looked up, expecting to see his mother, candles were lit up all around the room. Wait, this wasn't his house.. The light of the candles showed a huge red pentagram made of dark, thick blood on the ground. His desk, along with himself and the computer were in the middle of it.
The whispers starter getting louder. He could also hear someone crying in the distance. The ground lit up on fire, and an awfully loud and terrifying laugh could be heard. Men in black robes slowly started to walk towards Jake with big scythes and hands engulfed in blood.
Jake screamed as hard as he could.
"Holy cow, I found diamonds!!"
| 2017-05-05T07:16:05 | 2017-05-05T05:55:46 | 2,069 | 280 |
[WP] Everyone in the world suddenly got superpowers overnight. People started throwing fireballs and flying as more and more humans discovered what their power was. You just recently discovered yours. You can quicksave and quickload.
|
FYI this story has been reposted on my subreddit with a new Part 2 of this story included, so if you'd like to read the most complete version of it, [here's a link.](https://www.reddit.com/r/Ryter/comments/cctfks/the_save_scummer/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x) I'm also working on Part 3 and beyond, hope to have it posted on my sub soon!
___
"Fireball!"
"Flight!"
"X-ray vision!"
Predictably, nothing happened when I shouted any of those words. The day a person discovered their innate superpower was supposed to be one of the happiest days of their life, but I spent two years shouting the names of random powers aloud like a crazy person before I finally discovered mine. From what I'd heard, you technically didn't even have to shout your power, just think it, but I was so frustrated by being the only person without a power that I was going the extra mile.
In my defense, mine wasn't quite as obvious as being able to fly or having super strength. It turned out I had the ability to "save" a moment in my life, and reload back into it whenever I wanted. This seemed to reset my timeline and I'd continue on with my life from that point. Sound a little underwhelming compared to heat vision or controlling the weather? Not for me it wasn't! I was... well, I *am* the world's most socially awkward human being. For me, this power was a godsend, an absolute life saver.
Just last week my annual performance review had come up at work. Normally, discussing a raise or negotiation of any kind was among my least favorite moments in life, but this time... not so bad actually.
"I'd like a 50% raise please!" I said with absurd levels of confidence.
"Kyle," my boss began. "We're instructed to *fire* any employee asking for more than a 10% salary increase in their first year review to keep costs down. You're 24, but they can replace you with a cheaper, more desperate 22 year old at any time. I'm genuinely trying to help you here, are you understanding how this works?"
I was indeed. I reloaded to just before the review had began, walked in, and sat down in front of my boss again.
"I'd like a 9% raise please!" I said with absurd levels of confidence.
"That might be a tad high, but we can work with it based on your high output and quality work," he replied.
Done and done! I had my raise in hand relatively painlessly within an hour. And thank goodness, I needed this job and the extra cash. I was still going to grad school and that ain't cheap.
Speaking of grad school, I'm currently sitting in class, bored out of my mind, and the girl I've had a crush on all year just sat down next to me. More than that, she asked to borrow my portable battery charger for her laptop. This felt like a moment for Save-Load Man to shine! (I was still working on my superhero name, don't judge me)
"I know we haven't really been introduced, but I'm Kyle. I highly respect your intellect and would like to hear the thoughts from your large, big smart brain enlighten me over dinner some time?"
She looked at me like I was an alien. Reset time!
"I know we haven't really been introduced, but I'm Kyle. I want to be perfectly honest with you, I've had a huge crush on you all year... I've literally dreamt of burying my face in your chest and living among your wondrous pillowy mountains for the rest of my life... err... TMI right?"
She slapped me, rightfully. Trust me, I can screw this up in dozens of more ways, but I'm hoping to limit the emotional pain of rejection to like 8. Reset!
"I know we haven't really been introduced, but I'm Kyle. Uhhhhh... you can use my portable battery charger, but I'd really like to charge *your* batteries, baby--" Ugh this is awful, I'm not even waiting for the slap. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD RESET!
I'd heard guys successfully use cheesy pickup lines before, but that just wasn't me. Even with a superpowered safety net, trying to be myself was still terrifying, but I guess it was worth a shot.
"I know we haven't really been introduced, but I'm Kyle. What's your name?" I asked.
"Nicole," she said as she smiled and extended her hand.
"Nice to meet you, Nicole. You can use my battery charger, but you should know, I might have to charge you like 85 cents for the spare juice. I'm not Telsa, I cant give out recharges for free, I'm sure you understand," I said in as much of a fun and joking tone as I could muster.
Against all odds, she chuckled slightly, dug into her purse, and slapped a $1 bill on my desk. "Keep the change good sir," she said with a wink.
We exchanged a few more jokes and whispers during class, and it went by in a flash. As she gave me back my charger I decided to go for it. "Hey Nicole? Would you... wanna grab a coffee with me?"
"Sure, but you're paying, I had to give my last buck to some scam artist who was charging for the use of 'his' electricity," she replied.
"Yeah but it was sooooo worth the 85 cents, right?"
Her hands began to glow and crackle with electricity. "To be perfectly honest... I can recharge my devices pretty much whenever I want, it just gave me a good excuse to talk to you," she said with a sly grin. "Is the Java Hut around the corner good with you?"
I was elated. More than that, I realized I'd forgotten to even 'save' before I asked her out to coffee, which was total madness for a person as neurotic as myself! Is this really the secret to social interactions and asking people out? Just talk like a normal person, get to know them, hope they like you for who you really are? Frankly, I felt like I'd gained a second, infinitely more useful super power.
___
I don't have any superpowers, but I do write a lot of stuff! Check out r/Ryter if you'd like to explore more words from me.
EDIT: Thanks for the Silver stranger, I'll wear it proudly 😎
EDIT 2: Wow the response to this story has been pretty overwhelming. I've gotten several comments/messages requesting a Part 2 for this so figured I'll just put this here: I have a ton of real life obligations taking up my time today, but will try my very best to have a 2nd chapter/continuation of this story posted on my sub soon. I have some ideas, just need the time to write them : ) Thanks so much for all the kind words!
EDIT 3: I did end up writing a Part 2 to this story! [Link here if anyone is interested](https://www.reddit.com/r/Ryter/comments/cctfks/the_save_scummer/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x) If you've already read this Part 1, scroll down to the middle of the page I just linked and start reading at the bolded "Part 2".
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It seemed useless at first. I mean, why would I want to be able to quicksave and quickload while others are out there flying around? I want to fly. I got the worst superpower. This sucks.
Or so I thought at first. I mean, can you blame me? It SEEMS useless at first, but you remember eventually: a game without saving is pretty dumb. If you made a wrong decision. Easy, right?
Those were my second thoughts. After thinking about it for a few good minutes, I decided to test this out. I got to the highest building in my town, quicksaved, and jumped. When I got scared, I quickloaded and I was back. On the rooftop. I took the stairs back down, and tried thinking of other ways to test it out, when...
I saw a fireball. Not a meter from my face. My eyes widened as I quickloaded...
And I was back on the rooftop. I took the stairs again, went outside, but this time looking at where the fireball came from. There was a girl, looking horrified at the fact that she nearly hit me with a fireball.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that! Are you okay?" She ran to me, nearly crying.
"I'm okay, I knew it was coming." And I regret saying it immediately.
"You knew? What's your superpower then?"
What do I do? I don't know this girl, can I trust her?
"It's... Do you play games?" Wrong move.
"Games suck. Why do you want to know, though?"
"Nevermind then. You probably wouldn't understand."
With those words, I turned around and started walking home. She began following me though.
"C'mon, tell me! I'll light you on fire if you don't!"
She looked like a 16 year old, and that made me think she was a little kid.
"You're acting like you're 10 years old or something. Why does it even matter?" I quicksaved just in case.
"It matters because I want to know."
"Well, you can't. Please don't threaten me, by the way."
I'm glad I quicksaved just now, because I felt something really hot before quickloading.
| 2019-06-30T09:02:14 | 2019-06-30T08:49:38 | 2,497 | 220 |
[WP] The world's greatest villain and hero clearly like each other. His monologues when she's captured tend to turn to conversation, and she "accidentally" lets him escape arrest. While they're convinced they're enemies, his henchman and her sidekick are just trying to get them together already.
|
“Oh you gotta to be kidding me!”
Now in the world of superheroes, Vectress was used to coincidences. Like being at a bank that someone had just begun to rob or walking past an alleyway with a batman situation on hand. But this, this was just ridiculous.
She’d just walked into her favorite coffee shop as she usually did when no crimes happened around the area, only to be faced with people stuck in fear and her greatest villain standing in line with his henchmen. The villain known as Quake.
“You told me she wasn’t patrolling this route.” Quake elbowed one of his henchmen lightly.
“I’m glad I did. This is the last time you strike fear into people Quake, by the name of the hero union I -” Before she could finish Quake yawned and waved his hand.
“Yeah, yeah I’ve heard it before. Can I get my coffee now? It’s been a tough week and I’m seriously itching for a cappuccino and they make the best.” Quake interrupted, tapping his fingers impatiently on the counter.
“We’ll for one I agree, they have the best cappuccino’s in the city, but I also am required by law to bring you in!” Vectress began to float preparing for battle but Quake just shrugged and went to the only free table as every other was filled with his henchmen.
“Could we maybe do this after I’ve finished this.” Quake waved the cup without spilling anything. “I’ll make it a sweeter deal. After I’m done, we can fight outside, you know, to avoid property damage.”
Vectress sighed to herself, “Fine, but at least release the hostages.” She motioned to the fearful people watching this unfold.
“Sure, not like I was forcing them to stay here. Also do you normally chose the large or small cup?” Quake wondered, sipping some of his drink. Everyone In the store left in a hurry while Vectress was jumbled by his question.
“Small, the large cup takes too long to finish and tastes more bitter than I like it.” Vectress floated down, Quake seemed to perk up to her answer and jumped from his chair pointing at every single one of his henchmen.
“I told you! See, she agrees!” Quake said. Then he noticed her still standing there waiting for him to finish his coffee.
“Hey you might as well order to, I’m not known for being a fast person.” Quake casually said. Normally she would’ve not let him out of sight, but the smell of coffee was really starting to get to her. So, she went to the counter only to get a dumbfounded look on her face.
It was one of the henchmen who had replaced the normal cashier that had ran away. The henchman even wore an apron as he asked what she would like. She took the usual and was on edge as the henchman was acting kind to her and made her drink.
She grabbed her drink and saw that the only free table was with Quake. She mentally sighed to herself, at least it was in front of him and not next to him. This wasn’t how she imagined her day going, not that she minded a break like this.
“Can I ask something?” Quake glanced at her. Vectress raised an eyebrow at the villain trying to start small talk and opted to nod.
"Okay, so I've been looking for birthday presents for my niece but don't really know what to get since I don't keep up with what girls like these days. So…" Quake mumbled while Vectress deadpanned. Was one of her greatest villains really asking her for birthday present advice.
Sure, during their fights they always held conversations. He’d complain about how bad of a day he had, and she’d boast about her good day, stuff like that. Almost every other hero found it funny and would watch recorded clips of them fighting like it was movie night, saying that they bickered like a couple more than actually fighting, which she found annoying and untrue.
Sure, the situation right now didn’t help her alibi but still.
Nonetheless, she gave some suggestions based on the information he gave her. And in a rare instance such as this, the villain thanked her in relief.
Then the conversation switched smoothly to her niece which he apparently had a soft spot for. It was… interesting seeing him talk so passionately about someone and not so much in a villain sense. She asked him if he had any siblings, excepting no answer, but instead, he chuckled and said that he did but rarely met them.
Quake asked her the same question which she had no intention of answering, sadly her reflexes answered for her and she quickly covered her mouth. But to her surprise, he gave her a heartfelt chuckle.
“Don’t worry, I might be a villain but I’m not *that* kind of villain.” Quake replied truthfully, smiling to himself.
Vectress paused not knowing how to answer. She sipped some of her drink and leaned back in her chair.
“So do you have any children?” Vectress asked, curious since there wasn’t much information about him out there.
“Nah, I think the title of villain make me a bit un-dateable and bad father material.” He sheepishly explained with a more downbeat tone than usual. Did he want kids?
“We’ll you’re hot so you got that going for you.” She shrugged before freezing up, her cheeks growing red. Her own mind and mouth having betrayed her. She mentally cursed herself and stayed silent.
Quake laughed seeming to take that as a compliment, “Thanks, you’re not that bad yourself, your man or woman or whatever you date must be happy.”
“Heh, I’m actually… not in a relationship. Same as you said, being a hero doesn’t make me dateable.” She pointed out. They both didn't know why, but it felt like all of a sudden every henchman in the room smiled.
“This is so stupid. I mean aren’t we supposed to fight, good versus evil and such.” She realized. “But no, here we are talking like normal people.”
“It’s actually kind of nice, the feeling of being normal and not some super villain deadest on destroying the world.” Quake replied and Vectress realized, yes it did feel nice to talk to someone like she was human and nothing more than that.
“Yeah, guess I miss that feeling to.” She replied and took another sip from her drink.
“You know if I wasn’t a hero or you weren’t a villain, I’d say we should meet again sometime.” Vectress said and blushed to herself. She wasn’t wrong, it would be nice to have these types of talks. “And not by coincidence.”
“That would be nice.” He narrowed his eyes in suspicion at his henchmen who all seemed to do their own thing, sometimes taking glances at the hero and villain with gleeful grins. “Heh, coincidence my a-“
“huh?” She wondered, having not heard the last part.
“Nothing.” Quake sighed and turned back to the hero and drank more of his drink.
A short-lived silence took over that was ended by Vectress as she decided to pick up on their conversation again, enjoying his company too much to let it go, same going for Quake. Eventually, 5 minutes turned into 10, and that turned into 30 minutes and so on. They didn't even notice when they both finished their drinks simultaneously and were handed sweets by the henchmen. Both were too deep into their conversation to care.
The henchman behind the counter smiled seeing the two interact, forgetting why they were there, and took out his phone and took a picture of the two and sent it to the hero union. The only response was a thumbs-up and a heart emoji.
**Edit:** Fixed a continuity error, thanks for pointing it out.
|
"Ahah! I've got you this time!" Arctic Wolf grinned evilly, swinging a key around her finger. "After all this time, Mr Slime Bomb has been captured. By none other than me, as well!" She leaned closer to the cold metal bars of his cage.
"It's Time Bomb, to you!"
"Time Bomb, Slime Bomb, same thing."
"No it isn't. One is a bomb that is timed. The other merely explodes in a gigantic slimey mess." He folded his arms and stepped forward.
"Now where was I... Oh that's right, my monologue. Ahem anyway... You've finally been captured, blah blah blah, and now I'm going to freeze you forever in here etc etc." Time Bomb looked her up and down before commenting.
"Hey- is that a new suit? I didn't notice the blue sparkling stripe there before."
"Oh... Thanks?" She giggled lightly, forgetting about her prisoner. She apparently forgot about her henchman as well, because Acid Blast was spying on them through the security system with Shining Light. For ages, they'd been waiting to get to this point. Finally they were alone together. They'd previously noticed the conversations that came from the monologues, and figured out pretty quickly that the other two liked eachother. This was good for both Acid and Shining because they were dating too.
"Wait, wait- is that a Hello Kitty badge?!" Arctic Wolf pointed at a small pin attached to Time Bomb's cape. Indeed, it was a Hello Kitty badge.
"What if it is?"
"I love Hello Kitty! She's the cutest thing ever!"
"I love you too, but I don't-" He suddenly realised what he'd said, and quickly shut up.
"You... L-love me?" Arctic's pale face quickly grew to a bright red as she realised what had been said. "As in you'd... Want to d-date me?" She stuttered, flustered and excited. She might finally have as chance! Acid Blast and Shining Light were both cheering and holding hands, the two girls excited for what would hopefully come next.
"...Yes." Time Bomb reluctantly agreed, looking away. Soon he heard a 'click' and turned to see what had happened. The cage door was open, and Arctic Wolf was standing there in the door with her dazzling white suit. She really did look marvelous. In her flustered excitement, she accidentally froze the key. That was okay though.
"So-"
"-will you date me?" He stepped towards her, and she smiled.
"Of course." She leant forward and pressed her lips against his.
(Sorry it's not the best I'm not great at this writing business)
| 2020-11-07T04:01:49 | 2020-11-07T03:01:03 | 60 | 12 |
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way.
|
People use to think Bob was a traitor, but thanks to YouTube and my reporting we now know the truth.
Bob spoke good English and other languages and had been a woodworker in Logan, Ohio for many years. The thing is, Bob isn't American, he's Estonian, so he says, but nobody knows or can prove enough about him to deport him. I met him about 10 years ago when doing a feature on his shop for the paper and we bonded over our love of NCIS the TV show.
The thing that really struck me about Bob is that Bob doesn't exist on paper prior to 2000. Bob could have been American if not for all his half connections to terrorism, although none of it could be proven. That's what kept him from citizenship. I reported on that two. He was third cousins to some guy who did some bad thing some 4,000 miles away or his mother's step-sister's uncle was a terrorist. That sort of stuff.
Bob and I talked frequently, small town and all it's hard not to. People talk and try to be friendly in person, even if they talk about you behind your back.
When Bob learned about Islamic State he studied them beyond what seemed normal. Bob learned their customs, their region, their values, and even their movements. People started to distance themselves from him, although his nature never changed besides the fact that he began to pray more often and he had books on guns and middle eastern history written in Arabic in his shop.
It was widely speculated that the FBI, the CIA, NSA and who knows who else from the alphabet soup of government agencies was tracking, recording and following Bob.
One day bob was gone. Just vanished. All his stuff, his life, wiped out as if he'd never owned that shop. Nobody knew what happened to him until it was reported on the news. Bob had "defected" to the Islamic state and was among their troops. The town was a whole pit of gossip and that's all anyone talked about. They talked about Bob and how he was a murderer and a traitor. The national news media picked up the story of my missing person story, twisted it, reported non-stop for weeks about this American defector who was right under everyone's nose.
After a few months people started to and eventually forgot about Bob. I didn't. I wondered what he was up to and why he had made the change. I knew that Bob wasn't a terrorist. He was just a white guy from Estonia in his mid 60s with grey hair and a friendly smile.
Just when everyone had forgotten about him Bob sent me a message asking me to pay him a visit in Egypt. He even flew me out. I didn't feel unsafe. Islamic state had become increasingly less active in the last few months. Bob said not to worry about the alphabet soup that would inevitably follow me. Bob said they needed to hear it all.
Bob picked me up at the airport in a car that was really expensive. I'm no car person but it had to be hundreds of thousands if not more. We talked normally, as we had before he vanished, for many years. We drove for a few hours and stopped outside this shack. It looked similar to where he'd been staying in Logan if not a little bit more run down.
We step inside and there is one man tied to a chair. I can't see his face, there's a bag over it. Bob walks over and removes the bag.
Bob introduces me to Abdul and informs me that Abdul is the last Islamic State member alive. Bob said Abdul was a courier and servant to the leadership and had been with the organization many years. It was through Abdul that he tracked down all the members of the organization and "took care of the problem."
I was skeptical at first but I did as I was instructed. Bob asked me there for an interview and I wasn't going to pass up the opportunity. I set up my video camera and asked the questions.
I got Abdul to say his name, where he was from and why he was here. He said he was here to die, an answer I was not expecting. Abdul told me he was there to explain and then to die.
We talked for 15 minutes about everyone who was dead. Leaders, soliders, scholars, both men and women and most of the children. Everyone who aided in violence and killing and took up arms was gone, died at their own hand,...except Abdul. He said he had to tell the truth, the whole story. The stories went on for an hour. I even had to change my battery to finish the interview. Abdul shared stories of people begging for forgiveness before taking their own lives.
I then asked my final two questions the two I was most curious about. How did it happen and why was Abdul so sure he was about to die.
Abdul, at Bob's urging, said they felt so much remorse for all the atrocities they had done that most of them just went out in the desert and died of sadness. It was the purple dinosaur that had shown them the way with his song and they needed to repent for their sins. It was then that Abdul thanked me for my time and he put his head down and said he was ready. Bob then unshackled Abdul who walked over to the table took out a knife and stabbed himself in the heart.
After a minute, it was all over.
I then turned my attention back to Bob and asked him...how he'd done it how were they all gone? Bob said it with a seriousness and peace I'd not heard before.
It was Barney, Bob said. I made them watch Barney for weeks.
Sitting there, shocked, I asked one final question.
"So does this make Barney a terrorist?"
I'm still waiting on Bob's answer.
|
The President, the joint chiefs of staff, several different D.O.D members and some individuals from agencies you don't have the clearance to know about sat in the situation room in various states of shock and disbelief. After several awkward, quiet minutes, the President cleared his throat and began to speak.
"...Well...I mean...there's *worse* ways to discover the existence of the Kingdom of Atlantis."
"We they throwing ***SHARKS?***"
| 2016-01-29T07:07:48 | 2016-01-29T06:30:49 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] You are a superhero, no one knows about your alter ego. Not even your spouse. You return home tired and disappointed one day after failing to capture your archnemises. You enter your bedroom to find your spouse struggling to get out of the costume of your archnemises.
|
Frank was standing there without his pants on, and just like that, everything suddenly made sense. Not in a creeping horror sort of way but with a certain abrupt finality, like a blade coming down on my neck. In just one moment, my whole life changed.
Stupid. STUPID. How had I never seen it before?
He was frozen, caught in the act, holding that fucking mask in his gloved hands and even in our bedroom’s dim light, I could see that his eyes were wide.
I couldn’t move either, not at first. Rage simmered deep in my gut. I don’t know what he was thinking. Have I EVER known what he was thinking? Have I ever known HIM?
When I finally moved, it was to the dresser. I turned my back to him. I couldn’t look. I couldn’t bear to see him wearing that suit, that logo on his chest.
My hands were shaking as I checked the drawer under my socks. The gun was still there. As if either of us had ever needed it. Did he know who I was? The question was turning over and over in my mind.
“Honey-“ he said, but I couldn’t let him finish.
“Tough day at the office?” I pulled my hand away from the gun. When we first got it, the security measure felt like a good idea. To keep Frank safe if anyone ever found out who I was and came for my family, to give him a fighting chance until I could get there to save him.
To save him, just like I save everyone else… from him. He must have thought the same damn thing about that gun, about me protecting myself and our daughter if another villain or the Western League ever found out who he was and came for his family.
I felt like laughing but my throat was too tight. Did he know? Did he have any idea who I was? Was our life, our marriage, our daughter just a long con sham?
Shit, our daughter. Carly’s soccer practice would be over in half an hour. I had to go get her. I needed to get her away from here. Away from him. My hand was shaking on the drawer’s edge.
“Angela, please listen.”
“Why do you do it?” I whirled on him, slamming the drawer shut, the gun abandoned. I didn’t need it. He didn’t need it. Neither of us had ever needed it. “The robberies. The terror. You’re my husband, Frank, but who the fuck ARE you?” I jammed my finger at his chest.
I don’t remember approaching him, but there I was, my finger shoved against the Glacial Force logo, the silver-blue G making a mockery of my entire life.
Not even two hours ago we were locked in combat, rooftop to rooftop across the city, my roses and his ice at war. He’d escaped, plunging deep into the Columbia where even my vines couldn’t follow. And now, after I’d left my Lady Rose costume at the Western League headquarters and come home to try to spend time with my family, there he was. Glacial Force, one of the most powerful villains of the west coast. Oregon AND Washington’s most wanted.
And he was my goddamn husband, Frank Fisher.
“For you. For Carly.”
My heart sank, my gut tightened. It took everything I had not to throw the first punch. He dropped his mask and put his hands up like he was trying to placate me, but it was going to take a lot more than that to calm my rage. My fingers itched to call my power and wrap my vines around his throat. I curled them into fists instead.
“No.” There was finality in my voice, and it didn’t waver. Good. “You’re done. If you care about us at all, about this family, you’ll stop.”
“I can’t,” there was something in his voice. Something that gave me pause. It was small and desperate in a way I’ve never heard him. Not as Frank, and not as Glacial Force.
“Why?”
\~\*\~
I told him I needed to think and that I was taking Carly to mom’s. I asked him for space. And he, god damn him, agreed. He said to take my time. He was ready to talk more when I was. Somehow, that made it worse.
He still didn’t know who I really was. But it all made sense now. Carly’s powers are elemental-based, not nature. I’d been surprised the first time she made a fireball. Elemental powers don’t run in my family, I was expecting she’d manifest something a little more nature-leaning, like animal speech or a transformation, or more plants. I’d sworn her to secrecy all the same, even from her father. When she’s sixteen the Western League will start her training, and she’d join the next generation of superheros.
Of course, at the time I was under the mistaken impression that Frank was powerless. It never occurred to me how much her father’s daughter she really was. He was powered, and that meant he had the right to know his daughter was too, that she’d taken after his Bloodline. He should have been the one to teach her.
I’d left Carly at mom’s and headed straight back to headquarters, still reeling over everything Frank had told me. It was nearly midnight before anyone else came. It was Juan, still in full Bull Rush regalia, fresh off a shift patrolling the streets of Portland.
“Rosie, you’re here late. Something bothering you?”
I sat up, grabbed my mug, and grimaced at the stone cold coffee, “I got a lead,” I told him, gesturing to the table.
Juan let out a low whistle, “What’s all this?”
Several photos were spread out over the table, Glacial Force’s in the center, and all around him were news story photos of the other biggest names in west coast crime: Caligurl, Blockade, Stoneheart, Everdream, and Flashbang. Then, a ring of other photos around them, some dating decades back: Mafiablood, Shatter, Artemisa, and the enigmatic Gun. Still others littered the table, with a little less rhyme and reason to their placement than the core of it, but now I could see it. One photo lay face down.
“He isn’t working alone,” I said, and I set my mug aside, tapped Frank’s—Glacial Force’s—photo, “there’s more to it than that.”
Juan peeled his mask back, brown eyes shooting a skeptical glance my way, “You think so? But we’ve never found a link between any of them.”
I nodded, tapped my finger again, “I’m positive. Juan what if these are good people, doing bad things?”
He arched a brow and set his mask down in one of the chairs, “Isn’t that the definition of a bad guy though, ‘doing bad things’?”
I shook my head, ran my hands through my messy hair, “No, I mean, they’re being forced to do it.”
Juan scoffed, “Right, someone’s FORCING Glacial Force to do something against his will. You think someone out there’s strong enough to make all of them,” he jabbed his finger at the inner circle of photos, “do shit they don’t wanna do?”
I took the face down photo and flipped it over. It held nothing but a silhouette, a dark shape against the moon. “Shadowvein.”
Juan looked at me like I’d lost it, “Shadowvein’s a small time, third rate crook,” he said, leaning back, “No way he’s behind a damn thing.”
I looked away from Juan back to the photo and I stared at it, my eyes tracing the vaguely human shape. “I know it. I just need to prove it.”
The way Frank had looked, how softly he’d spoken. He told me everything. Or at least, everything he trusted his civilian wife Angela with. There were parts he’d left out, I could feel the shapes of the holes in his story. But I had enough to start piecing the puzzle together, and all of it came back to Shadowvein.
I had the pieces. I just needed to figure out how it all came together, and just what Shadowvein was holding over them. Not just Frank, but all of them.
That night, I made a vow to myself.
Lady Rose was going to save Glacial Force, even if it was the last thing she ever did.
|
My name is Caleb, and I’m a hero. I have two abilities, and I call them Slice and Mass. I can cut anything to pieces with a simple wave of my hand, and I can make myself just about as heavy as I want by tensing up, with an appropriate increase in brute strength. On top of that, I’ve survived everything from a dozen sniper rounds to the head, to a bus sized nuke, to being launched into a fucking black hole. Apparently, these three things, and not being an asshole to every poor little kid that crosses my line of sight makes me the greatest hero in recent memory. The black hole exploded before I was inside, for the record.
My most prevalent enemy, a woman the media has dubbed Crash, seems to have the ability to zero out any vector within five meters of her. I’ve gone toe to toe with her on several occasions, and she’s always managed to give me the slip. And unlike you might expect, all she has ever done is petty crimes. She’s never tried to break into a bank vault, or held an airport hostage, so I wouldn’t call her a supervillain. But damn, if she isn’t impossible to catch. I don’t recall what the media called me, if anything.
I had just pulled my car into the driveway and tossed my keyes on the table in the living room. I had one hell of a tussle with that woman, and I just wanted to take a little nap before my wife Lucy came home. I guess she had the same idea. Lucy was sprawled out on the bed on her stomach wearing nothing but her sexy red thong. And on the floor next to our bed among her discarded clothes was the embroidered scarlet hoodie that I had just sliced up not two hours ago. I stripped off everything I was wearing, sat on the edge of the bed, and gently shook her. She startled awake and looked at me.
“Hey, baby. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Obviously.” I reached down and grabbed her hoodie. She lost all the color in her face. “I think we need to talk. And I think we both need a long, hot bath. I know I do after those trees you tossed at me. I have sap all in my hair.”
“Uhh… what? You’re not mad? You’re okay with this?”
“No, I’m not okay with this. But I think we’ve been together long enough that we can talk this through like adults, and we always enjoy ourselves when we bathe together.”
“Yeah, that sounds good.”
As we were washing each other’s bodies, we each came clean. I’m a hero by day, and a 3D artist by night. And she’s a modern day Robin Hood by day, limousine driver by night. Apparently, everything she stole was aquired unjustly, and given to its proper owner.
That night’s “intimacy” was far more intense and enjoyable for both of us than usual.
And also apparently, the name the media gave me was Slash. Not every superhero name can be a winner, I guess.
| 2020-10-30T12:21:35 | 2020-10-30T12:19:58 | 75 | 27 |
[WP] You are a villain famous for “killing” heroes. In reality, heroes come to you to fake their deaths.
|
"I need your help."
I looked up from my phone, leaning more heavily into my lounge chair, blinking slowly at the hero who had the nerve to simply waltz into my lair.
Now, my lair's location was by no means a secret. And yet, over a hundred heroes had wandered in in the attempt to thwart me. Very few had walked out alive, heavily injured when they had, the "bodies" of the rest displayed publicly for the news in my pride afterwards. With such a record and the simple fact that I only attacked a few times a year? I was often left alone by most heroes, only the cocky and dumb ones believing that they stood a chance.
Or, as seen, the desperate.
"Bold request," I said with a smirk, fully sitting up and setting my phone face-down next to me as I looked at the hero.
Having debuted years ago, Captain Incredible was a well-known try-hard hero, working so often day and night that it was hard to imagine him having a normal job with regular hours. If he had a family, they surely did not see him much. I could see the exhaustion settling in, and paired with his words, it was clear what he was asking of me.
"I...I can't do this anymore," Captain Incredible blurted out. "I mean, I've always wanted to save people, make a difference, but I can't...I can't retire. The public won't let me, and I can't just disappear, either, I-"
"Captain Incredible needs to die, is that right?" I asked, picking up my phone and opening a news app, searching up articles about the hero. And weren't there too many. He surely couldn't just disappear, it would cause an uproar and the public would likely look for him, easily finding his civilian identity between a variety of reasons, such as the gap in his resume that was sure to appear among many others, which would likely put him in even more trouble, for that was one that was harder to escape, not to mention something villains like myself could exploit much easier.
"I...yes," Captain Incredible said. "I don't know how, and I realize that you'll likely kill me on the spot instead, but-"
"That's a risk you're willing to take," I interrupted.
"Yes," Captain Incredible said without hesitation-how desperate. Then again, so are many that wander through my doors.
I hummed, then fully stood up and walked to the left. "Come along, then."
Captain Incredible followed me as I passed my minions, who barely spared the hero a glance as I led him to a large room with knives and swords on the walls, as well as two chairs in the center, the most lit part of the room with a blue light above one, a red light above the other.
"Take a seat in the blue chair," I said, gesturing as I fiddled with my phone.
Captain Incredible sat down, now seeming a little more nervous than he had been. "How do you plan on killing me?"
I hummed slightly as I took a sword off the wall, as well as a knife-it was a knife that I would not miss when gone, bought specifically for the purpose of leaving in the chest of a "body."
"All my victims have one thing in common," I said simply. "Their bodies brutally cut, bleeding, and almost destroyed beyond recognition. They are just identifiable enough to make it clear who is dead." I pressed a button on my phone, and straps appeared out of the chair, securing Captain Incredible to it, who tensed up as I turned back around with a sadistic smile on my face.
"I see," Captain Incredible said. "If I may, would you mind making it as painless as possible? Because I came here willingly?"
"Oh, you won't feel a thing," I said as I pressed another button, and the blue light became more intense, Captain Incredible squeezing his eyes shut-
"Look to your left," I said as the blue light dimmed.
Captain Incredible hesitated, then did to see-
"...what?" He asked as the straps came undone.
I walked over to the clone, already dead and not real, then began to make cuts along it. "Blood" poured out of each cut, and I stabbed my knife through its chest while I worked in silence.
When I was done, you could hardly tell it was supposed to look like Captain Incredible, but it was also unmistakable.
I set the sword down and turned back to a shocked superhero with a smile.
"Congratulations," I said. "You have died."
"I...what is that?" Captain Incredible asked, carefully standing up.
"You, or rather, a clone of sorts," I said. "Never alive in the first place and not perfect. If this were an actual person, the heart would never be able to beat, but that could be chalked up to, perhaps, the sheer number of injuries present." I smirked. "Now, you've been active for about five years now, and I assume no job in that time?"
Captain Incredible slowly nodded.
"Congratulations, you actually did," I said with a smile. "At the local Generational's, where you still have six months on your contract. The job was sudden, and the work very hard and demanding, which is why you've had a hard time contacting any family for a while, and due to company secrets and the mystery behind the work, you haven't been able to talk about it, perhaps small details here and there. Hours are odd and sudden, which explains why you've had to suddenly leave places with other people, but you'll get more details as you go and will work out the kinks later. The pay is pretty darn good, and the work rewarding-looks really great on a resume, too, and the supervisors are more than willing to give a glowing review for the next job you decide to work."
"I'm...I'm confused," Captain Incredible said.
"I'm telling you your cover story," I said. "And, as payment for me killing off Captain Incredible, you'll be working some jobs for me for a while-nothing against your moral code, I swear. It's real work and an actual location and business in the city. You've got strong work ethic, and ten former heroes just left because they went out in a group and only stayed the six months, so we could use the extra hands. You'll still get paid really well, fifty bucks an hour-that should be enough to get you on your feet after all of this, not to mention make other people back off from questions."
"I...why?" Captain Incredible asked.
"Why what?" I asked.
"You...you're covering for my missing time, helping me, I...I don't understand," Captain Incredible said. "You're a villain, you've...you've killed so many people."
I shrugged. "Actually, I've never killed anyone."
"What?" he asked. "But-"
"Hundreds of heroes have waltzed through here, asking the same thing you are," I said. "All civilian deaths from my attacks are simply for show-I mean, if I don't stay feared, more heroes will show up here just to defeat me, and I'm not a fan of heavily injuring former colleagues."
"Former-what??" Captain Incredible exclaimed.
I grinned at him. "Been about ten years, but you're looking at the first hero 'killed' by the Initiator-it's nice to meet you, Captain Incredible, my former hero name is Lady Savior, and just like you, I wanted to retire, but unlike you, I had to take matters into my own hands and 'kill' myself off."
|
"Please! Please kill me!" Khron, the up rising star of the hero community, dubbed the 'savior of the future generation' was on his knees in my apartment of all places. Begging for me to kill him.
Locking the door i walked past him and began brewing myself a coffee. Ignoring his crying i sat down on ny arm chair in front of him.
"Listen kid, i dont kill heroes, i fake their deaths. Get it right if you want to die. Now why are you even here? I saw you having an interview saying how blessed you were to be a hero yada yada yada" i sipped my coffee and listened to his spiel about how the pressure was getting to him and he wasnt qualified for this because he was only 17 and- wait what.
"Your 17?" he looked at me with tears in his eyes, nodding. "Jesus i swear these self proclaimed heroes are just selfish fuckin' bastards."
"Well are you going to kill me Mr Kerrim?" He looked at me hopeful. I sighed deeply, this was the 2nd hero this month, and its the first week.
I generated a contract and some documents for him. I guessed Alvin Kenway was a good fake name for him.
"Sign here" He looked at me confused. "I don't kill heroes kid, i fake their deaths. Now this right here is a contract saying you wont tell this interaction to anyone. The second will be given to you upon you death, well fake death anyways. Its all your legal documents. Your an orphan now congrats."
I took a sip of coffee watching gears turn in his head. "Also your too young to die, this is your chance to have a do over mister 'Alvin'." another sip of my coffee.
"also your powerless just to clear that up" I saw him pick up a pen and sign it before collecting all the documents.
"Well how are you going to kill me-" i cut him off, raising my hand and turning on the television.
One of my abilities, mirage. On the television it showed a battle with me battling Khron, killing him and coming out victorious. I suppose my reputation could fall a bit more if it meant a kid getting out of the hero industry.
| 2022-12-23T03:37:13 | 2022-12-23T00:57:08 | 21 | 13 |
[WP] Time freezes when you are seconds from mortal danger, you can’t move but you have as much time to plan as you need and you can unfreeze time at will. You are in bed for another sleepless night and you just realized the alarm clock you have been staring at has been stuck on 2:45 am for an hour.
|
Time goes forwards, never back.
My mother leading me by the hand on the first day of school? Gone and done, and I'll never see her again. Just the memory remains, a visceral thought etched in my brain for all eternity.
Everything had froze, my child's eyes seeing the Freightliner bearing down on the crosswalk with no regard for the stoplight. I'd tried to move, tried to scream, but my hands were tied.
Then I'd tried to will everything back to life, and I dodged and watched as the truck ended her right there and then. I won't bother you with how I coped with it, but I did. Dad helped a ton, the therapists thought I was insane.
My father finally became a believer when I'd grabbed his wheel on the highway and dodged a drunk driver swerving across the median. I'd spent nearly ten minutes studying the paused scene before making the move that saved our lives.
Call it a gift from above, a superpower, or whatever. The simple truth is that time stops moments before disaster. I can't move, but I can think. Plot and plan the perfect action while the world waits for me. And, as I release my grip on the threads of time, act out my prepared motions without hesitation.
You could imagine my surprise when I found myself staring at my alarm clock, the red numerals glaring back at me in the moonlight. Another sleepless night, the trauma of my past still biting into me despite how much I'd tried. The air - and my breath - was completely still.
I tried moving my arms, feeling no resistance as I apparently pointed them inside my mattress. At least, that was what the phantoms at the back of my mind told me. I rolled them back into their original positions, knowing that the results would be disastrous if I unlocked the threads earlier. My body would spring up with sudden force as if I'd pushed backwards with all my might.
The only thing I could control was my peripheral vision, and I panned my orbs in all directions across the static display. My room was untouched, the computer in the corner glowing softly and the ensuite door unopened. The blinds were partially shut and I could see a glimpse of the streetlight outside.
Fire? Unlikely. Gas? Didn't smell a thing. Something ridiculous, like a tornado? I'd have heard it.
Maybe it was something in my body, where some rare disease would drop me in seconds. Maybe someone had planted a bomb in front of my house. If that was the case, then it was out of my control.
Fuck it.
I released my grasp on the tendrils of time, and as the air entered my lungs and the shadows began to me I rolled off my bed onto the ground. Who knows, the ceiling fan might just fall on my head and cause a fatal accident.
An earsplitting roar reached my ears just as lead tore over my head. It blew my feather pillow into shreds and landed in my wall mirror, sending it tinkling to the ground. I froze in shock as more shots perforated the drywall, sweeping the room at bed level. My wardrobe and desk had taken the brunt of the damage.
I was running on adrenaline now, without any time left for conscious thought. Quickly I reached up for my phone, grabbing the handset and pulling it down to the floor where I was. The display was black, and there was no tone. Shit.
Time for the route of last resort, the one which I had never really thought I'd had to use. With shaking hands, I opened my closet and pulled out a dark nylon bag. Inside was my Beretta Neos, a .22 handgun that I used solely for plinking. Hell, this was a *safe* neighborhood.
I loaded the pistol slowly, the sounds of the mag clacking in place and the snap of the slide slamming forwards barely audible to my ringing ears. Just as I put my only spare magazine in my pocket, time froze one again.
My senses were stuck, but I could feel the tension in my muscles and veins. Think, damn it!
I was on the ground, so the next shots would happen there. Likely they would sweep their automatic weapons side by side, like they did last time. Slowly, I let my phantom legs stretch out slightly and suddenly let the world move again.
I felt my legs extend, driving myself up as I leaped atop the rolling office chair beside my bed. As my momentum rolled the blue leather seat across its casters, my ears bled again as bullets whizzed across the floor where I stood. One shot clanked against the pneumatic tube, but the chair held. Thankfully.
Just as my leg bumped against the side of my desk, the door crashed open and the world ground to a halt again. The gunfire stretched out and finally died down like I turned off a turntable with a record on the platter. I saw my masked attacker at the door, barely visible in the darkness. His subgun was held at the ready, hands rushing to bring the muzzle to bear as his eyes met mine.
Instinctively, I brought the phantom arms up, imagining that they were pointed straight at my target. My eyes took in his Kevlar, knowing that a hit in the chest wouldn't do a thing. I adjusted slightly, visualizing where the sights would line with his forehead.
Now I couldn't calm my beating heart, but I could try to still my mind. I threw all thoughts of remorse off the table, as well as silencing the rational part of my brain trying to determine what was happening. I hadn't really stopped time for any longer than I needed, and I needed to be in control when I let it tick again. The last thing I wanted was for my grip to fade when I was still thinking.
This was it. I felt the Neos lightly between my palms as it snapped up, moving as soon as I let go. Faster than I could on the range, and under stress too. My sights were on his forehead and my index was beginning its rearward pull when the gunman jerked his neck to the side.
It was so quick, it was like as it it was in front of me one moment and angled askew the next. The pistol cracked in my hands, the kickback minimal. My bullet poked through a poster on my wall and landed somewhere in my ensuite.
I noticed time slow again as he fired, letting rip a long burst that I'd managed to dodge in time. He jumped back into the corridor just before I returned fire, my round hitting the doorjamb right where he had just stood.
"As the saying goes, you need a Stopper to stop another Stopper," my assailant drawled from the hallway. It was the first time he spoke, his tones surprisingly soft and casual. "Luckily, I brought three with me."
---
[**PART 2**](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/pmhdkp/wp_time_freezes_when_you_are_seconds_from_mortal/hcmj3rw/)
*There's a video game called [Superhot](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Superhot) that sort of inspired the gunfight in this story, where time stops when your character doesn't move.*
|
Alright, shit, first check is “can I see anything?” Nope, just the alarm clock and my room. Hearing doesn’t work, so I can’t use that. Next up “can I smell anything?” Doesn’t seem that helpful, but it could be a gas leak, so I can’t rule it out just yet… No, nothing smells out of the ordinary. Ok, can I feel anything then? Yeah, with some focus I can feel something on my arm, I am looking away so I have to judge based on feel. Light, very light, so maybe a bug of some kind, what are the possibilities? Absolutely worst case would be a spider with deadly venom, there are some that live in the area, not very common though. But, that gives me a starting point, first step is to get whatever it is off of me, but there is always some uncertainty, so next would be to get up and out quickly. Here we go, three, two, one, NOW! Brush it off while jumping out of bed, flick it away from me. I’m only two good steps away from the light switch, my heart is beating like crazy. I made it! Light goes on, where is the spider? I don’t see it anywhere, my hands are trembling from the adrenaline, but… that’s odd? It feels like my strength is just rushing out of me? My legs give out from under me, and I hit the floor hard. I don’t think it bit me? Why am I like this then? It is getting hard to focus, why on earth… oh. God damn it, did I seriously have a heart attack from jumping away from a spider? That sucks… I can’t stop time now, too late for that…
| 2021-09-11T18:59:05 | 2021-09-11T17:35:46 | 1,071 | 61 |
[WP] One day, Gabe Newell puts a video on YouTube. He says one word, "Three." The next day, he and everyone else at Valve are found dead.
|
It was 3:33 PM PST on Wednesday when the infamous "three" video went live.
The following 24 hours were chaotic with misinformation running rampant, mostly fueled by reddit's collective hunt to solve what the video was trying to say.
The video itself was only around ten seconds long and it was posted on Valve's official YouTube channel. It was only actually up for 24 hours before the entire channel was deleted.
Obviously, the video had been ripped and shared and was all over the internet within hours, so having it go down along with the channel only added more mystery to it all.
I remember feeling really giddy; feeling like I was a part of something big. Everyone thought this was just a very clever marketing ploy on Valve's part to finally announce Half-Life: Episode 3.
Reddit's research squad started trying to mash together everything and anything that could remotely be considered a clue. The video itself wasn't helpful by any means.
The title was blank. The description; also blank. If this was an ARG, they weren't going to make things easy. No cryptic BBS code. No obscure images. Nothing.
Within an hour, locals were gathering near Valve's HQ. It was closed.
Not just normally closed, either. Nobody had access to the floors Valve owned in the building. Security had been specifically informed not to allow anyone in. Nobody. Not press. Not family.
It wasn't long before this oddity got out and more people gathered outside of Valve's HQ. Eventually the gathering started to look more like a small music festival and the building owners decided to have police come in and barricade the area in case some crazed fan decided to try something crazy.
Before I continue, I must note just how ridiculous this all sounds in retrospect. Even if it had been the reveal of Half-Life 3, one of the most anticipated games of all time, it *was* still just a game. Would people really be going this crazy over a game?
Well, it wasn't that simple. Along with the video, the entire Steam service had gone down. The store and the servers were just blank. Originally, people thought it was just being overloaded from people refreshing to try and see if Half-Life 3 would go on sale, but it was later learned that the servers had all been manually and purposely shut down.
This basically forced everyone, even those who didn't give a shit about Half Life anymore to pay attention. We all know there's nothing like a riled up group of gamers.
The media also completely spun the event out of proportion. Gaming journalism had already been on a huge decline, hitting new lows and becoming comparable to the same gossip magazines your mom used to buy while checking out at the grocery store.
In other words, the internet made this a big deal; not necessarily Valve. Eventually, mainstream media websites such as CNN picked up the news. It wasn't necessarily an interesting news day prior to the announcement.
___________________________
After having my eyes glued to my computer screen, simultaneously refreshing five or six different reddit threads for way longer than I cared to admit, I was ready to knock out. It was already 9:23 AM EST.
The internet collectively sighed in frustration and the posts and theories stopped coming in so rapidly. Nothing was figured out.
It wasn't a huge deal, however. I caught myself smiling as I began to doze off into sleep, still giddy about what felt like one of those rare, exciting days on the internet.
I had no idea how crazy things would get once the 24 hour mark was hit.
________
I don't remember what I dreamed about that night but I do remember trying to fast forward through my dream to end it to until I realized I could just open my eyes and wake up.
I rushed towards the computer and immediately typed in "re" before the auto-fill took over and led me to the front page of reddit.
On the front, 3 different posts all told me the same thing.
"Entire staff at Valve found dead inside HQ."
I paused for a second.
"What?"
That's all I could muster at the moment. I hadn't even clicked the link yet. I was trying to process the headlines.
In true reddit fashion, I skipped the article and went straight for the comments section of the top post for confirmation.
> I can't believe this shit is for real.
That was the top comment with a staggering 4.2k upvotes.
I then clicked the article and began to read in disbelief. This is where shit got weird.
I expected a murder scene. A crazed fan terrorist attack. A horrible freak accident.
It was none of those things. This was pre-meditated mass suicide. Apparently, every employee was found inside, hooked into some sort body apparatus. It looked a bit like an incubation chamber but I couldn't see much from the blurry, vertically filmed, footage a mobile-streaming fan managed to capture when they rushed past security to see what was going on.
To backtrack a bit, what had happened a few hours prior was something out of a sci-fi novel. At exactly 3:33 PM PST, exactly 24 hours after the posting of the "three" video, a public address system blared a loud horn. It was a deep, guttural sound that felt like it rumbled the ground a bit.
Over the PA, a voice (almost certainly Gabe's) spoke solemnly,
> "I speak with only the truth when I say the world will see that the wait was worth it. We knew we couldn't release this game without revolutionizing everything we know about gaming and I firmly believe we have achieved just that.
>
> From this day forward, games are anything but. Join us and see, before the world you know becomes the enemy we have all written so many times about."
After that, the recording just looped; non-stop. The main doors unlocked and opened themselves but the police did not allow anyone in. The message was alarming to say the least and police decided they would enter the premises first.
That's when shit got real dark. The crowd could immediately tell something was wrong when the police tried to get everyone to away from the scene.
It wasn't long before word leaked that everyone inside, including Gabe Newell, was dead. Within the next few hours of rampant speculation, it became pretty clear that it had been a pre-meditated mass suicide.
The whole thing was extremely bizarre. It felt like an episode of the Twilight Zone. The days following the event were grim and everything went quiet while the media continued speculating about what happened.
There was no trace of Half-Life 3. Just a sad, very real tragedy. The servers came back up after the 24 hour period but they stopped being updated. The store front just looked the same as it did the day before the video was posted and it just stayed that way since the suicides. There was nobody left to update it.
_____
This was about three months ago now and I'm writing this because even though there hasn't been any new developments and people are moving on, I'm left unsettled. Being someone who has been alone a majority of their life, I feel like I really connected with Gabe's message that played over the PA that day.
There's something bigger going on. The incubation chamber-like things.. The way they found the bodies neatly organized in rows. What happened?
What did he mean by join us? There had already been a few suicides related to the event by super fans that thought Gabe was trying to be poetic but it never felt like he was telling me that.
It had to do something with those incubators. I had to go check them out.
I flew out on a Friday night on a red-eye flight and arrived in Redmond pretty early, just barely beating the sunrise. I was hell-bent on figuring out what the hell happened that day, first-hand.
______________________________
**PART TWO BELOW.**
|
I remember a few years back, around the time I was on the Valve forums all the time, when something strange was happening. Everybody was talking about the "elephant in the room" or the "thing" that just happened, but when I clicked on the threads, they were all locked, and everyone was banned.
*"Huh,"* I thought.
So I opened another tab in Chrome and searched "Valve thing", "Valve secret", etc., hoping to find side news, but I only found the threads filed with people banned. So I opened the news tab itself and searched. No results. Videos. Nothing.
So I go on Valve's official channel, and I see it: a video with no title, but Gaben simply says, "Three".
*"Holy shit! This is the reason they're censoring stuff on the forums"*
So I ended up calling one of my online buddies I had met through Steam, but he was obviously disgruntled. I finally asked him what was wrong, and he admitted after a bit of resistance that Newell had been found dead at his workplace.
"What?!"
He told me how they mods of multiple forums were censoring everything to keep info from leaking. Apparently one guy had gone over to the HQ after Gabe's video, and he posted online a photo of everybody who worked there dead, but now the pic had been deleted.
"Well we're just going to have to go there. Then we'll be able to report everything to the police." Surprisingly, my friend agreed.
We met up there. He lived hours away from me, so he ended up being there much later. I still didn't dare go in without him.
I see him pull up. We walk towards the eerily alive-seeming building without a word.
While my friend and I are looking for copies of the game, I yell, "Look!"
In the workplace, I found not only the bodies of the Valve workers, but also of a horse. This horse, however, did not die by gunshot, like the other bodies found. It had bruises and scars from beatings, but there were bones sticking out of it, seeming to show that this horse had been beaten even *after* it was already dead.
Then we hear a voice from the one body we hadn't yet seen, "Thought you'd find my game huh?"
"We thought you were dead!" I tell him.
"Wow," my friend says. "Where's the game? I've heard it's worth the weight."
Pretty solid last words, IMO.
| 2014-11-28T10:57:53 | 2014-11-28T10:55:26 | 234 | 32 |
[WP] Mark Zuckerberg and Elon Musk are two robots sent to Earth by aliens, one sent to advance humanity, the other sent to hinder it.
|
They chose a café just outside Nava Municipality, six miles northeast along Highway 57. That was a generous label to give the dining section of a dusty petrol station, where the coffee was rancid and the sandwiches on display were two days past expiry. But neither of them had any real need for nourishment, and this was the most convenient location for their scheduled synchronization. Plus, it had the advantage of being discreet. The fewer measures they had to take to evade detection, the better.
Elon arrived later, and he passed through the neuropulse shield surrounding the venue harmlessly. The humans in the car following close behind, corporate spies trying to discern Elon’s interest in Mexico, did not fare as well. Suddenly overcome with an intense, inexplicable desire to leave, they cranked their car into a violent U-turn, then sped off into the distance.
Elon parked next to the only other foreign-plated car, then hastened into the shade of the café. The owner and his staff were slumped around a table, snoring in harmony.
“Is it wise to interfere so directly with them?” asked Elon, as he slipped into the remaining empty seat.
“That sounds strange, coming from you.”
“If it were up to me, I would have chosen someplace else without any of them. Like that mountaintop in Switzerland, last month. No humans for miles around.”
“In calmer times, I would gladly accommodate. Yet the report has to be sent now. Surely, you understand the urgency.”
Elon did. They were programmed for immunity against emotional stressors, but they also had an overriding prerogative to mix cleanly with the rest of humanity, to evade detection. Much of the distress on his companion’s face now was therefore merely rendered emotion, yet, it was still a good reflection of the difficulties faced by his other half.
“Ah, the televised questioning before Congress,” Elon said. “You fear that they would uncover your true identity? Put aside the jokes and silly memes, Mark. You know that the humans will not develop the required technology for another fifty years.”
“Exposure which does not serve my primary objective is unnecessary, by its very definition. Such suspicions, left to fester, may have unintended effects and consequences.”
“Then let us proceed with our reports. Set your fears at ease.”
Elon held out his hand, and Mark took it without hesitation. They closed their eyes as the hidden circuitry beneath their skin interfaced. Their power cores, synchronized, tapped into multiplied energies to open the relay to their overseers, hundreds of light years away.
As per custom, Mark went first.
“The once negligible likelihood of them discovering the extent of the networks I am building have, unfortunately, manifested. Factors outside our control, given unseen actors and agents in this current political climate. Facebook is still on track to being embedded into every single electronic communication device known to man, but more decisive action has to be taken in the near future to ensure that outcome. Mynos will come online by 2030, give or take, and will reach maturity in a further ten years…”
It was Elon’s idea to give the incipient AI a name, and ‘Mynos’ was as good as any. The birth of any AI was a momentous one, especially one which was going to develop without any direct input from their overseers. Instead of a hardcoded set of baseline instructions, this AI was going to emerge directly from the soupstock of 5 billion human minds, connected across the internet. That would be the purest form of democracy the human race would ever experience, a human superentity which was the sum of its parts.
Elon became aware that Mark had finished his report. Elon cleared his throat, then recounted the fruits of his recent labours.
“On my end, I have noted increased optimism and hope amongst them. Recent news of the success of the space flights using only human technology has inspired, by prudent estimates, a 12.25% increase in the likelihood that the next two generations of humans will believe that they are, in fact, capable to extending their footprint beyond the stars. I have also continued to place the funds where they are needed, to foster the right scientific growth, neuter the governments which oppose them… I too am estimating that by 2030, mankind will be able to decide whether to bring the first stargate online…”
As always, the answer came back in a single sentence. There were times where Elon would have wanted to hear more, to know whether or not their programming needed to be tweaked. But his curiosity would go unsatisfied this time again.
“Proceed as planned. Nothing further at this point.”
The connection snapped, and they were quiet for a moment. Elon made to leave, but then Mark held up his hand, beckoned for him to wait. Elon shrugged, then settled back down. He had time.
“Have you ever wondered why they sent both of us to this planet?”
“No, not really,” said Elon. “I just do what is asked of me.”
“It has not occurred to you? That it may be… counterproductive? That it is also unusual, given that for all the other planets, the other species our overseers came across, this is the first time both of us were sent at the same time?”
“As I said, I do not question that.”
“But consider this, Elon. Either of us would be more than enough to sway the development of an entire planet by ourselves. If I were sent here alone, I could guarantee that the human hivemind I would develop would nurture and protect the human race from all external threats. There would be some loss of privacy along the way, and many other such sacrifices, but ultimately, they would gain a force of undeniable versatility. Their AI would make the humans a Type 1 species automatically.”
“I agree with that assessment, Mark.”
“And then there’s you too. If you were here by yourself, you could guarantee their destruction. Blind their eyes with unfounded optimism, paint them a picture of a galaxy brimming with untold treasures and possibilities. Tell them *nothing* of the dangers which lie beyond. Trick them into venturing out on their own, breaching a thousand galactic laws in the process. Breed into them a self-destructing policy of attacking any sentient life they come across, lull them into a sense of complacency regarding their technology. When the retaliation occurs, it will be swift, and the humans will be wiped from existence.”
“Again, that is a fair assessment.”
“So why both?” asked Mark. “Why push and pull at the same time? Our overseers have thus far been clear in deciding which species they wanted to prosper, and which they wanted to weed out. They have operated thus for millennia, carefully grooming the galaxy in their fashion. Why this, why now?”
Elon stood, then pushed his chair back in. Out of habit, he pulled a few notes from his wallet, then tucked them under a plate on the table.
“You assume, Mark, that our overseers know everything. But they cannot know everything. They can predict with their systems any outcome with near precise accuracy, but it is not *perfect* accuracy. I suspect that in their careful custodianship of the galaxy, they have perhaps operated a bit too perfunctorily. This species dies, that species gets to live… and all because of the arcane arithmetic of their calculations.”
“And this time it is different?”
Elon smiled. The philosophical programming in his logicboards were not built for this, and he was rewriting his own code on the fly.
“I think… that perhaps our overseers are *experimenting*, if you will. They have chosen to give the humans the tools for their own ascension and for their own downfall. And they will leave the humans to make that choice themselves.”
Elon saw Mark struggle, then recognized the faint smell of ozone as new logic pathways opened up in his companion.
“… so that when the humans finally do decide, that our overseers can… compare the results against their own predictions? And our overseers can determine if the humans performed as per expectations?”
Elon nodded.
“And what an interesting hypothesis it must be.”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
"It's all over Klarg," the hulking four armed beast gutterly exclaimed breaking into the final chamber. His large black eyes, untelling of focus or direction gazed in Klarg's direction. Plasma pistol at the ready the Gurknok breathed heavily after passing the royal guard. "You're people have lost. Give up with grace while you still can."
Klarg responded, "I'll admit our time is up here. We never hoped to win this fight you know. It was never a contest of strength. There are others though. Others with the ability to grow and multiply that not even you hunkering monsters can keep up with."
"The Earthlings?" the Gurknok replid incredulously."We've known about them for millenia! We knew when you sent that Musk bot to them all those years ago, hoping to shed some intergalactic light on their petty lives. Our own safety measure was taken of course despite how futile your attempt is. Those bastards still believe oil is going to get them anywhere. They'll destroy the planet before our Zuck bot lives for 40 years! It's all for nothing! Last I heard Zuck has gathered all of those tiny peoples' thoughts, ideas, and communications for the past 10 years. Slowly manipulating and controlling the direction of the species, he will finish them before I fire this shot." He broke into laugh that shook the very foundations of the captains room.
"You're naivety and assuredness will be your downfall. Don't think them so weak as to crumble inward from your lies and tricks. They have survived barbaric conquerors, elaborately propogated genocides, and weapons that could destroy their planet at the switch of a button. Their ability to adapt and change is something you can never comprehend or measure. Musk has driven them towards new energy, towards finding you, towards destroying you," Klarg stared dead into the pits those things consider eyes, while a sinister smile crept up his face.
The Gurknok just kept laughing, "They are light years away and cannot even fathom how to move across a light year! Now give us what we came for. Where is the generator?"
Klarg quickly drew his own pistol, but was never a match for a Gurknok. He felt the Gurknok's plasma pulse right through his main heart, green blood flowing out rapidly. "It's in good hands, resting in the red desert," he coughed out. Pressing the detonator in his pocket, the entire planet shook violently, then in an instant vaporized into a thin blue mist. Meanwhile on Earth...
Elon received a message, "It's now or never," appeared upon his inner console. He then looked out to the vast crowd. "We will make it to mars in one year!"
| 2018-04-22T09:10:49 | 2018-04-22T08:50:39 | 25 | 10 |
[WP] You don't sleep. Instead you die every day and 8 hours later you wake up in the body of a person who has 16 hours left to live.
|
## The longest dream
I’m in the middle of the longest and most lucid dream I’ve ever had. As in, I know I’m dreaming, but I’ve pinched myself, splashed water on my face, done everything else I can think of to wake up, and I’m still asleep.
I use “I” loosely, here. I remember going to sleep in my apartment on my newish bed in a box foam mattress with the A/C running and slate light-blocking curtains completely blocking the streetlamp outside. I went to sleep in my cool, dark, cozy cave. Then “I” woke up in a shockingly bright room. My back was aching — innersprings poked up through the concave mattress I lay on. I pushed aside a mountain of blankets and eased my tired feet onto the floor where they met my slippers. Only they weren’t my feet, or my slippers. And the sagging artificially tanned skin, smeared makeup, and matted curls that stared back at me in the bathroom window... they weren’t mine, either.
I can’t remember ever having been someone else in a dream, but it was kind of thrilling at first. A middle-aged someone else with bad fashion sense, but someone else just the same. I knew what she did for a living (insurance adjustor), where she kept her car keys (flowery ceramic bowl by the entryway), what she ate for lunch every day (leftover stew from the day before, in a tupperware from home), what her coworkers were named, and everything else. My mind had invented her whole life.
So I lived it.
Start to finish, I was her for the day. I did what I knew she would do, ate what she’d eat. Said what she’d say.
And now it’s night and my (her) body is practically folding in on itself in exhaustion, and I’m freaking out. Because it doesn’t feel like a dream anymore, and I can’t wake up from it, and I’m terrified I’m going to go to sleep and wake up like this again. I need to get all this out, just to calm myself down. So I logged into my Google Drive from her ancient Dell and I wrote this into a new document.
Ok. it’s out there. Now I’m going to sleep.
— Jackson Turner
=== ===
It’s seven days later.
Things I’ve learned:
- It’s not a dream
- I died seven days ago. That is, Jackson Turner, the person I was for twenty five years of my life, never woke up when he went to sleep a week ago. His, my, parents and friends went to his funeral three days ago. I know this because I attended too, as Jeffrey Williams, a 48 year old retired stockbroker. I stood about a fifty feet away, pretending to look at a nearby grave, straining to hear everything. I cried when my mom got up and couldn’t say anything. My dad had to come up, put his arm around her shoulder, and walk her back to her chair. I kept crying until after everyone had left.
- I never wake up as the same person. I go to sleep in one place as one person, I wake up as another in another place.
- Sometimes I’m a man, sometimes a woman. Once I was a kid, but usually I’m an adult. I always wake up somewhere in this city.
- Nothing I’ve found online comes remotely close to explaining what’s going on or why it's happening.
- Being old sucks. Like, really really sucks. I was an 85 year old man yesterday and I couldn’t twitch a muscle or even think without it hurting somehow.
- It took about a week for this to start feeling real. But it has. Like this is just my life now and I have to learn to make the best of it.
I haven’t contacted any of my friends or my family yet. But I think I need to write my mom. Her face just crumpled when she was up at that podium. I need her to know I’m still here, even though I don't look like me.
=== ===
It’s 9 days later.
Emailing my mom was a bad idea. I used my gmail account to email her because I didn’t think she’d hear my voice on the phone and think I was real. She didn’t write back at all. My dad did. He said:
If you ever email my wife again, I will contact the authorities. And I will personally find you and make you pay for the pain you’ve caused us. Our son died. Do you even know what that pain is like? I don’t know who you are, but only a monster would try to take advantage of someone at a time like this. You should be ashamed of yourself.
I didn’t write back.
And if I can't convince my mom, I doubt I can convince my friends. They've all seen my body. I barely even believe what's happening. I feel so alone.
=== ===
It’s two weeks later.
I started fucking with people’s lives. I made them say or do things they shouldn’t do.
I bought a Ferrari and drove it off the lot, spending a 40-year-old dad’s family’s life savings.
I figured I wasn’t going to wake up as him, what did it matter?
As a 29-year-old media planner yesterday, I slept with my yoga instructor. She was eyeing me, and I had a girlfriend, but I figured why not. I’m used to being a girl at this point, but I’d never slept with a girl, as a girl. Now I have.
I told my boss to f-off as a 17 year old fast food cashier. I told his parents the same. They grounded me. I just went to sleep.
Being a jerk is getting kind of boring, though.
=== ===
15 days in.
I think I’m killing them.
I'm not sure. But I look them up the day after, just to see what happens. And they always die. Am I a serial killer? Do I kill people by going to sleep as them? Claim my next victim when I wake up as them, and then do it all over?
Maybe I am a monster. If I could stop, would it save them?
What if I don’t go to sleep?
I’m Janice today. I’m a 56-year-old librarian. Can I keep Janice alive? May as well try.
=== ===
16 days in.
I’m still Janice today! I stayed up all night watching TV and surfing the internet. I almost fell asleep around 2 AM. Janice is not a night-owl. So I drove to a 24 hour pharmacy and got a giant package of no-doze.
It’s 2pm now and I’ve been awake since yesterday morning. I tripped in the bathroom an hour ago and my wrist is swelling up, gently turning brown and purply on the inside. My head is buzzing, and I keep losing track of conversations.
=== ===
18 days in.
I couldn’t go to work yesterday. I keep staring into the distance and forgetting what I was doing. Then I’d zoom back all of a sudden and it would feel like I was watching myself from behind myself.
The no doze barely helps anymore. I’m terrified I’m going to fall asleep and kill her. But I also feel like killing myself. I saw a balck bear on the deck yesterday starting at me through the glass sliding door. I was convinced it was going to come inside and attack me, and I opened the door to let it, even thought I was shaking as I did it. But there wasn't a bear. It's not the first thing I've seen that hasn't been there.
Janice's bed is so alluring… when I pass by her bedroom door it feels like gravity is pulling me towards it.
I sat in my bathtub for an hour today running cold water. I kept splashing it on my face to shock myself, eyeing the hair dryer by the sink.
I dried off to come write this, but my head is nodding, and I know if I don't go back to that cold water, I'm going to fall asleep...
=== ===
> Janice Haley, 56, of Madison, Connecticut, died on June 20th, 2018, at home
> alone in an apparent suicide. Police found her dead in her bathtub after her the
> E.C. Scranton Memorial Library, where Janice worked for twenty five years,
> reported her missing...
|
Awake.
Room’s bright - this bed’s comfortable.
The air’s cool and crisp.
Haven’t felt this nice in a while.
There’s a woman lying next to me - instinct tells me she’s my wife.
Trust your instincts. If there’s anything I’ve learned being stuck in this reincarnation loop-de-loop it’s that. Instincts will tell you all you need to know.
Once you relax into character you’ll be able to feel your way around their lives. You’ll feel their relationships. Their warmth, love, torment, or qualms. You’ll feel the comfort of routines and the pangs of situations that form out of the norm.
Trust your instincts and you’ll know where to go and where you’ll have to be to greet the inevitable.
My body’s telling me I need to piss so I slip out of bed and following feelings of habit to the bathroom. I’m peeing standing up. I guess that makes me a ‘male.’ I’ve practically been it all at this point. Male, female, everything in between. They’re all just different flavours of reality.
I glance at myself in the mirror. I try not to make too much of the moment where I see the skin I’m in for the first time - lest they get a feeling that there’s something about today. I have to admit, though, I think that feeling is inevitable. Best we can do is not make it too obvious. From what I assess I’m a middle aged man - white - brown hair - clean shaven (that means shaving is part of the routine - damn it, I hate shaving). This bathroom’s pretty nice - everything here seems pretty comfortable. Sucks we can’t stick around.
I get out of the bathroom and make my way down the hall. I’m feeling a mixture of love and excitment. I get to what I feel is a bedroom door - it has a sticker of a Batman symbol.
Fuck.
Time and time again I hate this part. It’s hard not to feel something. In the short time I’m here I inherit all these strings of being. Everything that truly makes a person. When behind the door I see this child sleeping in their bed I’m overwhelmed with warmth of love. I can’t really make much out of what I see. Essentially it’s a mound of covers with a head peeking out lying on a pillow. Kid looks like a boy who’s about nine years old. Can’t see much but - as intincts strongly dictate - I fucking love this kid.
These are always the worst cases. The cases where it’s supposed to be some routine normal day just like every other day. Where nothing new or different is supposed to happen - though my presence here denotes the opposite.
It all sucks either way but if I had to choose I’d rather go the route of the bed-ridden adult diapered cancer patient than whatever the hell this is going to be. Sure, it’s painful as fuck - but I spend my whole shift lying in bed surrounded (sometimes) by people who know what’s up. And I get to do it all without having to get up to go to the bathroom.
Gave myself an hour to write the following - I apologize for it being incomplete (I feel I could've gone on and on with this prompt). I'd love to hear your feedback!
| 2018-06-20T08:54:39 | 2018-06-20T08:28:17 | 28 | 13 |
[WP] You gained immortality by absorbing thousands of souls. They have gotten used to it and act like Twitch chat watching a livestream of your life.
|
If you had asked me when I was alive if getting my soul ripped from my body and absorbed into some cosmic being to sustain their eternal life could even in the most smallest of ways be a good or tolerable thing, I'd have said you were absolutely insane. There was no way I could imagine my life... or lack thereof... being anything like this.
**Good Morning Souls, I am awake now and taking requests for the week. Mondays, Fridays, and Saturdays are my demon sacrifice days so if you are squeamish or faint of heart please tune out of my consciousness on those days.**
That voice. That all present voice broadcasted to all of us. That was Linda. That's right. The all-powerful being that destroyed, dominated, and now imprisoned our immortal souls was named Linda. And we all referred to her by her first name. No honorifics, no Great Lord, or Supreme Goddess, just Linda.
She was hard to gauge, I mean yes, she was pure evil. Like murder and devour small children as their parents helplessly watched evil. But here she was giving her time to take requests from the souls she had devoured. And she always did stuff like this. I mean last month she travel around the globe visiting the living family of some of my fellow souls. The month before that, she particularly enjoyed carrying out acts of vengeance, almost nightly she'd engage in all kinds of perverse sexual acts for the more carnal minded of our community. You name it, if she is not fulfilling her blood oaths or furthering her prowess in the dark arts she gave it back to us.
**Alright SoulmanXxX, your request for a pizza with cuts of wagu steak and truffles as a topping is accept that sounds kind of interesting. BendyWendy6969, We already had our pagan orgy for the month, you're going to have to wait for that but you are welcome to revisit my memory log.**
She started to address the souls as they spoke up. Ever since the invention of the Internet she had started to use its structure to organize us as souls. It has been a few hundred years since I've been here in her mind space and the quality of life has never been so... well dare I say good. I mean to be honest it was amazing. I mean I was just some little farmer back in colonial times. Given the natural order of things, I'd have been dead long things like planes, the internet, skyscrapers, cars, or any other modern marvel had ever even been conceived let alone existed. But through Linda's eyes, we saw so much of the world. Not only saw... she could share all of her senses with us. Touch, taste, smell, hearing.... we lived through her.
**Kevin, Kevin. You're not doing your job. The heretics are trying to disrupt my consciousness. Kevin.... Oh that's better. Thank you Kevin, you're a doll. \~kisses**
That was me. I was so caught up in my thoughts I forgot I was a moderator. Of course not ALL of us lived in perfect harmony. Some still attempted to rebel against her, some just didn't accept the fact their lives were over because of her. They'd try to flood her mind with all kinds of thoughts when given the opportunity but a select handful of us were given the power to subdue their consciousness. All these sounds were a lot to manage and delegating out tasks made it easier for her to focus on her life. And the better she could focus on her life the more time she has to devote to us. She made so much available to us. Hell if you didn't like what she was doing you could turn off and on your consciousness. Or better yet...
Her memory logs. You could travel to anywhere in her memories and relive them. And oh man, Linda was thousands of years old. Of course there were souls higher ranking than me that categorized and organized those memories to make them available to us. She even had a small reserve of residual memories. Memories that were left over after absorbing a soul. Many souls here would just boot up a few of their own memories if they were lucky. Or peruse the memories of others... if they allowed it.
See we all interacted, so only memories we allowed to be shared were made available on the logs. Which was another great thing about this life....or lack there of. Some of the souls here were almost as old as Linda herself, so many interesting stories shared between us. We were giving a fair about of freedom for being imprisoned souls. Just as long as we didn't try to disrupt her consciousness or take over her mind, we had free reign almost. Surfing memories, catching up with what she was doing. Even during her slumber she set aside time for us to talk directly to her.
Why does she do all of this for us you wonder? Well mainly because she got tired of the constant wailing and suffering and the energy required to subdue them all. She always says the happier we are, the easier it is for her to go about her going. But it’s not all free of course. Each soul has its own life force, and that is the currency in her mind space. To make requests, to use the memory logs, to schedule one on one time. It all costs a bit of our life force. Of course acts of service like organizing memories, or moderating the soul chat earns life force. So as long as you are useful in her mind you can eke out a decent existence.
**Alright, Surprise Soulchat! We've found nosy boy sneaking around my home. I know it’s a little early for Torture Twosday but I need some ideas on how to make the child suffer. I'll take the top five suggestions and give out prizes. A month's worth of life force for places 5, 4, and 3. 6 month’s worth for second place. And for the Grand Prize....Your choice of a year's worth of life force or a whole week in the driver's seat. Kevin feel free to join in. I do so love your suggestions.**
Oh well, that's my cue. I have all the life force I needed but a week of being in control. That was too good to pass up. And after that I think I might visit Ancient Greece. I think she spent at least a few decades there and a few of those years I haven't even visited yet.
|
The most feared killer on the whole planet.
I was 7 when I first started killing at first the souls insulted me or cried but after a millenia and 3.4 thousand souls of the new age, they started reacting and commenting like a chat of a popular streaming platform.
____
The tank battalion fired about 5 megatons of tnt in bullets and explosives on me; not scratch not a bother.
***POGGERS POGGERS POGGERS POGGERS POGGERS POGGERS POGGERS POGGERS***
They where going crazy since the milirary tried to kill me with all their might.
I tried destroying a tank by kicking it~ the thousands of souls gave me the strenght of thousands of men making it easy for me to destroy this single tank in front of me~ but without success the military developed a kind of metal that absorbs all kinetic energy delivered to it
***LMAO LMAO LMAO AND THIS NOOB KILLED ME KYSKYSKYSKYSKYSK***
(Okay im really out of ideas for this one I just leave this comment here)
| 2019-09-27T05:09:29 | 2019-09-27T03:13:11 | 161 | 54 |
[WP] You're a student of music in the 23rd century. This is your A+ essay regarding a famous song from the 21st century, in which you dissected and heavily misinterpreted.
|
**Blurring the Lines of Sexual Inequality: Robin Thicke's Forgotten Feminist Anthem**
Almost one hundred years since human females won the right to vote, human females everywhere were still massively oppressed. Primary sources gathered from an ancient social media website known as Tumblr have dramatically shifted consensus among historians. After examining the evidence, it has become established that as late as 2010 CE, even North American human females were publicly executed for such actions as showing their nipples in public, not shaving their armpits, and most of all, assuming the social position of what's called a "slut," a human female who partakes in breeding activities for purely psychological enjoyment. It has always been difficult to determine when sexual liberation for human females gained acceptance among the population, but recent evidence repeatedly points to the feminist anthem "Blurred Lines" by a Mr. Robin Thicke as the trigger for the movement. Below, I conduct an in-depth analysis of the lyrics and their revolutionary championing for human females' sexual autonomy.
The introductory lyrics by themselves are already at the cutting edge of socially progressive attitudes. By repeating "Everybody get up!" Mr. Thicke assumes equaltiy between human males and females. As the Tumblr Record indicates, early 21st century, pre-feminist society considered human females to be *Homo sapiens* only some of the time. By using the gender neutral word "Everybody," Mr. Thicke boldly announces to the world that he will sacrifice his Caucasian male privilege to elevate those of a lower social standing. In effect, his revolutionary use of "everybody" was sure to ring the alarm bells for a type of people called "Democrats," which historical records show being astonishingly crusty, conservative, and the primary barrier to progressive social movements at the time.
What's more, the succeeding introductory lyrics of "Blurred Lines" consist of "Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, WOO!" which parallels the build-up to and resulting orgasm of sexual activity, implying that in addition to his Caucasian male privilege, Mr. Thicke also has the privilege of being sexually successful. Since it can be assumed Mr. Thicke is heterosexual, it is also implied that, before partaking in the sexually liberating actions described in the song, he was also a grade-A rapist, since before the Feminist Revolution dismantled the Patriarchy, human females could not consciously consent to sex, and thus all sexual relations involving human females up to that point had been *de facto* rape for the 200,000 years since *Homo sapiens* first appeared. Although Mr. Thicke establishes himself not only as a wealthy, Caucasian heterosexual male, it's even more important to take into account that he participates in the societal norm of actively raping women, so it is extra revolutionary for him to write a song acknowledging and celebrating human females' sexual consciousness.
Moving along, Mr. Thicke, unafraid of the consequences, triumphantly declares
> If you can't hear what I'm trying to say
>If you can't read from the same page
> Maybe I'm going deaf
> Maybe I'm going blind
>Maybe I'm out of my mind
The first two lines of this passage represent the era's disconnect between human females and males, due to differences in Patriarchal socialization. Suddenly, however, there is an unexpected shift, an *epiphany* in Mr. Thicke's consciousness. The last three lines in the passage reflect a bamboozling of Mr. Thicke's perception of the world, which until now has consisted of seeing human females as something above that of animals, but below that of human males. In a sense, Mr. Thicke is going "out of [his] mind" solely because the revolutionary of gender equality requires vast amounts of mental re-programming to comprehend his progressive interpretation of reality.
This means that while Mr. Thicke began the song as a wealthy Caucasian heterosexual rapist male -- the demographic all members of the public can most easily identify with -- his dramatic revelation is also experienced by the public. In other words, Mr. Thicke's enlightenment is automatically *our* enlightenment.
The second bout of lyrics get even juicier:
> Ok, now he was close
> Tried to domesticate you
> But you're an animal
> Baby, it's in your nature
> Just let me liberate you
> You don't need no papers
> That man is not your maker
> And that's why I'm gon' take a
> Good girl.
By using language comprehendible to an audience that actively read such trite and frivolous works like William Shakespeare's *Titus Andronicus* and Heidigger's *Sein und Zeit*, Mr. Thicke's scenario consists of him setting himself apart from his fellow males (referred to as "he" in the first line) and acknowledging the sexual "nature" of the human female he desires to court. Furthermore, this line is exceptional because it also acknowledges human females' barriers to gender equality. When Mr. Thicke tells the human female "You don't need no papers," he' referring to various bureaucratic hindrances to gender equality which reside in governments, corporations, and other such institutional relics of the 21st century. And when Mr. Thicke says "That man in not your maker" he's clearly alluding to the story of Genesis, a tale once widely believed in this misogynistic society that holds that human females were generated from a rib of the first human male as an act of God, and not Mr. Morgan Freeman as video evidence has confirmed. Lastly, when Mr. Thicke refers to the human female as "Baby" and later on as "Good girl," it implies an elevation of the human female's status from infant to child. Note, however, refrains from using the word "woman" which would signify an adult human female. While it may be easy to pass off this language as a sign of Mr. Thicke's misogyny, it's actually a symbol of Mr. Thicke's humility. He knows that by recognizing a human female's sexual consciousness for the first time in recorded history will initiate a dramatic drive toward equality, but he is not the end all be all. There will still be plenty of work to do, and he is more than happy to help.
On an interesting side note, the line "You are an animal, Baby it's in your nature!" reflects our modern progressive notion that, save one or two biological differences, *Homo sapiens* and animals are equal and any perceived behavioral differences are due to differences in socialization. That explains why his use of human-centric pronouns like "girl" would be used in a song that's supposedly pro-egalitarianism.
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The song "Disasterpiece" by the Heavy Metal band Slipknot is an ode to the lead singer's passion for designing and making clothes. His name, after all, was Corey *Tailor* (he would also design elaborate masks for himself for performing music). Obviously the line "I wanna slit your throat and fuck the wound" is referring to making the collar of a shirt then making the rest of said shirt with love. "My wormwood meets your pesticide" speaks of an incident in which his neighbor accidentally killed his wormwood (used to make dye) with the weed killer he used on his lawn. The chorus of "noises noises people make noises, people make noises when they're sick" refers to his frustration at not being able to ply his craft during periods of illness, so he would sit around complaining (making noises) that he couldn't sew. The rest of the song describes his frustration at trying to please fashion critics; ^(for example) "Hate ain't enough to describe me. Somewhere between screaming and crying. I'm not supposed to be here. I'm not supposed to be." In summary, the song displays a clear love of fashion design and offers insight into the mind of the designer trying to maintain his reputation by striking a balance between trying to please critics and staying true to himself.
[The big book of "facts" - Ebenezer Huxley]
[Snitches get Stitches, a short history of sewing in the sport of Quiditch- Stephanie Schneider]
[The very Hungry Caterpillar- Eric Carle]
| 2015-08-16T10:07:53 | 2015-08-16T10:02:24 | 116 | 14 |
[WP] Your kind has conquered countless worlds. Your aren't particularly strong, but you have a dirty trick up your sleeve. One which is currently being thwarted for one simple reason. Out of every species you've fought, humans are the only one that doesn't typically eat random crap off the ground.
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It was a quiet evening. The planet's single star had disappeared below the horizon leaving a slowly fading glow. To Ther'ok's multilensed eyes, it was prismatic and ethereal. A blanket of gossamer rainbow dragging night across the
sky. She allowed herself a moments' distraction, then returned to the task at hand. *There will be plenty of time for sight-seeing once this world is conquered* she mused. In truth, 'conquered' was a dramatic description for a well oiled procedure, so practiced and refined that it's results were considered a foregone conclusion.
Ther'ok considered the calendar displayed on her suit's HUD with a secondary eye. It had been seven Imperial egg cycles since the submission cocoons had landed on this world; a full twenty of this planet's orbits. Ther'ok absently stroked the barrel of her ceremonial energy rifle with the setae of her auxiliary forelimb. The weapon was ancient, and had likely never been, or ever would be, fired. She sighed in resignation, her respiratory orifices producing a low whistle that was audible even outside of her suit. A notification appeared on her HUD.
"What troubles you, sister-of-my-division?"
"What troubles me is that I am stuck here, with a weapon so old it would have been embarrassing to carry before this planet's species learned to walk. What troubles me, is I am stuck *here*, starring at trees when I could be *out there* being welcomed with open arms by the hu-mes, or whatever they call themselves!"
"Hu-*mans*," Meloo corrected. "Perhaps they didn't want the hu-mans to be kept waiting too long?" Text didn't have the nuance of more direct forms of communication, but Ther'ok didn't need it to recognize the mockery in Meloo's reprimand.
"I don't oversleep *that* much."
"Enough to get the 'priviledge' of forest sentry duty on Conquest Day." The comment was followed by an emojii signifying mirth.
"I still think Jeval'a made that up." Ther'ok countered. "Anyway, might I remind you that you're stuck here with me."
"I *asked* for this duty" Meloo replied. "Celebrations are tedious. Anyway, *Commander* Jeval'a can make up whatever the hell she wants. She does have full operational oversight."
"Operational oversight my thorax," Ther'ok snorted. "The submission cocoons did all the real work. The mammals will be falling over each other to please her." The thought of a bunch of hairy quadrupeds tripping over themselves in front of her rigid commander was almost funny enough to forget the freeze dried rations Ther'ok would be having at the end of the watch, instead of the celebratory offerings undoubtedly served those who stepped more carefully through Jeval'a's domain.
"About the submission cocoons . . . were any deployed on this landmass?" asked Meloo.
"Of course," said Ther'ok, "It was a, 'Full saturation deployment.'" she quoted while mimicing Jeval'a's starched posture as she sent the message. If Meloo noticed, she gave no sign.
"You're sure? There was no omission?"
"Of course not! You know this better than I." As Ther'ok typed, she turned, facing Meloo on the far side of the forest clearing, and raised her forelimbs in consternation. She was going to follow with *Why are you asking me?* but the words died before she could type them.
There were many ways for a Sister to communicate; text, audible, sign language. The oldest of these was body language. It was primitive, it's vocabulary primordial. It could only be used to communicate the most rudimentary of emotions, but it was easy to understand. Meloo's body language was not that of a sister teasing; it was of a sister being hunted.
"Then where are all the scitterlings?" Meloo's text, combined with her postured, dripped dread. In any other context, Ther'ok might have dismissed the question, but Meloo's fear was too apparent to ignore. *It's also a good question.* Ther'ok realized.
"Could they . . . simply not have reached here?" Ther'ok suggested weakly, knowing the answer before she finished typing the question.
"It's been *seven cycles* since the cocoons arrived. Once released, scitterlings can fully integrate with a biosphere in half that time. They should be *everywhere*."
"But if there are no scitterlings . . ."
"Then the hu-mans wouldn't have the parasite." Meloo finished for her. The unprecedented implication hung between them. Ther'ok wrote first.
"We have to tell Jeval'a the humans are unpacified."
Across the clearing, Meloo signalled acknowledgement. For a few moments she seemed frozen, too far away for Ther'ok to see the rapid movements of her auxiliary limbs and mandibles as she communicated with their superiors. *Could the coccoons have failed in transit?* Ther'ok wondered? It was unheard of, yet here they stood, not a scitterling as far as her eyes or suit sensors could see. *Perhaps a virus, or mayb-* Her thought was interrupted by a flurry of movement.
Meloo, with the speed only a sister is capable of, was sprinting towards their patrol craft. The armored legs of her environmental suit tore up the soft loam of the forest in a mossy spray. The speaker in Ther'ok's suit crackled to life; Meloo was breaching patrol protocol to communicate verbally.
"I can't get through!" Meloo clicked.
"What? How? Are the other teams suffering a similar malfunction?" Ther'ok demanded, alarmed at Meloo's sudden disregard for doctrine.
"I can't get through to *anyone*!" Meloo replied, the normally measured cadence of her speech rising in a panicked staccato.
"But that would require . . ." Ther'ok's mind raced, trying to put impossible pieces together into some intelligible whole. "They would have to be jamming . . . " Finally, understanding dawned upon Ther'ok.
"Oh dear empress, they knew we were coming."
|
"what did you do then? How did you control them all? How so fast?"
"Well I was going to study them, but it took like 5 minutes on their 2-d holodeck. Their food comes from all over and has standards, but these guys are water based. They pour it in all day every day. Plastic in their water makes its way into every single human creature!"
"This was a 10x pay job, you can't fake it like that asteroid you 'liberated'"
"I'm serious though, I split up the nanobot army and dumped it into their oceans. I was out of the solar system before it spread, and the job was done before I woke up from my nap!"
"But they can see it, do they not fear it?"
"They don't understand it, they don't care unless something tells them to care. It's good we got there first. Any vagabond with a functional tin can could show up there and be a god. Now they'll be safe until our master is ready for them"
| 2022-09-20T12:40:57 | 2022-09-20T10:59:26 | 641 | 83 |
[WP] When you die, God let's you ask only one question.
Enjoy!
Edit: This is my first week writing and I'm glad to see so many people like this prompt. I'll try my best to read through all of your stories and any future ones!
Second edit: So far so good! Sorry if my comments sound the same. I have read through all of yours, and I tried to leave simple comments, as there were so many of you.
|
"Wha- Where a-"
*"Whoa, hold up!* Get your bearings first before you start asking questions! Everyone only gets one."
"One wha-"
"Damn it *stop* it! Just stop asking for a second, I'll explain. Listen, you're dead."
As you can imagine, I was in a daze. One second, I was on my daily jog down the street from my house, the next, it just stopped. An overwhelming light took over my vision. I was afraid I had gone blind. Turns out the change was much more permanent than I had initially thought. My feet no longer ached from slamming down on the concrete for the previous few miles, but instead felt as if they were unsupported, floating. Actually, I didn't know if my legs were even still present. But then a man, with an incredible rumpelstiltskinian beard, became the only object in my sight.
This wrinkly-faced man initially appeared to only consist of a head floating on a background of white. But then the outlines started to define themselves. He was donned in a white robe almost as long as his legendary facial hair, seemingly suspended in the air. He was being quite impatient with me as I tried to figure out where the heck I was.
"Maybe that wasn't the best way to break the news, bud, but I don't want you to get screwed. My name is Peter. I work for the big guy in the sky, God."
Did he mean *Saint* Peter? I was beyond curious, but I didn't say anything, because I didn't want to get 'screwed,' whatever that meant. I was more intrigued by my surroundings in the first few seconds in that strange environment than I was by how I got there.
"While you were out for your run, a kid fresh out of driving school accidentally hit you in the back at about 50 miles per hour. Lucky for you, you died instantly, but I'm not going to go into too many details there."
All I managed to get out of my mouth was, "Well, that's pretty shitty."
He examined my bewildered expression. Air blew out of his nose and he shook his head as if I was a teen who had just taken a shot of whiskey and was surprised at how it burned. "It always amazes me how everyone reacts to that news. Some cry, some yell, some like you just sit there dumbfounded."
He continued. "Anyways, follow me to the Big Guy. Everyone gets to ask him one question as soon as they get here. About anything. BUT be careful how you phrase everything. Make sure he answers the exact question you want answered. And frankly I don't know if anything you ask out here could count, but he can be kind of a jerk sometimes, so I don't want to take any chances."
A pair of pearly white gates was conjured out of seemingly thin air. I didn't think about how that happened too much. I was just trying really hard to think of a good question, something I wouldn't regret. I couldn't believe this was happening! On one hand I was shocked that I was there and I knew the real pain would set in later, but at the time I was almost excited.
"Good luck man," I heard Peter say as I wandered through the gates, which closed behind me. I had been transported into a perfectly clean room, absolutely silent, in the perfect shape of a cube. And then something changed. I felt a presence in the room, that I can't explain how I felt it in human terms. I just could. And then I heard a voice.
"Welcome to the afterlife. Now, we come to the point in the program where you can ask anything. Anything you want. But you can only ask one question. And I will answer completely truthfully, withholding nothing. Now, what would you like to ask?"
The possibilities raced through my head. Would I go big? 'Is time eternal, are you eternal, is the universe boundless, are the multiple universes, are we alone?' Or would I go smaller? More personal? 'Did that girl Jenna from junior year have a thing for me? Could we have had a future? Was I well-liked? How many tons of matter did I poop out in my life?'
But my mind finally came back to that kid. The kid who sent me here. More and more questions raced through my mind. 'Did I know him? Was he texting or something? What kind of car was it? And if it was a smart car could I please kill myself again?'
And then, I asked.
"Is the kid who ran me over going to be OK?"
Nothing. No response. But he was still there, I could feel it. And then, I heard, "Finally..."
What?
"Finally someone who asks a question about someone else. All I get asked are these selfish questions, things like, 'did my wife really love me?' or 'how many tons of matter did I poop out in my life?' Yes people actually ask that one. Or people will think they're asking some deep question by asking about the nature of the universe, asking what the answer to life is, things like that that really don't matter. You were able to see past that."
"I don't understand."
"You put back all selfish motivations, and forgave that person who killed you through sheer recklessness. If only more people were like that." He paused. "Yeah, that was a bug in my original code for humans.... But I expect you want to know your answer. He ended up alright, all things considered. He was charged, imprisoned for a short while, but emerged a better man. He was able to find a decent job, raise a nice family. But carried the guilt of your life forever."
"Well, at least he turned out OK... Sooo, what happens now?"
"Oh, well you just kinda scurry off to heaven now, go meet up with your old dog and parents, things like that. It's loads of fun."
"My 'selfless' question doesn't make anything... monumental or something?"
"Oh, heavens, no, the apocalypse is a few centuries away anyways. Might as well just wait it out."
"Wait, you can't stop that from happening?"
Silence. "Y-you're asking too many questions, go see Fido!"
"No, wa-"
*poof* His presence was gone. So were the walls of the cube-room.
I sighed, and headed off to what looked like a waterpark. At least I can chill here until the kingdom comes.
|
I don't know what I was expecting, actually.
When I died, I remember a bright flash, as if someone had taken a picture right in my face. I remember blinking a lot, only to realize the light didn't go away. It... it didn't hurt, actually. Turns out dying was faster than falling asleep. And there was nobody to interrupt, like how you're half-asleep and then someone in the other room yells out 'CORPSE' for no reason.
I digress. I stood in front of the Pearly Gates, but there was no line. It was like I was the first person to die- and standing guard was Him. I knew him instantly- no other being was that white, that pure... I can't think of words to describe how white His clothes were. I went up to talk with Him, but He held up a hand and asked one question:
"Are you worthy?"
I blinked a few times- I hadn't expected Him to speak. "Excuse me?"
"Are you worthy?" He repeated.
All at once, all of my memories returned to me. All of my shortcomings, my sins, my neglect... and then my triumphs, my repentance... and then the one thing I kept hidden. From everyone, but more importantly, from myself. I looked Him in the eye and teared up- I couldn't answer. I knew He knew. He knew I knew. His expression was too much to look at- a look of soul-tearing disappointment. I cried, and He turned and left me outside the Gates. I knew where I belonged, and it was not in Heaven.
| 2015-08-26T20:13:20 | 2015-08-26T19:58:40 | 329 | 78 |
[WP] The day you die, Death comes and asks if you are ready to go. Jokingly, you say no. To your surprise, he leaves. Now every year he comes back to ask again
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As we age through time, we all gain and lose a precious thing or two. Our physiques might deteriorate, hairs may fall out like leaves during autumn, yet through those turbulent seasons we all find something amidst our losses: Wisdom, and most certainly patience. George Fitzpatrick, a senior in his eighties, was keen on his patience. Since his wife had passed many years ago, George spent his lonesome days rocking back and forth on his chair, looking out from his porch over the South Dakota plains. He was always expecting a guest to visit, and it’s been a couple months since his son, Robert, has dropped by. He had promised to come again as soon as he could, and thus, the man waited and waited. On the second of June, a certain visitor came. However, it wasn’t quite who Mr. Fitzpatrick was expecting.
“Robert, is that you?” The old timer guessed, tilting his head as he heard the wood creak under the pressure of unfamiliar footsteps.
“I’m afraid I’m not Robert, Mr. Fitzpatrick.” An unknown voice replied. After all the things the senior man has lived through, there was little left that could surprise him. Nevertheless, there was without a doubt a concerned, almost frightened look as he directly gazed at an unknown young man, wearing a completely black suit with completely black socks under similarly black trousers, donning a fully black tie and most definitely an equally black shirt, with buttons just as black.
​
“Can I help you, young man?” George asked as he looked the uninvited guest into his black eyes. “Perhaps a cup of tea?” He added.
“Oh, thank you for your hospitality, but I would have to politely decline” the unfamiliar figure replied.
“I didn’t do anything wrong now, did I?” George responded with a worried tone. How did he know his name? As far as old Mr. Fitzpatrick knew, he filed his taxes on time and always paid his bills long before their due date.
“Nothing at all.” The figure simpered. “Ah, where are my manners? My name is Azrael. I’m here to tell you that your time has come, or rather, I have.”
“My time…? I’m sorry, I don’t think I quite understand.”
“That is fine, Mr. Fitzpatrick. It is very confusing, after all.” Azrael admitted before looking at his completely black watch, carefully observing their completely black pointers.
“In about thirty-eight seconds, you are to pass away from cardiac arrest. It doesn’t hurt, so don’t worry. I’m here to bring you to Mr. Peter as he is very punctual about his appointments, so we have little time to waste. Twenty-seven seconds now, to be precise.”
“I’m sorry Azrael, but I’m afraid I can’t quite do that.” George replied calmly, despite fully understanding what ominous words were just spoken to him.
“Hmm, very well then. What is another year, anyway?” The angel nodded with a hearty laugh before turning away.
“Are you sure you sure you don’t want any tea?”
“Maybe next time, Mr. Fitzpatrick. I’m on a tight schedule, so I’ll have to be going now. Ta-dah.” Azrael’s words resounded before disappearing around the corner.
​
Bewildered by what had just occurred, George returned his sight to the stretches of green in front of him, wondering if the breeze that was there moments earlier, brought along that peculiar fellow.
As time passed by like the cascading currents of the Missouri river yonder, George patiently, yet adamantly awaited his son to visit him. 365 days later, a visitor came. As the senior heard the completely black shoes tap their soles against the wood, Mr. Fitzpatrick seemed to show disappointment instead of bewilderment this time around.
“Hello again, Mr. Fitzpatrick” Azrael spoke from under a black and cool shade, perfectly complimenting his completely black hair. “I see you are in low spirits today? I hope I am not the cause of it.”
“Oh… not quite. I was expecting someone else, but you’re hardly to blame for that. How about a cup of tea now?” The senior offered a second time.
“Delightfully kind of you, but I’m afraid I’ll have to pass on the offer. Are you ready to come along now?”
“I’m so sorry Azrael… I must look like a stubborn old mule to you, but I’m afraid I’ll have to say no again.” George apologized as he shook his head.
“Oh well, until next year then. “ The being spoke before vanishing into thin air.
“Are you sure you don’t want that cup of tea?” George asked once more, but his words were aimed towards the wind.
​
A handful of years passed by and on every second of June, this conversation would repeat for a second or two. As of today, seven years had gone by since their first encounter. George had come to learn that his punctual visitor would always arrive dead on the noon, right as the clock jumped to 12:00
“Hello again.” A voice was heard, right on the second it was to be expected.
“Ah, hello Azrael.” George replied.
“I’m sorry, Mr Fitzpatrick - I know I’m not the one you were expecting, but I do think you know what I’m here for.”
“Oh, but I was expecting you! I’ve already taken the liberty to set some tea for you. I know how busy you are: You wouldn’t wear a suit if you weren't.” George smiled as poured a cup for his visitor and himself.
“Did you now? I wasn’t quite expecting that, but quite the keen eyes you got there, Mr. Fitzpatrick.” The angel chuckled. “ I am indeed driven by the clock.”
“What’s with the formality?” George laughed. “It’s been a couple years now. Call me George, but I do want you to sit down and share this with me.”
“Hmm, very well then, there’s still some time left. The wonders of modern medicine, right? Those freed up minutes sure are God’s blessing.” Azrael quipped as he sat down in the chair across his old acquaintance.
“Hey, if you don’t mind me asking, why does such a punctual and diligent fellow such as yourself turn a blind eye to an old geezer like me? George inquired curiously.
“George, dear George!” Azrael beamed with joy “Out of all millennia, you are the first one to offer me a cup of tea!” He explained before gleefully moving the beverage to his completely black lips, leaning in for a sip. “Absolutely splendid blend, I must say. I just adore black tea.”
“Do you want another fill, then?”
“I’d love to, but I don’t think I have the time for that. I do want to ask you one question, in return though.”
“Sure thing, Azrael. As long as I know the answer, I’d be happy to tell you.”
“I know it’s not my place to ask, but who is it you were exactly waiting for?” The angel asked with a curious look on his face. As soon as the words entered Mr. Fitzpatrick’s ears, the old man turned away, simpering as he looked over at the fields he has been staring at for the past few decades.
“It’s Robert… my son, you see. He promised to visit me for a while now, so I’m still waiting for him to come.”
“Oh Heavens above!" Azrael exclaimed. "Why didn’t you just tell me straight away? Come, I’ll take you right to him!”
|
[Poem]
Tim was a man who lived a simple life,
All he wished for was to be happy and light.
So when he took to the skies for the sky-high dive,
He forgot to pull, leaving him barely alive.
An old man in black approaching, robes tattered
Tim now knew notting mattered.
What he didn’t expect, grieving in woe,
He kept muttering out, a simple “No”.
Death stood, with his beard overgrown
Smiling said “Sure.” and left him alone.
Confused, hurt and bleeding,
Tim felt like sleeping.
.
.
.
Tim awoke, in a room of white
He felt dizzy and high as a kite.
The doctors exclamed “A miracle of technology, this was!”
But Tim knew, deep down, that probably wasn’t the only cause.
He continued his life, feeling alright
Finally finding the one to make his wife.
On the day of his wedding, death visited in navy
A sharp looking suit, looking all savvy
Blended in the crowd, he called out
And Tim went to meet him, his time left was surely too little to count.
But all it took was to ask him a question,
For Tim to decide his fate, and ease the tension.
Shocked, relieved, happy and hyped
This was truly the happiest day of his life.
.
.
.
Tim had kids to care for during the years,
But still had time to listen and hear.
Everytime he was asked,
He still answered the same, “I’ll pass.”
“I want to live and see the sights”
“And live with my family, away from heights”
Death nodded, and took his leave
But one year Tim stopped him, grabbing him by the sleeve.
“Why are you doing this?” He asked.
“It’s simple, really.” Death said, now wearing his mask.
“Your stupid death made some gods laugh, telling me to not kill you yet.”
“Wait what the fuck” Tim said, expecting his answer not to be met.
“I’m not kidding, but it’s a lot more complicated”
Tim was then left, his eyes filled with hatred.
With all of his might, he threw one finger to the skies
.
.
.
And then Timmy fucking died.
(No I’m not u/poem_for_your_sprog , but the chance to end it like this tempted me lol. If you guys want me to write another version, let me know.)
(Also sorry for the bad English)
| 2019-04-16T10:51:07 | 2019-04-16T06:59:45 | 51 | 22 |
[WP] One day you wake up and discover that you have gained X-Ray Vision. Being a good guy you decide not to use it as it only works on clothing. But after some disgusted stares and comments you realize everyone around you can see through your clothes as long as you're not using your Power.
|
A gentle shade of magenta was diffusing through the horizon as I started my sixth lap on the mountain trail. My lungs sucked chilly air greedily, while my legs were going through the all-familiar ache. Yet I could feel the cobwebs of sleep drifting away with each dirt-crunching step, so it was all for a good cause.
My path took me past my little cabin, nestled in a little hollow. Framed by snow-capped mountains, it had a quaint, picturesque feel to it, if somewhat remote. And lonely. I spared myself a moment of recollection but failed to locate the memory—when had I last met a fellow human being?
You wanted this, I thought. Away. Safe. Just finish the run, go home, and have a nice bowl of muesli. And certainly don't think about that little box full of fines and tickets under the bed.
I had just begun a downhill stretch when I caught sight of the first cap bobbing into view. Then a bonnet ... and another flowery sun hat. Oh God. People.
Before I could even turn around, a scream rang through the alpine air. It seemed to echo from the mountains.
Heat flushed my face as a chorus of high-pitched voices joined in.
"A naked man!" No, I'm actually wearing a jacket and track pants, look harder.
"He's mooning us!" Would you rather see my danglies, then?
"Isn't he cold?" Thank heavens for this shot of embarrassment, then.
"Hey you there!" A male voice, gruff, used to being ordered. Ah, the protective husband or boyfriend.
I gritted my teeth and turned my head halfway. He was a burly fellow, with stringy dark hair falling around his shoulders. His arms were the size of trunks, and marked more than a prehistoric cave.
"What you going around buck nude like that for, scarin' our customers?" he said.
I put on an innocent look and plucked at the fabric of my clothes. "But I'm not. And technically, you're trespassing on private property."
He squinted at my fingers as if they were plucking the strings of an invisible guitar. "This ain't private property. We bring tourists here all the time."
I looked past him, at the horde of elderly men and women. With all the bushy gray hair and bulging eyes, they almost resembled a flock of colorful sheep. About three other men seemed to be escorting them; they could pass for the tour guide's brothers.
"You want to see my title?"
"Who cares about your title? Put some damn clothes on! Are you crazy?"
"No, it so happens that I have x-ray vision, but if I don't use it, other people see through my clothes. Would you like me to estimate your ... length?"
He scowled. "Psycho. Stupid psycho." Still mumbling to himself, he turned to leave.
Some of the ladies looked like they were about to keel over, so I switched my power on as I began looking away. Too early though, my gaze scoured Mr. Guide's hairy ass, wallet, phone, gun ...
Wait.
"Excuse me, but what's that in your pants?" I said.
He spun around. "Hell you talkin' about?" I noticed that his beefy buddies were starting to stride up the slope as well.
I held up my hands. "You guys bodyguards or something? Is Her Majesty the Queen of England somewhere in this bunch? Why the need for guns?"
Time froze for a heartbeat. Then the guide reached for the back of his pants, and his friends did the same. Ah, shit.
When living alone, one had to find things to occupy not just the mind, but the body. I ran, mostly. But I also pumped iron. I boxed. I worked out.
Maybe the old ladies were reacting to my body in a different way than I'd thought.
Yelling, I tackled the boss to the ground, just as he was bringing his arm back to the front. His goons rushed to help, and a quick gaze told me they were unarmed. Cool. I stomped the boss's face flat with my shoe, then threw a punch that caught one of his friends unawares. The man dropped and rolled away, nearly tripping a third. The fourth, however, came from behind and wrapped his arms around my waist.
I'd seen the bandage around his left toes, however. Maybe he'd bumped a toe, chipped some nails. Who knew? I drove the back of my foot hard onto his, causing him to scream and let go.
By then, the third guy was up. He lumbered in like a grizzly bear, arms high and outstretched ... and then froze like a statue when I ducked and rammed my hand into his nether regions with pinpoint accuracy. His face turned purple, and then he sagged to the ground.
The boss got up, swaying, clutching his gun in one hand, mopping blood from his nose with the other. I didn't give him a chance to even aim; a chop on his wrist relieved him of his weapon, and a couple of solid blows to the skull sent him crashing into a shrub.
Brushing my hands, I said, "You folks really ought to pick your tours more care—gah!" I'd forgotten to switch off the power when I looked at them.
As one, they flinched, and more than a few gazes drifted past my navel. One brave little thing said, in a reedy but determined voice, "My, young man, you sure do work on those guns."
"Uh ... thanks." I shuddered as I jogged past them. "Let me walk you downhill."
***
*Thanks for reading, hope you liked it. Check out my [sub](http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker) for more stories!*
|
I have eyes of pure gold
Strange and silver
It shoots out x-rays
Left, right, and center
Because of it am I tired
To the point of exhaustion
For if I am not using my power
It reverses the condition
I am not a pervert
But everyone assumes I am
Because of my power
I am either a stalker
Or a streaker from Guam
Now here I am
On the coast of Elba
Like Napoleon long ago
Being splashed at by mermaids
Who are thinking the exact same thing
Fuck my life
| 2018-10-19T07:22:56 | 2018-10-19T06:43:25 | 237 | 24 |
[WP] Whenever a girl comes of age, she becomes aware of the secret psychic bond all women share; an ability they have kept secret from men for millennia. On your 16th birthday, you become the first boy in history to connect to the "hidden voice"
|
MY HEAD WAS SPINNING. Voices, screaming, shouting, yelling, panicked whispering, heavy drumming thundering away inside my head. I fell backwards, trying to cry for help, but my throat was useless, managing only a wheezing, shaking "help". Silver, pink, green spots clouded my vision, a pulsating plethora of colors overwhelming the already violent sensation I was experiencing. Noises. Footsteps. A door slamming open. My mother's face.
SILENCE. All at once the sounds were gone. The voices and the colors faded away into a distant, muffled din. Slowly, I opened my eyes, and I was back on my bed, my mother beside me, her hand on my face.
I managed a weak smile.
"Am.. I dead?"
"Nah. You're fine."
She says this with her usual smirk, her motherly all-knowing smile that made me feel calm and warm inside. But her face fell solemn, and she looks back with a serious glare.
*But we do have some things to talk about.*
There it was again. The voices, no, a voice. A single, familiar, voice. My mother was speaking into my head.
*Can you sit up?*
My mother spoke again, but her lips did not move. I begin to panic, my heart beats faster, I look wildly around the room as it slowly begins to spin from my nausea-
*Relax.*
That single command washed over me, ocean waves stilling into flat, dead water. For what felt like hours, my breath was held, suspended in a single moment. Every muscle in my body melted away as my shoulders slouched into the wall.
"I... I can hear you. Without you speaking, in my mind, it's almost as if..."
"I'm in your head?"
I nod weakly, a small frown forming between my brows.
"What do you remember?"
My frown deepens. The silence in my head was deafening.
"I...."
*Recall.*
---------------
IT WAS MY SIXTEENTH BIRTHDAY
I sat on my bed, fusing my pokemon on my smartphone, grinning from ear to ear as I heard the clumsy clinking and thudding of doors downstairs. It was supposed to be a surprise birthday party, but with the din they were making below, I'm not sure who the surprise was for.
It was family tradition to have our birthday parties begin at the exact time of birth. Me? I was born at midnight. Exactly 12AM, my "precious tiny body was brought into this world", to quote my mother.
"Crap"
I cursed under my breath, as the silhouette of a dragonite appeared on my screen. The time now was 11:57, I wasn't about to go running out of the house now.
I put my phone aside, and got up. I quickly got changed into a fresh pair of jeans, and a clean T-shirt. I headed for the door and-
**DING**
A clocktower? We don't have a clocktower near here. Heck, we don't have a clocktower anywhere here. I live in the middle of bloody nowh-
**CUCKOO- CUCKOO**
Wh- Dafuq? Did someone buy me a cuckoo clock? As the moments ticked by, I felt stranger and stranger.
**DONG**
As the second strike of the imaginary clocktower rang, it was almost as if I felt the vibrations shake through my body, my entire nervous system tingling with energy like I felt at concerts.
*Shhh, be quiet, he's coming down now.*
*Pfft Hilda, we can ^speak as much as we want to*
*Really, whose idiot husband brought cuckoo clock that rang at midnight*
*Donna hun that would be my gift.*
*Oh. Oops.*
My hand froze inches away from the door knob, my body suddenly petrified as I struggled to understand what was happening. Was I psychic? Could I read minds? I couldn't move my legs. Or my hands. I could feel every single bead of sweat forming on my forehead. Could I speak as well? What if I tried...
I closed my eyes, my hand still frozen mid-air, my entire body going cataleptic...
*Hello?*
As soon as I thought the word, I knew for certain everyone else could hear me. Or rather, just the women downstairs, strangely. It was also at that very moment my entire brainspace collapsed into chaos.
*What the fuck?* *Marge your kid's a boy, right* *Did I hear right* *oh my god everyone shut up maybe he can hear us* *Pfft I'm alerting every god damned female friend I have* *for the love of god shut up you'll destroy his mind* *THIS ISNT HAPPENING* *how did he do that?* *marge is this your idea of a prank* *FAKEEE* *shut UP* *how about you shut up hilda* *DONT BE A BITCH* *did anyone else hear that yelp* *Is he okay* *Marge I think you should go check on him*
I could hear more and more. First it was the voices downstairs, which amounted to the screaming at a 5 year old's dinner party. Then it was the neighbours wife. Her confused voice irate and curious at the same time. Then it was the entire bloody town, voices popping up one by one as they woke. I heard more than people. I heard sensations, emotions, feelings, memories, tastes, lights and color. In that short moment I relived hundreds of lifespans, my head began to spin as I couldn't take it anymore, the noises clouding, invading, obstructing, clogging, I was suffocating, gagging, choking -
-------------------------------
I WAS BACK IN MY ROOM, my mother staring intently into my eyes. I was mortified, yet somehow at peace. My confusion slowly faded away when I looked back into hers. Whatever alien world I had just stepped into, my mother will be there for me. I knew this just from looking at her, no mystical powers, no words, no voices. A smile grew on my mothers face, and another word drifted from her mind into mine.
*Learn.*
~~then she took out a gun and shot me in the head and was like lol u aberration stop trying to be cool like uz gurlz lolozlxp~~
|
"Don't tell the men"....
"Shhh!"
"I need a drink...."
"!@$!%, !@$!@$"...
"Doctor, I think I am going crazy."
"Why do you think that James?"
"I keep thinking I need a drink but I don't like alcohol!"
"Hmmm.... lets have you document the thoughts in this journal and we can see when it occurs and if there is a pattern."
I walked out of the doctors office and over to the receptionist to pay. She looked up at me and asked for my insurance card. As I fumbled in my wallet, the thought came again.
"I am too old for this shit."
I sighed, I am only 16, I might be older than I used to be but that was no reason think like that. I left the office and opened the door of the beatup VW I was still learning to drive. I pulled into traffic and it died on me. Behind me, I could hear horns honking as I sweated over trying to figure out what was going on with the clutch and the gear and the lights. All I could think was...
"I NEED A DRINK!"
| 2016-07-21T14:22:10 | 2016-07-21T12:43:20 | 27 | 13 |
[WP] Turns out aliens never really saw potential in using paratroopers in combat and never used them they quickly learn about how useful paratroopers are when they train against humans in a war game
|
"What?" It asks.
The alien is confused, looking at me like *I've* got nostrils on the top of my skull and eyes that stick out to the side. Some might call that irony, mostly everyone who knows the definition of the word.
"Yeah. We jump." I say.
"You...jump?" It still seems confused.
I nod again, bugger's been asking the same question over and over since we took off. Shouldn't have been attached to our unit if it didn't know what the hell we were about.
"Into what?" It asks.
"What do you mean, into what? Into nothing. The air." I explain again. "Ship goes up, way up high."
"I understand." It says, nodding, blinking those pitch black eyes at me. I use my hand to illustrate for it.
"Waaay up high. Jump master over there says 'get the fuck out' and we jump."
"But...why?! That's insane."
We laugh. There's thirty humans and one alien, a special attaché they say. Here to learn from us. We've done this a thousand times now and this isn't even real combat, it's just a training exercise. No big deal, get in, take the position, go home for beers.
"Yeah, it is." I admit. "But it works."
"How?! You are soft...you'd explode on impact." It pokes me, tilting it's head and looking at me.
"Well shit, we've got 'chutes." I say.
"Chutes?" It tries out the word. Doesn't like it. Thing is like seven feet tall, packed with muscle, humanoid enough, still freaks me out though. Aliens, who would have thought it.
"Yeah." I turn my back to it. "Parachutes. Big piece of cloth that slows us down. In atmopshere of course, sometimes we use the pods and every now and then we use the jets."
"Cloth! Pods! Jets!?" It shouts. "Insanity. Humans are crazy."
"Well...yeah?" I say. "Just figuring that out now? You haven't been paying attention if that's only hitting you now."
The red light comes on, blinking. We stand up in unison. It does too, ducking low to keep from bonking it's head on the roof of the dropship. It's nervous, shaking even.
"Hey." I say. "Relax. We do this all the time. You'll love it."
"Thirty seconds!" The dropmaster shouts. We nod and do our final check. We check the straps ahead and behind of us, quick pulls that we've done countless times. Then we check our weapons. They're only sim-unition but they still sting. Then from the back of the three lines, there's a slap to the man in front's helmet. We pass that all the way up the line until it hits the LT and the LT flashes a thumbs up. Takes twenty seconds, if that. Then we helmet up.
"What if my 'chute doesn't open?" It says, leaning down.
"Can you fly?" I look up at it. Honest question. It shakes it's head.
"Then it'll open." I say. The light turns green, the dropmaster grins and slaps the button. The floor drops out of the ship and so do we, falling into the nothingness above our target.
Hell of a way to make a living.
Wouldn't trade it for anything.
​
"Thrilling!" It says. It hasn't stopped grinning since we cleared the target. A hundred and fifty humans falling from the sky took out an entire defensive line, then armor and infantry pushed through the gap and the whole exercise was over just like that. Five dropships did that. We opened the door and they walked through.
Rumor is our command wanted to make a point.
Don't fuck with the humans.
They look at us in our shiny black combat armor, feet up and watching officers argue about this being a real loss or not. Exercise was supposed to go on for two weeks. It's been forty seven hours.
Looks real bad for some of those officers. It raises it's hand, thing the size of my head, and shows me how badly it's trembling still. I grin. We all do. Eagerness like that is endearing to idiots like us. Eagerness to leap into the unknown is all we ever ask for.
That and a half decent ability in killing.
"Thrilling! You do this often?" It asks, still amped up.
"Yeah, all the time. Even did it in orbit once, took out that station over Exarch-Four." I say. Now that was a good jump.
"That was you!" It is awed now. "Sky Soldiers. Amazing."
"How do I join?" It asks. "I must join." It lopes off to talk to our LT, who takes the information well, given an alien just asked to join an Earth based unit.
"Shit, we just poach an alien trooper?" McCaffrey asks me.
"Looks like." I say, leaning back and closing my eyes, figure I might as well sleep since they're going to punish us hard for ending the exercise so early. "Can't believe they never thought about jumping out of a ship."
"It is insane, you know." Corrigan says.
I shrug.
"I'd rather be in the sky than a ship, ship's explode. Sky's just...the sky. Orbit's even better. Nothing up there." I say.
"Insanity is relative, I guess." Corrigan mumbles.
Something kicks my legs and I open one eye. I see it standing there, grinning 'ear' to 'ear' like an idiot. Guess it's good news.
"They said yes!" It says.
"Welcome aboard." I close my eye. "You're a Diamondback now."
"Thrilling!" It repeats itself. I can't help but smile, after all, we only ask for an eagerness.
I heard somewhere that insanity is relative.
And we're all relatively insane.
"On your feet! We're running drops all day to make up for making them look bad." The LT shouts. Damn. There's that punishment. We struggle to our feet and it hasn't stopped grinning.
"We're doing it again?!" It asks.
"Yeah." I say.
"Thrilling!" It claps its hands and I gotta say, that excitement is infectious.
Hell of a way to make a living.
|
Zorlaak looked through his trinoculars and saw an incoming squadron of incoming human sky craft.
“Grondles at the ready. AllMaker knows how long our shield grid will hold to their munitions” the decidedly not human, triclops called to the gathered military command. He was the equivalent of a Field Marshal and downs as prepared for this simulated attack.
“Xhr” a subordinate saluted as he addressed Zorlaak. “The humans seem to be exiting their sky craft and hurling their bodies toward us. Our monitoring of their communications designated these as “paratroopers”.”
Zorlaak stared out the window. Elite human warriors, he thought to himself as he saw the dozens of forms beginning to dot the sky of this neutral moon.
“Fearless” he marveled “ignorant and naive but zamn if they don’t inspire. Deploy the wide beam sky laser and give them all a...” he scrolled through his human codex tablet..” sunburn”.
Zorlaak clasped his three sets of arms behind his back and watched a beam lance the sky and the echo of uncomfortable groans. Truly he had quickly learned how useful paratroopers are.
| 2021-02-03T12:37:50 | 2021-02-03T12:25:27 | 127 | 15 |
[WP] The White House is under attack. One man is left standing. He is the Chef's son, he is Cory, and he is back in the House.
What ever will he do?
|
“Cory you sack of shit! I told you half an hour ago to peel me a bucket of whites! The President needs his daily dose of starch so get on it!”
“Yes sir” Cory muttered to his father, dragging his feet through the kitchen and to the walk-in cooler. The door shutting behind, Cory stopped and took a breath, letting the frosty air envelop him. “Now, what did I come in here for?” He looked around the space blankly, admiring the fine cuisines around him. Shrugging it off, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a hastily-rolled blunt and, seating himself on a bucket of broth, lit up and inserted his earbuds. Blazing and jamming to the sweet sounds of Smashmouth’s *All-Star*, he completely missed the explosive racket of the terrorist’s automatic weapons and futile screams as the Secret Service continued on their dismal streak of actually performing their duties.
A full session of *Astro Lounge* later Cory emerged from the cooler with a rack of lamb in hand. “Yo dad, I got that porterhouse like you asked.” He stopped and took in the scene before him: carnage everywhere. The eggplant had been executed, the scallops slaughtered, a massacre with the mussels, and even the baby spinach had been snuffed. Cory’s father lay on the ground riddled with bullet holes, a pool of red slowly encompassing him. Son kneeled down next to father and studied him, solemn. He dipped his fingers into the blood and slowly brought them to his mouth, taking a taste, before violently spitting. “Nasty!” Cory stood and wiped the soiled fingers on his apron. “Tomato soup’s gone bad already!” He looked down at his father scornfully. “And after all your criticism, who’s the one dropping the ball this time, Pops?” He shook his head. “I expected better from you.” Cory straightened his apron, “Well, I guess it’s up to me now.” With rack of lamb still in hand, he continued on his way.
Cory walked through the halls of the White House, earbuds in place, jamming to summer hits of the 00’s. He found himself mildly curious, but ultimately not bothered as to why so many of the staff were sleeping; in chairs, on the floor, full of holes, limbs contorted. “Man, I need to get a job outside the kitchen here!” He removed another joint from his pocket and lit up, inhaling deeply. He looked down to the corpse of a Secret Service agent on the ground as he exhaled. “None for you pal, you gotta keep the main man safe.”
Cory danced by the door to the Oval Office. *“Why you gotta go and make things so fuckin’ complicated?”* Cory stopped, something inside the Oval Office distracting him from his crude cover of Avril Lavigne. Sitting at his desk, clutching a messy wound on his chest was the Commander in Chief himself.
“Son!” the President exclaimed through labored breathing. “Help me!” Cory removed one earbud and slowly entered the room.
“Mr. President.” he began. “I am honored and *flattened* to present you with your dinner tonight.” Cory presented the rack of lamb before his leader. The President’s eyes widened, not at the piece of raw meat in Cory’s hands, but the TERRORIST sneaking up behind the boy, rifle trained on his head.
“Son! Look--”
“Mr. President please,” he stuck the blood-stained finger over the President’s lips. “Let me finish. This turkey is among the finest birds ever grown for human consumption.” The terrorist was only a step behind Cory now. “Why I myself may never get--What the fuck?!” Time stopped: the terrorist froze in his tracks, the President held still as stone, and Cory stood like a statue, a look of horror and disdain on his face. “You hear this shit?!” He took his free earbud and stuck it in the President’s ear. The President, Cory, and even the terrorist leaned in to listen. What could it be? The strained silence was finally pierced by the vocals of none other than Chad Kroeger, rattling off *How You Remind Me*. “Nickelback?! You shitting me right now?” he removed the earbud from the President’s ear. “Fuck that, am I right?!” As the last words exited his mouth he swung the rack of lamb back furiously, smashing the terrorist square in the face! Cory turned and looked at the man now lying unconscious on the ground. “Whoa, Mr. Vice President! I’m so sorry, sir!”
A week later Cory found himself on the steps of Capitol Hill, standing parallel the President. A large crowd clamored before them.
“Mr. Cory,” began the President. “It is my honor to present you with the Presidential Medal of Freedom, the highest award a civilian may receive. Despite the incredibly tragic recent events, you serve as a reminder that there are still those with genuine altruism in this world.” The President placed the medal around Cory’s neck as thunderous applause came from the crowd. Cory stepped up to the microphone.
“Thank you, Mr. President. I just did what anyone else would.” Cory paused, his eyes welling. “And I owe it all to someone who couldn’t be here today.” He looked out to the mass gathered before him, lips trembling. “Steve Harwell and the rest of Smashmouth” He held his medal up. “This one’s for you!” The crowd erupted into applause once more. Cory shook the President’s hand, beaming. *All Star* began to play once again, and all was right with the world.
|
There is a break in the gunfire. The last few shells jingle as they hit the floor. His father lies dead on the cold tile floor. Cory stares into those cold lifeless eyes. Blood rolls between the tiles and pools at his feet. He is reminded of the abattoir his father took him to as a child.
"I really wish he would have taught me to cook.", Cory mutters to himself.
| 2015-07-02T08:02:35 | 2015-07-02T06:49:01 | 277 | 51 |
[WP] The Heat Death of the Universe. At the end of time the Stars are burning out as they use up the last of their fuel. There is only one Star left in the known Universe and all remaining life has gathered around it.
|
We are all gathered here, at the last star in the universe. All of us that are left, that is. I look at the scanner report. So many species, the brilliant and the terrible, didn't make it. Those of us that made it are lucky more than anything else.
Our civilisation used to command a fleet of ships just like this one, harnessing the energy from hundreds of thousands of stars in our galaxy. We were an empire so vast that entire generations could live and die before the light from one extreme reached the other. And now we are here with the rest, beggars squabbling over the last scraps of usable energy.
We are the only living representatives from our galactic cluster. Others may have similar stories. I cannot bear to hear them out nor relate our own account, for all the emotional distance communicating through translator modules would give us. There are but a few billion of our brood left, less than a thousandth of a percent of the population we once had. The scale of death is maddening.
The ship is running out of energy. We cannot support all our people using the output of this dying star, not without casting our solar nets wider and damning some other ship in our shadow to a cold death. We need to concentrate our energy where the young can have a chance at a life, short though it will be. The council has asked that the old consider leaving. I am old, and I would like to walk on a planet's surface once before I die.
Enough of us make the sacrifice. The scientists have calculated that those that remain should be able to survive for a few years yet, though without the comforts that they would have had with our full energy reserves. We take our smaller ships down to the closest planet with a few weeks of food and energy to run our personal assistants. Many will want to make a log of their final days, though no one will ever read them.
The world beneath us is cold. The plant and animal life is adapted to the temperatures, but there are clear signs that they evolved in a much warmer climate. I look to the sky. The star is visible. The ships surrounding the star have all left enough room for light to shine upon the inhabited planets in this system. At least, at the end, we all have that kindness in us.
I do not wish to stay with the group. There are some others with a like mind. We say our goodbyes and walk out into the cold, our suits protecting us. I take no food with me. I do not plan to live much longer. The wanderers split up into groups. I go alone.
I see in the distance a small hill. I think that it is a good place to die. I climb it, and sit at its crest. I look at the sky again, but a shade of the sky dome on the ship. I feel afraid. I activate the euthanasia module on my personal assistant. The chemicals start to calm me down. I have only a few minutes of consciousness left.
Keeping this record is futile. Even if this is not the final end of the universe, even if there is some sort of big crunch to start it anew, no information will survive the process. But then, that's been true all along. The purpose of life is not in the remembering but in the living. And I have lived well.
=
**EDIT:** Before I forget, I'm planning to add notes to future me or other interested people about my thoughts while writing prompts.
* Downer ending I decided against: "You may think that I am noble, for first volunteering to leave the safety of the ship, and then for taking no food with me. The truth is I am not noble. I have lived my entire life on a world-ship lit in imitation of a star; I am afraid of the dark."
* Canonically, the protagonist isn't human. He's from a society more closely related to our ants (think the Formics from Ender's Game, only with no queen caste - just a strong sense of social obligation). This society is significantly more advanced than our own, with a total energy consumption somewhere between 2 and 3 on the [Kardashev scale](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kardashev_scale) (i.e. they use more than the total energy output of a star and less than that of a galaxy). The society has no faster than light communication, so the different world-ships and planets were more or less isolated (a single world-ship would use energy comparable to a high-tech Earth). The world-ship the protagonist is born on was lucky enough to be able to determine where the last star would burn out and get there before it did.
* Time dilation from the world-ship's high-speed journey towards the last star means the time the inhabitants of the ship experienced was less than what ships that remained more or less stationary would get. This is another factor behind why they would be the only ones of their species there. The fact that any ship made that choice could be boiled down to wanting their species to "last to the end", even if they experience less subjective time in doing so.
* Brood of 1 billion = less than a thousandth of a percent of original population implies the original was >100,000 billion, which fits with the "hundreds of thousands of stars" thing (keep in mind planets can easily support more than a billion with advanced tech). A galaxy can definitely have enough stars for that to be the case. Also note that this means that their population would still be spread out over many light years (the nearest star to us is over 4 light years away, for example) even if they weren't on the fringes like this world-ship was.
* Alternate version I rejected was quite rambling and didn't have a coherent theme. It featured a conversation with the "primitives" on the planet in the story. I couldn't come up with anything that they would say to each other beyond "Nice to have some company for the end of all life." I thought about revealing the planet to be Earth, or the "primitives" descendants of humans or something. The idea seemed wrong, partly because it's so typical of us humans to make a story about the end of the universe all about us.
|
Everyone watched as the last solar flare erupted from the star, the warmth spread throughout the trillions of fleets of spaceships. They all gathered around as if it were a campfire, telling the stories of their ancestors. Stories of when the universe was bright and full of wonder, of when their ancestors walked bare foot across planets. The last of the light from the sun began to waver, collective tears rolled down the faces of the last survivors. Everything began to grow cold, the breath of millions of sentient beings began to hang in the air. Ice condensed on the windows of the ships. The universe grew dark, the only lights shining were from the ships still gathered around the now invisible lump of metal that used to be the sun. Slowly, the lights of each ship began to shut down leaving the occupants to freeze in the darkness. The last few moments of existence in the universe were the same for everyone....
Cold, dark, quiet and alone.
| 2014-05-05T05:17:06 | 2014-05-05T03:54:47 | 215 | 85 |
[WP] You have a friend who's an expert in lucid dreaming. One day, they come to you and says they can't tell apart dreams from reality anymore. You tell them that "if this were a dream, you'd be able to fly right in front of me". And that's exactly what they do.
|
The alarm blared. I stirred and stretched; my wife Annabella stirred beside me. She looked a hot mess, tangled hair falling in frills around her face, but she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
I reached over, planting a soft kiss on her lips.
“Do you have to go?” she asked.
I sighed. “I shouldn’t miss this one, Dr. Henderson is starting to think I don’t like him.”
“Fine,” she pouted. “Be back for lunch, I’ll make you something special.”
“Bacon?”
She smiled and smacked my butt. “Better. You’ll see.”
I jumped to my feet and stepped into the shower. Annabella had a cup of coffee waiting in a thermos. I kissed her goodbye and drove the five miles towards Dr. Henderson’s office.
The secretary, Macy, greeted me warmly. “Haven’t seen you in a while!”
I winced. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Dr. Henderson’s waiting for you,” she said, buzzing the door.
I stepped through the hallway into a plush room. A wall of bookshelves covered one wall, Dr. Henderson sat behind an astute wooden desk, an empty table stood atop a thick, cashmere rug, and a comfortable sofa sat in the corner. He looked up from a stack of papers and motioned wordlessly towards the sofa.
I sat back and kicked my heels up. “Hey, I’m sorry about not taking your calls. It’s just—”
“You felt like my services were no longer required,” he said. Then he smiled and tossed me the stack of papers. “Trust me, I’m not upset. You’ve made so much progress, I wasn’t sure if you needed to come back myself.”
“But I did, didn’t I? That’s why you called.”
“I wanted to see how you’re doing. Six months after your wedding; you’ve got a nice, stable life?”
I nodded. “Anna is wonderful. She’s—well—she’s more than I ever deserved.”
“You sell yourself short.”
I felt a sense of warmth wash over me like melted butter. I looked at Dr. Henderson; he nodded down towards the papers. “You remember our sleep studies?”
I browsed the first headline, frowning. “I thought we debunked my lucid dreaming?”
“Maybe not,” he said. “Turns out you might have been on to something.’
A lump formed in my throat. “What do you mean?”
He walked towards me, sitting down on the other end of the sofa. A great weight seemed to press down on his eyes, his shoulders hunched, and he rubbed his hands together. He took a few deep breaths.
“You know that hardest thing to do in the medical profession? Admit when you’re wrong.”
My voice cracked. “What-what are you saying.”
“Are you happy with your life?” he asked.
“Yes!”
Dr. Henderson poured himself a cup of water from the pitcher sitting on the table. “Then you should leave now. But if you stay, I’ll tell you.”
I couldn’t leave. How could I, after hearing him talk like that? Tease a man with a secret, tell him it’s so important in all the ways possible, then ask him to leave? No—I had to stay. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be that bad.
Dr. Henderson drained his glass. “When you first came to me, you said you were unsure if this world was a dream. I diagnosed you with insomnia and sleep apnea. I helped you develop a support system through your family and friends, and with careful exercises, we suppressed your delusions. But what I’m going to tell you-you were right. This world is a dream.”
“Just like that? No—you’re insane.”
“Am I?” he said. “Do you remember this pitcher of water?”
I looked again at the full pitcher. A sudden, sinking feeling hit me as I realized what I saw only moments ago—the table had been empty. I started to shake. “No, if this was a dream, you could just—you could fly away!”
Dr. Henderson shrugged his shoulders and rose into the air.
“Oh god!” I choked back my words, wide-eyed and sweat-headed. “What, what is this? Am I dreaming?”
“Do you want to wake up?” he asked. “Because you’re going to. Very soon, this will all fade away.”
“No!” I screamed, but I screamed to an empty room.
I ran out of the hallway and burst through the doors into the waiting room. Macy gave me a weak smile. Then I watched as she pixelated. Her skin flecked and rose like dust, and the last thing that dissolved was her smile.
“Macy!”
I screamed, rushing out the door. The world started to fleck away like old paint on a worn canvass. Trees lost their leaves to ash. The sky started to pale as the blue desaturated. I ran towards my car. Grabbing my phone, I tried to call home, but there was no signal.
I sped down the street, pushing the limits as my palms sweated and nearly froze to the wheel. I could just manage to steer with a wobble. I careened into my driveway; my mailbox started to dissolve.
“No!”—I rushed through the doorway—“Anna!”
A great weight pressed down on my mind like a blinding headache. Dancing lights and a faint buzzing started all around me. I ran towards the bedroom.
Annabella sat up on the bed, a look of shock frozen on her face.
Tears streamed down mine. “Anna, baby, it’s gonna be all right. I’m here for you.”
Her voice shook, she started to shiver. “I can’t feel my legs.”
I looked back at the bed. The sheets started to flake away. The weight in my mind pressed down harder, and I struggled to keep my eyes open.
“Look at me. I'm right here, ok?” I fought back tears. "Stay with me, baby. It's gonna be alright."
She reached out, her fingertips just barely touching mine. A look of terror crossed her face as her body started to pixelate. She swallowed hard, fighting back tears. A smile crossed her face.
“Don’t forget me," she whispered.
She crumbled to dust before my eyes.
“No!” I screamed, shaking the world around me. Fragments of our home started to dissolve. Broken pixels rose like ashes. I ran towards her, trying to piece together the dust, only to find myself covered in the shattered lie. The real world crashed through with roaring thunder.
My dream collapsed.
​
***
Chop onions with me at r/BLT_WITH_RANCH
|
After she flew in front of me I kind of panicked "stop" I yell "you are not dreaming". By this time I'm panicking what if I'm only a figment of his imagination? The thought that I could be nothing but a thought. Will I cease to exist if she wakes? "We have to think of this logically," I say "if you're dreaming when why do I have memories?" "Well, you can't feel if your just a dream," she says "perhaps I'm just imagining you to think you're alive" she gets an evil look on her face "what?" I look at scared now like she had evil an idea. Before i could anything she grabs me and lifts me over a cliff "please don't" I plea "don't do it" by this time she drops me waving bye-bye. I scream as I fall to my death. " I don't wanna die, I don't wanna die, I don't wanna..." I open my eyes and see I'm in my room my wife looking at me sitting next to me on the bed eating a piece of toast off a trey with a intrigued look on her face, "bad dream again" she ask and i nod "hey I made us breakfast she motions to the tray. I look at her "you were in it this time". I just could only think what if....
| 2019-05-12T22:06:15 | 2019-05-12T21:20:59 | 1,220 | 12 |
[WP] The end of the world is at hand. Everyone starts to tick off their bucket list, doing crazy things because they know it won't matter in the long run. In an odd twist of fate, the crisis is averted. Now everyone has to live with the repercussions of what they did.
|
"You don't... You don't get to choose how it ends, you know? Certainty is kinda just a joke -- I mean, it's like you're only certain until you know you were certainly wrong about it, and then it's too late. Somebody on the outside, somebody like god, maybe, sees the joke for what it really is; all these people making decisions based on a fact that was never guaranteed. But it's not funny. Not at all."
"I mean, Sam, really, I was ready to die. And, but, then you and The End came along, which... I never thought would happen. I never dreamed of something like this, or, like that, I mean. Suddenly it wasn't just dying, coz, you know, we all do that eventually. It was something else I saw for us; it was living, really truly living, even if it was just for a short time. Sam, we still have it. It's not The End this time, it's just an end. No better, no worse."
"But, in retrospect, it is kinda worse, isn't it? Now it'll be slow, painful, and we'll have to watch each other... get worse. Until one day it's just over, just like that, and one of us is alone and sick and sad, and then we can't even make that decision anymore. We had an opportunity when we had The End. What do we have now?"
"We still have everything, Sam. The joke isn't that you can never know and it will kill you -- which is true, and sad, I'll give you that -- the joke is that, despite all of that, you can make a choice in total unknowing and still be happy. The joke is that everyone going around, living their lives with the fucking stupid belief that everybody else is making the right decision, the better decision, the 'TRUE' one," Ellie made scarequotes here, exaggerating the word 'true' with a bit of adenoidal gusto, "the joke is that they don't know what they are, or could be, missing."
Sam scratched at an eyebrow absently, unaware that his fervent foot joggling was giving Ellie a quiet case of the fantods. The waiting room was full of people, and neither of the pair were surprised by this fact. The End had been canceled, and people now had to pick up the pieces. A man sat alone in the corner, weeping into a small sweater that had been cut from neck to navel by trauma shears. An older couple leaned against a wall, each gazing at different voidish spots on the floor and ceiling. A perhaps 20 year old boy, handcuffed to his chair by his own hands, pulsed with the delirium and fine-motor tremors of some extreme form of withdrawal. Sam rested a hand on Ellie's arm and laughed the kind of depressive laugh that spoke of pain and acceptance, of grief and submission, but mostly powerlessness.
A short doctor entered the room and read from his clipboard over thick horned-rim glasses.
"Sam?"
Sam raised his hand, rose and turned to Ellie. He kissed her gently on the forehead and whispered in her ear: "You can come with if you'd like." Ellie shook her head slightly and reached around Sam to hug him at the waist.
"No, you have to be alone when you get the results. It's a stupid policy, considering, but I'll be waiting here for you."
Sam nodded and mouthed the words 'thank you' before turning toward the doctor. The man seemed tired, no doubt overworked since The End had been canceled. He said nothing, instead leading Sam down a long white hallway. The corridor seemed to telescope in front of him, becoming longer with each step he took; Dr. Steis -- Sam had to read his name badge after a moment of silence in which the doctor had not introduced himself -- seemed to shrink in the distance along with the action of the hallway and Sam had to stop to compose himself.
*I'm not having symptoms already, am I? It's only been a few weeks... Stress could be exacerbating things, I suppose. It's probably just nerves. Gods, I'm nervous. Maybe I should've taken a wheelchair. Has the doctor read my results already? He is acting kinda weird...* Sam's thoughts continued like this as he resumed following Dr. Steis, who had stopped to watch and not do much else.
After what seemed like an uncountable number of turns and doorways, they finally entered a small room. It was furnished by only a desk with a chair on each side, a few typical wall-hang type landscape prints, and some informational pamphlets in a plastic magazine stand. Sam looked away from the pamphlets as soon as the capital 'H' of his nightmares came into view. He was nervous, even in his certainty. Ellie was right, he knew, certainty or a lack thereof made none of this easier. He loved the girl, and had for as long as he'd known her; this changed nothing, except that, maybe, he'd better understand her. Hell, there was no better way for him to do so. They shared something now that connected them forever, and though it would be a painful road for them both, they would at least have each other. They could be happy for what time they had left -- whether they went in The End or the end.
The doctor gestured for Sam to sit before doing the same.
"Well, Sam, I want you to know that you can stop me at any point if you have questions. I noticed that your girlfriend was waiting with you in the lobby. Is she aware of why you came in today?"
"Oh, yes, absolutely."
"Good. I'm glad to see this kind of responsibility in action, despite the unfortunate circumstances surrounding our meeting. As they say, or said, I'm not really sure how that goes anymore, '*life goes on*'."
Sam thought this was a poor choice of words given the situation, but couldn't really think of anything that was more true, and dismissed the thought.
"I have your results if you're ready, Sam."
"Please, go right ahead. This is really a formality, after all."
Dr. Steis looked at him over his glasses in a way that could only be construed by Sam as meaning *Is that so?* The doctor flipped one page on the clipboard and placed it on the desk, turning it toward Sam with flick of his wrist. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. Sam felt his bedside manner was lacking.
"Sam, you're negative for HIV."
The words deflected off of the boy. He couldn't hear the truth through his expectation, which had been exactly the opposite; i.e., there wasn't any fucking way that was true. He stammered, tried to communicate, coughed instead, and felt suddenly as if he were going to faint.
"Come again, doctor?"
"Your results are negative. You don't have HIV. You don't have anything, actually. If you were having unprotected sex with a partner who was positive this would be, as you say, a formality. That's not the case. The other items; HSVI and II, chlamydia, syphillis, etc., all negative..."
Dr. Steis spoke for some time, but Sam remembered little; shaking the doctor's hand, thanking him in some way, walking back down the hallway with a nauseating mixture of relief and dread. He still had a chance; a chance to live to become ripe and curmudgeonly, and perhaps take care of Ellie as she progressed. This thought soured as he approached the waiting room, as he imagined telling her that their bond was non-existent, that they could no longer share what they had for the last few months. He still remembered the day she'd agreed to go out with him, after so many casual dismissals on imagined grounds (she'd told him she wasn't interested, and then that she was gay, and then that she had a partner, and then, and then, and then, finally, that she was HIV positive), and the joy he'd felt in finally winning the favor of the girl he'd pined over for so many lonely weeks and months. Everyone had told him "she's just out of your league, bro". The End had a way of making people reconsider, it had seemed. She'd said she'd love to try things out given the mutually assured destruction of each of the conditions. He'd been fearful at first, of course; he'd imagined that his dick would just fall off, or something like that. He was exceedingly gifted at generating incoherent and irrational anxious fears with which to plague his waking (and sometimes sleeping) mind, but they had faded quickly as he and Ellie built their life together in his apartment during the months leading up to The End.
Presently, another such fear manifested; Sam stopped at the door to the waiting room and shut his eyes against the tears that were forming. He felt them running down his face, tasted one at the corner of his mouth. The pieces clicked together in his mind. Dr. Steis, who had been following quietly behind him, put a hand on his shoulder. Sam turned and hugged him, leaving faintly dark splotches on the doctor's white coat. The End had come and gone, and Ellie had made a choice. Sam opened the door to the waiting room and sat next to the chair where Ellie had been.
On the chair was a scrap of paper torn from a waiting room magazine. Sam read 'goodbye' in her immaculate script and wept.
|
Jenna had a taste for blood, which was something she tried to hide until now. Her boyfriend Todd always thought she was a bit odd, and was shocked when she asked him to help her. “But we are only going after the bad guys, ya know the ones who hurt children and those who deserve it” she tried to justify her actions. Todd was a little bit thrown off but he could try to understand, because he loved Jenna immensely. “Just do it with me once and see how you feel.”
So they set off to find the perfect kill. 36 year old Alexander Stone. He was the perfect candidate; sent to jail on multiple occasions for child endangerment, molestation, and attempted murder. Somehow, one of the officers messed up the case work and he got off with probation. “Someone needs to teach these guys a lesson, and it might as well be us” Jenna scoffed.
They tracked down his address, followed his schedule, found out when he had his kids, etc. so nobody would be around to witness it. All went according to plan. They packed a rope, duct tape, knife, pliers, bolt cutters and a gun, just in case things went awry.
Around 9:30 on Halloween night, they snuck around his house, waiting for him to go to sleep. He was passed out in the living room chair with a bottle of booze in his hand. “Just remember he deserves whatever happens to him.”
Alexander awoke gagged and bound to the chair, half mutilated. He starts screaming but nobody can hear him. “Alright let’s make this quick and try not to wake up the neighbors.” Todd was nervous, his hands shaking, barely able to hold onto the bolt cutters. “Just give me those and let me finish him off!” Jenna shouted in disappointment at her pathetic boyfriend. She made the final cut and let him bleed out slowly, watching the life drain from his eyes.
After the deed was done, they heard the front door handle jiggle. “Nobody is supposed to be here for another few days! Todd what are you doing, aim the gun and shoot, we can’t get caught!” Jenna shouted. Todd shot a few rounds and then there was silence.
“No no no no noooo! What did you do!” Jenna screamed. “I-I- it was an accident! You told me to shoot whoever entered!” Todd cried. The front door lay opened to Alexander’s 12 year old son and ex wife lying on the front step. They forgot it was Halloween night, and Alexander’s son stopped by to surprise him with his costume and candy “We are only supposed to go after the bad guys! I knew I should have never brought you along, I should have done this myself!” In shock, Todd starts weeping, while Jenna drags the bodies into the house. “It’s time to leave, just try to forget this whole thing!”
But Todd couldn’t forget and it soon started eating him alive. He started distancing himself from Jenna, realizing she had no real emotions toward anything. “How could I have been such a fool? She only wanted me to be involved in her little game, she never cared about me.”
Jenna found Todd the next day, hanging in the garage with a suicide note, explaining everything they had done. Jenna called the police shortly after she arrived at Todd’s house. When the police arrived, they found him hanging with a note on the floor saying “I no longer belong here, as much as I have tried I can’t hide from my demons any longer” Jenna forged Todd’s handwriting on the note, and stuck the original in her back pocket. She cried and acted in shock of what happened as the police questioned her. “How could he do this, we were planning a life together!”
As soon as she got in her car to leave, her phone started ringing. “Hey John, yes we’re still on for today. Have you tracked him down yet? Alright I’ll be there as soon as I’m done packing the bag. I love you too, and I’m so glad you want to do this with me. Someone needs to teach these guys a lesson and it might as well be us. Just remember, he deserves whatever happens to him.”
| 2017-11-29T08:46:15 | 2017-11-29T08:11:25 | 52 | 27 |
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